The information contained herein is the work of many people, so many that I will not attempt to name all of them. Credit has been given in some, but not all cases, but my thanks go out to each and everyone who contributed.
Much of the "story" is the recollections of the author. No attempt has been made to verify correctness of such recollections and the same event may be told by more than one source with some variations, but that's the way recollections are.
The statistics are accurate. I received this information from unimpeachable sources. Each of John Clough's living children supplied the facts for their own immediate families and the facts for his deceased children were supplied by one or more of his grandchildren in their respective lines.
I am planning to put this into loose-leaf form so that additions to the family may be added, as necessary. Additional sheets can be inserted into the statistics as new families are formed.
Feel free to add anything you want to your copy of the story. It would be greatly appreciated if you would send a copy of any additional information which you have added to your copy to:
They will have the Master Copy in their Abernathy, Hendricks, Clough Museum on their ranch near Gann Valley, South Dakota. It is my hope that this master copy will be kept up to date by future generations.
I am not furnishing binders for this book for two reasons. First, it would complicate shipping, and second, one binder is relatively inexpensive, but multiply it by 100 and it runs into some bucks.
The purpose of the "story" was not to correct anyone's recollection, their spelling or their grammar. This is simply a hodge-podge of memories which I think will be enjoyable to all of you, especially so to future generations.
Thank you, again.
Raymond B. Clough
P.S. Money is the stuff that buys the things that you do without because you ain't got none of.
If I am ever to get this genealogy done, I must start, and I can't start any sooner than now. First I would like to convey what little I know about our predecessors. As far back as I have been able to trace our ancestors on the Clough side is Robert and Eunice Gould Harmon who were the parents of Caroline Harmon who was born April 9, 1812 at Portland, ME. She married Mace Richard Clough June 2, 1835 at Portland, ME. Their marriage record shows his residence as Vermont, no town.
All attempts to trace the lineage of Mace Richard have been unsuccessful. Mildred was certain in her own mind that we were of the lineage of John Clough of Salsbury, Mass. She thought the line was through Winthrop Clough whose father was killed at Crown Point in the French and Indian War. Winthrop was raised by another Clough family. He was fined at Concord, New Hampshire for forging his marriage license. This information is taken from Volume 1 of the genealogy of John Clough of Salsbury. He married Elizabeth Mace. The genealogy states that nothing is known of this family. I did, however, find in Montpellier, VT a record of the death of a son of Winthrop Clough and Elizabeth Mace Clough. I could find nothing more, I think his name was Robert and the date of his death 1841. I think Mildred relied heavily on the Mace name showing up at the right time since we are still naming our children Mace. If this ever proves to be our line it would take only one generation between Mace Richard and Winthrop and then the road would be wide open to John of Salsbury who came to this country in 1635. I surely would be convinced, even if it could not be proved, if we found that the Clough of that missing generation married a woman named Fiske, my grandfather's middle name.
There are certainly some obstacles to my acceptance of this lineage. First my father always said that our line came from two brothers who came over from Scotland together. One stayed east and one went west. Since this was in very early colonial time (before 1650) west may have meant 20 miles west of Boston, almost certainly no farther west than New Hampshire. Dad said that we were of the line of the brother that stayed east, which probably meant the area immediately around Boston. I am not sure that dad really knew this but if it is correct it eliminates the possibility of our decent from John of Salsbury. He definitely did not come over with a brother.
Another thing dad told us was that he had a grandmother who was a "full blooded Welch woman" his grandmothers names were Caroline Harmon and Laura Arthur.
Are these Welch names? I don't know but I wonder if that was a great or great-great grandmother and her name was Mace. Maybe that's not Welch either. I don't know. We do know quite a bit about Mace Richard, we just don't know who his parents were.
We suppose that he was attending a seminary of the Methodist church at Portland, ME. when he married Caroline Harmon. There is a listing of the churches he served in Maine. The first if I remember right was in 1838 and he continued to pastor churches in Maine until 1855 when he took his family to Kansas to take an active part in the anti-slavery movement. The church record shows his activities at least to some extent in Kansas. There is a letter written by his daughter Mary after her mother's death in 1883. Robert Clough has furnished a copy of this letter and it is included in this genealogy.
Wilbur Fiske Clough, my grandfather, was a railroad surveyor and teamster. Part of his life he transported coal in Kansas and Colorado. We also know that he lived in southern Kansas, certainly at Coffeeville at one time, and Oklahoma, where he died in 1896. He married Jennie Case from New Hampshire, which unfortunately is about all I know about her except that she lived with her daughter Caroline in California for several years before she died. I think she died about 1912.
Wilbur and Jennie Clough had four children, Mace Richard, Ernest, Caroline and John. John was my father. It seems to me, that what little dad talked about his father, it included horses. Wilbur must have been especially good at handling horses, a valuable accomplishment in the 1860's 70's and 80's. He talked about his father having a small team, but with his handling they could out pull much larger teams.
It seems that he ran a freight line from eastern Kansas to Colorado, hauling general merchandise west and coal east. The vast expansion of railroads in the west after the civil war and into the 1870's put him out of business. I think it was then that he became a railroad surveyor.
Dad also told of a trip with his father when they saw a large herd of bison. A few years later the bison were gone. What he saw was probably one of the last of the big herds.
Dad always said that we had no close relatives bearing the Clough name except our own line as all of our male ancestors for several generations were only sons, until, of course, his own generation.
John Clough was born July 7, 1874 at Manhattan, Kansas, the fourth child of and Jennie Case Clough. (Please note, I'm not real sure of his birthplace. All I ever heard him say was that he was born in Coffeeville, Kansas under a cabbage leaf. However when I wrote up his obituary at his death, my brothers and sisters corrected his birthplace to Manhattan. I tried to check records in Kansas, but was told that there were no state records prior to 1900. This may or may not be true. So we let Manhattan stand.)
Regardless of where he was born he spent his early life in southeast Kansas and northeast Oklahoma. He told us that he was at Coffeeville when the James gang robbed the bank there in a daylight raid. He never claimed that he observed this and he could not have been more than 8 years old at the time, but I suppose that in a small town this was talked about for many years and he undoubtedly got the details second hand. He had many more tales of the U.S. Marshals and the outlaws in Oklahoma when he was young. It was really the Wild West at that time.
The family was living at Pawnee, Oklahoma when his father died in 1896 at Chateau, Oklahoma, John being about 22 years old at the time. For several years before, and after his father died he did many things. He drove cattle, played violin, some piano with a circus band and taught an Indian school. Somewhere along the line he picked up the trade of a journeyman printer. This is rather surprising as he had only a few years of formal schooling. There does seem to be a respect for learning running through the family. Mace Richard sent his daughters to college when such a thing was almost unheard of for young ladies. John, as I said had very little formal education but he taught himself. I have never known another man in any position with as good a command to the English language as my father. In time he came to Omaha, Nebraska where his brother Mace was. I think he worked there as a printer.
At Omaha he met Lyda Corey. Their story is that she fell for him right away. Actually she stepped off of a merry-go-round and fell flat right in front of him. Of course he helped her up and I don't know how long afterward they were married in Wagner, South Dakota on June 9, 1901. They then returned to Omaha where they lived until their first two children were born, Harry and Mildred. They then left Omaha to homestead west of Murdo, South Dakota. Lyda's brother Clarence also homesteaded there at the same time. They were required by the homestead law to build a dwelling on the homestead land. John went to Pierre, about 80 miles, and bought lumber for a house and hauled it by team and wagon to the homestead. To reduce weight to a minimum, he cut all material to size in Pierre. There were, of course, no roads. It wasn't much of a house, but no homestead houses at that time were much. John was gone a great deal of the time making a living for the family, while Lyda stayed on the homestead with two small children. It was a really hard life, Water had to be carried a long distance. There were no conveniences.
I'm quite sure that they never proved up on their claim. About this time John accepted ministry in the Methodist church. The family moved to Presho where their third child, Casper was born. John's work was establishing new churches and then turning them over to someone else, moving on to establish another one somewhere else, never being long in anyone place. He established churches at Belvedere, where Marion was born, Midland, Whitewood and Newell, where I was born. There were probably other places that I can't recall. It was a really brutal existence and poorly paid. It got to be to much to drag five children to anew place a couple of times a year and in about 1912 John resigned his ministry and changed his church affiliation. He then took up his old trade as a printer and moved to Mitchell where he worked on the Mitchell Republican.
The next few years were a reasonably settled time and for really the first time since Omaha they enjoyed reasonable prosperity.
Now I must rely on my memory and since the time I want to tell about occurred when I was about six to ten years old I'm not sure that I have the exact order of things. Three more children were born to John and Lyda, but during the time that the family increased trouble also came in bunches. John got lead poisoning from operating a line o type machine and was unable to work for months. He had to keep a tube in his side to drain off fluid. There was no workman's compensation in those days so Lyda went to work. I don't know what she did and how she managed six kids while doing it but she was a remarkable woman and we survived as a family. Harry was probably 13 at this time and Mildred about 11. We always raised a big garden and kept a cow so we had a lot of our own food. I don't know whether they had their house paid or not but somehow things held together. When John was able to go to work again, he could not go back to the line o type machine. He had to do hard physical work to break adhesions that formed in his lung. He went to work in the plant that manufactured gas from coal. That gas served the same purpose as our natural gas today. He worked at this job for some time, I don't know how long but after some months he was able to go back to work on the newspaper. He was then foreman of the composing room, and I suppose, not exposed quite as much as when he was running the machine. Then the flu struck. It swept through the army camps killing soldiers by the thousands. Never again has influenza been so virile. It was especially severe for young men. Our family got it. One after another they were incapacitated. It was not a walking disease, when you were down you were down, help was impossible to get. Everybody else had it too, or were already taking care of those who had it. I was the last to get it and for several days I tried to take care of nine sick people. I was 7 years old and one of those needing care was a very small baby. I suppose I did about as well as any other 7 year old. Then I got it too. We were all down in bed and couldn't get up. Somehow the Red Cross managed to send a nurse for a few hours a day. She was an absolute angel and we pulled through although it was nip and tuck for Harry for a long time. As I said it was especially hard on young men.
After this things smoothed out again for a while. That was 1918. About 1920 the printers tried to negotiate a 44 hour week. The employers resisted and the printers were out on strike. The strike dragged on. I think it never was settled. Dad went to work for his brother Mace who was a construction contractor, mostly road building. It was a job but it kept him away from home all the time. It would be several weeks at a time that he didn't get home. Then he was offered an opportunity to run a weekly newspaper in Wagner, South Dakota, which he did. He remained there for less than a year and then went to work on a newspaper in Madison. I don't know just what he did there but he was gaining recognition for his writing skills. He remained at Madison for a couple of years and then accepted a position as publisher and editor of a weekly paper at Wentworth. He remained there about a year and then bought a newspaper at Ramona, South Dakota, which he published for four years. During this time he won awards as the best editorial writer in the state.
The family was thinning out. Harry left about 1919 to take a job as a mailer on a newspaper in Topeka, Kansas and later went to Chicago. He came home for a short time to help out on the Wentworth Paper. Mildred and Marion both married in 1928. Casper went to Chicago in 1927, I left for school in 1929 so from then on they had four children at home until the depression in 1933. In 1929 John sold his newspaper and went to work on a paper in Hayti, South Dakota. He must have stayed there a couple of years. The depression was deepening so he bought apiece of land in northern Wisconsin that winter and the family moved there. I don't know whether or not this was a wise move. The living was certainly primitive but everybody there was in the same boat, broke. John bought a few cows and they were able to sell a little cream. There was no work for a young, single man, what there was was given to men with families. This was the case everywhere. I was in Chicago and that was not a good place to be without a job so I headed for the bush with the family. We did whatever we could to make enough to keep a few groceries on the table and we never went hungry. We cut wood and sold it whenever we could find someone who needed it. Often we would have to barter it because there was no money. Sometimes we would get paid in cash so we could get a little gasoline for the car, which we used to pull a trailer to deliver the wood and the cream. No doubt we were poor but nobody told us so. We pitied people in the cities who couldn't take care of themselves. Later Harry also came to Wisconsin. He too was a victim of the "we are letting the single men go to be able to keep the men with families". About this time a construction job of some kind opened up and dad got a job on it. Harry, Dick and I all tried to get them to let one of us do the work even if the check went to the family. No soap, they would only hire the head of the family. So dad had to go out doing hard work in the cold while we stayed home.
Maybe this job for dad was a blessing in disguise. Shortly before this he had had a severe sickness. His weak lung was cutting up again. The family did not expect him to survive. The local doctor was sure that it was tuberculosis but when he sent test specimens for verification they came back negative so the doctor told him all he could recommend was to eat three square meals a day and go to work. Then some time later he went to work on the aforementioned job and as far as I know he never had trouble with the lung again.
I think that he really enjoyed that job. He stayed in what had been an old logging camp and quite a few of the men working there were about 70 years old, (dad was past 60), and had spent most of their life working in timber. Several of them had logged in the days when the virgin pine had been logged out. This seems impossible now that men who had logged the virgin forest were still alive but this was about 1933 or 34 and that was only 30 or 40 years after the peak of the pine days.
These men had spent a lifetime in the logging camp environment and knew how to live that way and make the best of it. After work, in the evening they would tell stories and sing songs and some of them played cards. It was a new way of life to dad and he always savored anything new. They told the stories and sang the songs of the timber days. Dad soaked it up like a sponge.
It was here that he got his inspiration for his "Flowing Chippewa" song. I never knew whether this song was wholly original or was an attempt on his part to save something of the culture of the woodlands. Perhaps it would suffice to say that the song was original and the songs sung by the workmen around the fire in the evening were his sources. Maybe some of my brothers and sisters, who were around him after his time in the woods, which I was not, will have more to say about this. The words of this song are included herein. I can't help on the music. I'm musically illiterate.
While on this job dad made a contact that led to me getting a job as a surveyor for the U.S. Forest Service. Shortly after Harry got a half time job, so things were looking up. Fortunately dad's job lasted only a few months at most, maybe weeks, but Harry and I were working and bringing in a little money. After about a year the Forest Service sent me to Michigan and then to Ohio. Harry and I had bought a sawmill and he was the sawyer. We worked it over and had just got it in really good shape when I left. Harry stayed on for another year or so and then was called back to his regular newspaper work in Chicago. This pretty much left Dick and Clarence to help things along.
Shortly after Harry left, the family moved to Bruce, Wisconsin where things were not so primitive, and bought a somewhat better farm. They remained there until mother died in 1953.
John gave up his home shortly after Lyda died. He spent this time as a welcome guest with his children and sometimes grandchildren. He was living with his daughter Elaine when he died in 1973, almost 99 years old. What a century he lived. When he was young there was no electricity, almost no running water, almost no residential plumbing, no telephone, radio, television. Work was done by muscles, man or horse. There were some steam engines and primitive railroads were being built. He lived to see by television a man walk on the moon.
John and Lyda were resourceful people. We had no money to waste for going to movies. Oh yeah, they had them when I was a boy, but I can remember seeing only one until I was probably 12 or 14 years old. Dad and mother would tell us stories at night. Dad had a great imagination. I recall one whole winter when he took us down the Mississippi River on a houseboat. Of course it was all imagination, but I still remember many of the events of that trip. We could hardly wait for the next night to find out what had happened. When we got to New Orleans we had a pretty thorough lesson of the geography of the Mississippi.
I now turn the narrative over to others. Several of these were written for Anita and Evan's 40th wedding anniversary so they are naturally slanted to Anita, but I'm sure that the readers will agree that they make interesting reading and are properly family history.
Thomas Richard Clough was reportedly the father of Mace Richard Clough, although I have not been able to verify this information.
He moved from Maine or Vermont to Canistoga, New York and then on to Warrenstown, Ohio where he was employed as a wheelwright. He ran a wagon train from Warrenstown to St. Louis. Thomas moved from Warrenstown to Joplin, Missouri (Jasper and Newton Counties) where he was a wagonmaster taking trains from Joplin through Kansas to Denver, Colorado.
It was January 27th, 1923. We were living in Wagner, South Dakota and my cousin, Ida Corey came over from where they lived across the street. My dad bundled me up and gave Ida a few coins to take me to the drug store for an ice cream soda. I was four and a half years old and Ida was about ten. I remember Ida had on a yellow stocking hat with a red tassel. It was several blocks to the drug store so it took us a while and when we got home Dad announced that while we were gone the doctor had brought me a new baby sister. We went up to the bedroom and sure enough, there was a new blue-eyed baby. "Her name is Doris Anita," my mother said. That was my first introduction to my sister Anita. I don't recollect a great deal about the next few years. Shortly after Anita was born we moved to Madison, South Dakota where Dad worked for the Madison newspapers. Sometime in 1924 we moved to Wentworth where Dad took over the operation of the Wentworth, paper. I started school in Wentworth in the fall of 1924. A year or so later, Dad bought the Ramona Times and we moved to Ramona. I have some recollections of Anita while in Ramona. I had another sister, Elaine, that fit between Anita and I so most of my playing was with my two younger sisters. Of course, we never got into any arguments or fights. I remember we had some chickens and Anita saw my mother set some hens to hatch out baby chicks. So Anita wanted to set, too. No one could convince her the she couldn't hatch out the eggs and I think our brother Cap finally gave her a hard boiled egg to set on. After a little while it was all cracked and she never did hatch any baby chickens. Another time she decided she wanted a "weigher" .We finally figured out she wanted a scale to weigh things on so Cap got some scraps of wood and made her a scale. She was, after all, the baby of the family so we spoiled her rotten.
In 1929, we moved to Hayti, South Dakota and it was in Hayti where Anita started school. Her first grade teacher was Ester Fisher. The school put on a kids program. Elaine and Anita were in the kiddie band and I was in the Glee Club. I am enclosing a picture of the three of us in our uniforms. The depression had hit pretty hard by late 1930 so Dad decided he would move the family somewhere where we could live off the land. He considered the Ozarks and northern Wisconsin. Finally, he took a trip to northern Wisconsin to look around. When he came back a week or so later, he told Mother to get things packed, he had bought forty acres in Winter, Wisconsin. It had a nice, cozy log cabin, was way back in the woods with a trout stream only a hundred yards from the house, about a mile from the Chippewa River with lots of berries and wood and just about every thing we needed. He told Mother we couldn't take much with us and to pack only what she felt she really needed. No electrical appliances as there was no electricity. We had a 1926 Baby Overland car and Dad bought a trailer, which we loaded with the necessities. Mother had a treadle sewing machine that she felt would come in handy so we managed to get that on the trailer. That was her "prize possession". (Raymond was not at home. I don't remember whether he had gone to Chicago to find work or ~ if he was still in a Citizens Military Training Camp in North Dakota. So, one morning late in September, Mother, Dad, Dick, Elaine, Anita and myself piled into the car along with suitcases and whatever else we could get in the car and with the trailer hooked behind, we headed for Wisconsin.
We only got as far as Canby, Minnesota that first day because in the afternoon it started to rain. A real down pour! The carburetor got wet and we were stalled. We had a piece of old carpeting tied over the loaded trailer which blew off and everything on the trailer got soaked. We just huddled together in the car all night. We were parked by what had been a dry gully but by morning it was a raging river! Soon a motor boat came down the river. By daylight the rain had stopped and we managed to get the carburetor dried out and were on our way again. We got as far as Granite Falls (there was a sharp, uphill grade with a railroad crossing and stop sign near the top). When Dad stopped for the stop sign, the brakes on the car wouldn't hold the trailer so it started pulling us backward down the hill. It jack-knifed and overturned, scattering our possessions through the ditch. Mother's sewing machine was a wreck. Dad arranged for some kind of room for us while he got a garage to come with the wrecker and get the trailer straightened out. Then everything was reloaded. The wrecker pulled the trailer up the hill where finally, sometime the next day, we hooked it to the car and were on our way again. It was the third day and we were only about one hundred miles on our way. From then on, we carried a couple of rocks in the car and when we would come to a fairly steep hill, Dick and I would get out and run along the sides of the car with our rocks ready to block the wheels if it started to roll backwards.
The rest of the trip through Minnesota was uneventful until we got to the Wisconsin line (Taylor Falls, Minnesota). The road seemed to go straight down to the St. Croix River and straight up the other side. Dad parked the car and trailer and walked down to a garage where he hired a wrecker to take the trailer down the hill and up the other side. As we drove the car down the hill in low gear we could see Wisconsin across the river. It was all trees and looked absolutely beautiful. At the top of the hill on the Wisconsin side we again hooked the trailer on and proceeded on our journey to our Wisconsin home. Just west of Barron, Wisconsin it was getting dark and some distance ahead we could see the lights of a car that seemed high above us. Fearing another steep grade, Dad pulled the car and trailer off on the side of the road and we parked for the night. In the morning the steep grade proved to be just a gradual incline for quite a distance and we were able to proceed. In Barron we had our first meal in Wisconsin. We then got back in the car to complete our journey to Winter and home. In Radisson we stopped for lunch and picked up a few groceries to take home. A couple of hours later we arrived at the road that led through a cranberry marsh and then about a mile back to our new home. It had been raining a lot and the road was muddy so Dad walked a little ways up the road to some neighbors house and in a short while Adrian Pearson returned with Dad and a team of horses to pull us through the mud. After awhile we rounded a bend in the road and Dad said, "there it is...our new home" .We pulled into the yard and as we piled out of the car, Adrian Pearson said, "Well folks, you're home." It had been quite a journey and I'm sure none of us have ever forgotten it.
There was a few acres of cleared meadow, a tiny log cabin (9' wide x 22' long), a log barn and a log chicken coop. Also, an outdoor toilet was behind the house. All around there was woods. Mother went immediately then back to the chicken coop that was full of chipmunks and I'm sure we all felt we had landed in heaven. There was a skylight in the roof of the house. Dad pushed it open with a broom to ventilate the house a bit and we began carrying things in where Mother arranged them as best she could. Th1s became the place where Dick, Ela1ne, An1ta and I would grow up and memories would form that we would keep forever. There had been a well on the place but it had caved in so for that first winter we had to go about three-fourths of a mile to Wing's spring and carry water home. Many times Elaine, Anita and I would take our little pails and go to the spring for water. Since we had moved there late in the fall we had no vegetables or any of the things that later we would raise for ourselves. Soon we found that we had good neighbors that shared what they had with us. The very first night that we were there, Harry Baker, whom we found was our closest neighbor came with his family through the woods with a sack of potatoes, some other vegetables and a one-forth of venison. The Harry Baker family consisted of Harry, his wife and two children, Virgil and Mary. Virgil was between Elaine and my age and Mary was between Elaine and Anita. They soon became our constant companions and just about everything we did, we did together. Virgil and Mary were almost like another brother and sister. Harry was an excellent woodsman, hunter, fisherman, etc., and taught us a lot about surviving off the land. He was also a great story teller and many evenings Virgil and Mary, Elaine, Anita and I would lie on the bed and listen to Harry Baker tell stories about the early logging camp days. He used the expression "by grab" a lot and sometimes we would try to keep track of the number of times he would say it.
School had already started when we arrived September 26, so Monday morning Mother packed our lunches and we went trudging off on the little path through the woods that led to Bakers and then out to a road that led to the place where we would catch the school bus about a quarter to seven every morning. The bus made two trips and we were always the first trip in the morning and the last trip at night because the other trip was shorter. Dick learned the first day that he already had what his class was studying the year before, so he dropped out of school for the year expecting to go back the following year... but he never did. Besides, Virgil and Mary, there were also Ruth, Telford and Merlin Fadness who caught the bus at that corner.
As I write, there are so many memories of the seven years we spent in Winter that they would fill several volumes so I won't attempt to recount them all.
Dad had less than $100 when we arrived at Winter, but we needed a cow so he bought a cow from some neighbor named Kies. Her name was Josephine and she became not only our mild cow and pet, but also our beast of burden. Dad made some shaves for the trailer and we would hook Josephine to the trailer and she would haul loads of wood or hay or whatever we had to haul. The first winter was pretty hard and put a large garden in. A large potato patch and about one-fourth acre of beans. Soon we were getting fresh vegetables from the garden. Then the berries began to come and we spent a lot of time picking them. We always had venison and we caught a lot of fish... we ate well.
Anita and I were very close and we had a sort of make-believe game we would play. I was "Bunny Kutch" and she was "Pokey" and I would make up stories to tell her about Bunny Kutch and Pokey. Sometimes I would say "Bunny Kutch gotta cry" and she would say "Poor Bunny Kutch." Then I would say "Tender me, tenderly, Tender Me" and she would pat my head and say "Tender me" .Dad also had a make-believe character named "Old Man Grouch" and often he would come in form the woods at night and say "I met "Old Man Grouch" today" , then he would have a story to tell about what "Old Man Grouch" had been doing. A year or so after we moved in there, some more families moved in along the road where we caught the bus. They were Kinsleys and Andrews, both fairly large families. Along the other road that we used to drive out to the bus stop, the McDermotts built a house. Mrs. McDermott had a son, Dick Brensan who was nearly totally deaf and about thirty years old. Otherwise there were no children there. Other memorable people from those years were "Gramps and Grandma Chambers" and Gramps Baker. They were Virgil and Mary's grandparents and many humorous stories could be told about them. Elaine remembers ~II Gramps Baker singing his song "Lather and Shave... lather and shave, lather and shave, lather and fizzle me beard". Then there was the time that Gramps Chambers was pounding on the door at 3:00 in the morning wanting someone to take Leela to the doctor. We asked him, "What's the matter? Is Mrs. Chambers sick?" And he replied, "Sick? Why she's been sick for 20 years!"
Then there was Earl Wing, who was shell-shocked as a result of World War I. He would tell stories, like the time he was on a ship and the crew mutinied and were going to throw him overboard so he threw the entire crew overboard and sailed the ship back to the port by himself. He told stories like that with a straight face and I think he actually believed they were true.
Then there were the Pearsons, the Sitters, the Barnabys, Stroufs, Grandpa and Grandma Olsen (the Fadness kids grandparents) the Imhoffs, Wileys and many others. All good neighbors, but quite a few with idiosyncrasies of various types.
Elaine, Anita and I would trudge off to school every morning. I had some high boots so I would go first and break the trail. Often the snow was hard enough so that we walked on top of it. We left home in the mornings before daylight in the winter, walked a mile and caught the school bus at a quarter of seven. In the spring when the snow would melt the creek would flood and cover the bridge. I would carry the girls across one at a time because they had no high boots. Elaine had a pair of red overshoes and Anita some brown ones but they weren't very high. Anita never complained but Elaine hated those overshoes. There was a row of mailboxes where we waited for the bus and a wooden package box. Elaine would leave her overshoes in the package box so she wouldn't have to wear them to school.
We had a half-grown puppy that we called Jenny and sometimes he would follow us to the bus. No matter how hard we tried to send him home he still followed. One morning he was hit by the bus and killed. We were all heart broken. The next day one of the boys in my class said they had some puppies and we could have one. Our folks said it was okay so the boy brought the puppy to school and we took him home on the bus. He was part poodle and part pooch so we said he was a poodle-pooch. He wasn't much bigger than my hand and for awhile actually slept in Mother's shoe. On the way home we passed Gramps Baker house and two of Harry Bakers brothers (George and Hank) were out in the yard. Of course they had to see the puppy and Hank asked what we were going to name him. I said I had thought about "Skeet" or "Snap" and Hank said, "That's it! Skeetersnap", so that was his name. He grew to be a fairly good-sized dog.
Others are also writing about those great days so I will shorten this part and get on with Evan and my memories about him. Someone will surely mention the time Elaine was looking dreamily out the window and said, "I for one see a buffalo." Nobody forgot that for some reason. I graduated from Winter High School in 1936. In the spring of 1937, Dick and I spent three months in a camp at Upsar, Wisconsin. In the fall of 1937 we moved to Bruce, Wisconsin where Dad was employed at the newspaper office. Elaine and Anita continued their schooling in Bruce. In November of 1940, I joined the Marines and II was sent to Shangha1. I left home alone and d1dn't know a soul. I went by tra1n from Minneapolis to San Diego, California. I met a couple of other ones going in the Marines who boarded the train in Texas and of course made more friends in boot camp (some who went to Shanghai when I did).
On our arrival in Shanghai, I was assigned to Camp B, 1st squad, 1st platoon and it was there that I met Evan Bunn. He had been there for six months or so already. Others in our squad were Ceto Sillman, Bill Horne, James Pountaine, Frank Reidel and Beekley Swan. Evan and I soon became best of friends. He was a first class Marine and taught me many things that would have taken me much longer to learn without him. I guess he knew the best and easiest way to do everything. Everyone liked Evan and through the years since, he never changes...same old Bunn.
Peace-time duty for the Marines in Shanghai was really great. We didn't get much pay but the exchange of American money for Chinese money went up to $54 for $1 and a Chinese dollar would buy about as much as one of ours would in this country. Each squad had a room-boy that took care of all our needs. Our room-boy's name was Wamba, which in Chinese means turtle. He would see to it that we always had fresh, clean clothes, go out and get sandwiches for us, or whatever we asked of him. It cost us each 15 Chinese dollars a month for his services, which was about thirty cents American money. We could get a hair-cut for about three cents, go to a movie for about the same cost. We stood two four-hour watches every third day. The rest of the time we pretty much could come and go on liberty. Most of our liberties were spent at the fourth Marine Club which had a vast variety of things to do. Usually we sat around eating and drinking and visiting our buddies.
Evan had done some boxing and had the nick-name Bearcat Bunn. I don't remember his ever getting in a fight as many did. Although he tells me he did have a fight with a fellow named Charlie Hasslet, probably before I got there. All in all he was a pretty peaceful sort of guy.
In Shanghai there is a river or creek they call SooChow Creek. Much of our guard duty was at bridges across SooChow Creek. One day a stray dog wandered into our barracks. It was a bull-dog type. We fed him and he stayed and we made him our mascot. We named him SooChow. Somehow when we left Shanghai at the start of World War II, a fellow in our company named Bob Snyder smuggled SooChow onto the ship and he went with us to the Philippines. By some miracle SooChow survived the war and the prison camp and was brought back to America at the end of the war. In Shanghai, as our mascot, he wore a vest with sergeant's stripes. When he got to the United States, the Marine commander promoted him to major, retired him and assigned a man to take care of him until he eventually died.
The Marines were pulled out of China and sent to the Philippines, arriving at Olongpo only two days before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. We were attacked the same day and on that very first day, two very good friends of mine were killed. We remained on Baaton for awhile and were then transferred to Corregidor. Evan and I were sent to different areas so I saw very little of him for the remainder of the time until we were taken prisoner. I found him again after we were captured and we were together most of the time from then on. After we were captured we remained a few days on Corregidor and were then transferred to a concentration camp at Cabanatuan. They took us on a boat to the Mainland and unloaded into water up to our necks. We waded into shore and were then loaded on a train. We were loaded one hundred men to a box-car and it was so crowded you couldn't even move an arm. I don't know how far we were transported by train, but after several hours we were unloaded and began the long march to Cabanatuan. The same route as the much publicized Baatan death march and the same conditions. We were given no food and stopped only once for water. Any man that fell by the wayside was immediately shot or bayoneted... and many fell. Several hours later we arrived at Cabanatuan. There we were given a little rice and some water and assigned to a barracks. There were thousands of men from Baatan there already and many, many died. Malaria, dysentery, berri-berri, pellagra and starvation was everywhere and hundreds were dying all around. Frequently the Japanese made up work details to send out to various parts of the Philippines. Evan and I got on the first work detail we could. We were sure anything was better than Cabanatuan.
We were taken to Manila and loaded on a ship. They put us in holds below the deck, again so crowded we couldn't move. If I remember correctly, we were on the ship for about seven days. Our destination was the island of Palawan, just north of Basneo and practically on the equator. There were three hundred men on the work detail and we were sent there to build an airfield for the Japanese. We had to start from scratch, working with very crude tools and nothing to wear except a "G-String". There was a lot of corral which cut our feet so we made some clackers with pieces of board to wear on our feet. The temperatures were usually 120° to 130° and with no protection from the sun, we burned so badly that many men lost their skin and flesh clear to the bone. If we were able to work twelve-hour days, we were given three rice balls a day. If we became too sick with Malaria or other diseases they would put you on what they called light-duty which usually meant to work with a little hand sickle cutting grass, brush, etc. On light duty you got only one rice ball a day, so knowing how important food was to us we would go to work sometimes very sick to get our three rice balls. Nobody could have survived on one, so we formed what we called "clicks". Any bananas or other fruit we could smuggle in from the airfields (at great risk) we would share. We shared all our food as equally as possible. But most important, we furnished each other with moral and emotional support. There were five men in our "click"... Evan and I, Will Smith, Glen McDole and Roy Henderson. There is not the smallest doubt that any of us would have survived without the others. We slept in long rows on bamboo slats. There was a veranda that ran the full length of the building. Evenings we would sit out on the veranda and talk. Within our click we learned all about each other. We knew each other like no one else ever could. Much of our talk was about food because that was always foremost in our minds. We always talked about our families and home life, our girlfriends back home, and our hopes for the future. We talked about everything. Sometimes we would sing and others from other clicks would come and join in. We survived a day or so at a time. We would each pick a date when we thought the war would be over, always only a few days away or a week or so. One would say we'll be out of here by the third, another said the fifth, and so on. Then we'd live for that first day, when that had passed we'd say, "Well Bunn, it wasn't your day. Must be Henderson's." So we lived it a day or two at a time and actually managed to enjoy ourselves.
I remember one night everyone was just about asleep and a fellow down the line named Lito hollered out, "Hey Bunn, a mouse just ran over me." Evan said, "We'll catch it." Things had just begun to get quiet again when Lito hollered, "I got him, Bunn! I got him! Now, what'll I do with it?" Everyone roared with laughter.
Although it was rough on Palawan and there was a lot of malaria, etc., men were not dying. Sometimes someone would become so sick that the Japanese took him out and sent him somewhere. We didn't know where. Evan became sick with Malaria, sicker and sicker! He would get chills so bad, I had gotten up what blankets I could find and covered him. Then the fever would take over and he was literally burning up. The doctors had a small amount of quinine, which helped, but he continued to get worse. He couldn't eat at all so the rest of the click was surviving on his ration of rice. His temperature rose to 108.6°, which the American doctors told us was the highest human temperature ever recorded in the Philippines. Finally, his condition was so bad that the Japanese took him away and although we didn't know it at the time, he was taken to Billibed Prison in Manila, which the Japanese had converted to the main hospital camp.
Several months later the airfield was nearly completed so the Japs decided to send half the men back to Cabanatuan. We were picked at random and Roy Henderson and I were sent back. Smith and McDole remained on Palawan to finish up the ramps for the airfield.
We learned later that when the Americans began bombing Palawan, the Japanese herded the one hundred fifty Americans into air raid shelters and then poured gasoline on them and set them on fire. As the men poured out of the burning shelters they were bayoneted or machine-gunned down. Somehow, about half o dozen did manage to escape and Smith and McDole were among them. The story of how they escaped was written up in a magazine and they each had an unbelievable story to tell. Henderson died several years ago but we have all kept in close touch over the last forty years. The five of us got together in Texas shortly before Henderson died.
I was taken from Palawan to Cabanatuan. On the way back we stopped over night at Billibed Hospital Camp. There I was told by Joe Calkins, who knew Evan from Chetek, Wisconsin that Evan died there the same night he was brought in. I had lost many friends during the war and the prison camp days, but to hear Evan was gone was nearly more than I could handle. Joe told me Evan's marker was out in the graveyard, so I went to look at it. Tears flowed from my eyes like they never had flowed before.
The next day we went to Cabanatuan. When we got there I was assigned to Barracks 117. The sergeant said to pick a spot wherever you could find one. The bamboo slats here were double-deckered and I found one on the lower deck. Somewhere I had found a wooden box and made a case to carry my mess gear in. I sat down and started to open it and someone above me gave me a little peck on the head. I looked up and believe it or not, there was Evan Frank Bunn! What a reunion we had! Apparently when Evan got to Billibed he was put to bed and a name plate put on the bed. During the night the Japs put together a detail to take to Cabanatuan and Evan got up and went with them. Later on, a very sick man was brought in, put in Evan's bed and died in the night. With Evan's nameplate on the bed, they thought it was Evan and buried him with Evan's name on the marker. Later, when the Americans took over the Philippines, Evan's brother Ned saw the marker and took a picture of it.
The Japs were moving many prisoners from the Philippines to Japan so Evan and I were off once again. When we arrived in Japan we were sent to Hatachi to work in a copper mine. After several months we were divided into two groups. I went to an inland city called Ashio and Evan was sent north to Mitzojima. Once again we were separated. We didn't see each other again until the war ended. We met in Yokahama, September 5th after the war. The Americans were flying many men home and we were called for a flight back, but a new fourth Marine regiment had been formed and they were giving a party for the old fourth Marines. Evan and I decided to go to the party and consequently were brought back to the United States on a ship.
Evan got a job on the ship working in the galley and kept me well supplied with food. When I left Japan I weighed 104 pounds. By the time we got back to the good old U.S.A.. I was at 186 pounds of rather unhealthy fat and Evan about the same.
We docked in Oakland. California where we were given some physical exams and within a few days were on a train headed for Chicago. We were taken to Great Lakes Navel Hospital and kept for awhile. We had some time off when we could go into Chicago so Evan and I bought a car and along with a number of others we'd drive down to my brother Cap's place. After all of the tests etc., at the navel hospital, we were allowed to go home on a 90-day furlough. Evans father had died and his mother and two sisters were living in Iron Mountain. Michigan. We went first to my home and later went to see them.
Evan had heard me talk so much about my two sisters that he had his mind made up to marry one of them. Elaine had already married, but Evan and Anita hit it off so well from the start that it didn't take them too long to decide to get married. I feel of all the things I've done in my lifetime, getting Evan and Anita together turned out the best of all.
As with my memories of Anita, much of my memories of Evan had to be skimmed over or omitted...oh how many volumes a lifetime would fill.
It is now forty years later and instead of just Evan and Anita the family now numbers sixty-three and growing. What a beautiful wonderful family, all raised with love and Christianity, which are all so very close to one another.
And there is one thing I know and have always known that if everyone close in this world fails me. I will always be able to count on Evan Bunn.
PROLOGUE
Having been asked by some of my children to write down some of the interesting things that have happened during our lifetimes, I here attempted to do so. First, a little background.
Grandma and Grandpa Clough
John Casper Clough was born in Manhattan, Kansas on July 7, 1874. He was the youngest of four children, namely Ernest, Mace, Carolyn and John. His father was killed by a runaway team while he was freighting supplies to Arizona. At one point in his life, Dad taught at an Indian boy's school in Nebraska. At the time he met Lyda in Omaha he was sign painting with his brother Mace and Mace's two sons, Kenneth and Caroll.
Lyda Ethel Corey was one of four children born to Warren and Martha Corey. She had two brothers, Clarence and Lorenzo Ennis (L.E.) and one sister, Helen. Warren Corey was a Civil War Veteran who was captured and sent to Andersonville Prison. His health was very poor after his prison experience and he died young, leaving his wife to raise their children. Grandma Corey did copying (this was before typewriters) and needlework to support her children. Mother's life was a hard one. She was visiting friends in Omaha when she was introduced to John Clough by a mutual friend.
Dad decided almost immediately that Lyda was the girl he wanted to marry. Mother returned to Wagner, South Dakota and taught school, but she and Dad kept up a correspondence, which led to their marriage June 17, 1901.
When Mildred was a small baby and Harry was about two years old, Dad filed a claim on a homestead in Murdo, South Dakota. Uncle Clarence Corey had filed on a home-stead about a mile away and was living there with his wife Jessie. Dad returned to Omaha to continue working, but to hold the claim, someone had to live on it. So mother took Harry and Mildred and started the long trip to Murdo. They crossed the Platte River on a ferry boat, and on reaching the South Dakota side, they spent the night in a dugout. The next day they took a stagecoach to Murdo where Uncle Clarence met them and took them to their homestead. Mother spent six months there and then Dad joined her. At night when they let the bed down they had to put their table and the boxes used for chairs outdoors.
Through the years, Dad worked in newspaper work in many towns in South Dakota. At one period in his life he felt a calling to become a minister. He joined the Methodist church and soon began to preach. While in Newell in 1911, a little girl joined Sunday school. Her name was Lois Gillett. Missing her one Sunday, he asked her the following Sunday where she had been the week before. She said, "I went to my own church." Questioning her further, he found that her family belonged to the Old Apostolic Lutheran Church. Dad had always been eager to learn about things he didn't know, so he talked to Dr. Gillett who was the town dentist. Soon he realized he was in the wrong church. He became a Christian in the Church of the First Born where our children have been raised and are also raising their children.
I, Doris Anita Clough, was seven years old when I traveled with my parents, John and Lyda to Winter, Wisconsin from Hayti, South Dakota. The year was 1930, the month was September. The family, including two older brothers and an older sister was moving because Dad Clough had lost his job publishing the local newspaper in Hayti. The owner of the paper was returning to run it himself. The Great Depression had hit the country the previous year and people's lives were being disrupted and changed all over the world. I was born on January 27, 1923 in Wagner, South Dakota (Charles Mix County). I was born in her maternal grandmother's home where the family had stopped briefly for my birth. Soon after we moved on and lived in several small towns. The first one I remember is Ramona, South Dakota. I was four years old when the family moved to Ramona. Two memories stand out while living in this town. The first was when I told my mother I was going to run away, then preceded to crawl behind the couch and fall asleep. When Mother missed me, she got the whole family out to look for me. When I couldn't be found it was feared I had wandered into a large slough close by and drowned. The police were called and nearly all the town was looking for me when Raymond found me safe and sound, sleeping behind the couch. I was the only member of the family not greatly upset.
The other incident was when I was on an errand to the store for my mother. I cut across a vacant lot, fell, and a large weed poked a hole by the corner of my eye. The mark remains yet today. When I was six the family moved to Hayti where I went to first grade. Two weeks after I started second grade, the family left for Winter, where I spent my childhood.
When Dad lost his job, the question was, "What now?" Jobs became almost impossible to find. Dad and Mother were no longer young, Dad being fifty-six and Mother nearly fifty-two, but something had to be done as they still had four children going to school. Dick was sixteen, a senior in high school. Clarence at twelve was in seventh grade, Elaine was in fifth grade and I was starting second grade.
Mother was born in Wisconsin and remembered it as a "land of plenty". One day while looking through a paper she came across and advertisement for a "tax forty" in Winter, Wisconsin. A "tax forty" was forty acres of land being sold for taxes because the owner was not able to pay them. Mother was elated and said "at least we can raise food and won't starve." She was right.
Dad made a trip to look at the land and bought it for $1000. He deposited his last $100 in the Winter State Bank. Raymond accompanied Dad and then went on to Chicago where Harry and Cap, the two older brothers were working. Cap was working for Wilson Brothers Meat Packing Plant. They sent Raymond to R.C.A. and Coyne Electric schools where he had been promised a job when he graduated.
Dad returned to Hayti where the family sold the furniture from their nine room "modern" home to have money to make the trip to Wisconsin. Boy, "modern" was having electricity and running water on three floors and a furnace in the basement. Many homes did not have these in 1930.
The sale was held and the family went to Mildred and Joel's home to spend the night and to say good-bye to the oldest daughter, Mildred, her husband and two year old daughter Helen. Shortly before they had made a trip to Gann Valley to Marion and Floyd Abernathey's where they said good-bye to their second daughter and her two little girls, Dorothy and Leona.
Now they were off! Mildred had packed nearly enough food to make the whole trip. Fried chicken, bread, butter, cakes, etc. were all packed in the big wash boiler which was secured to the runn1ng board of the Baby Overland. A small tra1ler pulled J by the car held the big cook stove, treadle sewing machine, electric washing machine, (this was never used because the new home had no electricity), two beds, one chest of drawers, dishes, pans and clothing. The trailer was much heavier than the car.
The rain began! And it rained, and rained and rained. Almost the entire trip it rained. Everything in the trailer became wet. The food in the boil became wet. The picnics along the road were not as much fun as been envisioned because everything was wet! However, since the children had done little traveling, everything was exciting. After four days they reached St. Paul, Minnesota. While Dad went to a grocery to purchase food, the family got out to stretch their legs. A man carrying several pieces of baggage stopped and told Dick he would give him twenty-five cents to carry his suitcase a few blocks to the train depot. How exciting that was as twenty-five cents was a lot of money in those days!
The rain continued. The dirt road became mud. At Taylor's Falls the little Overland couldn't pull the heavily loaded trailer up the long hill. Both car and trailer rolled backward. Mother panicked and jumped out of the car calling to us children to jump too. We didn't because Dad told us to sit still. Mother injured her knee in the jump. A farmer nearby was making money on hauling cars up the hill. He made another ten dollars off of us. The trailer had tipped over and everything was muddy, but we soon had it reloaded and were on our way. At Barron, Wisconsin we ran out of money with about one hundred miles yet to go. What to do! Dad talked to the newspaper editor and he trusted us enough to cash a check for $10 drawn on the Winter State Bank, and so the trip continued.
We arrived at Winter, a town of a little over one hundred people, in the late afternoon. We stopped at a store and bought enough food to see us through a few days. Then continued on the last five miles to our new home. We reached the turn off a mile from home to find a sea of mud. There was no way we could drive through it. We got the nearest neighbor to hitch up his horses and pull us through. There was a two room log cabin with a well close by. The water was brought up with a pail tied to a rope that was pulled up hand over hand. A log barn and chicken house were nearby. That was all. There were two small meadows, enough to feed a cow through winter.
"Well, how do you like your new home?" Mother asked Elaine and I. I said, "I guess it's all right, but where is the bathroom?" It was there all right, only you didn't bathe in it. It was a little square building at the end of a short path at the back of the house. Directly behind this small building was a swamp with heavy brush. Many times during the following years we were to hear a blood curdling sound from this swamp that sounded like a woman screaming. It was a lynx.
Dick could not find enough subjects in school that he hadn't already taken to fill his schedule so the school suggested he wait until the next year to finish his senior year. He was only sixteen and young for his grade. He never did finish, but Clarence, Elaine and I started school the next day.
I enjoyed school very much. I quickly made friends and did well in my classes. Mary Baker lived a half mile away through the woods and she was in my grade. We became very close friends. Instead of walking down the muddy road we had come in on, we walked through the woods so we could meet other children and catch the school bus with them. It was a walk and was a much more pleasant walk with friends. There was Mary Baker and her brother Virgil who was in Elaine's class. Phoebe Hilliard and Merlin Fadness were also Elaine's age. Telford Fadness was Clarence's age and Ruth Fadness was in high school.
Near home was a small stream with a log bridge across it. Soon after moving to the new home, Elaine was coming home from school alone. Two little animals newly born caught her eye. Thinking they were puppies she called to them. They quickly disappeared. Dad was almost sure they were wolf puppies and I shudder to think what would have happened if she had touched one.
The first and most important thing to do was to find enough food for the family. Of course it was too late to put in a garden, but there were still many berries to pick. So we picked, ate and canned raspberries. Later, after the first frost, we picked cranberries in the cranberry bog. Cranberries are much sweeter after the first frost.
Dad began looking for a milk cow as soon as we arrived. He soon found one at Barnaby's. They were the best farmers in the area. Mr. Barnaby said, "you can go through my barn and pick any cow you want for $35." And that is how we got Josephine who became the "mother" of our "herd". She was a Guernsey, mild and gentle and gave a full pail of rich, creamy milk. We had cream for our cereal and cream for the berry shortcakes Mother made. We put cream in a two-quart jar and made buttermilk to drink and to make pancakes with. There was so much milk left after we drank all we wanted that we decided to buy a pig to feed it to. And so we got "Tilly". Tilly was a pet and we all loved her and petted and played with her. There were many chores for everyone on the new farm. Besides food we also needed fuel for the big cook stove to cook our meals and also for warmth as the nights were getting cool. Then, of course, there was money. The small bank account was getting smaller with buying food staples and tools for working on the place. Dad needed a scythe to cut hay for Josephine's winter feed. Saws and axes were needed to cut wood. The men must have overalls, mittens, caps, etc. for working outside, and Clarence, Elaine and I must have warm clothes to go to school. So money was definitely a problem.
One day when Dad was in the General Store, the owner, and elderly lady, said, "Why don't you pick Princess Pine? They are buying it in Chicago for Christmas decorations. I will buy all you pick and you can take it out in trade." So the whole family picked Princess Pine. My hands were too small to hold a whole bundle, so Dad would add mine to his and tie them together. I was so proud to be helping to earn the first money in or new home.
Winter set in cold and snowy. The snow was so deep it came up to my waist. Clarence went ahead and made a path for Elaine and I. Still, we seldom missed a day of school. We remained healthy and strong and happy. I was never unhappy. When I came in the door Mother would nearly always have something baked for a special treat. She'd say, "you kiddies are so cold. Sit right up here and have one of these cinnamon rolls and a cup of hot chocolate". When I was done and had changed into my play clothes I would run outside again to play. Always school clothes must be changed because we had so few and Mother washed in wash tubs with a washboard, heating the water in the boiler on the stove. All the water must be drawn from the well and carried to the house. She used a bar of Fels Naptha Soap and hung the dripping clothes on the line to dry. Never were clothes more beautifully clean.
But it was hard work.
One of our first sources of meat was Partridge and they made many a good meal. We had them fried, stewed and in meat pies. We also had fish as the Chippewa River was about a mile through the woods. As soon as the weather turned cold the neighbor men got together and went deer hunting. Dad only had a 22 rifle, which isn't suitable for hunting deer. So he was one of the men starting the deer toward those who were stationed to do the shooting as the deer came by. Soon the call came "Here they come!" Here they come!! For some reason no one shot so finally Dad felt he might as well try a shot as they were all getting away. He got the only venison that day. It wasn't long before Dad realized he would have to have a horse if he was going to get wood enough to burn. So he managed to buy old Nig, an old logging horse. He was too old to use in the woods, but he was well trained. Dad and Dick could cut and trim a tree and hook it to the logging chain, then say "Go home Nig" and he would take the log home while they cut the next tree. If the log would catch on something Nig would back up and turn until he got it loose and then go on. At home Mother would unhook the log, hook the chain in his harness and send him back to the woods. He was "worth his weight in gold. " Nig also made it possible for Dad and Dick to begin cutting pulp wood. Pulp wood was trees that were cut and peeled and shipped to paper mills.
A neighbor boy who was working with our men fell on a slippery log and cut a large gash on his knee. Because it was five miles to town and we had no car running, Dad stitched his knee with a common sewing needle and thread. I held the supplies for Dad and handed them to him while Dick wiped the perspiration from his face. Many were the happy days at Winter. I thank God for the wonderful parents who faced adversity and never let their children feel deprived.
The time came to leave Winter and move on. Mr. McConnell who was our school principal bought the newspaper at Bruce and asked Dad to work for him. I was fourteen years old and started high school in Bruce.
Life in Bruce was serene, but not particularly eventful until war was declared in Europe in 1939. Clarence enlisted in the United States Marines in November of 1940. It was sad to see him go. Clarence and I were the only children left at home and when he left, the house was really empty. Dick soon came home to help Dad farm. World War II seemed to last forever. In 1942, Clarence was taken prisoner by the Japanese and the worry about him was nearly unbearable.
The war ended with the dripping of the atomic bombs in August of 1945. Clarence was released from prison and returned to the United States. He arrived home October 16, bringing with him another ex-prisoner of war by the name of Evan Bunn. Clarence and Evan had bought a car together and neither could be parted from it.
To make a long story short, that's the way we met. Evan and I were married on November 10, 1945. By the way, November l0th is also the birthday of the United States Marines.
Evan was discharged from the Marines on May 29, 1946. We bought a small farm in Cheteck, Wisconsin and moved there July 16, 1946. Benny, Marcia and Susan were born while we lived there.
In December of 1950 we moved to Senator Wiley's farm in Cameron, Wisconsin. John T' was born in 1951.
February 1, 1952 we started farming for ourselves again on a rented place near Barron, Wisconsin. Mother died August 9, 1953. Bill was born in 1953. March 1, ~ 1954 we moved to Twin Lakes near Cheteck. Evan was working at Jerome's Turkey Farms to try to get enough money to keep the farm going, but there was never enough. Finally, in July, 1955, we decided we'd had enough and sold our cattle, machinery, etc. and moved to Hillsdale, Wisconsin. Jim was born here eight days after our arrival.
In 1956 we bought a home by Barron only to give it up a few months later, moving to New York state to dairy farm for Mr. Werblud. We lived in Meridale, New York at first and then in Merideth. Soon Evan got another job farming in Roxbury for Tom Hinckley. In April 1957 we returned to Wisconsin. We rented a home on Highway 8 near Cameron and Evan went back to work for Jerome's Turkey Farms. Patricia Elaine was born May 31, 1957.
The turkey plant had a lay-off every year and during this time Dick, who was working at a Hugo Mink ranch told Evan that his boss wanted to find someone to run his dairy farm for him. So it was that we came to Minnesota. We had wanted to be closer to our church so this move fitted our plans. We moved in February, 1959. When we came to Minnesota the ground was totally bare, no snow at all. This is rather unusual in Minnesota in February. We spent one and a half years on the farm. It was here that Pat fell through the hay shoot of the barn and fractured her skull. She spent eight days in St. John's Hospital in St. Paul. She spent her third birthday there. It was here too that Dory was born.
In July 1960 we left the farm. Dad got a job working for Remington Rand as a maintenance man. He had already taken a test for the Post Office (civil service) and in August he received word that he was accepted for the job in the Post Office. We are very grateful for this job. It brought us a good living while we were raising our children and has provided well for us in our retirement years.
After leaving the farm in Hugo, we had spent two weeks living with Sivert and Hazel Hendrickson while looking for a house. We finally found a house between Cambridge and North Branch and Evan drove fifty miles each way to work and back, worked twelve hours a day, and worked thirteen out of fourteen days. He had every other Sunday off and we drove to church fifty miles. The desire to get a place closer to work was very strong. Evan finally found a place near Forest Lake with a very old, dilapidated house. I was so worried about him possibly falling asleep at the wheel on his long drives that I was glad to move regardless of the state of the house. This home still meant a thirty mile drive to work, but has provided a wonderful atmosphere for the children. There was always something for them to do. With animals to raise, gardens to tend, canning and freezing, etc., etc., we never worried about keeping the children occupied.
We moved into the new home on January 1, 1961. On October 11, 1961 our oldest son Benny lost his life in a tragic accident. The sorrow this brought cannot be expressed in words. The children felt this loss as acutely as Evan did since he was their guide and example in so many ways and also their playmate and companion.
Three babies were born in this new home. Barbara in January of 1962, Tom, July 9, 1963 and Glen, July 8, 1966. Now our family was complete.
Grandma Donaldson (Bunn- she had remarried in 1946) died on Thanksgiving Day, 1967 leaving only one grandparent for our children, Grandpa Clough.
Evan had been having a lot of vascular trouble for a number of years and at times could scarcely make it to the mailbox. On February 8, 1968 he was feeling better than he had been feeling and he decided to go with Don Muonio, George Nelson and Jim Suko into our woods so they could get some fire wood. I was getting dinner when Don brought Evan home where he had fifteen year old John drive him to the hospital. He had had a heart attack. He spent one month in the hospital and three more months recovering. Fortunately, he had sick time and vacation time accumulated which gave us a pay-check during this hard time.
I will never forget the kindness of so many people during his heart attack recovery period. I remember the day I sent John and Bill to town with a propane gas tank to see if they could charge a tank of gas for the cook stove. They couldn't. So we were using our electric fry pan and coffee-pot, and getting along pretty well. The next day, Bisky Danielson, who worked with Evan and was in his car pool, stopped at the house to see how Evan was getting along. He handed me an envelope with a card and over $250 that his co-workers had collected. I broke down and cried, embarrassing John who said, "Momma, don't." Evan's health has continued to be a great concern and last December he spent a month in the hospital with a bad heart. We are all grateful that our wonderful husband, father and grandfather is still with us.
All in all, it's been a good forty years together. I have a wonderful family, which I love dearly. Thank you for the happy memories.
How many times I sang that song when I was growing up. Memories are much more than things we remember from our past. They tell the entire story of how we spent our lives. And although not all our memories are pleasant to remember, we tend to blot them out and concentrate on the happier times.
I can truthfully say my childhood memories are basically very happy ones. But, being the two youngest members of a family of nine, Anita and I saw each of our older brothers and sisters grow up and leave home. As in most big families, the older kids looked after the younger ones. Cap was Anita's "big brother" and Raymond was mine. They fixed our plates for us at the table, cut our meat and spread our bread, etc. The saddest day came for us the day Cap left home. Harry was already in Chicago and Cap was going there to look for work. The folks drove all of us to Mildred and Joel's where Cap was to meet Joel's brothers and ride to Chicago with them. Anita and I were huddled together in the back seat of the car, looking out the window at Cap as he stood waving "good-bye" to our big brother. Only a short time later we were saying a sad "good-bye" to Raymond, as he too, left for Chicago.
One of my earliest memories of Anita takes me back almost sixty years ago. I was about 5 and Anita was about 3. A lady traveled from one small town to another putting on weddings. The small children in each town made up the wedding parties. I was a bridesmaid and wore a long pink dress. There was about five bridesmaids. Anita, at 3, was the youngest little girl and a little boy named Wayne Carmady was the youngest boy and ringbearer. He carried the ring on a white satin pillow. Anita wore the only short dress in the wedding party and carried a basket of flowers. Her dress was the prettiest dress I had ever seen. You'd have thought I would like my dress the best because it was long, but I didn't. Her dress was the prettiest shade of yellow with lots of ribbon on it. All through my growing up years yellow was my favorite color because of that dress. Oddly enough, I never buy anything in yellow, and I guess you could say pink is my favorite color now. But, I still remember Anita in that little yellow dress, carrying her basket of flowers. Everyone said that she and Wayne were the cutest ones in the whole "wedding". We were served cake and ice cream afterwards and I refused mine. I don't know why I did that, but I did.
When I was ten years old and in the fifth grade and Anita was 7 and a second grader, we moved from South Dakota to Winter, Wisconsin. We had always lived in a small town but this was out in the country. We had a wonderful childhood living right out in the woods. So many memories come rushing back.
One of my own very special memories occurred only a short time after we moved there. There were several ways we could walk home from the school bus line, but every way we had to cross a creek. The fall we moved there it had been very wet and rainy and the creeks were very high. No one had lived back in the woods where we now lived for several years and the closest neighbors lived at least a half to three or fourths mile away. This was pretty wild country and it was not unusual for us to hear Lynx or wild cats screaming in the night. Of course we never saw any of these wild animals, only heard them. Well, one day as I was walking home from school I noticed five little puppies drinking at the edge of the creek. They were so adorable but there was no sign of a mother anywhere around. I tried to get over to them but the creek was so h1gh and I d1dn't want to get my school shoes wet. Our house was only a short distance away and I ran up to get Dick, who was about sixteen years old, and not in school. We hurried back down to the creek but the puppies were gone. We thought it would be nice to have a puppy and we started inquiring about to see who owned them. Nobody did. We asked everyone. Our new neighbor and friend, Harry Baker told us those puppies had to have been wolf cubs and the mother was probably watching me from a hiding place in the brush nearby. If the creek hadn't been so high and I had gone over and picked one up she might have attacked me. I guess you could say I was lucky.
We loved living in the woods and we spent most of our summers in the berry patch. We picked every kind of wild berry that grew in that part of the country and Mother canned hundreds of quarts of berries every year. And of course, we ate all we wanted all summer long.
The years we lived at Winter were known as years of the great depression. But we certainly never suffered. We always had plenty to eat and we had a really good life. We relied on ourselves and each other for entertainment. Music was always a big thing in our home and we always sang together. Mother said she could always hear Anita and I singing long before she could see us, as we came home from school. And when we did the supper dishes we always sang together. I love remembering those happy times. I'm sure the rest of the family always did too. A lot of fun times were associated with the school. Winter High School was a twelve-grade school. The first six grades were downstairs and the seventh through twelfth was upstairs. Everything that went on at the school drew a pretty big crowd. They ran the school buses and everyone could ride them when there were any programs at school. One of the highlights of every school year was the Christmas program. They were especially well attended. All twelve grades participated and we would spend several weeks practicing and rehearsing for it. Usually the smaller children would perform first then the older grade children next, and finally, all the high school students. But the year I was a sophomore, Anita must have been a seventh grader, they decided to do something different. They took the book "Why the Chimes Rang" and had the entire twelve grades act it out. The high school English teacher had to choose someone to read the entire thing. Naturally she had to choose a really good reader. And from all the grades she chose Anita. I'm not sure whose decision it was but it was decided that Anita wouldn't read the whole thing, she'd memorize and narrate it. She was absolutely fantastic and we were all so proud of her. I really believe that was the best Christmas program our school ever had.
All through our childhood Clarence would walk ahead of Anita and I "blazing a trail" through heavily drifted snow for us to follow. But the year we had this great Christmas program was Clarence's last year. He graduated that spring and the following fall he and Dick went into the C.C. camp. Anita and I were the only ones at home now and home was a pretty lonely place. They were only gone a few months but shortly after they came home, Dick left for Maywood, Illinois where he had work with Davey Tree Surgery Company.
That summer I took a trip to visit my brothers in Chicago. Harry really showed me the town and I will always remember that fantastic trip. I was gone about six weeks, and when I came home the family was talking about moving to Bruce. Dad would be working there as a linotype operator for the local newspaper. Since I had spent most of my school years at Winter I would have liked to have graduated there. But in my senior year we moved to Bruce. This place was located in a "ghost town" called Appelonia. It was about a mile from Bruce but we had close neighbors and it had a feel of living right in town. I missed the woods, no berry patches around to while the time away in. But soon we made new friends and learned to like our new town and school. The first new friend we made lived less than a block away and rode his bike over to see us right after we moved in. The only problem was we couldn't tell if it was a girl or a boy! We thought if we asked it's name we would be able to tell but the name "Mately" didn't give us a clue. Eventually though our new friend appeared wearing a dress, and at least we knew.
A lot of the time after we moved to Bruce we were without a car. This didn't bother us very much since we lived only a mile from town and we'd always done a lot of walking. This was before the days when it was unsafe to accept rides from strangers and we often took rides with perfectly good results. One night Clarence, Anita, Dick (he had come home from his job in Maywood) Joe Garbitz and I had walked over to Margie Cooper's which was close to four miles away. We had gone swimming at Trails End, a 4-H camp close to Cooper's. One the way home, a couple of fellows who had been fishing stopped and offered us a ride. There were so many of us we were packed in like sardines! But we were tired and happy to get a ride. Anita climbed in first. I piled in and plopped on her lap. She began squirming around, "Elaine, get up", she kept whispering. I couldn't get up, packed into the car as we were, and I didn't want these men to hear her complaining when they had been kind enough to offer us a ride. But Anita kept squirming around and whispering "Elaine, get up." All I did was nudge her to be quiet. As we got out of the car at our driveway and thanked the men who gave us the lift Anita was still trying to get our attention. "I've been trying to tell you ever since we got in the car that I was sitting on their fishing tackle and it's hooked onto the seat of my pants." She turned around as she spoke and sure enough there was all their fishing tackle hooked onto her pants. The boys tried to unfasten it but to no avail. The only way to get it out was to cut a hole in the seat of her pants. I'm sure the kind men who gave us the ride always believed we rewarded their kindness by stealing their fishing tackle.
I graduated from high school in the spring of '38 and by this time the depression seemed pretty much over and although we never suffered greatly during this time, trouble of another kind was brewing and our family was to know the greatest anguish we had ever had to endure. Clarence enlisted in the Marines in the fall of 1940. I was working in Chicago at the time and Mother wrote such a heartbreaking letter that I decided to go home. I don't know what I thought I could do but somehow I felt we would all need to stick together at this time. Boys we had all known were either being drafted or enlisting and the news was not very good. Clarence didn't get to come home after boot camp and six weeks after he left home he was shipped to Shanghai, China. Anita graduated from high school the following spring and Harry gave her a bike for a graduation gift. That bike carried her many hundreds of miles over the next few years. And I bet if you asked her what was one of the most useful gifts she ever received she would list that bike very near at the top.
I was married that same summer and all of us were trying to carryon as though war was only a rumor and would never happen to us. That fall we thought they were pulling the Marines out of Shanghai and bringing them home. That's all we ever knew until late 1945. On December 7, 1941 the Japanese dropped a bomb on Pearl Harbor - and the United States was at war. Mother took the news very hard and by the end of the month we were afraid we might lose her. She was hospitalized with a severe diabetic attack.
Dick and Anita were the ones who were home during the war years and they both did everything they could to help Mother and Father through their terrible ordeal. Mother was never completely well and they took such good care of her. In April of '42 word came to the folks... Clarence was missing in action. "Missing in action" could mean any of a number of things. If there was one thing our family always tried hard to be, it was optimistic.
Although Mother worried constantly (I guess we all did really), it was hardest on her, and yet, none of us gave up hope. Anita gave as much of her time and energy to helping Mother as much as possible. But she also worked in town. She was very well thought of and knew about everyone in the surrounding territory. She always came home from work with news of what was going on to share with Mother. Dick and Anita were Mother's lifeline during this time and they kept home a lively, happy place to be, in spite of the worry and fear.
I had two babies by now. Sharon was born in May of '43 and Donny was born in July of '45. Shortly after Donny was born the news we all had so anxiously been waiting for came. The war was over!! I wish I could have been at the folk's place when the joyous news broke. But I guess Mother and Anita threw their arms around each other and wept for joy. Shortly came word that Clarence had been prisoner in Japan but was now on his way home. It had been a long forty months during which we knew nothing except that he was missing. And it was a long wait before he finally arrived home. But on the 17th of October, 1945 in the middle of the night I heard a knock at the door and a few minutes later I heard Harold say "I know who you are." He had never met Clarence before, but who else would appear at our door at 4:00 in the morning wearing a Marine's uniform? I dressed myself and the children and rode home with him. Harold stayed to do the chores and joined us later. That was a day to remember!
Clarence confided to me that he had brought his closest buddy home with him. "I brought him for Anita," he told me. I met the buddy a few minutes later and I couldn't help hoping it would work between him and Anita. He seemed like he belonged in our family. We had such a wonderful day that day. We laughed and talked and sang and ate. It was a day to remember and relive again and again.
As every member of our family came to know Evan Bunn, this buddy of Clarence's, they all said the same thing. If I could choose a mate for Anita from all the fellows I've ever known, it would be Evan. He and Anita were made for each other and it was the most romantic courtship I ever saw. They were married in November and I was delighted to be my sister's Matron of Honor.
They've had a wonderful forty years together. As in every life, there have been some heartaches, some pain. But there has been great joy and great blessings, too. They have had a lot of fun together and I've shared a lot of that with them. They would be the first to say that God has richly blessed them and their marriage. They've had some health problems, but still their health has been good enough that they could call it a blessing. They have a wonderful family, children and grand- children, as well as their fine children-in-law. But most of all they have the firm conviction that they have always striven to be obedient Christians and the best example to all of us that they could possibly be. I've always considered them more than a sister and brother-in-law, but my very dearest friends, someone I could count on to be there for me whenever I've needed them. I would very much like to be able to do as much for them. And as that song I started out with ends...
Note: Elaine told me at one time, to be sure to write in here that the first time Evan saw Anita, she was in a bathrobe. Clarence
I have been asked to write some of my past life of which I don't see of any interest... but here goes!
As my parents happened to be in South Bend, Indiana on a job for the government in a lens factory when I made the entry to this fabulous world and shrieked my head off. (Well, almost.) I received a hernia and also a ruptured navel. So enough of noise, we then moved to Ladysmith, Wisconsin where Dad was employed by the papermill. We must have stayed some time as both Evelyn and Ned were born there. I haven't any recollection of my life there, it is so hazy, I see no point writing something that might have happened somewhere else. Then we moved to Iron Mountain, Michigan. We lived in an unfinished house as I remember. It had no siding, just tar paper on the outside. We then went to Garden Village school where a bully always layed for me to whip me. But good old June, my older sister, always took care of him until one time Mom sent me to the store. No June, so as careful as I was, I got tracked and to my surprise (and the other fellows, too), I whipped him. Since that time Arnie and me were pals.
It seemed to me that I was always going to the river and walking and working in the woods. That to me was the best place to be. I spent my time climbing trees, bluffs, railroad trestles or tracking animals. Then we moved to what was called Breen Addition and we moved across the street from the Capital Theater. It was quite a challenge to sneak in but even that early in life, I always got caught. Why couldn't he catch me going in instead of coming out? He said, "Now you saw the picture, sweep the floor." It must of took three hours! I never tried that again. So another bully tacked me right on the front lawn. My dad must have talked to him because when I came out from under the bed, he was gone. So I felt real big and he was nowhere around. Then Dolly and June started piling on me. I took them both and all of a sudden this bully jumped on me. It was like putting a worm on a hook. I went wild! I must have got a good hold because my Dad lifted me off and I wouldn't let go. I told him if I did, he might come back so the kid promised to let me alone after that. This boy became one of my friends and he insisted on me joining the Boy Scouts. Marshall and I were a good team in all events. I had gotten up to Life Scout and it made me feel worthwhile. Then we moved three blocks east of the theater. I was about twelve years old then. This was a little house but we had a chicken farmer next door and a garage where I was able to get work on Saturdays. Then I guess I began selling papers, books, etc. It seemed I was always walking. I sure wanted a bike but I didn't know how to save. The little money I had went in the bank. Then the bank folded and I lost my money. As I think of it now, I had enough ($300) to buy a bike but Dad said, "Save for future education." I remember when the chicken farmer sold out and dressed out his hens, I had a chance to help out. We got the giblets and was that a treat... my first job! So when the Smallis left, the Sodevmarks moved in and they had two or three girls, no boys. What a bummer that was. The oldest, Rita, always leaned on the gate of her yard until I would invite her over. Then she would come over and play. Of course, she couldn't jump from one limb to another. (I may have thought I was like Tarzan, but Rita was definitely not Jane) We had a vacant lot between our homes so we had holes all over it. Then I met up with Buzz Thompson where my Dad fixed guns for his Dad. Also, he had a still. I used to stay there summers to hoe corn and potatoes when I wasn't spending my summers with the relatives in Chetek, Wisconsin. The most fun times are when I stayed with Uncle Haps. His children were of the same ages, Clifford was the oldest, he was ten months younger. At gatherings the older people got Cliff and I in a wrestling match. I was always close. Then we were always running, it seemed that I would rather run than walk. Clifford and I went to the neighbors to get water and Cliff was in the lead when he hit the barbed wire and had a nasty scar on his cheek. I remember one summer when I was in Charles City, Iowa staying with Uncle Clifford, it was my job to watch the gates at threshing time but I had other things like petting horses and the hogs got into the corn. Grandpa boxed my ears and gave me a tongue lashing I never forgot. But we got the hogs out. Then one Sunday I went to the neighbors and before the day was over my thumb was shorter. It seems that things always went wrong for me. I know I was always warned about things but circumstances always made me forget. Like the one time I was told to leave the big door on the barn alone but when we were going to leave I left my jacket in the barn so I ran down to get it when the barn door came down on top of me. Somehow I got out al right. Another time in Iowa I was told to leave the sows alone but I just wanted to be friendly with the little pigs and the old sow put me up the wall of the old log house where my Dad was born. I was nine years old at the time. Getting back to events, after Buzz Thompson talked me into running away, we hopped a freight at Pimline and landed in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We were taken off the train by a switchman and placed with authorities and wound up in the detention home for boys. We had to make our own beds, clean (sweep and scrub) our rooms, go to school and work on some kind of craft. They thought I should be a carpenter but I couldn't saw a board straight. We stayed there two weeks in November. One of the days was my birthday. On the next May 8, Harry Kerns talked me into going. Then we went west. On the road we hitch-hiked. It took us a, week to get to Barron, Wisconsin. Aunt Olive made us sit down and write letters home. Harry's folks told him to get home in three days or the sheriff would pick him up. My folks were glad to know I was safe and wished me well. That was the beginning of another life.
I stayed all summer with Aunt Olive and Uncle Glen Hoeft. In September I hired out to Clarence Christophenson in Sand Creek, Wisconsin. The mother had just died and the father was old. One brother, Conrad, was injured when he slipped on the ice pulling Clarence's car with a team of horses. Also, there was a girl (my age) named Pearl. She was Christophenson's daughter. She sure could cook. It wasn't what it was, it was the volume. I sure could eat. Many people marveled at the capacity. Then it was the outing with the dog and gun. I was in the woods every chance I got. The people were all Norwegians. I remember Pete's boys started school and didn't know any English. I worked for Henry Thompson for awhile and gained a whole lot of knowledge. Then with Jessie Larson, when Goldie of whom is my cousin (Aunt Olive's oldest girl). They lived in Burnett, Wisconsin. I stayed a year with them, at which time Dolly came to visit me. I tried cheese factory work but it was too confining. I wanted the outdoors, so I went to Watertown, Wisconsin with Bill Bock, stayed a year then back to Burnett and Alfred Luebkie. I stayed there until I left for the service. Rudolf was the boy. He had ahead injury in his youth. At the time, he was thirty-nine and his sister was forty-four. She always wanted me to take her to the show. Once I let her take. It seemed my mother was younger than she was but Alma though I was okay. I left the farm and went to Milwaukee, Wisconsin and stayed with my Aunt Ethel Gilette and Uncle Cecil. I went to enlist in the service and had to get a co-signer. No one would sign so I had to work until I was twenty-one years old. I enjoyed the family. I took the kids to the show every Saturday or Sunday. Then I had a chance to visit Dolly and John. I worked in a meat plant or butcher shop. I skinned cows, loaded coolers and cleaned up. I enjoyed some of it. Then the time came when I enlisted and I went to Chicago on a trial run. I could not read most of the numbers on the color chart but made it all right. The next two weeks were different. I then decided I had made a mistake. We had to wait until sixty men were present to establish a platoon. It seemed there would never be that many guys as dumb as I was, but then we made it and two more platoons since I went in. You see, they start in January with 111 and I was 1167. They had sixty-nine enlisted platoons in 1939. I felt that as I had to stay four years, I would try to make the best of it. I guess I wrote letters home. Then I got one from Uncle Bennie asking me to stay in the States until he could contact me. So when boot camp was over we had options on placements the platoon leader and the sea scouts tried to get me to stay. I volunteered for Hothorn, Nevada and got it until some of the boys got fixed with misconduct and myself and four others were sent to China. I was picked for M.P. (Military Police) on the ship before I landed. Then I contacted impetigo and had to go to the hospital. I went to the M.P.'s for four months and didn't like it. They had only one people to pick on and I had different feelings. I volunteered for Warden jobs so I could be easier on the prisoners. I then went to B. Company, First Battalion. Then I met Clarence Clough who became my brother-in-law and very best friend. We have had some good times but to live next to boys who are wrecking their health and not be able to do anything about it. I guess I have to be thankful I was a health nut. I felt that since this body was to last a lifetime I had better take care of it. I then applied for a driver's license and got it so I drove truck to change the guard.
Then I went to D. Company. There I was with Charlie Snyder who I met on the boat coming over to China. He was in the 68th Platoon and was quite a joker. I had to watch him all the time. I had a lot of friends. Some made it back and a lot never did. I was with the 4th Marines when they evacuated Shanghai, China. We landed in Olongapo, P.I. on December 2, 1941 and established our camp. A few days later war was declared and we all manned our posts. As I was in a light machine gun company I had to go in the crows nest of Old Iron Sides Admiral Perry's flagship. It seemed totally hopeless as the planes came over and we had only 30 caliber bullets. When we got some 50 caliber bullets we had them evened out. It gave a person a different outlook on things with an even keel. It has been some experience when we started over the hill enroute to Corregidor. Once there it didn't take long to realize that this was the last stop. Then the planes came over. The sky was black with planes. I had a 50-caliber machine gun. Some of the planes went down but some of the guns and guys were knocked out. I was lucky. Nothing too serious until we got to our defense area. We were under the big tunnel and the U.S. put an 8-inch rifle on the hill to shoot at many. When the Japs got the big gun, the U.S. planted a Pom Pom gun. It is an 8-barrel gun, 4 inch. Then the shells started dropping again. It was all we could do to keep our sanity and find something to do. It was a work detail that we were building gun emplacements along the beach and had two guns (machine 30 caliber) in when the air raid horn sounded. Looking up we located the planes and they were overhead of us when I saw the bottom bay open and silver bombs come down. I dove into the first gun emplacement and something told me to get out, so I dove in the next on. Then the bombs hit. When it was over we looked for Gun 111 and there was no trace of it. I got hurt that time but thought nothing of it. Then the same bombs dropped on a land mine field and caught the grass on fire, so we went to put out the fire. That's when I got an award for a silver star, also a purple heart. It was a short while later that the Japs overtook us and our commander surrendered the island so the fighting was over for us... so we thought. Another war was to begin, the battle of survival. I suppose it is a good thing that we are not aware of any more than the day we live as I think we couldn't take it if we knew the days came and went as we were trying to adapt to our environment. Boyd Gallatte got mountain fever or Rheumatic fever and all his joints swelled so he couldn't move. Then his buddy took care of him until he also got sick, and then I took care of Jim. I learned fast what I had to do and did it. I used two towels tied together to lift him to wash and wipe him. If I didn't wash him everyday he would stink to heights above. When he was getting better, we went to Palawan, P.I. (north of Bornea) to build an airfield out of banana groves and Jungle. It was, there that I contacted malaria. I had high fever so that the doctor and his helper sponged me until my temperature went down. After that, it was one day to work and one day sick, so the (the Japs) took me to Bilibed, Manila for the quinine treatment which consisted of 25cc, three times daily in the vein for three weeks. Then we went to Cabanatuan. There, after a time, Clarence Clough and Roy Henderson came and we were together again. So of the five of us that were together in Palawan, Rufus Smith and Glenn McDale were left and later had some great experiences and we then went to Japan where Clarence and I were in the copper mine at Matesishima for four months. Then I went to Hatashie until the end. At this time I have had some great trials and trauma of which I tried to keep myself going, even when I couldn't walk and the Jap doctor went to Tokyo to get medicine. The most excitement was when the Navy planes flew over our camp and dropped sea bags with food, cigarettes, soap, etc. Then we went to Tokyo to get back to our own people. It was there I started the long road taking on pounds. I had been so long without a meal that I had a hard time getting satisfied. I could get full and not satisfied so I volunteered for ship's helper and the cooks took good care of me. I went from 120 pounds to 216 pounds in thirty days. Then came the ordeal of my life. What was I to do or become? I tried to perform the duties of the Marines so hoping I could stay in and go for thirty years. But it was, at times, impossible so I had to give it up. I thought I could come back and get lost, but Clarence Clough had other plans. How God works in man is something to behold. First Clarence bought a car. He didn't have enough money so I became his partner. We then drove to his home in Bruce, Wisconsin. Then we went to my folks in Iron Mountain, Michigan. It was two or three days with the Cloughs that I had the feeling of importance or as one of the family. So Clarence and his mother and I went to see my folks. I had learned later that my father had died the same day I was taken prisoner, so my mother was very disappointing to me and my thoughts were of going back in the service when Clarence sat and talked about things that I wasn't aware of. Before much time went by I had committed myself to a great ordeal and then another phase in my life began. I sure didn't know what life was all about. We got married and things began to happen. First, it was hard for me to adapt to our new life. For about a year I came and went at will and my bride had a lot to put up with, but God made her strong and she was able to cope with me. But when our first boy came into our lives, that was the most anyone can get out of life. The thought came to me that the doctors at Guam told me that I only eight years left to live. So I tried to get a lot done and leave something for my wife and boy. Then as time went, so did the eight years and now I have survived forty years and eleven children of which Bennie is awaiting me in Heaven. The rest are well adjusted and on their own and have families, except the two youngest boys and they are going to school to better their lot. I have gone through many years of pain and frustrations so I tried to teach the boys at an early age to be self-sufficient so they could take their responsibilities when they came up. I don't know how the boys and girls feel about the way I raised them, but it was my best and I prayed a lot to God for guidance. I sure am proud of my family and still feel that they are the best in the world. I pray now as always that God's Will will be done and that it will be for the betterment of my family. I so have wanted the best for them, but as I remember back, I didn't do it.
So with lots of loving respect, I leave you all in God's hands.
Evan
I asked Bill Bunn to write something about how they built the church at Minneapolis. This feat seemed marvelous to me. It was done almost completely by volunteer labor. It is not a small structure and anyone can see that the workmanship was beautifully done. I was impressed and I'm sure many others will find Bill's account interesting.
Construction of the Church at Minneapolis
In March of 1984 the congregation decided to look into the possibility and probability of building a new church building. A committee was selected to put together the size and cost estimates, and to begin looking for possible building sites. The reports from these members came back reasonably acceptable. The congregation decided to proceed with a market evaluation of our present building. The results of this information were that if we wanted to sell within a reasonably short time (one year or less) we should list at one price; if we wanted more time, list at a higher price. Seeing as how we had no building plans, no building site, and basically no money, we sure were in no hurry to sell our building. The congregation authorized the elected members to list the building, prepare plans and present building sites. The building went on the market in November of 1984 at the higher price; and so began efforts of the result that we all are so thankful for now.
Our building was sold and we were out of it by the middle of July, 1985. We started renting school buildings to hold our meetings in and continued this until we moved into our own twenty-eight months later. The building committee and Board of Trustees met many times with several architects, suppliers, subcontractors and so forth. I would like to add here that a building committee of seven members was chosen by the congregation. I remember well the first meeting we had. I think we were all overwhelmed by the enormity of this project. I know I was. But here again, we experienced the blessing of God. Our dear preacher, Gordon, had retired not long before this from the 3M Company and was willing to help and guide us in all matters. He became a regular pillar in our meetings. I don't want it to sound like seven or eight men were responsible for this structure being built. They're not. It was a one-minded effort by the entire congregation and all hands were needed, and by the grace of God it was a success.
We began construction on a site in Minnetonka in July of 1986. I recall a comment made by an excavator to one of the older Christians. He said the older ones were crazy, that for the first three weeks everyone would be out getting in each other's way, then after that there would be a half dozen or so older guys trying to finish the project. This happens often in the world; this man had seen it many times. This same man was back towards the end of our project doing some grading work for our parking lot, with a different mind. I believe he was amazed, as were many that we dealt with. By the end of July we were ready to start pouring footings. As I recall, we poured one hundred twenty-eight yards of concrete. This building is masonry with steel structure. The foundation went in quite fast as we have many masons in the congregation. Starting here with the foundation, this building was over-built, as the building inspectors said. After the foundation was in, we installed the support steel for the main floor, and the pre-stressed concrete plank for the main floor was installed by the supplier. The fall weather was still holding so we decided to put brick on the basement walls that were exposed. We also put in the block for the stair wells. Before cold weather hit, we polyed the main floor and covered it with hay to keep the basement from freezing. We had a mild winter that year and in March of 1987 we began construction again. After a time off the Christians were as eager and diligent as ever. Blocks, bricks, steel, sheet rock, plumbing, electrical, heating, and many other things were going on and in. As we were to host the national Christmas meetings in December, we had to make a decision whether to try to rent a facility or to try to have our own building completed in time. The Christians decided that to have the meetings in our own building would be a good incentive to complete it. All hands were still coming forward to do whatever they could do, from the older ones that showed us younger ones how to work, to the children who so willingly did what they could. It's hard to try to think of individual events of special interest because the entire project was an amazing, special time for all of us. There were times when my faith was more lacking and the older Christians would encourage me to remember that all things are possible with God. I know that and have experienced His love and power. I believe He even worked in the hearts of those on the outside; many of them were a great help to us.
We moved into the main floor and began holding meetings around November l5th, 1987. We still had much work and expense to go into the basement. The Christians continued to sacrifice their time and means, and two or three days before the meetings began we had that last service for two of our traveling companions, Bob Stewart and Art Hiivala. On that same day we received the final inspections needed, so we could use the entire building. This was around the 2Oth of December, 1987.
The building will legally seat one thousand eighty people in the sanctuary and balcony with dining seating of about three hundred seventy five. I marvel yet, how well the construction went, but I shouldn't because I know that with God, all things are possible.
I think the following two poems were written by Beverly Sterud Thoreson for John and Lyda's Golden Wedding Anniversary.
Raymond B. Clough
If my memory serves me right, this was written by John Clough with his students when, he was teaching at a school for Indian children in Oklahoma.
Raymond B. Clough
This is the scientific agriculturist proprogating has maze to provide sustainance for the chanticleer whose matutinal manipulations aroused from a somnolent condition the sacerdotal personage whose hirsute appendages were respectfully abridged and removed that officiated at the matrimonial ceremony of the dilapidated tatterdemalion that vociferously osculated the useful specimen of femininity all forsaken and solitary that successfully extracted the lacteal fluid from the mammory glands of the bovine with the corrugated and irregularity contracted frontal excretions that perpendicularity elevated the misguided canine that harassed and intimidated the enterprising feline that victoriously captured the depredating rodent that consumed for its' nutrition the fermented saccharin preparation deposited for future reference in the habitable domicile fabricated by Jack.
This is one of the stories (poems) that John Clough told us when we were kids. Raymond B. Clough
Dad sang this. I can only give you the words...
Raymond B. Clough
This is the record of six generations of women, each of whom has contributed something of her personality and self, her courage and joys, her struggles and fears to your heritage.
Each, in her own time, struggled with the problems and difficulties of the times in which she lived. Facing the ravages of war, being left alone to raise her children, husbands in prisoner of war camps or on the battle field, deaths of children and deaths of husbands, separation, depression and economic upheavals. They learned to cope with life because there was nothing else to do. They were not always right or wise or strong, but they lived as best they could. And some of their spirit is a heritage to their posterity.
We pick up the thread of the family when a daughter, Lydia was born into the Holcomb family, who were living in Albany, Vermont. She arrived into this world on the 18th of September, 1822. Records are sketchy about her childhood, whether she had brothers and sisters and when her parents died.
She met the man in her life, Lorenzo D. Hopkins, who lived in a neighboring town, Williamstown, Vermont. Lorenzo was born on May 24th, 1814. They went to New York and were married on July 20th, 1848.
Children arrived with regularity and by the time they had been married thirteen years, three sons had been born and two of them had died. In those days before refrigeration and ways of keeping food, few families escaped losing babies in the hot summer. Four daughters were also born into their home, all of which survived and lived to adulthood. Sometime during these years the family moved to the mid-west from their home in New England and settled in Wisconsin.
Few families escaped the ravages of the Civil War and Lorenzo was a military reserve officer so he was among the first to be called into active service. It was a bloody, terrible war where untrained troops from the union faced equally inexperienced troops from the confederacy. It often resulted in hand to hand fighting. One night when Lorenzo was on patrol duty, he was wounded and captured and taken to Libby Prison. Libby was a prison, which the south kept for union officers. A rat-ridden, old tobacco warehouse with no heat or blankets. There were no toilet facilities, and the dead (rats and soldiers) were left for days before removal. Starvation and death were every day occurrences and over 12,000 died in this prison.
At the close of the war, Lorenzo came home but he wasn't the strong man who had left. Malnutrition, disease and suffering took their toll and his health was never good after the war. He died July 18, 1882 in Lynxville, Wisconsin.
Lydia buried her husband in Lynxville and left for Lansing, Iowa where her only son and his wife lived. The children were all grown and married. She died a year and a half later and was buried in Lansing on January 14, 1884.
It was April 16, 1855 when a baby girl arrived at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzo Hopkins in Mazomanie, Wisconsin. She was a tiny girl and they named her Martha. She joined a brother and two sisters. Martha was a happy little girl, a bit spoiled by her family. She really wasn't taught to work since she much preferred to do fancy stitching and crocheting to learning household chores.
When Martha was seven years old, the embers that had been smoldering for sometime burst into war, and Martha's father, who was a military reserve officer, was among the first to be called to active duty. So off he marched into the Civil War and Libby Prison, and life was never to be the same again.
In 1872, on a cold January 7 in Sutter, Clay County Nebraska, before a Justice of the Peace, Martha married Warner Joseph Corey.
Warner was born in Randolph, Pennsylvania on May 26, 1844. He enlisted in the Union Army on December 24, 1863. Like Martha's father, he too was wounded, captured and taken to Andersonville Prison Camp. Andersonville shared the dubious reputation with Libby as the two worst prisons of war... Libby for officers, Andersonville for enlisted men. Two years after he enlisted, Warner received a disability discharge and returned home.
Following their marriage, the young couple set up housekeeping. Martha was ill equipped to run a home. She had not learned how to take charge of a household, but instead had spent her time learning to make beautiful handwork. She also liked to read poetry and try her hand at writing it, which she did very well.
The children arrived. Two died in infancy. Two sons and a daughter survived. It was a difficult time. Warner's health was suffering from the prison conditions, exposure and wounds he had suffered in the war, and Martha, never a strong girl, was worn out with babies arriving too fast and the work that never seemed to end. But they were managing... Martha was learning and Warner was doing what he could to help. Then their youngest son, who was only a baby, was stricken with a painful disease. In those early days it was diagnosed as exclamatory rheumatism. The pain was so intense it drew the muscles and it took constant working them to keep them operable.
To prove the old adage that "troubles never come alone", Warner got sick from the infection and weakness and within days, he was dead. Death came on December 16, 1884 in Lynxville, Wisconsin. Two days later, on December 18, Martha buried her husband. Christmas was a week away. Alone with her three children, Martha faced her darkest hour.
After the first shock of loss, Martha surveyed her needs and her options. There was little money. A small military pension wouldn't help much. Having married at six- teen, she was ill equipped to earn her living and support her children, but this she must do. There was an invalid two-year-old, in desperate need of therapy and medical attention. There were two other children, and Martha was pregnant! Her father was dead, but her mother and her brother and his wife were living just across the Mississippi River in Lansing, Iowa. Martha took the children and went there for help. And there, in Lansing on April 12, 1883 her daughter was born.
While her mother helped with the children, Martha was learning something of office work and also how to manage her family and home. In January her mother died and once again Martha was on her own. Always a frail girl, Martha suddenly developed iron will and strength. She had a baby to care for and her youngest son still needed therapy and care to keep his muscles useful. She had to make a living, which she knew meant going to work. And then she did what she felt she had to do... she left her oldest daughter and son with two different friends of the family, took the younger son and baby daughter and moved to Nebraska where she had been offered work. She would return for her two older children as soon as she could. No one knew that it would be years!
The days and the months and the years passed. Martha hardly marked time... she lived from day to day. When she thought of her older children she comforted herself with the thought that they were being well cared for and there was really nothing she could do right now. Sometimes, when she was tired and discouraged and couldn't sleep, she would take a pen and write poetry. It was sad, haunting and beautiful poetry, which she sent off to a newspaper or magazine. Sometimes a check for a few dollars would come back to her. And almost unknowingly, the years passed.
Then Martha met Tom Hall. She had been a widow for ten years. Her heart went out to this kind man and they were married in 1892 at Omaha, Nebraska. Tom Hall was the owner of a furniture store. As soon as they were married Tom took on the task of reuniting Martha's family. This he did by finding eighteen year old Clarence, now making his own way, and her daughter, fourteen year old Lyda who had been taken to Michigan by the family she had been left with.
~ Tom Hall was a good husband and a loving father to Martha's children. They were a happy family. For the first time Martha found someone she could lean on, and life was good. The children grew up and were married. Death claimed Tom Hall in 1918 and Martha came to South Dakota to be close to her children. Her son, Lorenzo (who had been threatened with never being able to walk) had only a slight limp. He was an attorney and his mother lived to see him run for governor of his state, and lose by only a handful of votes.
Martha spent her last years in a small house she owned in Wagner, South Dakota. From here she made frequent visits to her children. She died quite suddenly on May 23, 1928 and was buried at Wagner, South Dakota.
Poor little Lyda! When she was four years old, death took her father from her, her mother left her and she lost her brothers and sister. She was left alone with people who didn't really want her.
Lyda was born on a houseboat on the Mississippi River on November 13, 1878. The houseboat was on the Wisconsin side, close to Lynxville, so this is recorded as her birthplace.
When she was four years old her father died and her mother left her in the care of a family friend, Mrs. Norris, took her two youngest children and moved to Norfolk, Nebraska.
Shortly after this, Mr. and Mrs. Norris moved to Michigan, taking Lyda with them. It didn't take Lyda long to discover the trait of cruelty in Mrs. Norris; and that she could expect no help from Mr. Norris since he too feared his wife, and simply stayed out of her way. Lyda grew up in fear of the woman she lived with. Years later when she was far away in another state and a grown woman, all the old fear came rushing back when she thought she saw Mrs. Norris coming toward her on the street, and hid trembling in fear that she might be seen.
Lyda was allowed no friends, she could have no pets. She was to come home as soon as school was out, and to loiter meant severe punishment. There was no one to give her love, and no one or no thing to which she could give love. Once, when Lyda was about nine years old, she found a little, hurt bird and tenderly bound up it's wing and hid it and cared for it, lavishing all the love of her starved heart on the little bird. ~ One day Mrs. Norris discovered the bird and giving Lyda a hatchet, ordered her to kill it. Blinded with tears, Lyda lay the bird on a stump, slashed down with the hatchet and ran. She never knew whether or not she had killed the bird... she never went back to see.
When Lyda was fourteen, a strange man suddenly appeared in their town. He struck up acquaintance with Mr. Norris and visited their home. Here he became a friend to the poor, friendless girl. Later, she learned he was quietly getting evidence to take Lyda away from her unhappy home, all the while keeping his identity unknown. When he had gained Lyda's confidence and was sure he had evidence enough to take her from the Norris's, he told her he was her new father and wanted to take her home to her brothers and sister and her mother. From that moment until his death, Lyda had a father and a friend.
The family was reunited! Tom Hall had also found Martha's oldest son. Their home was in Omaha, Nebraska, and here Lyda went to school and prepared herself to be a teacher.
Lyda met John Clough sixteen days before she left for Wagner, South Dakota to teach school. They corresponded the next two years and met whenever there were vacations. At the end of the school term, John came to Wagner and he and Lyda were married on June 9, 1901. Lyda then returned with her husband to Omaha where they made their home until 1905 when they took their two babies and homesteaded in central South Dakota.
They crossed the Mississippi on the ice and settled near Murdo where they built an 8' x 10' shack in which they lived and another much like it for the few animals they had acquired. Lyda was left alone with her babies several days a week while John worked in a print shop in town to earn enough to buy groceries and fuel. It was not ideal living conditions and fourteen months later they sold the homestead and moved into town.
It was at this time that John became an itinerant Methodist minister. He built churches and seldom stayed in one place for long. He preached on Sunday and worked in the printing office in town the rest of the week. And they moved here and there as the ministry called him, seldom staying a year in one town, and usually having a new baby every other move. There were nine babies spread over twenty-one years time.
In 1918 John was hospitalized with a severe case of pleurisy and was unable to work for a year and a half. Lyda refused any help, except what little her children could contribute, rolled up her sleeves, took in washing and ironing, washed dishes in restaurants and whatever work she could find that would not take her from her husband and children. She kept her family together until the time came when her husband could again return to work.
Lyda lived for her family and none of her children ever lacked for love. Money was scarce most of the time but Lyda made all the clothing for her brood and learned to make money stretch to fill all the family needs. Love, happiness and contentment filled her home.
It was 1930, the older children were married or had gone to work in other places. ~ There were four children left at home. Lyda had never really cared for material things or money. She much preferred simple, quiet pleasures. She sensed that John was eyeing the political scene. His newspaper was getting involved and she wanted no part of that rat race. She decided she wanted to move to Wisconsin, John deferred to her wishes and off the family went with their few possessions to pioneer living. They and the depression met head on as they arrived at Winter, Wisconsin. They purchased forty acres with a small house and proceeded to make a living from the soil. First Raymond and then Harry came to share their meager life when jobs gave out. Lyda was happy. It was her kind of life. She picked wild berries, picked wood in the woods to burn and once again made over and made do. Later they sold the forty acres and moved to Bruce where they bought a quarter section and farmed it. This was their home until Lyda's death on August 9, 1953. She died in a diabetic coma, a disease she had suffered from for several years.
Mildred moved with her parents and older brother to central South Dakota the same year she was born. She had joined the family in Omaha, Nebraska on April 4, 1905.
Her first South Dakota home was a tar paper shack measuring 8' x 10'. Her mother cared for the two children and the animals while her father rode a pony into town where he worked at the local newspaper to earn enough money to buy food and fuel.
At nine months Mildred asserted her independence, got up on her feet and walked, and refused to drink another drop of milk for the rest of her life.
Fourteen months after their arrival in South Dakota, Mildred's father became itinerant Methodist minister and the family moved into town. He would preach on Sunday, work at his printer trade part of the week, and they kept moving. Mildred learned first hand about missionary barrels, Call her clothes came from them, made over by the expert sewing of her mother) picking coal from the railroad tracks to splice out the fuel supply, and baby sitting. There was always a baby, and Mildred was good at caring for them while her busy mother was sewing, gardening, canning, and all the numerous other tasks that claimed her time.
There was little money but the children never missed it. They were in a little world of their own. They seldom stayed in one place long enough to make friends. Their mother was good at making up games which she played with them as they worked together. They were secure and happy with plenty of playmates right in their own family.
The children were starting to school, and it was felt that they better have a less nomadic life, so when Mildred was in the third grade her father gave up the haphazard life of a pioneer pastor and they moved to Mitchell where he put in full time at the newspaper trade. They bought a home and settled down for ten years.
They were uneventful, happy years until the year that Mildred's father got sick and was unable to work for a year and a half. During this time, Mildred and her older brother learned to work. Mildred was thirteen. Her mother was busy earning enough money to feed and clothe her family. Mildred took over the house and cared for her younger brothers and sisters, and sometimes the neighbor children as well. Every moment out of school there was work to do. Harry was carrying papers and helping people with chores. Sometimes Harry and Mildred would fill their little wagon with freshly washed vegetables from the large garden the whole family worked in, and go house to house to sell them. It was a family co-operative effort to keep them off relief and they managed it.
When the long nightmare was over and her father was well enough to return to work, her mother to housekeeping and the children to carefree school activities, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
About 1923, Mildred's father decided to run his own newspaper and Mildred was drafted as chief assistant. It is said that "once you get printer's ink under your finger nails you can never get rid of it". Mildred's fingers were well into printer's ink. She set type, learned to operate the linotype machine, gathered news and ads, wrote feature articles and news stories. She worked for four different newspapers in the next four years and saw her writings copied in a dozen or so more.
Then one beautiful May day she met Joel Sterud and six months later, when the corn was all picked, they went to Sioux Falls and were married in the First Lutheran Church.
Their first home was a three-room apartment in a private home in Rapid City, South
Dakota. Joel had readily found work there, but as early spring was beginning to be felt in the air, the urge of the soil was asserting itself. So, when a farm half a mile from his family at Volga came up for rent, they moved there to farm.
They didn't have money but they did have credit so they borrowed money and bought used farm equipment and furniture and started their first crop. It was a new life for Mildred to learn but she was determined to be as good a farm wife as those born into it, so she set her mind to learn every facet of farm life. That fall a baby daughter joined their family. In debt for everything they had, in a three-room house made over from an old school house, with their baby daughter, they had everything they wanted.
They had hardly gotten a toe-hold when the crash came! The worst depression the country had ever experienced. Banks closed, prices went to practically nothing, long bread lines of hungry people formed, wealthy businessmen jumped from office windows and killed themselves. Proud men on street corners selling apples, jobs were gone, money gone, hope gone... everywhere.
Joel sold out and barely paid off the loans and they went farming fifty-fifty with the landlord, mainly feeding cattle. It was long, hard work and very little money, and to compound the difficulties, a long season of draught hit the country and there were no crops. The highest snow winters on record, made work and chores doubly difficult.
Money was almost non-existent. They raised a large garden and lots of chickens. Mildred (as her mother had done before her) raised vegetables and canned them, baked them, made over and made do. About this time, a second daughter arrived to make her home with them.
By the late 1930's things started to look a little better. The ground began to produce crops again and prices moved up a bit. So with a government loan they rented a farm and started all over again. One their fourteenth wedding anniversary they moved to a farm north east of Flandreau and in 1941 purchased this same farm, which was to be their home for the rest of their lives.
It was a long pull, debts were paid off slowly and there seemed always to be machinery wearing out. They rented and farmed more land and Mildred learned to handle machinery in the field to shock grain and pick corn by hand. It was a day to celebrate when the farm loan was paid off and they could say they owed no one.
They were getting older, they gave up the rented land and farmed only on their own. The girls were married and in their own homes. Life was easier. Then on November 9, 1975, following surgery, Joel was stricken and died very suddenly.
Helen was the baby everyone wanted. Since there hadn't been a baby born in the community for the past half a dozen years, the neighborhood awaited her arrival. Five of her father's unmarried brothers were ready to welcome, tease and spoil her. Two sets of grandparents were happy at her coming and her mother's brothers and sisters (only children themselves) were thrilled at a baby to love and play with. And of course, her parents eagerly awaited her coming.
On October 7, 1928 at her grandparent's home in Ramona, South Dakota, she arrived... the first girl born in her father's family in thirty-two years!
Baby sitters were no part of Helen's life. She had no need for them. When her parents went to a party or dance or just visiting, Helen and her basket went along. Everyone took care of her, until tired out, she was put in the basket and fell asleep.
Helen lived her childhood through the depression years when there was no money, no crops and not very much hope. By the time she was six she was helping with chores, picking cobs and sticks to burn and helping care for her little sister. She was no pampered weakling. She walked a mile to school when in the first grade in all kinds of weather. She wore hand-me-down, made-over clothes and helped her parents through the hard times the depression brought.
It appears that the article on Barbara, the sixth generation, has been lost. There is now seventh generation of women in the line, the first of this seventh generation being Barbara's daughter, Elizabeth.
The Abernathy and Clough families knew each other for many years before Floyd and Marion became romantically involved.
Floyd Abernathy was born and raised on the homestead ranch in Buffalo County, South Dakota. During the greatest part of his lifetime he did not know the conveniences that we enjoy today. They had no telephone, electricity, running water, etc. Much emphasis was placed on family life and people of that era created their own entertainment.
Today we would classify him as the typical western cowboy. He attended a one-room school through eighth grade and then went to Mitchell to high school. He returned to ranch life upon completion of high school. His young life was spent being a cowboy. One of the phases of his young life he spent rounding up wild horses for the government. Remember, in those days the horse was widely used, as there were no automobiles. He was raised in a family of ten children. He was number six. They were a very close family and remained so during his lifetime.
My mother was raised in a much different atmosphere than my father. She was also a member of a large family, fourth in a family of nine. Her family lived in town and had many of the conveniences. The Clough family was not rich money-wise, but was very close to one another and also enjoyed similar activities. They moved from one town to another due to my grandfather's occupation as a newspaperman. During mother's high school years she worked in a drugstore. After graduation she went to work for Fred Stewart. It was at this time that she met my father on an individual, basis. In short time the romance blossomed. Although she had planned on attending nurses training, she gave up that idea to marry Floyd. She says now that she was afraid he wouldn't wait for her to complete her education.
At the time my parents married they had no money. It was a drastic change for my mother because she moved to the Big Bend area near my father's relatives. They had no modern conveniences and life was harsh on the range. During the time that her older children were young she would not get to town except perhaps once a year. Everything that was purchases, such as flour and sugar were bought in quantity because you didn't know when you would be able to have access to purchasing them in the future. Most food products were raised on the ranch and were preserved for the winter months.
Even during my parents early marriage they were never really alone. The Abernathy household was always a place for anyone needing a home. My father's brother, Butch lived with them most of their married life. It was also home for his brother Nip for many years and for a number of bachelors, such as Ted Elliott and Bill Heezan. During our younger years some of the happiest times I remember are the visits from various relatives and friends. We saw much more of my father's side of the family during those years as many of them lived nearby. One summer when I was a teenager, mother's sister Elaine and her family came and spent the summer with us. We had run out of babies in our family and Karen was about two years old. We thoroughly enjoyed having a baby in the house again and have many fond memories of that summer.
My parents spent a number of years on the place in the Big Bend area and then moved for a short time to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. They were only there a short time and headed back to South Dakota. They lived on the Stewart Place (which now is owned by John Naser) and in 1942 they purchased the original homestead of the Abernathy family. This place had been used as the mail drop off and the old post office boxes were in the house for many years after we moved there. During the late 30's that place had been foreclosed on by the bank and had been rented to the King family. It was good to have it back in the family.
We were fortunate to only live a mile from Mark Abernathy's and with their family of eleven children we had many good times. We attended Prairie Center School, which at that time was located on my father's ranch and only one-half mile from the house. It seemed that most of the winter we were able to walk over the house yard fence on the snow banks that drifted over them. We still had no modern conveniences until 1952 when the REA brought electricity to that area. What a wonderful feeling to be able to flip a switch and have lights. I'm sure adults of that time will tell you that lights were not as important as some of the other conveniences it made available to them. We could now have a refrigerator, washing machine (Wringer), shop tools, iron, etc. I still don't know how everything was accomplished with so few tools to work with prior to this time. My father would butcher a beef and would hang it in the old upstairs (we also had anew upstairs that was probably fifty years old).
During my childhood my father still used workhorses for farming. We kids thought it was a great treat to be allowed to ride on the wagon or whatever my father was pulling with the team. We milked cows (lots of cows), during this time. The most I remember milking were eighteen. This was done by hand as we had no electricity. One summer I was assigned the job of assisting Rich with the milking. I think he milked seventeen and one-half and I milked one-half each time. Uncle Butch also did a lot of the milking as well as my brother Jim. When I was very young my parents built a milk house down by the well. Incidentally, that well was dug in the early 1900's and is still in existence and provides the best drinking water in South Dakota. I'm sure if you check with my siblings you will find some of our fondest memories center around that milk house. The water was so cold coming from the well that we were able to keep the cream cans cool until they were picked up by the creamery. We seldom had pop (soda) but when we did it was put in that tank to keep cool along with the beer. In particular, we had these treats for the Fourth of July. The Fourth of July was always a big celebration time in our family. We'd have many relatives visit and have a terrific dinner of fresh, fried chicken (raised right there on the ranch, butchered and cleaned by mother and dad), potato salad, vegetables from the garden, watermelon and other goodies. In the evening there was a big fireworks display. This display was presented by Dad, Nip, Butch and the older brothers.
One of the most eventful fourths was the year we lost John. He was about four or five years old and came up missing. All the dams were searched, tanks, barns, etc. Seems he decided the beer tasted pretty good and had drank it instead of pop. Of course this made him sleepy so he had gone to the old upstairs and fallen asleep. What a relief when we found him.
During my younger years, as said previously, we never went to town. That included ~ seeing doctors, dentists and whatever else. My mother was a pretty good doctor and could patch up most things. The only two major events I remember when someone had to see a doctor was the time Rich was shot and the time Jerry (Mark's son) hit his head with an axe chopping ice. It must have been a terrifying time for mother when Rich was shot as she was on the place all alone. This seldom happened, but that particular day the men had all gone somewhere. (I was seven at the time and don't recall all of the details.) She had no car and here comes Bernie from the barn telling her that Rich had been shot. Seems the boys were shooting pigeons in the barn and Rich had caught his foot and was having trouble getting down. Bernie reached up to help him and the .22 went off striking Rich between the liver and lung. Mother sent Marcia to Mark's for help but they were also gone. She called our neighbor Dutch Campbell and he came barreling over the hill at least sixty miles an hour. She and Bernie had brought Rich to the front of the house on a piece of plywood while waiting for help. Of course we were still thirty-five miles from a doctor over a lot of gravel. Fortunately, the bullet that entered and exited his body barely hit the lung and he survived in good health. We all said a lot of prayers and they were answered. It took a lot of courage to raise a family during that time.
All holidays were special occasions and we looked forward to each with childish anticipation. Thanksgiving was a big family event. We would have forty to fifty people for dinner. Then all those dishes. Someone would bring the water from the well via 5-gallon pails. We would heat it on the stove (at one time that was a wood burning stove, later gas and electric). Once the dinner was served and everything cleaned up and put away we would play cards. Five hundred was played in earlier times and later whist and pinochle.
Of course Christmas was a happy time. Lots of preparation was necessary. One of our favorite candies was taffy. Bernie had to have been our champion taffy puller. It took a while to get the hang of this chore but much fun was had and we all enjoyed the results.
Being Catholic we all attended midnight mass and then off to bed to await Santa's arrival. Girls usually got a doll or toy and anew dress. The boys got a toy and new clothes. We were all delighted, as we did not receive toys on a regular basis as children do today.
I don't remember the "dirty thirties", only stories of that time period. I know that everyone was very poor. This occurred such a short time after the stock market crash that I'm sure people did not have a chance to recover from one disaster before the next occurred. From my understanding there was no controlling the dirt and dust. No moisture had been received for such a long period of time that the grass and hay in the pastures was brown and the grasshoppers ate anything that was edible. Wood was not even available in our area and there was no money to purchase coal for heat. People would go to the pasture and gather cow chips to burn in the stoves. Gardening was a real challenge as there was no running water and no rain. Any moisture put on the garden had to come from the well. It was a major challenge to feed and water the livestock and they were not overly choosy about what they had to eat. Weeds were even put up to feed in the winter months. What a relief it must have been when the first rain arrived after such a long drought.
There are many stories and memories associated with the second World War. Many of my uncles were in that war. Mother's brother Clarence happened to be in the Japanese theater. There was a long period of time when they had not heard from him and everyone was very concerned about his welfare. As it turned out there was good reason to be concerned, as he was a prisoner of war for three and one half years. He had many gruesome tales of that period. Uncle Butch was in the European theater and served as an airplane mechanic. He never saw action up front. I do remember the war being over and men returning home to their loved ones. There was much rejoicing at that time.
As stated earlier, we never went anywhere for enjoyment. The one exception was Grandpa and Grandma Clough's 50th Wedding Anniversary. Dorothy and Leona were both married. We loaded two cars and headed for Wisconsin. John and Janet were left behind, but the rest of us were on our way. Connie was sick all the way and frequent stops were made to combat her carsickness. Jim was sick after we got there. (Homesick, that is.) If you can imagine our whole family was together but he was lonesome for the place. We met many relatives we had not had the opportunity to know prior to that time.
Some of our happiest childhood memories are probably of shocking grain. It was always very hot and dry and Mother always thought she should be a part of the gang. She would promptly become overheated and we would have to try to find some shaded, cooler place for her to sit. We also spent many hours outside, riding horses, climbing on top of the barn and jumping off the south end (so Mother wouldn't see us), walking the corral fences. Also during the summer Mother would take us and Mark's kids swimming in the dam. In later years the older children took the younger ones.
There are so many memories I could write about, but it would take many pages. I do know that I am glad I was raised during that time as we were allowed to be carefree children even though we had chores and responsibilities. We were allowed our fantasies and weren't concerned with the adult world until we became adults. I also thank God that I was born to a family that was concerned about and had a deep love for it's members.
In 1975 our father died. This was a great loss for our family, but we were all thankful that we were able to have him for the seventy-two years he lived. He taught us many things, but the most important things he taught me were to never lie or steal, and to always place family and people before material things.
My mother stayed on the ranch until Leona's husband, Carl, died in 1976. She went to Pierre to stay with Leona for awhile, but during her stay she decided to make her home in Pierre. In 1982 she sold the homestead to Ron and myself. We will eventually retire on the ranch. Sometime in the future we plan to establish an Abernathy museum for all descendants of the Abernathy family.
These are the roots of the Abernathy family and we hope to keep it that way.
This was written for John and Lyda's Golden Wedding Anniversary, July 9, 1951 by Mildred Clough Sterud.
Raymond B. Clough
The Family of John Casper Clough
As he put it, John Casper Clough came to Kansas with the grasshoppers in 1874. Although John Casper Clough had only a seventh grade education, he taught Indian children in his early twenties. By 1900 he was working as a printer in Omaha, Douglas County, Nebraska.
John met Lyda Corey at the Aksarben Fair in Omaha in September, 1899, and was immediately attracted to her. A fellow worker in the print shop, Harry Paschal, had told him he knew just the girl for him, since he knew John was fond of brown-eyed, dark-haired girls. Lyda was on the merry-go-round, and the vision of loveliness he saw met all his expectations. The introduction was made, and I presume, a mutually agreeable evening was spent.
Sixteen days later, Lyda moved to Wagner, Charles Mix County, South Dakota where she taught Indian children. They were together, every one of those sixteen evenings, except one. Henceforth, the courtship was, of necessity, by correspondence. Lyda taught school in Wagner for two years.
At the end of the second term, John went to Wagner where they were married on June 9, 1901 in a rainstorm. He brought his bride back to Omaha, where they lived in a haunted house, and it was there where their first two children, Harry and Mildred, were born.
They were no moss-bound stones. On Mildred's first birthday, they filed on a homestead in Western South Dakota. They crossed the Missouri River on the ice and built an 8' x 10' shack in which they lived. John would drive his locoed pony to town where he worked in the print shop a couple of days a week to make enough money to buy a few groceries. Fourteen months later, they sold the homestead and moved to Presho, Lyman County, where Casper was born.
About this time, John became an itinerant preacher. His job was building churches in the new towns. He would work as a printer during the week and preach on Sunday. They were seldom more than nine months in one place, and the trend was ever westward.
Marion was born at Belvidere, Jackson County, and Raymond came along at Newell, Butte County. Eventually, they reached the Black Hills. Several of the children were now of school age, and the folks thought it was time to settle down for awhile so the kids could go to school. John went back eastward across South Dakota and got a job at the Republican, a newspaper in Mitchell, Davison County. He sent for his family, and Lyda crossed the state with five, small children. They lived in Mitchell for ten years. Here, Dick, Clarence and Elaine were born. They family moved to Wagner, Charles Mix County, in 1922, where Doris Anita was born.
After a few more moves to Madison, Lake County, and points north and east, they bought forty acres near Winter, Sawyer County, Wisconsin. They just beat the Depression onto their little farm near Winter. It proved to be a haven of refuge during the Depression. You could hardly starve to death. In 1937, they abandoned the place at Winter and moved to a farm in Appolonia, Rusk County, where they resided until 1953.
Robert Howard Clough was born on March 26, 1937, son of Casper Percival Clough and Elizabeth Jane Howard, at 12:07 a.m. in St. Bernard's Hospital (Chicago, Illinois.)
He was married on July 18, 1970 to Carol Ann Ritter in St. Petri United Church of Christ at Chicago, Illinois with the Reverend Gordon Robinson officiating.
Bob and Carol moved from Chicago to the Denver area in the summer of 1980 where they later adopted two sons (information to follow). They separated on Labor Day weekend in 1988, and were divorced in the Jefferson County Courts in Golden, Colorado. (The divorce became final on December 8, 1989.)
Carol Ann Ritter was born May 22, 1945 in Louisville, Jefferson County, Kentucky. She was the daughter of Lester Mervin Emmett Ritter and Pauline Caroline Augusta Kuaz.
David Wolff Clough was born August 20, 1974 in Wolf Point, Roosevelt County, Montana and was adopted by Bob and Carol in the city and county of Denver, Colorado on January 6, 1986. David had been in the home of Bob and Carol since December of 1982 as a foster, adoptive child, but was not finally adopted until January of 1986 due to some legal red tape that had to be concluded prior to the adoption. David had been in our home for one week in the summer of 1981 as a foster child when his foster parents had to go out of the state and were unable to take David with them at that time.
Paul Sung Clough, born December 1, 1978 in Busan City (Pusan), Republic of South Korea, had been reared in an orphanage in that area after being abandoned by his natural parents. Little is known of Paul's early background other than the fact that he was abandoned in a South Korean police station at approximately three months of age, and his Korean name was Sung Mob Park (pronounced Pak). When Paul arrived in this country in the summer of 1981 at the age of two and one-half years, he was suffering from perforated eardrums in both ears caused by chronic ear infections. This hearing problem was later successfully corrected by surgery on both ears, and he now has 100% hearing. Paul was legally adopted in the Jefferson County Courts, Golden County, Colorado in the summer of 1982. He was naturalized this last year in the city of Missoula, Montana where he is now living with Carol. My first recollection of Paul (other than pictures from Korea) was changing his diaper on the floor of Stapleton Airport in Denver shortly after midnight the day of his arrival. Several friends were with us at the airport when Paul got to the United States, after a flight of nineteen hours from Seoul.
Both boys are adjusting well to the overall family situation, although they do not see each other very often (maybe twice a year).
After moving to Chicago, my Dad worked first for Wilson & Company Meat Packers where he met my mom. Then he went to work for the U.S. Postal Service, where he retired on October 4, 1968. Both of my parents were very active in the United Methodist Church until my Dad was physically unable to remain active. He was also very involved in the Boy Scout organization in Chicago in various leadership positions, both in the local troop and also on the district level.
Now about our family history... I know very little. Dad told me a few things when we lived in Bruce but it was sketchy at best. I remember a few things he told me which he seemed sure of. Dad didn't often make a positive statement unless he was fairly certain of his ground.
He told me there were two brothers who came to America in the early 1600's. Either he didn't know just when or I can't remember. Also, I think he told me their given names but I can't recall those either. Now there are two things you might not be aware of. The ship they came here on was bringing a Charter colony from England for settlement here. But, the two brothers were not signatory members of that charter when it left England. They were in some kind of trouble when the ship left and were denied participation. What kind of trouble, I haven't the foggiest notion. It may have been with the magistrates or the clergy or whatever. All I know is that Dad said they were not allowed to join the Colony and that they joined the ships company instead and barely managed to get out of England ahead of whatever trouble there was. They may have joined the colonists on arrival or even on shipboard, but according to Dad, they were not members at the time of the ship's departure. The brothers who became our ancestors signed on as ship's carpenters. The brother was also a crew member, but in what capacity, I don't know. I don't know what happened upon their arrival, whether the settlement colony left the ship or if they disembarked with them or went on to another part. All I know further is that his ancestor was a skilled carpenter and several descendants kept that trade alive through several generations.
In fact, if my memory serves me right, I think that Dad told me his grandfather, Mace Richard was a wheelwright and wagon maker by trade, and incidentally, a Methodist minister as well, and that when he came west he came with a shipment of prairie schooners for westward moving pioneers. He brought them by boat down the Ohio River. Dad also mentioned that one of his early family members got into trouble with the British troops and escaped into Canada. So there are Clough members of our branch of the family in Canada.
After Dad's grandfather arrived in what later became Missouri, he started a wagon freighting business and supplied both military posts and supply points for westward moving emigrants and continued that business in several locations in Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma until the arrival of the railroads put him out of business and he started strip coal mining. Our grandfather, his son, was active in both businesses as well. Our great grandfather, as I said before, was also a Methodist minister.
This is about all I can remember of what Dad told me of the early history. It was some fifty years ago and my memory might be pretty hazy. Also, Dad was an old man then and his memory could also have been hazy. About the two brothers who came over on the ship. He seemed pretty sure as though it was an often repeated, family legend.
As for my own branch, I'm the sixth child in our family and was named Richard Mace. Dad always said there was either a Mace Richard or a Richard Mace in virtually every generation of our family. I was born February 4, 1914 and after remaining single for thirty-five years I married Norma. Her parents were John and Bertha Kipacz. Both her parents were Polish immigrants; he in 1913, she in 1914. They had five children: Helen in 1914, John in 1917, Florence in 1928, Lillian 1926, and Norm February 24, 1929.
Her parents were Polish emigrants; he in 1913, she in 1914. They had five children. Helen 1914, John 1917, Florence 1928, Lillian 1926, and Norma February 24, 1929.
Norma was married in 1946 to Richard Simmons and Mary was born to them on March 26, of 1949. Mary married Keith Francis on June 25. 1966 and Rebecca Lynn was born to them November 16, 1968. Nancy Diane was born to our union on December 1, 1949 and she was married in 1968 to Larry McCoy of Brigden, Ontario, Canada. Nancy has two daughters, Amanda born November 5, 1969 and Terrie born September 13, 1970. Richard Allen Clough was born to us on January 13, 1951.
Rebecca Lynn Francis was married to Jeffrey Goether, an Air Force sergeant from Texas on November 23, 1991. He has a son, Josh, who is three and he lives with them.
Amanda McCoy has a daughter, Valerie Rene, born December 23, 1990. She married the father, Larry Kirochner about six months later. They have since separated though I don't think they are divorced. Terrie is not married and of course. Our son Richard Allen is still a bachelor.
Richard Mace Clough
I suspect that Dick may have his generations mixed up. What he says about Mace Richard seems to fit what Bob says about Mace's father. This is the first that I have ever heard that Mace Richard was anything but a Methodist minister. What Bob says about Mace's father is also news to me.
Raymond B. Clough
My father was the product of a very close, loving family. Growing up during the Great Depression, times were hard, but Dad often said that people were brought closer together by the hardships. They had to depend on each other for survival, love, and entertainment. Dad told of the music, singing, and visiting with neighbors that were so much a part of his family life. Music would always be a great love of his life. As a teenager, he began playing the 4-string banjo and guitar. From about 1939 to 1949 (except during the war years) he played for many dances in the Rusk and Sawyer County area in Wisconsin. Other members of his band were Clarence Steindorf, Joe Barbacz, and Floyd Alvord, and also later, Slim Gutheridge and Norm Knudson. They called themselves The Blackhawks. Dad recalled one year when everyone left the local senior prom early to come to one of their dances!
Clarence enlisted in the Marine Corp on November 5, 1940. He served in China, then the Philippine Islands as the war broke out. On May 6, 1942 he was taken prisoner by the Japanese and was held for three and one half years. (See accompanying news articles.) For many months he was presumed dead. Even out of this horrible experience, Dad was able to gain something positive. He learned an even greater appreciation for family and friends and all the simple things so often taken for granted. It helped him to always look on the bright side and not give up. He demonstrated a strong will to live while captive. The men who survived were those who never gave up, kept their spirits up, and kept eating and working no matter how repulsive the food or how weak they felt. They kept saying, "tomorrow" they would go home. "Attitude is everything", Dad would say, and "It's as easy to be happy as it is to be sad." The older I get the more I understand the truth in those sayings. Life is too short to waste time dwelling on the negative.
After the war, Clarence returned to his parent's farm in "Appolonia", a small community near Bruce, Wisconsin. He got a start in fur farming with mink he purchased from Arnold Zelm of Bruce. In 1948 he married Margie Moore, who he met when she walked by the mink yard with a friend on her way to a dance in Appolonia. He went to the dance too and met Mom's brother, Jerry, who played the guitar, and they became friends. Dad said Mom had more sense than the girls his age. Though only sixteen, my mother enjoyed the responsibility of marriage and motherhood. At age twenty-one, with three small children, she was asked if it wasn't too hard for someone so young. She answered, "No, it's a pleasure!"
The mink business was good and soon the ranch was a big source of employment in the community. (See article on the Clar-Mar Mink Ranch. The name is from "Clarence" and Margie".) Dad took on partners from New York and the business grew even more. In 1955, a beautiful ranch home was built, designed by Margie. But success brought some problems for the marriage. Dad traveled a lot, he had less time for his family, and there was very little privacy in the home. The employees were friends and were in and out of the house often. Some mornings my parents would wake up to people having coffee at their kitchen table. It was just too hectic, especially for Mom with young children, who were beginning to cry when people came to the house. ("Not more company!") The family was important to both of them, so in 1958 they sold their share of the business to the Warbluds and bought a small farm two and one half miles " south of Bruce on the Chippewa River (bought from Godfrey Sorenson). Here they started a small mink ranch. We older kids remember the weeks spent building the long sheds and countless pens. Most of the work was done by our parents, with the help of a few family members and friends. It was great to have so much time with our parents and to be working with them building the ranch and taking care of the mink. In spite of the mink's notorious smell (besides the smell of droppings, they spray like a skunk, though the smell isn't as strong), and also their delight in biting anything that touched their pen for even an instant, we were proud to have such uncommon live-stock. It was a great day when my fourth grade class came to our place for a field trip.
The farm was also great for swimming, picnics, tree climbing and just plain exploring. We had more freedom with the place to ourselves. There was a big barn with a huge rope to swing on and a big hill for sliding in the winter. Over the years we had a few milk cows, some chickens, pigs, beef cattle, calves, and rabbits, besides our dogs and cats. The mink drew cats; they came for the mink food that fell under the pens, so we always had a wild population besides our pets and one favorite pastime was taming them. Another unique activity we came up with was balancing on barrels. We would lay a barrel on its side and, balancing on top, roll it all over the yard with our feet. We could turn around without getting off and could go almost everywhere. We were ready for the circus!
Dad loved to sing and one of his "jobs" was singing to and dancing with fussy babies. Sometimes he would get out his banjo or guitar and play. We had a piano, too, that Mom would sometimes play, and she taught us simple songs. They both enjoyed music so much and Dad talked about the fun he had playing for dances so often that in 1965 Tom, Jack and I started music lessons at Joe's Music Center in Ladysmith. Tom took up the guitar, Jack the 4-string banjo, and I played the accordion. We took lessons for three years and played for many talent shows and contests, fairs and festivals. We met lots of kids and traveled around the county. (One year we even played at Madison, the state capital, for a 4-H contest.) Then in 1967, we started to play for dances, weddings, anniversaries, or just weekend music. We called ourselves The Echoes and played old-time music (polkas, waltzes, etc.), and also some country music. Dad was always their "working the crowd" and getting people to dance. I was able to pay all my college expenses with the money I made playing. But in 1971, Tom got married and joined the Air Force and we decided to quit playing. I got married the next year and Jack, two years later. We played together for the last time at our parent's 25th Wedding Anniversary party in 1973.
During my high school years, the mink business had begun to wane and we also were set back by our "mink house" burning down. (This is the building where the mink food is mixed and where the mink are pelted. Attached to it was also a giant freezer where the food that was brought by semi was stored.) Then the mink were struck by "Aleutian's Disease" and we lost many. From then on, we had to vaccinate and test for the disease each year. In the fall of 1970, Dad began selling Swepco roofing products and applying roofs along with taking care of the mink. Mom had kept busy taking care of the "second family" (three younger kids), cooking, cleaning and keeping the big wood furnace fed. (It was the boiler from the steam engine of a locomotive!) Slowly, a few changes were made in the big farmhouse; a remodeled kitchen, enlarged living room, a screened porch. Mom also worked as an aide at the Head Start Program for a year. In July of 1971, Mom started working at a motel in Ladysmith, cleaning rooms. Coincidentally, a few days later, Dad fell off a roof he was resurfacing and broke his leg. It was a bad break and he was in a cast for nine months. My parents and some of us kids had taken up square dancing the year before and my dad's love of dancing was to be his undoing. He danced on his leg too soon after the cast was off and re-broke it. It never did heal right and he had a limp from then on. In the fall of 1971, with his leg still in a cast and unable to do the roofing or take care of the mink, Dad took a job selling pole buildings for Menard Agri-buildings out of Eau Claire. We pelted all the mink that fall and were out of the mink business. Dad put his usual enthusiasm into his new job and was soon successful. He won quite a few trips, including trips to Hawaii and Acapulco, Mexico, which he and Mom took, although she was not the traveler he was.
In April of 1972 our family faced its greatest trial. Barb, then almost fourteen, suddenly developed a severe headache. After two days of headache and nausea, she was diagnosed with having suffered a brain hemorrhage caused by a "birthmark on the brain" (a cluster of blood vessels) that had ruptured. There was a choice of letting it heal, but with the likelihood that it would happen again (it would certainly have happened when she had a baby and would have a greater chance of being fatal when she was older), or of having surgery to remove the blood vessels. There were no guarantees of what damage the surgery might do, or if she would survive it, but her healing powers were greater at her young age. Surgery was chosen and was done in May. Barb came through that first surgery with hardly any damage, but the day after surgery her heart stopped from swelling of the brain due to a clot that had formed. So a second operation was performed to remove the clot. This time more damage was done to her brain. She couldn't walk, talk, sit up or do much more than cry. She was basically a baby again. Again, there seemed to be swelling and a third operation was scheduled to put a permanent tube in her brain to drain off fluid. But, on the morning of the surgery, Mom thought Barb had amazingly improved. The doctors came to get her for the operation, but my mother insisted that she be examined by her doctor first. Everything was ready for the surgery and Mom had to "fight" to keep the surgeons from going ahead, but fortunately, the doctor did come in and after examining Barb, agreed that she didn't need the third operation! I admire my mother for being able to follow her instincts and stand up to those angry surgeons.
Mom quit her job at the motel and stayed with Barb at the University of Minnesota Hospital. She was in the children's rehabilitation center for three months. My sister amazed all the doctors with rapid progress. She had a lot of spunk and this fighting spirit helped her. Also, she had taken tap dancing and ballet lessons before her hemorrhage and this helped her regain her coordination more quickly. She came home in July, still in a wheelchair and with a lot of work ahead of her, but remarkably better and glad to be home. A benefit dance was held for her at Tony with all our square dance friends helping out. Barb soon recovered almost fully. The only effects of the surgery today are a slight loss of balance, a need for glasses and double vision that glasses can't correct. (She has learned to focus on only one image at a time.) No one would ever know she had the surgeries!
The highlights of the next nine years were weddings, graduations and new babies as the family grew up and started their own families. Coincidentally, Tom, Jack and I all married at twenty-one, our spouses were eighteen, and we had our first children within a year of being married, so these grandchildren are the same distance apart as their parents were. Mom and Dad always enjoyed babysitting or having us come to visit. We'd get together to play cards, have Sunday dinner or take the kids swimming in the river. Everybody enjoyed going to "Grandpa and Gramma's".
But in 1981 Mom and Dad were divorced. Dad retired from Menard's and bought a small house in Bruce. He made a few trips like he had always planned to do. But in 1982, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He never believed that smoking caused cancer, he had smoked since he joined the Marines.
Dad traveled to Greece and Mexico to take treatments from a Dr. Alavazatos who did unorthodox but successful cancer treatments not approved in this country. He lived three years and his doctor finally called him a "miracle man" and said he had only expected him to live two months after the cancer was discovered. Dad did some more traveling, especially to see his brothers and sisters, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren. But by May of 1985, Dad was too weak to get his meals and so on. Mom wanted to help him and they decided to be married again. That way he could stay at his house in Bruce and it would be less work and worry for us kids.
Mom was also working as a cook at the hospital in Ladysmith at that time and one day while she was at work, one of his lungs ruptured. He was found dead by a friend a short time later. The cancer had started to spread to his brain, causing him a lot of worry because he had never wanted to linger and "lose his faculties" as he would say. It was better he went suddenly at the time that he did. We all miss him very much... his smiles and hugs and words of encouragement, and those winks he would give us girls. But he had a full and interesting life, and, most important to him I think, raised some good kids (if I do say so myself!).
Mom still lives in the house in Bruce and is still a cook at the hospital. Six more grandchildren have been born since Dad died, including the first "Clough" grandson, to carryon the name. (Plus two more grandsons after that.) Dad would be happy to see the family growing.
After his basic training in the Air Force, Tom was sent to Thailand for one year. The Vietnam War was coming to an end but there were some close bombings. His duties included assisting air weapons controllers in guiding aircraft on combat missions over Vietnam, and plotting weather and aircraft movement information. His job information was "Top Secret" and he had a very high security clearance, his back- ground and character were carefully checked out. Tom was in the Air Force ten years. After Thailand, he was stationed at Duluth, Minnesota where he was an instructor and evaluator, then in Ontario where he monitored the border of all aircraft. After leaving the Air Force, Tom began designing circuit boards using the computer and has been in the computer field ever since. He and Kathy were divorced in 1989 but he is going to be married again in May (1992). His fiancee, Georgia, has a twelve year old daughter so there will be two new members in the family. Tom and Kelli now live in Elgin (Tom) and Bartlett (Kelli), Illinois. Kelli is engaged also, to a boy named Tom! She is really good with little kids and likes to write poetry.
I went to the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire for three semesters after high school, intending to become an elementary school teacher, but I was too impatient and quit, then started working at a day-care center in Ladysmith. Through our music and the square dance lessons, I had become acquainted with Eric Nielsen who played the guitar, fiddle and 5-string banjo. We were married in 1972 and I moved to his family farm eleven miles north of Bruce. Eric worked at a plastic-recycling plant, painted bridges in the Bruce area, and worked at the paper mill in Ladysmith before we took over the family farm in 1983. We have thirty milk cows plus young stock, a few laying hens and a big garden. Our oldest son, Doug, started technical school last fall in Eau Claire, enrolled in the machinist course, and is working part-time. Lance and Russ milk cows, love to ski, and are both very active in band at school, as was Doug. So far none of the grandchildren have started up a baud, but most of them play instruments in the school band. Our Doug plays drums, Lance saxophone, and Russ the trumpet. We all really enjoy our little Kori... a girl finally! She likes to sing and dance and can't wait to start school next fall.
Jack did factory work for several years after high school and married Diane Much of Ladysmith. (Dad used to say to him. "you married Much. but I married Moore.") They had three girls before finally getting a boy, the first "Clough" grandson. In 1977, Jack took a job with a carpenter and soon started his own general contracting business which keeps him very busy. Diane (nicknamed "Babe") stayed home to take care of the kids. Their daughter, Staci, is a junior at Bruce High and likes drawing and writing. She also enjoys track (cross-country) at school. Tammy loves to act and entertains us with impersonations. She also plays the flute in the band. Shawna was the first of the "second crop" of grandchildren after a break of six years. She loves babies and is the "little mother" for the younger ones. Ryan is a happy-go-lucky little guy who is a good comedian already.
Barb married Paul Hoeft. a farmer, outdoorsman and lumberjack. They live on the Hoeft home farm ten miles north of Bruce, not far from us across the Chippewa River, but four miles around by the road. Barb likes to cook and can and help with farm chores and six years ago started babysitting in her home. She has from one to six kids a day, plus their little Jody. Jennifer, the oldest, is a cheerleader, likes to sew, and plays saxophone in the band. Becky plays the clarinet and loves animals. Jody keeps them all hopping with her strong will, but she's a charmer.
Carol went to college in Rice Lake for a year then married Dick Lahr of Bruce. They moved to KI Sawyer Air Force in Michigan. When she was born, Barb started calling her the little "dinky" baby and she's still Dinky to all of us in the family. She worked as a hostess at the officer's club on the base for a while. She and Dick were divorced. In 1983 she married Gregg Matkin who was also in the Air Force. He left the service in 1985 and they now live near his hometown of Detroit. Gregg works as a mechanic at a Toyota Dealership. Dinky is busy with her two boys and likes to read and sew. Seven year old Alex is a green belt in karate already. Danny goes to the classes too although he hasn't started lessons yet. He imitates the bigger kids.
Mike (the family clown!) always loved to draw and later started writing poems. After high school he went to college at LaCrosse and got a bachelor's degree in art. He later took more art classes at the college in Ladysmith. After Mom moved to Bruce, he lived on the home place and is remodeling the house. He works at Norco, a window factory in Hawkins. He has two sons. Aaron follows his dad everywhere and "helps" him work on the house. Little Adam just turned one.
Even though Mom and Dad divorced later in their marriage, they were always exceptionally caring parents and enjoyed their children very much. I believe all six of us "kids" in turn are the same with our families and I don't think we could have had a better legacy.
Since I have bugged everybody else to contribute to the story, I suppose I should include a few lines of my own recollections.
I arrived on this planet at a little town in the Northern Black Hills of South Dakota on November 11, 1911. The name of the town was Newell. I settled down there and, as far as I know, I was quite contented there, until I was forcefully removed from the only home I had ever known and was physically removed from my home. (This being probably in 1912.) I was taken to a new home with the family in Mitchell, South Dakota where my father went to work on a newspaper. I don't recall that I made any objection to this situation, even though no one consulted me about such a move.
I quickly adjusted to the new home. My mother and father were there and also, my siblings. I did not know, nor did I care that we were living in Mitchell.
I have noted elsewhere about the family hardships of our time in Mitchell, but this touched me very lightly. We always had food on the table and a warm place to sleep, and clothes to wear. We kids didn't need anything else. We had a house full of love and a mother who could always make a game out of hardships.
I had a happy childhood. Mother always had chores for each of the kids, but they were not onerous and when they were done, we were pretty much on our own to playas we pleased. There were a few restrictions. Mother always knew where we were. That was the law! And there were things that we do not do in this family" Pretty simple rules, but none of us ever got into even low-grade, serious trouble.
My siblings and I played together with the neighbor kids and really had a ball. Cap had an imagination a mile long and he, being the oldest of our group was, by seniority, the leader. He took us under the sea and to the moon to an extremely wild west and into the middle of big cities. Of course, he had never seen any of this, but oh, how you can travel on imagination when you are kids.
I was on the tail end of boy's clothes, and I was the last to wear button shoes. When I was about six years old button shoes went into limbo forever. Good riddance! I still remember hunting for a button hook every morning. And knickerbockers! What an aberration to shove onto more or less, innocent boys for a hundred years or so. At the time, we didn't rebel because that's what boys wore and that was the end of it. Nevertheless, the damned things were a constant mess of trouble. Theoretically, there was a strap that bucked below the knee. Well, it was a poor rigging job from the word go. The darned things always slipped down and hung just above the ankles. So we buckled them above the knee. They usually stayed there, but that opened another can of worms. The great whozis designed buckles below the knee to cover the stockings, which came to the knee. When we buckled them above the knee, it left a gap between pants and stocking, bridged by the long underwear that we wore in the winter.
The stockings were an abomination to all the saints, and the demons, too, I think. They were in no way form-fitting and always sagged down, usually around the shoe tops. Some genius had devised a cure for this by providing garters. These garters were a straight piece of elastic with a buckle to attach to the stocking and a safety pin in the other end that fastened to a tab sewed to the underwear. It also had a buckle in the middle to take up the slack. It was a good idea, but it didn't work.
Elastic must have been poor stuff in those days, so garters were always stretched out to the full limit with no more give. When the stockings slumped down and the boy moved, something had to give. The garter couldn't, it was stretched out and rigid, so it was usually the pin that fastened the garter to the underwear, dropping the garter down in the pants where they hung down below the knee. The boy had to dive to retrieve it. Then, of course he had to re-pin it. This was facilitated by the fact , that boy's did not wear shirts, but wore what they called a waist, which was sort of a blouse without tails that buttoned close around the waist. This, together with the fact that the pants were supported by suspenders, apparently made out of the left over elastic from the garters, or at least with the failure of the elastic to stretch. This of course, let the pants sag, leaving a lovely view of the underwear between the waist and the pants. This did, however, make it easier to re-pin the garter after it had been retrieved from the depth of the pants. You may think that we were miserable in our clothes. We were not. That was the way things were and we accepted it, never questioning. It is only in later years, looking back, that I realize just how ridiculous such clothes were and marvel that they lasted for a hundred years.
Girls, I don't know about. I do seem to remember that their stockings usually sagged down around their shoe tops. I suppose that their stockings were supported in a similar fashion, but I don't know for certain. At this late date, I wonder if the pin came loose on their garters, how they re-fastened them. They didn't have the convenient gap between waist and pants that boys did, and modesty would not permit hiking their skirts above the waist to accomplish same.
Really, nobody but mothers were concerned about these unattractive features of our clothes. Everybody was in the same boat and we usually just let things hang as they would until some adult called us to time. We would make the minimum adjustment to satisfy such an adult, usually mother, until she was out of sight and then just forget about it until the next time.
I wore such clothes until I was about thirteen years old, and I was the last to wear them. At that time they went out of style forever. All the little kids got long pants at the same time I graduated to them. Clarence, who was seven years younger than me, got his long pants at the same time I did.
As soon as school was out in the spring we started pestering Mother to shed our shoes and go barefoot. She always thought it was still too cold, but finally we prevailed and we were not encumbered by those shoes until school started in the fall. In the summer we wore whatever came handy and could slip by a vigilant mother. Sometimes overalls, usually last years school clothes, on the theory that they would be too small next year. We didn't care. Summers meant freedom. Clothes were only a nod to convention and a concession to mothers and the police. I'm quite sure that boys would have gone around in the buff if they could have gotten away with it.
We were a happy bunch of savages, who tried, when we thought of it, not to bring trial and grief to our parents. Mother tried to somewhat civilize us but since she raised five boys, she must have realized that it was pretty hopeless. We loved her dearly and were dearly loved in return. We even vowed, at times, that we would try to shape up to her standards. Sad to say it didn't last. It wasn't that we did anything really bad, (she would not have stood for that for a minute!) it was just that she would have liked for us not to be such wild Indians, once in awhile.
I guess Dad understood boys, or maybe he just wasn't around us so much. He would say, "Now Lyda, they are just boys and may grow up to be outstanding citizens, if they don't start stealing horses and get hung first".
II (If you think we had running water, think again.) We brought in the coal and corn cobs, which was our fuel. For Mother to carry in a shuttle of coal was positive proof that someone had fallen down on their job. I suppose that she actually carried in a million of them over the years, but mostly, that was while we were in school. It was a grand time to be a boy and Mitchell was a grand place to be.
When I was in the fifth grade the family left Mitchell and moved to Wagner. My heart was broken. I had a teacher in the fifth grade that I loved dearly, and so did all the other kids. My first four years of school were just something that I did because I was sent, but in the fifth, I really tried. It never occurred to me that trying might benefit me, I just wanted to please her. I must have developed a habit because I did try from then on, at least sometimes. ~ We always had chores. Mother believed that since we were all in the family we should , all contribute to the good of the family. We carried in the water from the pump.
I finished the fifth grade and half of the sixth in Wagner. I have absolutely no memory of going to school in Wagner. Don't ask me why, I don't know.
Then on to Madison, Wentworth, and Ramona, where I spent my four years of high school. I formed some friendships there that have endured, though death has thinned the ranks in the past few years.
Then I went to school in Chicago. When the depression deepened, I went to northern Wisconsin. My time there is partly covered elsewhere in writing about my father's family.
There are really four things in my life that I consider really important, these being my marriage to Margaret Hays and the birth of our three boys. We had a very happy marriage and a close family life. This marriage was cut short by Margaret's untimely death in 1958 at the age of forty.
We continued on as a family until the boys grew up, married and have families of their own. We all remain close and my great joy now is my grandchildren.
I have not been bitter about the loss of my dear wife. Death is something you can't do anything about and I consider myself very fortunate. I would rather have had twenty-one years with Margaret than seventy with anyone else.
Before I close this out I think I should record something about the ancestry of Lyda Corey Clough, my mother. As a matter of fact, she probably spoke more about her antecedents than Dad did. My maternal grandmother's name was Hopkins and her line through her father went back to Steven Hopkins who signed the Declaration of Independence, was many times Governor of Rhode Island, and was no doubt, the most prominent man in Rhode Island from about 1750 until his death in the late 1700's. Steven Hopkin's grandfather was Thomas Hopkins, who signed the agreement with the Indians, which opened Rhode Island to white settlement. Thomas Hopkins father was also named Steven and he was the only child born on the Mayflower on the trip from England to Plymouth.
I have never tried to trace this line and cannot verify any of the above, and I may have missed a few generations of Hopkins. This should not be a difficult line to trace because these were prominent people, however, there were probably four generations from Steven Hopkins to Lorenzo and I know nothing of them.
The Corey line goes back to Sir Francis Drake. Mother said that we were in a direct line to Francis Drake and of course, this is possible, but it seems to me that it is more likely that we are a contingent line. I say this because Francis Drake married twice and one of his wive's name was Corey. I do not know which wife was the mother of his two daughters, he had no sons.
If anyone is interested in checking this out I can even give you a good place to start. In 1911, E.F. Elliot Drake published a book "The Family and Heirs of Sir Francis Drake" in two volumes. This was published in London. It is my opinion that these books are available in most major libraries. I would not expect to find them in libraries in smaller communities, such as are readily available to me, though I -~ have never tried. .
My reason for thinking that this might be a fruitful source is that Mother said that the Drake "Coat of Arms" was circulated throughout the family about 1910 from London. The story, at that time, was that the Drake Estate had never been settled and there was a lot of money. This may have been a scam, but I don't recall that she ever said that she was ever approached for money. Anyway, there was a great effort to trace the Drake descendants and Mother was one of them. She responded and was included on the "Coat of Arms" , a title of the listing of descendants .
Nobody ever got any money out of it. The story was that the money was there but it had laid so long that the British government confiscated it to use in the fighting of World War I.
How much of this is truth and how much legend, I don't know. However, Mr. Drake published two books at about the right time and it has always been assumed that this was the report on the circulation of the "Coat of Arms". If anybody ever checked this out, I don't know about it. But, as I said at the beginning, it would be an interesting place to start if anyone wants to expend the effort.
Raymond B. Clough