PAGE 4 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS PACKET
This Page is Dedicated to the World's Greatest Optimist -- The Desert Prospector
Harry Oliver's DESERT RAT SCRAP BOOK
The Battle of Utah
An American history teacher was quizzing the class concerning the origin of famous sayings of famous Americans.
Teacher: "Who was it that said 'Give me liberty or give me death'?"
Class: "Patrick Henry."
Teacher: "Who said "This country with its institutions belongs to the people who inhabit it.'?"
Class: "Lincoln, in his first inaugural address."
Teacher: "And who was it that said 'Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.'?" No one answered immediately; finally one member of the class asked "Was it Brigham Young?" —Walter S. Hughes of Ojai
Mules, Burros and the Jackasses That Own Them
LO, THE POOR MULE
Says Foxtail Johnson in the Arizona Farmer: "The tenderfoot that bought the Bar XX spread got ambishus when he saw a picture of the Mizoory mule that was grand champion at the American Royal. He ordered his foreman to buy a son or daughter of that mule, irregardless of cost."
Reminds us of the congressman who, during the depression, proposed that every southern sharecropper be given 10 acres of land, a plow and a mule in foal.
U.S. Army Mule
This is an old Army story, but a good one. A shipment of mules had just arrived and a soldier made the mistake of getting too close to the rear end of one. His comerades caught him on the fly, placed him on a stretcher and started for the hospital. On the way the soldier came to. He gazed at the sky overhead and felt the swaying motion of the stretcher. Feebly he lowered his hand over the side to find nothing but space.
"MY GOD!" he groaned, :I HAVEN'T EVEN HIT THE GROUND YET."
The Newsmen in Korea were wont to laugh at China's use of camels — The old time Army men prayed for the return of the Army Mule in that rough rocky Mpountainous country. A Mule will pack as much as 20 G.I.'s and go up the side of a mountain that a jeep wouldn't even look at.
The army mule is a marvelous animal, but he's finished, laments Gen. J. Lawton Collins, chief of staff. "I've never seen him do anything that a jeep or bulldozer can't do better." Well, general — ever see either of those contraptions open its mouth to bray?
JACKASS CENSUS
A news item: "From the Bureau of the Census last week went out a solemn memo to museum directors advising them that the U.S. had 389,045 Missouri mules in 1920; only 63,223 in 1950." Not counting of course those in Washington D.C.
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..A motorist in Spring Hope, North Carolina, was driving a car and ran over a mule. The mule got up and kicked the vehicle, toppling it into a ditch and causing $300 damage. The mule suffered only slight injuries. —(AFPS) —Thanks to the Rocketeer
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IN PEOPLE ONLY KNEW
I told Rip-Snortin' the old time prospector that he'd ruin his stomach drinking his vile home made stuff! — "Nivver mind, nivver mind — it won't show with me pants on."
This is the way some are kind to animals
[cartoon: car rolls down desert road, dog hangs on to tailfin and runs, passenger tells driver] "He couldn't be following us ... We're going too fast!"
I want to than "WESTWARD" monthly (Kaiser Steel) for the okay to reprint this
[image: bullet-hole with splatter, fly standing next to it and waving]
Here I am. The old galoot missed me. |
As a pioneer editor of Hangtown said, when the mob decided not to hang him, "No noose is good noose!" |
Changes Her Mind
Stopped to see the oldest oil well in Southern California. Was told that an old timer had been watchman for 40 years; sorta figgered he was the man who could give me its history and the low down about when California was a gory, glorious untapped store of black gold.
Seated on a prostrate walking beam was the watchman. As I approached he put his fingers to his lips — "Shhh" — he said — "see her?" — "There she is!" — I looked where he pointed — emerging from an ancient drill hole was a horned toad! "Her young are about to hatch," he said, "last year she didn't lay eggs, but gave birth to you young; she can't always make up her mind — see?" — "Horned toads cover themselves in the sand with nothin' but their little knobby eyes showin" above the surface," he said, "but I watch 'em and don't believe I ever stepped on one — these 40 years." —H.O.
Liminatin' Lem says where you find a mink at in Washington you're liable to find skunk.
SAVE THE FORESTS
The lecturer on forest conservation was loudly berating the general public for its indifference to the preservation of our timber resources.
"I don't suppose," he declared, "there is a single person here tonight who has done a single thing toward conserving our timber supply."
After a monentary silence, a meek voice spoke up from the rear, "I did. I once shot a woodpecker." —Evan Esar
A rancher near Lancaster, heard that turkeys would eat grasshoppers; so he turned his flock loose in the fields. The turkeys came back bare; the grasshoppers ate the feathers off them, he says.
Captain Catnip Ashby was discussing the belief that after a person dies he comes back to this earth in the form of some animal. Jake Topper said he didn't like that idea — he might come back as a worm.
The Captain assured Jake there was no danger of that — you never come back the same as you were.
QUICKSILVER HUMOR
An old Newspaper, published in 1848 was found in the Garret of an old desert shack. The paper is framed and is in the Pony Express Museum. The following letter is printed in the paper:
"Dear Jim;
"Come right off if you are comin' at all, as Silas Haimes is 'sistin' that I shall have him and he hugs and kisses me so continuously that I can't hold out much longer. I must have him or you very quick fer my feelin's sich that I must git me a feller before next winter. I jist can't stand it nohow much longer.
Sally Ann P."
The Museum comments, "Red Hot Mama in 1848. Mae West was an iceberg as compared with this ancient Cleopatra." —Thanks to Tom New of Santa Monica
Out-Wickenburg-Way
Eagle Delivers Goose; Now Sam McGehee Can Eat with No Pellets in His Palate
Some of the screwiest things happen around Wickenburg.
If we didn't know that the Sam McGehees were honest people we'd be prone to throw this yarn on the town dump. But it did happen.
SAM was out at his Divide Ranch, 14 miles west of town, last week and decided to look over one of his tanks. Some wild geese were enjoying a swim until Sam came on the scene when they took to the air. When they were some 800 to 1,000 feet overhead an eagle swooped down and sunk his claws into one goose.
A GOOSE being about as heavy as an eagle, it seems the eagle didn't have enough eagle-power to negotiate the goose and not enough sense to turn loose so eagle and goose came tumbling down.
ALL Sam had to do was frighten the eagle away and pick up the goose. And on Saturday, when wife Peggy knocks off at noon from her city hall work, she'll fix up the stuffing and on Sunday the McGehees will feast on wild goose with no danger of getting pellets in their palates. —The Sun, Wickenburg
In 1885 Pennsylvania enacted a law authorizing payment of 50 cents bounty for a hawk or owl scalp. Thousands were brought in and over $90,000 was paid to hunters. At the end of two years, farmers found that field crops and orchards were over-run by rats, mice and other rodents, and the law was repealed. The hawk law cost farmers an estimated two million dollars. —Capper's Farmer
OLD ABE DIED IN 1881
By Chas. Lockwood
EDITOR'S NOTE — Your Old Editor seldom goes out in the desert hills but what he sees an eagle or two. When he sees one of these wonderful birds it always reminds him of the story regarding the most famous eagle of all. So therefore, your Editor asked Mr. Lockwood, who is also familiar with the tale, to set it down in article form so that it might be published in these pages. The story follows.
Yes, "Old Abe" died in 1881.
"Wait a minute — wait a minute! I hear you say. "If you are thinking of the 'Old Abe' that I'm thinking of — you're wrong — he was assassinated in 1865."
To this I definitely agree — Abe Lincoln did die in 1865, but I still say that "Old Abe" died in 1881. But that's ahead of the story — let's start at the beginning.
It seems that in 1861, a band of Flambeau Indians (Chippewa Tribe) were canoeing down the Jump River in Wisconsin, for the purpose of contacting settlers with whom they intended to barter some maple sugar for food. Presently they came to a churning falls, below which, as if it were a bright silver dollar, lay a small serene lake. The band of Indians laboriously portaged the falls and agiley launched their boats on the placid waters. Now it happened that Blue Sky, chief of the Indians, saw a great eagle swoop down upon an unsuspecting hawk which had been fishing in the lake. The hawk was so frightened that it dropped the fish it was carrying. The eagle majestically glided down and without landing, scooped up the fish in its sharp claws and quickly soared into the air. Blue Sky, a young and alert chief, was as inquisitive as a kitten and he watched the bird carry the fish to its nest in the tip of a tall tree.
It was a native American bald eagle for the feathers on his head and neck, were grayish white. He was nearly the size of a Thanksgiving turkey.
Alone, Blue Sky paddled toward the shore, and when the bald eagle again soared off in search of food, he climbed the tree and took two young ones out of the nest. After this Blue Sky and his followers continued across the lake and down another stream. The first settler place they came to was that of Dan McCanns. The Indians were hungry and asked for something to eat. Mrs. McCanns gave them some food that she had on hand, but they still weren't satisfied. Corn planting time was just over, and the McCannses had a half bushel of the seed in a sack. The Indians tried to trade their maple sugar for the corn, but as the McCanns made their own sugar, they couldn't strike a bargain. The Indians still persisted and at last a deal was made: They'd trade one the young eagles for the corn. This was the beginning of a noble career for a noble bird.
This happened just as the Civil War was getting under way and after the young eagle had grown considerably, McCanns decided to give it to the 8th Wisconsin Volunteers as a living symbol of the freedom of our country. Accordingly, McCanns took the bird to Eau Claire, where he offered it to the soldiers as a mascot. The leader of Co. C, one Captain Perkins, turned the offer down, but after McCanns put the growing eagle through a few tricks which he had taught it, Capt. Perkins decided to acquiesce to the desires of his men and allow the bird to remain. Immediately thereupon, Company C, which had been known as the Badger Company, changed its name to the Eagle Company, which, to McCanns, was very pleasing.
The eagle took to army camp life like a hummingbird takes to honey. It was secured by a fish line attached to one leg, so that it had plenty of room to move about, but could not escape. As if it were a strange dog finding a friend, it took a liking to one of the soldiers named Jimmie McGinnis, so he automatically became its master. It would eat from no one else and when Jimmie was around, the bird would be found, still restricted by its leash, on McGinnis' shoulder. The trooper became so fond of the creature, that he made a red, white and blue shield and placed it upon a pole, for the bird's perch. When the soldiers marched it was carried by Jimmie at the left of the Colors. Crowds cheered the feathered aristocrat whenever it appeared and, in fact, it caused more comment than the soldiers themselves.
By this time the eagle had grown full sized and his feathers were the dark brown of a chocolate bar. The highlights on his coat shown [sic] like gold in the sun. He had the native bald head and his tail was white with black spots. His claws were a shiny black and were in direct contrast to the yellow of his legs. Ten and a half pounds was his total weight, but when anything angered him he ruffled his feathers and looked twice as large. His wing spread was 6½ feet.
The great eagle seemed to like soldiers and martial music — he would flap his wings and make a strange whistling sound when the band played. The officers always made it a habit to salute him when they passed.
The regiment finally marched off to battle on the 12th of October 1861. At the first boom of he cannon, the powerful bird flew from his perch so hard that he broke the cord that held him. Whereupon he sailed into the bullet laden air above the battlefield. The soldiers thought that that was the last they would ever see of him, but every once in a while, and above the roar of the guns, his wild screaming could be heard overhead. This thrilled the soldiers and spurred them on to greater efforts. When the battle was over, the eagle could be seen circling high in the sky above, but presently he came gliding down and settled upon his perch. He was never tied after that and he always returned. After each battle he'd march among the soldiers, fanning his feathers and seemingly chuckling as if he were saying, "Good fight, boys, good fight."
When the regiment was on the march, he'd often sail on high to hunt and fish, and when he came back he was always cheered by the troops. The Congfederates particularly hated the loyal bird and disrespectfully referred to it as the "Yankee Buzzard." General Price, (Confederate) was strongly affected by the presence of the eagle with the opposing army, and ordered it captured or shot at the first chance. He further said, "I would rather capture that bird than a whole regiment of Union soldiers. But regardless of this attitude of the Confederates, the bald eagle went through the entire war and survived 42 battles. He returned to his company after each skirmish and never once landed in any other camp. The noble creature had several narrow squeaks and a time or two, lost some of his feathers, but he was never hit.
After the War, on the 26th day of September 1864, the magnificent eagle was given to the State of Wisconsin, where he lived 17 years longer in the State House at Madison. His wartime master, Jimmie McGinnis had him on display at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition in 1876, and told "Old Abe's" story to many thousands of people. For "Old Abe," in honor of Abe Lincoln, was what the bird had been christened at the beginning of the War.
So you can see that I was correct, when I said that "Old Abe" died in 1881. His death was die to a fire that started in the State house. The bird was rescued form the flames, but the smoke and fumes had their effect on him. He died about a month later. A few of his old buddies were present at his passing while he was being held by his State House keeper. The body was stuffed and placed on his army perch in a handsome glass case. To anyone who saw him, he looked as if he were about to take off, as he did in the war days. "Old Abe," like the celebrity that he was, remained one of the most interesting sights in Madison, but it seemed that fire was still to be his final doom, for the State House again caught fire in 1904 and "Old Abe's" body disappeared in the flames. But this wonderful eagle will not be forgotten — he will remain a a symbol of loyalty and freedom for all.
[image: eagle]
Being a Hero Is a Lifetime Job
IT WAS day break, July 5 — the night policeman dozed on a bench in Prescott's town square — the streets were strewn with evidence of a gay 4th. The policeman muttered something about doing a 24-hour shift — then he heard two shots, close by, at the other side of the square. Through the trees he saw a man walking stealthily with a shot gun in his hands — and as the policeman approached keeping a few trees between himself and the gunman — he noticed that he was wearing a Spanish-American War uniforn — "by GEE" it was old Chloride Smith of Jerome — and thinking as how Chloride was an easy going old galoot, except when aruging about the Spanish-American War, he stepped out of the trees, saying: "Look here Chloride, this ain't the 4th — come now, give me the gun." Smith handed the policeman the gun muttering, "I got the leader, you bet I got that son of a gun." The policeman, thinking it best to humor the old timer, answered, "You got the Commanding Officer all right, all right — let's take the gun over to the station — let's tell the boys of your new victory."
The day-shift policeman at the station greeted old Chloride Smith, and asked what he had done. The night man, standing behind Smith made the customary sign, a circling of the hand that means "NUTS." "He won the war all over again — you fellows decorate him and wire Teddy Roosevelt — I am going home to get some sleep."
"Well Chloride," said the Sergeant — "suppose you tell us all about it; say, Pete, call the Judge and better get Doc over too. As they sat, Smith started his story: "I guess you don't all know, that for the last 20 years I have come to town on the 3rd of July, borrowed a ladder and washed off the statue of Captain Bucky O'Neal, our hero of the Spanish-American War.
"Yesterday while all those speakers was speaking, I noticed them goddam pigeons — there was one, a big blue one, that was the leader, and he always lit right on the Captain's nose. So last night I just watched where he went to roost and got up early this morning and shot the disrespectful son-of-a-gun."
"You know I was the Trumpeter of Co. 'A'."
"Yes, yes, O.K. Chloride, here's your gun, better go home. We will all be out, come quail time; keep your powder dry, soldier." The Judge, Doc, and the Sergeant stood at attention at [sic] the old timer saluted, clicked his heals, and marched out the door.
Walter (P.T. Barnum) Knott AND HIS GHOST TOWN
Engine No. 41 of Ghost Town and Calico Railway, Ghost Town, Buena Park, Orange county, with her string of coaches, will bring back memories of by-gone days to many, when narrow gauge lines were a familiar sight in California.
Knowing that time and wear were making great inroads on the narrow gauges, Walter Knott purchased one of the last complete trains in running condition. After completely overhauling and painting it, it is now operating on a three-quarter mile track in Ghost Town near Buena Park.
The engine of this train was built by the Baldwin Locomotive works in 1880 and was placed in service on the narrow gauge lines operating in the then booming mining district of S.W. Colorado where it hauled fabulously rich ore from the San Juan mining district to the mills and smelters. Passengers were also transported in the quaint old parlor cars furnished with individual revolving plush seats.
BURROS Melba Krause of Melba's Palm Village Malt Shop in Palm Desert, has this Burro Story to tell. —Editor's note.
It is a fine thing to have two burros for play mates when you are eleven years old, especially if you live high up in the mountains (Near Truckee) where there are no other children.
I did not actually think this as a thought but knew it as an intangible something that is just there.
I sat on a stump in the shade of a pine tree and watch Kate patiently roll a tin can under her little hoof until the wrapper wore loose, paper being a choice tid-bit.
Her appetite for paper was so strong that she had learned to open any kind of a latch within her reach, chiefly the one on the little tree shaded outhouse at the end of a short trail. I remember with nostalgia the broom handle with a spike driven at right angles on one end of it that leaned against the wall outside the door for my own personal use as a lever to maneuver the latch which was placed too high for my small stature and out of Kate's reach. Newspapers were passed on and on but Sears were precious and Kate must wait until only the slick colored pages were left.
Kate was arrogant and tricky and a tease. Jack was docile and a little shy but an inveterate prankster. His favorite prank was to hide when I hunted him. He would stand quietly in the shaded bushes where his colors melted into his surroundings while I hunted and called and coaxed. Finally I would try his own game and squat behind a bush and peer out in all directions hoping he would think me gone and come out when suddenly I would be startled beyond movement or speech. My tongue would be thick and my knees wobbly as he stood directly behind me emitting his ear splitting bray. My eyes would fill with tears of exasperation while he stood quietly and let me put the halter on him. I knew he was tremendously amused.
Once on our way, he would trot along happily and innocently until he spotted a low libed tree near our course of travel. If I were not alert and watchful I would be neatly and unsuspectingly scraped off his back. Usually he would politely wait for me a few steps away. Once in a while he would make me walk almost all the way home, staying just within sight ahead of me. When we were almost within sight of the house he would wait for me, why, I don't know.
I think the only time we were ever really and truly angry at them and seriously considered banishing them was when Kate ate our mail.
Mother had taken a trip to the city and was to send money back to us after cashing our pay checks. Mail came to our mountain cabin by horse back once a week, and of course was always awaited with eagerness.
Mail day finally arrived and excitement was high and cash low as we heard the mail man gallup in and throw the mail on the table under the trees in the yard and gallup noisily away. We all made a fast dash for the table but Kate was already there — and she had the letter — just the return address sticking out of her mouth. The more we coaxed and begged and pulled and tugged and protested loudly the tighter she clamped her teeth. Each time we swatted her stubborn carcass she would move her lower jaw forward and back and there would be less letter and less hope of recovering it. Finally it was completely gone. We stood dumbfounded, unable to utter another word of protest. Kate ambled away smuggly munching our coveted letter.
A few feet away from us, she looked back over her shoulder — a little disdainfully, I thought.
As she disappeared behind a bush I heard my dad say under his breath "I wonder if she is worth forty dollars."
P.S. The money was not in the letter. Mother came home the next day with a phonograph. It had a bright red horn with blue morning glories on it!
THE INDIO DATE PALM Tells this story about Russ Nicoll
Nicoll has a large date garden of his own. Among his trees is one of the most fanmous in American 50 foot tall, "Old King Solomon." This male date palm was imported from the Arabian desert and weighed five tons when brought into the country. It produces enough pollen to fertilize 400 female date palms each year. Nicoll call this process "the marriage of the palms."
Without the male tree, the females, which bear the fruit, would produce nothing. The pollination of the female palm is done manually, the pollen from the male tree being tied in the blossoms of the female.
One day he was explaining to a gorup of tourists about the male and female trees. They were standing by "King Solomon" and Russ told what a prolific old roue the Arabian palm had been He said this great-granddaddy of them all had pollinated more than 400 female palms each season for years.
One of the women in the group then said: "My, my, isn't that wonderful. But how do you move Solomon around to all those female trees?"
Only One World Famous
VALERIE JEAN
DATE SHOP
11 Miles South of Indio on Highway 99
or Please Mail Your Order
1-lb. Finest Dates and Confections, $1.30
3-lbs. Finest Dates and Confections, 3.50
Including Delivery — write for Folder
VALERIE JEAN DATE SHOP
Thermal, Calif.
DESERT BEST
Life Is Dull — Spontaneity Is Dead!
Everything today must go to the committee. Be checked by the heads of the department — okayed by the council — passed by the Union — taken up with the so and so, passed and inspected, red tape — carbon copies — rule — routine — groove — I could add a lot more words, but they are words that don't belong to this desert life I live. Today most people think like a rubber stamp — Your Editor has no red tape to go through. That is why some of my stuff stinks — But also why, sometimes there is a bit of spontaneity in it.
Lost Man Saved by Cat
Chicago Tribune Press Service
SYDNEY, Australia, March 8, 1952. Lost for five days in the New South Wales bush, Derrell Chute, 35, found a cat in a rabbit trap and released it. The cat let him out of the bush and to a homestead.
Western Books Ghost Business
Your Editor after years in the hermit business —is starting anew in the Ghost Business — (see page 104) of his new, BIG BOOK — "The Old Mirage Salesman" — THUMB THROUGH IT AT THE WESTERN BOOK SHOPS — or send $3.00 to Harry The Ghost, Old Fort Oliver.
If unfortunate and live in California add 9c tax — (The state made up of book-keepers — that stop us DO'ERS.)
LOST DESERT GOLD
By Ralph L. Caine
The Pegleg and Other Lost Mines
Geology, Photos, Maps of "Pegleg Country"
$1.10
P.O. Box Foy Sta. 17162
LOS ANGELES CALIFORNIA
For Tales and Trails of the Desert West Read the NEW
CALICO PRINTMagazine
Published Every Other Month
Lost Mines, Ghost Towns, Humor, Geology, Gems, Minerals, History, Folklore, WIldlife of the Desert West
Edited by Harold and Lucile Weight
29 Palms, California
One Year—$1.50 Single Copy 30c
DEHYDRATED JOKES
From Desert Rat Scrap Book
THE BEST STORIES OF 50 OLD TIMERS
Shortened to Shorter Than SHort and Packed into 36 Pages
DESERT RAT
Harry Oliver's
JOKE BOOK
Send 25c to Harry at Old Fort Oliver
Thousand Palms, California
Better say Joke Book or he will send two and a half Desert Rat Scrap Books "Gee" This Is Me!
GHOST TOWN
A Great Collection of Relics
A Faithful Reproduction of
a Composite Old West Ghost Town
Open Daily, 12 noon to 9 P.M. — Come
and have FUN and a GOOD DINNER
KNOTT'S BERRY PLACE
BUENA PARK, CALIF.
22 Miles Southeast of Los Angeles
ONE YEAR $2.00 SINGLE COPY 25 ¢
Grubstaker: The late Scotty Allen
THE PONY EXPRESS
Stories of Pioneers and Old Trails
Herb S. Hamlin, Editor
Address All Mail to
THE PONY EXPRESS
795 Sutter Street
San Francisco 9, Calif.
Published Monthly at Placerville,
California, Formerly Hangtown
All in all, these 50 Jokes will rub-out your fear of the friendly crawling creature's of the sand dunes. |
[image: rodent]
I ain't no bullet hole. I am a baby pack rat. |
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