In Focus Volume 1 No 1

In Focus Volume 1 No 1

Northern Nevada History

A Journal of Archaeology, Essays, Fictions, Folklore, Natural History, Native American Culture, Nevada History, Old Photographs, and Poetry.

Churchill County Museum Association

Michon Makedon

Churchill County Museum Association

1987-88

Copyright Churchill County Museum Association

Bound Journal

English

Churchill County Nevada

CHURCHILL COUNTY
IN FOCUS
ANNUAL 0 URN AL OF THE CHURCHILL COUNTY
MUSEUM ASSOCIATION, FALLON, NEVADA
1987-1988
CHURCHILL COUNTY
MUSEUM ASSOCIATION, INC.
BOARD OF TRUSTEES
Ken Coverston, Chairman
Susan McCormick, Vice Chairman
Vergine Brown, Secretary
Myrl Nygren, Treasurer
Wilva Blue, Volunteer Coordinator
Barbara Dory, Trustee
Mary Fritz, Trustee
Dan Luke Sr., Trustee
Charles F. Mann, Trustee
Harold Rogers, Trustee
F'. E. "Pete" Walters, Trustee
Cyril Schank, Commissioner
EDITORIAL POLICY
IN FOCUS solicits articles or photographs of scholarly or popular interest dealing with the history and people of Churchill County and neighboring Nevada regions. Prospective contributors should send their work to The Editor, IN FOCUS, Churchill County Museum & Archive, 1050 South Maine Street, Fallon,
NV 89406. Articles should be typed, double-spaced, and sent in duplicate. Documentation and footnotes should conform to the MLA Stylesheet. For return of manuscript, include a self-addressed, stamped envelope. © Copyright Churchill County Museum Association, 1987. Manuscripts and photographs for each annual publication must be received by May 15 for consideration for that year's journal.
Authors of articles accepted for publication will receive 3 complimentary copies of the Journal.
IN FOCUS is published annually by the Churchill County Museum Association, Inc., a non-profit
Nevada corporation. A complimentary copy of IN FOCUS is sent to all members of the Museum
Association. Membership dues are:
SENIOR (60+) 8 10.00
INDIVIDUAL 15.00
FAMILY 20.00
LIFE 250.00
Membership application and dues should be sent to the Director, Churchill County Museum &
Archive, 1050 South Maine Street, Fallon, NV 89406. Copies are also sold through the Museum Mercantile shop, located in the Museum, or by mail.
The Editors of IN FOCUS and the Churchill County Museum Association disclaim any responsibility f©r statements of fact or opinion made by the contributors.
Second-class postage paid at Fallon, Nevada. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Churchill
County IN FOCUS, 1050 South Maine Street, Fallon, NV 89406.
CHURCHILL COUNTY
IN FOCUS
ANNUAL JOURNAL OF THE CHURCHILL COUNTY MUSEUM ASSOCIATION
VOLUME 1 1987-1988 NUMBER 1
Contents
SOFT Focus
The Editors' Comments Michon Mackedon and Sharon Lee Taylor 1
SHADOW CATCHER
Mary Walker Foster Sharon Lee Taylor 3
SHARP Focus
fallon Kirk Robertson 13
Nevada's Underwater Mystery in the Desert .. Sharon Lee Taylor 14
The American Cowboy—Who was He Linda Vaughn 19
A Few Cowboy Rules Georgie Connell Sicking 23
The History of the Fallon Christmas Tree ... Sharon Goudswaard 25
A History of Oats Park Eloise Enos 31
Churchill County Library: A Place
for Readers Barbara Mathews and Dora Witt 36
If That Old Wagon Wheel Could Talk Ophelia "Leafy" King 40
NATIVE AMERICAN PERSPECTIVE
Helen Stone Speaks Helen Bowser Stone 42
PIONEER PORTRAITS
Growing Up In Fallon, Nevada Roy Cox Williams 54
You Have to Kind of Take Pride in it" George Luke 61
Stillwater Pioneer Family Reflects on Changes
in the Valley Anne Pershing 68
SCIENTIFIC PERSPECTIVE
Archaeological Research in Churchill County:
A Tale of Changing Perspectives Brian W. Hatoff 74
SHADOW CATCHER
Albert A. Alcorn Jeff Perthel 83
MUSEUM MINIATURE
Old Betsy Pam Nelson 93
CONTRIBUTORS 97
SOFT FOCUS The Editors' Comments
THIS IS THE pioneer publication of IN FOCUS, an annual journal of the Churchill County Museum Association. Although the nature of the publication will certainly change with time and with the tastes of future editors and contributors, ideally, it will, over the years, present perspectives on Churchill County through records of the lives of its people and views of the extraordinary landscape within its boundaries. We also hope to arouse curiosity by what we cannot or do not print—to stimulate more questions and foster more research into the archives, landscapes and personalities that reveal the essence of the community. And, we hope to bring simple pleasure to those who read the pages or flip through the pictures of this journal.
In designing IN FOCUS we have developed a motif which should provide both the structure desired for unity and the flexibility essential for growth and change. That motif is the camera, for we envision our journal as being a record of "focused views" of the community. Hence, it is divided into sections which reflect the overall theme. In the SHARP FOCUS section, specific topics will be explored. SHADOW CATCHERS will present photographers and their work. PIONEER PORTRAITS will offer articles on the area's pioneers or excerpts from oral histories. Works by and about Native Americans will be printed in the section, NATIVE AMERICAN PERSPECTIVE, and the latest in archaeological or other scientific discoveries will fill the pages of SCIENTIFIC PERSPECTIVE. In MUSEUM MINIATURE we will focus on a special activity or exhibit at the Museum.
The design is not a closed one; we hope to add more sections, and we invite your suggestions and comments. In fact, we invite your participation in all facets of this journal—as readers, writers, critics, or members of the journal staff. We invite you to become involved, to write down—or tell us about—the memories you carry or the information you hold. We want this journal to be a mosaic of life in the Great Basin, to reflect the people, places, and stories that make our land as rich in heritage, and in life, as it is.
MICHON MACKEDON, EDITOR
SHADOW CATCHER
Mary Walker Foster
SHARON LEE TAYLOR
MARY WALKER FOSTER was born in Colorado in 1905. At a young age, she became fascinated with the camera, often peering in the windows of the early portrait studios. While a young woman, she began working in the studio of John W. Walker, a well known Denver photographer. They married in 1922 and then moved, resettling in Ely, Nevada the next year. Her husband opened another studio, and Mary soon became his ardent and attentive student.
Mary was drawn to the natural Nevada beauty that surrounded her new home. In 1926 she and her husband heard of a cave near Ely, and curiosity prompted them to visit it. The startling beauty of Whipple Cave and Lehman Caves in 1926 was a sight seldom seen. Traveling slowly into the cave, using carbide head-lamps and a coleman lantern, they pushed on into the depths. The group of photographs that resulted from this adventure forms an awe-
Mary Walker Foster, 1949
3
4 Sharon Lee Taylor
A massive stalagmite inside Whipple Cave, now in the Great Basin National Park, 1926. (C) Mary Walker Foster)
Mary Walker Foster 5
Senator Pat McCarran and an unidentified man examine the "Hidden Forest" in
southern Nevada for possible development, c1930. (© Mary Walker Foster)
6 Sharon Lee Taylor
Mary Foster, heading into a mine, flanked by mining inspector Holmes (L) and Mr. Skinner (R), 1963. ((C) Mary Walker Foster)
inspiring collection that understates the difficulty involved in lighting that wonderland so far underground.
John Walker's untimely death in 1928 left Mary a widow with three small children to raise. Always an independent soul, she returned her first widow's pension check and replied, "If I need help, I'll humble myself and ask for it!" From that day on she began to run the shop herself, and as she expanded her business she employed up to five people.
Mary soon became one of Nevada's most respected photographers. In the early 1930's she served as State Photographer. In this role she traveled all over the state, capturing on film many important moments in those early days. Accompanied by Senator Pat McCarran and Governor James Scrugham, she visited and photographed the area in southern Nevada known as Hidden Forest. She also photographed the site where surveying was being done for the construction of Boulder Dam and was on hand to record the opening of the Lost City Museum.
In 1933 Mary remarried, and she, her children and her new husband, Bill Foster, moved to Fallon. For the next 42 years, Mary's Eastman 4x5 Speed Graphic was her constant companion. No challenge was too great, and her resulting work is an intricate tapestry of a community at work and a commu-
Mary Walker Foster
0
Mary Walker Foster)
An unidentified miner deep be'ow ground, 1963.
‘:-
Headframe at the Simon Mine, October 31, 1963. (© Mary Walker Foster)
Sharon Lee Taylor
Mrs. Lillie Brite and her liquor store after the first temblor of the 1954 Fallon earthquakes. "You could smell the wine a block a, /ay." (© Mary Walker Foster)
The old R. L. Douglass Bank building on Maine Street, after the earthquakes of 1954. (© Mary Walker Foster)
10 Sharon Lee Taylor
Hattie Ferguson Randolph, the 1915 Queen of the Nevada State Fair in Fallon, sits with Lisa Smith, Queen of the Nevada Centennial Celebration, 1964. (C) Mary Walker Foster)
State Senator Carl Dodge delivers a speech to colorfully dressed Fallon citizens. A time capsule is being buried in the courthous lawn as part of the Nevada Centennial Celebration, 1964. (0 Mary Walker Foster)
Mary Walker Foster 11
Thy Lahontan Commandery#7, Knights Templar pose on the City Hall steps. Carl
Dodge, Buck Kirn and Frank Woodliff Jr. stand proudly in the front row, c1950. Do you recognize anyone else? (CD Mary Walker Foster)
Rollie Kolstrup, Churchill County Commissioner, breaks ground for the County Telephone Company's new building on August 30, 1961. L to R: Leo Lewis, City Councilman; Grant Davis, District ,Attorney; Jack Tedford, Mayor; Kolstrup; Harold
Rogers, Telephone Company Manager: Ha Lemon, Contractor: and Ralcoh
Casazza, Architect. (C) Mary Walker Foster)
12 Shar©n Lee Tayl©r

Do you remember this fire in the late 1960's? (© Mary Walker Foster)
SHARP FOCUS
fallon
you've driven over
nine hundred miles
just to be here
for a few days
where it's warm enough
and dry enough
to sit on the porch
in the sun on the day
after Christmas
under a sky
you'd almost forgotten
could be so blue
the few clouds
are so high and thin
that when they pass
in front of the sun
there's no change
in the light and
it takes a while
for you to feel
your shirt growing
cold against your skin
but the chill
passes quickly
like a first snow
that sticks around
only in the shadows
of the ditchbank
so you decide
to walk up and
get the mail
with the sky
the only coat
around you
KIRK ROBERTSON. Reprinted by permission of the author from West Nevada Waltz, Turkey Press,
1981.
13
Nevada's Underwater Mystery in the Desert
SHARON LEE TAYLOR
TILE WIND ECHOING through the sparse vegetation along the lake has an almost plaintive sound. The scolding of the shorebirds greets the divers as they move ponderously down the hill toward the water. Once they enter their element, their movements are transformed from the ridiculous to the sublime. Bubbles trail behind them as they enter the chilly darkness of Big Soda Lake, an ancient, eroding volcanic blowout that tempts divers into its depths.
The lakes now called Soda Lakes became known to a few early emigrants who passed by after crossing the dreaded Forty Mile Desert. There were small fresh water springs along the shoreline, but the thirsty travelers often missed them in their push for Ragtown on the Carson River, two miles further down the trail.
The first settlers to develop the area around the lakes were Asa L. Kenyon and his wife Catherine. They began by selling provisions and fresh livestock to the survivors of the dangerous trip. Kenyon claimed the little lake in 1855, and sold it in 1868 to Higgins & Duffy (Angel 1881:363). In a rare early photograph taken by Timothy O'Sullivan on the King Survey in 1867, a large pile of white material, probably soda, is shown near some buildings along the lakeshore.
The two soda lakes are tile remnants of early volcanic activity. They have no streams feeding them and are supplied entirely by subterranean sources. In 1865, I.C. Russell with the U.S. Geological Survey visited the lakes and recorded their composition and features. Big Soda was recorded at 268.5 acres in area, and Little Soda Lake was described as "a pond of variable size" (Russell 1885:73). The depth of the big lake was reported to be 147 feet after "a series of' careful soundings."
It was noted that millions of brine shrimp (Artemia gracilis) were occupants of the waters in Big Soda Lake.
Legends about buildings and machinery below the level of the lake are told by residents of the area. In response, in 1978, Churchill County Museum Director/Curator Sharon Lee Taylor asked Keith Chesnut, the owner of the Sierra Dive Shop in Reno, and salvage diver Ed Glass to accompany local sport diver Mike Ansotegui in a quest to determine what items of' historic interest, if any, existed in the depths of the lake. The result was a series of
14
Nevada's Underwater Mystery in the Desert 15
Big Soda Lake soda works, 95. (Churchill County Museum o TCJD Collection)
underwater photographs taken by Keith of building remnants, a large stationary boiler that looked like a submarine, a steam tractor and a beehive kiln.
Venturous divers from Fallon, Reno and Carson City have long been aware of the -city- beneath the lake, but the story of Soda Lake long remained untold. Research continued sporadically by the Museum until 1982 when RAID (Reno Area Interested Divers) President, Terry Melby, contacted the Museum and requested some history for the club before undertaking a dive at the lake. The results of that meeting led to a plan to map the bottom of the lake and to have it nominated to the National Register of Historic Places.
The lakes are both beautiful and productive. The history of their commercialization is part of the story that makes them significant to the development of Nevada. The production of soda in Lahontan Valley was the first in this state and probably the first of any importance in the West. In 1868, production began in Little Soda Lake, and Big Soda lake was developed soon thereafter, in 1875 (Vanderburg 1940:43. The combined annual yield from both lakes ranged between 300 and 800 tons through the 1890's. Once soda began to be produced on a large scale, the resulting product became a commodity of great importance in the West. In 1876, samples of the soda from Big Soda Lake were awarded a prize medal and diploma at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. In the early days soda was used in soap, glass and paper factories; in calico printing, bleaching and dyeing; and in many other chemical processes (Angel 1881:363). Today, we are familiar with baking soda and bi-carbonate of soda as some of the household by-products of soda.
16 Sharon Lee Taylor
The processing of soda is quite interesting, and a knowledge of the process can help tile diver or the lakeshore visitor to understand the array of machinery below the water. In Big Soda Lake the product was extracted by two processes: cold weather and hot weather. During cold weather, the soda, in natural solution, was allowed to precipitate out in the large evaporating ponds. Then it was washed to remove light impurities, dried and sacked for shipment. The soda in Little Soda Lake was handled in much the same way all year.
During hot weather the process at the big lake was much more complex because of the previously mentioned brine shrimp. The natural solution was pumped from the lake into the evaporating and crystallizing vats, and then the liquid was allowed to evaporate by solar heat. As the solution heated, the brine shrimp died and settled to the bottom to become part of the cake of soda. The next step was the use of a revolving roasting furnace at a moderate heat 4600 to 700 degrees Fahrenheit. When heated to this temperature, the shrimp would carbonize and give the soda an undesirable grayish cast. To clear the color and complete the process, the soda had to receive a finishing heat on a two-step reverberatory hearth furnace, wherein the temperature was kept just below the fusing point of carbonate (1497 degrees Fahrenheit). The furnace had a capacity to process about 30 tons of fine soda every 24 hours. It consumed four cords of pinion pine and required three men on each twelve hour shift to operate it.
The soda was raked as it was heated until it began to soften; then it was removed to the hopper of a cooling conveyor, 80 feet long, where it was passed along the trough by scrapers attached to an endless chain carried by sprocket wheels. The trough was constructed of sheet iron and had a water jacket bottom, through which the water from the pump passed on its return to the lake, thus aiding in the cooling. The soda was then placed in a storage bin to await a trip through the grinding mill; it was then packaged for shipment (Knapp 1899:626-634).
In the June 1, 1941, issue of the Nevada State Journal, Gladys Crehore shared her memories of' visiting the works at Big Soda Lake in 1905. She mentioned that over twenty people had worked at the site. She also reflected that, "at one time the demand was so great that more vats were needed. The water was pumped, at great expense, up over the rim of the lake and carried by pipe line to another depression some two miles distant, where other vats were built. They were made by throwing up levees in rectangular shape, like irrigation checks. The company bought a steam tractor to puddle the vats so they would hold water. This expensive process was soon abandoned but the old pipe line can still be seen running across the desert."
It appears that soda continued to be produced until after the turn of the century, but not in the large amounts previously recorded. The decline came because more easily processed soda was discovered. Two companies, Matron
Nevada's Underwater Mystery in the Desert 17
Soda Company (Big Soda Lake) and Horstmann & Company (Little Soda Lake) were still producing when, in 1907, the waters of the lakes began to mysteriously rise and put them out of business.
The cause of this rising water was the source of disputes that began as a series of letters in 1908 and ended in a precedent setting legal decision by the United States Supreme Court in 1921. The newly formed U.S. Reclamation Service had begun a project in 1903 that is now known as the "Newlands Project." It was the design of the project to reclaim over 200,000 acres of desert land and turn it into valuable farming land. This began with the construction of Derby Diversion Dam on the Truckee River and a thirty-one and one-half mile long canal which connected the Truckee River to the Carson River. Later, the need for water storage led to the construction of Lahontan Dam in 1911.
By 1907, diversion canals near the two lakes, built to distribute the waters from the Truckee River and, later, the new dam, seemed to be affecting the lakes' levels. By June of that year the water had risen some three feet, inundating many of the vats in the big lake and, in a short time, rendering both companies out of business. In the letters that began in 1908, generously made available to the author by the Truckee Carson Irrigation District in Fallon, the owner of the works at Big Soda Lake, Eugene Griswold, steadfastly tried to prove that the U. S. R. S. (which built the project now administered by T.C. I. D.) and its canals had put him out of business.
As the years passed, more and more people became involved in the correspondence, and the responses changed. In 1908 the replies from the Reclamation Service adamantly denied that its canals could have caused the higher water. By 1912, a new Project Engineer, D.W. Cole, admitted that the previous findings were wrong and that the irrigation project and its system of canals were directly responsible for the rising level of the lakes (TCID, Letter, January 3, 1917).
On June 25, 1917, both companies sued the government for a total of $205,000 in the United States Court of Claims in San Francisco. In the April 7, 1919 decision, the Court held the government free of any claims (TCID, No.32004:1-3). The case was then appealed to the United States Supreme Court and was decided on November 21, 1921. The (San Francisco) Bulletin (November 21, 1921) called the decision precedent setting as it "lays down the principle," Solicitor-General Beck said, -that the government is not liable for all actual damages resulting from public improvements, but only for such damages as inevitable to result and which with due diligence and expert study could have been anticipated. One of the most important points in deciding the case was the right-of-way granted to the United States Government by the owners of the lakes prior to 1907. That right-of-way clearly stated -that in consideration of the premises, the first party hereby releases the second party from all claims for damages for entry, survey, or construction ©f said works" (TCID, U.S. Supreme Court, 1921:1-5).
18 Sharon Lee Taylor
Presently, the waters of Big Soda Lake are over 200 feet deep, up some 50 feet since the 1885 measurement. The soda works are all but forgotten, and the way of life they represented is only memory. Thanks to the interest of the museum and the divers of RAID, the Soda Lakes are now assuming the position they deserve as an important part of the history of' the development of Nevada and the West.
REFERENCES
Angel, Myron F., ed. Reproduction of Thompson and West's "History of Nevada." 1881. With Illustrations and Biographical Sketches of Its Prominent Men and Pioneers. Berkeley: Howell-North, 1958.
Knapp, S.A. "Occurrences and Recovery of Sodium Carbonate in the Great Basin."The Mineral Industry, Its Statistics, Technology and Trade, in the United States and Other Countries to the End of 1898, ed. Richard P. Rothwell. New York: The Scientific Publishing Company, 1899.
Nevada State Journal, June 1, 1941.
Russell, Israel Cook. "Soda Lakes, Near Ragtown, Nevada." Geological History of Lake Lahontan, A Quaternary Lake of Northwestern Nevada. Washington: Monographs of the United States Geological Survey, Vol. XI, 1885.
San Francisco Bulletin, November 21, 1921.
Truckee Carson Irrigation District, Fallon, Soda Lakes Litigation File. 1908-1923.
Vanderburg, William 0. "Reconnaissance of Mining District in Churchill County, Nevada.- Information Circular 6941. U.S. Bureau of Mines, 1940.
The American Cowboy—Who was He?
LINDA VAUGHN
MENTION THE WORD -cowboy" and chances are that a picture of a handsome young man riding a beautiful, sleek horse and wearing a ten gallon stetson and two pearl handled six guns comes to mind. We like to think of the cowboy as a hero who wandered from town to town, fighting evil and righting wrongs wherever he found them. It's a beautiful image, but one that couldn't be farther from the truth. How, then, did the myths about the American cowboy develop and what was his life really like?
Eastern writers discovered the cowboy after the close of the Civil War when Americans were looking for something good and decent to believe in again. The first stories to come out of the West were usually chronicles of the adventures to be had while participating in long cattle drives. Along the trails, the brave young men who looked after the herds of cattle would encounter bands of murderous Indians and marauding outlaws who had to be defeated in order for the herds to be safely delivered to market, and for the cowboys' duties to be honorably discharged. Many a young man was intrigued by such stories in newspapers and clime novels, and many of those same young men would eventually head west to find the adventure of a lifetime. It has been estimated that some thirty-five thousand young men joined cattle drives between the years of 1867 and 1890, but that only one-third of them ever participated in more than one cattle drive (Dary 276).
What these young men found when they signed on as cowboys did not even closely resemble the accounts of excitement and adventures they had read. Instead, they found plenty of hard, dirty work, monotony, loneliness, hardship and low wages. Sometimes, the greatest adventure of the day came when the cowboy tried to find a place to put his bedroll that was free of rocks and scorpions. If he was a range riding cowboy, he might go for days on end without seeing or speaking to another human being. He might also find himself at the mercy of a hostile environment—extreme heat, extreme cold, rain, snow, wind, and vast stretches of land inhabited by only jackrabbits and coyotes.
A cowboy's duties might include gathering and feeding weak cattle, moving herds to better pastures, riding fences and making repairs, riding the range to look for unbranded calves and injured cattle, hauling firewood in winter and acting as veterinarian to sick livestock. For all his hard work, he might expect
19
20 Linda Vaughn
Don Bruner, 1980. ((c) Albert A. Alcorn)
to receive a wage of $20 a month and room and board. His accommodations were seldom more than a roof over his head, and often not even that, and the food was usually just simple and filling. About the only thing he could ever be assured of finding in abundance around the bunk house or campfire was
The American Cowboy 21
strong, hot coffee. One cook for a good sized outfit once claimed to have gone through three 160 pound bags of coffee in just one month (Mph 218).
If a cowboy was lucky enough to keep his job through the winter months, he was likely to find himself living in a small shack out on the range where he could be close to the cattle. Often times, the only companion he might have for months at a stretch was his horse. Thus it was that stories about the relationship between the horse and his rider began to circulate. Surely the horse was extremely important to the cowboy. In the colder climate of Northern Nevada, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas, a larger breed of horse was desired than the legendary sleek cow pony used on the plains of Texas. Speed wasn't much of a consideration because of the shape of the landscape, but apparently color was important in the choosing of a mount. Contrary to what we have all been led to believe, most cowboys preferred horses of solid colors when it came to choosing a working partner. "Old Paint" was kept in the barn and ridden to town only on Saturday nights. One thing was certain, a well trained horse was the cowboy's most important piece of equipment, and he always treated his mount with great care and respect.
Like all legends, the legend of the American cowboy grew from a certain seed of truth. There was an unwritten set of rules that every cowboy was expected to follow, and most cowboy stories seem to be built around those rules. First and foremost, a cowboy was expected to be totally loyal to his outfit, whether the outfit employed two hands or a hundred hands. Cowboys were not expected to be gunfighters, but they were expected to help defend the ranch if it or its boundaries were threatened. In addition, the cowboy had to keep all personal differences with other hands from interfering with his duties on the ranch or cattle drive. A cowboy had to be cheerful, have courage, not complain or quit, always help a friend in need, always do his best, and always treat "decent" women with great respect. He was also expected to do the job he was hired to do, and when that job was finished, he was expected to move on in search of another job.
The Golden Age of the American Cowboy was gone by the coming of the Twentieth Century, yet a cowboy culture was still glowing in the minds of Americans. However, it was not the culture of the real cowboy. It was a blend of fact and imagination rooted in the writings of men like Ned Buntline and Zane Grey. These men produced romantic adventure stories of the West to capitalize on the public's curiosity about the frontier. Most novels of the American West, like The Virginian by Owen Wister, did not accurately portray the life of a cowboy. Instead, they established the myth of the gunfight between the good and evil men where the good men ultimately triumphed. Yet another form of entertainment came on the scene towards the close of the last century to help distort the image of the cowboy. The "Wild West Show- created by men like Buffalo Bill Cody added to the misconceptions about the adventurous life in the West by showing all westerners as
22 Linda Vaughn
being crack shots who could shoot down a bottle at a hundred yards. Before long, movies introduced the public to heroes like "Bronco Billy" Anderson, Hoot Gibson, and Tom Mix who could shoot straighter and ride faster than all the bad guys they ever came up against. At about the same time, Hollywood produced the singing cowboys like Gene Autry and Roy Rogers, who not only conquered evil with their six shooters, but also managed to save the ranch by putting on a show. Soon television came along and bombarded the homes of the public with images of "cowboy" sheriffs and marshalls in white hats, carrying smoking guns and fighting off bank robbers, claim jumpers, and unscrupulous land barons to make the West a safer place in which to live. At a time when the whole world needed a hero, the American Cowboy was there with the same kinds of attributes that had once made the Knights of the Round Table the subject of countless songs and romances.
One young man who was lured by the lore of the cowboy was fourteen year old Lester "Buck" Kirn. Buck came west to Nevada from Illinois in 1921 when he was just eleven years old to live with his uncle near Fallon. Like most boys of his day, he had heard the wonderful stories of life on the open range and wanted a chance to see for himself what "cowboyin" was all about. He managed to get jobs on several ranches during summer vacations, but he still longed for adventure, and, in the fall of 1924, he finally got his chance.
A horse trader was passing through Fallon with a herd of horses destined for Lovelock and the army. He needed a couple of hands to drive the horses to Lovelock, and Buck got the job. He and a friend left Fallon early in the morning and headed the horses for their destination. At the end of the first day, they had reached the holding pens located about half way between Fallon and Lovelock. Once the horses were penned up, the men bedded down on the ground for the night. Buck says he never did much care for sleeping on rocks, and that night had to be tile worse night he ever spent. Tile next morning, the two fellows woke up --half frozen-- and headed for tile cook's shack, about three miles from tile holding pens, to eat breakfast. While Buck and his partner were enjoying their meal, the horses back in tile pen had managed to get loose and had headed back to Fallon. The two young men chased that herd of horses for the better part of the day and finally managed to catch up with them just outside of Fallon. That little adventure added another day's work to tile drive. When they finally reached Lovelock and the horses were safely on board the train that would take them to an army training center, Buck and his co-worker boarded another train to take them back to Hazen. That train ride home turned out to be the final blow to Buck's dreams of being a cowboy. It cost him five dollars to ship himself and his saddle home, and five dollars was exactly what he got paid for his three hard-day's work. Buck said, "That was the end of cowboyin' for me, as far as I was concerned."
The fencing of the open range, long periods of drought, modern ranching
The American Cowboy 23
methods and declining beef prices all added to the demise of the true cowboy way of life in most of the West. However, even today there are places where one may find the "Code of the Cowboy" still practiced much as it was over one hundred years ago. Georgie Connell Sicking is a modern -cowgirl- poet who still spends hours riding the range in search of lost cattle and following a mostly forgotten way of life. She knows, first hand, just what hardships he faces in pursuit of his way of life. Much of her poetry is an attempt to share this way of life with others who will never know what "cowboyin" is all about. In one poem, "A Few Cowboy Rules," she takes time to tell the reader a few of the things a cowboy has to know just to survive:
Few Cowboy Rules
Be patient with a green colt,
Be kind to a child.
If you're handlin' thin cattle
Don't try to get wild.
If you are ridin' a horse
With a mind of his Own,
Show him who is boss
Then leave him alone.
If you are ridin' a good horse,
Give him his head.
Don't run a sick cow
Or soon she'll be dead.
Ride easy and quiet
Where the cattle are wild.
For they get hard to handle
If you once get them riled.
If you are catching wild cattle
Where the brush is real thick,
Have your rope ready
To catch one real quick.
If you choke a cow down,
Be fast when you tie.
Then give her some slack
Or soon she will die.
When shoeing a horse,
Don't leave the shoes long,
Or you might not live
To find out you was wrong.
24 Linda Vaughn
If a horse bucks you off,
Hold on to the reins.
Get on him again
Though sometimes you're in pain.
If you should get lost
While ridin' alone,
Give your horse the reins
And he'll take you home.
If you stop at a cow camp
And decide to eat,
Don't you dare leave there
Till everything is neat.
When you are through ridin'
Care for your horse first,
For he also knows the feelings
Of hunger and thirst.
When you have a long ride to make,
Go at a trot.
It's harder on you,
But your horse won't get so hot.
These rules weren't written for rodeos
Or Horse shows.
They are just some of the things
That a real cowboy knows.
© GEORGIE CONNELL SICKING. Reprinted by permission of the author from Just Thinkin', Georgie Connell Sicking, 1985.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Dart', David. Cowboy Culture. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985.
Hulse, James W. The Nevada Adventure. Reno: University of Nevada Press, 1966.
Sicking, Georgie Connell. Just Thinkin.' Fallon, Nevada, 1985.
Steiner, Stan. The Ranchers. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1980.
Ulph, Owen. The Leather Throne. Salt Lake City: Dream Gardens Press, 1984.
The History of the Fallon Christmas Tree
SHARON GOUDSWAARD
Christmas In The Heart
it is Christmas in the mansion,
Yule-log fires and silken frocks;
It is Christmas in the cottage,
Mother's filling little socks.
It is Christmas on the highway,
In the thronging, busy mart;
But the dearest truest Christmas
Is the Christmas in the heart. Anonymous
No BETTER WORDS describe the true joy one feels at Christmas time. Young or old, rich or poor, everyone gives Christmas a special meaning. Christmas is indeed an affair of the heart. It warms and stirs tile spirit of all mankind. We become children again innocent, at peace with all.
Christmas is the celebration of the nativity and has been celebrated from the time of early Christianity. It originated in England where it was called "Christer messe" (Christ's mass). Apparently Christmas was originally a festival of the winter solstice. It was customary to hold great feasts in honor of tile pagan gods, to dance and be gay. These primitive festivities were considered offensive by the early teachers of Christianity, and so their symbols and customs were converted to the new festival celebrating tile anniversary of Christ's nativity.
There are many legends about the origin of tile Christmas tree—but no exact record and many countries claim the honor of giving the custom to mankind. It is interesting to note that fire and lights, symbols of warmth and lasting life, have always been associated with the winter festival, both pagan and Christian. And ever since the Middle Ages, evergreens, symbols of survival, have been associated with Christmas.
It was tile Lutherans who first made tile tree a Chritmas tradition. Tile earliest written record of a fully decorated Christmas tree dates back to 1605, when a citizen of Strasborg wrote that "at Christmas they set up fir trees in the parlors . . . and hang upon them roses cut from many colored paper, apples, waffers, gilt-sugar, sweets, etc.- (Life, pp. 44).
Whatever tile true origin, we owe tile tree custom to Germany. Tile custom was brought to the United States by German settlers as early as the 25
26 Sharon Goudswaard
Knights of Pythias Christmas Tree, Fallon, 1929. (Churchill County Museum Powell Photograph, Peg Wheat Collection)
17th century. It is doubtful today that there is an American town that doesn't have some kind of Christmas observance connected with a Christmas tree. Even the White House celebrates for all to see by the lighting of the tree on
History of the Fallon Christmas Tree 27
the lawn by the President himself. Apparently this wonderful custom of an electrically lighted tree began in the United States in Pasadena, California in 1909. The citizens of Pasadena had decorated a tree with electric lights and the custom rapidly spread throughout the nation. Today it is a well known and loved tradition.
Fallon began its own Christmas tree tradition in 1929. The tree was sponsored by the Knights of Pythias Lodge, Alpine #24 of Fallon. It gave its own personal touch to the town and cheered the hearts of all, especially the less fortunate children of the community. The Knights felt they could afford to give a little, which they wouldn't miss anyway, to make the children happy. "Other organizations sponsor worthy movements and the Knights felt that they wanted to do a good turn, like the Boy Scouts, and make all of the children of the city and community roundabout happy on Christmas Eve" (Fallon Eagle, December 1, 1929). The tree that year, which was found near Verdi and cost $20.00, was 40 feet high. Mayor Tedford gave a speech and illuminated the tree; then gifts were handed out by Santa, who made sure that every child on the streets received one. More than 3000 people showed up for this festive occasion.
A Christmas dance was also given by the Knights of Pythias to help raise money to support the Community tree. The 1929 dance profited $500.00 for the tree fund. Money from the tickets bought candy, nuts and oranges for the hundreds of gift bags that were given away on Christmas Eve. Any balance that was left over was put into the tree fund to draw interest for the following year. In 1929, 1900 bags were given out at the tree, and many more were taken to those children who could not be present for one reason or another. After this first event, the tradition was established in Fallon.
In 1930, volunteers from the Knights of Pythias Lodge erected a 33 foot tree. It was a fir tree brought from the Sierra Nevadas by George Kirkpatrick. A ton of candy and 17 cases of oranges were bought to put into 2250 gift bags. Announcements were published, and every family in the county was invited to join in the fun. Lee Johnson was the general chairman of the Christmas tree committee. Maine Street on Christmas Eve was reserved for the tree and the crowd. The city provided lights and illuminated the tree. City police helped regulate traffic and direct the crowd. A short Christmas program, given from a large truck in front of Saunders, Inc., a clothing store, with talks by Rev. Phillip T. Sonderstrom and Mayor J. N. Tedford, was followed by Christmas music played by a local band. Printed copies of selected carols were given out, and the crowd sang them to the instrumental accompaniment of the band. The carols were led by Dr. Ernest H. Shank, and the band music was furnished under the leadership of Ralph J. Vannoy. At the conclusion of the program, children lined up south of the tree, Santa showed up with gifts, and the kids marched by the platform to receive their own gift bags. All this
was followed by the dance at Fraternal Hall admission $1.00—the proceeds
28 Sharon Goudswaard
from which went to the Christmas tree fund. The dance was considered to be one of the largest social functions of the season.
Even though the temperature that night had been very low (band members struggled with frozen horn valves and sticking trombone slides) the ceremony was a success in every way. A total of 2100 gift bags were given out, and Mayor J. N. Tedford praised the leadership of the Knights of Pythias and the spirit of this "splendid community movement- (Fallon Eagle December 27, 1930). Lee Johnson commented, -This second successful tree surely means the permanent establishment of the community tree custom as an annual feature of the holiday season in Fallon- (Fallon Standard December 31, 1930). That it did, except for the years of the war.
In 1931, George Kirkpatrick was appointed chairman of the Christmas tree committee, of which members erected and decorated the tree and bought goodies for the gift bags. It is interesting to note here that the Pythian Sisters helped in the festivities by filling the bags, which were made of gauze, with the treats for the kids. A free Christmas matinee for the children under twelve began at the Fallon theater under the management of Mr. Evans. Because of the cold weather, there was a shorter Christmas program. Only one musical number, Silent Night, was played. Still, over 1000 bags were given out at the Fraternal Hall and the remaining bags were given out at the matinee—totaling over 1800 bags.
That year, 1931, the tree was beautifully decorated with six streamers of red, white and blue lights. Unfortunately, the same night it was put up, it was hit by a drunk driver from Sand Springs. The driver knocked the tree 20 feet, and ornaments were strung for half a block. He was fined $100.00 and not allowed to drive in the city for 30 days.
In 1932, a tree was put up and decorated, but there was no program because of the extremely cold weather and the lack of funds. The money was instead used to help the needy. In 1933, however, the tree was bigger and brighter than ever. It came from the forests of Nevada, instead of from California, as in the past. It was a Buffalo Valley pifion pine and was set up December 16th, promising good cheer and prosperity to all. Then in 1933 something new happened; the tree started to revolve. Sam Taylor, a member of the committee, installed an electric motor, with wheels and belting under the tree to turn it around and around. Search lights were aimed at the revolving tree, making it glisten colorfully. It was an eyeful to behold.
The depression and war years apparently took their toll on the Fallon tradition. In the years that followed the failure of the Churchill County Bank in early 1933, the gift bags were discontinued, but in 1935 the custom was revived. Organizations and businesses of the community cooperated to make sure there would be plenty of candy for the children. The gift bags were given out at the high school auditorium after the Christmas program. The program was headed by Charles Dowser, entertainment chairman for the Town-
History of the Fallon Christmas Tree 29
send Club. The I. H. Kent Company donated the tree to the community.
In 1936, there was no tree, but 1200 bags were distributed to children. Just the opposite situation occurred in 1937; there was a tree, but no candy or presents. On November 24, 1941, it was decided that tile -expense isn't warranted by results" and on December 8, after much discussion, tile tree program was discontinued (Knights of Pythias Minute Books).
The tree was again revived in 1947, for tile first time since World War II. A musical program was presented, and gifts were given out by Santa. Fraternal, civic, patriotic, service organizations, homemakers' clubs and Fallon businesses made the tree celebration possible again. Mrs. Dave Yeoman was the chairman of the event. The City Council, tile Rotary Club, Odd Fellows, 20-30 Club, Townsend Club and I. H. Kent Company all cooperated in this revived venture. The City of Fallon purchased the tree through tile Kent Company, which brought it to Fallon. Tile Electrical Engineering Department of the city, assisted by members of the Knights of Pythias, Lyons Club, Eagles, 20-30 Club, and American Legion set up and trimmed the tree. Fourteen hundred bags of candy and gifts were donated by tile I. H. Kent Company. A program was announced by Willie Capucci, and music was provided by the Junior Choir of the First Baptist Church. Mayor E. H. Hursh delivered tile public greeting.
In tile years that have followed, tile tree has been as much a part of tile town as ever. Tile Kent Company has continued to support this effort, transporting tile tree to Fallon for several years. According to Tom Kent, they obtained tile trees from Quincy and from Markleevilie, California, through a permit from tile Forest Service. Tile 35-40 foot white fir trees were selected, cut, and hauled to Fallon between Thanksgiving and tile first of December, depending on weather conditions. Decorations were provided by organizations and tile merchants of Fallon. Also, tile City of Fallon furnished decorations and was responsible for setting up tile tree. Tile Electric Department put on the lights. Mr. Kent also said that for many years the Chamber of Commerce provided a free matinee for tile kids at Christmas time and gave out candy to those who joined ill tile fun.
According to Jim Parrish, who has been working for tile City of Fallon Electric Department for tile past 21 years, tile tree is an established part of Fallon tradition and will probably remain so. He said that the city has provided for tile tree for at least 50 years. His staff first went with tile Navy to Markleeville to get their trees with a tree cuttiing permit, which kept tile cost to a minimum. That lasted about 5 years. Then they worked through tile Forest Service for 4 years, which turned out to be very expensive. For the past several years they have been obtaining tile trees from Sierraville, California, near Portola. Even so, in 1987, the tree will cost tile city about $700.00.
The trees selected are white fir and approximately 40 feet tall. The Electric
30 Sharon Goudswaard
Department is responsible for finding the tree and for sending the men to cut it down and bring it to Fallon. It is a hill day, five man job. The tree is chosen 1-2 months ahead of time, then is brought to town around the 1st of December. It is kept at the Electric Department, planted in the ground to the depth of the surface water, until the weekend of the 10th, when it is set up and decorated. The lights and decorations are all bought locally. The tree is decorated with approximately 3000 lights, an astounding number.
There have been only a few catastrophes or near catastrophes through the many years. One happened back in 1931, as previously noted, when a drunk driver hit the tree. In 1964, a young man was fined $600.00 for climbing up the tree and breaking of some limbs. Despite these minor setbacks, which are a small price to pay for the joy and good cheer that the tree brings to all, the Christmas tree tradition is still strong today. It truly is an affair of our hearts.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Eichler, Lillian. The Customs of Mankind, New York: Nelson Doubleday, Inc., 1924. Foley, Daniel J. The Christmas Tree, Philadelphia: Chilton Company, 1960.
Harrington, Mildred P. and Thomas, Josephine H. Our Holiday in Poetry. New York: The H. W. Wilson
Company 1929.
Callon Eagle — Dec. 11, 1929.
Dec. 6, 1930.
Dec. 20, 1930.
Dec. 27, 1930.
Dec. 26, 1931.
Dec. 20, 1933.
Dec. 21, 19:35.
Dec. 20, 1947.
Fallon Standard — Dec. 31, 1930.
Dec. 23, 1931.
Lahontan Valley News -- Nov. 23, 1983.
Minute Books, Knights of Pythias Lodge, Alpine No. 24, Fallon., Nevada.
Personal interview. Toni Kent, Nov. 21, 1986, Fallon, Nevada.
Personal interview. Jim Parrish, Nov. :3, 1986, Fallon, Nevada.
The Life Book a! Christmas. New York: Time, Inc., 1963.
A History of Oats Park
ELOISE ENOS
EACH TOWN POSSESSES A particular location or building esteemed by the townspeople. In Fallon, Oats Park holds this honor. As with any familiar landmark, we rarely consider Oats Park's history or future; we just expect this favorite park to endure forever. In recent years, however, fewer people frequent Oats Park, and, as the number of visitors continues to diminish, the expenditures and care given the park correspondingly lessen. Perhaps the people of Fallon need to recall the rich heritage of community service invested in the creation of Oats Park in order to fully value it.
In the early 1900's, John Oats conceived the idea for a park when he purchased the original township of Fallon for $7,500.00. How did John Oats attain this position of benefactor and obtain the money necessary for such a purpose? This story began on March 12, 1852 when John Oats was born in Cornwall, England. Oats left Cornwall at the age of seventeen to travel across the ocean to America. He then traversed America and settled in California. In 1875, he joined a cattle drive heading for Austin, Nevada. There, and in the neighboring area of Eastgate, John Oats worked as a buckaroo, wood hauler, stock handler, and rancher. Over the years, he invested in mining interests. Eventually, he decided to leave the Eastgate area and settle in Fallon.
After purchasing the tract of land which comprised Fallon, John Oats divided it into his ranch, a housing subdivision, and a ten acre plat for a park. In 1908, Oats made the original proposal for a park to the county commissioners. The commissioners planned to accept the land, but soon after, Fallon incorporated and elected a City Council. A year later, the City Council accepted the deed to the ten donated acres in the heart of Fallon. The city acceded to Oats' stipulation that the city improve and beautify the park grounds.
The first step taken by the City Council in order to comply with this stipulation was to plant trees that next spring. No other improvements were made, although the Council instructed the city marshall to prevent the townspeople from tying their livestock to these young trees. The rest of the plat remained unimproved until February 1911. Then, the town baseball team convinced the City Council to level a section of the park for a baseball field. The city appropriated $100.00, and the baseball team and other volunteers provided the labor. By March of 1912, the baseball diamond and
31
32 Eloise Enos
John Oats, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Mary Reed Collection)
grandstands were completed. The first public use of the park began that spring with regular baseball games. The high school track team held a spring track meet on the baseball field, and the gun club began meeting there each Sunday to shoot clay pigeons.
Encouraged by this progress, a Mr. Fulkerson submitted a plan to the City Council for further park improvements in March, 1913. He envisioned more trees and shrubs, walkways, and a fountain. Once again the best laid plans fell through, and the majority of the park remained weed-covered and unused. Then, the ladies of the Fallon Civic League took action. They set out new trees, and, to insure the survival of these trees, the women took turns carrying buckets of water to them. Later, they cleared a small patch, seeded it with grass and coaxed it to grow. When America entered World War I, the ladies of the Fallon Civic League turned their talent to the Red Cross and other activities to support the war effort. The local citizens, once again, ignored Oats Park.
However, one segment of society appreciated the trees, grass, and ample parking. In the early 1920's, automobile tourism began. In those pre-motel clays, drivers carried tents and camping gear to provide shelter. In 1926, the City Council decided to take advantage of Oats Park's popularity with highway travelers. When auto courts became available and the residents of Fallon objected to a commercial use of the park, the City no longer allowed Oats
A History of Oats Park 33
Park to be used as a public campground. The area returned to its former unused, weed-covered state until the students of Oats Park School became involved.
In 1914, John Oats had sold an additional parcel of land, this one adjoining the park, to the City for only $500.00. Oats Park School had been constructed on this land. Over the years, the students and custodians had planted flowers, shrubs, and lawns around the school. In 1927, the PTA raised money to finish tennis courts built on the Oats Park acreage. PTA members and students sold subscriptions to the Reno Evening Gazette; they performed during intermissions at the movie theater. The money raised through these efforts paid for concrete surfacing on two tennis courts. The Fallon Tennis Team had an area to practice on and to host tournaments with other Nevada tennis teams. Thus another area of the park plat offered recreational opportunities to the people of Fallon.
Over the next ten years, the baseball field and the tennis courts served the citizens, but the bulk of the park remained undeveloped. Occasionally one of the newspapers or a concerned citizen would suggest that the town should develop the land into the park envisioned by John Oats and others, but no progress was made. In May of 1937, the Fallon Eagle again questioned the town's lack of initiative in the building of a park. In July, the same paper mentioned that Fallon needed a swimming pool. A public pool would provide not only relief from the torrid summer heat, but also a safe, supervised site for swimmers. The editor encouraged the service clubs of Fallon to turn their energies toward this goal.
One Fallon Club, the 20-30 Club, rushed in to support the development of Oats Park and a pool project. The mayor and the City Council also joined in the efforts to improve the park site. During this time, the Works Progress Administration distributed grants for material and labor to beautify Oats Park. On Oct. 23, 1937, Mayor L.T. Kendrick announced that the WPA had approved the application for financing improvements at the park. By December, work had commenced under the direction of City Foreman, A.C. Hahn. The WPA grant provided the labor, and the City of Fallon supplied materials to lay concrete around almost three acres in the northwest corner of the park. Seven men installed sprinkler-system lines and poured cement enclosures around the trees. Thus far, the cost to the City amounted to $2,000.00.
Meanwhile, other Fallon service groups observed the progress on the park and considered additional plans. In 1936, the Rotary Club had purchased land on North Maine Street to build another baseball field. In 1938, hoping to build a 500 seat grandstand, player's dressing rooms, and showers, they applied to the City for funds. The City agreed to supply funds for building materials, and the WPA sponsored the labor costs for construction on the new field.
34 Eloise Enos
After construction on the North Maine Street field began, the Oats Park baseball field was converted to a softball field. City volunteers and members of the 20-30 Club worked together to repair and paint the backstop and bleachers for the softball field. While WPA workers constructed a new asphalt surfaced tennis court, the 20-30 Club volunteers refurbished the existing concrete tennis courts. A rubble bandstand was constructed in the center of the lawn area. The bandstand measured 20 feet in diameter, featured two light posts for illumination, and contained electrical outlets for amplifying systems. Volunteers continued to participate in the overall improvements.
By August of 1938, the 20-30 Club had garnered considerable support for a pool, but little money, so they turned to the WPA again. The club gathered estimates and submitted plans for a pool to the WPA. The City Council unanimously voted to accept a WPA grant even though the City would pay 55% of the total costs. In October, the model of proposed construction at Oats Park won a $50.00 prize for the 20-30 Club at the Nevada State Fair.
The WPA approved the proposal and allotted $51,000.00 for a swimming pool, showers, bathrooms, bleachers, and lights. The 20-30 Club recruited volunteers to excavate the pool site and haul away gravel. In March of 1939, the concrete was poured for a 110 x 50 ft. swimming pool. As work continued on the pool, remaining park improvements were completed.
On July 30, 1939, the swimming pool and recreation park of Fallon were formally dedicated. Mayor L.T. Kendrick lauded John Oats: -We are gathered here today to dedicate this park in the name of the man who gave it 30 years ago and who is here today to see his dream realized." A plaque affixed to the stone monument unveiled at the ceremonies features a relief of John Oats and commemorates his donation of the land which became Oats Park. After the dedication, a twelve member municipal band performed for sixty minutes from the new band stand. The children took advantage of the free swims offered by the pool. Citizens strolled through the lovely park, enjoyed the cool shade of the trees, or conversed with friends and neighbors. The townspeople of Fallon finally had their park (Fallon Eagle Aug. 5, 1939).
Fallon embraced the park: Sunday schools held outings; baseball teams enjoyed fried chicken picnics; and political parties held rallies. There was no charge for visiting the park so everyone in Fallon could enjoy these beautiful surroundings. Over the years certain traditions evolved. In 1940, Oats Park hosted the 3rd annual Lion's Club Easter Egg Hunt. The children of Fallon enjoyed another in 1941, but between 1942 and 1944 the hunt was cancelled because of World War II. In 1945, the PTA sponsored an Easter Egg Hunt which featured prize eggs with war stamps attached.. After that the Lion's Club resumed sponsorship of this annual event which continued at Oats Park until the early 1960's.
Oats Park served as the site for the PTA Carnival from 1951 until 1984. The
A History of Oats Park 35
proceeds from tile original carnival allowed the PTA to build a hot lunch room for the children of Fallon. Over the years, the carnival funded many worthy causes sponsored by the PTA. During the 31 years that tile PTA held its carnival, most of the people of Fallon participated either as a student, parent, grandparent, family friend, or PTA volunteer. Unfortunately, the PTA had to discontinue its annual carnival. The members simply couldn't find parents or volunteers to lend assistance.
Now the Easter Egg Hunt is held at another park; the PTA Carnival is a fond memory of the past, and few community activities take place at Oats Park. If we truly value Oats Park and wish to share the traditions of community involvement in its creation, we have to start soon. Oats Park deserves not only our esteem, hut also our help to improve its condition. Oats Park is too valuable to waste.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
The minutes of the Honorable Board of County Commissioners of the County of Churchill, February 4,
1908.
The Churchill County Eagle, April 1, 1909, p. 1.
"Meeting of the City Council," The Churchill County Eagle, June 10, 1909, p. 1.
"Pioneer Reaches End of the Trail," The Fallon Eagle, April 17, 1943, p. 4.
The Churchill County Eagle Supplement, February 24, 1911, p. 1.
The Churchill County Eagle, May 27, 1911, p. 1.
"Using the City Park," Churchill County Eagle, April 6, 1912, p. 1.
The Churchill County Eagle, March 8, 1913, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, August 5, 1939, p. 4.
The Fallon Standard, May 19, 1926, p. 1.
The Churchill County Eagle, February 12, 1927, p. 1.
The Churchill County Eagle, March 26, 1927, p. 1.
"Some of These Days Fallon Should Think About A Park," The Fallon Eagle, May 8, 1937, p. 4.
"Need of Swimming Pool is Emphasized by Hot Weather," The Fallon Eagle, July 8, 1937, p. 4.
The Fallon Eagle, October 23, 1937, p. 4.
The Fallon Eagle, December 4, 1937, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, January 1, 1938, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, January 8, 1938, p. 4.
The Fallon Eagle, February 5, 1938, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, April 23, 1938, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, August 13, 1938, p. 2.
The Fallon Eagle, September 24, 1938, p. 4.
The Fallon Eagle, October 8, 1938, p. 1.
The Fallon County Eagle, October 15, 1938, p. 5.
"City Councilmen Reported Progress to Rotary club: The Fallon Eagle, January 21, 1939, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, February 11, 1939 p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, March 4, 1939, p. 1.
The Fallon Eagle, August 5, 1939, p. 1.
The Fallon Standard, March 28, 1956, p. 1.
"Carnival Held at Oats Park," The Fallon Standard, May 23, 1951, p. 1.
Churchill County Library:
A Place for the Reader
BARBARA MATHEWS AND DORA Will'
NINETEEN EIGHTY-SEVEN has been designated as the Year of the Reader. Churchill County has a place for the reader, the Library.
The history of our library stretches back to 1905 when Mrs. Callie Ferguson, Fallon's postmistress, and Mrs. Mary Black operated the first lending book library in the old post office. In 1915, Mrs. George Williams started a "reading room" in a building on the site where the Fallon Nugget now stands. In 1918, the Draper Club, a literary group, assumed responsibility for the room and moved it upstairs in the Wightman Building. The reading room stayed in this location until January 1920 when it was moved to the rear of the Woodliff Building, where the former M Bar L Corral was located. Mrs. Mel Price was appointed as the first librarian. In 1925, a new state law was passed making the county responsible for the reading room/library. Mrs. Ethel Hoyt was appointed as the second librarian. During November, 1932, the library was moved to 37 South Maine Street, a location where Dr. Leonard Miller recently had his practice. Mrs. Hoyt resigned in 1940, and Mrs. Mary Martin was appointed as her successor. The next notable event in the library's history occurred in 1957 when Mrs. Dorothy Walker, who replaced Mrs. Martin as librarian, first catalogued the collection. Mrs. Walker was succeeded by Mrs. Frank Walquist, who was succeeded by our current county librarian, Mrs. Dora Witt, in 1960.
Dora saw a need for a larger library. The old building had become cramped and crowded, with no room for expansion. Her first step towards a new library was a bond issue, but it failed to garner the necessary votes. During the 1960's, the Max C. Fleischmann Foundation was granting monies to build libraries in rural areas. Dora applied for a grant, requesting $111,208. She also had support from the community. Soroptomist International of Fallon pledged $1,000, and the Friends of the Churchill County Library set aside $1,500 towards the building fund. Churchill County purchased the lot of land, and Edward Parsons from Reno was retained as the architect. Groundbreaking ceremonies were held September, 1966, and the dedication and opening was held in April, 1967. The library finally had a permanent home, 553 South Maine Street.
36
Churchill County Library 37
Dora Witt, 1987. (Ann Diggins photograph, courtesy Lahontan Valley News)
On September 10, 1987, Dora Witt will retire as the Churchill County Librarian. Mrs. Barbara Mathews has been selected to succeed her.
Along with a change of directors, the library has seen a change in the usage of its patrons. Once, the most active reader was an adult reading for pleasure,
38 Mathews and Witt
but in recent years more people are using the library for self-education and for business. In tile past sixteen years, the library has circulated a total of 1,066,912 items. (Items being books, records, periodicals, et cetera.) In fiscal year 71-72, the total circulation was 52,067 items; in fiscal year 86-87, the total circulation was 85,928, an increase of 65%.
The library has seen not only an increase in circulation, but also, an increase in the book budget. This has been beneficial in obtaining the type of material that the community desires. Some of the material, though, is not bought; many people donate books. From July 1981 to July 1987, the staff gleaned a total of 1,462 donated books with an approximate value of $12,786. The rest of the donated material goes to the Friends of the Library Used Book Store.
The 221 members of Friends belong to a dedicated organization. They provide the monetary means for the library to make purchases that are not otherwise covered by the county budget. The current slate of officers are: Mary Louise Erb, President; Helen Johnson, Vice-president; Winifred Laus-ten, Secretary; and Dora Witt, Treasurer. Last year Friends had an income of $6,751; the services they provided to the library and for programs available to the community totaled more than $5,000. The Friends are a vital part of the library, a part that is never unappreciated nor taken for granted.
One of tile services that Friends provide for tile community is one that benefits our younger citizens, tile three to five year olds. Just like their older brothers or sisters who go to school, these children go to the liberry" school. Joyce Betts, Churchill County's Children's Librarian, is one of tile most outstanding children's librarians in the state and a valuable resource in our community. Two storytimes are conducted each week, with thirty-six children attending each session. They are not just read stories; Joyce teaches them their numbers, letters, and primary colors. These children become better prepared for school because of this program, and because of Joyce.
One of tile newest programs that Friends has helped to fiend is tile Lahontan Valley Literacy Volunteers (LVLV). A need was seen in our community to help the illiterate adult. Cherrie Bauer is tile program director. Her sensitivity and conscientious nature have helped to make this program the tremendous success it is. Her quest to gain tile knowledge to help these people is insatiable; her enthusiasm is undauntable. As of August, there were forty-six volunteers and twenty-five students. A volunteer is not necessarily a tutor: he is also the person who helps in the background. LVLV is always looking for new people. The library can answer any question about illiteracy and is there to help.
One of the places where the library can go for help is to the Churchill County Library Board of Trustees. This group helps to establish policy and provide, at times, much needed moral support. These people represent various walks of life and bring to tile Board and to the library a love dreading
Churchill County Library 39
and a willingness to get involved in projects that can make a difference to Fallon. The current trustees are: Margaret Perazzo, Chairman; Bonnie Carter, Vice-chairman; Mary Louise Erb, Secretary; Stuart Richardson, and a new member, Cousie Nelson.
As the library progresses towards the 21st century, it will change even more. Ideas do not remain constant, for if they do, society stagnates. The library must also change or it will stagnate. Churchill County Library is forward looking. In its plans are a branch library, public-access computers, on-line databases, patron accessible catalogs, and, as always, more books.
Currently the staff consists of: Carol Dodson, technical services librarian; Judy Hardin, interlibrary loan librarian from Western Nevada Community College; Mark Strachan, adult services librarian; Samuel Horner, library clerk; and Barbara Mathews, director. Along with trying to provide up-to-date information, the staff will always provide thoughtful, courteous assistance. The one thing that will remain the same will be the warm, friendly atmosphere that is the trademark of tile Churchill County Library.
If That Old WagonWheel Would Talk
I was strolling around a little ranch home,
Just passing some time away.
The sun was sinking, low in the hills,
Lit the sky with its flaming ray.
I heard a sound like rolling thunder,
As some fast "Jets" passed overhead.
They were headed straight into the sunset,
Where tile clouds glowed with gold and red.
I watched those "Jets" leave colored trails,
As they streaked across the sky.
Then my thoughts were suddenly shifted
To a garden I was standing by.
As I gazed at that old Rock Garden,
Where the Cactus bloomed so fair,
Leaning proudly in the Tufa and Indian rocks,
An old Wagon Wheel was placed with care.
As I studied that battered old Wagon Wheel,
Many thoughts raced through my mind.
I wondered how far it had traveled,
How many miles it had left behind.
I could picture it crossing the valleys,
Across the Alkali Flats and slush,
With a team pulling hard at then traces,
As it rolled over Sand Dunes and brush.
Perhaps it had crossed the high mountains,
Made its way with a high heavy load,
Broke the way through boulders and timber,
Long ago when there still was no road.
Whether pulled by horses or oxen,
That old Wheel was put through the test.
It may have carried some Pioneers
When the old Wagon Trains rolled West.
Its rusty tire was fragile and worn,
Shimmed with canvas to take up the play.
40
if That Old Wagon Wheel Could Talk 41
I'm sure it once had a proud owner,
That old Wheel served well in its day.
I wonder how far that old Wheel had rolled
'Ti! it came to its journey's end,
When kind hands placed it so neatly there
Once again, it has found a friend.
What's happened to its faithful partners,
The three Wheels that helped it roll on?
Do they rest in another's Rock Garden,
Or, are they destroyed and gone?
The spokes of that Wheel are battered and old,
Scarred from bumping logs and rock.
No doubt we would hear some great stories
If that old wagon wheel could talk.
September, 1966
C) OPIIELIA "LEAFY" KING. Reprinted by permission of the author from Western Poems No. II, Fallon Publishing Company, 1967.
NATIVE AMERICAN
PERSPECTIVE
Helen Stone Speaks
EXCERPTS FROM THE MEMOIRS OF
HELEN BOWSER STONE
NUMI'A (THE FATHER OF OUR PEOPLE) and Nuni'bia (the Mother of our people) sent their children to the north and to the west. These are our people's stories, the descendants of the two—one boy and one girl, sent down to the West below the Stillwater Mountain Ranges.
As the years went by, these two children made their home beside the lakes (the Carson Sinks). Out of the tall tules and willow branches, they built their houses, leaving an opening on the top to let the smoke through. Out of the tiles they made mats and put them upon the ground inside their house. From these two children began the people and, as the years went by, they increased in numbers, just as their God had said.
They started out together to hunt through the valley and went east together to gather the pinenuts. Here, beside the lakes, they hunted every kind of duck; for years ago there were many, many kinds of ducks, and it was their nesting grounds. They gathered the duck eggs. They tell its they never picked all the eggs from one nest, always a few were left in each nest. They boiled these eggs in the round hollowed rock. They hunted the ducks with their bow and arrows. Then, the ducks of every kind were so plentiful, the people strung their nets on high poles and chased the ducks toward the nets and, as the ducks flew into tile air, some of them hit the nets and fell to the ground. Here, they were killed on the ground. There was a time the mudhens grew so fat that they couldn't fly. The men chased the mudhens in their tule boats, out of the lakes, onto the shore and there, waiting on the shores, were the people with their sticks. As the fat mudhens came ashore they ran them down and hit them. Some of the mudhens hid under the bushes. These, they tell us, were hard to get ahold of. They fought with their sharp claws and sometimes tore the skin on the hands of the people.
In their title boats, tile men fished with their nets. The women fished with their willow baskets. These women dipped their baskets into tile streams or ditches that ran from one lake into the other and caught tile fish. They tell us there were a lot of fish in those times. They also fished for the very tiny fish,
42
Helen Stone Speaks 43
Helen Stone's mother, Tootsie Bowser, with child c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Henry C. Taylor Collection)
44 Helen Bowser Stone
like the sardines; there were so many of them. This is the way they tell us the fish was cooked: they put them in the tule leaves and then tied the leaves and then buried them under the hot coals, and since there were so many of them, they dried the rest and kept them for the winter months. Then they ground them in their round, hollowed rocks and made soup. Their nets were made from the wild hemp that grows near the lakes. They gathered the hemp, and then, with their hands they crushed the hemp and pulled it into long strings. With their own hooks made from the bones, they crocheted their nets. Even the needles were made from the bones. Just as we do today, they sat down together and crocheted their nets; hour after hour they worked on their nets. They did not just sit together and work with their hands. They told each other stories and laughed together. They had many stories about their Uncle Coyote. Ile was always getting into trouble or destroying something good his people had planned, or he fell madly in love with one of his own daughters (even with his mother-in-law)! What a man that Uncle Coyote was.
They made ropes, too, out of the hemp. Ropes were also made from the hide from the deer and, they tell us, out of young mustang hide. They tell us they killed only the young mustang, for their meat was very tender, never the old mustang, fin- their meat was tough. They have their stories about the mustang. One I have is about the beautiful white stallion that the lovely deer lady fell in love with.
Out of the willows they made their baskets, their water jugs. They wove their water jugs very tightly out of the smallest willow branches, and onto the sides—each side—they wove the braided horse hair, like a ring. Through the ring, they hung the ropes to carry the jugs upon their backs or to carry the water jugs in their hands. After the jug was finished, they heated the pitch gathered from the pinenut trees, and took some red rock (soft rock) they had ground into powder. This, they added to the hot pitch and made it reddish brown. When this was mixed, they poured it over the jug, over and over again, until the holes were covered and it became water proof. Their pinenut baskets were also made from the willow branches, the large cone shaped one they carried upon their backs. In this large cone shaped one, they carried the seeds also and the dried fish and every kind of dried food as they travelled from one place to the other.
This is what our people told us: years and years ago before another race of people came, our people did not wear clothing. All they had was the loin cloth, covering only the front and back of their lower bodies. Either tile deer hide or skins of the smaller fur- bearing animals were worn, and in tile winter months, they wore the wolf-skin blankets and the rabbit- skin blankets over their shoulders. Even the small fur- bearing animal skin was made into blankets (as it was from the beginning all over the North and South American continent). When they started wearing the tule dress and tile deer skin dress,
Helen Stone Speaks 45
Stillwater Paiute home, 1905. Photograph taken by Ellen (Mrs. Charles) Kent. (Chur-
chill County Museum I.H. Kent Collection)
we do not know. This may have come about later when the other race of people was coming into their country.
The tall sugar cane was used for their arrows, and our people gathered the sugar from the stalks and thrashed it upon their tule mats and cleaned it in their flat willow baskets, moving their basket up and down until the leaves and stalks were blown away by the wind. After this was cleaned, they worked the sugar by their hands and made the sugar into blocks. These blocks of sugar were very transparent and light green in color and very sweet, with a taste of its own. This sugar has never been gathered again; only the older people did this, and now it is forgotten.
In the cold winter when the snow storm came howling and screaming around outside of their tule houses, the people sat down together and told their stories. Here, inside their warm houses, they sat together and listened to the story teller. As the story teller told the story about Uncle Coyote, they'd roar out with laughter. Told to the young and old in their own language, the stories were very humorous. Nothing the coyote had done was left out, for the human body (the parts of the body and sex) in the Paiute language was never dirty to the listeners ears. So, as the story was told, they sat and laughed. (It is very hard to tell some of the stories in the English language. I am afraid now the story teller would turn red as a beet as he or she told it in
46 Helen Bowser Stone
English. So, a lot of the stories are forgotten. Our old people say the white people came and asked a lot of questions. We don't tell everything. They tire us out. Besides, we don't want to tell them our stories. So we just go along with them, let them believe whatever they want to believe). And this was the time the sugar blocks were broken into small pieces and given out as they listened to the stories. It was their treat, as we use candy now. So we can say it was their candy.
(In the cold winter) during the day when they no longer went out to hunt and gather the seeds through the valley, they kept busy. The women sat down and made new moccasins and new willow baskets. The men made their bows and arrows and arrowheads, whatever they would need again when the warm weather came again to the valley. So all their hands were busy. Here again they sat together and talked and laughed together. Someone would tell a story about Nuni'a and Nuni'bia, about their beginning. As they listened, they once again remembered their God and Nuni'a and Nini'bia, so someone led them in prayer. This story of their beginning was never to be forgotten—it was told year after year. Never a day went by, or an evening, that our people forgot to pray. So they worked together, sharing everything they had. Never, we were told, was someone sent out of their encampment for some trouble he or she had caused among the people, to become an outcast and wander alone through their land. Yes, I am sure there was some trouble maker among them; there always is among every race in the world. But this is just to tell you that no one was disowned. We were told of many people, disowned by their own people, who roamed through their land, how in one of their stories, a man from another tribe was found by our people in a cave, half starved. His story was that he was disowned by his own people, and he and his wife and two children wandered from one place to another until the snow storm came. They made their home in the cave. As their children died, they lived on their dead bodies; then his wife died and he lived on her dead body. This kept him alive until our people found him, and fed him.
Toward the East, the Austin Mountain range, our people went each year to gather the pinenuts. As it was told to us, every canyon was claimed by families, and each canyon had a name in the Paiute language. This was before the white miners came to Austin and many, many years before the white man's time. Here, they would come each year to gather the pinenuts, and some times some of them stayed through the winter. Many of their children were born there. It was once their second home. Here, through the mountains they hunted and dried the meat of every kind; the roots of every kind they gathered. One was their tobacco, their medicine; the other tobacco was the leaves, the berries. Everything was dried and stored and set aside. On the mountains was the white salt rock and also the red rock which was also very soft, and the shiniest black rock. All these rocks were ground into powder and put into sacks made from the hides. When they knew it was time
Helen Stone Speaks 47
for them to leave before the winter caught them upon the mountains, they were ready. Tying the loads upon their backs, they turned toward the west and started on their long journey back to the Carson Sinks. Many, many stops were made. Close to the singing sand hill, as our people called the sand hill near Salt Wells, they stopped for the night near a spring. Across from them was the sand hill. Here, they took down the heavy loads off of their backs and rested; in the evening they built their bonfires and cooked their meals. After the evening meal was over, they sat and talked together. Smoke was lighted, and, as each grew tired, they laid down and went to sleep. Some of them waited, laying down upon their beds; as it grew dark, tile sand hill began to hum and hum, so they listened. Soon, they also fell asleep. They tell us the sand hill felt sad for the ones who were sick and tired, so he hummed them to sleep, to rest through the night. Others tell us he was happy to see his people sleeping close by, so he hummed and hummed over them. The next morning bonfires were started, and they ate together and travelled to the end of the Stillwater Mountain Range and turned to the north on the trail toward their homes near the Carson Sinks. This trail, close to the ranges, was made when the valley was almost flooded. At Grimes Point, there are still some written signs, written upon the rocks. Through this same trail, Nuni'bia also travelled many, many years before her people. Nuni'bia's trail toward Walker Lake, also made years ago, had written signs upon the rocks. The highway went through the trail, and the rocks with written signs are gone now.
There was once the footprint (of Nuni'bia) upon the rock where our people used to stop, going east and returning from the east. Here, they would stop and lift their heavy loads off their shoulders and look up toward heaven and thank their God for food they had gathered (the old people spoke of this rock; we have never seen it) and for their good health. After their prayer, they said, they felt lighter and happy, and their tired, dusty bodies were no longer tired.
Later, they also travelled together toward Dayton and Virginia City. Many stops were made. Once they reached the hidden spring (now known to us as tile Silver Spring—wa'ji'pa'a) they made camp and stayed here close to the spring and rested for the night. The next morning they started on their way west. Upon the Dayton mountain were a lot of pinenuts at that time.
Here, near Dayton, tile dreamers came upon the mountain and stayed over night to become the healers of their people Medicine Doctors. They tell us the young men built their bonfires and sat and waited. When the spirit came rumbling with the strong wind, tile young men grew afraid and stood up and, then, ran down the mountain toward their homes. Only the fearless remained and were given the power to heal.
Toward Pyramid Lake, some of tile dreamers went; the water babies appeared before the strongest young men and gave them their power.
Some went upon the Stillwater Mountain range and built a bonfire before a
48 Helen Bowser Stone
cave and waited. They tell us the earth beneath them started to rumble and shake. The young men grew afraid and some of them also ran; once again, only the brave ones remained. The large snake appeared before them and gave them his power. All this, we now living do not understand and cannot believe, no matter how hard we want to, that this happened to these men who became powerful in their healing. Only their God knows, for it was he who gave them power through strange ways. The old people have said that their doctors were powerful healers.
The wrong name was given to the Paiutes of this valley. It should have been Duck Eaters. It is all wrong to name them Tule Eaters. They would have starved to death.
Only in the spring, they pulled out the young tule roots and ate them. They tell us only the older women gathered the tule seeds into their willow baskets. They combed the cotton into their willow baskets and piled them high as they could reach into many piles, then set them on fire. Then, they gathered the small seeds into the baskets and cleaned them and then washed the seeds and dried the little seeds upon their tule mats. These tule mats were woven together tightly. They told us it was a very hard and dirty, dusty job. The older people liked these seeds ground or ground with the pinenuts or other small seeds.
The ducks of every kind and the swans were once plentiful here at the Carson Sinks. It was the birds' nesting ground, so this was our people's main food, besides the fish in the lakes and rivers. The swan and red heads were their favorite; they did not taste fishy. This is what they told us. After the ducks and swans were picked, and cut and cleaned, the neck and the wings and legs were saved. After all the swan meat was eaten, and there were only the wings and legs and necks left, they picked tile small feathers off of the wings and neck and legs. They singed them over the open fire, the legs were washed and boiled and peeled, then all were boiled together for their soup. Not much was thrown away. Just as the chicken legs are peeled and cooked now, they did the same with the legs of the swans. Even the bones from tile fowl, and even from tile rabbits, were ground into powder. This, they tell us, was always carried in deer skin bags. This, they ate while hunting, besides the deer meat that was dried. All this, they carried with them wherever they went.
Through the valley, they hunted the rabbits with their bow and arrows and tile fowl, and the women gathered tile seeds and the buck berries and dried the berries. Later, tile berries were put into the boiling water that was in tile round hollowed rock and cooked. After they cooked, they put the cooked berries into their flat willow baskets and strained them through the basket and ate it, after the seeds were thrown away.
I must tell you about these large hollowed rocks that you find buried near tile lakes. This round, hollowed rock was our people's boiling pot. It was set
Helen Stone Speaks 49
over the hot ashes and the water put into it and when it started to boil, the ducks or rabbits were then added. They also tell us the round, smooth small rocks were laid over the hot red coals and then picked up and thrown into the boiling water to cook the ducks and rabbits quicker. This round, hollowed rock was also used to grind their food in; so, it was their cooking pot and grinding pot.
These rocks, the round, hollowed rock and the flat, round rock and the little, long, round rock, they ground the pinenut seeds with. The rocks were never carried from one place to the next, for they were very heavy; so they were buried under the ground and hidden. Only they who buried them knew just where they were hidden. Each year, as they travelled from one place to the next, these rocks were once again uncovered and used. These rocks meant a lot to our people, just as our cooking pots and grinders do.
Their stirring spoon was made from the willow branch or limbs. This branch or limb was first twisted and then tied with split willow. With this spoon, they stirred their pinenut soup or other foods.
These are the ways they cooked the ground pinenuts: first they put the pinenuts into their flat willow baskets and then laid red hot coals over the pinenuts and the women shook their baskets as fast as they could handle them. Then they moved their baskets up and down, stirring the pinenuts with the red hot coals. When the pinenuts were cooked, they put the pinenuts on their flat rock, and taking the long small rock, they crushed the pinenuts very slowly, rolling the small rock over the nuts. Then, using their hands they cracked the hard shells with their hands. Again, they put the nuts into their flat willow baskets and once again added the red hot coals. As they did before, they worked the willow basket and cooked the nuts until the nuts became very dry. Then, they put them back on their fiat rocks and this time, with all the strength they had, they started to grind the nuts into flour or powder. And taking their basket, the fiat one only (this basket is woven very close together), they shook the basket 'round and 'round until all the dark points or tips came off the nuts.
When they wanted hot soup, they put the pinenut flour into hot boiling water and ate it as a soup. Still, they were cooked another way. This time, the shelled pinenuts were added, and when this is cooked together, it looks like a pot of beans cooking. It is very tasteful.
And still they had another way. They put the ground pinenuts into their round willow basket, which was covered with the pitch and slowly they added cold water and stirred it slowly 'round and 'round. They kept adding cold water until it became like a pudding; this they ate with roasted rabbits or roasted deer meat or ducks.
My people say it was thus before the white man came to this valley. After the white men came to this valley, two treaties were made. The first treaty was signed by the people. In this first treaty, 160 acres of land were given to
50 Helen Bowser Stone
each family, so it was a lot of land. The land ran from the east boundary of what is now Fallon, so it was good land. When more and more homesteaders came to the valley looking for good land, this first treaty was broken. Two white men and an Indian man who spoke English were sent here from Washington. A meeting was called, and the people gathered. The white men spoke first; then the Indian man translated. He said to my people: "My brothers and sisters, these two white men are sent here from Washington. The great white father sent them. In the first treaty you were given 160 acres, and that is too big for you poor people to work. So, this is what your great white father in Washington has decided. In this second treaty, you will be given 10 acres of land with the water to farm it, and the government will help you. You will be given the equipment you will need to work your land." The people sat and listened. They did not ask him if the lakes and mountains were included in this second treaty, thinking the lakes and mountains were their own. So they decided to sign the second treaty. The Indian man then said: -This second treaty will never be broken again, as long as the sun is up in the sky and goes around the earth.- When they later asked if the lakes and mountains were in the second treaty, the answer was -no.- This hurt them deeply.
This is a copy of the first treaty, that which gave each of my people their land.
United States Indian Service,
Nevada Agency,
December 12, 1890
I hereby ratify that on the 19th day of September last, at Stillwater, Churchill County, State of Nevada, the following named Pah-Ute Indians applied to me for allotment in severalty to them of untaken Government lands upon which they have lived for a number of years past, and that in accordance with instructions from the Indian Office, I have allotted to each of Fifty Heads of Families, 160 acres of said land, a map of which accompanies this Certificate.
1 Tegh-ah-dud-ah-wah 160 acres
2 Tah-wah-wad-se 160
3 At-sa-sar-upt 160
4 Nah-mah-to-guin-ah 160
5 Kah-mah 160
6 Hoo-ze-ah 160
7 San-bah 160
8 My-wah-otch 160
9 Ah-rah-mo-e-blu-ne-de 160
10 Pah-tah-may-ah 160
11 Qu-me-tois 160
12 Pah-me-ge-ah-de 160
13 Wah-Ki-seh 160
Helen Stone Speaks 51
14 Mo-zo-to-be 160
15 Pi-seh-wah 160
16 Sa-guine-ah 160
17 Zah-na-no-do 160
18 Ah-ra-pah-hah 160
19 Sooc-oog 160
20 Wa-see-dah 160
21 Wa-dah-quo-he 160
22 Pah-ro-ge-oitz 160
23 Wah-ras-bel-ah 160
24 Te-buc-mo-no-wac 160
25 Tu-beah 160
26 Ho-ne-bah-gah-ugh 160
27 Zah-pan-eed 160
28 O-go-ee-zu-gu 160
29 Wa-ede-a 160
30 De-guin-erd 160
31 Puh-hu-de-ah-guh 160
32 She-to-veich 160
33 Ta-bu-wah-hiet 160
34 Ung-eh-cah-neh 160
35 Cah-zuh-yeh-no-ugh 160
36 Coo-each 160
37 Za-no-qua-ze 160
38 Pah-su-to-pah 160
39 Pu-i-wad-ze 160
40 Ne-dah-bah 160
41 To-no-te-ah-bah 160
42 Kah-wah-me-gah-uh 160
43 To-ha-co-sah 160
44 Wah-you-no 160
45 Sah-nah-no-do 160
46 Zo-num-wad 160
47 E-wah-dah 160
48 Ca-zi-ah-no 160
49 Pah-bah-nah-cah 160
50 Wit-se-wi-ah 160
S. S. Sears
U.S. Indian Agent
After the treaty was signed, an Agent was sent here. He called a meeting, and the people gathered once more. The Agent said, "Now is the time for
each of you to ask for whatever you will need to work your land scrapers,
plows, horses, wagons and the tools you will need." The men got in line and
stopped before the Agent and told him what they needed, and the Agent wrote it all down. A year later, all of them received a letter with a bill. What could they do? They were having a hard time on the reservation as it was, so
most of them returned the equipment to the Agency and left the reservation to work for the white farmers and ranchers.
52 Helen Bowser Stone
My mother told about the Freeman Ranch, where many of our own people worked. The men worked in the fields; some of the women worked also, washing clothes and cleaning the house. My grandma worked at the hotel in the town of Stillwater. She made beds and cleaned the rooms. The hotel, I later saw; it was a two story building, painted white. When Grandma took her days off, she took Mother with her, and they'd get on the stage to Wadsworth. Grandma paid a dollar and a half for the trip; Mother was a little girl, so, she went free. The stage first went to Grimes Station (Grimes Point), then to Allen's Station, on to Ragtown, Hazen, and then to Wadsworth. At each stop, horses were changed. Mother said the horses were very fast.
This was tile time when our people came to Wadsworth to gather. They came on trains from the east and west, from the north and south. There, they gathered, and during tile day they played their games, and at night they danced. The Bannock from Idaho came dressed in their buckskin outfits, decorated with beautiful beadwork. The women also wore beaded buckskin dresses, and their chief wore a headdress made from eagle feathers.
This was the first time Mother had seen buckskin outfits, but our own people also had beautiful beadwork. Our people had beaded belts and hatbands. The women wore their beaded necklaces, and tile men wore beaded arm bands. She said it was so colorful. The women's dresses were bright. She said there were many people, gathered in their camps in a wide circle. At night, they put on their dances for all to enjoy. Wadsworth, then, was a larger town.
As tile ranching and farming grew in this valley, the people moved closer to the places where they worked, so our people started to move here and there. One place they called Indian Bones. When Fallon grew into a town, the people moved close by. As tile town began to grow more and more, they were moved five times until the Government Agent gave them the place to live close to Rattlesnake Hill. To this day they still have their homes there.
This is one story the women talked about for years. As they worked in town for tile white women, in the morning they would get together and walk to town. After work, they'd do their shopping and wait for each other under the cottonwood trees. When they started home on their trail, there were a lot of willows and trees. One white man who hated tile Indians would wait, hidden among the willows, and out he'd come, riding his horse with a whip in his hand. He'd whip tile women down into tile dust and then ride away. This road now is tile Lovelock Highway; at that time it was a little dirt road, and the trail was close to the road. Later, the red bridge was built for the women, right across from their homes. This was shorter than the other trail, and the white man never bothered them again.
In tile evenings, when tile women returned to their homes, they'd cook their suppers and eat, and then they'd all meet at their gathering place to play their five-card and three-card games. Here, they would gather to tease each
62 George Luke
George Luke in his home, 1980. (Churchill County Museum — Sharon L. Edabum photograph)
"You Have to Kind of Take Pride in it"
EXCERPTS FROM THE ORAL HISTORY OF
GEORGE LUKE
1980
Courtesy of the Oral History Project,
University of Nevada—Reno, Library
Sharon Lee Edaburn, Interviewer
Reno, Nevada
THE PEOPLE WHO CAME never knew what irrigation was, of any kind, and then very few of them had any experience in this, what they call flooding irrigation, and they all had to learn that. But, you take a person on a raw piece of land, and if they never ever really had any experience, or even if they had to some extent, well, the first place they had to build a house; and if they—now there's another thing—you see all that work had to be done with horse power. Now you come in here and you build a house, you might have had a thousand or two or three dollars to start with, time we got located. Then you had to get horse drawn equipment; then you had to rustle around and find where you could get one or two teams—they'd start in with one team, then. Well, that made it so it was very slow, and like I say, the water come into one corner of the place, that's what they call the lateral, and from that point on, it was up to you to divert it. Well, it wouldn't do any good to pour the water on the ground, there'd be a hole here, and a hill, and a high and like that. That wouldn't do you any good, so you had to work that down, maybe level off an acre or two of ground, so you could divert the water into the ditch to cover that ground. Well, usually, it was flat so that the water would be more like a lake when it was out there—well, it was almost impossible. So then, say you got three or five acres here where they could get water on, and then alfalfa was the only thing they could start with—you could raise alfalfa on this raw land—well, gosh that stuff would grow fine. Well, you got a few acres going there and—now here—even if you just had one team, which you
couldn't get very far with. If you had a cow, you had to feed it. Well, what are you going to feed it with? You didn't have anything but a desert there to look
into.
A lot of this ground was put in what we call rough—there'd be here, and drop down there and no particular grade when you get the water from one place to another, and say they had a acre or two of ground there that they got 61
60 Roy Cox Williams
his Rogue's Gallery and he didn't want him for anything and so they started him on out of town. Never did know, I guess, who shot the doctor's horse, but anyway I remember the doctor—I was pretty young, but I remember him—he sold the horse that was left to one of the stage lines and went back out to Horse Creek and bought two more, and they were driving, stan-dard bred horses—bays this time.
I remember one time the road used to go by the old Harmon ranch—Gallagher owns it now—a big block house east of town, and one time we saw him coming, the doctor coming. And oh, he was doing miles, I'll tell you. Doctor Dempsey had a little buggy—well, it was a little light buggy. The roads were all just dirt roads those days and he drove these two on that buggy and if he got a call, like some lady was about to have a baby and had waited too long—well, anyway, if it was an emergency call, why he'd just let those horses run and he'd just hold a steady line on them and they'd pretty near pull the buggy by the bits some time.
Mrs. Harmon got on the phone and the phone had been ringing and all they had to do was listen—it was all party lines—and she called another Harmon, her sister-in-law who was having a baby. She lived down about 3 miles or so in the Harmon district and he was hurrying there to help bring that baby into the world. But these days like this—I don't know—it's hard for me to explain to you how it was, but it was quite interesting to see that team running just as hard as they could run and that little old buggy looked like it was standing straight out behind it.
Growing Up in Fallon, Nevada 59
way, he came by and thought he'd stop to see what was the matter or see how things were going, so dad told him, "You watch him for awhile,- he said, "So and so, the jailer, went to get the doctor to get the medicine changed on him. He'll be right back," so he went home and he said he didn't know what time the jailer got back or if he came back.
In the early 1900's, well, there was an old unwritten law that there was never any Negroes in Fallon. They never let the sun go down on a Negro, and so this Negro fellow was in town and the Sheriff told him he wanted him out of town by sundown, and he didn't get right out. Long towards evening, I guess it was, he got after him again and told him he'd have to leave. Just then the Sheriff happened to think that he hadn't looked at his Rogue's Gallery; that maybe the Negro might be wanted for something some place, so he told him to wait a minute. Well that kinda scared the Negro, so he broke and started to run. The Sheriff, I guess he fired one shot at him; anyway, the Negro ran up Maine Street and he turned the corner on Center Street. That was about the only road going out of town then, going up Center Street to Taylor, and then you went south. Well, the Negro started to run up that street and the Sheriff took a shot at him. Somebody was in a bar on the corner there. I think there's a used car lot right on the corner there now (Fallon National Bank Drive-Up). Anyway at the corner of Center and Maine where the light is, the fellow run out of the bar and he started shooting. Back of the livery stable, back of what's the Elk's Hall now, were big corrals. That's where they kept the horses, in these big corrals. There were none of them stabled over night or anything.
One of the first doctors in town was Dr. G. L. Dempsey, and he had beautiful driving horses. He would go out to Horse Creek—that's east of here—there was an old Mexican fellow that raised horses and sold lots of them to the stage lines. The doctor'd go there and he'd buy a matched team. He brought them in, two beautiful sorrel horses and he had them there at the livery stable. They weren't broken too good, yet, but anyway, when the fellow ran out of the corner bar and started shooting, he shot across there and
killed one of the doctor's horses shot one in tile corral. Then the Negro ran
right on up tile street to our house—it was right on Center Street. It was just before dark. The sun hadn't went barely down, but I can remember him going up tile street. The Negro, of course, cut across lots and across town and went out through there, what, kind of west of the high school and out that way. That channel it used to be the channel of the river—went clown there and it was in high water time, tile spring of the year, and before Lahontan was built. It'd get pretty big, a wide stream clown through there. It was down this time, but whoever was after him—I guess it was tile Sheriff or one of his deputies—anyway, they beat the Negro to the bridge, so he was running across tile river and they started shooting at him. When they started shooting at him out in the river, wily he gave up and came back. The Sheriff looked at
58 Roy Cox Williams
about 1914, or so, somewhere along in there, I think it was '15 before it was completely finished, but they had started checking water a little before. Before that all the water that you'd get was as long as there was any water running in the Carson River.
Different people had dams in on the river, and they'd take the water out of the river. You'd go up the river and put your dam in and bring the water down and, of course, all of the farming or most of it was right down along the river. Anybody that had it, you couldn't take it too far away from tile source. All the old time ranches were built right up and down the river. They just built a dam and maintained it and the one below had to look out for himself and so forth, and sometimes, as the water started to drop down, why, the fellow up above would build his dam up a little more, so he could hold it up and the one below would suffer for it. There was lots of battles over that, too.
We were still living there before the Lahontan Dam was built. There was lots of snow in the mountains and when it melted the water all came down the Carson River with no way to control it. A few years before this time a man had built his own dam on the Carson River and this had forced the river to make a narrow channel through Fallon. When all this water came down the river it brought down trees and brush that got caught on the railroad bridge and caused some of the water to back into the old channel. This made a river north of town and the new channel at the south end of town. A big lake was formed all around Fallon which was just enough higher than tile river not to be flooded. All the area where the high school is now was a lake extending all around the town. I don't remember how long this water stayed but it was several days. The only way in and out of' town was by horseback. The man who had built the dam that started tile trouble got scared because he thought he would be in trouble for putting in the dam and he left town in a hurry as far as I know no one ever heard from him again.
I remember how they kept their prisoners and so forth in those times. The jail was just a little two by four shack, you might say. I think you could probably put a couple of prisoners in it. I think there was room for a bed on each side and this door went in the center, but anyway, it was right west of our house on tile lot, there. My dad went out in the yard one evening to see how they kept the prisoners and he heard tile jailer calling fbr help over there. He went over to see and tile jailer said he had a fellow in there that I guess had had too much hop or something and he was crazy, and too much whiskey, too, probably, and he was beating his head against the wall. The
jailer told my dad, "You stay here with him and go get the doctor to
change tile medicine on him," so away he went. Dad said he sat there and the fellow relaxed then and pretty quick he could see another seizure coming, he begun to twitch and jerk. Dad said he just jumped right straddle of him and pinned him right down to the bed to hold him 'til he quit fighting and then he let him go and he said about that time a neighbor that lived up the street a
Growing Up in Fallon, Nevada 57
in the afternoon—the little kids in the forenoon) and then I went to the West End school. In a little while they outgrew it and already bonds had been sold to build a new high school and it was built right where the Cottage Schools are now. There was only six students in the high school, so they let the grammar school have the rest of the rooms until we got more schools built. It's been a problem it seems to me since the beginning of time, this school business. They're always building new schools. Just start to get one built and they outgrow it and move to another one.
The West End School (also known as Old High) was a big old brick two-story building and they weren't very safe in earthquakes. They finally took the upstairs off and I think used the downstairs for quite awhile and finally they dismantled the whole thing and built all new little buildings there. Those two-story buildings in case of fire, they're pretty dangerous, too, so they didn't last. They used them for years, but they weren't practical things, a two-story building for a school.
Automobiles did away with the livery stables, and then the transfer business, why, Dad saw there was going to be competition in that, too, so he sold that out. Then he traded the property where the livery stables were. It was practically out of business, but he traded it for a ranch out in Union District in 1912. We moved out there, in the Union District. It's right south of town and we moved there in June of 1912. We finished going to school up there went to a country school. There was a school house right across the corner—across our field just outside the corner, the southwest corner, called tile Smart School. We went there 'til, I guess about 6th or 7th grade and then they united, consolidated the school with what they call the Wightman School,
and that's how the consolidated school district got started. (Ed. Note Then
Roy went to the Union School) They put those two districts together and then eventually, why, they were consolidated with the town schools, all of the country schools. They put in the bus systems to haul the children back and forth. We went to this country school until, to the 8th grade and then, of course, we had to go to high school, and the high school was in Fallon. I never finished the full four years. I went three years, but then I didn't go back. The high school had begun to build up 'til they'd outgrown the building.
On our ranch we raised alfalfa and had a dairy. We milked cows and then not too long after we went out there in 1912, why, there was a creamery started here in Fallon. Everybody who had 10 or 12 or 14 or so cows, you'd separate tile milk and take the cream to the creamery and they made it into butter and so forth. We fed the skim milk to the hogs and calves.
We had 80 acres in; we rotated from grain to alfalfa, back and forth. The big thing, when I was growing up there in Fallon (of course, it had started before we moved to the country), was the building of the reclamation project and Lahontan Dam. That was quite a big thing. I think before they got it all completed and started carrying the water to tile farmers, it was, I remember,
56 Roy Cox Williams
for the school, and finally there was a building that sat on Maine Street, right where Penney's store is. That's where it was, and soon they didn't have enough room; they started to build a big building in what they call West End, so the little kids went to school in the forenoon a half a day, and the big kids went in the afternoon. There wasn't enough room for us until the schoolhouse was finished at West End. It was a big two story building—two rooms upstairs and two big rooms downstairs.
My father had the livery stable and also had the freight team from Hazen to Fallon before the railroad came in. I was always asking mom to go with him and one time, he took me along. They'd generally try to get over to Hazen and get loaded up and get out of there the next morning and he had to stay all night in Hazen. He rolled his bed out, out on the platform of the depot. There was a lot of pretty tough characters up and down that main line—there'd been holdups and robberies and so forth, and he said along towards morning, there was somebody who was trying to get in bed with him and he said he was just about to get right in on top of me and he said he expected me to wake up any minute. Then he told the fellow to get on, get out of there, and "Well," he said, -I'm cold. I want to get in and get warm." What he figured on, probably, was to get in—after he got in there, he'd try to get hold of Dad's purse. He always had to carry quite a lot of money with him to pay his freight bills, picking up stuff of the different stores. Anyway, finally he told him to get out and move on and he was edging right in, so he reached under his pillow and got his gun and he said that fellow wasn't long getting out of there and getting on down the track. Dad generally always slept with his purse under his pillow and the fellow probably knew it and that's what he figured on getting ahold of. The gun put him to flight.
We met the train because the main line went on. They hadn't built this branch in here to Fallon from Hazen, and everything for Fallon was unloaded at Hazen and freighted. In 1910, the railroad came into Fallon. I think that's when it was. Before that, the first stop was Wadsworth which was railhead for Fallon. We had to go to Wadsworth to get freight and supplies and everything. Then they moved it (in 1904), changed the main line and brought it down by Hazen and across to Lovelock and out that way, and then eventually, why they built tile branch on into Fallon.
Then, when the railroad was finally built to Fallon, why he had a big auction sale and sold the freight team. He had two of them—a 10-horse team and a 14-horse team. Then he had the first transfer business in Fallon. He opened with—he had these smaller wagons pulled by teams—two of them, and he hauled express from the railroad, from the depot uptown to the post office and also all the freight that come in for the different stores. There was a lot of activity in Fallon then. The mines were beginning t© boom at Fairview and Wonder. There were freight teams on the road hauling freight to those mining camps. I was going to that school house on Maine Street (the big kids
Growing Up in Fallon, Nevada 55
Roy Cox Williams rides in the American Cancer Society "Horse-a-Thon" for charity. He was the oldest rider for the last eleven years he rode. He made his final ride in his mid-eighties. (C) Albert A. Alcorn)
I started to school in Fallon in 1907. First, I think, there was a low building where the city hail sits now. We went there for a short time and they were really having Problems just like they are nowadays—never had enough room
PIONEER PORTRAITS
Growing Up in Fallon, Nevada
EXCERPTS FROM THE ORAL HISTORY OF
ROY COX WILLIAMS
1983
Courtesy of the
Churchill County Oral History Project
Vesta Bollard, Interviewer
Fallon, Nevada
I WAS BORN JUNE 25, 1900, on what's now known as the Bulllig ranch in the Harmon District. My father, George "Bud" Williams, and his brother, William Hargrove Williams had that together at that time and it was a full section 040 acres. The Imelli place has been sold off of it and the Soares place, and then, later on they branched out. They bought a ranch in the Stillwater District which is known now as tile Dodge-Schoffner ranch, and my folks moved down there and my father's brother who was getting married kept the other place. Well, we lived there on that Stillwater ranch until, guess around 1903—along in there somewhere—and they sold it, and the moved into Stillwater and lived there until our house was built in Fallon. My father built a livery stable there. It stood right where the Elks Hall is now, and then he had freight he hauled from Hazen to Fallon.
We moved to Fallon from Stillwater when tile county seat moved in 1903. When they built the building, the Courthouse, they had big old tanks at Stillwater for tile jail cells. They wanted to move them to Fallon. The Courthouse was built right around them and they're still there today. They use them for storing records and all kinds of things like that in the Auditor and Recorder's Office. These big tanks just had a door, one door in them, and there is no way you could get in or out, only through that door. My father had the job of' hauling them from Stillwater. He had a 14-horse team and I can remember standing up by our place where the Elks Hall is now. Our house
was right west of where Dr. Nelson's office was (Ed. Note at the southwest
corner of Center and Carson Streets), and I could see my father pulling across Center Street, or across that part of town—there wasn't any town there then—but going on to the new Courthouse with these tanks, he unloaded them there.
54
Helen Stone Speaks 53
other and laugh together. These women worked for $1.50 a day and bought their food with it; what little they had left, they played with, a nickle in the pot. Our people worked for their money. The old people lived with their children. This, we do not see anymore. Our people lived longer and played and laughed together in the old, almost forgotten days.
"You Have to Kind of Take Pride in it" 63
water on, filled it up, and then they had two or three acres down below there that was a couple of foot or so lower; well, they'd take a shovel and break this water down into that other field or piece of ground. What happened when that water goes through there, she'd wash a hole out of there and oh, it'd just keep washing out, that's all; not only wash this top piece of ground but it would wash it all down on the lower ground. They had to put up with that. Then as time went on, they'd begin to realize you had to use a little different system, but most of this original ground was what we called -roughed in,-that's the only way it could be done. Well, when we come here, it was pretty much the situation here, "roughed in," and it grew some alfalfa. It was good on alfalfa, all right, if we could water it, which was one son-of-a-gun to do here, to get the water over it. I've irrigated all day and all night, watching the water, but I thought we were doing pretty darn good. Well, as I say, there was some alfalfa on the place when we came here, roughed in, naturally, that's all, and most of it was just raw land. Well, then we got to putting in new land so we tried to put it—a sort of grade to it—the best we could under the circumstances. I know it'd be a little low on one side, we'd have a ditch come here and straight through and then we'd irrigate that way. Well, that's the way the whole thing was—so many different grades, and in reality, as time went on, we began to realize if we had the power, we could change that; which we did to some extent, as near as we possibly could. And then, of course, we had that stock to feed, when we had—well, we generally had about four head.
When we first came here, there was a couple of "old grays" on the place; that's all there was, but we got another team and worked four. There was a hill out through here, that was the first grading work I ever did, I shoved the dirt off the hard way, day in and day out, day in and day out. You could work all day and I swear to God, you couldn't see what you did. Well, we just kept at it. I don't know, I could tell that there was a possibility. But what really made it good—when they did get hay, got alfalfa started—that hay would surely go. God, that stuff would get—well, it'd get up that high and then way over. But, of course, I can explain all that, too. That raw land had the phosphates in it that made the hay grow; but when we got to releveling and changing and then, of course, we realized we needed a drainage system. As I said, we had what they call a surface drain that ran around at one angle through the place there. What they actually did on a survey, they followed the natural contour of the ground, which was about the only thing they could do, unless they hit a hill and then they'd have to cut through that. Oh boy, we made so many changes, so many changes. When we got the drainage system in, when the old drain went through—even when we made the changes then—we had to grade according to drain, in to the old drain; and when they put the deep drains in, all of that had to be changed, practically all of it. But then we grew up with it, we made those changes. I can remember when we
64 George Luke
were here the first three, four years, we raised—oh, I think we had roughly about ten acres of ground that was producing, and we might have had sixty or seventy ton of hay and we sold it to the Nevada Pack for $9.00 a ton, delivered. We had to haul it up to the sugar factory. In fact, that was after the sugar factory was built and they had a feed corral up there and they were feeding beet tops with hay.
Well, about the second year I was here, by golly—I guess it was the first winter we was here—we had a road that went pretty much on the section line, and then it angled across the ditch and out in the desert and it was like this all the way through. And where the reservoir is, that was a big flat. I know it went through there and then back on the road and up to the feed corral by the sugar factory. Well, we loaded that hay by hand and it was in the winter time and I had a team of horses. I didn't know much about horses then, but I knew those young horses. If something had happened, they'd probably run away and that old high wheeled wagon with a big load on it. We'd hit a place and it'd start this way, hit another and it'd start that way and I was afraid it would tip over. My feet got cold and I was afraid to get off and walk, for fear the darn team'd get away, so I had to follow and work—that was my first actual work on the place here at that time, so we got it up there—$9.00 a ton. I don't think that much more than paid the overhead, and we
didn't have anything to go on. tell you right now. I worked out.
I worked for the government then, burning weeds $2.40 a day, eight hours—and boy, I thought that was the biggest money I ever seen. Old C. M. Davis was the ditch rider down below here and he wanted to know if I could burn ditches and I told him I'd try and well, he say's, -bring a fork along.- He told me to bring a grubber, well I didn't know what that was for. Oh—well, I did too. We had so darn many tumbleweeds in the country. God, those things'd get big and when the wind would blow, they'd pile up as high as a house and that ditch that went through the reservation at an angle—still the same ditch there—he told me, -If you start a fire and burn those weeds," he says, -you'd better go ahead and see that they're not up against one of those structures, they're all wooden structures. If they ever got down there, those structures went out like that.- So, I remember one time I started a fire at Davis's; went through the reservation there and got to thinking, my God, I'd better go down and see if there's a structure down there. And, oh man, those weeds were piled as high as this house and then the fire hit that and then she'd go on—not only in the ditch, but alongside; but I went on down and, my God, well, I didn't go very far and I could see up by golly, I could see those weeds. Then I threw those weeds out in every direction; 'cause boy, if I'd set that structure on fire, that would have been it for me. But I managed—just barely did too—boy, that fire'd be so darn hot that your face'd burn. And then another thing—he told me to bring a fork and I didn't have a horse then, so I had a bicycle; so I went down there on my bicycle with a
"You Have to Kind of Take Pride in it" 65
pitch fork and I never used the grub hoe, really. I guess he thought that maybe if there were weeds around a structure, I could dig them away with it; well, so much for that, but I never used it. Well, I burnt weeds and burnt weeds—$2.40 a day, $.30 an hour. I'd like to see some of these guys work for that today, and I mean work.
Well, that was the beginning, and when I worked for the government, I got to using horses pretty good. Old Sammy Tibbets—he was what we called a regular old muleskinner—and I worked around a little bit for different guys and he says, "you want to learn to skin mules?" He says, "I think I can get you a job with me, holding the Johnson bar on the Fresno, crossfiring." Oh boy, that tickled me to death, but I didn't know what I was up against. Those four mules we used on the Fresno, well, they had them harnessed when they come down with them. They hook them up and "boy" he says, "them mules kick your head off, you get behind them" and he showed me how to hook it up. Well, I was scared. I didn't know what time I was going to get it, but I guess I was lucky. And then we'd go down with the Fresno this way, 'cause where you got up I'd pull the bar down and that'd take the side off and then flip it over and when we got on top, it was just a matter of going around, just like this, all the time. Well, I learned how to mule talk; I can tell you that right now. He knew all the words and I guess I learned them too, a lot of cases when I shouldn't have. But then I got to driving mules, and then we had our own team here.
Charlie used to go up and crossfire. Oh this ditch rider here, he says, "I think that boy can do that. He's worked with Sammy." Oh sure, I can do it, so they gave me a team for me to take care of, but they were a pretty good team. To start with, I had to use their own team when I'd crossfire there, and then I got to doing that and going down with one team. That's pretty slick the way they crossfire; they can whip up that ditch and it was just as slick as can be. Then it got kinda interesting, you know, to see how slick they made them. Everything was done that way. You know what a Fresno is—well, usually a four horse Fresno is used. A four horse is a five foot long blade and, of course, that Johnson bar on the back and you got four of them. You dropped the team down in the ditch, and, as you go out, well, that's what you got to look out for too, when you held that Johnson Bar down, you hit a root, oh, I've had my watches hit here and I've had my dollar watch hang clear through that. Well, a lot of that was from leaning over, and, as I say, you push down and that puts the blade; when you push down and that raises the blade and that's when you start cutting that bank up. Then, you go around and you come around and hit the other side. Just a matter of around and around and around. Well, that's the way all these ditches were made—originally they were made that way. I've made a few ditches, too, that way in the old days. If you'd do much of that and get to using teams and stuff and he looks back and sees a nice straight ditch, he thinks he's really done something. You have to kind of take pride in it.
66 George Luke
Well, then there's these old timers, just tell them, "crossfiring ditches." They'll all tell you they know when they used to do that. Sometimes, I'd be leaning over that Johnson Bar, holding down—I'd lean over it to keep it down and I'd be black and blue acrossed. I never thought nothing of it, and the part that made you feel great—if you got so you could crossfire a ditch and work for the Government doing that—they'd say, -Well heck, he's a muleskinner, he knows how to crossfire a ditch," and they'd say, -well, that muleskinner, he's pretty good, he knows how." And the other kids, they'd want to know how they could get the job. -Well," I said, -I can't tell you." I said, -if you want that job, why go in to the office there; if they got any use for you they'll hire you.- They might work a little while, then I guess that got kind of rough. Yep, crossfiring ditches. Now all these ditches is what they call lateral, like this. Of course, really, they weren't as big a ditch as they are now, cause they kept working them and making them wider. And then the thing that used to—well, I and a lot of my friends, the Freemans—they all did a lot of ditch work for the Government. They had their own teams. See, if you used your own teams, you got $5.00 a day, and that was big money. So naturally, we'd use our own team whenever we possibly could. Now, being a team, that was—a team was considered four head on a Fresno. Once in awhile they'd have to plow a ditch; they always plowed them out. But, boy oh boy, you couldn't do it today with the way they stuff concrete in their ditches now. You couldn't possibly do it. Of course, they don't do it—they don't have to now. I've mowed ditches for them a few times with a side mower. Fact is, I got a side mower out here now. I guess about the only one left in the country, but I use it on a tractor, of course; but in them days, it was horse drawn stuff. I don't know, I often think about it.
We worked all day long, of course, and at the beginning we didn't have any cows. I remember we put in some more ground in here that was producing—I don't know, maybe one-hundred, one-hundred and fifty ton of hay, beside what we was feeding our own stock. We had a couple of cows—always four head of stock-horses. Now, we sold it—had to bale it. The old time balers, you know, they were stationary balers. They made three wire bales; pitch it into the baler and 'course you had to pull them bales out and put the stick in there. I've done that, too. Weigh them—had to weigh each one—pull it across the platform, and weigh it. You put that slat in there and each one of those bales had a weight, and they averaged about one-hundred to one-hundred thirty pounds a bale. They were pretty heavy bales to handle. We handled them one way and another. Well, we baled that hay and hauled
it into town and loaded it on a car—regular box car too. never forget,
every time we'd go in there and pull up to the box car to unload, I had to push it over and pull it clear back. Now, the right way to do it, of course, would be to start at the back and pile them up, but no, they just—'cause that was easy—they'd just throw them off there and drag them—put two rows—there's no—I never was that lucky. Well, we'd get them stacked. Oh boy, I
"You Have to Kind of Take Pride in it" 67
thought, boy, now, we're going to town; we're going to get a good meal. I liked roast beef and potatoes, and I think we could get a meal for about $.35. Well, that sounded pretty good to me.
We'd come back and if we got unloaded and got back in time, we'd load for the next day, but sometimes we wouldn't make it. About one trip a day was all we could make. We used four horses and we'd haul about three and a half to four ton. And boy, I'm telling you, we didn't have highways, we had roads that had those ruts cut down that deep, you know. There was two or three places up there by old Williams', there, where we'd make that loop, that happened to get a little wet. Man oh man, I was sure glad when we got through there. Then, once or twice I had to pull off and back up and maybe somebody else'd come along and then we'd double up and get through there. I'd help him and he'd help me, so we'd get through one way or the other. 'Course that took time, but it was all part of the business—we'd figured on that, but all the roads weren't bad, 'course they were rutty. Those iron wheel wagons, you know, they'd cut them up there was ruts that deep (gestures about four feet). Everybody following the same rut, you know, and you couldn't hardly get out of them.
Stillwater Pioneer Family Reflects
on Changes in the Valley
ANNE PERSHING
CHURCHILL COUNTY native and rancher, Ira "Hammie" Kent, when discussing his life in Lahontan Valley over the last half century, has much to say. Among the changes he has seen are changes in the valley's agriculture. "Fifty years ago a 40-acre farm would provide a living for a family, but now it wouldn't," he said. In the past, many of the ranches in the valley were self-supporting, "but other income to keep the ranches going seems to be a necessity now." As a result, owning a 40-acre ranch in the 1980's "is more like a hobby, due to lower prices for crops and livestock and the cost of production." Hammie added that while alfalfa hay and other grains have been and still are major crops grown in the valley, ranchers are now growing more corn. As for livestock, fewer sheep and chickens are seen, and turkeys, which were once a popular poultry raised in the valley, are now non-existent. Ranchers appear to prefer cattle, which gives them a better return for their money.
Another change Hammie has seen in the valley over the years is a change in the quality of water used for irrigating farms and ranches. "It was better years ago, than now, due to the increased population and increased number of sewage plants and septic tanks. The water quality has decreased considerably."
As a result of the changes in agriculture that have occurred over the past 50 years, Hammie doesn't see agriculture as the major industry in the valley anymore. Instead, he believes that in the future Fallon is going to be a Navy town. According to him, the Navy will cost Churchill County and the City of Fallon money over the next few years "until they catch up, as they (the two entities) don't have the tax base to support it (the Navy). But eventually they will." Right now, Hammie said he sees sales tax from the Navy's purchases going elsewhere, but that will change in the future. He added that he also believes the Navy has "helped the gaming industry" in Fallon.
Looking to the future, Hammie predicted that Churchill County will become the predominant geothermal producer in the state; the largest plant is already located at Dixie Valley, and others are popping up at Stillwater, Brady's Hot Springs and other places.
68
Stillwater Pioneer Family Reflects 69
I.H. "Hammie" and Nina Kim Kent on their 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1985. Albert A. Alcorn)
Hammie, 77, is the grandson of I. H. Kent. Kent was a horse trader, who, after living in New York, California, Oregon, and Reno, decided to settle in Stillwater. In 1876, he purchased some acreage and later established the I.H.
70 Anne Pershing
The Kent Home where Hammie was born, c1905. (Churchill County Museum — I.H. Kent Collection)
Kent store, which is presently located in downtown Fallon. Three years later, on November 2, 1879, I.H. eloped with Mary Kaiser, driving a buggy to Virginia City for the wedding.
Hammie's grandfather tried his hand at many jobs. He worked at the Stillwater post office, as a telegraph operator at Stillwater and, eventually, served as the Churchill County Clerk/Treasurer.
The I.H. Kents had three children—Charles, Ira L., and Florence, who later married Milton Wallace. Charles, Hammie's father, and a Stillwater rancher, married Helen Hamlin in 1905. He served as state senator in the 1920's and was an active Truckee-Carson Irrigation District member when the district was organized and, at one time, served as chairman for the district.
And Hammie, who comes from a family of lifelong Democrats, can boast of having a maternal great-grandfather, Charles Kaiser, who served as a state senator for 20 years, from 1879 until 1899. In fact, Kaiser held the record for serving the longest in the senate, until that record was broken by another Fallon "senator, Republican Carl Dodge, who served 22 years, from 1958 to 1980.
Hammie was born in 1910 in Stillwater in the Kent family home, which burned down in 1911. After graduating from Churchill County High School
Stillwater Pioneer Family Reflects 71
The I.H. Kent Co. after its move to Fallon in 1903. George Cirac, I.H. Kent, and Lee Winder are in the group standing on the porch. (Churchill County Museum — I.H. Kent Collection)
in 1928, he chose not to go into ranching or the Kent family business. Instead, he attended Armstrong College in Berkeley, California, where he graduated in 1931 with a degree in business administration and accounting.
However, after earning his degree he went to work as a bookkeeper for the I. H. Kent Company and later oversaw the operation of the lumber yard. While keeping the books for the family business, he met his future wife, Nina, the daughter of Fred and Elizabeth Kirn of the Harmon District. According to Hammie, he met Nina through her brother, who also worked at Kents. "I didn't know her until then," he said.
Nina, now 74, said that what attracted her to Hammie was the fact that 'he was different from the other young men I dated. He hunted and fished, and hadn't been exposed to that, and I was fascinated. I enjoyed the things we did together." Hammie interjected, -She'd never even shot a gun before she went with me.
While courting, Hammie said that on Saturday nights they went to the dances that were held at the Harmon, Old River, and St. Clair schools as well
72 Anne Pershing
as the ones held at the Fraternal Hall. Hammie also recalled dances that had been held at Churchill County High School. "It was different back then,- he said. "You didn't hold a girl very close, or off the floor you went. The principal, George McCracken, was very strict about school dances. He ruled with an iron hand, but the kids respected him." He then added, with a grin, that the boys years ago "didn't walk arm and arm down the halls with a girl like they do now or you could be suspended."
Nina and Hammie eventually married on October 9, 1935. They have two children—Bruce, a local rancher, and Gary, who is an MAT real estate appraiser and lives with his family in Las Vegas.
Hammie stayed in the Kent family lumber business until 1942, when he decided he wanted to go into ranching on the Kent ranch. The ranch is located in the Stillwater District, approximately 18 miles northeast of Fallon. He and Nina are now in partnership with their son Bruce and his family and with Hammie's sister, Mrs. Ethel McNeely and her children; they run a 1100 acre ranch. The family holding, known as the Silver Range Ranch, also has a grazing permit for 140,000 acres of Bureau of Land Management land in the Stillwater Mountains.
Kent, who is semi-retired, said that the ranch where he lives "has been farmed as long as any in the valley. It was in operation even before Lahontan Dam." Before the dam was constructed, his ranch and the Freeman ranch were irrigated by way of a rock dam behind Stillwater.
Hammie can take credit for more than successful ranching. In 1934, he brought in the first chukar partridge, shipped all the way from Calcutta, India. "One hundred chukar cost $600, and only 13 lived," he said, adding that $600 was a lot of money in those days. He bred those survivors and sold them to other counties in the state. "So many of the chukar in the state are descendants of our operation," Kent said.
The home the Kents occupy on their ranch was built in 1946 -when it was tough getting materials after World War II." Rather than be deterred from building their own home by lack of materials, they acquired one of the Civilian Conservation Corps barracks that were prevalant in the county at that time. "It was 125 feet by 20 feet," said Hammie, "and we cut it in three pieces and brought it out to the ranch." The Kents then used the lumber to build the house, which was eventually enlarged into a 2,600 square foot, modern, ranch-style home.
The original part of the house was almost destroyed by the earthquake of 1954. "I believe we had the most severe damage of all the ranches," Hammie said, -as we were right on the main fissure." The earthquake "pulled the siding from the house, destroyed the fireplace and cracked every window in the house," Nina said. -Things were thrown all over—it was a mess." But they cleaned up the -mess" and, upon observing the ranch today, it is difficult to find signs that an earthquake had ever occurred there.
Stillwater Pioneer Family Reflects 73
Although Hammie has been busy with his cattle business over the years, he still has managed to find time to serve eight years on the Nevada Agricultural Stabilization Conservation Service, a position to which he was appointed by President John F. Kennedy and re-appointed by President Lyndon B. Johnson. He also served 13 years on the Nevada Tax Commission, representing the livestock industry under an appointment of former Nevada Governor Mike O'Callaghan. He has served for 30 years as a member of the Carson City District, Bureau of Land Management Grazing Advisory Board, putting in 10 years as chairman. Currently, he serves on the State Grazing Board, District N3, as chairman and is past president of the Nevada Cattlemen's Association.
In addition to all his public service, he also has managed to indulge his hobbies—fishing and hunting. He has achieved three North American Grand Slams in sheep.
The Kents were instrumental in helping the county acquire its own museum. According to Hammie and Nina, Alex and Margaret Oser of Southern California, their good friends, owned property in Churchill County. Alex, a wealthy land speculator, "loved to come here to hunt and fish." He owned a lot of property and wanted to do something nice for the community, since he spent so much time here. Oser asked the Kents what was needed, and they told him, a museum. He purchased the old Safeway store and property in 1967 and donated it to the county for that purpose. The Museum opened on July 4, 1968. Nina served on the original Museum Association Board of Trustees and is a lifetime member of that body. Hammie related that Oser also sold property at a very low cost to the county for the location of the Churchill County Regional Park.
When asked about his accomplishments over the years and whether he would change anything, Kent said he wouldn't. "I've never regretted being a rancher. The livestock industry has been good to us. We've had good years and bad years, but predominately good." He added that he has never regretted living all his life in Churchill County. "The climate's good here, and I've never had the desire to live anywhere else. This is my home."
SCIENTIFIC
PERSPECTIVE
Archaeological Research in Churchill County: A
Tale of Changing Perspectives
BRIAN W. HATOFF
As NORTH AMERICAN archaeology has matured as a scientific discipline, its objectives have changed. Prior to the twentieth century, archaeology was little more than artifact collecting. The focus was on the objects themselves rather than the cultures from which they came. This antiquarian emphasis was gradually supplanted by a more scientifically based archaeology. The dominant theme of archaeology as practiced in this county during the first decades of the twentieth century was an emphasis on establishing chronologies. The question of -when" was of the greatest concern in most archaeological projects of the day.
As the prehistoric chronological/cultural sequences of North America were sorted out, there was a gradual shift away from a strict emphasis on placing things in time to learning more about what people were doing in the chronological periods that had been discerned by earlier colleagues. By World War II, reconstructing past lifeways, "learning about the Indian behind the artifact," had taken precedence over reconstructing chronological sequences.
During the 1960's, the goals of archaeology shifted once again. The social turbulence of this period was paralleled by a turbulence of another sort in archaeology. A new generation of archaeologists trained in the emerging science of ecology began to view prehistoric human behavior as a component of a larger all-encompassing ecosystem. Archaeologists became increasingly specialized and explicit in their research—explicit in the sense that various hypotheses about prehistoric human behavior were tested using data acquired from their fieldwork. This "new" archaeology required a very different approach to fieldwork.
The history of archaeological research in Churchill County, Nevada, closely mirrors these changing trends in archaeological research. Some of the earliest scientifically based archaeology in western North America was conducted at Lovelock Cave in northern Churchill County. Lovelock Cave came
74
Archaeological Research in Churchill County 75
Hidden Cave, 1980. Lighting was a challenge. Using as a model a photograph taken in the 1940 excavation, Albert tried to duplicate it, using modem techniques. (C) Albert A. Alcorn)
to the attention of the fledgling Anthropology Department at the University of California, Berkeley, in the Fall of 1911. A brief letter to the Department from a bat guano miner, J. H. Hart, described his find of . . an old cave near Lovelock . . . (with) a lot of old indian (sic) relics in a very good state of
preservation . . (Heiner and Napton 1970: 134).
Hart's letter to the professional community marks the beginning of a long tradition in Nevada. Concerned citizens continue to notify both academic and research institutions of finds that often lead to major scientific breakthroughs.
In the Spring of 1912, the University of California mounted an expedition to Lovelock Cave. Finding itself shorthanded, the school turned to the only available individual, L. L. Loud, a security guard at the University museum with no formal training in archaeology.
"Loud was wholly lacking in training, and his work was nothing more than careful collecting. Kroeber, under whom Loud as a museum guard, gave Loud no specific instructions on how to excavate or what information to record, probably for the reason that 60 years ago in the United States, archaeology was essentially a method-
76 Brian W. Hatoff
less exercise in collecting prehistoric materials. The closest Loud came to following any technique was in mapping the cave floor and delimiting small areas which he called lots; the material from each numbered lot being kept together. No depth record of finds was made. Loud simply dug with the aim of finding as much as he could (Heizer and Hester 1978:147-148).-
The following are excerpts of correspondence between Loud and his supervisors at the University. Note the antiquarian focus, still an undercurrent, in the early 20th Century.
April 25, 1912
Prof. A.L. Kroeber:
My Dear Sir:
On another sheet I send a list of the stuff I have obtained, that shows the range of objects found and proportions belonging to the various classes.
As for provisions on hand, I have plenty of water for 2 weeks, considerable in my barrel, and I am using dipped up rain water for cooking mostly and using the barrel for drinking. The dipped up water is perfectly fresh but muddy and it refuses to settle, but is all right for cooking. I have enough beans oats and dried fruit for 2 weeks. Other food provisions getting low. Keorcene rather low but I think I will start some of my cooking outdoor with sagebrush. I think I can manage 2 weeks without ordering provisions, so there is no need of you making a decision about prolonging my stay here; until you get another letter from me.
Now as for my opinion as to whether I should stay or not, I think my artefacts speak for themselves. When you can do a trifling amount of scratching on the surface and get 2 or 3,000 artefacts and when the whole cave seems to be full of them to an unknown depth, it seems to me a little digging ought to be done. I should say 3 months for one may be in the least that should be thought of. You may answer back, "no money,- but when a gold mine is realy discovered, there is usually enough money discovered to develop it. If you do not discover the money, American Museum, or Smithsonian Institute will. It seems to me such a collection as might be obtained ought not to go East.
(Heizer and Napton 1970:138)
May 1, 1912
Mr. L. L. Loud
Lovelock, Nevada
Dear Mr Loud:
I have your letter of Thursday April 25 with the memorandum of April 28. You are certainly getting good stuff although I gather that practically everything is in fragments. As nearly as I can make out you have not got a single complete basket or sandal. You also do not mention any nets whatever. Please confirm my impression ©n this point.
(Ibid. 1970:139)
Archaeological Research in Churchill County 77
May 20, 1912
Mr. L.L. Loud
c/o G. Stephens
Big Five, Lovelock, Nev.
Dear Mr. Loud:
We have begun to unpack the first of your stuff which came safely to hand on Saturday. It runs very much as I expected, as regards fragmentary conditions, but is so rich in its significance that I am delighted with it. It is really a pot-making stuff in the story which it will tell. It is a little disappointing for show purposes, but when properly displayed and explained will make a pretty tolerable exhibit. It looks as if all the cream had been skimmed off the cave before you came.
(Ibid.. 1970:139) June 27, 1912
Mr. L. L. Loud
c/o Operator at Toy
Lovelock, Nev.
Mr. Loud:
I think you had better get back at once to work in the cave. I am perfectly confident that the mortars, arrowpoints, etc., that you have been finding out on the surface will be good things to have and worth the money.
The cave stuff is rather unique and I regret every minute that you might give to finding more of it and do not.
One mummy or complete skeleton which may perhaps never be duplicated, or handfull of unique objects of wood are likely to be worth five tons of mortars and pestles and may cost less. I can not advise you in detail how to spend each hour or even each day, but must trust to your judgement, just as I must leave it to you whether it is more expedient to boil your coffee on a gasoline lamp or on a fire made of sagebrush.
(Ibid. 1970:143)
In 1924, Loud was joined by Archaeologist Mark Harrington, and their collaboration resulted in a now classic monograph published in 1929 (Loud and Harrington 1929).
Following the disruptive years of World War II, archaeological research in the Great Basin was begun anew with a fresh crop of graduate students bringing new insights and approaches to the discipline. One can detect a
subtle shift away from the aforementioned concern with chronology to research objectives aimed at broader questions about prehistoric lifeways.
Archaeological research in Churchill County was no exception. Two projects of note were the 1951 excavations at Hidden Cave and the 1958 excavations at Wagon Jack Cave and Eastgate Cave. While both of these projects
focused on refining cultural sequences, each also began to look at the "Indian
78 Brian W. Hatoff
behind the artifact." One can find discussions on prehistoric diet, butchering techniques, animal populations and other activities at these sites.
By the 1960's, archaeology in the United States had reached a critical crossroad. A new generation of archaeologists, cross-trained in the new field of ecology and dissatisfied with rather bland reports, focused on establishing chronologies and tedious site descriptions. In spite of lip service paid to the loftier goals of archaeology—reconstruction of prehistoric lifeways and arriving at universal "laws" of human behavior—archaeologists for the most part remained mired in their chronological tables and artifact descriptions. One should not construe this as an indictment of an earlier generation of archaeologists. Establishing firm chronologies and precise site and artifact descriptions are essential ingredients in any scholarly archaeological research.
The generation of "new" archaeologists led by Lewis Binford did, however, raise valid criticisms of their academic forebears. For example, when dealing with a non-sedentary population, how could one truly reconstruct a prehistoric lifeway by focusing one's attention solely on a single site, no matter how spectacular? In the Great Basin, it was known that the late prehistoric and early historic inhabitants had established a highly mobile residential pattern, exploiting resources when and where they were available. In all probability, their prehistoric antecedents had followed a similar pattern. If archaeologists were to focus all their attention on one site, no matter how rich in artifactual materials, would they still only be looking at a narrow slice of the seasonal pie? It is a little bit like examining the contents of a safe deposit box and attempting to reconstruct an entire life from its contents.
Clearly, there had to be a different approach to doing archaeology if one were to gain broader insights into prehistoric lifeways. In the late 1960's, David Hurst Thomas, then a graduate student at the University of California, Davis, began a long-term research program in Nevada that marked a dramatic departure from the way archaeologists had previously conducted research there. What was it that set Thomas apart from his predecessors?
First, he laid out an explicit set of hypotheses about prehistoric subsistence-settlement patterns that would be independently tested against the data he acquired in the field. This is not meant to imply that earlier archaeologists were not testing theories; it is just that all too frequently they were only vaguely incorporated as a part of their research.
Second, the field methods needed to implement these research goals were radically different from the standard of the day (Thomas 1969). Recall the earlier emphasis on chronology. As long as this was the primary goal, then one need only find a nicely stratified site to establish a chronology. The most logical place to find such a site was in a cave or rockshelter. In order to answer broader questions about prehistoric lifeways, especially among non-sedentary populations, focusing research on a single site was clearly an inappropriate
Archaeological Research in Churchill County 79
tactic. In spite of this, most archaeologists in the 1960's were still practicing "single site" archaeology, examining single sites in minute detail in spite of a stated goal to reconstruct past lifeways.
Thomas implemented an approach first discussed by Binford (Binford 1964). The premise behind Thomas' research design was that if prehistoric occupants could potentially have seasonally occupied or utilized any part of the landscape, then, necessarily the archaeologist must force himself to examine the full range of possibilities, whether valley bottom or mountain top. Implementing such an approach is another matter. There has been more than one student who, while site surveying on slopes in excess of 45°, has questioned the wisdom of new archaeology. But, the result of such a randomized survey technique was extraction of a data base that more accurately reflected the subsistence and settlement patterns of Nevada's prehistoric occupants.
Thomas' pioneering work was conducted in central Nevada focusing on the Reese River Valley (Thomas 1971). This research was eventually expanded eastward to Monitor Valley and the Toquima and Monitor Ranges (Thomas 1983). While the research objectives of these projects went well beyond chronological concerns, a firm chronological foundation was a prerequisite to understanding other aspects of the archaeological record. Therein lies the dilemma; most of the sites Thomas recorded were "surface" sites with little or no subsurface deposits, but a well-stratified site with associated artifacts was needed to anchor the chronology of the un-dated surface sites. Such a site, Gatecliff Shelter, was located in a side canyon of the Toquima Mountains in 1970. Initial excavations indicated some potential for stratified deposit. Eight years and thousands of man-hours later, the project was completed, resulting in one of the deepest sites ever excavated in North America (Thomas 1983).
Gatecliff served several research purposes. With its layer cake stratig-raphy, numerous time-marker artifacts and abundant material suitable for radiocarbon dating, it was the ideal site for anchoring a regional chronology. With its abundant fossil pollen and plant macrofossils coupled with sediment studies, Gatecliff yielded a portrait of prehistoric vegetation and climate unavailable at other sites. Finally, the rich assemblage of faunal remains provided new insights into prehistoric diet and hunting behavior.
As part of the randomized survey strategy investigators were -forced" by their research designs to look in places they might normally dismiss as -unfit" for human habitation. One such place was Mt. Jefferson, a broad expanse of undulating tablelands above 11,000 feet (Thomas 1982). Here, they found evidence of residential structures, seed processing implements and pottery! Analysis of the remains indicates a startling shift about 1,000 years ago from what was presumed to be male oriented hunting parties making brief forays up Mt. Jefferson to entire family units establishing semi-permanent residences at 11,200 feet, from spring through fall.
The -new" archaeology of the 1960's and 1970's, as practiced by Thomas
80 Brian W. Hatoff
and others in the Great Basin paved the way for a second look at the archaeology of Churchill County. Of particular interest were the cave sites which had been studied by an earlier generation of archaeologists whose focus had been mainly on developing cultural chronologies and detailed descriptions of materials remains. Now, these caves could be studied once again from the perspective of a larger cultural "system." In other words, each site, no matter how spectacular, is part of a greater cultural whole. As tempting as it might be to devote all of one's attention to a single site, it was clear that achieving the loftier goals of archaeology required a look at the full range of tile prehistoric record, regardless of how mundane or trivial.
This tactic was stymied by one major obstacle. Most of tile cave sites studied in an earlier time were now either devoid of deposit or plundered by looters. Hidden Cave, ten miles east of Fallon, was a notable exception. In the late 1970's, a research strategy was devised which focused both on. Hidden Cave (Hatoff and Thomas 1982) and the regional subsistence settlement system of which it was a part (Kelly, Ingbar and Graham 1982). By melding the results of both projects, a vastly different picture of Hidden Cave emerges than that which was proposed by the earlier investigators (Wheeler, n.d.; Roust and Grosscup, n.d.). We now know Hidden Cave was not a residential locus; rather, it was a storage site for weapons, tools, ornamental items and food resources approximately 4,000 years ago. Regardless of the quality of prior research at Hidden Cave, it could not yield the results of the latest phase of excavations because the data had been acquired in a vacuum without benefit of the perspective provided by the regional survey.
Churchill County has recently witnessed two exciting discoveries. As a result of the unusually wet winters of 1984 and 1985, prehistoric human burials and their associated sites have been found eroding out of the Stillwater Marsh dune-islands. Hundreds of burials in a confined setting, in close proximity to what appeared to be residential base camps give the impression of a sedentary or semi-sedentary population. When juxtaposed with the Hidden Cave and Stillwater Mountain data, the picture of what these prehistoric groups were doing is less than clear. Dr. Robert Kelly, University of Louisville, spent the 1987 field season excavating some of the sites on tile marsh. Eventually, he hopes to integrate his findings with tile results of' his earlier regional survey in the Stillwater Mountains and Carson Sink. His research may help to answer such questions as:
1. Were these two separate populations in close proximity participating in radically different subsistence-settlement patterns, and if so, why?
2. Were these populations actually the same individuals who changed their subsistence-settlement focus as environmental conditions changed (e.g., those years when the marsh flooded out)?
3. If we are dealing with two different groups at two different times, why was there a shift from one subsistence-settlement system to another?
Archaeological Research in Churchill County 81
"Pebble Mounds" — one of a series of sites covering many acres in Washoe and Churchill County, 1979. (Sharon L. Edabum, photographer; Charlie Gomes, pilot)
Another recent intriguing discovery are the pebble mounds situated on the margin of the Carson Sink and Hot Springs Mountains. These gravel mounds, most no more than a meter in height, are found evenly spread across the landscape in a stippled pattern. They defy easy explanation of their origins and function. Researchers from the Desert Research Institute and Nevada State Museum recently conducted an innovative study of these mounds to test the theory that they might be related to a prehistoric effort to enhance rainwater collection (Amy Dansie: personal communication). They speculate that the mounds are the result of intentional effort to peel away the closely packed gravel surface (desert pavement) in order to expose the underlying soil. Apparently, under moderate intensity rainfall, this has the effect of causing the water to bead on the surface, thus reducing percolation and increasing runoff. If a cistern were constructed where the runoff coalesces in a drainage, then maximization of limited fresh water could be achieved. Preliminary results from Desert Research Institute constructed mound areas indicated this is precisely the case. Questions for future research include:
1. What is the age of this practice?
2. Were prehistoric inhabitants intentionally storing water in this extremely arid area in order to permit sustained use of an area? If so, what resources were of such demand that people would go to such extreme lengths to procure and store water?
82 Brian W. Hatoff
The process of archaeological discovery takes place in two arenas. One normally associates archaeological discovery with making new, often spectacular, finds in the field. The discovery of Machu Picchu in Peru is a good example. The other form of discovery can be equally exciting, but is more subtle. This is the discovery that comes from understanding something in a new or different way. In both ways, Churchill County has been the scene of exciting discoveries. The story is far from over; many more discoveries remain for future generations.
REFERENCES
Binford, Lewis R. "A consideration of archaeological research design" American Antiquity, vol. 29, no. 4, 1964. 425-441.
Hatoff, Brian W. and David Hurst Thomas. "The Hidden Cave archaeological project: a case study in creative funding" Contract Abstracts and CRM Archaeology, vol. II, no. 3, 1982. 7-8.
Heizer, R.F. and T.R. Hester. "Great Basin" in R.E. Taylor and C.W. Meighar (eds.) Chronologies in New World Archaeology, New York: Academic Press, 1978. 147-200.
Heizer, R.F. and L.K. Napton. "Correspondence concerning the Lovelock Cave investigations by the University of California in 1912 and 1924, and preparation of Loud's final report" Contributions of the Archaeological Research Facility, Berkeley: University of California, 1970.
Loud, L.L. and M.R. Harrington. Lovelock Care. Berkeley: University of California Publications in American Archaeology and Ethnology, 1929.
Roust, Norman L. and Gordon L. Grosscup. "The archaeology of Hidden Cave (NV-CH-I6), Nevada, University of California Archaeological Research Facility, manuscript no. 171, n. d.
Thomas, David Hurst. -Regional sampling in archaeology: a pilot Great Basin research design" University California Archaeological Survey Annual Report, vol. 11, 1969. 87-100.
. "Prehistoric subsistence-settlement patterns of the Reese River Valley, central Nevada" Doctoral
dissertation, Department of Anthropology, Davis, University of California, 1971.
. The 1981 Alta Toquima Project: A Preliminary Report. Desert Research Institute, Social Sciences
Center Technical Report Series, No. 27, 1982.
. The Archaeology of Monitor Valley: 2- Gatecliff Shelter. American Museum of Natural History
Anthropological Papers, vol. 58: pt. 1, 1983. 1-194.
. The Archaeology of Hidden Cave, Nevada. American Museum of Natural History Anthropological
Papers, vol. 61: pt. 1, 1985. 1-430.
Wheeler, S.M. Field notes, June 6 to November 18, 1940, Bat Caves area. Manuscript on file, Nevada State Museum, Carson City.
SHADOW CATCHER
Albert A. Alcorn
JEFF PERTHEL
‘‘LOTS OF PEOPLE will tell you that you have to find your nitch in life. My nitch is variety," emphasized Albert Alcorn when we sat down to begin our interview. He has had a wide variety of careers encompassing the scientific field, wildlife management, public health, as an environmental health inspector, engineering management and photography. "I love art. I can't create a painting or drawing, so that's one of the reasons I went into photography, and why I love it so much."
Albert enjoys capturing on film something interesting that he has visualized "and that is often hard to do." His subject matter varies with each photo. "I'm a very versatile person and in my lifestyle I'm flexible. Next week I might be out playing in the boat, fishing or waterskiing." His learned skills include snow skiing, flying an airplane, racing cars, scuba diving, welding,
Albert A. and Mary Alcorn, 1985
83
84 Jeff Perthel
carpentry, plumbing, "and a little of everything. I think my photographs reflect that.-
Albert was born in Fallon in 1937. When he was old enough, he tagged along with his biologist father, Ray Alcorn, to many parts of North American and Latin American countries. They traveled extensively in Canada and Alaska and lived for three years in Mexico. Albert's mother Doris completed the traveling trio and, in addition to being a housewife, was his father's constant companion for forty years.
In their travels, Albert saw many styles of life, from poverty to riches and everything in between. "I was aware of all of this. Sometimes we had to live off the land, and there were no supermarkets in Alaska in 1950.- He was once told that if you don't teach children about the values of life by at least 5 years of age, you've lost the game. By the time Albert was 5, he had been out on trap lines, fishing, riding horseback and camping. "I don't remember doing all that, but my dad told me that was our lifestyle. My father pointed out fish, snakes, flowers, and geological formations. I became aware of these things by just being there and learning about them first hand. I believe there are genetics that can produce a certain awareness and intelligence in an individual. But in a normal human being, if his parents have not instilled him with a respect for life, you might as well forget it. The result of this lack of care can be a lifetime of frustration."
"For those who do not like what is served for dinner, dinner is over. Great words of wisdom," Albert smiles. "If you don't like your bed, you better get out of it." He is the first to admit that he likes his sleep, and his food. "I like life. Life to me is the greatest thing! I get high on life. When I do anything it's my own creation. I don't know exactly why, but when I create something, I have to be happy with it or else I get rid of it, and create something I do like.-
I asked Albert which of the many pictures he had taken has made him the happiest. "There are two different ways I find happiness when taking a picture. One is to get the picture I planned and know I got it exactly the way I wanted it, and the other is to take the picture of a happy person! My photographs are scattered with happy people, lots of cheer. The one predominant photograph that represents this to me graphically is the one I took of my wife Mary. The picture is done with a 4 by 5 camera, front projection, with 4 by 5 color sheet film. Shots like this are usually done only in large studios.-The photograph hangs on the wall overlooking Albert's desk in his studio downtown. "It's the most elating photograph I have taken in my whole life."
Once, while working for the Lahontan Valley News in 1976, his pager went off, alerting him to a fire. As he pulled up to the scene, he saw some young teenagers crying. "That's just what UPI or AP would want. I could not take the picture. I was not in the mood to take pictures of sadness. Instead I got a picture of the fire truck, the happy side, people there to help. Good stuff vs. negative stuff.-
Albert A. Alcorn
A train wreck near Lake Lahontan on the Southern Pacific Mina Branch, 1978. "I heard about the wreck and called Barbara Burgess at the Eagle-Standard. She paid for the plane, and I shot the pictures." (© Albert A. Alcorn)
Albert learned to fly in 1970. "I took more pictures in the air than I logged time in the airplane. I looked in my log book and figured I'd flown around 110 hours and I know I took more than 110 photographs."
One time, Albert was hired to fly a man out to a mine so that he could document the equipment that was there. It was close to noon and the air was rough. "I couldn't stabilize the plane, camera, and the open window all at the same time." Albert asked his passenger if he could take the controls. He agreed. -I set the plane all up to go straight and level and told him to hold it right there. I got beautiful shots, because I could look out the window—snap, snap, snap and everything was going good. I then turned around to look to see where we were going, and saw the whole windshield full of ground. I told my passenger that's all he needed to do and as he let go, I was able to bring the plane up, and calm prevailed on my part; we didn't have a crash. The plane was only 200 feet from the ground."
The picture taking event that was even scarier happened during a mountain climbing excursion. Albert and a friend were rattlesnake hunting when
85
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Ted Romero, KVLV Radio disk jockey, 197. "My desire is to capture people as I know them, not as they might appear to others." (© Albert A. Alcorn)
Albert A. Alcorn 87
Mamie Charlie gathering pinenuts, 1980. "A portrait of a favorite person in her natural environment." ((c) Albert A. Alcorn)
88 Jeff Perthel
Gallagher's well known livestock auction yard from an angle few people see, 1976. (C) Albert A. Alcorn)
he spotted a raven's nest. Climbing to the nest, he found himself hanging over the edge of the cliff—staring 30 to 40 feet down to a collection of uncomfortable looking rocks. "If I let go, I'm going to have some broken bones. I was scared, but I didn't panic.- Albert got 3 or 4 photographs and lived to tell about it.
-Next summer, I want to take a color photograph of my new 24 foot cabin cruiser with my wife driving by—with me on the beach. That's what I want to accomplish today. If I can't reach that goal, I'll find another. One thing I would like to do is take a photograph of earth from the moon."
Albert feels success is making the most of what you have. "If a guy is given 1 million dollars on his 21st birthday and turns it into a billion dollars by age 40, he's just as successful as I am if I was born into this world with a silver dollar given to me, and I made that into my empire."
-We help select our destiny but we don't pick it. There are certain things we have no control over. Anytime you want to prolong your life—you want to better yourself. All you have to do is be aware of your environment, your
Albert A. Alcorn 89
Water going over the top at Lahontan Dam, c1976. (© Albert A. Alcorn)
surroundings, and take appropriate action to do whatever is necessary to make it more comfortable."
"You start life off—if you run up to any object, you bounce one way or another. You pick the line of least resistance. You go through life bouncing off these things and if you get hung up on one, and try to stay there, you get left behind. This is the result of not being aware of what's going on."
"I don't feel life is for knocking the other guy out of the way. If I can convince him that my way is better, that's great! If I come up against a bully, and he says, I don't care what you say, you're all wrong, my way is the only right way,' I'll go find another club to join."
The most rewarding thing about photography for Albert is having the image develop in the way that he thinks it should. "When you previsualize and it looks on film like it does in your mind, then you are successful."
"Know what your limits are and respect them. Our purpose in life is survival. Along these lines, we find a few things that give us pleasure—strokes from partners, strokes from our friends. You have to be willing to take a chance—if you don't take a chance you're not going to get ahead. If I was to sit in my studio and never go out of here, I would not have this collection of
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Gulls follow a tractor as it plows a field, c1982. (C) Albert A. Alcorn)

The excitement of a rodeo in Fallon, 1979. (© Albert A. Alcorn)
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A geothermal well rig in Dixie Valley, 1979. Twenty-four-inch drill bits are in the foreground. (© Albert A. Alcorn)

92 Jeff Perthel
pictures. I took a chance. I would get in my pickup, with the snow a foot deep and say, 'boy, s a great day to take a picture,' and off I'd go.- Albert believes fear controls a lot of peoples' lives—fear of the unknown. -I was never super cautious. AA
I asked Albert how his picture taking might differ from mine. -One thing that's really important is that in all my pictures, I try to do it with the camera-- in other words the composition, the contrast, the lighting and everything is done as I take the picture, rather than trying to make up for lost time in the dark room. This makes a photograph—all others are just snapshots."
Pointing to the table at which we were sitting, Albert made this statement: "Say the edge of this table is the edge of the world, if you get over here and fall over—you're done for—you're gone. You go down to that pile of rocks 1000 feet down—with no hope for survival. Most people know the edge is there and stay way back from it—where it's very safe and comfortable. I've gone through life on the edge.-
-I want to look back on my life and all that I've had the pleasure of doing
MUSEUM MINIATURE
Old Betsy
PAM NELSON
THE PAGES OF EARLY Nevada newspapers were often filled with reports of fire, the mortal enemy of frontier towns built of wood. The Churchill County Standard, August 25, 1908, reported, "Hazen is Now in Ashes.. . . There is not a business left in this railroad town." The Churchill County Eagle, September 10, 1908, carried the frightening message, "Heart of Rawhide Swept by Flames." Just a few months earlier a similar disaster in Fallon had put Churchill County on notice that they, too, were vulnerable.
June 11, 1908, The Eagle reports of a disastrous fire that destroyed "Turner's harness shop" and attorney "McCabe's new building." The article read, "The fire being so close to the business center, seems to have aroused the people more than any other that has occurred, and as a result a number of citizens have called a mass meeting at the courthouse for this (Thursday) evening to raise funds and organize a fire department." These businesses were located where Palludan's now stands.
As a direct result of that meeting, a bucket brigade and a hook and ladder company were born. The sum of eight hundred dollars was soon raised. The new department ordered a hook and ladder and fifty round bottom, galvanized buckets. They also ordered a double cylinder chemical engine. Each cylinder had a capacity of 40 gallons; one cylinder was recharged while the other was used. In addition to these items, the county ordered a fire bell that weighed almost 900 pounds. The July 9, 1908 Eagle reports that the "officers for Chemical Engine #1 were J.C. Jones, foreman; E.S. Berney, 1st assistant; and W. H. Austin, 2nd assistant. Chemical Engine #2, L. H. Holbrook, foreman; Tom Sanford, 1st assistant, and Ed. Robinson, 2nd assistant. Hook and Ladder No. 1, Lon Hammond, foreman; R.N. Diggles, 1st assistant; and Harry Blaine, 2nd assistant."
Despite the best of planning, the pages of the Eagle on May 19, 1910 again reported fire: "CITY OF FALLON IS SWEPT BY FLAMES. . . . The fire demon visited the Town last Saturday night when every business building on Maine Street from the Williams Store building to the Nevada Distiller's & Brewers Company's brick building was laid in ashes." Destroyed on Maine Street were the postoffice, Black & Ferguson's stationary store, Lofthouse Bros' Palace Saloon and Cafe, Roy Reed's barber shop, Smith & Michelson's
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"Old Betsy," Fallon's first motorized fire truck. (Artwork by Sue Lyle)
Cedar Brook Saloon and F. M. McDonough' Cedar Brook Cafe, Lofthouse & Schweikert's Northern Saloon, R.W. Mulvihill's Pioneer Barber Shop, the old Goldfield Club saloon building, Tom Woodliff's merchandise store, the Collins Hardware Store. Damaged or destroyed across the street on First Street were the tailor shop, C. NI. Hick's real estate office, Frank Woodliff's notion store, and Dr. Worden's office.
Change came slowly in the next few years. Even though a volunteer fire department had been in service since the meeting in 1908, it needed more structure and discipline. Finally, another meeting brought together seventeen fire fighters whose purpose, besides fighting fires, was to develop a sound and practical organization. As a result, the present Fallon volunteer fire department was organized in 1915.
After reorganizing, the department found that new equipment was needed to provide the best firefighting possible. The summer of 1916 brought the electric siren to the department. The old fireman's bell and a siren had both been sounded at the same time, but very few of the men could hear either. In order to determine the efficiency of the new siren the men were sent out into the country and, after the siren was sounded, they were called by telephone to see if they could hear it.
Old Betsy 95
They also needed transportation that would give them efficient service. A new fire truck was the answer. So in 1919, the City of Fallon purchased a Brockway fire engine for $4,300.00. The engine included 1,000 feet of hose, extension ladders, chemical tanks, axes, bars and other equipment necessary for fighting fires.
The truck, the first piece of gasoline powered equipment owned by the City, arrived in Fallon on May 20 and was promptly named -Betsy- by the volunteers. -Betsy- was exhibited with pride. Sporting a bright coat of red paint, shiny nickel plated lights, accessories and trim, she was driven through the business district.
In order that the volunteer firemen could become familiar with their new equipment, a number of drills were held. "Betsy" was a very special truck. She was a combination chemical truck and carried hose and hook and ladder outfits, as well as equipment for making chemicals at the fire. The truck was originally equipped with hard rubber tires, but hubs and spoked wheels were soon made so that pneumatic tires could be mounted on the vehicle. Installed on the dashboard were an alarm bell and a whistle; the latter was activated by a pedal which sent the engine's exhaust through it. When -Betsy- answered a fire call she carried a hose load, a soda-acid tank and four volunteer firemen: a driver, and an engineer (both of whom were assigned) and the first two journeymen who arrived at the firehouse.
The soda-acid tank was loaded with soda and approximately 150 gallons of water. It was equipped with a one inch hose. Within the tank was a reservoir for hydrochloric acid. If the firemen determined that a fire was small enough to be contained by the contents of the tank, the acid was released into the soda-water combination. The chemical reaction created a hose pressure of 250 pounds per square inch. Because of the caustic nature of the acid, the soda-water-acid combination is no longer used in modern fire containment. If the fire was large, then the hoses were removed from the truck and hooked to the nearest hydrant for a steady water supply.
The years came and went, as did many fires and volunteers. In 1936 Nevada joined other states in an association of fire departments. By 1937, new ideas and changes for the Fallon Volunteer fire department were in effect. In order for the fire department to keep up with technology, even old -Betsy- had to move over for a modern replacement. She remained in the station, inactive, but in emergencies she still carried equipment and could be put into service.
-Old Betsy- was officially retired from service in 1948. Her bright red paint may be a bit weather beaten and a little cracked here and there, but she can still strut her stuff after all these years. In annual parades she still likes to spin her wheels and show off for the community.
-Old Betsy is now temporarily on display inside the Churchill County
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Museum. She came as a donation from the Volunteer Firemen, along with a rare, open cab 1947 triple-combination pumper.
At this time the Museum Association has set a goal of raising $42,000 to build a 40'x60' building to display the trucks. The building will include a firemen's memorial in honor of all those who have served on both the ambulance and fire crews. Exhibits featuring tools, equipment and fire memorabilia are also in the plans. A special display highlighting the unique firefighting done at NAS Fallon will complete the exhibit.
-Old Betsy- has been a part of Fallon's Fire Department history through many years. Join the Museum Association and help give her a new home.
CONTRIBUTORS
Contributors
Eloise Chappell Enos is a Nevada native and graduate of Churchill County High School. She is currently pursuing a degree at Western Nevada Community College.
Sharon Goudswaard worked her way through an adult education high school diploma to an A.A. degree in May, 1987, at Western Nevada Community College. She plans to continue her education with a degree in elementary school education.
Brian W. Hatoff is District Archaeologist for the Bureau of Land Management, Carson City District. His contributions to local science have included developing the Grimes Point Archaeological Site and instigating the restudy of Hidden Cave in 1979 and 80.
Ophelia "Leafy" King is a long time resident of Churchill County and a published poet.
Michon Mackedon is the English Instructor at Western Nevada Community College. She holds a B.A. in history and a master's degree in English, both from the University of Nevada, Reno.
Barbara Mathews is the new Director of the Churchill County Library. She also attends Western Nevada Community College.
Pam Nelson worked as an intern at the Nevada Historical Society and spent three years at the Nevada State Museum, interning with the exhibit and registrar departments. She is currently a substitute teacher and the volunteer Education Co-ordinator for the Museum.
Anne Pershing has been in Fallon for four years, coming here in 1983 when she graduated from the University of Nevada, Reno. Starting as a reporter with the Lahontan Valley News, she became News Editor in 1984 and Editor and General Manager in 1987.
Jeff Perthel attended the University of Nevada, Reno, for three years, majoring in agriculture. Returning to Fallon to help with the family
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98 Contributors
ranch, he has also worked for the past four and a half years at the Fallon Convalescent Center, where he was promoted to Activity Director during the past year.
Kirk Robertson is on the staff of the Nevada State Council on the Arts and won the Governor's Award for his poerty collection, West Nevada Waltz.
Georgie Connell Sicking is a Churchill County rancher and well-known cowboy poet.
Helen Bowser Stone has lived in Lahontan Valley all her life. Her writings record her Native American heritage.
Sharon Lee Taylor is the Director of the Churchill County Museum. She holds a B.A. degree in Anthropolgy and Museology and a master's degree in Anthropology, with an emphasis in historic and industrial archaeology, from California State University, Sacramento. She often publishes in obscure journals.
Linda Vaughn attended Southern Illinois University. She is now attending classes at Western Nevada Community College and intends to finish a degree in English at the University of Nevada, Reno.
Dora Witt retired in September, 1987, after a distinguished career as Churchill County Librarian. During her 27 years of service saw the Library expand from a small, rented space to the modern one we have today.
BECOME A MEMBER OF THE
CHURCHILL COUNTY MUSEUM
ASSOCIATION
OR
GIVE A GIFT MEMBERSHIP
Memberships help the CCM by providing funds to publish IN FOCUS and to aid in artifact conservation and create new exhibits.
MEMBERSHIP BENEFITS
• A copy of the annual journal Churchill County IN FOCUS
• Discount of 10% on all books (20% at twice yearly special sales) in the Museum Mercantile
• Special notice of all Association events and activities.
MEMBERSHIP CATEGORIES
^ Senior (60+) — $10.
^ Individual — $15.
O Family — $20.
Life — $250.
BUILDING FUND DONATION
MUSEUM MEMORIAL DONATION $
In Whose Name?
Name to Notify?
Address
City State Zip
Check enclosed for $
My Name
Address
City _State _ Zip
This is a gift. Please send to above name with compliments of
Mail to Churchill County Museum
1050 South Maine Street
Fallon, NV 89406
CHURCHILL COUNTY
MUSEUM & ARCHIVE
1050 South Maine Street
Fallon, NV 89406
(702) 423-3677
MUSEUM STAFF
Sharon Lee Taylor, DirectorlCurator
Myrl Nygren, Assistant Curator
Marguerite Coverston, Senior Hostess
Bunny Corkill, Attendant/Hostess
Laurada Hannifan, Attendant/Hostess
Jean E. Jensen, Registrar & Attendant/Hostess
"IN FOCUS" STAFF
Michon Mackedon, Editor
Sharon Lee Taylor, Associate Editor
Nancy K. Avery, Staff
Loree Branby, Staff
Mary Fritz, Staff
Susan McCormick, Staff
Myrl Nygren, Staff
Anne Pershing, Staff
Jeff Perthel, Staff
PRODUCTION CREDITS 1987-88 ISSUE
Cover Design, Sharon Lee Taylor
Cover Art, Vic Williams
Cover Graphics, Loganberry Press and Pat Stevenson
"Old Betsy- Art, Sue Lyle
Production Photography: Albert A. Alcorn
Carol Cote
Sharon Lee Taylor
Photographic Half-Tones, Riverside Graphics, Reno
Computer Typesetting, Heffernan Press Inc., Worcester, Massachusetts
Layout & Printing, Heffernan Press Inc., Worcester, Massachusetts
FOUNDED IN 1967, the Churchill County Museum Association seeks to advance the study and preservation of local history. The Association does this through special programs, exhibits in the Churchill County Museum & Archive, which opened in 1968, and this publication Churchill County IN FOCUS. The Association is also active in the collection and preservation of historical photographs; it collects manuscripts, maps, artifacts and books, and makes its collections available for research. The Museum is the repository for both the City of Fallon and Churchill County government records.
Mackedon and Taylor
The Museum and Museum Association have long sought ways to communicate to a larger audience. Each year, Association membership grows, but there are still large local audiences that do not know of our purpose or existence. The idea for a journal like IN FOCUS really began nine years ago when the Association made the commitment to copy and preserve the photographic history of the valley. To date over 3,000 views of the residents, homes and businesses are a part of this photographic archive. In 1982, with the help of an $11,000 grant from the Nevada Humanities Committee, the Association again affirmed the importance of a visual record in preserving local history. The resulting exhibit -SHADOW CATCHERS . . . Photographers' Views of Churchill County From 1867" and a series of programs with guest speakers and audio-visual presentations continued this effort.
A journal is a natural way to let each of you know, personally, the goals and aspirations of the Museum Association. This is why the Trustees have approved this undertaking with the intention to continue with an annual journal. IN FOCUS will provide a diverse backdrop against which we can continue to emphasize our commitment to fostering the study and understanding of the past, a past that affects our lives.
Michon and I invite you to join us in this exciting project. Become a part of it, and help us preserve and share tile history, and the future, of Churchill County.
SHARON LEE TAYLOR, ASSOCIATE EDITOR