For the next few weeks, the Independent will explore the series of history stories written by C. Frost Liggett, the first newspaper man in the county when it was just beginning in the 1880s. Liggett began to write his memories of the original people who came to this area some fifty years later. He then published those stories in the Kiowa County Press in the years 1939 through 1943.
The Kiowa County Historical Society in collaboration with the Eads School District joined with 32 other Colorado institutions who received grants in May of 2000 for participation in an innovative collaboration called the Colorado Digitization Project (CDP). The CDP created a “virtual collection” of Colorado’s historic and cultural collections to make them universally accessible via a sing Internet portal.
The grant from the CDP was used to digitize the writings of local newspaper editor and prominent political figure, C. Frost Liggett. The writings, which were published in the Kiowa County Press from Liggett’s reminiscence of the original people, places and incidents of Kiowa County and surrounding areas. The project will also digitize photographs and documents which correspond with Liggett’s writings.
Sandstorm: Pioneers (Kiowa County Press, December 6, 1940)
Mrs. Lida Kerr-Link gave in her interesting and graphic manner some time ago, in the Press, a narrative of a storm that visited around Eads, and particularly in the vicinity of their former home south of Eads, in the Kiowa Valley, in the month of June 1890. This calls to mind another storm, mostly wind and dust, that visited the county, during the ‘90s.
When the wind came up on this particular time, we were at Sheridan Lake, and publishing the Sheridan Lake Press, now merged into the Kiowa County Press, although we still resided at Chivington. On the third day of this terrific windstorm, trains had ceased to move on the Missouri Pacific Railroad, and through some source, the word was out around Sheridan Lake, that the Sand Creek bridge had been moved off its foundation and that no trains could be run until repairs were made, which was impossible until the wind let up. The telegraph line was also out of commission.
We decided that it was time that we got over to Chivington and find out what had happened to our home. John Wilson had come to town, drifted in during the storm, and would not venture out to reach his cow camp. He was a brother of WJ. Wilson, the SS cattleman. Mr. Wilson was riding a large, fine white horse, which he tendered to us if we cared to undertake the trip. He assured us that the horse had been worked and broken to harness. We found afterwards that Mr. Wilson had been misinformed about the horse having been worked. However, Mr. Lafferty had a two-wheel sulky, that he also offered us for the trip.
The dust was blowing and the severe wind made it almost impossible to go even from house to house, or to venture out at all. However, we decided to make the effort to reach Chivington. Mr. Coffin, a young man working for us on the Press, volunteered to accompany us. We rinally made our way to the barn, and after about an hour’s effort got the horse hitched to the cart, and headed westward. We were some two hours in reaching Arden, located about two miles west of Sheridan Lake. No one was then living in that vicinity, and we got in the shelter of the section house, where the boards were rattling, and the fury of the wind threatened destruction of the building every minute.
After getting “our breath” we renewed our struggle and proceeded on our way. The road paralleled the railroad, and with some variations, we managed to “feel” our way with reasonable safety, so along about three o’clock A.M., we reached Chivington.
At that time, we occupied the block of buildings south of the railroad. These buildings had been built and occupied, during the “halcyon” days, for stores. At this time the north room was used for the Post Office and a small stock of merchandise. The center building was occupied for our residence. At the rear the whole was enclosed by a six-foot solid board fence, running to the warehouse and barn, on the north and the same on the south. A 40-foot steel tower windmill over the well, was in the enclosure. We had also built a kitchen on the west of the center building and a porch with room all ‘round on the three sides. Mrs. Liggett, who was teaching the city schools, had been absent for a period trying to reach the school building. We found that a couple of boards had blown down in the north fence, and the sand had blown in through this until it had drifted some three feet high on the porch, reaching well up on the windows; that a guy rod on the windmill tower had broken, and the windmill blown over. The buildings were covered with tin roofs, and the loose tin was playing a lively reveille as it rattled and banded and danced about.
During Mrs. Liggett’s absence neighboring cattle had paid a visit, the doors having been blown open, and had visited the living room, and admired themselves, as was evidenced by where they had licked the reflection of themselves in the mirror. But strange as it may seem, we worked our way through all this disorder and found Mrs. L. in bed peacefully sleeping.
Some weeks after this we were the guest of the Lamar Hotel, operated by Abe Deeter. Other guests were Judge Nowels, Jim Baldwin, Ira Swadley, and a number of others, then citizens of the vicinity. And there were several traveling men also present. The conversation turned upon the subject of the “terrible wind storm,” that we have just been describing. Mr. Swadley told about going over to the King Reservoir and hauling away several wagon loads of mud hens, and feeding these to his hogs. Swadley was then in the hog business, and his ranch was not far away. Baldwin told about having been over on Sand Creek, where a new house had been erected on the Widow Gish place, located on the Big Sandy bottom, where the sand had a clear sweep, and that the windows were frosted and had holes through which one could stick a pin, by reason of the constant beating of the sand which had battered them through the storm. Numerous and diverse other stories were related, and we noticed the traveling men each take out a little book and they were writing these tales for tall story telling at some future party. Maybe for contesting in the Liars Club. This was before Ripley’s “Believe It or Not.”
While we are putting our reputation to a terrible test we can vouch for these alleged facts, in the main, being substantially true.
At any rate this was the worst storm that we have ever experienced, and we have no doubt that it even outranked the storms credited to the “Dust Bowl,” for the period of its duration.
Some years ago, there came to our exchange desk, a little magazine, called “TRUTHS,” which had the motto: “A bold barefaced Lie excites wonder, if nothing more.”
There may be some who were living in the country, at the time covered by our narrative of the Big Blow, and who are now still living here. We do not remember whether Mrs. Gish built the house referred to on Big Sandy, or whether it was built by Mr. Crawford, a cattleman who married Katie Walthers, who lived a little south of there, who succeeded Mrs. Gish, mother of Harve and John Gish, now of Eads, Colorado.
