In September-October, 1997, I took a trip throughout Wisconsin to find where my father's father was born, in Peshtigo, site of the worst natural holocaust in civilization, occurring the same night as the Chicago Fire, just south on Lake Michigan, but totally unrelated.
To my surprise, in the museum, I found a photograph of my great-grandfather's hotel/boarding house. Only 3 items in the entire territory survived the holocaust: One was a small, iron sewing machine.
To my surprise, when I bought the book Embers of October and read the account of my father's uncle (whom he never met), remembering that horrific night spent in the Peshtigo River as a boy, I learned that the small, but heavy cast-iron sewing machine had been saved by his four-year-old sister.
Only a pocket full of people survived the Peshtigo Fire, those who covered themselves with wet blankets and those who survived the night in the Peshtigo River. The stories of families incinerated in seconds in this logging town and countryside are like Visions of Hell.
The people believed that Armaggedon had struck Planet Earth. If only one survived, after seeing his entire family become human torches before his eyes, he committed suicide by whatever means he could.
One story of survival had an ironic twist. A white man had married a Menominee Indian woman from the nearby reservation. The white folks looked down on the Indians, but she told her husband how to survive in a fire, so he did what she told him to do and survived by digging a hole in the earth, putting his face deep into the ground and breathing the oxygen from the flesh of Mother Earth. (FIRE steals all the oxygen from the air and people's lungs are turned wrongside out if they don't burn to a crisp first.)
This day, a quest was being realized as I learned all about my family's history - which even my father never knew, because he was born in Florida after his father ran away from home at 14-years-old to continue the logging trade in the pine forests of southern Alabama and northern Florida.
While I was engrossed in the museum artifacts from a later time-period in Peshtigo, a siren blasted outside and several fire trucks arrived at a house across the street from the museum which seemed to have had a kitchen fire. The firemen suited up in full rubber-regalia with axes in hand to stamp and stomp out the flames.
Thanks to the Peshtigo River that night on October 8, 1871, my father's French Canadian immigrant family survived so that Samuel, my grandfather, whom I never met, could be born 6 years later.
And so, here, I AM.
My other reason for traveling throughout Wisconsin in 1997 was to find the birthplace of the White Buffalo Calf.
On August 20th, 1994, Miracle was born
As a precious white calf, one summer morn.
Her eyes were brown, so she wasn't an albino
And she was more beautiful than a hippo or a rhino.
"Mom" knew she was special and hid her from view,
For the first year as she changed a five-color hue.
Within fifteen months, Miracle turned from white to black,
From her feet upward to the ridge of her back.
Then as if she had been washed in red henna stain,
Miracle looked like Israel's Red Heffer from tail to mane.
Next came the color of ripe golden wheat,
And last, she turned from yellow to brown, upward from her feet.
The day we visited Miracle, when she was three years old,
Her back still bore the last shades of autumn's harvest gold.
Grandma Doris and Grandpa Jerry on the Heider farm
Told us of their first experiences which gave them much alarm.
Two days after Miracle was born, an Indian man walked up their drive.
"I'm here to see the white buffalo calf." How did he know she was alive?
No one knew because they didn't think it was an important event.
So they knew it must have been the Great Spirit
by which this man was sent.
He had sacrificed and meditated in South Dakota's Sundance:
When he had an exact vision of the farm, he came straight as a lance.
"The white buffalo has been born," he had been told by The Voice.
All wondered why she was born on a white farm by God's choice.
"But after we came to know the people and their devoted dedication,
We all knew more people would visit here than on a reservation."
Grandpa told us, "I thought we were headed for a ride that was crazy
When 'Looks for Buffalo' called and said he saw something hazy:
'A large, dark mass was moving through the body of Miracle's father:
Take blood and semen samples now, or soon you needn't bother,
'Cause the father will die, his life to give
So that his daughter Miracle might live.'"
This was the most bizarre thing for anyone to say,
But as he predicted, it happened on the tenth day:
Marvin died as a blood clot moved through his veins,
Finally blocking his intestines with paralyzing pains.
Grandpa Jerry told us, "That's when we knew
That Miracle was special and we had much to do."
He asked me if I wanted to be alone to make a prayer.
Pointing to a log, he said, "You can sit over there."
Meditating for quite a while, just drinking in the scene,
Of Miracle and her big brown mate who looked terribly mean,
Panting nearly uncontrollably on the warm October day,
I really didn't know what to ask for or to pray.
This sad thought came to my mind:
"Forgive us, God, for abusing the wrong kind:
White man abuses the sacrament of incense meant for Red,
Smoking his tobacco without prayers, he's cursed and dead.
Red Man abuses the sacrament of White Man's communion wine.
If You'll forgive this nation, God, please give me a sign.
"Is Miracle really the white buffalo of Lakota lore?
Is her presence to announce: 'It's time to go through the door
Of Harmony between the Races of ALL people on Earth,
So that we may enter the Age of Peace and Spiritual Rebirth?'"
Two large birds flew between where Miracle and her mate lay
In the electrified corral by a pile of straw and hay.
This wasn't much of a sign, I thought, until I later read
That 23 eagles had been seen by the Heiders over Miracle's head.
Not all at once, of course, but since the day she was born.
I thought the birds were hawks, so of eagles I wouldn't have sworn.
Grandpa Jerry confessed: "For 50 years, I abused wine and smoke,
'Til I asked 'The Man Upstairs' and next morning, a new man I awoke."
Next morning after visiting Miracle, I awoke hearing the voice say: "Miracle died."
One year later, to the day, our home and valley was washed away. (in The Kansas City Flood of October 4, 1998)
(On September 19, 2004, Miracle died.)
The MISSOURI RIVER
(January 29, 1997)
The river was once more loved in the past
As a romance relationship that forever would last;
Native in canoes leaving serpentine tracks
As they silently slipped o'er the wavy snake's back.
Anglos in ships, with lofty twin towers
Bragged about her "lady's" winning powers.
Lonesome bends blossomed as a bevy
Of colorful ships lined up at the levy.
Pilots, like dancers, pranced o'er floating logs,
And maneuvered lithely to avoid the bogs.
"Big Muddy" Missouri was known for its snags,
Deadly, sinister thorns beneath cliffs and crags.
If the river iced up around your hull,
Ship, captain and crew spent a winter dull,
Iced in for months with nothing to do,
Looking at the same, barren, bleak view.
Behold and beware of frozen chunks called "freaks!"
If they hit, you had more than cracks and leaks.
Your ship could be shoved, battered and crushed,
If one of those frozen freaks by you brushed.
Drought was as harsh if you stranded in sand,
As sidebanks shifted river and land.
Crystal and china weren't worth a buck
If you sat in the wilderness stuck in muck.
Native's fascination soon turned to dread,
When cholera and malaria floated on ships of dead.
Anglos might survive virulent small pox,
But for whole native tribes, it stopped their "clocks."
First came beaver and buffalo furriers,
"The Gold Rush" lust with its feverish couriers.
Mosquitoes a'swarmin' could drive one mad,
And Red Cloud's warriors had an effect just as bad.
Steamboats brought civilization west in crates,
At 18-cents-a-pound, freight charged by weight.
Transferring 300 tons of "drink" and cargo,
And 200 citizens to Council Bluffs and Fargo.
Steam ships could eat a cord of wood an hour,
Thirty cents a day to gain ultimate power.
Woodsmen chopped and forests disappeared
Along each turn as Missouri River veered.
Sounds like a myth, but one racer's name was La Barge,
As the legendary captain of experience in charge.
Another, at 42, Captain Grant Marsh raced 'Far West,"
Breaking "Big Muddy" records for the elkhorn crest.
If he stoked too fast, the explosion of steam
Would have made "Far West" no more than a dream.
In its brief history, 250 steamers went down,
Covered by trashy water, muddy and brown.
Captain Marsh transported Custer to Rosebud's Sioux
And brought back the wounded to Bismarck, too:
Down Bighorn, Yellowstone, to Missouri's retreat,
"Far West's" Seventh Cavalry with wounded replete.
When the railroad reached Fort Benton at last,
The era of steamboats moved into the past.
By turn-of-the-century, it was only a dream,
'Til returning next century as the gambler's team.
Its last job was placing Indians on reservations,
Studying facts about itself for future preservations.
Today, Indians and Casinos are alive on river's shores,
Reshifting cargo of wealth from "have-nots" to "mores."
The GRAND CANYON
January 30, 1997
No one had vision like John Wesley Powell
To tame the "dragon's" watery growl.
With only one arm, he entered the maze,
Enduring the impossible for so many days.
His men were tough, but not like he,
To risk their lives, a vision to see.
Each elbow of the "dragon brought" a surprise,
Either deathly fright or majesty to the eyes.
The Natives had lived here for thousands of years,
But they were smart to honor their fears,
And avoid the deadly "dragon" in his fury,
So loved ones of travelers had nothing to worry.
What Lewis and Clark began in '05,
Powell finished mapping and came out alive.
The awesome West, which white had not known,
Was charted and pictured, each river and stone.
Just like Columbus, when mutiny loomed,
Only three days from land, dispelling their doom,
Three of Powell's men climbed out instead,
To meet angry Indians who killed them dead.
The rest of the nine endured the last gorge,
To be amply rewarded for each valley and forge:
Smooth at last with water like glass,
Powell's expedition into history did pass.
JESSE JAMES
March 20, 1997
The most ruthless period was our Civil War "games"
Which created and promoted the gang of Jesse James.
When Frank was seven and Jesse only three,
Their family moved from Kentucky to Missouri.
Soon, their preacher-Dad left to seek gold,
Never to return to see his sons grow old.
He quickly died, so Zerelda remarried
Dr. Reuben Samuels, whom her family he carried.
Life was decent from these God-fearing folks,
Until the Civil War broke family yokes.
Kansas Free-State, "Bloody Kansas," the least,
Began the Civil War more fiercely than back East.
Bands of irregulars burned town and farm:
"Partisan Ranger Act" legalized the hooligan arm.
Zerelda James' family had once held slaves;
So her sons were Confederates, destiny's road was paved.
Frank joined William Clark Quantrill's ruthless raiders;
Jesse, 16, joined "Bloody Bill" Anderson, his reputation greater.
At Centralia, Missouri, Anderson stopped a Union train,
Lined up 22 unarmed soldiers and shot out their brains.
Jesse was initiated as a teenage youth.
How could he discern between falsehood and truth?
Frank, with Quantrill, killed every man in town
In front of their families and burned Lawrence to the ground.
Life in the 1860s was "eye-for-eye:"
Acts of vengeance as wives and children cry.
A Union raid would kill Jesse's step-dad
In the only secure home Jesse ever had.
After the war, Jesse tried to surrender,
But the Union shot him, still acting as defender.
By this, Jesse knew he'd always be "on the run,"
So he might as well make a living with his gun.
No one had ever had the nerve to rob a bank,
And this act of Jesse's was more than a prank:
Fourteen men formed the James-Younger gang,
Hardened by war, they worried not to hang.
Liberty, Missouri, first time a bank was robbed,
When a boy was shot through the heart, his family sobbed.
Cold blood of youth wasn't right in Jesse's eyes,
Nor was splitting $60,000 fourteen ways, wise.
An internal struggle for power ensued
Over which gang member had more talent embued.
Russelville, Kentucky, with $12,000, out they burst,
The Good, Bad and Ugly, for better or for worst.
Gallatin, Missouri, Jesse shot a teller in the head,
Thinking this man had shot "Bloody Bill" dead.
The James gang had many common, local fans
In former Confederate States, as to-and-fro they ran,
Who offered alibis or were willing to let them hid,
As the possee formed and by them would ride.
Whether or not they really held up Iowa State,
No one knows for sure because of their alibi date.
Jesse thrived on the media's throbbing attention:
He reveled in looking sharp while robbing convention,
As the gang advanced to holding up trains,
Pulling out a track, cleverness from their brains.
But the train overturned in a big-time disaster.
July, 1873, Adair, Iowa, they decided to work faster:
Even though the engineer died and the express car was low,
With only $2,000, through passeengers' belongings they did go.
From then on, they stood on the railroad track, topped
With an emergency flag flying, and the train always stopped.
The James-Younger gang zig-zagged faster than you could see:
Gadd's Hill and Rocky Cut, Missouri,
Hunting, West Virginia
Galveston, Texas and Nashville, Tennessee.
The James brothers even had time to marry and raise family.
In April, 1874, Jesse married cousin Zerelda Mimms;
(Sylvia's great grandmother was Minnie Mimms.)
She birthed a girl and a boy by him.
Frank married Annie Ralston and had a son;
As husbands and fathers, they were faithful and fun.
Pinkerton's Detective agents "never sleep,"
And gave Jesse's family cause to weep:
"I do not know the meaning of the word Fail!"
Into Zerelda Samuel's house a pink-bomb did sail.
Dr. Samuels tried to push it into the fireplace,
But it exploded and blew off Zerelda's arm in the race.
The blast killed Jesse's nine-year-old half-brother,
A double sorrow the community mourned with his mother.
With $5,000 reward for Jesse "Alive or Dead,"
He needed new recruits to stir up some "bread."
The Younger and James gang reconvened in Minnesota,
To rob the bank of Northfield to meet their quota.
This was their biggest mistake to date:
This town of Union vets didn't sit around and wait:
Well-armed sharp-shooters from the Civil War,
They blasted the Younger Gang through wall and door.
Frank, Jesse and Bob Younger were in the bank,
While Cole Younger outside, from a bullet, sank.
Pitts and Chadwell died in the street,
While Frank and Jesse rode circles in defeat.
Lost in Minnesota, an unfamiliar land,
The James Boys split apart from Cole Younger's band.
Cole, Bob and Jim, all wounded, got life in the pen,
So Frank and Jesse became converted, upstanding men.
Working a regular job, and not as a coward,
Jesse James posed for three years as "Mr. Howard."
But normal life for these guys was much too slow,
So back to Kansas City, Jesse's family did go.
Bluecoat, Missouri, "Chicago and Alton Railroad heist,"
Jesse took $6,000 and was back into vice.
Then he robbed a stagecoach and Frank was upset:
This life wasn't worth it, no matter how rich you get.
"Just one more robbery" Jesse planned with the Brothers Ford,
But his time had run out, in 1881, he met the Lord.
Bob Ford shot him square in the back of the head;
Hundreds of St. Joseph, Missouri people ran to see him dead.
Two years later, Charles Ford committed suicide from shame.
Ten years later, saloon owner Bob Ford was killed by an unknown name.
Frank surrendered to Governor Crittenden, and got off on a hitch.
'Til he died at 72, Frank made money selling the James Gang's pitch.
GRAVE of JESSE JAMES
April 3, 1997
Who lay in the grave of Jesse Woodson James?
Had Missouri's governor promised bank robbers to tame?
Did he make a politicial decision to offer a deal
To Jesse, to rid folks of the man who steals?
Is it true, as some folks say,
Jesse and the governor had a win/win day?
For Missouri to be rid of Jesse James' crimes
And Tom Crittenden to win more campaign dimes?
Is this theory true that says 'twas Jesse who killed
Charlie Bigelow, his close double, often billed?
Charlie went about robbing the local banks,
Blaming it on Jesse, who had it! with his pranks.
So maybe Jesse used his double this time
To die and be buried in "his" grave for crime?
Or did Bob Ford hunt bounty for $10,000 cash
From Governor Crittenden's political stash?
Bob and Charles Ford, discussing cattle that day,
April Third, '82, they asked for Jesse's say.
Were the governor's double agents waiting for their cue?
When Jesse took his gunbelt off, he got his deadly due.
As he turned, to hang a needlepoint picture,
Bob Ford shot his head by the light fixture.
Jesse slumped forward as the needlepoint fell.
From that point on, there've been stories to tell.
J. Frank Dalton, a bearded old codger,
Lived in Texas as the famous law dodger.
Dalton swore he was Jesse, with records to prove
That in 1882 he faked death and to Texas moved.
But, was it true that Jesse left wife Zee
And two sons behind for a Texas spree,
To start a new family as J. Frank Dalton,
With many more children, like TV's Waltons?
Legends abound in many a family yarn
That Jesse made love in more than one barn.
Hundreds of folks, when a "James" they see
Want to claim Jesse James' genealogy tree.
In the 1930s, thirty old men claimed to be
Famous Jesse James, alive and walking free.
But most old men start to look alike,
As their noses grow and hair turns white.
No matter how many records some folks claim,
Only one family tree can carry Jesse's name.
His father, a Baptist preacher, left him at three
For Gold Rush Fever; His son he'd never see.
Jesse grew to be one of Quantril's Raiders:
Guerilla avengers, irregular pirate traders.
Kansas and Missouri fought their own Civil War,
Nearly bloodier than back East: Slavery "nay" or "for."
In 1995, Jesse's body was exhumed:
Crumbled and rotten, a moldy perfume;
Bones, so powdery they had no DNA,
But 15 teeth had something to say.
Dental records showed that many were filled;
And there was the bullet by which Jesse'd been killed!
Behind the right ear by the gun of Ford;
And a bullet in the ribs, a lifetime had been stored.
Many in Civil War days lived with their wounds,
Carrying shrapnel and bullets to their mortal tombs.
A 36-callibre from a Colt "Navy" had blown
A hole in his ribs, as coffin photo had shown.
Part of Jesse' disguise had been to dye his hair,
To darkened black from natural golden fair.
Sure enough! Scientists found the hair was dyed,
So all those theories and stories had lied.
But the truth, for all to know and ponder
Came through his mother's "mita-chonder,"
DNA from Zerelda his mom to sister Sue.
Lavenia's sons proved their genealogy true.
Zerelda had raised her son alone,
Like mothers, worldwide, until he was grown.
And after he died, she guarded his grave,
From souvenir hunters, her son to save.
(In the documentary from which these facts were taken, the young man, descendant from the female line,
is the spittin' image of Jesse James.)
SAM HOUSTON
March 10, 1997
Born to Elizabeth Paxton of Scotch-Irish stock,
Sam arrived March 2nd, 1793 on the clock.
The Houston family migrated in a covered wagon
From Virginia to Tennessee, their possessions a'draggin.'
Though in the middle, Sam was their favorite child,
A paradoxical blend of mild and wild.
One day, Sam up and left Maryville's family store,
Measuring calico and cutting cloth - he could take no more!
Tennessee countryside were Cherokee lands:
Sam became "The Raven" in their adoptive hands.
"In the wilderness, measuring deer tracks,"
Sam preferred to putting beans in sacks.
After three years of being an "Indian boy,"
Sam's town bill was huge for buying toy
And gift for his Cherokee family and friends;
A year as a teacher brought his debt to an end.
In the War of 1812, Sam volunteered to fight:
At Battle of Horseshoe Bend,
Andrew Jackson and Sam were tight.
Sam emerged a wounded soldier brave,
And of Jackson and Houston, the press did rave.
In 1818, Sam lawyered in Lebanon, after passing the bar;
In 1823 and '25 he served Congress in D.C. afar.
Returning from Washington to his Tennessee home,
The flamboyant, arrogant orator planned no more to roam.
Houston became governor and worked the media well;
Riding high, he married Eliza, a genteel belle,
But she ran away after merely a few weeks,
And Sam resigned as governor; Now another job he seeks.
Depressed and dejected, he felt all was lost,
'Til an eagle swooped from above as their paths crossed:
So close, it seemed to touch his hair, the eagle's run,
Mounted away into the West's "flame" and setting sun.
Mexico's Army entered Texas to stop immigration:
Houston was sent by Jackson to prevent a conflagration.
Comanche raids burned Tex and Mex at Red River's divide,
Yet Sam applied for a land grant, himself to provide.
This enflamed mexico's concern:
In 1832, Texas' Constitution lit the "burn."
From "Washington on the Brazos River,'
a Republic was drawn,
As Houston declared, "A morning of glory has dawned!"
Sam sold 4,000 acres to buy a uniform regal,
Which was interpreted by Santa Anna as an action illegal.
Houston advanced at San Jacinto's "Buffalo Bayou,"
With Texans in a killing frenzy, crying, "We defy you!"
On April 21st, 1836 the Mexicans were routed,
As "Remember the Alamo!" Texans shouted.
Houston and his horse by a bullet were hit,
Yet Santa Anna surrendered, while Sam had to sit.
Peggy Lake was red with bodies of horses, mules and men.
The next campaign was easy and President Sam did win.
Second on the Texas bill was Stephen Austin, Secretary of State,
Yet the Republic of Texas still had to reach its fate,
To become a bully-fledged state of the Union's Eagle.
Now at age 46, Sam fell hard for a lady regal:
Visiting in Alabama, he met 20-year-old Margaret Moffit lee,
The loveliest woman old Sam did ever see.
In no time, she soberred up his wild and reckless ways,
Dunked him in the Baptist Church, now on knees he prays.
The end of his days he lived a righteous family life,
Produced eight children from his young and Christian wife.
As Texas President, he served two terms,
And from '46 to '59, he was the Senator Firm:
He continued to "Nay" in the question of slavery,
Enduring Texas hatred, he showed true bravery.
Tying Texans to the East, cotton was their crop,
But Sam was a Democrat and slavery had to stop.
In spite of this, they elected him governor of the new state,
Which formed in 1845 - fouteen years he had to wait.
The fires of hatred grew as the Confederacy seceded,
But Sam told the people this was not what Texas needed.
Houston's effigy was hanged and burned,
And by 1861 for retirement he yearned.
The people for whom he gave his life
Had caused him nothing but sorrow and strife.
In his Huntsville "Steamboat House," nearly blind,
Houston died; A more colorful man you'll never find.
"Texas...Texas...Margaret..."
STEPHEN FOSTER AUSTIN
March 3, 1997
Humble, graceful, a diplomatic son,
Stephen Foster Austin helped Texas to be won.
Born in Virginia in 1793,
Schooled in Connecticut and Lexington, Kentucky.
From Transylvania College to father's lead mines,
Stephen Austin knew how the elite dines,
Until in 1820, debts were piled high:
To this way of life, father Moses said, "Good bye."
Off to Spanish territory, he ventured toward a goal,
And received a Mexican charter for 300 souls.
But sooner than later, Moses returned ill,
So son Stephen, in Louisiana, agreed to his will:
To be Empresario of "The Old 300" pioneers,
Which grew to 3500 settlers in a few short years.
Pioneers gathered around three Spanish missions,
'Til worried Mexicans grew into divisions.
Melting pot of Europe transplanted to "Tay-has,"
French, Spanish, now American under dangling moss.
On April 6, 1830, Mexico announced a ban:
No more immigrants or slaves - child or man.
This law cut off settlers from previous ties,
Families cut in two, whereby anger lies.
Tex-ians were citizens of limbo land,
Growing in leaps and bounds, hand-over-hand.
First came corn, and then sugar cane;
When cotton came along, it became their bane:
Slaves were needed as "free" cotton pickers.
And now the colony argues and bickers.
When Mexican law cut off the flow,
Away to Mexico, Stephen Austin did go
To present the Texians' common sense,
But General Santa Anna jailed him without defense.
Two years, Austin lay in a cold, clammy jail,
While Texians began to rant and rail.
"War," said Austin, "is the only choice"
Against a government that gives you no voice.
October Second, Gonzales town Commandeered
the local cannon and stood its ground.
In 1835 the Mexican government drew a line.
"Come and take it!" read the sign
Held by the Texians over the gun.
Firm they were, against unjustices done.
Texans defeated Mexicans on that day.
The result was a new constitutional way.
Delegates on March Second, 1836
Declared Independence under burning wicks.
Four days later, Santa Anna arrived
With 4,000 troops, and no Texans survived:
In 90 minutes, 183 died in Alamo's gore:
Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and so many more.
Followed by the "Goliad Massacre's" fright
As the whole town was quickly put to flight.
But soon at San Jacinto, the tables were turned,
And Texans routed Mexicans; Their stomaches churned,
Crying "Me, no Alamo!" - the Mexicans pled,
To no avail, by Texans they were bled.
"Remember the Alamo!" became the cry:
A constitutional republic was the reason why.
With Houston as President and Austin, Secretary of State,
American forefathers had accomplished their fate.
Austin was weak from malaria and jail:
The overwhelming job had left him frail.
Pneumonia-sapped, in a cabin he died,
As Texans in the South mourned and cried.
On December 29th, his body was born
By paddleship "Yellowstone" on a Texas morn
Up the Brazos River to his final place of rest.
As Colonizer of Texas, Austin had done his best.
