Tales of Impalement

In doing some background reading for my newest research/writing project I ran across an anecdote that interested me. It told of a teamster/bullwhacker in the nineteenth century who, while trying to yoke one of his oxen, got hooked under his chin by the critter’s horn, lifted aloft, and carried around the corral area until help arrived. According to the story teller he recovered but was forced to eat mush for the rest of his life. I thought that was a singular event until yesterday when I found this story. A Spanish bullfighter entered the ring and worked to subdue the bull - as they usually do. The bull hooked him, but much worse than the man in the aforementioned tale, the tip of the bull’s horn pierced the soft skin of the bullfighter’s throat and exited through the man’s mouth. He survived with the help of a surgeon but is in pretty tough shape. Readers of this blog can find several references to the event by googling the words “bullfighter gored in neck.” The pictures are graphic and might make you squeamish. I thought to myself that we can’t blame the animal in either case for doing something in his self-defense.

So much of interest to be found when I poke around history. In my opening line I mentioned my current research/writing project. The place name of Pigeon Point in Owego Township will receive some attention because it was an overnight stop between Forts Abercrombie and Ransom on the freight trail. Why the name Pigeon Point? In my reading I found where one of the old-timers related as to how numerous the passenger pigeons roosted in the trees at that spot. That species is now extinct, but still in the 1860’s and 70’s they were numerous. The famous John James Audubon spoke of them. He set about trying to count them one day and gave up after tallying 163 flocks having passed him in 21 minutes. He said, “The air was literally filled with pigeons; the light of noon-day was obscured as by an eclipse, the dung fell in spots, not unlike melting flakes of snow…” He did some estimating over the next three hours that if the flock was one mile wide and traveled at the rate of a mile a minute, allowing two pigeons to the square yard, that one billion, one hundred and fifteen million, one hundred and thirty-six thousand passed by. The flight of pigeons he observed lasted for three days. I don’t know how accurate he was, but there surely were a lot of pigeons in the air.

And, to finish off with another story of impalement one of the old settlers writing in the WPA history project in the 1930’s told of the family Thomas Wilson, the first settlers in my home township of Greene who farmed just a short while before moving into the just-platted town of Sheldon in 1882. Wilson went to work for storekeepers Goodman and Grange as a butcher. One day he butchered 100 hogs in a fenced enclosure and stuck each severed head on one of the posts, “a very queer looking sight it was!”

A Strange Bird Flew By

A couple of days ago as I browsed in the stacks of the Bismarck Public Library I spotted a book which jumped out at me because it revived a strong memory. The book Flying MacArthur to Victory written by Dusty Rhoades relates in diary form the author’s experiences in World War II piloting MacArthur’s personal plane The Bataan, a converted B-17 heavy bomber. Several thousand of these were built and were notable for their ability to continue flying even after suffering battle damage. My experience was this: in the early 1970’s mosquitoes were infecting horses with sleeping sickness - equine encephalitis - which could transfer to humans, and it was decided that a general spraying program would help to control the outbreak. After the B-17’s usefulness ended most of them headed for salvage. The Bataan, even with its historical significance, survived and sat on a runway somewhere available to be adapted to the job at hand.

At the time I worked at the Sheldon school which needed basement remodeling because of flooding from heavy rainfall. Lots of junk needed to be hauled away and one morning George Bartholomay, Kenny Lewis, and I took a pickup loaded with it to the dump grounds. After unloading, I hopped in the back end of the pickup to let the wind blow through my hair on the sultry summer day and remember this scene so distinctly. Sensing something I looked back as we drove along and saw the huge four-engine bomber bearing directly at us and flying only about 500 feet off the ground. I banged on the roof of the cab and hollered so the other two could see it as it passed overhead dragging its large shadow. We watched it make just a few passes over Sheldon as it sprayed the chemicals and then it was gone, off to another town.

Whether or not the spraying program succeeded I doubt anyone can say that it did. Maybe it caused a few cancers in people who happened to have it rain on them as they stood watching the plane. It was something out of the ordinary, the biggest thing to happen that day in lots of little towns.

Some Lighter News

As is usually the case the past week’s news is mind-numbing and items of importance are shunted off to the side to make room for the next new and exciting thing. The oil leak in the Gulf, Nashville inundated, the nomination of a new Supreme Court judge, the sharp drop in the stock market, etc. all grab at our attention during the daily news cycles. It gets so we have to pick and choose if we want to keep up. Mix in Tiger Woods, global warming, health care, volcanic ash and the brew thickens.

News in my hometown paper was much simpler in May of 1885. The following are a few gleaned from the records of the Heritage Center: Thousands of dozen of eggs are being shipped from Sheldon to the Fargo market . . . P. P. Goodman has planted twenty-five acres of corn down on his Sheyenne River farm . . . Business has been lively during the past week. The business side of front street having been crowded with teams from early morn until dewy eve . . . City Marshal Sanborn has given some of the hilariously inclined farmer citizens a little whatcome advice lately in consequence of which they crawled into their wagons and made tracks for home . . . Several prairie schooners passed through town yesterday bound for the west.

Jumping ahead twenty-five years we find these tidbits: Hans Bjugstad, while strolling around through the hills last Saturday ran on to a den of young coyotes. He dug out seven of the little animals . . . For centuries scientists have been racking their brains in an effort to discover the elixir of life, a recipe for perpetual youth. But it remains for man unknown to the world of science to find the true preventative for old age, the fountain of perpetual youth. That man is Chauncy Durgin. He attributes his extremely youthful appearance at the age of ninety-three to his habit of eating pie every morning for breakfast and conveying it to his mouth with a knife. Since he gave his discovery to the world several of our young men upon whom Father Time has laid his hand, have been following his example. As a result the pie market has been rapidly rising in price . . . ad: Burke’s Auto Livery takes you anywhere. Expert and sober chauffeurs only employed. Phone 63, Sheldon . . . Tuesday morning Mail Carrier Good’s “bronco” went out on a strike, decided that he wouldn’t carry Uncle Sam’s mail any longer and proceeded to kick the mail cart into kindling wood. He succeeded admirably and Mr. Good had to return to town and make the trip by bicycle route.

In the hallway of the Heritage Center, an exhibit of the front page of various state newspapers caught my eye. The Fargo Daily Courier of January 17, 1917 had this headline in large letters: Ballot Is Given to North Dakota Women. Hanging beside it was this front page from the December 28, 1930 issue of the Bismarck Tribune: Fire Destroys State Capitol. I don‘t think the state historians were making any type of statement.

My Two Cents

So much to read, so little time! It seems like I spend all my money on books. A new title caught my eye so I bought it: The Long Way Home - An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War. The first lines in the dust jacket of the book read “When the United States entered World War I in 1917, one-third of the nation’s population had been born overseas or had a parent who was an immigrant. At the peak of U. S. involvement in the war, nearly one in five American soldiers was foreign-born.” Since my maternal grandfather fit into that category I thought it would be informative. The author traces the lives of a dozen men, one of whom came from Norway. When I looked deeper into the tale I discovered he marched with the 362nd Regiment of the 91st Division, the same one Grandpa was a member of. Reading this account should give me a bit more insight into the sketchy history of the battles he fought in.

The 91st, identified as the Wild West Division, included a lot of cowboy types from Wyoming and Montana. One of my uncles told the story he knew of the time when Grandpa’s troop train carried the raw recruits to their training camp in Washington. At a station stop some sergeant started bawling orders at them and one of them promptly decked the sergeant. He didn’t take kindly to being ordered around. At the remaining station stops armed guards stood on the platform to keep order.
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We recently visited New Orleans, the Gulf Coast area, and Nashville. Now both are suffering through disasters. I hope they don’t think that the dark cloud follows me around and that I had something to do with it. I might want to go back sometime.
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We just finished re-watching my John Adams boxed DVD set as well as a Thomas Jefferson DVD found at the library. Without the leadership and wisdom these two men demonstrated in the early days of this country a much different government probably would have developed. I've been watching the new Tom Hanks production of "The Pacific" on HBO. The battle scenes are very graphic, but it doesn't match up to the earlier "Band of Brothers" or "Saving Private Ryan."