Showing posts with label Nebraska. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nebraska. Show all posts

Friday, February 28, 2025

The Frontier Journal of William Cross, Part I: January 1871

[Scroll Down for Commentary]

Sunday Jan. 1, 1871
I went across the Platt to see Luther Hubbell. I went with Calvin and family. We crossed on the ice. Then I started to go to Calvin's and Luther got lost, and I had to stay all night. 

Monday Jan. 2, 1871
We came back to Calvin's. We came through Larimie (?).

Tuesday Jan. 3, 1871
Cal and me cleaned out his well. Drew it very nearly dry.

Wednesday Jan. 4, 1871
I went to town with Luther Hubbell's wagon, but could get nothing to do.

Thursday Jan. 5, 1871
I went over in Iowa. Went to Shaw's, then to Garrett's. Got my dinner, then I went back to Calvin's. Crossed the ice after dark.

Friday Jan. 6, 1871
I fitted up my things and brought my team over to feed at Garrett's. I went to work for Joe Shaw.

Saturday Jan. 7, 1871
I began work today. Chopped four ties and made one.

Sunday Jan. 8, 1871
Sparkes and Burkett and Bill Haynie and Sarah A. Garrett and Louisa and Ellen Rickenbaugh and myself went to Egypt to morning meeting time.

Monday Jan. 9, 1871
I made ties today for Shaw. The timber very scarce.

Tuesday Jan. 10, 1871
Worked in the timber today.

Wednesday Jan. 11, 1871
I finished tie making today. How it rained this afternoon.

Thursday Jan. 12, 1871
It rained and snowed. I did not do anything this day.

Friday Jan. 13, 1871
I was over to see Bill Haynie. We did not do anything.

Saturday Jan. 14, 1871
I drew ties for Emanuel Garrett with his team.

Sunday Jan. 15, 1871
I went to the Post Office, then up to H. C. Gammon's. Got my dinner. George Morrow and wife was there, and Mr. Davis and wife.

Monday Jan. 16, 1871
I got D. Haynie's sled and drew one load of wood.

Tuesday Jan. 17, 1871
I hauled two loads.

Wednesday Jan. 18, 1871
I went to Egypt and got my horses shod.

Thursday Jan. 19, 1871
I loaded a car for Oliver Moore.

Friday Jan. 20, 1871
I drew one load of wood.

Saturday Jan. 21, 1871
I helped Charles Medow load ties. We had a jovial time. There was the two Medows, P. Fletcher, Dave Forsythe, and Jeff the black boy. I got $1.50.

Sunday Jan. 22, 1871
I went to Haynie's Post Office.

Monday Jan. 23, 1871
I went to the timber with Bill Sparke's wagon and broke the tongue out of it.

Tuesday Jan. 24, 1871
I went up to Mr. Armsday's for hay, then from there to another man's and got a load on the wood rack for $1.50.

Wednesday Jan. 25, 1871
I drew two loads of wood.

Thursday Jan. 26, 1871
I drew two loads.

Friday Jan. 27, 1871
I drew two loads.

Saturday Jan. 28, 1871
I drew two loads.

Sunday Jan. 29, 1871
I went to the Post Office, thence to Calvin's. He lives in Morgan's house above Judge William's farm.

Monday Jan. 30, 1871
I drew one load of wood.

Tuesday Jan. 31, 1871
I helped Ben's brother Buck load a car.

COMMENTARY

At first glance, William Cross’s journal might seem like a monotonous record of daily tasks, but beneath its simplicity lies a compelling account of survival, resilience, and community on the 19th-century American frontier. His entries reveal the constant hardships of frontier life—harsh winter conditions, financial instability, and the relentless physical demands of manual labor—while also underscoring the significance of community bonds in an era lacking in social safety nets.

Within just his first month in town, William crosses the frozen Platte River alone at night, struggles to find steady employment (January 4), faces equipment failures (January 23), and contends with scarce timber supplies (January 9), all while losing valuable income due to uncooperative weather (January 11–12). Yet, amid these difficulties, his journal captures moments of camaraderie and social connection. He spends idle rainy days visiting friends, shares meals at the Gammon home, and escorts young women to Sunday meetings. These interactions highlight the tightly knit rural community where mutual support, shared labor, and companionship were essential for both survival and emotional well-being. His mention of “having a jovial time” despite backbreaking work (January 21) reflects the humor and resilience that defined life in small frontier settlements.

William’s journal begins on New Year’s Day, 1871. Having recently moved from eastern Iowa, he was staying with his friend Calvin Hubbell’s family in Oreapolis, Cass County, Nebraska, just across the Platte River from Iowa. The Hubbells, a large family led by Charles and Charity Hubbell, had nine children—eight sons and one daughter. What brough William to Nebraska and how he came to know Calvin and his family remains unclear. Given that the Hubbells had previously lived in Ohio, Michigan, Iowa, and Wisconsin, it’s possible William had crossed paths with them during his own travels in the preceding decade.

On that frigid first day of 1871, William accompanied the Hubbells across the frozen Platte to retrieve Calvin’s older brother, Luther, from neighboring Mills County, Iowa. Somehow, Luther became lost, forcing William and the Hubbles to stay the night in Iowa. Upon their return to Nebraska, William and Calvin spent their days doing farm chores, including cleaning out the well. By Wednesday, William, eager to secure work, borrowed Luther’s wagon and set out into town—only to return empty-handed. Expanding his search, he crossed the ice again on Thursday to speak with farmers Emmanuel Garrett and Joseph Shaw about employment. Staying past dinner, he made the hazardous journey back across the frozen river alone after dark. His persistence paid off, as the next day he was back in Iowa feeding his horses at Garrett’s and beginning work for Shaw.

At this time, Mills County’s economy revolved around the railroad, and Shaw had hired William to produce railroad ties—a fitting job for the son of a carpenter. From that point on, William spent nearly every day, weather permitting, chopping timber and crafting ties for Shaw and other local farmers. 

Throughout January, William’s journal notates his interactions with multiple community members, providing a window into the social fabric of 19th century Mills County. Some of these individuals include:

  • On Sunday, January 8, William joined Henry Burkett (29), William Sparkes (26), and Bill Haynie (20) in escorting three young women, the Garrett sisters, Louisa (18) and Sarah (14), and Ellen Rickenbaugh (18), to a morning meeting in the nearby community of Egypt. It’s unclear whether any of the group had an inkling that Ellen Rickenbaugh would eventually become Mrs. Bill Haynie. Henry Burkett was the only member of the group who was already married; his wife, Catherine, had remained home to care for their two young children, Ruth (1) and Elmer (2). Notably, young Elmer would eventually grow up to represent Nebraska for twelve years in the United States Congress and Senate.
  • Hugh Gammon – A well-established farmer with an estate worth over $18,000. His household included his wife, Sarah Jane (Haynie), and five children.

  • George Morrow – A farmer with a property valued at $4,000 and two children. He and his wife, Mary (Haynie) had two children. Mary Morrow and Sarah Jane Gammon were sisters.

  • Mr. Davis and his wife – Possibly either William & Mary or Edward & Sally. While both men were listed as farmers, neither owned land, suggesting they may have been tenant farmers.

  • D. Haynie – Likely Richard “Dick” Haynie, father of Bill Haynie and uncle to the Haynie sisters.

  • Oliver Moore – A small-scale farmer with a property valued at just $200. He and his wife, Sarah Jane, had no children.

  • The two Meadows – Charles Meadow may have been part of the extended Mills family of Oak Township or could have been Charles Davis. The other Meadows was likely a brother. 

  • P. Fletcher – Most likely Bardman Fletcher of neighboring Plattville Township. The initial "P" was likely a transcription error.

  • Jeff, "the black boy" – A 17-year-old farmhand who lived and worked on the Fletcher farm. He was one of only four Black residents recorded in Mills County in 1870.

  • Mr. Armsday – Possibly John Armstan of neighboring Glenwood Township. At 54 years old, it would be fitting for William to address him as "Mr."

  • Judge William – Questionably, William F. William, a young farmer. As there is no record of him serving as a judge, the title may have actually been a nickname.

  • Ben and Buck – Their identities remain unknown. There were multiple men named Ben in Mills County, but none have been confirmed to have a brother or son named Buck.

  • Dave Forsythe – Unidentified.

Stay tuned for further adventures of William Cross in upcoming posts...


Sunday, February 23, 2025

Introduction to A Frontier Journal

A few years ago, a distant cousin reached out to me with a surprising discovery: a transcript of a journal written in 1871 by William Allen Cross. William was the younger brother of my third‑great‑grandmother, Mary Ann (Cross) Kenison—whom I introduced to you a few weeks ago. You may recall that Mary Ann had journeyed west to Nebraska after divorcing a husband who’d been sent to prison for bigamy. Given that the journal was penned only two years after those dramatic events, you can imagine my anticipation for the family secrets it would most certainly reveal.

Although I knew very little about William, I was aware that he, too, ventured west—first to Nebraska and then on to California. I pictured all kinds of thrilling adventures: Was he with Mary Ann when she settled her homestead? Did he encounter bandits or face hostile Indians? Perhaps he even immersed himself in the rowdy life of gamblers, showgirls, and gunslingers at the local saloon. I eagerly awaited the journal’s arrival from Durango, Colorado. My cousin—a woman of a certain age—chose to send the package by snail mail rather than electronically. At one point, I even began to wonder if she had sent it by Wells Fargo Wagon as perhaps the pony express was down!

The journal finally arrived on October 21, 2020. I initially resisted the urge to open the envelope, knowing that once I began reading, I wouldn’t want to put it down. That night, with a cup of hot cocoa in hand, I settled in to join William on his long-ago adventure.

  • Sunday, January 1, 1871: “I went across the Platt to see Luther Hubbell. I went with Calvin and family. We crossed on the ice. Then I started to go to Calvin’s and Luther got lost, and I had to stay all night.”

            What exactly is “the Platt”? Who were Luther Hubbell and Calvin? Why did they have to                        cross a frozen river? And how did Luther manage to get lost? This was going to be good...

  • Monday, January 2, 1871: “We came back to Calvin’s. We came through Laramie.”

  • Tuesday, January 3, 1871: “Cal and I cleaned out his well. Drew it nearly dry.”

  • Wednesday, January 4, 1871: “I went to town with Luther Hubbell’s wagon, but couldn’t get nothing to do.”

            Ok, maybe I needed to skip ahead a little bit:

  • January 10: “Worked in the timber today…”

  • January 11: “How it rained this day…”

  • January 12: “I did not do anything this day…”

On January 18, he noted that he’d “gone to Egypt to get his horse shod”— seems like a long way to go to “shod a horse,” whatever that meant. On January 22, he stopped at Haynie’s post office, and on January 23, he noted that Bill Sparke’s wagon “broke the tongue out of it.” Not exactly bandits and gunslingers!

In all, the transcript comprises thirty typed pages detailing every mundane day of the first 114 days of 1871. This was certainly not the adventure I was expecting. However, while I won’t deny being a bit disappointed by the routine happenings my Great-uncle William had chosen to memorialize, as a lifelong historian I know that even the most seemingly benign records can hide precious pearls—if only we have the proper context.

At first glance, William’s journal may have seemed like little more than a list of trivial tidbits. Yet when paired with other available records, each entry reveals a genuine window into the past - a snapshot of frontier life where even the most routine activities played an important part in the overall adventure. In upcoming posts, I look forward to further introducing you to my third-great-granduncle, William Allen Cross, and sharing with you the compelling story of his life on the frontier in the Winter of 1871.


William Allen Cross


[David Randall < Mary Welch < Rex Welch < Lucinda Putman < Catherine Kennison < Mary Ann Cross and her brother William A. Cross]


Friday, January 31, 2025

Mary Ann Cross: A Life Defined by Challenges

Our family trees are full of ancestors who faced unfathomable challenges. My 3rd-great-grandmother, Mary Ann Cross is one such ancestor. The hardships she endured would have broken many, yet she pressed on, carving out a life of independence, resourcefulness, and resilience.

From Ohio Farm Girl to Iowa Pioneer

Born on May 21, 1838, on her family's farm in Pickaway County, Ohio, Mary Ann Cross spent her early years surrounded by the challenges of rural life. In 1843, when she was still a small child, her family embarked on a journey westward to Iowa City, a raw and untamed frontier settlement that had just been designated the capital of the Iowa Territory. By the time Iowa achieved statehood in 1846, the Cross family had pushed even further north to Jones County, where they continued their pioneer existence, forging a life in a land of both opportunity and hardship.

As the eldest of nine children, Mary Ann's childhood was defined by responsibility and labor. Growing up on the family farm, hard work was not just expected—it was essential. In addition to the daily demands of frontier life, she likely played a central role in helping her mother care for her younger siblings, balancing childcare with the endless household chores that were part of survival on the prairie.

Marriage, Motherhood, and Betrayal

In 1857, at just 19 years old, Mary Ann married Henry Kennison, an illiterate farmer with a modest personal estate of $140. Together, they had three daughters: Catherine, Marion, and Rose. Though life on the farm was challenging, they managed to get by. Then, in 1861, the Civil War called Mary Ann’s father to serve, leaving her to care for her mother, her younger siblings, and an aging grandmother. Meanwhile, Henry, who did not serve, struggled to provide stability for his growing family.

In 1869, Mary Ann’s world was upended. Although the exact circumstances remain unclear, Henry was sent to prison for bigamy, a shocking betrayal that left her with little choice but to file for divorce—an act heavily stigmatized at the time. With her husband gone and his financial support presumably lost, Mary Ann was forced to place her daughters in the Veteran’s Orphans Home in Glenwood, Iowa. Now a divorced, single mother in a time when few options existed for women on their own, she faced an uncertain and daunting future.

A New Start in Nebraska

Knowing that she needed to start fresh, Mary Ann took the bold step of moving west to Seward County, Nebraska, where land was still available under the Homestead Act. On April 29, 1870, she married Lorenzo Dow Breakman, a Civil War veteran, and together they established a home on 160 acres of homesteaded land.

In 1877, the couple suffered a heartbreaking loss when their only child, John Leslie, died at just nine months old. Still, Mary Ann persevered, helping to raise Lorenzo’s two sons from his first marriage while working tirelessly to build their life in Nebraska.

Caretaker, Matriarch, and Independent Woman

By 1900, Mary Ann had once again taken on the role of caretaker—this time for both her now-disabled husband and her 84-year-old widowed mother. Lorenzo was receiving a small pension due to his failing health, but it was Mary Ann who kept the household running.

After Lorenzo passed away, Mary Ann reclaimed her independence. By 1910, she was living alone at 133 Elm Street, a home she owned free of mortgage—a remarkable achievement for a woman of her time. She had not only survived but had managed to accumulate real estate and financial security.

Love and Loss in Later Years

At the age of 75, Mary Ann wed for the third time, marrying George C. Lothrop in 1913. That year, she owned two homes valued at $7,500, along with additional personal assets. She was no longer the struggling young mother who had once been abandoned by a husband in prison—she was now a woman of means.

However, the years eventually did catch up with her. In her final years, Mary Ann became an invalid, spending the last six months of her life confined to bed. She passed away on July 17, 1921, at the age of 83, with the official cause of death listed simply as “old age.” She was buried beside her second husband, Lorenzo, and their infant son in Nebraska.

Mary Ann (Cross) Kenison Brakeman Lothrop 

Mary Ann Cross’s life was shaped by hardship, yet she met every challenge with determination and resilience. She endured betrayal, divorce, financial struggles, the loss of a child, and the responsibilities of caring for multiple generations of family members. Yet, through it all, she emerged as an independent woman who lived life on her own terms.

Her story is one of strength, survival, and reinvention, and as I continue to uncover more about her remarkable life, I am reminded that we are all shaped by the struggles and triumphs of those who came before us.

[David Randall < Mary Welch < Rex Welch < Lucinda Putman < Catherine Kennison < 
Mary Ann Cross]

Thursday, January 16, 2025

What's in a (Nick) Name?

When I first saw this month’s topic, "Nicknames," I thought I might have to sit this one out. I’ve never had a nickname. My siblings never had nicknames. My parents never had nicknames. Even as I expanded my search to aunts, uncles, cousins, and beyond, I still came up empty-handed. It seemed like nicknames just weren’t a thing in my family. But, as it turns out, there’s one major exception to that rule.

My mother’s father was one of eight children—six older brothers and one younger sister. And for some reason, most of them answered to names entirely different from the ones they were given. For instance, take my grandfather, who we called Papa. He was born Jack Maddox Meyers, but somewhere along the line he decided to call himself “Jack Patrick”, believing it sounded more Irish—a curious choice given that he was of mostly German descent.

Two of his brothers passed away before I was old enough to remember them, but the others all had nicknames that stuck out like sore thumbs. Paul Roy? We called him “Uncle Buster”. Glen Edward was known as “Curly” – although by the time I knew him he was completely bald! Robert Thomas went by “Ellsworth,” a name whose origin remains an enigma to me. Henry was known as “Wes”. And then there was their little sis, Marie B. Meyers, who somehow came to be known as “Jean T.” I’m not even sure where to begin unraveling that mystery.


This is an image of Alice Meyers and five of her children, taken about 1927 in Falls City, Nebraska. That's Papa in the front, next to his sister Marie (later Jean). I'm not sure which of his six brothers the other boys are. 

[David M. Randall < Mary C. Welch < Leona C. Johnson m. Jack P. Meyers]


Great-Grandma Alter's Secret: She wasn't an orphan.

My great-grandmother, Helene (Herline) Alter , claimed to be an orphan—but that wasn't exactly true! Helene was born in 1886 in Hoboken...