Regarding Uncle Claude Argata Enkey

 

 

Regarding Uncle Claude Argata Enkey

(May 22, 1902 — September 27, 1981)

by

Wally Lee Parker

(all rights reserved by the Enkey-Parker Family History Newsletter)

 

In early March, 2000, Jack Willis, eldest grandson of Claude and Olive Enkey, sent the Enkey-Parker Family History Newsletter a cassette recording containing some of his memories of his grandfather — one of my uncles on my mother's side.  Below is my highly revised transcription of that cassette.  After reviewing the text for accuracy, Jack Willis approved this distillation of his words.

———

Reprinted from the Enkey-Parker Family History Newsletter

May/June, 2000 A.D.

———

 

… Some Stories about My Grandfather …

… as recalled by Jack Willis …

             Before I moved to Utah, my family — my father, Marvin Willis, mother Opal Beatrice Enkey-Willis, my brother Larry, and sisters Carol and Patty, — lived in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Back then our family would try to visit other members of the family at least once a week.  We’d generally end up at grandpa Enkey’s farm, about ten miles from Hulbert.

            For several years, while attending school at Northeastern State College, I lived with my grandparents, Claude Enkey and Olive Freeman-Enkey, on the farm granddad Enkey called ‘the Prairie’.

            Grandpa originally had two places.  The other was on ‘Fourteen Mile Creek’.  Bill Enkey, that’s grandpa’s second son, lives there today.

            Claude Enkey couldn’t read or write.  His wife Olive had a college education.  My grandfather was very physical, very boisterous, very much a showman.  My grandmother was quiet, a little bit of a conniver, and very, very bright.  Life together must have been an interesting challenge for both of them.

            Grandpa Enkey’s home was tiny, with only three rooms.  Over the years, instead of adding on to the building to increase its size, Grandpa would find some old building, then, using wagons and his tractor, he’d pull that building up next to the existing house.  He wouldn’t exactly attach it.  There’d be a gap, six inch to a foot between the two buildings.  But that was his idea of adding on.

            We use to sit around the cast iron stove in the farm house living room, sometimes till two or three in the morning, roasting home grown peanuts and listening to grandpa’s stories — stories ‘bout coon hunting or this event or that happening, but always some unique adventure or the other.  In the telling he would absolutely slaughter the English language.  When he’d tell stories about the family, he’d keep asking grandmother, “Ollie, is that right”?   He’d go on till every one of us had given up, gone out to one of the adjoining bedrooms — adjoining buildings — and gone to bed.

            None of the adjoining buildings was ever heated, so I hated going to bed.  I’d crawl into an ice cold bed, cover up with four or five denim quilts patched out of bit of worn out Levi’s, and freeze until the bed heated up.

            But being there was always worth it.

            The typical meal was unique.  Sometimes — though it was considered a trash fish by most — we’d have Alligator Gar.  The fish might have been fifty or sixty pounds.  It didn’t have the usual backbone.  The backbone was cartilage.  It’d be cooked as steaks — an inch to an inch and a half of thick white meat, and maybe six inches wide.  I didn’t like the possum — too greasy.  Sometimes there’d be raccoon.  And I loved the squirrels and rabbits grandpa Claude would apprehend through his own special methodology.

            There was always fried okra, and, on occasion, fried green tomatoes.  Grandpa Enkey loved turnips.  And so did my grandmother.

            Grandmother Olive would make a wonderful dish that I called Texas sheet cake — chocolate brownie like cake that was only an inch to an inch and a half thick, with chocolate icing all over the top.  And she made the best black berry cobbler.  I’ve tried ever since to get her recipe for that cobbler.

            Most always there was cornbread.  I really think grandpa’s favorite meal was nothing more than spooning up chunks of days old cornbread that he’d softened by stuffing torn off chunks down into a glass of raw milk.

            And every time we left the farm, we always left with something.  Maybe a jar or two of this or a bunch or two of that.  There seemed a lesson in that.  They’d lived through the depression, the dust bowl — some really bad times.  But there was always food in their cellar.  So no matter how bad things might seem, there was always something to give.

            The physical characteristic of grandpa I remember best were these giant hands — rough hands.  Physical strength was a big part of his life.  Grandpa also had a temper, and was not accustomed to backing down.

            He had two work horses — huge horses.  Polly, white with black spots, was reasonably well behaved.  The brown and white horse, Mae, was quite temperamental.  Grandpa, whenever his John Deere tractor was broken down, would use the horses to work the fields.

            On one occasion, Mae made the serious mistake of kicking my grandfather.  Within an instant, in a fit of anger, I saw him pick up the hind legs of that horse and throw it on its side.

            When I told my father, Marvin Willis, what I’d seen, he said, “That’s nothing.  I saw him reach under a horse’s belly, picked the horse up, all four legs off the ground, and throw it.”

            I think Claude Enkey delighted in intimidating his son-in-laws.  He would take them hunting — all night long.  If they didn’t learn their lesson the first or second time — if they agreed to go with him a third time — I’m sure at some point they all learned that he was a far stronger and physically capable individual then any of them.

            He was very proud of his physical presents, of his strength, and of his ability, even at an older age, to do acrobatic stunts.  He was still, in his sixties, doing hand springs, cartwheels, and flips.  When my sister Carol would take a boyfriend to visit the grandparents, Claude would be out there, showing the boyfriend that he could do anything the boy could do — and probably do it better.  I did see him pick up the front of a car once, just to show some of my friends from Tulsa how strong he was. 

            There was the right way, the wrong way, and my grandfather Claude’s way.  This was especially apparent when grandpa treated himself rather than going to see a doctor.  He had a concoction, a mixture.  Coal oil, gunpowder, and something else — I can’t recall what — was one such remedy.

            I remember him having a large hole in the top of his thigh where a tick had bit him.  You could literally stick your thumb inside this hole.  It had become infected.  So he poured his coal oil and gunpowder mixture into the hole.  I know it hurt.  I watched his eyes roll back as he let out a moan.  A week later the sore was healed.

            If he got bit by a copperhead he wouldn’t go to the doctor, he’d pour this stuff or some other on and cure himself.

            Anyway, I always enjoyed visiting with grandpa, his stories were so colorful.  Stories of him hand catching eels in the creek.  Coon hunting.  Running hounds.  And how he would stick his hands into — not just squirrel nest — but into holes in trees, stick his hands in not knowing what kind of animal was inside.  It was very common for him to pull his hand out of a tree trunk clutching a possum or some other critter — and you ought to know a clutched possum is something just meaner than hell.

            But grandpa was up to that.  When he was younger they had a big celebration in Tahlequah — a fair, rodeo, or something.  Grandfather said they had an event called the ‘greased pig contest’.  They would grease a pig up, let it loose, and all the men would try to catch it.  Whoever could hold onto the pig won some sort of a prize.  Grandpa and a black man grabbed ‘hold of the pig at the same time.  My grandfather reached over, grabbed the black man by the leg, and bit him.  The man let loose.  Grandpa won the contest.

            As I said, grandpa had a temper, and was not accustomed to losing.  And he could deliver on just about anything that he said.  He was a very intimidating individual.  Although I loved him dearly, it was well known that he could back anybody, or any group, into a corner.  And believe me, people listened. 

            One of the best stories about his temper is told by my mother, Opal Beatrice Enkey-Willis.  Remember this — I have never known my mother to lie.  That’s not something she does.  So this story just has to be true.

            One time, when she was young, the family was traveling in a Model-A Ford when one of the car’s tires went flat.  Grandpa got out and went about changing the tire.  I don’t know how many lug nuts held each wheel of those old cars on, but a safe bet would be at least four.

            Now Grandpa — before he, in his later days, became religious — was quite the ‘cusser.’

            At any rate, when he got ready to put the wheel back on, he went looking all around the car.  Then, thinking they’d somehow lost the lug nuts to his wheels, got very upset with the kids.  After a thoroughly good cussing to all of them, he found the lug nuts, every one of them, right where he’d put them for safe keeping — in his mouth.

            One time, when I stopped by to visit my Grandpa — he must have been in his late fifties or sixties then — I couldn’t help but notice that the skin on his right arm was literally shredded.  It looked like somebody had taken one of those cheese shredders to it.  I asked what had happened.  Grandpa smiled.  A gleam appeared in his eye.  And when I saw that gleam, I knew I was in for a great story.

            Seems that the day before he’d been out fishing — but not in the typical fashion.  Seems he’d been ‘noodling’.

            ‘Noodling’ is something of a southern art.  I don’t know if it’s unique to Oklahoma, or to Okie’s, but it’s something that my grandfather was apparently really good at. 

            Anyway, to ‘noodle’, grandpa would step into a creek or river, walk around in the shallow water near the bank till he found a partial rock outcropping or some other overbanking ledge under where a fish might be hiding.  Then he’d get down and feel around, reaching underneath into the shelter.  The gentleman practicing this art, when he felt a fish, would find the mouth with his fingers.  At some point the fish, in this particular case a catfish, would need to open its mouth to force water through its gills.  When it did, grandpa would stick his hand in the fish’s mouth, and either grab it by the gills from the inside, or force his hand down unto its gut.  And then he’d pull the fish out and throw it up on the bank.

            Catfish have very raspy mouths, as rough as sandpaper.  And I saw the particular fish of this story.  I know one number was four and one number was five — and my memory tells me that that catfish weighed fifty four pounds, but surely not less than forty five.  And that’s what shredded the skin on his right arm.

            Gramps never had any money.  When we’d go fishing he’d always take one of his old trucks, and, to save on gas, when we’d come over the top of a hill, he’d shut the key off and coast down.  Because he’d leave the gears engaged so he wouldn’t have to ride the brake down the hill, raw gas would build up in the exhaust pipe.  Near the bottom of the hill he’d turn the key back on, and most every time the backfire would blow the muffler off.  Still, he thought he was saving money.

            Perhaps my grandfather was best known in the Hulbert area for his sorghum molasses.  He grew the sorghum, then, with a crusher powered either by one of his horses walking circles around it or by the power-take-off from his John Deere Tractor, would process the stems — would squeeze the watery juice out of the stems.

            He kept his ‘boiling vat’ in a hut.  The hut was just a wood frame with canvas thrown over it.  The vat was a rectangular metal trough, about eighteen inches deep and maybe eight feet long.  Under that he’d build a hickory wood fire.  The watery juice from the crusher was poured into the vat and boiled down to syrup.

            Some of my fondest memories of my grandfather are from the times we spent sitting in this hut, boiling the excess water out of the sorghum.  The juice — it had a slight yellow tint — would boil down as clear as honey.  Granddad gauged the cooking process by taste and texture.  He’d ladle out a sip; get a gleam in his eye, and say, “Smooth.  Real smooth.”

            He was always taking some farm implement that had worn itself out and redesigning it.  It was nothing for him to have a tractor seat on a thrashing machine, or a model T Ford front end on his tractor.  His place looked like a junk yard.  But he had a plan for everything that was there. 

            I remember him on his John Deere tractor, with that light front end bouncing, and those big rear wheels turning, doing wheelies over the banks of his ponds.  He was scooping out dirt, deepening the ponds, to make a fishing place for the grand kids.  He would stack the crushed sorghum cane against the sides of the ponds.  I guess there was something in the stems that would feed the fish.  We’d catch hundreds of perch and catfish.  And it was nothing to catch a perch that was a foot long. 

            Early one morning, sometime in 1967 I think, we got a call that grandpa’s ‘prairie’ house was on fire.  We rushed to the farm to find nothing but smoking embers.  Grandfather had failed to keep the chimney clean, and it had caught on fire.  With tears in his eyes Grandpa Claude said, “You work your whole life, and everything that you’ve ever worked for is gone in an instant.”

            I know they had some beautiful old family pictures and a lot of other family relics in the house — all gone now.

            At that time granddad was batching it.  Several years earlier Grandma Olive had moved out to California to live with one of my aunts.  After the fire, the home gone, grandfather was forced to move away from the Oklahoma Ozarks too — out to California to be with Olive.

…

Part 8: Historic Oil Wells of the Little Spokane River Valley

(all rights to this material retained by author)

A Review of the Historic Oil Wells

of the Little Spokane River Valley

&

Regions Around

(part 8)

by

Wally Lee Parker

 

… the Great American Desert …

            Though the high plains of the American west aren’t considered desert by modern standards, after 1803’s Louisiana Purchase the America expeditions sent into the territory often described these semi-arid grasslands as such.  From colonial times through the middle years of the 19^th century, the American public saw no inconsistency in applying the word ‘desert’ to most any stretch of treeless land not considered fit for farming.  As the 1912 edition of Kansas: A Cyclopedia of State History explained, “The Great American Desert … was the term used by the people east of the Mississippi River to express their idea of the country west of that river when it was an unknown land.  Carey and Lee’s Atlas of 1827 located the Great American Desert as an indefinite territory in what is now Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, Indian territory, and Texas.  Bradford’s Atlas of 1838 indicates the great desert as extending from the Arkansas, through into Colorado and Wyoming, including South Dakota, part of Nebraska and Kansas.  Others thought the desert included an area 500 miles wide lying directly east of the Rocky Mountains and extending from the northern boundary of the United States to the Reo Grande River.  Its boundaries changed from period to period for Mitchell’s Atlas of 1840 placed the Great American Desert west of the Rocky Mountains.  The section shown by the various geographies grew smaller every year until only sandy plains in Utah and Nevada bore the name desert.”

            During his 1806 expedition into the far western reaches of the Louisiana Purchase, Lieutenant Zebulon Pike thought so little of the area’s potential that he wrote, “… our citizens … will through necessity be constrained to limit their extent to the west to the borders of the Missouri and Mississippi while they leave the prairies incapable of cultivation to the wandering and uncivilized aborigines ...”

            On a map published in 1822’s Historical, Chronological, and Geographical American Atlas, a notation from Major Stephen H. Long’s 1820 expedition into the then far western territory was printed over the area that would eventually become the State of Nebraska.  This notation is often cited as the original application of the phrase “the Great Desert” to the region.  The map’s overprint goes on to describe the area as “frequented by roaming bands of Indians who have no fixed place of residence but roam from place to place in quest of game.”  Long’s meaning can better be understood when observing that in other writings he characterized the western grasslands of the Great Plains as having “a manifest resemblance to the deserts of Siberia.”

            In 1836, American novelist, essayist, and historian Washington Irving further embedded the term ‘desert’ into America’s visualization of these western territories when he wrote, “This region which resembles one of the ancient steppes of Asia has not inaptly been termed ‘The Great American Desert.’  It spreads forth into undulating and treeless plains and desolate sandy wastes, wearisome to the eye from their extent and monotony.  It is a land where no man permanently abides, for at certain seasons of the year there is not food for the hunter or his steed.”

            This then was the impression Professor Samuel Aughey and his associates had to overcome in order to sell the western Great Plains to potential settlers as an agricultural paradise just waiting for the plow.  After all, for the most part there were no forests to clear away as farmers east of the Mississippi often had to do.  No stumps needing to be ripped from the ground.  No vast reaches of hefty stones needing to be gathered and stacked into windrows.  It should have just been a matter of turning the wild grasses under, dropping in the seeds, and waiting for rain.

            In other words, the only thing of residual concern for settlers intent on putting a plow to the prairie was the weather.

            Among the first in America to seriously investigate weather as a natural phenomenon was founding father Benjamin Franklin.  Franklin advanced a number of weather related hypothesis based on his observations.  He also carried out scientific experiments — perhaps the most spectacular being his investigations into the nature of lightning.

            Regarding Franklin, an article by John Coleman Adams in the October, 1892, issue of Popular Science Monthly states that a set of observations Franklin recorded in the late 1740’s were “... probably the earliest literature on the subject of North American Storms … the first documents of scientific value in the long series of observations and of studies which have brought us to our present … knowledge.”  Adams also noted that “Undoubtedly” (the usual direction of storms over the colonies) “had been observed before by fishermen, by mariners, and others accustom to the practical observation of the weather.  But this is the initial point of its treatment as a scientific phenomenon.”

            The movement toward compiling a nationwide meteorological database began in April of 1814 when then “Physician and Surgeon-General of the Army,” James Tilton, directed army surgeons to record the local weather at their hospitals.  As for the rationale behind having doctors keep data on the weather; soon after his appointment to the office of Surgeon-General of the Army in 1818, Joseph Lovell submitted for approval this directive to the then Secretary of War, J. C. Calhoun.  “Every physician who makes a science of his profession or arrives at eminence in it will keep a journal of this nature, as the influence of weather and climate upon diseases, especially epidemic, is perfectly well known.  From the circumstances of the soldier, their effects upon diseases of the Army are peculiarly interesting, as by proper management they may in a great measure be obviated.  To this end every surgeon should be furnished with a good thermometer, and in addition to a diary of the weather, should note everything relative to the topography of his station, the climate, complaints prevalent in the vicinity, etc., that may tend to discover the causes of diseases, to the promotion of health, and the improvement of medical science.”

            A paper read to Chicago’s International Meteorological Congress of 1893 clearly stated, “Meteorological science in the United States was conceived and brought forth by the Army Medical Department.  It was nurtured carefully as well in the then unknown West as in the East, and it gained strength year by year. … The Weather Service of the United States may well be said to be the child of the Army Medical Department.”

            That paper’s presenter, Major Charles Smart, noted that the first results of the Army’s record keeping was published in 1826 in a volume titled, “Meteorological Register for the years 1822-’25.”  This volume was only the first.  Still, even by that early date the rationale for collection the data had already expanded far beyond epidemiology.  And the tools the doctors used had expanded to include a barometer, wet-bulb hygrometer, rain gauge, and a set of detailed, standardized instructions for obtaining readings.  As Smart’s 1893 paper went on to explain, “The meteorological tables in this (1826) volume were intended as a contribution and stimulus to the solution of the question whether, in a series of years, there is any material change in the climate of a country and, if so, how far it depends upon the cultivation of the soil, density of population, etc.; for at the time of publication contradictory opinions were held, some contending that as population increased and civilization extended the climate became warmer, others that it became colder, and others again that here was no change.”

            For much of human history, all weather had been local.  Observed changes in weather patterns from year to year was only a matter of personal recollection for the most part.  As for the cause of those yearly changes, the tendency was to look locally as well.  As large tracks of woodland in the eastern United States were being cleared for farming, yearly weather variations were often related to readily observable occurrences such as the smoke rising from burning slash or the increasing number of fireplaces.  If the weather became warmer or colder, wetter or dryer, the actual reason for the change made little difference since some local event or chain of events was assumed to be the cause.  Associating local temperatures, wind intensity and direction, or rainfall with the surface temperature of ocean water thousands of miles away was inconceivable to the average citizen — still, by the second quarter of the 19^th century the thought that weather was global in causality had become a seedling hypothesis shared a small but growing cadre of the world's scientists.

            But then, with the establishment of the first commercial telegraph in 1845, the idea held by the general public that all weather was local began to peel away.  Professor Joseph Henry, secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, noted in his 1847 proposal that the Smithsonian devote increased resources to meteorological research — “Of late years, in our country, more additions have been made to meteorology than to any other branch of physical science.  Several important generalizations have been arrived at and definite theories proposed which now enable us to direct our attention with scientific precision to such points of observation as cannot fail to reward us with new and interesting results.”  Professor Henry proposed the Smithsonian “… organize a system of …” observation stations “… which shall extend as far as possible over the North American continent.  The present time appears to be peculiarly auspicious for commencing an enterprise of the proposed kind.  The citizens of the United States are now scattered over every part of the southern and western portions of North America, and the extended lines of the telegraph will furnish a ready means of warning the more northern and eastern observers to be on the watch for the first appearance of advancing storm.”

            The impact of adding electromagnetic communication technology to the meteorologist’s bag of tools was noted by Cleveland Abbe in an 1871 Journal of Science and Arts article on weather telegraphy, “It was … possible to study with advantage the progress of atmospheric changes only when the telegraph lines had become widely extended over the earth’s surface.  It was through the public press — the daily newspapers — that it first became possible to watch the hourly progress of storms under one’s own eye, and to confirm the general laws independently deduced from the closet (— not generally seen —) studies of the professional meteorologist.”

            By the mid 1870’s, when Professor Samuel Aughey began aggressively advancing his theories regarding the ability of local agriculture to impact local weather, enough progress had been made in the study of weather to make any theory postulating that increasing the local acreage under tillage could substantial increase the amount of rain falling over that local acreage highly suspect.  Professor Aughey, apparently well connected to the Smithsonian and a number of other highly respected scientific institutions, should have been well aware of thinking within the meteorological community on such matters — mainstream thinking that had already by-in-large discarded the type of hypothesis Aughey was putting forth.

 

… to be continued …

Part 7: Historic Oil Wells of the Little Spokane River Valley

 

(all rights to this material retained by author)

A Review of the Historic Oil Wells

of the Little Spokane River Valley

&

Regions Around

(part 7)

by

Wally Lee Parker



… a laborious process of reasoning …

            Within area newspapers and advertisements, Professor Samuel Aughey was the most referenced expert of the 1901 oil boom.  His influence on regional oil exploration and mining continued to resonate for years after that first boom had faded away.  The eventual outcome of the majority of his scientific assessments seems to imply that he favored interpreting his findings in accordance with the wishes of his clients — be they land speculators or stock promoters.  As to whether we should consider his frequently wrong conclusions as dithering mistakes or as profitable fraud, that’s not as clear a matter as one might suppose.

            The first question that needs to be asked is whether Professor Aughey was actually a scientist?  Had he been trained in the scientific method?  And did he use the scientific method to reach his conclusions?  Those are issues that require some sifting.

Professor Samuel Aughey

 

            Samuel Aughey was born in a rural area of Juniata County, Pennsylvania, on February 8^th, 1831.  Accounts of his youth from several sources seem to differ only in minor detail.  A. C. Edmunds’ 1871 tome “Pen Sketches of Nebraskans” stated, “Samuel Aughey (senior) … was a farmer by occupation, having been a tiller of the soil from early life to the present time.  Young Samuel (Samuel Aughey junior) was engaged on his father’s farm until his majority … His eighteenth and nineteenth winters were devoted to teaching … in the same old log schoolhouse in which he had received his rudimentary knowledge of Smith’s Grammar and Arithmetic, and Olney’s Geography.”  While an article found in Alfred T. Andreas’ “History of the State of Nebraska,” published in 1882, elaborated that, “Previous to … (college) … he … attended Tuscarora Academy six months and also taught school in his native district.”

            Tuscarora Academy — opened in Juniata County, Pennsylvania, in 1839 — was a Presbyterian Church sponsored secondary school roughly equivalent to today’s high schools — high schools being a rarity in that era.  Though the institution’s original intent was to prepare young men for teaching or the ministry, the Academy’s 1854 catalog states that, “Students who design entering college will be prepared for any state of advancement desired.”

            Tuition for Aughey’s six months at the Academy would have likely run close to $50.00 — plus various extras such as books, paper, and the cost of illuminating his private study area.

            As for Aughey’s education before the academy, Andrea’s “History” relates, “During his youth he was known as a constant reader of all books which he could borrow,  Before he was aware of the existence of the science of geology he made large collections of fossils and Indian antiquities from his native valley.  Every hour of release which he could obtain from the labors of the farm he devoted to reading and laborious study.”

            Edmund’s “Pen Sketches of Nebraskans” noted, “At the age of twenty he entered the freshman class in the Pennsylvania College, at Gettysburg, where he continued until 1856 …” Though the phrase “he continued until 1856” is not definitive of graduation in itself, pre-Civil War issues of the “Catalogue of the Officers, Alumni, and Students of Pennsylvania College, Gettysburg, Pa,” do list “Reverend Samuel Aughey Jr.” as a member of the graduating class of 1856.  What “he continued until” may be pointing out is an extra year beyond the normal 4 year curriculum.

            Pennsylvania College should not be confused with the University of Pennsylvania — which is not to say less of the small college.  Pennsylvania College was founded by outspoken abolitionist theologian Samuel S. Schmucker in 1832 as an associate institution to the Lutheran Theological Seminary established at Gettysburg in 1826.  In 1921, some 89 years after its founding, the school’s name was changed to Gettysburg College, and continues as such today.

            According to the school’s 1859 catalog, admission into the freshman class required “an examination on Cesar, Virgil, the Greek Reader, parts I and II, Adams’ Latin Grammar, Sophocles’ Greek Grammar, English Grammar, Ancient and Modern Geography, Arithmetic and algebra, as far as through simple equations” — these requirements likely having been the same when Aughey entered the institution at the beginning of that decade.  Meaning this list of requirements is indicative of the depth of Aughey's education prior to his admission.

            Classes offered during the normal four years of study included Latin and Greek grammar and literature, higher mathematics, surveying, optics, meteorology, botany, astronomy, geology, anatomy and physiology, and zoology — along with a continuing curriculum of religious, philosophical, and political studies.

            Of the student organizations active at the college, the one most likely to have interested Samuel Aughey was the “Linnaean Society.”  This group was named after Swedish botanist Carolus Linnaeus, who had developed the still used system of classifying life forms by attaching Latin based names of at least two parts — one part indicating the specimen’s genius and one indicating its species.  Regarding the club, the school’s catalog related that “The object of this association is to promote among its members a love of nature, and an admiration of the works of God by cultivating the study of the various branches of Natural Science, and an acquaintance with animated nature by making collections of specimens in these departments, and also in that of Antiquities, natural and artificial curiosities, and the like.”

            The school’s catalog went on to list costs.  Annual tuition would run $140.00, which included board, room rent, and sundries such as heating and classroom lighting.  Students were required to provide for themselves when it came to the furnishing and lighting their private rooms, washing (clothes?), books, and stationary.

            None of the literature so far discovered suggests how Samuel Aughey paid for his time at either the Tuscarora Academy or Pennsylvania College.

            Documents indicate that two years after graduation — on the 14^th of October, 1858 — Samuel Aughey married Elizabeth Welty, daughter of Daniel and Barbara Welty.  Barbara’s father was a merchant, and one of the organizers of the English Lutheran Church in Pennsylvania.

            As for immediately after graduation, A. C. Edmunds’ “Pen Sketches” states, “… he devoted about two months to civil engineering and surveying, and in December, 1856, he took charge of the Greensburg Academy in which he continued for one year.  He then entered the Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, where he pursued his theological studies for one year, when he was licensed as a preacher in the Lutheran Church and received a call to a charge near Philadelphia.”

            Alfred Andreas detailed, “He was elected pastor of the Lutheran church at Lionville, Chester County, Pennsylvanian, where he remained four years.  During this time he continued his scientific studies and also lectured on geology and related sciences.  He at this time became somewhat prominent in the abolition movement, and publicly and privately denounced humans slavery and wrote and lectured against the pro-slavery sentient of the times.  His pamphlet on “The Renovation of Politics” produced a division in his church, which finally led to his resignation.”

            Regarding the above noted division within the Lionville church — the actual point of contention, though not specifically clarified, appears to have been a comment or comments first made from the pulpit on the 4^th of January, 1861.  By request, the sermon was published in booklet format several weeks after first given.

            To place Aughey’s offending words within historical context, the sermon occurred barely two weeks after South Carolina had succeeded from the Union — when the likelihood of war was very much on everyone’s mind.  Before the end of that January the states of Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, and Louisiana had also voted to leave the Union.  Opinions and emotions were boiling on both sides of the secessionist and slavery issues.

            A few extractions from Aughey’s sermon may suggest the reason an apparently influential percentage of his parishioners, as well as others within the larger community, demanded his resignation.

            “Many things, doubtless, have combined to produce the corruption, and the disunion movements in the Republic, but what is the foundation of it all is human slavery. …  Even in 1774, the first colonial congress condemned slavery, and the slave trade, which action was confirmed by the southern colonies.  And every southern statesman of the time condemned this dark institution.  But alas, what a change has come over the times. …  Let a man do it now; in the south he will be tarred and feathered or hung, and in the north he will be called an amalgamationist (advocating the blending of the races; especially black and white), an abolitionist, or whatever term is regarded most hateful and opprobrious (disgraceful/shameful).  In our early history slavery was barely endured — now it is embraced in the south as one of the most prized gifts of God, and defended by many in the north … You and I are today bound by a congressional enactment to do all in our power to recapture a man running to gain his freedom.  We may refuse, but if so we subject ourselves to confiscation of our property and imprisonment. …  Only one nation on earth contains professed teachers of religion who pretend to find divine authority in the Bible for African slavery.  That nation is our own.  Some men in the north, be beclouded moral senses, or in the interest of party and prejudice, and vast numbers in the south, directly under the lash of slavery, teach that the scriptures justify human bondage.  But the language, the precepts, and the principles of the Bible are against them, together with the convictions and the faith of the civilized and Christian world. … And yet some men, calling themselves Christians, raise their hands to heaven in holy horror at the very idea of preaching against and denouncing the Hell ordained institution.  … Vessels bearing the American flag yearly carry thousands of human beings, torn from their relatives, home, and country into southern ports and sell the in irremediable slavery.  And yet these would-be pious souls doubt whether it is wise and patriotic, and safe ministerial and evangelical, to speak against slavery as a system of iniquity.”

            When assenting to the request to expand the reach of his words through print, Samuel Aughey wrote, “I am convinced of the truth and justice of the doctrines maintained in this discourse and believe that they will coincide with the verdict of posterity.”

            Edmunds’ “Pen Sketches” relate that after Aughey’s resignation he “removed first to Blairsville, and then to Duncannon, with intervening periods spent in the army in the service of the Christian Commission.”

            In November, 1861, an organization called the Christian Commission was formed by the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) as a spiritual and medical support organization for Union troops in the field.  Since a large number of the alumni of Pennsylvania College and the Lutheran Theological Seminary returned to Gettysburg during the early summer of 1863 in anticipation of an incursion into Pennsylvania by Lee’s Virginia army, it’s possible that Samuel Aughey was among the estimated 200 members of the Christian Commission on hand for the battle of Gettysburg, where they reportedly took to the field rendering comfort and medical aid to the wounded even during the thick of the fighting.

            As reported in the August 20, 1864 issue of Harper’s Weekly, “There is no feature connected with the war which so well illustrates the peculiarity of Republican institutions as the work performed by the Christian and Sanitary Commissions.  These are supported not by the government, but by the people.  As our government is of the people so is this war the people’s war.  And the people have taken it upon themselves to take care of the soldiers.  This is a peculiarity which distinguishes the North from the South in the conduct of the war.  It is on this account that the losses from sickness, and especially from wounds, have been so few in our army as compared with that of the rebels ...  This service likewise has its sacrifices and its martyrs.  Thousands of Christian men and women are giving up the pleasures of home, and it often happens that they give their lives also.”

            After the war the Christian Commission was disbanded.

            The Reverend W. H. Bruce Carney’s 1918 book,  History of the Alleghany Evangelical Lutheran Synod of Pennsylvania, Volume I, in a biographical sketch accredited to Elizabeth and Helen Aughey, Professor Aughey’s wife and daughter, stated, “In the winter of 1864 (Samuel Aughey) removed to Dakota City, Nebraska, as pastor of the Lutheran Church.  While here he also organized a congregation and built the church at Ponca, twenty miles distance.  A serious failure in health necessitated cessation of pulpit work.”

            Though no details of the nature of the above mentioned “serious failure in health” are evident, the account for the period after as recorded in Alfred Andreas’ “History of the State of Nebraska” suggests that Aughey’s health was not as diminished as the above account implies — since the “History” also noted that “for the first three years (of his stay in Nebraska) he was … also engaged in scientific work.  Since 1867 he has been engaged exclusively in scientific work, was also engaged in making geological, mineralogical botanical and conchological collections in Dakota, Wyoming, and Nebraska, for scientific institutions, principally for Professor Henry, of the Smithsonian institute.  (He) was also engaged in making geological surveys in Nebraska and Dakota Territory.  …  He became connected with (Nebraska) State University in September, 1871, having been appointed in June of that year …”

            The biography published in A. C. Edmunds’ “Pen Sketches of Nebraskans,” recorded, “It is a pleasure to announce the unanimous election of Samuel Aughey to the Professorship of Natural Science in the University of Nebraska.  Mr. Aughey is a dear friend.  We are glad to see his talent appreciated.  Nature is all poetry to him.  He studies her with enthusiasm and has the faulty to take in her great and holy meaning by a sort of intuition.  We have rarely ever met a young or even an old man who has such a love for the Natural Sciences, or such intimate and rational acquaintance with them.  And such are the men to teach.”

            Aughey’s June, 1871, appointment made him one of a faculty of five lecturing to the seventy students attending that first year.

            A speech Professor Aughey gave for the University’s February 15^th, 1881, “Charter Day” celebration was later published under the title “The Ideas and the Men That Created the University of Nebraska.”  In outlining the school’s founding, the professor said, “The (Nebraska) legislature that met in January, 1869, passed an act on the 15^th of February … to establish a State University.”  He went on to say that the school’s construction was to be financed through the sale of land grants provided by the federal government specifically for the purpose of building an “Agricultural College and University” within the state.

            As Aughey explained, “When the bill establishing a University became law … the population was barely 100,000.  Even the few high schools that existed could barely prepare students for the freshman class, and very few students anywhere were in such a stage of preparation.  The state, too, was mainly settled by persons of comparatively small means, seeking homes for themselves and families.  Little of the prairie had yet been brought under agricultural subjection.  The state was rich prospectively, put really poor practically.”

            The Professor recollected, “I shall never forget my first interview with (the school’s) Chancellor Benton.  He wished me to select a room which would answer the double purpose of a lecture room and work room, where the experiments should be prepared to illustrate the chemical lectures; for it had already been decided that though my chair was that of the natural sciences, I should also fill that of chemistry until the growth of the university should justify the election of a tutor or a professor for that department.”

            An article — Pioneers in Economic Ornithology — written by Mrs. H. J. Taylor and published by the Wilson Ornithological Society in September of 1931, relates the observations of one of Samuel Aughey’s first students, Lawrence Bruner — later Professor Lawrence Bruner – as regards the Professor’s teaching methods.  Bruner said Aughey taught the natural sciences, “as well as botany, German, chemistry, and geology.”  Bruner indicated that Professor Aughey had not left the ministry with his resignation from the pulpit in 1867, rather “he (also) continued to preach” while chair of “natural sciences.”  He “had a church” in a nearby town, and would preach as a guest at “nearby congregations” as well.

            Bruner’s quotes in the bird fancier’s magazine suggested Aughey was a hard worker with “a lovable personality,” though it was noted that while he appeared “sincere” in his scientific endeavors, he was engaged in so many activities that “scientific exactness could scarcely be expected.”

            Drawn from the text of his 1881 speech, Aughey’s view of the scientific method seemed to leave some interpretive slack between experimental deductions and conclusions.  He said, “the scientific spirit is not … mere(ly) (the) study of the sciences … Scientific methods are applicable to all studies — to literature and languages, as well as to metaphysics, political economy, natural history, and physics.  The scientific spirit pre-eminently makes its inductions from facts — facts in nature, in consciousness, in language, in the life of a people, and the development of an epoch.  It does not depend merely on facts which are tangible to the senses, but on those also which can be seen only with the mental eye.  Leibnitz and Newton, Cuvier, Lyell, and Agassiz, were types of the former, while Plato, Shakespeare, and Emerson are representatives of the latter.  Shakespeare saw things intuitively which others reached only by a laborious process of reasoning.”

            Aughey continued at the university from 1871 until 1883 — when he left under a cloud of scandal.  During that time he engaged in several fields of study for which he was widely praised.  He also published a number of scientific papers on subjects he found interesting.  Among those subjects were the grasshopper plagues periodically ravaging the Great Plains — a popular story of the time being that the insects were at times so numerous that the railroad engines would lose traction on the rails due to the lubricating effect of the myriad of grasshoppers being crushed beneath the drive wheels.

            Aughey’s findings placed a strong emphasis on natural predation to curb the grasshopper plagues — as noted his 1880 book, “Sketches of the Physical Geography and Geology of Nebraska.”  In that volume he wrote “It is a law of nature that the undue development of any animal is checked sooner or later by a like increase of its natural enemies.  Were it not for that law, the slowest breeding species would soon overrun, to the exclusion of all other animals, its own special habitat.”

            After noting the number of parasites that prey on locust and their eggs, Aughey states “among vertebrates, no animals equal the birds as destroyers of insects, and especially of locust.  The numbers of locust which birds consume is simply incalculable.  Many species in locust years live entirely on them and most do so partially.  Often each bird of a species captures several hundred during each day.  In fact, after many years’ study of this subject, and after dissecting more or less of several hundred species, I have been forced to the convention that even the gramnivorous (feeding on grass) birds cannot be excluded from the list of locust enemies … Many calling themselves cultivated regard it sport to maim and kill innocent birds.  Such a course destroys the harmony of nature, and one of the consequences is the devastations (brought about by) insects.”

            Aughey’s defense of birds brought him into high regard by preservationist groups such as the Wilson Ornithological Society — though again his scientific accuracy was sometimes questioned.

            Aughey also became an unabashed promoter for the settlement of the new State of Nebraska — as were a number of others.  Though his enthusiasm may have been largely civic in nature, the manner in which he phrased his scientific writings and public words leaves open the possibility of a somewhat less than altruistic motivation.

            Before large scale settlement could occur, Nebraska and the other territories in the rain shadow of the Rocky Mountains needed to counter the historic assumption that the area was, as far as precipitation was concerned, marginal at best for traditional agriculture.  Early explorers had defined the area as desert.  And compared to the amounts of rainfall farmers further to the east were reliably accustomed to, that definition was not without merit.  Since settlement was dependent on agriculture, and agriculture was dependent on water, development of the western Great Plains required a reversal of public opinion as to the suitability of the dry regions for any form of agriculture beyond cattle grazing.

            During and after the Civil War the federal government was encouraging the railroads to push tracks across the continent as a means of cementing the two more populated parts of the country — the east and west coastal areas — together.  As incentive, large block of land along the routes were being deeded to the railroad companies.  The railroads and their agents would sell those lands to settlers to defray construction cost, and then sustain profitability by transporting any agricultural products produced by the settlers to market.  They would also profit by providing transport services to the towns likely to sprout up along the railroad tracks, and by bringing the settlers manufactured goods such as those provided by up-and-coming catalog retailers — Aaron Montgomery Ward being one.

            While land speculators — often assisted by corrupt or indifferent government officials — used various questionable or outright illegal methods to gain control of lands originally intended for free settlement through the Homestead Act, the railroads collaterally pursued their own best interest by instigating a massive promotional and highly deceptive advertising campaign specifically intended to induce potential setters from the eastern United States and Europe to buy railroad lands — though much of that land, like the land being opened to homesteading, was unsuitable for farming as then practiced.

            To counter the land’s questionable suitability, Professor Aughey and associates provided a heavy dose of intuitive science.  As to what extent the professor’s “scientific” opinions regarding Nebraska’s agricultural potential may have been an act of deliberate collusion with the dubious promotional efforts then ongoing is difficult to document — at least difficult to document from Aughey’s personal perspective.  In 1931 Mrs. Helen Fulmer, Aughey’s daughter, sent a letter to the author of “Pioneers in Ornithology,” Mrs. H. J. Taylor, in which Fulmer stated that her “father’s library and records” related to his time in Nebraska “were all lost.”  That resource being unavailable, we need to draw from various published materials and surmise as to what those words might tell us regarding Aughey’s motives.  What the writings most certainly indicate is that throughout the 1870s and ‘80s Professor Aughey was the public face and foremost advocate of a dubious scientific hypothesis regarding the mechanics of precipitation — a hypothesis that may have been specifically designed to offer hope to persons contemplating farming the dry lands within the Rocky Mountain’s rain shadow.  And that eventually the lack of due consideration brought on by accepting Aughey’s uniquely advantageous theory resulted in a flood of misery, heartache, and financial ruin for tens of thousands of the professor’s fellow citizens.

 

… to be continued ...