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,

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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

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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.

Richardson Family Chart

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A preaching gig

George Warren Richardson (1824 - 1911), worked for many years as an itinerant Methodist minister in Minnesota, a product of the Second Great Awakening. He kept a handwritten journal that has been passed down through the generations and is the subject of a book authored by my cousin. This small excerpt from his journal is not hugely significant, but provides a glimpse of his life as a freshly married young man with a wife and baby at home that he had to support. Note also that he speaks of wearing a fur glove--he had lost his right hand to a farming accident when he was 21. So when he writes--with his left hand--of harnessing a horse in -40 degree weather, he's doing it one-handed!

Early in Jan. 1852 a leading businessman at Taylors Falls wrote to the Elder to send them a preacher, if he had one that he could spare. The Elder requested me to supply that point if I could possibly work it in with my present work. I took a Sabbath to explore that opening. I got up earlier than usual Saturday morning and fed my horse – ate an early breakfast – dressed myself in fur from head to foot, and harnessed for a start. The ends of my fingers were frozen when I had finished harnessing. I stopped and warmed and put on my fur glove and started on a 40 miles drive up to Saint Croix on the ice. I made this drive without going near a fire tho the thermometer registered 40 degrees below zero. I reached Taylors Falls about 2:00 p.m. badly chilled but not frozen.

I found that the man who had sent for me was interested in building up the town, and evidently supposed a preacher would help to attract people to the place. He was a mechanic and supplied the lumber camps above the falls. One important commodity for the camp was whiskey, which he sold in great abundance. My early education had made me believe that a man that sold whiskey was a reprobate. I concluded it was a money speculation to have a preacher, but I resolved to give him his moneys worth. I believed it was my duty to “warn sinners to flee from the wrath to come” and I did it to the best of my ability. I preached a strong a temperance sermon as I knew how. When I closed the services I had a moment to think of what I had done and I was not as brave as I thought I was.

I was afraid to go to this whiskey merchants to dinner, but he took it all in good part and regarded my temperance sermon as part of my duty. I continued to preach at the schoolhouse at Taylors Falls once a month through the year, and my reprobate friend continued to pay liberally. My plan from that Sabbath was to preach at Taylors Falls in the morning, at Osceola at 2:30 p.m. and at Marine at night.

Rev. George W. Richardson

On a limb

A friend of mine of color recently posted a list of things that should not be posted by non-POC people during Black History Month. She finished with, "If you are not throwing a hissy fit, and making everyone around you uncomfortable, you are not being anti-racist." She has more skin in the game, and I am still learning how to navigate the conversation around race. 

My 3GGF was an itinerant Methodist minister. As a young man, he lost his right hand to a farming accident, which limited his career options to working with his head and heart rather than his hands. We are fortunate to have his journal, which just happens to include the period of the Civil War. 

The family narrative is that great-great-great-Grandpa was a peaceable "freedom fighter." He was what was then called an abolitionist, because he believed slavery was wrong and should not be permitted. 

And he acted. In 1852, his home in Galena, Illinois (where he lived with his toddler son and pregnant wife) was a stop on the Underground Railroad. He was not alone; his accomplices included a Justice of the Peace, a German housemaid, and an unnamed man with a team who would take an escaped slave to Canada. 

"My wife prepared a bed for her in our garret, and she was beyond the reach of her pursuers. Nobody had suspected me of being an abolitionist, nobody crept around under our windows to eavesdrop, and the police never came to search our house, though many houses were searched. The whole police force were on the lookout for our guest. We asked no questions that night. We only knew she was a human being panting for freedom." 

In 1860, he journals that he proudly cast his vote for Abraham Lincoln. 

But he did more. He volunteered as a minister during the Civil War because he believed slavery was wrong, and his education and faith meant he understood this was the fight to right that wrong. With a wife and young kids at home, he was sent off to Tennessee to report on troop morale. Early fighting was brutal, and in spite of heavy losses, he was moved by slaves crossing battle lines to join the Union army. He signed on as the white minister to the 7th U.S. Colored Artillery Regiment. 

Noting that the wives of black soldiers were not considered wives because their plantation marriages had no force of law, he set about marrying as many black soldiers as possible to prevent their placement in a refugee camp. This action also insured their future veteran's (and widow's) benefits. 

In the years after the war he realized that his efforts were only the beginning of the struggle for equality. He saw education as a key to changing the oppressive systems. With another pastor, he opened a small school in 1876 in a wooden building in Dallas. Two months after opening, the school was torched by the KKK. They rebuilt it in an act of defiance. 

Eventually the school moved to Austin, where it became a liberal arts college for African Americans, called Samuel Huston College. The college exists today as Houston-Tillotson University. He lived long enough to see the college prosper at the dawn of the twentieth-century, and to see two of his children take up the cause of his life among the ex-slaves. 

Did his actions make others uncomfortable? The stories of his journal make it clear that others' reactions were most certainly motivated by fear and discomfort. But the tone of his words in his journal is never hissy-fit angry; rather, he was moved to overcome fear and comforted in his righteousness by his deep faith. 

But I realize that I am spitting angry: even though George spent most of his life doing these things, none of them—not hiding an escaped slave, voting for Lincoln, ministering for dying soldiers, marrying families to preserve their freedom, even founding and teaching at the college—none of these moved the needle on the racism at the heart of the problem. Yes, it made a difference to those individuals whose lives he touched, but it barely moved the needle. So, yes, I’m angry, but mostly frustrated that we still have so far to go, both individually and collectively. 

Clippings: Four Generations Join in Baptismal Ceremony

From The Independent, Northfield, Minnesota, 1909

On last Sunday afternoon four generations in the Richardson family met in a unique and impressive service. A few weeks ago The Independent mentioned the arrival in the city of Rev. G. W. Richardson and daughter, Miss Emma Richardson, from Colorado, who came for a visit with relatives. Mrs. Claude Street and son also came from Montana a short time ago and a week ago last Saturday Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Street and Claude arrived from Deer Lodge Mont., to spend the summer vacation with relatives in this city. This brought together four generations in the Richardson family, and made possible the culmination of a cherished plan conceived by the eldest member of the family.

Last Sunday afternoon the members of the four generations met at the home of Mr. and Mrs. D. F. Richardson, when the sacrament of baptism was administered to his little great-grandsons by Rev. G. W. Richardson. The grandparents on the fathers’ side, Mr. and Mrs. John Street, were also present with the other members of their family, also relatives of the Richardson family, to the number of thirty-three.

Rev. G. W. Richardson spoke earnestly of the touching ceremony, the good old hymn beginning, “Faith of our fathers living still,” was sung by the gathered company, when the venerable great-grandfather administered the sacrament of baptism to Paul Richardson Street, son of Mr. and Mrs. Claude Street, and also to Harold Richardson Street, son of Mr. and Mrs. Bernard Street.

Several days previous members of the four generations interested has gotten together at Mehlin’s studio, where a photograph was taken from one of which The Independent has had the cut made that is shown above.

Four generations of Richardsons

This visit is also recorded by Emma Richardson in her journal:

“Father’s health is good, for his age, but each year he grew frailer… We spent the month of June 1909 visiting at Northfield Minnesota. Ella and Florence, daughters of my brother David had come home for a vacation visit, from Montana; each bringing a fine baby boy. And Father simply had to go see his first great-grandchildren. During this visit, he had the great pleasure of baptizing these precious infants, viz: Paul Richardson Street, and Harold Richardson Street.”

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A Photographic Footnote

by Madge Richardson Walsh, 1985

In the trunk of family papers and mementos which my aunt left me several years ago, there were a dozen “case” photos, or what are loosely called daguerreotypes – portraits on glass, bound in ornate gilt brass frames and set in velvet-lined molded cases. All the pictures had been identified by my schoolteacher great-aunt (bless her!) in her copybook handwriting, and all of them were in excellent condition except one. Its condition was deplorable. It was, of course, the one most interesting to me, since it was a rare and early (1857) family picture including my grandfather and my great-grandfather, the Rev. George Warren Richardson.

According to my great-aunt’s notation, there were supposed to be five people in the picture, but only three could be made out: the dim figures of great-grandfather George, his wife Caroline (Fay), seated, with my grandfather David as a very young child standing by his father’s knee. The head of a fourth figure, that of the nursemaid and housekeeper, was barely discernible in the background; and the fifth figure, of another child, had completely disappeared.

The ambrotype in its deplorable condition

    The other case portraits were of collateral relatives and frustratingly clear – lovely tinted tintypes and glass ambrotypes. Why did the most important one have to be the one in such poor condition? Nevertheless, I copied it along with other family photos; the results were predictably disappointing, and I set it aside as not worth reproducing.

Some time later, I had the opportunity to attend a seminar on the archival care and conservation of photographs. It was conducted by expert Peter Palmquist at the Reading Museum and Art Center, Redding, California. The second day’s session was for family historians; we were to bring examples of what we had, especially problems.

My problem picture was an ambrotype, a successor to the true daguerreotype, but similar in process and appearance. The emulsion is fixed on the glass plate as a negative image. By providing a black background, the viewer sees the image as a positive. Ambrotypes are usually backed by a coating of asphalt or simply black paper. Although there are risks, many times such pictures can be relatively easily restored by using new black paper (acid-free, please – photographic print paper is good). Handling should be kept to a minimum; the brass encasing the glass becomes brittle as it is bent and unbent, and tends to break. There is also the possibility that the whole picture will disintegrate.

The problem with my picture proved to be more difficult. Peter volunteered to take the thing apart, if I was willing; I might lose what little could still be seen. But I felt it was worth the risk, the portrait being unusable as it was (and I did have a copy of it).

So, with all of us holding our breath, Peter carefully pried the packet out of the case, and gently unfolded the brass enclosure. The packet was a sandwich of two pieces of glass, a plain clear one on the bottom, and the glass with a negative image on top with the emulsion side inward. Between them as filling was a scrap of black velvet cloth: here was the reason for the poor quality of the picture – the velvet had crocked, depositing little particles of fuzz all over the emulsion negative.

Peter lifted the glass negative carefully off the velvet and held it up to the light. We could see immediately that the image itself was intact and whole, and all five figures were clearly visible. It was quite a moment, as we all exhaled!

Peter was able to remove the fuzz and make some excellent 8 x 10 prints for me, using the original glass plate negative. From these large prints I can make my own modern negative. This rare portrait of his family and George Richardson himself as a young paterfamilias may eventually grace his autobiography as its frontispiece; and the glass negative is safely back in its brass gilt frame and molded case, wrapped in soft cloth and none the worse for wear.

The same picture, restored