I’ll Be There!

Fall 2018, book signing event at West Fork library with the release of The West Fork Valley.

Hey, this is your engraved invitation to join me this coming Sunday Nov 10 at 2 pm. I’ll be at the Walker Community Room of the Fayetteville Public Library to read from several of my books. Refreshments will be served. I’ll have a few copies of my books to sell, if you’re so inclined.

The library regularly features local authors on their 2nd Sunday Local Authors Day, for which I’m privileged to appear this time around. But before you dismiss the idea of going, keep in mind that these presentations are also available through the library’s Livestream service. Visit the FPL Livestream page at https://livestream.com and get with the program!

It’s been a year since my last series of book signings, when I released the West Fork Valley. The library calendar link for my event Sunday says I’ll read from my collection of murder stories published in 2017, but actually I’m talking about or reading from ELEVEN books.

Those of you who know me well know I’d rather be shot than speak in public or to try to sell anything. Since you know I’ll be suffering, come on down and suffer with me. You’ll be glad you did.

Me with the infamous Denny Luke, book signing at Ozark Folkways for his biography, South County: Bunyard Road and the Personal Adventures of Denny Luke

The Phipps/Fulbright Mill and Arkansas Forests

Albright sawmill workers, Red Star (Madison County), 1918–1920. The white-oak logs came from the Fitch place on Reeves Mountain. They were 12 feet long, 44 inches in diameter, and each produced over 1,200 board feet of lumber. The logs were so heavy they had to be brought to the sawmill on a heavy-duty boiler wagon. Back, from left: Nathan Ward, Virgil Holland, and Newt Ward. Front, from left: Squire Eaton, Bill Killian, Temps Ward (barely visible), Dave Samuels, Jim Eaton (seated on ground), and Lewis Samuels. Frank Eaton Collection (S-87-55-20)

The longest lived of Fayetteville’s mills—although not located at Fayette Junction nor as far as can be determined was it originally dedicated to producing wagon parts—was that of J. H. Phipps, who had established his milling operations in 1898.  Phipps Lumber Company occupied a prominent location on the west side of old Fayetteville on the original Prairie Grove Road, now the site of a Chick-fil-A, Sonic fast-food drive-in, and Arby’s at the southeast corner of 6th Street and Razorback Road.

C. M. Jones and Company, Pettigrew (Madison County), 1910s. Bob Besom Collection (S-82-213-53)

By 1915, Mr. Phipps saw the coming decline of timber harvest along the established railways. Thirty-five years of frenzied sawing had cleared the hillsides within reasonable distance from the rail lines. Not willing to stand by and watch the decline of his profitable enterprise, he began developing a plan to reach the vast forests southeast into Franklin County. He bought thousands of acres of forest land in Madison and Franklin counties. He brought together Ed. E. Jeter of Combs, Jesse Phipps of St. Paul, and J. M. Williams and W. J. Reynolds of Fayetteville as partners in the formation of the Black Mountain and Eastern Railroad. They built a line that joined the St. Paul track at Combs and plunged south into the mountains.

According to Clifton Hull’s Shortline Railways of Arkansas, “There were trestles which spanned gulches 125 feet deep. At the Cass end of the line, the grade was so steep the locomotive couldn’t pull a car of logs up the mountain, so the cars were snaked to the summit one at a time by a team of oxen. In May 1916, the name was changed from the Black Mountain and Eastern to the Combs, Cass, and Eastern. It was abandoned in 1924.”[1]

Another short-term tangent for hauling logs sprang from the Pettigrew terminus, a tram line called the “spoke plant tram.” Railroad historian Tom Duggan notes that this line ran from the Little Mulberry River to a point several miles south of Pettigrew called Campground.[2]

Phipps sold out to Jay Fulbright in 1920, and by the time of the plant’s demolition in the 1980s, it was commonly known as the Fulbright mill. As late as the 1970s, local residents could visit the mill where an accommodating workman in overalls would deftly replace the hardwood handle of the hoe, shovel, rake, or other metal implement in question.

Sawmill, Goshen (Washington County), 1900s–1910s. The men in front hold cant hooks (metal hooks on wood poles) to turn the log on the carriage. Attached to the upright headblocks on the carriage are “dogs” which hold the log in place. Ruth Flanagan Collection (S-84-234-6)

In 1928, the plant was reportedly the “biggest plant of its kind west of the Mississippi.”[3]  During World War II, Phipps Lumber Company under the guidance of Bill Fulbright bought out Springfield Wagon Company and brought with it to Fayetteville “over a dozen new families…a sizeable payroll and…a market for more Arkansas timber.”[4]

Timber remains an important industry in Arkansas. Evidence of individual logging operations on private and public lands can be found in Pettigrew, where stacks of logs awaiting transport accumulate in the same place where the old railroad roundhouse was located. The hardwood forests of the Arkansas Ozarks have been the focus of nearly fifty years of conflict between forest industry participants and conservationists who want public forests protected from indiscriminate and harmful harvesting techniques such as clear cutting. Wildlife habitat, watershed protection, and recreational uses have become equally as important as the benefits of timber harvest.

In other parts of the state, timber production is largely a corporate enterprise involving pine “plantations” where mature pine crops are mechanically harvested, hybrid seedlings are planted, and native vegetation is “suppressed” by use of herbicides.

In 1997 the Arkansas Educational Television Network produced “Out of the Woods,” a documentary that “takes an in-depth look at Arkansas’ timber industry.”

“The program shows that farming, the railroad industry, and a boom in logging have forever changed Arkansas’ forests. Through forestry research, careful land management and restoration efforts, however, new forests in the Natural State are thriving. In a study of forested land in the state from 1988 to 1995, each region showed an increase in the number of acres reforested.”

Conservationists would argue the term “reforested,” pointing out that a monoculture of fast-growing pine has been established where mixed hardwood forest had grown.

The thirty-minute AETN video “demonstrates that harvesting timber is the state’s biggest industry. Giant paper mills, plywood plants and saw mills pump $1.4 billion dollars into Arkansas’ economy ever year. Fifteen percent of the entire Arkansas work force is employed in the timber industry. The industry provides 40,000 jobs and an annual payroll of $938 million. In southern Arkansas, the business of harvesting trees has given birth – and continues to sustain – small towns throughout the pine belt.”[5]

As a result of the massive clear cuts and the environmental degradation wrought by the timber boom period and/or the extreme topography of some areas, the government ended up owner of thousands of acres of cut-over, nonproductive land. This is particularly true in the rugged landscape of south and southeastern Washington County, southern Madison County, and northern Franklin County, which became the western part of the Ozark National Forest.

A poem preserved at Shiloh Museum provides a slice of life from the Phipps Lumber Mill operation:

Who’s Who and What They Do At Phipps

There’s a hard-wood plant near our city

An industry of highest rank

Manufacturing buggy, plow and wagon stock

And all kinds of hardwood plank.

Lee Moore is our good superintendent

And he’s always on the hop

For to manage a business like this is

Takes a man that knows no stop.

Bill Swaney is the master mechanic

He’s built many mills here and there

He studies and schemes and sets up machines

And keeps them in good repair.

Emmet W. Lucas

Is foreman of the shop

He don’t get around like a whirlwind

Yet he knows what his men are about.

Sam Swaney is the engineer

He keeps the engine running good

And when he pulls the big whistle

She roars like a bull in the woods.

Jim Dixon runs the jointer

And also the ripsaw too

And with his helper daddy Dodd

They put the timber through.

Frank Osburn runs the bandsaw

At this Frank has no match

It makes no difference what the pattern may be

For he saws it to the scratch.

At the plainer is Billie Winkle

Dressing timber all the day

While his helper daddie Bogan

Is trucking it away.

Mose Osburn runs the shaper

With arms like the legs of a mule

If its light or heavy it matters not

Mose shapes it good and true.

And when they start the big tongue machine

Oh you ought to hear her hum

But when it comes to keeping steam

Well, the fireman most has to run.

It makes both the tongues and double-trees

And finishes them up just right

And whether you work at the front or the rear

You’ve got to go in “high”.

Harvey, Crossno, Graham, and Harper

At the turning lay this they work

Turning yokes and spokes and singletrees

And have no time to shirk.

Sang Brothers are the sanders

And theirs is no easy task

They sand all day on yokes and spokes

But they finish them smooth as glass.

Shorty Smith and Edward Bogan

In the finish shed you’ll find

Grading spokes and felloes

And tieing them up with twine.

The work on the yard sometimes is hard

And sometimes it’s easy too

But if you haven’t some sand in your craw

Toating tongues won’t appeal to you.

Claud Guist is the loading boss on the yard

He loads the cars to their brims

Sometimes axles sometimes tongues

And sometimes hickory rims.

Or it may be felloes or wagon spokes

And a lot of singletrees too

And this is the motto of this plant

“Direct from the stump to you.”

Bob Hannah is foreman of the bending plant

Where they bend plow handles and rims

Vernon Swaney is the engineer

John Grissom keeps the steam.

Add Baker runs the big bender

Bending rims and wagon hawns

Etter Hannah does the “nailing out”

Chas. Minn does the “knocking down.”

Taylor Jordan runs the moulder

Dressing handles all to size

Geo Moore and Guage do the bending

And stack them away to dry.

I am the company’s wood-hauler

I’ve hauled wood this city o’er

And when I drive up to a woodshed

There’s always a smile at the door.

For the wood is sound oak and hickory

With sometimes some ash and gum

And the housewife knows as she fills up her stove

Her cooking will soon be done.

And then when Tuesday rolls around

We all look for “Uncle Jay”

For he’s the man who has the stamps

And we always get our pay.

So we’re a jolly good bunch of “hardwooders”

Earning bread as best we know how

For it was spoken in the garden of Eden

Thou shalt live by the sweat of thy brow.

by B. W. Sivage

(Woodhauler)

 

Log train at J. H. Phipps Lumber Company, Fayetteville (Washington County), 1912. Burch Grabill, photographer. Robert Saunders Collection (S-96-2-452)

Photographs from the website of Shiloh Museum, https://shilohmuseum.org/project/timber/

~~~

[1] Hull

[2] Personal communication to the author, postcard dated February 2004.

[3] Campbell p 39

[4] Northwest Arkansas Times undated clip, front page; Box 20, file 13 WCHS vertical files, UA Special Collections

[5] See http://www.aetn.org/OOTW/

[Excerpted from Glimpses of Fayetteville’s Past, The History of Fayette Junction by Denele Campbell]

Dickson Street — Stayin’ Alive

Courtesy Fayetteville Visitor’s Bureau

The heart of Dickson Street runs six blocks east from the southeast corner of Fayetteville’s University of Arkansas campus. After one hundred years of industrial and commercial development that came with the railroad, entertainment took over. By the 1970s, bars and nightclubs thrived in the run-down buildings alongside old school barber shops, pawn shops, artist studios, restaurants, and head shops. The sound of live music filled the night air. Patrons from all over the region flocked to the street to mingle with co-eds, quaff a few beers and cheer on the rock ‘n’ roll. The alternative community centered at the street; walking down the sidewalk meant seeing and greeting old friends and meeting new ones.

The 80s saw further decline and the emergence of tawdriness and then with the arrival of the Walton Arts Center in the 1990s and concurrent rising rent, the magic started to drip away like water through fingers. Depending on the point of view, Dickson Street is now either a thriving commercial mecca or a faint shadow of its former glory. In 2004, an article in the bi-monthly tabloid All About Town addressed the issue of Dickson Street and the decline of the music scene. And not for the first time.  The first such complaints appeared in an earlier tabloid, The Grapevine, in the 1980s and periodically become the focus of community consternation. Some of it has to do with changing demographics. The people who packed the live music venues in the 1970s were staying at home to raise families in the 1980s. Each generation enjoys its high points on the street then subsides into other activities as years pass.

Nevertheless, the article does a good job of peeling back the layers to discover some basic issues. From that, city leaders, musicians, club owners, and other interested fans of the street might derive some workable ideas of how to ensure that the Dickson Street scene never dies.

Five reasons were cited, which have been added to for this piece.

1. Club owners have to pay the bills. That includes ever increasing costs for rent, utilities, wages for employees, advertising, insurance, supplies like glassware and napkins, and inventory of alcohol and any other items served. Back in the day, rent on Dickson Street reflected the run-down nature of the real estate. Now with gentrification all around, rent has skyrocketed. Also, there’s increasing pressure to pay higher wages, utilities keep going up, and … well, it’s all about the money. The clubs count on alcohol sales to generate the profits they need to keep their heads above water. Some bands don’t attract people who like to drink. And people who like to drink have increasingly begun to patronize stand-up bars.

“Stand-up bars are easier to operate,” said Dave Bass, formerly of Dave’s on Dickson and later yielding to the inevitable by opening two stand-up bars, The Blue Parrot and 414. “It’s impossible to make live music work during the week, and you can’t be open two days a week and make a living.” He admitted losing money with his live music at Dave’s.

2. People don’t want to pay a cover charge. Many people don’t realize that a cover charge is the only way to pay a band to play. As veteran performer Jed Clampit pointed out, “You don’t get free drinks, but you want free music. Think about going to your job and working for free.” Owner/operator of George’s, Brian Crowne said “People will think nothing of paying $7 or $8 for a two-hour movie but gripe about paying $5 for live, professional entertainment for four hours.”

Another problem for club owners and bands is that many young people today prefer to float from place to place depending on where their friends might be. A friend might text and want to meet them at a specific location. A half hour later, the two friends might decide to go to a third location. Cover charges don’t work for that kind of activity where the objective is socializing, not watching a particular band perform.

3. There are too many clubs and too many bands. Bringing live music to a particular venue requires a lot of upfront investment in securing the band, promoting the event, and doing as much as possible to bring in a crowd. If multiple venues compete for the club-going public, there’s less to go around. That’s the basic math. But there’s no shortage of aspiring bands whose goal of wealth and fame requires building a local following first. Also, painful as it is to recognize, there’s a big disconnect between the many musicians who want to write original songs and audiences who want to hear familiar music. This particular problem is exacerbated by the fact that record deals and other important steps on the road to wealth and fame depend on original music. Nobody wants to record the 38th cover of “Proud Mary.”

Wade Ogle, veteran of the Fayetteville music scene, says the quality of new bands isn’t what it used to be. “With today’s technology, practically everyone can record a CD cheaply. While I think it’s a good thing, the downside is that way too many new bands are looking to play live before they’re really ready.”

So bands thread a narrow line, forced to invest in decent equipment and hours/months of practice until they can get booked to play and then play covers of popular music in their chosen genre while at the same time working on original songs that might be worthy of record label or promoter interest. If they manage to get booked into a club and they’re not ready, people who bother to show up are turned off to live music in general.

4. There aren’t enough fans. This wasn’t so much a problem in the ‘70s when the Baby Boomers came through en masse, the right age and right mindset to thrive on live music. You could almost say that live music was part of their religion. Alas, those days have passed. Somewhat smaller subsequent generations don’t necessarily take song lyrics as their personal anthems. Some might even allege that popular music today can’t hold a candle to the music being created in the ‘60s and ‘70s. With the rise of digital media, music suited to personal taste is available any day, any time, and any place. Free. Why go to a club and pay a cover charge when you can listen to what you like at home? One benefit of live music will never change, however, and that is the attraction of mingling in a crowd of enthusiastic fans, dancing to the same beat and being part of the ‘family.’

5. The town and Dickson Street itself have changed. Yes, this is a big factor. Fayetteville’s population has tripled since the 1970s, and University enrollment has increased from around 15,000 in 1980 to over 50,000 in 2019. More cars and the infill of properties near Dickson means much less parking plus much of the available parking is now metered. Clubs with occasional live music have sprung up along North College Avenue and near the Northwest Arkansas Mall, meaning competition for Dickson Street. Also, until recent years, Dickson Street was the place to party for the entire region. Now that Benton County allows alcohol to be served, clubs have sprung up there like dandelions in early spring. In particular, the Arkansas Music Pavilion (AMP) at Rogers has created a major performance venue for big name performers that in the past would have appeared only in Fayetteville.

Slogans like “Keep Fayetteville Funky” notwithstanding, times change. We change. It’s inconceivable to think that a day might come when Dickson Street would no longer vibrate with the heartbeat of live music and of people streaming through the doors to hear it, commune with each other, and let their hair down. But the world is, after all, what we individually and collectively make it, and it behooves us to not let such a good thing slip unnoticed into the shadows of the past. Dickson Street has been an institution as well as a collective of our entertainment experiences. We have to pay attention and do what we must to keep it that way.

 

~~~

“A brief history of why artists are no longer making a living making music,” by Ian Tamblyn

Gem’s Gems

Excerpted from the book, Gem’s Gems — a memoir of my mother, Carmyn Gem [Morrow] Pitts.

[Her father Tom Morrow] ventured east into Madison County and ended up at St. Paul where the logging boom was in full steam. He brought his family to live first in a small house northwest of St. Paul before settling into the Casteel place, a two-story house with a bay window and porches upstairs and down, high upon a mountainside overlooking the White River Valley. They enjoyed a glorious summer in this scenic valley before cotton-picking time called them back to Texas.

Tom gathered his St. Paul crops and left Grandpa Clark in charge of the house and getting the sorghum cane to the mill. Left behind was the furniture—a wood burning cookstove, iron bedsteads and bedding, a rocking chair, table and benches, a marble-top round table, Sylvia’s “Princess” dresser with oval mirror, a small drop leaf desk, and a “matting” box with hinged lid Tom had built out of lathe for Sylvia’s quilts [Carmyn’s mother]. The family packed their “batchin’” equipment—a camp stove, a few quilts, feather bed, and feather bolsters, a white enamel bucket with plates, cups, and two serving bowls, the iron skillet, and a deep aluminum stewer Sylvia used to soak whole grain wheat overnight—into the beloved Baby Overland and headed south. Not left behind were the family cat Snowball and the German Shepherd dog “Lightnin’,” who rode on the fender.

On the journey, they stopped along the road each night and made campfires to cook supper. They would stop at a house to ask if they could get water at their spring and camp for the night. Mama made pallets for the younger children to sleep on in the truck and Papa, Durward, Douglas and Graydon slept on pallets on the ground under the truck. Once when they stopped at a house and asked to use the spring, the lady of the house brought them fresh buttermilk.

Littlefield Texas cotton-pickin’ shack. January 1929 L-R: Douglas with dog Trixie True, Graydon, Joy with cat Snowball, Tomazine “Sister,” Carmyn holding her doll Prudence, Una Mae in Durward’s lap

Upon arriving in Texas, they lived first in a cotton-picking shack at one of Sylvia’s sister’s place in Grayson County. After picking for two weeks, they moved on to another of Sylvia’s sister’s farms near Vera in Knox County where they stayed for four weeks. The shacks were crudely built one-room structures about twelve feet by fourteen feet with two windows and a door. Aunt Lillian fixed up their shack at Crosby County for her sister Sylvia and family to live in, scrubbed clean with curtains on the windows. She loaned them a coal-oil stove with an oven. They picked their cotton for three weeks and then finished the season in a shack near Morrison.

In the winter of 1928, the Tom and Sylvia Morrow family moved back to the Casteel place in St. Paul, Arkansas, but Grandpa Clark convinced Tom that the ground was too rocky for farming, so they rented a house together—the Greenway place—about 1.5 miles southwest of Springdale (near the present-day Wal-Mart). It was a temporary home for the two weeks it took Tom to find “Trouble’s End,” the name of the place in Springdale that was their first home with a bathroom and running water. Their seventh child Una May was born here. They had apples and strawberries, and were joined again by the grandparents, who again kept the house when Tom began preparing his family for another summer run back to Texas to pick cotton.

Austin Place, Springdale Arkansas August 1929 Tomazine and Una May

Tom traded the Baby Overland for a big truck, made a wooden box for the pet cat and a puppy to ride in, and the German Shepherd rode on the fender. On the journey, Sylvia and girls slept in the truck while Tom and the boys slept on pallets under the truck. Back in Texas, near Littlefield, they lived in a shack and picked cotton, but the kids all came down with whooping cough, so they couldn’t return to Arkansas until March 1929.

Back in Springdale, they discovered that Grandpa Clark had failed to pay rent at “Trouble’s End,” and had moved three miles east of Springdale to the Crane place. He had rented a nearby house, the Austin place, for Tom’s family, but it was only one bedroom. Tom closed in the breezeway to the smokehouse to provide more room, but that fall he found the Nix place with three bedrooms and a big corner porch. He moved the family there and went to Texas to haul grain from November until February 1930.

Tom Morrow with his mule team, baby on the wagon seat

 

Read the rest of Gem’s Gems! Available at Amazon.com

The Red-Headed Bug

The car kicked up a cloud of dust as I hurtled down the long driveway. In my rush, I turned onto the county road and traveled another half mile before I noticed the creature that held on furiously just outside my side window, some kind of small waspish fly, its bulbous eyes perched like wire-rimmed glasses on its orangey-maroon head, its tidy black veined wings tucked sleekly along the sides of its narrow black thorax. Its thin legs flexed and strained to remain anchored in spite of the force of the air stream as I sped along.

This was not a singular event. My rural wooded property hosts bugs of infinite variety, some of which end up resting on my car.  On any given trip to town, I might inadvertently transport tan walking sticks, red, yellow, or black wasps, skinny dirt-daubers, black, blue, or green flies, beetles of every conceivable shape and shade, spiders, ticks, bees, mosquitos, gallinippers, moths, ants of assorted size, and any other of so many multiple-legged beings that I suspect some of them have, to date, escaped scientific classification.

Notable creatures such as the saddle-backed, black stinkbug or the lime green praying mantis usually merit my immediate pull-over, where I carefully remove them to roadside vegetation wondering if they find any advantage in new territory. I’ve considered whether higher insect intelligences, like flies, might purposefully plan for such transport. One large green fly made it all the way to town, having carefully positioned himself in a joint of the windshield wiper, perhaps with a particular lady city-fly in mind.

I rarely see them as I load in my gear, back up, and drive away, not until I have picked up speed, until they begin to slide, inexorably, across the waxed paint of the car’s body or the smooth glass of the windshield. They ride in ignorance, misunderstanding the threat. From their egocentric viewpoint, the problem is not that they are unwitting passengers on the rides of their lives, but simply that a strong wind has sprung up.

The challenge is to hold fast.

On this particular morning, the red-headed fly had arrived at my parked car door, at what seemed a perfectly fine spot to rest, groom, and digest his latest meal. As I began driving and the sudden gale blustered around him, he braced himself, securing every foot firmly to the spot. He had no concepts through which to anticipate that his greatest risk came with hanging on to what seemed familiar surroundings, that ultimately he would be farther away from what he knew and desired than he would have been if he had simply let go.

As I cruised along the road, the tiny red and black fly gripped ever more frantically to maintain his hold. In order to offer the least wind resistance, his body bent and contorted, stretched and elongated, the severity of his effort betrayed by erratic flare-ups of his wing tips.  Staring at me through the side window glass, he seemed to question me in panicky stares.

I advised him based on my previous experience.

Some bugs come to a forty mile per hour realization, I said. While I’m still on this back road, in a serendipitous flash of insight, they let go.

I waited for his response. He tensely adjusted his wings and aimed his head more into the wind.

After some scary free fall, I continued, they find themselves in the thickets near Miller’s pond. We drove farther and his stance remained resolute.

Or in the rocky ditch, I said, or in the middle of Mr. Breedlove’s herd of Angus. Wherever you might find yourself, I’m sure you could optimize the situation—you know, discover a trove of aphids or a lonely female.

I glanced to see if he was listening. The red-black fly showed no hint of a high-speed epiphany but instead re-exerted his desperate clench.

Ignoring the urging of my more generous side, I accepted little ongoing responsibility as to the fly’s future well-being. It was, after all, an insect. And I was in a hurry.

The road merged onto the highway, and I accelerated. Listening to the radio, absorbed in anticipating my day’s schedule, and maneuvering through heavy traffic, I failed to notice when his tiny sticky foot pads ripped loose from the slick paint of my car door.

Halfway into town, I realized he was gone.

Briefly, I suffered anxiety on his behalf. Had he made his leap at the right moment, I wondered? Was his grip torn free in the surge of a passing truck, bringing him to join countless distant kinsmen already pasted to its front grill?

Had he ever understood the threat?

Had he understood and somehow just hadn’t figured out the best timing?

I narrowed my thoughts to more pressing considerations. The city lay ahead. In a continuing ethical quandary about my role in the greater scheme of things, I decided to believe that he knew what he was doing all along and got off right where he intended.

Excerpted from my book, I Met a Goat on the Road:

Ebook and Paperback available at your local bookstore or at Amazon.com


A little murder with your lemonade?

What could be more interesting summer reading than murder stories from the 1800s? This collection of fifty stories cover the earliest years of Arkansas statehood, Civil War atrocities, and a shoot-out on Fayetteville’s town square. All the murders occurred in Washington County Arkansas, a mild-mannered place by any other account.

Here’s just one chapter:

On an icy Wednesday January 24, 1872, in a field on the Rev. Riley Jones’ place near Black Oak in eastern Washington County, two young men set about the task of feeding livestock, Riley’s 21-year-old son James Cornelius ‘Nealy’ Jones and Henry Durham, age unknown. Durham had been taken in by the Jones family and lived there as part of the family.

As young men often do, the two exchanged jokes, lies, and dares as they pitched hay off the wagon. According to later accounts, Jones was ribbing Durham pretty hard about some trivial matter.[1] Before either of them realized how or when, the mood changed. The jokes became insults and the dares became threats.  Biting cold set their teeth on edge as they faced each other. Tempers ignited and before anyone paused to think, Durham charged Jones with the pitchfork. One of the tines pierced his coat and went straight to his heart.

Suddenly young ‘Nealy’ Jones lay dying on the field as Henry stood over him watching in disbelief.

Despite Durham’s efforts to resuscitate him, Jones did not revive. Roused by Durham’s shouts, Riley Jones came running to his dying son. But it was too late. They carried the body inside while someone went for the township constable.

The Reverend Riley Jones and his wife Nancy had arrived in Washington County between 1850 and 1860 to settle near his three younger brothers Clairborne, Enoch, and James Jones, all natives of Hawkins County, Tennessee who had arrived in Washington County some years earlier. The descendants of all four brothers would mingle in county records forever after. [2]

Riley took up residence in the Middle Fork Valley near Carter’s Store. Age fifty-five in 1860, Riley and his wife Nancy Bailey had gained eleven children over the years of their marriage including nine daughters and two sons. The couple had suffered their share of tragedy. One daughter died in infancy. Another daughter Eliza Tabitha died unexpectedly June 21, 1861, six days after giving birth to her fifth child Benjamin Calhoun. Eliza’s husband, Pleasant Riley Jones (probably her first cousin),[3] remained to grieve with their children: Jesse 13, John 11, David 9, and William 7—as well as the newborn Benjamin.

With war breaking out all around, in the summer of 1862, Pleasant joined up with the 1st Cavalry Regiment Arkansas (C.S.A.), leaving his children in the care of Eliza’s parents Riley and Nancy.[4] According to family records, his unit met Union forces November 1 at Cross Hollow. Pleasant was killed in a skirmish on November 29.[5] Also lost that fateful year was Absolom Abraham Jones, the older of the two Jones sons, who died at age 27 while engaged in Civil War combat in Northwest Arkansas.

With the deaths of Eliza and now Pleasant, Eliza’s parents Riley and Nancy Jones became the caretakers of their four orphaned grandchildren. For the next five years, the family suffered the deprivations of continued guerrilla warfare that plagued north Arkansas even after the war ended. But in August 1871, they celebrated the promise of a new marriage when the baby of the family, James Cornelius “Nealy” Jones, joined with Matilda Lewis, the lovely young daughter of George Washington Lewis who operated the Lewis Mill on the Middle Fork of White River.

Now a freak encounter had ended Cornelius’ life. In disbelief, the Reverend Riley Jones controlled his rage and grief as he waited for the constable to remove Henry Durham from the premises.  At least with the murderer in custody, he would gain justice for his son’s premature and tragic death. Finally the constable arrived and took the shaken Henry Durham to the local lock-up.

Call it fate. Call it karma. What happened next would be the only semblance of justice in this case. The next morning, the constable left a young man named Lewis, probably a relative of Matilda, in charge of the prisoner while he went for his breakfast. Sensing an opportunity and facing possible execution by hanging, Henry Durham made a run for it. Ignoring Lewis’ demand to halt, Durham pursued his escape. Prepared with a loaded weapon, Lewis fired, striking Durham with a fatal gunshot.

Research has not discovered whether Henry Durham was in any way connected to the naming of the nearby community of Durham. In fact, the only record of this name other than the few facts noted so far is a listing of his name in the 1869 personal property tax records for Washington County. Of further note, a few versions of the story claim that Henry Durham killed Nealy Jones with a knife rather than a pitchfork. But dead is dead and both men found their end on back-to-back frigid January days.

‘Nealy’ Jones was buried beside his brother Absolom and his sister Eliza at Mt. Zion Cemetery. Henry Durham was buried at Reese Cemetery in an unmarked grave.

Finally, a post script about Matilda Lewis Jones. After only five happy months of married life, the young woman had become a widow. In August 1873, eighteen months after the death of Cornelius, Matilda married again, this time to Cornelius’ cousin William Newton Jones, the son of the Rev. Clairborne Jones, Riley  Jones’ brother. Newton Jones will figure prominently in another murder story in Chapter 21.

An interesting story about Matilda involved a recently freed slave named Mary Ann. At the end of the Civil War, slaveholders were required to release all slaves. The owner of Mary Ann wanted to sell her despite the new law. Seeing the value in a young mixed race girl of about fifteen years at the time, the owner expected to receive a thousand dollars for her.

Hearing of Mary Ann’s fervent wish not to be sold, Matilda’s father George Lewis offered Mary Ann work at his household if she wished to leave her former ‘owner.’ (Some rumors alleged the ‘owner’ was in fact her father. Begetting mixed race children upon slaves was a common practice among some slave owners. The act was seen as ‘bettering’ the negro race.) This intervention of Lewis in facilitating her ‘escape’ caused a permanent rift between him and the former slave’s ‘owner’.

Mary Ann eagerly accepted Mr. Lewis’ offer and the young woman flourished in her new home. About five years later, in January 1874, Mary Ann became sick and died. With travel impossible in the icy weather, Matilda contributed her twice-used wedding dress as a burial shroud for Mary Ann, who was then laid to rest in an unmarked grave at the east end of Reese Cemetery.[6]

Get your copy of Murder in the County at Amazon.com

~~~

[1] Fayetteville Democrat January 27, 1872

[2] More on the Jones family in Appendix of Selected Family Histories, Jones, p 394

[3] Pleasant’s father, John Jones, was born in 1789 at Hawkins County, Tennessee. Eliza’s father Riley Jones was born in 1805 in the same county.

[4] The 1st Cavalry Regiment, Arkansas State Troops (1861), was an Arkansas cavalry regiment during the American Civil War. The regiment was organized at Camp Walker near Harmony Springs, Benton County, Arkansas. The regiment was officially designated as the Third Regiment (Cavalry), Arkansas State Troops by the State Military Board but was designated as the 1st Arkansas Cavalry by Brigadier General Nicholas Bartlett Pearce, Commander, 1st Division, Provisional Army of Arkansas. The regiment is referred to as “Carroll’s Regiment” in contemporary accounts.

[5] Family records may be in error here. A large Confederate encampment at Cross Hollow was left in smoldering ruins before a Union advance in February 1862. With the Battle of Pea Ridge in early March 1862, Confederates retreated south from Benton County. With a death date of November 29, 1862, Pleasant Jones may have died in the run-up to the Battle of Prairie Grove, perhaps in the November 28 Battle of Cane Hill.

[6] Coley, Cheri. “The Rest of the Story…Sort of:” Washington County Arkansas Genealogical Society newsletter June 2005.  http://wcags.org/?page_id=784

Jesse Mumford Gilstrap – Millwright, Inventor, and Union Officer

This article won awards from both the Washington County Historical Society and the Arkansas Historical Association competitions in 2018 and 2019.

 

In 1852, Jesse Mumford Gilstrap settled in Washington County, Arkansas, with his wife and three children. He had ventured to the county earlier; his first child was born here in 1848. An adventurous and passionate young man, in 1850 Gilstrap had trekked westward to join the gold rush while his wife awaited him at her family home near Carthage, Missouri. Back from his adventure and a few dollars richer, he returned to Washington County where he immediately invested some of his earnings in a partnership in one of the county’s earliest mills. In 1856, took full ownership. Then as the winds of war heightened, Jesse spoke out on behalf the Union cause. In 1862, he gathered a company of fellow patriots to form the first company of the 1st Arkansas Cavalry. Jesse went on to serve in the state senate before his untimely death in 1869.

Jesse’s family was among the second wave of settlers to arrive in Washington County. His father Isaac Gilstrap, a native of North Carolina, was the fifth generation of Gilstraps in America, descended from Thomas Gilstrap of Nottinghamshire, England who immigrated to the colonies around 1695. The Gilstraps moved west as the frontier opened, first to North Carolina, then Tennessee where Isaac married Lockey Davis in 1822. After their family grew to include Jesse and several additional children, the Gilstraps homesteaded at Neosho, Missouri, between 1836 and 1844.

At age 21 in 1845, Jesse married Mary Ann Davidson at Carthage, Missouri. He and Mary Ann gained their first child Elizabeth in 1848 during a brief period when the couple first lived in Washington County. But news of gold in California caused Jesse to return his wife and daughter back to her Missouri family for safekeeping while he struck out to seek his fortune. At the time of the January 1850 census for Neosho, Missouri, Mary Ann age 19 and the couple’s one-year-old daughter Elizabeth lived at the Davidson family home while Jesse, age 26, labored in the gold fields of Greenwood Valley, El Dorado County, California.

The eight census pages which tally the Greenwood Valley includes a total of 336 people, among which are three black men, two women, and 331 white men. They came from every state in the nation as well as Canada, Scotland, England, Ireland, Germany, Denmark, and Holland. Occupations included baker, attorney, four merchants, a saloon keeper, a hotelier, physician, and butcher. Like most of the men enumerated, Jesse named his occupation as miner.

At the start of the gold rush, Greenwood didn’t exist. The area was known as Long Valley, a remote area of northeast California in the Sierra Foothills. The location sits over the northwest portion of the so-called Mother Lode where early arrivals found nuggets literally lying in plain view. The place quickly gained a torrent of hopeful newcomers.[1]  By the spring of 1850, John Greenwood had established a trading post soon followed by a butcher shop and a general store. By 1851, Greenwood hosted two theatres, a number of restaurants, fourteen stores, a brewery, several hotels, and blacksmiths. After dark and in bad weather, miners lived in canvas tents or rough cabins. But in every hour of daylight, they pursued their hopes of finding free gold or rich quartz veins on their claims. The men were tight-lipped with the census taker about the value of their claim. Gilstrap admitted to an average daily value of his mining efforts of four dollars, an amount typical of miner income which ranged from two dollars up to a rare nine or eleven dollars per day.[2]

On December 1, 1851, Jesse M. Gilstrap returned home. He disembarked from the brig Morning Star at New Orleans, having traveled from San Juan Del Norte, Nicaragua along with 175 other passengers, presumably most of them men returning from California. This cut-across route avoided the long journey around the tip of South American or its alternative, the grinding cross-country trek over mountains and desert. The cut-through followed a new path across Central America, a journey starting at San Carlos, Nicaragua said to take about three weeks by use of mules, a steamboat ride across a lake to the mouth of the San Juan River, and then by ship north across the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico to New Orleans. In the ship manifest, Jesse named his occupation as cabinet maker.[3]

Gilstrap gained sufficient funds during his stay in California not only to book passage for the swiftest route home, which cost between $200 and $400, but also to invest—within six weeks of his return—in an ongoing milling operation in south Washington County established by William H.H. Nott by 1838 and sold to Eleazar Pelphrey in 1845.[4] Jesse brought his immediate family to live here along with the rest of the extended Isaac Gilstrap family. Washington County, Arkansas, tax records show the first payment of real estate taxes by both Isaac and his son Jesse occurred in 1852.

On January 12, 1852, Gilstrap paid Pelphrey for a half interest in the operating grist and sawmill, “one half interest…in a certain tract…formerly owned by Wm. H. H. Nott in the SE SW 23-14-30…including mill.”[5] This location on the West Fork of White River was about five miles south of modern-day West Fork.

He didn’t choose an easy livelihood. Milling operations in those times involved the construction of a large wooden mill wheel and the assembly of multiple moving parts and gears to rotate the grindstones as well as sawblades and other devices needed in the milling of grain and lumber. The West Fork of White River suffers the random violence of a river swollen by heavy rain. In a narrow valley with steep hills on either side, the river reaches flood stage relatively quickly. In some years far worse than others, downpours rush down the tributary streams and across the valley to overrun the river banks. In times of heavy rain, torrents of brown water sweep along adjacent pastures and woodland, tearing trees from the banks and sending them downstream like battering rams. Perched along the streambed where the river flow could turn its wooden wheel, mill wheels could be wrecked in the onslaught.

But Jesse Gilstrap weathered such storms. His mill provided meal and flour for farmers bringing their harvests and sawed rough timber into usable boards. He saw to the welfare of his family as well as participating in community affairs. Evidently an ambitious and outgoing young man, Gilstrap was elected justice of the peace to represent West Fork Township in 1855. On June 28, 1856, he gained full ownership of the southeast quarter of the southwest quarter of Section 23, Township 14, Range 30 North, deeded from Pelphrey to Gilstrap for the amount of $250 and described specifically as the “sawmill on the West Fork of White River…formerly owned by Wm. H. H. Nott.”[6] The location under Nott had served as the first post office for the West Fork Township. Subsequently, the post office became known as Gilstrap’s Mill.

Approaching his mill enterprise with a background in carpentry, and with his brother Thomas nearby who continued to earn his livelihood as a cabinet man, Jesse Gilstrap sought ways to improve saw mill operations. Boards from his mill supplied carpenters Oren and Henry Rieff for building projects in Fayetteville and the surrounding region including the pre-Civil War educational facilities Ozark Institute and Arkansas College.

But Gilstrap wasn’t resting on his laurels in operating the mill. In August 1857, Gilstrap patented a machine for whetting plane bits with the U. S. Patent Office.[7] Smoothly finished boards would have been a high priority for the growing region and planing rough-cut hardwood would have presented a regular challenge in maintaining sharp bits. Gilstrap’s patent application included a detailed description of the machine and its parts.

No. 17,965. – Jesse M. Gilstrap, of Washington county, Ark.—Improved Machine for Whetting Plane Bits.—Patent dated August 11, 1857.—The bit to be whetted is inserted within the bit holder H, and a reciprocating motion being given to pitman I, the bit holder is operated within the ways H, and the edge of bit T is whetted on the stone M, while the spring rod I exerts an even pressure upon the friction roller K and bit holder H.

The next year, in 1858, Gilstrap purchased an additional seventy acres adjacent to his mill property. Increasingly, however, matters of national politics drew his attention. Despite the fact that his father Isaac was a Confederate sympathizer, Jesse spoke publicly on behalf of the Union. As animosity intensified between opposing sides, he and other Union supporters increasingly came under attack. Whether for political reasons or due to competition from Nott’s new mill at Woolsey, by the time of the 1860 census, Jesse had moved his family to the “Narrows” in Crawford County, a location just east of modern Mountainburg and about twenty miles south of his mill site in Washington County. He built a mill at the Narrows as well—the census names his occupation as millwright with property valued at $1,500.  His brother Thomas Gilstrap and family lived next door where Thomas worked as a cabinet maker. On the other side of Jesse’s residence, his sister Nancy and her husband Reuben Burrows resided with their children.

After Arkansas declared its allegiance with the Confederacy in May 1861, Jesse Gilstrap and other Union supporters suffered increasing belligerence. Confederate commanders were ordered to hunt down Union sympathizers. Many men of similar circumstance ended up spending the winter of 1861-62 in the caves of south Washington County. By June 1862 and after arrest and confinement under Confederate watch at Fort Smith, Gilstrap “took with him seventeen recruits to the federal army at Cassville, Missouri. When Colonel Larue Harrison obtained leave to organize an Arkansas regiment, Jesse Gilstrap raised the first field company. He was made a captain in Company D and his brother Thomas John was made first lieutenant in Company A. Their brothers Benjamin and Wesley also joined along with their brother-in-law Reuben Burrows.”[8]

Gilstrap gained prominent mention in the 1863 publication of Lieutenant Colonel Albert Webb Bishop, provost marshal of Fayetteville, entitled Loyalty on the Frontier: Sketches of Union men in the South-west.[9] Bishop provides personal and official accounts of early war action in south Missouri and northwest Arkansas. Gilstrap’s activities are often described in the company of his fellow officer Thomas Wilhite, also of south Washington County. Bishop’s narrative illustrates the hazards of the times.

Recruiting in Arkansas for the Union Army was at that time a perilous undertaking. Loyal men avowed their principles at the hazard of life, and the greatest difficulty to be overcome was in getting recruits to the rendezvous of the regiment for which enlistments were being made.

By arrangement, [Thomas] Wilhite and Gilstrap, having for recruiting purposes gone into different neighborhoods, were to meet at the house of one Spencer Bullard, on Fall Creek, in Washington county, and there concert measures for the removal, or getting northward rather, of their recruits. For some reason or other, Gilstrap had departed on Wilhite’s arrival, and the latter having with him twenty-eight men, determined to retire into the White River hills and Boston Mountains, and collection from the adjoining settlements still other men who were anxious to get away, bide his time for departure.

Gilstrap and Wilhite enlisted on the same day, suggesting they had made the risky journey together to Union lines in southern Missouri. Their regiment would later become known as the “Mountain Feds” for their regular patrols in seeking out Confederate guerillas preying on families known to be Union sympathizers. The regiment would earn a reputation for their ability to negotiate the rough Ozark country.

However, the trauma of frontline warfare plunges its horror deep into a man’s soul. If not in battle, Gilstrap’s first war terror may have occurred as he learned of the death of his brother Lieutenant Thomas John Gilstrap. Family records state that Thomas died while recruiting on November 3, 1862. One family account states that he approached what he thought was a Loyalist home, asked for a drink, and was given poisoned buttermilk. He fell dead in the front yard.[10] Another account states that he died of pneumonia at Cross Hollow.[11]

A month later, the First Arkansas Cavalry and in particular Company D experienced its first full-scale battle at Prairie Grove. But the first test of the troops came in an incident the day before the battle when the company came under unexpected attack. In the early hours of the morning on December 7, 1862, the day of the Battle of Prairie Grove, the 7th Missouri as well as the 6th Missouri, under command of Major Eliphalet Bredett, camped south of Prairie Grove at the junction of the Cane Hill, Cove Creek, and Fayetteville roads after an exhausting forced march south from Missouri. They had been ordered south to reinforce Union General James G. Blunt in his campaign to seize control of Northwest Arkansas.

While feeding and resting their horses, the Missourians were unaware that Col. Emmett MacDonald’s Confederate cavalry brigade had spotted them. […] Before the Confederates could strike, a company of the 8th Missouri, also en route to reinforce Blunt, passed through the resting Missouri and Arkansas cavalrymen and swept on down the road. They were almost through the heavily wooded lane when MacDonald’s Confederates fired upon them.

The volley from an unseen foe created panic. The remnant of the company stampeded back through Bredett’s startled horsemen. Ordering his men to mount and form a line of battle, the major had hardly completed his task when the Confederates thundered down on them. Desperately fighting, Bredett rallied his men and formed line again before he went down under the charging horsemen. The retreat was sounded, and it was every man for himself.[12]

… A considerable number of the Arkansas 1st Cavalry came rushing by at the top of the speed of their horses some without hats or coats in fact they were perfectly panic stricken and rushed in pell mell haste past us. … [The foe] had made a sudden dash upon the Arkansas Cavalry who were ignorant of the close proximity of the enemy [and] were taken completely by surprise and their entire [baggage] train captured …

… Troops of the First Arkansas Cavalry (U.S.) and Seventh Missouri Cavalry (U.S.) fled in disorder after an initial confrontation with Confederate horsemen between Fayetteville and Prairie Grove. Herron stopped the rout by shooting a Union cavalryman out of his saddle. [William L. Shea, Fields of Blood: The Prairie Grove Campaign (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009) 137-43.][13]

Brigadier General Francis J. Herron shared joint command of Union forces with Brigadier General Blunt in the Battle of Prairie Grove, leading approximately 9,200 men against about 11,000 Confederate forces under Major General Thomas C. Hindman. Technically a stalemate, the battle resulted in Confederate withdrawal due to lack of supplies, leaving Union forces to seize control in the region.[14] It is not known if Captain Jesse Gilstrap or Company D were among those caught off guard by McDonald’s attack.

The winter of 1862-63 was one of the coldest on record. The Arkansas River at Fort Smith froze with ice thick enough for troops and supply wagons to pass over. Men suffered illness from exposure to the cold, many of them dying in camp.[15] Furthering Jesse’s ordeal, in January 1863, he suffered the loss of his brother Benjamin, serving as a corporal in Company D. Benjamin went home to West Fork to die of pneumonia.

Throughout the coming months after federal forces gained control of Northwest Arkansas following the Battle of Prairie Grove, various companies of the Arkansas 1st Cavalry rode east into Carroll and Madison counties and south into Crawford, Franklin, and Johnson counties in pursuit of guerrilla Confederates. Under constant psychological stress, men involved in these encounters engaged in hand-to-hand fighting, sometimes forced to patrol on foot.

During this time, the regiment escorted wagon trains, conducted patrols, and skirmished with guerrillas on an almost daily basis. These activities took a tremendous toll on the regiment. Horses were especially vulnerable and were disabled at an alarming rate in the rough terrain of the Ozarks. In its first eighteen months of service, the First Arkansas received 2,600 horses. In July 1864, there were only 104 horses available for the 538 men present for duty. This chronic shortage of horses frequently forced the First Arkansas to conduct scouting and patrol duty on foot, a situation that placed the regiment at a considerable disadvantage when combating well-mounted guerrillas.[16]

Jesse Gilstrap’s military files provide the following service record:

  • July 1862, Present
  • December 1862, Present Fayetteville Ark. In command of Co D as Provost Guard[17] at Fayetteville
  • Jan 1863 to Mar 1863. Present for duty Fayetteville, Ark.
  • April 1863. Present. Flat Creek, Barry Co., Mo.
  • May 1863. Present Cassville Mo on special duty. Prov Marshal
  • June 1863 to July 1863. Present Cassville, Mo.
  • Aug 1863. Present Cassville, Mo. Detached service comd’g post, Cassville
  • Sept 1863 to Oct 1863, Present, Fayetteville Ark
  • Nov 1863 Present Fayetteville, Ark. In arrest[18]

In what must have come as a shock to Jesse, in October 1863, he received notice of his dismissal from active duty on charges outlined in a letter to the Head Quarters Department of the Missouri, St. Louis Mo. December 21st, 1863:

Special Order No 348:

Capt. Jesse M. Gilstrap of the 1st Ark Cavalry is upon the representation of his immediate commanding officer … is ordered mustered out of the service of the United States for the following reasons

1st Failing to make proper company returns since his appointment

2nd Lax discipline permitting his men to be disrespectful to him

3rd Sleeping out of his quarters without leave

4th Uncleanliness of person to a degree totally unbecoming his position

He will receive no final payments until he has satisfied the pay department that he is not indebted to the government.

By command of Maj. Gen Schofield

P D. Green, Assistant Adjutant General

This observation of aberrant behavior and a photograph of Jesse during this time period suggest that he suffered an acute case of post-traumatic stress disorder.

In March 1863, a three-page letter written by Gilstrap and addressed to Major General Rosencranz at Fayetteville argues his case. Sometimes speaking of himself in the third person, Gilstrap states that:

He is known to be one of the few here who stood firm and true to the Federal Union in 1861. Made the last public Union speech known in the state and notwithstanding the withering storm of secession constantly strove to keep up the Union sentiment in the circle of his acquaintance. Among the first victims, he with 8 others were for several weeks imprisoned in Fort Smith Ark.

Early in May 1862 he left his family home and all that was dear only the cause of our country and took with him 17 recruits to the federal army at Cassville, Mo., they being about the first from N. W. Ark. And when Col. M. LaRue Harrison obtained leave to organize an Arkansas Redgt your petitioner raised the first full company for that the 1st Ark Redgt and he feels that no one did more than himself to fill up said Redgt. And before the Redgt was fully organized he was placed in command of a detachment 26 miles southwest of Springfield Mo. While the rebels were holding Cassville, Mo. there remained over two months until reinforced by Capt. Galiway of said Redgt when he with said reinforcement took Cassville with the loss of only one man killed and capturing over thirty rebels and driving the rest completely out of town thus gaining the first victory gained by part of the 1st Ark Cav.

During the 19 months the undersigned remained in the army service he has with the exception of a short time been on the extreme outposts and there served with all the vidulance [vigilance] and firmness in his power and in 3 or 6 engagements with the enemy in battle he feels that his conduct was creditable among those who know the facts.

Gilstrap goes on to deny the veracity of the charges leveled against him. He claimed only two nights out of quarters, and that due to his family being in town. He struck through the following line:

…while some other officers especially Lt. Maringer who now (illegible) your petitioner in the regiment has rarely been known to sleep in his quarters.

The 4th charge is frivolous and made only to render me contemptable at Head Quarters Not for any superior claims to ability but as and evidence of the confidence the union men of this county have in the undersigned. He was recently elected State Senator for four years by a vote nearly double that of both his competitors, one of whom was an old citizen (man years ago a rep) the other a captain now in the Federal Army serving here. He does not allude to this to boast of a triumph over those honorable gentlemen but a fact tending to show that Ark soldiers and other voters feel that he has done his duty and been true to our country…

As to permitting my men to disrespect me, there is not a man in the company that was or is disposed to treat me with disrespect.

Sixteen attesting signatures including rank and company appear below Gilstrap’s signature.

In a letter dated April 9, 1864, Gilstrap received a response to his plea. The letter briefly states the matter:

Jesse M. Gilstrap, 1st Ark. Cavalry, is hereby so modified as to leave him honorable out of service as by resignation from the date of his dismissal.[19]

~~~

Removed from military service and perhaps somewhat recovered from the worst of his PTSD, Gilstrap was invited to run for office by the Union Republicans now in control of state government. He won the election and traveled to Little Rock for a special session of the legislature that convened in January 1864. He served as senator representing Washington County. This marked the renewal of Union allegiance for Arkansas state government.

Senate records contain 93 mentions of Gilstrap citing resolutions he put forth or acts he brought forward for a vote on issues such as authorizing collection of school and internal improvement funds, the organization of a home and court guard, and establishing payment to the keeper of the Washington County poor house. He promoted a measure to provide relief to soldiers’ families. The 1864 Journal of the Senate of Arkansas shows that Gilstrap was nominated to fill an Arkansas seat in the U. S. Senate but after multiple ballots, the position went to another man. He was also nominated for the second U. S. Senate position, again losing the federal position to another man.[20]

Gilstrap was selected to chair a select committee on the state militia, producing Senate Bills 12 and 14 which set out recommendations for the establishment of a militia. He put forth a resolution to prohibit the appearance of certain rebel leaders to the Senate chambers, lobby, or gallery. He also introduced an amendment to emphasize that nothing about the rights of freed blacks allowed for marriage between a white person and a Negro or mulatto.

That same month, February 1864, Jesse’s comrade-in-arms and neighbor Thomas Wilhite was honorably discharged from his military service. Three months later, on April 10, 1864, according to Thomas’ mother’s first-hand account, Confederate “raiders” swept onto the Wilhite farmstead at Strickler and seized Thomas and his father. The two men were shot then hung, a slightly less barbaric form of the old ‘drawn and quartered’ executions of medieval times.

Surely knowledgeable of his friend’s revenge killing, Gilstrap skipped out on senate business for the rest of that year. In late June 1864, a substitute for Gilstrap was appointed, but no reason for his absence was given. At the time the Senate reconvened on November 24, 1864, a request was made of the doorkeeper to send word to Gilstrap, among others, that his presence was required. Gilstrap failed to appear for any further meetings of that session which remained convened through the end of the year.

In April 1865, Jesse Gilstrap resumed his elected duties and, among other things, served as chair of the Senate committee charged with making suitable arrangements for the presentation of the battle flag of the First Arkansas Cavalry. Upon Governor Isaac Murphy’s reading of a proclamation honoring the event, Colonel Bishop came forward to read a patriotic letter from Col. M. LaRue Harrison who was deemed a “credit to himself and the noble regiment whose displays of valor on sundry battle-fields he beautifully portrayed.” After an eloquent address by the Hon. James Butler who received the flag for the state, three cheers were given to the old flag. The Spring 1865 session of the Arkansas legislature adjourned immediately afterwards, April 22, 1865.[21]

Less than a month later, on May 10, 1865, Jesse’s wife Mary Ann died at the age of 35. At this point, Jesse and Mary had six children ranging in age from three to seventeen years. Records designate Mary Ann’s place of death as Arkansas, but no information has been found naming the cause of death or her place of burial. Some family accounts claim she died and was buried in Missouri where the family and children relocated for safety during the war. Perhaps she died of natural causes, but partisan depredations continued to wreak havoc in the countryside.

On March 17, 1866, less than a year after the death of his wife, Jesse Gilstrap died. Family history says that he lost his life accidentally while working on a new mill. Such deaths weren’t uncommon. As noted in a 1956 article about early mills in America,

“Killed in his mill” was a frequent epitaph of two hundred years ago. The careless miller’s life was a short one, and whether he was lifted aloft and thrown from a windmill, whacked in the head by a spar or caught by his hand or clothing in the gigantic gears and ground up, his everyday work had to be as exacting and careful as that of an airplane pilot.[22]

But it’s also quite possible Jesse suffered the same vigilantism that killed his friend Thomas Wilhite. It wouldn’t have been difficult for revengeful Confederate sympathizers to sabotage Jesse’s operation or assist in an ‘accident.’ The extent of his injuries is not known. He’s buried in the Woolsey Cemetery alongside his brother Benjamin. No other Gilstrap graves have been identified at this location. Jesse’s brother Thomas and brother-in-law Reuben Burrows are buried at the National Cemetery in Fayetteville.

On July 2, 1866, the only surviving son of Isaac and Lockey Gilstrap, Wesley H. Gilstrap, was appointed administrator of Jesse’s estate with Jacob Yoes and Redding R. Putman as his securities. On November 5, 1867, an estate balance of $810.20 was confirmed, apparently the result of the sale of Jesse’s lands. No record of that sale has been found. The estate was fully settled and vacated July 11, 1873.

Throughout the Civil War years and its aftermath, tragedies decimated the greater Gilstrap family. In addition to the war-time deaths of Jesse’s brothers Thomas and Benjamin, Jesse’s brother-in-law Reuben Burrows was killed in the Battle of Prairie Grove. Of the Gilstrap sons, only Wesley, the youngest Gilstrap brother, survived.[23] Jesse’s widowed sister Nancy died in 1867 and his sister Martha, joined in marriage in 1871 to James Yoes, died in 1872 a few weeks after giving birth to a daughter, Minnie.

Jesse’s mother Lockey sided with her four sons in their allegiance to the Union and, at the start of hostilities, left her husband Isaac, a former slaveholder determined to embrace the Confederate cause. She resided briefly with her widowed daughter Nancy then with daughters-in-law and her surviving son Wesley until her death in 1873. The 1870 census finds Jesse’s father Isaac Gilstrap residing in a household headed by thirty-five year old Eliza Fellows and her four children at Vine Prairie Township, Crawford County, Arkansas. He died in 1877.

The children of Jesse and Mary Ann Gilstrap were Elizabeth Jane born 1848 in Arkansas, possibly died as a child; Martha A. born October 1850 in Missouri while Jesse was in the gold fields; Isaac 1853-1929; Elizabeth Elera (Elisa) 1855; Joshua David 1857-1897; and Thomas C. 1860, the last four born in Arkansas. With the death of both parents as well as their maternal grandparents in previous years, the children petitioned Washington County probate court for legal rights. Isaac, age eighteen, and Elizabeth age fifteen, argued as follows:

[They seek] an order of this court removing their disabilities as minors and [to] allow them to transact business in the same manner and to the same extent as if they were of full age.

The court granted their petition in the January term 1871. It is not known who provided care for the children during the five years between their father’s death in 1866 and the grant of this petition. The 1870 census finds them scattered in various households at West Fork, Elizabeth Elera age 14 with the family of Searing Stelle and Martha age 19 at the home of William Graham. It’s possible the younger children Isaac age 17, Joshua age 13, and Thomas age 10 were taken under the guardianship of Jesse’s mother Lockey, who died in 1873, or Jesse’s brother Wesley. Exactly how many children remained alive this point is debatable. The lack of any information other than a birth date for the youngest, Thomas, suggests he may have died young.

At age nineteen in 1872, Jesse’s son Isaac Gilstrap was married in Washington County to sixteen-year-old Lourinda Caghman [Caughman] by Conrad Yoes. At the time of the 1880 census, Isaac and wife and two young children resided in Mountain Township, Washington County next door to his uncle Wesley H. Gilstrap and his family, both men farming for a living. Descendants of the Gilstrap families continue to live in Washington and Crawford counties to the present day.

Jesse Gilstrap followed ancient traditions of tradesmen who practiced and advanced their craft to the betterment of their communities. He may have struggled in his military duty, but in his role as captain, he did his best to honor his responsibilities and see to the welfare of his men. Likewise in his elected office of state senator, he served the State of Arkansas by doing what he could to encourage civil government. He invested in a stronger future by starting over—again—in rebuilding his mill. The loss of his wife, brothers and parents surely caused him considerable grief, but he wasn’t a man to stop trying. His role in early Washington County history deserves recognition.

~~~

[1] “California Gold Rush Camps,” Claudine Chalmers. http://www.paulrich.net/students/readings/california_gold_rush/california_gold_11.html Accessed Feb 26, 2018

[2] “Mining El Dorado—The Greenwood Mining District,” Anthony M. Belli. County of El Dorado website. https://www.edcgov.us/landing/Living/Stories/pages/greenwood_mining_district.aspx Accessed Feb 26, 2018

[3] From “The California Gold Fields in the 1850s: Letters from Ephraim Thompson, Daviess County, Indiana.” Edited by Philip L. Cantelon. Indiana Magazine of History, Volume 65, Issue 3, pp 157-172. Online at https://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/imh/article/view/9442/12597. Accessed February 15, 2018

[4] Deed Record E-130, Washington County Archives, Fayetteville, Arkansas.

[5] Deed Record H-19

[6] Deed Record K-279, Washington County Archives

[7] Annual Report of the Commissioner of Patents, Part 2. United States. Patent  Office. U.S. Government Printing Office, 1858. 270

[8] Gilstrap family records. Also Historical Data Systems, comp. U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2009, and National Park Service. U.S. Civil War Soldiers, 1861-1865 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2007.

[9] Loyalty on the Frontier: Or, Sketches of Union Men of the South-west. Albert Webb Bishop. R. P. Studley and Company, printers, 1863 – Arkansas. Pages 53, 82, 93, 98, 187, 202. Available online at https://books.google.com/books?printsec=frontcover&dq=%22loyalty+on+the+frontier%22+bishop&sig=W2VS76pLcniZwVqiwbzRWYP4Yg&ei=QOHGTLT2NcWAlAe8vrzrAQ&ct=result&pg=PA83&id=QiGnmcFdtyAC&ots=CJyTD_wk8P#v=onepage&q=gilstrap&f=false Butler served as provost marshal of Fayetteville during the war.

[10] Personal correspondence with Gilstrap descendant Jim Dye, December 30, 2017. In author’s possession. The reported speed of death after ingestion is outside the norms for poisons available at that time.

[11] “The Gilstrap Family,” Marguerite Gilstrap. Self published family record. February 1978. Washington, D.C. 21-22

[12] I Do Wish This Cruel War Was Over: First Person Accounts of Civil War Arkansas from the Arkansas Historical Quarterly, edited by Mark K. Christ and Patrick G. Williams. (Fayetteville: The University of Arkansas Press, 2014):  57. This passage from Footnote 87.

[13] Ibid

[14] Ibid 27-28

[15] Flashback April 1953. 25

[16] “First Arkansas Union Cavalry,” Michael L. Price. Encyclopedia of Arkansas History and Culture. Online at http://www.encyclopediaofarkansas.net/encyclopedia/entry-detail.aspx?entryID=1168. Accessed Dec 12, 2017

[17] “The provost marshals were the Union’s military police. They hunted and arrested deserters, spies, and civilians suspected of disloyalty; confined prisoners; maintained records of paroles and oaths of allegiance; controlled the passage of civilians in military zones and those using Government transportation; and investigated the theft of Government property.” From Tennessee Secretary of State website: http://www.tnsos.net/TSLA/provost/index.php  Accessed March 5, 2018

[18] National Archives and Records Administration (NARA); Washington, D.C.; Returns from U.S. Military Posts, 1800-1916; Microfilm Serial: M617; Microfilm Roll: 362

[19] Gilstrap family records

[20] Journal of the Senate of Arkansas, Sessions of 1864, 1864-65, and 1865. Price & Barton, State Printers. 1870. Multiple pages. Available online at goo.gl/FWZCD1

[21] Ibid 43

[22] “The Mills of Early America,” Eric Sloane. American Heritage, Vol. 6 Issue 6, 1955. Online at http://www.americanheritage.com/content/mills-early-america Accessed March 31, 2018.

[23] Information regarding Isaac Gilstrap and his descendants available at http://www.genealogy.com/ftm/s/c/o/F-morton-Scott-OK/WEBSITE-0001/UHP-0021.html

 

Photographs of Gilstrap provided by Jim Dye, a Gilstrap descendant and historian