Not counted

Most of research, genealogical and otherwise, is a systematic, plodding process with few surprises. And then there are days where you find an ancestor's name on an unexpected document. 

This happened just yesterday, working through the shaky leaves on one branch of my family tree (for those people who only deal with the living, the shaky leaves are an indication that Ancestry's logarithm has turned up a potential source of information on a person; when your tree is extensive like mine, there are literally hundreds of leaves to sort through.). 

The leaf in question led to a birth certificate from Deer Lodge, Montana for my grandaunt Florence (my maternal grandmother's sister). Florence was the family 'keeper:' the one who stashed letters and objects and documents--neatly labeled in her square-block handwriting, and opened her home when her sister Ella was widowed, taking in more than one of her five children. Florence had two children of her own, as chronicled in the family history she so painstakingly curated and passed down, so I wasn't surprised to see a hint for a birth certificate with her listed as the mother (and her husband as the father). 

What made me gasp though--and I did gasp--was the information in the certificate. The first name of the child was blank. Perhaps they hadn't named her yet? Not unheard of. But then the date, March 21, 1910, which was years off from my records, and the notation, "stillborn." Florence and Claude's second child, a girl, was born dead. 

We have lost a daughter to stillbirth; the pain may be more subdued now, but things like this do jar me and tears well in my eyes: for my own pain, and now, for Florence's pain. I understand how wrought something as innocuous as the question, "how many children do you have?" is. The 1910 census where her small family appears is dated April 18, not even a month after she and Claude lost their daughter. "Mother of how many children?" it asks; column 10 asks "Number born" and column 11, "Number now living." Both columns in her entry say "1." For instructions to the enumerators state, "stillborn children are not to be counted." Even though they very much do. 

1910 Census

Letter: Florence to Claude, 1906

Letter, dated Morton, Minnesota, November 13, 1906 from Florence Richardson to Claude W. Street, Park City, Utah:

Did you get a wintry blast when you opened this epistle from the land of ice and snow, or has it warmed up on its way from the Arctic zone? My but it's cold and blowing and blizzardy and everything else, - all in this one short day too.

Your nice long letter came yesterday afternoon, and made me feel good. My you have a lively lot of Junior girls, from your account of society doings. Tell me what western girls are like. Are they all pretty like in those novels or are they just common everyday mortals? Are they lively and yet not loud, or are they a little bit bold?

It makes me so blue to think of that camping crowd reunion for I'll be just one too many when you aren't there to let me bore you, and I just know I'll be terribly lonesome for you. Of course it's lovely of Minnie Bell to plan it. Do you suppose that about George and Ella Hibbert is authentic? It seems to me they will make a funny couple. I never could jibe with Ella Hibbert, for some reason, although I know she has many good points.

I had such a pleasant visit over at Redwood Falls over Sunday. I went down Saturday noon and came back Monday morning on the early train. You perhaps remember that the nearest point to Redwood falls on the M&S St. S is two miles from town, so one has to take the bus over and have it call for one to go back. The old bus called for me first, so I sat down nearest the driver's box. The thing by little maneuvering holds eight people very nicely, but Monday morning there were eleven inside, and two on the seat with the driver. When we commenced to go down the half mile hill on the way to the station, those seven men and three ladies commenced sliding, settling down against me. I haven't recovered my natural figure yet, I was so completely compressed against the driver's box. The next time anybody catches me sitting in that part of the bus again, it will be because I had no choice.

Mrs. Hitchcock (to resume) had one of the teachers and the superintendent who was a jolly young fellow in to Sunday dinner. She has invited my aunt and me over for Thanksgiving, but I think we shall go over to Marshall as we were invited there first.

Where are you going to be Thanksgiving Day? Somebody surely will take pity on homeless little boys won't there?

Well I got a comical letter from Bernard today, and I expect to hear this, you've had one from Ella. What won't those crazy young ones do next! I'm sending you Bernard's, and if you would just as soon have me I should like to see Ella’s. Then we will have to do something to get even with them. What shall it be?

Well what an idea that your pupils are afraid of your big nose! I'm not one bit, and if you were here I'd pull it for you just to show I wasn't.

Hoping you are enjoying less freezing weather than we, I am

Lovingly yours,

===

A double wedding took place on August 3, 1907, when the two Richardson sisters Ella and Florence married the two Street brothers Bernard and Claude. There is unfortunately no known photograph of the event.

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Aunt Phoebe's Journey

There are two different versions of the following story, one written by Florence for an AAUW assignment, and another apparently for publication, though there is no evidence that it was published.

The shorter version was the better one, in some respects, but the longer version contained some interesting additions. The version given here is a combination of the two.

Aunt Phoebe was Clemmie's next older sister, who married Frank Sherpy, probably about 1876. Of there seven children, Bertha, the oldest, was about seven years older than Ella (see the Watson Genealogy & Chart)  - MRW

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by Florence Richardson Street

Enclosed you will find the story of about Aunt Phoebe. Our assignment was to make a short story out of some family happening, so of course I have had to fill in a few gaps. In the main it happened like this. At the time Roy's behavior seemed cowardly to us as he cowered there in bed until morning instead of telling his folks at once. - FRS

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“Well, Phoebe is on her way to Nebraska!” Mother remarked with a happy sigh at the breakfast table one Friday morning in July. Next to visiting her oldest sister Clara herself, Aunt Phoebe's journey was the best substitute. “Poor Phoebe! She's had such a hard life. She was so full of fun as a girl. I do hope she has a good visit.”

It seemed queer to us children to think of Aunt Phoebe's going far away. She was one of the fixtures in our lives. If mother were ill, Aunt Phoebe would come in to spend the day and sort of take over. While she didn't exactly cheer us up, we were accustomed to her gloomy outlook on life, and even derived a little amusement from her doleful forebodings.

We always associated Aunt Phoebe’s visits with tales of woe. The cows had gotten into the corn because Uncle Frank hadn't mended the pasture fence, and one of their best milkers had died of colic. Bertha had that pain in her side again; Aunt Phoebe was sure it was appendicitis. She would probably have to have an operation. The black horse from their best work team had broken his leg and Frank had to shoot him. Somehow these calamities always occurred just as mother was Planning to buy herself a new coat or dress, and she seldom had the heart to buy them. Father sometimes chided her for going shabby.

It must have been a month earlier that Mother had announced at dinner that Phoebe was going to Nebraska to visit sister Clara. Her sensitive face was flushed with suppressed excitement. We children were thrilled! In those days mothers of large families, especially farm wives like Aunt Phoebe, did not stray far from their own firesides. Even a trip to town required careful planning and was undertaken with some hesitation. From southern Minnesota to Nebraska seemed a stupendous journey.

“How exciting! When is she going? Who's going to take care of the children?” we chorused.

“Who's going to pay for the trip?” Father inquired warily, glancing quizzically at mother from under his bushy brows as he deftly carved the big, juicy beef roast.

Perhaps Father had some grounds for suspicion, though goodness knows, Mother didn't have the price of a railroad ticket to Nebraska. Women were not supposed to need much cash when they had charge accounts which were settled between merchants every January by a system of swapping. Father generously gave Mother five dollars each week for her own use, no questions asked. Two dollars paid the weekly wage of our maid-of-all-work, usually a Norwegian “newcomer” girl, so there was not much left to throw around. However, Father's shirts and ties and, occasionally, a suit or overcoat he had expected to wear again had a way of disappearing and then, presto, reappearing on Aunt Phoebe's son Roy.

“Phoebe has been saving her butter and egg money and she has enough in the bank to pay for her ticket!” Mother retorted triumphantly.

“Humph!” Better save it to buy shoes for that raft of young ones instead of gallivanting across the country,” Father remarked dryly.

“Now, Dave, Phoebe's entitled to a vacation. She works her fingers to the bone, and, besides, she hasn't seen Clara for 10 years! Neither have I,” she added wistfully.

Mother always stood up for her sister Phoebe, but not for Uncle Frank. According to her, their habitual hard luck was due to Uncle Frank's poor management. He was not what was called a go-getter. When our family drove in the surrey on a Sunday afternoon out to their farm 3 miles south of town, Father was wont to remark:

“Must be Frank's north forty along here. Look at the mustard!”

Mother and Father did not agree on the reason for Uncle Frank's poor farming. Mother said he just wasn't cut out for a farmer; he should have been a mechanic. Look at the way he liked to tinker. Father was sure Uncle Frank was just too “doggoned lazy.”

“Dave, the children will hear you!”

Of course, lank, brown-eyed, easy-going Uncle Frank sometimes did not get his corn cultivated or his wheat harvested just when those jobs should have been done, on account of his attending so many auctions. He had a passion for auctions. They were sort of social gatherings, and Uncle Frank was nothing if not sociable. He would come home from an auction with a broken-down corn planter, a sewing-machine which would not run, or a rocker with one rocker missing.

“You said your sewing-machine wouldn't work anymore,” he defended himself against Aunt Phoebe's upbraiding.

“Well, neither does this one, as far as I can see!” she would retort sharply.

“I can fix it,” Uncle Frank would assure her.

“If you're so good at fixing things, why don't you fix the one I've got instead of spending good money for another piece of junk? Mine is a heap sight better than this.”

It was fun out at the Sherpy farm. There were such fascinating things to play with. The treadles of the old sewing-machine would go up and down, up and down, when we pumped them, so we pretended it was an organ. We played Sunday school and sang all our Sunday school hymns lustily to the accompaniment of the sewing-machine. The baby carriage, minus a wheel and a handle, was just the thing for a doll-buggy when a piece of rope was tied to the front end and some child held up the rear corner. We used to play house with the churn that had a broken dasher. Uncle Frank was going to fix that as soon as he got around to it. He always had time to banter with us children, and truth to tell, we liked him better than diligent Aunt Phoebe.

Aunt Phoebe’s impending trip was the chief topic of conversation at our home for the next few weeks. We boasted of it to our friends. We all took a keen interest in Aunt Phoebe's wardrobe. It was Mother who discovered among her things a piece of gray wool just right for a new dress for Aunt Phoebe. Mother, herself, cut out and fitted the dress one time when Aunt Phoebe could drive in to spend the day. Her blue eyes glowed in happy anticipation of her approaching journey. When the worry lines were smoothed out of her forehead, she looked almost pretty in spite of her short, dumpy figure.

Father slipped mother a five-dollar bill one day, and gruffly told her to see that Phoebe got a decent hat. “I'm tired of looking at that old black bonnet with the bedraggled ostrich feather when I sit behind her in church.”

Father sister Emma, who taught in a Minneapolis high school and was considered very stylish by the family, arrived for a visit just then. She impulsively decided that Aunt Phoebe might as well have her navy blue coat; she was planning to buy a new one next spring anyway, and here were some black kid gloves she didn't need. Even Uncle Frank staid away from an auction and donated three dollars for some new shoes.

We were very proud when Aunt Phoebe donned her new wardrobe for our benefit a couple of days before she was to start for Nebraska. We felt she would do the family credit. Mother had prevailed upon her to get a cheerful-looking hat trimmed with one lovely pink silk rose. Aunt Emma had showed her how to do her hair in the new teacup style. With the soft natural waves of her brown hair loosened around her face, Aunt Phoebe looked years younger.

“I haven't had a whole new outfit since my wedding-day twenty years ago,” she told us as she smoothed the folds of the dove gray wool dress lovingly, glancing at her reflection in Mother's long mirror with evident satisfaction. We pretended not to know that Mother had intended that material for herself when she bought it. “Won't Clara be surprised to see me so well dressed!”

That was on Wednesday. Aunt Phoebe was leaving early Friday morning. She planned to wash and iron and bake bread on Thursday, then pack the leather valise Father had loaned her; he had bought it when he went to the Chicago World's Fair (Colombian Exposition, 1893) and had brought it home full of gifts for the family. We wouldn't see Aunt Phoebe again before she left. Mother and she indulged in a tearful farewell with many messages from Mother to her sister Clara in Nebraska. And Phoebe was not to worry about her family, mother told her. Bertha and family were so capable, they'd get along fine. The responsibility would be good for them and they would appreciate their mother all the more when she returned.

We were still at the breakfast table that Friday morning when Uncle Frank's team and light wagon drove up to our hitching post. Of all things out clambered Aunt Phoebe!

“Her train must be late. I do hope she won't miss her connection in Saint Paul,” worried Mother.

But Aunt Phoebe was weeping. She was the most dejected, woe-begone looking mortal imaginable. At first she was incoherent because of her sobbing. We thought somebody must have died, but it wasn't Uncle Frank, for he was sitting in the wagon, holding the reins and staring straight ahead. He seemed to have lost his customary jauntiness.

“We thought you had started for Nebraska,” Mother observed in a puzzled tone.

“I'm not going to Nebraska, now or ever!" Aunt Phoebe announced between sobs. “The money, the money is gone, gone!” Her voice rose to a wail.

“You said it was in the bank,” Father reminded her.

“It was. Until yesterday afternoon. Frank drove in to get it because the bank wouldn't be open this morning before train time. I was finishing the ironing and the bread wasn't out of the oven yet, so I couldn't go with him.”

“The bank hasn't failed, has it?” Father asked Aunt Phoebe impatiently. It was past time for him to go to his furniture store, but he couldn't leave in the midst of this family crisis. Aunt Phoebe was so agitated that we despaired of ever making head or tail to her story.

“Oh, Frank got the money alright. He was just putting it into his wallet outside the bank and a stranger spoke to him. He seemed to be a pedlar. He was going out our way, he said, and would appreciate a lift. Of course Frank let him ride. Frank drove right past the Koester place where they were having an auction.”

Here Aunt Phoebe gave Father a withering look. She sensed what he was thinking, I guess. “He says he wishes now he had stopped. He might as well have bought that black horse of theirs to match up Cap.” She went on, “It was pretty late to do any peddling that night, so Frank told the man he might stay the night if he wouldn't mind sleeping with Roy.”

“Of course we were all talking about my trip, and I was busy packing. My new clothes looked so pretty!” Aunt Phoebe again burst into violent weeping. She dabbed at her reddened eyes with a moist handkerchief.

“Well, Roy heard a sound in the night. The pedlar wasn't in bed with him. Roy could barely see him. He was standing in front of the old walnut chest, rummaging in the top drawer where Frank had put the money. He told Roy to keep his mouth shut or he'd shoot and then he skipped out. Roy came and woke Frank and they chased the peddler but it was no use. He just disappeared.

“It took me years to save enough butter and egg money for that ticket,” Aunt Phoebe continued. “Something was always happening so that I had to use it for some other purpose. I'll never have the heart to try it again. I just wasn't meant to go.” Aunt Phoebe sank into a sitting room sofa and gave herself up to utter despair. Mother dropped down beside her and wept in silent sympathy.

This was too much for Father. It really had seemed too good to be true that he was not going to be involved in Aunt Phoebe’s project. He usually was. There were Fannie’s high school tuition and textbooks last year, and little Ralph's funeral the year before that. Uncle Frank's insurance would have lapsed long since if Father hadn't assumed responsibility for the premiums. Our building the big new house last year had made going a bit tough; But, if this meant so much to Clemmie, maybe he could manage.

“You kids! How about giving up Chautauqua camp this August and letting Aunt Phoebe have the money for her trip? Fishing's pretty punk down there at Waterville anyway,” Father posed the question to the five of us.

I gulped. I had just finished sewing six rows of brown braid around the skirt of my first bathing-suit. And then I thought of Father lugging home new fishing-tackle, green minnow-bucket and all, in January. He loved to fish and this week at Waterville was his only chance in their busy year. However, we all nodded assent.

Father fumbled with his checkbook. Somehow he couldn't see very well. He blew his nose loudly. Then he scribbled something on a small blue pad and strode into the sitting room.

“Here, Phoebe, take this and buy your ticket to Nebraska, and, for God's sake, start tomorrow before lightning strikes the barn or that ugly bull gores Frank!”

Do you know, it was the queerest thing! Mother was the one who was grateful - not Aunt Phoebe. Mother threw her arms around Father's neck and kissed him right there before us all. Aunt Phoebe just sat there staring at the little blue slip, and then she said:

“It will take some figuring to get to Nebraska and back on that, Dave.”

The Sherpy clan: Frank is clearly a social person

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 Back to Table of Contents

Birthdays

We lived at this time in our old house which was later moved off and the new house built on the same lot.

Fay Watson Richardson was born Sunday eve Dec. 10, 1893. Weight at birth 9 lbs. Was a very robust looking child, with an exceptionally well developed head, but he was subject to many severe sickspells until he was about eight years old. When 14 mo. old he had a very severe illness that lasted for a month. Was 13 mo. old before he had a single tooth. Did not walk alone after this illness until 18 mo. old.

Fay had measles when 2 ½ years old, at the same time other children were all sick. It was at this time he made such a friend of Mrs. Dr. Lynde who used to bring in picture books and entertain him. She was the only one he would let take care of him beside the family. He had whooping cough at five years, and was vaccinated at the same time and was very ill… He has also had chicken pox.

He commenced going to school with nearly seven yrs old. He didn't enjoy going to school and used to beg, and beg to stay at home. He would ask every morning, "What do I have to go to school for?"

Fay, Ruth and Russell were baptized on the same day [June 26th, 1898] and united with the church about six or seven years later…

- From Clementine Watson Richardson's Scrapbook

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Letter from grandfather George Warren Richardson, dated Bruneau, Idaho, December 20, 1893:

My dear David & Clemmie,

I hasten to send you my congratulations. Another Grandson to perpetuate the Richardson name. I know you are pleased that the baby is a boy, and mother Lillie[1] and I both "rejoice with them that do rejoice."

I began to feel afraid that the family name would become extinct till George Alonzo[2] came to the rescue. Clara[3] used to try to comfort me and say, "Pa don't worry - there's time enough yet," but I was afraid her comfort would end in talk.

I presume the small boy will find a name before this reaches you but it will do no harm to suggest.

I think it would be a nice thing to have his name perpetuate the memory of his father and mother as well as the family name

Fay Watson Richardson

How would that do?

I have not rec'd Emma's weekly letter. Maybe she was too busy caring for her nephew. Well, your card brought the most important news.

I cannot understand why Emma does not get my letters oftener than once in two or three weeks. I have failed to write every week a few times, but I am sure some of my letters have been lost. We are getting along nicely. Mother has the contract for the school six months more (that is six months after the first quarter). She is as busy as she can be training her scholars for her Christmas performance. I am getting along well with the work on the circuit. There has been an addition to my missionary appropriation of $150 - and this extra amount came all in a bunch.

Yesterday I got my wire fence around my stockyard and stable and around the house, so I am nearly ready for winter before Christmas. Weather cool and pleasant, no snow in the Valley. We both send love and Christmas greetings to the Father - Mother and all the children - including Emma.

Affectionately,

This will have to do for Emma this week

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Letter from grandfather John Watson, dated River Falls, Wisconsin, December 14, 1893:

My dear David,

I received your card announcing the Birth of a son. I'm glad to hear that Clemmie and the boy are doing well. I hope he will prove to be a great blessing to you and grow up to be a good man and an useful citizen.

I have not been feeling well for more than a month past. I suffered from Heart failure, was over a week confined to the house. I got round a little but did not feel well. Day after Thanksgiving I was taken down again and have not been out of the House since, but I am feeling better and think I will be able to go out in a day or so.

Mother got Home this morning from a two weeks outing and joins with me and love to Clemmie and all the Richardsons.

Yours lovingly,

===

Letter from Helen Field Watson, to Russell David Richardson, dated Northfield, Minnesota, June 1, 1966, in reply to his request for help in getting a passport:

Dear Russell,

I surely can authenticate your birth date.

Clara's carefully kept diaries have come into use many times when we wish to find out when or where someone did something. She began keeping them in 1893.

In April of 1895 she was staying at your home helping to care for the children. She writes: Sat. 20. Uncle Dave went for Mrs. Meade & Dr. Greaves about five o'clock. A little baby boy came this morning about 8:15. Uncle Dave took Ella, Florence, and Ruth out to Maggie's.[4] I took Fay out for a ride. In the afternoon I took him over to Mrs. Weeks and she helped me amuse him… and more about that day…

California could hardly be lovelier than our Minnesota now. My back lawn and garden seemed beautiful to me - probably more so because I'm yard man and gardener.

I'm glad I could be of a little help to you!

With sincere interest,

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Letter, Florence Richardson to her brother Russell, dated Morton, Minnesota, April 18, 1907:

This should reach you on your 12th birthday, if it does not tarry on the way. It is very, very hard to realize that you are celebrating your last birthday before entering your "teens," but at the rate you've been growing this year you'll be a young man shortly. Congratulations!

As spring advances, I suppose you and Fay are finding almost more work in the way of odd jobs, than you can do. Very soon school will be out and then you'll be free to work and play as you wish. Do you realize that six weeks from today is Decoration Day? I can scarcely wait till school is over.

I received Ruth's and mamma's letter to-night. I am so sorry that mamma has been so poorly. I do wish she could manage to do less work.

To-night after school Floyd Patten took Aunt Emma, Miss Brown and me riding way out into the country. We went out to Patten's farm, tied the team, and then rambled all through the woods, gathering what few flowers we could find.

I went to a home-talent play here last evening, which was rather good. It lasted rather late, and consequently, I have been sleepy all day. One just has to go to what few things like that do come along, or they don't like it at all.

Well Russell, I must say, "good-night." Wish we could have bought you something decent here. Give my love to all the rest of the family.

Most lovingly
Your sister

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Letter, Emma Richardson to Russell, in the same envelope:

Florence and I have not forgotten that you have a birthday this week - but we haven't been able to find anything that we thought you would care for, so we each send you a quarter and you are to get but you most wish whether it is a new book, an ice-cream soda or as Florence suggests, a new bell for "Cherry."

You are certainly to be congratulated on 12 years well spent; At the same rate 10 more will finish your education and fit you for some useful place in life.

Meanwhile, grow tall & strong, earn & save as much as you honestly can without being stingy; But above all be the sweet, happy, helpful boy that you have always been.

We are proud of Our Boys and feel sure that they are making the right sort of men.

Your affectionate

Back to Table of Contents

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NOTES:

1 GWR married November 17, 1889 as his second wife Rachel Elizabeth Silver, who was born March 11, 1844 and predeceased him, dying March 18, 1907.

2 The first grandson, born February 26, 1892 to Frank and Alice (Dibble) Richardson. Up to this time all the grandchildren had been girls. George A. attended the School of Mines at Lead, S.D., served in WWII, came home in ill health and died March 8, 1922. David Fay Richardson's two sons, Fay and Russell, were the only other grandsons; They survived to have issue.

3 Owen Richardson's wife, Clara Milne.

4 Probably Maggie Milne Lyman.

Father Enters Big Business

by Florence Richardson Street

Father’s furniture store was a very important factor in our family life, quite apart from the income it produced. When I walked down Main Street in our southern Minnesota town, I felt a sense of ownership, of belonging, which I’ve never had since.

Richardson furniture store in Northfield, Minnesota

The store had three floors. On the first floor were rugs, carpets, mirrors, framed pictures and dining room furniture; on the second, bedroom suites, mattresses, and chairs. The top floor was used for storage and repair shop, resided over by a Norwegian cabinet-maker who had learned the trade in the old country. A huge glue kettle and a battered coffee pot always simmered on his small gasoline stove. A freight elevator transported furniture from one floor to another, and oh! what a thrill to ride up and down on it! Ole, the delivery boy, would warn us good-naturedly, “stay back from de edge, du barne!”

Father prided himself upon his attractive store windows. To advertise porch swings, he once hastily screwed some large hooks into the plaster ceiling of the display window and hung up the swing. For the benefit of an interested customer, he jauntily plumped his 200 pounds down on the swing – the ceiling hooks gave way – and father and the swing made a hasty descent, one corner of the swing going through the plate-glass window. Somehow this didn’t strike my practical English mother at all funny when he recounted the incident at the table. “Sort of an expensive joke,” she commented dryly, mentally calculating how many household necessities the price of the window would have bought.

Sometimes father was absent from the noon meal because he was taking to dinner a young couple about to be married. They would come in shyly, hand-in-hand, to choose their furniture, and he wasn’t taking any chances of their falling into the clutches of his competitor, whom he cordially hated.

Father would let them choose a lot of shiny oak stuff which he carried for purpose of comparison. Then he would convince them skillfully that, while this might do for the present, it wouldn’t always satisfy them. “You want to think of what you’ll be proud to own 20 years from now,” father would counsel. “Good furniture lasts a lifetime.” Step-by-step he would suggest substitutions – a simpler, better-made bureau with beveled mirror, a more comfortable mattress, sagless springs, a planar but more beautiful dining table, sideboard and chairs. After the sale was completed, father would add a large train etching as his wedding gift. Long before installment buying became general, he would arrange for regular payments of the difference between what the young folks and plan to spend in the cost of better furniture. Payments often consisted of butter and eggs. These couples became his firm friends, returning through the years for other needs. He could also speak a bit of Norwegian, which never failed to amuse his Scandinavian customers.

Father demonstrating a new mattress
The young woman is Clara Watson, his niece and bookkeeper

Buying in larger quantities than a store in a town of four thousand could sell easily was father’s weakness. When he could have sold readily six or seven newfangled “sweeper-vacs” he ordered a dozen. The last five or six proved almost impossible to move. This was a source of considerable friction between him and his partner, Mr.Ferg, (Ferguson) for father was the buyer; the store was only one of Mr. Ferg’s extensive business interests.

Once father got really into BIG BUSINESS. It happened that the college on the hill above town had built a large dormitory for men which, strange to relate, provided no clothes closets. To offset this defect, the college had ordered, direct from a little factory to the south, something over 100 large wardrobes. These were to be “of oak, seven feet high, four and one-half feet in width, 20 inches deep, smoothly finished outside and inside.” Although satisfactory in every other way, the cabinets have been poorly finished inside, so the college authorities refused to accept them. This blow caused the factory to go bankrupt. Four months these wardrobes cluttered up the Milwaukee freight depot until father bought the lot, to the consternation of mother, his partner, and everybody at the store.

“It will take 10 years to get rid of them!” Mr. Ferg snorted.

“Dave, you’ll send us to the poor house yet!” Mother declared.

“Betcher my bottom dollar we can sell every last one within a year!” Father countered.

Knute, the cabinet-maker recently arrived from Norway, was pressed into service to help Ole. Day after day the two men hauled wardrobes from depot to store in the high wagon. They grew tired and glum. Even the black team lost its customary spirit and didn’t run away once.

Two father this venture was a challenge. He developed strategy. Only one wardrobe was displayed at a time, thus giving customers the impression there was scant stock on hand. From the doctor’s wife down to the little girl who came for carpet tacks, nobody left the store without being shown a wardrobe. He sold many to farm wives, who invariably had an upstairs bedroom minus a close closet.

“Ya! Virst ve baere dem from freight house store,” grumbled Ole. “Then ve loefte every damn von back into de high wagon og loefte dem oopstair soomevere.”

Knute nodded agreement: “Ya, ya, alvay oopstair!”

Father became quite resourceful in thinking abuses for wardrobes never imagined by the manufacturer. About this time our church women purchased their first dishes and silverware. They needed storage space. Father prevailed upon them to buy two wardrobes to stand side-by-side. Knute built nice selves into them, and they were used satisfactorily in the kitchen church for years.

I always suspected that mother has helped that transaction along. It was now her turn to absorb some of the surplus.

She had been asking to have a linen cupboard built into a recess in the upper Hall. Father sent up a wardrobe, neatly fitted with shelves. One slight drawback was that it was deeper than the niche, so we were continually bumping into it in the dark.

It proved so useful, however, that mother said the boys might as well have one in their bedroom, which had no close closet. Father complied with alacrity. The wardrobe worked very well for the two boys, divided as it was into two parts, with a deep drawer underneath and the shelf above. Fay and Russell each had his own side for his clothing and treasures, thus eliminating much squabbling.

The boys invented a new game called “sleeping car.” Each high shelf became an upper berth into which they climbed like monkeys. Even father hadn’t visualized this use!

One evening the little boys were excused from the table before the rest of us had finished. They scampered up to their room which is above the dining room, to resume a game of “sleeping car.” Suddenly we heard a crash which jarred the whole house, the dining-room chandelier swayed drunkenly, and then – silence. In consternation the family rushed upstairs; too scared little boys were crawling out from under an avalanche of clothing. The heavy wardrobe had tipped over as they had shinned up to their “births” at the same time. Its fall had been broken by the foot rail of their iron bed, which is been bent into a deep V; probably only this had saved the youngsters from serious injury.

When the year was almost up, one wardrobe still remained. The men at the store had begun to razz father. He did his level best interest customers. “Why, Mr. Richardson, don’t you remember? You sold me one last April!” The town and countryside seem to have reached the saturation point.

With this matter uppermost in his mind, father went up to Mr. Oleson’s tailor shop over McGuire’s jewelry store to have his new suit fitted. He happened to notice that the garments upon which Mr. Oleson was currently working on exposed to the dust. Before the fitting was completed, father had sold the last wardrobe!

Delivering this one was something else, however. For one thing, it was another upstairs job. “Schust von more oopstair vardrobe og I qveet,” Knute had threatened. And this was no ordinary flight – the iron stairway leading from the sidewalk between two brick buildings must’ve been twice the height of the usual residential stairs. There was no landing anywhere, not even at the top where door opened abruptly into the tailor shop. No spot to pause for breath.

Knute and Ole studied the situation without enthusiasm. They decided they might as well carry the wardrobe from the store, as the stairway was but a few doors up Main Street. The piece was awkward to get a grip on, and very heavy to negotiate up the long flight. Knute, the stronger of the two, lifted from the bottom while Ole tugged at the top.

Father stood watching proceedings from the sidewalk in front of the furniture store. He was vaguely uneasy. Suddenly he beheld Knute leap like a skier into space from the stairway opening, fleeing for his life! At his heels, end over end, came the mammoth wardrobe, careening to the middle of Main Street, where it crumpled into kindling. Knute had not paused until he had reached safety on the far side of the street, where he stood quaking.

“Dat ting, it loike to kill me! He gasped.

The two men had gotten the thing safely up the stairway to the tailor’s door. Only had to take one hand from his and a moment in order to open the door; Knute felt the wardrobe slipping, but couldn’t hold it. He let go and leapt downstairs ahead of it. Usually passers-by were numerous, and teams were hitched all along the street, but by some strange miracle the path was clear and nobody was hurt. 

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Richardson Family Chart

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Personal Reminiscences, Introduction

by Florence Richardson Street, December 1943

The spirit of reminiscence has seized me as I have been lying here on our living-room couch convalescing from the 1943 type of influenza. For the first time I've had leisure to leaf through an old volume of original verse written by my father's mother, Caroline Fay Richardson. Besides the poems she had written from time to time on birthdays or wedding anniversaries short, revealing observations.

This volume was willed to me by Aunt Emma upon her death the first of October, together with a few family heirlooms and treasures which I am to pass on to the next generation. Reading her writings has given me such an insight into her charming personality and unselfish character that I've been wondering if I, too, might not make a contribution to our family lore by telling you things of interest about my father and mother and Father's only sister, aunt Emma, whom I have known as long as I have my parents.

These three strong, interesting characters have passed away within one year, leaving me the eldest of our branch of the family. My older sister Ella died in 1936. It is especially for her children and grandchildren that I am recording these personal sketches.

Florence Clementine (Richardson) Street 

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Snapshots: The Northfield Richardsons

 

David Fay Richardson and Katherine Clementine Watson
on their wedding day in 1883

Clementine Watson Richardson and her three daughters:
Ruth (8), Ella (16), Florence (15)
"Merry Christmas to Grandma & Grandpa"
December 1900

David Fay Richardson
& his two sons, Russell and Fay

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The Mystery of Mother's Christmas Clock

by Florence Richardson Street

“One of these days I want to get a real nice clock for the mantel,” Mother said wistfully.

Ever since we had moved into the big house, which had a fireplace in the living room, mother had remarked frequently that the fireplace mantle needed a clock. The old walnut Seth Thomas had been moved to the kitchen, where it was needed most; Whenever we wanted to know the time, we had to run to the kitchen.

Little Ruth in the Northfield house parlor, prior to 1899;
the Seth Thomas clock is visible in the kitchen behind

Father's furniture business had been good that year, so he decided rather impulsively to surprise Mother with a clock for Christmas.

Father always did his Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. He dropped into McGuire's jewelry shop just to look, but Mr. McGuire succeeded in selling him a beautiful black onyx clock with three light marble columns on either side of the face; It looked a little like the Parthenon.

Christmas came on Sunday that year [Ed: This dates the story to 1899. Ella was then 15, Florence 14, Ruth 7, Fay 6, and Russell 4]. Father connived with Mrs. Bierman, our next door neighbor, to keep the clock overnight period she promised to place it on the mantle while the family was at church.

After church, Father brought Mother home. She went into the house alone while he put up the horse period of course Mother spied the lovely clock at once, but she decided mischievously to have a little fun with Father. She carried the clock into an adjoining bedroom and draped her shawl carelessly over it.

When Father came in, he stared at the empty mantle, then dashed over to Biermans. Soon Mrs. Bierman ran over to borrow an egg. She made an excuse to come into the living room. She, two, stared in bewilderment at the mantel.

Ours was a large family. In addition to five children, our California cousin Fred Watson lived with us. There was also a Norwegian maid, Hannah, who had been with us for years.

About that time, we children arrived home from Sunday school. There was an air of mystery about the house; I observed Father quietly conferring with Fred. Father and Fred were darting here and there all over the house in a most peculiar fashion. I even heard Fred on the attic stairs.

Finally, justice Hannah announced dinner, Mother drew Father aside. “You've had your fun,” she said, “and I've had mine.” She took father's arm and led him into her bedroom. With her dramatic gesture, mother lifted her shawl and revealed - a sofa pillow!

Where was that clock? Father hadn’t the remotest idea. Neither had Mother. She enlisted the help of the children. We searched high and low, in the most unlikely places, but couldn't find the clock. The search continued intermittently until bedtime, but to no avail. We went to bed, still mystified.

Suddenly, in the dead of night, we were awakened by an exquisite chime! We scrambled out of bed, excited and laughing, and rushed downstairs in the direction of the sound. It struck 12 times. There on the fireplace mantel, just as though it had always been there, was Mother's clock!

Although the mystery occurred 60 years ago, it never was resolved. Though cousin Fred, then 15, helped look for the clock, I personally suspect that he was playing a delightful Christmas trick on the rest of the family. He was that much of a mischief.

The Christmas Clock

In 1983, the clock was still in the possession of cousin James Smith of Monmouth, Oregon. The story was printed in the Kansas City Star, December 18, 1960, section D, page one. [MRWalsh, ed.]

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The David Fay Richardson Family in Northfield, Minnesota

by Florence Richardson Street

The old idea of family records was merely to record the birth, marriage, and death of each member; but I think we can only understand ourselves and our children by knowing something of the personality of our forebears.

Father has written his autobiography, but there are other things quite important he never touched upon. Why is it, when a man writes his autobiography, he tells almost nothing about his family?

Father had planned to be a physician, and had studied was old Dr. Schofield at Northfield until a long siege of typhoid had made and give that up. He would have made an able physician, and I doubt not but that Bernard has inherited some of his inclination in that direction through his grandfather Richardson.

However, he married and settled down in Northfield as a furniture dealer. He was an able salesman and soon built up a thriving business. The delivery of furniture was always in the “high” wagon with the current frisky team. Father was not what was known as a good driver. He was small and energetic intense, and seemed to inject into his horses and irritable state of mind. His runaways were frequent and sometimes disastrous.

Father and his high wagon

Once when I was a small child, his horses became frightened at the freight depot. In the fracas they ran over Father, hauling the heavily-loaded high-wagon over him. He was wearing red flannel underwear, and one woman who saw all that expensive red thought it was blood!

Sometimes when Father wanted to deliver a big country purchase in person, took the three little children with him for the ride. It was always my job to go along to look after the children. The farmers’ wives would treat us all to pie or doughnuts and buttermilk and make quite an occasion of our call. Once, just as father lifted Ruth down, a big dog leapt at her barking, and she ran under both horses, coming out unscathed. I remember that in his relief, father spanked her!

There was a constant undercurrent of strife between my parents over the spending of money. Mother thought of it in terms of family comfort or advancement, and father of expanding his business. Men of that period seldom consulted their wives in business matters. They tried not to let on when they were doing real well, so they could gamble a little in wildland or apple orchards.

Mother was a remarkable manager. Father didn’t care how much she economized out of sight, but he didn’t want her or us to look shabby. “You think I want Lee (his competitor) to know my business is rotten this year?” “Do you mean you want me to go out and buy a new coat because your business is bad?” Mother asked incredulously.

Mother was almost never well. I think now that many of her headaches could’ve been avoided if she had not had so many anxieties.

She enjoyed her children and was determined they should have a happy childhood she herself had missed. Her mother died when she was three. She had the Englishwoman’s attitude toward the holidays, that they were to be properly celebrated. Never a Thanksgiving or Christmas for Fourth of July came around but what mother managed to instigate some family festivity. The maid always went home at these times, but somehow they were pulled off successfully. Father was always the life of the party on these occasions. Aunt Emma would be there, trying to be helpful, but she was always so slow that she was more in the way than anything.

Where Aunt Emma excelled was at entertaining the three youngest children. Her visits were greatly anticipated by us all. Mother inveigled even Father into doing all sorts of renovating and repairs “before Emma comes.”

No matter what time of year Aunt Emma arrived she brought little gifts for us all, down to the current Annie in the kitchen. The children never asked for their gifts, but they accompanied her upstairs and watched expectantly while she unpacked.

Aunt Emma shocked Mother by her extravagant clothes. I’ll never forget Mother’s expression when Aunt Emma showed her some beautiful changeable tan and blue taffeta she had purchased for the lining of her new suit.

I have thought of her Mother’s life a great deal in the year since her death, and have wished that she had received more spoken appreciation. You see, she played to a very small audience – her husband, her children, and Aunt Emma – and none of us realized how much she needed praise.

In fact, praise even in my generation was measured out very sparingly for fear we would become “conceited.” Conceited child was a terrible disgrace.

I can remember only once in my life that Aunt Emma praised me and it made me cry. Mother would praise things we made, like doilies or slashers, but not us.

So much has been written about how wonderful big families are, but in a big family children don’t get very close to their parents. About the time I had led up to a confidence with my Mother, one of the younger children cut his toe, or fell out of a tree, and the moment was gone. I was as fond of them as though I had been their Mother – took great pride in dressing them up and taking them with me where they would be noticed.

Father was too busy with the store to pay much attention to us children. If we crave to favor from him, we seldom approached him directly, but got Mother to ask him. His natural response to his sudden request was “no!” Mother had developed a fine philosophy for handling these. “Even though it seems crazy or unnecessary, if doing it would do no harm, I would say yes.”

During the last few years, Father and I got acquainted through letters. He was such a charming person I wish I had known him better when I was at home.

David Fay Richardson

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Fay and The Pulling Contest

By Florence Grinsted Richardson

In this piece, real names were replaced by the author with fictitious ones, even for the horses. "John," is Fay Watson Richardson.

John was young and had started farming when times were good. With a little money saved up by hard work and what he could borrow, and by careful breeding, he had raised one of the finest dairy herds in the community. Hard work and good luck earned him as reputation as one of the best farmers in the county. But in the Fall of '30 he received an ultimatum from his banker giving him one year to restore his equity in his farm equipment. The implement company had sold his note and chattel mortgage to the bank; it was impossible to renew any collateral, and John could not raise a dollar.  

To tell the truth, it looked like the end. John was determined that every acre had to produce all it was possible to get out of it. Every cow had to produce to her limit.  If a cow could not come up to his standard, out she went. His horses the same; if they could not put in the longest hours at the hardest work and stand up to the strain, someone else could own them.

The only exception to this rule was a team of 1800-pound Belgians that he had raised, two blue roans, colts well-bred to start with, from a big mare he had owned when he started farming. A year apart, they had grown as much alike as two peas in a pod.  

These, Queen and Blue, were his weakness; if John could not work them himself, they did not work.  He would trust no one else to handle them. 

Among our other horses was a bay gelding he had purchased from a wood contractor's outfit.  "Old Charlie" was not outstanding in looks at all. He weighed 1750 pounds and he was the meanest devil of a horse a man ever owned. He knocked out more walls than we could keep in place. He would kick standing alone in a stall, kick all the time he was eating. The only thing he enjoyed was work, the tougher the load the better. To see him pull it looked as if he was made of iron. 

John worked him carefully with other horses as team mates; unless held down on a pull, Charlie would throw a slow-starting horse under the wagon. He was an old horse; he worked with most of the other horses at different times, and they made extra-good pulling horses if they had the heart in them to start with. Old Charlie had outlasted several good team mates. He wasn't lovable, but John kept him for the work he could do.

The County Fair was to be on Labor Day, and there was a special attraction: a pulling match for horses.  This feature aroused much enthusiasm, especially since the Fair Board was offering $500 for first prize and $200 for second. John got to thinking maybe we could cash in on some of his efforts with the team of Belgians.

Our hired men, Nat and Runnigan, heard that a big team from the coal yard was being entered by Jack Sharp. We knew that team of blacks, we had watched them in town pulling a load of coal on a sleigh over bare ground through the lumber shed. As big as they were, they would not weigh much more than Blue or Queen, maybe 100 or 200 pounds more at the most. John filed his entry for the contest.

John did not say much, but he did considerable thinking. In a day or so he had rigged up a stone boat.  Dumped in a ravine back of the barn was a big pile of cement in sacks that had gotten wet and had been thrown away. John had Runnigan carry some of this out and load about a ton or so of it on the stone boat. He put their best harness on the roans and hitched them to the stone boat. The team was used to pulling, but needed practice to get down to a steady pull. As John spoke to them, he would crouch down and tighten the reins - the harder they pulled, the steadier he pulled, as though he held them back. He worked awhile with them every evening and kept adding more weight until he had them pulling as much as Sharp's team had pulled on bare ground, shod with sharp shoes. Runnigan said to put sharp shoes on Blue and Queen, and we'd have a chance. We kept this practice a secret, as we knew it was part of the battle to win.

On the last day before the fair, Runnigan was busy shoeing the team with shoes having good long calks. John got a new, heavy leather harness; when he brought it home from town, he had it in his trailer, covered up. He was as tickled as a boy with his first pair of long pants, and when Runnigan fitted it on the team I saw on the housing over the collar that our name was in large bold letters in nickel.

By then we had so entered into the spirit of the thing we could hardly keep it a secret. As we watched the team pull that night, we knew we had something that champions are made of. By now the two horses pulled as one. John would let them tighten up on the tugs, and as he leaned back on the lines he spoke again, the horses crouched and then straightened, not taking a step until the load started to move, and they hauled it the required 30-foot distance.

Sunday evening John loaded the pair of horses into a truck and drove to the fair grounds. By then he was getting a little nervous as he realized what he was asking this team to do and what was at stake. If he lost, we were done. Horses and everything would go.

Early Monday morning just after it got light, I went with Runnigan to look at the rest of the horses that were entered to pull that day. Publicity and the large amount of prize money had attracted some good teams from the city - one from the stock yards, and a couple of big teams from the packers, eight-horse teams that made ours look pretty small, especially as they were outfitted with expensive harnesses. But we weren't so much afraid of them as we were of the stock yard team, and Sharp's team from down home.

Runnigan went back to harness up and wipe the horses off. Blue hadn't eaten her grain, she just stood there. As soon as John came in from home, about eight o'clock, he knew right away she was sick. As soon as he could, he got a vet to get some stuff into her and after a while she seemed easier. But the vet said under no circumstances to move the horse or it would kill her. The look on John's face told us he knew right then that it was all over if he could not pull. We couldn't win the prize, the team would be lost on that damned mortgage. It had been our last chance. We were done before we  started.

Runnigan went out to eat and had a couple of good snorts out of a bottle while he was at it. Kind of made him feel better. Still, the fact remained something had to be done at once, and (after another drink) he was the man to do it. He found a telephone booth, called Nat at home and told him to go get old Charlie and lose no time in getting him up as a substitute. Runnigan then had another drink to keep up his courage, because John raised hell when you tried to help him.

Nat arrived just before the hour of the contest and I shall pass over the scene when he led Charlie from the loading chute. Runnigan got the worst of it, but John couldn't resist when he saw he still had a chance with a team. Maybe they weren't a team, as he said, just two horses (and one of them the meanest devil that ever lived), but if anyone could drive those horses and make them pull, it was John.  No matter that it had been several years since the horses had even worked together, that the roan was carefully trained to pull slow and steady, that Charlie was too quick - he could pull.

Out in front of the grandstand they drew numbers from the judge's hat to determine their turn. John was sixth, with Sharp just ahead of him.  

Each team started with a weight the equivalent of moving a two-ton load on a paved street. They were hitched to a cable, and the pull was registered by a dynamometer on a truck operated by men from the state university engineering department. Runnigan had a ringside seat on the truck, where he took the place of ballast. The truck moved along as the team pulled, until a judge rang a bell at 29 feet.

The first pull was an easy one for all the teams. Increasing the weight, the next pull gave some of the teams all they could start. The third try with the load at five tons was too much for the show horses from the packing house, the eight-horse teams, so that thinned the competition down to the stockyard team, Sharp's, and ours. Young Sharp took the notion to drive their team himself; he was sure of winning. He did better than we expected, holding that big team of blacks down to a steady pull, amid cheers from the grandstand.

John was doing his best to hold Queen and Charlie together on a dead pull, but the horses had different ways of pulling. Experienced horsemen who knew the circumstances shook their heads as John hooked on for the six-ton pull. The stockyard team had failed to move it, but Sharp's team had made a beautiful pull of the six-ton load. With his patched-up team, how could John expect to pull as much as this beautiful pair of blacks pulling like one horse, and that like a machine?

Still John had a chance, just a chance. He had hard work steadying his team into the collar. He was practically dragged along by the lines as they tightened into the load; for a minute they hung motionless, then they stretched out and reached for another footing, scratching the dirt and making the gravel fly. A front shoe flew through the air, and Charlie slipped and hesitated, just for a second but enough for Queen, who was even now. As Charlie got sure footing again, they strained and pulled and marched down the 30 feet to the applause from the stands.

Still, it was a tie. Did we have a chance to win? The judges went into a huddle, then called a short intermission. A minute later, the announcement came out over the loud speaker:

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have witnessed a sight this afternoon never before equalled - two teams have pulled, on a fair pull, 500 pounds more than the record of any team on this or any other fair ground. We feel that both teams are equal in power and hesitate to ask them to pull again; therefore we are giving duplicate prizes to each contestant."

Amid the cheering, Runnigan held the team and John came running up into the grandstand to take me in his arms. He had accomplished all he had started out to do. The money would pay off the mortgage. We would work to bring the farm into productivity, to provide for us as we had always dreamed. And the horses would belong to their rightful owner.

Queen and Charlie, the pulling team

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Richardson Family Papers | Table of Contents

-- Note: this page is under construction and will be updated as posts are finished and published--

In 1983, Madge outlined five volumes, of which two were published. I have divided two volumes and added two, which gives us nine "volumes" as follows:

Introduction: The Richardson Family Papers, by Madge Richardson Walsh, editor

• Introduction 
• Richardson Family Chart 
• Acknowledgements

Volume I - Ella Richardson Street 

• Introduction
• All the Rights and Privileges Pertaining Thereto
• A Double Wedding
• A Hunting Accident
• Obituary: Ella Richardson Street

Volume II - Florence Richardson Street: Reminiscences of the Family (originally published in 1983)

• Introduction 
• Snapshots: The Northfield Richardsons
• The David Fay Richardson Family in Northfield, Minnesota 
• Father Enters Big Business 
• The Mystery of Mother's Christmas Clock 
• Aunt Phoebe's Journey
• Birthdays
• Letters: Florence to Claude Street (1906)
• Not counted
• Clippings: Four Generations Join in Baptismal Ceremony 
• Obituary: Florence Richardson Street

Volume III - Ruth Richardson Smith: A Memory Book and Letters of an Oregon Bride (originally published in 1991)

• Introduction 
• Private Diary of Ruth Catherine Richardson, Part I 
• Private Diary of Ruth Catherine Richardson, Part II 
• Letters of an Oregon Bride, Part I
• Letters of an Oregon Bride, Part II
• Ruth Richardson Smith Memorial 

• Obituary: James William Smith 

Volume IV - Fay Watson Richardson

• Introduction
• Letter on Mother's Day
• Fay and the Pulling Contest 

Volume V - Russell David Richardson: Reminiscences (1971) and In his own words (1977)

• Introduction
• Reminiscences, Chapter 1 
• Part 1: Beginnings in Northfield 
• Part 2: Logging Coming soon!
• In his own words: He lived, but... Coming soon!
• Reminiscences, Chapter 2
• Part 1: World War I 
• Part 2: Jessie 
• Reminiscences, Chapter 3 
• Part 1: A fine day outing
• Part 2: A wedding, a funeral, and a birth
• Reminiscences, Chapter 4 
• At Sea
• Letters 
• Letter from Salina Cruz, 1919
• Letter from Mother Jessie (1919)
• Panama Canal letter & history
• The Accidental Accountant
• The Merchant Marine and other odd jobs
• Russell and Jessie in Japan
• Obituary: Russell David Richardson
• Obituary: Jessie Cutting Richardson
• Postscript by Madge Richardson Walsh

Volume VI - George Owen Richardson: Autobiography (1937) 

• Introduction
• Note on Ancestry
• Autobiography 
• Chapter 1: Ancestry
• Chapter 2: Birth and Early Years
• Early Days of Samuel Huston College
• With her Grandmother
• Note on the Milne Family and Epilogue

Volume VII - David Fay Richardson: Looking Back over Eighty Years (1938)

• Introduction
• Looking Back over Eighty Years
• Later Years in Oregon
• Obituary: David Fay Richardson
• Biographical Sketches
• Frank Asbury Richardson
• Earl Mercein Richardson

Volume VIII - George Warren Richardson: Recollections of My Life Work (1905)

• Introduction
• A Photographic Footnote
• My Journey to the Crossroads of Race, Faith and Family in America, article by James D. Richardson (external link)
• Life Chronology
• Clippings: Four Generations Join in Baptismal Ceremony
• The Journal
• Transcribed Excerpts
• A preaching gig
• Obituary: George Warren Richardson

Volume IX - Mothers and Daughters

• Caroline Fay 
• Dedication: Three Carolines
• Love letter (1849)
• Poems
• Diary of an Abolitionist's Wife
• Tiny moccasins
• Obituary: Caroline (Fay) Richardson (1887)
• Ella Fay: Stars and flowers
• Katherine Clementine Watson
• Letters: The Watson Family
• Watson Genealogy & Chart 
• Watson Family Obituaries:
• Charles Herbert Watson (1914)
• Amy (Watson) Featherstone (1916)
• Charles Elliott Watson (1960)
• Mary Emma Richardson
• Favorite Bible verses
• Graduation Days 
• Letters: to Samuel Huston College 1943 Coming soon!
• Madge Richardson Walsh
• The Lone Arranger
• Some Thoughts on Tolerance (Or, Tolerance is a Two-Way Street)
• My Mother's #MeToo
• Obituary: Madge Richardson Walsh

Private Diary of Ruth Catherine Richardson, Part 1

PRIVATE DIARY OF
RUTH CATHERINE RICHARDSON
Part I

1907 - '08 - '09

416 E 5th St., Winona
Northfield, Minn.

Born June 6, 1892.

Who reads this book without my per­mis­sion, is no true friend of mine.

This book shall never, under any con­ditions, be read except to very particular friends of mine.

+++++

PRIVATE DIARY

January

January 1, 1907
Tuesday

I thot that I would keep a journal this year as it would be interesting to read in later years. I will begin with a description of our family. There are Mamma, Papa, Ella, Florence, Fay and Russell and me, and Aunt Emma.

This is Ella's and Florence's first year of teaching away from home. Ella is small, both ways, and quite pretty. I guess that Bernard Street likes her pretty well. She is very sweet tempered and obliging, but she isn't very orderly. She is neat about herself but not about her room. She is very undecided. She can never decide what she wants. For instance, she had been needing a new dress and it was to be either blue, brown or red. She had decided on the blue but when she came back from town she had the red. She then remembered that brown was to be the leading color for spring, so now she is going to lay the red cloth away until some future time and get the brown. She has a good time because quite a few boys think she is pretty nice. She is only twenty-two and she doesn't look that old, either. She is always making such funny blunders. We always laugh at her but she doesn't care if we do. Ella can play the piano and sing.

Florence isn't so pretty. We both look alike, people say. She has pretty brown hair which she does very nicely. She is about the same build as Ella but people get the impres­sion that she is larger because her face is quite plump. She only weighs 111 lbs. But Florence is a dear. I love her so much. Florence isn't as good a cook as Ella but she always makes us children have lots of fun. She is twenty-one. Florence can draw simply fine, ‑I‑ think but she never has had a chance to take but a few lessons. She is teaching in Morton this year. Ella is teaching in Windom. Claude Street (teaching in Utah) has been ‑quite‑ nice to Florence for nearly a year. He isn't ‑nearly‑ as nice looking as his brother but I like him the best. So does Florence.

Mamma is short and plump but really, she isn't what you could call fat. She is so good it just makes me ashamed of myself. No matter what I do, break dishes, spill things, spoil the breakfast food, she never loses her temper. She is 45 years old but you wouldn't know it. She has hardly a grey hair in her head. She is a dandy cook and housekeeper in general. She belongs to the Pioneer Club and she does quite a bit of reading for that.

Papa is just about the same height as Mamma but stouter. His hair is getting grey and their is a spot where there isn't any hair, grey or otherwise. He is 52 years old. He works so hard for us. Oh, he is so to me. He is always joking with me about something. He gets dreadfully tired tho. He can play the best game of checkers of anyone I ever saw. He always beats me, but then it is fun to play with him anyway. I guess he has quite a good income, but we always spend more than he can afford. Isn't that awful! But it is so sur­prising how fast a dollar will go.

Aunt Emma is Papa's sister. This is her home where she comes at the holidays. She and Florence both teach at Morton. She is so good to all of us. Why! she is kind of a second mother. She used to be sick a great deal and so she was home a great share of the time. She is good height and good form. She has beautiful golden hair without a grey hair in it. She dresses very tastily and prettily.

Then next come my two brothers Fay and Russell. They make a pretty good pair. Fay was thirteen in Dec. and Russell will be twelve in April. They are almost the same height, but Fay is gaining on Russell a little. Fay is dark and Russell is light. Fay is quite good looking but Russell is a handsome little fellow. Fay and Russell are both so good to me. Fay explained all about his workshop to me the other day. He knows all the names of the tools. He has a business head on him I tell you. I think Russell would make a good doctor. He has always said that he was going to be one until a little while ago. He says that he isn't going to be a doctor.

And me! They call me Ruth. I don't see how I look like Florence because I am so homely. I have dark hair, greenish­-blueish eyes, large mouth. I am short and stout, but never-the­-less, I have a very good time all the time. I have been taking painting lessons lately. I just love to paint but I can't do much at it. I have taken piano lessons for a long time. I enjoy it very much but my school work is to heavy to take any more lessons until spring. I like to read and sew, but, oh! I love to skate. I could skate and never stop unless I got tired. But cook! I can't cook to save me. I like to straighten the rooms up but I don't care much about cooking. I like school very much, also. It is so interesting.

There is a boy, David Weeks, that is always wanting to take me home from skating. About a week ago he asked if he could take me home. I told him that I had to do a lot of errands on the way home - I really had only one but I guess he is kind of mad. Anyway, I haven't seen him since. I don't care much though. He'll be all right in a little while, I guess. I am fourteen years but most everyone thinks that I am about twelve. I am 4 ft. 11 in. and weight 104 lbs.

Well, so much for family description.

I went down to the Church for New Year's dinner. I had quite a good time, although none of the girls that I go with were there. Fay and Russell asked me to go sliding with them. I had a fine time but I got cold so I came home.

Bernard Street has just come to see Ella. She didn't say so, but I think she would just as soon have me stay upstairs. My! but he is handsome!

Fay and Russell popped some corn. We all played a game of "Flinch." Russell and Florence won. Papa played a game with me of checkers. He won, of course but he didn't beat me very much. Fay and I had a game and I beat him quite a bit.

Jan. 2, 1906/7
Wednesday

It is very disagreeable out today. I cannot tell whether it is raining, hailing, or snowing.

This morning Florence told me that she was engaged to Claude Street. She told Mamma and Papa and Ella last night. We are not to tell anyone until next June. They think that they will be married next Christmas. And then Claude will carry her away down to Utah. She can't even come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It costs an awful lot for the round trip from here to Park City, Utah. Aunt Emma or Fay and Russell don't know it yet. Claude is getting ninety dollars a month and this is his first year teaching. Papa thinks that he is a fine fellow and that it is just as well to be married quite soon. I don't think that there is much sense in waiting and waiting as long as he is getting a good salary. I don't suppose that Florence will teach next year. Won't it be fun to have her home! Of course she will just be home until Christmas.

Jan. 3, 1907
Thursday

This morning I slept later than usual because I didn't sleep very well during the night. I was all done with breakfast before half-past nine, tho.

Then I worked on the raffia bag that I am making.

After dinner I went over to Eloise Schmidt. Eloise and Margaret and Margaret Hoppin and I coasted down Greg's Hill until 4 o'clock. We had lots o fun. I steered twice and I nearly ran them into a tele­phone post once. After that we went up to Schmidt's house. We were all hungry so we made or rather, Eloise made some lemon­ade. It was real good. We each ate two cookies. Then we went into the other room and told each other's fortunes. They found two invita­tions to a party at Hazel Barnard's. I telephoned home to see if I was invited, but I wasn't, yet. Margaret Hoppin was invited, too. I was beginning to think that I couldn't have been invited but when I got home there was my invitation. Ruth Pyatt had written me a letter, too. She writes very interesting letters.

This evening Mamma and Ella had their Sunday School class up. We played several games and then we had refreshments. Sand­wiches, pickles, ice-cream, cookies, cake and candy. But I thot they would never go home. Mamma finally had to tell them (in a very polite way) to go home.

I get a dollar a month for my allowance. I have 80₵ left. I think that I am doing pretty well.

Jan. 4, 1907
Friday

I haven't been feeling well today. The boys' party doesn't seem to have a very good effect on me.

I have my bag almost done. It will be quite pretty. Bernard Street took Florence out for a long ride this morning. Ella and he have gone coasting this afternoon. Jessie Richardson came over to spend the afternoon. She said that Lucile was almost over with the mumps ‑[Uncle Earl's daughters]‑.

Oh! I feel so sick and uncomfortable. Not really sick, but sickish.

I wrote part of this in the afternoon. I am feeling better now. Frances Tchann and Carrie Stern were up this afternoon.

An accident happened over at the hill this afternoon. Eloise Schmidt was steering their bobs coming down the hill when someone got in the way. In trying to steer out of their way she ran into the boys' bobs and then ‑into‑ the bridge. As she was the front one she received the most of the shock. It knocked her senseless for a few minutes but she walked home. It threw Fay (he was pulling the other bobs) several feet into the air and bruised his shins. He hurt two of his fingers. He doesn't feel very good. He has been asleep all even­ing.

I wrote a letter to Kathryn Keene and a postal to Ruth Pyatt today.

Ella and Florence and Aunty were invited down to Mr. [Rev. F. A.] and Mrs. Cone's for supper. Florence and Aunty are not home yet but Ella has been home. She was invited to a party over at Street's so Ralph Payne took her to the party.

Russell and I played "Rival Armies" to­night. It is something like checkers. He won.

I have been as cross as a bear today. I told Mamma that I had and she said, "Have you? Why I hadn't noticed." But really I have. I guess I didn't feel very well was the reason.

Papa went to "Lodge" tonight. He just joined a little while ago or maybe he hasn't joined ‑yet‑, but anyway, he went. I guess that he belongs to almost every club in town.

Florence and Aunty just got back now. It just struck nine a few minutes ago. I think that I will go to bed.

Jan. 5th, 1907
Saturday

I felt real good today. A little before dinner I went down to Mrs. Wade's to get a book for Mamma. Then I stopped in to see Norma Cone. Helen Wade and Norma both said that they would stop for me to go to the party. Right after dinner I went coasting up at Johnson's with Elizabeth and Charlotte Bierman. Then we came in the house and got some apples and played games. Pretty soon Aunt Maggie and Milford came over. Milford is growing so. He is a perfect dear.

After a while I took a bath and began to get ready for the party, which began at half past seven.

We had supper early because Ella had to catch the 6:52 train. She went about six. Oh! It is so lonesome without her.

Just about the same crowd was invited as usual. I like almost all the girls, but for the most of the boys I don't care a snap. All went all right until about 10 o'clock. They were having an auction of the girls' feet. We had to stick our feet out in under a screen and the boys didn't know whose feet that they were buying. Well, Fletcher (or Jake, as they all call him) Ware got me. Oh! I was mad but I thot that I would be polite and not act mad. He was mad, too, and so he went and bot another girl. Now, there were just enough girls for one apiece so when Jake took two, it didn't come out even and Alison Blodgett didn't have a partner. So he took Eloise. Oh! I wish that he had taken me. She was the second one that Jake had bought. Well, Jake didn't want to sit with me and anyway we had taken up so much time that there wasn't room for us now, so I just got up and came home. Oh! Oh! Oh! I was so mad. I just hate him. I know that I hadn't ought to but I can't help it. When I got home everyone but Papa was over at Mowry's. He held me a long time and I cried and cried. He told me if ever I went to another party where Fletcher Ware was, to put my things on and come straight home. I went upstairs to bed and when Mamma came home I cried some more. She said that I would make myself sick if I cried any more and if I would promise not to cry any more that night that Florence would come and sleep with me. I promised.

Jan. 6, 1907
Sunday

I didn't go to Church or Sunday School this morning. I guess that I cried too much last night. I don't hardly ever cry because it most always makes me sick. After church Florence had to hurry to pack before 8 o'clock. I went over to the train to see her and Aunty off. Papa and the boys went too. We popped some corn this afternoon. I went to Epworth League and Church. After church Papa had to get something down to the store so I went with him. While I was there I got a box of kitchen utensils to save for Florence. Papa thot that I was a little ahead of time, I guess.

Jan. 7, 1907
Monday

School began today. It seemed rather good to get back to work, but still, I would lots rather have vacation. I found out that I only got 94 instead of 98, as Eloise told me, in that Latin test that we had last Friday. Miss Bishop and Miss Livingston have both got the mumps! Nellie Ferguson and Minnie Dilly substituted, but several of the classes didn't meet, my 9:15 Algebra class among them. Every­thing went all right.

About 5 o'clock I went skating. (The skating rink was free tonight.) After supper I went to Glee Club over at Miss Williard's. We had so much fun. After we were done singing we adjourned to her room and voted for the different offices. Miss Williard passed around the peanuts and candy. We passed a vote that we should be fined 5₵ for absence each time and that with our surplus capital we would have a spread every month. At nine o'clock we all went home. We are to meet at Helen Wade's next week, and the week after that at our house. When I have time I will write a list of the members of our Glee Club.

Jan. 8, 1907
Tuesday

Tonight I will write as many as I can remem­ber of the members of our Glee Club: Bernice Cone, Norma Cone, Rilla Drake, Chestine Thompson, Hazel Davison, Miss Grimes, Mildred Ware, Mary Riddell, Hazel Barnard, Eloise Schmidt, Gertrude Norton, Helen Wade, Anabell Johnson, Blanche Strong, Myrtle Hatfield, Alice See, Kathrine Lee, Nettie Weeks, Mary Wilson, Ruth Lathrop, Ruth Richardson, "Peanut" or in other words, Miss Bennet (she has a ‑terribly‑ small waist).

We had chicken today for dinner. Marion Watson has such a hard cold that she didn't go back to school up at the city. I took Florence's watch down to Hulburg's this afternoon. Mrs. Mowry is over this evening, studying with Mamma. Fay and Russell got three and a half quarts of milk tonight. Last night they didn't get quite two and a half quarts. [Borrow­ing from Aunt Emma, they had bought a cow and calf, re­pay­ing her from profits by selling milk and the calf.]

Jan. 9, 1907
Wednesday

David Weeks had the mumps all vacation. That is why that I didn't see him until school began. He isn't mad at me a bit, either. In Latin I failed three times this morning, but my mark is not below grade, yet. I am afraid that I won't get much ‑this‑ month. Helped Fay with his Arithmetic. He had some hard examples. He got all but two and he will get those tomorrow in school. We had company for supper, a friend of Papa's, I can't remember his name. It is very cold in my room tonight.

Jan. 10, 1907
Thursday

I didn't fail in Latin today for a wonder. Judith Anderson came over this afternoon and we worked Algebra together. I think that she is very nice. She is very good in Algebra. Papa didn't come home for supper or dinner today. I got a letter from Florence tonight and a postal from Ruth Pyatt. We were racing to see who would get to bed the quickest so I had better hurry.

Jan. 11, 1907
Friday

Friday! Oh I am so glad because tomorrow is Saturday. Today I just found out that I am getting a double chin! Oh! horrors! I am going to exercise it a lot. Papa went to Lodge and Mamma to church. This is the week of prayer. I did the dishes. I am going to draw all my dresses.

Jan. 12, 1907
Saturday

This morning, after the dishes were done, Mamma and I made the beds. Then she swept my room and I dusted it. After dinner I went down town in search of a red ribbon for a tie of my plaid waist. I went to every store in town and I couldn't find what I wanted. After I came home, I tried to do my Algebra but I couldn't do it so I went over to get Helen Orr to help me (her class in Algebra is ahead of ours so she knew how to work it). Then I came home and studied Latin.

This evening we made candy. It was all right. Fay and Russell went skeeing this afternoon. I studied my Sunday School lesson tonight. It is about the creation of Adam and Eve. 10 o'clock, so I must stop.

P.S. Mamma is making me a new dark blue serge school dress. Don't know what it will be like, though. It will be pretty, I think. Oh! yes! I think that Florence Street is such a dear! She always is so nice to me.

Jan. 13, 1907
Sunday

I went to Church and Sunday School. We ate dinner at home today. Papa went to Chicago this afternoon. I went over to see Jessie this afternoon. My! she looked funny. She just has the mumps on one side. Miss Livingston is all well. I got a letter from Ruth Pyatt. She wants the postals of St. Olaf and the Carleton Library. She only has "Gridley Hall" and the "Annual Carnival."

Aunt Maggie was over this afternoon. She has a beautiful new fur­-lined coat. They had Milford's picture taken and they are going to give us one. They said that the picture is fine.

Jan. 14, 1907
Monday

Everything at school went all right. I think that I got 10 in Latin. I got my composition on "Scott's Diction" back today. I only got 91. I went to Glee Club tonight down at Helen Wade's. Ger­trude Norton, Eloise Schmidt and Hazel Barnard and I stayed after all the rest had gone. We had a circus.

I got a letter from Ella tonight and Mamma got one from Florence. Florence is busy sewing. She says that Claude has written to his folks and told them. It is cold tonight. Examinations begin Thurs­day. I think that I see my finish.

I went down town this afternoon. I got four postals that I am going to send to Ruth Pyatt. They are four for a nickle. The big it that I was, I forgot to get any one cent stamps so I will have to trot down again tomorrow on purpose to get some one cent stamps.

I nearly got bawled out this afternoon. Eloise and I were whis­pering and I happened to look up and Prof. Albert was just ‑staring‑ at us. My! I tell you! I worked hard the rest of that period. I expected that I would have to stay tonight, after school, but I didn't have to, for a wonder. Today Miss F. said that I (and a lot of others) wrote a very neat paper.

Jan. 15
Tuesday

Today was bitter cold. It always turns cold when Papa goes to Chicago. I went down town after school and got those four stamps. Elizabeth and Charlotte went with me. Fay and Russell and I fooled around until supper time but we worked hard after supper. Mrs. Taylor (from Dundas) was here for a few minutes before supper. She had left a package over at Mrs. Kinsey's at the thimble-bee. I went over after it.

Miss Lamp was over this afternoon to see Mama about Fay. She says that he hasn't been doing very good work this year and is afraid that his marks will fall below. I would rather stay out a year to help Fay than to have him fall behind in his classes, because I am afraid that if he dropped behind, just one class even, that he might get discouraged and not want to go to school.

The class for Bible Study met here tonight. Mr. Cone and Mamma are having quite a controversy. Mrs. Taylor wants me to come see her when it gets a little warmer. I hope that she don't forget. One more day of regular lessons, and then examinations. But I am really kind of glad because it is very tiresome having regular lessons.

Jan. 16
Wednesday

Everything went all right in school today. I haven't felt well today and I have been cross. I was awful cross to Charlotte today. I am ashamed of myself. I found out what my average was in Latin - 85. Not very much. I guess that I am coming down with the grip or something or other.

David asked me to a sleigh ride party for Friday night. I guess that I will go, for all that I know now. I think we will have lots of fun. I don't have to go to school tomorrow morning or Friday afternoon on account of the examinations. I don't have to go until the middle of the morning, Friday. I wrote a letter to Ella.

Jan. 17, 1907
Thursday

I went to school this afternoon and took two exams. Sleigh ride is postponed until next week Friday. Found that my daily average in Latin is 90 instead of 85. I am glad. I cut my third finger on my right hand and I can hardly write. Wrote to Papa this morning. Mamma had a headache today. Roy Turner telephoned to see if I cared if he asked David to go to the Epworth League sleigh ride. I told him that I didn't care. I wish now that I had asked Roy Turner to have David bring his sister, Nettie along.

Jan. 18, 1907
Friday

I took the Latin exam today. It was a fright! I didn't have to go in the afternoon. I went over to see Baby Milford. He is so fat and such a dear. I went to the sleigh ride tonight. Had lots of fun. Ella Hendrickson told me that she watched Miss Fligelman correct my paper and that I got 100. I am sure that Ella must be mistaken, because I couldn't get such a high mark.

Fay and Russell went tonight and I guess that they had a good time. David didn't go.

Jan. 19, 1907
Saturday

I went over to Watson's this afternoon. I had lots of fun. Annabel Johnson was there, too. Elliot is sick and has been for about three days. It is a regular blizzard outside tonight. I am going to sleep with Mamma.

Jan. 20, 1907
Sunday

The snow is drifted pretty bad so none of us went to church. I didn't feel very good, either. Papa came home this morning. His train was about two hours late. Russell is popping some corn this afternoon. Clara Watson came over. I wrote a letter to Florence. Papa went to church this evening. I haven't been outside of the house today. I don't see how people stand it that never go to church. This has been such a long lonesome Sunday that I am almost glad it is over.

Jan. 21, 1907
Monday

I got 87 in Latin Exam. 92 Algebra and 100 Classics. I told David that I couldn't go to the sleigh ride. Helen Wade isn't going and if she doesn't why I don't want to, because I don't know the rest of the girls very well. He was awfully sorry and said that he wouldn't go either but I told him to go and take someone else. He said he didn't want to take anyone else, didn't know anyone, etc. I told him that he had better take Blanche Strong but I am afraid that she won't go because I think that she knows that he asked me before.

I had the Glee Club at our house tonight. Four people were absent. Next time we meet at Hazel Barnards. We had quite a bit of fun. We are going to give a recital when we have learned enough pieces. We do not know much yet, though. Kathryn Lee left her handkerchief here tonight.

Jan. 22, 1907
Tuesday

This morning D.W. told me that the sleigh ride was all busted up. I felt awfully consience-stricken. We had a written lesson in Latin today. Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter, Park, and Delphine were here for supper. Mrs. Carpenter and Delphine came earlier, in the afternoon. They are all ever so nice. Delphine is just as dear as she can be and Mrs. Carpenter is lovely. I always thot that Mr. C. was a regular bear, but he is real agreeable. Park knows so much! Oh! my! Why I am ashamed of myself. I think that I had better study Algebra a little tonight.

Jan. 23, 1907
Wednesday

Got my report. Classics 97. Comp. 97. Algebra 97. Latin, no mark yet. Miss Green was here sewing on my dark blue serge dress.

Jan. 24, 1907
Thursday

Awfully cold tonight. Russell and I went skating tonight down at the rink. Pretty near froze.

Jan. 25, 1907
Friday

We had Mr. [D.F.'s former partner] and Mrs. Ferguson and Maude over for tea. Mr. Ferguson and Maude each had engagements for the evening, so they couldn't stay, but Mrs. Ferguson stayed and spent the evening. She is very pleasant.

I have worked over an example in Algebra and I can't get it. It is so very hard.

Jan. 26, 1907
Saturday

It has been very cold today. Mamma got a letter, today, from Florence. She said that she got a nice letter from Mrs. Street. I am so glad that Mrs. S. has written. Florence's work is ‑very‑ heavy, even heavier than it was before.

My blue dress is finished. It looks something like this: 

It is just for school. I think that I will wear a plaid tie with it. It is longer than any of my other dresses by about an inch - it comes nearly to my shoe-tops.

I went over to Mrs. Greaves after some eggs tonight. I have been helping Fay with his examples. Russell bought some candy this afternoon and I do believe that Fay and I have had more than he has had. He is the most generous little fellow that I have ever seen. Fay is generous too, but not so much. I must stop in order to take a bath. It is nine o'clock now.

Jan. 27, 1907
Sunday

We all went to church this morning. I wore my blue Sunday dress. It was very cold, going, but warmer coming back. I wrote a letter to Hannah Hansen and one to Florence and a postal to Kathleen Lowe. I went to Epworth League. Ruth Foster led and the subject of "World Wide Missions." She did very well. I never realized before how great is the need for money. I went to church. Mr. Cone preached on the Bible, the parts that we are to beleive and not beleive. It is kind of a muddle in my brain. I hardly know ‑what‑ not to beleive.

Jan. 28, 1907
Monday

I went to Glee Club, as usual, up to Hazel Barnards. On the way home some of us girls serenaded Miss Stuart. She never came out and thanked us either and we sang just fine.

Jan. 29, 1907
Tuesday

I was invited to a surprise party for Verne Gilbert. They were mostly all boys. It was a candy pull. Had some fun. After school tonight the Freshman Class had a class meeting. We are going to have a party next Friday night out to Clara Berg's. I don't think that I care to go.

Jan. 30, 1907
Wednesday

Our Glee Club sang in chapel this morning. We sang just awful. Worse than we have ever sung when we were practicing. I guess that I will go if it isn't too cold.

Oh! I did the funniest thing! This morning I wore my apron to school. I didn't even know that I had it on until I got there. The Latin class took the exam over again this morning. I guess it wasn't as hard as the other one that we took.

I am afraid that Mamma is coming down with the grippe. I am so sorry for her. I ought to have written to Ella tonight but I forgot about it until it was to late.

Jan. 31, 1907
Thursday

Eloise Schmidt got 95 in the Latin exam. I think that is simply splendid. David asked me to go to the party. He makes me kind of tired. I told him no. I didn't even thank him. Wasn't I awful? But I have written a real polite note telling why I couldn't go with him and thanking him for asking me. I guess I was kind of mean so I will be real nice tomorrow.

Mamma was sick this morning and I got breakfast. I didn't get very much, though. We got our dinner down to Strong's today, except Mamma. I asked Charlotte H. to stay at our house tomorrow night after the party. I think we will have lots of fun. I wrote a letter to Ella tonight. I got a letter from Ruth Woodis. She said that she had turned granny (wear­ing glasses). I am sure that she wouldn't look funny with glasses because she is so pretty, anyway.

Feb. 1, 1907
Friday

I went to the party with David. I think that he is terribly silly. Charlotte Hertzberg stayed at our house. We had two great big bobsleighs from the livery stable and there were four horses on each one. We had lots of fun. Miss Fligelman was the chaperone. Prof. Albert never turned up and so we went off without him. Miss F. made up a class yell for us:

Dribble-drabble, dribble-drabble,
Zip, zoom, zam,
We're the class of 1910.

Miss F. told our fortunes, too. Mine was: I am artis­tic, practical, affectionate, but I often allow people to think that I like them when I don't. I am going to be married twice. I have a good brain, very good, excel­lent (Ha! ha!). My life is to be quite long.

We got home at just exactly half past one. We nearly froze coming home. The wind howled and the snow blew and ‑we‑ shivered and shook. I had quite a bit of fun. David asked me to go to "Our Boys." My! I am glad that the Schmidt girls have asked me before. I don't like him very well. He makes me so sick. Oh! he's alright, I guess, but I haven't taken much of a fancy to him.

Feb. 2, 1907
Saturday

Charlotte and I slept ‑awfully‑ late this morning. After we had breakfast (about 11 o'clock) she was bound that she had to go home. The snow was so drifted that I didn't like to let her go, but she went. She telephoned that she got home alright.

I studied all afternoon and evening. Our whole family is invited down to Carpenter's for supper Monday night. I guess that I will have to skip Glee Club.

Feb. 3, 1907
Sunday

I went to church this morning. It was very cold. Fay froze his nose. He has frozen his nose four times since Christmas.

Papa wrote to Claude this afternoon. I let him write on my nice note paper.

Feb. 4, 1907
Monday

This afternoon when I came home from school there was no one here. The funniest looking man came to the door. He said he represented the telephone company and he wanted to test our 'phone. I let him in, but instead of calling up Central, he called someone else, by name. He just laughed and hung up the receiver.

I was kind of scared because I didn't believe that he belonged to the telephone Co. at all. I watched [him] go down the street - he didn't stop at any of the other houses "to test the 'phone," either. When he got down to the middle of the next block he cut across the street by Norton's. I was so afraid that he was coming back again thru some back alley that I didn't know what to do. I suppose that I am awfully silly, but I couldn't help it.

About five o'clock Mamma came home from club, and we went down to Carpenter's. We had a very pleasant time. Mr. and Mrs. Hibbard and Lawrence were invited, too. Delphine wasn't feeling well. I think she is coming down with the grippe.

Feb. 5, 1907
Tuesday

There was a Ladie's Aid business meeting here yesterday. Nothing in particular happened to me. I had an awful lot of lessons to get.

Feb. 6, 1907
Wednesday

I paid Bernice Cone my ten cents for being absent from Glee Club. Our English classes are going to play "Cricket on the Hearth." I am to be Dot; Eloise, Bertha; Helen Wade, May; Roy Turner is to be the Carrier. I think it will be lots of fun.

Mamma was sick today. Poor Mama! she has such hard headaches. Papa is just about sick with the grippe.

Feb. 7, 1907
Thursday

Lucile's [9th] birthday was Tuesday. She got a violin from Uncle Earl. Isn't that just fine!

I don't beleive that I ever described Northfield. There are about 3500 in habitants. It is a college town and nearly everyone is educated. The colleges are St. Olaf (a Norwegian school) and Carleton (a Congregational school). There are three schools, Washington, Central, and Longfellow.

Feb. 8, 1907
Friday

Went coasting tonight with David. Blanche Strong and Harold George went, too. Harriet chaperoned us. Ha! ha! We had lots of fun. David and Harold treated us to chocolates. Wasn't that nice of them?

Mrs. Johnson got Ella's brown‑ dress done tonight. It is ever so pretty, the waist is like this:

She got it done just in time to get it off on the evening train. David asked me, the other day, to go to "Our Boys" with him. I turned him down but I kind of wish that I hadn't now.

Feb. 9, 1907
Saturday

I worked in the morning and washed my hair. In the afternoon I went up to Mrs. Spear's to see Merlin Brubaker and Mrs. Bru­ba­ker. I had a very pleasant time. Mrs. Spear asked me to stay to supper but I thot that I hadn't better.

I made candy in the evening.

Feb. 10, 1907
Sunday

We went to church this morning and had dinner at Mrs. Strong's. Russell was sick to his stomach this afternoon and vomited. Mrs. Featherstone called on Mamma.

Feb. 11, 1907
Monday

I went to Glee Club up at Schmidt's. We sang just fine, I thought.

Feb. 12, 1907
Tuesday

Eloise Schmidt and I went skating in the morning. Had lots of fun. We were the only two, except Mr. Rice, down at the river.

Feb. 17
Sunday

I have caught a very hard cold and I can hardly speak aloud. I didn't go to church this morning but I think that I will go to Sunday School. I have been so busy this past week that I have not had time to write hardly any in my diary.

Mar. 2, 1907
Saturday

I have not written for a long time.

Went out to Charlotte H. Friday night. Came home about ten this morning. Am going to Junior Class Play with David W. We practiced [the cast for Cricket on the Hearth] over at Ware's tonight. Had lots of fun. Harry Ackerman and Carl Bjoraker took me home.

Mamma got a letter from Ella tonight. Oh! it was so blue. Poor girlie! She is having more than her share of troubles I am afraid. I guess it wasn't such a very good thing for her and Bernard to be together. I am afraid not.

I guess that Florence and Claude are to be married this summer. Oh! it is so very, very near. Oh! my sister! my little, little sister! Away down in Utah. So far away.

I am not going to write in here any more for a while. I am tired of it.

Mar. 19, 1907
Tues.

Received word Grandma is dead. Aunty has started out there. [to Denver; "Grandma" was Rachel Elizabeth Silver, "Lily," Grand­father G. W. Richardson's second wife.]

"Cricket on the Hearth" is coming off Friday night. Have had lots of fun lately. Went to Junior Class Play a little while ago with David. It was fun. He isn't as silly now as he used to be.

Mamma is going up to the cities to meet Florence Sat­urday. Ella is not coming until a week later. Ella is going to teach in Windon next year but Bernard is not.

Papa has a bad cold.

I bought some new stamps for my collection yesterday. Went down town this noon to have my stamp picture taken but they had closed up.

My room is all cleaned up. Fresh curtains, too.

The "Gypsy" makes the second play I have been to this year, 1907. I am doing well.

Mar. 29
Friday

Florence is home this week but is going away Sunday. Ella comes tomorrow morning. Grandpa came this morning and Aunty this afternoon. Aunt Jennie's folks [The Milnes] were all here for supper. Had lots of fun.

Went to a party at Eloise's last night. !Twas the most unique party I have ever been invited to. David took me home. I think that Harold George would have taken me home if David hadn't been there. I kind of wish ‑he‑ (Harold) had taken me home. Jake W. was there but he was alright.

Our play came off last Friday night, fine. We had a spread afterwards at Wares. Oh! we had so much fun. Harold G. took me home. About 40 saw the play. They all liked it. Mrs. Ware and Mildred are so nice. After the dress rehearsal, Harold G. took me home. He is a gentleman. (Some other people don't have any extra manners.)

Grandma made the funniest will. The Silvers get almost everything. Aunty doesn't get more than about $200 and there, she will have to give up a good salary for poverty, to take care of Grandpa. [The assumption was that Grandma Lily, 20 years younger than Grandfather Richardson, would outlive him. Nearly everything, including their home, was willed to her heirs, and Emma had to recompense them $600 for their inheritance so that Grandfather could continue to live in the house. Emma, then 33, did have to give up teaching for several years, until Grandfather Richardson died in 1911 at age 86.]

Mar. 31,
Sunday, 1907

Norma Cone, Clara Larkin and I went to early Easter service this morning. It was very interesting, the first one I have ever been to. The flowers were beautiful. Mr. Nichols is so good about lending the plants.

Ella is engaged to Bernard Street. Everybody is getting engaged. Papa said he was going to be pretty attentive to Mamma so that some Street won't get her. They won't be married for 2 years or more, yet.

Grandpa is quite contented here. Mamma has given him her room. Florence and Aunty went on the 3 o'clock train this afternoon. Ella has gone to the Congregational Church with Bernard tonight. Papa went to church, too.

Mr. Nichols gave each one in our S.S. class the lovliest red rose.

I went riding this afternoon with Fay and Russell. 'Twas rather cold. I can't find my mink fur. Don't know where it could have gone to. Guess I have lost it. Oh! dear! I won't have another for a long time, either. I lost one of my best gloves today, anyway I can't locate it. I guess I ought to chain up my belongings.

Tomorrow I begin school, April Fool's Day! Won't it be fun!

Mamma has been letting down all of my last year's summer dresses. They were so short! She made me one, thin, white, dotted Swiss waist to wear on Sundays.

We ate dinner at home today. I hate to go to Strong's for dinner - I would rather stay home and wash dishes, even, than go there.

Had my teeth cleaned by Dr. Riddell yesterday. They look and feel fine. No matter how often I clean them by myself I can't keep them perfectly white without some help.

I hear Ella and Bernard coming home. I guess I had better stop and go to bed before Ella comes in to go to bed.

April 2, 1907
Tuesday

School has begun again. Have survived April Fool's Day and am still alive. Today is very warm but I have caught cold some way.

David Weeks just makes me sick. He writes about two or three notes every day. I never answer except when it is very necessary to, to keep him good­-natured. Some days I think he acts fairly sensible, and then again I get so disgusted with him I could slap his face.

Ella and Bernard went hunting or shooting, rather, this afternoon.

Poor Papa is so tired tonight.

Monday,
Apr. 15 [1907]

Florence's wedding is coming in August - Ella's will probably be in about a year.

Examinations come this week. I will write some of the marks on my compo­si­tions down: 89, 91, 95, 97, 98, 99, 100.

Made me the dearest little chamois "if I do say it as shouldn't." I am going to make Mama one, too. Mamma and I have the best times to­gether. She is just like a girl.

Hazel Runnels was over to see me Saturday after­noon. Eloise and I amused ourselves this afternoon by writing descriptions of people. First I would write one and then she wrote one. It was very interesting.

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