Growing pains: McCook 1884

From the H.P. Waite Collection of McCook Tribune Stories

March 20, 1884: The streets and alleys present a wretched appearance. The space around the town pump is the favorite resort for hogs -- which, in spite of the ordinances prohibiting the running of animals at large, still have free range of the streets. The hogs have made a deep wallowing place in the vicinity of the well. A practice that should be stopped is the slaughtering of animals in what may be termed the business district. With the return of warm weather conditions will become intolerable ... It is customary for the butchers in this village to slaughter hogs, not only within the village limits, but in the public streets. Some of the citizens complain of this practice, and have expressed the opinion that such activities should be carried on where the squeals of the dying porkers are not quite so audible.

March 27, 1884: The section foreman had a dispute with a section hand who intended to leave the service of the railroad company without settling his board bill. The section man fired two shots at the foreman, both of which missed their mark -- another example of the evil that results from the almost universal habit of carrying guns.

March 28, 1884: A bad man from the west came to town yesterday. By evening he was wild with liquor. He bellowed around town the entire night in a style that would have done credit to a Texas steer. He interspersed the program with an occasional discharge of his .45. This morning he went to one of the hotels. The proprietor, who objected to his obstreperous conduct, was slapped in the face and beaten over the head with the .45. The troublemaker was arrested and taken before the Justice of the Peace, who fined him $10.00 and costs. He was uproariously hilarious in the presence of the court, before whom, he appeared with his revolver and cartridge belt strapped around his waist. After paying his fine, he paraded the streets, swearing and yelling. On its arrival, he boarded the east bound train.

Spring? April 1, 1884: We have thought for some time that spring was here. The last snow storm -- until today's -- roared across the prairie early in March. The air has been almost balmy. The last snow drifts lying along sheltered canyon banks succumbed to the rays of the mounting sun a week ago. They flowed as little rivulets into the ravines. The river is entirely free from ice. Water has not frozen for several days, though some of the mornings have been frosty.

Even those animals indigenous to this region have mistaken the warmth as presaging the advent of spring. Our winter birds are few and mostly silent. The horned larks, which flit song-less over the brown grass at this somber season have been gathering into flocks -- probably for flight to a land where winter still persists, or perhaps for some other purpose. Chickadees, which spend their winter in the sparse timber that grows along the streams, sing in so low a key that their voice can be heard only by intense listening. The hoot owl's thrice repeated call shortly after sundown is heard throughout the winter. Chicken hawks are sometimes seen in large numbers. But except to ornithologists, those are about all the birds the average person sees here in the winter months.

Family troubles: April 27, 1884: What might have proved a fearful tragedy occurred early the morning of the 25th, two miles east of Cedar Bluffs post office, in Kansas, at the home of David Walsbach. Ray Walsbach, a boy of twelve years of age, having procured a revolver that belonged to his father, who at the time was in bed asleep, deliberately fired at his head, the ball striking near his right temple, ranging across the forehead, making a slight flesh wound, from which the blood flowed quite freely. Without waiting to learn the result, the boy dropped the revolver and hurriedly took one of his father's horses and struck out, but only went some two miles from the house into a draw, where he was found the next day by some member of the family. He was persuaded to go home, where he has since remained chained to the floor with a log chain by his inhuman father.

The boy at first denied the act, but subsequently acknowledged it, and upon being questioned by a neighbor as to the motive, replied that he could not longer endure the cruelties of his father, not only to himself, but to his mother and his brothers and sisters. Upon inquiry it was learned that there has been considerable difficulty in the family from their first settlement in the neighborhood, owing to the quick and ungovernable temper of the father. Besides the mother, there are six or seven children, who, most of the time, have been in a state of terror. At one time the mother, with her three younger children, left her husband and started for her former home in Nebraska, but at the end of the first day's journey her deep anguish and strong love for her children overcame her, and she retraced her steps, resolved that their lot should be here.

The neighborhood is thoroughly aroused over the situation, and sympathy for the mother and children, upon whom it is feared the father may wreck further vengeance if outsiders interfere, is all that restrains the citizens from taking things into their own hands.

Murder or suicide? April 24, 1884: Word has just reached here that a man by the name of Bitner, living up the Driftwood; about 18 miles from McCook, in Hitchcock County, committed suicide by shooting himself. The circumstances are not known, but there seems to be no doubt it was a case of self-destruction, although rumors are afloat to the contrary. The weapon used was a rifle, and the ball entered the side and came out at the back. The man's clothing and body were badly burned, indicating that he had placed the muzzle of the gun to his side and leaning over, pulled the trigger. He left a letter addressed to his brothers, in which he stated the action he intended to take. The coroner's jury returned a verdict to the effect that he came to his death by a shot self-inflicted.

Cowboy Justice? April 21, 1884: A young man was arrested a few days ago on a charge of disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace. This offense consisted of riding his horse through the streets at a reckless pace, discharging his revolver, yelling, doing the "cowboy act" generally. He was put on trial before the Justice of the Peace Thursday afternoon. His trial consumed the balance of that day and all of Thursday night. The jury disagreed. He was put on trial again, and the following day and the next night another jury listened to the evidence. The lawyers made impassioned speeches. Their voices could at times be heard a block away from the trial. The second jury also disagreed. The case was then dismissed.

No event that has occurred in McCook for many months that has attracted more interest and attention. The trials were held in the office of one of the lumber yards. The room at the lumber yard is small and was well filled with the Justice, the accused, the lawyers and the jury. As many more as could, crowded into that room. The weather being warm, the door and windows were open, and these were filled, even during the night sessions, with spectators. The man was clearly guilty, but although he was a total stranger in McCook, public sympathy was with him. Moreover, similar offenses are of such frequent occurrence in this community that there was a common feeling that it was not fair to single out this young man for punishment.

Boom Town: May 1, 1884 (At this time McCook had the distinction of being the fastest growing community in the state.) It seems to be impossible to provide residences fast enough for the rapidly increasing population of McCook, so that some of the abandoned sod houses scattered around on the outskirts of our town have been resurrected from their state of dilapidation and have been made ready for occupancy.