In Focus Volume 2 No. 1

In Focus Volume 2 No. 1

Churchill County NV -- History
Northern NV -- History

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

Churchill County Museum

1988-1989

Michon Mackedon
Sharon Lee Taylor

Ray Alcorn
Firmin Bruner
Ann Diggins
Doris D. Dwyer
Phillip I. Earl
Catherine Fowler
Brian W. Hatoff
Rachel March
Doug McMillan
Virginia M. Parks
Anan W. Raymond
Kirk Robertson
Sarah Wingate

CHURCHILL COUNTY
IN FOCUS
ANNUAL JOURNAL OF THE CHURCHILL COUNTY
MUSEUM ASSOCIATION, FALLON, NEVADA
1988-1989
CHURCHILL COUNTY
MUSEUM ASSOCIATION INC.
BOARD OF TRUSTEES
Susan McCormick, Chairman
Charles F. Mann, Vice Chairman
Vergine Brown, Secretary
Myrl Nygren, Treasurer
Wilva Blue, Volunteer Coordinator
Lauren Chealander, Trustee
Ken Coverston, Trustee
Barbara Dory, Trustee
Mary Fritz, Trustee
Dan Luke, Sr., Trustee
Harold Rogers, 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. For return of manuscript, include a self-addressed, stamped envelope. © Copyright Churchill County Museum Association, 1988. 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+) $ 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 for statements, of fact or opinion, made by the contributors.
POSTMASTER: Return postage guaranteed. Send address changes to Churchill County IN FOCUS, 1050 South Maine Street, Fallon, NV 89406.
SHARP FOCUS
20 Years and Still No Cobwebs!
SHARON LEE TAYLOR
1988 IS THE 20TH ANNIVERSARY of the Churchill County Museum. We face an exciting future, with plans for a new building to house Fallon's two historic fire trucks and the "Mark and Dolly Rose" buggy and wagon collection. The financial support we continue to receive from the community and the exciting increase in the number and variety of visitors who come to our museum each year encourage us to reach for even larger goals. It is important to take a moment and look back at the events and the people that have made us what we are today. The title of this article represents more of a state of mind than a physical reality, because we still have to hustle to keep ahead of the real cobwebs. What is exceptional is that a small community like Fallon can support and maintain such a fine museum. This story is dedicated to the residents of Churchill County, because it is your museum.
The County Commissioners met on March 6, 1967 to initially discuss a proposed museum for the community. On May 12, at a special meeting, they accepted the donation of the old Safeway Building located at 1050 South Maine Street, and on May 17, at their regular meeting, designated the newly donated building the County Museum. Willie Capucci was appointed the first Curator. On October 12, 1967, the Churchill County Museum Association was incorporated in the State of Nevada. The purpose for this non-profit organization, as spelled out in the incorporation papers, was to establish, operate and maintain a public museum. The founders' honor roll from these documents includes E . S. Berney, Jr., Willie Capucci, Sam Beeghly, Nina Kent, Grace Kendrick, and E. Warren Hursh.
The Association's Board of Trustees was to have nine people on it. Eight were to serve two year terms and the ninth was to be a designated County Commissioner. Warren Hursh represented the County Commission, and Wayne Mills, Laverne Howard, and Alfred E. Luke filled the remaining positions on the first Board of Trustees.
The acquisition and remodeling of the old Safeway building is a story in itself. Philanthropist Alex Oser and his wife, Margaret, had been impressed with the community spirit. They owned land in Churchill County and had enjoyed associations with many of the residents who would later work to see the museum become a reality. "Hammy" and Nina Kent recalled that the
2
20 Years and Still No Cobwebs! 3
County Commission Chairman Warren Hursh accepts the deed to the Safeway store from Alex Oser, on May 12, 1967. Present were, standing, L to R: Bud Callachan, Safeway Western District Manager; Bill Ford, Manager, Fallon Safeway Market; Mrs. Nina Kent; I.H. "Hammy" Kent; Ted de Braga, Commissioner; Hursh; John Hanifan, Commissioner; Merton Domonoske, City Councilman; seated, L to R: Mrs. Margaret Oser, Oser, George Luke, Alfred Luke, Manuel Barrenchea, County Clerk. (C) Dave Colman)
Osers first tried to buy the old Safeway Store on South Maine Street to give to the County for a new library. When the sale failed to be completed in a reasonable time, the proposed gift was not forthcoming, and the Library project proceeded. Later, Mr. Oser telephoned to inform the Kents that the building had finally been purchased; but by then the Library was already under construction.
The Osers had been particularly impressed with the Indian artifact collection which belonged to Alfred E. and George Luke, of Harmon District. After several discussions with the Kents, the Osers were convinced that the old. Safeway building might be suitable for a museum. They felt that the preservation of collections, such as the Lukes', and the development of the history of Churchill County were very important, so they decided to help with the project. They purchased and donated the building to Churchill County.
Once the museum planners had a building, the work truly began. The building was in need of repair and modification. This necessitated painting
4 Sharon Lee Taylor
and extensive construction for the exhibits, but the work soon transformed the old market into the museum the founders envisioned. The sounds of saws and hammers became common at the old store. One of the ladies who could be seen moving among the workers, directing things, and at times pitching in and doing the work herself, was the late Mrs. Doris W. Drumm. She had an eye for design and a flair for display. Often when she decided the museum needed something and it wasn't available, she just went out and bought it. Many items from her personal collection and home became a permanent part of the exhibits.
Another person who could be counted on to get things done was Willie Capucci. Willie liked old things. He had a fine collection of antiques and genuinely cared about seeing the museum become one of the best in the state. Beginning in February, 1968, he kept a diary of the first month's work. Unfortunately the work became too hectic and there wasn't time to keep it up. However, his valuable diary shows the footwork required to collect the building materials and exhibit items for the museum. On Monday, February 7, Willie wrote: "Spent several hrs. at High School—AG shop will donate material & labor for the museum. Talked to Mrs. Allen for a High School display. Went to E. Mills place to look at some antiques. Called Mrs. Dodge for a display. Went to Frazzini about a rug as a gift. Made arrangements to have County safe to be moved in museum. Talked to Berney about mercantile bill & burglar alarm. Phoned Mr. Kent at rock shop about display. Moved brass bed & stove from Venturacci place for a bed room display. Went to my place picked up a marble dresser for the bed room. Ordered 13 locks & some brackets for showcases from mercantile." On February 15, he "went to Radio Station—talked for 5 minutes on wanting glass for showcases & help to work on the museum and urged the public to start putting items in the museum on a loan basis."
Grace Kendrick, too, worked especially hard to get the project going. Grace served as the Secretary and Treasurer for the Museum Association. She worked diligently to see that the museum started off on the right foot with the proper recordkeeping system. Visits to the Nevada State Museum helped with the formalities: accessioning methods or how to do the necessary paperwork to keep track of the myriad of items that would soon be coming through the front doors. She was always active in helping other small museums, and later visited Yerington to give advice when that community started its new museum.
It was as if "Museum Fever" had struck Churchill County. The list of materials and donations of time began to grow: C. C. H. S. , student labor; Eddie Cooper, paint; Lee Bros., cement; Lawrence Raabe, carpentry labor; Jack Tedford, sand; Sheriff's Department and City Police, prisoner labor; Lattin & Hansen, free propane; Bob Miller, carpentry labor; Bud Berney, painting; Palludan's,. glass; Heck's Meats, glass; Ron Biggs, signs; Kent's
20 Years and Still No Cobwebs! 5
Market, glass; Chamber of Commerce, a display case; Fallon Motor Supply, glass; Kent's Supply, glass; Marge's Yarn, glass; and John Burns, Wilfred Stone, Dick Graham and Noble Evans, painting labor. The list continued to grow. Bill Lamson donated carpentry labor; exhibit cases were provided by Sprouse Reitz, Fallon Upholstery, Frenchman's Station, Fallon Fire Department, Churchill County Telephone Company, Glenn Stewart, Marge Dodge, and Riggs Upholstery. A crew from the Navy base came and worked almost a week, polishing brass and painting woodwork.
The 10,800 square foot building seemed large when it was empty. As the days passed, however, the emptiness began to vanish as the people of Churchill County shared their valuables to help create the museum.
The Osers were designated Donor Number one, since their gift of the building started the museum. In January of 1968, the display items began to pour in. Wuzzie George built a willow house and a boat for the Indian display. Minnie Blair brought in photographs. Beulah Buckner provided an artistic work made of artifacts from the old Emigrant Trail. Willie Capucci brought in an old oxen yoke. Ruth and Lisle Wightman brought in scores of purple bottles gathered on their trips to the desert. The list went on and on. The museum now has over 1,000 individual donors who have provided items for display.
As the museum became more and more an entity, its purpose became clear—to collect artifacts, documents, photographs and specimens that depict the County's past in terms of natural history and resources, native peoples, exploration, settlement, education, cultural achievement, agriculture, mining, trade and transportation, and the Reclamation Project, all of which make the County what it is today.
The collection of all of these wonderful treasures brought the added responsibility of preservation. Items taken in were to be held in trust for future generations of Churchill County residents. It was no small task, but the job was welcomed.
The target to open was July 4, with a dedication ceremony scheduled for July 20, 1968. Dedication day was sunny. Hundreds came to hear the speeches. The doors opened, and the visitors surged inside to see the wondrous things on display. The Churchill County Museum had become a reality, and the Trustees could smile with pride at the tremendous achievement the community had accomplished with their guidance.
Today, the museum continues to be a source of pride to all who support it. Imagine climbing up the creaking stairs and opening the door to your Grandmother's attic. Once inside, you move through the shadows and stand face to face with an ominous, large and dusty trunk. You finally grasp the lock and, lifting the lid, you open the trunk. That same sense of wonder and anticipation can be experienced every time you visit the Churchill County Museum. A museum isn't static; it takes on a kind of life of its own. It grows as
6 Sharon Lee Taylor
new exhibits are developed to reflect the changing interests of the community in which it resides. Come with us as we look at the history of the museum through the eyes of all of those Curators who have worked here.
Willie Capucci was the first Curator, and Mrs. Doris W. Drumm was the Assistant Curator. Their job was to help keep things organized at the beginning. The first paid Curator was the late Nancy Warren. She was a doer. If something needed to be built, or if a case needed wheels, she never hesitated to do the work herself. In the early days, the museum lacked the nice wall-to-wall carpeting that it has today, and the asphalt tile floor required constant mopping and waxing. The roof leaked, a recurring problem that required exhibits to be redone, walls to be repainted, and endless series of visits at night to check the buckets placed in strategic locations. Nancy was there when the museum needed her, day or night.
After leaving the museum staff in 1972, she continued to serve as a member of the Museum Association Board of Trustees until her death.
Jes I. Brown was hired as the next Curator. He had an artistic eye and worked to improve many of the exhibits. During the five years he was in Fallon, he helped the museum reach out to the community through public speaking, school programs and participation in parades and local events. Jes resigned in January of 1978 to accept the position of Curator of Exhibits at the Nevada State Museum in Carson City.
The current Director/Curator, Sharon Lee Taylor, came to the museum from a research position at the California State Railroad Museum in Sacramento, California, where she worked for a year in restoration and exhibit planning. She became involved with the Nevada equipment in their collection, including the pieces from the famed Virginia & Truckee Railroad and the lesser known Nevada Central Railway. She was completing her course work for her Masters Degree in Anthropology/Industrial Archaeology when a friend told her about the opening at the museum in Fallon. She came to Fallon in April for an interview, and after confirmation by the Churchill County Commissioners, began to work on May 22, 1978. She completed her thesis and graduated from California State University, Sacramento, in January, 1982.
She states, "I consider myself an organizer. I have to keep busy, and I like a challenge, so this job has always been very fulfilling. The major reason I am still here after ten years is the people I work with. From the museum staff to the Commissioners and the Board of Trustees, everyone makes me feel that the museum is important, and they like what I have tried to do. The museum is still a community project. The roof no longer leaks. We have made some changes, but I feel that nothing we have done has altered the basic character of the museum. This is first and foremost a community museum."
The past ten years have brought considerable changes. Most notable is the policy of changing displays, which has brought greater flexibility to the
20 Years and Still No Cobwebs! 7
museum. With the advent of computerization, the staff works diligently to input all of the information about collections and make them more usable. During these last ten years the Woodliff Building found its home at the museum and has been restored by the Woodliff Family for everyone to enjoy. The gala photo show "SHADOW CATCHERS . . . Photographers' Views of Churchill County Since 1867," represented the museum's first large monetary grant. The Association began publishing an annual journal with the advent, in 1987, of the first edition of Churchill County IN FOCUS.
In the coming years, we are planning many new and exciting additions to the museum facility and the collections. We will develop more exhibits which record the many varied aspects of the history of Churchill County. In 1989, we plan to open the Firemen's Memorial Building, with displays including the two early fire trucks donated by the Firemen's Association; the Mark and Dolly Rose historic transportation vehicle display; a blacksmith's shop and foundry; carpentry and woodworking shop; and other specialized displays.
Also in the planning stage is the erection of the Pete Erb turn-of-the-century gold and silver processing mill. This comprehensive collection of milling equipment will be housed in a building erected from the components of the City of Fallon's donation of the old T. C. I. D. blacksmith shop.
Discussion is underway to develop an interpretation of the historical and significant archaeological findings in the Stillwater Marsh, Carson and Humboldt Sinks, including a display on Lovelock Cave. Also an exhibit on agriculture and the history of the Newlands Reclamation Project is planned.
The future of the Churchill County Museum looms bright and challenging in the years ahead. To take part you can become involved as either a volunteer or trustee, and that first step begins with coming in and getting to know us better. Be sure to check for the cobwebs!
TWENTY YEARS OF TRUSTEES AND STAFF
FOUNDING TRUSTEES TRUSTEES
E. S. "Bud" Berney, Chairman Mary Ellen Allen
Nina Kent, Vice Chairman Ron Avery
Grace Kendrick, Secretary/Treasurer Wilva Blue
Sam Beeghly Berney Lou Brande
Willie Capucci Vergine Brown
Al Childers Lauren "Laurie" Chealander
LaVerne Howard Ed Clayton
Wayne Mills Carol Colip
Ken Coverston
8 Sharon Lee Taylor
TRUSTEES continued CURATORS
Marguerite Coverston Willie Capucci
Barbara Dory Doris Drumm, Asst. Curator
Doris Drumm Nancy Warren
Pat Ernst Jes I. Brown
Mary Fritz Marguerite Coverston,
Charlie Gomes Acting Curator
Ella Hanks Sharon Lee Edaburn Taylor
Leon Hubbard Director/Curator
Suzi Isbell-Bartell Myrl Nygren, Asst. Curator Sandra Kiriluk
Bill Lamson REGISTRARS
Dorothy Lawrence Nancy Avery
Alfred Luke Sandy Kiriluk
Dan Luke Sr. Jean E. Jensen
Charles Mann Loree Branby
Susan McCormick
Wayne Mills STAFF/HOSTESSES Norma Morgan
Keith Mulcahy Wilva Blue
Myrl Nygren Mary "Bunny" Corkill
Harold Rogers Marguerite Coverston, 20 years
Judy Selinder Felice De Los Reyes
Dr. Jay Shaw Josine Derrick
F.E. Pete Walters Adele Godwin
Nancy Warren Laurada Hannifan
Frank Woodliff III Aline Hewitt
Jean E. Jensen
SENIOR JOB TRAINEE Manville "Mac" McNabb
Nedra Morseth
Stella Jennings Pam Nelson
Myrl Nygren
SPECIAL RESEARCHER Irene Ross
Betty Williams
Walter E. Cuchine Roma Wood
COMMISSIONER TRUSTEES
STUDENT TRAINEES
E. Warren Hursh John Ali
John Hanifan Rebecca "Becky" Hooten
Beale "Skip" Cann Sabrina Baldwin
Melba Alldredge Iolene Martin
Cyril Schank Leigh McGuire
Trena Rehkop
Dana Smart
Early Views of Nevada's Lonely Roads
EDITOR'S NOTE: On September 1st, 1914, Paula Davis and her husband Ned set out from Oakland, California, in a "practically new" 1913 Chalmers automobile. Destination: Albany, New York. The battleship grey car was described by Paula as "very racy looking . . . can climb anything if the wheels can get a grip.- Throughout the two-month, cross-country journey, Paula kept a diary, an account filled with what are, in retrospect, fascinating details about expenses and mileage and lively impressions of people and places encountered along the way.
The following excerpts from Paula Davis's diary, now in the collection of the University of California, Berkeley, Bancroft Library, recount that part of the trip that took the two travelers through "1914 Nevada.- What emerges is a picture of dusty, pot-holed roads, bordered by a barren, dry, and often hostile landscape. Places to eat or to find mechanical help for the car—let alone to take a bath or enjoy companion-ship—were (in Paula's words) "few and far between.- The modern reader must respect the adventuresome spirits and down-right tough hides possessed by Paula and Ned Davis.
In spite of the difficulties of their Nevada experience, the words with which Paula closes that portion of her diary concerning Nevada reflect sentiments that most Nevadans can understand and appreciate. She writes:
"It (Nevada) is an absolutely bare state—bare dry valleys and mountains, with old decrepit mining towns and mines to break the monotony.
However, both Ned and I can feel that there is a 'something' about dry, bare Nevada, that if it got you would get you hard, and you would forgive her all her bare hot dry country and steep ragged mountains (and incidentally PUNK roads) and love her just the same, in spite of them."
Although the trip (and the diary) commenced on September 1st, 1914, it was on September 5th that the car and its two occupants crossed the California—Nevada border, and Paula's descriptions of crossing Nevada began.
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914
EXCERPTS FROM THE DIARY OF
PAULA DAVIS
EDITOR'S NOTE: The two had spent the previous night at Lake Tahoe.
Saturday, September 5th, 1914
REALLY GOT UP QUITE EARLY this morning, and packed up our things. Then went down and had a lovely breakfast, for we had the quail that Mr. Day had promised us. They sure were good too.
Then got our car and piled our luggage in, and said goodby to all hands. Also took a picture of Mr. Day in front of his place before we left; will send him one. Car running fine. Guess a rest did it good.
Left at 8:40 for Reno, via Truckee. Had to go back again, as that is the best road. Arrived at Truckee at 10:00 and got some oil; didn't need gas, as we had filled up at Tahoe. About twelve miles outside of Truckee we stopped by a lovely little stream to oil and grease the car; also got water from the brook. It was a very friendly little brook, just as bubbly and gurgly as could be and as clear as crystal.
We are in Nevada now, and it seems as though all the lovely trees and green grass refused to leave California, for it is very dry and bare through here. The first town we went through in Nevada was Verdi, which is a mining town, and looks it. The overland trains all pass through here. Haven't gotten away from the "beaten track" yet, although we have been following the old Overland Trail where such exciting , and often tragic things happened. However, the old pioneers discovered the best and easiest way into California, and the railroad people couldn't better their choice any; but we hope the railroad don't follow the Trail all the way, as we would like to travel over some part of it that is just as it was in those old days.
Finally arrived at Reno, at 1:30 and decided not to go until the next day. Went to the Riverside Hotel, which is famous for its divorcees. That is their "hang out" while they are getting divorced; that is, it used to be, but the laws even in Nevada are different now, and they don't flock here as they used to. It
10
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 11
Paula and Ned Davis as they start their adventure. (Courtesy Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley Paula Davis Collection)
is certainly a nice hotel and we got a very pleasant room; took our car to a good big garage near the hotel and then went back and had a good lunch. Met Mr. Gosse, the proprietor of the hotel, and had quite a chat with him; he certainly is a character. We tried to excuse ourselves for being dressed like tramps, but he wouldn't hear of it. Told us of a funny incident that happened to him once, when he had been hunting for a week and came back with two deer, a week's growth of whiskers, and ragged clothes, and one of his own bell boys tried to put him out of the hotel. He thought it quite a joke.
Tried to fuss up by getting a corduroy skirt, but there was "no sich thing" in town. So compromised by getting a new corset, and also got material to make a Honolulu pennant for the front of our car; we simply have to take pity on the poor people whom we meet, and who puzzle their brains (what they've got) as to what the "HON" on our license represents.
Received papers here which Mr. Caine had kindly sent us. Also called on Mr. Stevenson, the local Commercial Club man, to whom we had a letter from Mr. Caine. He seemed to be quite a nice little old chap; quite ladylike. Gave us a lot of information about roads between here and Ely; also guides.
12 Paula Davis
Said the roads were good, and that we would find that to be the case all through Nevada. However, also said the roads were natural roads, as the state of Nevada didn't contain enough people to be taxed for good macadamized roads. Only about 80,000 people in the whole state, which is pretty good sized, too.
Country very bare around here. Have a hunch California was the last green patch we will see for some time to come. Had a good dinner; waitress very funny (Irish). Then wandered out and got some films and went to the garage again for a while. Got quite a little information about roads there. Went to bed about 11:30; want to get an early start in the morning if we can. Left a call for 6:30. Quite cold here on account of altitude.
Speedometer 4619-1 Drove only 49-9 miles
Roads quite good between Tahoe and Reno. Quite mountainous in some parts, and inclined to be a bit chucky in places.
Passed through Steamboat, Verdi, and Reno. Gasoline costs 30 cents per gallon now.
Sunday, September 6th, 1914
Got up at quite a respectable time, packed up, and went down to breakfast. Then went for the car. Had oil and gasoline put in, and also greased it a bit. Also got a new kind of a fan belt (wonder how it will work). Didn't get started, what with fussing around, until 9:20; said goodby to Mr. Gosse, who wished us the best kind of a trip all the way through.
The roads just out of Reno were very rough; in some places they were trying to fix them, and they were covered with crushed granite, which is sure hard on tires. As we got further out of Reno, the roads got better, though a long ways from what you could call good. Country very level all through here; very bare and dry, too.
Decided we would have a bite to eat when we got to Wadsworth, which consists of only a few stores and houses. Stopped in front of one of the stores to ask where we could get something. One man, who had decidedly too much of a load aboard, insisted upon climbing on to the side of our car and taking us to an Italian place, where he said we could get swell chow. Ned was at first inclined to knock him off, but we decided to go with him provided he took us where we could get something to eat; were pretty hungry. Well, we got to this Italian place, and they made room for us along the long table, which was covered with a greasy dirty cloth; a lot of dirty looking Italians sitting at it, eating. All Italian chow, and fierce, what there was of it. Had barely started in, trying to make the best of it, when a row started. Don't know what it was all about (they were speaking Italian) but it looked like a free fight, and maybe a knifing act, so we decided we had better make ourselves scarce, regardless of lunch (which we didn't want anyway). We beat it, just as the "storm
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 13
broke." Ned did want to go back to see the excitement, but thought better of it, as our coming may have been the cause of it. So we got into the car and drove out of town quick. We stopped about a mile out, under one of the few trees in that part of the country, and oiled our car and filled the grease cups. We were right near an irrigating ditch, and the water looked very nice and cool. Did want to take a drink but had been warned not to touch water anywhere through Nevada, Colorado or Utah, unless we knew it was good, as there is such a lot of alkali through these states and to drink alkali water is poison.
While we were fussing around, a man drove up in a prairie schooner, with his wife and baby. They stopped under the tree also, and watered their horses. Then they took some of the water, too. We asked them if it was good, and they said it was, so we dived in, too. Sure was good, as it is hot through here. Had quite a talk with the farmer and his wife. They are going somewhere near Reno. Their little baby was a dear, too. Tore my skirt badly in getting at some of the grease cups under the car; must fix it first chance I have, as it seems impossible to get a new one.
Ned invested in some camphor ice at Reno, for which we are very thankful, as our lips would crack very badly indeed in this hot dry wind if we didn't keep them covered with it.
Moved on again at 1:45, after saying goodby to the farmer and his wife, who said they were going to remain there until it got a bit cooler. Country is very bare through here; not a bit of green anywhere. And also decidedly hot. They are building a big dam about four miles from Hazen, which will irrigate the country all through here. They say the land (or rather soil) here is very good and will raise anything if it is irrigated; especially cantaloups [sic], which they say are delicious (wish this was cantaloups [sic] season). From all we can understand, it is a big proposition, and will mean a lot to farmers through here.
We had our first tire trouble at three o'clock, about eight miles outside of Hazen, which is a little place of two stores, and four houses. Caused by a blowout tire we had gashed getting to Tahoe—left front wheel. Changed it, and went on. Stopped again further to tighten the fan belt, which was slipping and making the water boil; also got some water at a pump which stood near a big barn. Couldn't see what it belonged to, but we helped ourselves anyway.
Arrived at Fallon about 5:45 and went to the Overland House; left our things and then looked for a garage. They said we could keep the car just across the street, which we did. The owner of the hotel a very nice man. The hotel is old but clean, and we got quite a comfortable room. And the chow is excellent. We were certainly agreeably surprised, for the standard of the chow is way above the general standard of the hotel. Also a very nice young woman there (who looks like a college graduate) and who is the daughter of the old man is helping him, which we thought was very nice.
14 Paula Davis
Asked if we could borrow a sewing machine, and they very kindly said we could use theirs (belonging to the mother). So after dinner we went up and got it from where it was, just outside of their room, and took it to our room. Then I sewed up my torn skirt and also made the Honolulu pennant. Thought we could paste the letters on, but found it wouldn't work, so had to sew it. After we were through, we quietly sneaked back and put the machine in the same place again.
Went to bed rather early, as we were both a bit tired. I think the change of altitude has something to do with it (I mean, making us feel sleepy all the time) as it is quite high here; and will be all the way until we cross the Rockies and get down on the other side. All the big country between the Sierras and the Rockies is pretty well up in the air.
Speedometer 468-7 Drove 65-5 miles
Passed through Wadsworth, Hazen, and Fallon. Very few (so called) towns through here; believe water is getting pretty scarce; will fill our water bag tomorrow for the first time.
Monday, September 7th, 1914
Got up quite early (for us) and packed; then went down and had a very good breakfast. Got car and had her filled with gasoline and oil, and also filled our waterbag. Saw the other daughter at the hotel; she isn't half as nice as the first one we saw, as she tries to put on too many airs.
Got our luggage packed and then started; left at 8:30. Say, if we ever meet Mr. Stevenson again, we will certainly tell him a thing or two about Nevada roads which he doesn't seem to know. If we thought the road from Reno to Fallon was bad (which we did), we were absolutely beyond the power to even THINK at the awful road between Fallon and Frenchman's Camp.
The road was just one awful lot of chuck holes, made by the heavy ore teams which go to the different mines which are scattered around there. We passed two of them, each with about twenty horses hitched to the wagon and trailer, and had to get off the so called road (?) and go around them. Thought sure we would get hung up once or twice, but managed to just pull through. Worst of it was the holes were so full of fine dust that you didn't realize there was a deep hole there until you were in it. No, I don't wonder they don't tax the people of Nevada for roads, for it would take the last penny of everyone living in the state to even make them half-way good.
Crossed two big alkali flats that were sure fierce. Desert with a vengeance, all right. Don't believe the Great Salt Lake desert could be any more desolate or bare. Just seemed like going across a big bare crust, which would crackle every foot of the way. They say that in the rainy season these flats are absolutely impassable, as they are a vast lake of deep, sticky alkali mud, in which you would absolutely sink, and never show up again. Now they are
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 15
dried out, but the top layer is a hard crust, which cracks as you go over it and give you the most uncanny sensation; just as though you were liable to go through any minute into you couldn't tell what. We stopped once to get some water and to give the car some, and walked off the trail (you could call it nothing else) for a little ways, but came back very quickly, for it wasn't very pleasant.
Passed through two of these, which were many miles across, ringed around by low bare hills. Not a living thing (vegetable nor animal) to be seen anywhere, and in one of them there were several high hills of movable sand—the kind of sand that the wind picks up and deposits, mountain-high, in any corner that happens to suit its fancy, regardless of what happens to be underneath. We tried to get by that as quickly as possible, for we didn't like to think that it might take a notion to shift onto us; it looked rather threatening.
After passing through the last saucer-like alkali flat, we climbed up a very steep bank (several hundred feet high) and there came to Salt Wells, where fresh water is to be had (for the car anyway). There wasn't a soul around, although a number of buildings, a couple of dogs. While we waited there, letting the car cool a bit, and filling it with water, a big old motor truck came down over the hill. The driver stopped and got water, too, and we had quite a talk with him. He said he would have to go over the hill, the way he had come, and that the roads weren't much better than the last bit we had come over; would not get better until after we left Frenchman's Camp, as there the trail to the one big mine branched off. Seems it was their wagons we had passed, and as they have two or three of these wagon trains going to the nearest railroad every week, they would naturally just about murder the roads. For we are at last off the "beaten track" (left it at Reno) and all the freighting through here is done by motor trucks and big heavy teams (mostly the latter). Also, this is the mining country through here, and the teams are many and the roads are few, so you really can't expect asphalt pavements.
Left Salt Wells and the chap who was going the other way, and went on over the low mountain, which was part of the range that hemmed in the alkali flats. Good thing they do, too, for it would be quite awful if those dreadful flats had been allowed to spill themselves all over the country. It's bad enough as it is. Had quite a steep pull getting over, too, as the roads were certainly not built for long motor cars. Can't really call the roads "built" either, for they are nothing more than trails (unmarked, at that). No attempt has ever been made to even grade them. But then, one must remember the poor -80, 000. "
Climbed still higher, over a sort of mountain range (roads fierce all the way) and then saw, way below us in a long dry valley, one little lone house that was the same color as the surrounding country—or rather, desert, for I'm quite sure this is part of it.
16 Paula Davis
After riding down for about half an hour, going very slow on account of the deep chuck holes in the road and the deep dust which made it impossible to see them, we arrived at the little house, which was called Frenchman's Camp. The reason for its name is that there is a lone Frenchman who lives there, and who feeds all the teamsters and cowmen who go that way. For the roads all branch at his place, some going to big mines in the bare mountains all around, some going to cattle ranches still further on. His is the only place for miles.
As we drove up he came out to meet us; his name is Bermond. Very nice little man. We asked if we could get something to eat, and he assured us very volubly that we could, and to come right in, which we did, after putting our car in the best bit of shade we could find. His porch is enclosed with screen, and when we got in, we noticed an elderly man sitting there. Never found out who he was or what he did, but we had quite a chat about the country while Bermond was getting some chow ready. Then we went back into the kitchen and washed in an old wash basin which was set on a box, and dried ourselves on a roller towel that certainly was a bit the worse for wear. But the Frenchman was certainly hospitality itself, which made up for everything else.
Just as we sat down a young cowboy came in and asked for chow, too; so we all sat down together. His manners weren't exactly polite, but he was rather a nice chatty sort of individual and told us lots about the mines and ranches around there, which was very interesting. But he would eat his peas with a knife. I'd often heard of people doing this, but this was the first time I'd actually seen it. The chow wasn't bad at all; we enjoyed it. The Frenchman does all his own work, and even puts people up for the night if they want to stay.
Decided we would go on, so asked which was the best road. They told us the one going over the hill to the right; said that although they were doing a little work on it, trying to get it into shape for wagons to go over, it would be a better road to take. So we decided to go that way.
Got some water from a deep cistern, where Bermond keeps all his water. There is no such thing as water anywhere near his place; all of it has to be hauled by wagon from a spring way up in the mountains twenty-five miles away. He gets water twice a week, and then keeps it in this cistern, which is buried deep in the ground. It was very cool and fresh, and we took a long drink and also filled our water bottles. He charges 25 cents a bucket for it, which we didn't think was unreasonable, when you think where it comes from, and what kind of country you have to drive through in order to get it. No, indeed.
Before we left, took a picture of the Frenchman and his place. Will send him one. He really is a very nice little chap, and wanted us to stay with him longer.
Left Frenchman's Camp about two, and about four miles out struck the
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 17
worst roads yet (which is saying something—if they continue to get much worse, will have to give up and ship the car). They were making some kind of an effort through here to grade the road, and were piling a lot of sagebrush onto it, that they pulled up from the surrounding country; from what we could learn, this particular road gets very mushy in the winter, but just now is a mass of deep soft sand that we just managed to plow through. Hope its better next winter.
Passed through West, Middle and East Gates (though why so called we couldn't fathom) which were passes over three different mountain ranges. Stopped for a few moments on the top of the second range, where there was an Overland Trail sign, and took a few shots at it. Really wasn't right to mar the sign, but it was the only thing to shoot at around there, and the "spirit moved us" to try a little target practice at that particular time and place. Was tickled to think I hit it as often as Ned did (and with pistols, too). Poor sign!!!
As we went over the third range, way down below us in the valley we saw what looked like a wee little patch of green. It certainly looked good to us, and we tried to get there as fast as we could, keeping our eyes on it all the time for fear it would suddenly disappear. Eventually did get there, and found a very nice ranch house, with barns, coral [sic], etc., etc. but no one was at home; only an old half breed. We were so disappointed , as we thought we might be able to put up there (even though we had been told that the people were rather inhospitable). However, we weren't given the chance to judge whether they were or not; as there was no one at home—whether intentionally or otherwise we couldn't say, of course. So got some water for the car and filled our bag and then went on. Decided to try to get to Alpine (the next ranch) which is quite a distance away. Didn't like to leave that lovely green spot, with the big green trees and grass, and cool water, and get out into the glaring sun again across more barren valleys and mountains. But it had to be "did," so on we went. Wish those people had different dispositions; but then, maybe they judge all motorists by a few they have met and I must say the average lot of people who travel across in cars—mostly Fords—aren't what you'd call prepossessing. Know I wouldn't care to put them up. They are generally people who have had very little in their own homes, and they have the idea that because they are traveling and pay a few cents to these people who are kind enough to take them into their own homes and put them up, that they are entitled to be as rude and overbearing and inquisitive as possible. They generally leave what little manners they may possess behind them when they start out, and never seem to stop to realize that the majority of the people who are kind enough to put them up, are way above them in more ways than one. So I generally feel for these ranch people (many of whom have reached the limit of their endurance) even though we have to suffer by it as well. Hope the time will come when things will be different, and when we take our next trip we will be able to stop anywhere.
We drove up a long dry valley, and way at the other end of it saw another
18 Paula Davis
little patch of green, that we knew must be Alpine. We certainly did try to hurry to get there, but the roads were very chucky, and we often had to go into second, so didn't get there as quickly as we hoped we would. Arrived there about 5:30.
We went to the house and asked if we could stay there for the night, and the manager, Mr. Dudley, was very kind and said certainly, to come right in, which we sure did. Gave us a nice room and told us where the bath was (imagine a real bath way out here). Then told us to leave the car in the yard immediately surrounding the house, under some trees.
Then, after we had washed up a bit, we went out and took a look around. Mr. Dudley took us through their "store," where they have all kinds of things; also lots of gaudy cloth, etc., which they sell to the Indians who work on the ranch. There is a big coral [sic] right next to the house enclosure, and if we get up early tomorrow morning Mr. Dudley says we will see the cowboys bring in a big herd of cattle. Will sure make it a point to get up.
At dinner time we sat down at a long table with all the farm hands and cowboys. About twenty people altogether. And the chow was just piled on great big dishes (everything was put on the table at once) with immense pitchers of milk in between, and then everyone piled in and helped themselves, eating everything off one plate, including the dessert. Oh, but it was lots of fun, and the chow was all good substantial home-cooked, and we enjoyed every bit of it.
Went to bed soon after "supper," as they call the last meal of the day in all districts where they do farming or ranching. Seemed very funny to get under an old fashioned feather bed, but it wasn't any too warm, as the nights are quite cool now. Had a good bath; the housekeeper very kindly heated some water for us. They have one of those heating affairs in the bathroom, which is quite handy. Had an awful time finding W. C. [water closet]; wandered all around the back yard; stumbled into a lot of pigs, who made an awful racket; also some geese, but eventually got there, before waking up all the ranch. Bed felt pretty good to us.
Speedometer 4755-1 Drove 70-4 miles Passed through Salt Wells, Frenchman's Camp, Alpine.
Tuesday, September 8th, 1914
Had to get up at 5:30, as they have breakfast at six. It sure was hard work, too, as it was quite cold. That feather bed did look good. Had breakfast and then packed up our things. Didn't chow with the hands, as they were all through by the time we got there, even though we sat down at six. Then went out and watched them bring in the herd of cattle, into the coral [sic]; some of the steers certainly didn't want to come, and there was quite a bit of excitement; also with one old cow, when they started to take her calf away
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 19
from her. Did want to stay and see more, but had to get on. Got six gallons of gas, some oil, and water for the car and our bag, and then started again, after saying good-by to Mr. Dudley, the housekeeper, and the old man, who were the only ones around. Certainly did hate to leave that nice cool spot.
Left Alpine at 8:15, and hit chucky road again. About fifteen miles out, discovered our left rear spring had snapped (the curved spring). Had to drive still more carefully after that. Will try to have it fixed at Austin, which is the next town (and nearest human habitation). Have a letter to Senator Easton there. Mr. Stevenson gave it to us.
About thirty miles from Alpine had to go through a low pass in the mountains. It was the only way of getting on the other side of them (as they are exceptionally steep), but it certainly was a very rough way. Really the bed of a stream at the bottom of a canyon-like pass, with innumerable curves in it. Could never have passed anyone there. Really no road at all. Had to go over big rocks until we thought sure we would get hung up on one; and it's a wonder we didn't gash all our tires on the small sharp rocks, with which the bed of the dry stream is covered. Don't know how they ever get through here in the winter, for the water must rush through here in a torrent many feet high. Called New Pass.
Eventually got through to the other side, and then crossed a wide shallow valley, absolutely dry and bare, and then started climbing a high range of mountains on the other side. Very steep in some places, especially just before getting to the town of Austin, which literally seemd to cling to the side of a high mountain, or rather, near the top. The streets there are so steep that you have to put on your emergency brake whenever you stop the car.
Drove up the street quite a ways [sic] to where we saw a garage sign, and went in and got gasoline and oil. Rather a nice young chap there. We asked him where we could get our rear spring fixed, and he said that there was a blacksmith in a town (lower down the road, opposite the hotel) who sometimes did such work, but that he advised us to go on to Eureka, where, he said, there was a young man who had the reputation, in that district, of being a "wizard" at welding things.
Decided to go down to the hotel and get something to eat, and also present our letter to Senator Easton, who incidentally owns the hotel. When we got there, found that the restaurant was run by Japanese, but went in and got something to eat anyway; it was very dirty in there too. We also sent our letter into the Senator, and he came into the chow place (can't really call it a restaurant) and talked to us; he is a horrid old Mick, and Ned says he wouldn't stay in any place owned by him on a bet; might wake up in the morning and find our throats cut. His son also came in; he is also horrid, red-headed, know-it-all, sort of individual; certainly takes after his father. They advised us to go over to the blacksmith to have the spring fixed, and then come back to the hotel. Said the chap who had been recommended to us at Eureka was
20 Paula Davis
absolutely no good; they knocked everything and everybody, saying horrid things. Decided we didn't want to have anything further to do with that outfit, so paid our bill and left, after saying a very brief goodby. Went over to the blacksmith shop, but didn't like the look of him, either. They are all on the order of cut-throats (at least, their faces certainly look it). So we decided to take the tip of the young chap, and go on to Eureka.
Eureka at one time was one of the biggest mining towns in the west, and there are still a number of big mines running around there. However, it looks very deserted now, as nearly all the people have left, but at one time must certainly have been a very flourishing town, or rather, city. A number of the mines are shut down, not because they have "panned out," but because it doesn't pay to run them on account of high freight rates, for all the ore has to be taken by big ore wagons to the nearest railroad or smelter.
Left Austin at 2:45 for Eureka, another defunct mining town. Very steep pull for two miles just out of Austin; had to go on second speed, as it was about a 35% grade. They said that few cars could make it (generally going a much longer and rougher way). After that the roads were the best we have struck in the state of Nevada, which really isn't saying much.
We crossed six high mountain ranges before getting to Eureka. All bare and dry; no houses to be seen anywhere. We would climb to the top of one, and, looking down and across the valley below us, would see the road, or trail, winding like a little ribbon across it and then up the other side of another range. Then we would climb up that range, and the same scene was again before us. We really had to look back once or twice, to see whether we weren't dreaming, and whether we had really crossed the preceding range.
Kept on driving until it was dark crossing several salt flats, but didn't get to Eureka. Got so dark that Ned had to read directions in the guidebook with his flashlight; it showed where we skirted the edges of mountains, and went along a high cliff-like place, and crossed streams (dry this time of year, thank goodness); couldn't see anything, it was so dark. The roads were pretty fair, and we made good time. As we went along, our headlights would show up what looked like big rocks in the middle of the road, but these "rocks" would, when we were almost on top of them, get up and fly away in the most mysterious manner. It was really quite uncanny, and very startling; always felt like jamming my brakes on. But they were nothing but owls, and there were so many of them, that we gradually got used to them flying up at the last moment.
There were also thousands (at least it seemed so) of jack-rabbits. Our headlights almost hypnotized them, for they would run into the road ahead of us in droves almost; they couldn't seem to get out of the light. Would take a few hops off the road (out of the light) but would always hop back again. They would keep ahead of us as long as they could, and then disappear—don't know where to. Am glad to say we didn't run over any of them, either the owls or the bunnies. But they did look funny, running ahead of us, with their
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 21
big ears up, and their little white tufts of tails bobbing up and down, just going lickety-split.
Went by what seemed a ranch house about five miles from Eureka. Passed what looked like barns, but there was no light anywhere. Only some dogs barked, so from that judged it was inhabited.
Arrived at Eureka about 8:30, but almost drove right through it, as there wasn't such a thing as a light anywhere. Wouldn't have stopped at all, only that our headlights showed up a number of what looked like stores, so we stopped and asked a stray, lone man (who, from all we could judge, was the entire population of Eureka) if there was such a thing as a hotel in town, or somewhere where we could get something to eat and a place to sleep. So he took us up to a so-called hotel, and went in. It really wasn't bad inside. We went right into the bar (which seemed to be the only entrance); there were two men there, one of whom seemed to be the proprietor, and they said we were too late for chow there, but the chap who had brought us there said he knew a place where we could get some. So we got a room and left our small luggage there. Also got a drink (hot whiskey) as it had been very cold driving and we needed something to warm us up a bit. They said there was a garage right next to the hotel, so we roused up the garage man, and he unlocked his place and we put the car in for the night. Then we followed the first chap (who had said he would lead us to the "eats") through a couple of very dark streets; he stopped at one place and banged on what looked like an old barn. However, eventually someone opened the door, and we saw it was an old Chinaman. We asked him if we could get some chow, and he said we could. Went in and told him to give us a steak, some potatoes and ham and eggs. Got real sporty and had dinner in a box—place was equipped with several of these; also a long counter outside, with stools. Funny old Chink, but really very nice; made us up some good chow, and we enjoyed it for we were pretty hungry. If the chow at the restaurant isn't any good, will come here, although it does rather look like an opium joint.
Went back and went to bed, and bed certainly felt pretty good to both of us. The chap we had met said he would see us again in the morning. Rather a tough sort of individual. Name of hotel is Brown's Hotel, and is really quite good for a "dead" town; however, they say this place at one time was a very lively, sporty place indeed—just like Austin. But it sure is all in now.
Speedometer 4871-6 Drove 116-5 miles.
A good day's run, considering the roads and country in general we have
come over.
Passed through Austin and Eureka.
Wednesday, September 9th, 1914
Got up pretty late--about nine. Had breakfast downstairs, in the hotel dining room; pretty punk. Girl who waited on us very funny—a regular Sis
22 Paula Davis
Hopkins. Also met the wife of the man who owns this hotel, and she really runs it. Is a Scotch woman, and very funny. Had quite a chat with her.
Had the greatest time this morning in the bathroom; it is way in the back end of the hotel, and the floor is absolutely one mass of holes, as the wood is rotten, and you have to be so careful in walking and always step on a beam, or else you'd go right through to the floor below (we are on the first floor). And the drain from the bath-tub and washstand is a long pipe, which sticks right straight out from the rear of the house, and when you have finished your bath and take the plug out, you are startled to hear a roar like a cataract out in the back yard, for the water runs right out of this pipe down onto a corrugated iron roof, and as the end of the pipe is about fifteen feet above this roof, the resulting noise can be imagined. Sure SOME bath-room. Found ring there.
Went next door to the garage and had a talk with the owner, a man named Russell. Seemed a decent sort of chap, but did talk a lot; sort of blow-hard. Said he could vulcanize our tire and make the best job we had ever had done; said he did it by the Shaler method, of which (according to his estimate) he was a past master. So we left the tire with him, and took the car up the street a ways [sic] to where this wonderful young Italian had his shop. Went in and asked him if he could make us a new spring, as we preferred it to a welded spring, but he said he would be able to make an A-1 job at welding it, and it would take much less time, so we told him to go ahead. However, he said he wouldn't be able to work at it all day, as he had to attend the funeral of a man who had committed suicide; in fact, said he played in the band and HAD to attend. Only had time to take off the rear wheel, which was quite a job, and get the spring off. Then left the car as it was, out in front of his shop, and got ready for the funeral.
As it was about noon, left the car there (they said it would be all right) and went down to the hotel for a bite to eat. Funny girl waited on us again, but this time she was all fussed up, and looked more like Sis Hopkins than ever. Mrs. Brown came up and talked, too, and told us all about the man who committed suicide; said everyone in town was going to the funeral, and that funerals were the only exciting things that ever happened there now. The school children always marched, the band played, and all the hacks and wagons in town were busy on the day of a funeral. However, she informed us that SHE, for one (and I'll bet she was the only one that didn't attend) was NOT going to the funeral—you could see she was dying to go. We asked her why not, and she said that the young man was (or had been) a very nice young fellow, but he had absolutely fallen in her estimation when he married an Italian widow with five children. She wouldn't go and give the widow (twice) with five children the satisfaction of seeing her there.
Had gone, that morning, to the edge of town to see a woman who does washing. Found the house, after wandering around quite a while, but they also were in the throes of getting ready for the funeral, and couldn't bother with such trifling things as washing. So didn't get my laundry done.
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 23
Ned and I wandered up to the shop where the car was (poor old
standing out there in the sun) and sat down in front of a shanty just across the street. Streets, sidewalks, gutters, are all just dirt; some effort was made years ago to grade the streets, but the storms and rains since then have made it all very nearly even again. So we just sat down on a dirt mound, in the shade, and waited; a boy came up and handed us a circular, which stated all about the deceased—gave his life history, almost. Really struck us as rather pathetic that they had to go to such lengths to create a little excitement in that town that is very nearly as dead as the poor man they are burying.
While we were waiting, a friendly horse came from around one side of the shanty and a friendly pig from the other; so there the four of us sat and stood in the shade waiting for things to quiet down--- and our musician to stop making execrable music and come and finish the spring for the car. Believe we four, and Mrs. Brown, were the only ones who did not "attend."
After a while the young fellow came back and started on the spring again. While we were watching him, the man we met last night (and who took us to the Chinaman for some chow) came up with his partner, who is a worse looking tramp than the first chap. They said they were the owners of the car we had passed coming in, and which we had thought was a water tank at first. Said they were touring through there with a minstrel show, but that when the car broke down about fifty-three miles from Eureka, his niggers quit him. The whole bunch had to walk the fifty-three miles into town, leaving the car there with the scenery, etc., trying to make enough money to get them out of town. He also asked which way we were going, and if we would give him a lift to Ely; didn't seem to care whether his partner got there or not. We didn't exactly like their looks, so firmly refused. Said we had about all we could carry as it was, what with a bum spring.
The nearest railroad is at Palisades, which is ninety miles away, so to get out of here you really either have to bum a ride or walk. However, these two looked as though they'd hold you up for twenty cents, and we didn't exactly like to have them hang around us. They have acquired a pretty tough reputation just the few days they have been here.
The young Italian made a pretty good job of the spring—at least it looked all right. And then they had an awful job getting it and the rear wheel on again. It was very nearly dark by that time. Had to get Russell, the garage man, up to help put on the wheel. Eventually got it fixed, and hope it is on all right and that the spring will hold out. Drove the car down to the garage and left it there, and then went down to the Chinaman for a bite to eat, as we were again too late for the hotel dining room, for which we weren't sorry, as the chow there is fierce. Chinaman was glad to see us, and gave us a very good meal. Poor old duffer, he has been here for years, but wants to go back to China to die. Was telling us what a wonderful place it was during boom times, but that was quite a while ago. However, the inhabitants (the few who are left) are very optimistic and fully believe that they will see the time when
24 Paula Davis
things will be as they were before, and poor old Eureka (with one foot in the grave) will be a thriving city again; and far be it from us to try to persuade them that it will never be, and that the old railroad will never have a string of cars run over it again. Eureka lived hard and fast when she did live, but she is certainly a "has been" now, and will remain so, unless there should be another big bold strike there, which is not very likely.
Went to bed soon after dinner, as we want to get an early start tomorrow. This hotel is decidedly dirty, but fortunately the bed is fairly clean. And it is also quite comfortable. Packed up as much as I could before going to bed.
Thursday, September 10th, 1914
Got up at quite a respectable time, and had breakfast down-stairs. Then got our bags and packed them in the car and also strapped on the tire which Russell had vulcanized with the wonderful Shaler method; wonder how long it will last.
Left Eureka about 9:30, after saying goodby to the Browns (and incidentally paying our bill). Then drove out of town, past houses and wagons and small mines that are gradually falling into decay. Went around the long way, instead of the short cut, to the summit, as the short way is considered dangerous. The spring we had welded gave some, but didn't break.
Didn't see the two bums at all this morning, though we half way expected they would be hanging around, trying to get a ride, but we simply could not have taken them. They couldn't sit or stand on the running boards, nor could they get on top of all the luggage in back, and we didn't have any seat room. Half way expected to meet them on the road somewhere, but didn't see hide nor hair of them. Wonder where they disappeared to. Hope they aren't going to hold us up somewhere; neither Ned nor I would put it beyond them, and the country is mighty lonesome through here; not liable to be another human being travel along this road for a month or more.
Crossed the summit and a few other ranges as well, and then came to a nice little ranch house which just seemed to snuggle down in the hollow between two big mountains. Drove up into the yard and stopped near the house. Man sitting out on the little porch in front, and we asked him if we could get a bite to eat, as it was just noon. He didn't act very cordial, but said to come in. We have gotten used to these people not being friendly when they see an auto drive up, for they are judging by past experiences.
However, we went in (or rather I did, while Ned stayed outside and chatted with the old man). A dear little old lady was inside, and when I asked her if we could get something to eat—just a glass of milk and some bread would do—she insisted right then and there upon baking up a batch of biscuits she was just raising and frying us some ham and eggs, and also got us some lovely fresh tomatoes and an immense pitcher of milk (it was really
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 25
cream). Well, when they found we didn't expect them to go to a lot of trouble, they just couldn't seem to do enough for us. In fact, we asked them not to, for we didn't like to feel they were putting themselves to a lot of trouble and extra work just for us, and the little old lady was quite old—though very spry indeed. She was Mrs. Coyle, the wife of the owner of the ranch, who she said was off with "the boys" getting some cattle from the surrounding mountains; the old chap outside was his brother. He was telling Ned how absolutely horrid some people were who came through, and expected that dear little old woman to wait on them hand and foot, and treated her as though she were a servant, just because she had to do all the work (for servants are scarcer than hen's teeth through these states). And he said that he had made up his mind that the next lot of people like that that came through he would just tell them
to go to . No wonder he wasn't cordial to us; for he didn't know which
kind we were.
Well, Ned and I just ate until we couldn't hardly see, for it did taste so very good. I went out with the old lady to her well, where she keeps milk and butter; it is just a small spring, which has been covered with a shed, and the whole thing adjoins the house. Very handy. And shelves are built right into the small spring, and that's how they keep things cool in hot weather.
We were "company" so had our lunch in the living room, which was hung with a number of California (U. C.) pennants, and the old lady told us her daughter had attended University, but is married now and lives at Goldfield. Mrs. Coyle says that they are absolutely snowed in during the winter, and get their supplies from Hamilton, which is about ten miles away. Also get their mail at that address. Am going to write them when we leave, and send them copies of the pictures we took of their house and the old man; the old lady wouldn't come out to be taken, as she said she wasn't dressed up enough. She is an old dear.
Left Coyles Ranch about 2:30. We would sure have liked to stay with the old people a few days, but thought we'd better get on and get across the Great Divide before the snow started.
The country around here not quite so bare; quite a bit of sage brush, and lots of other small shrubs cover the sides of the mountains. We passed through Hamilton (that is the outer edge) and then started to climb a high, steep mountain ridge. Just climbed and climbed and never seemed any nearer the top the mountains were so steep. Eventually we got to the top and then went down the other side, and after crossing several smaller ridges, saw a valley which seemed to be well populated.
Drove down this valley and passed through a number of good-sized mining towns, and also lots of immense copper mines. Heard afterwards that this is one of the largest copper mining districts in the world, and can well believe it. The dumps alone of some of the mines stretched way across the valley, and it was some wide valley, too. And inside some of the mines, which looked like
26 Paula Davis
immense holes in the ground, you could see regular railroads, with locomotives and cars, running on the different shelves which formed the sides of the big hole. And long trains with dump cars also ran out on the long dump. Some of these mines were certainly wonderful, and we would have liked to stop and investigate more, but had to get on, as it was getting quite dark, and Ely was still a ways ahead.
To get to Ely we had to go down through a deep narrow canyon (Ely lies at the foot of it) and the road shared the only available space at the bottom of this canyon with the railroad, and they were continually crossing and recrossing each other, and these crossings were generally blind ones, too, so that we had to drive pretty slowly, as we didn't want to get run over by a train at this stage of the game. Eventually got to Ely, which is really a city compared to the majority of towns we passed through, but still only a mere spot when compared to New York, about 6:30 and went to the best hotel there, which really turned out to be very good. Got a nice room with a bath.
We left the car in front of the hotel and went in to get a boy to get our bags, and had no sooner stuck our nose inside the door, when someone rushed up to us as though we were long-lost friends, and who was it but the chap who had wanted to ride with us from Eureka. He asked in a very loud tone of voice whether they had managed to get his car into Eureka yet, and said he simply had to get on to Ely on account of some mining business, and that a man coming through Eureka had very kindly taken him in his car. We knew this was all said and done to impress the hotel people, as he is broke, and is undoubtedly trying to bum them into letting him stay there. Hope they don't as he is really horrid. Guess that's mean of me, but never did like his style.
Had some dinner in the dining room of the hotel, which was quite good. Also met Mr. Hoag, to whom we had a letter from Mr. Caine. He is quite a nice chap, but a bit of an old lady. Told us to come to his office in the morning and he would give us maps and information regarding roads going east. Said goodnight to him, and then went upstairs. Had a bully good bath (bath-tubs are sure a luxury through the country we have passed through) and then went to bed.
Speedometer 4955-1 Drove 83-5 miles. Pretty good. Passed through Hamilton (only town) and then to Ely.
Friday, September 11th, 1914
Got up pretty late and packed up. Don't feel awfully well to-day; rather sick to my stomach; think it's the water here, which tastes as though it had some alkali in it. First time I've been under the weather, with the exception of a sore lip and throat I had a while ago. Ned also had quite a sore throat, but is better now; he never complained, nor said a word about it, but I kicked all the time.
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 27
Went downstairs and had a bite to eat, and then went for the car. Had left it in quite a good garage up the street. Got gasoline and oil, and also some film, and then came back for our bags. Ned left the coat of his blue suit here; said someone would maybe get some use out of it.
Then drove to Mr. Hoag's office, and had quite a talk with him on roads, and also got the guides he had promised us. He said that he and Mrs. Hoag, whom we also met, were going to McGill, which is about thirteen miles out on the road we are going on, and would take us that far, as they were just building the road through there and there were a number of detours, where we might get lost.
Left Ely about 9:40; don't know how far we will get today, as this is rather a late start. Roads as far as McGill not very good, as the dust is just feet thick and there are quite a lot of chuck holes. However, after leaving McGill and until reaching the Utah state line, the roads were quite fair.
We stopped at a small farmhouse (the district school was just across the way) where some people by the name of Anderson lived, and had a bite to eat at noon. Didn't feel like eating much, though the woman was very nice and gave us some good things to eat. Ned doesn't feel just right either; it's always catching with us two, Ned and I; neither one of us feels just right unless the other one does. Filled the car with water, and also our water bag, as we often use it through this country, water being scarce and the springs, or wells, few and far between.
We also have to smear our faces with cold cream, and continually use camphor ice on our lips (also always wear our goggles), or our faces would be in an awful mess, as the air is so dry and the dust just full of alkali, which almost makes your face raw if you don't protect it in some way.
Left Andersons and then started up the long Steptoe Valley, which is sure the hottest place ever. It is a very wide flat valley, with high mountains on either side. Saw a big mountain fire in one range in back of us. Do hope it burns itself out soon, as it absolutely devastates the whole country if the rangers don't get control of it. The road (or rather trail) was absolutely choked with dust and we raised big clouds of it as we went along, as this particular dust is very fine and gets into everything. And the worst of it was that the wind was with us, so that it was decidedly uncomfortable. The car, the luggage, ourselves, everything, was just one color, regardless of what the actual color was underneath. Couldn't see our eyebrows or eyelashes, as they were one mass of dust, and our faces were absolutely fierce, as the dust stuck to the cream we had put on in great gobs. Mighty glad we had the cream, though, for it sure saved us from having pretty sore faces that day; also lips. We were sure a sight, though, as anyone will realize if they have ever driven fifty or sixty miles on a very hot day through their own dust (and SUCH dust!!!).
28 Paula Davis
We met several prairie schooners, which seemed to be going to Ely. They were lucky, however, for they had the wind against them.
Eventually got to the end of the long valley, and climbed out over a low range. Saw several farms on the other side (there wasn't a thing all along Steptoe, excepting an old place that had once been a fort) and drove down towards them. Stopped at the gate of one place, where we saw a man standing, and asked if they would put us up for the night. Said he was very sorry, but that they had absolutely no room. However, he said that the next farm further on made a regular business of it. Asked us in, however, so in we went to get a cool drink of water. The house is half way built into the ground, and the small kitchen, where the water was, was very cool and nice, considering how hot it was outside. As they have a sort of general store there, selling things to cowboys and others who pass that way, we bought an enamel cup, as we had found it rather difficult to drink out of the mouth of the water bag; Ned always had to hold the bag up for me, and I for him, and then we'd get to laughing so generally, that we'd spill a lot of water. So decided we'd better get some kind of a drinking cup, and save the precious water all we could. This ranch was called Tippetts place.
We went on, after also filling up the car, and headed for Sheridans, which was the name of the people where the man had said we could stay. Passed a fine big dam, which held the water in a sort of natural reservoir; all that water sure did look good. There was quite a bit of green grass growing around it, and the whole thing was well fenced in. And no wonder, for there were quite a lot of cattle around, with longing eyes on the bit of green. They would have made short work of that reservoir if they had ever gotten inside. Believe it belongs to the Tippetts, who seem a very industrious lot of people.
Passed what looked like a little monument of loose stones, but which was really the survey sign which marked the state line between Nevada and Utah. We went over it and didn't even feel a bump. So now we are in Utah. Sheridans was just a little ways over the line (believe their land on one side is bound by the state line).
Got to the ranch house about six-thirty, and asked the woman, who had come out upon hearing our car drive up and who turned out to be Mrs. Sheridan, whether we could get a bit to eat and put us up there for the night. She seemed a bit doubtful at first, saying she expected a lot of people from the other way, who had written ahead asking her to put them up. But said to come in anyway and she would try to fix us up. Seemed a very nice woman. Also has a pretty little daughter, about seventeen, who is going to Salt Lake to school after Christmas (which seems a big event for the family). Left our car right next to the house as they had no garage or place to put it, and went inside. They gave us quite a nice room, which we found afterwards belonged to the little girl; don't know where they put her, poor kid. They had already
30 Paula Davis
Nevada
Roads through California were good with a few bad spots. Roads through Nevada were bad with a FEW good spots. Would just like to get ahold of that Mr. Stevenson at Reno and tell him a thing or two that he doesn't seem to know about Nevada roads; however, can't really call them roads, for I don't believe there are fifty miles of even graded roads through the whole state (outside of city (?) streets). However, we must remember the poor "80,000."
Also, the trees and blades of grass that Nevada contains could easily be counted, there are so few. It is an absolutely bare state—bare dry valleys and mountains, and again more valleys and mountains, with old decrepit mining towns and mines to break the monotony.
However, both Ned and I can feel that there is a "something" about dry, bare Nevada, that if it got you would get you hard, and you would forgive her all her bare dry hot country and steep ragged mountains (and incidentally PUNK roads) and love her just the same, in spite of them.
Crossing Nevada by Auto in 1914 29
finished dinner, so we had to take what was left, which I must say wasn't very much and what there was of it was pretty punk. However, had to make the best of it. Went out to the kitchen before dinner and had as good a wash as we could in a basin with about a cup full of water in it, which didn't make much of an impression on that Steptoe Valley dust. Gee, we sure did long for a bath, and wished we had had the nerve to climb over the fence and jump into that lovely reservoir we had passed, even if we had gotten a load of buckshot as a reward. Ned and I both decided that we would soak for a whole day the next time we struck any kind of a bath. Glad I had my hair tied up, so that that stayed pretty clean.
After dinner (?) we went out to grease the car a bit by flashlight, as it was very dark, and also very cold and clear. Decided to let the water out of the car, as it's easier to fill up the car mornings than to have a busted radiator fixed. Straightened her up as much as we could, and tried to sweep some of the dust from out of the front part; pretty hard job, though. Decided to get an early start in the morning. While we were fussing around the car, the other five people they were expecting from the other way came in an awfully ratty car. It was driven by the son of the house, who considers himself quite an authority when it comes to cars. However, he told us quite a bit about the country around here; also said we were only a few miles from Wendover, where there is the finest natural track for automobile racing in the world. It is an immense salt bed, as smooth as a billiard table, fifteen miles wide and about eighty miles long, without a pebble in it to break the smoothness. Lots of the famous racers come here to try out cars, etc.
Had a great time finding the W. C. , which, in these ranch houses, is generally stuck out way in the back somewhere. Had to go through a small sheep coral [sic], and the sheep insisted upon following us, and we had quite a time persuading them we didn't want company when we finally got there. Ned also heard pigs, and looked for them inside. Almost fell over one big one who had planted himself right in the path. Absolutely pitch dark here at night; only the stars show, and they look so much further away than they do on the coast.
Weather has been fine so far, but was a little cloudy to-day for the first time, and Mr. Sheridan says we had better get across the arm of the desert (great Salt Lake Desert) before it starts to rain, or we wouldn't be able to make it at all. So will sure get an early start tomorrow, and hope the rain will hold off until we get across. Finally went to bed, feeling very dirty and uncomfortable; bed none too good either. Seems baths and good beds are pretty much unknown quantities through some parts of our dear old U. S.A. Wonder if it will be that way further east, too. Long chain and small purse.
Speedometer 5051 Drove 95-9 miles (pretty good).
Passed through McGill, Steptoe, Fort Schellbourn, Sheridans Ranch.
Freight Stations Along the Lincoln Highway,
Churchill County
FIRMIN BRUNER
IN TILE YEARS BETWEEN 1916 and 1919, I was driving truck on the route that is now called Highway 50. Although at the time it bore no semblance of a highway, it was called the Lincoln Highway. Within a 60 mile stretch leading eastward from Fallon, there were five stations where travelers might eat or stay overnight. Their names and locations were: Salt Wells, operated by John Peterson, located sixteen miles east of Fallon at the western end of Eight Mile Flat; Sand Springs at the east end of Four Mile Flat, 28 miles out of Fallon; Frenchman's Station in the center of Frenchman Flat at a distance of 35 miles; West Gate, out 47 miles located in the middle of the gap in the hills a few hundred feet east of where the windmill now stands; and East Gate, out 60 miles at the mouth of the canyon leading over Carrol Summit. At all these stopping places, meals cost fifty cents and lodging, fifty cents. East Gate was owned and operated by George B. Williams, a prominent sheep and cattle man. There was a store there that sold gasoline, motor oil, groceries, snack foods and packaged liquor, also beer and soft drinks. George's son-in-law ran it. I think his name was Penrose.
The wells and pump stations that supplied water for Fairview were located at West Gate. Mr. William Uhlman took care of the pumps that furnished water for the Dromedary Hump Consolidated Mines Co., which operated a large mill and mine at the north side of Fairview; and Mr. Salisbury tended the pumps that furnished water for the famous Nevada Hill Mining Co. It is hard to envision that at one time there were two pipelines carrying water to a region that looks so desolate at the present.
After Fairview closed down, the Williams Estate Company purchased the pumps and pipeline from the Nevada Hill Company. They dug up the old line and relayed it to a point a few miles north of Frenchman's Station in order to water their herds of cattle in the winter months while they pastured on the thousands of acres of lush sand grass. What is now called Fairview Mountain was originally named Nevada Hill.
Mrs. Salisbury picked up a few dollars by feeding and quartering travelers, and Mr. Salisbury, who was a good mechanic, earned a few extra dollars by
31
32 Firmin Bruner
making minor repairs for motorists when they had car trouble. When the Nevada Hills mine ceased operations, Mr. Salisbury left West Gate.
Mrs. Pitts and her two teenage sons, Harry and Eddie, served meals and lodgings at West Gate, but there was not enough business to support them, so Bill Bruner hired them to cook at the boarding house at the Kansas City-Nevada Consolidated Mine. Mrs. Pitts was a kind and likable woman, and she later married a man named Dude Gobin, who was a cattleman.
Ami Bermond operated Frenchman's Station. He was a -happy-go-lucky"man when I first knew him. He served plain meals, but the flavoring was excellent. When I'd stop there for meals, it seemed it took him a long time to prepare them, especially if there was a large group waiting to eat. I always suspected that, in this way, the patrons became conscious of how dry they were, thus inducing them to generously patronize the bar. Because I was a teenager and didn't care much for drinks, at times when asked to have a drink by someone, I'd refuse. Ami would give me a sour look but, being a good and kindly man, he would soon forget the incident and again be very friendly with me.
Although he did a lively business, I don't think he accumulated much money during the period I ate there, because from time to time, when the ladies that usually live at the lower part of town suspected that he had accumulated a little money they would usually stay to volunteer and help him with cooking. They would usually stay until his surplus cash had gravitated from his pocket to their pockets.
In the beginning of mining operations in Fairview, the Nevada Hill Mining Company tried to get consent from Ami Bermond to let them pipe water from a spring he owned that was located in the hills on the west side of Frenchman Flat and about six miles south of his station. For compensation they were to run a branch pipeline to his station to supply him with water. It seems they could not agree on the terms so the Company piped their water from West Gate instead. Therefore, the Frenchman was compelled to hire a team to haul water to his Station periodically, which was usuallly about every two weeks, depending on how many teams stopped there to water their horses at ten cents per head. One time the water hauler must have stirred up a skunk at the spring because until that supply was used up, anyone had to be awful thirsty to down that water. However, it did not work too much of a hardship on the Frenchman because he just sold more beer during that time. One of the team drivers that hauled water was Joe Miller of Fallon.
During the '20's he (the Frenchman) married a woman he had hired to do the cooking in order for him to devote more time to his saloon trade. After his marriage he did not seem to be the "happy-go-lucky" man of former times. He left this world supposedly by a self-inflicted gunshot wound but the way it came about has puzzled me.
Mr. and Mrs. Brock operated the Sand Springs Station. Mrs. Brock was a
Freight Stations Along the Lincoln Highway 33
"mail order bride," and I'd say that Mr. Brock was very fortunate to marry a woman so talented in the art of cooking and housekeeping and willing to work like she did. The Station corrals were located on the east side of the road on the spot where the Nevada highway monument now stands, and the Station buildings were directly across on the west side of the road. Traces of the old Station may still be found there. The well and "Aero brand" engine and pump were located outside the corral. Due to its peculiar taste, it was hard to swallow the water at first, but after drinking it for a while, the taste seemed more palatable. Here too, it cost ten cents per head to water horses and also to fill automobile radiators.
Several hundred feet south of Brock's buildings on the west side of the road, C. L. Benadum had a private station where his four-horse fast freight teams changed horses on the run between Fallon, Fairview and Wonder. A man named Ed Kellond took care of the horses stationed there. Mr. Be-nadum owned the Ford Agency in Fallon and also ran the stage line to Fairview and Wonder. He used Doris trucks to haul the mail and lighter freight, and Doris and Ford cars to haul passengers. I can recall the names of only two of his motor drivers. They were Irving Sanford, Sr. and Roy Stewart.
The only trace left of Benadum's station, at present, is some manure where part of the horse corral had been. Widening the highway right of way has erased all traces of where the caretaker's cabin and horse barn once stood.
John Peterson owned and operated the Salt Wells Station. He was a bachelor. He usually had a hired cook and spent most of his time tending to the saloon. Most of the freight teams took off straight south from the S. P. Railroad Depot on Taylor street. If a team left Fallon in the morning, Salt Wells was about the right mileage for a stopover. Otherwise they stayed overnight at L. A. Beckstead's Country Store campground, located about one-half mile east of the present Shurz highway at a distance of about five miles from Fallon.

Photo Essay of Early Nevada Motoring
EDITOR'S NOTE: Clarita Fortune Davis shared these pictures of relatives who tried to drive from Reno, Nevada, to Calgary, Alberta, Canada, in about 1910. The pictures show how adventurous motoring could be in the days when roads were built for wagons.
Calgary or bust. The daring party sets out from Reno, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Crossing a river by ferry, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis
Collection)
34
Photo Essay of Early Nevada Motoring 35
Assessing a sticky situation, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Crossing over, a little at a time, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
36 Clarita Fortune Davis
Sometimes all it took was a little push, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Breaking camp, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Photo Essay of Early Nevada Motoring 37

A broken axle, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Temporary camp while the driver hiked back to the railroad, flagged down a passing train and then waited until the train returned with a new axle, c1910. (Churchill County Museum — Clarita Fortune Davis Collection)
Driving to Vegas
Tonopah's
the only place
contour lines
appear to rise
between there
and Goldfield
the first Joshua trees
beer at the Mozart Club
between Mercury
and Indian Springs
the light
begins to change
you wonder
what you'll do
when you reach
the edge
of the map
out there
on the horizon
all that neon
beckoning you
in from the dark
© KIRK ROBERTSON. Reprinted by permission of the author from Driving to Vegas: New and Selected Poems, 1968-87, Sun-Gemini Press, n. p.
38
The Wildes—Walters Murder Case
PHILLIP I. EARL
WITH THE POSSIBLE EXCEPTION of America's recent troubles in Vietnam, our wars are generally viewed as memorable adventures, but those who have no stomach for the machinations and grand schemes of goverments have always felt otherwise. Among those Americans who shared this view at the time of the outbreak of World War I, in 1914, were socialists, pacifists, citizens of recent German and Austrian descent and those involved in radical labor organizations.
The Socialist Party had been a factor in Nevada political life since 1904, and party members had been elected to county offices and had sat in the legislature on several occasions, but the party's anti-militaristic stand when the war with Germany broke out did not set well with those Nevadans who came to take the side of Britain and her allies. In 1916, the party's position in the state was further strengthened by the establishment of a socialist colony in Churchill County which was to be a refuge from the militarism which seemed to be overtaking the country.
Among those who settled at Nevada City, the colony headquarters, was J. H. Walters, his wife and three children, socialist farmers from Idabel, Oklahoma. Arriving on May 16, 1917, just a month after America's entrance into the war, they soon took up their share of the collective labors of the colony. In addition to farming, Walters ran the commissary and his wife and two daughters operated the Lower Ranch Hotel. Their son, Paul, 27, worked as a farmhand and helped out at the store and the hotel, but he was destined to play a role in history which neither he nor his parents could have envisioned when they came to Nevada.
When the Selective Service Act of 1917 came into effect in June of that year, Paul Walters' name was the tenth drawn in Churchill County's lottery. He was ordered to report to the courthouse in Fallon for induction on August 12, but ignored the call. His case did not come to the attention of county and state authorities for another nine months, however, by which time he had moved to the Humboldt Sink.
In May of 1918, Sheriff Mark Wildes set about making plans to go out and arrest the young draft evader. Walters was told of the sheriff's coming a few days later and went south to the camp of Jessup. Wildes called upon another young socialist, Fred Venth, to go out with him since Venth had been
39
40 Phillip I. Earl
Churchill County Sheriff Mark Wildes c1909. (Churchill County Museum — Mary Walker Foster Collection)
boasting around town that he knew where Walters could be found. On May 18, Saturday, Wildes and Venth left for Jessup by auto to seek out J. G. Temple, a prospector who had a cabin near the camp. Venth had heard that Temple was a friend of Walters and had given shelter to the young man.
The Wildes —Walters Murder Case 41
Temple's cabin was deserted when they arrived, however, and they drove on to Lovelock to spend the night.
Wildes and Venth returned by way of the south side of Humboldt Lake the next morning and stopped at the Bessey Ranch. They were told that Temple was expected down for his mail that day, so the two men started for Jessup, expecting to meet the prospector on the way. A few miles further on, they spotted a man walking down a canyon. Driving a short distance, they parked the car and took off on foot to intercept him. From a distance, they saw two men rather than one, and Venth identified the taller of the two as Walters.
Venth hailed the pair and introduced the sheriff as a mining man who was interested in some of Temple's claims. Wildes then turned to the other man and asked him if he was Paul Walters. Receiving an affirmative answer, he said "I want you" and identified himself. At this, Walters pulled a revolver and began firing, hitting the sheriff several times. Wildes had gone for his own gun at the same instant, but had caught the barrel in the lining of an inside pocket and was unable to fire back. Venth and Temple dove for cover as Walters took off up the canyon on the run. Sheriff Wildes remained on his feet and fired several shots in the direction of his fleeing attacker, but missed him.
As Venth tore his shirt into strips to try to staunch Wildes' wounds, Temple left on foot for the Bessey Ranch to get help. The wounded man asked for water, and Venth went to their auto to get a canteen, but he became confused and could locate neither the vehicle nor Wildes again. In a panic, he ran towards the highway to flag down a car. Two motorists passed him before Frank Vance of Reno stopped. Venth and Vance drove back up the canyon and walked in to find Wildes. The sheriff raised up and waved his hat, and Venth was tending his wounds again when Temple arrived in a borrowed automobile. They decided to take him to Lovelock, but got no further than Fanning since Wildes was losing too much blood. W. H. Shewan and his wife took the party in, and telegrams were sent to Lovelock and Fallon.
Dr. Carl Lehners and Herbert and Will Hoover immediately set out across the desert from Fallon, but a Lovelock nurse reached the small railroad siding first and was tending the sheriff's wounds when they arrived. Another Fallon physician, Dr. Cecil Smith, also came out and he and Dr. Lehners patched up the wounded man as best they could for the trip to Lovelock. Grace Wildes, the sheriff's wife, was brought from her own hospital bed in San Francisco, but Wildes had lapsed into unconsciousness by the time she arrived. Dr. Lehners was again summoned to Lovelock on May 22, but death for the lawman came at 5:40 a.m. the next morning. Posses were organized in both Lovelock and Fallon within hours of the arrival of news of the shooting, and Governor Emmet D. Boyle announced that the state was offering a reward of $1,200 for Walters, dead or alive. The Churchill County Commis-
42 Phillip I. Earl
John Reed and Skinny Pascal, taken in Lovelock, c1915. (Courtesy Nevada Historical Society, Reno).
The Wildes—Walters Murder Case 43
sioners authorized a reward of $500, and another $209.50 was raised through subscription by the citizens of Fallon.
Paul Walters was meanwhile doing his best to elude those seeking to take him in. He had somehow acquired a .30-.30 rifle and enough provisions to last three weeks, but his fate was all but sealed. Just at sunset, 6:45 p.m., May 24, 1918, a group of Indian trackers from Lovelock were exploring an alkali swamp known as Salt River some six miles northwest of Parran. Skinny Pascal, one of the mounted riders, noticed some movement on an island in the swamp. Peering through the semi-darkness, he saw Walters rise to his knees and take aim, with a rifle, at Joaquin Brown, another tracker. Pascal then raised his own weapon and fired, hitting Walters in the back of the head. Others began firing towards the island, but to no avail as the young man had died almost instantly. The body was brought to Fanning an hour later, and an inquest was held. Walters' parents were notified of his death, but neither they nor any other members of the socialist colony came out to claim the body. Two Fallon undertakers arrived the next day, and the body was laid away in an unmarked grave nearby.
Sheriff Wildes was buried on May 26, but the bitterness over the circumstances of his death continued. Governor Boyle, in his tribute to the late sheriff at the funeral, spoke of assistance given to Walters by certain members of the socialist colony after the murder and urged that an investigation be made, but subsequent talk of mob violence unnerved everyone. Walters' family, crushed by grief and humiliation, left for Lincoln, California, on June 8th. The only man taken into custody was prospector J. G. Temple, arrested and jailed in Lovelock on a charge of interfering with the operation of the Selective Service System. On June 19, he was bound over in Reno to await a hearing before the Federal Grand Jury. Jailed in Lovelock, he was brought before the federal panel there on October 7. He claimed that he and Walters just happened to reach the path down the canyon at the same time, but were not together. Temple also denied that Walters had been staying with him. The members of the jury had no reason to believe otherwise and did not return an indictment. Temple was released from custody the next day, but said that he had missed out on an important mining deal while he was locked up and intended to sue the government for damages.
Controversy over the various rewards offered for the capture or killing of Paul Walters kept the Wildes murder in the news for the next several years. Governor Boyle had verbally authorized the increase in the reward to $5,000 a few hours before Wildes' death, but the State Board of Examiners had not approved it when the death occurred. Boyle insisted that his promise be kept, however, and the total amount of the rewards was thus approximately $6,200. Skinny Pascal claimed that he was entitled to the lion's share since he was the one who carried out the actual killing, but others on the scene put in formal claims also. About a hundred others who had been in on the search for
44 Phillip I. Earl
Walters also felt that they deserved something for their trouble. At a conference held in Lovelock on December 7, 1918, Pascal received a one-seventh-part of the reward previously authorized, $272.30, the remainder being divided among eleven other men, including two U.S. Marshals, Emory Morgan and Dan McCloud. Neither Pascal nor the others were satisfied over this settlement, and, at one time, Governor Boyle threatened to give all the money to the Red Cross. However, the money was paid a few weeks later.
When the Nevada Legislature met in January of 1919, Grace Wildes was awarded $5,000 to be paid at $100 a month, unless she married again before the total had been paid. Governor Boyle requested another $3,000 to be paid in rewards. Skinny Pascal received $408.50 at that time, and two other men were given shares along with the eleven who had split the previous reward. In the end, all of them felt they had been shorted.
On March 17, 1919, the Churchill County Commissioners met to decide upon a division of the $500 authorized by them. Some seventy claims from Lovelock and Fallon men were submitted, but the only decision made that day was the awarding of Walters' rifle to Joaquin Brown. The county reward was apparently never paid, although Pascal filed suit for it in June of 1921. The $500 and the $209.50 raised by subscription were given to Fallon postmaster George W. Likes for safekeeping. He deposited the funds in the Bank of Fallon, and the money was still there when he retired from office in August 1, 1924. By that time, most of the claimants had either left the state or forgotten the whole unpleasant episode. Skinny Pascal died in Lovelock some six years later, May 18, 1930, and was remembered in his obituary for his skill as a tracker in the Shoshone Mike incident of February, 1911, and for the Walters case of 1918. The Lovelock newspaper noted the controversy over the Walters' reward and indicated that the deceased had received only "a nominal sum" for his efforts.
There is a persistent belief that the killing of Sheriff Wildes led to the demise of the socialist colony. In fact, the colony was a failure almost from its inception. The notion that the settlement would become a classless utopia was belied by the reality of dissension and strife which soon arose between the members. Litigation to reestablish individual property rights followed, and the experiment became more capitalistic as time passed. Management of the entire enterprise was inadequate, and the division touched off by the war proved to be an insufferable additional burden. A law suit to dissolve the Nevada Colony Corporation was filed in May of 1919, and legal actions by individual colonists continued on into the 1920's. Meanwhile, dwellings and farm buildings had been moved or torn down for building materials, and, today, there are no physical remains of the ill-fated experiment in cooperation and equality.
Editor's Note: This article is a part of the Nevada Historical Society's This Was Nevada series.
The Project of a Lifetime
COLLEEN AMES
NOT TOO MANY MORNINGS GO BY that you can't find Ray Alcorn drinking coffee at a local restaurant discussing one of his favorite topics—birds.
These days, though, Alcorn doesn't linger long over his coffee, and conversation about birds has turned to conversation about bird books, namely THE BIRDS OF NEVADA, which Alcorn will publish this fall. THE BIRDS OF NEVADA is a project Ray has worked on in one way or another for nearly 60 of his 76 years.
Born December 1, 1911, in Bishop, California, to William "Harry" and Delpha Alcorn, Ray was raised in the Owens Valley. From the time he was a small boy, Ray had an interest in wildlife. He remembers one particular incident clearly. He and an Indian boy were walking to school one day when they saw a spotted skunk ("we called 'em pole cats") run into a pile of rocks. "We were so determined to get that skunk," Alcorn remembers, "that we didn't realize we'd been sprayed. Our teacher noticed it right off though and sent us home."
As he grew older, Ray began to take his interest in wildlife a bit more seriously. By the time he was sixteen, under the instruction of U.S. Forest Ranger Lawson H. Brainerd, Ray had learned the scientific names of the ducks and had assisted in food habit studies.
In 1929, the Alcorn family moved to Fallon, and Ray has kept the town as his "home base" ever since. It was in the early 1930's that Ray met Vernon Mills. Discovering they shared an interest in wildlife, the two became lifelong friends and spent many hours in the field together. Both were influenced by nationally known naturalist Vernon Bailey, who was also Mills' uncle.
Alcorn recalls, "Bailey was always going around tasting things. He said we should know how everything tasted, so Vernon (Mills) and I would go around and take a piece of everything and stick it in our mouths. We wanted to do everything he did."
Mills particularly remembers one outing he and Ray were on. "We had shot a duck and wanted to see what it had been eating," he says. "So I tied this rope around Ray and he started swimming towards the duck. The rope was too short, so he took it off and swam over to the duck, then swam to shore."
45
46 Colleen Ames
Ray Alcorn checking gulls at Lake Lahontan, May 17, 1987. ( Albert A. Alcorn)
In 1936, Ray began working for the U.S. Biological Survey (now the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service). In 1939 he left the Survey to work with Dr. E. Raymond Hall at the University of California at Berkeley on the MAMMALS OF NEVADA. In 1941, he returned to Nevada and the Fish and Wildlife Service.
In 1947, Ray began working with Dr. Hall again, this time at the University of Kansas. Over a twelve year period, Ray collected over 30,000 specimens from Alaska, Canada, the western United States, Mexico and Central America.
Ray returned to Fallon in 1959, and resumed his work with the Fish and Wildlife Service. From then until his retirement in 1973, Ray traveled throughout the state. Although opportunities for advancement came, he always opted to stay in the field. "My Dad always told me to find something I liked and make it my life's work," Alcorn says. "I was a wildlife biologist; that's what I liked and so that's where I stayed."
When he was in the field with Dr. Hall, Ray was required to keep detailed notes about his activities and observations. This started a habit Ray has yet to break. Wherever he was, he would write down the birds he saw as well as detailed accounts of anything he observed.
By the time Ray decided to write THE BIRDS OF NEVADA he had over
The Project of a Lifetime 47
10,000 pages of field notes. However, he wanted his book to contain more than his notes. He wanted to compile a volume that told the history of Nevada birds. So, he contacted birdwatchers he knew, and they shared their records with him. He contacted personnel at wildlife refuges throughout the state and gathered records and information from them also. Then, Ray researched all the published literature he could find on Nevada birds. In 1970, the first draft of THE BIRDS OF NEVADA was written.
Many wonder why Alcorn has taken nearly twenty years to write THE BIRDS OF NEVADA. "I think one of the reasons it took my father so long to write this book is that he's a perfectionist," says Albert Alcorn, Ray's son, who did most of the photography work for THE BIRDS OF NEVADA. "It's such a big project, and very few people understand the amount of work involved in putting it all together."
Even fewer people seem to understand why Alcorn would invest so much of his own money in a project like this without any hope of breaking even. "It's cost me about $80,000 to do this book," Alcorn says. "But I'm not doing this for money; I'm doing it because I have all of this material, and it's important, and I think it should be published so people can use it. This book is a part of Nevada's history, and you can't put a price tag on that."
One person who looks forward to getting a copy of THE BIRDS OF NEVADA is wildlife biologist Steve Thompson. Thompson works for the Fish and Wildlife Service at Stillwater Wildlife Management Area. "In my work, very few people stay in one place long enough to keep records for a history," he says. "When you talk to Ray you find out that he's taken time to dig out all of the information on a certain species, plus he has so many of his own records. This whole project is really a labor of love because agencies like ours don't have the manpower or the money to do anything like it."
Alcorn is so determined to see this project through that he is publishing the book himself through his own publishing company -Fairview West Publishing.''
"A lot of people I talked to about publishing the book wanted me to cut a lot of material out that I thought was important. Or, they wanted to publish it in a spiral notebook or paperback," Alcorn says. "But I've always pictured this book in a certain way. The only way to see that come to pass was to do it myself."
THE BIRDS OF NEVADA may be the first book Alcorn publishes, but it certainly won't be the last. In the future he plans to write and publish books on the coyote and on his family history. "I always wondered what it would be like to retire and have nothing to do," he jokes.
The Birds of Nevada
AN EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK BY
RAY ALCORN
CALIFORNIA GULL Larus californicus
DISTRIBUTION. From Southeastern Alaska to Manitoba; south across much of the United States to Mexico.
STATUS IN NEVADA. Common summer resident in western Nevada, transient statewide. A few winter in Clark County and in recent years, Fred Ryser (1985) reported them overwintering in the Reno area. In the northern part of the state, a few individuals have been seen at major bodies of water in summer months.
RECORDS OF OCCURRENCE. Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge (1982) reported the California Gull as an uncommon spring migrant, with occasional occurrences in summer and fall.
Larry LaRochelle (Ms, 1967) reported at Ruby Lake National Wildlife Refuge from two to seven of these gulls arrive the third or fourth week in March and stay until early fall.
California Gulls have been seen in the Lovelock area eating insects and worms in cultivated fields. Occasionally, they will eat small mammals. One such occurrence was on November 1, 1967 at the Brinkerhoff ranch near Lovelock, when about 100 gulls were seen capturing live Meadow Mice flushed from their burrows because of flood irrigating. A gull would pick up a live mouse, take flight, and swallow the mouse while in flight (Alcorn MS).
Hugh Kingery (1980) reported 167 California Gulls at South Lake Tahoe December 16, 1979.
Lois Heilbrun and Kenn Kaufman (1977) reported 307 California Gulls on the Truckee Meadows Christmas Bird Count. These gulls nest at Anaho Island, Pyramid Lake and on islands in the eastern part of Lahontan Reservoir.
Kingery (1977) reported, -California Gulls had 3000 nests at Anaho Island National Wildlife Refuge and 1700 nests at Stillwater."
The abundance of these gulls in the Fallon area is indicated by their being seen 1263 times from 1960 to 1967, inclusive. They forage for food in the cultivated fields in the area where they eat many insects and worms (Alcorn M S).
48
Birds of Nevada 49
The majority of these gulls arrive in late March or early April and are common and abundant until the first part of August. They frequently are not separated by wildlife census takers from the smaller Ring-billed Gulls, which are not as numerous in the Fallon area (Alcorn MS).
David B. Marshall (1951) reported 13 California Gull nests on a small island at Stillwater Point Reservoir on the Stillwater Wildlife Management Area June 2, 1950.
Dave Paullin (PC) was at Lead Lake in the Stillwater Marsh June 13, 1970. He reported a Redhead duck with three young swam from shore out into the lake nearby. One baby duck strayed away from the others, and a gull swam over to the stray duckling, grabbed it by the nape of the neck, shook and killed it, then swallowed the whole duckling. Four or five Yellow-headed Blackbirds chased the gull as it flew away.
Pete Schwabenland (MS, 1966) reported. "Several hundred of these have been seen with Ring-billed Gulls during the summer. Some birds come to feed from Anaho where they nest. Have nested at Stillwater in the past, although not at present."
Larry Napier (MS, 1974) reported, "Common in small numbers. No nesting at Stillwater from 1967 to 1974. Abundant nester at Anaho Island with no significant change in population in recent years."
Steve Thompson (MS, 1988) reported California Gulls nested at Pelican Island, Stillwater Wildlife Management Area, in 1986 and 1987.
Art Biale (PC, 1984) reported, "Seven birds were observed at Bartine Ranch, Antelope Valley May 11, 1980."
In Pahranagat and Moapa Valleys of southeastern Nevada, gulls judged to be mostly California Gulls with an unknown number of Ring-billed Gulls, were seen 8 times in January; 7 in February; 23 in March; 6 in April; 11 in May; twice in July, August and October; once in November; and 4 times in December (Alcorn MS).
George Austin and Glen Bradley (1971) reported for Clark County, "Winter resident in riparian and aquatic areas. Usual occurrences on December 21 and May 15. Unseasonal occurrence on July 24."
Lois Heilbrun and Douglas Stotz (1980) reported 15 California Gulls on the Henderson Christmas Bird Count December 15.
Chuck Lawson (TT, 1976) commented, "This gull is a common winter resident in southern Nevada. You might see as many as 50 individuals at Lake Mead, but you could see as many as 200 at Davis Dam. They winter primarily from early November through February with spring migration in early March."
Kingery (1983) reported, "Las Vegas again this year had very low numbers—half of the next lowest year and a very few first-year birds."
NESTING. These gulls have nested for many years on one or both of two islands in the eastern part of Lahontan Reservoir, Churchill County. A total of
NATIVE AMERICAN
PERSPECTIVE
Captain Breckenridge* and the Stillwater War
DORIS D. DWYER
N RECENT YEARS great strides have been made in expanding the traditional political-economic emphasis that has long dominated the writing of Nevada history. Monographs, scholarly articles and even historical fiction have incorp-orated previously neglected themes of "the other Nevada." One important spect of the state's experience that has not been sufficiently developed is the historical experience of Nevada tribal groups.1
One specific incident that has been overlooked is the "Stillwater War" of 872, an event that highlights many aspects of official and unofficial policies oward Nevada Indians at the time. An examination of the Stillwater War, a minor incidence of Indian hostility, possibly provides more insight and un-lerstanding of the true state of Indian-white relations in Nevada at the time han the more atypical Pyramid Lake War of 1860. Indeed, the Stillwater conflict, and the white community's reaction to it, represents a microcosm of ndian policy in the state in the late nineteenth century.
The origins of the -Stillwater War" can be traced, in part, to several ituations existing in the mining community of Austin during the summer of .871. One relevant factor was the traditional antipathy existing between Western Shoshone bands of Lander County and several migratory Paiute bands seeking to extend the limits of their territory eastward to Austin. The informal but longstanding boundary was located near Cold Springs Station; but some northern Paiute Indians, including the Stillwater band, wished to incorporate Austin into their migratory circuit during seasons when game, fish, grass seed and other traditional food sources were scarce or non-existent.
Nevadans were amused by the intertribal quarrel. White onlookers quickly ascertained the motivations of the Paiutes and predicted victory for the nterlopers. One newspaper wryly commented;
* The name is often spelled "Breckinridge" in early accounts. The spelling variant chosen is the one sed by the family.
51
52 Doris D. Dwyer
They now want to come enough further east to include Austin and its kitchens within their lunch route. Shoshones object, but the Piutes are most numerous and most crafty, and will probably get away with the new departure.3
Naturally resentful of an encroachment on their habitat, Shoshones residing in the vicinity of Austin resisted. After mutual threats of war, which, among other things, contributed to white fears of an Indian outbreak, a meeting took place in the vicinity of Austin and resulted in a settlement which continued the time-honored claim of the Shoshone to the area, but provided limited-use rights to the Paiutes. The Reese River Reveille, providing the only known written record of the meeting, had openly supported the Shoshone claims and implied that there might be intervention by the Austin community in the event of a forced settlement by the more numerous Paiutes. Following the meeting in early August, the Reveille reported an amicable resolution by Paiute leader Breckenridge and Toi Toi, spokesman for a Western Shoshone band living in the Reese River Valley.4
"Captain Breckenridge" was a member of the band of Paiute Indians from the Stillwater area.5 Breckenridge, who often acted as a spokesman (perhaps a self-proclaimed one) for the group in its relations with white Nevadans, was a frequent visitor to the Austin area.6 Grudgingly tolerated by Austinites and Shoshone Indians living in the area, Breckenridge was a local celebrity of sorts, usually portrayed as a colorful character useful for providing an entertaining quote for the readers of the Reese River Reveille.
The Austin newspaper generally did not take seriously such diplomatic manuevers on the part of the Indians, but the two Indian leaders placed great importance on their mission. A traditional antagonism between the Paiutes and Shoshones temporarily decreased in intensity as a result of the meeting, though the Shoshones of the area continued to resent what they regarded as Paiute usurpation of their territory.
Consistent with the derisive attitude of most whites toward Indian matters, the Reveille credited implied pressure from whites rather than skillful Indian negotiating for the non-violent resolution of the dispute. The Reveille did, however, acknowledge some insight on the part of Breckenridge;
. . . the doughty Capt. Breckenridge concluded to bury the hatchet and shake hands with the Shoshone chief. The shrewd rascal perceived the whites sympathized with his enemies and that if he made any hostile move he and his would be driven from here, and therefore concluded to be a generous Indian and allow the Shoshones to live in their own country.?
The threat of warfare between Western Shoshone and Northern Paiute leaders was not uncommon among Indian inhabitants of northern Nevada. Unless united by a powerful common threat from white settlers or government officials, Paiute and Shoshone groups generally viewed each other with distrust and disdain. Indeed, many times Indian groups sided with whites
Captain Breckenridge and the Stillwater War 53
against one another. This frequent cooperation with the white community can be partially explained as a survival tactic, but it was also the legacy of the ancient hostilities existing between the two native peoples.
Despite the buried hatchet, the agreement between Breckenridge and Toi Toi was short-lived. Within days of the accord, mutual threats of violence resonated through the town of Austin. Breckenridge's Paiutes, as had been their periodic habit during the last two years, forced local Shoshones from their longtime camp on the southern fringes of town and settled in themselves, to the irritation of Austinites.8 Clearly the prevailing local atmosphere did not bode well for the Stillwater group.
Shortly after the disintegration of the agreement reached by Breckenridge and Toi Toi, an unrelated event—coupled with local white sympathy for the Shoshones—forced the Stillwater Paiutes from the Austin area. Two white men, Charles Fowler and Joseph Phillips, arrested for petit larceny, escaped from the Austin jail, and a sheriff's posse immediately followed in pursuit. To augment his forces, the sheriff authorized a group of Paiute men under the leadership of Breckenridge to assist in the search for the fugitives. Brecken-ridge's posse apprehended the men, and while enroute to Austin, Phillips attacked Breckenridge, disarmed him, and attempted to flee. Responding to the attack on Breckenridge, an Indian known to the Austin community as "Piute" Tom attacked and killed Fowler, but Phillips fled from the Paiutes and eluded recapture.
Although Breckenridge, Piute Tom and other Paiutes constituted a legal posse, outrage over Fowler's death ensued among some elements of the Austin community. The sheriff, however, accepted Breckenridge's account of the debacle, and the Reveille exonerated the Paiutes of any wrongdoing, though it deplored the thought of an Indian posse unaccompanied by a white citizen. An account related afterward by Phillips corroborated the Indian version of the death and no official action resulted.9
A few Austinites, however, remained disgruntled. Despite the disreputable character of Fowler, this minority, outraged that a white citizen had died at the hands of Indians, succeeded in imposing its will regarding Brecken-ridge's band on the community. Within a day of Fowler's death, a vigilance committee was formed which demanded the expulsion of the band from Austin and delivered an eviction notice to Breckenridge;
"Austin, Aug. 23rd"
Piute Wee Want youe toe leve This plase as Wee have saw Truble ernuff Withe youe On the Surenevada mountain And owens river and all other Plases Whare youre rang runs Now I feel it my dutey As well as most of the sitisons of auston toe Warn youe Toe leve this plase As I doe not feel safe In my ofice nights With such sawages at all Owers of the night And Wee Will give youe untul thursday Evening Toe leve In
"The sitisons of Auston"10
54 Doris D. Dwyer
Following the receipt of the ultimatum of the vigilance committee, the Stillwater Indians attended a fandango and pinenut gathering at the Mammoth District southwest of Austin. Enroute, Breckenridge and about 100 Paiutes traveled to the Reese River Valley, where they remained for several days, foraging for food and performing sporadic work for area ranchers. The Paiute fandango at Mammoth took place in early September while the Shoshones simultaneously met at Big Creek.11 Since September was the traditional time for the collector of pinenuts, and was generally accompanied by gatherings of large numbers of Indians, the Shoshone and Paiute dances were probably not a response to the recent occurrences at Austin.
While the Shoshones returned to Austin following their pinenut celebration at Big Creek, the Paiutes remained at Mammoth. The Reveille indulged in speculations that the Paiutes would seek retribution for their forced withdrawal from Austin for an act of which they were quite proud, and one that they felt was consistent with the laws of the people of Austin.12 Warnings of imminent hostilities in the Mammoth District and Ione appeared, though none were reported.
The Reveille, embarrassed by the excessive actions of the hostile minority, condemned the actions of the vigilance committee. Though not an avid supporter of Breckenridge and the Stillwater Indians, the paper's editor perhaps feared censure by other communities.13 Nonetheless, the paper delighted in this unanticipated "victory" by local Shoshones, who, at least temporarily, were spared the competition of the more aggressive Paiutes;
The Shoshone goose is pendant at an exalted altitude, for their bane and eyesore, the warlike Piutes, still tarry among the pinenut groves of Mammoth, and they encounter no opposition in their foraging expeditions for `biskif and other truck that gladeneth the heart and filleth the belly of the hungry Shoshone.14
The expulsion of the Stillwater Paiutes from Austin probably would have not appreciably affected the band if the climatic conditions at the time were not so severe. Records attest to the harsh weather conditions of 1870 and 1871; a prolonged drought greatly diminished the traditional food sources of Nevada Indian groups. Significantly, the pinenut crop was dismal in the fall of 1871. The action of the vigilance committee forced Breckenridge and his followers to rely on the scant game, fish and pinenuts available in competition with other Indian groups similarly deprived.
In addition to the harsh weather conditions (perhaps because of them), Paiutes in northern Nevada suffered a void in their leadership ranks. In November, 1871, Captain Charley, cousin of Breckenridge and a fellow Paiute negotiator at the Austin meeting with the Shoshones, died of heart disease at Walker River. Charley was a frequent companion of Breckenridge and had served intermittently as a translator for soldiers stationed in Nevada. He was well-known to Nevada citizens, and his death undoubtedly increased Breck-
Captain Breckenridge and the Stillwater War 55
enridge's role as a spokesman to the white community. Also in early November the Pyramid Lake Paiutes suffered the loss of Numaga, strategist of the Pyramid Lake War, who died of consumption at Wadsworth.15
The deaths of these two influential Paiute leaders underscores the devastating influence of the harsh weather and contagious disease on the Indians residing in the Stillwater area. The Toedokado bands, inhabiting an extensive area which included the Carson Lake and Sink, were subjected to dangerous contagions transported by large numbers of emigrants, miners, government officials and other groups crossing the Great Basin. A government report of 1870 singled out the Toedokado bands as suffering a drastic reduction of their numbers because of the effects of unspecified epidemic diseases. From its traditional number of approximately eight hundred the Stillwater bands numbered 400 in 1870.16
Simultaneously Nevada Indian agents reported a large increase in the number of Paiutes on both the Walker River and Pyramid Lake Reservations during the winter of 1871-72. Indians residing at Pyramid Lake subsisted on an adequate supply of fish that season, but the situation was dismal at Walker River. Paiutes who generally visited the Walker River Reservation only during the spring and summer fishing season thronged to the Reservation during the winter months in hopes of acquiring adequate provisions from the government. Indian agency personnel at Walker River were overwhelmed by the unexpected hordes of non-reservation Indians, and the paltry sum allocated to the agency prohibited the rendering of any effective aid.17
The so-called Stillwater War ocurred in the midst of this devastating season. It took place on January 20, 1872 when a group of Stillwater Indians, including Breckenridge, stole some cattle from local ranchers. When a posse under the Churchill County Sheriff traced the cattle to a camp of Stillwater Paiutes, the Sheriff arrested Breckenridge and four other Paiute men. The law officers had also acquired a search warrant to confiscate weapons from the Paiute camp. When word of the search and arrest spread, groups of Paiutes pursued and fired on the Sheriff. The result, as reported in northern Nevada newspapers, was a "siege" of the town of Stillwater, where twenty local citizens were "under attack" by "hostile" Indians.18 A hurried dispatch requested troops and ammunition. The desperate plea was quickly answered, and a detachment of fifty soldiers was immediately sent from San Fransicso to investigate. The orders of the soldiers, under the command of Major J. C. Tidball, were to evaluate the situation at both Stillwater and at Walker River, where an uncommonly large number of Indians were gathered.
What the soldiers found upon their arrival at Stillwater and at Walker River was evidence of Indians living under starvation conditions. The "attack" on Stillwater had been a reflex reaction to a threat to the band, and one Indian explained the Paiute "siege" as a response to inaccurate reports that Breckenridge had been killed.19 The Indians at Stillwater, numbering fourteen
56 Doris D. Dwyer
families at the time of the raid, faced the same limited options as the other Indians of the area. Their expulsion from Austin had deprived them of an important winter resting area, one where they could perform labor for food and money during a season of severe scarcity. Other potential options were closed as well. Several northern Nevada communities were plagued with smallpox that winter, and many Nevada Indian groups suffered ravaging bouts of disease during this period. The Central Pacific Railroad, which served most communities in the area and which often carried Indians for no charge, refused to transport them that winter because of the threat of disease. And, as previously stated, the reservations, often a solution of last resort for migratory bands of the area, offered insufficient provisions for the large numbers of Indians faced with starvation.
Newspaper accounts of the "Stillwater War" made numerous connections between the incident and the scarcity of resources available for Indians, as well as references to the banishment of this same band of Indians from Austin the preceding summer. The reports reflected an understanding of why the incident occurred, but the prevailing tone was one of fear of a general Indian outbreak. Headlines appeared announcing "Stillwater Surrounded by Savages" and "Piutes on the Warpath."20 When most of the Indians around Stillwater fled to Walker River after the arrest of Breckenridge and his companions, white overreaction was inevitable. The Stillwater Indians further swelled the number of desperate Indians at Walker River, and in the collective mind of Nevada citizens, the "siege" of Stillwater and the ominous gathering at Walker River were inextricably linked and served as proof of the innate treachery of the Indian.
In retrospect, the reaction of whites to the Stillwater War seems grossly out of proportion to the actual situation. Indeed, many contemporary observers acknowledged the exaggerated nature of the response. Yet it is important to consider the context within which isolated white settlers existed. In the fall and winter of 1871 there were frequent newspaper reports of real and imagined Indian uprisings. Conflicts in Southern California, Honey Lake Valley, and Owens River Valley were reported in Nevada newspapers,21 and must have enhanced fears already present among Nevada settlers.
Coupled with accounts of numerous Indian-white conflicts were lingering reports of strange gatherings at the Walker River Reservation. For several seasons a Paiute prophet named Wodziwob had promised great changes for destitute bands of Northern Paiute and other Indians and instilled new hope in people who were experiencing severe cultural trauma. Indian agents had sent reports to Washington describing a religious phenomenon which en-visoned, among other things, a return of the dead, renewed natural resources and a veritable paradise reminiscent of pre-contact Paiute culture. 22
A leading scholar of the Northern Paiute culture contends that Wodziwob had stopped preaching his doctrine of regeneration and renewal in 1871, but
Captain Breckenridge and the Stillwater War 57
newspaper accounts attest to his continued presence and influence in the winter of 1872, precisely the time when Breckenridge's desperate raid took place. In a lengthy interview in the Daily State Register, Paiute Johnson Sides described the Ghost Dance phenomenon in great detail, and both the Reese River Reveille and the Territorial Enterprise refer to the departure from Walker River of Paiutes disappointed that the prophet's forecasts failed to materialize.23
Though the message of Wodziwob contained no overt reference to violence against settlers, reports of large gatherings of Indians at Walker River attracted wide attention. There were frequent reports of 3000 Indians gathered at the Lake, though more thoughtful observers pointed out the impossibility of that number when only 2400 Paiutes lived in the state. In fact, the number was closer to 1500, the normal number of Indians during certain seasons of the year, such as pinenut gathering, fishing, and other seasonal celebrations and food collecting times.24
Area newspapers carried accounts of a general Indian retreat from Walker River when Wodziwob's forecasts went unfulfilled. The Reveille wrote; . . one of their prophets predicted a frightful storm which would last for five days, creating great floods and rolling rocks down from the mountainsides, destroying everything before them." When the storm failed to materialize, the Paiutes returned to their camps. In Virginia City, the Enterprise noted that "The Piutes have settled down to woodsawing and similar work, and do not care to hear mention of the deluge predicted by their big prophet."25
Amid such an atmosphere of fear and misunderstanding, it is not surprising that Nevadans reacted as they did to the stolen cattle in Churchill County. Inundated with confirmed as well as unverified accounts of Indian uprisings in surrounding areas, fearful of a powerful attraction among Paiutes to a prophet promising a world without white interference, and cognizant of the overzealous and unjust banishment of the Stillwater Indians from Austin the previous summer, Nevadans were ever-vigilant towards the possibility of another conflict reminiscent of the Pyramid Lake War. Even an awareness of starvation conditions among Indians, mixed with a collective white embarrassment over the Austin incident, did not prevent an expectation of a worst case scenario.
Interest in the Stillwater incident waned following the dispatch of the soldiers. Though the Eureka Daily Sentinel encouraged war fever for a few days, most newspapers carried little or no follow-up accounts of the story. Initial threats of lynching Breckenridge were overcome by fears of Indian retaliation for such a precipitous act, and no extant newspapers chronicled the resolution of the incident.26 The Gold Hill News reported the restoration of peace at Stillwater by early February, but the account did not include the legal fate of the Indians involved.
For the Northern Paiutes of the area, the Stillwater War was a logical
58 Doris D. Dwyer
response to intolerable conditions imposed by nature and by a grasping society which defied their understanding. It is significant that Paiute oral tradition has preserved a version of the episode that is as inaccurate and ethnocentric as the accounts published in the newspapers of the time. Files containing recollections of tribal lore maintain that "The soldiers drove the Toi Ticutta from the Stillwater marshes to the Carson Sink desert. The soldiers stabbed the Numa without mercy when they attempted to defend their homes."27 If such an atrocity had occurred it surely would have been reported by official government reports or by area newspapers. Yet the inaccuracy of the traditional Paiute account is a testament to the bitter legacy left by the seemingly minor occurrence.
The feelings of betrayal of a later generation pale in comparison to the trauma experienced by the Indian participants. In their eyes Breckenridge's group of Paiutes had been punished for carrying out existing law in Austin just when the resources of that town were indispensable to the band's survival. Their traditional antipathy toward Shoshone bands further limited their options, and a government policy that was unresponsive to so-called "renegade Indians"28 left them little choice but to raid ranches located in their traditional food-gathering territory. Perhaps most importantly, the ravages of disease depleted their ranks and compromised their ability to cope with the bleak weather conditions of 1871-72. As was often the case with Indian groups faced with destruction by disease, the band's drastic loss of population undoubtedly called into question the efficacy of their traditional spiritual world. It is no wonder that they turned to the revitalization movement of a Paiute prophet, which, among other things, promised a return of the recently deceased. It was their misfortune that, by exercising a spiritual option, they merely exacerbated the insecurities of white Nevadans. Only in such a context could the stealing of a few cattle elicit such an incongruous response.
NOTE S
Historians have been somewhat remiss in recording social and cultural aspects of the state's history. To date no general text exists which deals with the experiences of ethnic minorities in a serious manner. The most valuable research on Nevada Indian groups continues to be in the field of anthropology.
2 Reese River Reveille, August 1, 1871.
3 Gold Hill News, August 7, 1871.
4 Reese River Reveille, August 2, 1871.
5 The northern Paiutes that inhabited the Great Basin lived a migratory existence, the patterns of movement being determined by available food sources. The Stillwater band was known as the Toedokado or Tule Eaters. They lived much of the year in the Carson Sink area and traveled during the year within a wide area that included the mining communities of Gold Hill and Virginia City to the west and Austin to the east. They also traveled to Pyramid and Walker Lakes during the fishing season and often joined other Paiute bands for pinenut gathering, rabbit hunts and other communal activities. A recent overview of the ethnography of the northern Paiute can be found in Catherine S. Fowler and Sven Liljeblad, "Northern Paiute", in Warren L. D'Azevedo, ed., Great Basin, vol. 11 of Handbook of American Indians, gen. ed. William C. Sturtevant (Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 1986), pp. 435-465.
Captain Breckenridge and the Stillwater War 59
6 Field studies of the Stillwater band indicate that Breckenridge was the undisputed leader of the band during these years. Though the concept of an authorized political leader was foreign to Paiute culture, band leaders became increasingly necessary in the face of white usurpation of the traditional resources of the Paiutes. See Omer C. Stewart, "The Northern Paiute Bands" in University of California Publications in Anthropological Records, Volume Two, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1941, pp. 126-149.
7 Reese River Reveille, August 2, 1871.
8 Ibid., August 17, 1871.
9 Ibid., August 21, 22 and 25, 1871.
10 Ibid., August 24, 1871.11
Ibid., August 26, September 5 and 6, 1871.
12 Ibid., August 26, 1871.
13 Ibid., September 9, 1871.
14 Gold Hill News, September 14, 1871.
15 Ibid., November 7, 1871.
16 United States. Department of the Interior. Annual Report of the Nevada Superintendency, Office of Indian Affairs. 1870; Stewart, "Northern Paiute Bands," pp. 141, 147.
17 Annual Reports, 1871, 1872.
18 Ibid. ; Daily State Register, January 23, 27, 1872.
19 Ibid., January 28, 1872.
20 Elko Independent, January 27, 1872.
21 For examples, see Reese River Reveille, July 7, 1871, p. 1; Eureka Daily Sentinel, August 2, 1871, p. 2; Carson Daily Appeal, September 9, 1871, p. 2; Nevada State Journal, September 16, 1871, p. 2.
22 Annual Report, 1871.
23 See Michael Hittman, "The 1870 Ghost Dance at the Walker River Reservation: A Reconstruction" Ethnohistory 20 (Summer 1973): 247-278 for a thorough, scholarly treatment of Wodziwob and the occurences at Walker River during the early 1870s.
24 Annual Report, 1872; Reese River Reveille, January 24, 1872.
25 Reese River Reveille, January 22, 1872; Territorial Enterprise, February 16, 1872.
26 Eureka Daily Sentinel, January 25, 1872; Reese River Reveille, January 24, 1872.
27 Numa: A Northern Paiute History (Reno: Intertribal Council of Nevada, 1976), p. 83.
28 "Renegade" Indian was official Indian office language used to denote Indians living outside the reservation limits.
Excerpts from
T soa-me-ny-ee (Flaming Bead)
THE STORY OF HER EARLY LIFE AND THE TOI-TUCKA-TUH
OF THE STILLWATER MARSHLANDS
EDITOR'S NOTE: The following is an excerpt from a book by Bessie Breckenridge Johnny, the great grand-daughter of that same Captain Breckenridge of Dr. Dwyer's preceding Stillwater War article. Captain Breckenridge was the recognized leader of the Stillwater Paiute band from the late 1860's until his death in the early 1900's. Buried with him was a peace treaty that he had entered into with early white settlers. Later attempts to find the grave and the treaty, especially important to the band as more and more white settlers entered the valley, failed and, to date, both the grave and treaty remain undiscovered.
Bessie Breckenridge Johnny, Flaming Bead, was born in 1906, also the founding year of the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Reservation. Her book weaves tradition, lore, and experience into a portrait of her Indian peoples' early ways of life and later struggles to adapt to the newly imposed ways of the white settlers. She died on February 26, 1987. The excerpts focus on her stories of Captain Breckenridge and on her early memories of life on the reservation.
. . . KITU'-NA-MA-TO-QUINA-AH [Ed. NOTE: Captain Breckenridge] TOOK TWO WIVES, Mattie and her sister Blind Mattie. In those days a man had two wives, usually sisters, provided he was able to care for a large family. He built a cah'-nee (shelter), using cattail stalks and willow poles for the frame, leaving an opening on top for the smoke and a doorway.
This story was told to me by my two great-grandmothers, Mattie and Blind Mattie.
Captain Kitu'-na-ma-quina-ah had many adventures as he traveled on foot through the hills and valleys. Sometimes he was gone for a few days, sleeping under trees. Once he slept near the sand mountain. During the night, he heard all kinds of sounds. Sometimes there was whispering, sometimes singing and moaning or women wailing; then rocks rolling, squeaking sounds, then quiet, only to commence all over again.
He had seen the campsite of Neh-muh-nah' (the Good Father) near Wungi'-goo-da-gua (Fox Peak) [Ed. NOTE: Job's Peak]. He also sat and rested near the waterhole or spring and drank water.
Sometimes, the Captain brought home more meat than they could use so he shared with the numa'-duh (the sick) and aged people. Kitu'-na-ma-60
Tsoa-me-ny-ee (Flaming Bead) 61
Bessie Breckenridge Johnny with her husband George Jack Johnny and their three children, Clara, George and Tony, c1935. (Churchill County Museum — Clara Johnny Lopez Collection)
62 Bessie Breckenridge Johnny
quina-ah led his people of the marshes in peace and harmony, doing those things the Neh-muh-nah' taught. They were happy hunting much game in the marshes, the deserts and the hills and valleys nearby.
There came a time when pioneers came across the valley; some came to possess their land. The Neh-muh' Tribe engaged in fighting with the ty'-bo-oah (pioneer soldiers). Many soldiers came invading the camp and molesting women and children. There were too many ty'-bo-oah (white soldiers) and the tribe was outnumbered. The Captain called his band together to discuss a meeting with the white soldiers to end the fighting.
The tribe and the soldiers met and a peace treaty was signed. It was at this meeting Kitu'-na-ma-quina-ah's name was changed to Captain Breckenridge, and he was provided identification papers to carry on his person at all times. The identification papers helped him and his tribe.
Thus, the Neh-muh' (Paiute Tribe) were defeated and, a conquered people, they lost their land to the ty'-bo-oah (whites). Many ty'-bo-oah (white people) came to settle and farm the lands around where the Neh-muh' lived and hunted.
At this time the Neh-muh' Tribe, headed by Captain Breckenridge, didn't have any land. The Indian Bureau allotted them 160 acres around the marshes. This land was without water rights. Many did not agree with this settlement and only a few people kept their 160 acres.
The second setting up of the Reservation Lands was ten acres [Ed. NOTE: to each male tribal member] with water rights, now known as the Paiute—Shoshone Reservation.
They . . . needed farm equipment to cultivate their land, so the Indian Bureau helped the tribe with wheat and alfalfa seeds, which were paid back. They also were given farm equipment and lumber to build their shacks.
Captain Breckenridge died in the first part of 1900, leaving his two widows, a daughter Sadie, and a grandson, Hookie John or Hokum. The two widows, Mattie and Blind Mattie, wrapped up the peace treaty and his other belongings and buried them in the grave with him. In those days the dead were buried with their possessions. It was taboo to keep and use their things. Mattie and her sister, Blind Mattie, said the peace treaty and identification papers were in a heavy leather bag.
In later years when agreements with the white people were being broken, the Neh-muh' Tribe attempted to find the treaty which was in the grave. The Captain's wives had already gone blind and could not be of much help. But, they did say the grave was outside the north corner of the Reservation. The men went out with horse-drawn scrapers and plows and shovels and dug around, but could not find the grave.
After Captain Breckenridge died, other good and trusted men were chosen to become Captains. There was Pete Douglas and Little Pete. The people thought well of these men.
Tsoa-me-ny-ee (Flaming Bead) 63
The Toi-tucka'-tuh (Paiute Tribe) continued their traditions, but as time passed they began to lose some of their customs. Laws prevented them from hunting freely. Their children went to schools and were not permitted to speak their native language. They were taught the ways of the Ty'-bo-oah (white people).
The Neh-muh' Tribe found out they were not accepted in the Ty'-bo-oah (white) society. They were discriminated against. They were not accepted in the restaurants. Food was ordered for the family, but they were not allowed inside. They had to sit outside the eating place to eat, without utensils or dishes. The food was served to them in a pan, like we feed our dogs today.
. . . I was born in the year 1906, in October, when the people were picking tu-bah (pine nuts). My father told me it was near Wungi-goo-da-gua (Fox Peak), now known as Job's Peak.
. . . I was told as I grew older that my great-grandmothers, Mattie and Blind Mattie, acted as mid-wives. My parents wanted to give me a name, but the two Matties said it was not the custom of the Neh-muh' (Paiutes) to name a baby so soon after its birth. According to our custom, a baby was given a name a few months later, but my father wanted to give me a name right away, like the Ty'-bo-oah (white people).
Names were suggested, but none was chosen. Then Mattie saw a bright star in the sky which was called Tsoa-me'-ny-ee (Flaming Bead); so it was decided that I would be named after that star. After they returned to their toi'-cah'nee (cattail house) in the valley, they continued to work. My father, Willie, returned to work for the Freeman Ranch near the marshlands and my mother, Nellie, returned to her work doing washing and ironing clothes and other chores for the farmers' wives. One of the ladies she worked for had a new baby whom she had named "Bessie." This lady told my mother my Indian name was too hard to pronounce and she thought it would be better if I had a name like her baby, which was easy, so I became Bessie.
I was about two years old when I went to live with my great-grandmothers, Mattie and Blind Mattie. They lived in a toi'-cah-nee (cattail house) behind my father's shack. He had built a shack for them, but they would much rather live in a toi'-cah-nee (cattail house) like their ancestors did before them. They also cooked their native food in primitive ways—even though they had pots and pans, they preferred to live in the old ways. They gathered all kinds of seeds in the desert and wild potatoes and onions in the hills nearby.
The seeds, berries, roots, potatoes, onions and plants of the hills and deserts were many. Various kinds were harvested by the Toi-tucka'-tuh (Cattail Eaters, or Paiutes) in their season; some ripened in mid-summer through fall. They were all not prepared the same. The old ones knew how to harvest the weeyah'-pooi (buckberries) that ripened in mid-summer, coo'-ha (metzalia); other seeds are the atsa' (mustard seeds), wayi' (Indian rice), hoop'-oi (desert thorn), abotza (thistle), the Kam-muh' sigg-ee (carved seeds),
64 Bessie Breckenridge Johnny
toi (cattail seeds), yuba' (wild potato), pa-duzi (wild onions) and so many more. Tsoodu'-ibe (wild tea), pumho (green native tobacco) are some herbs for medicinal uses, some brewed to drink, others for external use only, for their ailments.
The sage leaves were good for aches and pains, sometimes a little of it was thrown into foods for flavor. The uetzi (little balls of onions) were used like garlic. The pa-gwa'-na-ah-buh (mint plant) was also used for headaches. The sz-ue-bi (willow leaves) brewed and cooled was used for mouthwash. The szie-coopi (rabbit brush root) was used as gum to clean the teeth; chewed for a while, it turned to rubber. I saw my great-grandmothers using those things mentioned above. It is quite amazing what they did in their daily lives. They may have appeared ignorant, but they were wise in their primitive ways. I doubt Neh-muhs today would survive under the conditions they had to live, but never once did they complain. They were in poverty and it was their way of life.
I remember sometimes going fishing with Mattie and Blind Mattie. They took their burden and winnowing baskets to catch their little fish (minnows). They would go into the water and scoop up a lot of fish in their winnowing basket. This way they filled up their burden baskets in a little while. These little fishes were dried for the coming winter. They called them the Neh-muh' poqui (native minnows).
Hunting without weapons was called the Duck Drive. At molting time, the fowl lose their feathers and with no wing feathers they could not fly. We caught many fowl. The puhuhna (ducks) and the say-ah' (mudhens) were caught by the women and children while the men drove them out of the water onto dry land. I enjoyed this very much as a child. It was much fun.
I went along to glean in the Ty'-bo-oah's (white people's) gardens. The farmers usually picked only the best melons, squash, onions, carrots, potatoes and left some for the gleaners. Mattie and Blind Mattie gleaned in the wheat fields also. They cleaned the grain to use in their soups. They parched the wheat and corn, and ground them into flour to make coosi'-naw-ha, baked under the ashes.
They baked fish like carp, under the ashes, in their skins. Squash and potatoes were baked the same. They dried much meat, tuhu-ya (deer) meat was cut into strips for drying. Fish were cut open and dried and kom-muh' [Ed. NOTE: jack rabbit] and ducks, say-ya' (mudhens) were dried for the winter. Ta-boo-oo (cottontail) were plentiful too.
The Ty'-bo-oah (white people) made laws about hunting game, so the Neh-muh' (Indians) began to experience poverty. Now and then, they would kill the white man's cattle. They could not gather too much yuba' to last through the winter months. Many could not live like the Ty'-bo-oah with not much game to dry anymore.
I went on many cuu-ba' (squirrel) hunts. These little animals were found in
Tsoa-me-ny-ee (Flaming Bead) 65
holes in the ground. Their fur was singed off and they were roasted under the ashes. The kituh' [Ed. note: marmot] was cooked this way also. As time passed, these cuu-ba' began to disappear. The Ty'-bo-oah poisoned them so there are no more cuu-ba' today.
I enjoyed living with my great-grandmothers because at bedtime, it was storytelling time. They had many legends of long, long ago, when the animals were like the Neh-muh'. They roamed the lands, talked and ate like people. They were like the animal fables the Ty'-bo-oah have today, lessons to learn from their actions and their ways and characters. The Coyote was considered a cunning one, who did things, usually hurting himself. His ways and actions taught the youngster not to do like himself. Some stories were very funny. Each night I crawled into my bed under my rabbit blanket ready to listen to something interesting.
There was a story about a stinkbug who sang loud at the dances. All the maidens thought a very tall, handsome brave was singing. It was always dark at the dances, but someone lit a fire and the girls saw who was singing, but his songs were very good and his voice was clear. This impressed the girls. The lesson was, no matter how small or short a person is, he can do as well as the next person.
Another Story:
The Neh-muh' had a big fandango. They had a scalp hanging on a pole. Everyone danced every night, all week. Soon everyone was tired and fell asleep, but before going to sleep, they assigned some young women to watch the pole so no one would take the scalp. The coyote had a plan, while watching all these goings on. He wanted to get his hands on the scalp. It looked like a delicious piece of meat. He talked the girls into using some of his cream. They did and the cream worked like glue. They could not open their eyes. The coyote then took the scalp and made off with it. After all this, he found out what he got was not meat, but mostly hair. He was greatly disappointed.
There are so many more stories about animals, birds and insects. Sometimes there were songs sung along with the stories, which made it more interesting. The different bands of Neh-muh' people have similar stories which are slightly different versions.
. . . Legend goes on about the brightness of two days with no night between. Then, there was darkness at one time, the darkness that covered the whole land, much thunder storms, earthquakes for three days. Then, there was so much rain that water covered the whole land, a story handed down from generation-to-generation. The Neh-muh' (Indian People) said one time a man came through the skies like a bird, it appeared, but has not been seen again. They called him Neh-muh' dautsi-na, meaning Risen Person.
66 Bessie Breckenridge Johnny
The Neh-muh', according to their legends, could not understand these strange happenings which occurred generations ago.
The Neh-muh' (people) believed in their Neh-muh-nah'. They lived together peacefully working together, doing what the Father told them to do. They had respect for one another and shared what they could.
. . . It was a very interesting life, living with the old people. Many times when people discuss the primitive ways in which our ancestors lived and survived, it seems incredible—but they survived. They found ways to beat the cold weather, hunted and harvested seeds and plants of the desert. They found ways to preserve them and ate only pure foods with no additives or preservatives. There was no electricity. They didn't need it. There was nothing to look at when night came. They did a lot of talking about their needs and ways to meet those needs. For entertainment, there was a lot of storytelling or legends which were passed on to them from many generations ago. Everyone sat around the fire munching on nuts, na-gee'-buh or py-ha'-bee (wild bee honey) from the cane which grew in the valley near Lovelock.
Each morning I woke up to a breakfast of cooked ground seeds, much like the cooked cereal we have today. Coosi'-naw-ha-pi (bread cooked under ashes) or fried potatoes and onions, or homemade bacon which my father got from the farmers he worked for around Stillwater.
There was a general store at Stillwater where we got many food items that the Ty'-bo-oah ate, and a saloon where Mattie went to work cleaning the floors and spitoons for a few dollars a week.
I lived with my great-grandmothers until I was of school age. Then I moved back in with my parents, and my sister took me to school each day. It was not good for me because we were not allowed to speak our native language. I did not know how to speak English or understand it, either. It was very hard for the other children also.
We whispered to one another in our own language, but we were always afraid to be caught. There, we learned how to be sneaky behind the teachers' backs.
The first church was built by Miss Lillie Corwin, known as Sz-u-u'-to-ne-ee (Willow Blossoms) to the Neh-muh's. Miss Corwin was a Baptist missionary. This was where almost everyone went each Sunday. After Miss Corwin left, other missionaries came and many Indian people were baptized, mostly children. I was one, not realizing the meaning of baptism. We did it because everyone else was doing it. After church everyone went home to have their noon meals, then headed] for the gambling house, where cards and hand games were played for money. The children went along with their parents, also to meet their friends and play around the joint.
I am proud to be what I am today. I have often been asked if I were of mixed blood (Ty'-bo-oah) would I be happy? To tell the truth, it has never occurred to me or bothered me. I am proud to be Neh-muh' Toi-tucka'-tuh
Tsoa-me-ny-ee (Flaming Bead) 67
(Paiute) and to have experienced the olden days of my ancestors, and their language, which is not spoken much today.
The dialect has become different. The true toi-tucka'-tuh language is hard to write into English. When written, the sounds or pronunciation is different. Soon there will be no more Neh-muh' language. This does not make me unhappy, because I believe in the predictions that what will be will be. We are witnesses of the changes to come. It is happening in our day. Our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are being educated and their ways are no longer primitive. They are striving to reach for a better life with more education and to live with the white people as one people as it has been predicted. There is no going back to live the ways of our ancestors—only to remember and be happy in our heritage.
Northern Paiute Language
CATHERINE FOWLER
FOR MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS, Dr. Sven Liljeblad, now of the University of Nevada, Reno, has been engaged in linguistic work among the Northern Paiute and Shoshone peoples of the Great Basin. During that time, he has accumulated many hours of tape of elderly and younger people speaking their native languages—telling stories, singing songs, translating words and sentences from English. Dr. Liljeblad has worked with several tribal elders from Fallon and with others interested in the language and culture of the Indian people, such as Margaret Wheat. He has trained a number of students, including Dr. Catherine Fowler of the University of Nevada, Reno. Fowler has worked with a number of elderly Northern Paiute speakers, including the late Mrs. Wuzzie George of Stillwater.
At present, Liljeblad and Fowler are beginning a Northern Paiute dictionary project, designed to bring together the various materials collected over the years. The dictionary is being stored on a computer, so that additions can be made easily and quickly. The dictionary will be printed out periodically, for checking and distribution. All of the data entry, estimated to include 50,000 to 100,000 words, will take about three years; thus the final copy will not be published until then. The dictionary covers all of the Northern Paiute speaking area, from Oregon and Idaho on the north to Bishop, California, on the south. It includes many words no longer in use as well as words that are still current. It covers such things as plants, animals, birds, foods, medicines, clothing, manufactured things, words for relatives, friends and neighbors, place names, politics, and much more. Each word or part of a word will be followed by a short definition in English; a longer, more detailed definition; an example of the use of the word in a sentence and the translation of the sentence; the dialect or area from which it comes; and more. Specific words can be looked up in English as well as in Paiute. In some cases, the letters used to write the words are pronounced as in English; in other instances special phonetic pronunciation is required. Some of the letters which appear are not letters used in English, but are required in Paiute.
Although the project will be a long one, it is hoped the material will be of use in demonstrating the sophistication and complexity of the Northern Paiute language. Also, perhaps it will be useful in teaching young people something of the beauty of the language and the Paiute heritage.
68
Northern Paiute Language 69
(For further information, contact Catherine S. Fowler, Department of Anthropology, University of Nevada, Reno, NV 89557)
Sample Northern Paiute Dictionary Entries
a- IT; 3rd. person, singular, objective; pronoun; Ex: Agwilti. 'He
took it.' All dialects. Iká pahmu adigi. 'Put the tobacco down!'
a/- SOMEBODY'S; 4th. person singular possessive; pronoun; Ex:
Muhti makuba tuuna. 'Pour gasoline on it!' All dialects. Akwf a, `the male of a game bird.'
as HORN; horn of an animal; noun; Ex: Kucun.a 'da. 'There is a
buffalo horn.' All dialects. Tildya 'da. 'deer horn.'
aaci UNCLE; mother's brother; kinship term; Ex: láaci. 'Your moth-
er's brother.'
aca/- RED: to be the color red; verb; Ex: Accitonigakipi. 'Red flower.'
All dialects. Acápakwi. 'Red fish.'
acaba WOODPECKER; Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus); noun;
Ex: Suacciba kas.ága'yu. 'The woodpecker has wings.' Northern dialects (Idaho, Oregon); other areas, acábana.
adi BOW, GUN; bow or gun; noun; Ex: Uminooti adi kangákuhaa.
`The guns began to sound toward them [where they were]:
agai TROUT: cutthroat trout (Salmo clarki); noun; Ex: Suagái, pis. á
kam.á. 'The trout, it tastes good!' All dialects, but also used for salmon in Idaho.
agaidikadi TROUT EATERS: the people of Walker River; noun; all southern dialects.
ahaa YES; the reply yes; affirmation; Ex: Aháa, nh ipaatu awináidua.
`Yes, I'll send it to you.'
aki SUNFLOWER; Woolly mule's ears (Wyethia mollis); noun; in
compound, other types of flowers, such as kus.faki, 'gray sunflower,' (Helianthus pumilus) in northern dialects or arrow-leafed balsamroot (Balsamorhiza sagitatta) in southern dialects.
Finding Stillwater
It's really not that hard
to find, although many have
passed by, few have stopped
fewer yet stayed
not even the county seat,
remained for long.
It's not that everything
you need will be here,
it's that so much you don't
will not be.
So bring what you cannot
give up wanting
with you and think of it
as a place you're always,
it seems, either coming from
or going to.
It's not that far
from where you are right now
calling, probably, from
a bar uptown.
And, although it sometimes
looks out the window
an awfully lot like
it feels inside your head
before you adjust your margins
and put the paper in,
right now, there are clouds
the color of light
in the center of a glass
of white wine floating
around on the faded
blue levis of the sky.
© KIRK ROBERTSON. Reprinted by permission of the author from West Nevada Waltz, Turkey Press, 1981; and Driving to Vegas: New and Selected Poems, 1968-87, Sun-Gemini Press, n.p.
70
SHADOW CATCHER
Rolly Ross Ham
SHARON LEE TAYLOR
IT IS HARD TO IMAGINE what a study of the history of Fallon would have been like without the views taken by early photographers. It is these frozen images that give us an insight into the people themselves in a way that the written word cannot. One particular photographer, Rolly Ross Ham, captured our community in its formative years, between 1907 and about 1920. Over seven hundred 5" x 7" glass plate negatives survive in the Peg Wheat Collection at the University of Nevada, Reno, Library.
Rolly Ross Ham was born in Reno on October 27, 1881. Little is known of his early years. In September, 1901, he married Ida M. Harley. In 1908,
Roily Ross Ham holding Roily, Jr., in Reno, c1915. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
71
72 Sharon Lee Taylor
having been employed in the hardware business in Reno, he moved his family, which then included a daughter Thelma Ruth (born in 1903) to Fallon to take a position in the hardware department of the I. H. Kent Company store.
Later with Fred Strassburg, Sr., he engaged in his own hardware business, under the name of Fallon Hardware. His son, Rolly, Jr., was born in 1914. Ham left the hardware firm and established an electrical and repair shop in the basement of what is now the Lahontan Valley News Building. Willie Capucci remembers him repairing bicycles and welcoming children into his shop. He was known as a natural mechanic and was regarded as having unusual ability in that area.
The photographs he took included parades and special events, family gatherings, local Paiutes, posed shots of residents, the infamous downtown fire of 1910, construction of Lahontan Dam, and many of the businesses in the community. Each of the views shows an eye for detail and a special ability to capture some of the spirit of the event or the individual.
The year of 1918 was devastating for the Ham family. The influenza epidemic, which killed so many in Europe and the East, visited their Fallon home at 271 Court Street. In January, 4-year-old Rolly, Jr. died, and in November, 15-year-old Thelma Ruth passed away.
Rolly continued to work in his shop, but it seems that he took few photographs after the deaths of his children. He passed away suddenly, of a heart attack, on March 12, 1927, at the age of 45 and is buried with his children at Mountain View Cemetery in Reno.
Without his contribution, the documentation of those early years in Fallon would be scant. His name will live as long as Fallon and the Churchill County Museum survive. His legacy to all of us is an unsurpassed view of the people and times that he knew.
Roily Ross Ham 73
Thelma Ruth taking her mother Ida's picture, c1914. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada. Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Family cats. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
74 Sharon Lee Taylor
An unidentified man. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
An unidentified man. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Roily Ross Ham 75
Two of Fallon's working girls. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
76 Sharon Lee Taylor
A familiar Fallon street scene in the early 'teens as miners head for the hills on the heels of the discoveries at Rawhide, Wonder and Fairview. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Fallon's terrible fire of May 19, 1910. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Roily Ross Ham 77
July 23, 1912, saw the volunteer grading crews passing through Fallon on the way to begin grading the Fallon Electric Railroad line. The railroad was never completed. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
The Fallon Flour Mill Company, on Maine Street, north of the railroad tracks. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
78 Sharon Lee Taylor
Harvesting in the "Island District," Fallon, August 26, 1912. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Moving a hay derrick away from a fire, July 14, 1912. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Roily Ross Ham 79
.•
Pelton water wheels inside the power plant at Lahontan Dam, c1915. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
PIONEER PORTRAITS
Carl Dodge
ANN DIGGINS
FOR ITS HISTORY, Fallon has relied on the actions of those people that came to the community intent on making the town their home. One such man is Carl Dodge, who as a Gaming Commissioner, State Senator and area rancher was and still is one of the area's most influential citizens.
Dodge, born in Reno, came to Fallon with his parents and family in the summer of 1920. He tells the story that his father rode through Fallon in 1907 on his way to the mining boom in Goldfield, and Fallon henceforth remained clear in his father's mind as a beautiful, green oasis in the desert. That image has also remained with Dodge despite the many changes the town has seen over the years he has lived in the community.
When Dodge's family moved to Fallon, he was a first grader and attended school in a red, brick building that was located where the modern-day Cottage School now sits. He and his sister Marlea spent all of their public school years here in Fallon. After completing high school in 1932, Dodge went off to college. Not too far away—to Reno. And while there, politics began to get into Dodge's system. He campaigned successfully and was elected student body president, in the first of what was to be a long affiliation with the politics of Nevada.
After graduating from the University of Nevada-Reno, Dodge went on to Stanford University and received his law degree in 1939. Dodge said he believes his father put such an emphasis on education because of the lack of a formal one in his own life. When in the eighth grade, Dodge's father had to drop out of school and go to work to support his mother. His father barely lived to see his goal for his son realized. The spring before Dodge graduated from Stanford, his father had a heart attack. He lived to see his son graduate, but died the following year. "When he died, I was cast afloat," Dodge said.
He moved back to Fallon, where, despite his studies in the law, Dodge said he had always planned to work with his father. By the time Dodge finished his college education, his father, along with his uncle, had acquired four ranches, spread out around Lahontan Valley, in addition to a construction business.
At that time, the Lahonton Valley had a population of about 3,000 to 4,000 people and there just wasn't room for another lawyer. There were already several older, respected attorneys, according to Dodge, and they had just
80
Carl Dodge 81
Carl and Bette on their wedding day. (Churchill County Museum — Carl F. Dodge Collection)
82 Ann Diggins
about all the legal business tied up. Then World War II started. Dodge's concern about what to do with his own future became secondary as, with many other young men, the world's future took precedence. Dodge joined the Navy, went to officers' training school and became what the military termed a "90-day wonder." As a line officer, Dodge said he put in about 400,000 miles aboard ship in the Pacific.
On his return home in December 1945 he was through traveling and ready to settle down. "It began to come to me that I could run the wheels off an automobile to find a better small community than this one. As a youngster you tend to take your home town for granted, and I was in that category," Dodge said.
Because of his love for Fallon and the state, Dodge turned down an opportunity to practice law in San Francisco, and instead made what he termed one of the biggest decisions of his life. He decided to give up law and stay in Fallon to become a part of the family business. By that time both his father and uncle had died, and the two Dodge families, who now owned the ranches and the construction business, were left with no one in the family to head the business. Ernest J. Maupin, Jr. ably managed the construction business during the war and until it was liquidated in 1965.
"Two widows were left with the businesses; I was the only child in either family with a college degree, and I was the oldest," he said. He added that it was never a matter of self-sacrifice, but instead, one of self-interest that he stayed in Fallon. The years have shown that his decision has paid off.
Dodge sold many of the family's outlying properties and, several years later, the construction business, which left only the Island Ranch, so called because it was elevated and, when surrounded by flood waters, appeared to be an island. Despite Dodge's conviction that he would always work in the family business, the farming branch was not where he thought he would wind up. "The furthest thing in my mind as I was growing up was to be involved in agriculture," he said. "I had worked in construction, but I was never involved with the ranches.
That soon changed, however, as Dodge became immersed in the management of the ranch, which encompassed 1,400 acres. And while Dodge acknowledges that he drifted into his career, he said, "The best decision I ever made was to stay here. If I'd been in San Francisco, my life would have been entirely different." Perhaps, the future of Fallon and Nevada would also have been very different.
Although going into politics was never a conscious goal for Dodge, he said he always "gravitated" toward the political arena. That gravitation became a pull not to be resisted when he filed for the Churchill County school board and was elected. He said he didn't know what to expect, but the number of votes surprised him. At that time he also became the first chairman of the State Personnel Commission.
Carl Dodge 83
Carl F. Dodge. (Churchill County Museum — Carl F. Dodge Collection)
84 Ann Diggins
Then, in 1968, Dodge filed for the state Senate seat representing Churchill County. (That seat now represents several counties in western Nevada, but then it was merely the Churchill County seat). He and Eric Palludin, the then incumbent assemblyman, both filed for the seat and, according to Dodge, he won the election nearly two to one because he got out and shook hands and made sure his face and name were well-known. That single term turned into 22 years of politics in the state Legislature for him.
As a state senator, Dodge concentrated on the financial matters of state government, which was where his attention to details reaped the most benefit. Commenting on his fellow legislators, Dodge said they ran the gamut from extremely capable to completely out-of-place. "I was always fascinated by the political process. I had the interest and a good education. I wanted to get involved," he said. "I thought I had the aptitude to make a contribution to the state and my community."
Dodge cited several pieces of pioneering legislation that he worked on or initiated, including the Local Government Employees Negotiation Act, uniform motor vehicle registration with mail-in service, and the Nevada formula for state aid to public education, a formula still known as the Dodge plan.
In 1980 he resigned from the Senate to accept an appointment as Chairman of the Nevada Gaming Commission, in which capacity he served until April of 1983. Presently he is Chairman of the Nevada Commission on Ethics.
During his years as a representative of the people, Dodge said he acquired a great respect for the "good sense" of the voters. "It is amazing how good their collective judgements are," he said. "They may not be very sophisticated about their understanding (of some issues) but they're solid thinkers."
His years in office have given him a unique vantage point on the growth statewide and in Churchill County. While Fallon has grown, Dodge said he doesn't foresee a lot of industrial growth for rural Nevada. "The rural areas will primarily be supported by tourism, agriculture and mining. I don't see anything bringing in a great number of people," he said. The drawback to this is that rural areas' representation in state government will continue to shrink. On the state level, he believes the worst thing that could happen is for the state legislators to become very local-interest-oriented. "Everyone needs to look at the total interest of the state," he said.
Dodge is married to the former Bette Cochran of Reno, who is also a native Nevadan. They have two children, Audys Dodge Losche of Carson City and Carlon of Fallon—three grandchildren enrich their lives. -Bette has always been totally supportive and my partner in business and political pursuits," he said. "She was my best asset politically. Some people might have had reservations about me, but everyone liked Bette. My life has been blessed by having such a wonderful wife."
Dodge, now semi-retired, sometimes helps his son Carlon, who now runs the Island Ranch. In addition, Dodge manages to keep his hand in local and
Carl Dodge 85
state politics. Currently that means following the ongoing water controversies in the valley and along the Truckee River, and serving on several state committees—including the citizens' committee which was commissioned by the legislature to review the forthcoming fiscal study of state and local governments.
Looking back over his life, he stated that representing the people was the most "fulfilling and exhilarating experience" he ever had.
"It's an experience that comes to so few people, and I feel extremely fortunate that I was favored with the voters' approval," Dodge said. "No one could ask for a better life than I have had. I hope the record will indicate that I was able to give something in return to the community and the state in which I live."
Anne Gibbs Berlin
MICHON MACKEDON
THE TOP NEWS STORIES OF 1956 concerned crises in the cold war, triumphs of the American economy and highlights in the administration of President Dwight D. Eisenhower. But, in the June 1956 issue of McCall's Magazine, the town of Fallon, Nevada, captured a portion of the national spotlight when Churchill County High School English teacher Anne Gibbs, was featured on McCall's National Honor Roll of Teachers. The article shared good company: a feature on the Duchess of Windsor preceded it; one on Edgar R. Murrow followed. But the McCall's article only made official what her students already knew: "Our Miss Gibbs" was special.
Lively glimpses of Anne Gibbs Berlin remain in the memories of hundreds of former students, some young, some getting on in years, now living from coast to coast—depression kids, war babies, hippies, baby boomers, yuppies. The memories are remarkably specific. Her students remember her sense of humor, the fact that Anne's English classes brought more laughs than the usual English class groans. One former student recalled, "She would begin reading something to us, and, if an expression struck her as funny, the laughter would just bubble up. Her voice and eyes automatically laughed, even when she didn't want to, and the laughter was infectious. Once, she asked students to write an essay response to the question, 'What was Mac-beth's greatest loss?' One essay contained just two words: 'His head.' She was taken aback; then, the laughter began. She probably complimented the student on his economy of expression."
Anne worked to make students see the connection between the classroom and the outside world. For many years, she drove members of the English honor club, Alpha Lambda, to Reno to view the University of Nevada's homecoming production, the Wolves' Frolic. For those students, the University became a tangible and attainable goal and, incidentally, one that beckoned with music and laughter as well as with text books and degrees. She kept her classes in touch with former Churchill County students through her famous storytelling. In that sense, Anne was a mythmaker. She wove a tapestry of tales, about brilliant—or funny—essays students had written. The effect was to create a class team, one that intimately nodded in recognition of the former illustrious classmates' names, shared their clever paragraphs and well-balanced sentences, chuckled at their dangling modifiers or split infini-
86
Anne Gibbs Berlin 87
Anne Gibbs Berlin in the classroom, c1965. (Churchill County Museum — Anne Gibbs Berlin Collection)
Lives. The tone was not disparaging, but intimate; after all, they shared a common story, and they all were involved in the same collective effort to master the English language.
In 1982, Anne was invited to attend a twenty year reunion for the class of '62. She was quick to respond with the kind of anecdote for which she was famous in the classroom: "I have many happy memories of the class of '62. One of my happiest memories is of a night in December '62. The telephone rang at 6 in the evening, and one of your classmates, who was already 37-sheets-to-the-wind, said, 'Hello Anne! Me and my friend has passed bonehead!"
Amidst the good fun, a lot of teaching was done. Another former student recently reminisced about attending high school in Fallon and taking classes from Anne. "I will never, in my lifetime, misspell the word 'separate.' Every time I begin to write that word, Anne's voice intervenes with the sentence, `Does Pa rate a separate car?' "
Anne believed in the importance of spelling but knew that, for many students, memorizing the spelling of words was difficult, and often short-lived. Her technique for teaching spelling, labeled in pedagogical circles as using the mnemonic method, was to compose a sentence containing a clue.
88 Michon Mackedon
Every time the word was given on a spelling exercise or test, it was accompanied by that same sentence. Long after the memorized letters faded, the sentence stuck—like a nursery rhyme or an old adage. Thus, Anne's students know that "The Carson City Modern Motel will accommodate you," and they always insert two c's and two m's. They also know that "Mr. Ben E. Fit has a benefit check in the mail."
Even though former students clearly remember the spelling tests, Anne strongly maintains that English teachers shouldn't teach, as separate subjects, spelling, vocabulary, reading, and writing. "I didn't feel that I was teaching spelling one day, then vocabulary, then writing. They all are part of one process and one language, and I wanted students to sense that and to know and love the language in all of its various forms." That desire to produce language appreciation meant long hours spent outside the classroom, evaluating and commenting on each piece of writing assigned. Anne did not believe that good teaching allowed for failure. In her mind, any student effort, especially a written report or theme, deserved some response from her. If there is an adequate term—and perhaps there is not—to describe her approach to paper grading, it is close to the modern psycho jargon "positive reinforcement." She admits that, at times, with some papers, it was difficult to find anything positive to say, but she knew the necessity of easing students' fears about writing and stimulating them to write more and to write better.
The comments Anne placed on students' papers make delightful reading apart from the essays they refer to. They were often witty, always genuine, written with the students' capabilities and background in mind. One student saved a high school essay she wrote over twenty years ago because the comment on it so pleased her. Anne had written, "Reading your paper, after reading those of your classmates, is like eating a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie at the Spudnut Shop after a hot dog at the Rocket Drive Inn."
The effort to reinforce writing paid off. Former students continue to write letters to her. They know the response won't be, "You misspelled two words," but, rather, "I enjoyed your letter." Several former students have turned writing into successful careers, including Reno newspaperman Rollan Melton, who makes no secret of his indebtedness to his teacher.
As Anne has influenced so many through her teaching, so was she influenced as a student in Churchill County High School by two teachers, in particular. She speaks admiringly of her own freshman English teacher, Hattie Brown. "Hattie was a real woman of the world who had travelled to China, Egypt, and other, what seemed to me at the time, exotic lands. She had modern and politically sophisticated points of view and the knowledge with which to back them. In Hattie I glimpsed another world, an elevated place, and I knew I wanted to get an education like Hattie's and use it in the ways she used hers." Anne also points to agriculture instructor L.C. Schank as an influence. "Leroy worked with every child, whether that child had
90 Michon Mackedon
money to buy a cow or not. He had a good mind, was articulate and sure of himself." So Anne left Churchill County High School knowing that she wanted to be a teacher, and she returned to those halls several years later, in 1939, with a degree in English from the University of Nevada, two years teaching experience gained in McGill, Nevada, and a job as Churchill County High School English teacher.
She taught there 31 years. In retrospect, she would change only a few things. "My biggest regret is that I didn't keep copies of student papers. We had no copy machines. I still think about some of the descriptions of Nevada landscapes written by Jon Hammond and wish I had copies. But I think my greatest regret is that I didn't preserve the Nevada history research projects that Byrd Sawyer and I assigned. We received memorable, important papers from many students, about their family's pioneer experiences or early businesses. Much of that writing would now be regarded as valuable primary source material. I'll never forget a paper written by Masa Kito, a Japanese girl, about the experiences of Japanese families here in Fallon during the war. That kind of paper can't be replaced. Somehow all those reports were lost, thrown out of the storage rooms at the high school. If I'd had access to a copy machine, I'd have saved copies in my files."
The regrets, though, are far outweighed by positive reflections about her teaching years:
"I liked the size of the town and the size of the school. I have always felt that teachers have to reach out to the whole community, to be an integral part of it, and Fallon was small enough that I knew the families. I remember once I got word that a new student in town lacked clothing. I picked up the phone, called Doris Drumm, and that student immediately had clothing.
Also, when I think about it, I can't recall a single problem with parents over book censorship. I don't know why. Maybe the parents trusted me; maybe there was less general suspicion about school teachers and textbooks.
So, I was fortunate to have had the support of the community and support from my family. My parents encouraged me to get an education, and they believed that my career was important. My husband, John, genuinely shared my feelings for the commumity and my commitment to teaching its children."
In many ways Anne's life and her career mirror the very nature and unique history of Lahontan Valley itself. Her family's roots lie in the valley soil. In about 1907, her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Whipp, homesteaded an 80 acre parcel on Union Lane. Her mother, Gertrude Whipp, met and married Frank Gibbs, who had come to the area to work on the Newlands Project. In those early years the population was sparse, and most families concentrated on developing the parcels of ground made more productive by the new upstream storage and system of canals. So Anne was raised in what she now calls "isolation." But creative isolation it was. She spent summers swimming
Anne Gibbs Berlin 91
in ditches and the whole year listening to the books read to her by her grandmother. She remembers, "I was six years old before I had a playmate, but I certainly was never bored, nor did I feel deprived." She also mirrors the experience of so many children raised in Churchill County before schools were consolidated. Her school was the Union schoolhouse . . . her friends, Union kids. "I didn't know about Harmon District until a friend of mine began dating a 'Harmon boy.' " Her parents, though, certainly were aware of the broader world, and from the time she was quite young, -. . . it was simply understood that we (she and her brother Jim) would go to the University, and that automatically meant the University of Nevada."
When she began teaching, she experienced, in a direct way, the sorrows of the community. World War II broke out, and she saw students leave the classroom one day and enter the service the next. Some, including her brother Jim, never returned to again share in the life of the valley.
After the war, she witnessed the growing pains of post-war America reflected by the controversies in the school: long-hair, short skirts, pot-smoking kids, drug-sniffing dogs. Despite the many changes in society, she remains adamant that kids haven't really changed much at all. "When I started teaching, just as when I left, the boys were interested in the girls, and the girls were interested in the boys." (And, it's safe to presume, they couldn't all be taught to write the King's English.)
Anne retired from teaching in 1970. She continued to substitute at the high school and to teach part-time for Western Nevada Community College, so retirement came gradually. She had married John Berlin in 1959, in mid-career, and her lighter work schedule left her more time to spend with him. Both enjoyed tending the flower and vegetable gardens surrounding the Union Lane homestead.
John died in 1984, and, where many in Anne's present position might be content to live in the rich past, she looks firmly into the present. The novelists she reads are urbane and contemporary—Barbara Pym, Elizabeth Bowen, Toni Morrison. Her correspondence with friends and former students continues—spirited and prolific. She travels each summer to the Ashland Shakespearean Festival. Life remains as it's always been: ever interesting, often entertaining, but never simply taken for granted.
SCIENTIFIC
PERSPECTIVE
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh
ANAN W. RAYMOND AND VIRGINIA M. PARKS
ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY more than 1300 years ago, a man died in a small tule hut in what is now called Stillwater Marsh. The Old One, for that's how he was known, had seen over 45 winters. Though he had been healthy most of his life, the final seasons brought to him the diseases of the Old People. His joints were stiff, his back was bent and his teeth were worn. As the village people gathered outside his hut, they reflected on the long life that had come to an end. The Old One had given generously of his knowledge and experience, teaching the young people to reap the bounty of the marsh as his father had taught him. Bone tools, projectile points, grinding stones, and the wings of birds represented his sustenance. These objects which were so important to his survival in life accompanied him in death. Within the hut his sons lowered the Old One and his tools into the neatly formed pit and said their final goodbyes (Fig. 1).
After his burial, the family of the Old One moved to the other end of the tule fringed island. The hut was now his final home, and soon enough, this monument would disappear, leaving the Old One alone to weather time and the elements (Fig. 2).
In the summer of 1985, floodwaters, which for three years had transformed Stillwater Marsh into a vast lake, began to recede. Water and wind wreaked havoc in the normally desert-like environment, killing vegetation and creating waves which battered and eroded the shores of the marsh islands. As Stillwater maintenance personnel were patrolling the waterlogged area by boat they spotted a strange object washed up on shore. This beacon was, in fact, a human skull, and as they glanced up and down the island they found the entire surface littered with arrowheads, hearth rocks, grinding tools and bones, both human and animal. The days that followed produced more sites scattered throughout the marsh.
It was quickly apparent that sun, open air, shallow water and alkali were causing the fragile bones to disintegrate. Unfortunately the elements were not the only forces destroying the valuable archaeological record. Vandals appeared, looting sites and desecrating burials. (Such activities, including
92
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 93
FIGURE 1. Photograph of burial L-8/3 from site 26CH1050 in Stillwater Marsh. (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
artifact collection, without a permit is a felony and punishable by fines and imprisonment.) Likewise, the hunting season was fast approaching, bringing with it hundreds of pairs of feet which would inevitably sink in the mud, churning up artifacts and crushing bones.
Immediate action was essential and no one was a greater advocate of the cause than Charlie Gomes, a Fallon resident and amateur archaeologist. Among the first to locate these newly exposed sites, Charlie warned the authorities of vandalism. So a plan was formulated by the Nevada State Museum, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe and Alice Becker, of the Nevada Historic Preservation Office. The plan authorized the excavation of human burials already 50% exposed by the flood, thus protecting them from vandalism and destruction. Those burials less than 50% exposed were to be covered and left undisturbed. Arrangements were also made for mapping and collection of important artifacts. The Nevada State Museum coordinated this first field project which utilized the skills and efforts of many volunteers and professionals. Sharon Lee Taylor, Director of the Churchill County Museum, mobilized an impressive crew of amateur archaeologists from the Fallon vicinity to assist the State Museum.
Preliminary analysis (Tuohy et al. 1987) of the finds has shown that the Great Basin has few places with so many large archaeological sites as Stillwa-
94 Raymond and Parks
FIGURE 2. Burial L-8/3 from site 26CH1050 in Stillwater Marsh. Rendered from Tuohy et al. (1987). (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
ter Marsh. The number of prehistoric individuals recovered from the marsh is greater than all the archaeological human remains ever found previously in Nevada. A significant theory developed as a result of these finds may change our perception of how prehistoric people lived in western Nevada. Previous studies (eg. Kelly 1985) had failed to find much evidence of intensive marsh use, but rather that the early Indians moved about with the season, gathering upland plants and hunting animals when they were particularly abundant. However, the archaeology of Stillwater Marsh suggests a much less mobile
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 95
FIGURE 3. Plan map of archaeological site 26CH1050 in Stillwater Marsh. (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
lifestyle. The people living in the marsh may have spent much of their time harvesting its riches.
The Sites
Although the opening paragraphs offer a reasonable speculation about one of the burials in the marsh, we and our fellow archaeologists have confined our documentation of the marsh discoveries to observable facts. In essence an archaeological site consists of the trash, food debris, worn out remains of structures, and, occasionally, burials left by the people who occupied that location. From this debris we can obtain facts about the animals hunted, the plants eaten, the tools used, the techniques of food preparation, and the nature of structures used for living and storage.
In the soggy days of the initial salvage project by the Nevada State Museum, the once firm islands and peninsulas on which the Indians had built their huts and dug their pits were nothing but mud. Today, the sites display an array of dark circular stains which archaeologists call "features." These features lie in and around "midden" deposits composed of dark organic soil,
96 Raymond and Parks
FIGURE 4. Schematic cross section of site 26CH1052 as revealed by excavation. Rendered from Raven and Elston (1988:82-86). (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
artifacts and animal remains. At first, features appeared in distinct contrast to the surrounding ground. But vegetation regrowth, effervescing alkali and windblown sand have begun to obscure many features. When visible, features range from 10cm (about 4") to 5 meters (about 15') in diameter. Some sites have only a few features, while others have over 100 (Fig. 3). To date,
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 97
FIGURE 5. View of archaeological site 26CH1160 showing numerous discarded stone artifacts strewn about a midden deposit. (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
the authors have mapped over 900 features among 50 sites. Though the contents of most of these features is unknown, recent excavations (Raven and Elston 1988) indicate that some features served as house floors, others as post holes, and still others as storage pits, burial pits, trash pits, and hearths.
These same excavations have revealed a "layer cake" composition at some of the sites. Layers of culturally sterile deposits alternate with midden deposits left by the ancient people (Fig. 4). Surrounded by marsh, sand dune islands provided the surface upon which people carried out the chores of daily life. Circular pits were dug by the Indians into the deposits.
Carbonized wood, bone and plant remains have provided samples suitable for dating by the radiocarbon method. The dates obtained from such samples suggest that some sites are over 3000 years old while others were inhabited as recently as 800 years ago.
Human Remains
The skeleton of the Old One buried more than 1300 years ago was excavated in the fall of 1985. He is one of a group of more than 51 males, 48
98 Raymond and Parks
females and 44 persons of undetermined gender which have been recorded to date (Brooks et al. 1988). This group also included 18 children and 17 teenagers, and the total, over 130, is the largest single group of prehistoric Indians recovered in the Great Basin. The oldest died of natural causes in their forties and fifties, the Old One among them. There were many, however, who died in their late twenties and early thirties, perhaps reflecting the rigors of childbearing (for women) and exposure to hunting related accidents (for men).
With some of the burials occur grave goods (Tuohy et al. 1987). These objects appear to be items of everyday use: animal remains, stone tools, bone awls, and occasionally stone beads or shell pendants. Perhaps they were favorite personal possessions, as suggested by four burials which included the remains of dogs and coyotes. Other burials were found with articulated bird bones and may suggest a special kinship with the marsh wildlife. In some cases, the wing bones of a tundra swan were found directly beneath the skull, as if the feathered wing had been placed like a pillow beneath the head of the deceased.
Physical anthropologists can reconstruct the health and lifestyle of the ancient Stillwater people through the study of bones (Brooks et al. 1988). Their preliminary results revealed that although the Indians were essentially healthy, they suffered from some peculiar afflictions. The teeth of the older people showed few cavities yet were worn smooth, often down to the root. Grit derived from the grinding of seeds and meat in mortars was a part of many meals.
An arthritic condition, in which bony spikes form around the margins of the vertebrae, was discovered on nine individuals. Five males and two females suffered from a degenerative joint disease causing "eburnation." This results when the cartilage pads between the bones in a joint disintegrates. As the joint moves, bone rubs against bone without the benefit of cartilage. The bone becomes hard and polished and must have been extremely painful. Eburnation was found on the primary weight-bearing joints of the hip, knee and lower back, as well as on the elbow and wrist. We can only guess at the cause of this painful disease, but volunteers who spent weeks trudging through the Stillwater mud can imagine what the rigors of a life in the marsh might do.
Another interesting discovery was a number of broken noses! Several females and males (including the Old One) had such noses, and closer examination showed that each of them had received the injury long before death. Again we are forced to speculate on the causes. Perhaps the injuries represent a long lost puberty ritual carried out by a shaman or medicine man.
Further studies sponsored by the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service are underway on the bones. These studies should provide clues as to the nutritional status, life expectancy, and responses to environmental stress of the
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 99
FIGURE 6. Common projectile point styles recovered from Stillwater Marsh. (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
100 Raymond and Parks
prehistoric Indians. For example, a combination of dental defects and growth arrest lines in long bones can indicate a nutritional or environmental stress in childhood. Special chemical analyses can indicate the amount of meat versus plant food in the diet. Other studies might help explain the causes of arthritis and infectious diseases. Out of respect for the deceased and in consultation with the leaders of the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone Tribe, the bones shall be reinterred in a specially designed grave later this year.
The Artifacts
Although the initial archaeological effort concentrated on recovering human bones threatened with destruction, both the Nevada State Museum and the authors have collected especially important artifacts. Among these were numerous projectile points. These artifacts encode information that is extremely useful for archaeologists. The shape of a projectile point can indicate the time frame in which it was manufactured. For example, arrowheads with a triangular shape may have been produced 500 years ago while a leaf shaped specimen may be 3000 years old (Fig. 5). Like radiocarbon dating, projectile points provide additional estimates of the age of the different archaeological sites in the marsh.
Furthermore, archaeologists can determine whether a projectile was used with a bow and arrow or used to tip a spear propelled by a spearthrower. The adoption of the bow and arrow, about 700 AD, to the exclusion of the ancient and traditional spearthrower represents one of the most significant technological advances in prehistoric times. The controlled recovery of arrowheads and spearpoints from archaeological sites will document this technological transition in detail. Unfortunately, collectors and vandals illegally remove arrowheads and spearpoints from public lands like the Stillwater Refuge throughout Nevada.
In addition to projectile points, stone tools such as knives and scrapers have been found in the marsh. These tools were used in a number of daily chores such as the skinning and butchering of animals and the collection of willow branches for basketmaking. Thin slabs of slate chipped along one side to form a sharp cutting edge were, perhaps, used to harvest tules. Also present is the debris from the manufacture of stone tools and weapons. Often, the flakes chipped off the stone core were razor sharp and could themselves be used for cutting. Thus, a single core could produce a large number of usable tools. By examining both the cores and the flakes, archaeologists can reconstruct the tool making process.
Grinding implements are common on the Stillwater sites. These artifacts of volcanic rock processed seeds, pine nuts, and dried meat into flour. During use, the continual rubbing of one implement against another shaped the rocks into a number of recognizable shapes known as mortars, pestles, manos and
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 101
FIGURE 7. Typical artifacts and other debris discovered at sites in Stillwater Marsh, From Left to Right, Top to Bottom: stone drills, shell beads, stone net weight, slatE knife, tui chub pharyngeals and vertebra, coot humerus, bone awls, Indian dog mandible, stone core/hammerstone. (U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)
102 Raymond and Parks
metates. The large number of grinding tools and flaked stone artifacts on the Stillwater sites is truly impressive, considering that geologic processes have not deposited any rocks larger than a quarter in the marsh (Fig. 6). Thus, every rock used for tools or hearths must have been carried into the marsh. The closest rock of any kind lies 4 miles away from some sites. Rocks suitable for projectile points were found 10 to 100 miles away. Recent studies (Raven and Elston 1988) have demonstrated that the prehistoric Indians worked their stone tools down to the nubbins, wasting nothing before the next trek back to the mountains for more stone.
Animal Bones
Although the human bones are certainly among the most exciting discoveries in Stillwater Marsh, the bones of animals comprise the bulk of the archaeological material. Animal bones (Fig. 7) which have eroded out of middens and circular features lie strewn about the sites. They represent the remains of countless meals. Closer inspection reveals numerous cut and burn marks, the result of skinning, butchering, and cooking (Dansie 1987).
Thirty six taxa are represented by the animal bones, including birds, mountain sheep, deer, pronghorn, rodents, canines, mustelids, rabbits, snake, amphibian, fish, and fresh water mollusk. As might be expected, the vast majority of the animals were creatures of the marsh. The few sheep, deer, and rabbit bones discovered on the sites must have been dispatched in the Stillwater Mountains and transported back to the marsh for cooking.
A staggering number of tui chub bones have been recovered (Greenspan 1988). This is a 2 to 8 inch minnow which can still be found in the marsh today. Although it is difficult to distinguish between fish remains processed and consumed by the ancient people and remains deposited by natural processes, chub may have been a dietary staple. We know from historic accounts that the Stillwater Paiute netted and dried scores of these fish in late spring (DeQuille 1963). The potential for fish in Stillwater Marsh is impressive. At the end of the flood in 1986, over 7 million tui chub swam the waters of Carson Sink.
After fish, waterfowl represent the most numerous animal remains. Ducks, geese, pelicans, and swans must have been served at many meals. Mudhens (or coots) are particularly abundant at the archaeological sites (Livingston 1988). Being poor flyers, mudhens were fairly easy prey. Historically, Paiute hunters would wade (or float on a raft) through the marsh driving a mudhen flock into a narrow channel. There, hiding in the tules, more hunters would surprise the flock with nets and clubs and often reap a harvest to feed several families (Wheat 1967). Preliminary study of the bird bones shows that the people wasted nothing. The bones were broken, ground and probably boiled for stew.
The Legacy of Stillwater Marsh 103
The archaeological animal bones from Stillwater (Dansie 1987) also provide clues on the prehistoric environmental conditions. Among the mustelids that were recovered, mink and otter stand out, because today they are extinct at Stillwater. Sluggish and saline waters, a result of agricultural demands upstream, have created a marsh which cannot support these species. Many of the mustelid bones (mink, otter, weasel, muskrat, badger) show scars indicative of skinning. Perhaps, the furs made warm winter clothing. The bones of Indian dogs, coyotes, coyote-dog crosses, foxes, and wolves were recovered. The Stillwater dogs included a small narrow-nosed Terrier type, a medium sized heavy jawed Indian dog, and a larger wolf like dog, perhaps a hybrid. Some of the animals may have been pets, others pests, and still others, used for hunting. Intensive study of these remains may inform us about the process of dog domestication by the ancient Stillwater people.
The archaeological work at Stillwater Marsh is just beginning. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has recently begun an archaeological program (Fagan and Raymond 1987) that should refine the preliminary results discussed here. Meanwhile, the Old One, having been disturbed from his rest by the elements and by scientific investigation, will soon return to the earth where he, his ancestors, and his descendants have made their home for thousands of years. Today the marsh is home to animals, and as a result of the numerous upstream demands on the water of the Carson River, that home is in jeopardy. The archaeology of Stillwater Marsh demonstrates a rich and ancient legacy of mankind, thriving in a productive marshland. Perhaps through the example of those ancient people we may learn to live in harmony with the marsh and its wildlife once again.
REFERENCES
Brooks, Sheilagh T., Michelle B. Haldeman, and Richard H. Brooks. 1988. Osteological Analyses of the Stillwater Skeletal Series, Stillwater Marsh, Churchill County, Nevada. Report prepared for U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
Dansie, Amy J. 1987. Animal Bones, in Final Report on Excavations in the Stillwater Marsh Archaeological District, Nevada. By Donald Tuohy, A. J. Dansie, and M. B. Haldeman. Report to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
DeQuille, Dan. 1963 (1861). Washoe Rambles. Westernlore Press, Los Angeles.
Fagan, John L. and Anan W. Raymond. 1987. Plan of Action for Cultural Resource Management at Stillwater Wildlife Management Area. Report to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service from the Portland District, U. S. Army Corps of Engineers. MS. on file U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Portland, Oregon.
Greenspan, Ruth. 1988. Fish Remains, in Preliminary Investigations in Stillwater Marsh: Human Prehistory and Geoarchaeology. Christopher Raven and Robert G. Elston (editors). Intermountain Research report to the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
Kelly, Robert L. 1985. Hunter-Gatherer Mobility and Sedentism: A Great Basin Study. Ph.D dissertation, Department of Anthropology, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor.
104 Raymond and Parks
Livingston, Stephanie D. 1988. Avian fauna, in Preliminary Investigations in Stillwater Marsh: Human Prehistory and Geoarchaeology. Christopher Raven and Robert G. Elston (editors). Intermountain Research report to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
Raven, Christopher and Robert G. Elston. (editors) 1988. Preliminary Investigations in Stillwater Marsh: Human Prehistory and Geoarchaeology. Intermountain Research report to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
Tuohy, D.R., A.J. Dansie and M. B. Haldeman. 1987. Final Report on Excavations in the Stillwater Marsh Archaeological District, Nevada. Nevada State Museum Archaeological Service report to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Region 1, Portland, Oregon.
Wheat, Margaret M. 1967. Survival Arts of the Primitive Paiutes. University of Nevada Press, Reno.
Field Notes—
The Desatoya Mountains
BRIAN W. HATOFF
EDITOR'S NOTE: This section will include information about scientific fieldwork done in Churchill County each year.
THE HIGHER ELEVATIONS of Nevada's more prominent mountain ranges have, until recently, received little attention by archaeologists. Physically intimidating and seemingly devoid of the potential for significant prehistoric remains, archaeologists contented themselves with excavations of more productive caves and rock shelters and surveys of more accessible lowland areas. This "conventional wisdom" was abruptly cast aside with David Hurst Thomas' remarkable discoveries in 1979 of the Alta Toquima site in the Toquima Mountains of central Nevada.
Kelly McGuire, research archaeologist, looks at a hunting blind in the Desatoya Mountains. (Bureau of Land Management, Carson City District)
105
106 Brian W. Hatoff
As a result of his findings, archaeologists have been stimulated to investigate other high elevation areas. For the past two years, the Far Western Anthropological Research Group from Davis, California, has worked with the Carson City BLM District under a cooperative agreement to conduct such studies in the Clan Alpine Mountains (1987) and the Desatoya Mountains (1988). During the most recent survey in the Desatoyas, the research team found a large hunting complex along a talus covered slope near the headwaters of Edwards Creek. The numerous pits, depressions and rock blinds all point to a concerted effort by prehistoric hunters to procure bighorn sheep, which would naturally use the rock strewn talus slopes as escape cover. While quite different from the Alta Toquima site, the discoveries in the Clan Alpines and Desatoyas will help to fill in gaps in our understanding of Great Basin prehistory.
Participants in the 1988 project included Kelly McGuire, Paul Kayser, Tom Panzer, Brian Hatoff, Diane Jennings and Dan Kaffer. The results of the survey are still being analyzed and future fieldwork is anticipated for 1989.
Field Notes—
The Carson Sink
SHARON LEE TAYLOR
ON JUNE 10, 11 AND 12, 1988, several stalwart volunteers assisted the Churchill County Museum with site survey and recovery of exposed human remains in the Carson Sink north of the Stillwater Marsh. The group was headed by archaeologists Anan Raymond, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Stillwater Wildlife Management Area; Tom Burke, Archaeological Research Services; Amy Dansie, Nevada State Museum; and Sharon Lee Taylor, Churchill County Museum. The other professional archaeologists assisting were Pat Hicks, Social Science Center, Desert Research Institute; Regina Smith and Peggy McGuckian, and Barbara White, Bureau of Land Management, Winnemucca District; and Jonathan Till and Liz Sobel, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Stillwater Wildlife Management Area.
Amateur volunteers included Paulie Alles, Carol Cote', Richard H. Denison, Charlie Gomes, Dan Kaffer, Dianne Jennings, Myrl Nygren, Maie Nygren, Herb and Norman Splatt, Greg Taylor, and Gary Whitlow. Logistics were quite a problem since the site was over seven miles from camp. Charlie Gomes and his son-in-law Gary Whitlow drove the two Quad Runners that were generously provided by Mr. & Mrs. John Serpa of Fallon.
Charlie had arranged to borrow a trailer from Mr. Al Butterfield for the cook, Sharon Taylor. Complete with a Sani-Hut, the field-camp was first class in every way.
The group began work early and accidentally surprised an avid pothunter on his way to the site. After surveying and pin flagging, limited collection was done. Two burials were removed, and plans are being discussed to remove the other four from the site.
During the course of the work, members of the Nevada State Indian Commission visited the site. They included Elwood Mose, Executive Director; Gerald Allen, Staff; and Commissioner Peggy Lear Bowen. Native Nevadan reporter Becky Lemon also came along and pitched in to help.
The local Paiute-Shoshone Tribal Council has agreed to allow the remains to be studied, with the provision that they be reburied with the others that were recovered from the Stillwater Marsh.
A report of the work done will be completed by early 1989 and will be made available for limited distribution. Dr. Sheilagh T. Brooks, Physical
107
108 Sharon Lee Taylor
L to R: Volunteers Carol Cote', Dianne Jennings, Dan Kaffer, and Myrl Nygren starting to work. (Churchill County Museum -- Richard H. Denison Photograph)
Anthropologist at University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and Stephanie Livingston, bird bone expert at the Desert Research Institute, are assisting in the analysis.
The project was a unique blend of professional and amateur, and the locale made the work challenging.
MUSEUM MINIATURES
Saving National Treasures
RACHEL MARCH
6th Grade, Minnie Blair Middle School
WALKING DOWN THE AISLES of the Churchill County Museum, I can feel the thousands of years surrounding me. As I look at the old Indian grass hut, a sense of mystery echoes around it. It must have taken years to restore all the wonderful treasures placed in the museum. But all that time was usefully spent. Saving national treasures means saving our heritage, learning about the past, and teaching the past to others.
Having something to show for my background is very meaningful to me. My values and ideas depend on this. I look at the pioneer wagons and belongings and know how hard they must have worked. It seems to compel me to work hard too; I feel proud to have ancestors who struggled to survive in Nevada. Without seeing the artifacts left behind, the feeling is hard to achieve.
Studying the things left behind is a way in which I can learn about the past. Everytime I visit the museum I learn more and more. The dolls and numerous glass vases tell stories rarely heard before. If we listen to the stories we can learn much. If we learn more about the past, we can teach the past to people.
I can remember, on trips to the Churchill County Museum, being told of the Indians and their ways, the pioneers, cowboys, and so much more of Nevada's history. The guides had so much to tell us. It's important to know the history of my state because it's the place I live and the place I love. Museums help teach me that.
Saving our heritage and learning and teaching about the past could not really be possible without museum treasures. That's why its so important to save them.
109
My Many Trips to the Hidden Caves
SARAH WINGATE
6th Grade, Minnie Blair Middle School
THE FIRST TIME I went to Hidden Caves at Grimes Point ten miles east of Fallon was when my dad, and my sister, and I went on an exploration hike. The Hidden Caves are caves about one mile east of Grimes Point, that were once used by Paiute Indians. These caves are very interesting and have great views. There is Burnt Cave, Hidden Cave, Picnic Cave, and many unnamed caves. When the Indians roamed the Hidden Caves, they hid in them because the caves were out of sight from the enemies. Out of these many caves these are my three favorites: Hidden Cave, Picnic Cave, and one unnamed cave.
My favorite cave is the unnamed cave. This cave is really gorgeous. It has a super view of what the peaceful desert is really supposed to look like. While looking out onto the desert I stand on a big huddle of rocks and see the baby blue sky, the masses or rock sitting on the warm glittery brown sand, the fluffy white and brown jackrabbits, and the many other things in a desert. There are other things in the cave, such as tufa, whitish brown coral on the top of the cave, and fire pits built in the cave by people after the Indians.
My second favorite cave is the Hidden Cave. I went to this cave with some classmates on a class field trip. This cave is hidden by a locked metal door. Inside there are many interesting things. When I walked in and sat on the bench and looked behind me, I saw the different layers of soil and the finds they found in the different layers. Out of the layers of soil they found white ash. On the top of the cave there is tufa, a coral like rock. When I walked in the cave all I smelled was this disgusting smell. It is bat guana. Before this cave was a site it was used by the Indians as a storage place.
My third most favorite cave is the Picnic Cave. When I first walked into the Picnic Cave I saw a fireplace. The fireplace was not built by the Indians, it was built after the Indians. Right behind the fire pit are big open holes. I stuck my head in a small hole covered mostly by rocks, and found nothing, because that cave is pretty empty. Right above that hole are little cubby holes that were probably used for storing things.
All of these caves, the unnamed cave, the Picnic Cave, and Hidden Cave are either very pretty, or, very interesting. I have really enjoyed seeing them for the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and many more times. I can never get tired of seeing them.
110
IN MEMORY
Margaret M. Wheat
DOUG MCMILLAN
MARGARET M. WHEAT, 79, self-taught anthropologist, geologist, and author, whose pioneering field research led to much of the knowledge of Nevada's geology and its prehistoric people, died August 28, 1988, at the Fallon Convalescent Center. She was born in Fallon September 9, 1908, to Stanley R. and Ruth Johnston Marean.
Although she never finished college, her keen interest in the natural world sent the Fallon native delving into related fields of ethnology, archaeology, paleontology, hydrology and photography. In addition, she served in such unusual occupations as fire lookout, geological surveyor, stratigrapher, camp cook for archaeological digs and "cave sitter," protecting several of the ancient Indian caves that she helped document.
Her 1967 book, SURVIVAL ARTS OF THE PRIMITIVE PAIUTES, stands as the definitive record of the ingenious technology the Paiutes developed to eke out an existence from the limited resources of the dry, unyielding Great Basin. It represented 20 years of persuading Paiute elders, whose trust she gained, to recount their old ways before they were lost to posterity. Using a crude wire recorder and box camera, she started interviewing and photographing elderly Paiutes in the late 1940s, switching to tape recorders and 35-millimeter cameras when they became available.
Her research received a special boost from Wuzzie George, a Stillwater Paiute who was at least 102 when she died in 1984. Wuzzie George, and her husband, Jimmy, shared Wheat's passion for preserving Paiute culture, showing Wheat how Paiutes built houses and boats from tules and cattails, wove baskets, gathered and processed pinenuts and made clothing from rabbit skins and even sagebrush.
In 1954, while she was pursuing her anthropological studies, Wheat also persuaded paleontologists from the University of California-Berkeley to excavate skeletons of ichthyosaurs, giant fish-like reptiles that inhabited Nevada when it was covered by a sea 185 million years ago. Later, as a member of the Nevada Parks Commission, she was instrumental in getting the state to acquire and preserve the area as Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park. Through her knowledge of Indian culture, she led archaeologists to several caves used by ancient man, including Hidden Cave, east of Fallon, which the Bureau of Land Management has set aside for research and public tours. Also, she
111
112 Doug McMillan
Margaret "Peg" Wheat, c1950. (Courtesy Special Collections, University of Nevada, Reno Library — Margaret M. Wheat Collection)
Margaret M. Wheat 113
assisted numerous other archaeological projects, including the Nevada State Museum's Tule Springs dig, which established evidence of Paleo-Indian culture dating back 11,000 years.
Wheat was as comfortable in the earth sciences as she was in the social sciences, studying Nevada's dramatic geology as she criss-crossed the state in an old Volkswagen bus, seeking Indians to interview and finding archaeological sites. In her quest for knowledge, Wheat often would hire herself out as camp tender or cook for archaeological digs or scientific expeditions, learn from some of the West's top scientists, and eventually win a key role in their research.
"Wheat's life reminds us that opportunity still beckons," a 1986 Reno Gazette-Journal editorial said. "It reminds us, too, what a marvelous thing is the inquiring mind of a human being."
Although Wheat dropped out of UNR to marry, she later found herself frequently lecturing to UNR classes. In 1980, she received an honorary doctorate of science degree from the University of Nevada.
CONTRIBUTORS
Ray Alcorn is a longtime Fallon resident and retired wildlife biologist. His book, The Birds of Nevada, is due to be released in November, 1988.
Colleen Ames graduated from Brigham Young University in 1987 with a degree in communications. She has been Ray Alcorn's personal secretary for the past eight years.
Firmin Bruner is a Fallon writer and historian. His book, Some Remembered, Some Forgot, relates his experiences in the mining town of Berlin.
Ann Diggins received her B.A. degree in Journalism from the University of Nevada, Reno, in 1986. She is News Editor of the Lahontan Valley News.
Doris D. Dwyer is an instructor of history at Western Nevada Community College. She holds a Ph. D. in history from Miami University and teaches several classes in history, including Nevada and Native American History.
Phillip I. Earl has been the Curator of History at the Nevada Historical Society in Reno for the past 15 years. He received his master's degree in history, at the University of Nevada, Reno, and writes the popular weekly newspaper column This Was Nevada.
Catherine Fowler is a Professor of Anthropology at the University of Nevada, Reno. She has worked for many years with the Native Americans of
Nevada and was an associate of the late Margaret "Peg" Wheat.
Brian W. Hatoff is District Archaeologist for the Bureau of Land Management, Carson City District. He has a B.A. and a master's degree in anthropology from the University of California, Davis.
Michon Mackedon is an 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.
114
Contributors 115
Rachel March lives in Fallon and wrote her contribution while a student at Minnie Blair Middle School in Mr. Chris Hansen's English class.
Doug McMillan is the State Editor for the Reno Gazette-Journal. He has been on staff for the past thirteen years.
Virginia M. Parks is the Assistant Archaeologist for the Stillwater Wildlife Management Area. She received a B.A. in classical archaeology from Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania.
Anan W. Raymond is the Archaeologist for the Stillwater Wildlife Management Area. He holds a B.A. degree from Colorado College and a master's degree in anthropology from Washington State University.
Kirk Robertson is on the staff of the Nevada State Council on the Arts. He is a well-known poet, and his volume West Nevada Waltz won the Governor's Award in poetry. His new book, Driving to Vegas: New and Selected Poems, 1968-87, Sun-Gemini Press, Tucson, will be available soon.
Sharon Lee Taylor is celebrating her tenth anniversary as Director of the Churchill County Museum. She holds a B.A. and a master's degree in anthropology from California State University, Sacramento.
Sarah Wingate lives in Fallon and wrote her contribution while a student at Minnie Blair Middle School in Mr. Chris Hansen's English class.
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 creating nev exhibits.
MEMBERSHIP BENEFITS
• A copy of the annual journal Churchill County IN FOCUS
• Discount of 10% on all books (20% at twice yearly specia sales) in the Museum Mercantile
• Special notice of all Association events and activities.
MEMBERSHIP CATEGORIES
^ Senior (60+) — $10.
^ Individual — $15.
^ 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, Director/Curator
Myrl Nygren, Assistant Curator
Loree Branby, Registrar
Jean E. Jensen, Assistant Registrar
Wilva Blue, Volunteer Coordinator
Marguerite Coverston, Senior Hostess
Bunny Corkill, Attendant/Hostess
Felice De Los Reyes, Attendant/Hostess
Laurada Hannifan, Attendant/Hostess
Ces Jacobsen, Summer Attendant/Hostess
John Ali, Museum Student Trainee
"IN FOCUS" STAFF
Michon Mackedon, Editor
Sharon Lee Taylor, Associate Editor
Loree Branby, Staff
Doris D. Dwyer, Staff
Susan McCormick, Staff
Myrl Nygren, Staff
PRODUCTION CREDITS 1988-89 ISSUE
Cover Design, Sharon Lee Taylor
Cover Art, Vic Williams
Cover Graphics, Loganberry Press and Pat Stevenson
Production Photography: Albert A. Alcorn
Carol Cote
Sharon Lee Taylor
Production: 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.

Printed Journal