A story from an earlier Joplinite

W.S. Gray, a machinery dealer located at 718 Jackson Avenue in Joplin, regaled a News-Herald reporter with stories of working for Moffet and Sergeant in the early 1870s.

Gray told the reporter, “I saw an article about the Cave Creek, Ark., zinc district in your Sunday issue,” he said. “it reminds me of the good days; it reminded me of the longest hike I ever undertook — a nice little 300-mile jaunt, all the way from Cave back to Joplin; and say, my friend, I always liked fish, but let me tell you I ate so many fish on that hike that I couldn’t even look a bottle of fish scale glue in the face for two years; and I snubbed one of my best old friends, John Finn, because the son of his name made me sick — but I’ve since recovered and can eat as many fish today as ever.”

He continued, “I was in the employ of the Moffet and Sergeant smelter here when I received an offer to be superintendent of construction at an air furnace that was to be built in the Cave Creek, Ark., district. It was my first job as supe and I was so proud of it. I broke the sweat band in my hat. It was about ’76 when we lined up for duty in the Arkansas wilds and began work on the new smeltery. Some time later things were running fine and we shipped a couple of carloads of lead — the pigs being carried overland in wagons to Russellville, Ark. When we came back to work again at the furnace the head bookkeeper drove over to a little place to get some drafts cashed. He sold the team and never came back — and not a cent of money did I get for my first job as superintendent. So the smelter closed down, and Lem Cassidy and myself — Cassidy is long since dead — started back afoot for Joplin. We knew the houses would be few and far between and that our grub must largely consist of fish. We laid in enough tackle to carry us through and started. Grasshoppers made the best bait imaginable and we had no trouble keeping our larder well stocked. We carried a little skillet, a coffee pot, and blankets with us. It was in the fall of the year, and walking was delightful. I have aways looked upon this jaunt as one long vacation. We took our time and enjoyed the beauties of the country. Sometimes we were fortunate in getting bread and vegetables from farmers, but such occasions were rare.”

According to the annual Report of the Geological Survey of Arkansas for 1905, lead mining began in the Cave Creek, Arkansas, mining district in 1876. “The pig lead was hauled by wagon to Russellville on the Little Rock and Fort Smith Railway and thence shipped to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania.”

Source: Joplin News-Herald

Mayor Hume: “No baby raffling in this man’s town!”

Just past the bright intersection of 4th and Main streets, a Joplin police wagon pulled up under the glowing lights of the Connor Hotel.  As the police entered the hotel they were joined by the city’s mayor, Guy T. Hume, intent on arresting N.B. Peltz.  Peltz was working in cooperation with the Provident Association, the successor organization to the Charitable Union, which had been largely run by the city’s ministers.  As Peltz was led out of the Connor Hotel in handcuffs he protested, “I am doing this for charity.”  By this point a crowd had gathered and Hume replied coolly, “That makes no difference.  Raffling off babies is against the law and you know me.  Too many complaints have been made.”

In fact, the baby raffle was actually part of a charity fair to be held by the Provident Association and the Joplin Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks between May 10th and May 13th.  Among the fundraising efforts connected to a fair was a raffle for a $500 lot in Spring Park at a cost of fifty cents a ticket, as well the chance to win a pony and cart for a ten cent ticket.  The tickets were sold by a “Flying Squadron” that consisted of some of Joplin’s prettiest girls who rode around on “dreadnoughts” in the form of cars with flags and flyers which advertised the fair.  Other enticements included a $75 scholarship to the Joplin Community College and six months of free instruction at the Calhoun School of Music.  Activities included a beauty show, music, an Elks’ Museum of Unnatural Wonders, cigars, refreshments, a country store, a flower booth, a dance, and fortune telling.

Before he was placed into the paddy wagon, Peltz continued to contest his arrest, “Why, Mr. Mayor, you couldn’t arrest me if I announced ten days ahead of time that I proposed to get drunk, could you?  Then why can you arrest me because this announcement has been made?”

The announcement of a baby raffle had caused some consternation.  Rumors floated around town that the baby to be raffled off might be exhibited at the Provident Association’s headquarters at 509 Main Street.  Concern had come from within the Provident Association which was divided on the issue of the baby raffle.  The majority believed that a significant amount of money was to be made from such a raffle, while the minority grumbled that it would be well enough to just raise that amount without resorting to such a raffle.  In response to Peltz’s question, Mayor Hume shrugged and replied, “Just jump into the patrol wagon and you can explain to Judge Kelsey later.”

Seated inside the patrol wagon, Peltz was hauled off to the jail.  Although several guests at the Connor Hotel offered to help Peltz, he instead asked G.F. Newberger to post his bond.  Once freed, Peltz announced he would fight the arrest and claimed, “I am backed in this by some of the best people in Joplin.”  Never the less, Peltz pointed out, “the mayor can’t prove that I intend giving away the baby.  The parents can do that, can’t they?”  He went on to point out that the parents did not object, which would make it hard to prove he was guilty.  The mayor, Peltz declared, “is butting into some trouble.”

Told later of Peltz’s words, the mayor simply laughed, “Take it from me, there will be no baby raffling in this man’s town while I’m mayor.”

The question of the reality of a baby raffle eludes us.  Some investigation into the matter found examples of baby raffles where the baby in the end was switched out for a young piglet, while another example was noted in a January, 1912 Popular Mechanics, in Paris, where orphaned babies were actually raffled off to find them homes.  Know anything of baby raffles?  Please comment and let us know!

Sources: Popular Mechanics, “A History of Jasper County and Its People,” by Joel T. Livingston, and the Joplin News Herald, 1910.

Gypsies and Joplin

Joplin Police kicking out unwelcomed "tourists."

The Joplin Police kicking out unwelcomed "tourists."

In mid May of 1911, visitors arrived on the outskirts north of Joplin.  Their presence immediately brought about disapproval and a visit from the Joplin police.  The police had been notified of the arrival of a “tribe of Gypsies” at what was called their “usual camping ground.”  Gypsies or Roma, or Romani, as they presently prefer to be called, were not welcome visitors to Joplin.  The Joplin News Herald, captured the feelings of the Joplin police chief, Joe Myers, who claimed that most (but not all) of the gypsies were of the type who would do anything but work for a living.  Chief Myers added, “It is our intention to make life such a burden for them that they will not want to remain here long.”

One reason for the lack of hospitality came from the Joplin police department’s claim that a month long visit by the gypsies the year before had been accompanied by an explosion of “petty robberies, begging and small crimes.”  The new arrivals hardly had time to unhitch their horses before the police arrived to inform them that no license would be granted to them to fortune tell.  The News Herald reporter was told that the police force was expected to “make life miserable for them generally.”

The gypsies eventually packed up and departed Joplin only to face the likelihood of similar treatment in the next town. Their treatment at the hands of the Joplin police was not uncommon; tramps, transients, and migrant workers often faced the same fate upon arriving in town. Loafers, idlers, and hoboes were not welcome in many towns across the country, including Joplin. The gypsies that sauntered into Joplin were fortunate they were not sent to the city’s work house to break rocks like so many tramps and vagrants had before. Instead, these free spirits were encouraged to move on, lest an anticipated crime wave break out.

Source: Joplin News Herald, 1911.

The Coal Pickers of Joplin

In the first few years of the new Twentieth Century, Joplin was a bustling and growing city.  New mines brought new wealth, and fortunes were made by men who operated businesses that serviced the mining industry.  The wealth did not reach all of Joplin’s residents.  Among the misfortunate were the coal pickers:

“The coal pickers of Joplin come from the classes of people who do not submit to the toll of the mines or mill, but depend upon chance employment…and live usually from day to day.”

Coal Pickers of Joplin, Missouri

Coverage of the entrepreneurial poor by a Joplin Globe reporter noted the existence of two types of coal pickers.  There were those who operated at night and those during the day, and primarily, a difference between honest and not so honest.  In Joplin, it was legal to pick up coal that had fallen from coal cars, but not to take coal directly from the cars.  Those who wanted more substantial hauls often climbed into the cars at night with sacks to fill for profit.  The reporter noted that the worse the weather, be it blizzard or thunderstorm, the more likely the devious coal pickers were to swarm into the rail yards in search of unguarded coal.  Accordingly, the yard watchmen were forced to go out into the night when the elements were at their worse to assure the safety of the coal laden cars.

The “night pickers” as they were described, usually emerged after midnight.  One described pair was a father and son.  While the father climbed into the car and helped himself to large sacks of coal, his son darted back and forth along the tracks with a wary eye and ear for a patrolling night watchman.  As the sun began to rise, other coal pickers arrived.

“Sometimes it is a small boy whose father has passed away, sometimes the girl who wants to help mother earn a livelihood either by providing fuel or by selling it and turning the money into the maternal treasury.  Sometimes it is an old man, aged, bent, long past the years of active labor, or, saddest of all, a woman whose life sun is nearing the western horizon.”

Coal Pickers of Joplin Missouri

The early hours of the day reportedly were the best for finding coal, often accidentally spilled from the cars by the “night pickers.”  The other coal came from the bumps in the track as the trains slowly made their way through the city.  Another source were the brakemen of the trains, who gazed upon the coal pickers with pity and on occasion walked across the top of the coal cars, and absently knocked off coal with their feet in the progress.  When questioned, one brakeman vehemently denied the act, but did so with a twinkle in his eye.

Of the coal pickers described by the reporter, two were an elderly couple.  The old man crawled about the cars to reach coal on the ground and handed them to his wife to place in a basket on her arm.  Another coal picker was a young boy who led a dog who pulled a small cart.  This boy was interviewed by the reporter and spoke of his Dickensian tale:

“You see, father’s dead and mamma’s been sick for a long time, so she couldn’t work.  Sister does the dishes for some of the neighbors, and runs errands, and makes about two dollars a week.  I make about four dollars picking coal, and that keeps us.”

Joplin Coal Pickers

Some coal pickers found customers on South Main Street amongst the restaurants.  One restaurant owner claimed that the difference between buying coal from a coal picker or one of the coal companies was purely sentiment. “My coal costs me as much as anyone in the city…paying it to the coal dealers or to these people who actually need the money.  I give mine to these needy people.”

The two most popular spots for the coal pickers were the switch tracks at the Kansas City Bottoms and Smelter Hill, the Tenth Street yards, and the freight yards south of Tenth Street and west of Main Street.  Coal cars still rumble through Joplin to points north and south. The less fortunate of Joplin’s residents no longer stalk the rail yards in search of coal as the day of coal in homes and restaurants has long since vanished.  The coal pickers of that time were considered part of the “other half,” the poor and the impoverished, whom the daily citizen barely gave a passing glimpse.  As the Joplin Globe chose not to ignore them, it’s just as important for our study of Joplin’s history to cover them as all residents of Joplin’s past, whatever their socio-economic status, deserve the chance to be remembered.

Source:  Joplin Globe

Charles Schifferdecker: Bottling Beer Even Faster

Charles Schifferdecker was one of the richest men in Joplin and his elaborate red stone home still stands. A source of his wealth was beer and this article from 1880 notes Schifferdecker’s purchase of a new bottling machine due to high demand of the young mining town.

Schifferdecker bottling machine article

Article from the 1880 Joplin News Herald

Source: Joplin News Herald

A Haunting in Joplin

A typical Joplin residential neighborhood

A typical Joplin residential neighborhood

Some Victorian Americans participated in palmistry, séances, hypnotism, and several strains of spiritualism.  Despite this predilection for the occult, one rarely finds stories of ghosts or haunted houses in the early Joplin newspapers, although palmists and psychics would occasionally set up shop in town.  The morning after Halloween, the newspapers often mentioned pranks that had taken place, such as taking someone’s gate off its hinges and hiding it.  Perhaps Joplin was still too young to have ghost stories.

One of the few stories we have read in the papers is the story of a house that stood at the southeast corner of D and Wall streets.  Numerous former residents alleged that they heard “sounds weird and strange, which could only have been made by inhabitants of the spirit returning to earth.” Its reputation had left it neglected and forlorn.  The house sat the center of a fifty foot lot and stretched “from within about ten feet of the front walk to the rear fence, and is constructed in such a manner as to appear winding, the rooms being set in and out from a line connecting the center of the two ends of the building.” A front porch post had fallen.  Grass and weeds surrounded the house.

Neighboring residents used the house as a threat when faced with an unruly child.  When threatened with spending a night in the house, most neighborhood children “ready and willing to do most any task imposed on them or to comply with any request of their parents.”

Some people insisted the noise came from a large family of rats that had taken up residence in the house.  A reporter from the Joplin News-Herald spent the night in the house.  He reported that, “When all was still and quiet a sound as of a body falling to the floor caused a dull thud that sent the blood coursing through the arteries of all those sleeping in the house.” A search of the house turned up nothing.  Doors were heard to squeak as if they were being opened, but upon checking, the reporter and his cohorts found the doors were still securely looked.

Neighbors remarked that “there have been tow to five tenants each month, and most them have left with tales of hair raising experiences.” A woman interested in living there, however, told the reporter, “If the ghosts are real ones, the gun will not hurt them and if they belong to this earth, the gun will soon put a stop to them.”

Source: News-Herald, 1906

Globe Article Covers the Closing of Howsmon’s

Last Friday, the Joplin Globe covered the shuttering of Howsmon’s Office Supply and Furniture Company, a 47 year old business.  As the article notes, Howsmon’s began with the purchase of Spurgeon’s Bookstore, which originally was Osterloh’s Bookstore that had opened in 1890.  Osterloh, in addition to selling books, was also an avid photographer and is responsible for a number of early Joplin photographs.  While Howsmon’s didn’t remain in the original building for long, Osterloh’s bookstore was located on the 300 block just a few yards north of its towering neighbor, the Connor Hotel.  Below is a photograph capturing a busy day in front of the bookstore:

Osterloh's Bookstore

Osterloh's larger sign, obstructed by its neighboring theater's sign, advertised book and office supplies. The structure two buildings down is the Connor Hotel, dating this photograph after 1908.

Source: The Joplin Globe