NEBRASKAland invites all readers to submit their comments, suggestions, and gripes to SPEAK UP. Each month the magazine will publish as many let ters as space permits. Pictures are welcome. NEBRASKAland reserves the right to edit and condense letters.— Editor.

MEMORIES - "My niece sent me NE BRASKAland for Christmas and it brings back memories, for I was born and raised in Ainsworth about 10 miles from Long Pine.

'Your story, Hidden Paradise, brings back memories of how it was before your article was written. That place was then called Chautauqua Grounds.

"In those days, Chautauquas were held so many places. There was a large frame building and a minister was brought in and an organist to handle music. People would come and rent cabins or tents and have a wonderful time for weeks. My sisters and I had a cabin there about 1904 or '05 and en joyed it very much, but that was about the last Chautauqua meeting. They were running out.

"I was later married and left Ains worth in 1909 so didn't know what had happened to lovely Long Pine Creek." — Mrs. Lilly M. Phelps, Seattle, Wash ington.

WELL DONE — "Have been wanting to write to M. O. Steen for several years to congratulate him on the excellent and superb job he has done and is doing as Director of the Nebraska Game Commission in each and every respect.

"He has done such a magnificent job that it would be practically impossible for me to attempt to describe it, so in an effort to keep this letter brief I will not.

"In closing I might say that everyone with whom I have spoken concerning this matter thoroughly agrees that he is doing an exceedingly excellent job for the Commission and for the citizens of Nebraska. Thank you very, very much." — Ralph R. Bremers, Omaha.

PANHANDLERS-"The article in the Oc tober 1968 NEBRASKAland on the gray fox stated there were no reports of grays north of North Platte River into the Pan handle. I beg to differ. Last year I pre pared a gray fox rug. The animal was trapped by Vic Leonard of Chadron State Park.

"We have quite a few grays in the Panhandle. In my experience as a taxidermist there are more grays than reds. Both are beautiful animals." — S. L. Huett, Chadron.

Reference used for the article on the gray fox was Mammals of Nebraska by J. Knox Jones, Jr. No gray fox records were shown for the area referred to by Karl Menzel, author of the article. We appreci ate your bringing out the fact that gray foxes do occur in the Panhandle. We would be interested in obtaining skulls from this area for our records and posi tive identification — Editor.

A SPLENDID JOB —"For some time now I've been meaning to write and congratu late you on the absolutely splendid mag azine you publish. I'm not a regular reader of Life or many other national magazines, but I'm sure their color photography must fall far short of the magnificent spreads in NEBRASKAland.

"One complaint I can voice, however. I'm a native of western South Dakota and just seeing the beautiful pho tography of the sand-hill country makes me plumb homesick." —Arland R. Calvert, Redding, California.

UNFORGETTABLE-"On our vacation, we went fishing at Pawnee Lake near Lincoln. We caught seven large catfish and one large bluegill as well as other smaller ones.

"Without a fish scale, we had to wait until they were cleaned before we weighed them. The largest cat weighed 5 pounds, 2 ounces and was 26 inches long. Total weight of all 7 cats was 23 pounds.

"We had a vacation we will never for get and urge people who go to Minnesota to fish to try Nebraska first." —Joseph R. Ziskousky, Omaha.

SURPRISE-"Recipe for 12-pound catfish: combine one 3V2-ounce bamboo fly rod one automatic fly reel with C level floating line one 8-pound-test leader one hand-tied No. 10 'black gnat'.

"Go to a small farm pond that is well known for bluegills and bass and begin fishing. If something should strike that tiny gnat and try to take rod and fisher man across the pond, it would be a pretty safe guess that you have a big catfish, not the big bass you hoped for. Keep this cat hooked and play him for about 30 minutes. Then get him up on the bank. Before returning him to the deep, severe ly reprimand him for picking on some thing so small and tell him to stick to worms." —Jo Ann Booth, O'Neil.

ALL AROUND US —"I am sending a poem I learned when I was a little girl. I am 83 now.

"I have lived in Nebraska all my life and it is a wonderful country with many beautiful things to see. You don't have to leave Nebraska to see beauty. It's all around us.

"I am in a wheelchair with arthritis so I don't get around much, but I love the outdoors where I can watch little children and people and cars going by. It is a comfort to me.

"My son sent the magazine to me for Mother's Day. I look forward to getting it every month and when I get through reading it I pass it on to my neighbors." — Mrs. Jessie Rice, Norfolk.

UNIQUE IDEA- I was raised in Nebraska and I enjoy the magazine and have a use for the pictures. We cut them out and tape them to aluminum foil and use them for backgrounds for aquariums." —W. E. Osborne, Portland, Oregon.

MEN IN A TREE

DUCK HUNTING wasn't on my mind that windy Sunday morning in early June 1967. However, since I and two others were perched in a crude duck blind, high in a water-surrounded tree, passersby seemed to think so. We had just capsized my boat and had been floundering in Nebraska's giant Lewis and Clark Lake for the past several minutes. Now, shivering and shaking, but safe in the old blind, we sat pondering our next move.

A wild windstorm was intensifying rapidly and we didn't know how bad it was going to get. But preoccupied with easing the fright of my two companions, I had little time to worry. The morning's temperature had approached 70° while the water temperature was about 60°. When we had left Santee Boat Basin about 8 a.m. to check our jug-fishing floats, a stiffish northwesterly was shoving huge waves across the lake. My friends questioned our departure as the water was extremely rough and a storm was brewing. However, I gave the weather little or no thought. Known as the lake's daredevil from Omaha, there has never been a time in the lake's 11-year history when I wouldn't go out on it. I spend about 12 full weeks a year boating and fishing on the huge reservoir and take it as it comes.

As we voyaged into the tree studded western end, my companions kept cinching up their life jackets, tighter and tighter, but as they got accustomed to the roughness they relaxed. This was their first trip with me in wild water and regret- tably their last. As we approached the first float I saw that it was pulled into some tree limbs and was bobbing erratically. I headed directly toward it and then had second thoughts. I knew that one sure way to find trouble when the lake was rough was to get hung up. While I was thinking about standing off, the jug bobbed deeper. The fish had to be a good one, so I decided to go after him.

Calling on my 50-horse motor I swung the bow of my 15-foot alumi num boat into position. The wind was growing, so I maneuvered care fully. Just as one of my fishing part ners had the float in his hand, I spurted the boat closer, then dis aster struck. As I had feared, the boat caught on a submerged limb. My craft was perilously near parallel with the waves and before I could make a move, the boat turned, stern first to the waves. The next wave swamped the boat and it sank with only the bow bobbing above the surface.

One of my friends began to shout, "I can't swim! I can't swim!"

I rushed to his side and in a few minutes convinced him that with the life preserver he could stay up. Splashing and bobbing in the wild water, I spotted the old blind in a nearby tree and after tying my boat to another I helped my non-swim ming friend to safety. Then I re turned to the boat. I told my other companion who could swim that we had to get the motor off the transom. We had to remove our life jackets and dive to the bottom of the boat to unfasten the clamps. After sev eral dives we accomplished our mis sion and the boat resurfaced, but the motor was at the bottom of the lake. My craft was afloat, but full of water. Satisfied that it would be O.K., we hustled to the blind.

My friends were positive that a boat would come to our rescue. With the water so rough I doubted it, but I couldn't convince them. Even though it was Sunday and normally a busy day on the lake, most boaters would stay ashore. The hours dragged by. Suddenly, my compan ions started (continued on page 49)

Roundup and What to do

FEBRUARY IS short on days, but mighty long in activity in NEBRAS KAland. Even if Old Man Winter does hit his stride during the month, he can't put the freeze on the state's fun agenda. Nebraskans and their visitors, with the exception of hard-water fisher men, cottontail hunters, and varment stalkers merely move the action indoors.

On hand to greet everyone is NE BRASKAland's February hostess, Carol Campbell of Omaha. Accenting one of February's biggest events, the Univer sity of Nebraska Centennial Charter Day on February 14, Carol contrasts the present with an imaginative glance into the past.

And Carol's interest in campus cloth ing of any era is of long standing. Last year she was chosen as one of the 10 best-dressed coeds on the Univer sity of Nebraska at Omaha campus. She is a junior majoring in elementary edu cation and minoring in special education. Our hostess is a member of the Alpha Xi Delta sorority and is assistant secre tary of the Student Union Board. She is also a member of the Student Teachers Organization. Carol's favorite hobbies include archery, hunting, hair styling, horseback riding, and modeling for Omaha department stores. She is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Camp bell of Omaha.

February 14 writes finis to the institu tion's first 100 years and kicks off the beginning of the planned centennial activities. Volumes of interest-packed history lie behind the University and a sky-is-the-limit future lies ahead.

This same date marks another important event —Valentine's Day. And, while thousands of Valentines make their way across the nation, cupid's own city, Val entine, really goes all out. Each year Valentine honors a full court of royalty at the St. Valentine's Day Coronation and Ball sponsored by the high school band and the band parents. Two high school seniors are crowned king and queen to reign over their extensive court of attendants and the public festivities. Prior to the precious day, the Valentine Chamber of Commerce is extremely busy as it plays cupid for people across the nation. The hard-working Chamber of Commerce cancels valentine envelopes with a special heart-shaped cachet, then forwards them to their intended receivers.

While most of February's action is behind closed doors, ice fishermen have opportunity aplenty. Anglers can string enviable numbers of northern pike, wall eye, crappie, bluegill, perch, and other species of NEBRASKAland fish, as the state's sport-fishing season is open the year-round. Rabbit and varment hunters will find enough targets to keep their trigger fingers limber.

Basketball remains king of the specta tor sports as gymnasiums around the state bounce with action. A basketball circus hits Nebraska on February 19 when the side-splitting Harlem Globe trotters perform in Lincoln's Pershing Auditorium. These professional clowns of basketball keep their audience in stitches as they bounce through their hilarious routine while still playing an extremely good game. On the college level, the University of Nebraska hosts four Big Eight Conference foes beginning with the University of Missouri on February 1. On February 3 the "Husk ers" face the University of Oklahoma five, Iowa State University invades Lin coln on February 15, and on February 24 it's a showdown with the University of Colorado. Creighton University also has a busy February home-court schedule. The Creighton roundballers meet Wis consin State on February 4, the Univer sity of Portland on February 8, Oklahoma City University on February 10, and Seattle University on February 13.

Although basketball is undisputed king, the Omaha Knights hockey team attracts sports fans to their Ak-Sar-Ben ice for six thrill-a-minute contests dur ing February. And, there's never a dull moment as the ice experts strive to outdo the opposing goalie. Boxing fans will see some fine leather pushing on February 3 at Omaha during that city's golden glove matches. Eleven days later the Midwest matches get underway.

The February agenda is jam-packed with sporting (Continued on page49)

WHAT TO DO

BB GUN FUN

YEARS AGO, as a youngster, you could pick up your BB gun and step out for an after noon of plinking pleasure. There was little to inhibit the joys of learning to shoot with a simple spring-powered air rifle. With today's popu lations, a boy in town has very few of the old freedoms. Yet the BB gun still offers hours of shooting fun to most anyone. A basement range can give your boy some of the excitement you knew many years back.

A BB gun and simple equipment make it a breeze any time you get the urge to shoot. A homemade BB trap can be set up anywhere that you can find a 15-foot shooting range. To keep good relations with the wife, you will probably have to confine the program to the basement, but the safety factor is so great that you can operate in almost any room. Neighbors will not complain of gun noise, for the vocal explosions of the shooters will be louder than the reports.

A BB gun is right for nearly all ages. Any youngster who has the strength to cock the spring is ready to start his shooting career, and dad can help an even younger sprout. Supervision is the key factor for all small fry. For a homemade BB trap start with a corrugated paper box that is at least 20 inches in height and width. A canvas sheet of equal dimensions is draped loosely inside to stop your shots. Fired BB's will drop to the floor of the box. Inexperi enced shooters may snap off a wild one that misses the box, but a larger sheet of canvas draped loosely behind the trap will catch these shots and stop any dangerous rebounds.

Use tape or pins to hang a target on the box. Avoid tacks because any hard surface in the target area can send a BB bouncing back to the firing line. You can draw your own targets, but official 15-foot targets are available at very little cost and they add a lot of class to your range.

The range to the target should be no more than 15 feet, for accuracy of the BB gun depreciates rapidly be yond that distance. To have the best lighting direct a flood lamp on the target area from some spot ahead of the firing line. The shooter is left in relative darkness, and finds the sights nicely silhouetted against the target. For the beginning shooter, the BB gun offers good training on the fundamentals of proper positions, breath control, and trigger squeeze. All types of sights are available for these little guns. So a young gunner 10 NEBRASKAland can be prepared for any combination of rifle and sight that he may be an ticipating.

Most instructors start a new student with an empty gun. After equipment and methods are fully explained, the gunner practices the procedures, step by step, without worrying about hits and misses. Keep the shooting party small. Only the shooter and the coach are per mitted on the firing line. When a third and fourth member is added to the group, waiting periods and dis tracting chatter will reduce the ef fectiveness of the instruction and reduce the fun. Father-son, mother daughter combinations are ideal. If more than three people are involved, it is wise to add a second gun and trap. Then the household range of ficer and his commands become im portant. The officer introduces standard procedures and terminol ogy such as "commence firing" and "cease firing". He is the watchdog for safe operation of the range, and coordinates all firing-line activities.

Your BB gun range can serve to teach the safety rules to beginners. Rules should be explained before each shoot just as in operating any rifle range and compliance with the rules required at all times. The two most important guides are: treat every gun as if it were loaded and keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction. An occasional rebounding BB is possible and shooters and other members of the group should wear protective glasses. Inexpensive plas tic sunglasses are adequate protec tion for the eyes.

The low cost of the equipment and ammunition makes this bonus shoot ing available to many people. You get at least 20 BB's for a penny. When a soft trap is used to catch your shots, the BB's can be reused. Metal bullet traps often deform the BB's making them too inaccurate for reuse.

To spice up an evening's shoot, you may want to arrange a free-swinging target. Cut a window, 12 inches square, in the face of the box. Roll a sheet of paper into a compact, one-inch ball to be suspended on a string just inside the window. One hit will set the ball swinging. Suc cessive hits keep it moving.

Perhaps your son or daughter is preparing to use a shotgun. You can remove the BB gun's sights and add a bead to simulate the scatter-gun. Then have a go at flying targets. Keep the range within 10 to 15 feet. Small targets such as one-inch cork balls or paper wads will satisfy. Of course, this activity calls for an out door location that is free of any hazard to neighbors and their property.

The BB gun provides year-round sport with low cost and simple preparation. The new gunner can develop a solid foundation of skill and safety while having hours of fun. Get yourself a spring-powered BB gun and go shoot up a storm.

HIKE BY BIKE

CHROME SPOKES FLASHED in the morning sun as five bicycles rolled through the quiet of Brownville's historic Main Street. A village of memories, this town was an appropriate place for the start of our family farewell bike hike. Saing good-bye to your home state with a bike tour is unusual, but to my wife Nancy, our four children, and myself, it seemed like a good way to spend our last Thanksgiving vacation in Nebraska.

Inspiration for our two-day tour came after I had given up my position as a history teacher at Lincoln's East High School and accepted a job in New Jersey. We like bicycling, so a final vacation trip seemed like the natural thing to do. We had often ridden 10 miles on afternoon bike excursions around Lincoln, so we were in shape to make the trip. We used a station wagon to take us and the bikes to Brownville for the start of our adventure. Our children would accompany us on the first 2 2-mile leg of the trek from Brownville to Buffalo City, a mock western town on a girls' and boys' ranch. However, only Nancy and I would make the scenic second-day ride from Arbor Lodge in Nebraska City along Goose Hill Road to Union Junction, a distance of 15 miles. Arrangements were made to pick up the bikes and return to Lincoln by car at the end of our trip.

Brownville, a town that once saw prairie schooners assemble, must have smiled as it watched Steve, 8, Amy, 7, and Molly, 6, enthusiasti cally peddle by the old Carson home for the start of our two-wheel ad venture. Andy, 2, rode in a small rumble seat attached to the rear fender of Nancy's bike. I shuffled in front and then behind as I shepherd ed my small army toward the first back road.

Heavy traffic and bicycles don't mix, and even on rural roads, safety measures must be taken. Steve and I wore bright yellow rain slickers to warn motorists and on hills we moved next to the road ditch so as not to surprise a driver topping the crest.

Youthful enthusiasm made the first four miles pass quickly, but steep hills soon tempered the exuber ance. Nancy, Steve, and I were riding on 26-inch wheels, while Molly and Amy were on 24-inchers. That meant more peddling for the girls, so I set a slow, leisurely pace. The ride was planned for family fun, not as an endurance test, so we didn't want to push the children too hard and spoil an otherwise enjoyable day. My wife had also packed some snacks for quick energy. We made arrange ments to be picked up in Peru if we were lagging behind our prear ranged schedule.

Even in late autumn, this corner of Nebraska was breathtaking with its mellow hues of late-fall browns, yellows, and golds. Our children have been brought up in town, so even the simplest pleasures of coun try life are fascinating. The sight of cows brought loud laughing "moos" from them. Caught up in their youth ful zeal, Nancy and I joined in. Our bikes braked to a halt when Amy spotted several kernels of corn that had fallen from an overloaded truck.

"Fill your baskets and pockets," Amy laughed as she scooped up the yellow kernels as if they were little nuggets of gold.

The little breaks seemed to re fresh the youngsters and the girls moved along with new-found energy when we resumed our riding. We soon learned to follow the tracks made by cars on the gravel roads, for to veer away from these narrow channels could mean a spill.

"Watch out for loose rocks," I warned as we started down a small incline.

As I spoke, the rear end of Molly's bike slid around and the blond-haired six-year-old went sprawling. A con cerned family circled around their downed comrade as I wiped tears from her clouded blue eyes. Although her knee was skinned, her pride had suffered more. Consoling words from Steve and encouragement from Amy mended the little girl's superficial wounds.

A dog joined our caravan when we passed a farmhouse. Afraid that he might snap at the bikes, I backed off and let the others pull ahead of the dog. The friendly mutt followed us for nearly a half mile. Just a mile or so south of Peru we discovered a little-known Nebraska industry. Nestled between two hills was a small sawmill. We took time to watch its giant saw biting into a log.

Peru, our lunch stop, was nearly the trip's halfway point and the kids were holding out pretty well. There had been some complaints on long uphill climbs and we were all tired, but Buffalo City was within striking distance and after a family confer ence, we headed for it. As we ped dled north out of Peru, we Keene's felt as free as the breeze rustling through the uncut milo and corn. Americans are always in a hurry, but a bicycle forces you to slow down. Our leg-powered vehicles gave us a chance to see things that are nor mally missed from an automobile. Two squirrels chattered at us as we moved down a tree-canyoned road and six pheasants flushed from road side brush to give us a sense of asso ciation with the outdoor world.

As the miles slipped by, we scanned the treetops in search of an aban doned bird's nest to put in our Christ mas tree. A picturesque bridge over a jump-across (Continued on page 51)

COUNT ONLY THE HITS

THERE DIDN'T SEEM to be enough cover in the harvested milo field to hide a sparrow, so when a rooster pheasant cackled a getaway, a startled Jim Randall fired wild. However, Whitey Margheim, Jim's companion, recovered in time to dump his sec ond rooster of the day. Seconds later, Tuffy, Jim's anxious black Labrador, was soft-mouthing the bird.

"If I have to carry your bird, let me tote your shot gun, too," Jim laughed as Tuffy gave him the rooster.

"Now I know how you limit out," Whitey came back. "Tuffy thinks that everything you shoot at, you down."

"That's the only way to have it," Jim laughed. "Wait till tomorrow's duck hunt. Ringnecks are your game, but I'll get even on greenheads."

Jim, a Bayard clothing-store owner, prefers duck shooting, while Whitey, a Mitchell-area farmer, likes pheasants. The two friends solved the dilemma by planning a combination ringneck and greenhead jaunt. Busy schedules prevented a full day's go for each species, so they decided to spend an afternoon for pheas ants just south of Harrisburg and devote the next morning to ducks near Melbeta.

Jim and Whitey were strangers to the Harrisburg area, but George Van Pelt and Bob Rasgorshek, Ban ner County ranchers, offered to act as guides. George and Bob get their hunting thrills by watching their guests do the shooting. They take their shotguns, but normally they do little firing. Over noon coffee, the ranchers assured their guests that the area offered some excellent shooting, even though the vastness of the land with its endless wheat stubbles, weed patches, draws, and few trees discourages many hunters.

"We have the birds, but you have to work for them," George commented as he sipped his coffee. "That's why gunning pressure is light around here. Most hunters don't want to walk."

George indicated that about 15 pheasants had turned a piece of soil bank, west of his house, into a poultry yard. A 10-minute stroll through the weeds proved his point when the hunters found roosting spots, droppings, and scratchings. Several hens spooked underfoot before a rooster flared up near Jim. He cart wheeled the over-confident pheasant.

Certain that birds had infiltrated the line of march through the soil bank, George suggested a pinch play at the next stop. Jim and Whitey walked into the east end of a small, weedy ravine while George and Bob came in from the west. Five steps into the draw pro duced a hen followed by another and still another. As two more birds got up, a cackle identified one as a rooster. Whitey shouldered his 16-gauge slide-action, spotted the gaudy male, and triggered a load of No. 6's. He racked a second shell into the chamber, but it wasn't needed.

Jim and Whitey were amazed at the sit-tight at titude of the wheat-country pheasants. It was the fourth week of the 1968 season and many roosters had become gun wary. However, these birds acted like quail. They stayed in cover and waited for the shooter to brush close before skyrocketing away. Light hunt ing pressure, a warm, calm afternoon, and scarcity of heavy nearby cover were factors in the birds' behavior. Hunters will often overwalk sit-tighters, but this four some had the tactics to cope with the problem. They walked slowly, zig-zagged the fields, and made a lot of brief stops to completely unnerve the birds.

With the visitors' score at a rooster each, George headed down a field road toward a group of trees. A curious hen, sitting in a patch of weeds, poked her head up to investigate the sound of the oncoming truck. George spotted her and braked to a halt. Jim and Whitey, following behind in a car, knew what was up when Tuffy jumped out of the truck.

"Birds are running your way!" George shouted as he slammed shells into his 12-gauge over-and-under.

Three hens spooked before a rooster followed. George was on him in an instant. He rocked the bird

with the first barrel, then hit him hard with the second. Four hens were up and away as Jim fumbled for shells. He snapped one load into his 2-shot, 12-gauge auto-loader but dropped the other one as another rooster barreled away. Excited, he missed. While Jim was cussing his one-shot effort, Whitey walked the weeds toward the trees. A rooster surprised him and he missed. He turned to look back toward the truck just as another rooster bailed out of the cover. Caught flat footed, Whitey didn't even pop a cap as the bird headed across an open field.

Pheasants have a way of rattling even the best of hunting nerves and that's what had happened in the incident described in the beginning of this story. Jim was about as alert as a flap-eared dog basking in the sun, so he muffed his shot. Whitey with a second more to recover settled down in time to nail the rooster with one.

However, Jim's shooting ability showed definite signs of recovery at an abandoned barnyard with its waist-deep weeds. As they pushed through the cover toward an open field, a ringneck winged a retreat to Whitey's left. The Mitchell-area farmer popped off a single shot to drop him. Two gun-frightened hens and a rooster got up and Jim defeathered the cackler. Three more hens panicked as the two men marked their birds down. Another rooster retreated behind them and Jim unloaded with a charge of No. 5's. The bird faltered, started a ragged, unsure climb, then collided with the weather-beaten barn. The on-the-wing crash didn't stop the strong-willed bird, but it did discourage his flying. He hit running, but Tuffy finally scooped him up to give Jim his two barnyard birds and his legal limit of three. A 15-minute search didn't turn up Whitey's downed pheasant.

The lost bird had even discouraged Tuffy, so the hunters swung into the easier-to-walk wheat stubble. Halfway through a rooster jetted up. There was time for just one shot, but (Continued on page 51)

Of the people, By the people, For the people

ONE HUNDRED YEARS ago, the Nebraska Legislature enacted a simply worded but far-reaching piece of legislation. On February 13, 1869, the House and Senate passed a joint resolution subscribing to the federal Morrill Act authorizing land grants to colleges. Two days later they chartered the University of Nebraska.

Thus, a university was born, and a new state set about the task of building its center of public higher education. Two and a half years later, on September 7, 1871, the doors of a single brick structure officially opened to 20 college students and 100 preparatory pupils under the leadership of Dr. A. R. Benton, the first chancellor.

Exactly what those early legislators envisioned for their fledgling university is difficult to say. That they wanted it to be an institution for all the people is obvious from the wording of the charter act. That law reads: "Be it enacted by the Legislature of the State of Nebraska, That there shall be established in this State an institution under the name and style of, 'The University of Nebraska'. The object of such FEBRUARY, 1969 19   institution shall be to afford to the inhabitants of this State, the means of acquiring a thorough knowledge of the various branches of literature, science, and the arts."

The following century has produced many changes, its share of problems and satisfactions, the expected turmoil, and tremendous growth. On June 1, 1968, a record 1,700 degrees were awarded at the 97th annual commencement exercises. And, coincidentally, the university's growth was underscored when the Unicameral authorized the merger with the Municipal University of Omaha almost exactly a cen tury after the charter act. This 1968 merger gave the institution an enrollment of almost 30,000.

But, what makes the University of Nebraska unusual? Like other such schools, it has thousands of students, a dedicated faculty, and the necessary classrooms, dormitories, houses, and laboratories. The single differentiating factor is the school's personality, its spirit, its motivating force. It is an institution of higher education "of the people, by the people, and for the people". Whether we realize it or not, the University of Nebraska touches each of our lives in its constant effort to educate, to do research, and to serve the total community that is the state.

Contact with the student is direct. For the average citizen, that contact is much more subtle. Sure, everyone roots for Big Red and pays taxes to support "The U", but the grass-roots influence of the university goes much deeper. Many benefit from the easy access to the county agent and the simple flick of a dial to tune in educational television. Visitors flock to the State Museum and Sheldon Art Gallery. Adult education courses serve many more. Almost everyone has attended a university-sponsored concert, art show, workshop, or symposium. And the list goes on and on -soils surveys, business and industrial research, medical research, facilities, and services. Facilities like the tractor-testing laboratory have earned national and international fame.

In its total program the university touches the life of virtually every Nebraskan in some way. And, as our world becomes more complex, the university's place in it becomes even more vital. Proper education of the youth is essential. The search for new knowledge and the exploration of unfamiliar frontiers must move ahead with the times. And, the services to the general citizenry must expand to meet growing needs.

In 1871, 120 students embarked on their journey to new knowledge. Today, with the recent addition of the Omaha campus, that number has increased to almost 30,000. As the university embarks on its second century it looks to the future, using the past as a cornerstone on which to build.

An ambitious program of physical plant development is underway. Now under construction is the largest science facility ever built on the campus, an 8-story, $8 million chemistry building. Plans are being made for new engineering and life-sciences complexes. The new College of Dentistry in a new building has almost doubled the former enrollment and has expanded its research. A new 12-story classroom-office building on the downtown campus is headquarters for the College of Arts and Sciences. The new animal-science building and seed lab have just been occupied on the East Campus. And so it grows. As former Chancellor Clifford M. Hardin, now U.S. Secretary of Agriculture, put it:

"A university is an institution created by people to perform certain services which are desired and which could not be so well or efficiently provided otherwise. A university is not, and should not be, considered an end in itself. It continues to exist and to be supported by society because of its unique services and because of the stimulus it can provide for economic and cultural development.

"The university of today is called increasingly into avenues of human endeavor that would have seemed strange even a decade ago. More and more, the university is looked to for stimulation and innovation. Some universities have developed so successfully that whole new eco nomic structures have sprung up around them. In such situations, ex penditures for development have, in fact, turned out to be lucrative investments. We are having a taste of this in Nebraska, but to date we have just begun."

But, what a century of beginning on which to build to meet the challenges of the future.

BOOTSTRAP BOBS

AS SO OFTEN happens, our quail hunt started i out with a rooster pheasant. He got up with * startling suddenness, cackling all the way. My partner, Dan Carpentar, and I weren't going out of our way to hunt pheasants, but I wasn't about to let one fly out from under my feet without trying for him. My 12-gauge over-and-under, bored improved and modified, was loaded with No. 7V2's, so I hurried a little to catch up with the rooster as he towered toward the top of the canyon. The first shot failed to do the job, but I followed through, established my lead in front and above, and touched the trigger. The ringneck folded.

'You had me worried," Dan called as I retrieved the bird. "I thought you might let him fly away, seeing we decided on a quail shoot today."

"Shot this one for those dogs we left at home. He'll help ease my old pointer's disappointment in not coming along today if I show him a rooster that sat tight long enough to get a shot," I grinned.

Dan, a supervisor for a surgical supply and manufacturing firm in Broken Bow, is just as enthusiastic about hunting as I am. He owns an English pointer and whenever my farming and his schedule permit we gun for pheasants and quail. My farm, east of Broken Bow, is also a good dog-training ground during the summer and early fall. This hunt, however, was different.

Dan had made the statement that he couldn't remember what it was like to hunt without the aid of his pointer. His thought triggered an idea. Maybe it would be good if we brushed up on hunting techniques without dogs. I wondered if we could find quail and if we downed any, could we find them with any consistency? Dan agreed that such a hunt might be interesting.

We started shortly after sunup at the Pressey State Special Use Area along the South Loup River, a few miles north of Oconto. This public-hunting area has some good bird cover since the Nebraska Game Commission is managing the area for game production as well as servicing the camping and picnicking fraternity.

Our first quail action came when a single buzzed out from the end of a food plot. Dan swung his 12-gauge autoloader and dropped the bob with one shot. He kept his eyes on the spot where the bird fell as he hurried to retrieve his prize. I kept my eye on the spot, too, but Dan found the bird almost immediately.

The incident sparked recall of techniques that we had used before we had dogs to do the retrieving. We used to help each other find birds by marking the fall of each one. Often we would place an empty shell, a hat, or a handkerchief at the spot where we shot from and then repeat the marking system where we thought the game fell. If we didn't find the bird immediately, we would make ever-widening circles until we did. Loose feathers were also a help in locating downed birds, but this could be misleading if the wind was brisk. We knew that feathers drift downwind so the trick was to look upwind for the kill.

That first quail was evidently a loner since further tramping proved fruitless. A side draw with a mixed planting of corn and milo was next on our list and that's where I stirred up my rooster.

"Sure wish I had that pointer along to go up that sidehill and work out that plum brush," I moaned.

"I wonder how many birds we've walked by. We've been hunting almost an hour now and haven't jumped a covey," Dan replied.

We hunted for another 30 minutes, but two hens and a rooster that flushed out of range were all we stirred up. A little (Continued on page 55)

NEBRASKA'S NEGRO HOMESTEADERS

ALTHOUGH HE was never one of its residents, a railroader named Clem Deaver sparked settlement of the largest and most permanent colony of Negro homesteaders in Nebraska. Also, old-timers in the Sand Hills credit him with being the first Negro to file for land under the Kinkaid Act in Cherry County.

Shortly after the act went into effect in June 1904, Deaver journeyed from the booming railroad town of Seneca in Thomas County to file for his Kinkaid at the land office located in adjoining Cherry County at Valentine. At this time Deaver learned that some 50,000 acres of unclaimed land were available 10 miles northwest of Brownlee. This tract bordered the wander ing North Loup River and its environs for some 15 miles in the eastern part of Cherry County.

The railroader returned to Seneca and relayed the information to others of his people living in Nebraska. Initial settlement of this land was made in the spring of 1907. Soon, sod houses dotted the area to become the DeWitty settlement in Cherry County. After his initial efforts, Deaver dropped from sight and his final fate is unknown.

Prior to the DeWitty attempt, several groups of Negroes had tried to establish such settlements. These attempts were made after the Civil War when the great exodus to the North was taking place. The first settlers were Negroes who lived temporarily in Omaha and migrated to Franklin County in 1871 to take lands under the Homestead Act of 1862. They had hopes that other settlers would join them, so they laid plans for a town they named Grant to be situated on a nearby stream dubbed Lovely Creek. Sites for a brickyard and a courthouse were marked by ash poles tied with strips of hide. Grant never materialized, for lack of money bested the homesteaders before the year was out and they returned to Omaha.

In 1880, the first of two groups of Negroes came from Tennessee. These people leased land near Aurora in Hamilton County. The second contingent settled in Harlan County in 1889. Both of these ventures failed

as the southerners could not stand the bitter bite of Nebraska winters or cope with the hardships they en countered. Consequently, all of them returned to Tennessee. However, by the turn of the century, one colony of Negroes was succeeding. These people filed claims on land near Overton in Dawson County in 1880. The homesteaders forming the nucleus of this settlement came from Canada. They were educated, weather oriented, and conditioned. Some were skilled artisans, and all brought goods, supplies, and money to sustain them until they could harvest a crop.

When Deaver's news reached this settlement, none of these homesteaders were then inclined to sell their lands and move to Cherry County to obtain larger tracts for their farming operations. However, the 2-year drought that started in 1905 eventually caused them to change their minds. Charles M. Meehan, who had spearheaded the move of the initial Negro settlers from Canada, was responsible for the exodus from Dawson County. Before a haphazard migration was started, Meehan suggested that one of his sons, Dennis, go to Cherry County and see if these lands were still available. His neighbors agreed, and when the young man returned and confirmed Deaver's report, Meehan was ready to pioneer the move.

A short time later, a train of three wagons jour neyed to the lands bordering the North Loup. Meehan rode in the wagon driven by his daughter Rosetta. Dennis had George Brown as his passenger while William Crawford rode alone. Crawford and Brown, Meehan's brother-in-law, had come with him from Canada. These three would be the first to file Kin kaids in the DeWitty settlement.

After filing their claims, the men were soon busy building sod houses to accommodate their families who would come with the other members of the Overton colony. By the fall of 1907, DeWitty had a population of 66, for although only 7 Kinkaids were filed by claimants, all of them had large families. By 1917, the settlement had 100 families.

Two manuscripts written in 1964 by Ava Speese Davis of St. Paul, Minnesota, one of Charles Meehan's granddaughters, tell much about the DeWitty settle ment and its people. Until these memoirs were received by the Nebraska State Historical Society it was little known outside of Cherry County that Meehan, re sponsible for the establishment of both the Overton and the DeWitty settlements, was Irish. Previously published reports stated that the Canadian settlers were all descendants of southern slaves who had escaped from bondage via the famed underground railway.

Meehan was born in Detroit shortly after his parents migrated from Ireland in 1855. A few years later the Meehans moved to North Buxton near Wind sor, Ontario. Here, white Charles Meehan went to school with and had as his boyhood companions, George and Maurice Brown, whose father was a Negro and whose mother was an Indian. The Brown's had adopted a little Negro girl, Hester Freeman, whose parents had died. The Irishman fell in love with her and they were married quite some time prior to the move to Nebraska. It was Meehan who learned of the United States land available under the Homestead Act. He persuaded the Brown brothers and William Crawford to bring their families from Canada to their first settlement in Nebraska.

Meehan loved and respected these people. Accord ing to his granddaughter, Mrs. Davis, color made no difference to him. People were people, men were men, 32 NEBRASKAland and women, ladies, unless proved otherwise. This Irish man did much to help his friends surmount the dif ficulties they encountered while homesteading in Dawson County. He shared his knowledge of farming with others like William Walker and Albert Riley, who came to settle later, and this helped them immeasur ably. Meehan's sense of humor tinged with a touch of blarney and his goodwill to all newcomers helped make them feel more secure and confident of success in their new venture. When Meehan counseled the move to Cherry County, it was only natural that his fellow set tlers would follow him.

Thanksgiving Day 1907 was memorable for the Irishman and his wife. Their two oldest children, Rosetta and Dennis, were married in a double-wedding ceremony at Westerville in Custer County. Dennis married Ida Shores while Rosetta married Charles Speese.

Dennis Meehan brought his bride to live on a Kin kaid near his father's. He served as first schoolteacher in the DeWitty settlement as well as its last post master. During the years following, Meehan was able to provide an adequate income for his large family by combining farming and ranching.

Rosetta and her husband stayed in Custer County for a year before taking a homestead claim near Tor rington, Wyoming. Two crops in nine years proved discouraging, so they returned to Cherry County in 1916 where they lived a life quite similar to that of their DeWitty neighbors.

Mrs. Davis, the daughter of Rosetta and Charles Speese, states her father rented hay and cropland all the time they lived in DeWitty. Corn, potatoes, and beans were "staple crops afield". Speese cattle were wintered some 20 miles northeast of their homestead near Wood Lake and shipped to Omaha via the rail road at Seneca. They bred mules from 70 brood mares and a registered donkey named Pittman-Napoleon.

After the Speeses returned to Cherry County, lum ber was scarce, so the settlers came up with a system of obtaining wood for roofs and floors. Sod houses, owned by Kinkaiders who found farming not to their taste, would be sold to newcomers for the wooden roofs and floors. It was a simple matter for the buyer to hitch a four-horse team to the roof, apply a whip to their rumps, and bring walls and roof collapsing on the floor. Roof and floor would be lashed together, the team hitched to the package, and the buyer would take part of his new home to his claim.

The community church was established in 1910 by Reverend O. J. Burchkhardt, a missionary of the African Methodist Episcopal Church of Lincoln. Peo ple of all faiths worshiped here in harmony throughout the 29-year life of the settlement.

William Walker's daughters, Goldie and Fern, taught in two of the three schools located in the district. Goldie Walker Haynes took great pride in her school. The floor was carpeted, white curtains hung at the win dows, and she always tried to obtain the best equipment for her students.

People lived pretty much by the golden rule, and crime was practically nonexistent. Only one case of rustling is recalled by Mrs. Davis. One night a man made off with her father's favorite horse, Rex/ The next morning, Charles Speese followed Rex's hoof prints, found his horse, and brought him home with out incident.

Like many of their neighbors, Speese and his wife felt their children's education should be further supplemented by a home-reading (Continued on page 49)

YOU'LL LOVE NEBRASKAland

LET ME WEAVE for you a tapestry that will be the most glorious tapestry in all of the universe. I shall start with an irregular border of blue on the right side, the Missouri River. Then I must use the same blue threads across the center, near the southern edge, and in the northeast. I'll call these blue lines the Platte, Loup, Blue and Republican rivers. A brighter, sparkling blue I'll use in some different areas to represent lakes and ponds which will dot the tapestry. I'll call some of the lakes—Johnson and Harlan, Salt and McConaughy.

Shining gold will I put in large areas in the lower western part. This is the wheat, the shining, waving wheat which will appear in some seasons. Coral, brilliant red, and orange must be used now for a contrast to represent the beautiful sunsets.

Green, lemon green would be nice for cornfields. This must cover the east one third. A bright green will do nicely for the pastures located in the central and western portions; deep, black green paints the forest, they call them "man-made" forests in the northwestern portion. We know forests cannot be man-made but this could be called Halsey Forest.

From my palette, Fll take pink and brown and green to show the orchards of the southeast. This delicate pink cloud will turn into fragrant bits of a red hue which will be summer memories.

I'll use dark brown, black, and light blue to represent silvery threads of water drawn through the background of black, newly-planted earth. These are the vast irrigation projects of the central and southern parts.

One of the remarkable aspects of this tapestry is the iridescence of the colors. They are ever changing and always glorious.

The texture in such a tapestry must be greatly varied. Fll weave it into the azure velvet of a summer sky, downy fleece of autumn clouds, and December's skies of soft, gray flannel.

The blue of the rivers will be turquoise moire, while the frozen ponds will be diamonds woven into the surface. Green ribbons of fertile valley land flank the taffeta of the rivers. White pebble crepe covers the hills in winter and green terry cloth in the summer.

Overlaid on this background are clean, white, well-painted villages joined by gray ribbons of asphalt. This is the start of the tapestry's design. Fences draw a checkerboard design across the same background. The needles of church spires point upward reflecting the spirit of the people.

Myriads of animals, wild game and domesticated breeds add to the design. Multicolors are used for pheasants and ducks, tans and fawn brown for the deer and elk, muddy gray for the coyotes. The undulating red blobs are the vast beef herds in the west.

As the Lord finished His great task, He turned to Gabriel and said, "This is the loveliest of all my tapestries and it must have a beautiful name. I shall call it Nebraska!"

THE FUN OF LOOKING

A TROUT FISHERMAN is a lot like the old prospector who described his compulsive searching like this: "It's not the gold I'm wanting so much as the fun of looking for it."

And that's the way it is with many NEBRASKAland trouters, for they find the act of fishing often more re warding than the actual catching. Most of Nebraska's trout are found in the more picturesque parts of the state, so anglers pursue their sport amidst plenty of natural beauty. However, fly rodders add much to the visual fascination of their pleasure by their own actions. These six pages reveal only a few of the striking compositions that are familiar to wielders of the long rod.

There's something infinitely eye pleasing to the graceful flow of an amber fly line unrolling against the green and gold backdrop of a wooded stream. And once the line has settled, its loops and swirls etch charming designs on the tarnished copper surface of the water. These compositions are repeated again and again as the angler casts and recasts but their enchantment never palls. The soft "whisp, whisp" of the whipping rod and the sibilant "sliss" of the line through the guides are 37   fitting accompaniments to the ritual of casting.

A fly is only a fluff of tinsel, hair, and feather, yet it has an almost hypnotic power over the fisherman. Few activities match the total con centration displayed by an angler as he watches a "silver doctor" or*a "black gnat" drifting toward an ex pected rendezvous with rainbow or brown. Perhaps it is well that actual fly-on-the-water intervals are short, for no man can stand such total involvement for long.

A man beside trout water is a man in the center of a rainbow of a thou sand variants. Green, gold, blue, black, brown, red, and a hundred tans combine in surrealistic aban don. Mirage-like the colors come and go, blend and dissolve to create a kaleidoscope of reflections.

But there's more to trouting than color and design, however striking. There's an almost sensual pleasure in the cold firmness of the rod itself and the reluctant yield of its grip. Every man who uses a fly rod feels a sense of mastery and accomplish ment as the rod becomes an ex tension of his arm, obedient to his every whim.

To be a trout fisherman is to face and overcome challenges, not only from the wariest fish that swims, but from the peculiarities of this sport

itself. Lines and leaders have a de monical affinity for trees and snags no matter how adept the angler. A trouter's language often disturbs the tranquillity of his surroundings as he attempts to untangle a 2X tippet from a clutching bough, but the experience does teach him humility. There are other compensations, too. A gaudy fly, sensitive to every pass ing breeze, paints an attractive and often animated picture against the dark green of pine or cedar. And when the angler finally rescues his pet lure, there's a certain pride in the accomplishment.

Although the eyes are the big winners in trout fishing, the ears have their moments, too. The trill and ruffle of the water, the sigh of leaves in the wind, and the minor-key rasping of the cicada are like good dinner music, more sensed than heard. Without its "music" trout fishing would lack some of its enchantment.

There are a thousand "side" pleas ures to trouting, but perhaps the greatest appeal of all is neither visual, audible, nor physical. Trout fishing has a magical quality of soli tude about it and an atmosphere of aloneness that can't be duplicated by any other sport. A man with the fly rod can't explain or describe it, but he knows it well.

MAN OF MANY SEASONS

WHEN ROY OWEN of Crete started in the law-enforcement business, it was something less than a science. But then, neither was anything else back in 1925. William Jennings Bryan had just won the famous Scopes' "Monkey Trial", the first Sears retail store had just opened, and Nebraska had just instituted the first gasoline tax.

After more than 40 years as a conservation officer for the Nebraska Game and Parks Commission, this many-sided man has called it quits at 77. But retirement doesn't mean the shelf for Roy, the conservation officer, the champion trapshooter, the homespun philosopher, the award-winning prevaricator, and the friend of the "freckle-noses".

In 1925, the Game and Parks Commission did not yet exist as such. Known as the Bureau of Game and Fish under the Department of Agriculture, wardens had no uniforms and the cars they used to scout for violators were their own. They received little pay, with remuneration being based chiefly upon the number of arrests.

Naturally, game wardens during this time were not popular figures nor big on public relations. In fact, Roy s first contact with conservation 42 NEBRASKAland came when he took a buckshot-laden officer to the doctor after a run-in with a young, scared hunter.

Roy says of the era: "Back in those days, being a game warden meant we were fair game." When he entered the business, however, he started mixing tact and good public relations with an equal amount of law enforcement.

"Good public relations are worth a thousand arrests," he says, and he means every word of it.

The retired veteran has seen the conservation officer rise from a question in the minds of the public to his present prestige. He feels a good step was taken in 1961 when Nebraska officially replaced the term, game warden, with the title, conservation officer.

"When I began, I farmed during the week near Memphis and worked as a game warden on weekends. I didn't want to make it a business," he says of the career that spanned four decades.

Roy started full-time work in 1932. By then, the Game, Forestation, and Parks Commission had been formed, but it was still wobbly on its three-year-old legs. Only nine wardens covered the entire state at the time. And, although cars were becoming more and more advanced with their racy V-8 motors, fancy running boards, and sturdy metal tops, they still weren't the most plush living quarters, as any officer of the '30's can tell you.

"We used to live in our cars for two or three weeks at a time," Roy relates. "We slept in the cars, cooked out in fields, and took baths in creeks and in schoolyards under the old water pump. You could smell us a mile off, we were so gamy. We never knew what home was until November or when it got so cold that we were driven indoors like bears for the winter."

Roy and his partner also spent two years traveling around on a motorcycle with a sidecar.

"We had to learn how to protect ourselves from dogs early in the game. You know how they like to chase vehicles, anyway. Well, on one of those motorcycles it was downright dangerous if one of those big dogs lit out after us. One time, we had a piece of burlap tied on one of the spokes. I don't remember why, now. Anyway, this huge German shepherd took out after us and snapped on to that burlap. That dog just somersaulted through the air and flipped us right into the ditch. We took that burlap off right then."

He can chuckle about the "good old days" now, but would he go back to them if he could?

"What was so good about them?" he asks. "No turkey, no antelope, no deer to speak of. The modern-day conservationists and game managers have made our rich wildlife what it is today. Nebraska has the finest biologists and technicians around. Don't ever sell Nebraska short. We've got the finest men in the nation." The way he says it leaves no room for debate.

The fact that he was once shot in the line of duty is glossed over quickly and simply with, "Yeah, I was shot once." So his wife, Emma, fills in the details.

"It was in 1935. I found out about it over the radio. Naturally, I was scared to death. I went up town to try to find out what happened and when I got back, Roy was already in bed. I found his jacket, holes all through it and bloodstained, on a chair. Here's Roy sleeping peacefully and I'm scared to death."

Roy interrupts to explain it wasn't as awful as it sounds. "This shotgun just accidentally went off while I was (Continued on page 47)

A BETTER PLACE

AMERICA is running out of play room. And in , the parlance of the day, "There's one thing ^ certain, it's going to get worse before it gets better." That is, unless all levels of government, plus the private sector, take immediate action to reverse this trend.

What's the bind? Simply this: demands for outdoor recreation opportunities and facilities are increasing at a furious pace as our complex society with its rapid population growth acquires more free time, more mo bility, and more spendable income.

The U. S. Congress, recognizing this growing crisis, passed the Land and Water Conservation Fund Act in 1965. In essence, this act provides a source of federal funds that is made available to the various states un der a grant-in-aid formula to acquire and develop outdoor-recreation facilities. But Congress placed an important prerequisite on the states before passing out the money. It required each state to prepare and submit a comprehensive outdoor-recreation plan.

The State Legislature gave the Game and Parks Commission the responsibility for developing such a plan for Nebraska. Our first plan was completed in the fall of 1965 and approved by federal officials for a period of 32 months. That period, which ended in 1968, saw Nebraska complete 28 projects, ranging from the acquisition of 10,295 acres at Fort Robinson for a major state park to the installation of field lights for a ball field in Naper, population 198.

But these were only the first steps in what is to be a continuous planning effort. Programs to refine the preliminary plan and fully identify Nebraska's outdoor-recreation needs are rolling right along and will continue to do so. As an example of this progress, the Game Commission completed a "second-generation" plan in July, 1968. Federal agencies accepted this Elan and granted Nebraska a maximum five-year eligi ility, the first and, so far, the only state to receive such eligibility. But Nebraska isn't resting on its laurels. Programs will be monitored to determine progress in meeting needs, and by 1973 a third generation plan will be prepared. What were these plans? What did they cover?

Our comprehensive plan considers all of Nebraska's outdoor-recreation resources and activities, as well as the many public and private interests that can pro vide for them. The basic elements of the plan include certain goals and objectives; an analysis of the present and future demand for outdoor recreation by activity; an inventory and analysis of the outdoor-recreation resources of the state, including those administered by all units of government and the private sector; and an identification of outdoor-recreation needs by relat ing present supply to demands of today and tomorrow. The thrust of the planning effort is action — action to meet identified needs. Thus, an important and final element was the program of implementation, and the delineation of responsibility between the various governmental units involved and the private sector.

There are four broad goals in the Nebraska plan. They are: preserve, develop, and assure accessibility to all citizens of Nebraska and its visitors such quality and quantity of outdoor-recreation resources as may Water is a key recreational resource. By 1972 Nebraska will need 208,341 more acres of it Director, Nebraska Game and Parks Commission Nebraska's comprehensive expansion plan is the best answer yet to increasing recreation needs 44 NEBRASKAland be available, necessary, and desirable to permit a rela tively free choice by the individual for active participa tion; strengthen the health and vitality of Nebraska's citizens by providing such outdoor-recreation resources; add to and strengthen the economy of Nebraska by pro viding outdoor-recreation resources which attract non resident visitors and develop tourist trade in Nebraska; place the responsibility of executing these programs at the lowest level of government possible, or with private enterprise, insofar as stated objectives and fi nancial and organizational capabilities permit.

The state was divided into 14 socio-economic planning regions for analyzing Nebraska's demands, the available supply of outdoor-recreation resources, and the determination of actual needs. This insured an analysis of needs in relation to where the people live today and where they will be living tomorrow, as well as providing both social and economic justifica tions for potential developments.

Location of facilities within day-use and weekend range of the people to be served is of prime importance. Facilities for non-urban state and county recreation areas should be within an hour's driving time of the major user-population if they are to be effective. Ade quate community facilities such as city and neighbor hood parks are also essential to meeting a substantial part of the day-to-day needs. In other words, the people must have ample opportunity close to their residence if demand is to be converted to active participation.

Demand analysis revealed the pressing need for more outdoor-recreation opportunities in Nebraska. Total resident demand alone will increase by 21 per cent by 1972, 50 percent by 1980, and nearly 160 per cent before the year 2000. Participation in each major outdoor-recreation activity will increase at a greater rate than population growth, with the exception of horseback riding, fishing, and hunting. According to the analysis, Nebraskans and their guests will par ticipate most frequently in activities which require few skills and little or no specialized equipment.

The analysis of the supply of resources in relation to valid demand reveals substantial need for publicly owned land and water for outdoor recreation. This is equally as true for regional non-urban facilities such as state parks and recreation areas, as it is for munici pal areas like neighborhood parks, playgrounds, and modern metropolitan parks.

Superficially (based on recognized standards for land needs) our present resources look good, but here's the rub. Most of the public lands and waters are lo cated in the western two-thirds of Nebraska while the majority of our people live in the eastern one third. In other words, most of our non-urban and outdoor recreation areas and resources are located outside the effective day-use range of most of our people. The truth is that these areas and facilities are available to most Nebraskans only for weekend or vacation-time use. It is not the TOTAL acres devoted to outdoor recreation but the EFFECTIVE acres that count in the final analysis. Of course, the picture will be modi fied over the years by an increase in air travel and the completion of the Interstate and other improved roads, but the basic situation will not change.

At first glance it would seem that Nebraska, with its large area and small population, should be in good shape compared to the nation's densely populated states, but the fact is that it is not. Present estimated deficiencies for non-urban recreation areas total 34,000 acres. With additional population growth and changing social and economic conditions, the deficiency will in crease to 50,700 acres by 1972, and by 1980 the short age is expected to be 78,000 acres. About 60 percent of the deficiencies in 1972 will be associated with the populations in the Omaha and Lincoln 13 county planning regions. By 1980, 73 percent will be asso ciated with these 2 areas.

Water is a key outdoor-recreation resource, not only for boating, water skiing, fishing, and swimming, but to enhance dry-land recreations such as viewing, picnicking, and camping. Present deficiencies are high for water-oriented activities in the eastern third of the state. By 1972, it is estimated that an additional 48,000 acres of water will be needed for boating, 27,000 for water skiing, and 133,341 for fishing. By 1980, these deficiencies will increase to 67,000, 43,000, and 161,000 acres respectively.

Fortunately, water-resource developments now on the drawing boards of the Corps of Engineers, Bu reau of Reclamation, and Soil Conservation Service can meet a substantial part of the needs for both land and water IF these proposals are ultimately approved by Congress. Moreover, the (Continued on page 50)

IN DOUBLE JEOPARDY

THE ODDS against surviving a double shot of rattlesnake venom combined with strychnine are long indeed, but I did it. And I was only eight at the time. It happened way back in 1900, but I remember the episode as clearly as though it was yesterday. Ugly scars on my leg see to that.

It happened on a beautiful Sunday in June while we were hunting rabbits with hounds near our home, eight miles north of Exeter, Nebraska. There were seven boys in our family and I was the youngest. Our dad wouldn't let us have a gun, but he bought two hounds and we hunted with them and used sticks to bag our rabbits. The country was still wild then and prairie rattlers were plentiful. They frequently visited our chicken house and since our own house was part soddy and part frame, it was a nice, cozy place for the reptiles. My parents were always on the alert for them.

I wasn't supposed to go along that day, since my older brothers said I couldn't keep up, but I tagged along about a mile behind the other boys until it was convenient for me to join them. There had been a nice shower on that particular day and scenting conditions were good. The rabbits were running well along Indian Creek and we were all excited by the hunt. We had just crossed a fence when the rattler struck me above the ankle. I screamed and jumped for my brother who was about two yards ahead of me. Somehow I slid to the ground and the rattler hit again.

My brother picked me up and ran out of the tall grass and weeds as fast as he could. The others fol lowed. They tied a whang-leather boot string around my leg above the fang punctures and raced to the home of a nearby neighbor. They had gone to church, but there was a coaster wagon there. The boys put me in it and raced for home. Our neighbor, a Mr. Ballard, who lived across the road from our place, was coming out of his lane and they told him what had happened. He said to take me home while he went for the doctor — eight miles away.

It was evening when he and Dr. Cleary got there, and I was" really sick by then. My leg was all agony. The doctor said a lot of time had gone by and there was only a small chance I would recover. He told my dad the only chance was strychnine, but he didn't know how much to give me as I was so young.

Finally, he gave me a half a grain of the stuff and a minute or two later untied the string from my leg and waited until the deadly drug and the venom met. My body immediately became a battleground as the two powerful poisons met. I don't remember, but later, I was told that it took four people to hold me on the bed.

I do remember some of the reactions. It felt like the rattler himself was coiled up inside my leg and I felt cold and slimy all over. Then I slipped into a coma. Then came the long hours of waiting to see if I would make it. I was awfully sick for a long time; probably the combination of strychnine and venom weakened my heart and I had to take it easy for about a year. Even when I was well enough to go to school I couldn't seem to remember anything.

My leg isn't a good one, but I still get around. In my time I loved the feel of a fast bronc under me and have ridden a fair share of them as well as training some. Farming kept me busy for some 40-odd years and after retiring, I moved to California, but I still remem ber Nebraska.

My close squeak happened a long time ago, but whenever I see a rattler on T.V. I jump. It seems I still have that cold, slimy feeling in my veins. As the years pass, I often wonder how many other people ever took strychnine for rattler bites and survived.

MAN OF MANY SEASONS

(Continued from page 43) checking a hunter. I got it in the back. I had on a leather jacket, so it wasn't too bad. Very uncomfortable, though."

And right up to the day of his retire ment, he chose not to wear a gun, pre ferring instead to believe in the innate goodness of man not to shoot someone unarmed. Although Roy has spent day after day chatting with and helping sportsmen, his first love is and always will be what he calls the freckle-noses, the children.

His eyes gleam when he talks about the freckle-noses of the past. "Our home has always been a skunk town of kids for years. I talk in schools, churches, scout ing groups, anywhere for the freckle nose. If we educate the youngster, we don't have to arrest him as an adult."

"I take the little fellows out hunting. Daddy's too busy. How can the little fellow ever learn to hunt properly? If you could see one when he kills his first pheasant or first cottontail," he hesitates, well, it would bring a lump to your throat. You've got to see it to believe it."

"When I £0 to a trap shoot, there is always one little tyke on to the side, just watching. I just go over and say, 'Sonny, would you like to shoot awhile?' The reply is always the same —no gun, no shells, no money. You let them shoot for awhile, and by gosh, you've got a pal for life. And he'll pass sportsmanship on to his son."

Roy laughs, "You know the last time I was at the State Fair one of these kids, he's got a family of his own now, comes up and says, 'Darn your old hide, when you're in my area come on in and shoot pennies for my kids.' See, I used to toss pennies in the air and then tell the kids that I would shoot the date for them. No matter where you hit the penny, it's going to hit the date. But the kids never figured that out."

His philosophy on children is simple: "They can never prove to me that they really want to be bad. I could really make my arrest book look good, if that's all I was interested in," he says of those youngsters on the wrong side of the law. "But I prefer to talk things over with the county attorney and the kids and see if there isn't a better way of straightening things out. Usually, they end up paroled to me."

Not one of the hundreds of youngsters trusted to Roy's guidance over the years has returned to court. But rather than using this fact to prove his theory, Roy uses a more personal gauge. "My car has set right outside for 27 Hallowe'ens and never been touched yet," he says with pride.

Although entering retirement at an age when most men would be more than glad to settle back with a pipe and good book, Roy says he will always work with the little fellow.

"I've spent a pile of money on the youngsters and I don't begrudge it a bit. You can never go wrong helping the freckle-noses."

Trap-shooting trophies literally fill the Owen home. Fourteen or so of them were garnered (Continued on page 49)

Outdoor Elsewhere

Has Two Lives. Not long ago a Pennsyl vania hunter bagged a fine turkey dur ing the designated season, and was showing the big gobbler to his family. Suddenly, the turkey came to life and led the entire family on a wild chase around the house. After catching it, the hunter found a single pellet had grazed the gobbler's head, knocking him out. As the bird appeared unhurt, the children in the family insisted that it be freed. Next time this hunter will probably shoot his turkey twice, just to make sure he gets to keep it. —Pennsylvania

Still Room For Credit. A New York angler won a fishing contest with a 25 pound cod, whose stomach yielded an unusual item. The remnants of a man's wallet were lodged in the cod's stomach and its only identifiable contents were cellophane credit-card holders and a 1964 calendar. —New York

Minor Mystery. The bark of hedgerow cedars was disappearing around the Conservation Department's Warrens burg Fish Hatchery in New York. Wor ried that the cedars might have some disease that could spread, Hatchery Foreman Erwin Anis called for assist ance from the Forest Pest Control people in the Division of Lands and Forests. With further study and consultation the conclusion was reached that no insect or disease was responsible. Then what was causing it? Wayward boys? This possi bility was out because the bark was stripped from the ground to a height of 20 feet. It almost had to be some kind of bird or animal. Intensive study produced the culprits. It seems some squirrels had discovered that cedar bark made nice beds and nests. — The Conservationist

Asleep On The Job. Sleeping on the job may irritate a boss, but it just might irritate a husband even more. A Penn sylvania sportsman and his wife were hunting deer with little success and decided to go back to their car for a breather. Putting the rifles inside, the husband began scouting the area for deer sign. He was about 75 yards away and walking back when he spotted four does and a nice buck standing near the car. His wife was nowhere in sight. He moved quietly to the car and reached for his rifle, but it wouldn't budge. His wife was curled up around the rifles on the seat, fast asleep. Needless to say, be fore he finally got his rifle and loaded it, the deer were long gone.—Pennsylvania

Junk Collector. People usually think of goats as the hardy animals with cast-iron stomachs that can take anything. However, a New York man might argue this claim. Here's a list of things he found in the stomach of an 11-foot tiger shark. A sea gull, two ducks, a barracuda, a glob of material stamped U.S. Government, three chunks of cinder block, half a tire tube, and a piece of silver identification bracelet. —New York

MAN OF MANY SEASONS

last summer, 1 of them for a 199-out-of-200 streak.

"I started shooting when I was nine years old. By the time I was 13, I was barred from the turkey shoots in south east Nebraska because I kept winning all the turkeys. One day, I won all seven turkeys at a Greenwood shoot. The guys running the shoot bought them back for $35 and told me to go home so they could hold another shoot.'

When asked about his championship prevaricating, Roy lights up and his wife gasps, but he is off

"Yep, I won the Omaha Lion's Liar Contest for my stories. You know we have a fish in the Blue River that's so big..." he tries to show the enormity of the fish with his hands, but gives up in mock disgust at their undersized in adequacy. "Well, he's so big we decided to catch him with a hay hook. We hooked him all right, but he put up such a ter rible fight that he went down river about 10 miles. He was so mad that he ran into a bridge support and knocked it down. The collision tore his lower lip right off."

"Roy, that's enough!" his wife interjects.

"The lower lip weighed 87 pounds," he slips in before Emma can stop him again.

"Honestly," she says with good natured embarrassment, "how would you like to be married to a champion liar?"

"Hey, did I ever tell you the one about the frog that was so big that when he was skinned they used his hide for an airport runway? Well, see, there was this frog..."

ROUNDUP

events, but fine arts and cultural activities also abound. From February 3 to 8 Nebraska Wesleyan University in Lincoln sponsors a Fine Arts Festival. The University of Nebraska Theatre presents "The Marriage of Figaro" on February 1, and from February 3 until March 31, the Ralph Mueller Plane tarium presents "Night Sky Menagerie". Community concerts are planned on February 1 in Hastings, February 16 in Lincoln, February 17 in Fremont, and February 18 in Holdrege. Omaha's Joslyn Art Museum hosts the Robles collection from February 9 to March 17. Then, on February 28, the University of Nebraska presents its annual Coed Fol lies at Pershing Auditorium.

The capitol city will throb with com petition on February 21 and 22 as high school wrestlers converge on Lincoln for the state-wrestling tournament. Six days after the mat men finish, high school swimmers gather in Omaha for the state meet.

A grand finale for the month, The Omaha Boat, Sport and Travel Show erupts in Omaha from February 25 through March 2. Virtually everything for the vacationer and outdoor enthusiast is on exhibit at this big show in the municipal auditorium.

Plays, concerts, ice hockey, hunting, basketball, and fishing — there's some thing for everyone's see-and-do desires when it's February in NEBRASKAland.

MEN IN A TREE

shouting. A sailboat was in the distance. We yelled our lungs out and nearly waved our arms off. I even waved the orange slicker that I was wearing, but the occupants of the sailboat merely waved back. It was about 12:30 p.m. now and the lake was calming as the storm abated.

Later we learned that the two men in the sailboat went back to the Santee Basin and told others of the three men sitting in a tree, and suggested they might be in trouble. The others asked for a description, then laughed.

"Oh, that's Steve Brik. He's just sitting out there fishing. You saw his boat didn't you? He never has any trouble."

Unfortunately, my craft was visible to the passersby, although it was full of water and motorless. From a distance everything probably appeared to be fine. Our activity was limited to cussing the situation as the dreary hours passed. My two friends still believed that another craft would be by, but I warned them again not to get their hopes up. I wanted to get down and bail the water out of the boat and go for shore, but my frightened companions preferred not to.

The sun was just going down when finally I convinced our crew that unless we wanted to spend the night in that lonely tree, we had better bail the boat and go for shore. After IIV2 hours of sitting in the blind, my companions were ready to try.

The lake was moderately quiet now, so my two companions slid into the chilly water and got a wooden box that was lodged under the bow for a bailer. Soon the boat was ready for travel. While they were bailing, I ripped up one of the boards in the blind and split it in half for paddles. Thirty minutes later we were on land.

After our tree-sitting episode spread through the area, several friends con veyed their concern. "That lake will get you yet, Brik," they said.

Perhaps, but if that is the closest call I'll ever have on Lewis and Clark Lake, I'm confident of meeting a natural end.

NEGRO HOMESTEADERS

program. The State Library at Lincoln sent books to rural families, so Rosetta requested them. Her children read them from cover to cover. Material ranged from the Encyclopaedia Britannica to autobiographies to the classics to poetry, especially that of Paul Lawrence Dunbar. Dunbar's works, however, confused the young Speeses, for the southern Negro poet wrote in the vernacular of his people. According to Mrs. Davis, "No body that we had ever known talked like that, so Dad had to explain the poems to us."

Droughts and hard times did not de feat most of these original Kinkaiders. Many of them like William Ford made out by working for white ranchers in the area. Ford reportedly walked 14 miles a FEBRUARY, 1969 49   day from his home to the Lee Ranch and back again, arriving before seven in the morning and leaving after dark. Robert Hannahs opened a barbershop in Brown lee and built up a fine trade in the community. He would barber for his neighbors in his home during the evenings.

Traditionally on the first Sunday of August the entire settlement would gather at Robert Hannahs' for a picnic. The entire DeWitty community would turn out, too, for the Fourth of July cele brations put on by the Danish residents of Brownlee. Brownlee staged a rodeo at this time and DeWitty cowboys offered stiff competition to participants from as far away as Thedford. The Negroes added excitement to the footraces, too, espe cially when William Meehan entered. William would run the first part of the race in the conventional manner, turn at the halfway mark, and run backward to finish the race. According to his niece, he won every contest he entered.

Several of the DeWitty men were good musicians and played for dances in the area. To learn new tunes, the group would gather at the A. P. Curtis home to listen to the phonograph. Soon, they were able to play the tune they heard. One was such a good musician that he could go to sleep while playing for a dance and still never miss a note.

DeWitty's baseball team, the Sluggers, played teams from Thedford and Brownlee and always drew a crowd. Besides being fine players, members were natural clowns. The Sluggers' antics were similar to those of the Harlem Globetrotters of basketball renown.

Droughts and crop failures following World War I caused DeWitty's demise. Some families mortgaged their properties, then lost them. Others like Albert Riley, the last resident to leave DeWitty in 1936, sold their lands to neighboring white ranchers.

Today, the sod buildings have all disappeared. The cemetery is now part of land owned by Don Hanna, a former white neighbor of the Speeses. In spite of the heartbreaks and frustrations suffered by the DeWittians, their children remember the good times they shared.

Descendants of the original settlers are scattered from coast to coast. Most likely, if some of them should return to the area as Mrs. Davis did in 1960, they would paraphrase the sentiments she expressed after her visit with Don Hanna at his ranch. She wrote glowingly of the happy memories the Sand Hills held for her. People were neighbors in the fullest sense of the word, and segregation was and still is unknown just as it was when Charles Meehan brought his family to the place called DeWitty so long ago.

A BETTER PLACE

state and its political subdivisions MUST take advantage of opportunities as they arise. This we have done in the case of the Salt Creek Watershed Flood-control Project, where our participation has made available more than 4,000 acres of recreational water. The Papio Water shed Flood-control Project is a good ex ample of potential for the future. We intend to participate in that project also. When fully implemented, this project will put 8 reservoirs, ranging from 215 to 840 acres in size, and 13 smaller struc tures within a few minutes drive of resi dents of Omaha. These will be effective day-use acres for a lot of people, who will also have available areas and facilities throughout central and western Nebraska for weekend and vacation use.

Based on standards for minimum municipal needs for outdoor recreation, our urban communities show substantial need for additional lands, too. Minimum deficiencies for such areas as neighborhood parks, playfields, or other municipal categories presently total 5,423 acres. Only 13.6 percent of our towns with less than 1,000 population own sufficient lands to meet minimum standards. The situation is about as bad for larger communities. Only 25.6 per cent of those cities from 1,000 to 5,000 have the required public land, and only 16.7 percent of the cities with a population over 5,000 own enough acreage for minimum needs.

It's hard to believe that by 1972 the estimated gross deficiency for picnic units in Nebraska will be well over 14,000. To illustrate this deficiency, we can say that Nebraska will need enough additional picnic units to provide one each for every man, woman, and child living in Scottsbluff today. Here again, we are in a catch-up program at all levels. Many kinds of facilities are sorely needed to provide recreation opportunity, both on existing recreation areas and those yet to be acquired. For example, we need an additional 101 swimming pools right now. Camping needs are in creasing rapidly and more sophisticated sites are being sought by the camping public. This demand far exceeds the sup ply, and the demand increases annually. We have practically no bicycle, walking, hiking, or horseback trails, yet we have substantial public participation in every one of these activities.

The task is big, and it calls for the cooperation and coordination of all gov ernmental groups concerned plus the 50 NEBRASKAland private sector. Fortunately, that has oeen the history of Nebraska and Nebraskans. Much credit is due the sena tors who make up our Unicameral; they have provided the funds that make the matching of the federal grants-in-aid possible. Governor Tiemann and his staff have given the program their whole hearted support. So many communities, towns, and cities have joined in the effort that our department is swamped with far more projects than available federal allocations to Nebraska will finance. The applicants have the local share of the financing, but, regrettably, we must defer the majority of the projects for action as and when federal fund ing becomes available. To date we have completed 32 projects and have another 32 in various stages of development. We have also programmed 39 more for financing in fiscal year 1970, and have 58 in our "hold" files primarily because there is no funding in sight for these projects until fiscal year 1971 or later. Altogether, this totals 161 projects.

In recognition of this and similar problems the U. S. Congress recently provided that, beginning with fiscal year 1970, federal funding of the Land and Water Conservation program shall be substantially increased for a period of five years. This means that the grant in-aid allocation to Nebraska will be nearly three times as much for the five years beginning July 1, 1969, as has been true in the past.

Despite this action by the Congress, meeting the present and future outdoor recreation needs of Nebraska will still be a big task. However, the social and economic justifications are such that we cannot logically do otherwise. The Land and Water Conservation Fund program constitutes an investment that will pay big dividends in the social and physical health of our people, as well as in hard cash that will flow into the trade chan nels and bank accounts of Nebraskans through the ultimate development of the recreation and tourism business in our state. That trade is today the third largest industry in this nation, and Ne braska is in excellent position to cap ture a good share of this business. The task will take many years and is far from easy, but the doing is highly profit able and popular. TIME and ACTION will make Nebraska a much more at tractive place for our guests to visit, and a much better place for all of us to live.

COUNT ONLY THE HITS

when Whitey's 16-gauge barked he had his third rooster. In less than three hours both men had claimed their legal limits. It had been a good hunt. Jim and Whitey had their birds, George had one, and Bob had had a lot of fun watching. Both guest hunters were looking to the next day when they would take on the mallard, a bird Jim considered his specialty.

The clothing-store owner had lined up a blind on the south bank of the North Platte River near Melbeta. With between 150,000 to 200,000 ducks using Lake Minatare, the stretch is real hot when the quackers wing back to the lake after being out to breakfast. Both hunters stuck to their pheasant guns, but Whitey had exchanged No. 6's for 5's. Jim de pends on No. 5's for both pheasants and ducks.

Fall's cold breath had stripped the trees and mauled a once multicolored river valley to stark, muted shades of brown, but to the duck hunters this bare ness was beautiful. They knew thousands of mallards had ridden the northern cold fronts into the lake and both men were anticipating some excellent shooting. In the somber gray before dawn, Jim Ran dall picked up the mallard decoys and splashed through the morning quiet to set them out. As he worked, a long V pointed its way down river to lend pro mise to his hopes for ducks.

"Remember, shoot only drakes," Jim muttered, climbing into the sunken blind. "With only a two-mallard limit, a drakes-only rule makes a more inter esting hunt."

A musical whistle of wings made the pair scan the almost cloudless sky. Jim shoved two shells into his 12-gauge as a drake swung over the trees and set his wings. The hunter's grip tightened on his gun as he uncoiled and squeezed off a round. He continued his follow-through as the mallard fell on a small island. Tufty was ready but Jim called him back. Ducks were flying and it was no time to have a dog out.

"It is your turn," Jim whispered.

A drake and a hen grew from tiny black dots on the horizon to recognizable silhouettes as Jim squacked his duck call. Fooled by man's ingenuity, the birds swung toward the decoys.

"Hate to break up a pair," Whitey mut tered, clicking off the safety.

The ducks flared when the farmer stood up. He fired twice, but the drake escaped, minus a tail feather. Whitey de jectedly pushed two more shells into his gun.

"That was my chance to back you up," Jim kidded.

Two more ducks swung into the decoys and again Whitey didn't cut a feather.

"Knock one down next time, or I'll take him," Jim laughed.

A lone drake came in from behind the blind and a couple of quacks on the call made him circle for a second look. Whitey's face tightened with concentra tion and when the mallard was 25 yards out, he triggered the No. 5's. The drake did a tailspin to the water.

"These ducks seem harder to hit than pheasants," Whitey grimaced as he watched Tuffy retrieve.

Jim shook his head in disagreement. "For me ducks are easy but pheasants are a little tougher."

A hen, looking for company, circled the decoys and joined her imitation friends. She was meat on the table, but this was a greenhead-only game. The hen quacked, looked at her quiet friends, and waddled up on a sandbar. A few min- utes later, a drake whistled in from the north. Whitey fired two shots, but it was the bark from Jim's 12-gauge that dropped him.

"We're even," Jim smiled. "You picked off my missed pheasant and I got your duck."

Whitey shook his head in disgust. The day before on pheasants he had only one miss, but the ducks were lightening his shell vest at an alarming rate. A drake cut a figure eight as he suspiciously eyed the setup. When he finally put on the brakes, Whitey sprang up. The mallard hung motionless in the air, unable to climb and afraid to sit down. The long tube of blued steel swung on the target as Whitey brought his shotgun up and slapped the trigger. The river was silent, except for the panicked quack of the lucky duck. Whitey's shotgun had misfired.

"I have spoiled your day," he said, checking the gun.

"Not really," Jim smiled. "It is nice to know that somebody else has problems."

Three drakes appeared out of nowhere as Whitey checked his gun's safety and discovered he had not pushed it off far enough. The ducks continued toward the blind and the hunter swung on the lead bird. The drake plummeted at the second round and Whitey sighed in relief. His humiliation was over for he, too, had limited out.

In the actual span of one day of hunt ing Jim and Whitey had taken limits of ringnecks and greenheads. Jim had been a little off on pheasants and Whitey had had a terrible time with the ducks, but like all hunters, the pair forgot about misses and counted only hits.

HIKE BY BIKE

creek was a must stop. A tractor rumbled across the iron bridge and the driver returned our waves. From his mysterious smile, I knew he was wondering where we were from and where we were going. Bikes and adventure are synonymous for youngsters, but after the age of 16, and driver-license time, peddling for most of them becomes a last ditch means of transportation. Maybe that is why our country bike trip was so enchanting. Most people forget their two-wheeled adventures, but Nancy and I never have and we feel younger for them.

By late afternoon we were closing in on Buffalo City. We had passed a "haunted house," oink-oinked at a pen full of pigs, and made more frequent stops than earlier in the day. Amy and Molly were bushed and my legs felt like jelly on the uphill climbs. However, small talk kept us and the younger mem bers of the family going.

"Buffalo City is on top of this hill," Nancy encouraged us. "If you see any bandits when we roll into town let me know."

Located south of Nebraska City, this replica of a western town with its old bank, general store, saloon, and black smith shop would make any 1880 outlaw feel right at home. Buffalo City's newest occupant is a buffalo calf born in a pen right off of (Continued on page 54)

NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA. . . SPARROW HAWK

SMALLEST, MOST colorful, and most numerous of the North American falcons, sparrow hawks are familiar to everyone who has ever driven a country road. Falco sparverius frequents open lands and thus Nebraska is perfect for him. Favorite perches are utility poles, wires, or fence posts. These perches make ideal observation sites for prey. Known also as the American kestrel, these beautiful little 9 to 11 inch jay-size birds are found over almost all of North and South America. They are one of the few species in which the coloration of the sexes is decidedly different in the juvenile plumage.

Males have blue-gray wings and rufous tails. Females have rufous backs, tails, and wings, all barred with black. Both sexes have the handsome black-and-white face patterns typical of many falcons. Slender, pointed wings, a characteristic of all falcons, give the sparrow hawk a crescent-like silhouette. He is the only small hawk who habitually hovers on rapidly beating wings, much as a kingfisher does. Normal flight is straight and powerful with very little soaring. This bird is not adept at fast turns or dodging.

Almost all hawks are a great asset to the landowner and this small falcon is no exception. His food habits vary with the seasons and availability of differ ent prey, but grasshoppers in the summer and mice in the spring, fall, and winter are the rule. Some birds are also taken during the year, but they make up only a small percentage of the diet. It is estimated a sparrow hawk may eat 290 mice a year. That's a lot of rodents for a three-to-four-ounce bird to catch, but considering the unbelievable eyesight of these and most birds, it may be a simple task. Eyes of sparrow hawks are reputed to be about eight times as acute as man's due to eight times more visual cells. Strong ciliary muscles squeeze that flat lens into a sphere for telescopic as well as magnifying vision.

Placement of the eyes also gives both monocular and binocular vision although sparrow hawks, as with most hawks, tend to have more binocular vision than most other birds. Hawks also have a pleated object called the pecten that furnishes extra blood to the eyes, and may also cast shadows on the retina, which helps the bird detect movements at a distance. All of this sophisticated observation equipment comes in a package that is much larger than in comparable-size mammals. Often the eyes of a bird bulk larger than its brain.

Sparrow hawks are compact marvels of evolution that begin life in the first part of June from a clutch of four or five eggs. The creamy-white eggs, heavily speckled with reddish brown, are usually laid in abandoned woodpecker holes in hollow trees. The birds seem to prefer a covered nest site and cliffs with holes are often used. Young are hatched after 29 to 30 days of incubation. Helpless at hatching, they are fed by the female until about six weeks old. From then on, they generally feed themselves from food brought by the adults.

The young females are noticeably larger and wilder than the young males. The males, as in all falcons, never reach the size of the females. Weights of males when full grown average about three ounces and females about four ounces. The young sparrow hawks go through partial body molts in September and October, but do not attain full adult plumage until the fall of their second year.

While some sparrow hawks stay in Nebraska all year, most are migratory and show two distinct peaks of abundance as they pass through the state. The spring movement occurs in April and the southward flight seems to peak in August. One observer in August in the northwestern part of Nebraska recorded 104 sparrow hawks while driving a little over 300 miles. There are times when it seems every telephone and power pole in NEBRASKAland has a falcon on it. Everyone with an interest in birds enjoys seeing sparrow hawks for they are diminutive members of a family of birds that have fascinated man for thousands years.

HIKE BY BIKE

main street. Other town residents include a llama, several kittens, and some chickens.

Although we were dirty, tired, and thirsty, Nancy and I were looking for ward to the next day. The four children had enjoyed the bike hike, but were content to be picked up and returned to Lincoln to spend that night and the next day with their grandparents. Actually, the trek was about five to six miles too long for the girls. It would have been better to hold our first-day hike to about 15 miles.

Trees at Arbor Lodge were stripped of their leaves, but the symmetry of their naked branches, silhouetted by the morning sun, added a mystic atmosphere to the start of our second day. Temperatures had been in the 50's but as we hiked by the J. Sterling Morton mansion and headed for the Goose Hill Road, a cold wind and 29° temperatures cooled our enthusiasm.

"Cycling will warm us up," Nancy en couraged as we turned right off of U. S. Highway 73 and 75 at a commercial or chard and headed down a dirt road.

Goose Hill Road is a favorite scenic drive along the high bluffs overlooking the Missouri River. We coasted into a small hollow, and I was surprised when Nancy pointed to a waterfall framed between the spans of a towering railroad bridge. After sliding down the steep bank to the falls, Nancy picked some growing horsetails (Equisetum) to give the children when we got back. The sound of tumbling water mixed with the song of a meadowlark, sparrow, and an unseen bluejay made us talk in church whispers. This one serene moment had already made the day worthwhile.

"It is the simple things that please me the most," Nancy exclaimed as we pushed our bikes back onto the dirt road. "I could spend the day here."

A long incline leading out of the hollow made us pay for our moment of pleasure. We peddled, walked our bikes, then peddled some more. When we reached level ground we wheezed for breath, but the view from atop the river bluffs made the climb worth it. We ambled through the trees for a better look at the vast Missouri River Valley that stretched north and south to the distant horizons. From our vantage the vast river resembled a narrow ribbon.

"I would have liked to have been the first man up the Missouri River," I muttered. "Man and time have marred the landscape along parts of this river, yet it is still beautiful. Imagine what it would have been like 150 years ago."

I accidentally pushed over a rotten tree stump and a field mouse scampered away. On closer investigation, I found that the old stump was actually a mouse apartment. Nancy ran over to the nest and two more mice poked their heads out of a small hole.

"Let's catch one and keep him," my wife suggested.

I reminded her that we still had several more miles to cover on our wheels and 54 NEBRASKAland caring for a tiny mouse might pose com plications. Typical of a woman, she began to worry about the mouse family because we had destroyed their home. I assured her there was more than one rotted log along the timbered bluffs and that by nightfall the mice would be set tled in a new nest.

The going was easy as we hiked along the bluff road, so we took full advantage of it to watch the scenery. The river had caught my imagination and when we saw a unique red cabin that commanded the prettiest view along the river, I de cided to meet the lucky owners. Without hesitation, I pulled into their driveway and Art and Harriet Weaver met me. I explained that we were on a bike hike and that we had admired the house and the view. They offered us coffee and we accepted. A virtual museum, the cabin's interior matched the spectacular view.

As we passed from the high river bluffs and angled west into the rolling farm lands toward Union Junction, Nancy and I reflected on our two-day jaunt. This bike hike had brought our family closer together simply because we had shared the same adventure. Bicycling is a recreation the entire family can enjoy and is becoming more and more popular. In keeping with this trend, Omaha and Lincoln will soon have special trails. This spring Omaha plans to dedicate nearly 60 miles of marked trails and by 1971 Lincoln hopes to have at least 12 miles of paths. These trails will connect parks and recreation areas.

Our legs ached from the long ride when we reached our pick-up point at Union Junction, but the discomfort was a small price for the enjoyment we had. My only regret is that we hadn't taken advantage of back-road bicycling in Nebraska much sooner. Now it may be too late, unless we return to Nebraska.

BOOTSTRAP BOBS

discouraged, we went back to the truck and headed for the river around the old Pressy farmstead. The buildings are gone and weeds have overgrown the area. Good woody cover along the stream plus a large grove of cottonwoods in the north west corner looked promising. A rooster flashed out of the weeds without offering a shot as we headed for the promising cottonwoods.

I was working just inside the timber when a large covey exploded. My two shots took the bark of a Cottonwood and a limb off a box elder as the bobs winged through the branches. Dan had spotted four or five birds down in the timber and he flushed them out again. He did better; he only missed once.

A 15-minute search failed to produce any birds, so we surmised they had gone through the timber and went down along the river. After half an hour of looking, we gave up and decided to try some cover back east along the river. Again our efforts were unproductive.

"There's a covey along here some where. I flushed them last week. Maybe they are out in the milo. Why don't you get the truck while I hike this cover to the road?" my long-time hunting partner suggested.

Dan had a rooster when I drove up. He explained that his bird was a dead ringer for mine. The pheasant had stayed tight in the milo and then flushed for an easy shot. We took a break for lunch at Callo way and then drove east and north out of town to a farm road that took us to a brushy draw that snaked out of the river bottom into the surrounding hills. I knew of at least two good coveys in the draw and hoped we could find them.

Dan popped three No. 8 handloads in his autoloader and agreed to take the heavy going in the bottom. He was using a skeet barrel and had a chance with its wide pattern at bobs in the timber. I stayed on the sidehill to mark down any birds that he might put up. My partner had just stepped over the hill when I heard him call. "A covey just flushed wild out of the bottom. They are spooky, but I marked them down."

He led me down the draw for a hundred yards and pointed to a bunch of short brushgrass about 30 yards ahead. "I'm sure they are in there. You take the right and I'll work in from the left," he coached.

The ground cover was fairly clean except for the small bushes and I felt it was a good place to try for a double if the birds cooperated. Marking them down and finding them wouldn't be a problem. My chance came quickly when we closed in. A dozen quail quickly zipped into the air and went straight down the draw under the branches. I picked out a bird on the edge of the covey and dropped him with a quick shot. Marking him down beside a fallen log, I swung quickly on another target, but the bob darted behind a tree and was gone. Dan's autoloader ripped out two quick shots as I stepped in to see if a sleeper was hanging tight. A quail whizzed out behind me, but I picked him up over the barrel and threw a snap shot. The bird dropped a wing and cart wheeled in.

Using an empty shell to mark my shooting position, I kept my eye on the spot where the second bird went down. I was sure my first bird was dead, but the second could be a cripple, so I hurried in for the retrieve. A fluttering in the leaves led me straight to him. The shot was better than I had anticipated and the bob hadn't moved from where I had estimated his fall.

"How many did you down?" Dan called. "I've got two down, but I still haven't found one of them."

A couple of feathers on the leaves led me to the first bird shot and then I moved over to help Dan search. He had left his hat at the spot of shooting to give him a line on his downed birds. Lining up on his hat we started circling the approximate point of fall and after a couple of minutes we found the quail partially hidden in the leaves.

Dan's remark of, "The rest of the covey went up the hill, so let's go after some singles," was enough to take us out of the gully and up the hill. A single buzzed out and we both missed him. My partner was making some remarks about our shooting when a pair of bobs followed by a single lifted from a washout under our feet. My companion went to work on the pair while I swung on the single. My first shot was a miss, but the second was on and he dropped in the bordering pasture. Dan took one bird with his shot and let the other ride. After picking up my bird, I went over and followed Dan's directions to help find his bob* He had stayed put to guide me in and then joined the search. After five minutes of ground scratching we found the bird in some plum brush.

"I would say we're doing real fine finding birds; even dogs couldn't beat our success so far," Dan offered. "Frankly, I'm enjoying it. I know a lot of hunt ers that take a fleeting shot or two at a covey, but they fail to mark their kills and get discouraged when they can't find their birds."

I agreed with him, but in a way I'm selfish and am just glad that many hunt ers are not serious quail men. They leave that much more sport for me. We dis cussed quail-shooting techniques as we worked along. Like all wing shooting,

it's a combination of pass and swing shooting with a lot of snap shooting thrown in when the birds are in the tim ber. We had about a quarter of a mile to go before reaching the spot where I expected another covey.

Dan came up with a bit of interesting information as we plodded along. "Did you know that you can sometimes find quail by listening for them?"

"You mean singles? I've often heard one whistling after a covey has been broken."

"Coveys, too, when the birds are feeding and moving along. They cheep to keep together and if you listen, you can often hear it. It's a steady sound unlike the two-note call of a single," he replied.

The head of the draw was close before we spooked the covey. It flushed out from some plum brush and was out of range, but it swung into the pasture land and settled into some tumble weeds. It was a go-for-broke opportunity and I agreed when Dan suggested there was a possibility of a triple. I hit the tumble weeds and 25 birds roared out. Two shots netted me one bird, while Dan's three shot effort brought down a pair. We worked the scattered singles and got our limits just before sunset ended our shoot ing. We lost but one bird, one that I just winged.

"I have had worse days with the dogs," Dan remarked as we headed for the truck. I agreed, but I felt we were pretty lucky in retrieving our kills. Still, we had used our heads and made a conscien tious effort to find our kills.

Our hunt was an excellent one, but as I eased into the truck, I knew why we used our pointers. They sure save a lot of steps in searching out and retrieving birds. Dan hit my thoughts dead center when he grunted, "I don't know about you but my 'dogs' are sure barking."

NEBRASKAland TRADING POST

DECOYS SOLID PLASTIC DECOYS. Original Do-It-Yourself Decoy-Making Kit. All Species Available. Catalog 25 cents. Decoys Unlimited, Box 69E, Clinton, Iowa 52732.

DOGS A.K.C. Black Labradors. Special: August litter by F.C., A.F.C. Jetstone Muscles of Claymar. Ke wanee Retrievers, Everett Bristol, Valentine, Ne braska 69201. Phone 376-2539.

ENGLISH POINTERS. Excellent gun dogs. Pups, dogs, and stud service. M. D. Mathews, M.D., St. Paul, Nebraska 68873.

GERMAN Short-haired Pointer puppies whelped November 13, 1968. Excellent AKC championship breeding for show and field. J. H. Dunlap M.D., 814 South 9th Street, Norfolk, Nebraska 68701. Phone 402-371-2175.

FISH BAIT ICE FISHERMEN: Wax Worms, Nebraska grown: 60, $1.10; 250, $3; 500, $5; 1000, $9. Postpaid. Add 2l/2% sales tax to above prices. Dean Mattley, St. Paul, Nebraska 68873.

MISCELLANEOUS 600 ASSORTED sweet onion plants with free plant- ing guide $3.60 postpaid. TONCO, "home of the sweet onion," Farmersville, Texas 75031.

AUTOMOBILE BUMPER STICKERS. Low-cost ad- vertising for special events, community projects, political campaigns, slogans, business, tourist, and entertainment attractions. Write for free brochure, price list and samples. Please state intended use. Reflective Advertising, Dept. N, 873 Longacre, St. Louis, Missouri 63132.

BEAUTIFUL Pheasant Feather and Peacock Feather pins, $1.25 each. George L. Hohnstein, 137 East 4th, Hastings, Nebraska 68901.

GOVERNMENT LANDS. Low as $1 acre. Millions of acres! For exclusive copyrighted report . . . plus "Land Opportunity Digest" listing lands available throughout the U.S., send $1. Satisfaction guar- anteed! Land Disposal, Box 9091-57B, Washington, D.C. 20003.

HUNTERS, FISHERMEN AND SKIERS. Lake-front lota for sale; beautiful sandy beach; modern motel units—winter and summer. Ten miles east of Lewellen, Nebraska, on the north side of Lake McConaughy. Albee's Sub-Division No. 1. Phone 772-3742 and 772-3369, Oshkosh, Nebraska, for in formation and reservations.

NO-LIMIT Trout Fishing, everyday year-around. Fingerling Kamloops Rainbcw for stocking. Fattig Trout Ranch, Brady, Nebraska 69123.

OLD FUR COATS restyled into capes, stoles, etc. $25. We're also tanners, and manufacture fur gar ments. Buckskin jackets and gloves. Free style folder. Haeker's Furriers, Alma, Nebraska.

ORNAMENTAL PHEASANTS AND WATERFOWL: Chinese Golden, Amherst, Reeves', Silvers, Snow, and Canada geese, Japanese mandarins. Cain-Funk Game Farm, Waterloo, Nebraska.

PREPARE FOR DRIVER'S TEST. 100 questions and answers based on Nebraska Driver's Manual. $1.03. E. Glebe, Box 295, Fairbury, Nebraska 68352. SOLVE ALL your housing needs. Lake or camp site. Geer FHA, VA approved houses. Roush Mobile Homes, Inc., Grand Island, Nebraska.

EVERLASTING Resurrection Plant. A beautiful green fern. Keep in house. $1 each. Strawberry popcorn. Packet, 35 f. R. B. Greathouse, Route 2, Warrior, Alabama 35180.

FOR SALE: Fifteen acres of wooded, Missouri River front land just east of Yankton, South Dakota on Nebraska side. Ideal fishing and hunting area. Ray Keiser Agency, Real Estate - Insurance, Fordyce, Nebraska 68736. Phone 962-3131.

WE ARE SPECIALISTS. We handle wide wheels and tires for campers, Jeeps, Scouts, dune bug gies. Excellent flotation and traction. We guarantee vibration-free and trouble-free performance. For the largest stock and selection in the Midwest, see T. O. Hass Tire, 640 West "O", Lincoln, Ne braska, or phone 435-3211.

FREE LIST. Fly-tying and jig-making materials. Feathers, furs, tails, hooks, and thread. The Tackle Shop, 2406 Hancock Street, Bellevue, Nebraska 68005.

BOB-K'S AQUA SUPPLY. Nebraska's largest skin and scuba diving dealer. U.S. Divers Aqua-lung headquarters. Air station. Hydro test. Phone 553-0777, 5051 Leavenworth, Omaha, Nebraska 68106.

FREE SLIDE program available. If your club or group is interested in a slide program portraying western Nebraska, write the Crawford Chamber of Commerce, Crawford, Nebraska 69339, and it will be sent to you free of charge. Your only expense will be return postage.

TAXIDERMY CREATIVE TAXIDERMY—Modern methods and life like workmanship on all fish and game since 1935, also tanning and deerskin products. Sales and dis play room. Joe Voges, Naturecrafts, 925 4th Corso, Nebraska City, Nebraska 68410. Phone 873-5491.

FISH MOUNTING a specialty—game heads, rugs, and birds. Twenty years same location. Write for prices. Livingston Taxidermy, Mitchell, Nebraska 69357.

TAXIDERMY work—big-game heads, fish-and-bird mounting; rug making, hide tanning, 36 years experience. Visitors welcome, Floyd Houser, Suther land, Nebraska. Phone 386-4780.

KARL SCHWARZ Master Taxidermists. Mounting of game heads - Birds - Fish - Animals - Fur rugs Robes - Tanning buckskin. Since 1910. 424 South 13th Street, Dept. A., Omaha, Nebraska 68102.

GAME HEADS and fish expertly mounted by latest methods. Forty years experience. Excellent work manship on all mounts. Christiansen's Taxidermy, 421 South Monroe Street, Kimball, Nebraska 69145.

TRAPS LIVE TRAPS, all sizes. Mouse to dog. Collapsible or rigid. Carrving cages. Free literature. National Live Traps. Tomahawk, Wisconsin 54487.

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the air

Where to go

MOST ZOOS close down and put their animals in warm storage during the winter, but not Ante lope Zoo in Lincoln at 1300 South 27th Street. People can come see the monkeys, exotic birds, and leather-like tortoises in their indoor cages any day of the year between 9 a.m. and 4:45 p.m.

As you come in, several dozen fuzzy black, brown, white, and spotted guinea pigs are munching lettuce, scampering around the straw-covered cage, or star ing at you. Above them, three parrots, one a bright red, one green, and the other blue, stand on separate platforms, never making a sound while giving you the once-over.

By now, 17 cages of monkeys are screaming at you to watch their antics. One of the many ringtails from South America clings to the bars sucking his thumb, while another puts on a dexterity demonstration with his tail. He is al most as handy with it as with his arms and legs. When the lunch cart heads their way, these clowns bounce from metal bars to bare wall to their private tree down to the feeding door and back around the cage. And when the attend ants toss the green grapes, peeled ba nanas, sliced apples, oranges, cut-up lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots on the floor, nearly every monkey grabs for the grapes.

At the other end of the building, the gibbons with their monster faces are the professional gymnasts at Antelope Zoo. Watching them as they zip up and down from bar to bar can make you dizzy. Most of the other monkeys are more sedate and simply stare back at the visitors. Tarzan and Jane, two sooty manga beys from Africa, look like they put on too much make-up. A pair of Humboldt woollies from South America seem to be sagging under the weight of dark brown, heavy fur overcoats that look much too big for them. A Java monkey named George plays with a bowling ball and wriggles his ears. He is a chuckle to watch even though his ugly teeth indicate he would be far from a comedian if he were still in the wild.

Besides the monkeys, you can see Melody, a three-year-old Himalayan black bear, a lion named Dudley, and an ocelot with the patriotic name of Husker. Then there are the agoutis. Even though these South American animals have no tails, your first impression is that each is a cross between a rat, a kangaroo, and a pig.

In a huge center cage underneath the skylight, water cascades over a rock ledge into a pond frequented by a rain bow of colorful birds. The many species include regal flamingoes with their tangerine feathers and Twiggy legs, six different kinds of pheasants, a spoonbill from India whose unusual feet are not webbed, some Japanese ducks, and the sandhill cranes and mallards so familiar to NEBRASKAland residents.

While Antelope Zoo fascinates animal lovers, a different kind of February treat waits across the state for those with an interest in history. The town of Gordon is working hard to preserve and display its interesting heritage. Special maps have been printed to point people to all the historical spots in or near the town.

The late Andrew Standing Soldier, a famous Sioux artist, captured on canvas the struggles, humor, and despair of his people and the pioneers of the West. Visitors from many states and foreign countries come to see the more than 100 original oil paintings that hang in the Doug Borman salesroom in Gordon. Standing Soldier left his mark at Stock men's Drug, too. Event by event, he traced the history of Gordon with a mural that covers two walls in the store.

The Sand Hills are Mari Sandoz coun try, and Gordon was her hometown. Naturally, people in town want the world to know they are proud of the gifted author. So, tucked away on the top floor of Chamberlin Furniture is a small showroom packed with her personal effects, including clothing, hats, jewelry, scrapbooks, and a chair from her Green wich Village apartment in New York.

The Rawhide Trading Post, the Indian artifacts at Buchan Package Store, and the Sioux pottery at Saults' Drug are other winter attractions that make Gordon one of NEBRASKAland's many cap tivating towns.