Yank’s Station

Old Yank’s Station has a cool anniversary coming up on Sunday, April 28th  — 159 years, to be exact!

On April 28th, 1860, exactly 159 years ago, a young Pony Express rider named Warren Upson came flying in to change ponies, stopping for the very first time for his mount change at Yank’s.

The new road over Kingsbury Grade had just opened, you see, which offered a shorter route for the mail heading east to Genoa than on Upson’s previous rides. (On earlier rides, Upson had taken a longer route through Hope Valley and Woodfords.) Now, with the new Pony Express stop at Yank’s, Upson would only need to ride as far as Friday’s Station (today’s Stateline) before handing the mochila over to the next Pony Express rider.

Pony Express plaque at the former Yank’s Station, at Meyers.

Today, of course, they don’t call it “Yank’s Station” anymore. The site is now home to Holiday Market (formerly Lira’s), at the southwest corner of Highway 50 and Apache Avenue in Meyers. The Pony Express only stopped at Yank’s for a year and a half — until October 26, 1861. But Yank and his station had a fascinating and much longer history!

Ephraim “Yank” Clement had been the owner for less than a year when Upson arrived that April. The previous owner, Martin Smith, had  settled there in 1851, rebuilding the trading station once after an early fire. By the time Yank Clement came along and bought it from Smith and a partner in 1859, the station was already a well-known trading post and stage stop. A telegraph relay station had just been added in 1858.

And Yank Clement brought his own bigger and grander ideas. After he purchased the station in 1859, he kept adding and expanding. Eventually his station was three stories tall, featuring 14 rooms, a general store, a blacksmith shop, and last but not least — twosaloons! It’s said that those quickly became popular with travelers not only for drinks, food and card games, but also a handful of ladies of dubious virtue who could be found there. Across the road, Clement added large corrals, and the station featured a large barn with stables for travelers’ animals.

Sketch of Yanks’ three-story station about 1861. As the building on the right suggests, the earliest buildings here were likely log structures.

Yank was a larger-than-life character who quickly became a local celebrity. He was a true Yankee indeed, claiming to have moved west from his native New Hampshire at the age of 40 and acquiring the station “at the instance of Chorpenning.” Yank would regale visitors with tales of his early adventures, which (supposedly) included a brief sojourn as a cooper in Cuba and service as a chaplain at the Battle of Bunker Hill — this last an amusing but thoroughly impossible tale for a someone born about 1817. Planned future improvements, he assured guests, would include a tree-house lookout for better views of the lake; a fish pond with water-spouting Cupid; and a brand new piano (pronounced “peeyan-er”) for his house. The warm and effusive host was said to accompany his narratives with “many amusing peculiarities of phrase and gesture.”

In the outpost’s early days, at least, the location was still a remote slice of the Old West. A California teamster named Grace got held up at gunpoint near Yank’s Station in November, 1865, while on his way home after delivering a load of goods to Dayton, Nevada. Five “foot-pads” with shotguns accosted Grace’s wagon near Yank’s Station, and the poor teamster was forced to hand over the entire $450 proceeds he’d earned for his trip.

Wedding announcement in the San Francisco Examiner, July 6, 1868. The new Mrs. Clement was evidently already living at Yank’s Station at the time of their marriage.

After almost a decade in business Yank acquired a bride, marrying Mrs. Lydia D. Mark in Genoa on June 30, 1868. The new Mrs. Clement became a strong partner in the hotel business, with visitors commenting on her excellent cooking and housework skills.

Tragedy struck the pair just a few short years later, however, when Yank’s hotel was consumed by fire in December, 1872. Among those who barely escaped with their lives were Yank, his wife Lydia, and a Mrs. Cleveland, the wife of a senator. Mrs. Cleveland suffered burns on her face and hands as she rushed out of the burning building, and Lydia Clement was said to have had her hair “singed to the roots.”

Perhaps as a result of this catastrophe, “Yank” sold his station to George D.H. Meyers in 1873. Meyers would later expand the holdings, purchasing nearby land, and began raising cattle there. The property would stay in the Meyers family for the next 30 years, and later was acquired by the Celio family.

Despite the sale of his original station, Yank wouldn’t abandon the hotel business, however. He soon built another hotel near Camp Richardson known as Tallac House, memorialized by famed photographer Carleton Watkins in 1876. This hotel was grander than ever, featuring a spring floor for dancing called an “emotional floor.” And naturally, given Yank’s personality, it was still commonly known as “Yank’s.”

A visitor in August, 1875 described the accommodations, which included a bed “at least four feet from the floor” and a single shared toothbrush “in a large pressed-glass tumbler,” thoughtfully provided for the comfort of Yank’s visitors. Clements and his wife set a good table, the writer confirmed (“I mean it — a real good table is theirs”), and described them as “bustling around as usual and doing all in their power for their guests.” Another guest remarked cryptically that he and his friends had managed to procure an early breakfast by “ventur[ing] to brave the small explosive dangers of Yank’s dining hall” — possibly a reference to being cornered by Yank with a story.

Yank was described as “the most obliging old coon in the world, [who] flies off here, there, and everywhere all day in the interest and comfort of his guests.” Mrs. Clement was a “first-class housekeeper,” keeping the hotel running smoothly along with help from her niece, a Mrs. Rogers. And Yank was said to out-do himself for guests: “If you want his house, team and wagon, it comes marvelously at your order; and if you order saddle horses or boats he makes a spring and a whiz and you are equipped.”

For a time, Yank Clement also served as local justice of the peace, much to the amusement of those in his courtroom. During the trial of one case, Yank fell sound asleep and “began snoring like a house afire.” When roused from his slumbers so the evidence could continue, Yank responded tartly: ‘That’s all right. I knew all about the darned case [before] it came into the court [and] made up my mind about the merits long ago.” In another instance, one man was trying to sue another for an unpaid debt. “Well,” Yank inquired, “Did you have a talk with him about the matter? And he wouldn’t give you no satisfaction?” No, Yank was assured, the debtor had refused to pay. “By jingo!” he erupted. “If you couldn’t do nothin’ with him, how in blazes can you expect me to do it?”

Clement’s Tallac House was sold about 1880 to Elias “Lucky” Baldwin, who would later build an even grander Tallac Hotel there. As for the original Yank’s Station in Meyers, it was finally “done in” for a third time by fire in 1938  — along with much of the surrounding community of Meyers.

Visit the plaque for old Yank’s Station in the parking lot of today’s Holiday Market at Meyers.

So this April 28, it’s only fitting to consider a pilgrimage to the site of old Yank’s Station in honor of this 159th anniversary. Imagine young Warren Upson, tired and cold, making his hurried change of ponies and dreaming of a quick stop at Al Tahoe and the warm fire ahead at Friday’s Station. And imagine Ephraim “Yank” Clement standing in the door of his original Yank’s Station, waving good-bye and wishing Upson god-speed on the road ahead.

 

The Dake House: A Genoa Treasure

This beautiful old Victorian home sits just south of Genoa. It’s known as the Dake House, and it’s listed on the National Register of Historic Places. But it’s notable for yet another reason, as well: this is also said to be one of the most haunted sites in Nevada.

And given its history, there’s are a few good reasons why a ghost or two might be hanging around!

Charles W. Dake served as a local undertaker for many years (though he listed his occupation simply as “carpenter” in the 1880 census). He did indeed work as a carpenter, building a railing for the Genoa courthouse, and a bridge in Smith Valley, for instance. Surprisingly, however, he didn’t actually build his own coffins in his second career as an undertaker; those were shipped in, already assembled.

A native of Canada, Dake had initially settled in Alpine County, California, after moving west in the 1860s. By 1866 he and his wife, Harriet, were living in the silver mining boomtown of Silver Mountain City. There he became an Alpine County supervisor, even serving as Chairman of the Board from 1868-69. The Dakes already had four children; their fifth baby, named Charles after his father, was born in 1869 while the family lived in the snowy Alpine mountains.

By the time of the 1870 census, Dake and his family had moved to Monitor, where he found employment as superintendent for the mill at the Globe Mine. Like other eager miners, Dake invested a bit in the local mines. But after the Globe Mine shut down “temporarily” Dake moved on, purchasing his property here in Genoa about 1872.

Dake is believed to have built this house himself. But he wasn’t the first settler to actually live at this site. According to old-timer Harry Hawkins, an elderly African-American man had once lived at this site. That fits with the story that an early log cabin once sat here, before Dake came along. According to Hawkins, the property’s former owner died and was buried just north of the present-day house. Sadly, Hawkins recalls that someone later built a rock fence right over the man’s grave.  Well, that might explain why at least one irritable ghost would still occupy this property!

One of the original out-buildings. (Photo courtesy of Judy Wickwire).

During Dake’s time, his Victorian home did double-duty as the post office and as his Justice of the Peace office. Dake also had a barn and carriage house on the property.  The Dake property was sold in 1909 to Theodore and Clara Hawkins, and Clara reportedly planted the lilac bushes, snowball bushes, and fruit trees you can still see there today.

As for the undertaking parlor, well, that moved around a bit (literally!). In early 1888, Dake was renting space for his undertaking business in J.R. Johnson’s building in Genoa, just north of the butcher shop. That didn’t last long, however. Dake had already  purchased the  Audrain property next to his home in 1887, and had moved the former Audrain house closer to the road. In the spring of 1890, Dake moved his undertaking business there. It was conveniently close — and there’d be no rent!

Dake’s undertaking parlor made at least one more journey, too, before it was eventually demolished in 1958. In July, 1891, a heavy cloudburst washed the entire structure down the hill and into fields below owned by the Frey family. “The building was turned completely round and what was the south wing is now the north,” reported the Genoa Weekly Courier. Stories are still told today about coffins coming down into the field with it.

The disaster was no problem for those unsentimental old-timers, though; they simply dragged the wooden building back up to its earlier spot and set it back on its foundation. When the undertaking building was finally demolished for good in 1958, caked dry mud was said to be found still packed between the old floor joists.

Ad for Dake’s undertaking services from the June 5, 1885 Genoa Weekly Courier.

And the ghostly encounters reported at the Dake House? Well, there’ve been lots of them!

Staff in the antique store have reported “phantom shadows.” The ghostly figure of an older woman has been spotted on the first floor, and some visitors claim to have smelled sweet perfume in the parlor. People say they’ve heard footsteps echoing from the empty upper floor. One visitor upstairs felt a distinct slap on the face – when no one else was in the room at the time.

But perhaps the most frequently re-told ghost story involves a beautiful oil painting. It appears to be an ordinary-enough still-life of a vase filled with roses. But it’s thought to be either an original or a duplicate of a “spirit painting,” created by a medium at a seance in San Francisco.

The painting is thought to possibly be a “spirit painting,” created by a medium. (Illustration: K.Dustman).

According to local lore, the antique store owner tried to sell the painting three separate times. But each time a sale was imminent, the painting would crash to the floor. Once it even struck an electrical plug on its journey, sending up a dramatic cascade of sparks. Three times was enough to get the message across, however: the owner hasn’t tried to sell the painting since.

Given that an undertaking parlor once sat nearby, you can kinda understand why a few ghosts might be hanging around the property, right? And there could be other reasons for unsettled spirits, as well. There’s that unfortunate former owner with a rock wall now covering his grave. There’s the “spirit painting,” which may have come with its own unsettled spirit attached. And in addition to the bodies that passed through Dake’s undertaking parlor over the years there were the grieving spouses who came to his home.

But that’s not all. Dake’s wife, Harriet, passed away in Genoa (possibly even here in this house) in September, 1878. The precise day she died? You guessed it: Friday the 13th.

As for C.W. Dake himself, he passed away at the age of 79 in November, 1908. Records show he is buried in a plot near the top of Genoa Cemetery, along with wife Harriet, son Bert, and five other Dakes. Sadly, these family graves are currently unmarked. Like so many early ones, their headstones may once have been made of wood. There’s even a local rumor that C.W. Dake’s headstone may have been stolen long ago. Or perhaps you might say it was — spirited away!

Charles W. Dake, his wife Harriet, and several Dake children are buried toward the top of Genoa Cemetery (near the southwest corner). There’s one small marker on the plot for John Simonis (likely a son-in-law), but no remaining headstones for the Dake family members in this plot. (This photo and top photo both courtesy of Judy Wickwire)

Gardnerville’s Ritchford Hotel

William Ritchford was bound and determined to be a hotel owner. In March, 1893 he purchased the Gardnerville Hotel at the southwest corner of Main and Eddy Streets from Hans C. Jepsen. Here at his “fine hotel and saloon,” the accommodating new owner offered board and lodging by the day, week, or month. Patrons of his saloon were promised not only “good wines, liquors and cigars,” but also an opportunity to try their luck at the card tables.

The Ritchford Hotel, circa 1900. (Photo courtesy of the Douglas County Historical Society & Museum)

Ritchford had a partner in this new endeavor, Hans Nelson. And for a time, things went swimmingly. In June of 1893, the pair were already planning to build an addition to their hotel to “accommodate the transient custom that nightly make this a stopping point,” said the Genoa Weekly Courier. But by March of 1894, Ritchford had sold out his interest to Nelson for a bit more than $5,000, and was moving to Antelope Valley with his family.

They weren’t gone long, however. By October of 1896, the Ritchfords were back in Gardnerville, renting the lower floor of Pete Wilder’s house. By 1897, Bill Ritchford was operating a livery and feed business in town. But he still had heart set on another hotel.

About 1898, Ritchford purchased a parcel on the west side of today’s “S”-curve, then the south end of Gardnerville. An early blacksmith shop occupied the south corner of the property (opened by Chris Nelson and later operated by Fred Fricke). By March that same year, carpenters and stone masons were hard at work erecting a new hotel for Ritchford at the north end of his property.

Things didn’t get off to a terribly auspicious start. First, carpenter Henry Beste took a nasty fall at the under-construction hotel, confining him to bed rest for a day or two. Then the following week stone mason Henry Mathews, who’d been hired to lay the building’s foundation, suddenly passed away.

But by mid-July, Ritchford and his family were able to move into their new hotel. The building was finished enough that the newspaper was able to report on its “imposing appearance,” with a cornice painted a patriotic red, white and blue. In November, 1898 Ritchford added a tall water tank to the property, bringing gravity-fed water to the new building. Genuine “horsepower” of the old-fashioned kind was used to lift the large tank into place.

Advertisement for a “Grand House Warming” for Ritchford’s Hotel. (September 9, 1898 Genoa Courier).

That September, 1898, a “Grand House Warming” celebration and dance was advertised to celebrate the new hotel. In deference to the size of the expected crowd, festivities were held just up the street at Valhalla Hall. Tickets for the event cost $2, but thoughtfully included not only supper for attendees but also “horse feed.”

Even so, however, it appears the new hotel building was not quite finished. In June the following year, the Courier reported plans under way to “immediately finish” the third story of the hotel, “owing to the throng of people in Gardnerville.” A Sanborn Fire Insurance map drawn that year shows a two-and-a-half story “boarding house” on the property. Ritchford finally had his own hotel.

Advertisements in the Genoa Courier in late 1899 cheerfully informed the traveling public that Ritchford’s new hotel was open for business. He had picked an auspicious official name for it, too:  “The Latest.” Guests could stable their horses at the livery just 38 feet to the south (possibly a new incarnation of the former blacksmith shop). And Ritchford wasn’t done yet. By early 1900, carpenter Henry Dixon was “finishing up” what may have been more of the third story of the Ritchford.

A Sanborn Fire Insurance map from 1899, showing a large livery stable on the south of Ritchford’s property (where the early blacksmith shop probably sat) and a 2-1/2 story “Boarding house” at the north end.
Ad for Ritchford’s Hotel, “The Latest,” in 1899.

When finally completed, the Ritchford Hotel featured 20 “first-class” rooms. Mrs. Ritchford charmed guests with her cooking, including  “sumptuous” turkey dinners. The livery business did so well that in 1902 a “large addition” was made to the stable. And in 1903, in keeping with the hotel’s name, “The Latest,” Ritchford had his hotel electrified — a significant improvement over the original gas lighting.

“Word of the Ritchford Hotel spread around the state, and anyone traveling through the valley wanted to stay there,” noted Scott Schrantz in a 2006 blog, Around Carson. “Even in San Francisco they spoke of its elegance and luxury.”

And even more improvements were yet to come. In the fall of 1905, Bill Ritchford added an “ice house” to the hotel and a “rustic front” to his stable. This latter change, the Record-Courier noted approvingly, “greatly add[ed] to [the stable’s] appearance.”

Ritchford worked hard to ensure a steady stream of patrons to his hotel. After the V&T opened its Minden depot in 1906, Ritchford  drove his team to meet the train every day to pick up “drummers” (traveling salesmen) needing a place to spend the night.

By 1907, the Sanborn maps show that another narrow addition had been made to the livery stable, pushing the building even farther south. And by 1912, almost the entire southern corner of the property had been covered with various extensions to the livery building.

Among other amenities for guests, it seems medical help was close at hand for anyone who needed it. As early as 1899, a patient was said to be “undergoing treatment at Ritchford’s hotel.” Advertisements from 1908 indicate that Dr. E.H. Hawkins kept both his medical office and his residence in the hotel. Another physican named Dr. Marotz had a convenient office nearby, and “at night [he] can be found at [a] cottage adjoining Ritchford hotel,” according to Marotz’s ad.

But at the age 0f 75, after more than two decades in the hotel business, Bill Ritchford passed away in a tragic accident. It was February of 1922. Despite his years, Ritchford was hauling hay from Minden to Gardnerville on a sled being pulled by a four-horse team. The load of hay slid forward, spooking the horses. Ritchford  fell off and was dragged for several hundred feet, and the sled ran over his body. His chest was crushed. Ritchford died the following day.

Son Bill Ritchford, Jr. continued to carry on the hotel business for the next two years. But not long after Bill’s death, his wife Anna’s health began to fail. She passed away in August, 1924, and was buried beside Bill in Carson City’s Lone Mountain Cemetery.

A few months after his mother’s passing, son Bill, Jr. sold the old Ritchford Hotel to the Aja family. It was still quite a place, featuring “stove heat,” electric lights; a parlor, two offices, a soft drink concession, dining room and kitchen, according to a 1923 Sanborn map. With automobiles now taking the place of horses, the former livery stable by now had been converted to a painting shop and “temporary fire headquarters.”

What remains of the Ritchford Hotel today. Gone are the third story, the front porch and architectural embellishments, but the “bare bones” of the old hotel still remain.
The former Livery stable, after innumerable additions.

Today, a portion of the gracious three-story Ritchford Hotel still stands. The current wooden structure is now just two stories tall, thanks to a fire that broke out on the third floor in January, 1937. Although the lower floors were saved, the top floor of the hotel was never rebuilt.

Next time you pass by, remember the tall water tower that once stood beside the Ritchford, boosted into place using old-fashioned horse-power. Think of the many smiling guests who crossed its threshold to enjoy Bill’s hospitality and Anna’s home-cooked dinners. And imagine Gardnerville’s early days when the gracious Ritchford Hotel was known as far away as San Francisco.

Historic plaque commemorating the much-beloved, long-lived Ritchford Hotel. This plaque notes the hotel was first opened in 1896. (Our research suggests his hotel actually opened in 1898.)

Carson Valley’s First Settler Wedding

The year was 1854 when two young riders pulled up outside Henry Van Sickle’s blacksmith shop, astride a single horse.

Their arrival at Van Sickle’s station wasn’t all that unusual — “Van” (as locals knew him) was an in-demand blacksmith and wheelwright, and his trading station had become a popular stopping place for passing-through emigrants.

What was unusual, however, was the mission of the two riders. Young David R. Jones and his even younger companion, Frances Angeline Williams, weren’t interested in Van’s assistance as a blacksmith, but rather his help as Justice of the Peace. They’d just eloped together on horseback, and wanted “Van” to marry them.

Frances was a native of Pennsylvania who’d come west with her family in a wagon train, arriving in Carson Valley during the fall of 1853. David had been born in Wales in 1830, emigrating initially as a child with his family to Wisconsin. David, too, had followed his dreams west to Carson Valley in 1853 as a member of the same wagon train as the Williams family, and was now living and working on the ranch owned by Frances’ father*, William T. “Billy” Williams.

Henry Van Sickle.

David was 25 years old when he rode up to Van Sickle’s blacksmith shop that fateful day. Frances, on the other hand, was just 15. And they hadn’t asked her parents’ permission to get married.

As later writers have recounted the tale, “Van” was hard at work at his forge when the eager young couple rushed in. Still clad in his leather blacksmith’s apron and rolled-up shirtsleeves, Van Sickle obliged with the briefest of ceremonies. Clapping one meaty hand on David’s shoulder and the other on Frances’, he solemnly proclaimed: “As Justice of the Peace of this township, I pronounce you man and wife under the law of the Territory of Utah.”

That was it. They were married.

Henry Van Sickle didn’t bother to take off his rough blacksmith’s apron for the marriage. Photos below of David R. Jones and Frances (Williams) Jones are courtesy of Douglas County Historical Society & Museum.

It was the first settler marriage ever performed in Carson Valley, at least according to local legend. (Small pause for a word of caution: when it comes to “firsts” like marriages and babies, there can often be room for dispute! But that’s how local legend tells it.) And the wedding wouldn’t be Van Sickle’s last. In August, 1857, Van Sickle also “stopped branding cattle long enough to perform the marriage” for Elzy Knott and Mary Harris.

There’s just one small factual hiccup giving later historians pause about the long-ago Jones wedding story: Henry Van Sickle probably wasn’t actually a J.P. yet in 1854. It wasn’t until Carson County, Utah Territory was formed in September, 1855 by Orson Hyde that Henry officially became a judge, as nearly as we can tell. Prior to that, although J.P.’s did exist, their authority was limited to handling court cases. With no authority for anyone at the time to perform weddings, emigrant marriages were sometimes accomplished by written “contract” or by stretching the fictitious jurisdiction of an eastern J.P.

Still, the story of the Jones’ wedding is so detailed there’s likely some truth to the tale. Perhaps the young couple thought Van Sickle had the power to marry them, and Van simply tried to oblige. Maybe later tellings got the year wrong and the marriage took place in 1855, after Henry really was a Justice of the Peace.  Or maybe the well-respected Van Sickle was simply the closest thing anyone had to a J.P. in those early days, and local folk never questioned the well-intentioned marriage attempt.

However it happened, if the oft-repeated story about the early wedding is true, newlyweds David and Frances must have had quite an interesting conversation with her family when they finally returned home to the Williams ranch! But any hard feelings were apparently soon forgiven. David would later purchase the Williams ranch in 1857.

Over the years, the couple prospered. David was (or at least, as he claimed to be) the first to plow the ground with an ox team near Genoa, and he soon began hauling hay and grain to Virginia City. But the early years of their marriage were filled with the dangers and difficulties of early pioneers. He would later recall: “We hid in the willows at night, [my] wife and I, because the Indians were hostile in those days and we feared for our lives.”

The Jones Ranch, as it appeared about 1881.

The couple’s first son, John R. Jones, born in 1855, was reportedly the first white male child born in Carson Valley. All told, David and Frances would go on to have a total of eleven children. One of those children, daughter Sarah, grew up to marry Lorenzo Smith of Washoe City, a tale recounted in this earlier story. (Daughter Sarah was laid to rest at the Washoe City Cemetery in early 1894.)

The Jones ranch grew, and by 1882 was valued for tax purposes at $3,500. David also evidently developed a passion for fine horses. In 1878, the newspaper reported the price for breeding services from his “noble-looking” stallion, Westfork.

D.R. Jones’ “noble” stallion, Westfork, was mentioned in the Carson Valley News of April 12, 1878.

David Jones was an active member of the local community, officiating as a judge of elections at the Mottsville Precinct in 1880, and serving as a Douglas County commissioner in the 1890s. According to some accounts Jones also became a prominent  and well-respected member of the Mormon Church — although in actuality, he’d broken ties with the LDS church. Instead, Jones may have been affiliated with the Re-organized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when that movement emerged in the 1870s, though even the nature of his association with that group remains unclear.  In any event, Jones was listed as a “minister” at the marriage of John Boston and Nettie Jones in March, 1872, and was kindly referred to as “Rev. Jones” in February, 1898 when he officiated at the funeral of Mrs. Mary Gilman.

Frances passed away in 1909, with seven of her 11 children still surviving her. Five years later, David was applauded as the oldest still-living Nevada pioneer at the state’s 50thanniversary celebration. He died that same year, 1914, at the age of 85. David and Frances Jones are both buried in the historic Genoa Cemetery.

______________

     * William T. Williams is identified as Frances’ father in Sam P. Davis’s later History of Nevada (Vol. II), but according to letters in the possession of descendants, her real father was actually David Williams. It’s possible that William T. Williams was an uncle.
Special thanks also to the Douglas County Historical Society for the wonderful pair of photos of Frances and David Jones for this story, and the account of their elopement from the reminiscences of Robert A. Trimmer, a typescript in the Historical Society’s Van Sickle Library collection. A similar story about the Jones wedding was told by Owen E. Jones in the 
Record-Courier of September 4, 1925. David Jones’ account of hiding in the willows was reported in the Record-Courier of February 5, 1909, and his land purchase from “Bully [probably Billy] Williams” was in the Genoa Courier, December 19, 1902. The account of “Rev.” Jones conducting the funeral of Mrs. Gilman is from Genoa Weekly Courier, February 11, 1898.
And just a quick acknowledgment: I am so thankful for the help of local historians who know so much more and so freely share!  So, many thanks to one local historian in particular (who prefers to remain nameless) for the great information about the date of Van Sickle’s election as Justice of the Peace, various early marriage hurdles and work-arounds, and David Jones’ still-not-quite-clear connection with the Re-organized Mormon Church.

The Kingsbury Grade Story (Part 2)

Even before the Kingsbury & McDonald toll road was completed, the quasi-passable track began to attract attention. A telegraph line for the Humboldt & Salt Lake Telegraph Co. was strung along this route in late 1858, connecting Genoa with Placerville. And beginning in April or May, 1860, Pony Express riders began following the Kingsbury Grade trail, before completion of telegraph lines a few months later made their work obsolete.

When Kingsbury & McDonald’s new wagon road was officially completed in August, 1860, it was seven miles long but reportedly chopped the distance from Genoa to Placerville by some 15 miles, saving travelers a precious day’s travel.

Writer Richard Allen marveled at the workmanship of the new road, describing it as a “most excellent road” winding over “seemingly impassable heights.” A reporter for the Sacramento Daily Union similarly effused in June, 1860: “The road-building by McDonald & Kingsbury through Daggett’s Pass is pronounced by those we have seen who have passed over it, the best on the Pacific coast.”

The roadway of the new Kingsbury route averaged a luxurious sixteen feet in width — a vast improvement over portions of the Placerville road in El Dorado County, where sharp turns planked to a width of just eight feet made it difficult for six-mule teams to “keep the wheels on the timber.”

Kingsbury and McDonald received a Territorial franchise for their toll road in 1861. The initial toll for a wagon drawn by four horses making a round-trip from Shingle Springs to Van Sickle Station at the foot of old Kingsbury was $17.50. That hefty sum represented more than four days’ wages for a humble miner. Even so, writer Richard Allen dubbed the new toll rate “reasonable.”

The Kingsbury route soon drew away many of the westward-bound travelers who had previously crossed through Hope Valley and over Luther Pass. In addition, with Virginia City at its height, pack train operators bringing supplies eastward for the Comstock mines found the route profitable in the early 1860s. Some of those early packers settled in and became Nevada notables. Bob Fulstone, for example, a well-known dairy rancher near Carson City, recalled “packing mules” over Daggett Pass as a teenager. And A. Schwarz, cheerful proprietor of the popular Genoa Brewery, once ran a pack train from Sacramento to Virginia City in his younger days, also probably following the Kingsbury route over Daggett Pass.

Henry Van Sickle was the first toll-keeper on the Kingsbury & McDonald toll road.

At the very foot of the new Kingbsbury trail, Henry Van Sickle already had an existing station that he’d erected in 1857. This offered several amenities for emigrants and teamsters: a bar, a hotel, a blacksmith/wheelwright shop, and a store.  Van Sickle quickly embraced the new Kingsbury route as good for business. He not only helped finance the new road but also served as its first toll-master. Although we don’t know much about the original toll house, we do know it had a brick chimney, as that fell down during an earthquake in June, 1887.

About halfway up the grade, travelers could also find another way-station, called “Peters Station.” Here Richard Peters and his wife, Elizabeth, kept a three-story hotel where teamsters could enjoy a good, hot dinner and get a restful night’s sleep for themselves and their horses before attempting the rest of the climb.

The new Kingsbury toll road didn’t keep its competitive advantage for long, however. In November, 1863, the Lake Bigler Road was completed and began siphoning off traffic. This new road ran from Friday’s Station (then “Small & Burke’s”) on the south shore of the lake through Spooner’s Station and down Kings Canyon to Carson City. It not only crossed the Sierra some 200 feet lower than the Kingsbury-McDonald route but, more importantly, reportedly offered a slightly shorter trek to the Placerville road.

Some adventurous souls tried riding the flume.

That didn’t mean that all travelers abandoned the new Kingsbury route, of course. And in 1866, J.W. Haines found yet another helpful use for it, building a mile-long box-flume to channel water down Kingsbury Canyon, later upgrading its original overlapping joints to an “abutting joint” model in 1868.

All told, the new Kingsbury & McDonald toll road cost its founders an astonishing $585,000 to build. And in 1863, after the Kings Canyon route opened as competition, Kingsbury generated only $190,000 in tolls. Even so, the new Kingsbury toll road continued to operate. By 1881, the History of Nevada would grandly claim that the Kingsbury toll road had “annually returned double its cost.”

Perhaps this was pure puffery. Financial woes eventually forced Van Sickle, who had helped to finance the road, to foreclose on his mortgage and he wound up becoming its owner. For a time, it continued to operate as the Van Sickle Toll Road. But in 1889, Van Sickle sold the roadway to Douglas County for just $1,000. It now became a free road; the local newspaper happily advised readers that “no toll will be collected in the future.”

Genoa Weekly Courier, October 11, 1889.

The lack of tolls made a big difference for commerce over the Grade. In February, 1890, for example, ranchers in Carson Valley were able to supply Folsom’s logging camp at Lake Tahoe with beef, which they “hauled over the Kingsbury grade on hand-sleds.” And in 1894, a Sacramento hauler estimated the cost of delivery at a mere one cent per pound, compared with $1.25 per pound when the previous toll over Kingsbury was $22.

Given the road’s unpaved surface, maintenance needs were constant. In summer, horsedrawn carts would sprinkle water along the roadway to settle the dust. In winter, sleds were used to pack the snow down as a roadway.

Horrific accidents on the steep grade were also common. In June, 1890, a man named Green lost his brake while descending Kingsbury grade with a 6-horse team. Although the incident made the news, the Genoa Weekly Courier just calmly reported: “the wagon ran off the grade, causing quite a smash-up.” The following year, teamster Louis Lenwick was bringing a load of shingles down Kingsbury grade from Hobart with a 4-horse team when he hit an icy spot at the “first bridge above the Farmers’ Mill.” Luckily Louis got off with just a broken rib and a dunking in the creek.

Albert Bohlman grading Kingsbury’s dirt roadway in the 1930s, using an official Douglas County grader. (Photo courtesy of Dale Bohlman)

Then in May, 1892, someone made the bad decision to continue tugging an engine up Kingsbury Grade with a 12-horse team during a heavy snowstorm. The engine was destined for use at a logging camp near Meyers, but wound up being dumped off onto its side when the wagon’s wheels “dropped into a hole that was covered with snow.” The team and driver came out alright, but the engine later had to be rescued.

*Hope you enjoyed the story so far…  To read Part 1, click here. We plan to add Part 3 to the story later!

Header photo (used courtesy of Douglas County Historical Society – thank you!) is Old Kingsbury Grade, circa 1895. Note what appears to be a flume at right center of that photo. 

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Here are a few great personal memories of old Kingsbury Grade “back in the day,” from our readers

“My mom said they made movies on that road. I remember the hairpin turn punctuated by the lone pine tree.”

“I can remember traveling up the grade, scared to death that my father would get close to the edge on a sharp turn with a corduroy surface, and we’d all go over the edge! And I remember how relieved we were to make it to the ‘piped’ spring [where we could] refill the boiled-out radiator.”

“Many of the young men (my brother and my husband among them) who belonged to Carson Valley’s 20-30 Club would go up to the Lake after their meeting, and they’d talk about coming home in the early morning via Kingsbury with the sun in their eyes.”

“The lookout point was constructed by the local Kiwanis Club, I think. It became more of a ‘necking stop’ than an actual scenic look-out.”

“When I was in high school, the road was still dirt and people from California driving Kingsbury Grade would hug the side that is against the mountain and you would have to go around them on the wrong side because they were scared to go near the edge.”

“I remember in winter they would close the road with just a couple of saw horses and a board. If the snow was not too deep we would just move the saw horses aside and just use it anyway.”

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The Legacy of Roy Thran

A ten-year-old boy. A small box of his most prized possessions. And 83 years later — a very special legacy shared.

Father Dietrich (Dick) Thran, daughter Marichen, and youngest child Roy, in front of the Thran house on Dressler Lane circa 1927. (Photo courtesy of the family.)
Roy with his mother, Marie Thran, circa summer 1927, in the front yard of their beautiful home. (Photo courtesy of the family.)

Born June 10, 1925, Roy Thran was the last of five surviving children of Dick and Marie Thran. (You may remember our story a few weeks ago about the beautiful Thran House.) Roy’s mother, Marie was 48 years old when he was born, and had already lost three other intervening children. So Roy’s arrival must have been a time of great rejoicing. He was christened in the Lutheran Church on Sunday, June 21, 1925.

Roy did his lessons on a slate at the Minden School. He caught butterflies, played with metal trucks, dabbled with paints, and enjoyed games of marbles and Tiddledy Winks with friends. Someone (perhaps his father) carved him his very own wooden baseball bat. No doubt he had chores to do at the family’s dairy ranch on Dressler Lane. And even as a ten-year-old, he kept a stained and much-battered stuffed toy he’d carried in his toddler days.

Roy’s aviator’s cap, school slate (with his handwriting still on it), and a cigar box that held marbles and other toys. His childhood stuffed animal is at top.

Smitten with the great aviators of the day, Roy joined the Jimmy Allen Flying Club for kids, receiving an official acceptance letter, a silver pilot’s bracelet, and a bronze pin with “flying cadet” wings. Roy even owned his own pint-sized version of the aviator cap worn by Charles Lindbergh on his history-making solo across the Atlantic in 1927.

Roy celebrated his tenth birthday that summer of 1935. His beloved Tante Behrman, his mother’s sister, wished him “more fun than a circus” in a cheerful birthday card. But according to a story handed down through the family, Roy’s mother, Marie, had an awful premonition. As she glanced at Roy one day, chilling words formed across his forehead: “I won’t be here long.” And not long after the vision, Roy’s family was attending his funeral at the same Lutheran Church where he’d been christened.

On August 6, Roy had gone to visit a childhood chum. They took a leisurely ride on a horse, and grabbed a late lunch, and decided to take a dip in the West Fork in the late afternoon. They rode out to a spot at a dam near the Schwake Ranch. The water was deep, and neither boy could swim. Roy stepped off the bank into the cool water — and disappeared.

Roy’s young friend rode quickly for help. But by the time Roy’s body was recovered, it was too late. Two doctors tried in vain for several hours to revive him.

Roy’s birthday card from “Onkel & Tanta Behrman.”

Imagine Marie’s grief: her premonition had come true. Carefully, she packed away all of Roy’s treasures: his aviator cap, his school books, his slingshot, his birthday card. A butterfly pressed in the leaves of a book. It all was gently tucked in a special box, handed down through the family for the last 83 years.

And now, with the family’s permission, Roy’s treasures will be shared with the community in a very special exhibit at the Carson Valley Museum. Two glass cases will display the loves of a ten-year-old boy growing up in 1935, preserved just as he left them. It’s an amazing snapshot in time.

“So many people were touched with sadness back then, and now this journey will come full-circle,” notes Krista Jenkins, a Thran descendant. “The sadness will be different now. Memories have softened with the passing of time, and it’s nice to know that this journey of the ‘Boy In A Box’ will now be told again to a different generation.”

Metal trucks; marbles; hand-carved baseball bat and sling-shot, animated butterfly, and much, much more from Roy’s special box are now on display at Carson Valley Historical Society & Museum.

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Come View Roy’s Special Legacy:   The Roy Thran exhibit will be on display at Carson Valley Historical Society & Museum through the end of 2019, in the “Women’s History” room, located on the second floor. We hope you’ll stop by to see Roy’s legacy!

Special thanks to Krista Jenkins and the Thran and Cordes families for sharing Roy’s amazing legacy. Top photo: Roy Thran from Minden School photo in October, 1931 courtesy of Carson Valley Historical Society & Museum. 

Washoe City: The Cemetery Time Forgot

Tracks through the tall grass say people still visit the old Washoe City Cemetery. But the stories of its dead — and even some of their names — are long-forgotten.

Here’s one little-known tale that’s survived: the life of Lorenzo Smith. His family was part-and-parcel of Washoe County’s early history. And you can still find his headstone here, amid the brush.

Handsome portrait of Lorenzo Smith, circa 1875.

Born in England in 1852, Lorenzo had just reached his first birthday when his family decided to emigrate to the States. Lorenzo’s parents, George and Caroline Smith, were converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His father was a church elder. Other members of the family had trekked to Utah in 1848 as part of the Brigham Young company. And in 1854, George and Caroline decided to leave England and join them.

One-year-old Lorenzo, his eight siblings, and their parents boarded the shipWindermere in on a cold February day in 1854, joining some 470 other Saints who were leaving England. Eight weeks later, the ship docked at New Orleans. From there, the family took passage on a steamboat to St. Louis, took a jog west to Kansas City, and then crossed the plains with a wagon train to reach Salt Lake. 

One daughter, Eliza, died of cholera as the family was crossing the plains, and the family lost many of their possessions on the way. Father George, a mat-weaver by trade, was forced to discard his precious but heavy weaving equipment. Finally, they were able to embrace their relatives in Salt Lake Valley. But  George Smith found it hard to make a living there. The next two years were difficult. Then in 1856, tales of gold farther west convinced George Smith to move his family once again, and they set out to seek their fortunes in a new part of Utah Territory. 

The Smiths became the very first settlers in Pleasant Valley (just north of Washoe City, near Steamboat Springs). Here, George Smith built a cabin for his family, and began planting crops. By the time of his death in 1893, George had become one of the largest and most prominent land-holders and ranchers in the vicinity.

Remnants of old Washoe City, about 1943

Son Lorenzo grew up on his father’s ranch. As a young man, Lorenzo ferried the mail on horseback between Washoe City and Virginia City. For a short time, he tried his hand as a butcher, operating a meat market in Carson City. But he soon returned to farming, and eventually took over management of the family ranch. Over the years, Lorenzo continued to improve the ranch: purchasing new equipment, adding buildings, and planting an orchard.

In 1882, when Lorenzo was 30, he married Sarah Ann Jones, daughter of prominent Carson Valley settler, David R. Jones. They had eight children together; but sadly, Sarah died in childbirth with their last child, Sadie Ann, in 1894. Lorenzo was left alone with eight motherless children. Four years after Sarah’s death, Lorenzo married Florence Connell of Antelope Valley, California. She must have been made of tough stuff indeed; she instantly had her hands full, with Lorenzo’s eight children!

Washoe City itself began as a milling, freighting and supply town for the Comstock mines, thriving from 1860 to about 1870. In 1861, it even became Washoe County’s first official county seat. As a young man, Lorenzo Smith must have visited Washoe City frequently to purchase supplies and attend to business. He was an active member of the Odd Fellows Lodge at Washoe City, and served as a trustee for the local school district. But construction of the V&T Railway in 1869 crushed the demand for teamsters to haul ore. And in 1871, the county seat was moved to Reno. The town’s population quickly dwindled and slowly, the buildings of Washoe City began to fade away. 

As for Lorenzo, he lived to the ripe old age of 89, and was the last surviving child of the large family of George and Caroline Smith. Lorenzo passed away in the hospital at Reno on April 29, 1942, and was buried here at Washoe City Cemetery.

Another remaining grave of an early settler in Washoe City Cemetery, George Haskell.

Lorenzo is buried beside his first wife, Sarah (who died in childbirth almost 50 years before him). And somewhere in the brush nearby, lying in unmarked graves, are Lorenzo’s parents, George and Caroline, and his sister, Sarah.

Concern about the cemetery was being expressed as early as 1892, with many graves said to be “in such form that it is impossible to properly locate them.” A To Whom It May Concern blurb in the Nevada State Journal requested assistance from people who could identify the location of graves of friends or relatives. But the grounds, at least, were still being tended by friends, family, and neighbors. As late as 1962 the cemetery was said to be in relatively “good condition,” at least as far as neatness was concerned, thanks to volunteer efforts.

Today, the cemetery is sadly neglected. Nevada’s Legislative Counsel Bureau estimated costs to restore Nevada’s neglected pioneer cemeteries in its report in 1962. But no money was ever appropriated for the cause.

And time (and humans) have not been kind. When a state investigator visited Washoe City Cemetery in the summer of 1962, he chanced upon a carload of Californians loading one of the historic headstones into their car. Their excuse: “All our friends have one!” (Luckily, he interrupted that plan.)

Turns out there’s a strange reason that Washoe City Cemetery is so sadly overgrown today: nobody actually owns it. Assessor’s maps show it belonging to “Washoe City Cemetery” itself — an organization as long-gone as the folks buried here.

And so, ignored and largely forgotten, Washoe City Cemetery continues to languish in the weeds.

A wooden fence marks the site of one early grave.

Happen to know anyone in the Nevada State Legislature? Historian Sue Silver has kindly suggested that an “Orphaned Cemetery Preservation Act” might be a great way to help neglected pioneer cemeteries like Washoe City Cemetery!

TO BE CONTINUED:  In Part 2 of this story, we’ll share more about the history of Washoe City itself. So stay tuned!


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If you’d like to visit:  The Old Washoe City Cemetery is located on Old Hwy 395, on the west side of the highway. But it’s easy to miss. Turn into the driveway where a sign on the fence says “555” and “CRCS,” a few yards south of the old log cabin. Walk carefully, and watch for snakes in the tall grass. And if you’re tempted to try to remove a few weeds, please remember not to disturb any rocks, wooden remnants, or other artifacts.

Special thanks to our reader Dee for the inspiration for this story! Details about the life of Lorenzo Smith from Find-a-Grave, Memorial #16295343. Thanks also to historian Sue Silver for her extensive research into ownership of the Washoe City Cemetery, and her many contributions of individual histories on Find-a-Grave.com.

A Visit to Lake Shore House

Ahh, Glenbrook.  Capt. Augustus W. Pray arrived here in the spring of 1860 with N.E. Murdock, G.W. Warren, and Rufus Walton, when no tourists had yet discovered its pristine beauty.

Settling in the lush grasslands beside the lake, Pray and his companions built a log cabin, dubbing the site Glenbrook in a nod to the small stream running through their meadow.


Early view of the Glenbrook Bay.

Impressed by the profusion of wild grasses, the settlers hauled a horse-drawn reaper over the mountain from San Francisco to cut the hay and began planting a garden, including wheat and oats. Their first crop produced some 80 bushels of wheat and four tons of hay, with oat stalks standing an impressive 7 feet tall.

The group’s waterfront settlement soon became known as Walton’s Landing. Here, Georgetown pack train travelers would disembark after crossing the lake by boat from McKinney’s, before continuing their journey east.

The following summer (1861) Pray erected a sawmill, known (of course) as Pray’s Mill. Seeing potential in the nearby timber, Pray bought out his partners in 1862 and began buying up timber land to supply his mill, quickly assembling holdings of 700 acres around Glenbrook.

In 1863, Pray sold five acres to entrepreneurs interested in building a hotel. The upscale Glenbrook House (the first commercial hotel in the vicinity) was soon erected a short half-mile away from the shore by G.Goff and George Morrill. This new hotel served well-heeled travelers along the Lake Bigler Toll Road through Kings Canyon willing to shell out $21 a week for food and lodging — an impressive sum, in the days when miners’ wages were $4 a day.

Although some accounts have said Pray built his own Lake Shore House hotel at the foot of the meadow in the fall of 1863, contemporary newspaper accounts confirm it actually was built by W.A. Hawthorne, and construction began in May, 1875.* It thus became the second hotel operating at Glenbrook. A glowing newspaper column the following year dubbed Lake Shore House “one of the neatest and sweetest and pleasantest and cheapest places of resort on the shores of Lake Bigler.” A large sign over the door about this time announced the hotel’s name to visitors in bold, rolling letters.


Lake Shore House circa 1870s, with its distinctive wavy-lettered sign.


More happy tourists at Lake Shore House, probably mid-1870s.

Thanks to the expansion of Comstock mining, lumber became increasingly necessary — and valuable. In 1873, Pray sold his mill and the land that it stood on to entrepreneur D.L. Bliss. Bliss launched a massive lumbering operation throughout Tahoe Basin, assembling mills, railroads, and flumes into a complex network carrying timber over Spooner Summit to serve the mines. By the end of the 1890s some 750 million board-feet of Tahoe Basin lumber had been spirited eastward to support mining operations on the Comstock — leaving 47,000 acres denuded of their timber.

Mining on the Comstock eventually waned — and with it, lumbering, too. And in their wake, recreational activities at Glenbrook blossomed. Even the Bliss family followed suit, ordering the building of a 169-foot steamer in 1896, known as the Queen of the Lake.

Pray’s early Lake Shore House hotel was moved down closer to the Lake in 1906, and tweaked to form the south wing of the new Glenbrook Inn. Another old hotel known as the Jellerson formed a north wing, and an old store was pressed into service as the center portion of the new complex. The early 17-foot painted sign that once welcomed visitors to Lake Shore House was taken down during this 1906 renovation.

As the years rolled by, the hotel’s history continued to capture people’s imagination, and in the 1970s, the hotel was largely restored to its original late-19th century appearance. In 1979, Lake Shore House’s significance was recognized through its listing on the National Register of Historic Places.

Benton’s Stage Line ferried tourists to the Lake (with stage driver Hank Monk) in time to connect with the Steamer ‘Niagara.” “Ample time will be allowed Passengers coming from Tahoe City to take luncheon at the Lake Shore House.”  This excursion was evidently very popular; stage trips were made every day during the tourist season, Sundays included.

Today Lake Shore House is a private residence. Over the past year, a loving renovation has preserved the building’s structural stability and historic charm. A 17-foot sign closely resembling the original discovered during the renovation is now proudly on display again, tucked under an eave for protection from the elements.


Lake Shore House today, following meticulous renovation.

Inside, the home keeps its historic charm. It’s unclear whether the sign discovered during remodeling is the same as the original that hung over the entrance, but it follows the same lettering

Not far away lies Capt. Augustus W. Pray himself, sleeping an eternal sleep in the historic Glenbrook cemetery. If only he could see his beautiful Lake Shore House today.


The grave of Capt. Augustus W. Pray at Glenbrook Cemetery. Born in 1820, Pray died in 1892.

*Special thanks to historian Michael Fisher for researching the date of Lake Shore House’s construction and providing great references to its initial construction and various management changes through the years, including: Carson Daily Appeal of March 5, 1874; May 25, 1875; August 16, 1876; and May 8, 1897; Nevada State Journal, April 20, 1877; and Reno Evening Gazette, May 12, 1884. 

Tale of the Thran House — and an Old Trunk

“I’m going to build you a grand house in Carson Valley, like we have in Germany!” promised Dietrich Thran.

The beautiful home built by Dietrich Thran.

And a “grand house” Thran built for his wife, indeed! Completed about 1910 to 1911, the house featured stained glass over the front door, stately pillars out front, and a gigantic room upstairs for dancing.

Thran was born in Germany July 15, 1864, and arrived in Carson Valley when he was 17 years old. He applied for naturalization, becoming an American citizen in October, 1886. After working for other ranchers and saving his pennies, at age 30 Thran was ready to find himself a wife. In late 1894, Thran returned to the Old Country and in May, 1895, came back to Carson Valley — bringing with him seven other Germans, one of whom was his new a fiancee!

Marie Dieckhoff, Dietrich’s intended, was all of 16 years old. They wasted no time — just one month after Marie set foot in Carson Valley, she and Dietrich were saying their “I do’s.” They were married on Saturday, June 29, 1895 at the home of Herman Thran, Dietrich’s brother. Dietrich presented her with a beautiful horse and buggy all her own as a wedding gift. (He really knew how to charm a gal!)

Dietrich (known locally as “Dick”) rented the Tucke Ranch that summer, and he and a friend purchased an expensive California thresher together. Just one year later, Dick became a dad for the first time: little Emma Thran joined the family on November 2, 1896. Baby Richard followed a year later, in December, 1897.

The original stained glass is still here over the front door of the Thran House.

Dick continued to do well financially, and by fall, 1897, he had purchased the 160-acre Marsh Ranch for $6,000, at the corner of today’s Highway 88 and Dressler Lane. The Thrans took possession of their new ranch the following spring.

The Thran family — and their four children — originally lived in this small building — today a tractor shed.

Though the acreage was large, their living accommodations were anything but. Dick, Marie, and their growing family moved into a house so small that today it is used as a tractor shed. And “growing” their family was: their third child, Carl, arrived in September 1899, and little Marieken (who would grow up to marry Chris Cordes) followed two years later, in 1901.

The barn — built in 1908, probably by noted barn-building Henry Hanke — before the family residence was constructed!

In 1908, Dick had a large barn constructed on his ranch (by noted barn-builder Henry Hanke, it’s believed), complete with  concrete floor for the milking side. But the Thran family continued to reside in the small shed-like structure. (Ranching priorities, you know!)

Finally, in April, 1910, the Thran family went back to Germany for a four-month visit. Seeing the large and beautiful German homes, Dick promised his wife, Marie, he would build a similar home for her in Carson Valley. And true to his word, he did! Their graceful two-story home on Dressler Lane was constructed about 1911 (possibly also by Hanke).

The Thrans’ dairy operation continued to thrive. Eventually the family was milking some 65 cows. They also raised pigs and chickens, and sold eggs. The shed the family had lived in for over ten years was converted to a house for the separators, and later, a chicken coop.

Dick Thran passed away in 1937 and Marie in 1946, and the family home was passed down to their three boys. Son Carl never married, and continued to live in the house all his life. After Carl’s death in 1980, the property was purchased by Jack and Marie Martin, who still live there today. But oh, the deferred maintenance they discovered when they took over!

“When I first walked through the old house, I cried,” said Maria. “I said, ‘We’re living here?’” The beautiful front columns were rotted and infested with bees. The roof was so decayed blue sky showed through. And inside walls were soot-covered from the coal-burning stove. “One of the workers was out on the balcony and put his foot through the balcony floor,” recalls Maria.

The large upstairs room, once used for dances, was cluttered with — well, stuff. “Over the years, when they had something they didn’t know what to do with, they just put it upstairs,” explains Maria.

But one special treasure was discovered in the original old shed. All dirty and greasy, it was a steamer trunk, filled with old auto parts. Maria rescued it from the trash pile, and made sure it was saved, cleaned and refurbished.

This old trunk has now been lovingly restored. (Photo courtesy Judy Wickwire)

It just might be the same trunk that accompanied 16-year-old Marie Dieckhoff all the way from Germany to her new life in America.

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NEWS:  Check out our latest short video HERE and discover some cool Hidden History in Markleeville!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMuqHwLDKjI

AND MORE NEWS:  We’re thrilled to let you know our latest book in the Genoa Cemetery series is nearly done!!  Find out why a bucking mule made the Walker family settle in Genoa. Discover why George Herman, his fiancee, and an unrelated shoemaker all share a common plot. Hear what became of the Berning triplets, born in 1903 (can you imagine, triplets in 1903?!) And learn who built the famous Kinsey Mansion and why! (Hint: It’s a name you probably know; and it involves a wedding!!) All these great tales and more are told in Volume 2 of the Genoa Cemetery series!

Like to be the FIRST TO KNOW when the new book is out?  Just drop us an email here!

Carson City’s “Palace”

There was a certain “ambivalence” toward prostitution in Carson City’s early days, notes historian Peter Mires. Everyone knew it was happening, but — talking about it? That was a no-no!

And some fascinating history was made by what didn’t quite make it into the record books!

Portion of Carson City’s red-light district in 1885. Business establishments included a cobbler, meat market, and dress maker, plus multiple “Dw’gs” (dwellings).

Practice of the world’s oldest profession in Carson City was hardly a secret. An 1875 ordinance even helpfully set aside a three-block stretch along today’s Curry Street (between Second and Fifth Streets) for “bawdy houses” or “Houses of Ill Fame” — which evidently were thriving there. (The thriving went on for decades . . . several brothels, notes Mires, continued to operate a mere two blocks from the Capitol building until finally closed at last in 1942 by “federal order.”)

Carson City wasn’t alone, of course. When census takers made door-to-door visits through Nevada in June, 1870, one home was found to include 17 women, all tactfully identified by the census-taker as employed “keeping house.” (This particular house also included a single male occupant who, as historian Raymond Smith charmingly expressed it, “must have been happy, indeed.”)

Other census-takers were less discreet, however. Some forthrightly noted the presence of Chinese prostitutes and “hurdy” houses. When those census notes were shipped off to Washington, a delicate dilemma was raised: exactly what category of employment should be used to account for these not-so-domestic women?

According to Smith, the question was gently finessed: “prostitutes, courtesans, harlots, etc.” were simply added to the job classification for ‘cotton and woolen mill operatives.’

Problem solved.

A different euphemism similarly came to the rescue when detailed maps of the streets in Carson City’s red light district were prepared for the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company in 1885. During the mapping, some area brothels were conveniently disguised by the accurate but vague legend: “Dw’g” (dwelling).

At least one larger structure of the day, however, bears the mysterious label: “Palace.”

The “Palace” at the southwest corner of West Fourth and Curry (map rotated to show legend).

Located at the southwest corner of West Fourth and Curry Streets (then Ormsby), this building was owned in 1885 by Mary Ann Phillips, who had purchased it in 1874.  According to Mires, the term Palace “can only mean one thing — a high-end  brothel.” A palace of sorts it must have been indeed to warrant the distinction!

And a fine bit of history to keep in mind the next time you study a Sanborn map.

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Many thanks to historian Peter Mires for the inspiration for this fine story! The tale of the “Palace” (and many other fascinating bits of history) can be found in his new book, “Lost Carson City“! Check it out on Amazon.com here !