Family History

Marinette County, Wisconsin: Research Links and Online Resources

Lorelle VanFossen — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 10:40:03 +0000

Many of my ancestors lived in Marinette County, Wisconsin, for much of their lives. The Knapp family lived in and around Taylor Rapids, a defunct logging camp town along the Peshtigo River that is now state forest land and completely regressed back to nature. It is about 10 miles south of Goodman near Strong Falls. The nearest “big town” was Wausaukee, a short trip away by train. Some relatives lived and still live in Silvercliff, Peshtigo and nearby areas.

In researching the area and my family’s history there, I’ve put together a list of online resources related to Marinette County, Wisconsin. And check out our many family stories about living in Marinette County written by the Knapp Family.

My First Chaw Of Tobacco

Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 09:14:09 +0000

This is another childhood story by Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994), telling about his first time he and his brother, Wayne Knapp, chewed tobacco. The Clemmens/Clemens family of Kentucky are mentioned. The story takes place in July of 1925 near Taylor Rapids in Northern Wisconsin, just south of Goodman, Wisconsin, in Marinette County, near the end of the logging camp era.

It was during school vacation, somewhere in the middle of July about 1925. I was probably twelve years old at the time. About that time of the year, Wisconsin’s wild strawberries are ripening. My young brother Wayne and I were out horse hunting. It was time to cultivate the patch of corn we had. At that time we owned a horse cultivator and we needed a horse to pull it. Our horses were all running loose during the summer. When the old plow horse Jim was needed, it was the young kids job to hunt him up.

The day was very hot. We had looked through most of the familiar stomping grounds, but the horses were not to be found. On our way home we took a short cut which led through a big patch of wild strawberries. As we neared the place we heard voices. We soon came upon a family of Kentuckians picking berries. They were new folks to us. They had moved into a small shack down the road from where we lived.

We recognized that they were the Clemens family. They had just come from Kentucky a short time before. We had heard a lot about them, but little was actually known for sure. What we heard was nice enough, for Kentuckians.

From among the berries, I was really shocked to see the old lady spit a large quantity of brown slimy tobacco juice out before she spoke, “Wol naw looky here boys, we’uns has got compny!” Then she grinned showing tobacco stained teeth.

Curious, I said, “Hello, are you chewing tobacco?”

Her answer came quickly, surprising me. “Lord-a-mercy youngun, ain’t you ever seed a womern chawin’ baccer afar?”

“No ma’am! I thought just old men and bad kids chewed tobacco!”

“I been chawin’ baccer since I was a three year ole. Hit ain’t never bothered me none. Here! You can try a thaw off uh my plug.”

She reached into a dirty old apron pocket and pulled out a thing that looked more like something a dog had done in the dirt than anything I’d want to put in my mouth. As much as I was curious about it, this was just disgusting.

“Oh, my, no. Our Mother would whale the devil out of us if we were to chew tobacco. Ain’t that the truth, Wayne?”

Wayne agreed saying, “Ma caught us smoking corn silks a few weeks back and my back end still quivers when I think about it. I don’t know what she’d do about us chewing tobacco!”

One of the other kids who had been picking berries came over and joined his Mother. She said, “Here, Willie. Show these younguns how you kin chaw baccer.”

Then she bit off a hunk of that awful looking stuff and gave it to Willie. The little fellow couldn’t have been more than six years of age. He just took the chunk, looking so small standing there in his dirty and torn pants held up by a worn set of suspenders over his dirt stained bare shoulders. He wallered it around in his mouth for a while, then squirt much like his Mother had done a while back.

Wayne and I watched closely, expecting to see the little guy pitch his cookies and whatever else he had in his stomach. To our amazement the little fellow never as much as batted an eye. “Hits a mite stronger than the last chaw you give me Maw, but that din’t mean I din’t like it!” Shrugging, Willie went back to his berry picking.

We live far from civilization, so I asked her where she got the tobacco, and she said, “Lord-a mercy youngun, back thar in Kintucky we grow the stuff. I twisted this baccer myself!” She gave us another serious look over and said, “Wall, if you fellers are sceered to try my baccer, I gotta be gittin’ back to my berry pickin’!”

I didn’t like being called a coward, so I couldn’t help myself. As she turned away I spoke to Wayne, “Will you try it if I do?”

After much thought, Wayne replied very slowly, “I’ll try it if you do, but you gotta go first!”

“Okay, ma’am, we’ll try a small chew of your tobacco, but you gotta promise you won’t tell our Mother!”

The old lady turned back to us with a wicked grin showing more teeth missing than in. “I ain’t no tattle-tale, boy. Besides I ain’t never seed yer Maw. Well, put this in yer mouth and see how long you kin go without spittin’!”

I looked the awful stuff over pretty well before I stuck it in my mouth. It was quite sweet, and tasted better than it looked, I’m certain of that. Wayne also took a small chew, but I think he spit his out right away. I just kept chewing as the old lady left to go back to her work, and then spit it out, making a bit of mess, as Wayne and I started toward home.

I didn’t get very far till I began to get terribly dizzy. The hot sun didn’t help any either. Then I got sick. I’d spit the rotten stuff out, but I must have gotten some down my throat. I fell down on the ground, the whole world was rolling around me. I grabbed huge handfuls of grass to keep from falling off the world!!

I was unable to stand and actually pulled the grass out by the roots trying to keep from rolling around. I’d never felt anything like it in my life. I had been made sick once before from eating too much corn on the cob, but it was nothing like this. I wished were dead! I finally vomited, getting rid the tobacco and everything else I’d eaten for the past several hours. That helped.

The dizziness seemed to let up a little, and I managed to stagger to my feet. I was in terrible shape. It was a feeling that I would never want to repeat. We finally made it home, where I stopped at the creek and washed out my mouth as good as I could. It was a long time before I tried chewing tobacco again!

The Castaway

Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) — Sat, 23 Sep 2006 11:07:39 +0000

The winter rain came down in sheets,
Drenching the fields, and flooding the streets,
Driven by winds that howled and screamed,
Like the nightmarish plot of a devil’s dream!

Oh, pity the soul without warmth of friends,
With no one to care if his life might end,
And without the clothing to keep him warm,
And no place of shelter from the awful storm.

Now a policeman’s work is hard, indeed,
For he deals first hand with those in need;
The outcasts, the bewildered, with no home or friends,
With little to eat, and no money to spend!

From his prowler car, that wintry night,
A policeman spied a form so slight,
Huddled against a building there,
Seeking protection from the cold night air.

Probably a drunk, who is full of wine,
Or a beggarly bum, without a dime -
But wait: There was something about that form,
That caught his eye in the relentless storm.

For he saw a face, so thin and white,
Like a ghost, he thought, in the dim street light,
So pinched, and drawn, with a look forlorn,
And he noticed her clothing, ragged and torn.

At the station house, she was warmed and fed,
And she looked like one who’d returned from the dead.
Then with raspy voice, she began to tell,
Of the life she’d had in that living hell.

Terrible things began to unfold,
From the lips of this lady, now tired and old;
Of the filth and neglect she had suffered there,
With no one to help, and no one to care.

She had begged many times, to once more see the home,
Where she and her husband had lived all alone,
For they’d been so happy, in those years now gone by,
Before a dread sickness had caused him to die!

No relative had visited her, no one ever came,
She had felt like a pawn, unloved, and unclaimed!
If just once again she could see the old place –
And visit again with a warm, friendly face.

That night, she’d escaped, and struck out on her own,
But that’s not so easy, when you’re old and alone!
Then the rain storm had struck: And she’d lost her way,
She was sick, and confused, just an old castaway!

Her old voice grew weak, a doctor was called;
She’d forgotten her name — she couldn’t recall!
Death came to her rescue, that cold winter night,
And she joined her old sweetheart, in that City, so bright!

“The Castaway” is one of many poems and stories written by Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) in the 1970-80s. Usually his stories were of his childhood adventures in northern Wisconsin or of working the waterways of Washington State in the early days of the state’s history. All of these stories were part of his work in a creative writing class he took through a community adult education program, so they cover a wide range of writing styles and subjects. We are honored to share his wonderful writing and storytelling talent with you as these tell us so much about the man himself.

Cooking On The Tug Boat Skagit Chief

Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) — Fri, 22 Sep 2006 13:03:37 +0000

The following is another story by Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) of his years working on the The Skagit Chief tug boat towing logs on the Skagit River and Puget Sound in Washington State during the 1930-1950s. People mentioned include Captain Charles Elwell (captain and pilot of The Skagit Chief tug boat), Herby Camm (deck hand), and Joe Parker, owner of the tug towing company and the Skagit Chief.

Being a cook on a tug boat, is not quite as simple a job as most people might think. It was my job for close to three years. The only modern thing on the boat was the small toilet at the stern of the craft. It had to be flushed by dumping a bucket of water, drawn from the river. There was always an empty bucket standing near for that purpose. The lights were small six volt bulbs, lit from the power of the generators on the engines that ran the boat. A kerosene lamp was used most of the time as the only source of light at night.

The cook stove was small, but large enough for our purpose. It had a railing around the top to keep things from sliding off during rough navigation, a frequent event crossing the Puget Sound. The boat would roll from side to side far enough to spill things off the stove, making a mess.

We tended to travel up river a lot during the night. At the small town of Lymen, about four miles up river from Mount Vernon, there was a place where the town dumped sewage into the river. We were not allowed to take on water anywhere near there until we passed that place.

To dip water from the river for cooking, I had a twelve quart bucket with a rope on it. I’ll never forget the first time I dipped water. We were going up river, I dropped the bucket over the side of the boat, and before you could wink your eye, that rope was jerked out of my hand. The bucket went out of sight down river faster than I had ever saw anything go before! I simply didn’t realise how powerful the pull of the water would be. It’s a darn good thing for me that I didn’t have that rope wrapped around my arm, I think it would have jerked my arm right out of the socket!

I told the captain, Charles Elwell, “I just lost the only water bucket we have. I dropped it over the side and the current took it down stream.”

The captain just laughed. “I meant to tell you about that. You have to dip very quick. It’s best to get a little at a time and dip more often.” Then he told me where to find another bucket.

It was my job to see that groceries were kept on hand at all times. I did all the buying. I had to cut the firewood for the cook stove, and see that plenty of wood was on deck at all times. Groceries were bought at Chinns Grocery in Mount Vernon. There was no limit to what I could buy at that store.

There was no refrigeration on the boat, so fresh meats had to be purchased a small amount at a time. We did have a small ice box, I used to keep some meats longer when we had the ice, but we didn’t have ice very often.

Hot cakes, bacon, and eggs were generally served for the morning meal. I bought prepared hot cake flour, so I seldom stirred them from scratch. There was always coffee. For the noon meal, I’d have boiled potatoes, with a flour gravy. Quite often fried pork steak. Some times I would make the gravy out of the juices from the fried steaks. Meat gravy was good for a change. I served baked beans now and then. Scalloped potatoes with canned corn and hot biscuits made up a fine meal.

Quite often the millionaire owner of the ship towing company would come aboard to have a meal with the crew. He generally had a compliment for me, he said, “The crew on this tug feeds better than I do at home!”

I told him, “Mr. Parker, you have a good crew here, this is hard work, if you want a hard job done well, the crew must eat well!”

“Well said my boy, you are doing just fine, keep up the good work!”

There is a place in the Skagit River, just below what is known as “The Dells” where a great boil raised about two feet above the rest of the river. This spot always puzzeled me. But I do know that when the fifty foot tug boat went through this abrupt raise, it seemed to viberate all over, slowing down to a very near stop. This boil is probably thirty feet across and the current has great power at this point. The old captain claimed that an underground river entered into the channel at that place.

Some of the long trips across the Puget Sound were very interesting. On one trip, a terrific storm had came upon us. The waves were six feet high. They splashed over the bow, running down the gunnels like small rivers. Pots and pans toppeled from their perches. The tug bounced around like a large cork on the sea. The captain tried to steer the boat according to his compass. There was no way possible to tell anything by looking. I was scared speachless.

All my firewood was washed overboard during the storm. All I had left was a small bundle by the stove. And that was scattered all over the galley. I’ll never know how we managed to get to the mouth of the river and out of the storm into the calmer river waters. What a wonderful relief. While the galley was a mess, our decks got a good washing if nothing else.

Another time we were coming back from a port across the Sound. It was late at night. The Sound was as smooth as a woman’s breast. I opened the galley door to view the weather outside past the gunnels, filled with herring.

As the boat made way, water splashed over the the bow. Thinking they were herring, I called to the deck hand, “Herby, come look at the herring!”

Herby was asleep on his bunk. When he saw the splashing water before us, he said, “Hell man, those are not herring! They are salt water smelt! Get me a pan and I’ll get you a mess of these in no time. They are the best eating fish you ever tasted!”

Since I didn’t know much about salt water fish, he gave me instructions while he caught the fish. “They are so easy to clean, just roll ‘em in flour and fry ‘em in a hot skillet, along with hot cakes. You never tasted any-thing better!”

“But what about the fish guts? Don’t you have to clean ‘em?”

“Hell no! You take the guts out after you get ‘em on your plate. They don’t have but very little guts anyway!”

He caught a large pan full, much more than we could eat. Thousands of them slithered past the galley door. We could have had several hundred pounds of them had we wanted.

That morning we had hot cakes and fried smelt. They were delicious, but the old captain refused to eat even one.

“You couldn’t pay me to eat any of those little things that were cooked with their guts inside!” He had bacon and eggs with his hot cakes. I tried to show the captain how small the insides of the fish were, but the old boy nearly threw up, so I gave up trying. Herby and I ate what we could the rest of them went over-board.

Quite often we would have to weigh anchor and wait for the tide to change. Sometimes it would take several hours. During these waiting periods, Herby and I would take the skiff and head for the clam beds. This always tickled the captain. I think he could eat clams three times a day if he could. It didn’t take long to gather all the clams we could handle. In those days clams were plentiful. I made clam patties, fried clams, and clam chowder. Clam patties went well with hot cakes in the morning. For patties, I ground about fourteen large clams, then added three eggs, mixed with cracker crumbs, and fried in an iron skillet, none of these were ever thrown out, they were all consumed.

I didn’t have to bake bread, pies, or cookies. However, I did bake meat loaves, salmon loaves, and potatoes. No one seemed to care much for sweet stuff. The old captain always said, “Meat and potatoes, the fat of the land. If you can’t eat it, you can starve and be damned!”

I think he lived by that rule. I never argued with the captain.

Lost On The Sand Plains and Woods Of Wisconsin

Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) — Thu, 21 Sep 2006 13:32:47 +0000

The following is another story by Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) about his childhood growing up in Marinette County in the northeastern corner of Wisconsin, in the logging camp town of Taylor Rapids, just south of Goodman. The events in this story happened circa 1925.

In Marinette County, Wisconsin, there are hundred of acres of sand plains. The only trees that grow there are Stunted Oaks, Jack-pines, with a scattering Norway pines here and there. The rolling hills all look very much alike. Sweet ferns grow, and prosper well, on the dry uncultivated soil. Pony grass, that seldom got over a few inches high covered much of the plains. Cranberry and blueberry marches were scattered here and there. Some small timber grew in those marshes. Scrubby cedars, and tamarack seemed to be the only trees of any size. A great country for bear, deer, and wolves. Bear enjoyed the blueberries in the fall. Deer got fat on the pony grass, and were able to hide in the cedar swamps.

Our school teacher, who was a great hunter, had killed a deer close to one of these swamps. It was too heavy for him to drag out by himself, so he got my younger brother and I to go with him. We were to help pull the deer out to his car. We had left the car about two miles from where the deer had been killed. There was no road way in to where the animal had been shot.

It was late afternoon when we left home to go after the deer. Neither my brother Wayne nor I had very much love for the teacher. He was very over-bearing, and difficult to get along with, but as he was married to our sister, so we just about had to do as he said. We had quite a hard time to find where the deer was. The teacher himself wasn’t sure.

After the two mile trip across the hills, and the time we spent trying to locate the animal, it got very late. We must have spent a good hour before we finally found what we were looking for. It was a big buck, weighing over two hundred pounds.

It was just about dark when we started for the car with the deer. Every hill looked alike, and after dark we were really in trouble.

Wolves had found where he had bled the animal. They were raising quite a racket. We didn’t know what time they may take our scent and follow to where we had dragged our find. Wayne was usually much better than I at keeping track of where we were. I told him I was lost, then he admitted that he also wasn’t too sure of where we were. The teacher yelled, “What’s the matter with you fellows, don’t you know which way to go?”

We told him if he knew so much about directions, why didn’t he take the lead. He stumbled behind us, trying to hurry us along. We had all we could do to pull that heavy animal. Finally we topped a small hill, and found a car in the distance with its parking lights on.

Sadly, while it was good, it was also bad! We figured it was a game warden waiting for us to show up! Oh, boy, we would be in serious trouble. We had no idea of who it was. We didn’t know what to do, or which way to turn. The deer was getting heavier at every step. We were just about played out. We were desperate and the teacher kept telling us that his car was in another direction, away from the parking lights, glowing in the dark woods. This really had us mixed up.

“You kids have lived here all your lives. You ought to know this country better than to get lost!”

Little Wayne spoke right up to him, “You are the one that is lost! If you’d let us alone we’d get out of this mess, but you keep telling us were going the wrong way!”

At that he cussed at us, saying that what we both needed was a good paddling!

Finally in desperation and afraid of the wolves in the dark, we headed straight toward the car lights. The teacher wanted to yell at us, but he was afraid the folks at the car would hear. As we were going downhill we could make pretty good time. By now it was about ten o’clock in the evening. Darkness had fallen some time back. We didn’t want to get stuck out there in those wolf infested sand plains any longer than was absolutely necessary. No matter who was at that car, we intended to go there regardless. We were scared.

When we got to the car, we were happy to find that it was the teacher’s car and the old boy had left his parking lights on. He didn’t even remember doing that! We were two very tired and happy kids. No game warden in sight. What a bunch of worrying for nuthing. We loaded up the deer into the car and returned home about midnight, glad to be out of the woods, away from the wolves, and back home, safe and sound.

Wisconsin Family History Detectives Flock to Marinette County

Lorelle VanFossen — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 08:23:18 +0000

The Marinette Times of Marinette County, Wisconsin, has an interesting article on “Quests for family roots draw history detectives to Marinette”, a county important to my own family’s history.

It was five years ago in April that the new genealogy branch of the Washington County Public Library opened its research facility in a restored, single-story brick building at 418 Washington St. Since that time, hundreds of people visit each month from all over the United States — and beyond— all seeking historical information of their own family lineage or information on local history.

When history pertains to a person’s own ancestor (whom you now know by name after research), history suddenly comes alive, relevant and more important, said Ernest Thode, manager of the local history and genealogy branch.

“There are more statistics showing that a large percentage of people are somewhat interested in their family history,” Thode said Monday. “Sometimes a change, when the last parent dies or a person retires, will trigger a serious pursuit. Growth of the Internet at home has increased interest.”

Experts agree that the Internet can provide “some” information, but not all. What makes the big difference is a place, a destination like Marinette’s genealogy library — to either begin or pursue the passion.

In our family, the Knapp family lived in Taylor Rapids in Marinette County in Wisconsin, as part of the logging communities around Goodman. We visited the Washington County Public Library in Marinette and found a small but excellent resource and information there, along with very helpful and qualified staff. They are working on building a new library, and I’m sure that the genealogy and local history areas will expand.

Online Book: History of Door County, Wisconsin - The County Beautiful

Lorelle VanFossen — Sun, 20 Aug 2006 08:53:44 +0000

Ancestry.com has released the book “History of Door County, Wisconsin - the county beautiful” by Hjalmar Rued Holand for their registered members. Published in 1917, the book includes biographies of local popular and influential citizens, the history of Door County, Wisconsin, its development, and the natural wonders of the area.

There is an online FTP index of the book at Rootsweb USGenWeb - History of Door County by Holand to help you find your ancestor mentioned.

I have the Knapp and Anderson family branches in Door County, an area I didn’t get time to explore during my recent visit, so I may find some information about them. At the least, I will learn more about the area in which they lived and worked.

You may be able to find copies of this book in your local library or Family History Center or through library exchange programs.

Snohomish County: An Illustrated History Book

Lorelle VanFossen — Thu, 10 Aug 2006 17:22:38 +0000

It took ten years but the amazing book on the history of Snohomish County, Washington, is now available. “Snohomish County: An Illustrated History” features 432 pages packed with geological, environmental, historical, social, and political history of Snohomish County. There are 400 photographs, maps, and topical sidebars with many illustrations by local artist Bernie Webber.

Project coordinators and editors were David Cameron, Charles LeWarne, Allan May, Jack O’Donnell, and Larry O’Donnell. Many contributions were made by local historians, experts, and genealogists to make this the most extensive county historical book ever. The last one was written by William Whitfiled in 1926.

The book is available through the Museum of Snohomish County History (425-259-2022), Pilchuck Books (425-303-0345) and many local stores and shops in Everett, Snohomish, Lake Stevens, Monroe, and Marysville.

Having grown up in Snohomish County, the book is especially important to me because of my family’s strong connection with the area.

On the Elwell side of the Knapp family, we can trace our roots back to Chief Seattle of the Suquamish tribe. His sister, Gow-Gue-Wait, our ancestor, married into the Snohomish Tribe. Even today, her descendants live in Snohomish County.

The book talks about the whites struggling for dominance and control of the Pacific Northwest Indians, which eventually resulted in many of the local Indian tribes and peoples being forced onto land set aside for them in the area of Tulalip, which borders Snohomish County to the northwest.

John Elwell (1841-1895), who married Guaquiath Kektidose of the Snohomish tribe and daughter of Gow-Gue-Wait, was among the first men to see the “gold in them thar trees” and helped developing the logging industry. His sons, Charles and Simon Elwell, worked the Snohomish and Skagit Rivers, as well as the whole waterway of Puget Sound building boats and ferries, and hauling logs, supplies, and passengers up and down the rivers.

They are also mentioned on page 112 regarding the building of the town of Monroe, Washington:

Residents also participated in railroad construction activities. Barges 60 feet long and six to eight feet wide were filled with supplies and towed upriver by mules. Two brothers, Simon and Charles Elwell, built a 44-foot canoe to carry materials for railroad construction. Reportedly, the huge craft could hold up to 4,700 pounds.

The Knapp family also has its roots strongly embedded in Snohomish County, marrying into the Elwell, Odell, and Handley pioneer families. The Knapp brothers had grown up in the logging camps of Northern Wisconsin, so they came with experience and strong backs to work the rivers and logging camps with the Elwell family.

The West family also has a long tradition as part of the history of Snohomish County. Howard West Sr. and his son, Howard West Jr., lived their lives in the Pacific Northwest between Oregon and Washington. Howard Sr. called Everett, Washington, his home since not long after World War I. He worked on the lighthouses and dams throughout Washington State for all of his adult life, serving in the Coast Guard and Lighthouse Service, after an early stint with the Marines.

“Snohomish County: An Illustrated History” is a valuable resource to help us understand all of the cultural, political, and societal issues going on during the times of our ancestors. I learned of the political battles that overthrew the town of Mukilteo, where I spent my teenage years, as center of Snohomish County to the town of Snohomish, which was later taken over by Everett, as an open port city and military base, and eventually the home of Boeing.

Snohomish County has a very diverse and mixed history, not all pretty, but not all terrible, and gives us a chance to see what it was like for our ancestors as they struggled to survive in a tough new wilderness.

A Little Troublemaker in Taylor Rapids, Wisconsin

Robert F. Knapp (1913-1994) — Thu, 10 Aug 2006 03:07:26 +0000

The following is another story by Robert Knapp (1913-1994) about his childhood growing up in Northern Wisconsin, in a small logging community called Taylor Rapids, not far from Goodman. While the logging camps, homes, school, and human occupation of the area is now gone, his memories and stories keep the place and the people alive.

In this story, he shares some of the more mischievous childhood activities from about 1917-1918, involving his brothers, Wayne Knapp, and Loyd Knapp, and his sister, Nora Knapp. He also mentions the Lindquist family, nearby neighbors.

The location of where Ruby Shack once stood.
Taylor Rapids, Wisconsin, 2006

My memory is fairly clear of most incidents that took place after we moved into the Ruby Place, known as “The Ruby Shack” - altho we only lived there a short time, it seemed to me it was much longer. It must have been either 1917 or perhaps 1918.

The “Bird and Wells Lumber Company” had built a railroad from Wausaukee up past Taylor Rapids so that the logs and timber cut in that part of the state could be transported to the Mills in that city. This road was so close to our houses that it rattled the dishes in the shelves each time the loaded train passed by.

The Ruby Shack was a log building as I recall, probably 20 feet by 30 feet. There was a small log barn close by and a pump in the yard that went dry in summer. I have no recollection of the whereabouts of the “Back House” but am certain there was one some place near at hand.

While we, the Knapp family, lived at Ruby Shack, I was perhaps five, and my younger brother, Wayne, must have been three. The next older than I was Loyd who was five years older.

I owe much of my youthful happiness to my wonderful departed sister, Nonie. She was indeed one in a million. She taught me to tell time, and many other things that was such a big help to me when school began. My younger brother, Wayne, and I were far ahead of most of the other children in our classes.

The location of where Ruby Shack once stood. Signs are for Goodman Road and Benson Lake Road.
Taylor Rapids, Wisconsin, 2006

During the seventeen years that I was in that state, I can not recall any winter that didn’t have from three to ten feet of snow. Snow generally fell in early November - or late October. Bare ground began to show in patches in late April, so you see we were so accustomed to this snow that we expected it, and really thought nothing out of the ordinary. We just took it for granted. in fact, that’s all we knew.

The following stories were, I suppose, my very first dirty little acts. I shouldn’t tell, but it is the story of my life.

Along the railroad in front of our house were several fills, made by the railroad. This was a fine soft sand and was nice for us children to play in.

Loyd had one of these places that he called his own, and us smaller kids were not supposed to mess in that one at all. One day, Wayne and I passed by this particular “sand hill” as we called it. Here was a mass of well shapped little sand houses, etc. Loyd was always neat and could build things so much better than my younger bros and I.

We proceeded to smash up all his little objects, and completely destroyed his hard work. I don’t know why we did this. Anyway, the crap hit the fan when the old boy found what had been done, and our mother turned our little rumps good, you can be assured of that. We never went even close to the sand hill after that. Boy, the way he fussed and fumed, you’d have thought we had committed murder!

There was not too much excitement during those long years for quite often I was forced to conjure up some false hood to kind of stir things up, and cause other than common actions.

A fellow known as “Long John” - I guess he was a friend of the older members of the family - had at one time or another cleared a patch of ground not far from where we lived, and tho I had never seen him - this particular patch was known as “John’s Garden”. I guess the fellow must have raised a garden there at one time.

Things had been quiet and I don’t know why, but I ran into the house, quite some distance from John’s Garden, and yelled that there was a bunch of pigs in John’s Garden rooting up our potatoes!!!

The folks had planted spuds in this area. You must know this really caused some excitement, as everyone in the house tore for the garden patch - some had clubs - and some had short poles to chase the hogs with, I suppose.

When they all got to the scene, there were no pigs and not even a track of one. But I still held to my story. “Well, they were there!!!” I supposed I got trounced for that also.

Some folks by the name of Lindquists lived several miles to the south of us, and quite often their hogs got out and traveled way up to our place. Often they did damage to our gardens. I suppose the folks figured it was their pigs that I had seen, naturally. There had been no pigs at all.

I can’t tell you why I did those things, I guess it must have been for lack of excitement.

Help Needed: Train Derailment in Northern Wisconsin 1917

Lorelle VanFossen — Mon, 07 Aug 2006 18:27:11 +0000

Reference.com has a list of “Notable Historic Train and Rail Accidents” that includes many international train wrecks and disasters.

I have a note in a journal by Emma (Primley) Knapp about a train derailment at Glyem Spurr near Taylor Rapids and Goodman in Northeastern Wisconsin. Used by the railroads as well as residents dependent upon supplies, while no one was hurt, it caused a major inconvenience.

Friday P.M. July 20, 1917
The four spot was derailed at Glyem Spurr. Caused by some person opening the switch halfway. No one was hurt. A week afterwards they pulled it out of the mud and began fixing it up. About 2 months later it was at work again “Better in health than ever.”
Emma Knapp, 1916-1924 Family Journal

The train derailment was published in the local news, but I can find no record of it. If you have information on this train wreck at Glyem Spurr, Wisconsin, near Goodman in the north, we’d appreciate hearing from you in the comments below. Thanks.