This page outlines some of the reminiscences of Beulah Daugherty Potter,
daughter of second son, Pearl Daugherty. She tells about life in and around
her grandparents home in the 1920's, 1930's and 1940's.
November 2003
By Beulah Daugherty Potter
When you ask an 87 year old person to reminisce, you must expect to get a lot of extraneous material - hard to shut them off. - About the Sunday dinners - We always went to Sunday School and Church. Except for the very deep drifts or mud, we would stop by "the folks" - Grandpa Daugherty's. Grandma would ask us to come back for dinner (that was likely why we stopped). We would call the (my) Furry grandparents and they were probably glad to have a quiet day with just the two of them.
There was always a table full of food - meat, "taters," veggies - and pie - always pie. Grandma never made a pie - she made many pies - all kinds. Always plenty of folks to eat the food - Bina and Theo (Haskin), Pete (Morris Daugherty), sometimes Uncle Hiram - we would pick him up after church and assorted relatives. After dinner the men folk would go to the sitting room. I would dry the dishes - food was left on the table with a cloth over it - kept the flies off. It was always a treat - they always had the Sunday "funnies" - we didn't get them at home.
About Grandpa Daugherty. - I have said I was afraid of him - it was more that I was in awe of him. He never spoke to me - certainly never touched me. He was so different from my other grandfather with whom we lived - Daddy Furry. He (Daddy Furry) was affectionate - hugged you - held you on his lap. On cold winter nights he would hold his dear Ada (our grandmother) on his lap in his big rocker by the heating stove.
Grandpa Daugherty never went to church. He wasn't opposed to church - he just didn't have time - too much work to do. He always donated to the old United Brethern Church. I suppose my father would ask him to donate.
I'm sure you are familiar with the story of how he came West, leaving Grandma and baby Chester in West Virginia until he had money to send for them. Apparently they lived in Hastings for a time - where my father was born. Then they moved to the country and lived in two little sheds with what my father called a "dog-trot" in-between - maybe sort of a roof. He always told how he remembers so clearly the morning they started to build the House - he was 4 years old, so that would have been 1892. All who lived in that house knew all about the "work ethic" - my father said that way before sun-up, Grandpa would bellow up the stairs. The workday was from sun-up to sundown. As soon as a child was good and mobile he had a job. My father's first job was pulling purslane (that weed with fleshy leaves) for the hogs. Another early duty was to "watch" baby sister Emma.
Grandpa raised and cured his own tobacco which he chewed - I don't recall that he smoked. Everyone remembers the tin can spittoon by his chair. My father told that when he was 8 or 9, he felt that he was growing up and as a grown-up, he should chew tobacco. So - he tried chewing some - swallowed some - became deathly ill - thought he would die - which was the end of his use of tobacco.
Grandpa had only a rudimentary education - reading, writing, basic arithmetic - anything else was from experience. During the 20's a very personable and persuasive young man, John Uerling, persuaded many folks to let him "invest" their money for them, promising large returns. I remember, at Christmas, he would give 5 pound boxes of chocolates. So impressive - who knew there were such things. Then - the bubble burst - Mr. Uerling disappeared and everyone lost all their investment.
Then there was the Tjaden - or Jaden - Manufacturing Company - manufacturing things invented by John Tjaden. It operated for a while but went under. My father said Grandpa lost money in that venture. He said Grandpa probably lost more than many folks were able to make. He learned from hard experience about the business and financial world - probably why our cousin Jim remembers Grandpa advising him to not be a farmer - be a lawyer.
One of his ventures is still going. Years ago, every little community had its own grain elevator and flour mill. The one in Hastings made "Queen Quality" flour. A group of farmer-businessmen organized what they called "The Consolidated Mills." They sold shares - all the family bought "Mill Stock." This was a successful business. Eventually it was moved to Omaha and renamed "Con-Agra." Grandpa served on the board of directors for many years. He used to say to hold on to those shares, they might be worth something. That turned out to be true - here I am enjoying generous dividends from Con-Agra - which I would not have, except for Grandpa Daugherty. So -"Thank you," Grandpa.
Aunt Bina told Grandpa once loaned money to the Adams County Fair Board. When they didn't pay up he wrote a very firm letter to them, threatening to "plant taters in their horse track," if they pay up.
Grandpa was on the District 60 school board for many years. Good reason - his progeny made up a good share of the pupils for many years. I remember that Grandpa always saw to it that there were large freezers of ice cream in 3 or 4 flavors at the school picnics. I don't remember that he ever took time off to come to a picnic, or a school program. When we were over there toward evening for some reason Grandpa would be out working. When it got too dark to see, he would come in, Grandmother would take the cloth off the things on the table - maybe set out something warm, and he would eat supper.
So - that was Grandpa Daugherty - from my memory - really remarkable person. I wish I had ever gotten acquainted with him. One could say he started out with nothing - but, not really - he had a good mind, a strong healthy body, a sturdy wife who worked as hard as he did and produced a flock of sturdy children - home grown work force. With things that matter - he was lucky.
I suppose you know the story that Grandpa used to get drunk - get violent - beat the kids - when they tried to call for help, he wrenched the phone off the wall. A wild Irishman. Grandma got fed up - threatened to take the kids and go back to West Virginia. Apparently, he believed she would do it - so that ended the drinking. Aunt Verna told me that - I sure never heard it from anyone else.
I used to go over to see them - Neva (cousin) was far along with Parkinsons - in a wheel chair. She would doze off and Aunt Verna would talk about old times.
Some things were never talked about - like Grandpa's brother George Brint. According to Melvin's Family Tree, he married Mary "Mollie" Van Matre in West Virginia. They came to Hastings - he was a carpenter - a good one - he built the parsonage by the U. B. Church, using the lumber from Bethel Church that sat across the intersection from this place (Beulah's home, 2 miles south of Hastings on Highway 281). It was torn down in 1919 and used for the parsonage in town. Below is a copy of a list of expenses for building the parsonage written by George Brinton Daugherty. He also built his own house in south Hastings using the same house plan. Both houses are still there - square, sturdy, well preserved. By the time my memory starts, Aunt Mollie was living in her house - we would pick her up to go to church. She was my Sunday School teacher - until I was drafted to teach in the Primary Department. I never say Uncle George Brint - never heard him mentioned. They had children - Jonas ran the projector at the Strand Theater for years. Worrell lived nearby to Aunt Mollie. A granddaughter - Lois - lived with her - who were her parents? - what became of her? I dunno.
Just a few more notes - I told you an old person is hard to shut off.
Grandma died before Grandpa. Her funeral was in the U. B. Church. Her sons were her pall bearers. Aunt Bina insisted that Iris and I must sing "Goin Home" by Dvorak. We used to sing while we washed dishes. Iris had a good voice, I could carry a tune - we even harmonized. At first, we thought "We can't do that." - But, we got through it. I remember LaMoine (Haskin) was very emotional, cried aloud - never heard anyone do that at a Daugherty funeral. Grandpa's pall bearers were his grandsons.
One more note re: The Sunday Dinners - One cold Sunday we stopped - must have been in the 30's. I was still in high school. Sim and Fern (Raymond and Fern Daugherty) were there - don't know if they were married or "going together" - it was the first time I met her. I was so impressed - I thought she was lovely. We talked and talked about school, teaching, books. My Aunt Fern was always "special" - an ideal I aspired to but never achieved.
So - here I'll finally stop -
Love Beulah
This page outlines some of the reminiscences of Ivan Daugherty,
second son of James Chester and Mary Rosanna's first son,
Chester Arthur Daugherty. He tells about life with his grandparents
in the 1930's.
Ramblings of a well-aged memory bank---
On second thought, after first putting aside a suggestion by Dennis and Carol DeFrain to recall any memories of the Heads of our Family—James C and Mary R Daugherty—I keep having these flashbacks that won’t quit, so whether this ever gets into print in the Daugherty Website or not, maybe by expounding on this subject I can quiet these recalls.
It has occurred to me that while we have mostly pointed our attention to Grandpa in our memory bank, I keep having these vivid pictures of Grandma. As I had a unique opportunity to gather an insight into both of these people, I share this advantage with only a few others—brother Melvin lived with them for a while in 1936-37, and he left to enter the University of Nebraska in Lincoln with a sort of scholarship which he earned by working for it. When he left in September 1937, I was drafted—or offered the opportunity to take his place. As I had graduated from High School in May, I had worked the summer at odd jobs plus helping Pop and Mom with running their farm work, I had no other choice of employment. I don’t know what Mel was paid, but I was offered and was paid $2.50 a week, payable every two weeks by Grandma out of the cream and egg money she squirrreled away after buying the groceries. I never saw Gramp dig into his stash to pay me, although after milking the herd of stock cows that had calved, usually a dozen or less and doing the separating of the cream from the milk, doing this morning and night, also maintaining the cowbarn by cleaning out the manure, and cleaning out the chicken house occasionally, plus doing all the feeding of the calves that were still ‘on the bucket’—and the endless chores associated. In between, during the mid-day hours, I worked along side Grandpa in whatever his daily activity was directed, hauling and spreading the manure on the fields, hauling feed, hoeing in the gardens—endless and numberless jobs of seasonal variety..
The week usually wound down with a trip to town to market the cream and eggs in exchange for any staples Grandma needed to put food on the table. Gramp would take care of any business he needed to handle while in town on these Saturday trips. He had a 1937 Ford pickup truck that I enjoyed driving. I never had any occasion to escort Grandma anywhere, although, on one occasion when there was a movie in town with Mae West playing, she did have her available daughters or daughter-in-law take her to see that—I don’t have a clear impression of who that was. You can visualize the household which had no modern conveniences—the ‘wash house’ was a sort of ‘lean-to’ where the milk separating was done, and the washing machine—a Maytag powered by the unique one-cylinder gas engine with the foot pedal kick start, and the exhaust tube—a long flexible pipe to carry the sound and smoke outdoors. Of course the maintenance and operation of that was my job, as well as the carrying of the heated wash water and rinsing tub water. The cistern and water pump was also there. It was always a contest for my time, whether I helped Grandma or Gramp.
Having no modern conveniences to make living easy had to be a matter of choice. Other, less prosperous people enjoyed such things as indoor plumbing supplied with water—powered by Delco battery electric plants, and electric lights. It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford it, they just chose to live that way. The outdoor toilet certainly wasn’t unique, and the ‘carryout’ container in the wintertime was seen as a common ordinary thing.
Us males usually took care of our basic needs in the barn, or "went" outside. Grandma, on the other hand had to rely on her ingenuity to care for her personal hygiene. I was never asked to prepare a bathing tub for her, although at times in the summer it became apparent that she did neglect her personal care. I can’t recall anything like Charmin tissue in the outhouse. The outdated Sears or Montgomery Ward catalogs more often sufficed for that. A clear impression of her condition on a warm summer evening when we were bunching radishes to sell, her body odor was almost overwhelming. Gramp noticed it after I had to move upwind, although he didn’t say anything, he had to be embarrased for her. Such was the deprivation that they chose to endure.
Her education was never a matter of discussion. I’m sure she could read and write. She shared ownership and title to most everything they possessed. If she couldn’t read, it would explain how she bolixed up a cake one time, mistaking salt for sugar, and having to face the ire which Gramp could usually express with a few grunts. They had an argument one time, he told her she wasn’t worth a ‘hill of beans’. That had to be the supreme insult in my way of thinking. She took his anger without fighting back. Another time, when he had the last word was when we were on our way to town in the pickup, I had some kind of deal working with cousin Bud, that when we went by their place I would stop for him so he could ride to town. I stopped the pickup and honked the horn for him, he didn’t show up immediately and Gramp said ‘get going’, I hesitated, he jumped out of the truck and headed out across the field on foot, going north into town. There was no reasoning with him to explain my actions. It was a tough day after that, getting back on speaking terms.
I was not extended the privilege of using the pickup for personal use. My usual mode of travel when I had some time off on Sunday was my bicycle. I would go home for Sunday dinner and putz around or go to town. As I was 16 that summer, and as fall was coming, I could see myself being stranded for the winter at Gramps with only a bicycle, so I started shopping the used car lots. I found a nice 1927 Dodge four-door sedan, I had saved my $2.50 a week money and had $20.00. The used car salesman settled for that and I drove my new acquisition home. It would be another week until my next payday, so I borrowed a dollar from Uncle Sim to buy some gas. I don’t know if I ever paid him back. That car was a great adventure into independence. One night I had gone somewhere after supper and the chores were done, I went upstairs to my room which was directly above the sitting room. There was a vent in the floor for heat to rise for my room. I heard Grandma tell Gramp that she was worried about me going out at night with my car—‘that I was probably out stealing chickens’ or some nefarious activity which would get me in trouble. It wasn’t uncommon that a family would come home from a Saturday night in town and find all their chickens had been stolen. I suppose there was a black market in chickens somewhere.
One last observation that gives me cause to ponder what kind of kid I was. This instance had to be the next spring in 1938, as Gramp and I was busy digging out the old ‘hotbed’ cold frames which he used to start the garden plants. We had to dig out the old manure, frozen of course from the past winter, so that fresh manure could be put down to heat the planting soil. I wasn’t enjoying that at all. Being a ‘smartalecky’ teenager, I evidently displeased Gramp with something I said or did and I must have talked back or something, he raised his pitchfork and threatened me to ‘ get out of his sight and off the place’. I took him at his word, although if I had apologized I’m sure he would have calmed down. I took off and never came back. I don’t remember who he got to milk his cows, but I went home and told my Dad. I now have the impression that he must have had some similar kind of experience. We have in our album some postcards he wrote after leaving home unannounced, that he apologized to Grandma for leaving without telling her—he wrote—‘ if I had of told you, you wouldn’t have let me went’. He was on his way to Florida to visit Uncle Pearl who had left home earlier.
One last memory---between that time in 1938 and later in 1948 when Pop died, I had matured somewhat—had hitch hiked and rode freight trains to California and back, had worked on a cattle ranch in Texas one summer, had gone to live in Washington DC where I met and married my #1 girl, had served three years in the Army, had moved back to Nebraska in 1946, living in Grand Island working for the telephone company. That first weekend in February 1948, with two children, Viv and I came over from Grand Island to visit Mom and Pop. He died that morning from a coronary thrombosis. All that said, to give you one last insight to Grandpa Jim. Grandma had died in 1945. Gramp had suffered a stroke, and Viv and I went down—(he still lived at home, a mile south of my folks) to tell him that Pop had died. With tears streaming down his face, he boldly declared that my Dad was up there now with ‘Ma’am’ as he called Grandma. Without missing a word, he quoted the Bible from John Chapter 14—where Jesus told his disciples, "I go to prepare a place for you, that where I go, Ye may be also” Then he said—“ In My Fathers house there are many mansions---etc.” If ever there was any solace in grieving for a lost loved one, that had to be the most comforting. Better than any funeral sermon.
What with all of Gramps crudeness and profanity, he could recite the scripture, and you’d know that he believed it. I had not become a Christian at that time, but I did accept Jesus as my Savior later in March 1948. We later found a certificate of faith where Pop had accepted Jesus in 1908. So now you know some of what I have kept and pondered in my heart about the heads of our family. Maybe now, I can stop these frequent flashbacks, worrying whether I should tell ‘my story’ or not. I believe everyone has a story to tell. So, this is mine. Ivan--#2 son of the #1 son of James C and Mary R Daugherty.
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STORIES OF JAMES AND MARY DAUGHERTY
James Chester and Mary Rosanna were early inhabitants of Hastings, Nebraska a city located in the south central part of the state. To them, 14 children were born and 12 lived to adulthood. This couple played a significant role in the growth and development of their family and of their community. This section of the web site offers a glimpse into their lives.
James first came to Hastings in 1882 and worked for over a year. He returned to West Virginia for a time and was married to Mary Rosanna on November 30, 1884. Shortly after his marriage, he returned to Nebraska, possibly not knowing that his wife was pregnant with his first son, Chester. James worked in Nebraska until he was able to put together enough money to send for his wife and new son. It was most likely in 1886 or 1887 that they joined him in Nebraska, because second son, Pearl was born on May 26, 1888 in Nebraska.
Initially in Nebraska, James worked for the city of Hastings digging water main ditches. Later, he worked for the railroad and for a time he helped with the butchering and cutting up of meat for the Blake market. The Blake market was located on the edge of Hastings, just south of Highway 6. Apparently, while working for the market, James moved into some old sheds owned by the market and ended up buying the property that they sat upon. These two old sheds with a dog trot between were home for him and his family until he built his new house in 1892. It was from this house that he and Rosanna lived and worked.
L to R - Back row: Raymond, Dean, Pearl, Chester, Bina, Richard, Joseph, Myrl
Front row: Arch, Ruth, James Chester, Morris, Mary Rosanna, Emma
BEULAH DAUGHERTY POTTER
1937
2002.
More Ramblings!
IVAN DAUGHERTY
