Rural Illinois, August 1894

Little Janie Byrne McAlan led a quiet and sometimes lonely life. The only child of Martha Sarah Byrne and William Daniel McAlan, who had married in the late 1880s, Janie had been born seven days after her parents’ first wedding anniversary.

Janie’s father, William McAlan, was a successful auctioneer by the time he met and married Janie’s mother. William’s father had fought in an Illinois volunteer company at the siege of Vicksburg during the Civil War. Ill with tuberculosis, he had made his way home to his wife and five children before the war ended and, nine months later, his wife gave birth to William. William‘s mother died when he was only two, and he didn’t get along with his new stepmother. At fifteen, he left home to fend for himself and seemed to be a bit of a drifter, going from job to job.

The Byrne family weren’t too pleased with their daughter being courted by young William. James Byrne was proud of his Irish heritage and had worked hard to make a life for himself and his family in the United States. He had enlisted in a Delaware regiment where he was detailed to guard a powder plant. After the war, he had worked as a cooper but eventually he bought his own land to farm. He and his wife had seven children, including their oldest daughter, Martha, who was Janie’s mother. While Janie’s father had been lonely and unhappy as a child, her mother had enjoyed a warm and loving family.

The McAlan and Byrne families lived within a mile of each other in Logan County. When William came courting Martha, her parents disapproved, but they finally agreed to the marriage. As an auctioneer, William travelled a great deal and when Martha fell ill, her parents cared for her. Janie frequently found herself alone, conjuring up pretend games and creating imaginary playmates, unaware of the tensions among the adults in her life.

On this hot August day while the Cullens moved into their new home in Nebraska, Janie, her mother and grandmother returned from visiting neighbours. As they stepped on to the porch, Janie heard her mother — who looked quite pale — say to her grandmother: “I must lie down.”

Grandmother Byrne took Martha’s hand. “Lean on me, dear,” and she opened the screen door. After getting Martha inside, she looked back at her granddaughter. “You stay here, Janie, on the porch.”

Janie frowned.

She felt tears behind her eyes, but she did not want to complain. Instead she pleaded, “Please, Grandmother, can I look at the flowers?”

“All right,” Grandmother Byrne sighed, “but you go no further than that.”

Janie nodded. As soon as her grandmother disappeared, her attention went to the handsome bed of flowers. She ventured down the three wooden steps to the flowerbed. The flowers’ vibrant colors appealed to her; she wanted to touch each petal, but Grandmother had been always quite clear: “Remember, child, do not touch!” Janie knew it was unwise to disobey her grandmother, who could be equally stern or gentle, depending on whether or not someone had tampered with her flowers.

To Janie, the flowerbed was a feast of sight and smell: tall, white-and-yellow buttercups, white field daisies with golden centres, black-eyed Susans, purple coneflowers, and swamp candles. Spiked loosestrifes — the tallest and most prolific — ranged from rose to deep magenta. Janie understood why her grandmother always said that the flowers brought her happiness, because Janie also felt that they did the same for her.

“Hello, flowers,” she said, as she always did, “how are you today?”

Janie preferred not to choose a favorite amongst them. Some had turned to face the mid-afternoon sun but others still faced east. With the late-afternoon temperature at 102 degrees, they drooped in the heat. Janie picked up the watering can and slowly sprinkled the flowers, watching the drops catch the sunlight and sparkle, before coming to rest on the leaves and blossoms.

Janie’s mother had not been well for as long as Janie could remember.

The grown-ups sometimes talked about it in whispers, when they didn’t think she could hear, but she heard words like “lung disease” and “consumption,” even if she didn’t understand their meaning. She saw the paleness of her mother’s face and heard her cough in the night.

People often thought that Janie was only four years old, but she had had her fifth birthday ages ago, and still people thought she was four. Her mother or grandmother brushed out her long, dark-brown hair each night. As always, today she wore a pretty ribbon, yellow to match her dress, which pulled her hair behind her neck. Her brown eyes matched her hair. She often stood on tiptoes to reach things, but Grandmother Byrne told her, “When you are as tall as me, you’ll be tall enough.” Janie looked forward to school starting in September. Her mother had promised her that soon they would buy her school supplies and her mother would go with her on the first day.

Time passed and no one came.

Janie grew bored and warm in the sun, so she climbed up the three steps to the shady porch and listened at the door. She could hear nothing. Everyone must be upstairs, she thought.

She skipped over to the porch swing and crawled up into it. She moved it back and forth, almost lulled by the sound of its squeaking — back and forth, back and forth. She looked up and counted the ceiling boards. When she had reached the number twelve, Uncle Alex came out of the house, smiled at her but said not a word. He ran down the road towards Janie’s home. Janie watched him until he disappeared, his figure melting in the heat waves. Once he was gone, she went back to counting the boards in the ceiling, but soon she would lose track of where she was in her counting and have to start over again.

As she began to re-count for the tenth time, Uncle Alex returned with her father beside him.

Janie was puzzled. “Daddy, what are you doing here?”

“Everything’s all right, Janie. Your Uncle Alex tells me that your mother’s weak. I thought I‘d come over and visit with her. You’re being a good girl, Janie, so you just stay here and wait for someone to come get you. I’ll see you soon.”

Janie’s father disappeared into the house with her Uncle Alex. A hint of worry crept into Janie’s thoughts. Why would Daddy come over today? I wonder what’s happening. I hope Mama’s all right.

Now time began to drag.

Janie left the swing and walked back and forth across the front porch. At the far end, she climbed up on the railing and slipped onto the far side to get a better look at the clouds overhead. They were white and puffy and they didn’t look like rain clouds. As she stared at them, they took on different shapes: an elephant, a giraffe, and then a funny looking frog with too many legs. The animals changed as the clouds moved, but she grew bored with her private game. She climbed back over the railing into the shade of the porch and, as she walked across, she watched the cracks between the boards. “Step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back,“ she said out loud, so she walked the full distance of the porch without touching a single crack. She repeated her feat three more times.

The afternoon grew longer and longer. People came and went: her father, her four uncles, her Aunt Sarah, her grandfather, the doctor. But no one told her anything, and she began to get hungry. Just when Janie thought that she could not possibly manage another minute alone on the porch, her aunt came out.

“Aunt Sarah! I’m tired! I’m hot! What’s happening? Where is everyone? Is Mama all right?”

Sarah looked at her niece with soft eyes. "Janie, your mother’s had one of her long naps. She’s feeling better now, and she’d like you to come. You mustn’t stay for long and tire her, though."

Janie jumped off the swing and followed her aunt into the house, up the stairs to the first bedroom on the left. Something is very wrong, she thought. No one spoke, as she entered the room with her aunt. The closed curtains let in little light and precious little air. I can’t breathe, Janie thought. It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkened room.

She knew everyone, but no one looked at her. Her father, usually full of laughter, sat in a chair beside her mother’s bed, his gaze entirely on his wife’s face. On the high, four-poster bed lay her mother, dressed in a pretty white night dress with ruffles at her neck, her hair combed and pulled back behind her with a few curls escaping around her face. Janie could not see her mother‘s arms and hands, as they hid below the blankets, which seemed odd on so warm a day. Her skin looked white and her eyes were closed. Out of the corner of her eye, Janie could see the doctor who was mixing something from bottles in his medical bag. Two of her uncles stood at the foot of the bed, somber and still. Her grandmother stood at the head of the bed, just to the right of her mother’s shoulder. Her grandfather got up from a rocking chair near the window. He took Janie’s hand, but they did not move.

Janie wanted to run away, but just as she thought to make her feet move in the opposite direction, her mother’s eyes opened and her pale face turned towards her and smiled. “Janie.” Janie could barely hear her. “Come see your mama.” She took her arm out from under the blanket and extended it towards Janie.

Janie walked slowly towards her mother, one hand in her grandfather’s and the other hand in her aunt’s. Aunt Sarah picked her up and set her down on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling several inches above the floor. Her mother seemed peaceful and calm, but Janie felt awkward and afraid. Everyone stared. She knew something was wrong. Why doesn’t anyone look at me? she wondered. Why is everyone here?

Her mother took Janie’s hand in hers.

“Janie,” she repeated, but her voice was soft and she gasped for air. “I love you — more than anything else in the world. I’ll always love you. Even if you don’t see me — you must believe that. If I go away, will you be a good girl? Obey your father and your grandparents?”

Janie found it hard to swallow, let alone speak. What does she mean she is going away? Her eyes grew larger but she remained voiceless. The room frightened her — it was dark and sad. Finally, she managed a quiet “yes.”

Her mother closed her eyes and sighed deeply. She gently squeezed Janie’s hand, and then she said something strange and unforgettable. “Janie, your Aunt Sarah can be your mother. She’ll love you as though you were her own child. Will you let Aunt Sarah be your mother if I go away?”

What does that mean? I love Aunt Sarah, but she‘s not my mother. You‘re my mother. I love you. Janie looked at her mother’s sombre face. I must make this promise to make my mother happy, she thought. I must tell her this even if it’s a lie. She swallowed again — she was very thirsty. “Yes, Mama, I can do that.”

Janie’s mother nodded her head. “Good. That gives me peace. You must go now, Janie.”

Janie felt her grandfather’s big arms pick her up.

Janie began to cry and she reached over her grandfather’s shoulders for her mother. No, no, she thought. I don’t want to leave! I want to go back to Mama! I want to stay with her! Her grandfather saw her tears and heard her sobs, but he did not hear her thoughts.

The door closed. Janie kept her eyes glued to the bedroom door until it disappeared from her sight. Wordless, Grandfather carried her to the kitchen and placed her on a chair at the table. In front of her, he placed a small plate of food. “Eat,” he said. “You need to eat, child.”

Janie picked up some bread and nibbled at it. She thought of her mother upstairs. She felt tears rising in her eyes, and she couldn’t swallow her food.

“Eat,” her grandfather said again. “Finish your potato and your milk.”

Janie swallowed the food, but she tasted nothing. The tears formed again, but she knew that Grandfather Byrne would not want her to cry, so she squeezed her eyes shut and held back the tears. Just as she finished eating, Aunt Sarah came into the room. “I’ll be taking you home, Janie, so that you can go to bed.”

“Will Mama and Papa come with us?” When her aunt said nothing, she pleaded, “Why can’t I stay here?” Again, her aunt did not reply.

Aunt Sarah took her hand and together they walked down the road. Janie felt the heat coming up from the road. Even when her mother was sick, Janie usually spent the night under the same roof with her mother. Janie looked back at her grandparents’ house. I want to go back, she said to herself. She tugged at her aunt’s hand. “Aunt Sarah, I want to go back.”

“No, Janie, you can’t. Come along now.”

If I don’t go back to that room, Janie thought, I will never see my mother again. “Please, Aunt Sarah. Please.”

Aunt Sarah looked down at her young niece. “Janie, I know how you feel. I would like to go back, too. But we must leave your mother now and let her rest. God will decide what happens to her.” They walked on in silence.

Janie went to bed that night, alone in her parents’ house but for Aunt Sarah, and waited for the terrible news she knew would come. She did not sleep much. From her bed, she could see out the window but no breeze came with the hot air. Janie made a wish on one of the stars: "Please let Mama be all right." She thought that, if she could stay awake all night and keep wishing on stars, her mama would be fine in the morning. If she fell asleep, she feared what her Aunt Sarah would tell her.

When Janie awoke at dawn, she instantly remembered the events of the night before. She crept out of bed and found her aunt, who had fallen asleep in the rocking chair in the parlor, looking quite uncomfortably crumpled and stiff. Janie pulled on her hand and Aunt Sarah’s eyes opened.

“Aunt Sarah? Are you all right? Where are Mama and Papa?”

Sarah’s eyes softened. “Oh, Janie. Your Uncle Alex came just a little while ago.” Sarah stiffly sat up, reached over and pulled Janie into her lap. “Janie, your mama has gone to heaven. You will be able to talk to her whenever you want but you won’t see her. I promise you, she’ll hear you. I promise.”

Janie watched a tear trail down her aunt’s cheek, and she understood her aunt’s meaning, even though she suspected that her aunt thought she did not understand because she was only five. But Janie knew. Mama is dead — just like our old cat, Tuffy. When I found him, Mama helped me bury him and she told me that Tuffy was in heaven. Now Mama’s in heaven, just like Tuffy. She closed her eyes and squeezed them. Inside, she cried and cried and cried. Oh, she thought, I should have stayed awake! She felt her aunt’s arms around her but she wanted her mama’s arms. She would have given anything to take back the long night, even to go back to that room where her mama had been and to sit beside her forever and ever. She knew she would be lonely for the rest of her life, but she would try hard to always remember her mama. The love for her mother in her heart would never be shared until she met Simon Cullen.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Rural Nebraska, April, 1887

Adeline Cullen stared into the darkness. Sunrise would occur in less than two hours — she needed no clock. She took a moment to relish the quiet stillness. James, her husband, lay beside her, asleep and lightly snoring, creating a peaceful, rhythmic, humming sound. The children, silent in the other corners of the room, continued their dreams. Acutely aware that this would be her only moment of peace in the next twenty-four hours, she refused to rise or break the stillness. The early morning chill cooled her face, but she pulled her mother’s quilt up to her chin to keep the rest of her body warm.

She required no light to see the cramped, dingy space which she shared with her husband and seven children. I want my house, she thought. When will I get my house? The April-spring wind whistled through the cracks of the wall; she lifted her hand to a crack between the boards and felt it blowing lightly on her fingers. The walls leaked summer’s dust and winter’s frigid air, despite her numerous attempts to cover the cracks with wet newspapers. At least Martha has a place of her own now, she thought. One less person in this awful cabin. Sometimes she thought she would scream if she had to look at the room one more time; she preferred the darkness. She closed her eyes and imagined her new house: outside, an all-white building with trees nearby to shade them, a walkway to the door which kept one’s feet out of the prairie mud, a large porch and a swing, and a garden out back; inside, windows in every room, a parlour for visitors, a private bedroom for her and James, a playroom, and a large kitchen with cupboards galore.

The baby kicked within her and she fleetingly smiled, forgetting for a moment the new house she coveted. She placed her hand on her round belly and lifted her head up slightly to look down. She whispered to her unborn child: “This is the day, isn’t it? You’re going to come today.” She laid her head back on her feather pillow, and touched her brow. “Oh, I’m so tired,” she whispered to herself. “Only thirty-three years old and I’m so tired.”

Two minutes passed. Adeline listened to the whistling wind and to her husband’s steady snoring. No more self-pity for today, she thought. She sat up and touched her husband’s shoulder.

“Wake up, dear. Time to get going.”

James’s snoring ended in one short snort, and he opened his eyes. “Mornin’, wife.” In the darkness, he got up and slipped on his pants and his shirt, both hanging on a nearby chair, then grabbed his boots and headed to the bed in the far corner to waken his two older sons, twelve-year-old William and ten-year-old James Junior.

The Day Begins

Adeline’s feet touched the hard dirt floor, and she pulled a loose-fitting, plain muslin dress over her head and added her husband’s old red wool sweater to stave off the cool morning air. She walked around the bed and sat down at the same chair where James had left his clothing. She put on a pair of warm socks — realizing if the baby didn’t come soon she wouldn’t be able to bend over much longer — and a scruffy pair of shoes that one of her daughters had outgrown. Her long, black hair — which she considered her greatest asset — hung to her waist. Without a mirror or the morning light to guide her, she grabbed the ends of it, wrapped it into a bun, and secured it with three hair combs strategically placed at the sides and the back of her head. She patted the sides, to be sure the hair was secure, and took a few short steps to the kitchen. She lit a kerosene lamp on the table and threw three logs on the embers still burning inside the stove. She walked over to the door to see if James needed help with the boys.

“Let’s go, boys,” James said, and they headed out the door in front of their father. James looked down at Adeline, more than a foot shorter than him, and smiled. “How are you this morning?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, but the size of the baby almost made her fall forward. She laughed. “I’m as wide as a barn!”

“No, you’re not. You’re beautiful.”

Adeline waved her hand in denial. “Remember, now, this baby may come today, and you’ll have to get Etta.”

“I know, woman. I’m not stupid, and we’ve done this a few times afore, remember.” James followed his sons into the darkness.

Adeline waddled back to the kitchen area. The kerosene lamp provided light for her to work, but the corners of the room remained dark, her children asleep. With the three logs burning brightly now, the heat from the stove warmed her. Adeline grabbed her apron from its hook and put it on. She placed her hands once again on her unborn child. “I’m glad you’re coming today,” she said. “I’m tired of waiting, and I feel old and ugly.”

Fourteen-year-old Inez, already dressed and rubbing her eyes and yawning, joined her mother, both of them warming their hands over the stove.

“Ma, did you say something to me?”

“No, dear. I was just talking to the baby.”

Inez’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Ma, will the baby come today?”

“Maybe.”

“Can I stay home today? In case the baby comes?”

“No, young lady. You need to go to school and do your lessons.”

Inez knew better than to argue with her mother. Instead, she did her regular morning chore, setting the table with nine bowls, plates, and spoons: a set for each of her siblings and one for each of her parents. At her father’s place, she added a knife and fork.

“Here, Ma!” James Junior called, as he ran back into the cabin and handed Adeline two eggs from the hen barn.

“Thanks, son. You get back out there, now.”

James Junior disappeared without another word.

Adeline began to heat a large pot of oatmeal, cracked two eggs into a frying pan for her husband, and placed two strips of bacon beside the eggs. She sliced the bread and placed it, in a pile, on a plate in the center of the table, right beside a jar of her homemade blueberry jam.

As Adeline set down the bread and jam, a shadow appeared at the door.

Martha Arrives

“Good morning, Ma.” Martha, Adeline’s oldest child, stood in the doorway of the cabin. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m fine, dear. Thanks for coming over.”

Martha removed her cape and hung it on a hook near the door.

“No problem. I don’t mind. Patrick is gone so early that I get lonely, and I miss the little ones here.” She moved to the stove. “Mmmm. Smells good in here.” She rubbed her hands over the stove. “It feels a bit like spring outside, but it’s still nippy. No frost, though.”

Adeline shook her head and put most of her weight on one foot and a hand on her hip.

“I want spring to come!”

“It will. You’ll see.”

“Does that new husband of yours like working for the railroad?”

Adeline returned to stirring the oatmeal.

“I think so. It’s good pay. Since we can’t pay our debts with just the farm, the extra pay helps.”

“You’re lucky he has a job. Your pa could never earn that kind of money. Don’t complain to your husband about his absence, dear.”

“I know. I won’t, Ma.” Martha moved around the table, checking to see that Inez had not forgotten anything.

Adeline flipped the eggs in the pan and said, “April is always a promising month. Five of you children have April birthdays. When are you going to give me a grandchild?” Adeline winked at her daughter.

Martha blushed with embarrassment, though it couldn’t be seen in the dark glow of the stove firelight.

“I don’t know, Ma. God will decide, I guess.”

Martha turned away from her mother, in case she might see her blush, and said, “I’ll go get the other kids up.” She tried to ignore the unpleasant dank smell of the cabin which always lasted until spring when the cabin could be aired out. Walking through the semi-darkness, she used the blankets — which hung over ropes to create rooms — to guide her. She ignored the four-poster bed where her parents slept, but she found eight-year-old Emma in the girls’ bed and six-year-old Charles in the boys’ bed. Both awoke quickly and began to dress themselves. Finding her two youngest brothers, two-year-old George and four-year-old Daniel, proved to be more difficult. They usually crawled into the boys’ bed but sometimes they got pushed out. Now where would those two be this morning? she wondered. She finally found them underneath the girls’ bed. She reached under and poked their ribs. “George! Daniel! It’s time to wake up!” she shouted. When they didn’t respond, she grabbed their arms and legs and pulled them out. Daniel wanted to prove he could dress himself, but George — still quite sleepy — needed his big sister’s help. When they were both ready, she steered them towards the breakfast table.

Family Breakfast

When William and James Junior returned with their father, the family gathered at the table for breakfast. Martha served up the oatmeal to the children while Adeline placed James’s breakfast before him. Adeline and Martha then joined the others, and the Cullen family meals never lacked conversation.

“I have a test today and I bet I get a perfect score,” Emma announced proudly.

“What’s it about?” Adeline asked her third daughter.

“Nebraska.”

“And what do you know about Nebraska?” William asked.

“Nebraska is where we live!” Charles shouted.

“Charles, don’t interrupt,” James scolded.

“Yes, sir.” Charles hunched his shoulders and put his head down.

Emma now proudly revealed her knowledge while the entire family listened: “The Indians lived here first, but there were many tribes and they all didn’t speak the same language. They also didn’t always get along. Then the French came for furs, and the Spanish brought horses. Then settlers came — like us.”

Adeline finished swallowing a piece of bread and asked her daughter, “When did Nebraska become a territory?”

“1854. With the Kansas-Nebraska Act.”

“Well done!” Adeline smiled and patted her daughter on the shoulder. Emma beamed with pride.

“And when did it become a state?”

“March 1, 1867. We are the 37th state to join the Union.”

“Well done again, young lady. I think you’re ready for that test.”

Adeline got up from her seat and poured another cup of coffee for James.

Martha smiled at her younger sister. “I had to take a test like that once, too, Emma. Did Miss Brubaker tell you where Nebraska got its name?”

“No.” Emma frowned and pouted. “She didn’t.”

“From an Indian word, ‘Nebrathka.’ It describes the shallowness of the Platte River.”

“What does ‘shallowness’ mean?” Charles asked.

“It means ‘not very deep,’ stupid.” Emma glared at her younger brother.

“Don’t call your brother ‘stupid’, Emma. He’s just younger than you, is all.” James stared at his daughter.

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you say?” James prodded.

“I’m sorry.” Emma slouched her shoulders and Charles grinned.

“It’s time to finish up your breakfast and be off to school,” Adeline announced.

Obligations to be Fulfilled

The children finished their meal, gathered together their books for school, and met outside the door of the cabin to begin their walk. Inez and Emma walked together down the road, followed by their brothers, William, James and Charles.

“Now you watch after the younger boys, like always,” Adeline yelled at Inez.

“Yes, Ma,” Inez shouted back. She turned to her sister, Emma, and said, “I don’t know why she says that to me every morning. I’ve been walking my younger brothers to school all my life. Nothing’s ever happened, has it?”

“No, it hasn’t.” Emma smiled. “But I guess Ma just has to make sure.”

“I suppose, but it would be nice if she trusted me.”

Adeline watched Inez, William, James, Emma, and Charles until they were out of sight. They had a two-mile walk, straight down the road, and they would play in the yard until school began. Once the children disappeared, Adeline lingered at the door stoop, watching the morning light grow. James met her at the door.

“Time for me to return to my chores, Adeline. I’ll stick close by if you need me. You tell Martha I’ll be near the corn crib.”

Adeline and Martha

Adeline acknowledged her husband with a nod, and patted him on the shoulder as he headed out the door. She returned to the kitchen and put the dirty dishes in the sink, told Daniel and George to play quietly under the table, and as soon as Martha arrived with the water, they washed the dishes and began their baking.

“How are you feeling, Ma?”

“Tired. Old and ugly.”

“Oh, Ma, that’s silly. Women who are carrying a child always look beautiful. That’s what Pa says.”

“Well, I guess he should know. I’ve carried enough of his babies. What about you? How are things going?”

Martha frowned. “I’m lonely, Ma. I miss you and Pa and my brothers and sisters.”

Adeline shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll get used to it. I got married at sixteen, too. But I started having children and it didn’t take long to have plenty to do. I know what it’s like to be lonely, though. My ma never really recovered from losing her four babies. If she’d have lost me, too, I think she might have gone insane.” Adeline felt dizzy, the baby kicked, and pain shot through her lower abdomen. She took a seat in a chair at the table. “I think I’ll sit down for just a moment.”

Martha nodded, unconcerned. “It must be hard to lose one baby, never mind four.” She flushed red and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Ma, I’m sorry. I forgot about Lewis.”

“It’s all right, dear, I think about Lewis a lot, but he’s the only one I’ve lost and all of the rest of you children have been strong and healthy.”

“Did Grandma ever tell you what happened to her babies?”

“Fevers. She lost two of them within just a few days of each other. But Ma didn’t talk about it much. Sometimes I’d see her just sittin’ in a chair, crying.”

Martha had never heard this. She took the opportunity to ask another question: “Why did little Lewis die?”

“Just too small, dear. George came out first and he was much stronger.” Adeline grew silent, remembering the tiny body she buried on the same day she had given birth to him. “It was God’s will. At least I’ve got George.”

She stood up and began to help Martha with the dough again.

“Shall we make some pies, too?”

“I assumed that we would!” Martha slid the bowl of apples closer to her mother. Adeline began to peel them, one by one.

Adeline changed the topic. “I’m beginning to feel as though Nebraska is my home now. Illinois seems far away.”

“For me, Nebraska is home. I love it here, and don’t ever want to leave.”

“You’re lucky you were young when you came. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’d spent my entire life in Illinois. It takes a bit of time, getting used to the prairies. I still can’t get over how flat it is. If I stand in one place and turn full circle, I see the same horizon, the same fields. There are no groves of trees, no hills to climb. I think I understand why the first settlers kept going west and why they called it ‘The Great American Desert.’”

“It’s no desert!” Martha stopped her work and looked at her mother. “I like the flatness. It’s so open. I love to be smack dab in the middle of the tallgrass when the wind blows through. It keeps things clean.”

Adeline smiled at her daughter, feeling much older and wiser. “I don’t much like the dust or the wind, but they’re part of God’s plan, I suspect. It really isn’t the land I hate. It’s this cabin.”

Martha, who had turned away from her mother to get more dough, rolled her eyes. “I know, Ma, but Pa says he’ll build you a house. He will. If he says he will, he will.”

Adeline winked at her eldest daughter. “He’s promised for nine years — seventeen years, if you count our years in Illinois. The waiting is wearying.”

She grabbed some dough and rolled it out to a thin layer. She deftly picked up the crust and dropped it into the pan, then added the apples, sugar and cinnamon. She rolled out a second layer for the top crust and piled it on top of the apples. With her thumb and forefinger, she pinched the bottom and top crusts together. In ten minutes, she had made three pies, while Martha had kneaded dough into bread loaves which would soon be left to rise.

Adeline changed the subject again: “Those Indians. I don’t know how they managed to live in this country. I guess they found something about the place they liked. But they didn’t build houses. Sam Walters at the general store in Howe told me that.”

“There were a lot of different tribes here, Ma. Cheyennes. Arapahoes. Each tribe had different ways of living. Some followed the bison or other game. Some lived near the river all year. They couldn’t build a house like you want, Ma. There weren’t enough trees!”

“It must not have been an easy life, especially for the women. Still, I’m glad they’re not around any more. They scare me.”

“Most of them live on reservations now, Ma, or they’ve even been sent out of state.”

“I know that, dear, but a few are still around. I saw one at the general store a few weeks back. He wore clothes made of deerskin, and he couldn’t speak a word of English. They are God-less people.”

“Most of them have a pretty hard life, Ma. Many lost friends and relatives. How would you feel if someone told you to leave the only home you’d ever known?”

Adeline frowned at her daughter. “Don’t lecture me, young lady. It was God’s plan for people like your father to come here and make use of this land.”

Silence fell between mother and daughter, Adeline feeling misunderstood by her daughter, Martha feeling that her mother didn’t understand the changing times.

Adeline broke the silence: “I didn’t have an easy life, you know.”

“I know, Ma.”

“My pa — your grandpa — was orphaned as a child, raised by his grandparents, and overcame his losses to become a doctor. My ma — your grandma, I remind you — had to weave at a loom for eight hours a day when she was only eight years old. She married Pa to get away from all of that. Then, she suffered the worst thing a mother can suffer: the loss of four of her five children.”

“I know, Ma. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that our family’s life has been easy.”

Adeline frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Well, what were you trying to say, then?”

“Nothing, Ma. Let’s just forget it.” Martha continued to mix the dough and roll it out. “You were lucky, though, to learn to read and write.”

“I was indeed, and that’s because my mother didn’t want me to have the same life she had had. It’s why I’ve insisted that all of you children go to school.” Adeline’s voice remained strained.

“Ma, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I appreciate all that you and Pa have done for us.”

“Your apology is accepted.” Adeline looked down at her threadbare dress and her stained apron. “I wonder if my old dress and dirty apron are any better than that Indian’s deerskin clothes. My mother would be horrified at this cabin.”

“Your mother loved you, just as you love me.”

“I suppose so. But she expected me to improve my life.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

Adeline thought of the neat and tidy home her mother kept for her father and she shook her head at her daughter. “No, I’m not so sure.”

Martha Changes the Subject

Martha sensed her mother’s sadness; she shifted the topic to try to cheer her up. “Ma, did you and Pa court each other like Patrick and I did?”

Adeline waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, you already know all of that!”

“I know, Ma, but tell me again.”

Adeline nodded. She never tired of telling her story. “Funny how fate takes a hand in a person’s life. Your pa and I would never have met if his family hadn’t moved west.”

“They came from Ohio.”

“Yes, as you know.

“His pa had moved west, thinking that farming might be easier in Iowa. Your pa may be a fifth-generation American, and proud of his German heritage, but they were nothin’ but poor farmers.”

“How old was Pa when they moved?”

“Sixteen. He could have probably stayed in Ohio, but I suspect his pa needed his help.”

“But they couldn’t get to Iowa.”

“Nope. They couldn’t afford the ferry crossin’ at the Mississippi River. So they found land near where my family was settled. I lived on a neighbouring farm. Your pa and I met at church.”

Martha smiled. She never tired of listening to her mother tell about her life, and often she would glean something new if she listened carefully. “Did Pa come to your house?”

“Yes, a little, but your pa was a shy man, and I had to do some of the urging.”

Martha laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Adeline winked. “Women just know these things. I made sure I was in the same place I knew he would be — like the general store in town or the church bazaar.”

Martha chuckled again. “I don’t think Pa had a chance.”

“Probably not.”

The women continued to work on their bread-making and pie-making tasks while they talked. “I guess in the end, Illinois wasn’t any better than Ohio for Pa, was it?”

“I’m afraid not, though you can’t say he didn’t try. After we got married, my father gave us a little farm to work. We didn’t have to pay anything as long as we made improvements. I’m sure you remember that place a little bit.”

“I do actually. I liked the apple trees!”

“Well, apple trees or not, we struggled for eight years to make ends meet. Your pa put up fences, built a cabin, and harvested oats and corn, but we could never get ahead. One day, Pa told me he wanted to move west, just like his father had done. We sold the land and used the money to purchase goods for the trip. With $160 in our pockets, four children — including you — and another one on the way, we left behind both of our families and headed here. We hoped for a better life.”

“And you got a better one, didn’t you?”

Adeline looked around the cabin. She shook her head. “I want a house. You know I want a house. Until I get one, life will not be better for me. There have been tough times: unpredictable weather, loneliness, isolation. Believe me, if you want to have pity for those heathens, remember what your parents have been through. I have put up with it all! We’ve built a barn and a corn crib, and we’ve got two cows and some chickens. We own this land, and we’re almost out of debt. I can ride into town and buy things at the general store. But I want my house!”

Martha reached over and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I know, Ma. I know.”

Adeline took stock of their baking progress. “We’re almost done. Can you finish up? I think I’ll go outside for a moment and take a break.”

“Of course, Ma.”

Musings

Adeline stepped out the front door of the cabin and looked to her left — at the spot where some day the new house would stand. She closed her eyes and imagined it for the hundredth time. She opened her eyes again and stared at the empty space. The tallgrass rustled in the wind, and it seemed to say to her, You’ll never get your house. She shook her head, to erase the words she heard in her head. Instead, she stared out towards the horizon, admiring the vastness of the Nebraska landscape.

She took her eyeglasses out of her apron pocket and slipped them over her ears. On this crystal-clear morning, an immense blue sky met the plowed brown land at the horizon. She sniffed the air and felt the breeze on her face. She wished she didn’t have to return inside. She felt the baby kick again. My life has been a succession of babies, she thought. One child every other year since I was sixteen.

Her mother had given birth to five children and her mother-in-law had borne seven. Adeline wanted many children but she admitted only to herself that she had been completely unprepared for the process of conceiving. Although James had been a patient and gentle husband, she had never liked what they did in bed. She welcomed her pregnancies, the births, and the nursing afterwards, because James avoided her.

Waiting

Adeline stepped back into the cabin.

“Mother,” Martha asked. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, dear.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“Don’t fuss over me, child.”

“I have to get some more water. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Adeline nodded to her daughter, walked over to the rocking chair and sat down. Rocking slowly, she closed her eyes and hummed a song her mother had taught her. She could hear her young sons nearby talking to each other. Fatigue washed over her. She removed her glasses and placed them back in her apron pocket, tapping them lovingly; they were almost as precious to her as her own children. Her vision had always been poor, but over a year ago, a peddler had come calling, and her life had changed.

Adeline could still remember it as though it had happened yesterday. With her eyes still closed, she relived the moment. The tall, white-bearded man who came to her door showed her a large case which contained many round pieces of glass which he called lenses. He had told her to place one in front of her left eye. She cried out in astonishment when the fourth one brought her world into focus. Where once she had seen blurred images, vague and indistinct, now she saw detailed shapes and objects. Because she could not believe it, she had moved the glass in front of and away from her eye several times. She had been almost blind, but now she could see! This is almost Biblical, she had thought.

The peddler had soon found a lens for her right eye and fashioned them together with wire. He attached two straight pieces — the peddler called them bows — to wrap around her ears. Adeline feared it might be a sin to covet them, but she would not let them go. The difficulty had been how to pay for them; she had bargained with the peddler, eventually agreeing on a deal. It was the only time in her marriage that she had done something without her husband’s knowledge. When he arrived home, she had taken little time to settle things.

“James,” she remembered saying to him, “I’ve bought myself some glasses. I can see! For the first time I can see! Just take a look.” She had placed the glasses on her face. “See, I can see everything so much better now.”

James had laughed, Adeline recalled. “Well, that’s mighty nice, Adeline, but you’re not proving much to me. How do I know what you can see through those things?”

Adeline, feeling a bit foolish, had laughed with her husband.

“Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it, James Cullen. I can see all kinds of things that I couldn’t see afore.”

Adeline remembered her husband’s smile. “I’ll take your word for it, woman. But how did we pay for them?”

“I took care of that. I gave him four of my jam preserves, one cooking pot, and a little bit of cash.”

“What cash?”

“My ma gave it to me ’fore we got married. She always said I should save it for somethin’ special.”

James had kissed his wife on the forehead. “I’m happy for you, Adeline. It’s not terribly practical, but I’m glad that you got something for yourself.”

Remembering her husband’s words today, Adeline most assuredly knew that her husband was wrong. She knew her glasses were practical — she could read the Bible, do her chores, and help her children with their school work. Best of all, she could see the beauty of the world.

It’s Time

Martha returned from the well, and Adeline’s memories were interrupted. She felt a twinge and a cramp in her abdomen; after eight pregnancies, she knew what it meant. She patted her belly. “All right, little one. I know you’re wanting to be born.” A moment later, the cramping came again, and she took a deep breath. Please God, let this child be healthy. She concentrated on her responsibilities now. She stood again. I must count my blessings. I don’t need a house. Not today, at least. Today it’s my job to safely deliver this baby into the world.

Adeline waddled across the room to the four-poster bed. She told Martha what she knew for a certainty: “It’s time.” Turning her back on her daughter and two young sons, she undressed and slipped on her clean white birthing robe. She neatly folded and put away her clothes. With some difficulty, she reached under the bed for the cowhide. Smooth and durable, it would resist stains and protect her mattress; if necessary, it could be discarded after the birthing.

After placing the cowhide on top of the sheet, she climbed into bed, and pulled one blanket up around her. As she did so, the first contraction hit her. She breathed and let it pass.

“Daniel? George? It’s time for your new brother or sister to be born. You go outside and play, and mind your sister.” Both boys looked at their mother with wide eyes. Two-year-old George toddled out the door, but Daniel, remembering the loss of his little brother Lewis two years before, hesitated. He stomped his foot and said, “I don’t wanna go!”

“Go on, now, Daniel. I’ll be just fine. Soon you’ll have a new brother or sister.”

Daniel stared at his mother and then followed his brother out the door. As he left he shouted, “I wanna brother!”

Martha ran to the corn crib to find her father. “It’s time, Pa.”

“All right, Martha. How’s your mother?”

“She seems fine.”

“I’ll be back in an hour.” James harnessed the horse to the wagon and left to get the midwife. Martha walked by her little brothers as she returned to the cabin. “You two stay right here. Don’t go anywhere. You hear me?” Both boys nodded.

Back inside, Martha placed a large pot of water on the stove. She checked the coal and wood piles, and got out four clean sheets and placed them near her mother’s bed.

“How are you doing, Ma?”

“I’m fine. Just waiting.” She breathed slowly and consciously. Martha tidied up the room as if company were coming for dinner. An hour went by. Few words passed between mother and daughter. When they heard the jingle of the wagon, Martha ran to greet her father and the midwife.

And Adeline Does It Again!

Etta got right to work: “How ya doing, Adeline? How far apart are the pains?”

“I’m doing fine, Etta. My water broke about an hour ago, right after I told Martha to ask James to fetch you. The pains are only a few minutes apart.”

Etta — a large, tall woman who had never married and had never had a child of her own — stood beside the bed. No one knew her age, but she had gray hair — always neatly combed and straight — and deep wrinkles in her face. She had told Adeline that her own mother had died while giving birth to her, so Etta had decided to help other women give birth safely. She had attended four of Adeline’s birthings, including the twins born two years before.

“It’s good to have you here, Etta. You’ll have to tell me all the gossip.”

Etta laughed. “Of course! That’s why I came, isn’t it?”

Before the women could speak again, James moved to the bedside and kissed Adeline’s forehead. “Good luck, wife. I’ll take care of the boys.” Adeline nodded.

James walked out the door and spoke to his sons: “Let’s go down by the crik.” Daniel and George giggled, delighted at having an adventure with their father. James lifted George on his shoulders, and Daniel hopped along beside, as they headed across the field to the creek.

Back in the cabin, Adeline felt another spasm and blew short breaths. She closed her eyes and reached her arms above her head, grabbing the head of the bed. I will not scream. I will not. I’ve never done it afore and I’ll not start now. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. After the pain subsided, she opened her eyes. Etta and Martha stood beside the bed, calmly waiting. She winked at them.

“That was an easy one.”

“Let’s hope so,” Etta responded with a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t have all day.” And Adeline said a silent prayer of thanks that they had found Etta to help her with the delivery of her children. The women chatted with each other as they waited for the next labour pain. It came quickly — sooner than any of them expected.

“Good heavens, woman, are you going to have this baby in less than an hour? I’ve seen some fast ones but never this fast.”

Etta lifted up the sheet and examined Adeline. “I can feel the baby’s head! I can’t believe it! Just keep pushing, Adeline. You’re going to be the mother of nine children in no time at all.”

Despite Etta’s prediction of a quick delivery, however, the birth turned out to be long and difficult. Etta and Martha remained at Adeline’s side, helping her with each contraction, encouraging her to push when it was time to do so. Etta rubbed ointments on Adeline’s belly to ease the pain. Adeline lost track of time, but in the mid-afternoon, all her efforts were rewarded. A final, difficult push and the baby was born.

“It’s a boy, Adeline! A healthy baby boy!” Etta turned the baby upside down, spanked his bottom, and he let out a squeal. Adeline, near total exhaustion, thought, Thank God he’s a healthy baby.

Etta and Martha washed the baby and handed him to Adeline.

“Oh, Ma, he’s so cute!”

Adeline — tired but relaxed — smiled at her new child. “My, another boy! Nine children and six of them boys. And look at how big he is! He’s bigger than any of the others!”

“Have you chosen his name?” Etta asked.

“Yes. Simon James.”

Simon, only a few minutes old, looked into his mother’s face and beyond it towards the ceiling. He made no sound, but his dark eyes stared at everything.

Shortly after, Martha and Etta assisted Adeline with the delivery of the afterbirth. Simon was placed in a small basket which Adeline had used for all of her newborns and Adeline was assisted out of bed and into her rocking chair so that the stained cowhide could be removed and replaced with clean linen. When the bed was ready, Adeline crawled back into it, and Martha handed her new son to her. As Adeline cradled her new son in her arms, she touched his fingers and toes and said, “Well, Mr. Simon Cullen, maybe we’ll have a house when your little brother or sister is born two years from now.”

Adeline did not know it then, blessedly perhaps, but her new son would be seven years old before she finally got her house.

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My Uncle Bill

Uncle Bill

My mother had two younger brothers — the closest in age to her was Bill, a handsome and intelligent young man who seemed to enjoy life and loved a practical joke, especially if he was playing it on someone else. Bill and my mother were pretty close. Born in February of 1919, he was just 19 months younger than her. Growing up, I did not live close to my uncle or his family, so I saw him only a few times in my childhood.

In my teens, however, he and I shared several letters, usually talking about my life while he was sometimes advising me. They were always friendly, open letters, but I didn’t always take his advice. Late in life, he developed Alzheimer’s, but before he forgot everything about his life, he called me one day and we talked. It was a surprise, but one that meant a lot to me.

I knew that my uncle had been in World War II. I was told that, even though he had very poor eyesight, he was determined to be in the war and fight the Nazis. Beyond that, I didn't know much.

A postcard of the mighty Long Toms.

He joined the Army but it wasn’t long before they realized that his eyesight would not allow him to be an infantryman; still, they understood that he was intelligent and capable… and eager and willing. He was classified as “limited service” and did only six weeks of 13 weeks of basic training — something he said he later regretted. He was an aide to a major and they provided support for the 981st Field Artillery Battalion, who were part of the 142nd Group, VII Corps Field Artillery. Their primary weapon was referred to as a Long Tom.

My uncle did not fire them — the Long Toms — but he and the Major were often quite nearby.

“Our guns were 155s, called Long Toms. They threw a massive shell 15 miles. Those poor cannoners. They were the heroes of the Long Toms. How they worked, mostly always stripped to the waist.”

For many years I knew virtually nothing about his experiences in World War II and then his daughter — my cousin — sent me a document he had written in 1993. Twenty-six pages, single-spaced. He poured his heart out and told his story. Parts of it are funny (because my uncle did find humour in life) but it is also filled with disquieting and disturbing images. World War II was a life-changing event for him; he never got over it.

In talking about the Battle of the Falaise Pocket, he wrote this to his children and grandchildren and future descendants:

“It was very scary for us. At night the Germans kept sending up flares. That’s a chiller for you. And then between the noise of our guns we’d hear our tanks going forward. That’s a weird sound. You’re glad they’re ours, and glad you’re not going with them, but you might pay attention [when] reading about this battle [Battle of the Falaise Pocket]. It’s when I started getting my first gray hairs.

“After the battle, when all the Germans who could escape had escaped we spent one night in the centre of this destruction. I’ve never figured out why we went in there and spent a night there. Tanks destroyed, some upside down, trucks burned out, horses' bodies upside down with their legs in the air…a most horrible, putrid smell everywhere. Most of us slept upright in vehicles. No one wanted to sleep on the ground.

“Nearby, just off the road was an upturned horse-drawn German kitchen. I searched through the remains. I was looking for pots and pans and I found some. We used them the rest of the war. One pot for washing clothes. This relieved our using helmets for laundry pots because we weren’t keen on washing our socks in a steel helmet and then cooking potatoes in there. One pot was for making hot water for coffee. I was really glad to get out of there.”

One would hope that that was his worst experience, but there are more to tell.

Bill's Battles

The Major and Bill and other members of their group provided support for the artillery. They were rarely in the thick of battle, but more often behind the line. This does not mean they didn’t see and experience many terrible things. It just means that they weren’t first at the front line.

Bill was involved in several battles (click on the link for each battle to read more about his experiences). (This page last edited on October 11, 2026.)

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

My uncle's experiences, like all war experiences, were unique to him and to his personality. While reading about some of the terrible experiences he had, I also was very amused by his sense of humour. He was like "Radar" from MASH. Here are two other tales of his, a little lighter in flavour:

• My Uncle was like "Radar" in MASH: the search for pots, pans, good food, liquor, and anything else you might need!

• The Hoax: My uncle could never resist a good practical joke. Here's the one he loved talking about.

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Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The Hoax on the Sergeant

My Uncle Bill loved a practical joke. I am not someone who likes practical jokes, so this part of my uncle's personality never particularly appealed to me. But he was capable of some elaborate ruses. Even during a war, he found ways to play tricks on people. I find myself wondering if this entire story is true, or if there's just a little bit of exaggeration on my uncle's part. Whatever the truth is, it does make for a pretty good story.

"One thing we did in camp was pull a gigantic hoax on [one of our sergeants]. He was a womanizer. He had a lovely wife and twins at home but he had to chase every skirt anywhere."

"[Prior to his coming to Europe, the sergeant] had been sent to personnel school at Philadelphia and started dating a girl there. The only way he could get her to bed was to propose marriage to her and buy her a ring. Then, of course, he was transferred back to the 981st and goodbye girlfriend in Philadelphia."

The Plan

Perhaps Bill wanted the sergeant to think a little bit about his behaviour and the consequences of those behaviours.

"I made up dozens of letters, papers, official documents, etc., making up a big story that this girl was pregnant, from a good Philadelphia family, and the family wanted [the sergeant] returned to Philadelphia to marry the girl.

"I got official stationery from ETOUSA [European Theatre of Operations, United States Army], First Army, Seventh Corps, 142nd Group, etc., and even got the papers officially stamped when I made trips to [these offices], etc. [Another sergeant] and I folded the papers, and refolded them, got the oldest ones a little soiled to look official. Boy, were we going to have fun...

"The [fake] papers from the Pentagon on down said, 'Unless [the sergeant] is absolutely essential to the war effort, return him to Philadelphia immediately.'

"The final decision was to be made by the commanding officer of the 981st FA Bn. [My co-conspirator] and I gave these papers to...the man who operated the Message Centre [and] who delivered all official messages and the mail. He started reading and started laughing. What a good joke! Soon tears were running down his eyes. What a joke!"

The Sergeant Becomes the Target

Bill and his friends finally came to the day when they knew that the sergeant would receive the letters.

"When it was time [for the Message Centre] to deliver official papers, in came the Major. He had the papers: He stood [the sergeant] to attention, read him a riot act, chewed him up one side and down the other, and I knew I was probably facing a courts martial. Something had gone wrong.

"How did those papers get into the Major's hands? [Once everyone started laughing, the Major asked what was going on.] The Major...liked a good joke and so he took them to the Colonel who said, 'Oh, boy, let me play with this too.'

"So the Colonel came in and said to [the sergeant], 'You’re going to Philadelphia.'

"[The sergeant] pleaded, 'You know I’m married. I have twins. I love my family.'

"Well,' said the colonel, 'You’re going to apologize to that girl and her family. And you’re going to support that child.'

Fortunately, the joke came to an end.

At some point, the joke had to end. When it did, perhaps not a lot was learned.

"Well, the joke went so far; we had [the sergeant] in his best uniform, in a jeep, ready to go to an airport to fly to the States when we told him it was all a joke. [The sergeant] said he would live the straight and narrow path forever and 'forever'— which for him was about three days."

Even in war, Bill was able to find some humour. But that was his personality. Here are the some battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The Hedgerows

As troops moved inland from the beaches, they encountered resistance nearly everywhere, and the hedgerows became a particular problem. Planted to take the place of fences, the hedges were on average five meters tall, well maintained and ubiquitous in the area. Originally built by the Romans, the hedgerows at first were simple mounds of dirt raised in irregular patterns that served as fences between plots of land. Irrigation ditches with raised sides provided water to all the fields and animals. ²

Bottom line: Hedges were very difficult to pass through and they slowed everyone down. ³ They were clearly much more of a problem than the military originally thought they would be.

First, the Bombs -- or so they thought

“We waited several weeks in that hedgerow country trying to find a break in the German lines. One day we learned what was about to happen. An infantry company was in the field to the right of us. They [were] being briefed on what was to happen. A giant armada of American bombers was to bomb an area of the German lines about ten miles in length, three miles in width, just saturate that area with bombs, bombs, bombs. Then this infantry company, with others would go through and fan out to the right to protect the right flank. We found out we would go through this break in the German lines as soon as infantry and tanks were through.

“The plan misfired. The American bombers did not do as Eisenhower had repeatedly … ordered. He ordered them to fly parallel to the lines…along the ten-mile length. But to minimize anti-aircraft fire the bombers flew from our lines to German lines cutting down the time they’d face anti-aircraft fire. Many bombs fell short and killed many American soldiers. I’ve read in books on World War II how Ike was furious. He wanted to sack half the airforce generals in England.

“So the bombers came again. This time they did it right. We crossed this area that was three miles deep. There wasn’t a tree left standing, no houses or barns left standing. The ground was churned by thousands and thousands of bombs. And we broke through the German defences.

And now those gas clothes are needed!

“About the time of the breakout out of the hedgerow country most soldiers had long ago thrown away [their] anti-gas clothing. ⁴ I’m sure no one was wearing it. Mine was in my duffel bag. Field artillery soldiers had the advantage of trucks to carry their duffel bags. Infantry soldiers didn’t. Then one late afternoon when tens of thousands of us were crowded together in field waiting for a breakout every one of us wished we’d had our anti-gas clothing.

“I was playing poker in a medical tent when the sound of “gas……..gas……..gas” came everywhere. All of us immediately put on our gas masks. Damn. The war was taking a bad turn…..gas. Then came the call, “All clear.” Then again, “Gas…..gas…..gas.” On went the gas masks. And everybody who had anti-gas clothing available started stripping down and putting it on. A thought I have many, many, many times is these fields of men stripping naked and pulling on that dark brown smelly underwear. The cries of “gas…..gas…..gas….” kept coming. I think all of us spent a sleepless night wondering what the morning would bring.

“A few days later the word was passed down in command that this scare was caused by a German shell that hit a mount of newly cut hay and newly cut burning hay leaks phosgene gas. Everybody got a lecture on not panicking but I was a long time in throwing away my brown underwear."

My uncle's final comment about the results of the Battle of the Hedgerows and St Lo:

“This was done by the Seventh Corp, not by Patton’s Army."

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

Before Normandy

Bill was not at Normandy on the day of the landing — June 6th — but he was there the next day. Like all Americans, he went to England first to wait for the invasion of Europe, and his memories are mostly of that time. When his group went ahead, he remained behind with just a few.

“Before leaving England all troops went through the “sausage.” These were barbed wire enclosed camps designed to keep the … invasion troops 'in.' It was here where all vehicles were re-checked to make sure they had been waterproofed. [Since] all vehicles would be going off LSTs [landing ship tanks].… they had extensions on their exhausts so they could travel through water and had been waterproofed as much as possible.”

And my uncle added:

“The food was good…mostly steaks.”

And then there was the anti-gas clothing

Gas had been used in World War I, so there was a fear it would be used again, but the Western Allies did not use chemical weapons during the war....[However] General Alan Brooke, Commander-in-Chief, Home Forces, in command of British anti-invasion preparations of the Second World War said that he "...had every intention of using sprayed mustard gas on the beaches" in an annotation in his diary. The British manufactured mustard, chlorine, lewisite, phosgene and Paris Green and stored them at airfields and depots for use on the beaches.²

Since no one knew if gas would be used, it was necessary to prepare:

“One of the big things was getting anti-gas clothing. This was like long underwear. It covered everything from the ankles to the neck. And it itched. And it smelled. But everyone wore it. I often think of those poor infantrymen who wore that gas clothing on D-Day. It was hot, too. Also, as you waited in the sausage you “gas proofed” your shoes. This was a paste you spent hours rubbing on your shoes, into the cracks, into the soles.”³

The Last Man

Bill and his group watched everyone leave, and then he went for strawberry shortcake.

“Funny, but one thing I think most about [on D-Day anniversaries] is getting a big juicy strawberry shortcake with lots of whipped cream from the local tea shop. Our camp was right beside a residential area and a block down the street was a tea shop in one room of a house. Two elderly sisters ran the tea shop. One or two of us would go over there two or three times a week to get tea and cookies.

“Our main group went out on D-Day. All the guns, the trucks with ammo and gasoline, the smaller trucks that laid wire, etc. About twenty-five of us were in the reserve party…that included the personnel section…so as soon as the main party was gone two or three of us went to the tea shop. The ladies were waiting for us with … free strawberry shortcake. It was delicious. It was a special occasion."

Oops! Did we get forgotten?

“Also, as soon as the main group left, Major Stewart left for London. He had a girlfriend there, a nurse in a tent hospital just outside London. I always rode with Major Stewart so he gave me maps, telephone numbers, complete instructions. He was going to London for one night. He’d be back by mid-morning, but DO NOT LEAVE ME, he’d say. Stall, stall, stall, take your time if the reserve group gets its call.

“Well, Major Stewart got back and we didn’t get our call yet so he decided to go back again. He left in the late afternoon and said he’d be back by mid-morning again. This went on for a week, then another week.

“…he decided he should go to First Army Headquarters and find out when we [should] go. We drove [there] and located the two quonset huts where shipping orders were listed. I was to go in and … find a friendly sergeant and ask him when the 981st reserve unit would go.

“I found a friendly sergeant. He went to a file of wall boxes, took out a card, came back to me and asked what group we were with.… Then he went over to a Lieutenant and had a conversation. Then they got a group together with a major. Then [suddenly] I realized two big burly MPs were by my side.

“The lieutenant and captain came over and said, ‘Sergeant, are you AWOL?…the reserve for the 981st moved out three days after the main group. Where have you been?’

“I convinced them that Major Stewart was in the Officers’ Mess and that his command car and driver were outside, [but] they thought all three of us were AWOL. It all ended up with two MP jeeps escorting us back to camp and finding the entire reserve there. We went the next morning.

“I guess we could have stayed in England a few weeks longer, might even have gotten more shortcake. All the boys in the main force thought we’d gone down at sea because all of us were missing. Well, in a few days I changed from eating strawberry shortcake to drinking … cognac.”

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

Battle of the Hurtgen Forest

"The Battle of Hürtgen Forest was a series of fierce battles fought from 19 September to 16 December, 1944, between American and German forces ... in the Hürtgen Forest, ... east of the Belgian–German border. It was the longest battle on German ground during World War II and is the longest single battle the U.S. Army has ever fought." ²

"The Germans fiercely defended the area because it served as a staging area for the 1944 winter offensive ... (known in English-speaking countries as the Battle of the Bulge), and because the mountains commanded access to the Rur Dam at the head of the Rur Reservoir (Rurstausee). The Allies failed to capture the area after several heavy setbacks, and the Germans successfully held the region until they launched their last-ditch offensive into the Ardennes. This was launched on 16 December and ended the Hürtgen offensive. The Battle of the Bulge gained widespread press and public attention, leaving the battle of Hürtgen Forest less well remembered. The overall cost of the Siegfried Line Campaign in American personnel was close to 140,000." ³

Uncle Bill before the Hurtgen Forest

“Then one night the guns starting firing, round after round, round after round. No one had to tell us the big push in Hurtgen Forest had begun.

“It was a brief but very bitter fight to get over a river and out into the Cologne plain. After the cost of thousands of lives, the road was open to the Rhine.

“We spent some time shelling the railroad bridge in Cologne that connected the east and west bank of the Rhine and which was the only bridge left standing over the Rhine in that part of Germany. We used the base of the right tower of the cathedral to zero in our guns. Each of the twelve guns has its turn firing at the target while a cost plane overhead watches for the shot and makes corrections."

Uncle Bill at the Hurtgen Forest

“Aachen fell and then it was the Hurtgen Forest. I still think the Hurtgen Forest was much, much worse than the Battle of the Bulge. I’m sure it was for the infantry. They bled in the hills, the valleys, the streams of Hurtgen Forest. And winter was coming on.

“In life you’ll have some very dark moments. They come to all of us, but the dark moments pass. …I’ve been thinking a lot about the war and for some reason I’ve thought about a time when I was so down, so blue, so discouraged when I thought I would never see home again. ⁴

“We had just broken out of the Hurtgen Forest, headed for the Rhine River. It had taken us months, with all the firepower of the VII Corp to force a cross of a river and out of the Hurtgen Forest. How could we force a crossing of the wide Rhine River? On this day, one of our big ammunition trucks ran over a land mine as it pulled off in a field for the night with everyone on the truck killed. Mines were always a hazard. They could be anywhere. But this made me so blue. For men to do so much, to face so much danger for so long, and then die like this. I thought the war would never end…it was a very dark moment for me. But bad moments do pass.”

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The Battle (Which has several names)

**Wikipedia* tells us that "The Falaise Pocket or Battle of the Falaise Pocket was the decisive engagement of the Battle of Normandy in the Second World War. A pocket was formed around Falaise, Calvados, in which the German Army Group B, with the 7th Army and the Fifth Panzer Army (formerly Panzergruppe West) were encircled by the Western Allies. The battle is also referred to as the Battle of the Falaise Gap (after the corridor which the Germans sought to maintain to allow their escape). The battle resulted in the destruction of most of Army Group B west of the Seine, which opened the way to Paris and the Franco-German border for the Allied armies on the Western Front."*

What My Uncle Saw

“We went through St. Lo which we had pounded with artillery for many days…also, bombed. It was mostly just rubble. Then we turned east for a race to surround the Germans. Then we turned north. You don’t know much [was accomplished] in any battle…just the ones closest to you, and whether you got a C ration with spam or eggs…100 to 1 it’s spam. We just knew the guns fired continuously…a mighty, unending roar. Our trucks couldn’t haul ammunition fast enough. After the battle we called it the Battle of Falaise Gap. Later the battle was identified as the battle of Mortain. ²

“Hitler had ordered his generals to throw everything….everything….every tank, every gun, everything, into breaking through the American lines at Mortain. We had two forward artillery spotters in the forward lines with the American infantry. They called accurate, unending fire on columns of German tanks and German troops. It was a killing ground for artillery."

“It was very scary for us. At night the Germans kept sending up flares. That’s a chiller for you. And then between the noise of our guns we’d hear our tanks going forward. That’s a weird sound. You’re glad they’re ours, and glad you’re not going with them, but you might pay attention reading about this battle [Battle of the Falaise Pocket]. It’s when I started getting my first gray hairs.

“After the battle, when all the Germans who could escape had escaped we spent one night in the centre of this destruction. I’ve never figured out why we went in there and spent a night there. Tanks destroyed, some upside down, trucks burned out, horses' bodies upside down with their legs in the air…a most horrible, putrid smell everywhere. Most of us slept upright in vehicles. No one wanted to sleep on the ground.

Bill (alias "Radar")

“Nearby, just off the road was an upturned horse-drawn German kitchen. I searched through the remains. I was looking for pots and pans and I found some. We used them the rest of the war. One pot for washing clothes. This relieved our using helmets for laundry pots because we weren’t keen on washing our socks in a steel helmet and then cooking potatoes in there. One pot was for making hot water for coffee. I was really glad to get out of there.” ³

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The Battle Basics: Cherbourg

The Battle of Cherbourg was a part of the Battle of Normandy, but it was after the men had cleared the beaches. The city of Cherbourg was an important port which was considered vital to the Allies' campaign in Western Europe. The Allies won it in a hard-fought, month-long campaign. ²

On 18 June the American military isolated the Cherbourg garrison which had 21,000 untrained and exhausted men. They were short of everything: food, fuel, ammunition. Despite this, the Germans rejected a surrender and began carrying out demolitions. The Americans launched an assault on 22 June. Slowly the Americans persevered despite strong German resistance. The German leader was captured and the harbour fortifications and the arsenal surrendered on 29 June. ³

Bill's Experiences at Cherbourg

"The war was over. Everybody talked about getting back to the States by Christmas. What dreamers we were. We thought we’d done quite a bit.

“We were 7th Corps Artillery….really written like this: VII. We didn’t belong to one specific division. We belonged to whatever division was fighting at the time. Divisions were moved in and out of the fighting as they lost men and lost their fighting strength.

"So sometimes we were with the 4th, then maybe the 29th, then maybe the 36th…we supported many divisions.

"We stayed in place…watched tired infantry move out in trucks, and new fresh infantry come in. Gosh, I was glad not to be in infantry. Since we stayed in combat all the time, this is how we got our three hundred days of continuous combat.”

This particular battle didn't leave a strong impression on Bill, but there would be others down the road which would. Check out the links listed below.

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories.

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The Battle of the Bulge

"The Battle of the Bulge, also known as the Ardennes Counteroffensive, was a major German offensive campaign .... It was launched through the densely forested Ardennes region in Belgium and Luxembourg towards the end of the war in Europe. The offensive was intended to stop Allied use of the Belgian port of Antwerp and to split the Allied lines, allowing the Germans to encircle and destroy four Allied armies and force the Western Allies to negotiate a peace treaty in the Axis powers' favor.

"The Germans achieved a total surprise attack on the morning of 16 December 1944, due to a combination of Allied overconfidence, preoccupation with Allied offensive plans, and poor aerial reconnaissance due to bad weather. American forces bore the brunt of the attack and incurred their highest casualties of any operation during the war. The battle also severely depleted Germany's armored forces, and they were largely unable to replace them. German personnel and, later, Luftwaffe aircraft (in the concluding stages of the engagement) also sustained heavy losses.

Not sure why this guy looks so happy!

"The Germans had attacked a weakly defended section of the Allied line, taking advantage of a heavy overcast ... conditions that grounded the Allies' superior air forces. Fierce resistance on the northern shoulder of the offensive, around Elsenborn Ridge, and in the south, around Bastogne, blocked German access to key roads to the northwest and west that they counted on for success. Columns of armor and infantry that were supposed to advance along parallel routes found themselves on the same roads.

"This, and terrain that favored the defenders, threw the German advance behind schedule and allowed the Allies to reinforce the thinly placed troops. The farthest west the offensive reached was the village of Foy-Nôtre-Dame, south east of Dinant, being stopped by the U.S. 2nd Armored Division on 24 December 1944. Improved weather conditions from around 24 December permitted air attacks on German forces and supply lines, which sealed the failure of the offensive.

"On 26 December the lead element of Patton's U.S. Third Army reached Bastogne from the south, ending the siege. Although the offensive was effectively broken by 27 December, when the trapped units of 2nd Panzer Division made two break-out attempts with only partial success, the battle continued for another month before the front line was effectively restored to its position prior to the attack. In the wake of the defeat, many experienced German units were left severely depleted of men and equipment, as survivors retreated to the defenses of the Siegfried Line.

"The Germans' initial attack involved 410,000 men; just over 1,400 tanks, tank destroyers, and assault guns; 2,600 artillery pieces; 1,600 anti-tank guns; and over 1,000 combat aircraft, as well as large numbers of other armored fighting vehicles (AFVs).These were reinforced a couple of weeks later, bringing the offensive's total strength to around 450,000 troops, and 1,500 tanks and assault guns. Between 63,222 and 98,000 of these men were killed, missing, wounded in action, or captured. For the Americans, out of a peak of 610,000 troops, 89,000 became casualties out of which some 19,000 were killed.

"The "Bulge" was the largest and bloodiest single battle fought by the United States in World War II and the third-deadliest campaign in American history."

The quotations above are from Wikipedia.

Bill's Memory of that Battle

“One day…I don’t remember why…I went along on a trip to the infantry headquarters we were supporting. ... I’ll never forget the scene. Wounded were coming back from an attack. I believe the division was called the 29th but I’m not sure now, but it was the division with the patch resembling a big red bucket.They were filling that bucket full of blood in the Hurtgen Forest. Those poor men.

“I remember when the Battle of the Bulge began. We were north of this action…I suppose maybe twenty, thirty miles. Also, we were farther into Germany than where the lines were in the Ardennes Forest. In just a day or two we were ordered to the battle. All of us in Headquarters Battery collected in a small German town in a valley with a stream running through it. It was bitter cold.

“Late in the afternoon when it was apparent we would not move for several more hours most of us moved into a vacant building on a corner. A couple of guys strung up two light bulbs they ran off a captured German generator. I set up the pot bellied stove. Soon I had hot water for coffee as the C rations had packs of instant coffee, and I had a pot for making soup. Everybody threw everything they had in the soup.

“I remember Christmas Eve in the Battle of the Bulge, and then, except for one brief incident that I remember, I didn’t remember anything until the Battle of the Bulge ended. I know that my mind wipes out very unpleasant memories, just blocks them out, so it wiped out a lot of this battle.

"The one incident I remember is because it was good news for us, bad news for the Germans. I was dressing in a house…not really dressing…you never took off your clothes, put on pajamas, and went to bed. You just took your shoes and stockings off. You worked very hard to keep your feet in good shape…wash a pair of stockings every day and change those stockings each night. I don’t remember how often we worked on changing underwear but that was not as top a priority as changing stockings.

“Well, anyway, as I was pulling on my shoes the Colonel walked through the room. He was a fairly happy man. Our two forward artillery observers had watched a tank column with tanks, supply trucks, infantry trucks pull into a heavily wooded area for the night. They called down accurate fire. Our guns fired all night long. It must have been hell under those tree bursts. It is terrifying, I’m sure, under tree bursts. The shrapnel goes everywhere. Men dive under tanks…not under trucks…they can catch fire too easily. There really isn’t any safe cover.

“From reading accounts of the Battle of the Bulge in later years there is no doubt we had caught one of Pfiffer’s columns. I’m not sure I’m spelling this name right but we must have really blunted his attack with that night of shells."

Find a Place to Sleep

“I remember when the Battle of the Bulge ended. I was with a group of about four or five vehicles. There was the Colonel, Major Stewart, a couple of machine gun jeeps and the word came on the communications radio in the Colonel’s jeep…the battle is over, everybody stand down for the night, just stop moving, orders will come in the morning. Everybody was happy. No jeering. No hat waving. Just enormous relief.

"We all talked about going to a rest camp. Surely we would go to a rest camp. We’d never been to one. Infantry divisions go out of the line and go to rest camps and get clean clothes, beer, steaks, movies, USO shows, etc., but we had never been out of the line. We had once thought we’d have to go out of the line when the sleeves of the guns were pulled out and new ones put in, but we found that VII Corp maintenance would come up about two or three miles of us and take out one gun at a time for service, but this time we knew, we would go to a rest camp.

"About a quarter of a mile up, on a small dirty country road, was a small white house just off the edge of a forest. The colonel said, “That’s where I’m sleeping. Sgt. Hansen check it out.” I set off on the run. Two elderly frightened Belgians had guests that night.

“In the early morning hours came the most unbelievable news: back to the Hurtgen Forest. No rest camp. No clean clothes. No shower. No shave. No hot food. No clean bed. Back to the hell hole of the Hurtgen Forest.” This was a dark moment for my uncle.

More to do!

"But the war wasn’t over yet. Now we made the wild chase to encircle the German army and their industrial might in the Ruhr industrial valley. With the English in the north and the VII Corp in the south we tried to make a big circle around the Germans in this area and then squeeze in. This is risky business. You could have German defenders to the left and to the right as you were strung out in this mad chase.

"Our little group of about ten Headquarters Battery vehicles had two scary incidents in this encirclement. How it would have been much more comfortable to be traveling with the guns! One late, late afternoon….probably about dusk….we turned off a main road to find a spot for the night. We found it just as darkness set in….cold C rations, no talking, no smoking, just get out of your vehicle, find a spot to sleep on the ground, and Personnel Section on guard duty.

In combat nobody keeps guard like "on guard" would be in the States, standing or marching, upright with a gun on the shoulder. No, find your buddy for guard duty and sit back to back…best with a tree between you…as you can cover all the field and not be overly exposed, so Sgt. Veltri and I started our turn around ten o’clock…for two hours all was quiet and then a strange noise started coming from the direction away from the road.

"What was it? Tanks? No, not the noise of tanks. It seems a long way off but also quite loud if you were up close. What was it? A truck convoy? No, not that sound. Then all of a sudden it started to get louder and louder. What was it?

"All of a sudden it was very loud and then there it was….an airplane….taking off right over us. We were at the end of a still active German airfield! We saw the dual engines, the outline of the body, the winds, the tail. the fiery exhaust. Everybody was awake from the road. Then came another. Of all the places to be. Early, early next morning, quietly, so quietly, we pulled out.

"A night or two later we got a bigger fright. Late in the afternoon we pulled into a German farmyard for the night, one that was completely enclosed with a stone wall. As we pulled into the small gate, just squeezing in a couple of the big trucks, I thought how nice this would be. We’d all sleep in the farm house, on the floor, no doubt, but that’s much better than the damp ground and I started looking for the chicken coup even as we pulled in.

"For certain, we’d heat our C rations meat….SPAM….with potatoes and onions. Then….WHAM…an 88 shell right over our heads, smashing into the field beyond us. Where did that come from? Somebody in a machine gun turret on one of the big trucks yelled 'tanks' and pointed to the south. I ran to the wall and jumped up to look. There were two tanks….Tigers….maybe a mile away and headed straight for us. What a frightening sight! We were trapped.

"We had one Bazooka team….and Master/sgt. Henderson. I fired. He loaded. One Bazooka team is like a fly swatter. We were both so excited we could hardly get it out of the vehicle. Everybody was yelling. Capt. Black was trying to get the vehicles turned around to make a run for it. We couldn’t fight two Tiger tanks.

"Then the man in the truck said, 'They’re turning!' I jumped up to the wall again. Sure enough, they were turning to their left. What a miracle! I have no idea why those tanks turned away from us. We were totally outmatched, but turn away they did.

"We didn’t stay in that farmhouse. We drove till we found other troops."

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories. (This page last edited on August 4, 2025.)

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

The City of Aachen and the Battle for It

Aachen is a large German city with a population of about 250,000 people. Located on the western side of the country, it borders Belgium and the Netherlands. It developed from a Roman settlement which had a spa.

The Battle of Aachen was a major combat action of World War II, fought by American and German forces in and around Aachen, Germany, for 19 days: between 2 October and 21 October 1944. "The city had been incorporated into the Siegfried Line, the main defensive network on Germany's western border; the Allies had hoped to capture it quickly and advance into the industrialized Ruhr Basin. Although most of Aachen's civilian population was evacuated before the battle began, much of the city was destroyed and both sides suffered heavy losses. It was one of the largest urban battles fought by U.S. forces in World War II, and the first city on German soil to be captured by the Allies. The battle ended with a German surrender, but their tenacious defense significantly disrupted Allied plans for the advance into Germany." ²

Bill sticks with his artillery group

“We stopped for a day or two in Belgium to shell a fort at Dinant….I think that’s how it’s spelled ³. The Germans gave up without a serious fight so we rushed for Germany. We were the first heavy artillery battalion to penetrate the Ziegfried Line and before we knew it we were so deep into Germany our guns had to fire northwest into Aachen. The Germans really put up a fight at Aachen and it was strange to fire slightly to the west with Aachen as a target.”

Having entered Germany early in the final year of the war, Bill would always be a little annoyed that the Russians made it to Berlin first.

Here are the other battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Battle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories. (This page last edited on August 4, 2025.)

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

NOTE: My mother's brother, my Uncle Bill, participated in many of the major battles of the European theatre during World War II. This page and others reveal his experiences. For a full listing, see the bottom of this page. The photo at left is one of the rare photos I have of my uncle. It was taken after the war.

Corporal "Radar" O'Reilly

Reading my uncle’s descriptions of his war experiences, I knew he had suffered a great deal. But I was often amused by his stories of scrounging for things — just like "Radar" O'Reilly in MASH.

The character of Radar... comes from a small town in Iowa. Radar acquired his nickname because he was seemingly endowed with ESP, appearing at his CO's side before being called, anticipating his needs and even finishing his sentences. He also had super-human hearing, as he was able to hear incoming helicopters before anyone else could.

Radar was always the guy to go to when you needed supplies or something that wasn't easy to find. He knew how to skip the "channels" and find whatever was needed. My uncle seemed to have similar skills.

The Scounger

“I’d become the scrounger. I traded anything I had for anything to drink or eat. We particularly liked eggs, butter, potatoes, and onions. We could mix this with our C rations and make a fairly good meal. The pots and pans I’d picked up after Mortain improved our own little kitchen. Our preference in liquor was cognac, then wine. I imagine we drank some good wine but at the time it was just enough to know it was wet and had an alcoholic content.

“The ground never got soft or comfortable. It was always cold and damp and there was never any way to really keep dry in a rainstorm."

Pot-Bellied Stoves: Something a Nebraska Farm Boy knows all About

“In a bombed out building I found a pot-bellied stove. I think maybe I was the only midwestern boy in the battalion, and I knew about potbellied stoves. Grandpa … had them in the farm house .… The battalion was an old national guard battalion in southern California. It had many undergraduates from USC and UCLA. They didn’t know anything about pot bellied stoves, but I did. It was nice to have one. Since the personnel section had a ¾ truck to carry typewriters, army regulation books, etc., we would carry the pot bellied stove and some wood.

“But when the Colonel saw the stove he got most irritated. He didn’t believe in stealing, or looting as some soldiers did. I didn’t steal this stove. It was in a bombed out building.

“Then here came the Colonel. I gave him a cup of coffee. I gave him a cup of soup. He never said anything about the pot bellied stove. He stood by the stove with Captain Black of Headquarters Battery just like he’d found the thing and dug it out of a cellar. He told Captain Black that soon A Battery would leave, then ½ hour later B Battery, then C Battery, then ¼ of Headquarters Battery with Service Battery. That meant just a few of us would be last. I certainly hoped the Germans were busy further south."

Moving on....and more scrounging!

“We finally left at 4 a.m. in pitch black darkness. Everybody had on every piece of clothing they could and then wrapped up in blankets. Can you imagine! The army forgot to put heaters in those vehicles. We had blankets and duffle bags around our feet, had blankets around our heads. I sat in the back of Major Stewart’s command car, the forward half of a Bazooka team. It was a long cold day and I kept wondering, “Where will I sleep tonight?” I kept hoping that darkness would come and we’d sleep in a Belgium village or at an intersection where there were sometimes three or four farmhouses. No such luck. We kept going.

“Late in the afternoon we crossed a bridge over a river as this bridge was being prepared for demolition. We’d been given to understand that was the final retreat so we knew we were near our destination. We moved up the valley around the river and got up to open, semi-wooded ground. There were a couple of our guns. We knew we were close. I could see those cannoneers were going to sleep…if they slept…on the open snowy ground. I kept looking for a friendly ditch. Then we saw our vehicles parked near a white stone building. Oh, could I be lucky enough to sleep in there."

A Place to Sleep and more Stoves!

“We pulled off the road. Somebody came running from that stone building. Major Stewart thought it was a runner for him so he got out of the Command Car. When the runner got near, his call was for me. I left my Bazooka, took my carbine, and ran after the runner. We found the Colonel at the stone building. He hurried me inside, took me to a room and said, “Sergeant, can you put that pot bellied stove in here?” Oh, boy, I knew where I was going to sleep tonight. It was a stone wall but we thought we could get a hole through. We had a pick, an axe, a saw, and a supply of tiny thin wood, then bigger wood, then big wood. We got the stove up and burning.

“Then the Colonel said, ‘Sergeant, come with me.’ He had the Personnel truck and about four machine gun jeeps all lined up and he said, 'Go back to those houses near the river. Don’t cross the river. Stay this side but get three more pot bellied stoves.' It crossed my mind I should ask him if I should wait until they were out but somehow reason prevailed and I didn’t. I should mention we had cut up blankets and made big gloves so we could handle our pot bellied stove when it was hot.

“I took three bead-ons of gasoline…that’s what the Belgians wanted … and in the next hour we made some quick trades. I traded a five gallon bead-on of gasoline for a pot bellied stove and wood from the wood pile. As I remember it, the Belgians didn’t think it was a fair trade but I think they were glad to see American soldiers coming in. We really didn’t discuss this."

And then they collected wood!

“A few days later when we were at a different place the Personnel Section was ordered to help load two big trucks with wood for the gun batteries. I knew there was a big wooded area down near the river and that there were lots of fallen trees in there so that’s where we went, and it didn’t take long to fill those trucks with dry, seasoned logs, but when we got back to the Belgian houses where we were staying the Belgians protested. That was the King’s Forest. No one should disturb the King’s Forest and particularly no one should take any wood from the King’s Forest. Since the King fled to England at the start of the war, we took a dim view of this. We needed the wood. We took the wood.

“The next day the Personnel Section was again ordered to help load two big trucks with wood. The Belgians saw us getting ready. I saw them get a cart, hitch up a horse, and thought that they were going down to the wooded area and try to stop us. I thought, what will I do. What kind of incident will we have. We were loading wood into their cart, but they didn’t try to stop us. Instead, they started loading wood for themselves. We really got to laughing. I guess as long as everybody was going to steal the wood from the King’s Forest that they’d steal some too."

Playing Hookey

“As we waited for our convoy to form Major Stewart told the three of us riding with him that we would make a slight detour. We always brought up the rear, waiting for the last truck or gun or jeep, in case someone had motor trouble, or got stuck, so Major Stewart showed us on his map how we’d cut loose up to Spa, Belgium, which was First Army Headquarters, and get a hot lunch. This was a bit risky for Major Stewart but I think everybody thought, who cares? What can anybody do to us…just so we timed it right and caught up to our convoy by late afternoon.

“So we played hookey and went to Spa, Belgium. The First Army was celebrating the Battle of the Bulge, everybody has fresh, clean uniforms. We were filthy dirty, unshaven, our great coats, our shoes, our pants, covered with mud. The Sergeant’s mess was celebrating with beer and steaks for lunch. I can tell you the troops that fought the Battle of the Bulge weren’t getting beer, and steaks, and apple pie. They were getting cold C rations and going back to the worst spot of the war. I went back to the Lt. in charge of two German prisoners passing out the beer and got a second round.

“When we got back to our Command Car two MPs gave us hell. What were we doing parking such a dirty vehicle in this reserve parking lot [they wanted to know]? We pulled it out and had about 15-20 minutes to wait for Major Stewart. We drove it around a few blocks and there was a bar. Of course it said, 'Off Limits' but we really didn’t care. The MP’s would have a warm room, clean beds, and hot food. We thought up a story that we had dysentery and needed a bathroom and I would try to buy some liquor with cigarettes. We didn’t have any money.

“We walked into that bar and the owner tried to shove us right out. We called out, 'Toilette, toilette' and there were three foreign correspondents in the bar, one of whom spoke French, and they told us the bathroom was downstairs. I tried to buy some liquor. No luck. The oldest of the war correspondents said, 'Let’s see your patch.' The patch was always on the left shoulder. I showed them my VII Corps patch. The older war correspondent said, “My god, VII Corps. We had a briefing this morning. The best fighting units of the VII Corps that fought in the Battle of the Bulge are going directly back to Hurtgen Forest today. No wonder you don’t worry about MPs.”

“So he bought us a round of drinks."

The Trader of Goods

“I went to the bathroom and when I came back up there were two bottles of liquor on the table. The war correspondents said, 'Take it and get out of here and good luck.' I put the bottles on the inside pockets of the great coat and got out. We picked up Major Stewart and started for the Hurtgen Forest. When we got out of Spa, Major Stewart reached into his musette bag and pulled out a bottle of liquor. He said First Army was celebrating the end of the Battle of the Bulge and all liquor in the Officers’ Bar was free. The officers in charge of the bar gave Major Stewart a bottle because it was apparent that only one officer in that bar really fought in the battle. I wonder how many more bottles were in that bag. Major Stewart was pretty smooth in everything."

Getting Back to the Unit

“We finished the bottle together and then had a flat tire on the trailer we were pulling. It was a real effort…quite an effort…to change that flat tire. It was cold and we were a bit unsteady, so we fell behind on our schedule to catch our convoy. When we came to the first MP in a deep foxhole, it was apparent we were far behind. The MP said, turn around, no vehicles beyond this point. Major Stewart inquired about a convoy of Long Toms. The MP had just come on duty so knew nothing. He said there was one more MP about a ¼ mile farther but don’t pass that MP.

“We went up to the next MP. He was deep in his waist-high foxhole, too. Yes, a convoy of Long Toms had passed his way and the Colonel in charge had disobeyed orders and gone straight ahead. Major Stewart reviewed his map with this MP and then said, 'We have to go too.' We rounded a bend, Major Stewart thought he saw open fields on the left through some woods and so we went left, off the main road, onto a small road leading through the woods. Then came the mortar fire. We’d turned wrong. The driver turned right off the tiny road and got us into the woods. We walked ahead and made a decision that if we could keep going right through the woods that we’d get back to the main paved road.

“It was getting dusk. Major Stewart told the driver over and over how we’d move just at the last streak of light, hit that paved road, turn right, turn on the lights and run. Don’t get stuck. Don’t overturn the trailer. I could have used another drink about then.

“Came the time, just the last streaks of light in the sky, and here we go…….down a small ditch, up the slope of the road to the paved part, and just as we came out of that shallow ditch, there across the road, were the guns. We slid in under one of them. Major Stewart told me to find the Colonel and report in. It was dark now. I finally found the Colonel and he sent us to the rear, told us to walk to that Command Car in the morning just before dawn. We went back four or five miles, found a bombed out building, got into the basement area and I brought out one of my bottles from the bar in Spa. Next morning we walked that car back to the guns."

Back to War

“What a scene of desolation. That forest area had been shot up with hundreds of shells. I never did find out who had been in that forest area when the shells came in, German or American, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be there, and wondered if it would happen again with us there. All our troops were packed in under fallen trees, getting what protection there was."

Always Seeking Comfort Food and Lodging

"Our kitchen was just getting ready to heat hot water and I walked over there. I found that Lt. Marback was looking for me. He pointed out to me a small log hut about two blocks away. He said it was occupied by four infantry sergeants who were moving out today and they were selling it to any listed man for liquor. He gave me a bottle of liquor and said, 'See if you can buy it and then let me sleep there too.'"

“I went over to the little log hut and woke the four infantry guys in there and offered my bottle of liquor. They claimed they already had an offer of two bottles. I told them I’d like fifteen minutes to see if I could do better. I knew I had a bottle left in my great coat but I didn’t know how long we would stay in this desolate place…I didn’t want to give up my liquor for a one-night stand…and also, would the colonel take over if I were successful. I went back to Lt. Marback. He thought we would stay. Right after breakfast everybody was to clear a way into the forest for an opening about a half mile in for the guns. It was going to be a big project to move fallen trees, but we had the equipment for that. Would the Colonel take our hut? No, he had a good spot with Major Stewart near Fire Control and Lt. Marback said he was betting on me to buy that little log hut.

"I went to ... the Personnel Officer. Did he have a bottle of liquor he could loan to me, or give to me for a spot in that hut if I could buy it? No, he had no liquor, but [the sergeant] might. [He] had an uncle who would buy a can of orange juice, make two holes in the top and pour out the orange juice and then fill up the can with liquor, then re-solder the two holes. Not a bad idea.

“So [we went looking for more help]. Could we push the transaction by inviting the four infantry sgt. to have breakfast coffee with us and a hot can of C rations, not a cold can? And, the Colonel had ordered all our kitchens to have pancakes. Could we invite them for pancakes? Yes we could. So [we] offered our three bottles of whiskey and insisted on an immediate possession if we took them into our kitchen area and gave them pancakes. This worked. We then got the medics to de-louse the hut and we moved in. I imagine we stayed about three weeks. It was a good buy, best house deal I ever did. Utilities were dirt cheap….no water bill, no light bill, no fuel bill. No maid service either.

“One day the Colonel said we’d have a two-man move team for the battalion. Personnel section had to find some place for movies. We found an about-to-fall-down barn near the back edge of the forest. We patched a few holes, cleared out the straw and junk on the floor and had movies…the same one, over and over, “Three girls and a sailor.” We had a problem with other troops units wanting to see a movie too so we worked out two lines and kept the movie people another few days. They didn’t like this but we did."

Goose Dinner!

“One night we had a most marvellous goose dinner on Thanksgiving Day Eve in a one star Michilin restaurant which was in the hotel. We kept looking around the room of this beautifully panelled room and the Germans in their suits and ladies in nice dresses and wondered if we had been almost face-to-face enemies at one time. We had the same thought the next night at the opera. We had a drink in the lovely bar. Most people about our age were in the bar although [there were] many younger people in the overall opera crowd. Here we were almost forty years later and friends now, not enemies.

“I have another, almost very constant thought of Cologne, too. When we were shelling that railroad bridge I went looking for a chicken, or eggs, or potatoes, or onions, or carrots….something to add to our terrible C rations. I was off by myself when a heavy shell came in. I thought it would land some distance away so I didn’t throw myself to the ground. The ground was wet and I didn’t want to go clear to the ground so I bent over near a rock wall. I misjudged the shell. It threw some shrapnels my way. One piece went right between my legs and hit the rock wall…..close. It probably would have hit me if I had hit the ground. So I remember Cologne."

The Big Wooden Door

"Now to get across the Rhine. American troops got lucky. They captured a bridge intact….luck, luck, luck. It would have been like another invasion of Normandy without that luck. After a few days the bridge collapsed but by this time we had several pontoon bridges across. We crossed on a pontoon bridge just to the west of the collapsed bridge…I guess you might say south of the collapsed bridge.

"Then the 981st FA Bn got a bit of good luck. Battery B called to headquarters Battery that they found a big wooden door in the side of a big hill and it was locked and chained and had a sign it belonged to the Nazi party so that meant the boys of Battery B took axes and broke down that door. Inside in a labyrinth of tunnels were thousands and thousands and thousands of cases of beer, wine, and whiskey. The best the Nazis had stolen over all of Europe. Our Colonel said Battery B could take all they could carry without throwing away any equipment and no drunk behaviour tolerated. Then Batteries A and C, and then Headquarters and Service Batteries. We personnel boys took our ¾ ton truck over and loaded up. What a picnic. We had liquor for many months. I found a marvellous liquor that mixed well with the lemon powder always found in C Ration boxes. This drink became our standard cocktail hour drink….thank you, Adolph.

"I found a wooden box that held seven of these bottles and decided to keep the seven bottles for drinking and trading purposes if ever the war ended and I got a furlough to Paris, or somewhere nice, and later I’ll tell you that happened. When American troops first went to England they were paid in English currency. American troops were paid more than British troops [so] American troops really had too much money. We could buy more liquor, buy more dinners in restaurants, buy from goods in British stores, get more attention from British females as a result. Much hard feelings developed.

"So when we invaded Normandy, Uncle Sam changed the whole game. When you got your pay, you got paid as though a French franc was worth two cents. This was a totally unrealistic figure. The French franc was worth much, much less so the pay a soldier got hardly bought anything. Where the American soldier was overpaid in Great Britain he was grossly, grossly underpaid in real purchasing power when the US government said the franc was worth two cents when it was only worth a fraction of that so a big, big, big black market developed. As a non-smoker my cigarettes became priceless and I used them to trade for liquor, eggs, butter, potatoes, onions, etc. I knew I would need something to trade back in some big European city if I ever got there so that is why I saved these seven bottles of good liquor….glad I did."

A Pass to Brussels

"A few days later we stopped. All American troops stopped. Roosevelt decided to let the Russians take Berlin. We could have taken it easily but higher politics gave away this important real estate to the Communists. [^2]

"An order came down that twenty sergeants could get a three-day pass to Brussels. I was lucky. My name was drawn. The next morning a jeep took me and two other sergeants from Headquarters Battery to the rendezvous with the others. The Colonel saw us. What were we doing there? This trip was for battery sergeants, not any Headquarter sergeants. After he knew we were innocent of any skullduggery, he let us go, but first he took me to his room in a small farmhouse. In his room were several cases of assorted liquor from that cave near the Remagen bridge. 'Here,' he said, giving me my choice of a bottle, 'You three enjoy this in Brussels. I had to take some liquor away from troops who were getting drunk on duty.'

"I thanked him but said I couldn’t hide this bottle from the others so he said he’d give me more if we wouldn’t drink on the road. I promised we’d have a whale of a drinking party at night on the way to Brussels, and we did. We stopped at a roadside tavern, got the owner involved with drinking with us and cigarettes and he really dressed up our C rations with eggs, butter, potatoes and onions.

"I told my two companions about my seven bottles of good liquor. We all wanted to trade our cigarettes, our candy, our gum, our soap, and our liquor for the best meals we could find. We took the liquor to a bank in Brussels for safe keeping and to find out where to find a first-rate restaurant. When we were shelling the fort at Dinant I was sent into a little nearby town for liquor, wine, eggs, etc., and we met an Irish lady married to a Brussels banker. He sent his family from Brussels to this small town to avoid the path of the war and got them into the middle of it for a day or two. She got us what we wanted and gave me one of her husband’s business cards. Her husband was away from Brussels when we went into his bank but his personnel at the bank were most helpful. We took three bottles with us and left four at the bank. We went to the restaurant the bank personnel suggested and had a feast. We traded a carton of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey to the owner for three full course dinners. We tipped the bartender and our waiter with similar items. What a feast! The next night we duplicated the experience using the remaining four bottles.

And a trip to Paris

"When the war was over and when we finally got to a last camp before going home, Camp Lucky Strike, we got detained from going home because the East Coast Teamster Union went on strike. Just a few of us from the 981st were left together, one was the Colonel.

"One Friday afternoon he said, 'I’ve got a jeep. Pick two other sergeants and let’s go to Paris.'

I said, 'Great. What about ration cards?'

'We’ve got hundreds,' he said, 'take plenty.'

I did.

"These ration cards were good for the week you were in, the week past, and the week ahead. Paris had four FXs. We could really stock up. The ration cards had A coupons, B coupons, C coupons, etc. I think A’s were for cartons of cigarettes, bottles of wine, silk stockings, etc. B coupons [were for] candy, gum, mints, etc. And coupons for soap, wash towels, wash rangs, etc, a big selection. Remember, your 2-cent French francs were almost worthless. You had to have barter.

"The Colonel was staying at one of the beautiful Paris hotels and said he didn’t need any barter. We took the jeep and said we’d be back in two or three hours to make sure. Good we went back. He wanted a few more ration cards too. We used our barter for meals, floor shows, and in liquor stores. We developed a test for 3 Star Hennessy. I’ve often wondered if the liquor store owner thought we were dumb Americans. We had no idea of how many cigarettes we should trade for a bottle of 3 Star Hennessy but we traded freely because we wanted to have liquor back at Camp Lucky Strike, somebody made a mistake and gave double our number. I asked the Colonel what I should do. He said, “Keep them. Let any reliable 981st veteran have an extra book if he needs it. They earned it.” So that made five trips to Paris very enjoyable.

Always Looking for Necessities

"Life had its good moments and its bad moments. Life in England before the invasion was rather pleasant….not army life…the civilian life. I got to Bournemouth on the southern edge of England about every weekend. It was fun to go to the English movies, sit in an English tea house and have tea and cookies, or go to the big Bournemouth dance hall and have two English non-coms do our sewing. I met these two girls as they sat in the dance hall and sewed on patches, repairing tears in shirts, pants, etc. They did this for cigarettes and beer and a little change. Soon I was taking in items each week. Mr. Woods had something. Major Stewart had something. Captain Black had something. That’s why I got a pass each weekend. It was a little less than a hour’s train trip from our camp to Bournemouth and this was a nice trip. Nice to get away from army food."

Here are some battles that Bill experienced:

• Normandy June 6, 1944
• The Battle of Cherbourg June 18, 1944
• Battle of the Hedgerows and Bttle of Saint Lo July 7-19, 1944
• Battle of the Falaise Pocket August 11-21, 1944
• Battle of the Hurtgen Forest September 19, 1944 - February 10, 1945
• The Fall of Aachen October 2-21, 1944
• Battle of the Bulge December 16, 1944 - January 25, 1945

Or return to Main Page to check out other battles, other stories. (This page last updated on August 2, 2025.)

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Samuel Perkins Brand (1849-1925) and Martha Elizabeth Hatch (1855-1933)

Samuel Begins Life in New York

Samuel Perkins Brand was born 13 Nov 1849 in Lewis County, New York. Lewis County is located in the northern part of the state, approximately in the middle. It was once a part of a much larger county, Albany, but Albany was divided into three parts in the 1700’s. It was named for a Governor of New York, Morgan Lewis.

Samuel was the oldest son of Baker Brand and Sarah Ann Higby. He had four younger sisters (Sarah Etta, Julia, Bessie, and Effie) and one younger brother (Leonard). He suffered from a mental illness for many years; the family endured several tragedies, including the death of Samuel’s sister, Bessie, when she was caught under the front of a reaper at the age of ten. As well, Samuel’s parents, Baker and Sarah, divorced in 1874 when he was 25 years old. He married the same year, but he no doubt felt a responsibility to help his mother.

In the 1925 New York Census (the year that Samuel died), it states his occupation to be a "jeweler." In an earlier directory (1890), it states he is a "carpenter."

Moving to Minnesota with his parents

Prior to 1870, when he was 20 years old, Samuel moved with his parents to Richland Township, Rice, Minnesota, and he can be found in the 1870 Census, living with his parents and his younger siblings. Richland Township, with a population even today of just under 500, must have been very small in the 1870’s. What Samuel and his father, Baker, did to make a living is uncertain, though Samuel is said to have been a “labourer.” In the 1880 Census, he is listed as a “Nursery Man.” Most likely he was a farm labourer, but it is not known precisely what skills he had. On his death certificate, he is listed as a “farmer.”

Marriage and Family

Samuel met Martha Elizabeth Hatch in the early 1870’s, and they were married in 1874 when Martha was 19 years old and Samuel was 25. We know little of Martha Hatch, except that she was born in Sparta, Wisconsin in 1855. She had a brother in the Civil War. In the 1930 census, she indicates that her father had been born in Massachusetts and her mother in Connecticut.

Samuel and Martha are in a census of Waseca, Waseca County, Minnesota by 1 May 1875. By this time, Samuel’s parents are divorced, his father living in Arizona and his mother remaining in Richland, Minnesota with three of his younger siblings. Waseca County is just slightly southwest of Rice County; the two counties actually border each other for a short distance.

It looks as though Samuel’s younger brother, Leonard, took over the responsibilities of his mother and sisters, while Samuel tried to start a new life elsewhere. Waseca and Richland are only about 25 miles apart, but it was probably far enough that visits with family were rare.

It is believed that Samuel and Martha may have had six children:

Carrie’s full name was Caroline Martha. She married in 1897 a man named Holman. She had one son, Fred. Carrie’s granddaughter, remembers her grandmother: “She let me comb her long hair and I loved her hollyhocks!” She was told by her mother that her grandmother [Carrie] had not wanted her son, Fred, to marry and then, once married, she did not want him to have children. Most likely, Carrie feared the stigma of mental illness, since her father spent 10 years in a mental institution.

• Carrie b. 1876 in Waseca, Waseca, Minnesota d. 1946
• Grace Mae/span> b. 15 Aug 1879 in Waseca, Waseca, Minnesota d. 1972 (NOTE: Grace may not have been a daughter, but rather a niece of Samuel and Martha. ²
• Frederick Baker b. 1883 d. 1962
• Pansy (1) b. 1887
• Alline b. 27 May 1892 in Pierre, Hughes, SD d. 1977 in Porterville,,CA
• Harvey b. 1897
• Pansy (2) b. 1898 (There may have been two children born, both named Pansy, but the first child died.)

Was Grace actually Samuel and Martha’s Child?

By the 1880 Census, Samuel and Martha are living in Waseca, Minnesota, with their daughter, Carrie (who is three), and Grace (8 months old). Ten years later, in 1890, Grace is sent to live with her Aunt Julia in Kansas City, and she never lives with the family again. There is a possibility that Grace was the niece of Samuel and Martha, not their daughter. Etta, Samuel’s sister, may have left her mother’s home in Richland, Minnesota, and gone to live with her older brother and sister-in-law until she gave birth to Grace. Then, perhaps, she left Grace in her brother’s care and moved to Kansas City where she lived until she died in 1890. This mystery may never be resolved, but there is much evidence to suggest that Grace was the daughter of Samuel’s sister, Etta.

The following events occurred which made Grace suspicious all her Iife that Samuel and Martha were not her parents, but she never sought answers: (1) Grace did not live with Samuel and Martha after about 1888 or 1890. (2) Instead, she went to live in Kansas City with her Aunt Julia after her Aunt Etta had died and left her a house, clothes, and jewels. (3) Grace thought that she was going to Kansas City to sign some papers, but instead she remained there until adulthood. (4) Aunt Julia never married, and told Grace that her Aunt Sarah Etta wanted her middle name to be “Cuba”. (5) Grace remembers a “nice man who came to visit” her and gave her gifts; she always wondered if this man might really be her father. He was dark and very handsome. (6) The marriage certificate documents give Grace’s middle name as “Culia.” This may be an error in transcription, and it really said “Cuba.” Family speculation has always been that the name Cuba was to honor the heritage of Grace’s real father. The proof of Grace’s real parents, if they weren’t Sam and Martha Brand, is probably forever lost to time.

More Troubles for the Brands

Sam and Martha and their children cannot be found in the 1890 Census, but in 1900, Samuel P. Brand is an “inmate” in the State Hospital for the Insane No. 2 in Washington Township, Buchanan County, Missouri. He was ill for at least five years before his admittance, according to hospital records. His sister, Julia, was the one who signed the commitment papers to put Samuel in the hospital.

While Sam was in the mental institution, Martha (in the 1900 Federal Census) is living in Richmond, Ray County, Missouri, with her sons, Fred, 16 and Harvey, 3, and her two daughters, Alline, 8, and Pansy, 13. Her oldest daughter, Carrie, and her son-in-law, Harry Holman, live with her, as well as another family — A.M. Shanks, 43; Ollie Shanks, 19; and Castise Shanks, 3. Perhaps they were boarders. This must have been a difficult time for all of them, especially since Sam apparently needed hospital care long before he went into hospital. It is not known how Martha supported herself and the children.

In 1905, many of the members of the Brand family are listed in a phone book for Kansas City, Missouri, and Sam's name is there, though it's doubtful he was actually living there. This is the one time that Grace may have lived with them as the directory indicates she is at the same address and she is a "student" -- she became a nurse.

Samuel was released from hospital in about 1907 (though there apparently were still “issues”). It appears that he suffered from paranoia.

Samuel still Struggles, but Martha Remains with Him til his Death

In the 1910 Census, Samuel (age 59) and Martha (age 55) are living in Creek, Oklahoma, with their two sons: Fred (age 27) and Harvey (age 12). Thus far, no Census records have been found of where Samuel and Martha lived between 1910 and 1925, when Samuel died. Family rumours have them in Oklahoma, Kansas City, southern Missouri, and Oregon. It is believed that at one time they lived with or near their daughter, Alline.

As the death certificate above states, Samuel died on 9 Jun 1925 in Troy, Alabama, where he is also buried. No one knows just what he was doing there. He was 76 years old. He died of a heart attack at 3:00 p.m. The death certificate listed his profession as a farmer; Fred (a son) signed the certificate as the informant.

After Samuel’s death in 1925, Martha moved to Benton, Missouri, where she lived once again with two of her sons, Fred and Harvey, who by now were 47 and 33 years old, respectively. There is no indication that either one of the sons were ever married.

Martha died on 7 May 1933 in Neosho, Missouri, at the age of 78 years. She is buried in the Hazelgreen Cemetery in Newton County. Her name is listed on the list of persons buried in that cemetery: Row 20, L South.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Samuel Perkins Brand and Martha Hatch. This page last updated on August 2, 2025.

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When Sarah Ann Higby married Baker Brand, she knew much more about her family history than her husband knew about his. Eight generations of the Higby Family had gone before her, beginning with John Higbed and Ursula Blacknell up to her parents, Abijah Isaac Higby and Tryphena Perkins. The name changed (after the family came to America) from Higbed to Higby and numerous spellings developed. Below are the ancestors of Sarah Ann Higby:

• John Higbed and Ursula Blacknell
• Edward Higby and Jedidah Skidmore
• John Higby and Rebecca Treadwell
• Edward Higby and Rebecca Wheeler
• Isaac Higby and Dinah Elton
• Daniel Elton Higby and Martha Ives
• Benjamin Isaac Higby and Hannah Curtis
• Abijah Isaac Higby and Tryphena Perkins

JOHN HIGBED (1585-1641) and URSULA BLACKNELL (1589-1684)

John Higbed is supposed to have been born 30 November 1585 in Ivinghoe, Buckinghamshire, England. (This county’s name is sometimes abbreviated to Bucks.) The name Buckinghamshire — since the 12th century — is Anglo-Saxon in origin and means "The district (scire) of Bucca's home," named after a landowner at the time.

The Anglo-Saxons probably had the greatest influence on Buckinghamshire as they named most of the towns and geographical landmarks; the county is mentioned in the Domesday Survey of 1086. William the Conqueror claimed much of the area for himself, his friends and relatives, and it became his private hunting grounds. It was later claimed for the same purpose by King Henry VIII. Two of Henry’s wives — Anne Bolyn and Catherine Parr — had relatives (and, as a result) some influence in the county. When John was born in the county, Queen Elizabeth I had been on the throne for more than twenty years, and she would continue to reign until 1603. Following her death, however, things were chaotic again.

It is not known what John did for a living, whether or not he was politically active, or whether he followed the Catholic or Church of England faith. But he lived during times when it was sometimes dangerous to express one’s views. The exact date of his marriage is uncertain (but it was probably between 1612 and 1616); he married Ursula Blacknell in Ivinghoe, Buckinghamshire, England. Little is known about Ursula except that she was born in 1589, probably in Buckinghamshire County.

The name of the small village where John and Ursula spent their lives, Ivinghoe, means 'Ifa's hill-spur'. In the Domesday book of 1086 it was recorded as Evinghehou. It is believed that they had five sons, all born in Ivinghoe:

• Thomas b. date unknown, perhaps about 1614 or 1615
• Edward b. 2 Feb 1616 [See Edward Higby and Jedidah Skidmore below.] d. 1699
• Henry b. 20 Sep 1618
• George b. 3 Aug 1622
• Robert b. 21 Feb 1625

John died in 1641 in Ivinghoe. He was 56 years old. It is believed that Ursula lived until 1684, dying at the age of 95 (very unusual for that time).

EDWARD HIGBY (1616-1699) and JEDIDAH SKIDMORE (1624-1660)

Edward was the son of John Higbed and Ursula Blacknell. He emigrated to New York, probably in the 1640s and married Jedidah Skidmore in 1647 in Piquot Harbor, Long Island, New York.

Jedidah was born in 1624 in Mayshill, Westerleigh, Gloucestershire, England. Thus, she was 23 years old when she married Edward, who was 31. She was the daughter of Thomas Skidmore and Ellen Whitehead.

It would appear that Edward and Jedidah moved several times during the early years of their marriage, as their children were born in Connecticut and New York. It is believed that they had at least six children:

• Thomas b. 1649 d. 1719
• Edward b. 1652 d. 1717
• Jedidah b. 1655 d. 1701
• Mary b. 1665 d. 1712
• John b. 1658 d. 1688 [See John Higby and Rebecca Treadwell below.]
• Patience b. 1658 d. 1694

Jedidah was only 36 years old when she died in 1660, perhaps in childbirth, leaving behind children ranging in age from two to eleven years of age. Edward lived more than thirty years longer — until the year 1699. He married again — to Lydia Smith — and fathered six more children: Sarah, Samuel, Nathanial, William (2 of them), and Thomas.

Edward was 83 when he died in Jamaica, Long Island, New York, never going far from where he had lived all of his life.

JOHN HIGBY (1658-1688) and REBECCA TREADWELL (1658-1708)

John Higby was born in 1658 in Huntington, Suffolk County, New York. His parents were Edward Higby and Jedidah Skidmore.

John married Rebecca Treadwell, daughter of Samuel Treadwell and Ruth Wheeler, on 1 May 1679 in Middletown, New Jersey. Rebecca had been born the same year as John — in 1658 — so they were both 21.

Rebecca and John spent much of their married lives in Middletown, Connecticut, but they also lived in New Jersey briefly. The land on the western bank of the Connecticut River where Middletown now lies was home to the Mattabesett Indians when Europeans established a settlement there in 1650. Colonists arrived shortly after and later in the 1700’s, John and Rebecca would have seen much of the trouble between the colonists and the Mohegans, who moved into the area from the Hudson River Valley.

John and Rebecca had five sons:

• John b. 27 Feb 1680 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut
• Ebenezer b. 25 Dec 1681 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut
• Samuel b. 17 Feb 1683 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut
• Edward b. 24 Aug 1684 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut [See Edward Higby and Rebecca Wheeler below.]
• Thomas b. 1686 in Fairfield, Connecticut

John died just two years after Thomas was born — in 1688 in Middletown, New Jersey. Rebecca, at the age of 30, was left to raise her sons — ages 8, 7, 5, 4, and 2. There is no evidence — yet — that she ever remarried, though it seems unlikely she could have managed on her own with such small children. She was 50 when she died on 1 Mar 1708. Her youngest son, Thomas, would have been 22.

EDWARD HIGBY (1684-1775) and REBECCA WHEELER (1686-1771)

Edward Higby was born 24 Aug 1684 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut. He was the son of John Higby and Rebecca Treadwell. He married Rebecca Wheeler on 29 Nov 1706 in Middletown, Middlesex, Connecticut. He was 22; she was 20.

Rebecca Wheeler was born 31 Jul 1686 in Stow, Middlesex County, Massachusetts. She was the daughter of Joseph Wheeler and Mary Powers.

Edward and Rebecca spent their entire married lives in Middletown, a town in Middlesex County which became prosperous in the 1700’s, the largest community in Connecticut. The county lies in the south central part of the state while Middletown is located along the Connecticut River 16 miles (26 km) south of Hartford.

The land on the western bank of the Connecticut River where Middletown now lies was home to the Mattabeseck Indians. The first settlement of the area by English colonists was in 1643. In 1650, the Connecticut General Court ordered that "Mattabeseck shall bee a Towne" — the name was changed just three years later. The Mattabesecks were a part of the group of tribes in the Connecticut Valley, under the single chief, Sowheag. English settlers eventually purchased nearly all of the land from the Native Americans, but for many years there were frequent confrontations between the settlers and the Native Americans.

Edward and Rebecca joined the Middletown Church on April 26, 1713, shortly after the birth of their fourth child. They remained with that church until Rebecca’s death in 1771; Edward then joined the church at Westfield, CT.

Edward and Rebecca had at least eight children:

• John b. 16 Jul 1707 d. 1790
• Isaac b. 24 Jun 1709 d. 1766 [See Isaac Higby and Dinah Elton below.]
• Daniel b. 18 Aug 1711 d. 1762
• Rebecca b. 17 Jan 1713 d. 1714 (at the age of 1)
• Rebecca b. 11 Jul 1715 d. 1760
• Sarah b. 15 Apr 1721 d. 1721
• David b. 20 Sep 1726 d. 1798
• Stephen b. 16 Apr 1730 d. 1812

Edward and Rebecca undoubtedly had similar experiences to other English settlers of their time, although it is not known what Edward’s occupation was. Every family farmed and kept livestock. Some men were millers, stonecutters, weavers, or blacksmiths. The town was laid out with the main street parallel to the river; it was divided into home lots, pastures, and plowed fields. In the beginning, Puritanism was the only permitted faith, and it dominated every aspect of life. Everyone contributed to the building and the maintaining of the meetinghouse and to the minister’s salary. The law required everyone to attend church on Sunday, and unessential work and all forms of recreation were prohibited on that day.

Daily life was a struggle. A poor harvest or serious injury could be disastrous for the entire family. There were eight to ten children in most families and disease took many of them. English colonists continued arriving for decades, with both Edward’s and Rebecca’s parents included. By the 1790s — after Edward and Rebecca’s deaths — Middletown had changed. It remained prosperous but Puritanism had been replaced by many families who were not of the same faith and sought new opportunities rather than religious freedom.

Rebecca died in Middletown on 22 Oct 1771. She was 85 years old. Edward survived her by four years, passing away 21 Nov 1775, also in Middletown. He was 91 and must have wanted to know how the American Revolutionary War was going to end. He outlived several of his children, including Isaac, his second oldest son, by nine years.

ISAAC HIGBY (1709-1766) and DINAH ELTON (1713-1797)

Isaac Higby was born 24 Jun 1709 in Middletown, Middlesex County, Connecticut. He was the son of Edward Higby and Rebecca Wheeler. Isaac married Dinah Elton on 28 May 1730 in Middletown, Connecticut. Like Isaac, Dinah had been born in Middletown. Her parents were John Elton and Elizabeth Cornwall. She was four years younger than Isaac, having been born on 12 Apr 1713. He was 21, she was 17, when they married.

Dinah gave birth to eleven children, and both husband and wife remained in Middletown until their deaths.

There is strong evidence that Isaac fought in the French and Indian Wars of 1755-1762. He is listed under “Connecticut Soldiers, French and Indian War, 1755-62” as a 1st Lieutenant with the Middletown 4th Regiment. His commander was Col. Elihu Chauncey. If this is the correct Isaac Higby (and it seems likely that it is), Isaac would have been 46 years old at the beginning and 53 years old at the end. There is no evidence, however, that he participated in the entire seven years. As well, all of his children were born before he fought in the war.

During their marriage, Isaac and Dinah had eleven children, all born in Middlesex, Connecticut:

• Isaac b. Dec 1731
• Samuel b. 8 Feb 1733
• Joseph b. 4 Oct 1734 d. 1824
• Noah b. 14 Mar 1736 d. 1790
• Rebecca b. 1737
• Daniel Elton b. 14 May 1739 d. 1829 [See Daniel Elton Higby and Martha Ives below.]
• Jane b. 21 Apr 1742
• Seth b. 28 Mar 1744 d. 1804
• Elizabeth b. 13 Oct 1745
• Elihu b. 5 Aug 1749 d. 1777
• John Elton b. 31 Aug 1755 d. 1775

Dinah gave birth to these children between the ages of 18 and 42.

Isaac died, again in Middletown, on 4 Jan 1766. He was 57 years old. Dinah lived for another 31 years, surviving the Revolutionary War and probably seeing several of her sons fight in it (at least one, John Elton, died during the time of the war). She died 29 May 1797 at the age of 84.

DANIEL ELTON HIGBY (1739-1829) and MARTHA IVES (1742-1797)

Daniel Elton Higby, the son of Isaac Higby and Dinah Elton, was born 14 May 1739 in Middletown, Middlesex County, Connecticut, but he did move later to Lewis County, New York.

In 1758, Daniel enlisted in the 7th Connecticut Company whose company commander was Captain Timothy Hierlehey. This was during the French and Indian Wars from 1755 to 1762.

Daniel met Martha Ives and married her on 6 Feb 1766, also in Middletown, CT. Martha was the daughter of Abijah Ives and Abigail Mix. She had been born 17 May 1742 in Wallingford, New Haven County, CT.

Daniel and Martha had at least four sons, and perhaps two others:

• Daniel b. 23 Oct 1767
• Benjamin Isaac b. 23 May 1769 d. 1829 [See Benjamin Isaac Higby and Hannah Curtis below.]
• Moses b. 24 Aug 1771 d. 1847
• Silas b. 1777 d. 1855
• Elihu b. ??
• Ethan b. ??

Daniel and his family “lived on “Crofoot Hill” about half a mile east of Ebenezer Church.” [from History of the town of West Turin, page 555]

The date of Martha’s death is not known for certain, but it is believed to be about 1797.

Daniel died in 2 May 1829, at the age of 89, in Lewis County, New York. He probably moved there with his son, Benjamin Isaac who became an important figure in the county.

BENJAMIN ISAAC HIGBY (1769-1829) and HANNAH CURTIS (1772-1843)

Benjamin Isaac Higby was born on 23 May 1769 in Middletown, Middlesex, CT. He was the son of Daniel and Martha Ives Higby.

When he was 26 years old, Benjamin left Connecticut and went with his two brothers to Lewis County, New York, to build a sawmill. Eventually, he would be considered a Lewis County pioneer.

Benjamin married Hannah Curtis on 18 Oct 1795 in Constableville, Lewis County, New York. He was 26 years old; she was 23.

Hannah Curtis was born in Palmer, Vermont on 24 Nov 1772. Hannah was born on 24 November 1772 in Palmer, Vermont. It is not known when she moved into New York, but it is most likely when she was younger.

Benjamin and Hannah spent their married lives in Lewis County, which was named after Morgan Lewis, the governor of New York at the time the county was established. Constableville was named for William Constable, the son of an early landowner), but the records indicate that Benjamin and Hannah’s children were born in West Turin, which was first settled around 1796 near Constableville. West Turin was formed from part of the Town of Turin in 1830 and was eventually reduced in size for the formation of other towns: Montague in 1850, and Osceola in 1844.

Benjamin and Hannah had twelve children, all born in Turin, New York:

• David Curtis b. 11 Jan 1797 d. 1873
• Abijah Isaac b. 12 Jul 1798 d. 1871 [See Abijah Isaac Higby and Tryphena Perkins below.]
• Amaziah b. 15 Apr 1800 d. 1858
• Russell b. 20 May 1802 d. 1877
• Martha Jane b. 12 June 1804
• Rebecca W. B. 9 May 1806 d. 1876
• Norman b. 6 Jun 1807 d. 1877
• Eunice b. 10 Mar 1809 d. 1851
• La Ray De Chaumont b. 25 Jan 1811 d. 1899
• Hannah b. 6 Jan 1813
• Moses b. 6 Jan 1815
• James Monroe b. 6 Aug 1816 d. 1887

Benjamin died 2 May 1829 in Constableville, New York. He was 60 years old. Despite giving birth to a dozen children, Hannah survived her husband by fourteen years. She died on 14 Apr 1843, also in Constableville. She was 71 years old.

ABIJAH ISAAC HIGBY (1798-1871) and TRYPHENA PERKINS (1800-1867)

Abijah Isaac Higby was born 12 July 1798 in West Turin, Lewis County, New York. He was the son of Benjamin Higby and Hannah Curtis. Lewis County was named after the governor of New York; the area was purchased from the state in 1791 by Alexander Macomb. Abijah’s father, Benjamin, was a Lewis County pioneer who had gone there to build a sawmill with two of his brothers.

In 1820, Abijah married Tryphena Perkins. She had been born in 1806, also in New York (most likely the same place where Abijah was born in West Turin). If birth dates and the marriage date are correct, Abijah was 22 and Tryphena was 20. However, in numerous census reports, both of them seem to “cheat” a little on their ages. Nothing is known about Tryphena’s parents.

Abijah and Tryphena had ten children, all born in West Turn, Lewis County, New York, but at least three of them died in infancy (Cyrus, Norman, and Salmon) as they are not listed in censuses:

• Samuel Perkins b. 1824 d. 1899
• Jared Stratton b. 15 Feb 1825 d. 1893
• Cyrus b. Mar 1826 d. 1826 (in infancy)
• Clarinda b. 1828d. 1866
• Sarah Ann b. 1831 d. 1904
• Norman b. Apr 1833 d. 1833 (in infancy)
• Salmon b. 1834 d. 1834 (in infancy)
• James Knox b. 1838 d. 1866
• Andrew Jackson b. 1841 d. 1912
• Kay b. 1846 d. 1866

From 1830-1870, Abijah (and usually Tryphena) can be found in the censuses for West Turin, Lewis County, New York. In 1830, Abijah and Tryphena had two boys between the ages of 5 and 10 (this would be Samuel and Jared) as well as a girl under the age of 5 (Clarinda). Both Abijah and Tryphena say they are between the ages of 20 and 30, but Abijah, if born in 1798, would have been 32.

By 1840, their children have aged, and two more children have been born.

By 1850, Abijah lists himself at 50 years of age as a farmer with $3500 in real estate. Tryphena, age 47, is living with him along with Samuel, age 26; James, age 12; and Andrew, age 9.

Still farming in 1860, Abijah claims to be 59 with a real estate value of $2500 and personal property value of $500. Tryphena is 54 and James, 21, and Andrew, 18, are still living with them. Also, however, there are three younger children (Linda, 10; Benjamin, 4; and Eugenia, 2) living with them. They were grandchildren -- daughters and a son of their daughter, Clarinda. Also living with them, according to the Census is Mary Williams, age 76, and Solly Williams, 50. It is not known who these people were.

Tryphena died in Crofoot Hill, Connecticut on 4 Apr 1867. (This was Higby property for many years.) She was 67 years old.

Three years later, in 1870, Abijah is back in his hometown of West Turin, claiming a real estate value of $4000 and personal property value of $1000. He has married a woman named Delia A., age 56. There is also a boy, Benjamin, age 14, living with them, a grandson and the son of Clarinda. It is believed that Delia’s maiden name was Phelps.

Abijah died one year later, on 18 Sep 1871, in Constableville, Lewis County, New York, the same place where his father had died 42 years before and his mother 28 years before. He was 73 years old.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Baker Brand and Sarah Ann Higby. This page last updated on August 2, 2025.

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Baker Brand (1826-1903) and Sarah A. Higby (1831-1904)

Baker Continues the Family Tradition

Baker Brand, apparently like his father Benjamin, was a wanderer and perhaps partly because of that his marriage to Sarah Ann Higby did not last. He was born 26 March 1826 in Acton, Suffolk County, England, to Benjamin Brand and Abigail King. He came to America on 26 Mar 1827, arriving in New York on the Brighton, with his parents when he was only a year old. After immigrating to the United States, the family first moved to Lewis County in New York, named after Morgan Lewis, Governor of New York when the county was established.

An attempt to Settle Down

The Brand family settled in Turin Village, where Baker’s father was a butcher. Baker married Sarah Ann Higby on 15 Oct 1848 in West Turin, Lewis County, New York. He was 22; she was just 17. Sarah had been born on 5 Feb 1831 to Abijah Higby and Tryphena Perkins in West Turin, Lewis County, New York.

Between 1849 and 1872, Baker and Sarah had eleven children, six of whom died before the age of ten. The children who died young are listed in red:

In a 1900 Census, after Sarah Ann is married to John Kell, she is asked how many children she has given birth to, and she responds “11.” She then says that only 3 are still living. In 1900, when Sarah Ann said this, her oldest son, Sam, was in a mental institution; she had witnessed the tragic death of her daughter, Bessie, killed in a farm accident; her daughter Effie had committed suicide after learning that her tuberculosis was going to end her life; her daughter Sarah Etta had died tragically after a carriage accident.

• Samuel Perkins b. November 13, 1849 in New York d. 1925 Married Martha Hatch on January 1, 1874; ²
• Lafayette b. September 4, 1851 d. July 1854 in Constableville, NY;
• Sarah Etta b. April 4, 1853 in New York d. 27 January 7, 1890 at 4:20 p.m. in Kansas City, MO;
• Leonard William Harrison b. March 6, 1855 in New York d. May 1, 1911;
• Susan L. b. March 12, 1857 d. November 1857 Constableville, NY;
• Caserious (?) b. May 19, 1860 d. December 1864 Constableville, NY;
• Julia Harriet b. October 20, 1861 in New York d. December 7, 1928 First married to William LaMore on January 9, 1876 in Atumaway, Iowa; second husband was James A. Ham on June 5, 1893 at 918 Woodland in Kansas City, Missouri;
• Bessie b. August 11, 1862 d. August 19, 1872 at the age of 10 after being thrown in front of a reaper;
• Clarrie E. b. November 26, 1864 d. October 1865;
• Effie B. b. October 26, 1867 in Richland, Rice, Minnesota d. June 25, 1896 in Tucscon, AZ. Married Edwin J. Pierpoint of Waterbury, Connecticut on October 28, 1883;
• Alvira E. b. April 26, 1872 d. October 14, 1872 in Kansas City. ³

A move to Rice county, Minnesota

Baker and Sarah migrated to Richland, Rice County, Minnesota, in the mid-1860's. In the 1870 Census, Baker’s occupation is listed as a carpenter. He is 44 years old and Sarah is 39. Living with them are six of their children: Sam, 20; Etta, 17; Leonard, 14; Julia, 9; Bessie, 7; and Effie, 3. By this time, Sarah has also had several miscarriages or given birth to children who died very young.

After 26 Years, The Marriage Fails

Sarah and Baker’s marriage slowly fell apart and they divorced in 1874 in Richland, Minnesota. He was 48; she was 43. They had been married for 26 years. That same year, their daughter, Bessie, at the age of 10 died after being thrown in front of a reaper. Sarah, of course, had already lost at least five children in childbirth or in infancy. At the time of their divorce, their children were: Samuel, age 25 (who married that same year); Sarah Etta, 21; Leonard, 19; Julia, 13; and Effie, 7. Sarah still had two young daughters to raise. The decision to divorce must have been difficult; it was very uncommon in the 1800s, and difficult to obtain, usually impossible without one of four reasons: adultery, abandonment, abuse, or alcoholism. In 1880, according to the historian Robert L. Griswold, one marriage in 21 — fewer than 5 percent — ended in divorce.

Alone and Separated; Sarah Remarries

Six years later, in 1880, Baker is in Tombstone, Pima County, Arizona, working as a carpenter, while Sarah (who lists herself as “married” on the Census rolls) remains in Richland, Minnesota with three of her children — Leonard, 25; Julia, 19; and Effie, 13. Leonard may very well have been supporting the family; he is listed as a farmer, although it is not known whether Baker sent money to the family or not. Also living with them at the time is Mattie Brand, 23, identified as a “boarder” and a “cousin.”

There is some evidence from the Waterbury, Connecticut city directories that Sarah lived between 1882 and 1886 with her daughter, Effie, and Effie's husband, Edwin J. Pierpont. Here is the information:

• 1882: Edwin J. Pierpont is living at 154 E. Main with the Pierpont family
• 1883: Mrs. Sarah Brand lives at 8 Dover — the same address as Edwin J. Pierpont
• 1884: Sarah A. Brand, widow, lives at 235 S. Main — the same address as Edwin J. Pierpont ⁴
• 1885: Sarah A. Brand, widow, lives at 235 S. Main — the same address as Edwin J. Pierpont. ⁵
• 1886: no listing for Sarah Brand can be found

Ten years later, in 1900, Baker is 75 years old, a lodger with the Thomas Seogoe family in Pomono, California. It is said that he had moved there with some of his brothers.

On November 10, 1892, Sarah married John Kell in Kansas City, Jackson County, Missouri.

Baker died on 17 Nov 1903 in Pomona, California, and is buried there. He was 77 years old.

Sarah died just one year later on 29 Feb 1904. She was 73 years old. Family information states that Sarah died in Canada but was buried in Kansas City (and at least one document on Ancestry.com states that she died in Kansas City). Two of her daughters, Julia and Etta, lived in Kansas City prior to their deaths.

Sarah Ann was buried in the same cemetery plot in Kansas City with her daughters, Sarah Etta and Julia, even though both Julia and Sarah Ann had married.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Baker Brand and Sarah Ann Higby. This page last updated on August 2, 2025.

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Pierce Herrick (1804-1887) and Ann Miller (1807-1872)

Herricks Remain in New York

Pierce Herrick was born 19 January 1804 in Norwich, Chenango County, New York. He was the son of Rufus Herrick and Jerusah Pellet Pierce and the grandson of Eleazer Herrick and Mary Rea.

Pierce lived with his family until at least 1820 in Chenango County, New York; he would have been 16. By 1830, however, he is in Caton, New York, a married man. How and when he travelled to Caton is unknown, but Chenango and Steuben Counties are not too far apart — perhaps a day or two of travel in the early 1800s.

Life in Caton, New York

Pierce married Ann Miller in 1830 or 1831 in Caton, Steuben County, New York, where Ann was teaching school.

Ann Miller was born in 1807 in Maryland. Nothing is known about her parents or how or when she got to Caton, New York. If she was indeed teaching there it may be that she went there to get a job.

Pierce and Ann had at least six children:

• William Phineas b. 1831 d. 1898
• Electra b. 1832 d. 1914
• Augustus C b. 1834 d. 1912 ²
• Harriet (Hattie) b. 1837 d. 1873
• Joseph Miller b. 1839 d. 1893
• Linda M. b. 1844 [This name appears on some lists but not on others. Since she does not appear in either the 1850 or 1860 censuses, it is assumed that she either (1) died young, or (2) never existed.]
• Myra Lydia b. 1845

The 1860 Census transcribes both Pierce and Ann’s names incorrectly; Pierce is “Price” and Ann becomes “Jama.” One can understand the first mistake, but how Ann’s name got to be Jama is anyone’s guess.

In the 1840 Census, Pierce is living in Caton, New York with his wife and several small children. (According to the Census, there are 4 males and 3 females in the household, which is one less female child than there should be.)

In 1850, Pierce and Ann are still in Caton and Pierce lists himself as a farmer with $3000 in real estate. Pierce and Ann are 46 and 43, respectively. Their children (still living with them) are Electra, 18; Augustus, 14; Harriet, 12; Joseph, 11; and Lydia M, 11.

By 1860, the family remains in Caton, but the children are growing up. Pierce apparently feels the value of his real estate has gone down by $500 since 1850 and he lists his personal property at $300. William, 25; Harriet, 23; and Lydia, (listed as age 18, but she would only be 15), are still living with their parents. Also living with them is Delos Thornton, 18, a farm labourer.

Time out to Fight in the War

The name Pierce Herrick cannot be common, yet why would he have enlisted in a Pennsylvania regiment when he had lived his entire life in New York? The question remains: Is this the right Pierce Herrick?

There is a Pierce Herrick who enlisted in the Union Army on 11 June 1861 at the age of 57. He served with the 42nd Infantry Regiment of Pennsylvania. Of those enlisted in that regiment, 11 died of disease or accident and two were killed or mortally wounded. Pierce received a disability discharge on 9 December 1861, so it is likely he was wounded. He left Ann behind with perhaps just one child at home, Myra Lydia at age 16, although just the year before both William and Harriet had been living there, so they may have stayed to keep the farm running, particularly William.

End of life in Corning, New York

After the war, Pierce did fairly well for himself. He and Ann moved to Corning, New York, in 1870 and by then his real estate was valued at $6200 and his personal property at $800. In Corning, only Hattie is still living with them. She is 33 years old. By this time, both Ann and Pierce are in their 60’s.

Ann died on 26 April 1872, probably in Corning, New York. She was 65 years old.

Pierce survived his wife by 15 years, and remained in Corning for quite some time. But in 1885, two years before his death, he is living with the Dumont family in Larned, Pawnee, Kansas. A move from Steuben County, New York, to Pawnee County, Kansas, would not have been undertaken lightly in the mid-1880’s, so Pierce must have had a strong reason to go. It is assumed that the Dumont family may be one of Pierce’s married daughters. However, Mrs. Dumont is listed as “Ann” and Pierce had no daughters named Ann (though Harriet’s name has an “A” for the middle name and she could have well been named after her mother, Ann). The other possibility is that one of the Dumonts is a grandson or granddaughter to Pierce. He died there on 25 April 1887. He was 83 years old.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Pierce Herrick and Ann Miller. This page last updated on August 2, 2025.

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Bert Herrick (1874-ABT 1948) and Grace Mae Brand (1879-1972)

A Quiet, Unassuming Man

Bert Herrick was born on 19 Oct 1874 in Caton, Steuben County, New York. He was the youngest child of Augustus C. Herrick and Josephine Niver.

Bert remained a bachelor for many years. In the 1900 Census, he is 26 years old and living with his parents in Caton, New York.

Nine years later, he met Grace Brand, who was caring for his elderly Aunt Electra who had broken her hip and needed assistance around the house. (Electra was the oldest daughter of Pierce Herrick and Ann Miller, born in 1832.) She would have been 77 years old in 1909. Bert was apparently smitten and started taking Grace out for buggy rides. Grace was happy to spend time with him, apparently, because her fiancé who was an osteopath back in Kansas City, had recently broken off their engagement. According to Grace’s daughter, Hazel, Grace threw her engagement ring down the outhouse hole when Bert asked her to marry him.

Bert Herrick and Grace Brand married on 8 Dec 1909 in Ottawa, Ontario. Bert was 35; Grace was 30. They went to Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, to get married because Grace's Aunt Julia lived there. They are listed in Ontario, Canada Marriages, 1857-1922. Grace gives her name as Grace Cuba Brand; the reason for this middle name is complex and is part of the family legend. This may have been some reference to her real father’s name.

A Quiet, Unassuming Wife

Grace Cuba (Mae) Brand was born on 15 Aug 1879 in Waseca, Minnesota. She believed she was the daughter of Samuel Perkins Brand and Martha E. Hatch, and despite uncertainties throughout her life, she never sought answers to her questions. In about 1890, when Grace was 12 years old, she was sent to Kansas City to live with her Aunt Julia; she as also living near her grandmother, Sarah Ann Higby Brand. She never did return to her home with Samuel and Martha Brand (who were probably her aunt and uncle rather than her parents).

There is a strong possibility that Grace was actually the daughter of Samuel’s sister and Grace's aunt, Sarah Etta, who lived in Kansas City with her unmarried sister, Julia. Sarah Etta was in a carriage accident in about 1885. Her horses reared and threw her out of the carriage. She then fell out of the carriage and a large wheel from a dray rolled over her hips. She was in great pain and sought relief at spas and with morphine. She died in 1890 and she left a great many things to her “niece,” Grace. It was then that Grace left her home and went to live with her Aunt Julia in Kansas City. Through the years that were to follow, Grace was mentioned in the wills of both of her aunts and her grandmother. There seemed to be a special connection with her.

While living with her Aunt Julia, Grace finished her high school education and became a practical nurse. For nearly ten years, she worked as a nurse, first in Kansas City, and then traveling to South Dakota, Missouri, Colorado, and Montreal, Quebec. By 1909, she was caring for an elderly woman in Caton, New York, and that woman turned out to be Bert Herrick’s aunt.

A Quiet, Unassuming Life in Caton, New York

Above is one of the few photographs of Bert and Grace Herrick together. It was taken in the early 1940‘s, not long before Bert’s death. Bert is seated in the chair with Grace standing behind him. To their right is their daughter, Hazel, and their granddaughter, Helen.

After their marriage in Canada, Grace and Bert settled down in Caton, New York, where Bert was a farmer and machinery salesman. Their daughter, Hazel, said of her father:

“He was not a farmer. It was not in his blood. He was a natural-born salesman and he sold insurance and lightning rods. Houses and barns everywhere had them. He’d be gone for a few days at a time."

"He was also the Town Supervisor and involved in politics. He had a county job, too. It had a long name and I was so impressed with it. The county seat was Bath. He would travel to Bath to attend county meetings. He kept his temper contained a lot of the time. I knew when he was mad about something but he’d keep it under his hat."

"We were not affectionate to each other. My dad was a social person, more so than his family. He never talked about any other girl/lady in his life besides my mom, but he sure fell for my mother when he saw her. He was on the Steuben County Board of Supervisors. He wore high-button shoes and posed in 1921 in front of the Bath courthouse."

“My dad had the first car in Steuben County. People from all over came to see our car. It was an Overland. Four doors with a back and front seat. We had a Ford that had to be cranked up to get it started with isinglass curtains. My dad would get very mad trying to crank up that car. When we went to church in the wintertime, we’d take one horse and the sleigh and cover up with a bearskin rug to keep warm. The church was about a mile away.”

Bert Travels and Grace Runs the Household

While Bert had spent his life living in and around Caton, New York, Grace had travelled a great deal. Her daughter, Hazel, said: “Mom was always at home, taking care of her chickens and flowers and garden. Every spring she got busy and ordered her chickens which, as I recall, were about 500 White Leghorns. She wasn’t used to an outdoor toilet until she got married, but was used to city life. She was a person who assumed she should be quiet — she was very self-contained. I can’t believe she was happy being a farm wife. She would have preferred to be out more.”

Bert and Grace had three children:

• Helen (b. 1913. d. ABT 1929 (standing beside her mother)
• Hazel Marie (b. 1914) (seated) ²
• Theodore (b. 1919) (seated on his father's lap)

Helen, the oldest daughter, died tragically while mowing the lawn one day. She was just 18 years old, and the cause of death was never determined, though it was assumed she had a faulty heart valve.

After Bert’s Death, Grace Moves On

Bert, Grace, and their children are in the censuses for 1910, 1920, and 1930. In 1918, at the age of 44, Bert completed his World War I Draft Registration card. From 1921 to 1929, he was a supervisor of a company in Caton, but he always continued to work the farm.

Bert's daughter, Hazel, remembers: “There was a time when I was an early teenager that my dad would be upset when the mail came. He’d always be looking for the egg cheque or the milk cheque. We had a few cows. He’d be in a bad mood if he didn’t get a cheque. I was aware that money was a little on the tight side, but it was never discussed. I never got an allowance — that was unheard of.”

Bert Herrick died at the age of 74, in about 1948, according to his daughter, Hazel. He died while he was in New Jersey, apparently still working. He was buried in Savona, New York.

Grace Herrick lived for nearly twenty-five years as a widow, but she went back to work as a companion and nurse, living in California for a while. She eventually moved to Silver City, New Mexico, where her daughter, Hazel, lived. She lived on her own in a small apartment and then moved in with her daughter and son-in-law. She died in September of 1972 in Silver City, Grant County, New Mexico. She was 93 years old.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Bert Herrick and Grace Mae Brand. This page last updated August 2, 2025.

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Augustus C. Herrick (1834-1912) and Josephine Niver (1834-1919)

Another Herrick Remains in Caton, New York

Augustus Charles Herrick was born on 31 May 1834 in Caton, Steuben County, New York. He was the son of Pierce Herrick and Ann Miller. The Herricks began their lives in the United States in the 1600’s in Massachusetts, and some of Augustus’s descendants had been involved with or lived in Salem when the infamous Salem Witch Trials occurred. However, after the trials, the Herricks began to migrate west, first into Connecticut and then into New York.

Augustus must have liked Caton and Steuben County. It appears that he remained there his entire life. In 2003, the population of Caton was only at 2,000, and it was undoubtedly considerably less when Augustus and Josephine lived there. It was named for Richard Caton, an early pioneer of the area. It is in the southeast part of the county, south of Corning. It was formed in 1839, but named Wormley first. A year later, in 1840, the name was changed to Caton. (Thanks to Wikipedia for the map of New York State. Steuben County is in red.)

Marriage and Family

Augustus married Josephine Niver, probably in Caton, in about 1852, though some sources give a date as late as 1856. Josephine was born 11 November 1834. In the Census forms, she says she was born in the state of New York, as well as her parents. Her parents may have been Abner Tunis Niver and Margaret Mariah Brot (though this has not yet been proven). At the time of their marriage, Augustus was 18 and Josephine was 17.

Based on Census records and other family trees from Ancestry, Augustus and Josephine had at least four sons and one daughter, all born in Caton, Steuben County, New York, but one (Chester) died before the age of two:

• Whiting b. 1858 d. 1922 (Note: Hazel Marie Herrick Ingraham remembers her Uncle Whiting as a “businessman in Elmira [New York] who always wore a suit.”)
• Chester b. 1860 d. 1862
• Nettie b. 1865 d. 1936 (Note: Nettie married a man named Weale. She had three children: Josephine, Irena, and Robert. In the 1900 Census she is living with her parents and her three children in Caton. What happened to her husband, and why he is not living with them, is unknown. By 1910, the grandson, Robert, is still living with his grandparents.)
• Eber b. 1867 d. 1938 (Note: Hazel Marie Herrick Ingraham remembers “Uncle Eber” well. She said, “He married Bertha and they lived down the road. He was older than my father, Bert Herrick.” Eber and Bertha had two daughters, Blanche and Mary, whom Hazel remembers. “I lived with Mary in Painted Post for a while.”)
• Bert b. 19 Oct 1875 d. 1948 ²

Josephine would have been about 40 at the time of Bert’s birth.

In the photograph above: Standing, left to right: Eber, Bert, Nettie, and Whiting. Sitting, left to right: Bertha Riffle Herrick (wife of Eber), Josephine Niver Herrick, Augustus Charles Herrick, and Ida Howland Herrick (wife of Whiting).Taken in about 1900.

Census Records Tell the Story

Census records provide genealogists with a wealth of information, and one can trace Augustus’s life easily through these documents. Here’s what the census records tell us about the life of Charles Augustus Herrick:

• 1850: He is living in Caton, at the age of 14, with his parents.
• 1860: He is living in Caton with his wife, Josephine, and two children (Chester, age six months, and Whiting, age 2); Augustus identifies himself as a farmer with real estate value of $1600 and personal property of $300.
• 1870: Still in Caton, he is living with his wife, Josephine; his children, Whiting, 12; Nettie, 5; Eber, 3. The child, Chester, died in 1862.
• 1880: He is living in Steuben County, a farmer, with his wife, Josephine, and his three children: Nettie, 15; Eber, 13; and Bertie, 6. His name is spelled Augustis Herricke.
• 1890: He is found in two different censuses for Steuben County. (Steuben County, New York Directory, 1891; and New York Census, 1790-1890)
• 1900: He is in Caton, living with his wife and daughter, Nettie, and three of Nettie’s children — Josephine, 10; Irena, 8, and Robert, 6.
• 1910: Both Augustus and Josephine are still in Caton; they are living with one grandson, Robert Weale (Nettie’s son), who is now 16.

End of life for Augustus and Josephine

Augustus died in 1912 in Caton. He was 78 years old. Presumably he is buried in Caton, perhaps near his parents, Pierce and Ann Herrick.

It is believed that Josephine died on 27 April 1919, still living in the family home in Caton. Hazel Marie Herrick Ingraham, her granddaughter, remembers visiting the “Herrick House” which was just “down the road” from her own home, when she was about eight years old. She was born in 1914, and she recalls that her grandmother died when she was young.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Augustus C. Herrick and Josephine Niver. Last updated on July 29, 2025.

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George Henry Mosher (1865-1928/29) and Gertrude Edna Wheeler (1868-ABT 1958)

Life Begins in Oakland, New York

George Henry Mosher was born in 1865 in Oakland, New York. George’s parents were Josiah Mosher and Sarah Jane Harrington. Oakland, it is presumed, was a very small town. Neither a city of Oakland, nor a county of Oakland, can be found in Wikipedia. George moved around quite a bit during his lifetime, but there is no evidence that he ever left the state of New York.

Work, Marriage and Two Children

In the 1880 Census, George is in Burns, Allegany, New York. He marries in 1886 and by 1900, he is living with his family in Portage, Livingston, New York. In 1910, he is in Hornell, Steuben County. It is there he will remain until his death in 1929. He was a master carpenter, so he clearly went to places where he could get work. He made the checkers/parchesi board which is owned by the family and is currently in the possession of George’s great-grandson, Robert Philip Ingraham.

George married his third cousin, Gertrude Edna Wheeler, in 1886 in Dalton, New York. (George’s mother, Sarah Jane Harrington, and Gertrude’s mother, Maria Van Guilder, were second cousins and both were great-granddaughters of David Harrington, who held the rank of Captain during the Revolution. David’s ancestors, and those of his wife Waite Tripp, can be traced back several generations.) Dalton, like Oakland, was apparently a very small town and not much can be learned about it.

Gertrude was born in 1868 in Yates County, New York. She was three years younger than George. Yates County is a small county located northeast of Allegany. How George and Gertrude met is not known, but since they were third cousins, it might have been through family-related visits.

Gertrude was “a talented, temperamental soul who taught herself to play both guitar and piano, write, and had music published, spoiled her youngest daughter, and didn’t always treat her husband nicely.” (These are the words of her daughter, Ratie Jane.) Gertrude’s parents were Phillip Wheeler and Maria Van Guilder. In the 1930 Census, a year after George died, Gertrude can be found living in Hornell with her sister, Mary Allen.

George and Gertrude had two daughters:

• Ratie Jane (b. 29 Dec 1889) ²
• Ruth (b. about 1899)

A Grandson Remembers his Grandfather

Robert Mosher Ingraham, the son of Ratie Jane, lived with his grandparents several times during his childhood. He wrote in his autobiography that his Grandfather Mosher “worked at times in the Kayser and Merrill mills. He was a wood worker in the Elgar Mill, a large plant which made window sashes and blinds. He held his job there from the time before I was born [1911] until shortly before he died in 1928.”

Another event relating to George Mosher is mentioned in Robert Ingraham’s memoir. He wrote: “It was in 1921 that I heard my first radio. It belonged to a man named Frank Spink who owned a jewelry store in Hornell. Right after that my grandfather, who was almost stone deaf from age 30, bought a Freshman 5-tube radio with three tuning dials and he spent quite a bit of money having two antenna poles put up which had pulleys and a rope to lower it for any needed repairs or replacement. Grandpa Mosher had started to play the violin before deafness overtook him and was passionately fond of music. When he learned that he could hear with earphones all the radio programs, he entered a whole new life and used to sit in the dark for hours listening to the programs from KDKA in Pittsburg, WHAM in Rochester, and the WESG station in Schenectady.

“He bought a curved neck speaker so we could hear, too, and this was my first introduction to the outside world of good music. Radio then was a far cry from the stupid caterwauling and other noise that comes out of today’s stations. Grandpa’s radio, by the way, got its power from an automobile battery. He bought a charger and had two batteries so he was never without power.”

Another day that Robert Mosher Ingraham recalls involved his grandfather: “On April 16, 1917 my mother and father left us to attend the showing of the ‘Birth of a nation’ at the Majestic theatre. My grandfather was the baby sitter. Since he was very deaf we used to mischievously play tricks on him. One of the tricks was to creep along the floor and tie cotton string around his leg to the chair. We only did this when he was asleep in the chair. Perhaps he knew what we were doing but if so he never let on he did and spoil our fun.”

A Grandson Remembers his Grandmother

Robert Mosher Ingraham was also influenced by his grandmother, Gertrude Wheeler Mosher. He wrote: “My grandmother worked at home making dresses and doing other sewing and had a water-powered sewing machine. The motor was a little turbine operated off the city water line and it was powerful, smooth, and efficient. The exhaust water ran into a funnel and down the drain. There are not too many people living today who ever saw such a contrivance.

“I used to spend rainy days sitting by the sewing machine watching that marvelous invention and became very familiar with sewing technique, terminology and machine maintenance when I was only five years old. This was very helpful in later life. After I was married I bought a used electric sewing machine and taught my wife how to operate it. Now, 47 years later I am sewing kites in my shop and I often recall how I gained my initial inspiration and expertise.”

A long, hard life

George and Gertrude never lived far from a small area in New York — from Oakland to Dalton to Portage to Hornell. In the 1920 Census, George is identified as a cabinet maker, while Gertrude is a "sales lady at a retail department store". Ratie Jane was gone from home by then but her younger sister, Ruth, is listed as a "musician" who works at the "theatre."

George was a master carpenter until blindness forced him to retire. He died in 1929, at the age of 64, in Hornell. His wife survived until the age of 90. She died in about 1958.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of George Henry Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler. This page last updated on July 29, 2025.

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Robert Lee Ingraham (1888-1962) and Ratie Jane Mosher (1889-1995)

Born and Raised in Allegany County, New York

Robert Lee Ingraham was born 15 Feb 1888 in Independence, Allegany County, New York. He died in 1962 in Arenas Valley, Grant County, New Mexico. He was the son of Frank Ingraham and Belle Captola Lee.

Robert wrote about his early life:

"My birth certificate tells me that I was born on the 15th day of February 1888, the winter of the big snow. The place was a farm house in the little hamlet of Spring Mills in the township of Independence, the state of New York.

"My parents were tenant farmers who in the terms used in those days worked the land on shares. Shortly after my arrival, we moved into a little town of Whitesville and it is in this place that my memories though very dim begin to take shape.

"I was a very scrawny and ill-proportioned child with very weak ankles which hindered [me] to some extent during my early years.

"The era into which I was born was a strange one. The civil war was something very real to most then and not just a few pages in a history book. The G.A.R. was a power to be reckoned with both politically and socially and one of my first memories is standing between my father's knees and swatching a Fourth of July parade headed by a company of Civil war veterans, most feared stalwart men who marched proudly, muskets on shoulder, while the fife and drum played lustily.

"I remember the little boots with the copper toes and the red leather tops and the dresses the little boys wore til they were 4 or 5 years old, and the long dresses that swept the ground and were supposed to conceal the fact that ladies had legs. Limbs they might have, but legs never.

"A derby hat and a handle bar moustache were part of every well dressed young farmer attire and a big silver watch and chain with the key for winding added to the overall effect.

"Travel was by foot or horse-drawn vehicle. There were no hard topped roads. Kerosene lamps were the only means of home lighting which tended to promote going to bed early. There were no telephones, no rural delivery, and the daily paper was a luxury for the well-to-do city dweller and the country school house with from 6 to 80 pupils.

"I remember when I was about four or more...years old I was staying with my grandfather Lee and going out in the field where he was working. As was the custom of that time, I had on a dress. A neighbour came by and asked my grandfather what little girl is that [since I was visiting she had never seen me before]. As soon as she was gone, I proceeded to tear that dress into shreds and went to the house in my underwear. That afternoon Grandfather and I went to town and I came home with my first pair of pants."

Robert Mosher Ingraham, the second son of Robert Lee and Ratie Jane wrote this in 1982 about his parents’ courtship:

“My father had left his home in Andover at age 19 and found work in Hornell. He chanced to find board and room at the home of my Grandmother and Grandfather Mosher in Hornell on Kansas Avenue, a street one block away and parallel to Irving Place.

“It was at my grandparents’ house that he met my mother, 17 years old at the time. My mother had a sister, Ruth, who also was still at home. She was 10 years younger than my mother.

“My mother and father were married a short time after he moved to Hornell. Their marriage took place 17 Mar 1908 in Hornell, Steuben County, New York.” Ratie Jane Mosher was born 29 Dec 1889 in Oakland, NY. She was the daughter of George Henry Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler.

Robert Lee Ingraham writes of his early marriage:

"Our courtship was I expect very much like all others. Reality and unreality all mixed together to produce a sort of dream world in which all young couples live for a time until the cold hard facts of life catch up with them and bring the realization that they are only two human beings and what loked like haloes was only a mirage."

Hornell, New York

In 1794 an Indian trader and entrepreneur by the name of George Hornell arrived in the small New York valley with big things on his mind; he built the first grist-mill in the area. He purchased more than 2000 acres of prime land that same year — the City of Hornell sits on a portion of this property.

What is now Hornell was settled in 1790 under the name "Upper Canisteo" ². It then went through several name changes, including Hornellsville, but the name of Hornell, located in Steuben County ³, was eventually made permanent in 1906. The name comes from early settler, George Hornell, who was born in York, Pennsylvania in 1768.

Robert Lee Ingraham said this about the early years of his marriage:

"We were married March 16, 1907, by the Reverend Chapman Jones who must have been a very skillful tier of knots. I write this in the fifty-third year of our marriage. Miss Katie Jane Mosher. Mr Robert L. Ingraham. Mr and Mrs. Robert L. Ingraham.

"Our honeymoon was rather limited juged by modern standards as following the ceremony we went to a theatre this being a Saturday night and Monday morning armed with a box of cigars I went to work and thus ended my boyhood. As I took up the duties of marriage and the founding of a family as all must do if our race is to survive.

"We took up residence with my wife's parents whose kindness and patience I have never ceased to appreciate.

"On one year from the following June 1 our oldest son Lee was born and when he was 1 month old we went to keeping house on our own. I have never forgotten our first meal in our own home and although we enjoyed it I think we were both a bit homesick.

"Our housekeeping was rather primitive and luxuries were few and far between, as the wages of a mill hand required a lot of stretching to cover the necessities and the movies of those days were about all the creation we could afford. The silent screen with a couple of reels and an illustrated song only cost five cents and, crude as they were, we thought they were wonderful."

Three boys to Raise

Ratie Jane and her two oldest sons, Lee and Robert. This was probably taken during the time when Robert had gone to fight in the Mexican War.

Robert (usually called Rob) and Ratie had three sons:

• Lee Wheeler b. 1 Jun 1908 d. 2002
• Robert Mosher b. 15 Jan 1911 in Hornell, Allegany, New York d. 27 September 1995 ⁴
• Philip David b. 11 Dec 1916 d. 2012

Robert Ingraham wrote that his father worked in a ... silk mill. [He] was a weaver and operated three large looms making chiffon silk. My earliest recollection of [him] was his coming home with his blue serge pants covered with chiffon silk threads.“

The Silk Mills and Hornell, NY

Robert Mosher Ingraham wrote about the city of Hornell:

“There were seven silk mills in Hornell, one of them making silk gloves. The mill my father worked in was the Huguet, owned and operated by a French company headquartered in New York. The glove factory was the Kayser, a firm still in business [as of this writing in 1982] and famous for its silk products although it no longer has the factory in Hornell.

“Hornell was also a railroad center for the mainline of the Erie railroad which ran from New York to Chicago. There were large railroad shops there and many men were employed in the shops and the huge switching yards.

“The silk mills, particularly the glove factory, employed mostly women. The vast employment of women during World War II and continuing today, was not as new as most people thought. Practically all textile companies employed women at that time. By today’s standard, many of the ones in Hornell were actually sweat shops where miserable working conditions and low wages prevailed.”

Membership in the National Guard

Robert Lee Ingraham had membership in Company K of the National Guard. As a result of his serving, his family was entitled to some privileges. His son, Robert M. Ingraham wrote: “The armory was a large brick building in traditional architecture for such military establishments. It occupied a whole block on Seneca Street in Hornell and had a turret tower with battlements at the top. There was a large drill hall equipped also as a gymnasium, a reading room with leather upholstered furniture, a library, kitchen and a balcony from which spectators could watch the drilling and occasional basketball game.

“There were many social functions there such as family night dinners and the like. Since it was only a few blocks from our home we had no difficulty getting there. ... A Colonel Santee, who had served in the Spanish American War, was the custodian of the armory and used to take Lee [my brother] and me on the turret to lower the flag. One could see all over the city from there.”

Fighting Against Mexico

In the summer of 1916, Robert Lee Ingraham found himself fighting for his country against Mexico. His son, Robert Mosher Ingraham, wrote of his memories of that time:

“After Pancho Villa had raided Columbus, NM, Company K was federalized and sent along with regular army units to the Mexican border to try and hunt Villa and his bandits down. There was great consternation in our family over this. My mother was pregnant [with] my brother Philip who was born the following 11 Dec 1916. It was a hot long summer and money that the soldiers were supposed to receive never arrived. If it had not been for my grandparents [George Henry Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler, Ratie’s parents] we would have probably gone hungry. There was also a ladies’ auxiliary that gave some money to women whose husbands were away so we got along all right. I remember that my mother in her condition was very unhappy, irritable, and worried. She was especially strict with Lee and me and once whipped my bare legs all the way home from where we were playing because we had not responded to her calls.

“My father came home the following September. On the last afternoon he spent at home before leaving for Mexico he took his rifle apart while sitting on the front porch with all of us. Then he couldn’t get it together again and I will never forget how worried we got as the time drew near for him to leave. I envisioned some sort of terrible punishment for him. He finally got it back together and left, and we went to the armory to watch the company march off to the railroad station.”

Robert Returns

Robert’s son recalls his father’s return: “I was in kindergarten beginning school that September when Company K came home and we were let out of school to watch the return march from the railroad station to the armory. Dad had grown a sizable mustache in his absence and I had difficulty picking him out from all the other uniformed men. My mother hated the mustache and made him shave it off when he got home.”

Robert apparently heard his father talk about the war. He wrote: “The Mexican campaign was a bit of a fiasco. Villa was never caught and my father never got more than a few feet into Mexico. The food was terrible and many of the men got colitis. The campaign was headed by General Jack Pershing and it was the first time that airplanes were used in a military venture. The whole thing was a prelude to World War I which we entered the following April. There were in all about 15,000 troops along the border at one time."

“Father never did receive his army pay and took up where he had left off working at Huguet’s Mill. Philip [the third son] arrived hale and hearty and life went on as usual. The peace and quiet was only momentary, however.”

Fighting for Workmen's Rights

Soon after his return from Mexico, Robert Ingraham became involved with labour activities. His son wrote: “My father, who was always an activist where injustice was concerned, joined with other workers at Huguet’s to form a union. Company spies were sent into their first organizational meeting and although they formed the nucleus of a union they also found themselves locked out of the mill the next day.

“Dad then went to the Erie shops and got a job but it wasn’t destined to last long. This was a time when the railroad unions were fighting for existence and the Erie had brought in a whole trainload of scabs to take over the jobs of those who had been fired for union activity. This precipitated a small but dangerous war during which many of the scabs were found dead and union-inclined workers were injured in strange ways and some killed. Dad had enough when someone threw a huge bolt past his head as he was dumping the ash pit of a locomotive and he just quietly went home.

“The next job was in Painted Post where he went to work for Ingersoll-Rand Company. Prior to that, World War I was well underway but when he went to enlist he was turned down because of the size of his family. So in war time he had no difficulty getting a job in Painted Post which was a new phase as a defense industry.

“His job as a machinist caused him to work 10 hours per night for the magnificent wage rate of thirty cents per hour. This, of course, was $300 a day and since the week was a full six days and often seven, the pay was not too bad for the times."

Robert found a boarding house run by a couple named Hoagland and commuted to Hornell once or twice a month on the train. The family stayed in Hornell until the following April and then everyone moved to Painted Post to live in a rented house on West High Street.

Robert Mosher Ingraham goes on to say this: “My father, who was an avid fisherman,...used to take a fish pole in hand immediately after supper in the summer and fall and walk up the tracks to the river to fish for black bass. I used to go with him at times to catch grasshoppers for him as they were sure-fire bait for the fighting small mouth bass.”

For a while, things went well, and then 1921 “brought a rather severe business recession and my father’s work was so spotty such as a few days at a time that he went to Hornell and got a job in the boiler room of the Derry Mill. We closed up the house and all of us, including our dog, Dick, moved to Hornell to live with my grandmother and grandfather George Henry Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler.]. At that time they had moved from Kansas Avenue to State Street which also adjoined the fairgrounds."

“My father received ... $25 per week for his work as a boiler attendant so we were able to live fairly well. He paid my grandfather most of it to take care of the extra expenses but Lee and I received twenty-five cents per week allowance to do with as we pleased [which meant that we could] “go to the Majestic Theatre every Saturday. My Aunt Ruth [sister to Ratie Jane] played the piano in the theatre orchestra there and they had three acts of vaudeville every weekend."

Time to Move for Ratie's Health

Robert and Ratie Jane moved to Hurley, New Mexico, in the 1940’s when Ratie Jane contracted tuberculosis. Many people had moved to New Mexico or Arizona in the 1920’s and 1930’s to cure their tuberculosis. It worked well for Ratie, who lived to be 95.

Rob worked for Kennecott Copper Corporation and the couple bought a small house in nearby Arenas Valley, where they spent their years of retirement. They celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary together.

Many years Separate their Deaths

Robert Ingraham died on 20 Nov 1962 in Arenas Valley, Grant County, New Mexico.

Obituary from the Daily Press for Robert Lee Ingraham:

Funeral services were held last Friday at the Curtis Mortuary Chapel for Robert L. Ingraham of Arenas Valley, who died Nov. 20 at his home following an illness of two weeks. The Rev. Harold E. Johnson, pastor of the Santa Rita Community Church, officiated. Born Feb. 15, 1888, in the Township of Independence, Allegheny County, New York, the deceased was engaged as a young man in the silk Industry as a weaver. He became affiliated in 1918 with the Ingersoll Rand Company of Painted Post, N. Y., as a machinist and later became the Foreman in charge of all machine tool repairs, serving 28 years. In 1944, Mr. Ingraham moved to New Mexico seeking a better climate for his wife and accepted a position in the machine shops of the Kennecott Copper Corp. Chino Mines Division, at Hurley, where the couple resided for 11 years prior to his retirement six years ago. During his employment at Kennecott the deceased served as president of the International Association of Machinists local union. In 1916, as a member of Company K Infantry of the National Guard, he served in the Mexican Border campaign prior to the outbreak of World War I. Survivors are his wife of 55 years, Ratie J. Ingraham; three sons, Lee and Philip Ingraham of Painted Post, N. Y., and Robert M. lngraham of Silver City; a sister, Mrs. Roxy Kerr of Hornell, N. Y.; two granddaughters, Mrs. Charles L. Francis of Reserve, N. M., and Mrs. Mark Crowe of Corning, N. Y; a grandson, Robert Philip Ingraham, stationed In San Diego with the U. S. Navy, and one great grandson, Kevin Crowe, also of Corning. Interment was made in the mausoleum in the Silver City Cemetery. Pallbearers were Cecil Emery, Sherman Harper, Tom White, Ernest Hagan, Eugene ?laby and Jimmie Stone.

Robert’s widow, Ratie Jane, lived for many more years as a widow, first in the house in Arenas Valley, then in a small house in Silver City, and finally as a patient at Fort Bayard Hospital. She remained independent for many years, continued to play the piano, sometimes while her son played his violin, and had plenty of opinions!

She died, at the age of 95 in February of 1985 at Fort Bayard Hospital.

Obituary from The Daily Press for Ratie J. Ingraham:

INGRAHAM: Ratie J. Ingraham, 95, passed away Wednesday at the Fort Bayard Medical Center where she had been a patient for the past six years. She was born Dec. 29, 1889 in Oakland, N.Y., and came to New Mexico as a health seeker in 1945. She had been a continuous resident here since that time. Mrs. Ingraham was preceded in death in 1962 by her husband, Robert L. Ingraham, a retired Kennecott employee. As a professional musician, Mrs. Ingraham played the piano and was also a vocalist. She served as a theater pianist for several years. In this area she contributed her talent as a church and lodge musician. Survivors are three sons, Lee Ingraham and Philip D. Ingraham of Painted Post, N.Y., and Robert M. Ingraham of Silver City: a grandson, Prince George, British Columbia; two granddaughters, Helen Francis of Kensington, Md., and Dolores Schwfeger of Rochester, N.Y.; and three great-grandchildren, Mrs. Ingraham was a member of the Bayard Methodist Church and was a former member of the Robert Taper Rebekah Lodge of Bayard. There will be a brief service Friday at 2 p.m. in the Curtis-Bright funeral chapel with the Rev. C.M. Henderson officiating. Interment will be at Memory Lane Cemetery in Silver City. Arrangements are by the Curtis-Bright Funeral Home.


This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, the grandson of Robert L. Ingraham and Ratie Jane Mosher. This page last updated on July 29, 2025.

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Robert Mosher Ingraham (1911-1995) and Hazel Marie Herrick (1914-2010)

Memories of Birthplaces and Parents

Robert Mosher Ingraham was born on 15 January 1911, in Hornell, Allegany County, New York. He was the son of Robert Lee Ingraham and Ratie Jane Mosher. While his father was always called Rob, Robert Mosher Ingraham was always called Bob.

Bob wrote: “My birthplace was a two-story house at the north end of Irving Place, a short street which led to the fairgrounds in Hornell, New York.”

Hazel Marie Herrick Ingraham was born 31 Aug 1914 in Caton, Steuben County, New York. She was the daughter of Bert Herrick and Grace Brand. She grew up on a small farm near Caton.

Hazel said: “I was born at home on my parents’ farm near Caton, New York. We were nine miles from Corning which had a hospital, but not many women went to a hospital in those days to have their babies."

This is Hazel's description of the home she grew up in:

"My father had built the house, the one and only house he ever built. I don’t know if he had help. There was running water in the pantry, but you went outside for the outhouse; a little bathroom inside, but no running water; a screened front porch with white pillars and a couch; a living room with a separate dining room, and hardwood floors throughout."

"We had things that other people didn’t have. We had a piano, for instance, and I played piano by ear. Meal preparation took place in the kitchen. We had a large cook stove which burned wood and coal. It had an attached hot water heater. We also had an oil stove which my mother used in the summertime to avoid a hot stove."

"There were stairs that led into three bedrooms. I shared a bedroom with my sister, Helen. Another bedroom was the master bedroom. The third bedroom was for my brother, Ted, but my Aunt Julia often came to visit and Ted would sleep on a cot. There were two windows in our bedroom, one on each wall. We had a closet, which was unusual for that time. I got along well with my sister. I don’t remember arguing about anything with her. I was a little bigger for my age." ²

Memories of Grandparents

Bob's maternal grandparents were George Henry Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler. They lived in Hornell when he was a young boy. They had moved from Oakland, New York, a tiny hamlet near Nunda, and about 30 miles from Hornell. Bob wrote, "[Grandma and Grandpa’s house] was a big rambling one with many rooms, a basement with a dirt floor, and a huge attic...[where] I spent many hours playing. The house was owned by a wealthy woman named Newman and I used to go with my father when [I was] around five years of age [to pay] the rent." ³

Hazel wrote:

• “I never met my mother’s parents who were Samuel Perkins Brand and Martha Elizabeth Hatch. ⁴ They lived in many different places and my mom always saw to it that we wrote letters. My mother wrote to them and contacted them when she was still able to. My mother was not particularly close to her siblings."

• "My father’s parents were Augustus C. Herrick and Josephine Niver. Grandpa Herrick died before I was born, but I went down to see Grandma Herrick in the Herrick family house. She was living there in a wheelchair. Cousin Durlin — his mother was my dad’s cousin — and his wife lived with her and took care of her. I saw her in about 1920 and she died some time after that. She was in her bedroom, I remember. She wore a black satin dress and white lace shawl over her shoulders. She wore a little lace cap over her hair. There was chocolate pie — two pieces for my grandmother and one piece for me. It was just a short walk from our house to theirs. The house burned down many years later.”

Childhood Illness and Home Chores or Activities

Bob:

• “My family moved from Irving Place to an upstairs apartment in the house where my grandparents Mosher lived on Kansas Avenue a short time after I was born. Before that, I contracted typhoid fever and nearly died when I was barely six months old. ...I was starving to death when my father conceived the idea of getting me to suck on orange pulp contained in a clean cloth. The very suggestion of this infuriated my grandmother and [Great] Aunt Mary [older sister of Gertrude Wheeler Mosher] who berated him for such an insane idea. He did, however, and I immediately began to improve and, obviously, survived.”

• “In our house on Kansas Avenue I played in the stairwell outside our apartment door. It was there I conducted various experiments with falling objects. I dropped assorted items to the landing below and observed the results. It was only when my mother caught me about to drop one of the family cats that the experiments concluded. I was four years old, nearly five. The experiments were resumed many years later when I was more than 50, although on a slightly more scientific scale. That was when I invented release mechanisms and dropped objects from my big kites, sometimes from as much as three thousand feet.”

Hazel:

• “My mom every spring ordered her chickens which, as I recall, were about 500 White Leghorns. The chore that I thoroughly hated was taking turns at night to sit with the chickens. We sat there for a couple of hours. There was a heater to keep them warm and they would snuggle up against it, but sometimes they got too close and in the morning they’d be dead and we had to take them out. Before shipping the eggs to New York, I had to pack them in crates that held 12 dozen eggs. I hand washed each egg and got paid a penny a dozen. This was about 1924 or 1925.”

• The road that went past our house was well traveled, as it went to Lynley. As a young girl, I knew everyone there. It changed a lot when I went back to visit years later. The Old Herrick home had burned; Uncle Eber’s home was gone, too. It was so different I couldn’t even figure out where I was!”

Growing up

Bob spoke of his childhood nostalgically: “By today’s standards we [the Ingrahams] were poor people. Almost no one in our class owned a home and most people rented, but we were surrounded by people in the same circumstances and did not feel any discrimination. Social life was quite limited in those days. We were confined to our neighborhoods year in and year out. Our only venture outside the neighborhood was made on a comical little trolley car which bobbed and ground its way across two rails. For five cents you could ride about three miles — the width of Hornell. Once in a great while we took a picnic to Glenwood, a place between Hornell and Canisteo. This was on a larger street car which plied between the two towns. Glenwood had a Ferris Wheel and a Merry-Go-Round. At other times we would walk to visit friends or go to the store. In the winter, often with considerable snow on the ground, we would visit family or friends several blocks away and my father [would] pull Lee [my brother] and me on a sled which was narrow and high enough so the snow didn’t get on us.”

Hazel (in photograph at right at about age 18) does not remember many social events, but she remembers her father’s two cars and their horse and buggy: “My dad had the first car in Steuben County. People from all over came to see our car: an Overland. It had four doors with a back and front seat. We also had a Ford, with isinglass curtains, that had to be cranked up to start. My dad would get very mad trying to crank up that car. When we went to church in the wintertime, we’d take one horse and the sleigh and cover up with a bearskin rug to keep warm. The church was about a mile away. It was the East Lynley Baptist Church and, as far as I know, it’s still going. ... I was baptized as a teenager in a creek nearby. The whole family went, but Dad wasn’t much of a real churchgoer. We did have a family bible at home. The Ladies’ Aid Society sponsored dinners at people’s houses and we had them once or twice at our house.”

Siblings

Hazel had an older sister, Helen, and a younger brother, Ted. Hazel and Helen shared a room, but Helen died when she was 17 while mowing the lawn. Ted upset Hazel’s parents. “He got a girl pregnant,” Hazel says, “when he was just a teenager. My parents were very upset. He married the girl, but we thought they weren’t a good match.”

Bob was close to his older brother, Lee, but he wrote in his memoir: “"My brother entered school when he was five and for about two and a half years I was alone with no one to play with during the day. When I began school at five, it was in kindergarten and only in the afternoons. I acquired a playmate who lived across the street but he went to school in the mornings so we were only together in the early evenings and on weekends. On my tricycle, I spent much time exploring. I pedaled up to the railroad tracks and watched the mighty steam locomotives moving long freight trains out of the yards. I waved to the engineer. I thought those big engines which always seemed to be looking sternly ahead, were simply magnificent."

For Bob: His father gone to fight in The Mexican War and Finding Work

After Bob’s father served during the war against Mexico and moved to a couple of jobs because of union problems, the family moved to Painted Post to live in a rented house on West High Street while Bob’s dad worked for Ingersoll-Rand. Bob wrote of this time: “Both Lee and I were terribly homesick for a time and the following fall and winter proved to be a nightmare of cold and sickness for everyone because the great influenza epidemic had broken out and was sweeping the country. Soldiers in camp preparatory to going overseas were stricken by the thousands and many died. None of us got the flu then. I remember when the undertaker came to take the bodies of two young girls from their home across the street from us. They were sisters, 16 and 17, victims of the flu epidemic.

“We began to enjoy Painted Post. Hornell was adjacent to Allegany County and the terrain was much like the oil-field area with little woodland, barren hills, and few streams. Painted Post was in a wide river valley among the foothills of the Appalachian Mountain range and was surrounded by streams and large woodlands. We had lots of fun exploring the woods, playing in the creeks and, when older, swimming and fishing in the river.”

“When I was seven years old, our house on West High Street was sold and we had to move. Dad found a big old rambling house on Hamilton Street on the edge of town and we moved there about a year after moving to Painted Post. The rent as I recall was $18 a month. On West High Street we had had no bathroom — just an outdoor privy. We had a bathroom in the Hamilton street house but no hot water tank, nor did we have electric lights. The cleaning and filling of kerosene lights was a daily ritual. The house was a dismal place and hard to heat. However, outside, we were close to the woods, and had a wonderful hill to slide down. There was a steady running brook in a field just below the house.

For Hazel: Growing up on the Farm

“There was a large garden and a small barn on the property and the first garden my father planted produced 40 bushels of potatoes. Since it was war time he sold several bushels at $4.00 each, a price unheard of prior to the war.” Hazel’s father did not spend all of his time on the farm. Hazel said of him: “He was not a farmer. It was not in his blood. He was a natural-born salesman and he sold insurance and lightning rods for houses and barns everywhere. He’d be gone for a few days at a time. He was also the Town Supervisor and involved in politics. He had a county job, too, in Bath. He travelled there to attend county meetings. He was on the Steuben County Board of Supervisors. He wore high-button shoes and posed in 1921 in front of the Bath courthouse.

“He kept his temper contained a lot of times. I knew when he was mad but he’d keep it under his hat. We were not affectionate to each other, but my dad was a social person, more so than his family. He never talked about any other girl/lady in his life besides my mom, but he sure fell for my mother when he saw her.”

The 1918 Influenza

With the end of the war came near calamity for the Ingraham family. Bob Ingraham wrote: “In the fall of 1918 disaster overtook us in the form of influenza and an ensuing bitter winter. It all began with the news that an armistice had been signed in France. World War I was over. The whole nation went into a frenzied celebration. It was a warm day for November 11 and when the whistles and sirens started to sound at 11 a.m. my brother Lee and I hurried downtown to join the crowds. Parades formed and everyone thought he had to add to the tremendous din that must have been heard for miles around. Lee and I found an old wash boiler which we carried by the handles and beat upon with sticks.

The family posed for a photograph in about 1918. From left to right: Lee, Robert Mosher, Ratie, Robert Lee. Philip, the youngest, stands in front of his mother.

“In the early afternoon we went home to find my father so sick he could hardly stand. He had walked downtown to send a telegram to my grandparents [George Mosher and Gertrude Wheeler] in Hornell, asking them to come and help. We had no lunch and we played outside in the afternoon until Lee suddenly got sick and joined the rest of the family. About five o’clock, my grandparents arrived, having come down on the Erie railroad. They walked all the way from the railroad station in Painted Post to our house which was about a mile and a half.

“It wasn’t long before my grandmother succumbed to the flu so we had to send for my [Great] Aunt Mary [older sister of Gertrude Mosher] Allen who lived in Dalton, about 25 miles from Hornell. She also arrived by train and took over the nursing, cooking and general housekeeping chores, not an easy job with six very sick people to care for. My grandfather [Mosher] did all he could and smoked his meerschaum pipe continuously. He never got the flu. I have always wondered if maybe the pipe immunized him.

“Aunt Mary didn’t last long but by the time she got sick my father was able to get up and do a few things and then my Grandmother also improved and things began to look better. The winter had become very severe and the environment was very dismal. Old Dr. Shumway came to see us every day although the whole town was afflicted and he worked day and night, as did his son. He gave us big yellow pills and words of encouragement. The total doctor‘s bill was $30 or about $1.00 per house call.

“Things eventually got better. My father went back to work and Lee and I to school.” The 1918 flu epidemic was over.

Going to School

Hazel loved school. Her elementary school was a “one-room school about half a mile from our house. Much to the enjoyment of the whole class, there were probably five different grades. The school teacher asked if she could board with us and go home on the weekends. She and I slept together for at least a couple of years. Kids in school figured you were the teachers’ pet if the teacher lived with your family. Later, the school was added on to and a family with 8 or 10 kids lived there.

“We had entertainment and plays for the parents. We played ball outside a lot during recesses. One game I remember was ‘Annie over the Schoolhouse.’ You throw the ball over the schoolhouse and then try to get to the other side before another group.

“I also played baseball and Hide ‘n’ Seek at home. A boy, Jimmy, once made eyes at me. He winked at me, and I couldn’t figure out what he was doing! He had an older brother and came from a large family. His name was Chesley. He was at the dangerous age of 16 or 17 and the teacher (the one who lived with us) had a big fat crush on him! I liked school and got good grades. I didn’t like arithmetic, but I liked English and writing.”

Meeting in High School, Learning how to Make Money

Bob and Hazel met in high school. There had been only ten in her small country school, so she found the adjustment to a “big” high school somewhat difficult. She saw Bob in the hallway one day and thought he was very handsome. They dated, but it would be a while before marriage would take place. In the photograph at the right he is about 30 years old and has gone to Silver City, New Mexico (where his parents had moved) to decide if he would move himself and his family there (they would eventually move).

Bob began to look for ways to earn money: “Lee began going to Hornell [in the summer] to caddy at the Hornell Country Club. He stayed home after two summers of that and opened a shoeshine stand at Norm McCabe’s barber shop on the village square in Painted Post. I then went to Hornell and caddied for three summers and became caddy master at the club.

“We were supposed to get thirty-five cents per round (nine holes). The course had six fairways that ran uphill and carrying a heavy bagful of clubs just one round was hard work. I used to do as much as five rounds per day in addition to picking up hundreds of balls driven in golf lesson sessions or hunting for lost golf balls. We got ten cents for each lost ball turned in. Most had the member’s name stamped on them.

High School and Beyond

Finally a wedding is planned!

Because of Bob’s late returns to school, it took him longer to finish high school than it did Hazel.

After graduation, Hazel went to live in Elmira to attend hairdresser’s school.

“I had a roommate and I went home to Caton on the weekends,” she said. “Dad would pick me up. I learned to dye hair. The big machines were atrocious. I can remember when machineless perms came in. Machines with wires going to the woman’s head and heating elements in the rods. Bob was working for a department store with Schultee’s in Corning. He’d come down to see me. He had to talk his dad into borrowing the family car which was a Chevy with wire wheels."

"I worked in a beauty shop in Elmira in a big department store called Izzars for a year and a half and then in Corning. I didn’t drive, so Corning was better. I was working right on the Main Street in Corning — an older woman’s shop. I was there for about three-and-a-half years. I worked for about a year after we were married, but then Bob didn’t like me being gone from home, so I stopped working. He had gotten a raise at Ingersoll-Rand so we had a little more money.”

Marriage and Children

Bob Ingraham and Hazel Herrick waited five years before they got married. Hazel always told her children that they had to wait because of the Depression — money was tight. That may well have been at least one of the reasons. But it was also necessary for Bob to finish high school (which he did at almost the age of 20) and he played in a band which he thoroughly enjoyed. Hazel continued to do her hairdressing and they waited until they had enough money.

Robert Mosher Ingraham and Hazel Marie Herrick married on October 8, 1935, at Hazel’s parents’ farm near Caton. Hazel says she “bought a dress — sage green — that I saw in a store window. I liked the way it was made. I also bought green suede shoes to go with it. Aunt Penny from Detroit came for the wedding; she made the rolls for the chicken dinner afterwards.”

Bob and Hazel would have two children, first a girl, then a boy:

• Helen Suzanne b. 4 Dec 1937
• Robert Philip b. 14 Jan 1943 in Bath, New York, USA

After they married, they lived in Savona, New York.

On to New Mexico!

After several years of living in New York, Bob and Hazel followed Bob’s parents, Robert Lee Ingraham and Ratie Jane Mosher to New Mexico in 1949, living first in Arenas Valley and then eventually moving into Silver City. Bob was the editor for The Silver City Enterprise, an announcer on KSIL radio, a driver for a dry cleaning company, and eventually the owner of an office supply store, Western Stationers. Hazel helped him along the way with nearly every endeavour — whether helping him at the store, listening to him play the violin, or handling correspondence for the American Kiteflyers Association.

For many years Hazel devoted herself to her family, but she did do women’s hair either in her home or theirs to bring in a few extra dollars. She remembers going to three different older women’s homes in Corning who paid to have her come to the house to do their hair. They sent their driver to pick her up. I “went up the hill where the wealthy lived, and it was interesting to see the rich people. I enjoyed the tips.” Even after the two children were born, she did perms ($5) for women in Savona. When her husband bought Western Stationers, the office supply store in Silver City, she worked in the store frequently.

Long lives well lived

Bob Ingraham died on 27 Sep 1995 in Silver City, New Mexico. He was 84 years old.

Obituary of Robert M. Ingraham:

Longtime Daily Press columnist Robert "Bob" Ingraham died of cancer Wednesday at his home in Silver City. He was 84. Born Jan. 15, 1911 in Hornell, N.Y., Ingraham came to Silver City in 1949. As editor of the Silver City Enterprise, Ingraham received the E.H. Shaffer Award for editorial writing. While working for newspapers in New York State, he was the recipient of Cornell University's Edward R. Morrow Award for newspaper feature writing. Ingraham was internationally known as the founder of the American Kitefliers Association. With Paul Garber, curator of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, he was one of the progenitors of the 1960s kite renaissance in this country.

Assisted by his wife, Hazel, Ingraham founded, published and edited Kite Tales, a magazine which had subscribers in 50 states and 27 foreign countries when it was published in Silver City. The magazine, now a quarterly, is published in Baltimore. Ingraham handcrafted hundreds of kites that he designed himself. He was the inspiration for Cielo Encantado, a kite festival that is held here each October. "It was Bob's fiesta," said fiesta founder Mark Richard. "Since Silver City was the home of the American Kitefliers (Association), and Bob was its founder, it was a natural thing to do. He picked the dates. His connections made it a success. [Kitefliers] came from all over because of Bob's association." The Ingraham Award, given to "the outstanding person in the field of kiting," was first presented at the fiesta's inaugural. It has since become a national award, presented by the American Kitefliers Association.

Before writing his Observations column in the Daily Press, he was a humorist in other newspapers in New Mexico and New York State. As a columnist, Ingraham had a knack for talking about serious subjects in a lighthearted way, sounding at ease whether talking to his neighbors, Fred the robin, or the Gingrich family. He had heart-to-hearts with barking dogs, boom boxes and presidents. His last column was about his dream of becoming a violinist conductor, an old man remembering a boy walking backward with a fiddle case under one arm and hands in coat pockets to fend off a winter wind. Ingraham played the violin for 70 years. He played with the Western New Mexico University orchestra and was concertmaster for three years. He also performed locally with pianist Millie Clark. In addition, he taught violin [until he became too ill to continue].

"He is survived by his wife, Hazel; a daughter, Helen I. Francis of Kensington, Md.; a son, Robert P. Ingraham of Prince George, British Columbia, Canada; his brothers, Lee W. Ingraham of Tucson, Ariz. and Philip D. Ingraham of Painted Post, N.Y.; a granddaughter, H. Mercedes Clemens of Gaithersburg, Md.; grandsons, David I. Frances of Tempe, Ariz. and Paul D. Ingraham of Victoria, British Columbia; and a niece, Dolores I. Schwieger of Tucson. Ingraham's parents were the late Robert L. and Ratie Mosher Ingraham of Grant County. An open memorial service will take place at noon Saturday, Oct. 7, during the Cielo Encantado kite fiesta. No other services are planned. Those wishing to remember Ingraham may contribute to a fund for music scholarships being established in his name at WNMU."

Hazel continued to live in their home in Silver City at 315 North Bayard Street for many years, but illness forced her to move into a nursing facility when she was 92. She died on March 27, 2010.

Below is the obituary written for her by her son which appeared in the The Leader of Corning, New York:

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, who is the son of Robert Mosher Ingraham and Hazel Marie Herrick. Last updated on July 27, 2025.

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Franklin Ingraham (1858-1944) and Belle Captola Lee (1866-1920)

Another Generation in New York State

Franklin Ingraham was born 20 Mar 1858, most likely in Andover, Allegany County, New York. As a 6-year-old boy, in 1864, he was living with his mother in Greenwood, Steuben County, New York. The family was nearly destitute while his father, David A. Ingraham, was away fighting in the Civil War.

Franklin was usually called Frank and also nicknamed Hank. He was the third of ten children born to David Alman Ingraham and Harriet Lusty.

Frank can be found in the 1860 Census, just a baby of two years of age living with his parents, and in the 1880 Census, a bachelor living as a boarder with the Norton family in Canadice, Ontario, New York. He is also in the New York State Census for 1865. That Census reveals his parents -- David and Harriet -- as well as his siblings: Robert, 9; Mary 5; and Minnie, 0.

Marriage, Sons and a Daughter

Belle‘s grandfather, Davis Lee and his wife, Amy Hull, had settled in Allegany County in 1818. Belle was the daughter of Davis B. Lee (Jr.) and Julia (surname unknown). She is not related to the Confederate Civil War General, Robert E. Lee.

Frank married Belle Captola Lee in 1885 in Andover, Allegany County, New York. Belle was born 27 April 1866 in Andover; she was nearly eight years younger than her husband. She was called Belle or Captola, depending on who was taling to her.

Frank and Belle can be found in the 1900, 1910, and 1920 censuses living in Andover with their children.

Allegany County was first formed in 1683, but it was divided up several times between 1760 and 1770. Andover — which lies on the eastern border of the county — was formed from the city of Independence in 1824. The land is hilly and was once covered with pine forests. Dykes Creek and Elm Creek flow through the county; the soil is best for grazing. Pine lumber was manufactured there for many years, but that is gone now; dairy farms are the main agricultural endeavour. ²

Frank and Belle Captola had three children:

• Robert Lee Ingraham b. 15 Feb 1888 (see photograph below) ³
• Harry D. Ingraham b. 1891
• Roxie b. 1902

FOUR GENERATIONS POSE FOR A PHOTOGRAPH From left to right: Julia Lee (probably Belle Captola's mother); Belle Captola Lee Ingraham (mother of Robert Lee Ingraham); Robert Lee Ingraham (oldest son of Belle Captola and Frank Ingraham); Lee Wheeler Ingraham (the first son of Robert Lee Ingraham and his wife, Ratie Jane Mosher)

In some writings by Robert Lee Ingraham, Frank and Belle's older son, he says: "When I was about 6 years old my parents gave up farming and moved to the town of Andover, New York. ...an epidemic of diptheria swept the school and I along with a lot of others caught it. My mother and younger brother contracted it from me but luckily none of us died. My mother, who was a very pretty woman, lost her voice and all of her beautiful long chestnut hair came out and for the next ten years she wore a wig and could only whisper. Those were dark days."

As Belle's hair is quite short in the above photograph, one can assume that it was taken perhaps during those ten years. Or even later. Perhaps she never gained back "beautiful long chestnut hair."

Ending Life where It Began

It would appear that both Frank and Belle were born, lived, and died in Andover, New York. Belle died there after 1920, but the exact date of her death is, as yet, unknown.

Belle died 19 February 1920, but Frank lived on for more than twenty years, passing away on 30 May 1944, when he was 86 years old. Both were buried in Andover, Allegany County, New York. However, Frank has not yet been found in the Census records beyond 1920.

This page written and researched by Susan Overturf Ingraham, wife of Robert Philip Ingraham, a descendant of Franklin Ingraham and Belle Captola Lee. This page last updated on July 27, 2025.

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Charles Henry McDonald (1865-1930) and Sarah Jane Allison (1869-1893)

An Early, Lonely Life with Much Sorrow

Charles Henry McDonald was born on 1 May 1865 in the city of Greenview, Menard County, Illinois. He spent most of his life there. He was the youngest son of Martha Ann Hornback and William Power McDonald, born after his father returned from fighting in the American Civil War with the Union Army. His mother died in childbirth when he was two years old. Although his father remarried, Charles did not get along with his stepmother. As a result, his sister, Hala, who was five years older, often looked after him. He often preferred to fend for himself and went to work for the John Hamil family when he was about fourteen; he always said Mrs. Hamil was more like a mother to him than anyone he knew.

As a young man, Charles did farm work and in the summer he could usually be found running the engine for a threshing crew. He was fourteen years old when his father died in 1879 and his stepmother died the year after that. The farm that Charlie's father had bought in 1875 was only a short distance from the Allison family home, which probably accounts for how Charlie met and married Jennie Allison. Charlie would later rent that farm and work it for a while but he eventually found other ways of making a living, and the photograph (at left) shows his more businesslike future than being a farmer.

Charles marries Jennie

Charles and Jennie were married on 3 February 1887 in Menard County, Illinois. Charles was 22 while Jennie was 17. A copy of their marriage license is below:

Sarah Jane Allison (who was often called Jennie or Janie) was born on 9 November 1869 in Wilmington, New Castle County, Delaware. Her parents were James Allison and Ann Montgomery, natives of Ireland, who had immigrated to the United States in 1858 right after they were married. They resided in Delaware for a few years and eventually migrated to Illinois. Unlike Charlie, Sarah had grown up surrounded by loving and supporting parents and siblings.

Their first and only child, a daughter, Nellie Allison McDonald, was born to them on 10 February 1888, on Jennie's Grandfather Allison’s farm in Menard County, Illinois. ² A photograph of the young family is at the left, taken in about 1890, just a few years before Sarah’s death. Nellie grew up to be a warm and loving wife and mother, a strong student in school, a schoolteacher and a bookkeeper.

Unfortunately, little Nellie would lose her mother just five months after her fifth birthday. Jennie Allison McDonald died of tuberculosis on 5 July 1893 in Greenview, Menard County, Illinois.

Below is her obituary:

Mrs. Jennie McDonald died very suddenly Wednesday morning, July 5, 1893, at 2 o'clock, at the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. James Allison, seven miles east of Greenview. She was at Marbold's Grove and remained until about two o'clock when she returned home. That night she was taken worse and died at the time stated. Her age was twenty-four years, eight of which had been given to her Master, having joined the church when sixteen. She lived a Christian life and was beloved by all who knew her. The funeral took place from the frame church at Irish Grove Thursday at 10 a.m. conducted by Rev. Hollister, in the presence of a large gathering of friends come to pay respect. At the close of the services the remains were followed to Irish Grove cemetery and laid to rest. She leaves a father and mother, a husband and little girl aged five years, four brothers and a sister, and a large circle of friends to mourn her early demise. She had suffered from lung troubles but was not considered in immediate danger which makes the blow harder to submit to.

Colonel MC, the Auctioneer

Charles Henry, commonly known around Greenview as "Colonel Mc," became a very good auctioneer. There were many big cattle farmers in Illinois in those days and he made good money. He was a fast talker and could hold a crowd. Charlie liked to dance and play the fiddle and played for many dances. He was always trading houses and his son, Jack, relates that they lived in twelve different places while he was growing up. He had dark hair and brown eyes, was of medium build, and had a dimple in his chin.

In about 1905, a collection of articles in a book titled Past and Present of Menard County, Illinois was published about well-known citizens of Menard County. The section about Charles H. McDonald says:

Charles H. McDonald, a popular and well known citizen of Greenview, who as an auctioneer [conducted] a very extensive and gratifying business, was born in Menard county about a mile northeast of Greenview on the 1st of May, 1865. His parents were William P. and Martha (Hornback) McDonald, the former a native of Kentucky and the latter of Illinois. The father served his country as a soldier in the Mexican war and after coming to Illinois in 1849 he turned his attention to farming, which he carried on with fair success until 1862, when again he responded to his country's call for military aid, enlisting as a member of Company K, One Hundred and Fourteenth Illinois Infantry. After nine months of active service he was honorably discharged on account of illness and then returned to his farm, whereon he made his home until his death, which occurred July 17, 1879, when he was fifty-five years of age. He had lived a quiet and uneventful, yet useful and honorable, life and those who knew him respected him for his sterling worth. His wife had died when their son Charles was but two years of age.

Charles H. McDonald pursued his education in the country schools in the eastern part of Menard county. He was left an orphan when fourteen years of age by his father's death, after which he worked by the month as a farm hand until twenty-two years of age. Subsequently he rented the farm which his father once owned and continued to reside thereon until 1895, when he removed to Greenview and started in business as an auctioneer. In the spring of 1897 he also became connected with mercantile interests of the city as proprietor of a furniture store, but after three years he sold his stock. In 1901 he engaged in the livery business, but after a year disposed of his interest in that in order to give his entire attention to his auctioneer business, which in the meantime had grown to extensive proportions. He now has a very liberal patronage, crying sales in Menard, Sagamon, Mason, Logan and Tazewell counties. He is very successful at this business, having the ability to bring the owner and prospective purchaser together in a manner that is profitable to both. He is well known among the auctioneers of the state and is now the vice-president of the Illinois Auctioneers Association.

On the 3d of February, 1887, Mr. McDonald was united in marriage to Miss Jennie Allison, a daughter of James Allison, of Menard county. They became the parents of one daughter, Nellie A., who was born February 1 [sic], 1888, and is now attending school at Dixon, Illinois. Mrs. Jennie McDonald died on the 5th of July, 1893, and on the 12th of June 1896, Mr. McDonald was again married, his second union being with Artie Bracken, a daughter of Thomas Bracken, of Indian Creek, Menard county. They have one son, Jack H., born January 25, 1897.

The family are members of the Cumberland Presbyterian church and in his political views Mr. McDonald is a Democrat. He served as town trustee for four years and has filled other local positions, including that of constable, and for five years he was assessor of his town. Fraternally he is connected with Greenview lodge, No. 423, I.O.O.F. In public office, in business and in private life he is at all times found worth of the trust reposed in him and the good will extended to him and he has gained a large circle of warm friends, who esteem him highly.

Father and Daughter are Separated

Charlie and Jennie's daughter, Nellie, was raised by the Allison family after her mother's death.

The Allisons were a close-knit family of Irish descent. They lived on a farm not far from where Jennie and Charles lived. During the Civil War, James Allison had made barrels for gun powder. He was drafted and then served as a guard at the DuPont plant.

The photograph at the right shows the family:

From left to right, back: Jennie (sometimes called Janie), William, James, Lizzie, and John.

From left to right, front: Ann (mother), Alex, and James Sr. (father).

At first, Nellie stayed with her grandparents, Ann and James Allison, and then she lived with her Aunt Lizzie (her mother's sister) and Lizzie's husband for several years. There appears to have been almost a feud between the Allisons and Charlie McDonald about the raising of his daughter. Nellie would always claim later that her father loved her but that her grandparents and aunt did not want to give her up. Charlie rarely had the opportunity to see his daughter, but it is not known whether this was by choice or whether the Allisons made meetings difficult. Nellie did know her aunts and uncles on her father's side but contact with her father was quite limited.

Charlie’s Second Wife

Three years after Jennie's death, as mentioned in the article above, Charles married Artimissa Bracken on 12 May 1896 in Menard County, Illinois. Artimissa Bracken had been born on 1 January 1863 in Indian Creek, Menard County, Illinois. At the time of their marriage, Charlie was 31 and Artimissa (usually called Artie) was 33. Artie had apparently not been previously married. They had one son, Jackson Henry McDonald, who was born on 25 January 1897, seven months after their marriage.

Charles and his second wife, Artie, can be found in the 1920 Census living in Camp Branch, Cass, Missouri. He is 55; Artie is 56; and it states that he owns his home. Why he was in Missouri is unknown, but it is assumed that this was not for long.

The postcard said: Friday. Dear Nellie, I am writing this early in the morning. Alex [Lizzie's husband] is going to town, or try to. Don't know whether he will get there or not. The roads are terrible. Your father was still a little better, yesterday, Thursday. But is a very sick man yet. Mrs. Claypool said they had his blood pressure down some and that's what causes it. I don't know whether Jack [son of Charles, half-brother to Nellie], or any of them writes you or not. I haven't been able to go myself, and Alex has been sick for 3 days, but he is going in today. I am going to send them a cake and some other things to eat. As they say, the poor girl is about wore out with so many going and coming. And everything I was asked to help in that way I can do that at home. I do hope he gets over it, if he does and Doctors all the time for that high blood pressure, he might get along for a long time. You know, that was my trouble. I go every time I feel funny for I know what was the matter. I don't think he doctored at all. Hope you are all well, for that is better than anything. Will write you again. Just heard from your father and he is still better. With love to all, Aunt Lizzie.

A Sad Ending

In the 1930 Census, Charles and Artie are back in Greenview, Menard County, Illinois. He became ill and had also lost a great deal of money in the Stock Market Crash of 1929. Shortly before his death, Nellie’s Aunt Lizzie wrote a postcard to her niece to tell her that her father was not doing well.

Charles Henry McDonald died 16 June 1930. The death certificate indicates that he committed "suicide by shooting himself [with a] 410 shot gun in mouth." His suicide was a source of pain to his daughter, Nellie, and she did not talk about it. One can assume that he chose suicide due to his failing health as well as numerous financial losses during the stock market crash. He was 65.

Artimissa Lives until 1954

Charles's second wife, Artimissa Bracken McDonald, died on 2 December 1954, at the age of 91. Charlie and both of his wives are buried in the Irish Grove Cemetery, southwest of Middletown, Illinois.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a descendant of Charles and Sarah. Last Updated on July 27, 2025.]

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Michael Mahoney (1868-1939) and Josephine Porter (1875-1966)

An Early life In Iowa

Michael James Mahoney was born in Sidney, Iowa, on 6 Jan 1868. He was the son of Dennis Mahoney and Mary O’Connor who immigrated to the United States from Ireland before 1868 because of the potato famines. At the age of 21, Michael moved to Heartwell, Kearney County, Nebraska, with his parents. He would remain in Heartwell for the rest of his life: he was a farmer.

Marriage to Josephine, a Lifelong Love Affair

Four years after his arrival in Heartwell, Michael married Josephine Amanda Porter on 18 Jan 1893. He was 25; she was just 18. They were destined to have their family and live out their lives in Heartwell. They would live to see a world war, the Great Depression, and the Dust Bowl.

Josephine, who was usually called Josie, was born in Pierce County, Nebraska, on 6 Jan 1875. She was the daughter of William Cassius Porter and Mary Amanda Turpin.

Josie’s Beginnings

On May 30, 1854, the Kansas-Nebraska Act created the Kansas Territory and the Nebraska Territory, divided by the 40th Parallel North. The territorial capital of Nebraska was Omaha. In the 1860s, homesteaders poured into Nebraska to claim free land granted by the federal government. Many of the first farm settlers built their homes out of sod because they found so few trees on the grassy land.

Josephine’s parents had married in Iowa and moved to Nebraska before Josephine’s birth in 1875. They had attempted to farm in Pierce County, after filing on a Timber Claim, but they did not survive after “the grasshoppers came in huge black clouds and ate everything in sight.” Since Josephine’s father was a druggist by trade, they picked up their belongings and moved to Heartwell.

An oft-told family story: There was an Indian reservation north of Plainview and "at times the Indians would get out of control and go on the war path. The loud whoops and dancing could be heard for miles and it was a very frightening experience. At one time, an old Indian peered down Mary Amanda's steps and motioned for her to give him the little red calico dress she was making for Josie. After a few ugh's and signs, she handed him the dress, thankful to have him leave."

Josie was about nine years old when her parents moved to Heartwell. Her father did well as a druggist, and the family lived in the two back rooms. A scourge of typhoid fever swept the country in 1890 and hundreds of deaths followed, including Josie’s father who died at the age of 44. Josie’s mother was left with eight children to raise, and Josephine, being the oldest girl, took on much of the responsibility. Her mother became a postmistress and a midwife. Josie learned early to be responsible and take care of herself and her siblings.

Seven children, five boys and two girls

Michael and Josie had seven children, all born in Heartwell, Nebraska:

• Estella Mary (Stella) b. 21 Feb 1895 m. Hans Lloyd Hansen (1894-1954) d. 7 October 1967 ²
• James Harold (Hal) b. 27 August 1897 d. 24 January 1964
• Freda Josephine b. 1899 m. Wilson W. Sides (1897-1982) in about 1920
• Rex Daniel b. 13 June 1903 m. Gladys Gertrude Metzler (1903-1974) before 1926 d. 19 Feb 1974
• Vern Valentin (Val) b. 26 January 1901 m. Rose Ruth Webber (1904-1988) on 17 May 1925 d. 12 March 1997
• Robert Wayne (Bob) b. 18 December 1913 m. Alma Kathryn Lucille Brehm (1916-1999) before 1940 d. 18 August 2006
• John Charles (Jack) b. 9 December 1918 m. Grace Margaret Hoban (1918-2001) d. 2005

Even when the children were adults, the family often got together. Josephine Hansen Overturf, a granddaughter of Michael and Josephine's and the daughter of Estella, remembers many Sunday afternoon gatherings at her grandparents' house in Heartwell.

In the photograph at the left, the family gathered shortly before Michael’s death.

Back row, from left to right: Jack, Hal, Rex, Val, and Bob.

Front row, left to right: Freda, Josie, Michael, and Stella.

Only Josie is not looking at the camera, but looking at her husband instead.

Michael dies at 71; Josie at 91.

Michael and Josephine were married for almost 50 years. They lived their entire married lives in Heartwell, Nebraska — a very small village in Kearney County which even today has a population of less than 100. They built their home there and raised their children there. The photograph at right of Michael and Josie was taken in the mid-to-late 1930’s, not too long before Michael's death in 1939. Josephine, however, would live twenty-seven years beyond his death.

Michael died in Heartwell, Nebraska, on 18 June 1939; he was 71. On the left is his obituary from the local newspaper. Several of his sons and his two sons-in-law, Fred Sides and Lloyd Hansen, were pallbearers. Family from as far away as Iowa came to his funeral.

Josie Carries On

Josie and Michael Mahoney

Josie lived to the age of 91, passing away on 16 December 1966. Her great-granddaughter, Susan, remembers her, often sitting in a rocking chair knitting and talking to whomever came in the room. She made hot pads and mitts and gave many of them to her daughters, granddaughters and great-granddaughters. Susan says she stored them in her hope chest for years and used them for at least the first twenty years of her marriage.

Below is Michael and Josephine's tombstone in the Heartwell, Nebraska cemetery, known as the Holy Family Cemetery (photograph taken by John Hansen).

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a great-granddaugher of Michael and Josephine. This page updated July 27, 2025.]

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Hans T. Hansen (1870-1945) and Katherine Marie Nissen (1875-1953)

Life Begins in Denmark

Hans Thomsen Hansen was born in Darum, Denmark, on 3 Jan 1870. He was the son of Hans Jensen and Johanna Larsdatter. His last name was Hansen because in Denmark the child took the surname of his father's first name. Thus, Hans Thomsen was the son of Hans, so his last name was Hansen — which literally meant “son of Hans.” This practice makes tracing names in Danish families very confusing, and most families abandoned the usage when they came to the United States. ²

Immigration to America

Four years before Hans's birth, the area where he was born (Schleiswig-Holstein) was invaded by German and Austrian troops. This area had switched loyalties between Denmark and Germany several times throughout history, but when Hans was 19 there was a good possibility he would be conscripted into the German army. Many young men left Denmark to avoid conscription and Hans was one of them. Only a year after his father's death, Hans, his brother, Lars, and his mother, Johanna, left Denmark in 1889 and immigrated to the United States.

Marriage Vows for Hans and Katherine

Hans married Katherine (Katie) Marie Nissen on 13 Jan 1894 in Minden, Nebraska, when he was 24 and she was 19. Katherine had been born in Kasso, Denmark, on 13 Jan 1875 but, unlike Hans, had immigrated to the United States as a child, perhaps as early as 1880 (nine years before Hans), settling with her family in Chicago. Her parents were Hans L. Nissen and Marie Rasmudatter.

Hans and Katherine probably spoke Danish all of their lives. Hans’s mother, who came with him from Denmark, lived with Hans and Katherine for many years after they married, and she probably did not learn English well.

It is unknown how Hans and Katherine met; however, there were large Danish communities in both Minden, Nebraska, and Chicago, Illinois, so it is assumed that they met through common acquaintances, perhaps in their church.

Settling Down

Hans and Katherine settled in Minden, Nebraska, and with the exception of eighteen months in Chicago in 1896-1897, they lived the remainder of their lives there. They built a home ³ where they lived together for more than 50 years.

Despite living in the same town for all of their married lives, it is difficult to find primary source documents which indicate their presence. This probably has something to do with their names which are quite common, and also because they may have used other names.

A Family

Hans and Katherine had two sons, one born just ten months after their marriage, and the other five years later. It’s possible that Katherine lost some children as well, but that is not known. Their sons were:

• Hans Lloyd b. 6 Nov 1894 in Minden, Kearney, Nebraska ⁴ d. 23 May 1954
• Everett Thomas b. 1906 in Minden, Kearney, Nebraska d. 8 April 1989 (Everett grew up to marry a young woman named Constance Marie Fuller [1907-1971] on 16 December 1926. Her father, Charles Fuller, was the founder of Angus Auto Co, who owned Fuller cars in the early 1900's. You could choose from six colours with up to 18 layers of paint. It's difficult to find a Fuller car today.)

This photograph of Hans and Katherine and their two sons, Lloyd and Everett, was taken in about 1907 or 1908, most likely in Minden, Nebraska. Lloyd is the older boy, with the younger son, Everett Thomas, on Hans’s lap.

Both Lloyd and Everett would eventually move to Hastings, Nebraska, and spend their adult lives there, neither of them wishing (apparently) to take over their father’s business.

A Farm Implement Business in Minden, Nebraska

Hans owned and operated a farm implement business and did very well.

Minden, the capital of Kearney County, was a farming community. It was the perfect place to sell farm equipment. Today, it is known for Harold Warp’s Pioneer Village, which displays many of the old equipment, wagons, and stages that were used in the early history of Minden. Its theme is “How America Grew” and it displays William Henry Jackson’s paintings of the Oregon trail which went through Minden.

Among the family memorabilia, there are several photographs of Hans at his place of business.

This is the main display floor of the farm equipment business. It is not known if either man is Hans.

Hans (left) and another man are sitting in the office at the store. The large books on the shelf above and at the back were apparently the recordings of items sold. One of those books was handed down to Everett, Hans’s youngest son, and to two more generations. Here is a photograph of one page from that book:

After Hans’s retirement from that business, he served nine years on the Kearney County Board of Supervisors, serving as chairman for part of that time.

50 years of Marriage

Hans and Katherine lived to celebrate together their 50th wedding anniversary on 3 Jan 1944. The photograph below was taken at the time of that celebration.

Hans and Katherine were members of the Bethany Lutheran (also called the Danish Lutheran) Church in Minden. It would appear that family and community were the most important aspects of their lives.

Hans dies at 75, Katherine at 78

Hans died on 9 Feb 1945, in Minden, Nebraska, and is buried there. He was 75 years old, but did not quite see the end of World War II.

Katherine died eight years later, on 14 Jan 1953, in Hastings, Nebraska, where she had been spending time with her two sons, Everett and Lloyd, due to failing health. She was 78 and is buried beside Hans in Minden, Nebraska.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a descendant of Hans and Katherine. Updated July 27, 2025.]

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Hans Lloyd Hansen (1894-1954) and Estella Mary Mahoney (1895-1967)

The Beginnings for Hans (who was always called Lloyd)

Hans Lloyd Hansen was born in Minden, Kearney County, Nebraska, on 6 Nov 1894. He was the son of Hans Thomsen Hansen and Katherine Nissen. He graduated from Minden [Nebraska] High School in 1912, but attended one semester at Lake Forest Academy in Chicago, Illinois, in the fall of 1911.

NOTE: The Director and Archivist for Lake Forest Academy found records that revealed that Lloyd Hansen did attend the school during the fall of 1911. Why he left home and why he returned to Minden High School by December of that year is unknown; it may have been a simple case of homesickness. Among the family mementos is a graduation announcement from Lake Forest Academy for June 1913 (clearly two years after he attended so perhaps he went to see a friend graduate). There is also a photograph of a dorm room with the words "my room" pointing to a window. It is assumed that this is where he lived while attending classes that fall. [Thanks to my cousin, John James Hansen, for providing me with the archival information from Lake Forest Academy.]

Minden, Nebraska was a small town surrounded by farm country. Lloyd’s father had a successful farm implement business and the family lived in the town, not on a farm outside it.

Kearney County, established in 1860, is located in the south central part of the state, just one county north of the southern border with the state of Kansas. Its county seat, Minden, is named for a city in Germany. Hans Lloyd’s father, Hans Thomsen Hansen, had emigrated from Denmark to the United States in 1889. Thus, Hans Lloyd was the first generation Hansen to be born on American soil. He had a younger brother, Everett Thomas.

Marriage to Stella Mahoney

Hans Lloyd Hansen married Estella Mary Mahoney on 10 Nov 1915 in Heartwell, Kearney County, Nebraska, most likely at her parents’ home. Stella had been born on 12 Feb 1895, in Heartwell, Nebraska. She was the daughter of Michael James Mahoney and Josephine Amanda Porter.

Stella had grown up on her parents’ farm, surrounded by six siblings, a sister and five brothers. She had met her future husband in high school when she went to Minden to live with her aunt and finish her education. Stella’s father, Michael, was the first generation American in his family; his parents had emigrated from Ireland to the United States before 1868.

To prevent confusion with his father’s name, Hans Lloyd went by his middle name, Lloyd. Estella went by the shortened version of her name, Stella. Despite the fact that they were both second-generation Americans, their Danish and Irish ancestries had given them very different childhoods.

A Life in Hastings, Nebraska

Two years after they were married, in 1917, Lloyd and Stella moved to Hastings, Nebraska. From 1917 to 1922, Lloyd was a bookkeeper for Polenske Brothers, Scheilak and Company, in Hastings, Nebraska. He continued to work for the company beyond 1922, but he had different titles. In 1947, he bought the company and changed its name to Hansen Building Specialties, Inc. He was president and manager of that company at his death.

During his lifetime, Lloyd was an active member of numerous organizations including:

• The Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks (in 1925, he was the Exalted Ruler)
• The Hastings Masonic Lodge No. 50, (a potentate of Tehama Temple of the Shrine, and a knight commander of the Court of Honor of the Scottish Rite) In the photograph at the left, Hans is wearing his Tehama potentate fez.
• Hastings Chamber of Commerce
• Travellers Protective Association
• Board of Public Works

Some family members say Lloyd was probably a member of the Ku Klux Klan, though due to the secrecy of that organization, this cannot be proven. According to Dorothy Weyer Creigh’s book, Adams County: The Story 1872-1972, there was a “large and active chapter” of the KKK in Hastings in the 1920’s. Ms. Creigh says: “Many of the town’s most prominent citizens were on its rolls.” There are local newspaper stories of Klan meetings and in 1926 a large parade, with more than 500 persons in it, marched through downtown Hastings. It is not known if Lloyd participated in that parade, but it can probably be safely said that Lloyd was a member of organizations in which he saw a personal purpose, either financially for himself or for his business.

Lloyd was a member of the Presbyterian Church and a Republican in politics, although a record has been found that he was confirmed into the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America in 1909. He probably joined the Presbyterian Church after getting married and moving to Hastings. In the early 1950's, he met and campaigned for Dwight David Eisenhower, who was campaigning for (and later became) president of the United States. There was a photograph of him and Eisenhower together (as well as Fred Seaton, who later became Secretary of the Interior during Eisenhower's administration) which always hung in their home.

Stella’s active social life

Stella was a most generous grandmother, sending gifts to her grandchildren at birthdays, Christmas, and special events. She travelled a great deal after Lloyd died. Her younger photographs show her to be a laughing, friendly person, often smiling, and apparently very close to her sister, Freda. As a teenager, as mentioned before, she went to live with her Aunt Mary in Minden, Nebraska, and attend high school. She graduated from Minden High School in 1912. Her teenage diary of her high school years reveals a happy, excited young girl who loved the social activities of school. She was also a good student.

Since they did not marry for another three years after graduation, Stella went on to do some teacher training. It was apparently at Kearney State, but this has not been verified, and it is assumed that she did not gain certification. What Lloyd did during these three years is not entirely known, but since he became a bookkeeper it is possible that he attended Hastings Business College. It’s believed that he may have worked for his father’s business in Minden for a short time as well.

Like Lloyd, Stella was heavily involved in service activities. She was an active and involved member of The Daughter of the Nile, the female arm of the Masons. She also joined PEO, which stands for Philanthropic Educational Organization. It was founded in 1899 by a group of women who were in college at a time when few women went to college. They give scholarships, loan money, and promote international scholars coming to the U.S. They also own a two-year junior college in Missouri. Socially, it promotes fellowship in meetings, but its primary function is permitting education for women. Stella was also a regent of the Niobrara Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution and historian of the Nebraska DAR. At one time she served as president of the Soroptimist Club and was matron of the Acacia Chapter of the Order of the Eastern Star.

Family Life and a Home

Lloyd and Stella had three children:

• Josephine Marie b. 21 Jun 1917 in Hastings, Adams, Nebraska ²
• William Lloyd b. 1919 in Hastings, Adams, Nebraska
• James Thomsen b. 1929 in Hastings, Adams, Nebraska

In the mid-1920s, Lloyd and Stella built a large brick home at 1010 N. Burlington in Hastings. It was their home for the next 40 years, and Lloyd would die there. The photograph shows what it looked like the day they moved in. On the steps are Jo and Bill with Stella at the right.

End of Life

Hans Lloyd Hansen died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 59 on 23 March 1954. He came home from work, feeling tired and unwell, and laid down on the couch to rest. He remained restless all night, while Stella stayed beside him. He died in the early hours of the morning. He is buried at Parkview Cemetery in Hastings, Nebraska.

Stella lived as a widow for thirteen years. She travelled frequently during those years and enjoyed her social and financial status. She headed the business for a few years, but eventually retired, leaving the business for her youngest son, James, to run.

Stella, like Lloyd, did not realize at first that she was ill. One evening she decided not to go play bridge with her friends and her son became concerned and took her to the doctor. She died of leukemia, after a month's illness, on 7 Oct 1967, in Hastings, Nebraska. She is buried beside her husband in Parkview Cemetery in Hastings, Nebraska.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a granddaugher of Lloyd and Stella. This page edited July 27, 2025.]

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George Edwin Overturf (1886-1949) and Nellie Allison McDonald (1888-1963)

A Native Nebraskan

George Edwin Overturf, Sr., was born at Elk Creek, Nebraska, in Nemaha County on 20 April 1886. He was the son of John Lake Overturf and Alzina Sheldon. With six brothers and four sisters, George was one of the youngest of a large family. Along with his siblings, he attended school in Nemaha County, but he did not care for it much (as one of his sons once said), and he was asked to leave the school when he was 14 because he was often a "problem," according to the authorities. He tended to get into fights with other boys who teased him about his size. After that, he stayed at home and helped his father work the farm.

Nellie, George's wife, described him this way: "George was a large man with dark curly hair, gray eyes, ruddy complexion, and inclined to be heavy, frequently tipping the scales at three hundred pounds during his lifetime, a characteristic inherited from his mother's side of the house. Of a genial disposition and easy acquaintance, he, like his father before him, put fair and honest dealing with his fellowmen first on the list of virtues and earnestly sought to instill such teachings in his sons."

A Great Story — and true!

A family story relates that one day when George was working the farm's only mule to turn the style for a motor to run, the mule refused to move, and so George hit it over the head with a whip which had a lead handle. The mule immediately dropped to the ground, and George feared it was dead and his father would make him pay for the mule. Before telling his father what he had done, he got some water and poured it over the mule. The mule suddenly stood up and worked all afternoon without another complaint!

A few years later, one of George's other brothers shot the mule when it would not do any work. He told his father that he would pay for it ($300 at that time), and he did. His father figured it was a good deal. The mule had given grief to everyone in the family for years.

Choosing a Life’s Work

When he was 22, George finally left home, still uncertain about what he would do, and spent one year at Cotner University in Lincoln, Nebraska, where he considered the ministry or missionary work. This did not work out, and a year later he attended Hastings Business College.

His first job was bookkeeper at the German National Bank in Hastings, Nebraska. He went from there to the County Treasurer's Office for six years; the last year he was Deputy County Treasurer. He was Office Manager for Wolbach and Brach, a dry goods firm, for ten years. For a while, George was in the Retail Coal Business, managing the City Fuel and Feed Company in Hastings, Nebraska, in the early 1930s. It was a venture that lost him "quite a bit of money," mainly because of The Great Depression. In the last few years of his life, he bought a small farm and went back to doing what he had loved doing as a boy, and what his father had done all of his life: farm.

As a young man, George set out on a traveling adventure and wrote a letter to his older brother, C.E. (Charles Elmus) about his trip. Before he got married, he wanted to see the west: Arizona, New Mexico, California. He believed he would learn a great deal from the trip. He did indeed learn something, but it was not quite what he had expected. While in California, he was robbed of all of his belongings and was assisted by a church group to get to Oregon, where one of his brothers lived. There, he worked shotgun on a stagecoach until he made enough money to return home. He swore he would never leave Nebraska again, and he did not.

Meeting the Perfect Mate

George met Nellie McDonald while both were attending Hastings Business College. They married on 25 June 1910, in Hastings, Nebraska. It was a small wedding with only two witnesses present. Nellie wrote that she wore "a white linen dress and a bunch of sweet peas." They were married in the study of the Presbyterian Church — which burned on 25 September 1910, only three months later. After their marriage, they sent out an announcement to inform friends and family of their nuptials. An article also appeared in a Hastings newspaper, the Hastings Republican.

Nellie Allison McDonald was the daughter of Charles Henry McDonald (1865-1930) and Sarah Jane Allison (1869-1893). She was born on 10 February 1888, on the farm that her grandfather, James Allison, had bought in 1875. The farm is located in Menard County, near the Irish Grove. Nellie’s mother died when she was just five years old, and she was raised more by the Allisons — her grandparents and her Aunt Lizzie — than by her father, Charles McDonald. ²

Nellie says of herself, "I only stand five feet with my shoes on. As a young woman I weighed 90 to 100 pounds. Later, for many years, I weighed 116 or 118. I have brown eyes, straight brown hair, rather dark skin, and a dimple in my chin like my father and grandfather McDonald. I am the same height as my Grandmother Allison, who always said when I got as tall as she was, I was tall enough."

Life for Nellie before George

Nellie started school at Hunt School, a mile east of her grandparents' home in Menard County, Illinois. ³ Her teacher was Asa Shumate. Later she went to Union School, built in 1869 and near Irish Grove, and took the seventh grade there. That was in the spring of 1899 and was the first time a seventh grade exam was given in Menard County. At 11 years old, Nellie was the youngest pupil in the county to take it.

Nellie had a Mr. Clements and a Mr. Stone for teachers. Nellie described Mr. Clements as "a medium-sized, rather sickly young man whom I think did not enjoy his job very much." Hall Stone was "a tall blonde young man and played his guitar accompaniment at recess and after school for school programs and literary meetings which we used to have often."

Nellie went to Greenview High School in the fall of 1904, and then went to Dixon Normal School in northern Illinois. She lived with Aunt Hala Miller, her father's sister, while attending school there. Because she had passed a teacher's exam in Menard County, she finished a two-year normal course in one year.

The next year, 1905 and 1906, Nellie taught at the Kincaid School, south of Greenview. She had eleven pupils there but also had to prepare for the 8th grade examinations. The following year, 1906-1907, she taught at Hedge Row School, the same school she had attended for 8th grade (the photograph at left is believed to be of Hedge Row School). She had about eighteen pupils and taught two years there.

In the summer of 1907, Nellie spent a month with her father's sister [Aunt Hala Miller] in Hastings, Nebraska. In August, 1908, she returned and attended Hastings Business College for about a year. Although Nellie was well qualified as a teacher, she had not found it an easy profession and remarked to her sons, years later, that "some of those big boys" were a bit difficult to handle. She apparently decided that it would be easier to work with figures on paper than boys in a classroom.

While staying with Aunt Hala Miller's family in Hastings, Nellie worked for the county superintendent whenever he needed her (mostly on Fridays and Saturdays). Since she had been a teacher, she could grade seventh and eighth grade papers and give teachers' exams, so she did this while she went to Business College. Her first job was with the Barnes Clothing Company in Hastings as a bookkeeper. She had stayed two or three weeks when she was called by the Business College office to see Silas Lyman, who wanted her help at the office of the Independent Telephone Company. She took the job and worked almost a year, 1909-1910, before she married George Edwin Overturf whom she had met at the Business College in the fall of 1908.

Marriage and a Family in Hastings, Nebraska

After George and Nellie were married, they lived at 839 N. Saunders in Hastings. In the spring of 1911, they bought a house at 9th and Bellevue. Lee Overturf, their first child, was born there on 30 January 1912, and Donald Sheldon Overturf, their second son, was born there on 10 July 1916. ⁴ They sold the house at 9th and Bellevue in the summer of 1917 and lived at Hastings and 9th until World War I was over. They bought again at 739 N. Bellevue, lived there for a while and then sold it. They bought a house at 839 N. Kansas (shown in photograph at right), where they lived for about twenty-two years. It was in the house on Kansas Street that their third son, George Edwin Overturf, Jr., was born on 16 November 1927.

Lee Overturf married Charlotte Lillian Klein (1909-1985) on 16 December 1933 in Hastings, Adams, Nebraska. They never had children. Lee died on 25 February 1978. Donald Overturf married Josephine Marie Hansen (1917-1988) on June 20, 1937 in Greeley, Nebraska. He died on 20 August 1998 in Sedona, Arizona. George Edwin Overturf Jr. married Norma Sue Smith (1835-?) on 16 April 1954 in Houston, Harris, Texas. George Jr. died on 7 July 2021.

George Overturf spent many years giving service to his community. During his lifetime, he held the following positions:

• Secretary to the Chamber of Commerce (1 year);
• Secretary of the Museum Association (15 years);
• Member of the School Board (6 years);
• Member of the City Council (2 years);
• Member of the Lions Club (20 years);
• Treasurer of the Presbyterian Church (2 years);
• Member of the Church Board of the Presbytery of the International Church Reserve (1 year); and,
• One of the first organizers of the Hastings City Museum (he was proudest of this).

During the years when George was active in many civic duties, his name frequently appeared in the local newspapers — often as many as two or three times a week. Nellie said, “He was well-liked by many who believed he had the best interests of the city at heart.”

Back to Farming

In August of 1942, George and Nellie moved to a small 40-acre farm on the south edge of Hastings in Adams County where they lived until George’s death.

In the photograph below, George and Nellie are standing with two of their sons and their wives and children on the front porch of their farm.

In the photograph above from left to right: Charlotte Overturf (Lee’s wife), Nellie Overturf, Lee Overturf (oldest son), George Overturf, George Overturf Jr. (youngest son), Josephine Hansen Overturf (wife of Don). The photograph was probably taken by their middle son and husband to Josephine, Donald Sheldon Overturf. In front are the two young daughters of Josephine and Donald Overturf: Kathie (on the left) and Karen. Based on the estimated ages of the two daughters, this photograph might have been taken in the mid-1940’s.

George died of a heart attack on 12 April 1949. He had been a well-known and popular man. Many mourned his death, and there were many articles about him in the local newspapers. George Jr. [age 22] was still at home when his father died, so he and Nellie stayed a year longer on the farm, selling it in March of 1950.

Life for Nellie without George

After selling the farm, Nellie moved to Houston, Texas, with her youngest son, George Jr., and where Lee (her oldest son) and his wife, Charlotte, were living. George Jr. went to school while in Houston, and Nellie worked for Grace Electric and the Hotel Plaza. George Jr. was called to active duty on 25 June 1950, for the Korean War, and Nellie and George Jr. returned to Hastings in September of 1950. Nellie lived and worked in Hastings from 1951 to 1955.

On 28 March 1955, Nellie married Charles Elmus Overturf, one of her husband's older brothers, the same brother that young George had written to prior to his big trip to the west coast as a young man. Charles, a widower, had a farm about three and a half miles east of Bird City, Kansas, and after their marriage, Nellie went to live with him there.

Nellie Allison McDonald Overturf died suddenly on 8 November 1963, in Bird City, Kansas. Her three sons gathered with their wives for her funeral. It was the last time that all three sons would be together.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a granddaughter of George and Nellie. Last updated on May 25, 2023.]

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

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Donald Sheldon Overturf (1916-1998) and Josephine Marie Hansen (1917-1988)

Hometown: Hastings, Nebraska

Donald Sheldon Overturf was born in Hastings, Adams County, Nebraska, on 10 July 1916 in his parents' home on the southwest corner of 9th and Bellevue. He was the second son for George Edwin and Nellie Allison McDonald Overturf. Don's older brother, Lee, was already four years old, and his younger brother, George Jr., would not come along for another eleven years. In July of 1916, war had been raging in Europe for two years, but the United States, led by Woodrow Wilson, was still neutral and would not involve itself for yet another six months.

Don's mother, Nellie Allison McDonald Overturf, wrote the following description of her son in 1960: "Don has brown eyes, curly light brown hair, and is of small stature [5'7" tall], like his mother. He also has a cleft in his chin, like his mother. He usually weighs 145 or 150 pounds."

Academics, Athletics, Singing — Don did them all with enthusiasm!

As a middle child, Don seemed most interested in getting the attention of his parents and anyone else who might want to take notice of him. He was an above-average student, usually excelling academically; an eager athlete in football, basketball, and track; and possessed an excellent tenor voice. His greatest academic success was earning his Ph.D. from the University of Nebraska in 1960, the first in his family to achieve such a degree. His greatest athletic success was participation for several years on a college basketball team, and his greatest vocal success was winning the highest award for male tenor voice in the state of Nebraska in 1934. He won the Bronco Award in his senior year (1938) at Hastings College, an award given to the top all-round student, excelling academically, athletically, and socially. He was also named to Who's Who.

Don attended elementary and secondary school in Hastings. (At left, Longfellow elementary School, in Hastings, Nebraska.) In junior high and high school, he played basketball, ran track and enjoyed gymnastics; he also participated in student government. He graduated from Hastings High School in 1934 and from Hastings College, receiving his BA degree in education, in 1938.

While in high school and college, he performed in school plays, held numerous elected positions with the student body, and participated in three sports. In his senior year of high school, he broke his collar bone in a football game and decided at that time that he was too small for football. In college, he was well-known in the community for his activities on the basketball court, where he was usually in the starting line-up and his fast get-aways usually left the other players behind. He was one of the top scorers on the team in any game.

Don also loved his cars. At one point he had a Nash coupe that, his younger brother says, gave him a lot of trouble. He always worked on his own cars — to save money — and this was no exception, even in his youth. One day he worked on a brake job for his Nash coupe. He did what he thought he had to do, took the jack off, and jumped in the car and started the motor. He roared up the driveway toward the garage, but when he slammed on the brakes, nothing happened. The car went right through the back of his dad’s garage! He had failed to put fluid in the hydraulic brakes. Fortunately, Don’s father always managed to see things in a positive way: He said the garage was too short anyway and so he rebuilt it with a space for the Buick hood to fit into it nicely. Finally, they could shut the garage doors!

Special Girl: Josephine

Don met Josephine Marie Hansen when they were both still in elementary school. By his junior year in high school, he had asked her out, though they usually got together with a large group of friends.

Josephine Marie Hansen was born on 21 June 1917, in Hastings, Adams County, Nebraska. She was the only daughter of Hans Lloyd Hansen and Estella Mary Mahoney. Bill, her younger brother, was born two years after her, and her other brother, Jim, was born ten years after Bill. [For some interesting stories of Bill's experience in World War II, go to Uncle Bill in World War II.

Josephine, who was usually called Jo (and sometimes Josie and Jody), was tall at 5'8', blue-eyed, and a blonde whose hair turned brunette as she grew older.

She — like Don — also succeeded at all she tried

Josephine attended Morton Elementary School until the third grade and then Longfellow Elementary School. She was promoted after a half year of kindergarten and again another half year after fourth grade, so she skipped a year of elementary school and caught up with Don in the sixth grade. She always liked school and had no difficulty with most of the school subjects. She participated in numerous vocal musical activities. Also in grade school, she loved to play running games. As a youngster, she was very thin, and she succumbed to numerous childhood illnesses.

Jo's father, Hans Lloyd Hansen, built a home for the family at 1010 North Burlington (shown at right) and when Jo was in the third grade, she moved into that home with her family. It remained the family home until Jo's mother, Stella, died in 1967. The home was large and extravagant for its time. Built of brick, it had two floors and a large basement. The main floor had a living and dining room, a large kitchen, and a small den for Jo’s father. Upstairs were four bedrooms and a bathroom. The basement included a large recreational room with a laundry and pantry off to one side. A garage in the backyard kept the family car protected, and Stella liked her back garden with lots of flowers.

In junior high and high school, Jo belonged to a group of friends who corresponded with her until her death. As teenagers, they often played bridge together. Jo took piano and dancing lessons, both of which she loved. Voice lessons came when she was in college. She graduated from Hastings High School in 1934, ranking ninth scholastically in a class of 220. During these years of public schooling, there were many family get-togethers with the Mahoneys in Heartwell and the Hansens in Minden. The Mahoneys were a large, rowdy bunch. Things were a little more staid and sedate at the Hansens, although Jo's father was well-known for his practical jokes.

Jo, like Don, attended Hastings College. In 1934-35 and 1935-36, they dated and hoped that her father would "come around" and let them marry. Jo worked part-time as a clerk in the Ben Sherman Clothing Store. Ben had been a neighbour, and he was good to Jo. Jo and Don’s secret relationship was a challenge for them, and they often enlisted the help of their friends. After two years of college, Jo and her father had a serious argument over her involvement with Don and he withdrew his financial support to her.

Jo felt there was nothing else she could do but leave and teach for a year, earning enough money to get her through the next year of school. She taught grades one through four for a year in a small school in Lowell, Nebraska while Don continued his education at Hastings College. This was the 1936-37 school year. Jo apparently had at least one other suitor, but not as persistent or as serious as Don; she even kept a couple of this young man's letters her entire life.

A Few Bumps along the Way to Happiness

Don and Jo’s relationship ran into troubles early because Josephine's father did not approve of Don as a future husband for his daughter. Despite numerous attempts to win him over, the young couple eventually felt it was necessary to elope, which they did on 20 June 1937, in Greeley, Nebraska. They kept their marriage a secret for more than a year as it was during the Great Depression, and they could not afford to continue college and also set up housekeeping. As well, their marriage could have been annulled by Josephine's father since they had married underage and without parental consent.

Once they were both 21, they revealed their marriage. Don's mother, Nellie, had known about the marriage almost from the beginning, however, as she had found the marriage certificate in her son's bureau drawer when she was putting away his clean clothes. After they announced their marriage, Jo's parents accepted it and had several announcements and parties in their honor. Jo was even featured in a newspaper article.

At the right is a photograph of Jo and Don on the day they announced their marriage. It was taken in the backyard of Don’s parents’ home at 839 North Kansas Avenue in Hastings, Nebraska. Don’s father — George Edwin Overturf — had built the bench heavy enough so that even he could sit on it. There were numerous photographs taken of them sitting on this bench.

Afterwards, Don and Jo went on a honeymoon, driving the same route that Don had driven with his buddy in 1934 right after high school. They went to the Washington, D.C. area and back.

Finishing College and Starting a Career

During those final two years of college, Jo worked as a student aide in the history department, grading papers for Mrs. Dean for twenty-five cents per hour. At the end of her junior year, which was the end of Don's senior year, they announced their marriage and moved to Harvard, Nebraska. This was twenty miles from Hastings and was the first teaching position for Don; he taught English and journalism. During that final year, 1938-39, Jo commuted to Hastings with a long-time friend, Vi Givens, and earned her BA degree cum laude (with majors in elementary education and English and a minor in history). While in college, Jo was involved with the Hastings College Choir (as was Don), Presbyterian Church Choir, Kappa Rho (women's society group), YWCA, and secretary of the student government. Sometimes, she played basketball as well with her group of girlfriends.

Family Begins and War Interrupts

Don and Jo moved to Norfolk, Nebraska, in August 1939 where their first child, a daughter, Karen ², was born on December 5th. For the next several years, Jo was busy with being a wife and mother, while Don taught English and journalism and worked on his Master’s degree. Their second child, another daughter, Kathie ³, was born in Norfolk on 29 March 1942. Don finished his Masters degree at the University of Nebraska in the summer of 1942 and they moved to California where Don accepted a position at Santa Ana Junior College.

While the world was at war from 1939 to 1941, Don and Jo (like most other Americans) tried to keep their lives on track, starting a family and improving Don's education so he could earn a higher salary. After Pearl Harbour, it was particularly difficult for Don to stay out of the war effort, but with a wife and two children and a career in education, Don was able to get fatherhood and occupational deferments.

By the time he accepted the position at Santa Ana Junior College in California, Don was greatly bothered by the fact that he was not involved in some way in the war effort. By the spring of 1943, he requested to be released from his contract, and this was granted. He went to work for Douglas Aircraft in Long Beach, California, as a supervisor of the Office Day Shift. His badge, which he used while working at the plant, is shown at the right. He gave this to his younger brother, George, after the war. The plant built A26 bombers, as well as DC3’s and C47’s. Don gave his younger brother, George, the print of an A26A Invader by Joe Milich of Denver, Colorado.

Money was so tight that Don asked his father and younger brother to crate up his Iver Johnson bicycle in Nebraska and send it to him in California, so that he could ride his bike to work while Jo had the car to get the kids around and to do shopping. The bike had 28-inch wheels with single-piece tires which had to be glued on the rims. With a rubber shortage during the War, there were no tires made for anything civilian, including bicycles. Don had to “make do” with what he had.

On 27 November 1943, Jo gave birth to their third child and first son, Gary ⁴. They moved back to Orange, California, where they remained until the end of World War II.

Getting Back on Track: Wood Lake, Nebraska

After Victory in Japan had been announced, Don and Jo tried to return to their lives as it had been before the war. With three children under the age of six and a fourth child on the way, they packed their car and drove to Nebraska where Don took a position as superintendent of a small school system in Wood Lake, Nebraska. One month later, their fourth child, third daughter, Susan ⁵, was born at Valentine, Nebraska, on 4 October 1945.

The school system in Wood Lake was in poor shape after four years of war. Housing was in short supply, most young men had gone to war, and many others had left to find employment in the cities. In the photograph at the right, Don is standing before the school building which housed all of the children from primary to secondary. Jo attempted to cope with the poor housing and four children under the age of six. But both of them must have known that this stay in Wood Lake was going to be temporary.

Moving on: Fairbury, Nebraska

Don, Jo, and the kids tried to make the best of things — the house was old and rundown — but, in April of 1946, Don resigned as superintendent to accept a position with Fairbury Junior College as its dean. Because of no housing in Fairbury, Jo stayed in Hastings with the four children (first with her parents and then with Don's parents). In the summer of 1946, the entire family moved to Crete, Nebraska, to a summer camp retreat while Don began work on his doctorate at the University of Nebraska.

At long last, in the fall of 1946, the family moved to Fairbury where they stayed until 1949. A photograph of the home they lived in is at the left. It was taken in the 1980’s, but looks much the same as it did in the 1940’s (except the tree is bigger!).

While in Fairbury, Jo engaged in some church activities and sang at times with a vocal trio. She sang "I know that my Redeemer Liveth" at the Easter program, and Stella, her mother, came from Hastings to hear her. For one semester, she taught English at Plymouth High school in Plymouth, Nebraska, which was a short commute. She was rehired but she found it too difficult to handle four children who were still very young and also teach, so she did not continue.

A big change and a step up in Don’s Career: Silver City, New Mexico

In 1949, Don joined the faculty and administrative staff of Western New Mexico University (it was called New Mexico Western College at that time) in Silver City, New Mexico. They would remain in Silver City for twenty years and this is the small town that their children considered home. They lived in a small duplex, and then a larger rental home, but in 1952, they bought a home at 1105 West 6th Street (shown at right). This would be their home until 1969. Don spent many hours working on this home, adding a patio and deck, building a fence around it, eventually changing the attic into a second floor (including building a stairway).

Jo went to school at the college and earned her Masters Degree in 1952 (earning A's in every subject she took). While working on her degree, she did substitute teaching jobs in the Silver City schools.

Don’s New Position and Continuing Education

Don began at Western as Registrar and Dean of Men. He quickly established a reputation as a man of integrity and honesty. He worked well with both students and staff, and he was extremely popular. He was somewhat of a visionary, constantly seeking to organize and improve his office's efficiency. In the 1950s, he was responsible for the purchase of an auto-typist machine which could type pre-programmed paragraphs to persons writing to inquire about Western or its educational programs. (In essence, it was an early computer.)

Don was also instrumental in making sure that Western established the requirements to be a university. New Mexico Western College eventually became Western New Mexico University. He was considered for the presidency of the university at one time, but he turned this down. At the end of his service to Western, Don held the second-highest position in the university administration, Dean of Student Affairs. For a short space of time, he also held the position of Dean of Academic Affairs when the person hired for that position was too ill to do the job.

In 1960 Don earned his Ph.D. from the University of Nebraska. His thesis was titled “The History of New Mexico Western College”. The University of Nebraska has this document on file, and it can be purchased. A 24-page preview of it is also available. It can be found at this link.

Jo’s 17-Year Teaching Career

In the early 1950s, teachers were very much in demand, and Jo resumed a teaching career in 1951 with the Grant County Schools. Her first annual teaching salary was $3150, considerably more than the $500 she had earned in Lowell, Nebraska in 1936-37. She was given an assignment in Fierro, New Mexico, a small mining community about fifteen miles from Silver City. She taught mostly in the third to fifth grade levels, and most of her children were of Hispanic descent, the children of the miners living in the community. Jo loved to use her music in teaching. She had a piano in her room and used music often at the annual Christmas program, including a rhythm band.

For eight long years, Jo commuted to Fierro to teach in an old school at the top of a big hill. It had not always been easy — a difficult commute in winter driving conditions, children from very poor home situations, and a lot of time away from her family — but she also said that she "found great satisfaction in the classroom" and "it gave [her] a sense of independence that [she] relished." The photograph at the left was taken during Jo’s career at Fierro.

Finally, Fierro School consolidated with the Cobre Consolidated School System and Jo was assigned a sixth grade glass at Hurley, New Mexico. She stayed there for four years and then asked to be assigned to a school closer to home. She taught third grade at Bayard, New Mexico, for five years.

Involvement in Other Activities

Both Don and Jo were active in the community: the Presbyterian Church and various other organizations. Jo was a member of the DAR and the American Association of University Women. In the late 60's, they built a cabin near Lake Roberts in the Gila National Forest. Don did quite a bit of the inside work on his own. They liked going there to get away from the telephone.

Change in Lifestyle

This photograph of the Overturf children, taken in 1948 in Fairbury, Nebraska, shows them, from left to right: Susan, Gary, Kathie, Karen. By the end of 1966, Jo and Don's children were all married, and they now had four grandchildren. All four children graduated from Western New Mexico University and three of the spouses also graduated from there. At the end of 1966, their youngest daughter had married and they were a couple again — after twenty-seven years.

Jo continued to teach while Don continued his responsibilities at Western New Mexico University. In 1968, Don became very ill with Shingles and was hospitalized. Jo resigned from her teaching position with Cobre Schools, believing that she could become a part of the Silver City Schools. But no job materialized and she was home for a year. In July of 1969, Don resigned from Western New Mexico University, "under very difficult conditions," according to Jo. Don, at age 55, believed that he would be able to easily find another job, but it took him six months to do so.

End of career: Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona

In January of 1970, Don accepted a teaching position at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona. Since they were not certain if they would stay, they purchased a double-wide trailer and lived in a trailer park for several years. Jo attended one class in library science, thinking that she might try for a doctorate, but the thirty hours she had earned past her Master's degree had to be scratched, and she was told she would have to start all over again. Instead, she sold Avon products for three and a half years, always a member of the President's Club, a club based on selling so many dollars' worth in a given time. Eventually, she began to work as a volunteer in Don's office since she wanted to be as close to Don as possible. They worked together until his retirement on 1 July 1981.

At NAU, Don taught several courses in education and was assistant to the Dean of Arts and Sciences. As at Western, he was well-liked and popular with both staff and students. At this time, he received Emeritus membership in Phi Delta Kappa. When Don retired, a reception was held for both him and Jo.

In 1977, Jo and Don celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary and the entire family of four children, their spouses, and eight grandchildren met at the oldest daughter’s home in Denver, Colorado, for a celebration and reunion.

In 1978, Don and Jo purchased a home in Sedona, Arizona, and they commuted from there for a few years before Don's retirement.

Retirement

Don and Jo lived together in retirement in Sedona from 1981 until Jo's death on 31 July 1988. In earlier days, they had enjoyed using a camper trailer, but after retirement they preferred motels. They took at least two trips to Europe, and they returned to Hastings, Nebraska, for several school reunions. They had more time for visits with their aging siblings as well.

In the summer of 1987, Don suffered a severe stroke which left him speechless (aphasia), unable to use ordinary tools (apraxia), and partly paralyzed on the right side. This occurred just shortly before their planned celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary. Despite this, they did have a small celebration. The photograph at left was taken to celebrate their 50th anniversary.

Jo found her caretaking role difficult, and it probably contributed to her death, although she also suffered from diabetes and high blood pressure. She complained for nearly two days that she did not feel well, but they drove to Silver City to spend time at their cabin at Lake Roberts anyway. They returned early because of Jo's illness. Once home, she felt a little better. When the attack occurred, she only had time to call Don for help, he dialed 911, she spoke to the 911 operator, and then put down the phone. By the time the ambulance arrived, she was, for all intents and purposes, gone.

Life without Jo

For Don, the first year after Jo's death was a difficult one, although he did manage to go to visit each of his children. By the second year, however, he had to deal with cancer (a tumor in his neck). While undergoing treatment, he lived with his son, Gary, and his daughter-in-law, Carol, in Los Angeles, California. Eventually, he returned to his home in Sedona where he lived with his daughter and her husband in his own home. Shortly before he died, he had gone to live in an assisted-living facility. He died on 20 August 1998, and is buried beside Jo in the Sedona City Cemetery.

Susan, the youngest child of Don and Jo, remembers her father as a loving and kind person. He was a great story-teller and perpetually optimistic about life. As a child, Susan followed him as he worked on his many projects around the house or with his car. She developed a strong appreciation for his intelligence and skills. She felt that her mother was much more complex than her father and, as a child, she never felt close to her mother. In later years, however, Susan came to appreciate her mother and the obstacles she had overcome in life. She also learned to appreciate her mother’s sense of humour and that twinkle in her eye.

Despite problems in their marriage, Jo and Don demonstrated over and over again their loyalty to each other and to their marriage vows. People who didn't know them well would say that Jo was a "bit stand-offish" and that Don was "friendly and a nice guy." These were, indeed, the traits people first noticed about them. Without a doubt, however, both of them had a gigantic influence on the hundreds of students they taught, in addition to their own children. It is hard to say why lives are important or worthwhile, but Jo and Don Overturf certainly worked hard to be worthy, to help others, and to endure heroically and without complaint the trials that life brought them. Perhaps those are their greatest achievements.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a daughter of Don and Jo. Last updated May 25, 2023.]

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Don Overturf, Basketball Player

My father, Don Overturf, played basketball at Hastings High School, Hastings, Nebraska, in 1933 and 1934. He played again at Hastings College in 1935, 1937, and 1938.

In the local newspaper articles, his speed, agility and enthusiasm were always highlighted. Here's an example from a game between Hastings College and Peru, Nebraska in February 1937 which was called a "fast game" by the reporter.

The article went on to say:

"Little Don Overturf, Bronco forward, was the sparkplug. He caught three fast baskets during the surge simply by outspeeding his guard.

"'A fellow simply shouldn’t be that fast on a basketball floor,' wryly said Coach Stuart Baller of Peru after the game in tribute to the diminutive Overturf’s floor play."

My father talked many times of his basketball playing experiences, but it wasn’t until after his death that I acquired copies of newspaper articles about the games. I also inherited his Hastings High School and Hastings College yearbooks. Together, this information reveals the fun he had. It was a special time in his life — a time which he never forgot — and he told his children of his exploits many, many times. I’m only surprised that I did not see the articles and yearbooks until after his death.

On this page I discuss the two years of high school competitions. He also had an active career at Hastings College in 1935, 1936, and 1938.

Hastings High School 1933 

  The 1933 basketball season for the Hastings High team was a good one. My father, Don Overturf, had just begun to play basketball, but some of his teammates were a little more experienced. Still, all in all, they were a young, rookie team. They got their photograph in the paper as they headed for the championship game with Columbus High.

Front row, left to right: A. Hopp, Van Wie, Rickel, Crosson, McDannell. Back row, left to right: J. Hopp, Skaggs, Coach Dwight Thomas, Ringstad, Overturf.

The team looked promising from the beginning and the first article in the newspaper, prior to their game against Fairbury, itemized the team’s individual heights and weights. My father was the smallest at 5’ 6-1/2” tall and weighing only 127 pounds. But it would be this height and weight which would single him out amongst his teammates. He moved with agility and skill. He was called small, diminutive, short, little ... and any other synonym you can think of for small. But he was a high scorer, and often was second only to the tallest members of the team.

The Hastings High Tigers won their first game against Fairbury, 36-20. They were looking like contenders for the state high school basketball title but lost 14-12 to Columbus High School of Lincoln, Nebraska, at the end of the season. They would face them again in 1934.

The full team proudly posed for their 1933 yearbook photograph (below). This is a copy of my father’s yearbook page with notes from three of the players.

Hastings High School 1934

  Here they are: The stars of the 1934 Hastings High School Basketball Team. My father, Don Overturf, is one of them. Also featured are: John “Cotney” Hopp, Orville Ringsted, Raymond Crosson, and Dale Skaggs. They formed the nucleus of the team that year and they hoped they could win the state championships after coming in second the year before. ²

Could they do it? Could they break the previous year’s scores and get into the finals again? No doubt they had plenty of confidence, but there can be little doubt that they entered the season with high hopes.

At the end of the season, the local paper had a lengthy article about the Hastings High football, basketball, and track seasons. The five men in the starting line-up -- Skaggs, Crosson, Hopp, Ringsted, and Overturf -- participated in every game. They had four wins within two weeks: Red Cloud, Franklin, Omaha Central and the Curtis Aggies all lost to the Hastings High Tigers. That was all before Christmas.

In the New year, they just kept winning, beating both Clay Center and Holdrege. The Crete Cardinals were embarrassed by the Tigers in a 33-23 defeat. Then two more wins — one against Geneva and another against Fairbury. The Tigers seemed unbeatable.

But that changed with a devastating defeat of 16-30 to the Grand Island team, traditional rivals. A second and third defeat followed almost immediately: Jackson and then Lincoln.

Fans were sure it would all work out in the end, and it did. They won the next four games: Norfolk, Columbus High (a tight one, 16-15), Beatrice and Kearney. As with the Hastings High football team that year, they won the Mid-State League championship.

The loss to Grand Island no doubt remained in the minds of the fans and the players for years to come. The newspaper article clearly told of their pain. The headline read: "Islanders Trim Tigers 30 to 16." The sub-headline: "G.I. Team Stops Hastings Cold in Friday Night Tilt."

But they lost only three games, and one of them — against Geneva — was such a rout that the reporter for the article spent more time writing about other things (see article below). I wish I knew who he was. He was really quite clever.     The game, which Hastings controlled throughout the evening, was so boring that he and the scorekeeper found something even more interesting to watch.

And so, my father graduated from Hastings High School and ended his high school basketball career. But he was to play for three more years at Hastings College, each year bringing him more fame with his fans, including his sweetheart (my mother).

And a Final Word:

In January 2011, I was contacted by Mr. Greg Mays, a 1986 Hastings High graduate and now a teacher at Hastings High. He played basketball at both Hastings High and Hastings College and he sent me some more information about Hasting High’s 1934 team and the Hopp brothers:

“They finished the year with three games that the ’34 Tiger doesn’t mention. First, they beat Blue Hill, 27-15, in an exhibition game at the regional tournament that HHS hosted (in the Manual Arts gym which was built in 1936) ... Regional qualification for state was still new in ’34 and the state...excluded some of the traditional powers like Hastings; instead, the Tigers hosted the tournament but didn’t play, having been granted automatic qualification to the state tournament. After that, they played Kearney and beat the Bearcats, 32-11. Kearney was a traditional opponent and a member of the Mid-States Conference, so I assume that this was a regular season game. Then they went to Lincoln for state and were upset in the first round by North Platte, 21-18. It’s all conjecture on my part, but I don’t think the automatic qualification did them any good — probably made them a little rusty, come tourney time.”

Mr. Mays goes on to say: “Johnny ‘Cotney’ Hopp went on to play major league baseball for the Yankees and Cardinals, appearing in World Series with both teams. His younger brother Harry ‘Hippity Hopp’ (HHS ’37) played in the NFL for the Detroit Lions. younger brother Wally ‘Hosea’ Hopp was on the Nebraska 1941 Rose Bowl team, the first Husker bowl team ever. Eldest brother Albert ‘Ruff’ Hopp was on the ’33 team with your father. He was later my little league football coach!”

For more: Go to Hastings College in 1935, 1936, and 1938.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a daughter of Don Overturf. Last updated January 26, 2016.]

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

Editor's Note: When you see these three dots surrounded by a gray rectangle — ¹ — you can click on it to get further information about the topic. Click a second time, and the message goes away.

Don Overturf, Basketball Player

My father, Don Overturf, played basketball at Hastings High School, Hastings, Nebraska, in 1933 and 1934. He played again at Hastings College in 1935, 1937, and 1938. This page is about his basketball career at Hastings College.

HASTINGS COLLEGE 1935

  The 1933 and 1934 basketball seasons for Hastings High School were over. After graduating in 1934, Don Overturf went on to attend Hastings College. He loved playing basketball and he joined the team in his freshman year. The coach, the school, and the players were hopeful that they might win state championships that year, and several of the men had played together at Hastings High. ² 

Here’s the team, photographed for the local paper:

The headline for the photograph read: Thurlo Talks it Over with Boys

The caption under this photograph read: Coach Thurlo E. McCrady counsels with his Hastings College Bronco basketball team. Standing, left to right: Jack Logan, from Callaway, NE; Lee Todd, from Max, NE; Bob Holm, from  Minden, NE; Ray Crosson, Hastings; Frank Lee, Hastings; Ray Richel, Hastings; Art Stevenson, from Gothenburg, NE; Aubrey Givens, Hastings. Bottom row left to right: Albert Hopp, Hastings; Jimmy Martin, from Grand Island, NE; Side Chase, from Maywood, NE; Don Overturf, Hastings.

My mother, Josephine Marie Hansen (who was not yet married to my father) followed the games closely and carefully noted the schedule below with the score results:

At the bottom of the schedule, my mother’s handwriting notes the team: Martin, Todd, Rickel, Givens, Hopp, Overturf, Logan, Chase, and Stevenson. On the left, she wrote: “1st year ever to be champions.” Interestingly enough, the schedule was provided by Ben Sherman’s Men’s Clothing Store, a small clothing store my mother worked for throughout the time she was attending Hastings College.

Even in the first game, my father’s skills were noticed, both by the coach and by the reporter for the local paper:

I was never aware of my father using his left hand, but he apparently was quite capable of using it on the basketball court. Because he was short, he used his many other skills to confuse his opponents, and I suspect they often did not anticipate his ability to make a basket with his left hand. As well, he was known for his quick moves on the floor. Years later, when he and I would watch professional basketball on television, he would complain that it had become a game of height but not of skill.

In the second game, he was noticed again, also for his left-handed skills.

He was setting the stage for a college basketball career that everyone would notice eventually. He must have grown weary of the repeated references to his size, but I suspect he never tired of the cheers from the crowd when he showed his skill on the floor.

The team won the state championship that year and it must have been a difficult decision for my father to decide to not play basketball in 1936.

Instead, during my father's sophomore year, he joined the Hastings Choir (where my mother also participated) and went on tour with them. In addition to being a basketball player, he had a fine tenor voice. But circumstances would bring him back to the court to play college basketball both in 1937 and 1938, and he just got better at it.

Hastings College, 1937

In 1937, my mother had been forced to leave her home because her father did not approve of her growing relationship with my father. She took a teaching job in a nearby town and my father continued his education at Hastings College. It had to be a difficult year for both of them, and my father no doubt found basketball a wonderful outlet for his unhappiness. After singing with the Hastings College Choir for a year, he returned to the basketball court. ³

The year began with my dad as one of the starting line-up: Willis Trupp, Guard; Cecil Brubaker, Center; Don Overturf, Forward; Dick Marvel, Center; Dale McLaughlin, Forward; and Ruff Hopp, Guard. At the end of the year, my father would be given Honorable Mention for the Nebraska Collegiate Athletic Conference basketball honor roll team.

They began well, but trouble began when their star center, Dick Marvel, came down with the mumps. They didn’t really recover until Dick came back to play.

The first page of the yearbook for Hastings College that year tells how the team did during the first half of the season:

           And then Dick Marvel got the mumps and things didn’t go quite so well. Here’s page 2 of the yearbook’s description of the Basketball Season:

The Broncos began the year with two wins, one over Hays Teachers College and then Tarko. They travelled to Iowa for a series of exhibition games and in the New Year, they began a series of wins that made it look as though they were headed for the championships. The first, against Wayne State Teachers was a stunning win of 50-26.

In one article about that game, my father was mentioned twice, first for a combination effort with the team right at the beginning of the game, and second because of his “speedy bursts.”

The team went on to win three easy ones: Wesleyan, 28-38; St. Benedict, 24-26; and Peru, 27-29. The reports of this game highlighted my father in two paragraphs:

Perhaps because of his height, he seemed determined to prove that he would be a valuable player. But he was clearly skilled with the ball and quite capable of holding his own against taller players. As well, he was playing these games without his sweetheart in the crowd much of the time, as my mother continued to live and teach in a nearby community.

By the Midland game, which Hastings won 45-18, my father was in the starting line-up. The newspaper article about the game said: “Overturf, a small, flashy player, was the team’s leading goaler on last week’s invasion of St. Benedict’s and Peru.”

Just a week later, he caught the attention of the reporter again in the game against Doane, which they won 34-23. The Headline read: “Overturf, Trupp Lead McCradymen.” After discussing Peru’s top forward, Kristufek, the reporter wrote, “No warmer was Kristufek, however, than little Don Overturf and Bill Trupp, Bronco forwards,  when it came to potting last period crazies. Together they made 20 points, each bagging 10. Trupp was the sparkplug in the last half. Overturf’s two quick baskets in the last minute of the first half gave the home team a 15 to 11 advantage. He counted again on the tipoff of the second half and Marvel followed with a tip-in to boost the margin to 19 to 11.”   

Things continued to go well, and my dad did well at the Peru game where the opposing coach remarked about his floor movement: “A fellow simply shouldn’t be that fast on a basketball floor.”

Dick Marvel, the Broncos’ star Center, came down with the mumps, and the next four games were tough, Hastings losing three of them. But Marvel returned when they played Midland and they beat them, 40-37. My dad contributed nine points, including an extra fee throw “when a Midland zealot spoke out of turn from the sideline. Once, after re-entering the game, he “immediately broke free for a dump shot.” Right after Midland came the game with Doane and in this game my father, for the first and only time, fouled out of the game. Even still, Dad scored 9 points.

Out of 21 games, they had only six defeats, and tied for the conference championship.

Hastings College, 1938

In June of 1937, my parents drove north from Hastings, Nebraska, to Greeley, on a warm Sunday afternoon. There, they were married. My mother was one day away from being 20; my father, one month away from being 21. In Nebraska at that time, couples could not marry without parental consent before the age of 21. They felt they had no choice, however, but to marry without consent because my mother’s father remained adamantly opposed to their marriage. After marrying, they returned to Hastings, both living with their parents, continuing their education at Hastings College, and kept the marriage secret, hopefully until they were both 21.

They attended Hastings College that year. My father played basketball and earned the Bronco Award that year as all-round student. They did not reveal their marriage until the summer of 1938.

The team began the season with a Western Tour that took them all the way to California. They played and lost 12 games, but they had great fun. A photograph was taken of them just before they left:

While in California, they attended the Rose Bowl Parade. It was apparently very crowded and my dad discovered he could not see much of the parade. He was assisted by his taller teammates and the article below appeared in the local newspaper.

I imagine that, despite my father’s good humour, he didn’t actually enjoy this much. Not only did he grow tired of the constant references to his size, but one must remember that at this time he was also secretly married to my mother and no doubt wishing she could have been with him. To this day, I do not know if either of my parents told any of their friends that they were married. Many of their friends certainly knew of her father’s opposition to the marriage, but it could be that my parents did not feel it was safe to reveal their situation to anyone, for fear it would become known by her father.

Once back from their Western Tour, the boys began their regular season, beating Peru, 44-36. Dad is mentioned three times in the article about the game:

• “Little Don Overturf put the visitors away to a running start when he snagged two consecutive buckets on fast breaks, and when Forrest Todd came in for another the Broncos were ahead 6 to 0.”

• “The Broncos snatched back the lead when Overturf scored on the second half tip-off and Hastings worked ahead thereafter.”

• “Hastings front-liners, Overturf, Richendifer and Marvel, were tops for the visitors. ... Marvel and Overturf were neat under-basket workers.” 
 The next game, against Kearney, went equally well, winning 47-27. “Marvel, Todd, Overturf Star” read the sub-headline, and Dad was said to be “a thorn in Kearney’s side, especially in the early stages with his fast breaking.”   The team won game after game and then came up against Midland for the Nebraska College Athletic Conference basketball championship. It was the most important game of the season and they lost it in a “spine-tingling” game of 31-30.

At the end of the basketball season, each of the team members were featured in the local newspapers. The article below is the one printed about Dad. I’m not sure what he thought of being called a “Midget” (I suspect he hated it) but hopefully he was pleased with their compliments.

[This page researched and written by Susan Overturf Ingraham, a daughter of Don Overturf. Last updated January 27, 2016.]

[View this post on SusanIngraham.net]

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