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Recipe of the Week: Imperial Sunshine Cake

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the recipes of Mary Wold, Issaquah resident. Mary Wold had an exciting life, working as a teacher and as a nurse most notably for the Red Cross in WWI in Siberia. Later, she and her sister Sena lived out the rest of their lives in Issaquah.

In honor of today’s sunshine, I figured this recipe called “Imperial Sunshine Cake” was a good choice. Hopefully it will entice the sunshine to stay out a little bit longer here in Issaquah despite the weather report saying otherwise.

This cake doesn’t have an author but it is handwritten. It may be a later recipe than some of the others because the instructions actually call out a temperature for the oven to be preheated to. There are other recipes out there for this type of cake – there are also recipes for “Sunshine Cake” and “Imperial Cake.”

The sunshine part seems to refer in other recipes to the call for some sort of citrus flavoring. In this recipe it just calls for “flavoring” and while you could use anything, I would recommend a citrus flavor. The 6 eggs in the recipe must make it quite yellow and would tie nicely with the citrus flavor.

The other recipes that are just “Imperial Cake” seem to be from Imperial margarine. As this recipe doesn’t call for any sort or oil, butter, or margarine, I can’t imagine that’s where it came from. I have found a number of other recipes for “Imperial Sunshine Cake” and none of them have anything to do with Imperial margarine.

The cake sounds perfect for a sunny afternoon. It’s a very light cake with only a glaze and not a heavy frosting. I imagine sitting outside in the sunshine having a slice with a glass of iced tea. Is it summer yet?

Imperial Sunshine Cake

1 ½ cups sugar
½ cup water
Boil til it threads

6 eggs beaten separately
1 cup flour
½ tsp cream of tartar
1 tsp flavoring

Method
Beat whites stiffly, slowly pour the syrup over them beating all the while and until cool. Add well beaten yolks. Fold in the flour which has been sifted with cream of tartar. Bake – Cold oven 325° 1 hour.

 

Recipe of the Week: Mother’s Doughnuts

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the recipes of Mary Wold, Issaquah resident. Mary Wold had an exciting life, working as a teacher and as a nurse most notably for the Red Cross in WWI in Siberia. Later, she and her sister Sena lived out the rest of their lives in Issaquah.

As I sit here eating my store bought doughnut, I can’t help but think this recipe is the most appropriate for the week. Reading through these recipes and trying to decipher some of them makes me wish I wasn’t in the middle of a huge kitchen remodel project in my home. I wish I could taste test some of these recipes before posting about them on here, but I just have to settle for eating their store bought alternative while I compose a list of all the recipes I’ll try out when my new and improved kitchen is finally installed.

The title of this recipe, “Mother’s Doughnuts” is kind of ambiguous. Our good friend Harriet Fish labeled it as Henrietta Wold’s recipe. Henrietta was indeed Mary Wold’s mother, but I’m not inclined to believe this is her recipe. My main indication is that typewritten at the bottom of the recipe is the name “Colleen.” It’s unfortunate that we don’t have a last name or anything else to help us decipher who Colleen may have been but through research I have an idea.

A good majority of Mary’s recipes come from her friends and women her age. I looked at every Colleen that we had in our Family Tree database and found only one that was in Mary’s generation: Colleen Neukirchen Orchard. While this isn’t a perfect match, I did find that this Colleen attended nursing school in Seattle in 1911. We know that Mary Wold was in nursing school in 1914. Again, this doesn’t fully indicate that Colleen Neukirchen Orchard is the Colleen from the recipe but it’s as close as we may get.

If the recipe did indeed come from Colleen Neukirchen Orchard then we have two options as to who “mother” is. Colleen’s mother was Selina Neukirchen (we do not know her maiden name) who was born in France. She died when Colleen was 7 years old. Colleen’s father, John Neukirchen, didn’t remarry until 1909. I’m not certain that at age 18 Colleen would have considered her father’s new wife as “mother.” Anyways, I really can’t be certain about any of this but I think it’s as close as I can get.

If “mother” is indeed Mary’s mom (and Colleen is just a random typo…unlikely) then it would be Henrietta Walters Wold. We know that by the time Mary was 14 years old Henrietta was living in Steilacoom, WA at Western Washington State Hospital for the Insane. We don’t know what Henrietta’s condition was but she was in Steilacoom in the 1900, 1910 and 1920 censuses. By 1930 she was back home living with Mary and Sena in their home. She died in 1938. This is all interesting, but it doesn’t help us determine authorship of the recipe.

Anyways, now onto the important business – actually making the doughnuts. One ingredient stands out – “sweet milk.” Sweet milk is just fresh milk, generally whole (not non-fat.) When milk went sour in the “old days” people used it in baking, so they would distinguish fresh milk from sour milk by calling it sweet milk.

Like many of the other recipes in Mary’s collection, the instructions are lacking and all there is are ingredients. But as Harriet Fish said in her article about Mary Wold: “Mother’s Doughnuts gives ingredients but no directions…I’m sure [they] needed no directions. You fry them, of course!”

Mother’s Doughnuts

1 cup sugar
4 small tblsp. melted butter
2 eggs
1 cup sweet milk
2 teasp. Baking Powder
Pinch of salt
Nutmeg to flavor

(Note: the handwritten information was added by Harriet Fish and is NOT part of the original document. Only the typewritten information is original.)

Recipe of the Week: Mince Meat

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the recipes of Mary Wold, Issaquah resident. Mary Wold had an exciting life, working as a teacher and as a nurse most notably for the Red Cross in WWI in Siberia. Later, she and her sister Sena lived out the rest of their lives in Issaquah.

I have never actually had mincemeat and never really knew what it was all about until I saw this recipe. I’m curious to try it, if only because it’s so different than anything else I’ve ever eaten. This probably won’t be the first recipe that I try from Mary Wold’s collection, but it is worth sharing.

It is a traditional mincemeat recipe, with beef and suet. I’m not sure how readily available all the ingredients are – like suet and citron. But I imagine with a little research and maybe some substitutions, the recipe can be brought into the 21st century without sacrificing the original intent.

As with the other recipes there are some assumptions in this one. It calls for a dishpan of apples – how big is a dishpan? It also calls for jam and jelly or preserves. To me, jelly and preserves do not seem interchangeable. And as with “fruit juice” – what fruit are we talking about? Considering this and other recipes for mincemeat, I’d err on the side of apple or some sort of citrus.

There isn’t a clear author on this recipe – Harriet Fish labeled it Wold but we’ve found that her indications were not always correct. I imagine that the recipe had been passed down through the years considering more modern recipes don’t actually contain any meat. This recipe is actually very similar to a 19th century recipe I found online – which would be right in line with some of the dates of the other recipes in the collection.

Mince Meat (Open Kettle)

1 dish pan apples (before quartered or peeled)
1 qt. of jam
1 pint of jelly or preserves
5 lbs. lean beef
2 lbs. suet
1 qt. fruit juice
2 1/2 lbs. brown sugar
2 to 3 lbs. raisins or currants
1/2 to 3/4 lbs. citron
spice to taste (nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and cloves.)

Boil beef until tender, then grind thru food chopper with uncooked suet, apples and citron. Mix jam, jell, spices and all other ingredients together with a little of beef broth and boil, stirring often as it burns and sticks very easily.

It is done when apples are soft – I usually cook it down until it is the consistency of apple sauce.

Seal hot.

Recipe of the Week: Aunt Lucy’s Brown Bread

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the recipes of Mary Wold, Issaquah resident. Mary Wold had an exciting life, working as a teacher and as a nurse most notably for the Red Cross in WWI in Siberia. Later, she and her sister Sena lived out the rest of their lives in Issaquah.

I chose this recipe for Brown Bread as the week’s recipe mostly because I love brown bread. The only kind, though, I’ve ever had is from the can – where it comes out in can form and you slice it however thick you want it (kind of like cranberry sauce.) It was a special treat growing up and I’m curious how this recipe compares to the can version. I’d like to make it and see if it’s as dense and I’m sure I could actually bake it in a can to get that same effect.

The author of this recipe was identified by Harriet Fish as Lucy Ballinger (although Harriet has written on the card “Leha” Ballinger.) Mary Wold didn’t have an actual Aunt Lucy but Lucy Ballinger was living in the Newcastle/Squak area in 1900 (she was 65 at the time) and then later in Seattle. Perhaps Lucy was the type of woman who was an “Aunt” to everybody.

There are some things I love about this recipe. As do most of the recipes in Mary’s collection, they assume that the reader knows how to bake. There are no exact measurements for temperature or length of time. People knew that ovens varied and could adjust accordingly. I also love, after hearing so often, that baking is “an exact science” just how inexact the recipes are. A handful of this, 2 or 3 tablespoons of that, and a different measurement for teaspoon (one regular and one “large”.) I also love that the dough should be thickened “tolerably” with graham flour. I suppose I won’t know what that means until I make it!

Aunt Lucy’s Brown Bread

1 pint sour milk
1 handful cornmeal
2 or 3 tblsp. white flour
1/2 cup cooking molasses
4 tblsp. melted butter
1 teasp. salt
1  ”   (large) soda

Thicken tolerably with graham flour.
Bake in a moderate oven. Grease and dust pan with flour.

Recipe of the Week: Most of the Garden

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the recipes of Mary Wold, Issaquah resident. Mary Wold had an exciting life, working as a teacher and as a nurse most notably for the Red Cross in WWI in Siberia. Later, she and her sister Sena lived out the rest of their lives in Issaquah.

Food is always a subject that peaks interest. What we eat and how we prepare it changes so quickly – think of what you grew up eating, is it something you still prepare? I’m currently sorting out and digitizing some recipes that have been in our collection for awhile. The ones I’ve first started on are from a box of recipes from Mary Wold that came into the possession of Harriet Fish.

We have an article written by Harriet Fish to go along with the recipes – the article describes what she first found when she opened the box. Unfortunately, what we have now doesn’t match Harriet’s article – not completely anyways. Recipes are missing and Harriet seems to have added her own. Luckily, we have determined which are the originals to the box and which are the extras added at a later date.

But the recipes that are missing are the ones that intrigue me the most. They are mostly main dishes and include such titles at “Codfish a la Mode” and “Welsh Rarebit.” But there are some good ones that remain. I’d like to begin a series of posts containing a recipe and the women behind them as each recipe generally has an old Issaquah name attached to it.

The first recipe is called “Most of the Garden.” The recipe is handwritten on a piece of paper and slowly wearing thin. I chose it as the first recipe because of its fragility (I wanted to digitize it right away) and because it sounds delicious. It’s a sort of relish and indeed uses “most of the garden.” There is no attribution on the recipe and Harriet doesn’t say in her article if she knows who wrote it. Nevertheless, I hope to try the recipe myself one of these days.

Most of the Garden

1 c sweet peppers (half green and half red)
1 c cucumbers
1 c onions
2 small hot red peppers
1 c chopped celery
2 c green tomatoes
2 T white mustard seed
1 qt. string beans
1 c dry kidney beans
1 c dry lima beans
1 c carrots

Put all but beans through medium food grinder.
Dissolve ½ cup salt in 1 qt. water and pour over this ground mixture – not the beans.
Let stand over nite and drain.
Soak kidney and lima beans a few hours then cook until done. Cook the string beans.
Make a syrup of 2 c sugar and 2 c vinegar.
Combine all ingredients and cook 10 min after it begins to boil.
Seal boiling hot.
Delicious relish.

     

The Importance of Being Meticulous

In this blog post are scans from Ruth Johns Anderson’s personal photo album. They are currently being cataloged into our database and perfectly illustrate how taking the time to label your photographs now can make a difference in years to come.
The most frustrating thing for me is when am faced with a photograph with no indication of those four important things: who, what, when and where. It’s usually a wonderful photograph, in-focus with an interesting subject, stacked right in the middle of a bunch of other photographs that have been overly labeled. More interesting than trying to figure out the provenance of the picture is why someone took the time to label all the others and not this one. Where did it come from and why is it here?

Here at the museum, we often run into this problem – a photo that isn’t labeled or is mislabeled. Between all of us, and sometimes the help of members, we are able to identify people fairly easily. But there are those pictures we can’t identify – and we may never be able to.

The most important factor in labeling a picture is just putting a name down. First and last names if you know them. Any other information will be well appreciated. I determined everyone in a personal family album because I knew the original owner of the album and could therefore figure out who she meant by “Aunt and Uncle” and “Cousin.” And don’t forget to label yourself! These photos will not always be in your possession.

Try and take the time now to fill in the other “W”s: What is going on in the picture? When was it taken? Where is the place in the picture? I can assure you this information will be well appreciated in the future.

Digital photos pose a bit more of a conundrum – it’s not as easy as taking a Sharpie to the back of the picture. Thankfully, there are easy options:

1. Windows actually has a built in system for labeling your photos. Your digital camera should automatically embed the date taken into the picture but once you have uploaded your photos onto your computer you can then begin to add details. In Windows 7 it’s as easy as single-clicking on the picture – this will bring up a bar in the bottom of your window where you can then begin to add details such as “Date taken”, “Title”, “Tags”, and even “Rating”. The information you enter then becomes embedded into your picture file.

In previous versions of Windows it’s as easy as right-clicking on the picture and selecting “Properties.” In there you’ll find fields to enter in information.

2. Windows also provides Windows Media Center as a program to organize and detail your photos. There are also programs available for download on the internet. Here is a site that provides some options with a summary of each: http://graphicssoft.about.com/od/imagemanagementwin/tp/thumbbrowse.htm

I am not an Apple user but I imagine there are similar options available.

3. There are many photo sharing sites available online. I feel like this is a fine option for now – but I’m not sure how far in the future these programs will be available. But at least it’s another way to store your photos.

Honestly, I feel a little shaky on the stability of digital photos. I’m not a doomsday type of person at all, but I wonder what would happen if all the technology we currently use just went away. If you’re as anxious as I am about this, your best option (although most time consuming) would be to have all the pictures you couldn’t bear to lose professionally printed. Then you could easily label the back of those and keep them safe.

The other side of that is to digitize your heirloom photographs. In the case of a non-doomsday scenario, your best bet is to have a CD of digital copies of all your photographs (old and new) and to keep them in a waterproof, fireproof safe in your home.
I would go so far as to recommend you do all of the above for photographs that you really care about. This way you ensure that your photos will remain safe. Just make sure they’re labeled!
If you’d like more information on this topic as well as how to properly care for your family heirlooms, Issaquah History Museums will be offering a program on “Preserving Family Photos and Heirlooms” on Saturday, January 15, 2011 at 11am. The program is FREE to the general public. Please visit https://issaquahhistory.org/ and click on the link at the top of the page for more information.
Pen and ink

So Ya Wanna Do Some Research?

In this day of internet access to a huge variety of information, it is tempting to think that we can find out everything we ever want to know online. And it is true that, between government record sites, library information sites, electronic newspaper archives and for-profit research sites such as Ancestry.com, we can learn more in an evening in front of our computer screens than we used to be able to dig out in a week of traveling to assorted repositories and hoping that we asked for the right materials. (Trust me on this–I remember when the old-fashioned way of doing the research was the only way.)

For serious researchers, the new tools are wonderful, but they do not completely replace the older methods. Nor is it likely that they will do so any time soon. There is so much information available that complete digitzation of research notes, books, and other resources can only be a very long term goal. This is why the Issaquah History Museums maintains, and continue to add to, the David J. Horrocks Memorial Research Center.

Named for the late David Horrocks, whose personal research files included thousands of carefully labeled photographs taken throughout Issaquah’s civic history, the Research Center is located in the historic Gilman Town Hall, with our offices. The space is small, but the information holdings are rich. Along with Mr. Horrocks’ visual records of the area, there are books of Issaquah History, as well as more general works about Washington History, mining history, lumbering, agriculture, and social history. Some of the volumes of biographies were contemporary when they were published–a century or so ago. There are indicies and collections of local obituaries from the twentieth century. Genealogists can find many leads in the vertical files organized by family. Many years of the Issaquah Press are available on microfilm, and we maintain the machine to view the microfilms. We have paper copies of other local publications from Issaquah, as well as many of the Issaquah High School yearbooks and even a few of the Junior High’s “Lightnin’.” There are information sheets from surveys of residential properties, copies of official town records and building permits, and keys for tracking through Issaquah’s several rounds of changing street names.

A couple of years ago, we completed a major reorganization of the clipping files that had been accumulating for over twenty years. We sorted all of the old loose files by subject, consolidating and eliminating redundancies, and built new topical notebooks. We then indexed the topics and entered the information into our collections management software so that these materials are just as readily findable as are our books and official records. The notebook format allows us to continue to add new articles and write-ups while maintaining order and accessibility. Topics include a wide variety of the happenings in Issaquah over the years, from mayors to parks to pageants and celebrations to businesses. The sixty-two notebooks filled thus far hold a wealth of information.

When we combine the Research Center materials with our other archival holdings, which include thousands of photographs and hundreds of maps, a uniquely comprehensive view of Issaquah and its environs and inhabitants over the last century and a half emerges. This is the kind of research result that is aided by the wonderful indexing and tracking capabilites of the computer but that still can only be put together in person.

If you have research questions about the history of Issaquah and the people who have lived here, you are welcome to come into the Gilman Town Hall during our open hours, 11:00 to 3:00, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You can also email (collections@issaquahhistory.org) or call ahead (425-392-3500) to check on whether your topic is covered in our holdings or to make an appointment for an alternative time if you are unable to come in during the open hours.

Rod Meets “Boody” Gilbertson

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the letters of Rodney and Vernon Anderson, Issaquah residents. Rod and Vern both served in the Army in the 1940s, and they wrote home to their mother regularly. This post is part of a series of posts about their lives and letters.

In what is a recurring theme across WWII veterans, Rod Anderson got the opportunity to see and do a lot of things he might not have had he remained in Issaquah. My first insight into this came while reading Rod’s April 28, 1944 letter. At this point in time he had left Drake University after the Army cancelled his Air Force training and was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood, MO.

His letter begins with “Had a bad day today…” and goes on to tell his mother about spending the day in the rain. Rod consistently wrote the date and place at the top right of his letters and this one tells us he was stationed in a “Pup Tent, Bivouac Area, By Candlelight.” The troops were roughing it and subsequent letters tell me they were helping with a flood area.

But despite this Rod had good news. He writes:

“Met a kid from Everett today. He’s in my company. He used to play basketball at the W. Names “Boody” Gilbertson, anyone that has followed the W teams would know of him, I did. He was at Sheppard Field the same time that I was, I heard that he was there but didn’t get to see him before he shipped to college.”

This piqued my curiosity and I was excited to learn that Merlin “Boody” Gilbertson was indeed a sort of local celebrity. He was enlisted in the Army National Guard September 16, 1940 with only 2 years of high school under his belt and served four years. His basketball history began on Everett High’s basketball team and with him they easily claimed the state championship during his 1939-40 year. The timing is fuzzy in my research but Boody did play basketball at the University of Washington (either before the war, after or both) and played 2 seasons of pro basketball – one for the Seattle Athletics and the second for the Sheboygan Redskins.

Here is a great Seattle PI article profiling Gilbertson.

Here is the copy of Rod’s letter with his brief description of meeting “Boody” Gilbertson:

The Anderson Brothers’ Service to their Country

A generous grant from 4Culture is currently funding the digitization and cataloging of several archival collections, include the letters of Rodney and Vernon Anderson, Issaquah residents. Rod and Vern both served in the Army in the 1940s, and they wrote home to their mother regularly. This post is part of a series of posts about their lives and letters.

Recently, a very generous donation was made by Rodney Anderson’s daughter. Included in the donation of pictures and documents was a set of letters written during wartime from Rodney and Vern Anderson. The first batch of letters, beginning in 1944, were written by Rod Anderson to his mother, grandfather, and brother. The second batch of letters are written by Vern “Babe” Anderson, Rod’s younger brother, and were mostly written post-WWII. We are only beginning the process of cataloging these letters into our collection and hope to have more posts regarding their content. For now, here is a brief biography into these two brothers’ service to their country.


Rod Anderson (pictured at right) entered the Army in August 1943, 5 months after he turned 18. He only completed 3 years of high school. He started out in the infantry but ended up taking tests to enter into the Air Corps. He made it in and began his training and education. Soon after the Battle of the Bulge the United States began pulling men from different areas to go back into infantry. Rod was removed from his Air Corps training and was sent overseas. He spent time in Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Germany before the war ended. He was then sent back to the United States and then to Japan after their surrender. He returned home in March – just as his brother Vern was entering the Navy.

Vern Anderson (pictured at left) was drafted in March 1946 for WWII only 3 months after his 18 birthday. He was drafted again in March 1951 – almost exactly 5 years later – for the Korean war. Here are some excerpts of his oral history in 2008 detailing his time spent in service.

VERN ANDERSON: Well, I … originally, I got drafted in 1946, in March. I ended up in the Navy. I went to boot camp in San Diego, and then they sent me back to Great Lakes Naval Training Center in Waukegan [Illinois].

I spent all summer there going to a service school, which was just right down my alley because it was all about boilers. And hell, I’d been running boilers, you know. [chuckles] I knew all about that stuff.

Then I got discharged because they didn’t want us anymore. I’d only been in there eight months. So I came home. Then in March of 1951, I got drafted again, about five years after. In the same month. Practically the same week. And this time, I ended up in the Army.

I was over at Fort Lewis; and a bunch of the guys in Issaquah had been in the reserves, and they were running a reception center. And one of these guys said, “Hey, where do you want to go?”

I said, “I don’t know. What have you got in the lineup?”

“Well, you can go to Fort Lawton or you can go to Aberdeen Proving Grounds.”

“Oh heck, I think I’ll go to Fort Lawton,” I said. So I went out there.

We went through training there, and there was a port company – unloading ships – and they needed a bunch of guys up in Whittier, Alaska, which is an Army port. So they sent us up there. And because I had been in the service before, they could send me alone. Because you had to have six months in the Army before they could ship you overseas. I’d already had that before.

So we went up there, and we stayed there till right up until the first of December, then we got back here. Then they gave us a month off, you know, a month off here anyway.

When we got back right after New Year’s, they called six of us guys’ names out and they said, “You’re going down to the port of embarkation.”

We didn’t know what the hell we were going to do. We went down there to [unknown] and they made military policemen out of us. It was supposed to have been temporary. And it was such a good deal. Hell, I just fell right into that job. [chuckles] So actually, I spent the rest of my time right there.

MARIA MCLEOD: What was your job?

VERN ANDERSON: I was a military policeman on the main gate. That’s where all the troops went and left Seattle, and then also when they came back.

[…]

MARIA MCLEOD: So when you say it was the “best deal,” when you worked the gate, what did you mean?

VERN ANDERSON: Well, I had an off-duty pass. All I had to do was show up for work down there. I could do what I wanted after. Then, later on, I even got a pass for living at home. They paid you. Then I had to pay for my meals was the only difference.

MARIA MCLEOD: Do you remember how much you got paid doing that job?

VERN ANDERSON: You want to see the actual figures? I’ll show you. Didn’t get a hell of a lot.

MARIA MCLEOD: So you just [found] your tax withholding statement, your W-2 form, from the U.S. Army, and that says that the finance officer, C.F. May, Lt. Col. F.C., Fort Lawton, sent this to you –– and it says that total wages before deductions payroll in 1952 was $1,429.45, and Federal income tax withheld $151.60. So this was for a full-time job. Did you hold it a whole year?

VERN ANDERSON: Yeah. Look what they get now! You can’t believe it. I was getting – because I’d been in before – I was getting a little extra money. Then, also, I was a PFC, because I’d been in before, and got a little extra money for that.

MARIA MCLEOD: Private first class.

VERN ANDERSON: Then a little later on, I got to be a corporal. That upped it a little bit, not a whole lot.

MARIA MCLEOD: So does your job change at all when your status changed? Private first class, corporal …

VERN ANDERSON: No, I did the same thing. Actually, there was supposed to be sergeants on that job but they had put a freeze on – they couldn’t promote anybody for, I don’t know, about a year there or something, or six months.

We were only supposed to be in the Army for twenty-one months. That’s what the deal was. Then they upped it to twenty-four months.

MARIA MCLEOD: So when you worked the gate, did you have weapons on you?

VERN ANDERSON: Oh, yeah. A .45 pistol. I had that Sam Brown belt and all that. Then, when they had the ships come in, you had to put on a fancy outfit – a white kind of a deal, a neckerchief-type deal. Then you had a white rope on one arm. Then you had white leggings. Then you had the hat – they used the helmet liner, actually, was what they were. They were painted fancy. I think it was a white and gold kind of a deal like that.

[…]

MARIA MCLEOD: When you were at that gate, what were you supposed to be watching for, or protecting against?

VERN ANDERSON: Well, we had to let the people go in the cars. That was one job we had. We used to take turns going to do back and forth. Then we to check everybody who came in and out.

MARIA MCLEOD: Did you have to keep a roster of their names?

VERN ANDERSON: No. They always had to have an I.D., or we wouldn’t let them in. They weren’t supposed to be bringing alcohol in, and all that kind of stuff, you know.

MARIA MCLEOD: Did you have to search for alcohol ever, or confiscate alcohol?

VERN ANDERSON: Oh, yeah. We’d take it off of them. They weren’t supposed to take cigarettes neither, you know, from the ship’s store. Golly, they were 20 cents a pack, or a carton, I don’t remember what it was. We used to take it away from them.

I remember that one day, it was on a Sunday, and this black fellow came walking along there. He had a whole carton stuck in his back pocket.

I seen it, you know, and I reached out like that, I hit him in the back. I said, “What the devil do you got in there? Come in here!”

He had steaks wrapped around his body. Tied up in there, you know. Taking them home, see.

So I had to do something then. I couldn’t let him go. So we had to call the officer of the day, and I don’t know what they did. They didn’t do nothing to him. In about two weeks, I seen him back working.

MARIA MCLEOD: Was he stealing steaks? From where?

VERN ANDERSON: Yeah, out of the mess hall, out of the ship. He was one of the cooks that was working in the mess hall.

MARIA MCLEOD: Oh, and he was going to take some home. I guess some people must have gotten mad at you for taking their alcohol and their cigarettes.

VERN ANDERSON: No, they didn’t seem to be. They knew they were wrong. What were they going to do about it? If you got a job to do, you do it.

To read Vernon “Babe” Anderson’s full oral history, follow this link.

Mary Colton Lucas, Squak Valley Teacher

The spring newsletter, on its way to your email or mail box as I type, features a truncated version of the following oral history interview with Mary Colton Lucas (1898-1982). The full interview appears below. If you’d like to join a discussion about Lucas’s experience in early Issaquah, visit our Facebook page.
 


(IHM 94.41.1)William E. Colton, right, with unidenitifed worker at the Neukirchen Mill, circa 1912.

 

[Accession # 88.1.7B]
UNKNOWN INTERVIEWER:  This is Mary Colton Lucas and the date is September 14, 1973.  Mrs. Lucas was a teacher in the Upper Squak School  She will be telling of her experiences as a teacher there.  for the year 1917 to 1918.
MARY COLTON LUCAS:  … the way I wrote it down.  And I took it, and she wanted to, you know, glean a lot out of it and so on.  And she changed her mind and forgot it for a time.  But I don’t want to forget it, I want to keep something of it, you know, this whole class.  And she’s a lovely teacher, a wonderful person.  It’s really inspiring.
You want me to just start now?
UNK:  Yes, go ahead. 

 

ML:  [Reading onto the tape]

If you should drive out of Issaquah southward on Front Street Road, keeping left, you will come, in something like three miles, to an attractive building, which houses a real estate office.  Across the road stands a fine group of tall cedar trees, symmetrical as though just [pulled?]
You can’t see it from the road, but there is a very large pond beside the cedars.  Across the pond is a modern, red, rambling house, a rustic patio extending its length towards the woods behind it.  With the red house reflecting in a little lake, you might be quite taken with the beauty of the scene and wish you had brought your camera.
If the lady who lives there should be about, she could tell you that this home of hers was built around an old one-room schoolhouse.  She might also tell you that there had been, about 50 years ago, a mill and logging camp just about a quarter of a mile down the side road, where several families had lived.  These children, as well as those of the farmers in the surrounding areas, attended the school.  In the fall of 1917, I was the new teacher of that school.  And my brother, 14 years my senior, was part-owner and superintendent of the logging camp. 

Proudly, on the day before Labor Day, I left my home in Snohomish in possession of a teacher certificate from the Bellingham Normal, now the Western Washington State College.  I boarded the old Northern Pacific train and got off at Woodinville, expecting to transfer to a small local line running from there to Issaquah. 
You want to shut …?  Too much?
UNK:  No, go ahead.
ML:  My brother had neglected to tell me that the local train didn’t run on Sunday, so I was in a quandary as to what to do.  Then, I remembered a family who had moved from Snohomish to Woodinville.  After inquiring where to find them, and walking down a rocky road about a mile, I came to a brickyard, in which the Shaws operated, and where they had their home.  They greeted me warmly, and after I had told them of my predicament, I was invited to spend the night with them.
The next morning, I walked back to the little depot and soon was aboard the local.  It was a rickety little passenger car at the end of a logging train.  We wobbled along between tall virgin fir trees, and eventually arrived at Issaquah.
I was shocked at the primitive look of the town.  My brother Will met me with his friend, Leo Gleason, who was on the local school board.  They had planned that I should stay in the old Gleason family home and board with his brother’s family, who lived just across the creek.  I was not happily impressed with this arrangement. 
We drove out to the place and all entered the house.  I found that Mr. Gleason’s old father occupied a room on the first floor, and that a room upstairs had been prepared for me.  It was neat and clean but there was no evidence of any bathroom in the house.  It didn’t seem that I could possibly spend a winter in this empty, cobwebby house.  It was spooky.
We went across the creek to where we were given coffee and cake, and this house wasn’t too bad but very small.  They seemed friendly, and the children, three little ones, were quite awed at meeting the teacher.
So, the long-awaited day arrived.  The two little Gleason boys and I walked a mile through the woods to the little unpainted school.  Now, I was facing the first real challenge of my 19 years, I realized as I unlocked the door for the first time.  Opening the door, I was greeted by that old schoolroom odor.  There were the various-sized desks, grubby and carved with the initials of long-vanished pupils.  The only partially clean window through which the morning rays of the sun slanted … gave evidence … no, I can’t say [tape recorder turned off]
… of the great trees that were on the floor and I can’t read it.
UNK:  Oh, the shadows came through the window.
ML:  Yes. 
It was strangely quiet until the door burst open and in pushed a half-dozen children of different sizes and types, all rather poorly clad but healthy-looking.  The scrambled for the seats they each thought best, and settled down to stare at me.
Now, the mothers of the beginners were coming in, and I was busy greeting them and trying to look delighted, although this made the proportion of little tots in the total count of only about 16 pupils in all.  How could I find time to break six tiny humans into the mysteries of the four R’s when there sat 10 larger ones scattered over the other seven grades?  No two seemed to register [for the same?]
I couldn’t help noticing one in particular who was bobbing around, grinning and making silly faces at the other boys, and poking at them with a ruler.  I had a foreboding that this boy was going to be a real problem.  His name was Boyd Greenfield. 
Now, maybe …
I finally – I’m giving the real names – I finally got all their names and their probable grades down; and after we had sung a few songs known to most of them, dismissed them for the day.  I had plenty to do, [inaudible] making up a chart to accommodate all the subjects and still take care of the starters was too much for me this first day.  I home and went back to my bleak room and cried.
UNK:  What kind of songs did you sing?  Can you remember?
ML:  Oh, My Country ‘Tis of Thee and …
UNK:  Yes, patriotic songs?
ML:  Yeah, and I taught them songs, too, you know.  Like [singing] “Good morning, merry sunshine, how did you wake so soon?”  Some of those.
UNK:  Uh-huh. 
ML:  And, oh, about a rabbit and different things.  I had trained for the lower grades, see, and I didn’t expect to be –
UNK:  Upper grades, yes.
ML:  1917 was the first year of our involvement in World War I.  Almost every girl of my age had a boyfriend who was either in the service or just about to join.
I also had one [inaudible].  [laughing]  Mine was a very handsome lad who had attended Snohomish High with me, and lived on a farm about five miles from the school.  I thought that he was the great love of my life, so was very upset when he joined the Air Force. 
One Thursday afternoon, I received a phone call from Seattle.  Harold’s sister.  His name was Harold, too [laughing] and this one was named Harold.
UNK:  Oh, how interesting!  You had Harolds in your life, huh?  [laughter]

ML:  Yes, I had Harolds in my life.  Harold’s sister was calling me, telling me that he was to be sent to training camp in Texas, then to France.  She invited me to stay overnight with her, as he was leaving next morning and would be able to spend some time with me that evening.

Wanting to be by ourselves, Harold and I sat for hours and shivered in the cold November night on the steps of an old, deserted building at 5th and Madison.  He had to return to Fort Lawton by midnight, and we tearfully parted, engaged, at his sister’s door.
The school work proved to be as difficult as I had surmised.  It seemed impossible to give each child the attention he needed, as they all never had had a fair shot.
And this nine-year-old boy, Greenfield, was certainly what we’d call retarded now.  The poor little fellow was never clean, and in spite of the dirty little sack of astafittida [sp?] – have you ever heard of that?
UNK:  No, what is it? 
MALE in background:  [Inaudible]
UNK:  Oh, you put it around your neck to keep from catching cold.
ML:  Yes.  It’s supposed to spook them away, too.
UNK:  [Attempts to say the word]
MALE:  I don’t sure.
UNK:  I don’t remember the word, but I do know what you’re talking about, yes.
ML:  … the sack of [stumbles pronouncing the word] on a string about his neck, he always had a runny nose.  The sack was filled with some putrous [sp?] herbs to chase away the evil spirits and disease, and smelled horribly.  He would rather have lost a leg than that nasty item. 
I didn’t know what to do with him.  I asked the clerk of the school board if something couldn’t be done, like sending him on to a special school, but he knew nothing about such things.
This was Mr. Ogden.
In fact, he could only sign my pay warrant each month.  That was about the [chuckles] sum of his learning.
I have to be careful.  I really am [inaudible] [laughing] next generation or two.
The fall was beautiful, and I enjoyed the walks to and from school.  But with winter weather setting in, with the rain and snow, I thought it better to take advantage of a chance to move to a farmhouse closer to the school.  A girl in the upper grade lived there with her mother and stepfather.  We usually got a ride going home.
The food served there was not at all tasty, nor adequate – boiled beans, potatoes and canned tomatoes every evening for supper.  Then they butchered a hog, and we sat down to all the parts, which had never been on our menu at home, from brains to pigs feet.  [laughing]  So I didn’t eat any. 
This couple was always quarrelling, especially at meals.  And an intentional remark from me almost involved me, and the woman turned to me and said, “What are you butting in for?  Keep your mouth shut!”  [laughing]  So, I would have to move again!  [laughing]
Now, it was to a rather attractive log cabin with a new section built on.  They were a younger couple and seemed quite jolly at first.  I had the log cabin section for my room.  It had a fine [inaudible], which I enjoyed, but mostly had to use a little wooden heater – a little wood heater, not wooden. 
Now, I wasn’t getting much getting sleep at night because of the mice and rats that came in through the fireplace.  After I blew out my lamp, they scampered over my papers, and squeaked and had a ball, while I lay awake shuddering.  [chuckles]
I believe I would have put up with this, except that there seemed to be something wrong here, too.  There was no conversation at meals after about the first month.  The food was very good and I was a little closer to the school. 
I couldn’t stand the gloomy atmosphere at dinner any longer, so one evening, as I was helping with the dishes, I asked Mrs. Nelson, “What seems to be the matter?  Have I done or said something that offended you people?”
She hesitated a moment and then replied, “I don’t like having girls making eyes at my husband.”
And I was stunned but finally snapped.  “Do you mean me?  I never made any eyes at your husband.  Anyway, he is too old.”  [laughing]  He must have been almost 30.  Now, I would have to move again!  [laughing]
UNK:  I see what you mean about getting yourself in Dutch all the time.
ML:  Yes!  I didn’t know from nothing, you know?  As a kid, I hadn’t lived around people, and I was scared all the time that, you know, I might get in the doghouse [inaudible].
This time, I was lucky.  My brother had a friend [inaudible] who talked his wife into taking me in for the sum of $20 a month.  She was a fine cook and housekeeper.
And should have put in front that I got $60 a month for this job.
UNK:  I was just going to ask you how much they paid you.  You paid a third of it for your board and room?
ML:  Oh, yeah.
The Christmas program was the big event of the school year for the children.  Of course, we had a beautiful tree, all decorated with a dear, old-fashioned paper chain, strings of popcorn and cranberries.
I loved all the children, for what is more beautiful than a child with an expression which seems to cling to them all at this season?  I only hoped that none would be disappointed.
Parents dressed in their best came, and proudly watched their girls and boys as they did their little parts in the playlet, or spoke their pieces.  All went home happy, and would discuss the merits of the party and the teacher over for a month at least.
The winter dragged on with heavy, soaking rain, and sometimes beautiful, white snow.  It was lovely in this park-like area, where the trees glittered with icicles on the crisscross frost January morning. 
I was still feeling very inadequate about getting enough recitation in each day.  They were not a very ambitious group, and much prodding was necessary if they took their work home.  There was not as much diversion for a young girl in the big – And the biggest thrill was getting back to my room after school to find some mail waiting for me, especially if it was from France.
One Saturday evening, Leona, the daughter [tape recorder turned off] as Leona Neukirchen.
UNK:  OK. 
ML:  Leona, the daughter of the mill owner who lived in Issaquah, came out with two high school boys in a Model T Ford to take me along to the Grizzly Bear dancehall.  But we never made it.  The little car broke down, and we waited back by the road, as hooting cars passed on the way to the dance.  A logger with a kind heart finally stopped, and drove us all to our homes.  That was my only social event of the year!
Now, there began to be signs of spring, as pussy willows sprouted on the trees by the little stream running through the schoolyard.  Late in March came the trillium, and the spicy-sweet fragrance of red currant.  The children deluged me with new bouquets daily.  The surrounding woods were bursting with new, pale-green leaves and lovely flowers. 
But there was something wrong.  I began to have a feeling that perhaps the parents thought I wasn’t teaching their children enough.  Sometimes I would come on a little group of girls who immediately stopped talking and scampered off.  Or, when I lifted the telephone at my boarding place, I would hear some reference to some “she” in quotation or “who” in quotation, maybe wasn’t as good as she, or any better than she should be.
Do you get that?  I don’t know.
UNK:  Yeah, yeah.
ML:  I wonder why I had ever wanted to teach school.  Boyd Greenfield, that kid, was still my big pain in the neck.  One day, as I came out after recess to ring the bell, he threw a rock at my little first-grader, Mary Bogdan.  She was screaming, and a big lump was forming over her right eye. 
I lost my temper and grabbed the handiest stick I could find, and took after him.  He headed for the flume, which passed the school en route to the mill.  He climbed on the flume and I was right behind him.  The flume was very high above the ground in some places, in this rugged terrain.  But as I didn’t take a chance of looking down and getting dizzy, I kept right close to him.
He ran to his home and I confronted his mother at the door.  I could soon see that she was much like her son, so there was not much use in discussing his behavior with her.  The boy didn’t come back to school, and nothing was ever done about it [chuckles] in those days.
I was enjoying the comparative peacefulness around the school when one afternoon, as I was dismissing the pupils, a little third-grader looked up at me and asked, “Are you going to stay to the meeting, too, Teacher?” 
This looked like something I should be in on, and must have had some connection with, this secretive business, so I stuck around.  About a half an hour later, they began to arrive – the farmers in their wagons and the mill people on foot.
I went back into the school room and sat down at the desk, and pretended to be busy correcting papers.  As the people straggled in, I looked up and offered a “Good afternoon.”  But most of them evaded my eyes.  Some of them took seats at the school desks, but there were not enough.  So I went to the closet for a few chairs to place at the back of the room.  They acted self-conscious and seemed to be waiting for something or someone.
Mrs. Sidell [sp?] – I’m mentioning the real names, you know, which …
UNK:  Uh-huh.
ML:  Mrs. Sidell, a very matronly and unattractive woman with stringy gray hair, kept looking at a paper in her hand, and talking behind her hand to a younger, dark-haired woman who still showed signs of former beauty. 
There were a few men in the crowd, mostly farmers, I noticed.  Then, in walked Leo Gleason.  He smiled at me and faced the room, one hand resting on my desk.  He was a fine figure of an Irishman, even in his working clothes, with curly brown hair that stuck up in a bunch on one side, and bright, blue eyes that could sparkle with fun, or look solemn the next minute.  He looked very romantic to me that day, even if he was an old man of about 35.
His flashing glance passed around the little group, until it lit on the two women huddled in private conversation.
“Well, well,” he mused aloud.  “So you two are at it again.  What have you got there?”
The paper was passed up to him by the man in the front seat. 
“So, you’ve got up a petition to fire Miss Coulton, Mrs. Sidell?  Just what has she done to make you do that?”
“Going into Seattle, running around with soldiers and not getting back here till noon the next day.”
And the other one cut in.  “And chasing around to dances with that wild Neukirchen girl.  She ain’t teaching these kids nothing neither.”
“Just a minute!” yelled Mr. Gleason.  “You two are the last people to be making such statements about any girl.  There’s been plenty of talk around about how wild you both were when you were young.  Now, I’ve known this Miss Coulton and her folks for some time.  I’ve never seen or heard anything but good about her.  In fact, I think she is too good to wipe her feet on either of you!”  [laughing]
He was tough.
He turned to the chagrined group and waved the petition in the air.
“Anyone want to sign this?”  Nobody did.  “I feel we ought to apologize to Miss Coulton for this shameful accusation,” Gleason said in a calm voice.  “I have been considering suggesting that we offer $5 more a month to come back next year.”
There was an embarrassed silence.  Then he added, “All in favor, please stand.”
They all got to their feet, with much shuffling, and hurriedly left the school, not glancing at the two women, who tried to look as small as they must  have been felt.
Mr. Gleason turned to me.  “The old vultures, they really aren’t mad at you.  It’s your brother they’re trying to get even with.  You see, he fired their husbands because they never – they were absent from camp every time something needed them at home [inaudible].  With this war rush, he had to have men he could count on and those old devils just took it out on you.”
UNK:  [Laughing] Huh!  Isn’t that a cute story.
ML:  Well, it isn’t [well-shaped?], you know.  And then she said … she didn’t like it too well.
UNK:  We can take care of that.  But I want to ask you a couple of things.
ML:  It was interesting, though.
UNK:  How did the mail come?  You said you were anxious to get home to see if there was mail.
ML:  Well, the mail carrier came by.
UNK:  On horseback?
ML:  No.  He had an old rickety Ford of some kind.  He came by.
UNK:  Uh-huh.  It was a rural route in the country?
ML:  Yes. 
UNK:  And you spoke about the Grizzly Bear dancehall.  Was that in Issaquah?
ML:  Yeah, it was out there in the country.
UNK:  Out in the country.  Around the camp?
ML:  Around the camp. 
UNK:  Around the lumber – uh – logging camp?
ML:  Yes.  I couldn’t tell you just where it was now, but they called it the Grizzly Bear.  And they had these country dances, but I never really went.
UNK:  Were they hoedown-type dances?
ML:  Yeah, uh-huh.
UNK:  With a fiddler and …?
ML:  Yeah, with a fiddler type of thing.
UNK:  Yes. 
ML:  I never got to one because the war was on and they didn’t do too much that year, see.
UNK:  Uh-huh.  Well now, during that winter, did you have snow and ice at all?
ML:  Yeah, we had some snow.
UNK:  Did you have to shovel any part of –
ML:  It was awfully pretty.  I know it sparkled, and it was very cold.
UNK:  Did you have to do any of the shoveling?  Did the students do it?
ML:  No. 
UNK:  Somebody else did it?
ML:  I can’t seem to remember any shoveling.
UNK:  Who kept the fires going to keep the rooms warm, because I remember there was a potbellied stove –
ML:  Well, the kids came early.  They came earlier and they built the fire.  Not very modern.
UNK:  No, a potbellied stove.  Would you use wood and coal?
ML:  Yes, wood.  Big hunks of wood.
UNK:  And the farmers would bring the wood in?
ML:  Yeah, I guess so.  Maybe Mr. Bogdan got it over.  It’s 56 years!
UNK:  Fifty-six years ago.  Can you imagine?  Do you remember any animals around the schoolhouse?
(IHM 94.41.4) Mary Colton Lucas in 1973, at age 75

ML:  There were no animals. 

UNK:  You didn’t see any wild animals at that time?  They had hunted them all out then?
ML:  I guess so.  I can’t remember seeing any.
UNK:  You spoke about ringing a bell.  What kind of a bell was it?  Was it a hand bell, with a handle?
ML:  Yes, I had a handle.
UNK:  Oh, it would be wonderful if we had some of these things left!
ML:  Yes!  Mrs. [Inaudible], I wonder if she has anything.
UNK:  No, the people before her was [Collins?].  And my husband and I had known them, and they bought the building pretty raw, and never did change it very much.  And we used to go and visit them.  They had a piano in there.  It was one big room.  And upstairs.  There was an upstairs.  Well, they put in, I think they put in an upstairs.  But they –
ML:  [inaudible] and then just an entryway, you know, where you’d come in and hang your coat and then go in.
UNK:  Uh-huh.  Well, the Kiers [sp?] are the ones that have done the most remodeling.  How many months of school were there?  Did you start in September?
ML:  Nine. 
UNK:  Nine months of school.  Through May.  And now, you spoke of the flume.  You know, I’ve always wished that we could find a picture of one of the flumes.  There were flumes around here.  The one you speak about came by the school and went to the lumberyard.  Then, there was one that went from the lumberyard –
ML:  Oh, yes.
UNK:  All the way down into Issaquah.  There was a flume all through the Squak.
ML:  I don’t remember.  I remember this one coming to and chasing that kid over it over to the mill.  His folks lived in the mill –
UNK:  What did it look like?  Could you describe it to me?
ML:  What?
UNK:  A flume.
ML:  Well, I could show –
UNK:  Was it like a trough up on –
ML:  I can show you.  [tape recorder turned off]  There was a walkway along the side of the [inaudible] and then this thing, it was big enough to handle –
UNK:  Logs?
ML:  No, not logs.  [inaudible]
UNK:  [inaudible] 
ML:  I don’t think logs ever came, because they couldn’t turn the corner.
UNK:  There was water in it?
ML:  Oh, yes.  There was a spring over there.
UNK:  It was like a trough?
ML:  I think it was [inaudible]
UNK:  There was a trough with water in it.
ML:  It couldn’t have been [inaudible], could it?
MALE:  [inaudible]
ML:  [Inaudible] kept the thing buried, you know.  It couldn’t have handled a log.
UNK:  I see.  So this was a shingle mill?
ML:  No, it wasn’t just a shingle mill, though.  They put out lumber.
UNK:  They did.  But they didn’t come in this flume [to the?] shingles?
ML:  I don’t think they could have.
UNK:  No.
ML:  Because, you see, it wasn’t just measured …
UNK:  For the big [inaudible]
ML:  [Inaudible] so a big log could turn the corner.
UNK:  I never have found a picture of a flume.
ML:  I think my brother [inaudible] pretty near all of the big timber [inaudible].
UNK:  Have you any more pictures, do you think, anywhere?
ML:  I’ll look more.  See, he has some old boots, I think.  [Inaudible] we did after the time [inaudible].
UNK:  Now, a picture like this, the people are known to you.  But to me, it’s the background of the picture that is the most important.  Because, now, you tell me that is the store at the mill, the shingle mill.
ML:  Yes, the store at the mill.
UNK:  The store where they went to buy things.  Well now, in this picture, this is the store building right here.
ML:  Yes, that’s the same thing.
UNK:  Well then, what is this building?
ML:  I know my brother –
UNK:  But you said there was a blacksmith –
ML:  They had bunkhouses, you know, very crude, that a man had to just get in this bunk and have his own blankets.  There was no linen or anything.
UNK:  No, no.  No, no. 
ML:  Nothing like that.
UNK:  No, you’d just roll up in your blanket. 
ML:  But my brother had his own little house.  He was a bachelor at the time.
UNK:  Was there a blacksmith shop there, too?
ML:  There was a blacksmith shop.
UNK:  And what did they shoe the horses – what did the horses do at the mill?
ML:  I don’t think they were so much horses.  I think it was machinery.  See, there was a [lokey?], we called it, a train that ran.
UNK:  Oh, yes.  A little [shay?] or something.  A little locomotive. 
ML:  So, did they call that other thing a donkey that they had out on the works, the donkey engine.
UNK:  Yes, yes. 
ML:  It was for pulling the logs.
UNK:  Right.
ML:  But this train came and delivered the logs.  I’m not sure, I’ll have to ask Will.  Because he’ll know just exactly what they did.
MALE:  I’ve worked in the woods, and the blacksmith, his main job was keeping the tools sharp.  You could bring in a saw twice a day and have it sharpened, or an axe.  You had to have them at top sharpness, you know, because you couldn’t do your work properly if you didn’t.
UNK:  I see. 
MALE:  If you got a saw pinched [inaudible].  Even if you had a sharp one in the morning, you could bring it in at noontime and [inaudible] another [inaudible].
UNK:  I see.  And the blacksmith was the one that sharpened the saws and axes.  Oh, OK.
MALE:  That might be the case here.
UNK:  Oh, I’m sure it must have been, because they used – well, the [flow?] had to be sharpened, you know, to cut the shingles, sure.
ML:  I’m sure they couldn’t have been [inaudible].  I’ll talk to Will.  I know he’s kind of confused now.  He’s in a nursing home.  Had quite a serious illness and he’s coming out of it.  He’s a very strong –
UNK:  Well, pictures, you know, that tell a lot of the story.  And if we could just find a picture of the old flumes.
ML:  [Inaudible].  There might be.  I’ve got the whole thing.  See, he took suddenly ill and had to be operated on.  We didn’t think he’d live.  And because his old house near the University of Washington was in a kind of a position where people … a lot of the hippies around, they were breaking into things.  So we took a lot of things to our home.  He bached in his house.  He didn’t live anywhere else for years.  And we picked up a lot of things like that that we want to be sure and keep and took them to our home, my sister and I, see.  And there were a lot of loose pictures, all kinds of stuff.  But I didn’t go over them very well.
UNK:  Oh, well, so there’s some kind [inaudible].
ML:  I took what was of interest to me and took it home.  But my sister has some, too, now of them.
UNK:  Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d be able to have a look and see if there’s any more of this caliber picture.
ML:  Yeah, that’s –
UNK:  Well, anything found here in this area that you might have pictures of.
ML:  There might be something.  This was – this man was a nephew of Bogdan’s.  He came to join him from [inaudible].
(IHM 94.41.2) Neukirchen Mill crew, circa 1917.

UNK:  Do you mind if I write something on the back of it if I don’t write through?  This was your brother, right here?

ML:  Yes.  And this man, this was the blacksmith, the heavy man.  That was his little girl.
UNK:  Oh, I see.
ML:  And she was the cutest kid.  I don’t think I ever knew a more amusing child.  She was just a … a very pretty, cute …
UNK:  What was your brother’s name?
ML:  William.
UNK:  William Colton.
ML:  Uh-huh. 
UNK:  And then the next one was the little girl, the blacksmith’s daughter.
ML:  Margie Provits.  P-R-O-V-I-T-S, I think.
UNK:  P-R-O-V…?
Ml:  I-T-S, I think.  I don’t think there was a Z in it.
UNK:  And that’s the blacksmith’s daughter?
ML:  Uh-huh.
UNK:  And then you said the next man was Bogdan’s nephew?
ML:  Yes, the one on my – my near right.  Maybe Alice will know.  [Inaudible] his name.
UNK:  Uh-huh.  And you don’t know who the last man is?
ML:  This one?
UNK:  There’s another man there.
ML:  No, I don’t know who he is.  This, now, they may be some of the – their name was Hallwood [sp?].  He was a half-brother.  His name was Hayward[sp?].  He had one sister.  I knew the sister later in Bremerton.
UNK:  Now, this other picture shows buildings of the mill site, too.  And that’s the little girl, you said, that Margie.
ML:  Yes, uh-huh.  Yeah.
UNK:  Oh, there’s a flagpole in front of it.
ML:  Uh-huh.
UNK:  There’s a flagpole in front of the store.
ML:  Yes.  Yeah, there’s a flag on it, too.  Yeah, it was pretty rough.  [tape recorder turned off]
UNK:  You lived here twice after 1917?
ML:  You see, I was married and separated, and I had this baby, and my mother kept [inaudible] in town here for my brother while he went, continued with his mill and [shake?] business.  And we lived in one of these houses up Front Street where it turns?
UNK:  Yes.  Yes, and I think the back of the Darigold Creamery.
ML:  It was on Front Street, and then it makes a turn.
UNK:  Yeah, in back of the Creamery.
ML:  I can’t tell you if it was the back.  I’m thinking of the creek.  Maybe it wasn’t there then.
MALE:  [Inaudible] street at the end of it [inaudible].
ML:  No, that’s a different one.
MALE:  Oh.
ML:  I’m talking about the one on Front Street.  You go up Front Street and then it makes a [partial?] turn.
UNK:  Yes.
ML:  And it was after that turn, about the second … and we lived there a little while.  And I, yeah, I went away again.  I think rejoined my husband.
UNK:  Quite separated, yes?
ML:  Yeah, we lived away from here.  And then later, I did separate, and we – then Mother and Will moved up on this house next to this one – I mean, the street next to this.
UNK:  Oh, on Mill Street?
ML:  This one – no, the one over there.
UNK:  OK, Hill Street.
ML:  Well, just before it ends up in the woods.
UNK:  Yes.
ML:  And it was, I think, the second house down from the woods.  I liked that place so well, because we had such a nice yard.  So my mother had a garden and my brother, of course.  And I’d come up weekends.  And she was looking after the baby for me and I was going into Seattle.
UNK:  Uh-huh.  How did you get – oh, you stayed in Seattle during the week.
ML:  I had a sister.  She stayed in Seattle.
UNK:  You went by train into Seattle and back?
ML:  No, we went in this great big old red car.  Not a red car but I mean –
UNK:  Oh, a Stanley Steamer.
ML:  We’d have to get to – oh, I could tell you about this, too, a lot.  We used to come down – you’d have to go out to Cedar Valley, and the milk train came through.  And you’d have to get there early in the morning, something like seven o’clock, and it stopped for milk and then you had to hurry up and get on.  And it went into Renton and in … at least at First Avenue of Seattle.  But it seemed like I always went over on this red streetcar into Seattle.  A long, red streetcar.
UNK:  The one from Renton to Seattle.  How did you get to Renton?
ML:  On that train.  On that milk train.  [crosstalk, cannot understand either of them]
UNK:  I see.  From down at the schoolhouse, right?
ML:  Yes, uh-huh.
UNK:  When you went from here, how did you get to Seattle?
ML:  I didn’t come from here.
UNK:  Oh.  I thought you said you worked in Seattle and your mother –
ML:  Oh, you mean that later time?
UNK:  Yes.
ML:  Oh, yes, that wasn’t much of a [inaudible].  I think, I’m not sure, that could have been when we had the red car.  But no, I think that red old streetcar was going.
UNK:  But that didn’t come to Issaquah, that was only Renton to Seattle?
ML:  I can’t say for sure.
UNK:  Uh-huh, uh-huh. 
ML:  I can remember the railroad in Renton and the big train.  Maybe it went all the way to Seattle then.
UNK:  But you only came to Issaquah on a train that once?
ML:  Yes, but there was some man that ran his own private car, what they called a … seven-passenger car. 
UNK:  Yes!
ML:  And ran it as a bus from Renton into Issaquah.  Because they weren’t too far from where I lived, but we had to walk a mile or so off of that.
UNK:  Yeah, I think I have a picture of a similar – of one of those I’ll show you.  [tape recorder turned off]
END