Ephemeral Assays – Fire Keepers

“Long ago the earth was entirely covered by a great blanket of water. At that time the only living creatures of the world were water animals such as the beaver, muskrat, duck, and loon. There was no sun, moon, or stars and so there was no light.”

Many years later, when there was light, I sat at the top of a high bank looking down into a long confluent pool of the Fox Creek, where I saw a beaver, a muskrat and a mink all plying their trade at the same time. That’s a pretty rare mammalian convergence in our tamed countryside. And if I had to have a spirit animal it would be the kingfisher, always on patrol along this stream.

Fox Creek was behind one of my favorite rural auction halls, now defunct (the auction, not the creek). First it was to the east, and after we relocated it was to the west. The half hour drive out from the latter more suburban starting point is beautiful, rising through the foothills of the Helderberg Mountains in upstate New York and coinciding with a Sunday morning acoustic radio program. Highlights along the way included several herds of unusual cattle breeds, great blue herons in the mist, a large bluestone concern spread out like a flattened cemetery, a tiny hairpin turn town perched on a deep ravine which surely must have claimed some lives over the years by slippery moss or flash flood, more aloofly situated old white homesteads with lilac bushes on the lawns and clematis vines winding up the wraparound porches, and a small improbable airstrip always at the ready for planes which never landed as I passed by. The fairly-modern auction hall itself was very nicely set up, with folding chairs in front and smooth gray raised wooden platform seating in back, generous enough to pile up lot after lot all around you or to stretch out a bit with a cheeseburger and coffee. It was associated with a large summer weekend flea market housed in numerous permanent buildings, some of which used to contain the owner’s extensive antique buggy collection. They held a couple of special events each summer which always seemed to feature country music, a steam engine exhibition, and great barbecue chicken. I would arrive by 9:00 or so, preview the auction, and browse the flea market back when bargains could still be had in plenty at such venues. From there I walked along the border between large field and narrow wooded ridge, seemingly without purpose to deflect attention, until the high perch above the creek was reached. What a contrast between this spot and the city I worked in, the pungent fairgrounds-type bathroom building I could now avoid, and the relative warfare of the auction set to start in ten minutes. I left my wife and small kids home most of these mornings and regret that a bit looking back, but I returned before they knew it, all restocked and recharged.

We visited this upstate New York region when I was the small kid back in the 1970s and poked more than a little fun at it. I was rather surprised upon my return from a post-college cross-country trip some years later to be informed that we were actually moving there! Coincidentally, my good friend’s grocery store manager father had transferred up a bit earlier, so we both had a continuation of employment. Mr. Hornung used to take us to this same auction hall in search of his passion¾antique corkscrews¾most of which went for a buck or three back then. His collection displayed very nicely, and has probably increased in value a hundred fold since then. On the way home we would sometimes dig for arrowheads in various cornfields along the Schoharie Creek. My sharp-eyed picker mother ran a barn sale on weekends, and all these things conspired to give me an interest in antiques, books, and, as things unfolded, paper items.

The owner of this enterprise was a trim, pleasant looking man, like a country version of Gentleman Jimmy Walker, steeped in the ways of agriculture and rural commerce. His glory days as the big dog in town were beginning to fade due to the finite supply of previously undiscovered antiques and collectibles, competition from upstart auction halls (one founded by one of his runners), rising consumer awareness, and a tendency to reallocate commissions.

The more common way for auction houses to cheat is by misrepresenting the quality or provenance of the item up for bid, or to initiate or comply with bid rigging efforts of one sort or another. Not paying consignors, however, is a bit more black and white, and he lost his license more than once. A lot of folks were angry with him, the buggy collection was forfeited, and the last I heard he was making a living from the now diminished flea market and huge party tent rentals. This colleague still owes me $500.00 or so in consignment money, but I forgave the debt with no misgivings. I had lots of fun, education, and relaxation there; and I took home many prizes, like an early Palatine bible with wooden covers which sold for $1,200.00, and a classic country store mahogany showcase I still use which only went for $50.00 because nobody else had the room or good back to haul it away that day. Many will boycott him for life but I still hold out hope that he can reform and rebound one last time.

Anyway, I showed up rather late one morning and was a little startled to see about a hundred boxes of paper off toward the back. No time for creek sitting that day. Upon inquiry I was informed that these were the files of a longtime school teacher, which in the past would have been unceremoniously pitched. The auctioneer did not want to sell the whole collection as one lot, which cuts down on confusion and chicanery, so I only had time to read the teacher’s folder tabs and jot down the corresponding box numbers. I put a “must win” star next to the lot that contained a large amount of Native American material. The other good thing about Sunday morning auctions is that I could get home in time to process the goodies on a couple of long outside work tables in a peaceful and secluded spot right in my round stone driveway. This is where I first came into contact with Aren Akweks, through his booklets, correspondence, and other ephemera.

I use “Aren Akweks” as that is how he signed most of his publications, but he was also known as Ray Fadden or Tehanetorens. Now it would take a full biography to impart the measure of this man, but a thumbnail sketch and some quotes will have to do. Fadden was teaching young Mohawks at the St. Regis Reservation at Akwesasne in the 1940s when he began delving deeply into the cultural past of his people. In 1954 Ray and his family founded the Six Nations Indian Museum in Onchiota, NY, a kaleidoscopically rich repository of artifacts and learning. The design for this grandfather of Indian museums, constructed from trees felled by Fadden himself, reflects the architecture of a traditional Iroquois dwelling. “The long bark house is a metaphor for the Six Nations Confederacy, symbolically stretching from East to West across ancestral territory. The Mohawks are the Keepers of the Eastern Door, the Senecas are the keepers of the Western Door, the Onondagas are the Fire Keepers and the Oneidas, Cayugas, and Tuscaroras (admitted into the Confederation in the early 18th century) are the Younger Brothers.” “We take pride in our existence as a living museum, embodying the values and worldview of a vibrant culture. Many museums appear to have the same goals, but in most cases, they are institutions deeply rooted in western culture, in effect presenting Native American cultures ‘under glass.’ Cultural perspective markedly affects the manner in which material is presented. The Six Nations Indian Museum presents its material from a Native American point of view.”

“Yet, with all of the museum’s awesome beauty and contents considered, the most important and profound aspect of the Six Nations Museum remains Tehanetorens himself. Visitors of his museum receive much more than a casual tour of the premises. Upon entry through the gift shop, one is cordially invited to be seated on one of the many Longhouse style benches. He proceeds to read a beaded pictograph record belt concerned with the story of the migration and trials of the Iroquois people. This is what he deems his first message. By itself, his first message is an interesting historical record, but if enough interest is apparent in his audience, Tehanetorens delivers his second message which delves into considerable depth with the Indian contributions to the world. It includes everything from popcorn to rubber, and Indian Nations from the Inca to the Mohawks. Tehanetorens delivers his messages with dramatic authority tempered by his pleasant witticisms. If the interest is great enough and the situation warranting, he will unleash his third and final message that quite frankly sometimes disturbs the more delicate and patriotic American ego. He strips away the veil of lies and half-truths that makes American history palatable to the average American conscience. He reveals the undenatured truth of the treatment that this continent’s Native people received from American and Canadian Governments and its people. He emphasizes not only past history but the present as well.

From the signed correspondence in this auction lot, some of which was adorned with small grouse feathers, I learned that the school teacher in question knew Ray personally, had visited the Museum, and probably used these materials in his classroom instruction. There are a dozen or so booklets from the 1940s on. Some are listed online for an average price of about $25.00, while others don’t show up at all. Most of them are on specialized topics such asThe Creation, The Hermit Thrush, or histories of the individual tribes such as Migration of the Tuscaroras. Monuments to Six Indian Nations is a 68 page illustrated guide to dozens of sites throughout the state.

In this series of articles on paper ephemera, I am not inclined to expound on large categories like sheet music or baseball cards one at a time. While this would be somewhat informative, it seems that every antiques newspaper, magazine, and Antiques Roadshow-type program is already covering this basic paper education with colorfully illustrated overviews. In my view, the strength and appeal of ephemera is in its variety and scarcity. You are generally holding something more rare than a particular book, which is the other thing (along with original writings) that physically speaks to us from the past. Unusual printed ephemera also sparks interest, as individual pieces are often small clues to some larger truth. In this case, for example, I was basically ignorant of New York State Native American activism before stumbling onto these materials. Such interest can even lead to other avenues of research or commerce, journeys, and new friends.

I would like to visit the Six Nations Indian Museum in the Adirondacks next summer. Ray Fadden’s children and grandchildren run the operation now. I called to see what the hours are, as there is a little less online information than one might expect. They are open in July and August, offering a rotating series of lectures. School groups may visit in June and September. Admission is $2.00, $1.00 for children. The man on the phone asked if I would like a brochure. I found that I was speaking to John, Ray’s little son in the old postcard image and a talented artist and fire keeper in his own right. I shared the story about how I came into possession of all these items, and we had a very pleasant conversation. I received the brochure and a note in short order. “Thanks for your call . . . enjoyed our brief discussion about my Dad.” Aren Akweks, by the way, is in a nursing home but still with us at 93. He lived two lifetimes, said I. More like ten, replied his son. And the inspirational ephemera he produced still speaks for itself.

Shawn Purcell is the principle of Balopticon Books & Ephemera in Delmar NY, online at www.balopticon.com, and may be e-mailed at mail@balopticon.com Copyright Ó 2004 Shawn Purcell

#ephemera

Sort, Throw, Save, Publish?

A bookseller is always either making decisions or postponing them.

About five years ago I attended an auction and acquired a station wagon load of books and ephemera. This would not be an auction that would fade from memory. I bought someone else’s memories and I still have some of them.

Even before I drove down the driveway, I acquired another memory that also won’t go away. I stuffed my little wagon and could not fit it all in. I had to make decisions about what to leave behind. I sorted and resorted then told the auctioneer I had to abandon six boxes. The staff was nearly ready to leave, rain was starting, and I made the mistake of looking out the side view mirror to see a helper heave the boxes in a dumpster. This auction was held in the ‘suburbs of a small town.’ How would any salvager know to look there? If found and I hadn’t sorted carefully, someone else could profit or enjoy. But, this probably wasn’t a road frequented by curious dumpster-peekers and the approaching clouds were black. Those rejects weren’t even going to make it to the dump. It was very hard on a recycler.

I took all the ephemera. In the following weeks, I started going through the books, then the ephemera with the letters last. I had already learned that the father in the family manufactured a product of relevance and held patents. He must have been important in this town — he was an employer. He was able to travel to Washington, correspond with some politicians, and attend an Inaugural. The town was also home to a very famous American who was not hyped by the auctioneers so I wasn’t expecting anything, but I hoped I would come across something. All I found was an envelope with the famous person’s name on it.

Instead, I became fascinated by a letter from a soldier to a home town girl, a daughter in the family (or the daughter in the family). I read another, then another, then sorted every letter from him to her. There were all kinds of other letters and all were easy to toss. Not his. I saved his. I couldn’t explain my actions.

The time period was in the 1950’s. I knew some of those years well. Crinolines, carefully ironed blouses with little collars, hair close to the head and sometimes held with bobby pins. There was an obsession with the social life of the school and post-graduation theorizing about what was going to happen to everyone and sustained gossip. I shouldn’t have been interested in these letters as I hold turn-of-the century and up through the thirties interests, but there was something about his letters that chronicled his attempts to correspond and the hope he held of winning her interest. He was lovesick. She didn’t seem to return the sickness, but kept writing to him.

I tied the letters together and found an appropriate box.

While I was reading, I started wondering if a publisher might find them interesting. They were one-way letters. There were only hints of what she wrote to him. And no hints of what she said to him while he was home on leave and before the letters started up again when he returned to his base. It appeared there were some not-so-frequent get-togethers while he was home.

I remember the letters were light on news about his military life and more focused on her. Wouldn’t any girl like the attention even if he wasn’t a candidate?

I thought there must be all kinds of little stacks and boxes of letters of so little importance all over the country. Why would a publisher be interested? There was no hero. The damsel wasn’t in distress. But, if I was fascinated, why wouldn’t someone else be?

About the time I was getting ready to move I came across the letters and knew I was going to have to decide if I would bring them along. I thought I’d check the internet to see if either of their names came up. I think I found him living in a larger sized town not that far from his hometown.

I had very little time to devote to the decision, but in the time I did take before the move, I wondered what permissions would be required to attempt to publish them. I thought about camouflage. I wondered whether the dates, names, and the locale could be changed. I somehow knew that changing anything would ruin it. Though this young guy graduated from high school, he must have been off fishing in his head during grammar classes. No one should correct the errors. All the names were just right; no one should substitute any. The circumstances and happenings were just right, no one could improve on the simplicity.

I thought about what might happen if I contacted him for permission. Would he be stunned? Would he stare? Would he be suspicious? Would he remember writing them? Would he be uncomfortable? He would certainly ask me how the heck I got them. He might be silent and I could leave not knowing anything. Would I get stuck listening to stories? Or would I listen and not call it stuck?

I thought about searching her out. I was sure the auctioneer would remember the auction and provide a clue. I could check civic records. Any older person would remember the family, there might even be brothers and sisters around.

I thought about who the letters belonged to? She had owned them, now I owned them.

He only wrote the letters. They were only his words. It was only his heart.

Then I thought, what if he had kept all her letters to him?

Next, I thought what if…what if…she was living in the same larger town…with him? Married for forty plus years?

I thought I would check out all the legalities when I had time. I wasn’t fired up to contact him. I wasn’t fired up to throw them away. I didn’t have time to do any further research. The letters moved with me.

What I will do now is reread all the letters in time and in sequence to see if they still hold appeal.

All I know is that she saved them. Now, for some reason, I’m saving them.

Postscript:

In using the ‘free legal opinions of the internet’, it appears permission is required to publish letters and heirs must be found and contacted if the principals are no longer living.

By: Kathleen Gonzalez sales@booksmaps.com

#ephemera

Family Ephemera

On the letterhead of the Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate Offices in the Bacon Building, Oakland

April 2nd, 1909 This is a memorandum for you, I have this day put in escrow 100,000 shares of the Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate Stock owned by me with a like number of shares owned by each Mr. John R. Richards. And Mrs. Josephene Chick. This stock being pooled was put in the Security Bank and Trust Co. Oakland, Cal., for safe keeping. For three years. Mr. Richards. And Mrs. Chick have each signed over to me there proxy, to vote there stock for the next three years. N.B. Williams, Pres.

I have looked at this particular memo many times (copied here with its original spelling and punctuation) and wondered about the story behind it. N.B. Williams was my great grandfather, and he spent at least the last twelve years of his life in California, far away from his Rhode Island wife and four children. Because the family back home kept some of his letters and papers, there is a collection of ephemera that keeps on tantalizing me. The collection reveals only bits and pieces of the story and raises far more questions than it answers.

The problem with inheriting a family ephemera collection is that the people who could have helped you understand it may already be gone. I used to love to listen to my grandmother, Mary and her sister Ruth, two of those children back home, talk about the old days. I remember them talking about their mother Essie and their brothers Ira and Ralph and their brothers’ wives Alice and Gladys. I remember talk of the Esmond Mills, where some of them worked, and family friends like Josie Keefe, but I don’t remember them talking about their father. If I had known about him and his gold mine, I probably would have asked a question or two. The main one that comes to mind is, “Why aren’t we rich?”

As a child, I wouldn’t have thought to ask them questions that occur to me today like, “How was it for your mother, on her own for all those years? How was it for the two of you?” And to my grandmother, “Did he get back for your wedding?” (My grandmother’s wedding was in 1910.) But my grandmother and her sister Ruth had both been gone for many years when these papers came into my hands.

Following are some of the parts of the story, told through the papers I have. I still know few details except that we are not rich and that my great grandfather died with a few dollars in the bank, a gold watch and $10.00 of new underwear, some of which was sold to a rag man for 35 cents and some of which was stored.

In the following quotations I have preserved the original spelling and punctuation, but anything in bold face type is my own emphasis.

From the Prospectus Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate

Page 3: The Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate was duly organized and incorporated under the laws of the Territory of Arizona on the 25th day of January, 1909.

Officers: President: N.B. Williams; Vice-President: A.G. Schindler; Secretary and Treasurer: G.W. Wheeler; Superintendent: O.E. Anderson Directors: I.W. Bridenbacker; S.T. Chapin; G.W. Wheeler; A.G. Schindler; N.B. Williams Depository, First National Bank of Oakland, Cal.

Page 7: Large deposits of very rich ore were continually encountered during the operations of the former owners, and we now have many fine samples at our offices taken from this vein that will run from $10,000 to $40,000 per ton, which we will be pleased to show to anyone who may be interested.

Page 11: OPPORTUNITY: Buttes Saddle Mine will prove a wonder. She is the King of the Sierras. The $48,000 taken out is just enough to prove the great worth of the property. Page 13: In order to raise a small amount of money with which to complete the equipment of these works by installing the rock breaker and concentrator before referred to, which will not only more than double the capacity of the mill………..the Directors of the company have decided to offer for sale a few shares of the Capital Stock at ground floor prices, and those who would like to secure a few shares of this dividend-paying stock should apply early, for it will soon be taken up, and after this block is taken no stock can be obtained for less than $1.00 per share. Don’t fail to secure some of this stock before the supply has been exhausted. While it lasts it will be sold at bed-rock prices. Call early at the offices of the company and inspect samples of ore, and obtain prices and further information regarding this wonderful mine.

February 4, 1909: Stock Certificate 1 share of Capital Stock of the Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate

April 2nd, 1909 Letter from Newell B. to his wife Estelle

My Dear Essie, ……………Now Essie, you don’t see how I can stand it to stay away from home so long. I know I could not stand it to stay home as things are now, so I just have to stand it and stay away… I think I have been away now two years on April 1….I will go home for a little. But not to stay for the west looks better to me than R.I. and I want to have you arrange to come back with me and stay for at least 2 or 3 months….Essie, I would like to help you a little and will as soon as I can, that you know. I have something more than $300 coming to me and it is good.

I have pooled my 100,000 shares of stock of the Butte Saddle mining Syndicate with Mr. John R. Richards and Mrs. Chick and signed there Proxy over to me to vote as I think best for the next 3 years. I do not know as yet what I will do with these papers but will let you know later on. Now you can see that I hold and will own 1/5 of the mine when sold or when paid for. We are going to try to put it in shape to sell for about 2 or 3 million and think we can do it inside of 3 years………..Net that would give me $100,000. That would not be bad for a 2 or 3 years trip to the west. Well this may be all a air castle but things look very bright and we must dig and hope………If this comes my way I can see where I can make it a million in something else I know of….I guess this is all for this time from Your Hubby Newell in the West.

September 21, 1909 Letter from Newell to my grandmother

My Dear Kid Mary D, I have been thinking how much pleasure it be to me if I could have you all out here for at least the next six months so that winter would go by and you would not know it….The winter is no colder than many days that we have in the summer…I would like to have Ruth go to the Berkeley College. I understand they have about 3,000 this term on beautiful grounds…. From Your Pa Williams in the West

October 15, 1909 Two certificates for Capital Stock, 100 shares each, issued to N.B. Williams

February 11, 1910 One certificate for Capital Stock, 50 shares, issued to N.B. Williams

Undated: A list of the shareholders of the Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate and the number of shares held by each

Undated: Letter from Newell B. to his wife Estelle Dear Essie, I do not think these papers are of any use and I am sending them home. I hope some day I can look them over and tell you a long and interesting story about this mining venture. N.B.Williams

California State Board of Health Bureau of Vital Statistics Standard Certificate of Death

Full Name: Newell B. Williams Date of birth: 1876 Date of death: March 3, 1921 Age: 45

Cause of death: Pneumonia Lobar & myocarditis & acute dilation of the heart

Letter to Estelle Williams from F.W. Swigart, on the letterhead of F.W.Swigart Real Estate and Insurance March 9, 1921

Your letter of March 4th to hand, in reply I will say, I have known Mr. Williams for about 5 years, and for the last one and a half years he has been a salesman in this office, am glad to say he was one of the squarest men I ever had around me. He took sick on February 24th and on the 26th we took him to the Providence Hospital. I saw him every day. We settled up all of our business before he got serious, he seemed to think he would never get out, I tried to cheer him up, at the same time I saw he was loosing, he died on March 3rd just one week after he took sick with Pneumonia….

Mr. Williams and I were very warm friends and on the morning he died had the nurse phone me to come down to the Hospital soon as I could as he was getting worse fast, I went down as soon as I could get there and he was gone before I arrived, I am sure he would want me to take charge of his affairs and if I had he would have been burried before this, as it is I can do nothing, but if I am aware of the time he is to be burried I shall certainly see that it is him before he is laid in the ground………….

Yours very respectfully, F.W.Swigart

Undated: Dear Madam:- In cleaning out some papers and letter left in Mr. Williams room at our house I found the enclosed letter and am taking the liberty of writing to you to find out if you are a relative of his, or could locate them anywhere……….He was living at my house when he was taken sick & I thought perhaps they would like to know the situation as near as I can give it.

Yours truly, Maude L. Silvester

March 14, 1921 Letter from a name I can’t read. Looks like Roch W. Chirch Dear Madam: Your letter of March 9 just received. Mr. Williams was taken sick on a Thursday of one week and died Thursday of the following week. I saw him about 3 o’clock of the afternoon before his death: he died about 8 o’clock the following morning. At his request I interviewed the bank where he did business and ascertained that his balance in the bank was $507–. He wished us to draw the money and expend it in meeting the expenses of his sickness and funeral expenses. He had talked about his desires in case of his death: though thinking that death was so near I suggested to him to wait a day or two and if no change in his condition for the better appeared we could arrange as he desired then. It was his request that he be buried in an inexpensive lot with environments in the cemetery in this city……..

Remaining at your service Yours truly, Roch. W. Chirch

March 18, 1921 Letter to Estelle Williams from F.W. Swigart Mrs. N.B.Williams Esmond, R.I.

Dear Madame:

Your letter of March 14th to hand, I thought I ought to write you once more and explain a few more things. Mr. Williams had a few articles that I think you and his children ought to have, for instance, he had a gold watch, gold chain, an extra gold watch fob with sliding buckle, the ribbon had worn out and I made him a leather ribbon as I used to be a leather worker, and while he was in the hospital I bought him about $10. worth of new underwear, all these things should be sent to you and if you write Mr. Hill the Public Administrator and demand them I think he would send them.

Yours very respectfully, F.W.Swigart

Letter from Maude L. Silvester to Estelle Williams March 23, 1921

Dear Mrs. Williams:- Your letter of the 18th just received…I know you are anxious to hear from me…We only took over this place on Jan 1st so was not very much acquainted with Mr. Williams. He had a room here in our basement and done his cooking there too. He first complained of being ill on the 24th & came home from his office…My husband and I put two plasters on him, one on his chest & one on his back…I took his temperature on Friday the 25th & told him he should go to the Hospital where he could get proper care, but he said he didn’t have any faith in Hospitals…Then his partner came up and brought him some oranges & some milk-he kept getting worse…there was no way to take care of him down there as I had carry all the slops upstairs. So we done the best we could for him until Sat when I took his temperature again and it was 103 so I said he must go to the Hospital and must have a Dr…The Dr. wouldn’t even steady him to the Automobile, for we help him up and he took him thro the cold to the Hospital instead of calling an Ambulance…. I went to see him on Tuesday the first of March, (but we had phoned every day) and he was very low……I knew then that he was dying…….I was just beginning to go out on Thurs. when the Public Administrator came to get his papers, letters, etc. and said that he had passed away. He took everything that was of any importance in the way of letters, etc. and Mr. Williams watch and I think you should have that. There were a few clothes he had had when he worked in the shipyards. Mr. Hill said to burn them up but we sold them to a rag man for 35 cents-his best suit was used to bury him in. I will find out from the Administrator what became of his watch and let you know…….I’m sorry I cannot tell you more, but I thot you’d like to know that we don the best we could for him……

Yours sincerely, Mrs. M. L. Silvester

August 24th, 1921 Letter from John A. Hill, Public Administrator of Alameda County Re: The Estate of Newell B. Williams, Deceased

Dear Madam:

Regarding the correction of the Death Certificate, we regret to say that nothing can be done at this time. It will be necessary for you to write direct to the State Board of Health, Bureau of Vital Statistics, Sacremento, California, sending to them the enclosed Death Certificate and also the corrected one which you have made out……

Regretting that I could not correct this for you, I remain,

Yours respectfully, Public Administrator of Alameda County

April 3, 1923 Letter from Bertha Heck, law firm of Dunn, White & Aiken to Mrs. Martha Williams Wood, Long Beach California, sister of Newell B.

Dear Mrs. Wood, I have your letter of March 29th relative to the personal property belonging to the estate of N. S. Williams, deceased. The attorneys have filed, on behalf of the administrator, a petition to set aside the entire estate to Estelle L. Williams, widow of deceased. The matter comes up for hearing on April 12th… As the entire estate consists of a small amount of cash and personal property consisting of one yellow metal watch and compass-the personal property could be sent to you by express or parcel’s post to whatever address you may send us as soon as the Order has been obtained and Receipt gotten from Mrs. Williams. Mr. Hill examined the package which is at the store room of J.A.Munro & Co., belonging to your late brother. He states the contents, consisting of old shirts, underwear and socks, is absolutely valueless. There are no papers or letters. Assuring you that we will do all in our power to bring the matter to a speedy conclusion.

Sincerely, Bertha Heck

So there it is, excerpts from a set of documents spanning 14 years, raising many questions I will never be able to answer.

Did Newell ever get back home? See Essie again? His grandchildren and grandchildren? It seems unlikely, although his sister Martha (Mattie) seems to have made regular trips back and forth from California to Rhode Island.

Do I have distant cousins in California? Possibly, but Wood, Newell’s sister’s last name is awfully common, and it would probably be difficult to track the missing cousins down.

Did they get the right man in the coffin? Probably, but if not, it’s too late to do anything about it now.

What is the error on the death certificate? I believe that his birthdate is misstated, perhaps a number reversal. Everything works out better if he was born in 1867 not 1876. If he was born in 1876, he was having children before he was a teenager, which is unlikely. He probably died around age 54, not 45.

What happened between 1910 and 1921? I don’t think I will ever know, not without an awful lot of research.

I am certainly well informed about the cost and fate of my great grandfather’s underwear, something I don’t really need to know. (Message to self: Call the lawyer who has done my estate work and have him put language in the estate documents that says “disposition of underwear is confidential and private.”).

Over the years I have made sporadic attempts to learn more.

Early on we had the Smythe Company evaluate the stock certificates. They are worthless except to someone who collects old stock certificates. On par with the $10.00 underwear sold to the rag man. Nevertheless, way in the back of my mind, there is always the thought that there really is a family fortune. Those stock certificates are still there in a safe deposit box no one has paid for in a bank that no longer exists, and they are worth a fortune. Maybe that’s that same kind of feeling that drove my great grandfather’s search for gold. His daughter, my grandmother, herself married a man (my grandfather) who invested in gold mines and he too hoped one day to make a fortune. I have some documents about that too, but nothing as tantalizing as the Butte Saddle collection.

A few years ago I went to our public library and tried to find the surnames of some of the shareholders in the Oakland phone book. Not that I expected people who were shareholders in 1909 to still be living, but if the families stayed in the area, they might know more than I did about the mining venture. I believe I found a few familiar names, but I never followed up.

The advent of the Internet has made everything easier, and I did learn that the Butte Saddle Mine eventually produced gold, evidently in good quantity, but apparently not in my great grandfather’s time. http://www.museumca.org/goldrush/dist-sierracity.html

I have researched surnames of the shareholders online, hoping to locate relatives of the shareholders, but with little luck.

I contacted the Oakland Public Library, which has mining archives, and they were extremely helpful, but I learned no specific details about Butte Saddle. I know that I will never know the personal stories of the people, but I might be able to locate the business records and find out what happened to Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate.

I have, on and off, used Ancestry.com but again with no particular luck.

It has always seemed to me that to get to the bottom of this I would have to go to Oakland and spend some time in the Oakland library or go to the town of Sierra City itself, just to get a feel for the area, or maybe research the corporation records in Arizona.

Last spring we had the opportunity to go to Oakland and San Francisco and maybe even visit Sierra City where the mine was located. I underestimated the time it would take to do this job in any kind of thorough way though and came back knowing little more than I had known before. Our vacation was just too short. I think doing a thorough job would involve quite a few hours of looking through old newspapers and other kinds of records. Maybe next time.

One thing we did do was visit Serendipity Books in Berkeley. Just as I have that feeling in the back of my mind that there still is a safe deposit box with valuable stock certificates, I expected to find a book there that would help me, maybe “The Rise and Fall of Butte Saddle Mining Syndicate.” If any place had it, it would surely be in Serendipity Books. Of course no such work exists, and although I did purchase two books on mining, and both were books I would have had difficulty finding anywhere else, neither helped specifically with Butte Saddle.

I suppose there is some kind of monetary value to the archives I have, but I wouldn’t think of selling them. I will keep them for future generations to puzzle over.

#ephemera