Crossing the Sheyenne

 

The seasonal harvest has begun and big combines have entered the fields to begin harvesting. To watch them is to see the best way of separating grain from chaff and straw developed to date. Before the time that any of us can remember, animals tramped on ripe straw to knock the kernels loose from their heads. Or in another method a worker struck the heads with a flail to separate the kernels and then scoop the grain up and toss it in the air for the wind to winnow the chaff from the mix.

Cyrus McCormick came along with his mechanical reaper that cut the straw to fall behind it on the ground. A worker walked behind to gather it by hand and bundle it into sheaves. It enabled farmers to raise more grain and harvest it in less time.

I possess a picture of a historical nature for which I hope to find a permanent home. I first noticed it in the Sheldon Community History - 1981 where it carried this inscription: The Wall Bros. Threshing Crew crossing the “Froemke” Sheyenne River Crossing south of Anselm, ND. It was given to me by Tom Spiekermeier of Sheldon who in his personal dark room enlarged it to its present size of 11” by 14”and preserved a great deal of detail.

Curious to when this scene occurred, I searched and found the following reference in the Sheldon Progress of July 19, 1901: “Fred Wall and brother Alfred have bought a fine new threshing outfit and will make the straw fly this fall.” In another reference dated August 30, 1901 the Progress reported that the separator was a 40-60 Nichols and Shepard Red River Special that was powered by a Pitts 22 horsepower engine. Fourteen crew members can be counted in this scene which is a far cry from today’s one combine operator and one person to haul the grain away.

Further developments in harvesting techniques can only be guessed at, but one thing for sure, there will be some. One other story we can relate deals with placing the seeds in the ground for the machines to eventually harvest. The cheers for this development occurred in the early 1700s when Jethro Tull, an Englishman, invented a horse drawn seed drill. In the mid 1800s, George Van Brunt developed a model which covered the seeds before birds got to them. Because of the Van Brunt seeder we first get acquainted with one of the early movers and shakers of Ransom County.

A. H. Laughlin tells the story himself in an address he gave to the Sheldon Old Settlers Picnic on July 27, 1907. “On the 26th day of January, 1882, I first saw North Dakota, arriving in Kindred that morning via Wahpeton, with H. A. Palmer, who still lives near Lisbon. We unloaded a carload of Van Brunt seeders and started the next morning on foot for Lisbon forty miles away, as there were no teams going through.”

He goes on, “It was a bright, beautiful morning. They told us to take the old government road, and that there were three hotels, or places where travelers were kept. About 10 o’clock a dark

cloud appeared in the northwest and we were soon in the middle of a blizzard. At French’s they could not keep us, so we tramped on to Porter’s, facing the blizzard nine miles. Mrs. Porter could not give us even a cup of tea, as they were entirely out of provisions. I asked her if she could spare a little heat from her stove.”

Bear in mind this was 1882 and very little development had occurred. Laughlin’s story continues, “We rested a while, when fortunately a four horse sleigh drove up loaded with merchandise for Joseph Goodman’s store at Sheldon. It was driven by Charlie Smart and Richard Jackson; we got permission to hang on to their sleigh. There was only room on one small box of goods for one to sit on, and as Mr. Palmer had been sick I gave him that privilege. A bundle of brooms stood upright in one rear corner, and by clinging to a broomstick I could keep my head in the shelter of the brooms and stand on the rear end of the runner.”

The blinding snow caused them to lose their way. “Once we were lost on the prairie and headed for the sandhills southeast, but Charlie took to the snow ahead of the lead horses and found the trail by intuition. He wore a wolf skin coat and cap, which may have helped him. Arriving in Sheldon about five o’clock the boys stopped in front of the hotel kept by Robert Grieve. It was new and had two blocks of square timber for steps. I got one foot up one step and could not induce the other one to follow, and fell down, unconscious with cold and exhaustion.”

They carried him in and warmed him to get his circulation going. He goes on, “We slept upstairs and the next morning the snow was an inch deep all over the bed. Our hands were so badly frozen that the landlord had to assist us in dressing. It was forty-four degrees below zero.”

He completed the trip. “We arrived in Lisbon that day by the stage driven by Thomas Eastman via Bonnersville and Shenford. We ate our first dinner at the Robinson house and after paying for our meals had sixteen cents left.”

Laughlin set out establishing himself in the county. He purchased 800 acres of farmland and started raising cattle. Those Van Brunt seeders he helped unload must have been his because he stated when his money arrived he paid $244 freight on that car load. He used the machines to establish with partners an implement business. That same year he arrived, 1882, he was elected Register of Deeds where he was in the middle of the county’s mini- gold rush. He opened a real estate and loan office and built the Lisbon Cheese Factory in 1889 in addition to a brick kiln business.

Many of those combines working in the fields that we mentioned previously are green. Pictures indicate those Van Brunt seeders were red, but John Deere bought them in 1911.

Pistol Packin' Women

 Pistol-Packin’ Women

The year was 1882, a full 20 years past the bloody Indian uprising in Minnesota, and the settlers were still distrustful of the Indians. An incident this year occurred when a few armed Indians were spotted “performing some queer antics” in Owego. The alarm spread quickly and several Norwegian families living there packed up and left by ox team to escape to Colfax.Then news of it took a roundabout path of reaching people who could investigate it.

A message was sent to the news editor of The Fargo Argus who in turn contacted the commander of the troops in Fort Sisseton. He mustered three troops of cavalry to ride and camp somewhere east of where the Dead Colt Creek campground is now located. Next day, he rode into Lisbon accompanied by a dozen cavalrymen. Here the imagination struggles to guess what they did until the next afternoon when two scouts “dressed in the characteristic fringed buckskin suits” arrived with their findings.

They reported a small party of Sioux had been chasing antelope in the sandhills area. A detachment of cavalry was dispatched to catch and escort them back to Sisseton. The facts of that relatively peaceful ending hadn’t reached Lisbon, and rumors of an impending attack circulated wildly. The practice of “yellow journalism” by newspaper editors flourished at the time and when the Fargo Argus circulated a sensationalized and exaggerated report of the situation, the presence of soldiers seemed to confirm it.

The frightened citizens of Lisbon had knowledge of the 1862 uprising in Minnesota where many settlers had been killed. This town wasn’t going to go down without a fight and armed themselves, the women with revolvers, the men with rifles. They spent a watchful, fearful night, not knowing what to expect. Finally, after everything got sorted out, word reached them that the apparent threat had ended.

Turn to the history of Sheldon and find another story of a pistol-packin’ lady named Margaret Callan Hickey. To see her picture is to see a diminutive lady wearing granny glasses and swept- back hair that ties into a bun at the top. Her grandson wrote she had such small feet that she had to wear baby shoes until she could have shoes custom built for her.

Despite her size she was not about to be intimidated by any of the lawlessness surrounding her in Sheldon. The grandson wrote, “She carried a Colt revolver with her at all times when the men were away from the house because there were many unsavory characters prowling the countryside at that time.”

To illustrate some of the flowery language printed in the day we only need to read her obituary. Besides describing the profusion of flowers and well wishes brought for this well-respected person in the community, her obituary stated after saying goodnight to her family that night in

By Lynn Bueling

1907, “she sank peacefully into the sleep from which the awakening comes in the light of the everlasting morning.”

We’ll recall another facet of her life by saying she was married to the rugged Westerner John Hickey who brought his family to Sheldon to operate the livery stable. It is from his obituary we learn he was a participant at the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Obviously he was not slain with those of the 7th cavalry because as a freighter hauling Custer’s supplies and ammunition his rig sat parked away from the battle with Major Reno’s detachment. The Hickey grave marker can be found in the Sheldon cemetery.

One more historical lady of the pistol-packin’ sorority was a gal from Winona, ND. Winona no longer exists because of its inundation by the waters of Lake Oahu, but in the days that Fort Yates stood as a working fort, it was important as a recreation site. No liquor sales were allowed on the fort or the reservation. Interestingly enough, with Winona’s location on the east side of the Missouri River and Fort Yates on the east side, soldiers exhibited creativity to cross the river, whether by ferry, ice skates, rowboats, or even swimming.

To this town came a lady with business acumen who became known as Mustache Maude because of the dark growth on her upper lip. Even though the town had several dance halls and casinos in operation, she built and successfully operated one of her own. In a town well stocked with rowdy soldiers and cowboys who often drank too much, she punctuated her authority with the big revolver she wore holstered on her hip.

The atmosphere became charged with the alcohol problem and murder of a family by Indians looking for liquor. The county commissioners started cracking down and many of the dance halls closed their doors. Maude relocated to start a ranch across the river at the town of Shields. There she found herself charged with cattle rustling by the attorney general William Langer. She told of the whereabouts of a cattle rustling gang working in the area and received a light sentence. She went on to be a sort of “Florence Nightingale” in the community by ministering to their medical needs. She stated once that as a midwife, she’d spanked half the bottoms in Grant County.

The brief accounts here of women from Lisbon, Sheldon, and Winona give us a small slice of their lives, but facts are few. I remember a quotation made by the historian/author Dee Brown where he states “Sometimes there isn’t enough material. There’s a story there and you can’t fill it in with facts, so you let your imagination run wild.” While thinking about these women with so little information about them, I can still draw vivid pictures in my imagination.

Book Talk at Zanbroz

 We just attended one of those events that I wish there were more of. Kevin Carvell from Mott possesses the largest privately owned library of North Dakota books, i.e. books about North Dakota or written by North Dakotans. The Zanbroz book store in downtown Fargo was the setting and the meeting room was packed. Carvell appeared to talk about some of his books, two boxes of which he brought along to show and tell.

When the Zanbroz manager introduced Carvell, he made a brief mention of Carvell’s involvement with the infamous “Zip to Zap” that brought a laugh. Great program! Mott being where it is means I’ll probably never get over there to visit it.

It was also my pleasure to meet and visit briefly with Chuck Haga, a retired newspaper man who now teaches some journalism students at UND in Grand Forks. I always enjoy his intelligent musings on Facebook.

Still thinking about Oppenheimer

 Still thinking about the “Oppenheimer” and atomic bomb story… A relevant article came across the Bismarck Tribune Sunday stated “The thundering Trinity test showered fallout on 46 states, including North Dakota, Minnesota and South Dakota, within 10 days.” It left “lingering questions about cancer and other health effects.”

The brother-in-law of one of my cousins experienced the results of the Trinity test firsthand - in Hiroshima. A fourteen-year-old at the time, he’d accompanied his father to visit his ailing paternal grandfather in Hiroshima, Japan. He had not come with other members of the family when they’d emigrated and settled in the U.S. in the 1930s. To make the long story short, when their visit was over they could find no way to return home. Japanese and U.S. relations had deteriorated so badly by then that there were no American-bound ships available.

Since they were stranded it was decided the boy must attend school. In the fourth year of the war he was drafted to assist in the war effort. There came that day when he looked up in the sky and saw a single plane overhead. He said at 8:16 the bomb exploded, lifted him in the air, and flung him to the ground again. Then when he looked around the smoke and dust were so thick he could not see.

When it cleared, he said the display of human suffering was too much for him to bear. “I can never forget the image nor the smell of death.” This survivor’s story is interesting to read. Go to the Cal Alumni Assn and search for “An Atomic Bomb Survivor Recalls the Horrors of Hiroshima.”

Driving Cattle to Market

 Driving Cattle to Market 

The cattle industry in this country became a thing when people started looking around at the wild longhorn cattle running loose and multiplying on the plains of Texas. The virgin grasslands of Montana and the Dakotas beckoned as a place to fatten up the skinny critters and the trail drives were born.

Cattle drives born in the imagination of writers have earned a place in popular books and television fare. Take the novel “Lonesome Dove” where Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call drove a herd on the trail from Texas to Montana, or the tv series “Rawhide” where young Clint Eastwood’s character Rowdy Yates endlessly drove a herd around the country for about eight years.

If we want to get real and close at hand, though, we can relate a good story of a trail drive in Ransom County that took place in 1940. The lady rancher Freida Bohnsack came into possession of over 2,000 acres in the sandhills. Given the ranch by her father in the mid-1930s, she left an accounting job with the Gamble-Skogmo Company in Minneapolis to come and earn a living on the land. In addition, her dad started her out with a herd of six Holstein calves.

Bear in mind this was the drought and depression period in our history and the outlook was bleak. Along with the dust storms, the year 1936 gave us the coldest and the hottest recorded temperatures in North Dakota history, minus 60 degrees in Parshall and five months later a plus 121 degrees in Steele.

She now owned a large parcel of sandhill grassland with only a few head of her own to graze on it. An enterprising business person, she decided to make the grass available to others by leasing grazing rights, something which a number of cattlemen agreed to. As these things go, the cows and calves most likely did well. Then an article in the Fargo Forum dated September 18, 1940 states a trail drive of 600 cattle were going to be made that fall. However, it took the memories of one of her trail hands named Tex Bohm to clarify the event.

Tex worked for Freida the summer before his senior year in high school. A lover of all things Western, he liked his job, especially so when Freida arranged and coordinated an overland drive of 600 cattle to the West Fargo Stockyards. He would be able to participate in an old-time cattle drive. So many details have been lost or dimmed since that time 83 years ago, but he left a few.

He spoke of the winding route the herd took because fences or other developments stood in their way, but rights-of-way were followed when possible which provided enough room for the herd to pass through. None of the history of the event tells how long it took. One of the riders was an older man who rode sidesaddle. Tex asked why? His answer was it was more comfortable to ride that way when you have hemorrhoids.

The stockyards no longer exist, but try to imagine a cattle herd driven in on the hoof now with the commercial and residential development surrounding that site. Built in 1935, the facility stood alone and apart from any thing else, and in 1940 it was still that way. It is doubtful many herds came in that way. The history of the West Fargo Stockyards was published in 1985: “Through Chutes and Alleys: A Half Century of the West Fargo Union Stockyards.” It makes no mention of trail drives delivering stock. Trucks and rail cars were already serving that purpose.

The number 600 head being driven to West Fargo comes into question. When Tex died, his obituary stated he helped “when Freida Bohnsack drove 300 head of cattle from her Ransom County ranch to Fargo.” A city-born writer working for the Forum might’ve misunderstood and should’ve written that the roundup in September, 1940 separated the cow-calf pairs and 300 spring calves were driven to market, leaving 300 cows behind?

How much would they have brought on the market? The stockyards history stated that in 1940 136,904 cattle came bringing an average price per hundred weight of $6.80 for cattle, whereas 17,912 calves brought $8.00. Prices did increase through the years. In 1984, the last year recorded in this history, cattle brought $52.70 and calves $62.30.

November 30, 2020 was the market’s last day of operation.The manager stated, “There was little warning of the closure. We were doing dang good business, and they called and said in two weeks you have to lock the doors and shut it down.” With the encroachment of development surrounding the facility, he surmised the property was more valuable that the business was.

It’s not known when this independent lady rancher stopped leasing grassland to other cattle producers, but she eventually filled it with her own herd of Angus cattle that grew to 300 in number. Her successful management of the ranch earned her a spot in 2002 in the North Dakota Cowboy Hall of Fame.

In the state’s history several cowboys followed the herds up from Texas, found the area to their liking, and stayed: Ben Bird, Ott Black, Bill Molash, and more. They live on with their colorful pasts defining them. As for the fictional Lonesome Dove, it might be remembered from the story that Gus had two pigs that followed the herd to Montana. Unfortunately for them, after Gus died the ranch hands butchered them for a Christmas dinner. As improbable as it might seem, it could’ve happened. I have a true story where a sow followed a pioneer wagon from Iowa to the Enderlin area. Some day I might just pass it along.

Halls of Fame

 

Various halls of fame can be found in North Dakota established to preserve and honor the memory of notable citizens. An argument might be made that The Rough Rider Hall of Fame in the capitol building at Bismarck is  the premier one. The hall inducted for its first member in 1961 the popular Lawrence Welk. He still rides high in the estimation of many older North Dakotans, especially in the “sauerkraut triangle” with its high density of Germans who emigrated from Russia. 

By July of last year 47 people had been inducted representing a wide variety of achievers such as entertainers, athletes, authors, entrepreneurs, and others that have excelled. Other halls of fame have been established, too. They can be found in such places as the Sports Hall of Fame, Jamestown’s Civic Center;  The Aviation Hall of Fame, in the terminal building at the Bismarck Municipal Airport; and The Entrepreneur Hall of Fame, on the campus of the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks; as well as others.

Lest some readers think we’ve omitted a big one, rest assured, it’s been saved for last, just because it’s my favorite - The Cowboy Hall of Fame (NDCHF) in Medora. When inductees are chosen, the committees award their honors for a variety of individuals, animals, and events. Any connections to Ransom County? Yes.

The Sheldak Ranch near Sheldon owned by Dave and Kim Utke entered the Ranches Division of the hall in 2022. They’ve built an international reputation for raising Appaloosa horses of note. The NDCHF summarized their entry: “They bought an old farmstead near Sheldon, ND, and started with nothing but $1,000 cash, a small loan from the local bank, and one mare. The couple spent years fixing up the run-down farmstead into what it is today – a premier North Dakota ranching operation recognized worldwide to countless stock horse owners and enthusiasts.”

Over their 54 years in operation, the Utke’s have earned countless ribbons, trophies, and accolades, but now, in their 80s , want to slow down. 

In 2007, I had a hand in the induction of a gentleman for the Pre-1940 Ranching Division when I spoke for Donald Stevenson at their selection meeting. My interest in his accomplishments had grown over the years through his work in the county and beyond as a freighter. He and his ox drawn wagons hauled the materials and supplies for the building of Fort Ransom in the 1860s, then onward to Fort Abraham Lincoln where he furnished the necessities to build its structures.

The distances his wagons traveled while moving at the speed of plodding oxen are mind-boggling. Much of the freight came up the Mississippi River to St. Cloud where his wagons would load and begin their arduous journeys. Fort Abercrombie stood as a stopover as did Pigeon Point in Ransom County. It was his forty-wagon train that stalled in a three-day blizzard near Lisbon. 

Establishing his operations in Bismarck, his wagon train to the Black Hills was the first to bring back gold ore samples, which helped to set off a gold rush. After a life of adventures in the territory, he finally settled down and began ranching in Grant County.

The Bohnsack Ranch at Sheldon entered the Pre-1940s Ranching category of the Hall of Fame in 2002. After inheriting her family’s 2,000 acre ranch in 1935 with a big mortgage, Freida Bohnsack went to work rebuilding and making it a viable operation during the drought and depression years of the 1930s. As she started building her own herd of cattle, she took in cattle for summer grazing from which an interesting story developed.

In those years before large horse trailers and cattle trucks were available, herds were driven overland to their destination. Being a resourceful thinker, she organized a trail drive with other owners of 600 head to the West Fargo Stockyards. Having found a clue to this, I searched the archives of The Fargo Forum and found in a September 18, 1940 issue an article about the drive. The paper’s reporter opened with “Frieda Bohnsack has dropped her M.A. (Master of Arts) for some very early A.M. in Ransom County and the result is she has brought some old fashioned cow country with the very environs of the Red River Valley.”

Through the years she participated in several relevant organizations, started a saddle club and a 4-H club, and taught school for a couple of years. Along the way she adopted a baby girl, Bonita, who still owns the ranch. Freida was the first woman to be inducted to the NDCHF.

Kenneth Krueger joined the ranks of the Hall of Famers in 2016 in the Pre-1940 Rodeo category. He might not have lived in Ransom County, but it was nearby in Cass County. He began his rodeo career as a saddle bronc rider in the early 1930s. and then promoted his own rodeos at his Leonard ranch and other local venues in the 40s and 50s. He was instrumental in promoting rodeo in the southeastern region of North Dakota. Many of the rodeo posters listed him as “Wild Horse Krueger,” bronc rider, rodeo producer and trick rider. He dressed and lived the part. We find “Ken Krueger, the bronc rider” listed on Bohnsack Dude Ranch poster advertising an upcoming rodeo in 1942.

I’ve been a long time fan of rodeo events, especially the bucking bulls. One named Little Yellow Jacket lived near Mandan, ND, and I’d watch him perform whenever I could. His horns were distinctively mismatched. One pointed downward while its mate aimed up. Ridden only 14 times out of 90 tries, he was described by an official of the Professional Bull Riders Assn as  “a once in a lifetime bull. He has the kind of heart, desire and athletic ability that true champions in any walk of life possess.” When he bucked the last time in North Dakota at the Bismarck Civic Center, there was a big celebration, and he won that time, too. We were there. He was inducted in 2006.

Since the NDCHF’s inception, about 230 men, women, events, and livestock have entered its membership roster, all of them representing impressive achievements.

Lack of Decorum

 Lack of Decorum  

The phrase “lack of decorum” gets bandied about occasionally in politics whenever someone has gotten miffed about the opposition’s behavior. They just didn’t do it right! Many examples of the problem can be found. The best (or maybe it’s the worst) case of it happened in 1985 at a black tie affair of the Washington Press Club dinner and centers on two people John Riggins, a star football player and Sandra Day O’Connor, the first woman Supreme Court justice.

Riggins was invited to the dinner by People magazine because of his stellar performances on the football field, even to the point of earning Most Valuable Player in Super Bowl XVII. For whatever reasons, he’d been drinking heavily that day besides not eating. He was seated at the same table as Justice O’Connor, and in the course of the evening told her to

“loosen up, Sandy baby. You’re too tight.” He then proceeded to fall asleep under their table. It must have worked on his conscience, because the next time they met he gave her a dozen roses. He did exhibit a lack of decorum.

We recently returned from the 37th annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Medora. Its founder Bill Lowman has persisted all these years in successfully rounding up participants. I make no claims about being a cowboy but do like the poetry and songs that come from that thinking and even try a hand at writing some myself. Consequently, we’ve attended to participate a few times.

One of the pieces I wrote and recited concerned a real life occurrence and is a good example of a lack of decorum. It happened this way. My wife is a west river girl born and raised among cowboys and individualists who thrive in that rugged yet beautiful environment. One of her family’s neighbors was a man named Dan Panko, a state representative.

The family got to know big, burly, cigar-smoking man well since he’d occasionally drive in the yard to sit and visit. As for his legislative stance he had a pet peeve with which he felt needed action. He wanted funding for a bounty on rattlesnakes. We’re talking about that area around Sioux and Grant countries where one is often cautioned to watch for snakes.

In 1941, his colleagues wouldn’t even consider the bill for his cause. But he wasn’t about to accept defeat. I wrote, “The only way you could dilute/ the danger lurking in those buttes/ was pass a bounty, but they wouldn’t budge./ As for Panko we’ll see that they misjudged/ the resolve be brought to this debate.”

He went home for some snake hunting which was easy to do in the winter months because the cold, lethargic snakes were balled up in dens. He put about fifty of them in a box and took them to the capitol and dumped them out on the floor. “Such a commotion you never saw/ as when the snakes began to thaw/ and crawl about in the warmth of that room.”

With only one dissenting vote, 110-1, his efforts paid off. A bill appropriated $10,000 to be paid out at the rate of 25 cents per tail. Panko’s break from standard behavior, that is lack of decorum, brought results. By the way, his ploy made news around the country. A headline in an Oregon newspaper read, “Legislators Are Rattled.”

Another of my poems titled “The Stockyards Hotel” dealt with memories. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen cattle cars rolling on the tracks. Until about 1950 a stockyards stood along the tracks in Sheldon where farmers could load livestock into slatted cars for shipping to market. But about this time another group of inhabitants found shelter here. Itinerant workers, bums, tramps, hoboes, whatever they were called hitched rides on the trains to come to work in the grain fields at harvest time.

As the poem goes, “This was just what the ladies feared/ each day this time of year./ They’d cry, those bums/ pull my carrots and dig my spuds/ and steal overalls off the line./ One gal got so doggone mad/ she chased them down the street/ waving her broom/ and screaming their doom/ til they escaped to their dens/ in the shipping pens/ to hide til the coast was clear.”

Territorial and early statehood history has long been a favorite of mine. One of the biggest personalities to wield oversized control of people and events in this period was Alexander McKenzie. As he became an established figure in Dakota Territory, he discovered his position of power lay with employer the Northern Pacific Railroad through which he pulled off a big example of getting his way through a lack of decorum.

The territorial capital at Yankton sat in the far southeastern part of the territory and proved too far removed from the activity occurring farther north. The rail line stretched across the state by now and the railroad wanted the capital city of the territory moved north to Bismarck. Yankton was not going to give up without a fight, though. In the territorial legislature, a bill passed whereby a law described how a new capital city was to be chosen. In the process, Yankton thought they would be able to pull the strings that would keep it there.

The governor at the time, Nehemiah Ordway, appointed a nine member commission to do the choosing and were to meet within 30 days, specifically in Yankton. While there, they were to organize and elect officers, after which they would select the capital. McKenzie and eight other cohorts made up the commission. Not wanting to meet in Yankton but required to, they knew they could come under extreme pressure from Yankton city leaders.

McKenzie devised the plan of tricking Yankton’s leaders by hiring a train locomotive pulling one passenger car in which the commissioners were seated. Early in the morning while Yankton still slept, the train slowly rolled into town, within the city limits a meeting was called to order, they conducted the necessary official business, and then chugged away and into the countryside. The letter of the law had been obeyed, and the commissioners could now choose Bismarck. Lack of decorum? I’d say so.