This is a transcription of a tape made in Mitchell, South Dakota on June 19, 1977, in the home of Frank Johnson, who is a nephew of Clare Johnson and the son of Nathan Johnson, some of the first settlers in the Columbia/Brown County area.
Woman Interviewer: Millicent Atkins
Men Interviewers: Ed Karlen and Willis Klepfer
Woman: And, Frank, you said that your father and Clare and who else was in that party that came to South Dakota? And his sister was in that party, wasn’t she?
Frank: Yes, Hattie Greenwald, his sister.
Willis: Greenwald! That’s who I was trying to think of.
Willis: And they followed a government trail, wasn’t it. . from . . .
Frank: Pierre to Sisseton, Fort Sisseton.
Woman: And according to the Brown County history, it said that there were two wagons in that group, one led by oxen and one by mules and they had two weeks on the road until they got to Columbia, or the area that is now known as Columbia and there were four people in that party. What had they been doing before they came on this trip?
Frank: Clare and Nathan Johnson had both been working for the government at Cheyenne Agency.
Woman: Oh, yes, and what were they doing there?
Frank: I don’t really know what Clare [ ] Nathan Johnson was boss herder for the government, handling their herds of cattle that the government had the Indians bring in once a month. They’d bring the herd in once a month off the range and butcher what they needed and have the Indians take the herd back out. That was his job.
Woman: And the cattle belonged to the government?
Frank: The government, that’s right.
Woman: Do you know anything about how they distributed this meat?
Frank: Indians would let the squaws help take the animals apart after they were killed, and they’d take care of the meat.
Man: I suppose they had some kind of a set method of how much each family got. They divided it some way.
Frank: I don’t know exactly.
Woman: Do you remember your fathers telling more about that trip or early settling in South Dakota?
Frank: I heard him tell so much . . . I remember one time they had a sheet iron stove that they did their cooking on and they forgot to put the cartridges in the stove on the trip. I mean, they forgot to take them out . . . and after they got the fire going the cartridges started going off, and of course they cleared the tent. Folks got out of there as fast as they could!
Man: I can see they would! A little excitement, huh?
Frank: Having felt the bullets go through that sheet iron really had them going [ ]
Woman: But you thought from what you remember of your father’s telling you that both he and Clare. Nathan and Clare . . . were in this first group that came?
Frank: Clare’s west side of the river and father was on the east side. . . that is, most of the land was on the east side . . . bout 40 acres was on the west side. And that was his claim and he got a redemption, too.
Man: Now did they stay there then, Mr. Johnson, or after they’d stayed there for a certain length of time, did they both go back to the Cheyenne Aagency?
Frank: Never went back. Drifting Goose, an old chief who claimed that valley, came along after they’d got settled there and told them that was his hunting ground and they’d have to get out. He’d give them until next spring . . . I mean, next time he came up that way, to be gone. When he came back, he told Clare he was sure a brave man to stay here when he’d told him to get out and they didn’t listen.
Some of the Everson’s, they all went back to Minnesota after Drifting Goose had been there. But the Johnsons didn’t go.
Woman: You think Drifting Goose came along . . . .
Frank: His whole band . . . there were plenty of them. You see, they weren’t very [ ], that was right after Custer’s massacre in ’76; they split up and beat it for Canada. One of those Indians that killed Uncle Joe . . . when Joe got free from the government he started to go back where his brothers were on horseback alone. He didn’t show up when they expected him so Clare and I don’t know who the man was went back on the trail until they found his body in the brush there in Okoboji Creek near Onida and found his naked body in the brush.
His fingers were cut off, to get his rings, and all his clothes and his horse and saddle and everything he had plus he was paid off in gold at the fort.
Find out what that Indian was . . . they found his squaw. He didn’t take his squaw with him . . . he’d ran off with all the stuff and left her there. She, of course, was ready to talk. She told us what happened . . . it was her husband Brave Bear who did it. They couldn’t get him. It took him two years before he came back . . . they thought they were safe. They got him at Bismarck, and took him to Yankton [ ] of the territory. That’s on record, of course, down in Yankton, the seat of the territory. Governments at that time were supposed to reimburse people for losses or injury and charges for repairs, and they never got anything.
Woman: That was about in 1876?
Frank: 1878.
Woman: And when were you born, Mr. Johnson?
Frank: August 16, 1886.
Woman: And you lived at? You lived in the same place that your folks had settled?
Frank: I was born on the claim that my father took . . . it was 1913 . . . actually 1912. Ralph and I drove down in 1912 . . . had a good crop in 1912. I remember Ralph had a thrasher down by Eureka somewhere . . . one of those big outfits . . . and we had a good crop.
I was married, and Ralph was going to get married, so I was coming down here in 1913, I only farmed down here 10 years. They were all good years . . . good crops.
Woman: How did you happen to come down here to farm, Mr. Johnson?
Frank: Well, I don’t know. My wife’s influence . . . she wanted to come back down here . . . she was bred and raised back here. She wanted to come down to this country. Elva wanted Ralph to go back to her country . . . remember?
Woman: That was Wisconsin, wasn’t it?
Frank: Yes, Wisconsin.
Man: They tried that for a couple of years.
Frank: My wife and I went over and saw them that year they were there and I knew Ralph couldn’t take that. Little patches here and there of trees . . . dairy country . . . Elva didn’t like it there either anymore.
By our house, it was flat and we had a tennis court there. We played tennis and we played ball out there. All the kids around that were handy would come down there in the evening this time of the year and they’d play ball or tennis ball, mostly, when we all got together. And we’d play as long as we could see. And we had a swimming hole up there about halfway between and we’d all go up there and go swimming . . . there was quite a bunch of us altogether, wasn’t there?
Willis: Oh, yeah, there was quite a crew!
Woman: Was this part of the Jim River or the Elm?
Frank: Part of the Jim River. I’ve always lived on the Jim up there.
Woman: That’s quite a record!
Frank: Yes, we used to [ ]. ‘Course, I don’t know what the girls did, but that was all boys who used to get together and played ball and tennis. Wasn’t so many girls in the neighborhood, it don’t seem to me, was there?
Willis: I don’t know, as there were too many girls.
Frank: No, they didn’t come out. That’s what the boys did . . . play ball, swim.
Willis: That was before the days of girls playing ball . . . it’s a little different now.
Frank: Out here, in this park, there’s a bunch of girls playing every day.
Willis: Look at it rain.
Frank: Yes, one of those little showers. Maybe get two.
Frank: Did most of my hunting alone. Ralph didn’t seem to care much about hunting then and of course, I was three years older than Ralph when I started hunting. My grandfather lived there near us and he thought I ought to have a gun when I got to be eight years old. He said a boy alone can’t hurt himself with his own gun . . . a long-barreled gun. I hunted alone . . . me and the dog.
Woman: And what did you have to hunt?
Frank: Ducks. Had different seasons than we have now. They’ve changed them some. We hunted rabbits, ducks, and lots of prairie chickens, then. They used to cover the straw stacks . . . those prairie chickens. Remember how we used to . . . some of the fellows wasn’t supposed to . . . I never did it, but they wasn’t supposed to ship out the game. Some of it was shipped out to Chicago. You see, we had an express train then.
Woman: What about your mail service then?
Frank: Mail service? We didn’t have it in the country. We didn’t have telephone either . . . not when I was a young boy, but of course we got it later.
Man: Where did you get your necessities of life, Mr. Johnson?
Frank: Columbia.
Woman: Who had stores there?
Frank: John Gaskin had a good store back when I was a boy. Then Ed Karlen’s had it later on, had a very good store . . . Krege’s had a drug store there.
Woman: And how many miles was it from your place to town?
Frank: We called it three miles. It was around the bend of the river. Pretty close to three miles. I think the Atkins place was 2 ½ miles, maybe. There was Fred and Arthur and Walter and Jay . . . the 4 boys . . . there were no girls.
Woman: They were your closest neighbors, then?
Frank: They were our closest neighbors. The other closest place was the Schliebe place . . . east a half a mile. A blacksmith from Columbia owned the land, but he always had renters . . . different families lived on it.
Man: That would be where Henry Bohling lives.
Frank: There was always somebody there . . . they had one time . . . after they got that school over on the school section . . . when I was old enough to go to school . . . six years old, there wasn’t any school out in the country. And my grandmother lived in Columbia . . . my grandfather’s widow. She had raised this family of seven children after he was killed . . . he was about 35 years old. He was a Captain [ ] He was killed down at Big Squares, was with Grant’s army . . . 17,000 men were killed at Big Squares. That cemetery was 17,000 Union soldiers. May 1863.
Woman: That was your grandfather.
Frank: That was my grandfather. His name was Silas Johnson. Yes, he left a widow with seven children. As I started to say, I lived in Columbia in her little house with her where Robert Johnson lives now. I lived there with her in that house the first year when I was seven years old. Didn’t start school ’til I was seven so I’ve always been a little behind. Yeah, I never quite caught up! She was a good Scotch-Irish gal . . . her name was Clara.
Woman: Well, when did she come to South Dakota? Her sons were here.
Frank: Later on, her sons brought her here. She had a big pension . . . eight dollars a month. And seven children. She worked hard. She lived to a good old age. I was staying with her and going to school and come home on weekends and on Sundays. Mr. Huntsburger (?) lived next to her and he used to bring her milk over for her . . . he had some cows . . . so I was home out at the farm and got word that Mr. Huntsburger had found her dead on her couch.
Woman: That was one weekend when you were home, you said.
Frank: Yes, I was about eight years old. Yes, she died during church sitting there on the couch. So after that I had to get to school some other way. They built a school out at the school section, out east, you know. They called it the Nelson School . . . about a quarter of a mile. (This was on the same site as the Donald Smilloff farm, just east of the pond).
Woman: That wasn’t too far for you to go then.
Frank: It was the (?), then half a mile to get to that.
Willis: Oh, yes, so that would be a little over a mile, wouldn’t it?
Frank: I went to school there for one year . . . guess maybe for two years.
Woman: What about the town of Columbia as you remember it? Was it quite a thriving town?
Frank: I remember when the mill was down by the river there. We used to walk right by it when we went [ ], and that was across the [ ] right straight through. And the people who lived across the other side there was the Packers(?). Remember them? That was before your [ ]. Well, they had quite a bunch of kids . . . I used to walk along with them. They lived right by the mill . . . the dam had gone out, but the mill was still there. They hauled that lumber to make the mill from Watertown . . . my father helped . . . and then they never used it again. The dam either went out or they let it go. That was back in the days when they had a steamboat that went clear up into North Dakota. I don’t really remember it.
Willis: Do you have any idea how many years the mill was in operation?
Frank: I don’t . . . I should, but I just don’t remember. Wasn’t too long.
Willis: I know it wasn’t in operation the year we came here.
Frank: What year was that?
Willis: 1907. Of course, that would be a long time after that.
Frank: They had that sighting for the railroad, you know.
Willis: That grade is still there.
Frank: (bad section of tape) It was quite a bit later. I was born in ’86.
Woman: Did people come from quite a distance to get to this mill?
Frank: They hauled their wheat, mostly, to the mill by wagon.
Woman: And then they would take flour home, I imagine.
Frank: I did that after [ ]. They had a mill over at . . . I took wheat over there in a wagon. They had that mill running. (Inaudible)
Woman: And you said you came down here in ’13?
Frank: (Unable to hear for quite a while)
Man: Is that Drifting Goose that’s buried on the hill just west of Mobridge?
Frank: No, he was hung down at Yankton.
Woman: I’m still trying to think of who that is at Mobridge.
Willis: Sitting Bull . . . sure, that’s who it was.
Frank: Where did you say that was?
Man: Up on the hill on the west (of Mobridge) where the old highway used to go up . . . you probably miss it now. On the west side of the river.
Frank: Mobridge?
Man: Yes.
Frank: Yes, that’s where he is. I thought you said . . . I was thinking of Chamberlain.
Woman: Was Drifting Goose a chief?
Frank: Yes. I don’t know how many were in his band. He came along there once and told the guys to get out.
Willis: They didn’t get, huh?
Frank: No, they wanted to stay there.
Willis: What was your mother’s maiden name? Was it Kilmar?
Frank: Kilmar. Yes, my grandfather Kilmar died when I was just a little boy. I remember the day of the funeral I was up along at somebody’s place on that road that goes north. [ ] Per Dean Johnson, this was the John Wahl slough where Isaac Abeln now lives).
Woman: That answers the question we had on the way down . . . how your relatives got over to the Lincoln Ranch area.
Willis: That’s where your mother first lived, isn’t it? They had kind of a dugout, or a sod house in to a bank.
Frank: There was a high bank there on the Elm where it made a curve, they dug right back into it . . . all they had to do was . . . didn’t take much lumber. (section of bad tape)
Yes, they came from Michigan . . . my mother . . . ’83 when they got a claim.
Woman: And how long was the time that you could get a claim?
Frank: You could get a claim as long as they lasted.
(section of bad tape)
Woman: How long did they have to live on it?
Frank: Five years, was it?
(section of bad tape)
Frank: The snow was so deep that you could walk right across the treetops. In the spring, that’s when they had that big flood.
Woman: Did it affect your property, your house? Did you have to move out?
Frank: We had to move out . . . had to move up on the hill. Everything was (inaudible)
End of Side one.
Frank: I skated to Columbia at different times.
Willis: We were fools enough to say we were going to skate to Tacoma Park . . . we did, but we were all skated out, I’ll tell you that!
Frank: I’ll bet you were! I’m surprised you made it back home! I think I would’ve taken off my skates and walked back!
Willis: We were tempted to several times, but we thought as long as we were at it we might as well keep going.
Woman: Did you stay down at Tacoma Park for any length of time then?
Willis: All I can remember is I suppose we went to the store and bought a bar of candy for a nickel and headed back home. Frank, do you have any idea who built the first house in Columbia? Was it up there near . . . now the old Huntsburger place was right next to your place? Now was that one of the first? Seems to me, someone told me that was one of the earliest, but I don’t know whether it was the first one or not.
Frank: No, I don’t either, but it was an early one. He was a lawyer, wasn’t he?
Willis: I think so.
Frank: Mr. Atkins was a lawyer.
Willis: Oh, yes, your grandfather was an attorney.
Frank: I remember Mr. Huntsburger and Mr. Atkins. Are all the Atkins boys gone?
Woman: Jay is still living in Missoula, Montana.
Frank: When did Walter die?
Woman: About two years ago. I have an article in the car about his death.
Frank: Walter and I were exactly the same age. We were born the same year, about eight days apart. And I remember back on our birthday . . . one or the other of us . . . why we had a cake and a little birthday party. Art is older. Ralph and I and Jay and Walter played together . . . we were on the river so much . . . fished and swam . . . used to dig out crawfish and frog legs and have a little campfire. That was in the days before we ever started to do any work, but after work came along we lost out on that.
Woman: You’d had your fun, huh?
Frank: Yes, but we sure did enjoy those younger days.
Man: Did you have more contact between the Atkins’ than the Everson’s?
Frank: Yeah.
Man: Because they lived closer to you. Do you remember Frank Everson?
Frank: Not one of the boys.
Willis: I wonder if he didn’t, do you suppose he went by a different name. I thought I knew every Everson, then Frank comes up with the same answer that I did . . . he asked me if I was coming down [ ]
Man: Did you know George?
Frank & Willis: Oh sure . . . Georgie.
Frank: He knew Ella Putney.
Man: Well, Frank would have been his brother.
Frank: That would have meant he was older.
Willis: Oh, sure, that’s right, but I can’t even remember a Frank Everson.
Frank: I don’t either.
Willis: That’s what I can’t figure out. Where did you get this information?
Man: I talked to Frank.
Woman: Where was that?
Man: Well, he used to own a quarter of land up there by us.
Frank: Right from the horses’ mouth!
Man: He was living at that time over on South 2nd Street with a daughter in Aberdeen. It was a little square house made out of blocks. Well, Frank Everson and his daughter lived there.
Willis: It couldn’t have been Stella [ ].
Man: Stella was John Everson’s daughter. In the old Everson family . . . well, you’d know more about this than me, Mr. Johnson, but I think there was Mrs. Walter Gilchrist (that would have been Stana), then there was George, then Frank, and then I think Jim was another boy. Jim went to Canada at an early age.
Frank: John, Ben, and Ole down the river, in that order.
Man: That’s right.
Frank: Ole [ ]
Woman: Were they all north of Tacoma Avenue . . . the Everson’s?
Frank: Yeah, north.
Man: I think Frank is the only one living of the old Gilchrist family. Mrs. Gilchrist is gone, and Jim, the one who lived in Canada, I’m sure just passed away within the last two years, as did George. Lorie – is this George Gilchrist? Not aware of any Georges.
Frank: Say, now that I think about it, the day after you were here, Boyd Johnson and his family stopped in.
Willis: Boyd and Frances? Oh, they did?
Frank: Yeah . . . they surprised us . . . and they went on down to Yankton because one of their daughters is in school there. Then they were going on down to Louisiana where their oldest married daughter is . . . they were going down to see her.
Willis: For land’s sakes! Too bad they couldn’t have gotten here the day we were here.
Frank: That’s what they said. They were very sorry because Marjorie had just gone. My daughter from Vermont was here and her daughter.
Woman: That’s what Willis said, that they’d had such a nice afternoon.
Willis: She had her daughter with her.
Frank: Yes, the two girls were here. They left together on the 24th. They left here at 7:00 in the morning and got to Vermont at 7:00 in the evening. They had to spend about 4 hours in Chicago. Yeah, Boyd was awful sorry he didn’t get here a day sooner.
Willis: ‘Course you know . . . Boyd’s wife . . . you see Henry is Frances’ [ ]
Frank: She’s nice.
Woman: Isn’t she, though? She’s really nice.
Frank: She’s still teaching?
Willis: Oh, Fran? Good Gosh! Is that so?
Woman: She went back to school and took special ed.
Willis: I guess come to think about it, she did. ‘Course the kids now, their youngest, little sweetie, I always call her . . . she was the sweetest little thing I think I ever saw . . . is 17.
Frank: She’s the one who’s down in Yankton. At the time of Clifford’s funeral I was out there and she was going to show me how to play golf and I got a picture of her . . . I don’t know where it is now . . . but I got a picture of her showing me how to play golf. Now she’s 17 years old.
Willis: I’ll never forget the time . . . she was such a cute little twerp . . . they stopped at our house when we lived at 1311 South Lincoln . . . and I made kind of a fuss over her, I guess, and they got out in the car to go and she leaned out and kissed me and she said to her dad: “I don’t think I want to go with you . . . I want to stay with Uncle Willis!” Just out of the clear blue, you know.
Frank: She sure was a cute kid. Of course, she wasn’t with them. In fact, they’ve only got one left . . . Bill.
Willis: It’s been so long since I . . . I know practically none of those kids anymore. Ann was the oldest, wasn’t she?
Frank: Ann was the oldest . . . she’s the one in Louisiana. She’s married.
Willis: Do you know anything about . . . at one time there was kind of a controversy over whether the county seat was going to be Ordway or Columbia at first?
Frank: I don’t know much about that.
Willis: Wasn’t there a man by the name of Mr. Ordway that started the town of Ordway?
Frank: Governor Ordway.
Willis: Oh, Governor Ordway! Was he the fellow that was thinking about starting a college at Ordway?
Frank: I remember somebody was thinking about it. You know, as I understood it, the talk that I heard is the town site of Columbia is blamed for Columbia not being it.
Willis: I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.
Frank: The old railroads decided, didn’t they?
Willis: Well, sure, that was because of the drawbridge, wasn’t it, Frank? Was Mr. Huntsburger one of the fellows that was against that?
Frank: I don’t know.
Willis: They said there were two or three of them. Now was J.D. Lavin one of them?
Frank: He was one of them.
Willis: That I had been told.
Frank: Anyhow, the railroad thought it would be less expensive to cross the railroads at Aberdeen.
Willis: Now what time of the year did the railroad go through Columbia?
Frank: I don’t have a date.
Willis: Was the railroad there when you were born?
Frank: I didn’t notice it! I really don’t know, Willis.
Man: Let me answer your question. When I wrote that history of the city of Columbia, I got most of my information from Mr. Davenport. As I recall it, the Chicago and Northwestern built into Ordway in 1883. In 1887, they built into Columbia.
Willis: Someone told me ’91 and I was sure it was before ’91.
Man: I don’t want you to be positive that my answer is right.
Frank: The only clue I would have is my mother’s family came from Michigan in ’83 and they had to get off in Watertown and ride up in a wagon. And that was ’83.
Willis: And you think about ’87?
Man: That’s what Mr. Davenport told me.
Frank: He was an old timer.
Willis: He’d be as apt to know as anybody. So then did it go clear on up to Oakes?
Man: That I wouldn’t know, Willis. I didn’t ask any questions beyond Columbia.
Willis: I know I can remember when we came there they had four passenger trains through the town of Columbia each day.
Woman: Two going each way, you mean?
Willis: They had what they called the noon train and the midnight train. Because we landed there March 6, 1907 . . . we landed on that midnight train, and Mr. Hayes . . . they lived over in that big square house over on the southwest . . . and he met us at the train and took us over to his place and we stayed there all night.
Frank: In 1910 . . . I was married here in Mitchell, and we went up on the midnight train to Aberdeen on the Milwaukee, and in the morning, got onto the Northwestern. That was 1910.
Woman: You were going to Dakota Wesleyan to school? Is that where you met your wife?
Frank: That’s where I met her. She was born and raised right here in Letcher. That’s where I met my wife.
Woman: How long did you go to Dakota Wesleyan then?
Frank: I finished my high school there because they didn’t have any high school. Columbia had nine grades. Finished my high school along with a three-year business course. I never did get to college. Matthew Smith and I started school here together . . . he was from Alpena. And later on, of course, he went on to college and graduated. I finished my course in 1908 and he finished college in 1912. Matthew got to be president of the college later.
Man: Is that right?
Frank: Yep. We went to school together and he got to be president of the college. After he finished college here he went down to Peru as a Methodist missionary, and he met his wife down there. She was a missionary, too. They both live here in Mitchell.
Willis: They’re both still alive?
Frank: They’re both alive. He’s retired. Now he’s writing a history of Methodists in the state of South Dakota. He wrote a biography of his life . . . restrictions in Peru. They raised all their family . . . they have four children . . . the oldest one was born up by Alpena . . . she stayed home . . . the other three were all born out of this country. Matthew, his son, has been a counselor in Turkey and Mexico and different countries.
Woman: That’s really interesting.
Frank: That’s what I know about Matthew Smith, he was a cousin of my wife. That’s how I happen to know so much about him. The rest of their children were born in Mexico . . . down there . . . he still goes down there to that college in Mexico. The students down there thought a lot of him and they furnish him money to come down and make a speech or something. Right next to Mexico City.
Man: Do you know anything about the hotel they had in Columbia?
Frank: I can still see it . . . at least I think I can! Boy, unless it’s just my imagination (inaudible) I can remember . . . I think I can see it . . . like the old school . . . I started school in the old courthouse.
Willis: Well, do you have, or do I have, a picture of the old hotel? I imagine you have that somewhere around, Frank.
Frank: No, I haven’t seen it.
Willis: You’d better get to looking some day! I’ll look, but I’m sure that one of the other of us had a picture.
Frank: It looked like quite a building, didn’t it?
Willis: Yeah, it was a four-story building, wasn’t it?
Frank: Four-story, and filled that whole corner.
Willis: Part of the [ ]
Man: Well, when they moved that did they just take it down board for board?
Frank: I never saw them move it. I don’t know.
Woman: Didn’t they say “in sections?”
All: Great building.
Woman: Can you tell us about your family?
Frank: I have two sons and two daughters.
Woman: And where are they?
Frank: My oldest daughter who was just here lives out in Vermont. Her husband is from Hassleton, Vermont [ ] Revolutionary War. My youngest daughter’s husband was president of Hassleton College for nine years there and it’s a state school . . . all the schools are state schools. They didn’t have [ ] they’re pretty tight up in Vermont. He fought the legislature to get buildings enough. The college in 9 years tripled its enrollment and he kept getting buildings [ ]. After 9 years he stepped down and he’s a counselor in the high school where my daughter’s teaching two jobs.
Woman: Is this a picture of them here?
Frank: That’s my other daughter’s son. Allen Crossway . . . died three years ago . . . his father did. So (inaudible) after her husband died, my daughter came through and stayed with me one winter six months and I was hoping she’d continue. My wife had been dead seven years. They needed her so bad . . . (inaudible)
Yes, I have two daughters and two sons. My oldest son graduated from Brookings way back 43 years ago and then he went and got a good job out of Caldwell, Idaho. That’s where I was this past winter . . . spent six months.
Woman: That was a nice change.
Frank: That was nice. They took good care of me.
Willis: This is Frank’s wife. Is it five years ago?
Frank: No, seven. She died in ’70 and it’s ’77.
Willis: This is Alice’s sister, Millie.
Frank: She was married to Howard Cole, she was.
Willis: No, Arthur Cole.
Frank: Yes, Arthur Cole. Howard is her son.
Woman: Where does she live now?
Willis: She’s passed away.
Frank: She died same year as Marjorie?
Willis: They did. That’s Mrs. Johnson . . . Alice’s sister . . . oh, Frank’s sister . . . they’d be the same!
Woman: So you’re really the only one left of the Johnson family? The Nathan Johnson family? [Willis Klepfer was married to Alice Johnson, Ralph Johnson’s sister. There were five children in the family – Millie, Alice, Ralph, Frank and Cliff.]
Willis: He’s like I am . . . the only one of the tribe left! That’s what I always say about the Klepfer tribe.
Frank: There were five of us, and I was the oldest and I’m the last one to live.
Woman: You were the oldest?
Frank: (inaudible) I don’t know if I’ll live as long as my mother did or not.
Willis: Well, you’ve got a good chance at it, Frank! She fell and was laid up for several years.
Frank: Of course, my father [ ] He had a terrible sickness there . . . they called it, way back then, they called it inflammation of the bowels. I suppose it really wasn’t.
Willis: Probably appendicitis or something like that.
Frank: Dr. Taylor saved his life, barely. Sharp little guy.
Woman: Did Columbia have a resident doctor then for some time?
Frank: Oh, yes.
Willis: They always had a resident doc as long as Doc Markin [B. F. Markin] lived.
Woman: I remember Doc Markin.
Willis: I’m sure you do.
Frank: Our first boy (inaudible)
Willis: Dr. Markin delivered both of our girls at home. ‘Course we lived just across the fence, you might say. (Note: Across the fence means the house that Martin and Mary Johnson Weismantel lived in now occupied by Alan Johnson. Note: Doc Markin’s lived in the house that Clare and Donna Johnson lived in, now occupied by Andrew Davis.
Frank: I had to go up the night Kevin was born . . . had to go to town to get Dr. Markin . . . it was stormin’ . . . oh, thunder and lightning. In fact, there were five horses killed in our pasture that evening. It was a bad night. I had to travel to town then go over and get the lady to stay . . . Mrs. Kanaly.
Willis: You speak about horses being killed . . . near our corner fence right up in there just about 10-20 rods west of the Atkin fence . . . wasn’t there some horses . . . or a bunch of cattle . . . or maybe I’m thinking about the same one . . . that were killed in that corner at one time from a storm?
Frank: These are horses I’m talking about . . . in the southeast corner of the school section. The men took scrapers and dug a trench and had to bury them.
Willis: Golly, that would be a job, wouldn’t it?
Frank: Big job . . . they were big horses.
Woman: Well, we’ve really appreciated the information and the nice visit with you, Mr. Johnson.
Frank: Nice to have you here. I know my voice . . . .
Willis: Well, I’m sure I took a little bit down and Millicent took quite a few things down and probably what you have on there.
Frank: You live in Aberdeen, don’t you?
Woman: Yes, I do . . . I live in an apartment.
Willis: Just where do you live, Millicent? I heard you say something about Frances [ ].
Woman: I live at 414 ½ Seventh Avenue SE.
Frank: The Napp girls live in Aberdeen.
Willis: They lived on south Washington. I believe their house was where that building of Joe Maynes’ is at now.
Frank: Laura and Nellie.
Woman: Leo always used to go visit them when he came here from California.
Man: You know Leo Sheraton?
Frank: Oh, yes.
Man: I thought he was about the same time you were.
Frank: Oh, yes, Leo Sheraton. Who was he married to?
Woman: Evelyn River.
Man: My mother’s sister.
Willis: The first few years we lived in Columbia I went to the Sheraton School. [By Rudy Sieber’s place – the school board minutes talk about this school. Earl Arvidson purchased the land after the school was no longer there.] Do you remember anything about that?
Man: Yeah . . . I do. It would have been a little north and west of you.
Willis: Straight north of Hemen’s?
Man: On the south side of the road. Well, it wasn’t moved away so long ago, was it?
Willis: 15-20 years ago. I walked 2 ¾ miles to school. Today if you tried to get a kid to walk 2 ¾ miles to school . . . what would they tell you . . . guess we won’t go!
Woman: Even 2 ½ blocks!
Willis: They wouldn’t even wanna walk!
Frank: No, they just want to get out of their car and take a few steps.
Willis: First I rode a horse, then I finally got a bicycle . . . then the first year I went to high school, boy was I lucky. Dad picked me up a nice bicycle . . . paid two dollars for it . . . I remember that. And, oh, did I have something then!
Woman: That was special!
Frank: When I taught at that school in the Claremont district I had to go clear to Claremont to get paid and I rode a bicycle. Got my pay. All $42.00 a month.
Woman: How many years did you teach then?
End of tape