By: Liz Boutin

On February 12, 1908, a crowd of about 250,000 people gathered in Times Square in New York City to witness the beginning of an automobile race. The race would run from New York to Paris, with six teams competing, representing Germany, France, Italy, and the United States. An automobile race like this had never been run before. The prize? According to some sources, a 1,400-pound trophy and bragging rights. The New York Times and Le Matin, a Paris newspaper, sponsored the race. A shot in the air from a pistol at 11:15 am started the race.

The six teams included three French cars (the De Dion-Bouton, Motobloc, and Sizaire-Naudin), one German (the Protos), one Italian (the Züst), and one American (the Thomas Flyer) with about two to three members on each team. Initially, no one from America would enter the race. President Theodore Roosevelt requested the manufacturer of the Thomas Flyer car, E.R. Thomas Motor Company in Buffalo, to enter the race. George Schuster was an employee of E.R. Thomas, an expert mechanic; he rode with the American team, even driving parts of the route.

The intended route of the race would have drivers push across the United States to San Francisco, then ship the cars to Seattle, and forward to Alaska by boat, crossing over the frozen Bering Strait towards Siberia and onward to Paris. The actual route went across the United States to San Francisco, up to Seattle, from there to Japan by steamer, to Siberia by ship, and then through Asia and Europe. The conditions in Alaska turned out to be impossible to drive in as George Schuster and the American team first attempted it. They lost fifteen days due to having to turn back to Seattle. The team was able to make up for that time and more later on in the race.

At the time of the race in 1908, road maps were non-existent, roads were unpaved, and some places had no roads at all. Teams had to endure frigid temperatures, snow, and much mud along the route. The terrain conditions were rough on the cars, which were not built for such abuse. The vehicles carried several supplies, including gasoline, chains, ropes, spare parts, and tools.

Nebraska was part of the route for the drivers of the great race, with cars stopping at various towns in the state, including Grand Island, Ogallala, and Omaha. The American car driven by Montague Roberts was the first car of the race to enter Omaha on March 5, 1908. The citizens of Omaha provided great hospitality to the crew of the Thomas Flyer. The team received complimentary meals from the Schlitz hotel and warm clothing from the M.E. Smith Company. Each crew member was fitted with a complete outfit for their journey through frigid temperatures. The men vowed to return the clothing after arriving in Paris. On the night of March 17, the first French car arrived at Grand Island and was delayed a few days due to a broken shaft. 

Sunday, July 26, 1908, at 6:15 pm, the German team arrived in Paris with their car, the Protos. Unfortunately, the German team was penalized for 30 days for taking shortcuts along the race route. Among the shortcuts was sending their car to Seattle from Pocatello, Idaho, by train. The American team arrived in Paris on July 30 at 8 pm, four days after the Germans. Once arriving in Paris, the team was stopped by a French police officer telling them they would be arrested due to missing a headlight. Paris law required a car to have two working headlights. A bicycler happened to be near the car and ended up allowing the American team to have his bike so they could finish the race by bolting it to the car. After traveling over 22,000 miles and 169 days, the American team officially won the great race of 1908. The Italians arrived in September 1908. Out of the original six teams, only three made it to Paris. The French were unable to make it to the finish line.

The Great Automobile Race was recorded in a variety of newspapers. Word of the race spread through towns via newspapers and telegraphs. In Omaha as in other stops along the route, people would stand outside to greet and cheer the teams as they passed through. The big event helped recognize the need to improve roads and highlighted the car’s resilience for driving long distances. The race also provided the sense of needing newly constructed roads as asphalt wasn’t developed until 1910.

An interesting article by The New York Times dated June of 1968 states after sixty years after winning the race in 1908, George Schuster received a $1,000 award from an automobile club that promised money to him if he had won the race. Schuster never received it in 1908. At the age of 95, at the time of the article, Mr. Schuster received his award.

Are you interested in learning more about vintage automobiles? The “Omaha’s AUTO-Biography” exhibition in the Crook House Museum covers racing, motor cars, and automobile production. Only a couple of months left of the exhibition, so if you have yet to visit the museum to see the exhibit, you still have time. Race to our website: http://www.douglascohistory.org/collection/current-exhibitions/ for more information and admission fees.

Sources:

Abbott, Karen. “Paris or Bust: The Great New York-to-Paris Auto Race of 1908: Even before there were roads, there were men who wanted to drive fast.” Smithsonian Magazine. March 7, 2012. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/paris-or-bust-the-great-new-york-to-paris-auto-race-of-1908-116784616/.

Bear, H. E. M. “Roswell Daily Record, 03-17-1908.” (1908). https://digitalrepository.unm.edu/roswell_record_news/1388

Evans, Art. “The Greatest Race – 1908 New York to Paris.” Sports Car Digest. September 28, 2011. https://sportscardigest.com/the-greatest-race-1908-new-york-to-paris/.

Garrett, Jerry. “New York to Paris the Hard Way, 100 Years Ago.” ProQuest Historical Newspapers: New York Times, February 10, 2008; 1-2.

“Omaha, A Stop on the Great Race of 1908.” History Nebraska. Accessed March 8, 2023. https://history.nebraska.gov/omaha-a-stop-on-the-great-race-of-1908/.

Sblendorio, Bob. “The Great Auto Race of 1908.” Apex Automotive Magazine. Accessed March 8, 2023. https://www.apexautomag.com/2018/05/the-great-auto-race-of-1908/.

 The photographic story of The Great New York to Paris Auto Race of 1908. Accessed March 8, 2023. https://rarehistoricalphotos.com/new-york-paris-auto-race-photos-1908/.

 “1908 Race Victor Will Get $1,000: Schuster, 95, Will Receive Belated Payoff Tuesday.” ProQuest Historical Newspapers: The New York Times, June 12, 1968: 54.

“Transcontinental Bicycle Relay and Automobile Races Contrasted.” The Library of Congress; the Omaha Daily Bee. March 8, 1908: 3.

“Yankee Car Resumes Trip.” The Library of Congress; The Omaha Daily Bee. March 6, 1908: 9.

By: Rita Shelley

Ella Mahammitt was an Omaha journalist, civil rights advocate, and women’s rights activist. From 1891 until 1897, she edited The Enterprise, a black weekly newspaper published here.

The ancestral record of Ella’s life is incomplete. Fortunately, I could also mine the written record of her work at The Enterprise as a way of chronicling her life.

Ella arrived in Omaha in 1891 when she married Thomas P. Mahammitt, her second husband and the Enterprise’s publisher. Her first bylines appeared in 1894 but, as described by editor of Topeka’s Black-owned newspaper, The Plain Dealer, “The Enterprise, owned by Mr. T.P. Mahammitt and operated by Mrs. Mahammitt, is a credit to the colored people of this section…Mrs. Mahammitt deserves much credit for the way she conducts the paper. She knows the newspaper business from [typesetting] ‘case’ to the editorial chair.”[1]

The future wife of Thomas Mahammitt was born the year of the Emancipation Proclamation (1863), in Kansas City, Missouri, to William and Annie Davis. William was born in Kansas in 1842, Annie in Missouri in 1846. Given William’s and Anna’s dates of birth and that they were listed in the Federal Census as “mulatto,” can one say with relative certainty that they were born into slavery and had white ancestors? Ella would hardly have grown up knowing the history of slavery in her home state. But her parents would have, where only recently had the capture of a fugitive slave yielded a cash reward. The ransom amount depended on the age, sex, and physical condition of the person who was captured.[2]

In 1880, William Davis was a policeman and 17-year-old Ella was a public school teacher living at home. She taught in Kansas City public schools from 1880 to 1883 and in 1887. In each of those years’ city directories, the letters “col’d” appear next to her name.

That Ella was a teacher begs the question of where she obtained her training. Might it have been at nearby Freedmen’s University at Quindaro, Kansas, a free-soil town across the river in Wyandotte County? The university had been established as a post-reconstruction all-black college. Quindaro was also a stop on the Underground Railroad.[3] Alternatively, might William and Annie have had the financial wherewithal to send their only daughter to Tuskegee University in Alabama? Might Tuskegee have been where she met her future Enterprise-bylined colleague, Mrs. Booker T. Washington?

Or did Ella attend Howard University in Washington, D.C., where her first husband, J.M. Browne, had received his medical training? Ella and J.M. were married in 1884 when he was 28 and she was 21. J.M.’s father was a bishop of the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church and a trustee of Howard. What I wouldn’t give to see Ella’s and J.M.’s wedding photo! Or Ella in her cap and gown after graduating from teacher training!

Records of where Ella and J.M. met, where she was educated, and what subject she taught in Kansas City’s schools, seem to have been lost to history. The Kansas City Times account of the end of their marriage is not. In what must have been humiliating detail for the couple, the Times printed Ella’s allegation that her husband returned home intoxicated “at least five nights a week” and did not provide for her. They divorced in 1887.[4] J.M. died in 1888. His funeral was at the home of Ella’s parents.

When Thomas Mahammitt brought his bride to Omaha, they were feted at the home of Millard Fillmore Singleton, an officer in the Omaha Colored Republican Club, the Omaha branch of the National Afro-American League, and one of Omaha’s leading citizens. Inside the Singleton home there was celebrating, perhaps even prayer and a toast. But outside awaited the cruel world of Jim Crow-era Omaha.

Four months after the Mahammitts’ wedding, the lynching of George Smith, a porter, was reported in the Omaha World-Herald. In disturbing prescience of the 1919 lynching of Will Brown, Smith was accused of assaulting a five-year-old white girl. Upon his arrest, authorities didn’t or couldn’t protect Smith from a mob that broke down the jail’s steel bars. He was dragged through the streets of downtown Omaha, stomped on by hundreds of onlookers, and hanged from a telegraph line though he was already dead.[5] For hours, a long line of prurient gawkers viewed his remains where they were on view at the Heafey-Heafey funeral home.[6] Four men were charged with first-degree murder and arrested, posting $5,000 bond each. The four were George Greevy, a Union Pacific foreman; Ed Newchaffer from Rising City, Nebraska; Walter Brandes, a saloon keeper and future developer of South Omaha’s Brandes Block; and “General” Megeath, a clerk.[7] I found no account of their convictions on murder or lesser charges.

The racial climate of Omaha surely was a source of Ella’s determination to speak truth. She was among activists who in 1895 inaugurated the National Federation of Afro-American Women in Boston. Margaret (Mrs. Booker T.) Washington was elected president. Ella represented the federation’s western district as one of four regional vice presidents. Another visionary, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, was also founder of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and was arguably the most famous Black woman of her time. Ella and Wells-Barnett were also friends–in 1896, Ella congratulated Ida upon the birth of her first child.

The Boston Conference, Ella wrote in 1896, was for the purpose of consolidating several organizations of African-American women “for the weal of the nation.”[8] She averred that by speaking in a unified voice, Black women “indisputably establish the fact that Negro Intellect is identical with the intellect of any other people.” Efforts to demand fair wages for skilled domestic workers also gained her support.[9]

The Enterprise’s 1896 Easter edition was billed as written, edited, and produced entirely by women as a fundraiser for the Federation of Negro Women’s clubs. Among its bylined writers were members of Ella’s Federation network, including Margaret Washington, who called for educated Black women of the South to not turn their backs on other women of their race.[10]

Of the power of Mrs. Washington’s voice, Ella wrote, “the experiments of our Southern sisters must come as an inspiration. When we read from their own pens the trials which they are passing and the fierce wars they are waging almost single-handed, against poverty, ignorance and vice our hears cannot help warming to the work of race-building, and closing our eyes to the old scars and gaping wounds, we plunge in once more. To the weak-hearted, Mrs. Washington’s letter will give renewed vigor.”[11]

Another byline was that of Victoria Earle Matthews, also a nationally prominent journalist, author, and lecturer. Matthews had been born into slavery and is believed to have been “owned” by her white biological father. She wrote that “organization of Afro-American women’s clubs will someday be written of as one of her monuments. Considering the forces [that] labored for over two centuries to bestialize her, there is something bordering the miraculous in her present moral status.”[12]

Alongside national voices, Ella highlighted the local organization she had established, the Omaha Women’s Club, of which she was president. Other officers were Ophelia Clenlans, Laura Craig, Nettie Johnson, and Clara B. Franklin.

Mrs. Clenlans was a freed Platte County, Missouri, slave who was married to Emmanuel Clenlans, an Omaha postal clerk who also was active politically. Ophelia’s legacy lasted well into the 20^th century with the establishment of a North Omaha women’s club named in her honor. In 1922, the club’s members wrote a letter urging Senator Gilbert M. Hitchcock to support an anti-lynching bill.[1]

Laura Craig, Ophelia’s daughter, represented Nebraska at the Trans-Mississippi Exposition. Clara Franklin was listed as a printer in the 1890 census. Other traces of Clara’s life, and that of Nettie Johnson, are sparse.

Elia Peattie, a reporter for the Omaha World-Herald, wrote a review of Ella’s 1896 Easter edition. She described it as “simple and unaffected,” surprising to her because “many of its contributors are novices in the matter of writing for the press.” She wrote that the writing was well above average, also remarkable to her because the authors were “of a race that a little over a quarter century ago was in shackles.”[1]

Tangentially, Peattie addressed a controversy among Omaha Woman’s Clubwomen as to whether Black women were entitled to membership. Peattie’s account also provides insight into the accommodation of white women that was still expected, even for a woman of Ella’s accomplishments: The question was proposed to the board, apropos of Mrs. Mahammitt, a young and beautiful colored woman of good education, and honest intellectual ambitions. Mrs. Mahammitt showed singular good sense. Rather than engulf the club in difficulty of any sort, she started a club among her own race, and has led that society of women along pleasant fields of study. Not long ago, as president of the Omaha Colored Woman’s club she was invited to address the 500 members of the Woman’s club. This she did with singular modesty, propriety of language, and good sense, and met with the warmest applause. So far, and no further have the women got on the color question in this city.[1]

---

Ella’s journalism career halted by 1902 when Thomas Mahammitt accused her of adultery and filed for divorce.[1] The divorce was granted in 1902.  

Ella’s final column in the Enterprise, in which she praised the work of Omaha’s Visiting Nurses Association as a far-reaching charity, was printed in 1897.[2] She returned to Kansas City, where she reclaimed her first married name, Ella Browne, and worked there as a domestic servant (col’d).

The 1910 Federal Census calls into question the accuracy of the enumerator’s work. A 17-year-old “brother,” born in 1893 while Ella and Thomas were married, was named Henry Mahammitt Brooks and lived with Ella. Brooks was the surname of the man who was named in Thomas Mahammitt’s accusation of adultery.

1920 found Ella working as a nurse in Orange County, CA. She was the western division representative for the Federation of Colored Women’s Clubs and a member of its executive board[3] and committee secretary for a mayor’s Colored Citizens’ Campaign.[4] She died in Los Angeles in 1932.

Writing Ella’s story set off my own reflections on the invisibility of race in my two “home” states, Kansas and Nebraska.

I was not taught that lynching was not uncommon in the Sunflower State, including events at Alma, Kansas, reported in the July 21, 1899 Alma Enterprise: “Kansas has got into the game at last. There was a lynching bee up at Alma Sunday afternoon, but they were only amateurs at the business and allowed the marshal to cut the body down before the negro was dead.”[5] I also was not taught about the heroic roles Kansans played in the run-up to the Civil War and abolition, including the establishment of the Freedmen’s University that Ella Mahammitt may have attended.

The legacy of slavery was not lost on me when I worked at one of Omaha’s Fortune 500 companies. Amongst more than 5,000 employees, I had only two African American colleagues during the decade I worked there, both men. Lacking the protection of student deferment because he couldn’t afford college, one had served in Viet Nam. The other had fallen short of his dream of a broadcasting career; he had been told that Omaha already had a Black news anchor.

In a story about the accomplishments, barriers, and near invisibility for entire decades of the life of a politically astute Black woman, why am I devoting two entire paragraphs to my own story? Perhaps this is because I long for the day when my home and adopted states bear witness to the truths we were not taught in school.

---

[1] “Two Divorce Suits.” Omaha World-Herald. 10 August 1901, p. 12.

[2] “Woman’s Column.” The Enterprise. 13 February 1897, p. 1.

[3] “Clubdom.” California Eagle. 30 December 1922, p. 11.

[4] “Farmer for Mayor.” California Eagle. 17 Febuary 1923, p. 16.

[5] “What They Say.” Alma Enterprise. 21 July 1899, p. 1.

[6] “A Word With the Women.” Omaha World-Herald. 7 April 1896, p. 8.

[7] “The Clenlans Women’s Club Writes Hitchcock.” The Monitor. 24 February 1922, p. 1.

[8] “Omaha’s Colored People.” Topeka Plain Dealer. 18 July 1901, p. 1.

[9] Missouri State Archives. Missouri’s Early Slave Laws: A History in Documents. sos.mo.gov/archives/education/aahi/earlyslavelaws/slavelaws Accessed 2 Febuary 2023.

[10] O’Bryan, Tony. “Quindaro, Kansas” Civil War on the Western Border: The Missouri-Kansas  Conflict, 1854-1865. The Kansas City Public Libray. Accessed Monday, January 9, 2023 at http://civilwaronthewesternborder.org/encyclopedia/quindaro-Kansas

[11] “Why They Must Part.” Kansas City Times. 19 July 1887, p. 8.

[12] “Frightened to Death.” Omaha World-Herald. 20 October 1891, p. 8.

[13] “Left Ruin All Around.” Daily Nebraska State Journal. 11 October 1891, p. 2.

[14] “All Are Free Again.” Daily Nebraska State Journal. 22 November 1891, p. 5.

[15]  “Woman’s Column.” The Enterprise. 24 August 1895, p. 3.

[16]  Ibid.

[17] “The First National Conference of Colored Women.” The Enterprise. 7 April 1896, p. 7.

[18] “Brief History of The Woman’s Meeting Organized and Conducted in the Town of Tuskegee, Alabama”. The Enterprise. 4 April 1896, p. 1.

[19] “Colored Woman’s National League.” The Enterprise. 7 April 1896, p. 7

By Tara Spencer

In the late 1930s, a group of men in New York City decided they wanted to show off their culinary talents to their peers. Thus, the Society of Amateur Chefs was formed.

Their first organizational meeting was held at the Hotel New Yorker in October, 1938, and was comprised of “men whose hobby is preparing and serving their own favorite victuals.” It was decided they would meet on Thursdays, as that was the traditional “housemaids’ night off.” These dinner meetings presented an opportunity for members to demonstrate their skill in the “male interpretation of good cooking,” according to a New York Times article from Oct. 14, 1938.

Founder (and later executive director and president) Ben Irvin Butler declared November 3, 1938 as the day marking the “emancipation” of men who enjoy cooking. (This was the date the society was officially formed.) This declaration was made in an article Butler wrote that appeared in the Morning World-Herald on August 12, 1940.

The organization disbanded for some time during World War II, but reconvened in the late 1940s, with chapters popping up across the country.

Their reformation and ensuing popularity were, in part, a reaction to what one man (ironically, the feature and woman’s editor of the St. Louis Dispatch) described as “a de-caloried and vitamized society where every woman aspires to be a broomstick.” Apparently, some men at the time felt they were being made to eat smaller, healthier meals by their wives, forcing them to cook their own food when they got a hankering for something hearty.

Primarily thought of as a meat-and-potatoes (and corn) state, Nebraska was an ideal place for a chapter to form. That’s not to say members strictly stuck to steak, though. These men incorporated many different ingredients while occasionally drawing on other regional cuisines to make their meals of substance. With their desire for more indulgent meals, there was a seemingly strong preference for rich, French-influenced creations.

The Douglas County Historical Society recently acquired a collection that includes memorabilia from the Omaha chapter of the Society of Amateur Chefs, including membership lists, meeting reports, newspaper articles and ads, invitations, and many menus. The society’s invitation-only dinners presented their invitations and menus in a humorous, whimsical fashion using clever designs and tongue-in-cheek wording. Oftentimes, they would incorporate representations of the evening’s hosts/cooks into the design.  

Omaha’s chapter included some names that pepper the city’s history, such as Schimmel, Swanson, and Storz. Unsurprisingly, these names are also associated with the food and drink industry.

Listed in the membership registry, Edward Schimmel was the manager of the Blackstone Hotel (which could explain why many of their dinners seemed to take place there). Also found in several of the registries was Arthur Storz of Storz Brewery family fame. Clarke Swanson, of what would become the TV dinner empire, makes an appearance in the pieces of ephemera, notably on an egg-shaped invitation, on which his head is placed atop the body of a hen, alongside similarly attired cohost Ed Schimmel.

The New York chapter had a slightly more eclectic mix of characters, with one New York Times article mentioning attendees Jack Dempsey, Christopher Morley, and Lowell Thomas, as well as cartoonists Ham Fisher and Charles Biro.

Some of the society’s members were featured in ads for Libby’s corned beef hash, in which they would provide unique recipes that incorporated the hash. One such advertisement featured a “Hash Hawaiian” by author, explorer, and member of the society “Bob” Ripley.

The Omaha chapter’s big coming-out was featured in the April 11, 1948, issue of the Sunday World-Herald Magazine. The men met in the Fern Room of the Blackstone Hotel, natch. The new club had a seven-course dinner lasting three and a half hours, followed by a brief business meeting in which they voted to apply to join the national society—a formality, as they had already been invited by the national group.

Twenty-one men attended at this first meeting, and it was later decided that the maximum number of members should be limited to twenty-eight. They planned to have ten dinner meetings a year, at a cost of $7.50 per person, with two people hosting. It was strictly stated in their rules that members must be willing to “promote the culinary interest of the group.” It was clear that they took their “amateur cookery” seriously, further stating that many members were not interested in a “stag dinner group,” meaning they did not want members to simply hire a professional to plan and make the meal.

This fell in line with what the originators of the society stipulated—that members must cook for a hobby. Though it should be noted that they did not stipulate they be good at it. Rather, it seems they considered it a given.

Reading through articles related to the Society of Amateur Chefs, one notion that stands out is the belief that men are simply better at cooking. The New York chapter went so far as to pass a resolution to that effect.

Given the fact that women had been confined to the kitchen for much of Western history, this was a tough bite for some to swallow. Some women, and men, did push back. A former Mrs. Omaha, M.E. Arnold, determined that men do well when focusing on one dish or style of cooking. “If women could concentrate on special dishes for special occasions, we’d do a better job than the amateur cook,” she was quoted as saying in a World-Herald article. Dan Powers, noted as being the secretary of the Association of Amateur Chefs in Omaha, was quoted in the same article as saying amateurs are good at cooking because they like food. “Men have the edge there,” he said, as though women of that time simply did not like food.

A positive aspect of the organization is that they did seem to believe that more men should be interested in cooking, especially among younger generations. One article noted that younger men tended to view cooking as unmanly, or “sissy.”

While this sentiment surely still exists in some, cooking has become a more acceptable hobby for men over the last few decades. Cooking as a form of employment? Well, the culinary field has been strongly dominated by men for decades, with women typically making up around a quarter of chefs working in the industry in the U.S.

The men of the Society of Amateur Chefs once said they might “give their wives a treat” by inviting them to a session once a year. But women don’t have to wait to be invited. They can make their own meals—and their place is only in the kitchen if they want it to be.

Sources:

file:///C:/Users/tarad/Downloads/News_Article__Omaha_World-Herald_published_as_SUNDAY_WORLD-HERALD___April_11_1948__p80.pdf

file:///C:/Users/tarad/Downloads/News_Article__Omaha_World-Herald_published_as_MORNING_WORLD-HERALD___August_12_1940__p5-1.pdf

file:///C:/Users/tarad/Downloads/News_Article__Omaha_World-Herald_published_as_SUNDAY_WORLD-HERALD___March_28_1948__p1.pdf

https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1951/07/14/86468431.html?pageNumber=16

https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1938/10/14/issue.html (Pg. 25)

https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1952/01/20/93557250.html?pageNumber=202

https://www.encyclopedia.com/food/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/women-and-food

https://www.zippia.com/chef-jobs/demographics/

By: Natalie Kammerer

In continuation of our holiday exhibit and blog series dedicated to Highlighting our Heroes, we’ve done a deep-dive into some of our collections that tell the early history of Omaha’s Fire Department. We unfortunately don’t have names to put to many of these men’s faces, but their stories are as much a part of our history as those named and featured in our exhibit!

The Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company was established in 1860, six years after Omaha City’s official incorporation. A local carriage builder named Andrew J. Simpson estimated that it would cost him about $75.00 to build a “truck.” A handful of local insurance agents pledged contributions to help cover the cost.[1] Before long, Omaha’s first fire vehicle was ready for action. [It was] …“a hand pulled cart with hooks on the sides on which to hang the ladders and the buckets. It was about twelve feet long, painted bright red, and had small wheels for turning corners easily.”[2]

When the city invested in this high-tech machinery, they realized that they would also need a permanent (and convenient) location to store it, so the first fire station was built on the west side of 12^th Street between Farnam and Douglas. At this time, the Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company was comprised solely of volunteer firefighters; when a fire was reported, church bells were used to call members into action. They would rush to the station, get the cart, and pull it to the fire as fast as they could.[1]

Though this seems almost comical today, Omaha was still in its infancy during these years. Not only was the city’s geographical footprint small, the scope of its construction was simple as well. Most buildings were one or two stories of frame construction, so the “bucket brigade” method did the job just fine for a while.

For a few years, it seems that improvements within the fire department generally kept pace with the city’s growth and expansion. In 1866, Andrew J. Simpson (who was now serving as chief of the Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company) facilitated the purchase of a hand engine called “Fire King” which was bought second-hand from Davenport, Iowa. The next year, a steam engine called the “Omaha” was acquired. Over the next two decades, the city continued to build up a small fleet of modern equipment that was able to pump water from a new network of cisterns located throughout the city. Though a definite improvement over hauling buckets, this system had its limits, as well. Namely, the cisterns simply weren’t big enough to hold the water required to fight a really large fire.

The worst illustration of this problem came with the 1879 fire at the Grand Central Hotel, a newly-remodeled five-story brick building. After a while, it became clear that the cisterns were running low, and the Hook and Ladder Company’s hoses simply couldn’t reach the upper floors. Five firemen were killed when a floor collapsed, and the building was a total loss.[1]

Around the same time, it was also decided that the volunteer Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company was becoming obsolete – they were no longer sufficient to meet the needs of the growing city. Paid professional companies were proving to be more popular among members, and also more sustainable, considering how quickly the city was growing. A volunteer fireman simply couldn’t keep up with the demands of his professional life and the increasing need for fire services. In 1885, after 25 years of fighting the city’s fires, the Pioneer Hook and Ladder Company voted to disband.

This shift toward a fully paid and professional force came at about the same time that Omaha was establishing its waterworks. The system of pressurized fire hydrants and reservoirs was completed in 1881, and proved extremely effective. Between the improved water systems and continued investment in modern equipment, people felt so confident in Omaha’s fire protection that in 1886, insurance premiums were lowered citywide.[1]

The issue of water quantity and pressure continued, however. On multiple occasions, it was determined that low water pressure had hampered the fire response, and there were often complaints about poor service, mismanagement, and deferred maintenance.[2] Omaha’s buildings were getting taller, and the water supply situation was quickly becoming untenable. Unsurprisingly, this led to multiple instances where firefighters were limited by their own tools, sometimes causing heavy property losses, and occasionally human losses as well.

Late in 1886, when construction was just being completed on the new Barker Building at 15^th and Farnam, it burned to the ground. The fire department was quick to note that they “would have been more effective in handling this fire if they had not been handicapped by the low pressure of the water.”[3] Between 1887 and 1894, there were 1,945 alarms rung in to the department, and monetary losses totaled about $2,165,000.[4] At least four firemen were killed in the line of duty during those years, and many more experienced severe injuries.[5]

Finally, in 1910, a U.S. Supreme Court decision ended decades of heated debate over Omaha’s water works. By 1899, continued conflict surrounding the volume of water available, and the rates charged for it, had led the city to approve a $3,000,000 bond issue to purchase the water company. The company refused to sell for that price, so a committee was tasked to come up with a more objective appraisal. One member was appointed by the city, one by the water company, and the third was chosen by the first two appointees. After three years, the number they settled on was $6,000,000, which the city refused to pay.[6] A 1907 Federal District Court decision sided with the city, but this decision was reversed in the United States Circuit Court of Appeals. Finally, in 1910, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the city was obligated to pay the price set forth by the committee.[7] This was a big year for the department – they also purchased the city’s first motor-driven engine! The department also continued to expand in order to bring services to different corners of the community.

Like many neighborhoods and services of the time, the fire department was initially segregated. Omaha’s Hose Company No. 11 was organized in 1895 to serve the city’s Black residents.[1] Their station stood at 30^th and Spaulding Streets, and the five men who made up the company were laborers, barbers, and tinsmiths by trade.[2] The creation of this company is generally attributed to Omaha community leader and Nebraska legislator Dr. Matthew Oliver Ricketts. At the time, social taboos limited the neighborhoods that fire companies would service, and also dictated that Black firefighters could not fight fires from inside white homes.[3]^,[4] The department wouldn’t be officially desegregated until 1957.[5]

Interested in learning more stories about essential workers who have made a difference throughout Omaha’s history? Visit us at the General Crook House Museum – our holiday decorations and exhibit “Highlighting Our Heroes” will be on display through Jan. 13. Each room of the house celebrates dedicated Omahans who have worked to improve our community in industries like education, medicine, transportation, social justice, delivery services, and more!

---

[1] Some sources name this date as 1895, others as 1885.

[2] The Omaha Fire Department, compiled for the Benevolent Association of Paid Firemen. Burkley Printing Co., 1895, p. 81.

[3] “More Than a Century of African American Firefighters in Omaha.” Accessed 19 December 2022: https://www.theclio.com/entry/22510.

[4] It’s unclear whether this was an explicit rule of conduct, or a more unspoken expectation.

[5] Dice, Harry Edward. “The History of the Omaha Fire Department 1860-1960.” UNO Masters Thesis. 1965, p. 91.

---

[6] Ibid., p. 33.

[7] Ibid., 38.

[8] The Omaha Fire Department, compiled for the Benevolent Association of Paid Firemen. Burkley Printing Co., 1895, p. 49.

[9] Ibid., p. 59-60.

[10] Ibid., p. 53-55.

[11] Dice, Harry Edward. “The History of the Omaha Fire Department 1860-1960.” UNO Masters Thesis. 1965, p. 51.

[12] City of Omaha v. Omaha Water Co. United States Supreme Court Record, 1910. Accessed 9 December 2022: https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/218/180/.

[13] Ibid., p. 27.

[14] Ibid, p. 12.

[15] Dice, Harry Edward. “The History of the Omaha Fire Department 1860-1960.” UNO Masters Thesis. 1965, p. 9.

[16] Ibid.

By: Tara Spencer

---

There’s something about the dainty, plucky sound of a ukulele that immediately puts one at ease. Perhaps it’s the association with Hawaii—a paradise on Earth—or the often soothing voices that accompany it, such as Israel Kamakawiwo‘ole and Queen Liliʻuokalani, the last monarch of the Hawaiian Islands.[1]

Simply put, it’s hard to be in a bad mood once you hear those sweet tones.

Over the years, the ukulele has been considered a simple, lesser instrument by some musicians and critics. Others consider it an absolute joy, and therefore perhaps the best instrument to play. George Harrison once wrote “it is one instrument you can’t play and not laugh.”[2] Music that can affect moods in such a way is bound to have an impact that spread.

---

One man who found the allure of the ukulele appealing was New Orleans-born, Omaha-based Joseph S. Thomas. Known as “Ukulele Joe,” Thomas worked for the Union Pacific Railroad as a private chef to many of the higher-ups, including Carl R. Gray, who ran the company as president and vice chairman for 17 years before retiring in 1937.[3] It was even reported that he had earned a written stamp of approval from Queen Alexandria (sic) of Denmark.[4]

Besides his day job cooking for U.P.’s senior administrators on private railcars, Thomas was a musician, singer, and songwriter. During his travels with the company, he was a frequent visitor at radio stations along their routes, appearing on airwaves across the country playing a ukulele or a “one-stringed violin.” One of his most popular songs seems to have been “When the Morning Glory Climbs Up To My Window,” written about the twining, horn-shaped flowers that grew outside his North Omaha home.[5] Other songs attributed to him include “Ukulele Joe’s Big Parade,” a song for children, and “Oleomargarine Maid,” which one article said was “dedicated to housewives.”[5]

---

His combination of talents earned him the moniker “the singing chef.” He even turned his entire home kitchen into an impromptu concert hall. One excerpt from the California Eagle—a Black-owned newspaper in Los Angeles, California, published from 1879-1966—wrote that he sent “season’s greetings from Café De Melody, 2711 N 28^th St.” That address was listed as his home in an Omaha World-Herald clipping.[7]

The mention of his name in newspapers outside his hometown is proof of Thomas’ widespread appeal. He seems to have been especially popular on the Pacific coast radio programs, with credits including WHT Chicago, KFH Wichita, KSL Salt Lake City, KHQ Spokane, KGW Portland, KNX Holloywood, KCNR Santa Monica, and KGO Oakland.[8] He also played some live shows, such as one at Iron County Hospital in Utah, where he entertained residents with original compositions. According to the Iron County Record in 1930, “Ole Uncle Johnson” was a particular hit with the crowd.

Thomas even had some famous friends, such as Lincoln Perry, aka Stepin’ Fetchit, a successful vaudevillian, film actor, and tap dancer. According to a society blurb in The Omaha Guide in August 1937, Fetchit even visited Thomas at his home for some time. It was reported he enjoyed his time in Omaha so much that he was “planning to return in the near future,” though I was unable to find evidence he ever did.

Despite Thomas’ famous friends and seeming renown, information on this impressive man was scant. Much of what I could find was largely published in Black-owned papers, as well as a few Omaha World-Herald pieces. One slice-of-life read from the World-Herald on August 26, 1928, helps frame Thomas’ world and helps bring him to life.

The story opens with “Jazz served ‘a la carte’—red hot from the pots and kettles of ‘Ukulele Joe’s’ musical kitchen—that’s the newest in music for those who like novelty with their tunes.” Thomas’ kitchen was stocked with “ukulele pots, pans, and other culinary musical ‘pipes.’” These culinary instruments reportedly cost nearly $1,000 and were made by the music man himself. (Another talent unlocked.) Even the kitchen range included a complete miniature organ. Naturally, his menus had musical themes, such as “Hawaiian dreams au gratin” or “Swanee River en caserole (sic).”

---

This peek into Thomas’ world of food, music, and creativity gives us the smallest glimpse into the life of a man who certainly made quite an impact in his time.

According to his obituary, published in the Omaha Star on Friday, May 5, 1950, Thomas died April 28, 1950, at “a local hospital.” He was survived by his wife, Sally Mae Thomas, and daughter, “Mrs. Frances Overby.” His brother, D. Warren Thomas of Chicago, was also listed and his funeral was at St. John A.M.E (African Methodist Episcopal) Church and was buried at Forest Lawn Cemetery. He was 72 when he passed.

Interested in learning more stories about essential workers who have made a difference throughout Omaha’s history? Visit us at the General Crook House Museum – our holiday decorations and exhibit “Highlighting Our Heroes” will be on display through Jan. 13. Each room of the house celebrates dedicated Omahans who have worked to improve our community in industries like education, medicine, transportation, social justice, delivery services, and more!

---

[1] Recker, Jane. “How the Music of Hawai’i’s Last Ruler Guided the Island’s People Through Crisis.” Smithsonian Magazine, 2019. Accessed 1 December 2022. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/how-music-hawaiis-last-ruler-guided-islands-people-through-crisis-180971783/.

[2] Gioia, Joe. “The Curious Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of the Ukulele in American Pop Music. Magellan.com. 8 July 2020. Accessed 1 December 2022. https://www.magellantv.com/articles/the-curious-rise-and-fall-and-rise-again-of-the-ukulele-in-american-pop-music.

[3] “Joe Cooks a Sweet Meal.” Omaha World-Herald. 26 August 1928. p.3.

[4] “You and Your History.” The Omaha Star. 31 March, 1976. p. 3.

[5] “Gray to Quit Helm of Union Pacific: President Since 1920, He Will Step Aside Oct. 1 at Age of 70 and Be Vice Chairman.” New York Times. 13 April, 1937. p. 37.

[6] “Ukulele Joe – Singing Chef.” Omaha World-Herald. 11 September 1932. p. 4.

[7] Ibid.

[8] “Radio Artist Sends Greetings.” California Eagle. 28 December 1928. Accessed 1 December 2022 https://z-upload.facebook.com/groups/1681787125444102/search/?q=ukulele%20joe.

By Rita Shelley

For her coming out party in 1890, Miss Anna Millard wore a Paris gown of pale pink mousseline de soie, trimmed with a garland of tiny pink hyacinth buds. The daughter of former mayor and First National Bank President Ezra Millard also wore hyacinths in her hair.[1] At subsequent parties throughout the season, she wore white lace with apple blossoms adorning the bodice, white silk and tulle with sweet peas on the bodice, a black gown with red poppies on the shoulders, a red bonnet trimmed with American beauty roses, and white crepe with white flowers in her hair.

But in 1894, Omaha begrudgingly relinquished its favorite daughter to Johns Hopkins nursing school in Baltimore. “She will be missed,” it was reported, especially as an “indefatigable worker among the wounded and heavy laden of Omaha.” [2] Becoming a nurse changed Anna’s life; it also changed Omaha when she returned from the east coast with a vision for a visiting nurses’ association to train public health nurses, to provide care to patients who could not pay, to reduce infant and maternal mortality, and to teach hygiene practices in times when cases of scarlet fever, diphtheria, typhoid, measles, and whooping cough could quickly alight into epidemics.

Thus, in the winter of 1896, several women gathered at 4 p.m. on a Thursday at the Omaha Woman’s Club in the Gold Coast neighborhood to hear what their friend Anna Millard had to say. Attendees Winifred Gallagher, Annie Baum, Agnes McShane, Minnie Lord, and Laura Whitney had grown up with Anna. They had hosted and attended birthday and coming-out parties together and worn gowns magnificent enough to make the paper. By this time, all attendees except “Miss Millard” had married scions of Omaha’s leading industries – factories, banking, steel and iron, construction, medicine, real estate, and agriculture.

As soon as the women of the club announced their decision, a Daily Bee reporter opined that Anna’s work, and the support of her wealthy friends, “opened the way for a noble and much-needed work of charity and provides a wide field of usefulness for young women who desire active employment in the relief of the sick and distressed.[3]

But it was not the first time since nursing school that Anna had advocated for public health, especially that of women and girls. Upon first returning to Omaha, she had helped organize the city’s Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA, now the Women’s Center for Advancement). At the YWCA’s first formal meeting, she was elected both third vice president and recording secretary. Anna also earned the county board of health’s gratitude for “volunteering her services, kindness and watchfulness nursing to an impoverished woman.”[4]

Perhaps it was during her professional training that Anna learned about women like Lillian Wald in New York and Jane Addams in Chicago, women who drew on their families’ wealth and connections for the greater good in public health and social welfare. Whether or not she had direct knowledge isn’t known, but the agency she started as a solo nurse in 1896 with the commitment of $1 per year dues from 30 Omaha women was modeled after Wald’s and Addams’ work. Wald is credited with coining the term “public health nurse” and starting the nation’s first visiting nurses’ association.

For many years, membership dues were the sole ongoing support for Anna’s VNA. But local philanthropists George and Sarah Joslyn looked out for their own when, in 1897, they made their five acres at 39^th and Davenport available for a Lawn Fete fundraiser for the VNA. Admission was 25 cents for adults, a dime for children. Tents, awnings, and drapery were donated by enthusiastic merchants. Bunting was sufficient for an event encompassing five acres, as were Electric Light Company incandescents around the lake for swimming and at entrances. Dancing was accompanied by the 22^nd Infantry Fort Crook band.

---

In June of 1898, Anna married Herbert Rogers, a Princeton-educated attorney who was recent heir to and president of Milton Rogers and Sons Hardware Company of Omaha. The wedding was at the Millard family home, followed by a reception for 500. Entrepreneurial Anna was now “Mrs. Herbert Rogers.” Within four years she and Herbert were parents to Milton, Millard, and Hellen, in a household that also included two sisters-in-law, two nieces, and a servant.

As the VNA’s honorary president, Anna continued fundraising and guiding the ongoing development of the small but mighty agency. In 1918, she helped recruit reserve nurses to care for patients on the home front while professional nurses were deployed in Europe. (VNA nurses also risked their own health to care for soldiers who returned home with the Spanish flu.)  

During Anna’s lifetime and in the decades until she died at age 67, she also worked with women who have almost become invisible with time. It is difficult to find and tell some of their stories when being known as “Mrs. Husband’sName” carried more power and was a source of pride. In one case, it would take a professional researcher to locate a woman known, even in her obituary, as “Mrs. Felix McShane.”

Anna would want these women’s stories told:

Louise McPherson, one of Anna’s early advocates and a long-time VNA member, was the daughter of a livestock commissioner, rancher, and stockman. She directed a play to raise money for the VNA. She and Anna grew up and attended the Cathedral School of Saint Mary in New York together. In 1911, Louise moved to her grandfather’s home in Maryland, where she was a dairy farmer who was active in the Democratic Party.[1]

Dr. Mattie Arthur, an informal medical director of the VNA in its early days, deserves a book of her own. Born in Ohio in 1859, she taught in Burt County rural schools for five years beginning when she was still a teenager herself, studying for medical school at night. According to her obituary, she graduated from Iowa’s medical school in 1886, the only woman in her class, and did post-grad work in New York, London, and Edinburgh. She returned to Burt County to practice medicine before setting up her practice in Omaha’s Paxton block. She taught anatomy at Creighton Medical School and obstetrics at Omaha Medical School.[2] At age 75, she was still recovering from a rattlesnake bite at her ranch in western Nebraska when she tripped on a rug and broke her hip.[3] She regained her health and still saw patients the day she died in 1940 at age 81.[4]

---

Bessie B. Randell was a VNA nurse for two years before she was appointed its director in 1911. She was also an advocate for suffrage. She resigned from the VNA in 1917, claiming that the work was straining her health. She married Dr. F.E. Coulter the following year.[1]

Florence McCabe succeeded Bessie Randell as VNA director in 1918. Her arrival was lauded owing to her education at St. Luke’s Hospital in Chicago and the Chicago School of Civics and Philanthropy, her executive experience at the Red Cross, and her work at Chicago’s tuberculosis sanitarium.[2] In 1918, she became ill during the flu epidemic, but recovered. [3]

---

VNA nurse Greta Paulsen was Omaha’s first orthopedics specialist who went on to be superintendent of the Hattie B. Munroe Home for Crippled Children.[1]

Anna Millard Rogers died at her home in Omaha in 1931 at age 67. During her lifetime she and the battalion of nurses she trained and worked alongside were widely recognized for saving lives and bringing comfort to the afflicted. Anna envisioned a future in which medical professionals bridged the gap between care that could be provided and the people who needed it. Today, 125 years later, the VNA responds to epidemic and pandemic crises while also sustaining infusion services, home health care, parenting support, flu and immunization clinics, clinics at homeless shelters, hospice, and palliative care. The agency’s annual budget surpasses $5 million.[2] The 19^th and 20^th century women who applied their medical expertise, as well as those who martialed Omaha’s philanthropic resources, would be proud.

---

According to an article in the Omaha World-Herald, these 32 women “[stand] ready in all kinds of weather to lend aid to the sick poor, or to anyone wishing hourly paid service.” Source: OWH, 24 May 1925, p. 7.

Interested in learning more stories about essential workers who have made a difference throughout Omaha’s history? Visit us at the General Crook House Museum – our holiday decorations and exhibit “Highlighting Our Heroes” will be on display through Jan. 13. Each room of the house celebrates dedicated Omahans who have worked to improve our community in industries like education, food service, transportation, social justice, delivery services, and more!

---

[1] “Little Cripples Thank Rotary For Its Help.” Omaha World-Herald. May 3, 1928, p. 3.

^[2] Visiting Nurse Association. Our Services, 2022. https://www.vnatoday.org/services/overview/. Accessed 15 Nov. 2022.

[3] “Bessie B. Randell.” Omaha World-Herald. 28 May 1918, p 66.

[4] “Miss Florence McCabe Assumes Duties as Visiting Nurse Chief.” Omaha Evening Bee. 21 Jan 1918, p. 1.

[5] “All but Three Visiting Nurses are Ill with ‘Flu.’” Omaha Evening Bee. 24 Oct 1918, p. 2.

[6] “Louise McPherson. ”The Public Mirror. 26 July 1923, p. 1.

[7] “Dr. Mattie Arthur Dies.” Oakland Independent and Republican. 26 April 1940, p. 1.

[8] “Bitten by Rattler and Hip Broken; Cheerful.” Omaha Evening Bee News. 6 December 1934, p. 1.

[9] “Dr. Mattie Arthur Dies.” Oakland Independent and Republican. 26 April 1940, p. 1.

[10] “A Week in Omaha Society.” Omaha World-Herald. 26 January 1890, p. 6.

[11] “Farewell to Miss Anna Millard.” Omaha Daily Bee. 11 March 1894, p. 4.

[12] Omaha Daily Bee. 21 November 1896, p.4.

[13] “Board of Health.” Omaha Daily Bee. 6 April 1893, p. 2.

By Tara Spencer

Every community has its own tales of spiritual happenings, hauntings, and horror. In my hometown, there was an abandoned house known simply as Unity where people claimed to have seen buckets of blood in the barn and experienced forces pushing them and slamming doors in the house.

Here in Omaha, I’ve heard stories about Mystery Manor, The Hatchet House, and of course, The Black Angel, which my own mother told stories of. Then there’s the infamous Hummel Park, which is purportedly haunted, though it doesn’t need the added drama if one looks at the already tragic stories of provable horrors that happened there.

As an avid watcher of Criminal Minds and early reader of books about serial killers, it’s often the real-life tragedies that haunt me the most. I’ve never understood wanting to be scared by horror movies when there’s already enough awfulness in the world.

My partner, who grew up in Bellevue, remembers stories about John Joubert’s time of terror during 1983, when parents were scared to let their children, especially their young boys, out of the house. Recently, I learned of another murderer who terrorized our community, and many others across the country, from the late 1920s until his capture in 1947.

---

Jake Bird was born somewhere in Louisiana, a place he left around the age of 19. He worked off and on for the railroad as a laborer. This allowed him to live a rather transient existence, which no doubt helped him evade police while pursuing his other interests—robbery, stalking, and murder.

In some ways, Bird fit the stereotype of a serial killer. U.S.-born, transient, male, clever, and often with an element of sado-sexual overtones to his crimes, Bird was said to stalk his victims, usually women, and rob them in their homes.[1]

Bird’s full history is unknown. He first showed up on Omaha’s radar in the summer of 1928 when he served as witness in a trial to determine if one of his traveling companions at the time—a young man from Cleveland, Ohio, who had been killed by a railroad employee—had in fact been murdered.[2] The case never made it to trial, but Bird decided to stick around afterward. This would prove an unfortunate decision for the community, specifically for Joseph W. Blackman and Gertrude Resso, her sister Creda Brown, and their friends and families.

Blackman, 76, was Bird’s first victim, beaten to death with a sharp instrument in his home in North Omaha on the morning of November 18, 1928. The house had been ransacked and a small fire set in an attempt to burn evidence. His son, Cecil, found his body and was considered a suspect for a time.[3] Then the bodies of Resso, 21 and Brown, 18 were found by Resso’s husband Waldo the following day and authorities realized there was a serial killer in their midst. This time, Bird left a witness—the Ressos’ 3-year-old son, Bobby. Sadly, the poor boy’s statement was of little help.[4]

---

Earlier that year, another tragedy struck the town when Harvey Boyd, 8, went missing in Carter Lake, Iowa. His body was discovered in a patch of sunflowers just north of Avenue H, nearly five weeks after his disappearance. Clarence Lukehart, who had pled guilty to and been convicted of assaulting an 8-year-old girl two days after Boyd’s disappearance, was immediately a suspect. He was serving time at Anamosa State Penitentiary in northeast Iowa when he was questioned in Boyd’s murder. After hours of interrogation, Lukehart confessed.

---

He said he struck the boy in the head with a hammer to stop his crying after sexually assaulting him in the Lukehart basement, hitting him until the crying stopped.[6] The Omaha World-Herald later printed part of his handwritten confession on the front page. Lukehart crossed paths with Bird after being transferred to Iowa’s Fort Madison State Penitentiary, where Bird had been sent for a crime he’d committed in Carter Lake.

Omaha authorities could not prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that the ax murders that took place there were the work of Bird. However, he left a more credible witness during his next Carter Lake attack.

---

Originally, Carter Lake was a recreational and resort community with swimming holes, social clubs, and an amusement park. For a time, it also had a reputation as a bit of a legal no-man’s-land between Iowa and Nebraska. At the time of the attacks, the community was just coming into its own as an incorporated city.[7] (The lake was renamed Carter Lake in 1908.) Image source: Douglas County Historical Society.

---

“Axman Remains At Large” was the headline on November 21, when yet another account of an ax attack was reported in the Carter Lake Club area. Husband and wife Harold and Mary Stribling, both 25, were the next victims. In the early morning hours of November 20, Harold was attacked and severely injured with an ax while he was in bed. When the intruder turned on Mary, she blunted the blow by turning away just as it was delivered. She then pleaded with her assailant to spare further attack on her husband and their baby, Mollie. She agreed to go with him peacefully if he would leave her family alone.

Two hours later, she was found by police officers, wandering near 5th and Locust streets in a daze. The authorities took her home where Harold was found in grave condition. He was transported to Lord Lister Hospital in Omaha, where he lingered near death for several days before he began to recover.

Mary described the man who attacked her family to the police. Acting on a tip, the police department of Omaha detained a man and arranged for Mary to see him face to face in her hospital room, also at Lord Lister. It was Jake Bird.

Reportedly, Mary said, “As sure as there is a God in Heaven, you are the man, Jake,” and Bird’s response to her accusation was simply “I don’t know what you are talking about, lady.” However, this statement is unlikely. In one World-Herald story, it was reported that she simply said, “That’s the man. Take him away,” before becoming “hysterical.”[8]

Regardless, with Mary as a witness able to identify Bird, he was turned over to Iowa to be prosecuted for the attack, where he was given a 30-year sentence at Fort Madison. In 1941, only twelve years later, Bird was granted parole.

Clarence Lukehart remained in jail, serving out his life sentence. Bird did try to get it reduced for him by confessing to Boyd’s murder when he was later arrested in Tacoma, Washington. Once again, he had killed two women with an ax— Bertha Kludt, 52, and her daughter Beverly June, 17, This time he was caught by police when neighbors heard their screams. While in custody, he claimed to have murdered a total of 44 people.[9]

---

---

On July 15, 1949, at 12:20 a.m., Bird was hanged at the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla for the murders of the Kludt women. The “Tacoma Ax-Killer,” as he was dubbed by papers, was likely one of the most prolific serial killers to have existed.[10] Yet his name is relatively unknown to most, despite his having confessed to murdering more than some of the most notorious, Netflix-famous slayers of the past century.  

---

[1] “Lured to Weeds, Hit With Stone To Stop Crying.” Omaha World-Herald. 3 August 1928, p. 1.

[2] Newton, M. “Hunting Humans: An Encyclopedia of Modern Serial Killers.” 1990. Accessed: https://www.ojp.gov/ncjrs/virtual-library/abstracts/hunting-humans-encyclopedia-modern-serial-killers.

[3] Reports Conflict on Identification by Mrs. Stribling. Omaha World-Herald. 23 November 1928, p. 1.

[4] “‘Chopper’ Slays Omaha Sisters; Strikes as Both Sleep.” Omaha World-Herald. 19 November 1928, p. 8.

[5] “Suspect Denies Any Knowledge of Ax Attacks.” Omaha World-Herald. 28 November 1928, p. 1.

[6] Ibid.

[7] https://www.cityofcarterlake.com/history

[8] “Bloody Ax Found Concealed Is New Blackman Clue.” Omaha World-Herald. 19 November 1928, p. 1.

[9] “Probe Ordered of Bird’s Story.” Omaha World-Herald. 1 January 1948, p. 8.

[10] McClary, Daryl. “Jake Bird, convicted of murdering two Tacoma women, is hanged on July 15, 1949.” HistoryLink. 31 October 2009. Accessed: https://www.historylink.org/File/7973.

By Rita Shelley

This story started as one about several dresses in the DCHS textiles collection.

When Collections Coordinator Natalie Kammerer proposed the idea of delving into the history of several of dresses in the Society’s archives, she explained that they had been worn during Omaha’s Golden Spike Days in 1939. The Spike Days had coincided with the much-anticipated release of Cecil B. DeMille’s movie about the original 1869 driving of the golden spike at Promontory Point. Aptly named Union Pacific, the movie premiered in Omaha’s Orpheum and Paramount theaters. Thus, the entire city got behind an ecstatic welcome of the movie’s actors and the premiere. The celebration, I was to learn, rivaled the epic proportions for which DeMille was known. Evocative of railroad worker and townspeople “extras” employed by DeMille, thousands of “pioneer” Omaha women — and their dresses — played important roles in the lollapalooza of the movie’s premiere.

---

---

“How quaint,” I thought while (cotton glove) handling the calico dresses with their sunflower buttons, fussy fichu collars, and yards of rick-rack trim, not to mention matching bonnets. I wondered whether seaming, sleeve setting, collar attaching, waist gathering, and hem finishing had changed in the 80 years since the dresses were made or in the five decades since I’d aced 8^th grade Home Ec.  Would the products of a 1930s iron horse Sears machine compare to what I can produce on my Swiss engineered sewing computer that cost more than (gulp) my first car?

With both awe and disappointment, I discovered that garment sewing methods have not changed. If you studied the inside of a dress I sewed recently (sans ruffles and rick-rack), you wouldn’t see a difference in technique. As to how the quality from today’s computerized machines compares to that of 1939, a modern machine feeds fabric more smoothly and stitches more evenly. But the Golden Spike dresses are as solidly seamed as if they were made yesterday.

For DeMille, future director of The Greatest Show on Earth, whose genius was bringing the spectacular to the screen, Union Pacific was another resounding success in a career of film after blockbusting film. But more importantly for Omaha, 1939 answered UP President William Jeffers’ call to action, to “convince the people that they are capable of making Omaha a greater, more progressive community.” If an east coast Atlantic magazine journalist could allege that Omaha’s days of glory had long since departed[1] he’d better prepare to answer to thousands of ladies in pioneer costumes first. Men in ¾-length double-breasted frock coats, brocade vests, gingham shirts, ascot ties, souvenir canes, false beards, and golden spike cuff links were a force to reckon with as well.

The movie starred Barbara Stanwyck as a good-hearted woman with an Irish brogue who stands by her man, Robert Preston, as the charming but train-robbing man who breaks her heart, and Joel McCrea as the law-enforcing, buffalo-taming good guy who doesn’t get the girl. An army of swarthy but good-natured-in-spite-of-endless-backbreaking-toil workers build the UP ribbon ever westward, one spike at a time, all the way to Utah. The movie scene depicting the ceremony featured a replica of the 17.6-karat gold original spike, property of Stanford University.

Filming locations ranged throughout Utah and California, including Paramount Studios in Los Angeles. The scene in which Joel McCrae shushes a bull buffalo from the safety of a train car was filmed in Utah and superimposed by a skillful editor against a background of a grazing herd that had been filmed in Oklahoma.[2] DeMille’s sprawling late-Depression-era canvas declares independence and the power of patriotism over adversity. It recalls a time of clarity and hopefulness, after the Civil War had nearly torn the country asunder and President Lincoln (who in 1862 had signed the transcontinental railroad into existence) had died. Yes, [White] America was united. Nothing but blue skies up ahead. The hard work was done.

For their own part, Omaha’s captains of industry readied for the massive local production with committee assignments. Committee chairs included Walter Byrne, general manager of MUD; George Brandeis, president of Brandeis Department Store; James Davidson, president of Nebraska Power Company; Frank Fogarty, a Chamber of Commerce Commissioner who later would be general manager of WOW; J.M. Harding, assistant publisher of the Omaha World-Herald; Ford Hovey, executive director of Occidental Building and Loan; J.J. Isaacson, activities director for Knights of Ak-Sar-Ben; Morris E. Jacobs, president of Bozell Jacobs advertising firm; Arthur A. Lowman, president of Northwestern Bell Telephone; J.F. McDermott and E.F. Pettis, vice presidents of First National Bank; E.L. Moser, a contractor; Bert Murphy, president of Andrew Murphy & Son Chrysler dealership; Cecil Slocum, a trader for Burns Potter investment bankers, and A.A. Westergard, owner of an insurance agency. Mrs. Dorothy Wickham, vice president of National Construction headed the “women” committee.[3]

As I studied the women’s costumes, I tried to imagine hordes of working-class women finding precious time and money to devote hours to making dresses, all cut from the same cloth and the same pattern. I also found it difficult to picture upper class women suddenly taking up sewing.  Then I read that Francis Matthews, Chamber of Commerce president, and W.O. Swanson, Nebraska Clothing Company president, had overseen the sourcing of women’s costumes. Thousands of $1.40 dresses were ordered in 13 color combinations and with white organdy bonnets trimmed to match. Orders for thousands of dresses were placed at Kilpatrick’s, Brandeis, Nebraska Clothing, and Beaton’s.[4]  Somewhere in America, a small army of garment workers were bent over factory machines. Their cumulative 100,000 hand-stitched buttonholes required surgical precision; there is no record of who these invisible workers were. 

Matthews and Swanson had no idea what furor would transpire. In late March, they announced that no more orders would be accepted. It was getting too close to the deadline for getting them done in time; 15,000 had already been ordered. I can only imagine Swanson’s near despair when only two weeks before the big event, he hung up after a “long distance phone conversation with the manufacturer of the Union Pacific world premiere 1869 dresses.”[5] The shipment was late, but 90 percent of the full shipment was guaranteed to arrive within days, Swanson assured World-Herald readers. The Central Dress Depot would probably open Monday morning. Definite announcement would be in the Sunday paper and over the three Omaha radio stations.[6] On April 17, a scant 10 days before the premiere, the workers at the dress depot (the location is not given) opened for business. By 9:30 a.m. on a cold, rainy morning, 350 women were already waiting in line. Until all orders were filled, the depot would be open every day until 6 p.m. Once again, reassurance came from Mr. Swanson at the Nebraska Clothing Company: For every ticket, there would be a dress.[7]

---

---

---

Women who couldn’t or chose not to shell out $1.40 could instead DIY with four yards of “percale, 36 inches wide fast color in historical prints 19c per yard”[8] and six yards of rick rack. In the long run, homemade dresses weren’t the best value though if their owners wanted to enter to win round-trip Pullman tickets to California. The winner of the Queen of Gingham championship at the Ak-Sar-Ben Coliseum was to be recognized on the fourth day of festivities. Chairman George Brandeis would award the winner, but no official costume, no prize. Men could also compete for the best beard, the blackest beard, the reddest beard, as well as the most ridiculous and the most becoming.[9]

---

---

---

In the days leading up to the premiere, a city auditorium exhibition displayed the original spike in an “honored niche.”[10] The spike was enclosed in glass, guarded by railway agents and police. It had been in a Wells Fargo vault in San Francisco since 1869. As part of the exhibition, an “Indian Village” was set up on the courthouse lawn.[11]

---

---

Then came the parade that must have astonished even DeMille. Cue the floats recalling settlement of the Great Plains! The Lewis and Clark expedition, Omaha being built, Abraham Lincoln at Council Bluffs, the Colorado Gold Rush, and rails following trails! Omaha’s first railroad depot, the Golden Spike uniting  America, and the prairie being broken! The mounted police and the 22 bands! The horse drawn Brougham carriages carrying UP president William E. Jeffers and Board Chairman W.A. Harriman! The university students dressed as Native Americans, the Mormons arriving at Winter Quarters, the Prairie Schooner with families and riflemen! The bearded iron workers, the pony express riders, prospectors marching with burros and packs, Civil War soldiers afoot and 4-H boys dressed as farmers![12]

At last came the movie premiere. Omaha’s fete “eclipsed” Hollywood, a news headline declared:

For the multitudes assembled on Douglas Street, the show began shortly before 8 o’clock, when private cars and taxis began arriving with visitors, guests and Omaha elite. It was a fashion parade in which all imaginable types of costumes and all imaginable combinations of costume were in evidence.

Waves of applause greeted the most spectacular shots of the film, such as the wrecking of a train by the Indians, the destruction of an engine in a snow slide, and the dramatic scene in which the gallant little engine, “General McPherson,” carried the troop of rescue soldiers across the blazing Dale Creek bridge.

Audience reaction was marked to such emotional high spots as when a young Irishman about to send to the old country for his wife was shot to death by a gambler; when old Monaghan, engineer and father of the heroine, was killed in the snow slide, and again in the faithful reproduction of the ceremony at the driving of the Golden Spike.

The only hitch in the evening occurred when the sound system blew a tube and the dialogue was barely audible for a couple of minutes.[13]

When the financial impact of the celebration was tallied, it was reported that, in addition to 200,000 parade-goers, 40,000 people saw the premiere and 15,000 more saw its second showing. 40,000 women and 25,000 men wore costumes.[14]

---

---

---

Wearing the dresses, a newspaper columnist observed, served several causes, not the least of which was honoring the railroad’s 40,000 employees: “When those two steel ribbons were laid eastward and westward, 10 May 1869, the destiny of the west and middle west was fixed. …Thereafter products of the machine could be carried across the continent and products of the land carried back….when we wear calico dresses of uniform pattern, when we celebrate the laying of the golden spike and the picture premiere, we do something for our souls,” the columnist wrote. “We revel in pageantry and have a whale of a good time.”[15]

Meanwhile, smaller-type headlines began to hint at what was ahead. Britain drafted 20-year-old men for the first time in modern history as a warning to Italy and Germany. Czecho-Slovak officials defied an order to surrender the country’s consulate general to German authorities. A Polish woman was imprisoned for slandering Chancellor Hitler. On the morning of the Union Pacific premiere, a prominent World-Herald headline reported that Hitler had scrapped treaties with Britain and Poland.

Two other blockbuster movies were released in 1939: Gone With the Wind and Wizard of Oz.

The suggestion was made that costumes should be kept on hand for a future Golden Spike Days. As it turned out, the costumes wouldn’t be needed again for a very long time.

---

[1] Footnotes. Lincoln Star. 26 June 1938, p. 5.

[2] Union Pacific. Union Pacific (1939) Filming & Production. IMDb, www.imdb.com/title/tt0032080/location.

[3] Golden Spike Days Souvenir Program, 1939. p. 3. Douglas County Historical Society archives.

[4] “Gals, If You’d Get a Fellow, Wear Bright Red, No Yellow.” Omaha World-Herald. 16 April 1939, p. 8.

[5] “‘69 Dress Depot May Open Monday.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 April 1939, p. 4

[6] Ibid.

[7] “Distribute 1869 Dresses Tuesday.” Omaha World-Herald. 17 April 1939, p.1.

[8] “Golden Spike Dress Prints.” Omaha World-Herald. 16 April 1939, p. 18.

[9] “Gingham Gals, Whiskeroos to Win Trips.” Omaha World-Herald. 16 April 1939, p. 18.

[10] “Spike Given Honor Niche at Exposition.” Omaha World-Herald. 25 April 1939, p. 77.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Golden Spike Days Souvenir Program, 1939. p. 16. Douglas County Historical Society archives.

[13] “Hollywood Is Eclipsed by Omaha Fete.” Omaha World-Herald. 29 April 1939, p. 3.

[14] “No Fooling! ‘Twas a Big Celebration.” Omaha World-Herald. 30 April 1939, p. 1.

[15] “Dear Mary Lane.” Omaha World-Herald. 29 March 1939, p. 15.

By Elise O’Neil

Humans are resilient. When horrific events or tragedies inevitably take place, we attempt to rationalize them. Finding some meaning, a motive, a reason why – can help us to cope with disaster, move on, and trust that the circumstances that created our misfortune are unlikely to present themselves a second time. And when we can’t immediately understand a tragedy, we feel obligated to rehash it again and again until we find an explanation that makes the most sense to us.

On September 27, 1958, 16-year-old William Leslie Arnold murdered his parents. Police officers, prosecutors, judges, family members, his fellow students at Central High School—all have put forth various theories as to why he did this. Was he a budding psychopath with a violent streak, quick to lash out when he didn’t get his way? Was he a good kid who finally snapped after years of verbal abuse by a domineering mother? Maybe it was simply the inevitable outcome of feeling trapped in a dysfunctional version of the idealized one-size-fits-all nuclear family structure ubiquitous in mid-century America. Whatever the case, his reasons remain oblique. All we can do is comb over 64 years of retellings and draw our own conclusions.

He seemed like a good kid. He had just started his junior year at Central where his teachers referred to him as “quiet…polite, attentive in class and well behaved.”[1] Known by his middle name, Leslie, he was a mostly B student who enjoyed science and was interested in going to college. A glance at the yearbooks from his freshman and sophomore years (both of which can be found in DCHS’s extensive yearbook collection) show him participating in numerous extracurricular activities including ROTC, track,[2] and band.[3] He was reportedly an avid Elvis fan,[4] and his affinity is evident in his sophomore year band photo. He has removed his hat, showing off an impressively tall greased hairstyle in imitation of the King.[5] It’s difficult to look at these photos of Arnold without thinking about the acts he would soon commit. But without that context, he appears incredibly unextraordinary.

---

---

Still, in the aftermath of his crimes, accounts of his precarious emotional state began to slowly trickle into the pages of the World-Herald. His great-uncle, Benjamin McCammon, told a reporter, “Leslie always did have a violent temper,” couching this assertion with another: “But he didn’t smoke or drink.”[6] And though McCammon claimed he’d never seen him “lay a finger on anybody,” Arnold’s younger brother Jim later recalled that Leslie would often physically attack him with socks on his hands so that he wouldn’t leave a mark.[7]

And then there was Opal, Arnold’s slain mother. Descriptions of the 40-year-old homemaker are tinged with vague references to a possible mental illness. Both neighbors and Arnold himself spoke to the difficult relationship between mother and son. It’s alleged that she showed little interest in her older son apart from verbally berating him and mocking him for his musical inclinations. It was clear to neighbors that she preferred the 13-year-old Jim. Later, Arnold would tell psychologists that Opal would sometimes refuse to let him back in the house, resulting in his sleeping in the nearby Ak-Sar-Ben stables.[8] His allegedly “henpecked” father, Bill, was little help—encouraging him to grin and bear his treatment to maintain the family unit.[9]

---

The pressure cooker environment created by Arnold and his mother’s clashing tempers was perhaps bound to result in tragedy. Then again, most children mistreated by their parents don’t end up shooting them six times each in the kitchen of their family home.[10]

---

On the day in question, a Saturday, Arnold and his mother launched into an hours-long heated argument about his girlfriend (of whom his mother didn’t approve) and his use of the phone (she felt he was tying up the line for too long). She ended the row by declaring that he could no longer use either family car to take his girlfriend to a drive-in movie that night. He pulled his father’s 22-caliber semiautomatic Remington rifle out of his parents’ closet, apparently intending to show his mother he meant business. And then she laughed at him. So he shot her. And kept shooting her. When Bill arrived home minutes later, he took in the scene and lunged at his son, so Leslie shot him, too. Arnold’s behavior in the aftermath of the murders is notable. After dragging his parents’ bodies to the basement and asking a neighbor to take in his brother,[11] he picked up his girlfriend and her brother in the family’s 1957 Mercury and headed for the drive-in. He took in a double feature and ended the night at Tiner’s[12] (whose sign is featured in DCHS’s current exhibit Omaha’s AUTO-biography, on loan from the Durham Museum.) The next night he buried the bodies in his backyard beneath a lilac bush[13] and tossed the bloodstained rugs on which his parents died into the Papio Creek.[14] He covered his tracks, materializing to open his father’s business the Monday morning after the murders, telling all that his parents had had to take a sudden trip out of town.[15] Leslie only missed two days of school in the subsequent two weeks before his crime was discovered.[16] Eight months after Arnold led police to his parents’ shallow graves in their own backyard, he pled guilty to two charges of second-degree murder and was sentenced to life in prison. In court appearances, he clutched a rosary and “blinked back tears.”[17]

---

---

The question remains: Why did he do it? What was on his mind in the seconds it took for him to raise the rifle and shoot at the sound of his mother’s laughter? Some killers relish talking about their crimes. Others are openly remorseful. Still others spend the remainder of their lives never speaking to a soul about the details of what they’ve done. But we can’t ask Leslie Arnold for any reflective thoughts on his crimes, because in 1967, nearly nine years into his prison sentence, he escaped.[18] And he’s never been located. His reasons for making his escape at this juncture are even more unknowable that those for his parents’ murder. Because he was a minor when he was sentenced to his life term, he likely would have been eligible for parole in a just a year or so.[19] Barring any potential future crimes, Leslie Arnold would be free and among us today if he hadn’t escaped.

Instead, he’s a fugitive. Though there have been several leads over the decades, it has been assumed that Arnold landed in Brazil. He had spoken to a fellow inmate of escaping to Brazil, and in 2017 a recently-digitized Brazilian immigration card from 1968 containing his information was located on familysearch.org. If it was indeed Arnold who provided his information to immigration agents, he confoundingly gave them his real full name, birth date, and place of birth. And though there is a notation on the back of the card connecting Arnold to an FBI investigation for a missing fugitive, it is unknown whether the FBI was ever informed by Brazilian authorities of his arrival to the country.[20] If he is still alive today, he would be 80 years old.

---

---

It’s unlikely anyone will ever get the chance to speak to Leslie Arnold again about the murders of his parents and his subsequent escape from the Nebraska State Penitentiary. He likely wouldn’t be able to provide satisfactory answers anyway. This is a story that has been told many times resulting in increasingly compelling theories. Could the rationalization from the mouth of the killer ever measure up to what we can conjecture from imagination? One thing is certain, however. There is no halting the human desire to make sense of a case like this. And after all, a spooky story is that much more frightening when it doesn’t have an ending!

---

---

---

---

[1] “Youth Called Quiet, Polite; School Shocked by Story.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 October 1958, p. 24.

[2] Central High School O-Book 1957, p. 112. Douglas County Historical Society Archive.

[3] Central High School O-Book 1958, p. 63. Douglas County Historical Society Archive.

[4] Cordes, Henry J. “The Mystery of Leslie Arnold – Part One: The Killings.” Omaha World-Herald. 3 September 2017, p. 11A.

[5] Central High School O-Book 1957, p. 112. Douglas County Historical Society Archive.

[6] “Boy Was Unconcerned After Parents’ Murder.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 October 1958, p. 24.

[7] Cordes, Henry J. “The Mystery of Leslie Arnold – Part One: The Killings.” Omaha World-Herald. 3 September 2017, p. 11A.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Once Upon A Crime Podcast. “Episode 159: Bad Seeds: Leslie Arnold.” 2/24/2020.

[10] “Local” Omaha World-Herald. 13 October 1958, p. 2.

[11] “Youth Kills Father, Mother to Get Own Way About Car.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 October 1958.

[12] Cordes, Henry J. “The Mystery of Leslie Arnold – Part One: The Killings.” Omaha World-Herald. 3 September 2017, p. 11A.

[13] “Life Sentence to Youth Who Killed Parents.” Omaha World-Herald. 2 June 1959, p. 1.

[14] “Relatives Tell Youth: Don’t Discuss Killings.” Omaha World-Herald. 3 October 1958, p. 3.

[15] “Youth, 16, Confesses: Shot, Buried Parents.” Omaha World-Herald. 11 October 1958, p. 1.

[16] “Youth Called Quiet, Polite; School Shocked by Story.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 October 1958, p. 24.

[17] “Life Sentence to Youth Who Killed Parents.” Omaha World-Herald. 2 June 1959, p. 1.

[18] “Two Omahans’ Escape ‘Clean.’” Omaha World-Herald. 19 October 1967, p. 6.

[19] “Is Arnold Alive, Dead? Police Still Puzzled.” Omaha World-Herald. 12 September 1976, p. 41.

[20] Cordes, Henry J. “Part Four: Epilogue.” Omaha World-Herald. 10 September 2017, E-Edition.