Bertha’s Correspondence: The Oregon Folks

By Julie Hunter, Collections Manager

(See “What Bertha’s Correspondence Tells Us” for an introduction to this series of posts)

Early in William’s letters, on June 6, 1892, he dropped the line, “I suppose that the folks went to Oregon on a visit or for a recreation.”  And that is all he said about this subject.  This leaves the questions, What folks?  Why Oregon?  Another group of eight letters, written between 1898 and 1904, “From Your Loving Cousin/Artie Eva Lene Hanks” provides the likely answers.   The first is dated August 8, 1898, and was written on the day after her twenty-first birthday.  Artie wrote about her fifteen-month-old son, being lonely while her husband was away from home, and mentioned a couple of her sisters and an uncle. She lived seven miles from church, so seldom attended.  She wished “Auntie” would come out to visit. “Auntie” was most likely Martha Stewart Bush, Bertha’s grandmother.2

Martha Stewart Bush and John Bush, circa 1870s

Martha Stewart Bush and John Bush, circa 1870s

Over the course of her letters, Artie sent factual information about her life as a young wife and mother on a farm in Perdue, Oregon. The community no longer exists, but it was in Douglas County.  The settlement was in the general area of Canyonville, which is still a city, located on I-5.  Using the list of her sisters still living with their parents, as given in her letter of March 21, 1902, I was able to pinpoint her as the daughter of Robert Smith Stewart II and Margaret Brown.  Robert was one of Martha Stewart Bush’s many siblings, and the Stewart family had lived in Oregon since 1852, when they arrived there by wagon train.

The first clue to the source of Artie’s connection to Bertha, beyond the general “cousin,” was Artie’s name.  Martha Stewart Bush’s mother was named Artimesa [sic].  None of the scant records that I have found for Artie show her as having the more formal name, but the connection to her grandmother’s name is clear.  Artie’s letters, with their comments about Stewart relatives coming and going and questions about Bushes, demonstrate that the Oregon Stewarts stayed in touch with the Bush family over decades and generations.  In December of 1900, she wished that Bertha and Mattie (Bertha’s aunt, Martha Alice Bush) could spend Christmas with her.  In March of 1902, she wrote of having had a little girl, who was yet to be named.   When Artie wrote again, in February of 1904, she reported that “we named our baby Emily Evelyn we call her Eva she was two years old the 30th of Jan.”   She shared more family news—“two of my sister’s are married Ella was married the 18th of Oct. her man’s name is Claud McCarty and Emma married my brother in law Charlie Hanks so I have only two single sisters Ethel is at home and Pearl is working out we went to a dance the fourteenth of this  month we had a fine time.”

In Artie’s final letter in the group, dated September 13, 1904, she wrote about a major adventure.  “We took a trip down on the coast Dennis’es sister and Mother and one of my sisters went with us we had a nice time it was the first time any of us had seen the Ocean.”  She had been living approximately one hundred miles inland for her entire life.  Artie was 28, and her mother was 48.  Today the trip takes about two hours by car.  Being fairly laconic, she made no further comment about the trip or the ocean or anyone’s reaction to the sight.

The Bush Sisters: Samantha Bush Wold Prue, Mattie Bush, and Emily Bush Darst,

The Bush Sisters: Samantha Bush Wold Prue, Mattie Bush, and Emily Bush Darst,

From the number of times that both family and friends sent along love and greetings to Bertha’s grandmother, Martha Stewart Bush, and aunt, Mattie Bush, we can infer that Bertha was close with these members of her extended family.  There are far fewer such mentions of her mother.  This may reflect a couple of factors.  Bertha’s mother, Samantha, is not remembered as a pleasant woman, so she may not have had the social ties that her mother and sister did.  Because of the way Samantha’s life went after she left Peter Wold, she did not always have her daughters with her. Five years after her divorce, Samantha remarried, to Paul Prue, in 1888.  It is very possible that Bertha lived with her grandmother and aunt for portions of her childhood, and she is shown living with them in the 1900 census, age 23, two years before her marriage.

Next: The Estate of Tom Cherry

Previous: Peter & Sarah Wold

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

2. In addition to, I used some specific Oregon genealogy sites, which have much information not on the bigger site. For instance, on an Oregon grave index, I found that Artie Hanks is buried in the Canyonville Odd Fellows Cemetery.   Neither she nor half the other Hankses on that list show up in the FindaGrave listings.  From the Oregon Pioneers web site ( I learned that Martha Stewart came west with her parents and nine of her ten (one had already died) siblings by wagon train in 1852.  Her parents were living in Douglas County by 1880, as were some of their descendants.   Martha married James William Bush in 1854 in Corvallis, Oregon.  They were living in Seattle by 1859, and they were farming in Squak Valley in 1864.

See the web site  that acknowledges Perdue’s existence in the past and gives MANY links to Oregon genealogy.  Perdue was named after John Perdue, an early settler of the area.  He was grandfather to Artie’s Husband, Dennis William Hanks.  Although the Hanks genealogy is not specific to Issaquah, my attempts to find Artie, for whom I found neither birth nor death record—just marriage and tombstone—led me to a basic knowledge of the family she married into.

Dennis Friend Hanks m. Sarah Elizabeth Johnston  John Perdue m. Mary Francis Margaret Mills

1799-1892                            /              1807-1864                            1818-1901  /        1822-1902

John Talbot Hanks                           m.                           Eleanor Ellender Perdue


Dennis William Hanks m. 1895 Artie Eva Lena Stewart

1868-1952                              /                            1877-1923

William McKinley Hanks, b. 1897

Emily Evelyn Hanks, b 1902

Dennis W. Hanks remarried in 1939.  At the time of his death, his obituary in The Eugene Register-Guard listed both of his children, his current wife, and his living descendants and siblings.  No mention was made of Artie. Like her, he was buried in the Canyonville Odd Fellows Cemetery.  A copy of the obit is in our paper file for 2015.10.

Artie’s family is easy to find on Ancestry once you know which Stewarts you are seeking.  Her siblings included Ella, Pearl, Emma, Ethel, Eva, Jacob, Edward, and Hubert.  Her father, Robert Smith Stewart II, was listed as a day laborer in 1900, but her 1902 letter says that her parents were about to move to Canyonville to run a boarding house.  He was the youngest of his siblings, and he was the one given his father’s name.  His wife was Margaret Brown.  Since most of the genealogy records do not use the “II” designation, it is important to look at the wife’s name to be sure of the generation of Robert Smith Stewart.

At least one of Robert Smith Stewart I’s brothers moved his large family to Oregon, as well.  He took the Oregon Trail in 1845 and shows up in records for Corvallis, which is where Martha and James Bush were married.

Bertha’s Correspondence: Peter & Sarah Wold

By Julie Hunter, Collections Manager

(See “What Bertha’s Correspondence Tells Us” for an introduction to this series of posts)

Peter Wold and Sara Eidal Wold, circa 1895.

Peter Wold and Sara Eidal Wold, circa 1895.

For the last twenty years of his life, Bertha’s father could write in English, at least at a basic level.  In August, 1904, he wrote her a brief note, saying he was still not well enough to do the things he wanted to do when she came to visit.  He suggested that she wait and come after Christmas when Mary [Wold] returned to Ellensburg (which would give him another four months’ recovery time).  He sent love to her and her baby.

On October 4, 1916, Peter wrote one of the latest letters in the collection.  Again, it was just a short note.  Bertha had sent flowers for her brother’s grave, and Peter had taken them to the cemetery.  This is the only confirmation that we have that William’s grave is in or near Ellensburg.  By this time, Peter was 81 and feeling his age. Peter would live to be 90, dying in 1925, twenty-two years after his son’s death.

With William dead and Mary having left the Ellensburg area, Bertha’s stepmother, Sarah N. Eidal Wold, had to carry on her own correspondence.  Three brief letters from the 1910s survive.  In the first, sent September 18, 1910, she and her husband were sending apples to Bertha and to someone who had driven Peter in his automobile during a visit to the Issaquah area.  Peter had received the straight razor Bertha sent to him, but he refused to use it until he could pay her back for it.  On November 30, 1916, she sent a brief note to accompany a book she was sending to Bertha’s young son.  She referred to Bertha having visited them, on her own, recently.  The final letter in the collection is a brief thank-you note from Sarah, written in January of 1917.

Next: Oregon Folks

Previous: William Wold

Bertha’s Correspondence: William Wold

By Julie Hunter, Collections Manager

(See “What Bertha’s Correspondence Tells Us” for an introduction to this series of posts)

William Wold

William Wold

The earliest letters in the cache, from 1892, are from Bertha’s brother William.  She was fifteen and he was nineteen.  They corresponded until his death eleven years later, and sixteen of his letters remain.  William wrote a lot about the weather and the work that he was doing.  Since much of his work was in farming and hay press gangs, as well as digging irrigation ditches, the weather had a major effect on how difficult his life was.  William urged Bertha to stay in school.  He knew that his own struggles were in part due to a lack of education.   Although he mentioned some dances and baseball games, he wrote relatively little about social life.   He was more apt to detail the latest local tragedy or accident.  One running topic for brief comments, with tantalizingly little detail, was his father’s ongoing lawsuit.  Apparently Peter was in danger of losing his water rights, which would have a very negative impact on his agricultural pursuits.  The suit was continued from court sitting to court sitting for several years.  Meanwhile, Peter also engaged in mining activities, although William could not give details.  By 1899, Peter had sold all but forty-three acres of his holdings and was building a new house.  Peter was not the only Wold to deal with the court system.  William expressed sympathy for his Uncle Lars’s legal situation in both 1893 and 1900.  From other documents in our collections, we know that Lars had accumulated serious debt following the collapse of his hops growing and some unwise real estate transactions.  (See the introduction to IHM Research Center holding R-1913-001, RC-C2, for a precis of Lars’ legal woes.)

Fractured family dynamics were a driving factor in William’s life.  He left his home with his father after his father’s remarriage in 1890, writing bitterly in 1894, “I am not staying at home now or have not been all summer. [H]ome is no place for me anymore.”  In the same letter, he mentioned that “I seen by the papers some time ago that Grand Pa is dead which was a great surprise to us here.” This was James William Bush; apparently the Bush side of the family was not staying in communication with William or his father.  Similarly, family connections among the Wold brothers were not particularly close.  William wrote in January of 1893, “We were all surprised to hear of Uncle Ingebright’s marriage did he marry anyone you know. I got a letter from Hellen Christopher [a Wold cousin]. she said Uncle was married but never said who to.”

At the time the letters began, William had been out of communication with his mother for an extended period.  He asked Bertha in April of 1892, “what is Mother’s address or post office[?]  I wouldn’t know where to write to but I don’t know whether she would write to me now or not but I will try I ought to have written to her before[.]”

His lack of simpatico with his step mother was a repeated topic in his letters, even though he was generally inclined toward being a peacemaker.  He wrote with more sympathy about his and Bertha’s own mother, regretting what he perceived as her isolation and reputation as a difficult person. Even so, his opinion of her was rather back handed, as expressed in his letter of June 6, 1892 – “I think that they misjudge Mother. I don’t think she would let you die if she could help it do you[?]. . .it must be hard on Mother to stay alone always[.] When I come over we will go and [spend] a while with her[.  E]ven I cant say exactly when I will start but it will be the first spare time I can get[.] I haven’t written to Mother yet but will probably the same time I write this to you.”  He urged Bertha to be on better terms with her, as well as to think more kindly about their father.  William explained in his July 10, 1900, letter, “I don’t want you to think that Father or Mrs. Wold [William’s stepmother] has anything to do with my not writing to you it is all caused by my own carelessness and don’t blame your poor old Father for not writing for you know that he can’t write English and if he was to write Norwegian you would have to hire someone to read it for you. You have the finest father in the world and he thinks lots of you but owning to circumstances he can’t always do as he would like to.”  He frequently added a note of their father’s love being sent to Bertha in addition to his own.  He thought his father was beginning to look and act old.

William mentioned at least one long visit from their cousins Oscar, Helena and Nora Christopher.  He liked them, even while remarking on their relative affluence.  Genealogy research shows that they were related through the Wolds; their mother was Mary Wold Christopher, who raised her family in the Puyallup/Auburn area, in a district then known as Slaughter.  Her husband, Thomas Christopher, had been associated with Ezra Meeker and had been a successful businessman in his own right.1

William also knew Elmer Baxter, who had occasion to work in Ellensburg before he returned to Issaquah and became the town marshal.  William mentioned him repeatedly, which may indicate that he was aware of the growing connection between Bertha and Elmer’s brother, Charles, who would become her husband in 1902.

The letters provide no information as to whether William ever saw his sisters or mother again after Samantha returned to the western slopes of the Cascades from Ellensburg.  He intended to visit Bertha, writing  on April 10, 1892, “I will try and come over this summer if nothing happens I will come over and have a good time for I am a great fellow for sport and enjoyment -.”  He wrote the following January, “Father has never said anything of going over [the mountains to Issaquah] as I know of. I am sorry I never answered your letter but thought I would come over. but I worked on a ditch last fall for two months and have been hauling lumber and ice all winter so I ain’t had no time to go anywhere.”

His own work, in various forms of manual labor, including agricultural and mining, kept him on the east side of the mountains, in Ellensburg, the Palouse region, Walla Walla, Yakima, and even in Idaho.  He thought about moving to California or joining the gold rush to Alaska but changed his mind.   On May 5, 1899, he wrote, “I have been sick for the last 6 or 7 months but am alright and in good health now. I was up at the Silver Mines in the Coeur d’Alene, Idaho last summer and I got lead poisoned which came very near ending my earthly troubles for me[.]  I am not the strong healthy lad I used to be[.]  I now know what it was to be sick[.  B]efore I was at Wardner [Idaho—scene of major mining riots in 1892 and 1899] where the big strike is going on now.”  He spent the summer of 1899 working in the asphalt plant at Spokane.   Despite his claim of recovery, his health was severely compromised, and he died in 1903, probably in August or September, at the age of thirty.  He had never married, and none of his letters mention any special attachment other than “a lady friend.”  He had worked hard and often been discouraged.

William’s death was not well documented, and we had not known when he died, other than “prior to 1920” until we read Mary Wold’s letters to Bertha.  (Note that Kittitas County’s death records prior to 1907 are held by the County Auditor and are not online. The FindaGrave website has no record of William’s burial, either.)  Mary was a first cousin to Bertha, and had grown up in Issaquah.  She was in Ellensburg during 1903-1904 because she was a student at the normal school.  She sent Bertha four letters during that time. While in town, she visited back and forth to her Uncle Peter’s house and wrote letters for him and his wife.  As she wrote on October 5, 1903, “Uncle Peter wants me to tell you that he feels ashamed for not getting your letters answered but you know he can’t write and Aunt Sarah doesn’t get around to even answer her own letters, she gets me to write one every time I’m out there. Uncle Peter said that when Willie was living he used to get him to write once in a while but now since he’s dead he says he doesn’t get to write to you at all. He’s been wanting me to write for him but hasn’t got around to it yet.”  In December of 1903, it fell to her to communicate cousin Helena Christopher’s death to the wider family.  She wrote to Bertha, “I suppose you’ve heard about Lena’s death.  All I’ve been doing the last two days is ‘phoning and telegraphing. Oscar ‘phoned to me and then I had to go out to Auntie’s.”1  The following February, she reported that Uncle Peter was having to spend nine weeks flat on his back in bed.  Meanwhile, she was socializing but had been stood up on the night of a dance.

Next: Peter & Sarah Wold

Previous: What Bertha’s Correspondence Tells Us

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

  1. From the census and marriage information available on Ancestry, it appears that Mary Wold (not the correspondent in this accession, but another cousin) emigrated from Norway in 1870 with her infant son, Oscar. She married Thomas Christopher, who apparently adopted Oscar, on February 16, 1873.  Thomas had been in Washington Territory since 1858.  They were married in Louis Wold’s office in King County.  Mary’s and Louis’s exact relations to Peter, Lars, and Ingebright Wold has not been traced yet, but they were some sort of cousins.  These letters document  Mary’s family maintaining a relationship with Peter’s and Lars’ families.  Mary Christopher’s daughter, Helena H. Christopher, died young and single and intestate, but possessed of significant land in Pierce County.  The probate records are extensive and are online.  It is from them that I was able to track back from siblings Oscar and Helena (obviously known in the family as “Lena”) to their father Thomas and then from him to their mother and her name before she married him.

What Bertha’s Correspondence Tells Us

or, I Know all the Hot Issaquah Gossip—from 1902!

New tidbits about Issaquah’s past are constantly revealing themselves here at the Issaquah History Museums. We recently received a treasure trove of letters from the late 1890s and early 1900s, all written to Bertha Wold Baxter. In the first in a series of Bertha-related blog posts, Collections Manager Julie Hunter deconstructs what Bertha’s correspondence can tell us about turn-of-the-20th-Century Issaquah.

Bertha Wold Baxter, circa 1910

Bertha Wold Baxter, circa 1910

Accession 2015.10 includes sixty-seven letters addressed to either Miss Bertha Wold or Mrs. Bertha (Wold) Baxter.  Unfortunately, no letters written by Bertha have come into the collections.  Given that her correspondents praised her faithfulness in writing and the quality of her information, this really does feel like a loss.

Bertha, whose life spanned 1877-1965, was born into the marriage of two quintessential Issaquah founding families, the Bushes and the Wolds.  Her father was Peter Wold, brother to Ingebright and Lars, and her mother was Mary Samantha (usually known as Samantha) Bush, daughter of James William and Martha Stewart Bush.  Unfortunately, this was not a happy marriage.  Peter was 34 and Samantha was 14 when they wed in 1869.  Over the following ten years, Samantha bore three or four children. (This depends on whether a census taker mistook the name Clara for Della, or whether two daughters were both born in 1879; my thinking is that Della was the real daughter and that “Clara” was a clerical error on the part of the Washington census taker. “Clara” shows up in two census records where “Della” does not but there are no other records of such a child having existed.  Similarly, Bertha’s name is variously listed in census records, once as “Bertie” and once as “Martha” with a smudge across it.)

By 1880, Samantha was no longer with Peter.  Their children had been born in Ellensburg, where she and Peter had moved and where he stayed in 1880.  She came back to Issaquah with her daughters.  Their son William, who turned seven that year, apparently stayed with his father; two different Washington Territorial census records in the 1880s show “Willie Wold” with Peter in Ellensburg.

Census records show Samantha and her daughters bouncing around between the homes of various friends and relatives over the next decade.  When the 1880 Washington Territorial census was taken (month and day not recorded),  Samantha was listed as a “housewife” living with Peter’s brothers in Issaquah, with her one- and three-year-old daughters living with neighbor Charles Wilson’s family.  The Federal census taken on June 18 of that year shows her as a “servant” working and living in the George Tibbetts household.  At that point, her two daughters, ages one and three, were living with Cyrus and Emily Bush Darst, as was their fellow pioneer Tom Cherry.  Emily Darst was Samantha’s sister, so the girls were her nieces, not granddaughters as the census taker listed them.   One of the lessons from this search has been that census records, while very helpful for following general outlines of who was where when, and in association with whom, cannot be treated as being infallible.  Details of spelling, or one name mistaken for another that sounds similar, are very common mistakes.

Front row: Samantha Bush Wold Prue and Paul Prue. Back row: siblings Edgar Prue, Bertha Wold Baxter, and Edna Prue Anderson.

Front row: Samantha Bush Wold Prue and Paul Prue. Back row: siblings Edgar Prue, Bertha Wold Baxter, and Edna Prue Anderson.

Although the 1883 Washington Territorial census shows Mary Samantha and Peter back together, living with their two daughters (no mention of son William) in Issaquah, whatever rapprochement they may have attempted failed.  That year Samantha was the plaintiff in divorce proceedings, and her marriage to Peter was legally dissolved.  Four years later, in 1887, she and her daughters Bertha and Della were listed as members of the household of brother-in-law Ingebright Wold.  She remarried, to Paul Prue, on February 22, 1888.  Fifteen months later, the Prues were living in Fall City with their two infants, twins Edna and Edgar.  None of Samantha’s older children were listed with them in that Territorial census.  Della, at least, moved to Fall City by 1890.  She died there at age 10, on March 11.  She is buried in the Fall City Cemetery.

Next: William Wold

The Werner Murder

By Polly Good, Historian

Murder, Investigation and Arrests

On the morning of March 2, 1914, Henry Werner was found brutally murdered in his barn. During the next few days, authorities questioned Henry’s wife, Magdalena, and his son, Wilheim, about the events of that fateful morning. Eight-year old Wilheim told Seattle deputies that he was standing on the porch and heard men arguing in the barn. He wanted to investigate, but his mother told him not to go to the barn since it was probably Henry yelling at a cow. She later told authorities that she thought Henry was discussing a land deal with the neighbors and was not overly concerned by the shouting. Wilheim heard more yelling and told his mother again about the disturbance in the barn.

At this point in the narrative, there is a discrepancy in the newspaper accounts. The Seattle Daily Times reports that Wilheim found his father’s body and ran to the house to tell his mother. The Seattle Star explained that Magdalena saw a man running out of the barn as she approached the building and when she entered the barn she found her husband’s body.

Magdalena’s comments immediately after she found her husband’s body are also inconsistent. She told neighbors at the scene that she was so distraught over her husband’s murder that she took poison in an attempt to commit suicide. When a doctor arrived, she told him that she had not taken poison but fainted from the shock. She remained fragile and shaky for weeks after the murder and was, in fact, too weak to attend her husband’s funeral.

Neighbors told investigators that Henry and Magdalena argued two weeks before the murder, each threatening to kill the other. Henry threatened Magdalena with a knife, and she declared that she would kill him if he ever did it again. Magdalena denied threatening her husband and said that they never had any serious problems despite evidence that she had left her husband twice to look for work in Seattle.

On March 6, Marshal Elmer Baxter arrested an Italian man, Henry Paulone (aka Henry Smith). Paulone was held in the Issaquah jail pending the results of the coroner’s inquest. The Seattle Daily Times suggested that Henry Paulone and Magdalena were having an affair while The Seattle Star reported that Henry Werner found lover letters between Magdalena and various suitors at his house and gave them to his brother, who made them public after the murder, for safe keeping.

The love letters raised questions about Magdalena’s character. It seems she was not popular with her neighbors, who suspected that she had killed a number of dogs. One neighbor told The Seattle Star that he had gone to the Werner farm to see Henry when he saw Magdalena running from the house with a rifle in her hand. Before he knew it, she fired the gun, killing a small dog, and shouting “I’ll teach them to chase my sheep!”

Shortly after her arrest, Magdalena told a Star reporter that she knew the man who killed her husband and that he had committed the murder to protect her. She hoped that he would escape punishment because he only killed Henry to end her torment and suffering at the hands of her husband. According to Magdalena, her life on the Werner farm was lonely and miserable. The farm was about nine miles outside Issaquah (near Beaver Lake), and Henry did not allow her to go anywhere. She claims to have asked him for a divorce, as long as she could keep their four children, but he refused to consider divorce. Adding to the isolation of farm life, Henry was 26 years older than Magdalena. The Seattle Star printed an article speculating that this age gap contributed to the turmoil in the Werner household.

After her arrest, Magdalena became increasingly despondent in jail. She wouldn’t eat or talk to anyone. Out of concern, the prison matron allowed her infant daughter, Agnes, to take up residence in her mother’s jail cell. Agnes, living with her mother in the jail, brightened Magdalena’s spirits. This living situation, however, was short lived as Agnes was sent to live in a juvenile detention center after a month.

On March 10, authorities announced a new suspect Frank Piconi (aka Roderigo Rocco) and offered a $500 reward for his capture. There were sightings of Frank near Centralia, and people all over Northwest Washington searched for Frank. He was finally captured and arrested in Cle Elum on March 13. Evidence against Frank was a blood-stained knife and handkerchief found in his cabin (although some reports said that these items were found on his person). One particularly damning piece of evidence was his conversation with Joe Frejelli, a Cle Elum shoemaker and former friend. According to Joe, Frank asked Joe for a place to lay-low because he wanted to hide from some trouble he had in King County. Joe refused to accommodate Frank and called the authorities. The primary evidence that led to Frank’s arrest was Magdalena’s confession that she paid Frank Piconi $100 to kill her husband.

While Frank denied any knowledge of the murder, the sheriff orchestrated a dramatic encounter between Frank and Magdalena for the purposes of positively identifying the man she hired to kill her husband. On March 14, the sheriff brought Magdalena to his office for questioning and positioned her chair so that her back was to the door. A deputy entered unnoticed with Frank. The sheriff was asking familiar questions but suddenly asked, “Do you know that man?” Magdalena turned toward the door and gasped at the sight of Frank. “That’s the man!” she cried. Frank went pale and leaned on the door for support. After this positive identification, the sheriff was confident of a conviction. On March 24, Frank and Magdalena were arraigned on charges of first-degree murder. They both entered pleas of not guilty a few days later on March 27.

Werner MurderMagdalena’s Trial and Postscript

On April 13, the county sheriff received a death threat against Magdalena. The note was pieced together from letters cut out of the newspapers and warned that Magdalena would be killed if she testified against Frank. The sheriff did not take the threat seriously and destroyed the letter.

During Magdalena’s trial, evidence included her written confession (read aloud in court), the bloody mattock (murder weapon), and photos of Henry Werner’s body (over the objection of the defense). There were six men and six women on the jury. When the prosecution presented the murder weapon as evidence, Magdalena closed her eyes and one of the women on the jury seemed faint but regained her composure. Several key witnesses failed to appear to the dismay of the prosecution.

The trial was a media sensation and the hottest ticket in town. The courtroom was filled to capacity and the bailiffs had difficulty maintaining control of the crowd, both in and out of the courtroom. On the last day of the trial, people lined up for admittance at 7 o’clock in the morning and fought for seats when the doors of the courtroom opened. One row of chairs collapsed under the weight of the spectators, injuring three young women. In the crush to obtain a seat, one man lost $25 to a pick-pocket.

On May 22, the jury acquitted Magdalena in two hours and 45 minutes. The verdict shocked the prosecution because they had obtained a confession and other evidence pointing toward Magdalena’s involvement in the murder. The papers report that jurors shook Magdalena’s hand after the verdict, suggesting maybe the defense was successful in portraying Magdalena as a lonely and abused woman and the sympathies of the jury trumped the confession and physical evidence. After her acquittal, Magdalena applied for custody of her children and began looking for a job in Seattle.

After her acquittal, Magdalena moved to Kitsap County to working in a logging camp. There she met Benjamin Miller. In mid-August, the couple applied for a marriage license, but Magdalena’s notoriety caused them some trouble. It seems she had difficulty finding someone to act as her witness and vouch for her. She asked one of the deputies, who had testified at her trial, but he refused, saying that she would have to find a witness outside of the sheriff’s office. The couple apparently found witnesses because their marriage was announced in The Seattle Daily Times on August 19, 1914. After her marriage, Magdalena disappears from the records.

Frank’s Trial and Postscript

Frank Piconi’s trial began on June 8, with Magdalena scheduled to testify. The star witness, however, was 8-year old Wilheim Werner, who testified for a little over an hour. In a dramatic fashion, he identified Frank as the man who was seen running from the barn the morning of his father’s murder. After the boy’s testimony, the judge questioned him and became increasingly concerned that someone had coached him on what to say in court. For his part, Wilheim stuck to his story.

In early April, Henry Paulone was cleared of any involvement in the murder but remained in custody as a witness. On the stand, he gave testimony implicating Frank Piconi as Magdalena’s suitor and had been given a letter by Magdalena to give to Frank. Through an interpreter, Frank claimed his innocence saying he had no reason to kill Henry Werner and that he left Issaquah to go to Cle Elum to get a better job. He said he was at the house of a friend, Nick Garrish, at the time of the murder. Nick could not be found to testify, but the prosecution had an affidavit from him denying Frank’s claims. Magdalena provided the most helpful testimony at Frank’s trial when she failed to identify him as the man running away from the barn.

At the conclusion of the trial, the jury asked the judge if they could present their verdict directly from the jury box, but the judge denied the request and required them to deliberate in the jury room. After about 20 minutes, the jury came back with a verdict of not guilty. The jury appears to have believed Magdalena’s testimony rather than her written confession, which implicated Frank Piconi. On June 13, The Seattle Star ran the following blurb: “Now the Henry Werner murder, after two trials, is just as much, if not more, of a mystery than ever.”

In October, Frank Piconi sued the Seattle Post-Intelligencer for libel, asking for damages of $25,000 (or $45,000, depending on the report). The newspaper tried unsuccessfully to have the case thrown out, and the case was set for trial. Unfortunately, the results of the suit are unknown. It may be that Frank settled out of court, and the settlement was not reported in the papers.

Frank Piconi died at age 63 in Seattle and was survived by his wife, Mary, and son, Angelo. An obituary for Frank Piconi appeared in the May 24, 1951 Seattle Times, matching the state death records for the same Frank Piconi of the Werner murder.

Who Was Sena Wold?

IHM 2007-22-61

IHM 2007-22-61

One of Issaquah’s newest recreation areas has been named Sena Park. Sena Park is located just off Gilman Boulevard, near the new Atlas Apartments. When completed, the small park will provide access to Issaquah Creek. The park was named after Sena Wold, who lived in Issaquah for the majority of her 77 years.

Sena Wold was the youngest surviving child of Lars Wold and Henrietta Walters, both immigrants from Scandinavia who made their way to what was then called the Squak Valley. Lars Wold, along with his brothers Ingebright and Peter, came to Issaquah in 1867 and established the first hops farm in the valley. Lars Wold owned 160 acres north and west of today’s Front and Sunset Way intersection. The Wolds’ 1908 home now stands in Gilman Village, the only building that didn’t need to be moved. Today it is home to the Farmhouse School.

Among the Issaquah History Museums collections is a photo album created by Sena Wold . It reveals that Sena was interested in animals from a very young age. Along with photos of dogs, cats, and domesticated birds, there are many pictures of Sena with one of her beloved horses.

The Wold children, boys and girls alike, were educated. Both Sena and her elder sister Mary completed their high school education, and went on to college. The Wold children all spent time in Seattle and were comfortable in both the city and on the farm. The photo albums they left behind show many group outings with friends to hike or picnic, and sorts of high-spirited fun.

IHM 2010-10-5

Sena Wold (IHM 2010-10-5)

One of Sena and Mary’s projects was the Odd Old Maids Club. Originally started by Mary Wold and her friend Bessie Marsh, the mission of the Odd Old Maids Club was a mystery to most Issaquahns. The Issaquah Independent (today the Press) printed several anecdotes about the club, but seemed convinced that the purpose of the club was to catch husbands. For one meeting, the girls reportedly got up early, dressed in trousers, and went fishing. Another Odd Old Maids get-together featured adopting the names and costumes of fairy tale characters and having tea. Far from catching husbands, I suspect that the club was for the opposite purpose: enjoying the fun of being an old maid, unencumbered by expectations of marriage. The photograph of several young women on the front porch of the Wold House, grinning and in pants, seems to support my theory.

Like her older sister Mary, Sena attended Central Washington University in Ellensburg. While her sister became a teacher and worked in a variety of places, Sena stayed close to home. She worked for the Standard Oil Company in Issaquah for a time, but had established her own business by 1930: the Wold Poultry Farm. Sena was quite serious about this enterprise, and her hens won at least one trophy for their admirable egg-laying. (This trophy is now on display at the Gilman Town Hall, should you wish to admire it). In 1930, Sena traveled to London, England to attend the World Poultry Congress. This is remarkable, considering it was an era when travel between Issaquah and Seattle by train was worth a mention in the Issaquah Press. In her later years, Sena took up the training of German Shepherds, which raised the eyebrows of a few of her other female relatives.

Sena Wold never married or had children, and she lived out most of her life here in Issaquah. Imagine the changes she must have seen between her birth in 1891 and when she passed away, on June 3, 1968. She probably would have been surprised to see such tall buildings crowding around what was once her family’s farm. I hope she would be pleased to have a small part of that property set aside for recreation, and named in her honor.




Dinner for the Servicemen

Women of Issaquah in WWI

Dinner for the Servicemen

Dinner for the Servicemen, circa 1943-45. From left to right are: Mildred Paulson, Lulu Smart, Bonnie Castagno, Barbara Sellers, Avis Yourglich, Joanne Boni Karvia, Mabel Miles, and Ethel Inger. (IHM 2000.18.7)

By Erica Maniez, Museum Director / Summer 2003

After the United States entered World War II on December 7, 1941, many of Issaquah’s young men left town to serve in the military. Women stayed behind to tend victory gardens, run family businesses, volunteer as airplane spotters at the Issaquah Volunteer Fire Department Hall – and to serve in roles traditionally reserved for men. Women’s roles during World War II were significant and diverse.

Many women played an important role in the war effort by taking the jobs vacated by men who went overseas. More than six million women worked in defense plants and offices. Many from Issaquah and the surrounding area found wartime employment at the Boeing Company. Among them were Jo Garner, Helen Hailstone and Betty Brault. Betty worked as a riveter on airplane wings. Viola White Petersen remembers, “After graduation from high school, I got a job as a mechanic at Boeing Aircraft. There were lots of women working in war plants but, considering my mechanical skills and for the good of the country, that fall I left to go to school at the University of Washington.”

Daughters as well as sons joined the military and died in service to their country. During World War II, more than 350,000 women served in women’s divisions of the military, among them several of Issaquah’s young women.

Juanita Risdon joined the WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service), the women’s division of the Navy. WAVES worked stateside so that Navy men were free to fight overseas. In addition to traditionally female secretarial and clerical jobs, WAVES were also assigned to other duties including aviation, intelligence, and communications.

Agda Peltola, daughter of Herman Peltola, joined the SPARS. This women’s reserve of the Coast Guard took its name from the Coast Guard’s motto, Semper Paratus (“always ready”). Lynnette McDonald joined the Women’s Army Corps, and her progress through basic training was recorded in several issues of the 1944 Issaquah Press.

Elizabeth Erickson joined the Woman Air Force Service Pilots (WASP). These women received extensive flight training and relieved men of their non-combat duties. Among other things, they ferried new fighter planes to Europe so that fighting men would not have to leave the front lines to do so. This proved to be an appealing vocation for young women whose early years were filled with news coverage of Amelia Earhart’s daring flights – and eventual disappearance.

Erickson, a graduate of Issaquah High School and the University of Washington, reported for duty at Sweetwater, Texas in January of 1944. Tragically, four months later she was killed in a mid-air collision over Texas. Thirty-seven other women died in service to their country, but never received military recognition. Because they are still considered civilians, the U.S. Army did not even provide military burial. Erickson’s name is inscribed on the monument to Issaquah’s war dead that stands in Memorial Field.

World War II brought around changes in the typical roles of women. Issaquah’s women, like their sisters across the nation, took the opportunity to serve their country in new ways.

This information came from research done in preparation for the newest IHS exhibit, Issaquah in Wartime. The exhibit opeed at the Gilman Town Hall on July 4 and closed November 11, 2003. The article was published in the the Summer 2003 edition of Past Times

Squak Valley

Squak Valley

Squak Valley

By Bessy Wilson Craine

Bessie Wilson Craine arrived here in the Squak valley in 1885, when she was three years old. Over time, she wrote down her experiences growing up in the area.  In describing her own life, the author includes a chronicle of the community’s development, from a few isolated homesteads to a busy coal-mining town. The final handwritten manuscript was complete in 1963, when Craine was in her 80’s. The original 69 page paperback edition was published by the Issaquah Historical Society in 1983, with a forward by Harriet Fish. The 2002 edition contains family tree charts, photographs, footnotes and a full index. This is an online version of the book published Issaquah History Museums. The online edition was created in collaboration with students from Issaquah High School enrolled in the TIP program, David Edfeldt, director.

Only the text from the first 19 pages of this 69 page book are posted here.

Page 1 from original book

My friends have asked me many times to write about the life and the early happenings in Squak Valley. I guess they think if I don’t get it down pretty soon I’ll be too old to remember–but one doesn’t easily forget the place she grew up in.

I told them I couldn’t write a story. They insist that if I write it as I tell it, it will be good enough. I can’t do that. When you are telling a story, you can begin at the end and go backwards; or start in the middle and go either way and it will be a good story. If you want your readers to get the picture you have to begin at the beginning. That is where my trouble comes.

I have to go back to about 1860 when the first settlers started to drift into the Valley, when Seattle was a mere infant and Squak Valley was a wilderness. It is located at the head of Squak Lake (now known as the Sammamish). Nature had given it a beautiful setting, about two thousand acres with the lake skirting it on the north and almost completely surrounded by mountains. The settlers found a stubborn growth of forest except for a few acres of prairie, covered with hazel bushes and a thick undergrowth–but the soil was rich and deep. All it was waiting for was men with the hearts of pioneers, willing hands and strong backs. Men like John Adams, Tom Cherry, the Castos, the Bush family, the Wolds and Ned Ohm. There were, no doubt, others who came at that time. I mention these because they are the ones I knew best as I grew up. They took up homesteads widely scattered through the Valley. Their only neighbors were Indians who lived in shacks and hovels at the head of the Lake. They were known as the Siwash, or Flatheads, very peaceable. In fact, they were too lazy to be much else. All they wanted was to be left alone to fish and hunt.

Page 2 from original book

Editor’s note: The author incorrectly spelled the family’s last name as “Castro” in her manuscript as published. The web site version is fixed to avoid spreading the error any further. Clarence Bagley writes about this same incident in his article Casto Massacre , and Roger Knowles Thompson has written an article entitled Abbie Casto’s Fate.

In the Spring of 1864 William Casto and his pretty girl wife came to the Valley and built a small house in the heart of the wilderness. John Halstead, a friend, lived with them. Casto opened a small trading post for the convenience of the settlers and trappers. He was an up and coming young man. His free and easy manners won him many friends in the community. He had one fault–his liking for liquor which, in the end, proved his undoing.

There was a great demand for hoop poles, used in the making of barrels. These were made from the hazel bush, of which there was a dense growth around Casto’s home. He sent the poles to San Francisco, frequently receiving as much as $1,500 for a single shipment. It was a long route through Squak Lake, through the Squak Slough and across Lake Washington to Seattle, then on down to San Francisco by sailboat.

Mr. Casto found help among the Indians. Some of them proved quite industrious when given the chance and found that they were to be paid for their labor and a little liquor on the side. Casto had been warned many times, by the settlers, that it was bad business to give Indians liquor. He treated the Indians well. They seemed to like him and looked up to him as a white “Tyee” or chief.

That fall there were whispers of an Indian uprising that had grown out of trouble between some white men and the neighboring Snohomish Indians. A chief and two Indians had been killed.

Occasionally Casto’s Indians had proved difficult to handle, especially when under the influence of liquor. Still he didn’t heed the warning. On this fatal night he gave the Indians their liquor and went home to supper.

Tribal revenge is characteristic of the Primitive Indian-they don’t easily forget. The killing of the Snohomish had been boiling up inside of them. On this particular night they planned their revenge–by taking the lives of the Casto family. The “Tyee’s” life would avenge the other two Indians that were killed.

When they made their attack, Casto was killed instantly by a whizzing bullet. Another one got the pretty girl wife. Halstead fought valiantly for his life. When the bodies were found they were literally hacked to bits. Truly a crime of vengeance.

By this time the Indians had worked themselves into such a frenzy their main objective was to kill every white person they came in contact with. It was near dawn when they finished their fiendish work. They set out for Bush’s, Casto’s nearest neighbors, who had been warned by friendly Indians that the Indians were on the warpath, so they were not taken unprepared. The children were hidden under the beds and in places that bullets were least likely to penetrate. James Bush, his wife Martha, and two men who were staying there held the attackers off until daylight. By this time the liquor had spent its fury, and they attempted to make their getaway. An Indian by the name of Aleck had heard the shooting and sensed the trouble. He shot one fleeing Indian in the back. He later came upon another one in the woods and killed him with an ax. So ended the only Indian trouble in the Valley.

The following day, the Bush family took their personal belongings and with the help of Indians made their way across Lake Sammamish, the Squak Slough and across Lake Washington to Seattle, where they lived for a year before returning to the Valley.

Page 3 from original book

On the Adams’ place was the oldest house in the Valley, a log cabin built by the Hudson’s Bay trappers when they went through the Northwest in about 1860. No nails being used, hewn to fit, and put together with pegs, and caulked with moss and mud, I mention this cabin because thirty-one years later, it was to become my home.

Page 3 from original book

Two years previous to this time, a Mr. L.B. Andrews homesteaded property, several miles from the Valley, on the site of what many years later was to become the Gilman Coal Mines. He had opened several veins and taken out what looked to him like very good coal. He took a small amount of this in a flour sack and carried it all the way to Seattle on his back. This he showed to a friend of his, a William Perkins, who pronounced it of excellent quality, the best that had come into Seattle at that time. They formed a partnership, but soon found that the development of the mine and the transportation far exceeded their capital. Mr. Perkins did go so far as to build a boat of about five-ton capacity. This was taken up the Duwamish and Black Rivers into Lake Washington, through Squak Slough and Lake Sammamish to Squak Valley, where it was loaded with the precious coal. This trip and return took about twenty days, a distance of one hundred forty miles. Not many trips such as this were made..

Page 4 from original book

William Pickering Moves to Squak Valley In 1862, President Lincoln appointed William Pickering as governor of Washington Territory. He gave him the choice of sitting in his cabinet or of becoming the fifth territorial governor. Pickering chose the latter. He came West at that time and was in office until 1886.
Shortly after coming West, he and his son William heard of this wonderful valley only a day’s journey from Seattle. It sounded like a likely place for homesteading.

When they reached Bush’s place, they were told that the Casto place was for sale. Governor Pickering asked for the loan of a shovel. After a few turns of the shovel, into the rich black loam, proved to him that it was worth the twenty-five dollars per acre. He bought the place and a few years later William Pickering, Junior, his son, homesteaded the one hundred sixty acres joining this property on the south. he built his home on a hill overlooking the entire Valley with the Lake in the distance. It was in this house that the first post office was established, and he was appointed postmaster and he made as much as two or three dollars per year.

Page 4 from original book

This was in 1870, and Clarence B. Bagley established the first mail route through that part of the country. He would pick the mail up from a steamer in Seattle at four o’clock in the afternoon and take a horse immediately for the Clymer’s farm, where he spent the night. Early the following morning he was on the trail for the Pickering Post Office, then on to Jerry Borst’s Post Office at Snoqualmie Prairie. By nightfall he would be back at the Pickering farm where he would spend the night, starting early the following morning on the return trip to Seattle.

Page 4 from original book

A man by the name of Sloan taught the first school in the same Pickering home with an attendance of half a dozen children.

Page 5 from original book

The Wold brothers had the next largest holding, adjoining the Pickering property. In 1868 they planted a half acre in hops, acquiring the necessary 2000 plants from Ezra Meeker at Puyallup. This was added to until in 1893 they had fifty acres in hops. Tom Cherry and the Bush’s started small fields.

For a time it looked as if it was to become the main industry. It was the one thing that could be baled and gotten to the Seattle markets by hauling over the New Castle Hill and across Lake Washington; or shipped on a spur of railroad which had been run into New Castle to haul coal from there.

Mr. Wold started a small store on his place. It made a trading center for the settlers and hop pickers. He also built an Indian camp where the Indians could live during the hop picking season. The Indians were coming into their own now. This was good lazy work, and they received one dollar per box, which was a lot of money to them or anyone else at that time.

Page 5 from original book

Father’s sister, Aunt Bea, married George W. Tibbetts in Missouri. In 1874 they came to .the Valley, renting the Casto place from Pickering until 1882 when they bought the Ohm homestead, the first place as one enters the Valley from Renton. He planted hops. He also built quite a sizeable hotel, or as we used to call it “The Halfway House.”

It consisted of a large kitchen, a very large dining room, a parlor and a number of bedrooms upstairs. At one end was a large store with a hall above it. This became the gathering place for community affairs and dances. The post office was moved from the Pickering place to Tibbetts’ store. A stage line was established over the New Castle Hill to Lake Washington. The Halfway House was one of the main stops on route to Fall City, Snoqualmie and North Bend.

This stage line afforded a better outlet for produce from the Valley, and also for getting supplies into the county. Of course there was always that tough haul over New Castle Hill, but even that was better than crossing Lake Sammamish, poling through Squak Slough and across Lake Washington.

Another of Father’s sisters, Aunt Savilla, left Missouri and came to the Valley where she met and married William Pickering, Jr. That is how come the governor’s son became my uncle.

He passed away early in life, leaving my Aunt with three sons and more property than she knew what to do with.

In 1882 I was born to Robert and Cora Wilson in Carthage, Missouri. The following year my Grandfather and Grandmother Wilson came to the Valley. They bought the Adams’ place that joined the Tibbetts’ property on the north toward the Lake. Mr. Adams moved to the head of the Lake joining the Brunk property where they had located several years before.

My Uncle Mike had come out from Missouri several years previously, and settled in the White River Valley. When Aunt Mollie came west, she married and settled near Renton. That about takes care of the Wilson tribe, with the exception of Uncle Tom, who moved into the Valley several years later. I wish they had come out in a covered wagon and saved me all the trouble of getting them into the Northwest one by one.

Page 6-7 from original book

When I was three years old Mother and Father decided to sell the old Wilson Ranch in Missouri and join the clan. Though I was only three I well remember this trip. We came on an emigrant train. Everyone carried his own bed roll and grub basket.

Women cooked the meals on a coal range in one end of the coach. At night the seats were put down, your bedding unrolled, and a curtain drawn around your section. To me it was like one big picnic. Such meals as Mother cooked! We had good old Missouri bacon, ham, eggs and jam. She even made biscuits and baked potatoes.

I don’t know how long it took us to make the trip. It ended too soon as far as I was concerned. We finally reached our destination at O’Brien, in the White River Valley. We were headed for Uncle Mike’s place. It meant a walk of a couple miles. I can still see Mother and Father loaded down with carpet bags and such. Mother’s free hand was dragging me along. I was just about square in those days, and my legs were pretty short. Mother kept asking me if I wouldn’t lift my feet and not kick up so much dust. When I think of what she had on my feet it is no wonder I got tired. They were very pretty little oxfords with heels a half inch high. Of all things to put on a three year old. In later years, I had them bronzed. They are sitting where I can see them at all times, and I can blame those shoes for the times I’m hobbling around now and my feet hurt.

We stayed at Uncle Mike’s for a few days. Then they loaded us and our few belongings into a spring wagon, and we started the long hard trip to Squak Valley, a matter of about twenty-five miles, but it took us all day. After leaving Renton, the roads were rugged. They were put through by the early settlers, following the line of least resistance, with nothing to work with except their horses and hand tools.

In the low marshy places they had put in puncheon roads. I am surprised to find how few people of today know what a puncheon road is. They were made by felling small trees, cutting them in lengths the width of the road and placing them side by side. Sometimes they would take the time to cut boughs to put over them. At best it didn’t make for good wheeling.

When it rained they would fairly float. It was worth one’s life to get the horses across without their slipping through and breaking a leg. In places the mud was hub deep and to the horses’ bellies. On the clay hills that were steep and slippery most wagons had a wheel block dragging behind. It was a heavy block of wood tied so it would drag behind a back wheel. They couldn’t trust the brakes on these hills. Ira horse should fall and flounder, the wagon would settle back against the block until the horse could get on its feet. Otherwise there is no telling where the whole outfit might land–perhaps at the bottom of some cliff.

It was not all like this. Some places the road was beautiful, driving through a canopy of overhanging branches of the giant firs, spruce and cedars. All the little things of the forest were twittering and chattering. Sometimes a bear would cross your path and fairly stick his nose up at you. That was his domain. He had a right to come across the road if he wanted to.

We finally drove into the Valley. I am sure I can remember just how it looked. The mountains that enclosed it seemed to hold it so secure and safe, and the towering trees that were still standing, though the early settlers had cleared a few acres throughout the Valley. There was a thick undergrowth that still waited to be grubbed out. I think, from that day on, I loved the Valley.

We stopped at Aunt Bea’s and Uncle George’s. They had a girl, Ida, two boys, Wilson and Fred, older than I, and Eddie about my age. It was good to play a little after the long, hard trip from Missouri.

We went to see Grandmother and Grandfather, then across the Valley to the Casto, or lower Pickering place that was to be our home until we could get a place of our own.

Mother had brought a pair of mocking birds from Missouri, but they did not survive long in the damp climate. She was sorry to lose them. To her they were part of her old home.

So we were to live in the house where twenty-one years before the Casto massacre had taken place. Several families had lived there since that time, but there was still evidence of blood stains on the floors, the walls and doors. There was no paint at that time. It had been whitewashed so many times it would flake off. Then more whitewash would be put on.

Page 8 from original book

It seemed that we had no more than got settled than things began to happen. A neighbor came in one evening and wanted to borrow Father’s .45 Colt revolver. He heard there was going to be some excitement at the Wold’s hop fields. Some man got the bright idea of bringing in Chinamen as cheap labor for hop picking. During the afternoon about forty Chinese had marched over the hills and pitched their tents on the Wold farm. That night a mob of the farmers tried to drive them out by threats. The following day another party of about thirty Chinamen were met at the entrance of the Valley by an armed party of white men. They were turned back and made no attempt to enter.
That night five white men and a few Indians attacked the Chinese camp on the Wold farm. After firing a number of shots into the tents they fled, leaving three dead and several wounded Chinese. The survivors fled back over the hills faster than they came in.

Father had told his neighbor that he better stay out of that mess. He had not refused him the loan of the .45, but he found it missing from the hook where it hung. The man returned it the following day with a sheepish grin–said he couldn’t miss all of that fun. We had no more Chinese trouble in the Valley. This way of violence was not new to the Valley folks; but to us, having just come from a quiet little town in Missouri, it was very exciting.

As I think back now of those early days in the Valley, it is always with the memory of Mother with her whitewash bucket and brush; or with her long skirts turned up and pinned around her waist on her knees scrubbing the floors. Father used to tell her to let them alone. It didn’t do any good. The blood stains had a way of coming through.

Some of the settlers even hinted that the place was haunted. This was the least of Mother and Father’s worries. They were too tired by night to care whether or not the bells were ringing in the attic.

Page 8 from original book

Father had gotten twenty cows, and there were the crops to put in and cultivate. We were in a country where one’s living had to come from the soil, and this by one’s own efforts and the sweat of your brow. Father got some of the squaws to agree to weed for him since it took no more effort than to crawl along the ground. They were surely a lazy bunch but Father was grateful for even that much help. He had put in stock beets, carrots and corn. He had gotten a few pigs. In fact he liked pigs and always had some as long as I can remember. At weeding time I was kept pretty busy. The squaws brought their papooses strapped to a board. One end of the board was sharp and was stuck into the ground as the squaw worked down the row. The babies were not taken off the board during the whole day to be changed or fed. Once in a while the mother would squat down by them to nurse them. I took on the job of wandering through the field and keeping the flies brushed off their dirty little faces. I was only four, but flies on the babies bothered me no end.

Page 9 from original book

One old Indian woman became very dear to my heart. As I first remember her she had white hair and always walked very stooped and carried a crooked stick for a cane. I called her Aunt Louie. As the years went on I think my whole family came to love her. Every fall she brought Mother wild blackberries, “Olallies,” in an Indian basket made of roots and reeds. They were waterproof. She would line the basket with ferns then cover the berries with ferns. I can see her old, withered hands now, uncovering them so carefully to show Mother what she had brought.

The baskets were carried on their backs suspended by thongs that were fastened to a band that fitted across their foreheads. As long as we knew her she never learned to speak English, but she could always make Mother understand what she wanted in return for the berries-a little sugar, a little salt, a little bacon, a little grease, or what have you–until her basket was filled. Then she would trudge back the four miles to the Lake, no doubt feeling that life was good.

Page 9 from original book

There were very few of the older Indians who ever learned English. Even old Chief Seattle, who had many dealings with the whites, always had his interpreter. The original Indian language was a Chinook jargon consisting of about two hundred words, often filled in with grunts and a guttural sound in the throat. When the Hudson’s Bay trappers came through they spoke the English language. Then came missionaries and Catholic priests, chiefly French Canadians. Many French and English words were brought into the Indian language, which made it easier for both whites and Indians to converse. Some of the letters were hard for the Indians to pronounce, like the letter R. They couldn’t roll their tongues around it. Words like rum and rice were pronounced lum and lice.

Page 10 from original book

I had a hard time finding someone to play with besides Indian children that I couldn’t talk to. Bush’s lived about a half mile from our place. They were a big family. One of the girls had married a Mr. Darst. They had several children all living at the Bush home. Ralph was their youngest child, a little older than I. They had an old swayback horse which he was allowed to ride sometimes. Mother would often take me over there for an afternoon. Sometimes I went without being taken.

Ralph would ride the horse up to an old rail fence. I would climb up and slip on behind him. Then we would just ride round and round the field. One thing stands out clearly in my mind–how we used to exchange our gum. It was hard to get in those days, and when we did get any we took good care of it. If Ralph was chewing gum and I didn’t have any, he would say, “Want to chew my gum for awhile, Bess?” Of course I did. In due time I would pass it back to him.

Page 10 from original book

Then there was the time they all had mumps. Mother thought it would be a good idea if I would have them while I was young. I stayed all night and slept with some of the Bush children–but no mumps. I didn’t have them until I was fourteen. Then I had them plenty hard. It just goes to show there is no use trying to plan your child’s life. You might just as well let nature take its course.

Page 10 from original book

Bush’s had a pet ‘coon they kept chained in the front yard. On one of my trips, when I had left home without leave, I must have gotten too close to the ‘coon and was attacked from ambush. By the time Mother caught up with me, switch in hand, I was standing in the yard with the whole Bush family grouped around me and blood running down my leg. Mother threw her switch away and grabbed me in her arms. She carried me home–no doubt happy that I had not been scalped by the Indians, only that my wounds were on the wrong end. I still have four little scars on my leg to prove my story if I so wish to verify it.

Page 11 from original book

On another of my “sneak away” trips I didn’t get very far. A good old thunder storm caught up with me in the hop field. I was always deathly afraid of thunder and lightning. I crawled under a hop vine and that is where Mother found me, all scratched and dirty and crying. The more I rubbed my scratches the more they hurt. They are really wicked things. They smart and sting. The first little verse I can remember reciting is:

The thunder rolls,
The clouds look big.
The lightning flashed
And killed my pig.

Not a very good verse to teach a child who was so afraid of lightning. I think Mother did this for her own amusement. She said I would open my eyes big and round and roll them from side to side and deliver it with great dramatic eloquence.

Page 12 from original book

We had another neighbor not so far away as the Bush’s, just through our orchard. They didn’t have any little children, so I didn’t bother them much. Just one little girl quite a lot older than I. I remember one time when I was forced onto them. Mother wanted to go to White River Valley for several days! ! was to stay with the Davenports. One night was enough. I slept with Goldie. During the night I got to worrying about Father being home alone and how he must miss me. ! got to crying and they couldn’t stop me. About midnight Mr. Davenport got up, pulled his pants over his night shirt and took me home. I bet Father was glad to see me. Anyway I stayed home with him and we got along fine.

Page 12 from original book

One day Father and I went to the Anderson ranch about a mile away. While he was stating his business, Mr. Anderson told me to crawl under the house–maybe I would find something I would like. This I did and came out all dirt and covered with cobwebs; but I had a darling little shepherd puppy in my arms. From that moment on, I loved her. She was something all my own. I could hardly wait until I got home to show Mother, who was quite perturbed to find the puppy was a female. This was no concern of mine. All I knew was that she was something to play with. I named her Pet, and from that time on she was my constant companion. I would even sneak her to bed with me where Mother would not find her, snuggled in my arms, when she gave me my final “tuck in” for the night.

Page 13 from original book

Father could not afford a hired man, so Mother would get up at four o’clock to milk her half of the string of cows. She was afraid to leave me in the house alone. I was bundled up and carried to the barn where I was propped up on a stool, behind the cows, to finish my morning nap. I hesitate to mention that I got well splattered. When Mother finished, I was taken to the house, cleaned up, and Mother got breakfast while Father fed the stock.

Page 13 from original book

At that time the Valley was producing hops, pigs, potatoes, oats and butter which could be freighted over the New Castle Hill, or taken the long way across Lake Sammamish, through the Slough and across Lake Washington.

Father didn’t have hops, and as for the other produce, about all he could raise was feed for his own stock until he got a start; so butter was our marketable product. We had a large dairy where the milk was cooled, skimmed and churned. That was Mother’s job–to work the butter by means of a big triangle tray, on legs, with a heavy paddle. She would work it up and down until all the buttermilk was squeezed out, then it was salted and pressed into pound molds and wrapped in butter paper. These were packed into a very heavy wooden firkin. When enough had accumulated to pay for the trip, Father would take it over the New Castle Hill, across Lake Washington to Seattle. He never came home with much money. It was usually spent on things that were needed for the farm-anything from a scythe to a plow. These were very necessary implements in those days. The fields had to be plowed and the grass cut with a scythe. The men were very adept at this. They could lay the grass in nice even windrows across the meadow. Later to be tossed with a pitchfork to dry, then stacked in a haycock to be hauled to the barn.

Page 14 from original book

Father was away on one of these trips to Seattle. Mother and I were alone on the farm. Two Indian braves came to door and asked for Bob. Like a flash, it came to Mother’s mind that history was to repeat itself and they had come to massacre us. She told them that Bob was at the barn. As soon as they were out of sight, she took me piggyback and started through the orchard to Davenport’s. When the Indians didn’t find Father, they took out after Mother at a dog trot. When she would run faster, they would trot faster. When she came within yelling distance of Davenport’s she let out a good lusty “Help.” Mr. Davenport came out and sent the bewildered Indians on their way. All they wanted was to ask Bob about a job. Mother, very meekly, took me by the hand and walked me back home.

Page 14 from original book

Bull comes in for a drink The following day the bull got out of his pen and meandered to the house. He had his eye on a rain barrel. (We had them at the corners of the house to catch the nice soft rain water.) No doubt he was thirsty. He stuck his head in a half filled rain barrel and let out a bellow that sent Mother straight to the ceiling. I just stood there with my eyes popping out. He wasn’t a friendly bull, and there was nothing Mother could do about it until a neighbor came that evening to help with the milking. The balance of that day we were marooned in the house.
Mourning with the hired man

By the time my Father reached home the following day, Mother’s nerves were well on edge. She was all for going back to Missouri unless he would get a hired man. She wasn’t going to be left there alone; so we had a hired man. He must have liked children. He spent a lot of time amusing me, if one could call it amusement. There is always something dying around a farm–like a chicken, a pig or a little lamb. He appointed me chief mourner and would call me out to cry while he buried it. Tears seemed to come easy, and he would say, “Cry harder, Bess. You can do better than that.” About that time Mother would come out and put a stop to it, and the funeral would be over until the next time.

On Father’s latest trip to Seattle he had brought me a nice little red wagon. This was wonderful–up to date, my playthings had been homemade. Now I could really help by hauling things from the dairy to the house; or from the house to the barn. And I could haul the deceased to the graveyard and have a real funeral procession. Oh yes we had a little cemetery. The hired man put up the markers and I put flowers on the graves.

Page 15 from original book

I must have been pretty much of a dreamer even in those days. Mother must have been hard put at times to answer the questions I would ask. She said that I would stand at the window, especially on a foggy morning, and watch the fog well up like a curtain until it reached the top of the beautiful big trees. Then the trees would drip from the moisture, and I would ask her if they were crying because some day they would all have to be cut down to make more meadow, to raise more hay, to feed more cows. As long as I lived in the Valley, I think I never ceased my dreaming. To me it was my “Enchanted Valley,” a place apart from all the rest of the world.

Page 15 from original book

Now that we had a hired man, Father and Mother decided that they needed a vacation. They had some friends at North Bend, a distance of eighteen or twenty miles. Mother had brought her carpet seated saddle and her riding habit from Missouri. This saddle was put on one of the work horses and Father’s stock saddle on the other. I was put in a shawl and tied on behind Mother, and so we started out. I thought Mother looked ‘beautiful in her riding habit, the long skirt sweeping almost to the ground, and the little cocky, stiff hat with a veil to hold it on.

I’m sure it took us all day to make the trip, and my legs got so tired sticking straight out. The road was nothing more than a single wagon trail winding through the wilderness and up the hill. The road from North Bend, over the Snoqualmie Pass, was very rugged. The appropriation was so small at the time, I think the road was maintained mostly by those who ventured to travel over it. It was cut through endless miles of virgin timber and over rugged mountains. If the travelers came to fallen trees across their path, it was up to them to cut them out, go around them, or build an approach to go over them. Eastern Washington cattlemen had to drive their cattle over this road to the Seattle market.

Page 16 from original book

Every year a caravan of gypsies came through with their poor skinny horses, half starved dogs, and dirty youngsters. They were usually bedecked in their bright, gay garb. By the time they reached the Valley, after the long trek over the mountains, you could fairly count the horses’ ribs. Father would let them turn the horses into a pasture, and the gypsies set up camp by the river. Then came the time of dickering and trading. The gypsy women would tell fortunes for a dozen eggs. I don’t know why the dozen eggs. They stole a lot more than that during their stay with us. Anyway it seemed to be a diversion for the older folks and I enjoyed playing with the children even if they were bedraggled and dirty. Guess it didn’t make any difference to me–gypsies, Indians, or white–children were children. About a week of this and they would be on their way to Seattle. We would not see them again for another year.

Page 16 from original book

It was quite a sight when ranchers drove great herds of longhorn steers through. The horns measured five and six feet from tip to tip. I can see Mother yet. When she would hear them bawling along the road, she would rush out of the house looking wild-eyed to see if she could spot me anywhere. I’m sure she thought that someday I would get hung up on one of their horns and that would be the last she would ever see of me.

Page 16 from original book

I am way ahead of my story, but I thought this would be a good time to tell about the first road that went over the Snoqualmie Pass. The folks had stopped at Snoqualmie Falls to rest on our trip to North Bend. Father built a campfire and we had our lunch there. The falls were breathtaking, immense and majestic–a fall of 270 feet, the water rushing and tumbling down as if it were in a hurry to get to the sea. It is a shame that anything Nature made so beautiful should ever be harnessed for power, which happened years later when Seattle outgrew the gas lights and the old oil lamps. The great trees above the falls were cut down and power houses took their place. At times when the river is low, it takes all of the water for power, leaving nothing except a great wall of bare naked rocks. At these times it looks like something dead and gone. I had the misfortune to see it like that once and never want to see it again.

Page 17 from original book

People used to marvel at the mist that rose from the tumbling water and enveloped the canyon. There is an old Indian legend which goes back before the white man invaded the Northwest. Our tribes from the Coast and the tribes of eastern Washington were warring. A foxy old chief from the Coast figured out a way to out fox his enemies. He took the warriors up the Snoqualmie River in their canoes. When the enemies gave chase, he led them down the river toward the falls. His canoes were run into a large eddy at the head of the falls. Too late the enemy realized they had been trapped; but there was no stopping. They were all carried over the falls. Among them was a young brave who was in love with a maiden from the Coast tribe. When she heard that her lover had gone over the falls, she plunged from the cliffs above to her death below. The mist was her spirit calling for that of her lover.

This is not for me to verify or disprove. We little know what took place many, many years before the white man invaded the wild, untamed Northwest.

Page 17 from original book

After our lunch at the falls, I, very reluctantly, let Father tie me on behind Mother. We finally reached our destination. The only thing which made my trip worthwhile was the fact that they had a little girl about my age.
The following day we were playing outside and ran into a yellow jackets’ nest hanging from a bush. We got our hair full of them and, no doubt, things were pretty lively around there for awhile–besides leaving us with sore heads. That is about all I can remember of our stay there. I expect they were glad when we left, and Mother was happy to get me home.

Page 18 from original book

Sometime later the same family came to the Valley to return our visit. The little girl got mad at me and bit me through the hand. There was a whitewash bucket sitting nearby. The only thing I could think of bad enough to do to her was to pour whitewash on her head. Her Mother grabbed her and ran to the pump to wash it off. Mother yelled at her not to put water on it, to put grease on. I guess that saved her hair. She grew up with a head of beautiful curly hair of which I was always envious. Mine was so straight it was pitiful.

Page 18 from original book

It was about this time that the Valley began to feel the need of a real school. The lower part of Bush’s hop house was converted into a schoolroom. A very lovely and very pretty young lady of eighteen was sent up from the University of Washington to teach, Hessie Cox. She boarded with Mother and became a lifelong friend. To this day she is still my Aunt Hessie.

Her trials and tribulation were many. Some of the boys were half-grown and as wild and untamed as the Valley they were raised in. They came to school well equipped with jackknives and other implements necessary to do their handicraft-each trying to out do the other in carving their desks with the most elaborate scrolls; or cutting their initials the deepest. John Bush, the youngest of the Bush children was by far the better carver. Aunt Hessie would often come home crying and ask Mother how she could ever cope with the situation. The boys were too big to punish. I think she must have won them by tenderness. They came to love her very much.

Page 18 from original book

John had a little feeling of superiority. He was the first white child to go over Snoqualmie Pass when he was only nine months old. His folks decided to try eastern Washington for awhile. It was a great cattle country, and Mr. Bush was interested in horses. In later years when John used to tell of this trip, I asked him how in the world they got him over there. He said he guessed they hung him over the horn of a saddle. After two years, Mr. Bush had accumulated quite a little stock and horses to bring back to the Valley. On this trip it took them twenty-one days to make the trip from the eastside to North Bend.

The road along the shore of Lake Keechelus was almost impassable at that time. They had to build a barge at the head of the lake and transport much of their household goods the length of the lake, which was only seven miles. This took time and patience, and the pioneers had plenty of both.

Page 19-20 from original book

The spring that I was five years old, Mother took a notion that she would like to go to Seattle and spend some of her butter money. She asked Aunt Hessie if she thought she could manage me for a couple of days. She was sure she could, and that suited me fine. She took me to school with her. I felt very grown-up sitting there with all of the older children. At that it was a long day for me to sit still. I got pretty tired and sleepy. Aunt Hessie fixed me a bed on one of the long seats and I had my afternoon nap.

On Mother’s return trip from Seattle, she had quite an experience on the stage over the New Castle Hill. She and some lady, with a bird in a cage, were sitting on the back seat. Some man had tied two hound dogs to the seat. When they were going up one of these steep hills, the seat went over backwards. The woman, birdcage, two dogs and Mother landed in a heap in the road. No damage was done. Mother had a quick temper, also a sense of humor; but after all, that was carrying things too far. By the time she got untangled from the dogs, she, no doubt, told the stage driver plenty and gave him some good ideas as how to fasten the seat down, besides just slipping them over the side boards. By the time she reached home and retold the incident, they all had a good laugh. About all I could think of was wondering if they hurt the dogs when they fell on them.

For several years previous to this time, there had been much talk of a railroad from Seattle, through the Valley and on to North Bend, where they hoped at some time to continue it over Snoqualmie Pass to eastern Washington. Through the efforts of Daniel Hunt Gilman, a prominent resident of Seattle, the Lake Shore and Eastern was about to be put through.

The engineers came to our place and asked Mother if she would board them, which she was very happy to do. A large tent was pitched in our yard, and a long, board table put in the house. Then Mother was in her element. She was a wonderful cook, and she had plenty to do with–all of the garden vegetables and pork, smoked pork, salt pork and more pork. The doctors say pork isn’t healthy, but it is still my favorite meat. There is nothing I like better than good old side pork and hominy. Mother made her own hominy with wood ashes and whatnot. In those days we had three full meals a day, breakfast, dinner and supper. The engineers were always ready for all three of them.

The settlers were taking heart now that the railroad was really going through. They could add a great future for the Valley. More land was being cleared for meadows, more swamps slashed and drained for pasture. All of the beautiful trees were slowly disappearing. They were cut down and dragged by horses or oxen to great piles and burned. At night one could see the red glow of the big fires throughout the Valley, and you would know that one more meadow was in the making. The farmers were increasing their herds. There were more sheep and more pigs. They knew that soon there would be an outlet for all of their produce.

Everyone seemed to be happy. There were more social activities; a dance once in awhile at Uncle George’s hall, or sometimes a party at the different ranch houses. Mother had brought a taffy hook from Missouri. It was her job to supply taffy for these functions. It used to fascinate me. She would take a big hunk of this taffy, throw it over the hook and pull it out in a long rope, over and over again. Sometimes ! would catch my breath–I thought surely she would drop it, but she never did. This continued until it was a beautiful rich taffy color. Then she would roll it out on a big board and crack it into little chunks.

I remember one night the folks decided to have a surprise party on Tom Cherry, a bachelor. Mother made a boiler full of oyster stew, and they started out across the field with it, engineers and all. Why they didn’t take the oysters over and make the stew when they got there I don’t know. There was much laughter and hilarity as they trudged through the fields, boosting the boiler of stew over the fences. When we reached our destination, the small children were immediately bedded down in some out-of-the-way place for the night. As each family came in another youngster was added. Mr. and Mrs. John McGraw and their small son, Tommy, were visiting the Tibbetts, so they were at the party. That was when Washington was still a territory and several years before Mr. McGraw was governor of Washington when it became a State. Tommy shared the corner with the rest of us youngsters. In years after we used to laugh about it, and always felt that we had something in common.

I guess I gave Mother a bad time during these years. I was forever running away. I had the schoolhouse to run to now, but Mother knew that Aunt Hessie would always send some older child home with me so she didn’t have to worry about that.

One day I really stirred up the whole neighborhood–and [The students work ends here.]

The Story of a Quilt: Salmon Days, 1983


1983 Salmon Days Quilt (IHM 2005-20-1)

When artifacts come to the Issaquah Historical  Society, we often have a vague outline of where that item came from, where it has been, and what it meant to those who have owned it. In rare instances, an artifact comes to us with a long and detailed history. This summer we received one such item, a quilt accompanied by a remarkable story.

During the summer of 1983, 22 local quilters appliquéd and embroidered quilt blocks meant to represent aspects of the Issaquah community. Once pieced, the quilt would be raffled off during Salmon Days. Proceeds would go to Community Enterprises of Issaquah, to   support their work with the developmentally disabled.

Community Enterprises of Issaquah (CEI) was founded in 1977 as a community rehabilitation program. Its intent was – and is – to provide opportunities for individuals with developmental disabilities. Jean Harrington first suggested a quilt raffle as a fundraiser, inspired by a similar project in Port Townsend. Alice Paschal designed quilt blocks for the project. The patterns were distributed, along with fabric squares, to complete and return. When the squares had been returned, volunteers helped with the assembly and finish work of the quilt. During the weeks leading up to Salmon Days, the quilt was displayed at area businesses, and people had the opportunity to purchase raffle tickets to win the quilt. Monita Horn, who worked quilt blocks for the project from 1981 to 1987, remembers, “I kept hoping I would win the quilt, even though I have no place to display it. I would buy a whole string of tickets, but it never happened.” The quilt raffle was an annual event throughout the 1980s, with Paschal creating a few new blocks each year for variety.


1983 Salmon Day Quilt

On August 24, 1983, a letter to the editor of the Issaquah Press from CEI Secretary Carol Harbolt reminded readers that, “… our very special quilt, designed by Alice Paschal, has been completed and is on display around town until Salmon Days… If you thought the previous quilts were beautiful, wait until you see this one.” Issaquah Press coverage of the 1983 Salmon Days celebration did not reveal the winner of the quilt raffle, and the quilt disappeared from the historical record.

More than 20 years later, Robin Abel discovered the quilt in a second-hand store in Renton. The quilt was in excellent condition and she recalls that something about it affected her. Although she didn’t have any ties to Issaquah, she bought  it.

Robin was in the midst of great turmoil in her personal life. Her daughter, Maria Federici, had been involved in a serious car accident in February of 2004, while driving home from work on I-405, Maria’s car was struck by part of an unsecured load from the car in front of her. She was lucky to have survived, and was left blind and seriously injured. Robin initially took a leave of absence from work to provide care for her daughter, and eventually had to resign to continue providing care. Maria had no health insurance, and her medical bills quickly topped $1 million. Because not covering your load was not considered a crime at that time, Maria could not apply for criminal victim compensation (Robin and Maria have campaigned—and succeeded—in having the law changed). By summer of 2005, Robin had exhausted her savings and was selling her possessions to pay for her and Maria’s basic living expenses.

While going through her collections, Robin found the 1983 Salmon Days quilt. She called the Issaquah   Historical Society offices to ask if they would be interested in purchasing the quilt. She said that she didn’t want to sell it to just anyone, and thought that the historical society would appreciate the quilt, and might be able to purchase it, or at least find a good home for it.

We sent out an e-mail to our friends and members and told them about the quilt, hoping someone among them might want to purchase it. But our members had a different idea. One donor offered a contribution and a challenge: if nine other people would contribute, then the quilt could be purchased for the IHS. Others quickly met the challenge, and the pledges flooded in, surpassing our goal by several hundred dollars. Within a week, we had raised $845 to purchase the quilt.

It is hard to tell who benefited the most from this transaction. Robin Abel and her daughter received help with their living expenses. The Issaquah Historical Society acquired a beautifully crafted piece of local history. And the wonderful donors who stepped in to make sure Robin had help, and the IHS had this quilt, received the deep satisfaction of knowing that they had made an amazing thing possible.

Do you have any information on the hand-pieced CEI quilts, or do you know who may have won any of the raffled quilts? Please let us know! Contact us at 425/392-3500 or info@issaquahhistory. For more information on Maria Federici’s recovery, go to

Jo’s Bob

As we examine some of the icons of the 1920s in the lives of our Local History Month heroines, we can’t help but consider the bob.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story, Bernice Bobs Her Hair, captures the transformative power of bobbed hair as a rite of passage into the Roaring Twenties. In Bernice’s case, she found that she couldn’t really carry off a bob; neither her hair nor her self-confidence were the right texture for a bob. Josephine and Ferol, however, were born for the bob.

I’m not sure what hair styles were truly representative of circa 1920 in other places, but the hairstyles on display in Issaquah’s class photos and yearbook pictures were matronly and often unflattering. In earlier photos of Josephine with her hair in an upsweep, she appears older than she does in later pictures where her hair is bobbed. She also appears much happier and more at ease with herself in the post-bob photos, although this could also be explained by the poise of an adult versus the unease of a teenager, along with what appears to be significant weight loss. (Click on the images to view them in detail).