The following story first appeared as a series of five
installments in the weekly Ashland Press in 1895 and 1896. It was written
by Mary Jane (Byers) Plice, who grew up in Polk during its earliest days as
a village.
Mrs. Plice (May 21,1841 - June 5, 1906) combines hard facts,
names, dates and places with anecdotes from her childhood, making a truly
informative, interesting, and colorful tale of life in Polk in the mid
nineteenth century, a time when the Midwest was slowly shedding its frontier
culture.
Her skilled writing ability and her fondness for the topic of
her school days are evidence of the quality of education provided by our
local school in those days, as well as the importance placed upon it by our
early citizens.
For those interested in Polk's history--a community lacking
in printed historical resources-- this work is an invaluable document. It
provides a rare glimpse into our local history, and is without a doubt the
definitive work on Polk’s first half-century.
At the time she wrote this article, Mrs. Plice lived on South
Main Street in the house now owned by Mrs. Robert Allen.
I first learned of this history in 1980. Clayton Hartsel,
widower of Mrs. Plice's great-niece Nellie, had died the previous year.
After the estate auction his family took some odds and ends to Goodwill
Industries in Ashland, where a copy of the article, clipped from the
original newspapers and neatly pasted and bound in a small portfolio, was
found in the pocket of a suit coat. The store manager, Mrs. Ralph Sweet,
gave it to Bill and Mary Donley, and Mary gave me a photocopy shortly
thereafter. The Hartsel original is now in the possession of John and Candy
Donley. The articles can be viewed in their original format on microfilm at
the Ashland Public Library: (December 26, 1895; January 9, 16, 23, 30,
1896.)
The complete series follows, as printed in the Press.
Parentheses and brackets are the writer’s. Single asterisks denote my
corrections and clarifications. Double asterisks denote misprints corrected
a week following the final article, at Mrs. Plice’s request.
Craig T. Wiley
Historical Reminiscence of the
Village of Polk
(written
for the Press by an old Correspondent)
The village of Polk is
located in the northern part of Ashland county and near the western boundary
line of Jackson township. Forty-five years ago it was in its infancy. Although
now nearly a half century old, it has not grown large in proportion to its
years. It is pleasantly situated and has always been considered remarkably
healthy. It was laid out in May, 1849, by Jno. Kuhn The southeast corner of
the town is built upon a part of the farm he then lived on. No man who has ever
lived here is more deserving of having his memory perpetuated by our citizens.
He was one of the early settlers and a man of more than the ordinary education
and intelligence, a strong advocate of schools, morality and temperance. His
wife was truly a helpmeet and a woman of great strength of character, and
intellectually the peer of her husband, a woman of refinement, a true wife and
mother and a model housekeeper. They began life in a rude log cabin, but by
great industry and frugality they were able in a few years to build one of the
first (if not the first) brick houses in Jackson township, which house is still
standing and is occupied by the present owner of the farm, Mrs. Sigler.
Mr. Kuhn was what would be
termed now a scientific farmer. He delighted in systematic work on the farm as
well as anywhere else; he was also a very successful fruit grower, planting a
large orchard and vineyard, from which we remember eating the most luscious
fruit when but a little child. He also planted an orchard of mulberry trees and
a few years after successfully engaged in silk culture. Mrs. Kuhn supplied the
neighborhood with sewing silk and herself with pin money by selling the silk
from the cocoons and spinning, twisting and coloring it herself. How well we
remember being sent there by mother for sewing silk or button-hole twist and how
we enjoyed watching this good woman reeling the silk from the little spinning
bolls, and sometimes she would take us upstairs to see the great tables piled
with mulberry branches.
It seems to me I can yet
hear the crunching of the swarms of ugly looking worms as they eagerly devoured
the leaves. My mother once knit a pair of stockings from thread spun by this
busy house wife, and she astonished the “natives” by appearing in the little old
log church one Sabbath wearing a black silk dress which was spun, colored, wove
and made by her own deft hands into a Sunday gown.
Mr. Kuhn showed his love for
the cause of education and religion by donating the ground our present school
building stands upon and sold for a small sum, in 1851, the ground the Reformed
church stands upon. In 1850, he built the hotel on the northwest corner of his
farm which stands near the public square on South Main street. This was a well
built, substantial, commodious house. The southwest corner room was intended
for a store room, and the first stock of goods was put up by Joseph Musgrave, of
Ashland, and taken charge of by E. T. Drayton. Later, the store was owned by
Holiday Ames and E. T. Drayton, of Ashland. Mr. Kuhn rented the hotel for a few
years, and then sold his farm to Robert DeArmon and from that time until his
death in 1868* he was “mine host” of the Polk House. He gave all his children,
two sons and two daughters, a collegiate education, but the sons died early in
life. The daughters were graduates of Galesburg, Ill., and were married
respectfully to Elder Newton of Savannah, and Prof. Grant, of Galesburg, Ill.
After Mr. Kuhn’s death the hotel was sold to John Smith, and the families of the
two daughters together with their widowed mother removed to McMinnville, Tenn.
This was not a good move as that country so soon after the war was very
unsettled, and the mountain land proved very unproductive, though now valuable
on account of its coal and iron. After living there a few years (Mrs. Kuhn
having died in the mountains) the two families moved back to Ill., and
afterwards to Kansas, where they are still living.
In politics Mr. Kuhn was a
radical freesoiler, and in those years, preceding the late war, when the
political sky was being overshadowed by the dark clouds, it meant something to
openly avow anti-slavery principles. But as Mr. Kuhn was of a quiet, retiring
disposition he seldom engaged in political discussion, but when pressed to do so
all the fire of nature arose within him, and he boldly avowed his principles.
Newspapers did not float on
every breeze, and enter every home then as they do now, but Mr. Kuhn took two
papers, the National Era, and the Ashland Union, the only paper then published
in Ashland. My father also took two papers, the Baltimore Sun and Cincinnati
Times, and he and Mr. Kuhn exchanged papers, thus making four papers for each
family.
The National Era was the
exponent of anti-slavery principles and in it was first published Mrs. H. B.
Stowe’s famous “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and later “Dred” or the “Tale of the Dismal
Swamp.” From reading these stories when but a child of 10 we early imbibed
anti-slavery principles. In the exchange of these papers we were appointed mail
carrier, as we trudged to school, a bare-foot lass in summer, and in good, warm
home-spun garments in winter, to the little log school house which stood near
the Kuhn homestead, where we sat upon backless benches about 10 inches wide and
so high our feet could not reach the floor.
Mr. Kuhn’s body sleeps in
the little cemetery which adjoins his old farm, while Mrs. Kuhn slumbers beneath
the pines of the Cumberland mountains. Peace to their ashes.
* * * * * * * *
*The actual date of his
death according to the headstone is April 2, 1869
Although we said at the
beginning that our village was laid out in 1849 and named Polk, the reader must
not infer that was the beginning of its history. For several years previous to
this there had been little clearings made in the forest, and here and there a
log cabin had been built. And, at our earliest recollection, there were beside
these cabins four frame houses, all of which are still standing except one. A
store room was built by John Bryan on the southeast* corner of the farm he then
lived on and on which the northwest* corner of our village has since been
built. In this corner building (which is now owned by E. C. Rickett) John
Bryan kept the first store that was ever kept in what was then called Oak Hill.
It took this name from the M. E. log church which stood on the same site the
present church stands, and was also on the Bryan farm. Mr. Bryan also built a
dwelling house near the store, which was moved from North Main street to North
Congress street a few years ago and is now owned and occupied by Wm. Rickett,
and an elegant residence was erected in its place by the late Thomas Smith.
On the street running east
from the square, now known as East Congress street, and near the store of John
Bryan, stood a cabin in which lived Widow Bryan (known all around as Aunty
Bryan) and her one son, Armstrong, who was the old bachelor of the place. They
were no relation, however, to any of the Bryans who ever lived here. Armstrong
supported himself and mother by his trade, which was that of a tailor. Here our
fathers and big brothers came to have their “Sunday go-to-meetin’ “ clothes
made--their every-day ones were linsey woolsey and were spun and made at home.
Besides ekeing out a comfortable living he managed to lay by enough to improve
their home by building a small frame addition. After a few years of patient
toil by this very patient man, he took unto himself a wife, sold his property
here and bought a small farm near Perrysville, Ashland county, where he moved
and where he died only a few years ago.
John Bryan lived and kept
store here several years, but up to 1849 we had no post-office and our mail was
obtained at Orange, but after it was laid out and was given its present name we
had our first post-office and John Bryan was the first postmaster. His family
consisted of four sons and two daughters. The eldest daughter, Jane, or Mrs.
Cameron, is at present here from South Dakota revisiting the scenes of her
childhood and girlhood for the first time in 43 years, as the family left this
place in 1852. Two of the sons are M. E. ministers. Calvin, in Portland, Ore.,
and Oliver in Iowa. Hickman, the oldest son, and Lizzie, the youngest
daughter, are also living near Elk Point, South Dakota.
We now notice across the
street from Armstrong Bryan’s another log cabin, not exactly a cabin either, but
a hewed log house, which is a step higher than a cabin on the same lot on which
our armory now stands, which was occupied then by an aged couple named Frantz.
* Property and tax records
indicate she should have written SOUTHWEST and NORTHEAST, respectively.
Their eldest children were
married and settled in life, but their two youngest sons, Andrew and Frederick,
were still in the old home when the gold fever of ‘49 broke out in our county
and these boys were lured by the glittering vision which, like some far off
mirage, continually dangled before their mental eye until, to the sorrow of
father and mother they joined the company then being made up by Mr. Dorland, of
Rows. This journey was not made then as now, in a few days, but had to be made
either by the
overland route, which was
full of dangers from various causes, viz: the Indians, wild beasts and
privations and sufferings in crossing the mountains and plains, or via New York
and thence by water, rounding Cape Horn--either way fraught with dangers and a
slow, tedious journey of about three months. Frederick lived to come back with
a moderate amount of the glittering coin, but Andrew sleeps in that far-off
land. From here, the family moved to the west.
The next house to this on
the east was a neat little frame cottage built by Morris Walton, who also put up
the first saw mill in Polk. He afterward sold his interest to his brother,
William, and Morris left this place. The next occupant was Daniel Stick, a
tailor. His stay was of short duration. Holiday Ames then moved from Ashland
into this house. A year or two later E. T. Drayton married and began
housekeeping in this house, Mr. Ames having moved over on North Main street. We
do not know who built the next house, which was also a frame one, but it was
occupied about this time by George Shroffler,* now living in Burbank. From this
point the street seems to have grown lop-sided, as there were no buildings on
the north side of the street from Armstrong Bryan’s until we get nearly to the
school house, where was a farm house occupied by Wm. Walton, the owner of the
saw mill. Where ‘Squire Fast now lives stood a little cabin, and next to it a
very small frame house, built and occupied by a woman named Esther Eldridge, a
remarkable character in the history of our village at that early day--a woman
who had suffered wrong and had seen much of the dark side of life, left to
battle alone with its stern realities. She chose the occupation of a milliner
and was the first to open up a shop of that kind in Polk. This did not prove a
very lucrative employment at that early day. Fashions did not change then with
the moon as they do now. This was before the day for railroads and telegraph
for Ashland county and Dame Fashion, like everything else, traveled slower than
they do now. We wonder what the misses of the present day would say to wearing
the same hat winter and summer for two or three years, and often longer. We
thought if we got our Sunday bonnets “done up;” that is, bleached, pressed and
retrimmed once in that length of time we were doing well. Poor Esther, how well
we recall her face, her piercing dark eyes, a face that would have been handsome
had it not been for the hard, bitter expression, a very “Rispah” in
courage-bearing, and strength of muscle.
*May be Shreffler: the
print is difficult to read.
She found it hard to eke out
a living for herself and child at her trade, so when the gold excitement we
have spoken of struck our village, she went with the company as cook, and
although she returned after many years to Illinois she has never visited this
place.
The little cottage was next
occupied by Isaac Hott, our village shoe maker. After several years it was sold
to Mrs. Richey, who lived in it until four years ago, when it was sold to Denton
Miller, who died here last August. Prior to his death he was the only man
living here who had lived here 50 years ago. However, he had not lived here all
that time, but 50 years ago he began housekeeping in a log house which stood
near where the hotel now stands. Here his wife died. He afterward married
again and moved to the west and four years ago came back to spend his few
remaining days in Polk.
* * * * *
* * * *
During the summer of ‘49,
the first frame school house was built on the same site the present school
building stands--with what impatient interest we watched for its completion? At
last it was finished and dedicated and ready for use. How happy we were the
following winter to move in with “Daddy” Allison, our teacher; he taught the
last term in the old log school house and the first in the new. Wm. Allison was
his name, but on account of his bald head, his fat jolly face we called him
“Daddy” Allison. How luxurious those seats were compared with the backless ones
of the old house. Our second teacher was Miss Lydia Bowlby, now Mrs. Wm.
Alberson, of Orange. She was beloved by all her pupils and was an excellent
teacher. In the winter of ‘50 J. J. Jacobs, of Ashland, taught the school, also
the following winter. The school was large, enrolling about 70 scholars. Mr.
Jacobs was quite young, indeed only a boy in years and stature, but in knowledge
far beyond his years. Ambitious to make this his first school a success he
threw all the energy of his nature into his work. At first the “big” boys
sneered at the little teacher. There were at least a dozen big brawny fellows
larger than he, and some of the more daring even went so far as to say “they
would carry him out on a chip” before long, but they reckoned without their host
for by his kind and gentle government he soon won the hearts of all the children
and many of the larger boys, and certainly all of the “big girls.” Still there
were a few “bullys” who thought it a mark of bravery to talk “big” about what
they would do with the little teacher when Xmas came. And so they laid a plot
to bar him out on Xmas day. “But the best laid schemes’ of mice an’ men gang
aft aglee.” So when Christmas day came the teacher went to the hotel for his
dinner, taking the door key in his pocket. The boys proceeded to barricade the
door after getting the scholars inside. When he returned he was surprised and
indignant at finding himself shut out. He sternly demanded entrance. The big
boys said, “treat and we will let you in,” but he refused to compromise in that
way. We little girls were huddled together in a corner “scart” most to death,
while the big girls, who were in sympathy with the handsome “little teacher”
begged of the boys to let him in. The teacher then remembering a window in the
rear of the house from which the lock was broken, quietly passed around to it.
A saucy Miss saw him and boldly opened it and in bounded the little teacher
livid with pent-up emotion. The boys were chagrined and quickly removed the
barricade and “skedaddled” to their seats, while the teacher seized the bell
rope and rang them down to books. Then a silence fell upon the school that was
torturous. when the teacher could trust himself to speak calmly he said “you
boys concerned in this work, please come forward.” About a dozen big, burly
fellows marched up the aisle and formed a line in front of the teacher. What
did he do? Whip them: Verily not but he read the riot act to them for about
ten minutes. Then he said more kindly, “Now boys, go to your seats, and in the
future do not demean your manhood in such a barbarous fashion.” They wheeled
about and with a crestfallen air went to their seats if not sadder, at least
wiser boys.
Well, he had met the enemy
and they were his; from that day to the close of the school those same boys were
his firm friends and a better teacher never taught in that school house than
he. His power of controlling a school of that size was wonderful for one of his
age. His standard of morals and education was high and he lifted the school to
a higher plane of morals as well as knowledge. At the close of his second term
he gave a literary entertainment in the church, the first of the kind ever given
here. At the close he bade us all good bye. The choking voices and the
suspicious moisture in the eyes of teacher and scholars attested the strong
affection which had sprung up between us. He came to us a pure, noble-minded
youth, instilling into the hearts of his pupils high aspirations and noble
principles, and he left us with the love and respect not only of the school but
of the entire community. The following spring many of those larger scholars
went out into the world seeking employment for themselves. Others moved to
distant parts of the country, who will say the hand of Providence was not in the
sending of that teacher two years in succession, just when those young men
needed the necessary training to fit them to go out into the world to battle
with its stern realities.
Oh, what tender
recollections cluster around our school-girl days. Next to our homes, we love
the spot where our early school days were spent. In the pathetic language of
the poet we cry out:
“Backward, turn backward, oh, time, in your flight,
Make me a school-girl just for tonight.”
School-mates, come back to my vision once more;
And let us play together as in days of yore.
Eating our dinner from the little tin pail,
“Seesawing,” “teetering,” out on a rail.
“Puss in a corner, Ring around rosey,”
Down in the woods gathering a posey.
Building “play houses” under the trees,
Playing “keep store” with the bright colored leaves.
Hark the bell rings, now for a race,
Which brings bright flushes to each little face.
“Hiding and seeking,””Anthony over,”
Chasing the bee, out in the clover.
“Leap frog,” “Lilla bunk,” “Fox and geese,”
Coasting and skating till ready to freeze.
Eyes flashing bright, smiles wreathing the lip
While “Twisting tobacco” or “Cracking the whip.”
The dream is ended, the vision has flown,
I’m sitting here writing tonight all alone.
School-mates, we never will meet as in days of yore,
Until we meet you and greet you on eternity’s shore.
* * * * * * *
* *
It is not our purpose in
these sketches to notice personally all the teachers who taught the school while
we were a pupil. Some are not worthy of notice, especially those whose sole aim
was the dollars there was in it for them, but the majority did their duty
faithfully and well. But the time came all too soon when we were kept at home
during the summer months, for farmers’ daughters must learn to take up household
duties no matter how great the thirst for knowledge.
There was the wool to wash
and pick and get ready for the carding machine; flax to pull, to spread, to
water and turn, and turn and water, until it was ready for the men to “break,”
“skutch” and “hackle,” and ready to spin. Then our wheels were brought from the
“attic,” the whirring began, mother with the little wheel and flax, we with the
big one and the fleecy rolls of wool. Our “stint” was a dozen a day, besides
the morning and evening work. When all was done it was colored different colors
and sent to the weavers to be woven into plaid flannel for our winter school
dresses, reserving a portion of yarn to knit our winter stockings. Then flax
was woven into linen for the table etc.
Ah me! times have changed
since we were a school girl. ‘Tis true, school girls now talk about their
“wheels,” and of taking a “spin,” but one of the points of usefulness in their
“wheels” is to spin away from mother and work.
A boy, or a girl, who is cut
down to four months schooling in a year must be earnest and studious in order to
acquire even a common education. And yet from the Polk school have gone out
into the world men and women who are filling almost every avocation in life, and
filling them well. It is true there have been great improvements in teaching,
and the modern school boy or girl has many advantages we had not. What with
object lessons, and physical culture, and analyzing, and diagramming, the boy
and girl of today ought to be and no doubt is, far in advance of the girls and
boys of 40 years ago. Then we knew nothing of the theory of physical culture,
but we did know a great deal of the practice, for we were with scarce a single
exception, strong of limb, swift of foot, with the glow of health upon our
cheeks--girls who could run races, skate, play ball, with no fears of spoiling
our gowns, breaking a stay or getting the “bloom of youth” rubbed off our
cheeks. True, too, there were not many of the higher branches studied, yet we
remember as far back as 1859 there was a class of eight or ten who studied,
beside the common branches, algebra, geometry, Stoddard’s arithmetic, and
philosophy, but no matter what study was taken up by a pupil he was not allowed
to neglect or omit reading, writing or spelling.
Then for our evening
entertainment we had our singing schools, and spelling schools. Our spelling
schools were a special delight to us all. Often neighboring schools came in to
join the contest; the excitement at such contests ran high and sometimes ended
up with a little too much excitement. Then our singing schools were jolly
places. Of course we learned to sing; that is, all but “yours truly.” Our
talents never laid along that line. We could learn to spell [though the editor
may not think it] but to learn music never. But still we went just for the fun
there was in it. Now while all this is interesting to the writer, it may not be
so much so to the reader, so we will leave the old school house with its
cherished memories, and tell of something else as we journey around town, but
just here we will say, that schoolhouse burned down the winter of ‘72, if we
remember correctly, and the present building was erected in its place.
Across the street from the
school house and a little west of it lives Mrs. Henry Wicks, widow of the late
Henry Wicks. Mr. Wicks came to Polk from Wayne county in ‘67, bought the
property of Wm. Walton, also the mill lot belonging to it. The saw mill had
burned down the winter previous. Mr. Wicks put up a new mill, taking on as
partner Jonathan Buzzard, who after a few years sold his interest to S. Plice,
and so it changed hands every few years until it finally went to ruin and was
never rebuilt. Mrs. Wicks has lived in Polk longer than any one who is now
living here, thirty nine years next spring.
A little below the Wicks
residence on the same side of the street, we come to the “Council Chamber.”
Here our “City Fathers” meet from time to time to enact ordinances, one-half of
which are never enforced, and chew their quids, or smoke their pipes and
expectorate to their heart’s content.
The next dwelling west is
that of Mrs. Daniel Brown, widow of the late Daniel Brown. Mr. Brown had been a
resident of Polk nearly 40 years. He was a man of stable character, quiet,
unassuming in manner and a devoted Christian. We have now got back to where
Armstrong Bryan lived and which is now occupied by John Hartsel.
Now let us go down South
Main street from the square in 1850. We see the hotel just newly built, south
of it across the alley, a little frame cottage built by Solomon Sprinkle for his
own occupancy, but death, the fall destroyer, came and cut him down in the prime
of manhood, and the property was sold to Wm. Spencer, a cabinet maker. He lived
here for many years. The present occupant is John Ryan and family and Isaac
Wertenberger and mother. Mrs. Wertenberger is the oldest person in the town and
in the township, 92 years. Below this is woods and across the street is woods.
In ‘51 a clearing was made south of Wm. Spencer’s and the present Reformed
church was built. Across the street from the hotel, a clearing was made and a
house built. This lot was on the north-east corner of the farm owned by Jacob
Smith. The house was built by Peter Frantz. Martin Wolf was the next owner;
there his wife and little daughter died. Afterward it was occupied by David
Cooper, who kept a dry goods store. In the fall of 1860 we began housekeeping
in it. We lived in it ten years and sold it to Dr. O. C. McCarty, now of
Ashland, and we moved into our present residence, which was built in ‘57. Dr.
Reinhart is the present occupant. The house has been remodeled several times
and but little of the old one left except the frame. There were no other
buildings this side of the street until after the war.
* * * * * * *
* *
Beginning at the public
square we now take a promenade up North Main street. It was not specked then
with beautiful maples, but most of the houses stood in among forest trees. The
west side of Main street was built on the farm owned by Mr. Mickey. The first
building on the corner was a grocery store owned and kept by Jacob Smith, and
north of it was his dwelling house. After a few years he sold out to Thomas
Smith, his brother, who kept grocery a few years, then enlarged the building and
added a stock of dry goods also, doing a successful business here for several
years. During the war he sold out to Byers & Mentzer, and in a year Byers sold
his interest again to Smith. Smith & Mentzer run it until about 1867-8 when
they sold to J. P. Smith** who in time sold to Wm. Lash, of Ashland, in 1870.
Two years ago Mr. Lash died, leaving the business in the hands of his son, C. F.
Lash, our present merchant. Mr. Lash enlarged and remodeled both the store room
and dwelling house, making at present a fine looking corner.
In 1850 there was but one
other dwelling house on this side of the street, which was built and occupied at
that time by Martin Wolf. The next owner was Chas. Finel**. He sold it to
Joseph Zeigler, now of Congress, and for several years he was our village
blacksmith.
A few years later another
house was built by Jacob Byers, better known in the neighborhood as “Blind
Jake,” the pedler. He is long since dead, but his wife still lives with her son
William at Yale, Ohio, and is 104 years old.
Calvin Bryan was the next
owner. Here he died 15 years ago. His widow still lives there, but the old
house has made room for a better one. Mrs. Bryan has lived in Polk for 36
years. In later years, other buildings went up, scattered along, few and far
between.
Polk can truly be called a
rural town, as it is not built compactly--but fully one-half of the people own
from one to five and even to ten acres of ground. A gentleman passing through
our village a few years ago made the remark, “that he thought the citizens of
Polk must all be farmers, as there were small farms lying in between the
houses.”
Now, on the east side of
this street the first four houses from the square were built by John Bryan.
First a store room, wareroom and small dwelling house: afterward he built a
larger and more commodious house on the site of the one now owned by J. S.
Kauffman, Jr. The house of Bryan’s was occupied by John Ruffcorn and
afterwards by his brother Hiram, both of whom kept store after Bryan left. The
wareroom was also converted into a dwelling house by J. C. Horn.
Adam Cover was one of the
early settlers in Polk, living in the old Bryan house, a carpenter by trade. he
also was a victim of the “gold fever” of ‘49, making the fourth one from Polk to
join the company at Rows. But fortune did not smile on him there. His wife
struggled gravely to support his little ones with her needles. Being a
seamstress, she did a great deal of sewing for Z. Greenwald, of Ashland. This
was before the days of sewing machines, and it meant toil early and late to earn
a scanty living for herself and children, still hoping her husband would return
with enough to at least live comfortably, which hope was not realized, so far as
the future was concerned. In l869 John Kauffman, Sr. , began housekeeping in
this same old house, but in a few years bought out Jos. Zeigler and moved across
the street and from that time until the present has lived there, with the
exception of the time he spent in the army, and has been our faithful village
smithy for 36 years.
Week in, week out, from morn ‘til night,
You can hear his bellows blow,
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow.
The next house on the east
side is a brick one, being built by Christian Reeb, of Ashland, and sold to
Hiram Raker, who is still living in it. There were no other houses between that
and the church for several years and at present there is but one, belonging to
Mrs. Margaret Lash, but at present unoccupied. The house built by J. C. Horn
adjoining Mr. Raker’s burned down last spring.
It is said that every score
of years marks an epoch in the history of nations. The same might be said of
towns and villages. The first houses were built here about 1840, and in 1860
our present system of railroad was built. And from that time Polk began to
enlarge her borders, spreading out north and west, as far as the depot west, and
as far as the railroad crossing north. From this time we began to hold our
heads up, looking with pity on our neighboring villages that could have no
railroad. But our pride was all laid low in the dust the following year, when
the dark war clouds which had been hanging over our nation burst with terrific
force in the bombardment of Fort Sumter, which struck terror to hearts and homes
of this nation and our village as well. And when the country’s call was heard
for volunteers there were brave hearts in our town who responded, and 20 from
our village enrolled their names at different times during the war as eager and
willing to give, if need be, their lives to defend the old flag of our union.
We will give the names of these men and boys, for some of them were boys in
their teens: Wm. Spencer, Hiram Raker, B. F. Cooper, Wm. Zimmerman, Stephen
Ritchey, Jacob Barrick, Solomon Barrick, Peter Royer, George Cover, George
Mitchelson, H. H. Owens, Levi Owens, Milton Owens, Henry Burge, Jacob Newcomer,
Adam Cover, Jacob Buzzard, Samuel Buzzard, John Kauffman, and Wm. Byers. These
were all from our village besides many from the immediate vicinity around.
These all lived to come back except Wm. Zimmerman, Stephen Ritchie, Jacob and
Samuel Buzzard.
In 1872 our village was
incorporated and the same year the Presbyterian church was built*, making at
present three churches.
We said at the beginning of
these sketches that Polk was always considered a very healthy place. We will
prove it by saying that in the last 50 years there have been located here at
different times 17 physicians. None of them died here, and none ever went away
rich with one exception, and he was rich when he came, making an average of a
little less than three years per capita. The first doctor we recollect of here
was Dr. Ball, whom we learned recently is yet living in Wisconsin. Next
followed in succession Dr. Briggs, Campbell, Ransom, Knoulke, Wolf, Smith,
Paxton, Griffeth, McDonald, Clark, Travis, Bucher, Stinson, Rumbaugh, McCarty,
Reinhart.
Dr. Paxton was a mysterious
character. He came here from nobody knew where. A man just middle age, a
splendid physician, rich and a bachelor (or, at least he claimed to be). He
bought a farm and lived here all alone for a few years, sold it again and
suddenly disappeared--left for--nobody knew where. His accomplishment was fine
horsemanship; intemperance and profanity his failings. He was in fact
eccentricity personified.
Our first shoemaker was Mr.
Owens. He was a veteran of the war of 1812, and the father of Nathan Owens, who
kept the hotel here in 1851; also of H. K. Owens, a present resident of this
place. Jacob Barrick and Robert McGill were also shoemakers who did good
service in their time.
Merchants who kept in the
hotel store room were as follows: Ames & Drayton, David Cooper, John S. White,
Smith & Brown, Kiplinger & Albright, Ruffcorn & Albright, and J. M. Lee down on
the corner.
Many, very many of those
mentioned in these sketches have long since gone the way of all the earth.
Others have removed to distant lands, and today we can count upon our fingers
the old schoolmasters** that are left with us to rehearse bygone days.
*The year was actually
1877. At a meeting of the Orange Presbyterian Church on July 21, 1877, it was
decided the members living in and around Polk, being numerous, should break
away to form a new congregation. The church was built soon after that.
If we have made any mistakes
we hope they will be overlooked as we have written entirely from memory, and
while it has been refreshed we hope the reader has at least in a measure been
entertained. When we started to write these sketches it was not our intention
to write of the present history of our village. We leave that for some future
historian, who may be perhaps one of the little “tots” who run our streets to
and from school today as we did 40 years ago.
Very
respectfully,
Mrs. M. J. Plice
* * * * * * *
* * *
POLK
ED: PRESS Several mistakes
occurred in my article last week. The most important were: Thomas Smith sold
his store in 1867-8 to “J. P. Stamets” instead of “to J. P. Smith.” The house
John Kauffman, Sr., now lives in was once owned by “Chas. Firrell” instead of
“Chas. Finel.” “Can count on our fingers the old school mates,” instead of
“masters.” Please correct and oblige.
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