To enlarge a bit on our ever-flowing mineral spring! It was—and is—near the creek in a natural grove of big trees at the southwest limits of Wetmore. Nathaniel Morris, an early-day merchant, had an analysis of the water made—and talked of developing the spring into a health resort. The water was pronounced medicinally good — mostly iron, I believe. But, beyond attracting large celebration crowds, his dream was never realized. However, Morris induced the railroad to run in an “excursion” train of flat-cars canopied with heavy-foliaged brush against a blazing summer sun, on the occasion of one Fourth of July celebration. Green leafed brush also covered some of the stands on the south margin of the grove. Green brush was the standard picnic coverings in those days.
Then, later, Charley Locknane, Jay W. Powers, and Jim Liebig, undertook to popularize the spring—and incidentally, make some money for themselves. They invested considerable money in improvements. Locknane was a budding promoter with considerable nerve—and a pull with the railroad. He caused a special excursion train to be run out from Kansas City, $1.50 fare for the round trip. Also, Charley organized a Girl Band of twenty pieces, which furnished music for the opening picnic—and many occasion thereafter. The Girl Band gained national acclaim. Locknane was State Deputy for the Modern Woodmen of America—and took his Girl Band to the Head Camp at Colorado Springs in 1901, and to Minneapolis in 1902. The members were: Dora Geyer, Mollie Neely, Nora Shuemaker, Mabel Geyer, Phoena Liebig, Iva Hudson, Daisy Terry, Blanche Eley, Kate Searles, Truda Berridge, Edith Lapham, Pearl Nance, Maude Cole, Jennie Scott, Belle Searles, Grace Maxwell, Ruby Nance, Myrtle Graham, Mrs. Ella Rice and Mrs. Carrie Glynn, of McLouth, Kansas, were numbers five and six in the line-up as written on the back of an enlarged photograph now in possession of Mrs. P. G. Worthy—formerly Myrtle Graham.
The dance pavilion was well patronized between celebrations—and the town populace turned out of evenings for a stroll to the spring. It was really popular. Then a flood, an unusually big flood, swept the park clean of all improvements. The large frame dance-hall came to anchor on a projection of land on the present Bill Winkler farm nearly a mile down the creek. The town jester said that as the pavilion floated away the piano was automatically playing “Over the Ocean Waves.”
The mineral spring is still here—but that’s all.
At one of the big celebrations about the turn of the century a farmer brought his family to town in a spring wagon. He tied his team on the town-side of the picnic grounds, leaving a three-year-old child asleep in the wagon. When the parents returned after taking in the picnic, the child was gone. Then the picnickers began a search which lasted throughout the night. All roads were covered for four or five miles out. One searching party went four miles west on the railroad track—then turned back, believing a small child could not travel that far. The section men out Wetmore found the mangled body of the child in a small wash by the side of the railroad about a half-mile beyond the point abandoned by the searchers. An early morning freight train had bumped it off a low bridge. Then there was much speculation as to how a small child could have traveled that far—even hints, unwarranted suspicion, of foul help. Then there was a story afloat about the conductor whose train had struck the child. When told of the killing, it was claimed, he cried and said had he known a child was lost along the track he would have walked ahead the train.
Wetmore in 1869-70
There were only eleven buildings and thirty-four people Wetmore when I came here with my parents from our Wolfley Creek farm home in the fall of 1869.
There was one general store owned by Morris Brothers. Uliam Morris, with his wife Eliza and daughter Nannie, and his brother Nathaniel, lived over the store. Kirk Wood had a blacksmith shop, a small home, his wife Euphemia and two children, Riley and Jay. Kirk’s brother Jay lived with the family. M. P. M. Cassity, lawyer, owned his home and rental house, had a wife—off and on—and a son, George. Martin Peter Moses Cassity’s second marriage with his Griselle (Wheeler), the birth of Eddie, and the final parting, were after we came.
James Neville, section foreman, had a residence, his wife Sarah, and five children—William, George, Mary Ann, Jo Ann, and Mahlen. Dominic Norton, section hand, had six motherless children — Anna, Kate, Bridget, Ellen, Mollie, and Michael. Mike Smith, a plasterer, lived with the Nortons in the section house. Ursula Maxwell, a widow, with her son Granville and daughter Lizzie, lived in her own home. Ursula’s daughter Maggie, married to Jim Cardwell, was also temporarily in her home at this time. Samuel Slossen was building a hotel. He had a wife and a son, George. And there was a railroad station, and an agent named Catlin. Also a school house, and a teacher—John Burr.
The family of Peter Isaacson, deceased, in a farm home separated from the town by a street, were considered as town folk. Here lived the mother (married to A. Anderson) and four of her children—Andy, Edward, Irving, and Matilda. Anderson had two children, Oscar and Emily, living in the home. William and Alma were born later.