NEBRASKAland
WHERE THE WEST BEGINS
December 1970 50 Cents
It's the fun-time of year
For the Record...
HELP WANTED-TOURISM
Some 40 billion per year. And by 1976, our nation's Bicentennial, double that amount. These billions are dollars spent for travel in the United States. Today, tourism is the world's largest single item of international trade. It is the third biggest industry in the U.S. and either first or second in 37 states. Not so in NEBRASKAland.
While Nebraska has a tourism potential of $500 million annually, it flounders around $125 million, falling ever farther behind the other states. Nebraska is like a sprinter who qualifies for a race but can't muster the strength to leave the starting blocks. We can hear the starter's gun but are unable to react.
This "where the West begins" state has always belonged in the travel business. We have unparalleled western history, appealing attractions, productive fishing, the nation's best mixed-bag hunting, ethnic celebrations, rip-snorting rodeos here where rodeo began, hospitable people, and wide-open spaces. Some travel experts believe Nebraska's real stars are its people and its spaciousness.
Only in recent years have Nebraskans begun discovering their home state, and only in 1959 did we begin making any real effort to promote the state —a job that requires team effort from the state, community, individual, and industry. But, Nebraska has been unable to get the job done, lacking woefully in appropriations.
Last year, the 50 states and territories spent $32.8 million for travel advertising and promotion. The average state budget was $596,000. Nebraska spent $80,000. Only one other state appropriated less. Could 48 states be wrong?
Even the federal government appreciates tourism. Some $2.6 billion are spent annually for federal programs involving travel — transportation facilities, recreation, parks, and tourism development — to mention only a few. On the other hand, the federal government realizes $5 billion each year from taxes levied on the travel industry.
Increased tourism adds dollars and job opportunities to the economy. This is particularly important to Nebraska, where our youth desert us for greener pastures elsewhere. Neighboring Colorado reports 33,000 jobs created by tourism that account for $119 million in personal income for Coloradans as a result of the $475 million produced in direct sales revenue. Also, Colorado finds that the average group attracted by state promotion efforts spends twice as much as other visitors.
Tax relief is a gigantic benefit of increased tourist traffic. In Florida, tourists pay 24 percent of all taxes collected. In Nebraska, an estimated IV2 million dollars in taxes were contributed by tourists last year. This is tax money residents do not have to pay.
An expanded travel industry awaits Nebraska. It offers a multimillion-dollar income to supplement agriculture and other leading money producers. It offers thousands of job opportunities, and it offers Nebraskans the pride of sharing their state with the world.
The federal government is a possible helping partner in tourism promotion in coming years, with its $2.4 billion surplus from taxes levied on the travel industry. All or part of this surplus could be spent on non-federal programs, possibly by channeling funds to the states for promotion and advertising.
The immediate partner needed, though, is each Nebraskan. Our decision is simple: (1) do we want to be left forever in the starting blocks? or (2) do we explode from the blocks and race for our rightful share of the billions in tourist dollars? To put Nebraska in the game requires a realistic tourism promotion appropriation —not $80,000 per year!
DECEMBER 1970TWO GREAT EVENTS!
WILDLIFE NEEDS YOUR HELP
Fire is but one of the many hazards faced by wildlife. The No. 1 hardship is the lack of necessary cover for nesting, for loafing, for escape from predators, and for winter survival. You can help! For information, write to: Habitat, Game Commission, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebr. 68509. Provide Habitat... Places Where Wildlife Live Join the ACRES FOR WILDLIFE PROGRAMSpeak Up
NEBRASKAland invites all readers to submit their comments, suggestions, and gripes to SPEAK UP. Each month the magazine will publish as many letters as space permits. Pictures are welcome. NEBRASKAland reserves the right to edit and condense letters.— Editor.
INEXCUSABLE-"I have in my hand a copy of NEBRASKAland, July 1970. On page 30, this statement is made: 'Visitors there witnessed a vast array of animals, birds, and reptiles amidst a planned total zoo investment of nearly $8 million.'
"I did not know that birds and reptiles were plants. This incorrect use of animals is inexcusable. Is the word mammal a dirty word? Children reading this will get the incorrect knowledge of our great assemblage of mammals —to which humans belong.
"I look for a correction in your next issue." — Otis Wade, emeritus professor of geology and anatomy, University of Nebraska, Lincoln.
Due to our printing schedules, a correction was impossible in the August issue. We hope that by printing Mr. Wade's comments the error is rectified. — Editor.
SKINNING SQUIRREL-'I was very interested in your article Dressing Afield (September 1970).
"I would disagree with you, though, on the way you demonstrated the cleaning of squirrel.
"I believe a much easier, faster, and cleaner way of doing it is cutting through the base of the tail next to the buttocks, but not through the skin. Then you can step on the tail and pull on the hind legs. All of the skin will pull off, with the exception of that on the hind feet. You can then grab this piece of skin and pull upward and the squirrel is completely skinned. This way, you get much less hair on the meat.
"I do enjoy NEBRASKAland and feel it is one of the most enjoyable magazines printed." —Robert H. Gyhra, Steinauer.
LEG PULLING —"We and our reception-room people greatly enjoy NEBRASKAland. Many of your pictures are worthy of gold frames. I especially enjoyed Dressing Afield (September 1970).
"In the 1930's, I hunted pheasants with an ardent and skillful hunter. He could dress a cottontail as quick as a wink — almost — without a knife. But his most interesting feat was to take a freshly shot rooster pheasant and put the bird's legs, one at a time, on the style of bumper we had in those days. Then he stepped down hard on the leg and pulled on the bird. The leg would come free, pulling the hard, sinuey tendons with it. I cannot seem to do this, however. Do any of you know how?" —Dr. Fred Svoboda, Cozad.
A survey of our staff leaves us as much in the dark as is Dr. Svoboda. Therefore, we would appreciate hearing from readers who might know the trick. — Editor.
ALL FOR IT-"I noticed the article in the September 1970 NEBRASKAland Speak Up column entitled Fauna Forever.
"I, for one, would be very interested in obtaining a complete book of Nebraska Fauna, were it available." —David C. Nielsen, Blair.
LOOK OUT, MAN-"My comment concerns the letter written by Mr. Doyranli in the September 1970 issue of NEBRASKAland. It was about the exploits of Mr. John Steel and Mr. Doyranli in eastern Turkey (and their hunt for Siberian wolves).
"With such photographic evidence, I can immediately ascertain why the wolf is endangered throughout the world. Such indiscriminate activities can only lead to the inevitable, complete annihilation of the species. Few people would lament the wolfs extinction, but then who would lament for man once he becomes extinct. If man, as a whole, manifests apathy toward the inevitable extinction of the wolf, man's own future is indeed very tenuous."— Larry L. Einemann, West Point.
TOT TEACHER-"I have just had the pleasure of looking through some back issues of NEBRASKAland. The Portraits of the Past (May and June 1970) are beautiful. I will be doing quite a study of Indians, on the Kindergarten level, in the near future. Would it be possible for me to receive the portraits from the May issue? I had hoped to frame each picture, but since they are back to back.... I just hate not being able to show and display each and every beautiful chief.
NEBRASKAland
before you fire. . .
"Also, in the July issue, I do agree all the way with Henrietta Kruger (Speak Up). She said the magazine could be used more in classrooms if geared to childrens' vocabularies." —Mrs. Robert Sutherland, Marshfield, Massachusetts.
FEATHER BOUQUET-"I enjoyed the article Pheasant Decor in the September 1970 issue of NEBRASKAland. I also use pheasant feathers.
"I decided the feathers were too pretty just to throw away. So, I created a pheasant-feather bouquet. Here is a picture of one of my arrangements." —Mrs. Millie Kros, Omaha.
HIGH REGARD-"NEBRASKAland is a magazine which our family has greatly enjoyed for several years. This is one magazine that deserves to be highly regarded. NEBRASKAland is a magazine for people of all ages— 1 to 101. The little ones enjoy looking at the beautiful pictures and older ones find it to be not only enjoyable, but interesting.
"I enjoy it ever so much from cover to back. Since I don't get to go on a vacation very often, NEBRASKAland brings vacation-time enjoyment to me." — Mrs. Lonnie Zywiec, Silver Creek.
TRIBUTE-"Old Barney is dedicated in remembrance of my grandparents, Alvin and Ella Benedict, who homesteaded a quarter section of raw prairie 6 miles south of Plainview, Nebraska in 1882." — Harley O. Smith, Norfolk.
OLD BARNEY by Harley O. Smith I grant you he is useless now — That old bay horse. But I allow He earned his right to live and rest. The summer that we wagoned west Old Barney, there, had just turned four. His team-mate, Dan, was 10 months more. We made the trip with just the two — But Dan and Barney brought us through. 'Twas on the 16th of July, In '82, we said good-bye To Illinois and headed west With Dan and Barney hitched abreast. In heat of day that team would sweat Until they'd both be lather wet. We'd stop at times to cool them off Beside some stream or water trough. At nights we'd aim to try and stay Where we could buy some oats and hay; But there were days they pulled that load And lived on grass along the road. We'd start our daily trek at dawn — To beat the heat of later on. We'd rest a spell at noon, and then We'd hit the westward trail again. From back the day we started out It took us just six weeks about To make it here, where we had planned To file on some still-open land. The day we pulled up here for good I think those geldings understood That on this piece of prairie loam We'd stopped to make our future home. An extra horse had been my aim As soon as we had filed our claim — But horses here were hard to buy And so I thought I'd give a try And see if I could somehow do My work awhile with just the two. For three years straight that team did all My harness work — both spring and fall. As I think back I don't see how They stood up to that breaking plow. In those first years that we were here. Had that team failed me then, I fear We might have lost the heart to stay. I well recall the windy day That I found Barney on the ground — In pain — and thrashing all around. Some moldy oats it may have been, Which he had found, that sickened him. Had Barney died, I rather doubt We'd now be living hereabout. Drouth... and 'hoppers... a three-room shack — I fear we might have journeyed back To Illinois and likely spent Our years and money paying rent. He's 28 — Old Barney, there. Today he's mostly bones and hair. Dan died about 12 years ago — Was only sick a day, or so. But Barney, there, keeps hanging on In spite his teeth are all but gone. To look at Barney, there, today — It's hard to realize the way He'd step across a wagon tongue Back in those years when he was young. To see him drooping out there now It's difficult to picture how, When in his prime, he'd catch the eye Of almost any passerby. It's true those days are past and gone And Barney's now just hanging on. But that old horse that's dozing there Much more than earned his right to share In what this place has come to be. The years he worked and sweat for me; The days he strained ahead that plow — I'd hate to think I'd failed him now. If ever horse deserved his care, It's that old horse you see out there. NEBRASKAlandAS CLOSE AS YOUR PHONE AS NEAR AS YOUR MAIL BOX
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209 SO. 13 • 56TH & O • LINCOLN 1716 SECOND AVE. • SCOTTSBLUFFDOWN THE DRAIN
HAVING HEARD THAT a dying man sees his whole life pass before him in a flash, I always thought it was just so much blarney. Now it was happening to me, and I was in too much of a fix to be making any long-range plans.
Just an instant before, I had fallen into a pool of water above a 30-inch drainage pipe, and had been sucked into the opening like a spider being swallowed by a bathtub drain. Now I was zipping along the inside of the pipe on a 640-foot journey, which included a 40-foot drop, a 90-degree turn, and a narrowing of the pipe to a mere 18 inches, wondering all the time just what shape I would be in when I finally reached the end.
It happened more than 30 years ago —December 5, 1939, to be exact. I was working on Kingsley Dam near Ogallala at a time when this Nebraska landmark was little more than a low pile of earth covered by a tangle of men and machinery. Lake McConaughy beyond was just a wide spot in the North Platte River.
Second-largest hydraulic-fill dam in the world, Kingsley was built by pumping sand from the riverbed to form its sides while, at the same time, pumping clay to the center of the dam to form a water-tight core.
Part of my job was to regulate the pumping of the Brule clay that was to form the core of the dam. The clay was piped to the center of the dam, suspended in water, and the excess was drained off through several huge pipes. A shallow covering of water was kept on the core at all times. Lids on the pipes were opened with a long pole, then closed by the same method when enough water had run off.
I was trying to close the lid on one of these pipes when the pole slipped. I fell into the water and was sucked into the opening.
The water was extremely cold. And, although I was trying to hold my breath, the high pressure forced water past my tightly closed lips into my throat, lungs, and stomach.
From the beginning of the journey to the end, through the 90-degree bend, down the 40-foot drop, and out the final 18-inch section, I never touched the walls of the pipe. The journey seemed to take a lifetime, but a more realistic estimate would be in the neighborhood of 1 1/2 to 2 minutes.
I was about at the end of my rope doubting my ability to hold out much longer, when the pipe spewed me out on a pile of gravel on the western face of the dam. I lay there for a minute. Then, thinking I wasn't NEBRASKAland
I wras blue and shaking like a leaf from the cold. My fellow workers gave me some of their clothes, which seemed perfectly logical. But when they took me to a car for a trip to the hospital, I protested loudly.
The ride was an adventure in itself, as the car careened along dirt and gravel roads. But, it was a good thing the boys acted the way they did, because soon after I got to the hospital I went into shock from the cold.
When I finally regained consciousness, I realized the seriousness of what I had been through. I had been coughing up quite a bit of water and mud, and I felt terrible. It took 10 days in the hospital before I felt well enough to leave. My hair turned completely white during the time I was in shock in the hospital, and has stayed that color to this day.
Though Kingsley Dam was less than half finished when it almost claimed my life, I was around to see it finished. And I watched Lake Mac DECEMBER 1970 gradually become vital as a source of irrigation water for a large part of Nebraska, as well as a fisherman's paradise and water playground for the whole state.
Now and then I pass over the spot where the big pipe sucked me in. Near the center of the earth-fill portion of the dam, it is some 4,000 feet from the south end. The place where I fell into the water is now under thousands of tons of earth. The pile of gravel where I emerged is under almost 80 feet of Lake McConaughy's water.
Even after all the changes, I still remember the dam as it was 30 years ago, and I still recall that trip through the tube as if it happened only last week. THE END
Go Adventuring!
OFFICIAL ENTRY BLANK
NEBRASKAland Photo Contest State Capitol Lincoln, Nebraska 68509 Name Street City State Zip Code Number in Family Category Where Taken Camera Used F/stop Shutter Speed This photograph is submitted with the understanding I agree to be bound by the rules of the NEBRASKAland Color Photo Contest as published in NEBRASKAland Magazine. For additional entry blanks include above information or write NEBRASKAland Photo Contest, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebraska 68509. SignedTAKE A STATE PARK VACATION
Plan ahead for next year's summer holiday in any of Nebraska's four beautiful state parks: Fort Robinson, Ponca, Chadron, or Niobrara Send for complete details from NEBRASKAland, State Capitol Lincoln, Nebraska 68509 11
BOTTLES IN LEATHER
Attractive flasks that lend themselves to easy covering make Christmas gifts with personal touch for leisure hours
THE SAME OLD dilemma presents itself every year at Christmas time —what to give Dad. The problem becomes increasingly difficult with each festive season. He got a shirt last year and a set of cuff links the year before. Other years he received a tie, a gun case, some fishing lures, and a bottle of after-shave lotion.
Here is an idea for a gift with a personal touch. With the field narrowing, why not give him a leather-covered bottle for his basement bar? You can cover the flask easily yourself, and he will probably appreciate the fact that you put personal effort into his gift.
Materials needed are an attractively shaped bottle with no printing on the glass where it will show and all labels removed, a piece of good leather large enough for the pattern you use and finished on one side, at least eight feet of leather thong, 60 gold or silver eyelets, a leather punch, an eyelet setter, and glue.
First, make a paper pattern. This is done by rolling the bottle over the DECEMBER 1970 paper, tracing along the bottom of the bottle and the point where the shoulder is widest at the top as it rolls. If the bottle is round but not tapered, the lines will be straight. But if it tapers toward the neck, they will be curved. In this case, it is important to trace both top and bottom lines accurately.
Leather width is determined by marking one spot on the bottle with a piece of tape. Indicate on the pattern where the mark falls when it is straight down, and where it falls again after one complete revolution.
After the pattern is drawn, it must be transferred to the leather and cut out.
Next, draw a line around the perimeter of the pattern, a quarter of an inch from the edge. Dots, spaced three-eighths or half-inch apart, are marked on the line. All markings should be on the inner, unfinished side of the leather.
Now, punch a hole at each dot and
put an eyelet in each hole. Eyelet
and hole sizes depend on the thong
you use. Hobby stores sell standard-size eyelets, and these are the best.
Leather thong, which will pass
13
The final step is to lace the thong through the eyelets to form a leather jacket for the bottle. Initial loops will be difficult. But, after the first few, the jacket will gradually tighten into place. Ends of the thong can be tucked under the leather and glued into place.
Remaining thong is used to lace around the bottom and top of the leather.
Many variations of this basic method can be used to enhance the appearance of the finished product. For instance, if you are adept at leather tooling, you might wish to design the cover before encasing the bottle. If you want to get fancy with the jacket's edges, try cutting a wavy line. Or, if you have a lot of spare thong, try a double lacing around the edges, which circumvent the bottle, to give a woven effect.
In choosing a bottle, find one with a cork, rather than a screw-on top. It will look better. Replacement corks can be purchased at hobby stores and can be painted to match the leather jacket.
There you have it —a new solution for an old problem. It doesn't take long to cover a bottle — four hours at the most. The reaction to such a gift on Christmas morning will repay your effort. THE END
14
Fishari
We set our own challenge - to fill stringers when summer is hottest at three different waters
THE INTERSTATE 80 lake at the Maxwell Interchange looked good. It was clean, with dark, open patches between masses of vegetation. My boss, Dick Schaffer, chief of the Game and Parks Commission's Information and Tourism Division, and I had departed Lincoln in the wee hours of August 19 on a three-day fishing excursion, and this was our first stop.
Although our expedition had pleasurable overtones, our basic purpose was to fish three locations in three days, and to catch as many fish as possible. It was, therefore, a "fishari" with us hitting unfamiliar water to sample fish populations and try our luck, despite the lateness of the season.
Waiting for us in the Interstate pond were smallmouth bass and rock bass, and probably catfish, although we wouldn't try for them. It took only minutes to unlimber our tackle after leaving the car. Dick chose a spinning rig with a striped spoon dangling at the business end. Although a slight breeze rippled the surface, interfering with my rather inept fly-rodding efforts, I tied on a woolly black fly and set out.
Lo and behold, my first cast, barely 20 feet from shore, produced the outing's first action. A smallmouth bass, just under one pound, grabbed my offering and put up a splashy, showy battle right in front of Dick, who was still tying knots in his monofilament. That fish put promise into our venture, and I placed the fish into a wire basket with an unnecessary show of pride.
About an hour more proved fruitless, except for a couple of small rock bass, as we fought the wind and weeds. Finally, we launched our small boat and got out among the fish. Then business picked up fast. Rock bass were surface feeding all around us, and wherever we went we seemed to catch them. For a while, my black woolly fly worked quite well. Then the balance changed and Dick took dozens of rockies on his flashy artificials while I threshed away without reward. If the bass were hanging out in schools, there must have been many dozens of schools throughout the lake, for any spot was productive. Occasionally Dick even latched onto a smallmouth next to a column of moss. The largest rock bass we landed would still have to have the spoon in him to weigh half a pound. But we were meat fishing so they were fair game. Our four smallmouths averaged just under one pound. Still, the mass of fish was astounding. Total weight NEBRASKAland
As with all things, good or bad, we had to call a halt. We were due in North Platte for the second leg of our three-day fishari. Some mighty welcome and experienced help was waiting for that segment, which involved setting bank lines for catfish in a canal running from Lake Maloney to the South Platte River.
Our guides and equippers for the setline running would be Emil (Butch) Nieman of North Platte, and George Rishling of Chadron. Both have years of catfishing experience, and their talents showed in the next few hours. In the time it took me to clean our mess of bass from the Maxwell lake, Dick, George, and Butch set out a system of setlines rigged with their favorite bait —frogs.
By 7 p.m. they finished baiting and marking setline locations with a small pile of rocks atop the canal embankment so they could be spotted after dark. And, most of our fishing was long after dark.
The seemingly huge supply of frogs our guides had on hand when we arrived dwindled rapidly. So, between checks on the lines, we headed a few miles south to a couple of ponds where, hopefully, there would be a bountiful supply of hoppers. It was 2:30 a.m. Thursday, as Dick and I inched along the shore of an obscure lagoon, peering down at the mud with the aid of two dimming flashlights. After some 25 minutes, we were richer by one small frog and two sand toads. Fortunately, George had been stalking an adjacent pond and returned to the car bearing a minnow bucket half full of frisky leapers.
Then it was back to the canal to run the lines for a second time. With a total of 18 lines and 51 hooks, we were under our combined legal limit, but that didn't keep us from scoring. Several whiskered customers awaited us, including one grandaddy cat that later weighed out just under nine pounds.
Most of our rigs carried three hooks, but a couple had only two. The main lines averaged 20 feet in length with droppers roughly a foot long. Each set was anchored to a stake near the canal's waterline. George ran his lines around clumps of grass or weeds so that any hooked fish would automatically signal its presence. Butch, however, weighted his lines (Continued on page 56)
19
TALE OF AN INDIAN MESSIAH
No matter what his belief, man has always looked to some supreme being for guidance, spiritual solace
Down through the centuries that man has stalked the earth, he has never walked alone. In his heart and in his mind, he has always believed that a supreme being watched and guided him. For some, pagan idols proviaed the solace that filled his mind and decided the paths he trod. Yet, no matter what his belief, man has always looked to one all-powerful being. And, in each culture, parallels exist which lead to the one we of the western world call God. A product of the Middle East, our religion also finds similarities among the ancient traditions of the American Indian. In this, the Christmas season, a time devoted to religious reverence, let us delve into one such tale of the Omaha Indians. To them, a personification of many of our religious principles walked amongst them. Read thi story carefully. You, too, will find the similarities in this tale of the Messiah cast upon a wild and beautiful background that was Nebraska.
HE WAS BORN to the eldest of Sky-Walker's wives, in the time when the lone goose flies (February). The event was full of wonder for the people of the Omaha village, because the squaw was far beyond her years, her hair was white, and she was spare and wrinkled. Sky-Walker was a seer of visions and a man of great strength of spirit among his people, and he could make it rain. So, a son born to this couple caused a great stir among the people of the village. When they came to gaze upon the child, there was much discussion of him. Older braves said that he would never be a great warrior, nor would he become a skilled (Continued on page 54)
Stalking the Snow
DECEMBER 1970Brisk breezes of winter call all sportsmen to out-of-doors and create priceless hunting memories
SOFT SNOWFLAKES drifted down as the sportsman left his car and crossed a ditch to the field where he would hunt. Mounds of white capped each fence post. Tiny flakes, balanced precariously on the thin strands of barbed wire, shook loose and fell to the ground as he crawled through the fence. He stopped to survey the white landscape. Brushy draws, fringed with bunchgrass, extended like icy fingers to the creekbed half a mile below. To the north a red line of sumac outlined the juniper grove where deer bedded at night. Unseen, beyond the junipers, lay a farmstead and its tumbledown orchard. Birds fed in the forgotten remains of a summertime cornfield.
It was a good day for hunting. He broke his
20-gauge double and slipped two shells into the
chambers. The army of opening-day hunters
had gone and the countryside was his own. His
boots parted the snow easily as he started down
the draw. He reached the edge of the field,
when suddenly a covey of quail took him by
surprise—just as the first one always did. He
brought up his gun, and the polished, walnut
stock felt cool against his cheek as he picked a
bird, followed, and watched it fall Automatically, he swung over to a late riser. It, too,
plummeted to the ground. A feeling of satisfaction gradually swelled within him as he
23
Slowly he worked his way along the edge of the field, looking for singles. A cock pheasant cackled skyward —an easy target compared with the speedy quail. The 20 gauge cracked and the bird tumbled down.
By mid-morning his game pouch bulged with the comfortable weight of two pheasant and five quail. During his hunt he had been following the tracks of a coyote and had read the story, imprinted in the snow, of a rabbit that had barely made it to the cover of brush, leaving the coyote to continue his hungry wandering.
Brushing the snow from a log, he sat to relax, and pulled an apple to munch from his coat pocket. The snow had stopped falling and the gray sky began to brighten. Thin columns of sunlight filtered down, changing the muted tones of the landscape into sparkling hues. Trees on the hillside across the creekbed were etched NEBRASKAland
The only thing that had ever rivalled this hunt were the times he had gone after waterfowl late in the fall. He reflected on the magic of the river, along which he had trudged, and the ducks he had found there, driven down from the north by winter winds. The magic had been there in the wind as it sang through the reeds, and in the faraway formations of mallards set against the background of a blue-gray sky. The magic had been there in cold hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee, in drab decoys bobbing on the gentle waves, which soon would turn to ice. He remembered the graceful arc of the flock's last swing, the whistle of wings overhead, the faint aroma of burnt powder, and the muffled splash of a downed duck hitting the chilly water.
He remembered the evening darkness as it had crept across the water, turning the decoys DECEMBER 1970
Now, the raucous caw of a crow overhead brought him back to reality. Warm sunlight shone down, forming tiny rivulets at the stream's edge, eating away the ice.
It was time to draw his birds and be on his way. The multi-colored feathers of the pheasants he had just shot glowed with iridescent brilliance as he laid them out on the virgin mantle of snow that had been their home.
Cleaning completed, he washed his hands in the icy water of the stream, shouldered his shotgun, and continued on his way. There were more stories to be read in the snow. THE END
NEBRASKAland
"GO BIG RED" BASKETBALL
Plucking the plum of success, Joe Cipriano's cagers are out to grab their share of the Nebraska sportlight
EACH FALL the chant, "Go Big Red", echoes across Nebraska as the battle cry of the most followed cause in the state. Many thousands of the faithful flock to the University of Nebraska's Memorial Stadium in Lincoln to watch the Cornhusker gridiron gladiators do battle with some of the nation's top football organizations and the best in the Big 8. Win, lose, or draw, the scarlet and cream garners the respect and affection of their myriad fans, many of whom consider Big Red synonymous with football.
There is another side to the Cornhusker sporting scene, however; one which is all too often neglected. It is basketball, the fastest growing spectator sport at the University of Nebraska. With the same name as the football team, these cage Cornhuskers are rapidly gaining their own share of the limelight which once was reserved for only the Saturday afternoon heroes. Under the seasoned hand of head coach Joe Cipriano, Nebraska has shot into the position of a team to be reckoned with throughout the United States.
Joe Cipriano is a young man with a mission — making as many people as possible aware of the fact that the University of Nebraska has a sound basketball program, as well as one of the most renowned football teams in the nation.
Cipriano, head coach of the NU basketball squad since 1963, is not trying to take the spotlight away from Coach Bob Devaney and the football team, nor does he want to. But he lives, breathes, eats, and sleeps basketball, and wants his team to earn a portion of the Cornhusker enthusiasm generated by a winning football tradition.
"Bob Devaney is the greatest coach in the business, and we've got the greatest fans in the world," Cipriano says. "I just want the fans to have some fun during basketball season —after the football team has started getting ready for a bowl game."
Cipriano is a walking ambassador and fighter for his program and his players. "I talk it up the year around because that's my job," Joe grins. "If we're going to recruit and win, we're going to have to think basketball all the time. That's what I try to do."
Nebraska has achieved remarkable success under Cipriano, shaking off losing tradition to become a consistent winner, annual Big 8 contender, and has been a representative of the Big 8 in the National Invitational Tournament at (Continued on page 54)
28 NEBRASKAland
LIFE IN A CABOOSE
Tail-end car of westbound freight proves adventure on wheels rolling across state
FIFTEEN DOLLARS and twenty-five cents can buy a lot or a little, depending on how the money is spent. Handed over to a Union Pacific Railroad ticket agent this summer, it bought a session of "crummy" fun in Nebraska and paid half the tuition of an extraordinary field trip for myself and NEBRASKAland Magazine's photographer Norm Hellmers.
"Crummy" is a trainman's pet name for a caboose. For two days in mid-September, Norm and I examined Union Pacific Railroad operations in Nebraska from the inside out, crossing the state in a U.P. "crummy". Our two-day life in a caboose proved both exciting and educational.
We were both anxious for the trip. Dick Tincher, assistant director of the Union Pacific's public relations department, greeted Norm and me on a rainy Monday morning with an enthusiastic welcome. All three of us climbed into U.P. caboose No. 25658. Our trip was unusual because passengers are normally not allowed in the caboose.
"When do we leave?" I asked, after we had been in the caboose for about 20 minutes. "This is a freight train and we have no minute-to-minute schedule, but it shouldn't be long now," Conductor Edward Sempeck explained. A few minutes later, the caboose jerked and we began to move.
It was raining harder as we approached the summit of the Omaha yards. Heavy clouds shrouded the Omaha skyline. Eager, to say the least, Norm and I assumed strategic positions in the caboose's "cupola". The cupola is a dome-type structure that juts up from the top of the caboose. It is enclosed in glass, thus allowing the trainmen an uncluttered view of the train ahead.
Our morning freight was the Rock Island Extra 53 West. It was 10:40 a.m. when we finally rolled out of the Omaha yards. Within minutes the train began to pick up speed. Soon we were swTaying with the side-to-side motion of the train and listening to the clickety-clack of the wheels on the track.
As could be expected, we weren't far from home when Conductor Sempeck came asking for tickets. We produced them, and all was well. As he went about his tasks, Norm and I watched curiously as the trainmen did their work. Obviously, they were old hands at their jobs. Conductor Sempeck told me that he had been with Union Pacific 48 years. Retirement was in the offing. In discussing his experiences, we figured that he had travelled more than two million miles while on the job.
Dick, who was in the cupola with us, estimated that we were riding the rails at about 60 miles per hour. He explained that 70 mph is the speed limit for a freight train in Nebraska. However, he pointed out that there was little worry of exceeding the limit today since our train was more than IV2 miles long.
We were part of a 140-car train, plus 5 giant locomotives, the biggest of which produced some 5,500 horsepower. The smaller ones were each capable of about 3,000 horsepower —a combined total of 17,500 horsepower.
Of the total number of cars, 52 were loaded. The other 88 were empty and on their way to Bailey Yard in North Platte where they would be dispatched on a work order. Our total train weight was 11,294,000 pounds, including cars, freight, and engines. The freight cars varied in load capacity from 50 to 100 tons.
"Freight cars certainly aren't what they used to be," Dick
said. "They used to be just box cars and flat cars, but today
31
In checking over the train's cargo list, we noted that a little of everything was aboard. The goods ranged from rugged army tanks to fragile glassware. Ammunition, truck cabs, canned factory foods, bricks, automobiles, drugs, sugar, spices, and chemicals — all had a place on the Rock Island Extra 53 West. Each product was riding in its own special car, be it refrigerated, flat, long, or short. The cargo was important to a lot of people. I could easily understand a statement Dick had made earlier that just about every product available to the American consumer is transported by rail at one time or another, either as a finished product, raw material, or a component part.
Suddenly, the train began to slow. "Trouble?" I asked. "Nope, no cow on the tracks, just slowing up for the Fremont yards. Always go slow through a city's yards," our brakeman, Dallas Newman, informed me. Looking out the window to see Fremont, I was taken aback to see only wide-open spaces and stretching cornfields. "Fremont?" I asked. "That's right," Dallas said.
Finally it soaked in. The train was more than 1 1/2 miles long. The front of the train was now entering and passing through the Fremont yards. But we at the end were still 1 1/2 miles out of town.
After we had cleared Fremont, the Fremont State Lakes slipped by on the right, while the wandering Platte followed along on the left. Numerous small sandpits dotted the river course, each snugly nestled amongst trees and shrubs.
There is some unexplainable mystery and lore about the railroad. Whether it is the colorful history, or the romance of the smoke-belching "iron horse" of yesteryear, something indescribable seems to cloak the atmosphere with mystery.
Re-examining our environment, our caboose wasn't really a crummy, as the trainmen called it. The car was equipped with a refrigerator and a bathroom, but curtains it lacked. Suitable leather cushions lined bench seats on the ground floor as well as perches in the cupola.
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We arrived in Grand Island at 1:30 p.m. The train was scheduled to acquire a new crew, and with the change, Dick asked if we would like to abandon the caboose for the head end and check out the engineering operation. Norm and I both agreed that life in a caboose wouldn't be complete without knowledge of what goes on up front.
We bade our "old" acquaintances farewell, welcomed a new conductor and brakeman aboard, then lit out for the engine. At 1:50 p.m. we began edging out of the Grand Island yards.
Our new quarters in the locomotive cab were completely different, both in appearance and mood. Movement was restricted because the compartment was small. Only three chairs were available and they were all taken when we arrived. The new crew included an engineer, head brakeman, and a fireman.
We took turns standing on the way to North Platte, but the experience was worth any discomfort. Conversation was limited to the engine. The trainmen maintained an attitude of extreme seriousness and caution.
The steel bands of track passed quickly beneath us. At each automobile crossing —there seemed to be thousands — the engineer sounded his whistle long and loud.
"It's probably our worst fear," related veteran engineer Frank Hayden of North Platte. "It seems that some folks just don't like to wait for trains and will invariably try to beat them. Sometimes they don't. That's when nobody wants to be an engineer."
Our Rock Island Extra 53 West pulled into North Platte's Bailey Yard at 4:43 p.m. The time had passed quickly. Again, we said goodby to our new acquaintances, thanking them for their patience and cooperation.
Dick escorted us into the yard's station for a brief look at the paper side of the organization. We then proceeded to the all-new, multi-million-dollar eastbound "hump" for a grass roots look at operations there. The new sorting facility is the most modern in the world, and is capable of sorting two complete trains at once.
The massive challenges of keeping tabs on more than 60,000 freight cars, some 2,000 passenger cars, and 1,600 locomotives, maintaining more than 10,000 miles of track and who knows how many employees, truly left us baffled.
We departed Bailey Yard in a daze. Dinner was next on the agenda, and then we were to bunk in North Platte for the night.
Rain continued into the next morning when Dick awakened us at an unbelievably early hour. We had to step on it to catch the Extra Southern Pacific Manifest.
After a hot breakfast, we climbed aboard Southern Pacific caboose No. 1713 to begin the second day of our lives in this caboose saga. Our new home fit the trainmen's nickname of "crummy" much more appropriately than the previous day's rolling headquarters for trainmen. The greatest variation between the U.P. caboose and the S.P. rig was that the latter lacked a cupola. It was outfitted with bay windows that jutted out from each side of the car, thus allowing the conductor and brakeman full view of the train ahead.
Today's mile-long train was made up of 100 freight cars. The total weight of the train was 10,120,000 pounds with 74 cars loaded and 26 empty. Only four locomotives pulled the Extra (Continued on page 64)
DECEMBER 1970
A Galley of Winter Songbirds
ANY PEOPLE believe that after the flurry of fall migration, Nebraska's bird population is reduced to only those species commonly found around feeders.
On the contrary, woods and thickets often abound with birds where proper food and shelter exist. A few are familiar, year-round residents such as cardinals, blue jays, and chickadees. Others are birds from the north country, which migrate southward to winter in Nebraska's more hospitable climate.
NEBRASKAland Magazine's wildlife artist, C. G. (Bud) Pritchard, employed watercolor and brush to produce this gallery of winter songbirds. Both permanent residents and winter visitors are included.' They are birds well worth looking for in any of the areas where they spend the wiftter months. The flash (Continued on page 64)
38 NEBRASKAland
60-Year Diary
Record of permits and takes spanning more than half a century are memoirs of this Cambridge outdoorsman
48 NEBRASKAlandNEBRASKA'S FIRST pheasant season may be remembered by many hunters, but few persons think of that memorable occasion as only a minor part of the over-all hunting picture in the state. Aaron A. Mousel of Cambridge, however, considers pheasant hunting a modern innovation on Nebraska's outdoor sports scene. This is only natural, as he has been gunning for a wide range of game birds in the state for well over 75 years now, and is still hitting the ponds and fields fairly regularly.
A spry, avid hunter at age 85, Aaron started at age 7 with a single-shot 12 gauge. Prairie chickens were his primary goal as a youngster, although waterfowl and quail were also plentiful.
"We almost lived off game back then. When I went out to check the cows, I would take the shotgun along and also check the ponds. There were usually ducks on them, and it wasn't any trick to pick off one or two. Of course, it was all black powder in those days, and you had to be pretty keen because the first shot had to count, since, after firing, you couldn't see for a while. A huge smoke cloud hung over you, especially on a calm, muggy day."
As chairman of the board of the First National Bank in Cambridge, Aaron could probably have slipped away for hunting trips almost any time he wanted in later years, but he usually devoted only the weekends to his life-long hobby. He started banking in 1906, and has been in Cambridge since 1914. In 1908 he purchased his first, and last new gun. It was a 12-gauge autoloader, and he still uses that same shotgun, but did send it back to the factory to be rebuilt a few years ago.
A native Nebraskan all the way, Aaron was born in a little sodhouse just north of the present town of Cambridge. His father settled in the region in 1876 when it was still wild country. Game was abundant — so much so that Aaron did some market hunting for several years. Quail brought $1 a dozen, and grouse sold for 25 cents each.
"I don't know how they got the stuff to market, as the birds were simply field dressed and stuffed with straw. They went back east by train, I guess to Chicago," Aaron recalls. "The money I got from the birds was enough to keep me in shells, and they cost only 35 cents a box then."
The first pheasant season in the state was in 1927, but only in the eastern part of the state. It was 1930 when the ringneck was added to the hunting roster in southwest Nebraska. For Aaron, it came about midway in his hunting career, so he has been able to watch the changes in success over the years —not only of pheasants, but also of quail, grouse, and waterfowl.
One way he keeps track of success is by jotting down the tally of his "harvest" each year in a small book, which also contains his past hunting stamps and permits. The first license in the book is dated 1910, and with the exception of 1911, which he apparently lost, he has every permit since, including 1970. He also has federal duck stamps since the first year of their issuance in 1935, and the upland bird stamps since 1955.
Aaron planted some of the first ring-necked pheasants in his area, and he was also one of the first to harvest them. During the 1930 season, he brought home six of the colorful new birds. The next year he bagged 11; then in 1932 his take climbed to 16, and the following year, to 19.
"Pheasant hunting was probably the best during World War II. Conditions were good, and there were DECEMBER 1970 not many hunters in the field. I suppose 1945 must be considered my best year, for I downed 92 pheasants that year."
Occasionally Aaron neglected to enter the number of birds taken during a season, but most years he did. The most apparent change was in prairie chickens. The years 1917 to 1919 were only fair, with bags of 12, 7, and 12 respectively. Then, in 1920, his harvest jumped to 45, and for several years it remained high— up in the 40's — then dropped.
"When the birds slimmed down around here, I hunted them around Haigler for a few years." In 1927, he zeroed in on only 7 chickens, and that was the last year his diary shows any. From that time on, waterfowl, quail, and pheasant made up his shooting agenda. Ringnecks became increasingly important to all shotgunners in the state over the years, but numbers fluctuated considerably.
Extremely dry years have a detrimental effect on game populations, Aaron believes. One year there were numerous young birds in the spring, but a veritable drought occurred during the summer. By fall, only a sprinkling of adult birds remained.
"In recent years, this same effect is being caused by chemicals," Aaron says. "A couple of years ago, the town of Cambridge was sprayed with a chemical to control Dutch elm disease. The next morning, one business place in town counted 26 dead robins on the lawn. You know the same thing has to be happening to pheasants out in the fields when they are sprayed. It just has to be killing them."
Much of Aaron's hunting has been as a "loner", because he got used to going afield alone as a youngster. There just weren't many neighbors around in those days. In later years, however, he often went out with companions "because it makes the hunt more enjoyable and also because you get more game up."
In all of those 78 or so years, there has never been a hunting accident to mar the enjoyment. There was a close call one time, though. It happened when a beginning hunter joined the ranks of the "crew" and was placed about midway in the line during a drive through a field. Near the end of the field a rooster got up almost directly in front of the novice, and he promptly started throwing lead at it. What he neglected to notice, however, was his proximity to the blockers, and his shots barely missed a couple of them, and pellets rattled uncomfortably close to several others. "That fellow may be running yet, but he sure learned a lesson in safety that day," Aaron observed.
One day Aaron also learned a lesson, one he still practices today. It was many years ago when he and a companion were hunting ducks on the river. A flock passed over and Aaron downed one, but it dropped on an island some distance away. Deciding to wade across, he hitched up his waders and stepped into the water. His companion, perhaps wanting to be helpful, offered to hold his gun for him, and Aaron agreed. Then he waded across and was about to pick up the duck when a flock of 40 or 50 geese came drifting up the river.
"They were just barely over the tops of the willows. I could actually see their eyes —in fact I see them yet," he said. "And there I was without my gun. It was one of those rare chances you don't like to miss, but I missed it. I have never let anyone hold my gun for me since."
Many other hunts hold special memories, but one in particular that Aaron recalls is a trip he, his brother, and a friend took into (Continued on page 56)
49
SANTA'S FOR REAL
Old Saint Nick lives in the hearts of adults, minds of children during snowbound frontier adventure
GRANDPA set his little grandson on his knee and said: "Yes, my lad, there is a Santa Claus." "But a boy at school told me there was no Santa Claus—just our ma s and pa s," the lad replied. "He is mistaken, my boy, just like many others are mistaken. There has been a Santa Claus ever since fathers and mothers rocked their little ones to sleep. There will be a Santa Claus just as long as there are hearts to make glad. "But Grandpa, how can Santa Claus be everywhere on Christmas?" the young one asked.
'That, young fellow, is a question I can no more answer than I can explain why the sun shines or the wind blows. I only know he can, and does appear wherever there is love. I'll tell you how I know Santa Claus can be anywhere and everywhere.
"A great many years ago, I was like one of those boys at school who don't believe in Santa Claus. Well, I believe in him now because I found him away out on the Nebraska prairie in a terrible snowstorm. I didn't exactly see him, but I know he was there because I saw what he did.
'You see, it was this way. Away back yonder there were few people in Nebraska, and most of them were poor. Towns were small and far apart, and many people lived in houses made of sod. The trains didn't have big engines or steam-heated cars like they do today. No Sir, they had little bits of engines and wooden coaches heated by stoves, and the trains rattled and banged along like they never would get anywhere.
'Well, the morning before this particular Christmas when I discovered Santa, I got on one of those trains at Fremont. It had only two cars. I was going out to a town called Valentine to work. That was long before I knew Grandma, so I didn't care where I went. Well, it was snowing awfully hard when the train started from Fremont early in the morning, and by noon the wind was blowing the (Continued on page 57)
DECEMBER 1970 51
We Dig Herby
Excited, Larry and I uncover skull from Indian burial site in unusual discovery
AN EXPEDITION into the wilds of Central Nebraska in search of an ancient archeological digging on a perfectly good Saturday afternoon sounded kind of strange when Larry Molczyk brought it up.
Larry and I had been collecting Indian artifacts for almost five years —ever since junior high —when he came up with the great idea of taking his archeological crew (me) to Indian Hill, near Palmer.
The Palmer site was first reported by Major Sibley in 1811 as the probable site of a Skidi Pawnee village. Subsequent visits to the site were made by Long and Morse in 1820, Irving in 1833, and Dunbar in 1836.
The site was rediscovered in 1922 by A. T. Hill of Hastings. Hill carried on extensive excavations on several grave sites.
Indian Hill became famous locally as the largest amateur digging in central Nebraska. Over the years, it has been repeatedly excavated by people from surrounding communities. In fact, at one time the children of Palmer went out to Indian Hill for an annual picnic to celebrate the end of school. Needless to say, this uncontrolled digging has riddled the hill, and I believe that is why it has never been properly exposed.
That was also the reason Larry wanted to go there — to properly expose it. He always had this thing about making a great scientific discovery, like Robin Hood's hideout or the remnants of a Phoenician settlement in Ireland.
Larry had not been to the hill since he was five and I had never seen it, but he phoned me one Saturday afternoon during the spring of our junior year, and ordered me to be on my back porch with all my collecting gear in 10 minutes.
To the untrained eye, Indian Hill looked like any other unimpressive lump of brown clay and sage in the Loup River Valley, but the calcite rock, which peppered only that particular hill, marked it as a burial ground. These mineral deposits have resulted from constant decomposition of bone and are found in most grave sites over 100 years old. Some even take the shape of the bones themselves.
While digging in an established area was a tremendous asset, collecting arrowheads still depended a lot on luck. Every old-timer we ever talked to told us that the only way to find artifacts was to pick a likely looking spot and start digging.
Four likely looking spots later, I was getting a little discouraged about Indian Hill, the Pawnee nation, and archeology in general. Larry wasn't.
Actually, if it hadn't been for Larry's persistent hacking with my army surplus spade, what was about to happen probably never would have occurred.
We were about 18 inches down —or rather Larry was; I was getting ready to leave —when pieces of what looked like soggy cardboard started turning up. After closer investigation, these proved to be fragments of the brain case of a Lower Loup Pawnee Indian. We began digging much slower and soon uncovered the lower jaw. I continued to remove the skull while Larry made pilot holes around me, searching for the rest of the skeleton.
Five minutes later, he was pulling bones out of the clay three feet to my right and mumbling to himself about facing bodies in an easterly direction and laying them in a fetal position. Nearly all Pawnee skeletons are placed in the grave in this manner — the head to the east and the body curled and bent, lying on its side.
We spent the rest of the afternoon enlarging the grave site and uncovering the body. I had discovered half a dozen blue and red clay beads when Larry turned 52
We learned later that the cigar rock was a whet-stone. These whetstones are found in about 80 percent of the male Pawnee burial sites, usually in association with the left hand.
Because of the position of the grave—14.75 meters above the river bottom and less than 5 from the hill's summit —we assumed that the Indian must have been of some importance to the tribe, possibly a medicine man or chief.
It was after six o'clock, so we covered the skeleton with clay and, taking only the skull and artifacts, we returned to Grand Island.
The next day we added one more to our expeditionary force, Howard Heideman, our high school biology instructor. The three of us arrived at the site early Sunday morning and uncovered the grave. Heideman made several observations Larry and I had neglected earlier.
He noted that the teeth of the Indian were almost perfectly matched and were ground flat. Ground teeth were common among the Lower Loup Pawnees. They were caused by the stone-ground corn meal which was a staple in the Pawnee diet.
There was no question that the body was that of an Indian. Naturally, the artifacts were the initial clue. However, the deep-set eye sockets and heavy cheekbones are typical of the Skidi Pawnee tribal group, as is the sloping forehead.
Heideman labled the skeleton as male because of the triangular shape of the pelvis and the heavy brow.
Armed with a small spade, pocket knives, and a rusted nail, we uncovered the right half of the rib cage, several sections of the lower vertebrae, the upper right arm, and the right shoulder. Evidently, the left side, which was buried lower than the right and rested on the hard clay about two feet below the surface, had deteriorated faster. There was no way to really tell how deep the body had been buried. But, we guessed that the earth had worn down about three feet since the Pawnees had abandoned the burial ground 150 years earlier.
It was also Heideman who first noticed the most distinct feature of our discovery — the broken leg.
We were cleaning away loose earth to prepare the grave for photographing, when he grabbed the right femur from under my knife and showed it to Larry, who began screaming something about the greatest archeological find of the century.
At some time during the Indian's life, the leg had been broken at the hip and never set. The bone had healed in this position, making that leg about four inches shorter. The extent of mending proved that the fracture had occurred some 10 years before death.
What followed is merely a matter of record. We returned to Grand Island that afternoon and, with Heideman's help, Larry and I prepared a scientific paper entitled, "Report of Lower Loup Indian Burial Excavation", which included the history of the site, its location, method of excavation, and acknowledgments. Heideman also took "Herby" (that's what we named the skeleton) to the University of Nebraska, where it was examined by R. Clark Mallam of the Department of Education and Archeology.
As for Larry and me, we return to Indian Hill as often as we can. We usually come back with a few beads and bone fragments, but we have never come across anything quite as exciting as that first grave —and Herby. THE END
DECEMBER 1970 53
INDIAN MESSIAH
(Continued from page 21)hunter. They said that his place would be with the women of the village, doing women's work. But Sky-Walker and his squaw pointed out the aura of their newborn. There was something about his face and about his eyes that made him look much older than the newborn babe he was. The couple agreed that he would be something special, one to whom the people would look for guidance.
Years passed, and Wa-choo-bay, as he was named, grew into boyhood. But he was different than those who played about the village. He kept to himself, never joining in the games the others played. He spent much of his time on the prairie, away from the village and his kind. Then in his fifth year, his father, the great Sky-Walker, called his son to him. He told the youth that it was time to go into the wilderness to await the dreams that were to come. He must remain apart for four sleeps so that his dream might come.
So, Wa-choo-bay's forehead was smeared with mud and he was sent to fast in a lonesome place. In five days he returned to tell his father of his vision.
Wa-choo-bay had been on the shore of the Ne Shoda (Missouri River) and a canoe had come for him. He got in and the canoe moved out into the water and went swiftly toward the place of the summer. He rode far, he said, and saw things that moved in the mists. Then he had awakened at the end of his journey.
Sky-Walker could not explain the vision, yet he went to his lodge to ponder its meaning. After four sleeps, he returned, telling Wa-choo-bay that he must see what moved in the mists of his dreams. So the boy went once again into the wilderness. Again he saw the vision. This time he completed his voyage and was brought to a huge village of many lodges. Yet the big village vanished and what lurked in the mists eluded him.
Again the boy returned to the village and again Sky-Walker was puzzled. But it was the time in life when a boy must learn the ways of his people. Wa-choo-bay learned to kill without the use of weapons and he was taken to the sacred lodge where holy relics were kept. It was plain to Sky-Walker that his son was to be a medicine man and that he must learn of that position.
Then in the summer, when Wa-choo-bay became a man, he was marked even more to follow the lonely way. That summer was one of peace and the Omahas called a powwow with the Poncas and the Pawnees. During a great feast, a daughter of a Ponca, owner of many ponies, saw Wa-choo-bay. And she sang for him and offered him her blanket of dyed buckskin, a symbol of her wish to follow him. Yet Wa-choo-bay refused her, saying that he could never take a squaw because he must follow the lonely trail during all of his days. Thus the young man embarked upon his mission.
Many years passed. Sky-Walker and his squaw died. Wa-choo-bay left his 54 people and his name became only a memory. Then, one evening, as the Omahas went about their tasks in the village near the Missouri River, a number of youths burst out of the woods, declaring the arrival of a devil boat. Followed by members of the tribe, they climbed a high hill and watched from its crest as the puffing giant turned toward shore, left a lone figure standing there, then went back down the river.
Wa-choo-bay, alone with his people, told them of his identity, and they bade him welcome and fed him. As time passed, this man they thought of as a god told them of the white-faced race and word of his arrival traveled far and wide. A gathering of tribes followed. It was so large that a man could walk from morning until the sun was high before he passed through the cluster of lodges. Wa-choo-bay was called upon to talk to them.
He mounted a hill and the masses clustered below him. A wolf, tame and known in the camp, howled. Its master beat it unmercifully. But Wa-choo-bay went down and comforted the animal until it licked his hand and followed him back up to the summit. Then Wa-choo-bay raised his voice, calling out to the multitude and telling the people of the wonders of the white man's God. He told of peace and tranquility and the ways men should treat each other. The people saw him as a holy man. But there were doubters in the throng and they asked for a medicine deed; they asked him to send the rain. But Wa-choo-bay could do no magic and the voices of the throng became angry. One amongst them cast a stone that struck him on the face, drawing blood. Yet Wa-choo-bay did not become angry. He turned the other side of his face, telling them that if they chose, they could cast another stone. But there was no second stone and Wa-choo-bay was soon left with only the wolf at his side.
Darkness fell and Wa-choo-bay remained alone, but soon he noticed the presence of another. It was the Ponca woman who, years before, had offered to follow him. She explained that she had
They were driven from every village. Then they heard of a great sickness which had beset the Poncas and the three turned toward the stricken village. The Poncas welcomed them and Wa-choo-bay turned to treating the sick. But the affliction spread and the tender healer was blamed. The Poncas wanted revenge.
They planted a post and bound Wa-choo-bay to it. Mary pleaded for him in vain, and the wolf set up a mournful howl. But the persecuted one told them not to wail for him. This was where his trail would end. It was this end that had lurked in the dreams of his youth. The Poncas began to beat Wa-choo-bay with elkhorn whips, calling upon him to bring forth the God which could save him. They would not listen when he said his God was with him, and the whips fell harder.
At last the Poncas left, and as darkness settled over the prairie, only three figures remained — Wa-choo-bay, Mary, and the tame wolf. THE END
"GO BIG RED" BASKETBALL
(Continued from page 28)New York's renowned Madison Square Garden.
Now, Cipriano has a new brainchild which may just turn into a real dilly. On December 18 and 19, Cipriano will breathe life into the Husker Classic, a two-day basketball tournament designed to bring top-notch basketball action to the University of Nebraska campus during the holiday season. On hand for the inaugural at the Cornhusker Coliseum will be the University of Miami (Florida), Oklahoma City University, and Colorado State University.
Nebraska will meet Miami in the first game on Friday night, starting at 7 p.m. Oklahoma City and Colorado State will meet at 9 p.m. Saturday.
Not only will there be a lot of basketball action, there will also be fun and activities for players, coaches, and fans during the premier Husker Classic weekend—all part of Cipriano's planning.
"We want every school in the nation to be interested in coming to our Classic," Joe says. "So we want everyone to enjoy himself."
Plans call for the newly formed Husker Rebounders Club, a non-fund-raising organization composed of local business and professional people with a special interest in basketball, to take over as official host for the visiting teams.
A gala awards banquet is scheduled for Thursday night to honor the players. Friday noon, the coaches will be the guests of honor and main speakers at a public tip-off luncheon. An unnamed Cipriano inspiration, composed of Nebraska co-eds, will be on hand to welcome the teams and perform special routines at the basketball games.
NEBRASKAland"We've got a great program going at the University of Nebraska and we want to keep it rolling in high gear," Cipriano says. "With the enthusiasm that has already built up, our Husker Classic can become one of the finest holiday basketball tournaments in the nation."
It isn't really too surprising that Nebraska's basketball prowess is coming to the forefront. There has been a lot of effort put into the venture in the past DECEMBER 1970 few years. There were rough times, though, when a basketball game at the university drew about as many spectators as a husking bee on Madison Avenue. Nebraska was in a rut, and didn't seem to have what it took to climb out. Such seasonal records as 2 wins and 13 losses in 1943-44, and 2 wins with 17 losses the following season, only served to cement the club's losing traits. Opponent after opponent ran over the Cornhuskers as if they weren't on the floor.
Why the game was in such a sorrowful state at NU isn't easy to answer. There were many reasons —every morning-after coach had one —but paramount among them was the fact that the university did not offer full scholarships. Other schools provided education for play, while Nebraska did not. The result was that Nebraska just couldn't get good players. Also, the state's sparse population made it unlikely that it could raise a native-born and educated team that would be a contender in the Big 8. Football had a head start on basketball in the state. The gridiron sport got its start in 1890 while it took until 1897 for a basketball team to take to the boards. So it went for years. Nebraska lost. And in doing so, they squelched any chances of drawing big crowds.
In 1962, Tippy Dye, a figure that was to go down in the basketball history books as the savior of the sport at Nebraska, walked onto the scene. As athletic director, it was his job to see that Nebraska put out a formidable team. That's just what he did.
When Dye arrived, Jerry Bush was coaching Big Red. Though he had some impressive victories, his record was far from consistent. And during Dye's first year with the Cornhuskers, the record didn't improve. Bush and Big Red put five wins and 16 losses on the books. At the end of the 1962-63 season, Bush retired and Dye imported Joe Cipriano from the University of Idaho. Things didn't improve during the 1963-64 season either as Nebraska racked up only 7 wins against 16 losses. But they had the makings of a good team now, and as the years passed, wins became more and more frequent. By 1964-65, the Cornhuskers were narrowing the gap in the win-loss columns. That season they managed to come out on top in 10 out of 25 contests.
It was 1965 when things finally began to click. Cipriano put his Huskers on the floor to win, and win they did. That season, they knocked off 20 opponents and lost to only 5. For the first time in recent history, Nebraska was in a position to be competitive with the rest of the schools in the nation. With that edge, and with what was becoming a healthy following of fans, the state's basketball horizon began to brighten.
Prior to the Dye dynasty, Nebraska had never produced a team to inspire the masses. About the time Big Red started breaking into the winning columns, basketball took off on its own.
Indoor and outdoor courts, in existence for years but seldom used by other than the exercise-conscious public, suddenly were flooded by basketballers of all description. Where, in the fall, youngsters dug out their footballs for backyard games, basketball became the thing as Big Red was emulated. Along the same lines, the basketball department was the first in the Big 8 to sponsor a basketball clinic. Called the Cornhusker Basketball School, it catered to youths from 11 to 16 years old. That was in 1965, and since then, the program has handled some 2,800 players, putting them on campus for one full week for each of the four-week programs during June. University fraternities and housing units fielded teams in an intramural program that was to exceed anything known before. And, not satisfied with just playing like the Huskers, fans began to throng to the field house on game night.
Both directly and indirectly, Big Red's success stems from the days of Tippy Dye. Since he left the university in 1967, the tradition of basketball booster has been carried on by head football coach and athletic director Bob Devaney. For a man as wrapped up in football as he, it is unusual to find a soft spot for another sport. But that seems to be just what Devaney has, because he is in there plugging all the time, not only for football, but also for its indoor cousin. In fact, it is under Devaney's reign that basketball has really mushroomed at NU.
Nebraskans are fast learning that basketball is always exciting and worthy of support. This is compounded when they take a look at the competition. As part of the Big 8, Nebraska has a rounded schedule ranging from Stanford to Missouri. Big 8 teams are probably the toughest competitors NU faces during the season. In fact, all of the teams are so good that it is almost impossible for anyone to get through the year undefeated.
That doesn't bother the fans, though. Wins are on the heavy side of the ledger, and to get into the field house for a game, many people are on hand quite a while in advance. Freshman team games scheduled prior to varsity tilts are one reason for the early turnout, but there is always the possibility that attending the frosh contest insures a seat for the regular attraction. Winning and excitement aren't everything, however, and the NU sporting administration, along with many fans, are disturbed by Big Red's facilities.
The present Cornhusker Coliseum was
built in 1926 and with the influx of basketball boosters, the building is just not
adequate anymore. Last season, action
drew some 84,187 spectators, averaging
out at around 7,000 per game. What the
coaches and others concerned have in
mind is a field house with a seating capacity around 16,000. Plans have been
broached to build such a structure in
conjunction with the State Fair Grounds.
Anything concrete, however, is still in
the future and barely more than speculation. New coliseum or not, the whole
affair has a direct effect on recruiting.
Most of the top players are interested in
55
the facility which a school has to offer.
Consequently, many opt for newer surroundings at schools that could provide
equal opportunities in education. Still,
NU manages to attract some pretty hot
shots.
Fans are expecting big things of the Huskers this year as they go up against another roster of top teams. Seasoned players like LeRoy Chalk, a 6-foot, 7-inch senior from Big Springs, Texas, and Chuck Jura, a Schuyler product at 6-feet, 10-inches in the center slot, mean experience on the court and success in the face of adversity.
And, there is the newborn Husker Classic. In the years to come, the tournament is expected to become one of the outstanding contests of its kind in the United States. It will be an example of how far Nebraska basketball has come. Add to that a loyal following of fans and the will to win, and how can Big Red basketball miss? THE END
FISHARI
(Continued from page 19)under the surface to keep them lower in the water.
Most of the time, Dick and I carried equipment and bait, leaving line-checking to Butch, who wore hip waders. On occasion, however, we were allowed to check the line. Our collection grew steadily, with a final average of one catfish per setline, 18 in all. They ranged in size from about two to nine pounds, plus one smallmouth bass just under one pound.
Our rock-pile markers were not foolproof unto themselves, however, for almost each time we made the drive along the canal top, we ended up checking only 17 lines. Perhaps alternately we checked the one we missed the time before. The process was confusing but amusing. Our two guides kept track of their stops by putting 18 stones in a can. Each time they checked a line, they removed one stone. At the end of the run, all the stones should be gone. But, we always had one left over.
So, here we were with 18 fine catfish in about 13 hours, and our second of three parts was chalked up equally successful to the first day. Filets from the catfish reflected a comparable degree of accomplishment. It is always difficult to plan on catching fish on a given day, but we had already checked in with two rewarding and pleasant sessions. Now, we had only the third segment to worry about — a white bass try at Lake McConaughy on Friday.
Actually, we arrived at Lakeview Fishing Camp on the south shore of "Big Mac" early enough Thursday afternoon to take a boat out on a scouting and "try-out" fishing trip. Our guide, Al Van Borkum, Lakeview owner, loaded us and our gear into a fancy boat and we began sampling white bass action at several random locations. There was no trouble catching them, but when we arrived back at the dock, we had no fish. Perhaps three dozen or more white bass were taken in that hour or so, but Van 56 made us put them back because they were not up to his "keeper" size. Largest was three-quarters of a pound. They looked plenty big to us as we mentally compared them to our rock-bass collection, but when in Rome
As dawn was breaking the next morning, our fishari was back into the swing of things. First stop was about two miles west of Lakeview, and again, non-keepable white bass came in fast and furiously, but were discarded ruthlessly. Time and again we moved, trying different water depths, drifting and jigging, trolling, and casting while stopped, but only small ones were to be had. Then, Dick connected on a big one. Water depth was close to 15 feet and he took his fish right on the bottom. Although he didn't rub it in, his luck was phenomenal. He kept dragging in big ones while all mine went back into the lake. My line was rigged the same, with a white slab on the bottom and a small white doll fly about 18 inches above, but it didn't help. He chuckled as he pulled in two biggies at a time while I busily reeled in throwbacks. Van also pulled in more than his share of keepers, but after all, he is like a pro and that didn't hurt so much.
Eventually, I nailed a few large ones, but Van kept hinting that I was hedging on size evaluation just so I could keep them. My turn finally came, though, as I caught the biggest bass of the day — one that weighed just a hairline under two pounds even after he had dried out slightly. He was a beauty, but was later fileted right along with the rest.
Nearly half the time we fished amidst a cold, steady rain, but part of that was our fault. The boat had a top, yet we were so engrossed in our business that we didn't notice the folding device for over an hour. Luckily, Van pulled a couple of jackets and a sweatshirt from under the bow or we would have shivered most of the fish off our lures.
After the rain stopped and we warmed up slightly, Van hooked a whopper. While he played the lunker, we reeled
"A big walleye," I suggested hopefully. "He sure is hanging deep," Van observed. Still playing the fish, he launched into a story involving a woman angler, who, a few weeks earlier, had hooked a big fish while trolling away from the marina. She fought the critter for 45 minutes, working it near the surface time and again, and finally boated it only to discover it was a 10-pound carp.
"It could be a northern. Or maybe even a big catfish," was another opinion. For perhaps five minutes, Dick and I kept our rigs out of the water to give Van as much room as he needed. And, he seemed to need plenty as he walked across and around us, all the while pivoting or following his taut line. His drag was set lightly because he said he was afraid the lure wasn't tied tightly enough. I suppose he threw that in just to make the situation more dramatic. Suddenly, the bow went out of his rod, and the fish was gone. "We'll never know what it was," Van said. "He just made off with my outfit."
Even while we offered our condolences, we tossed our rigs back into the water to start the white bass action again. Of course we continued speculating on what kind of fish he had hooked, but the return to bass catching soon took our minds off Van's loss.
Every good-sized white bass we caught made our expedition more exciting. Two channel catfish and a bullhead were unexpected additions to our stringers, and we made an issue of the fact that Van caught all three of these off-breeds when he should have been taking bass.
"You guy's had better not get nasty or I'll let you clean all these fish yourselves. Then you'll be here the rest of the weekend," he grinned. Luckily, he didn't threaten to make us pay for all his lures we had lost during the day, or we would still be out there washing dishes, or some such thing.
Much too soon, we had to get back to the marina. That meant an end to our three-day fishing adventure in Nebraska. Roughly adding up our take, we had 38 white bass, plus the 2 small cats and 1 big bullhead from Lake McConaughy; 18 catfish and 1 smallmouth bass from the canal; and about 50 rock bass and 4 smallmouths from the Maxwell lake. All fileted, Dick and I ended up with more than 25 pounds of mixed-creel delicacies, including only a few of the larger catfish. Butch and George got the rest.
Perhaps we were lucky, especially pushing our expedition to three continuous days, but not once during our trip did we hear that very familiar expression," You should have been here yesterday." It was a great feeling. THE END
DIARY OF A HUNTER
(Continued from page 49)the Sand Hills. It was 1924 or 1925 and it had been a dry falL
NEBRASKAland"We stopped at the house of a friend to ask if we could hunt some ponds on his place. He said O.K. In fact, he later offered to put us up in his bunkhouse and feed us for a few days. We had really gone up after ducks, but the grouse season was to open in a few days, so we stuck around, ana got in some fishing between hunts. I don't remember exactly, but limits were large in those days, and during our stay we got either 60 or 80 ducks, and 30 grouse, and a mighty big stringer of fish. It was quite a trip."
Garnering a lot of game during the season has not been Aaron's object in hunting, except possibly during the early years when he was selling birds. In fact, his weekend hunts have accounted for more than enough game.
"My wife keeps telling me not to bring any more pheasants or ducks home. She has been cooking them for me for nearly 62 years now. She doesn't mind quail though, and maybe that is partly why I still prefer to hunt quail," he chuckled. "But, it must be a new breed of bobwhites we have now, as I have a little trouble getting on them. I didn't used to have any difficulty."
Perhaps Aaron is slowing down a bit, but not much. He had been out teal hunting during the special season several days in September, and he was going again both days during the coming weekend. He and a companion had seen only two teal, and they got them both.
"I don't suppose I'll be able to maintain that average during the season," he offered, "but I'll sure give it a try."
It has been a long time since Aaron first pulled down on a prairie chicken with his old single-barrel, black-powder shotgun, but his enjoyment from hunting hasn't lessened a whit. He still gets that same thrill when a flock of ducks takes off from a pond, or when a noisy rooster flushes from underfoot. That speaks pretty highly of the sport, and of Aaron Mousel, sportsman. THE END
SANTA'S FOR REAL
(Continued from page 51)snow into great drifts. Sometimes we had to back up and plunge forward again and again to get through.
"Well, about the middle of the afternoon we got into a drift that held us fast. We couldn't go either way, so there we were. My, but it was a dreary place. There wasn't a house in sight, and we had not had anything to eat since early morning. We would just have to stay there until they could send a snowplow out to rescue us.
"Finally the brakeman came into the front car and told us we had to go back into the other coach, since there was mighty little coal and no use keeping two stoves going. So back we went, and there I saw a woman who had two little girls with her. One of them was about seven years old, and the other about four. There were two other women in the coach, and about 8 or 10 of us men. One of the women had sandwiches, and she gave them to the little girls. The rest of us had to go without anything to eat.
"Well, my boy, there it was, Christmas Eve, miles out there on the great prairie in a snowbound train. Why, I just knew that even if there was a Santa Claus, he could never find us on that train. " 'Mamma,' said one of the little girls, 'will there be any Santa Claus tonight?' " 'Of course there will be,' said the mother. But I could tell by the way she said it that she didn't believe it. " 'And can we hang our stockings?' "'Yes dear, but maybe Santa Claus will be in a hurry and leave things with Papa in the homestead near Valentine. If he doesn't come here tonight, it will be because he left them with Papa so he could go right on to see other little girls and boys.'
"Well, about eight o'clock that Christmas Eve, those two little girls hung up their stockings right there in that little old passenger coach, then curled up on the seats and went to sleep.
"And right after they went to sleep, Santa Claus came in and whispered to one of the men in that car. He was a cattleman who was coming back from Omaha, where he had taken a lot of cattle to market. None of us saw Santa, but the minute that cowman spoke we knew Santa had whispered in his ear.
" 'Look here, fellows,' he said, 'those two little stockings have just got to be filled, and I reckon it's up to us to do Santa's work for him.'
"You see, my boy, Santa had whispered to him and told him just what to do. "The mother told us her story. Her husband had gone out to Valentine and taken a homestead. He wanted to make a home for his wife and babies, and now, after two years, he had sent for them so they could spend Christmas in their new home. And there we were, stuck in that snowdrift with nothing to eat and Christmas almost upon us.
"Well, one of the women said she had a doll that she was taking to her own girl, but she could get another one, so she put it in the youngest girl's stocking. The other woman had a pair of mittens she was going to give to a neighbor girl, but she gave them to the oldest girl. Then a traveling man, who sold groceries, remembered that he had some samples of candy in his grip, so he got them out and divided them into the stockings. Then another man said he was taking some oranges home to his own children, and he reckoned he would put one in each stocking.
" 'Now I don't have any children, not even a wife,' said the old cattleman. 'I never had anyone to give Christmas presents to until right now. I reckon this has all come about to teach me what a selfish sort of cuss I've been, living all alone and not thinking about anybody but myself. Now I've got a couple of $10 gold pieces here and I reckon Uncle Sam made them and got them into my hands just so I could put them right here in each of these little stockings.' And that's just what he did.
"By this time the mother of those two little girls was leaning forward with her head on the back of the seat in front of her and crying. My eyes were feeling sort of funny, too. I didn't have any candy, or dolls, or money, or anything like that. But I remembered that before I started I had bought a couple of new handkerchiefs. So I dug down into my grip and got them out. Into the stockings they went.
" 'I've got a couple of big daughters at home,' said a man who had been silent all the time. 'While I was in Fremont I bought each one some goods to make dresses, but I can get more when I get home, so I'll just give them to the little girls and their mother can make dresses after she gets out to that claim.' "So he dug up his contribution and added it to (Continued on page 63)
57
Your favorite photo could win a 14-day vacation on us!
Where to go
House of Yesterday and J. M. McDonald Planetarium, Great Western Sugar Company
WHETHER BROWSING through the misty past or speculating on the stars of the future, Nebraskans and out-of-state visitors will find the ideal setting at Hastings' House of Yesterday museum and J. M. McDonald Planetarium.
The House of Yesterday is a museum with a mission. Located on U.S. Highway North 281 at 14th Street in the south-central Nebraska city, it is just 15 miles south of Interstate 80 at the Hastings Interchange. The museum is dedicated to the preservation of natural science and pioneer history. Natural science comes to the forefront with displays of birds and mammals of Nebraska and the fauna of North America. What is billed as the world's largest group of whooping cranes is on display in one of the many dioramas. Also on tap are insects, fish, reptiles, fossils, and hundreds of land and sea shells. Meteorites, gems and precious stones round out the displays.
For the hunter in any group, there is the impressive display of the Conroy Big Game Trophies. Richard Conroy, a resident of Hansen and noted big-game hunter, donated his trophies to the museum in 1966. Since then, thousands DECEMBER 1970 of visitors have marveled at the specimens from around the world.
Also on the outdoor scene among the displays is George W. Cole's Smith and Wesson Gun Collection. One of the most outstanding collections of firearms of one make, the collection was acquired by the House of Yesterday in 1965. According to the museum's representatives, Mr. Cole offered his collection to the museum so that others might benefit from and enjoy them.
Equally interesting is the $35,000 Richards Coin Collection which was purchased by the museum in 1952.
More than a seeing place, the museum is a place for doing. It offers educational tours, movies, and informative talks to school groups. A series of educational leaflets on 15 different topics is given to teachers and students on request. And, acting as an educational outlet for the area, the House of Yesterday admits school groups, also student nurses and their patients free of charge. The same is true for the planetarium.
For the general public, one admission charge is made to cover both the museum and the planetarium.
Museum workers are understandably proud of their function. For the first 7 months of 1970, some 6,065 students from 201 schools or classes toured the facilities. These free tours are highly rated among the learning processes by area teachers and school administrators.
One of the highlights of a visit to the facilities is a stop at the J. M. McDonald Planetarium, a gift from the McDonald Foundation in 1958. The original, however, was updated in 1965 with the addition of a new, advanced projector. Museum officials say the new equipment was installed to keep pace with the space age.
The A-3-P projector has the ability to correctly project the stars and planets as they appear from any point on earth at any given time. The audience can see the day or night pass in the twinkling of an eye or witness celestial events as they happen at any time — past or future. Information on the space age and man's role in the universe is advanced by simulating the sky as the window to outer space.
For those on the verge of this step into space, topics may include atmospheric conditions, the solar system, galaxies, and other astronomical phenomena. Current topics are listed on the bulletin board in the museum lobby for visitor convenience.
School groups are admitted to the planetarium free during regular school hours. However, reservations must be made in advance. Special group shows may be arranged by contacting the museum.
Whether interested in the past or inquisitive about the world around us, visitors can get an insight into the mysteries of the ages here. The museum is open 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. weekdays and 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. Sundays throughout most of the year. During June, July, and August, weekday hours are extended to 8 p.m. Holiday (Continued on page 62)
Round up and What to do
DECEMBER makes for a month of merriment as holiday season once again pervades the state
DECEMBER MEANS different things for different people. For tiny tots it means romping in the snow, and for teenagers it means attending a hockey game or social event with a boyfriend or girlfriend. For new parents it means the excitement of preparing a Christmas tree, with all its colorful trimmings, for a child that is just beginning to learn the joys of family festivity. For grandparents it is a time of contented observance of the activities around them and the memories they bring of the period in their lives when they, too, were caught in the swing of winter life.
For Christy Votaw of Wellfleet, NEBRASKAland Magazine's December hostess, it means a vacation from the busy life she leads at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Eli B. Votaw of Wellfleet, Christy will be one of the minstrels during the week before Christmas when her family — Dad, Mom, she, and two younger sisters —go caroling. Christmas Day at the Votaws' E Bar V Angus Ranch is somewhat unique. They cut a tree from their own property and trim it about a week before the big day.
Christmas Day, Christy's grandmother, her aunts and uncles, and her nephews and nieces, all get together at someone's home (this year it happens to DECEMBER 1970 be at the home of Christy's parents) for a late-afternoon turkey dinner. Then they sit around at night and talk about what they have been doing all year. Christy will tell them that she is a freshman, majoring in animal science and journalism, that she is Nebraska's Angus Queen until February of 1971, and National Angus Queen until August of 1971. She will tell them that she likes horseback riding, fitting and showing cattle, reading, drama, music, cooking, sewing, and sports, including skiing in winter. In other words, she will be spending Christmas in a way similar to that of thousands of others like her in the state, who always go home for Christmas. For each family, it will be the festive end of a busy year. It will also be a busy time for churches, community organizations, and sport associations.
One of the busiest groups in Nebraska during December will be the Omaha Knights as they battle on home ice with visiting ice-hockey teams from cities in other states. The first and last games during the month will be in Omaha against the Amarillo Wranglers December 6 and 31. In between are contests with the Oklahoma City Blazers, the Fort Worth Wings, the Dallas Blackhawks, the Tulsa Oilers, and a third game against the Amarillo Wranglers thrown in for good measure December 20.
Basketball fans will be able to enjoy their share of excitement beginning with a game between St. Thomas and Creighton in Omaha December 1, and ending with the annual Holiday Basketball Tournament in Arapahoe December 30. Other teams Creighton will face during the month are Iowa on the 4th and 5 th, Northern Iowa on the 9th, St. Francis on the 14th, Wisconsin on the 19th, and San Diego on the 23rd.
The Husker Basketball Classic will take place in Lincoln December 18 and 19, following a busy schedule. Home games will be December 5 against the University of Iowa, December 7 against Northern Iowa, and December 14 against the University of Nevada.
An exhibition entitled "Rugs from the Middle East", 110 examples of flat, woven textiles ranging from 1 to 12 feet in length, will be presented at Joslyn Art Gallery in Omaha December 5 to January 3. The Cinema 16 feature at Joslyn December 6 is "Through the South Pacific" at 2:30 p.m. in the lecture hall. The Joslyn Chamber Music Series presents the First Chamber Dance Company from New York City the same day at 4 p.m. in the concert hall. The Dick Wilder Travelogue at Joslyn December 11 is "Yugoslavia" at 2 and 8 p.m. in the concert hall. On December 13 and 20, two Vintage Films will be shown, the first entitled "Maltese Falcon", and the second "King of Kings", both taking place at 2 p.m. in the lecture hall. The Omaha Symphony will present concerts at 8 p.m. December 14 and 15 in the concert hall at 8 p.m.
The Choral Union of the University of Nebraska at Lincoln, together with the University Orchestra, both under the direction of Earl Jenkins, will perform Handel's "Messiah" in the Coliseum December 13 at 3 p.m.
Lincoln's Sheldon Art Gallery closes its season December 15, final day for exhibition of American sculpture. Turkey Day in Sutherland takes place December 6, when all merchants donate turkeys and raffle them off to 50 different families in appreciation for patronage during the year.
Two of the Christmas pageants in the state will be at Minden and Ainsworth. This year will mark the 25th anniversary of the open-air "Light of the World Pageant" for Minden, to be held December 6 and 13 at 7 p.m. in the downtown square.
Ainsworth's pageant is relatively new by comparison, but equally as interesting. Also staged out-of-doors, it will take place in the downtown park December 6 at 7:30 p.m. Half of the area will be lighted and decorated with a religious theme, and the other half will sparkle with fairy-tale legends for children.
December 20, stars around the dome of Lincoln's Capitol will be lighted in conjunction with a Christmas-tree lighting ceremony in the rotunda.
While Christmas is the predominant event during the month, hunters and fishermen can still find all the excitement they want throughout the state. Dates of seasons and legal game are found on page 55.
What to do 1 — St. Thomas vs. Creighton, Basketball, Omaha 4 —Iowa vs. Creighton, Basketball, Omaha 4-6 — "Harvey", Lincoln Playhouse 5 —Iowa vs. Nebraska, Basketball, Lincoln 5 —January 6 —"Rugs from the Middle East", Joslyn, Omaha 6 —Christmas Pageant, Ainsworth 6 —Amarillo Wranglers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 6 — Light of the World Pageant, Minden 6 —Chamber Music Series, Joslyn, Omaha 7 — Northern Iowa vs. Nebraska, Basketball, Lincoln 11 —Dick Wilder Travelogue, Joslyn, Omaha 11-13-"Harvey", Lincoln Playhouse 12 —Oklahoma City Blazers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 13 —Vintage Film, Joslyn, Omaha 13 —Fort Worth Wings vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 13 —Light of the World Pageant, Minden 13 —"Messiah", University Coliseum, Lincoln 14 —St. Francis vs. Creighton, Basketball, Omaha 14 —Nevada vs. Nebraska, Basketball, Lincoln 14-15 —Omaha Symphony, Joslyn, Omaha 18 —Dallas Blackhawks vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 18-19 —Cornhusker Basketball Classic, Lincoln 19 —Wisconsin State vs. Creighton, Basketball, Omaha 19-Turkey Day, Sutherland 20 —Lighting Ceremony, State Capitol, Lincoln 20 —Amarillo Wranglers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 20 —Vintage Film, Joslyn, Omaha 23 — San Diego State vs. Creighton, Basketball, Omaha 26 —Tulsa Oilers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 27 —Tulsa Oilers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha 30 —Holiday Basketball Tournament, Arapahoe 31 —Amarillo Wranglers vs. Omaha Knights, Ice Hockey, Omaha THE END 61
DETOUR SIGNS
"No Vacancy." "Closed for Repairs." "Out of Business." "Nobody Home." Travel around these trouble signs, cover the distance by telephone before you go. LINCOLN TEL. AND TEL. CO.LIVE-CATCH ALL-PURPOSE TRAPS
NEBRASKA'S FIRST NEWMAN'S GUEST RANCH
Specializing in family and youth vacations
For complete information write MR. HERB NEWMAN JR. Stuart, Nebr. 68780 Teie-402-924-3292AURORA'S FINEST KEN'S MOTEL
28 ATTRACTIVE ROOMS AURORA, NEBRASKA it would be a pleasure to serve youH&M REPAIR SHOP
GUNSMITHING CUSTOM RIFLES-RELOADING 1015 13th STREET AURORA, NEBRASKA 68818 62WHERE TO GO
(Continued from page 59)hours are 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. with the museum closed January 1 and December 25.
Also available at the House of Yesterday are displays which allude to Nebraska's agricultural past. But the state's farming presence comes into sharp focus at Gering, Bayard, Mitchell, and Scottsbluff in western Nebraska.
At these locations, the Great Western Sugar Company goes about its business producing satisfaction for sweet teeth around the area.
In the average year, the four factories produce more than 300 million pounds of pure sugar from millions of tons of beets grown on family farms under contracts with the company. Each factory employs from 75 to 100 supervisors and technicians in the year-round program related to beet agriculture — sugar processing, factory maintenance, chemical control, and accounting. Another 200 production workers join the personnel at each factory during the processing season from fall to mid-winter.
Visitors to the region will note the effects of GW throughout the countryside. Economic benefits in the immediate area of the four factories average more than $25 million a year.
Great Western, the nation's largest producer of beet sugar, offers group tours through its factories by appointment. Tour times are from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. during the processing season from early October through January. Visitors get the full tour of the operation, ranging from beet unloading and washing to processing into the finished product. School groups in the area find the trip well worth the time.
Whether you are interested in Nebraska's past, present, or future, the state provides generous portions of entertainment and education in each. Be it the mummy of Chief Highback Wolf at Hastings' House of Yesterday or the processing of beets into sugar, NEBRASK Aland satisfies that outing urge. THE END
NEBRASKAlandSANTA'S FOR REAL
(Continued from page 57)the gifts. By this time I knew I had been mistaken about thinking there was no Santa Claus. You see, my boy, he knew that we fellows didn't believe in him, so instead of bringing those things to the little girls himself, he had made us buy them and have them all ready. I knew he was looking through the window of that little coach and chuckling to himself about the good joke he was playing on us.
"Then one of the women opened up her grip and found some lace she had bought for herself. I was going to trim some aprons with this, but I believe the little girls will enjoy it more than I possibly could.' The lace was added to the collection. By this time the stockings were full to overflowing.
"But Santa had whispered to everybody, so those who didn't have anything in their grips discovered they had some money in their pockets. I tell you, my boy, it was more fun than anything, doing what Santa had told us to do and thinking we were doing it because we wanted to.
"After we had filled the stockings and piled on the seat everything the stockings wouldn't hold, we just sat around close to the stove, and told stories. We told about other Christmas eves, about our childhood days, and of friends and loved ones. None of us could sleep.
" 'Say folks,' said the brakeman, looking at his watch, 'in just one minute it will be Christmas.'
"There was a moment's silence, and just as midnight came, one of the women started to sing that song about the little town of Bethlehem. Laddie, it had been a long time since I had heard that song, and a longer time since I had tried to sing it, but I joined in the best I could. So did all the rest, except the mother, who was crying, and the two little girls lying there fast asleep.
"Then we sang other old Christmas songs. After a while, the brakeman turned out all the lamps but one, and we tried to doze. Just before dawn I was awakened by two shouting little girls. "'Mamma, Mamma, Santa Claus found us!'
"If was just six o'clock, but not a bit of light could get in through the frost on the windows. The brakeman was dozing, so I filled the little stove full of coal and pretty soon a brisk fire was dispelling the cold. By that time everyone was shouting 'Merry Christmas' and shaking hands and laughing with the two little girls.
"In their excitement the little girls forgot all about breakfast, but the rest of us couldn't. We kept thinking about it, and the more we thought the hungrier we got. By 10 o'clock it had nearly quit snowing and the wind had gone down. Some of us ventured out, hoping to see a house nearby, but neither house nor smoke could we see. So back into the car we went to thaw out our ears and toes. My, but it was cold. About noon the brakeman went up to the engine to get more coal, and when he came back, stamping the snow from his feet, he shouted: " 'Snowplow's coming!'
DECEMBER 1970 FORT KEARNEY MUSEUM TAXIDERMY STUDIO
"And in a few minutes the snowplow was there, and with it men who had baskets filled with good things to eat. One of them set a coffeepot on the stove and pretty soon the smell of that boiling coffee nearly set us wild. But everything was soon ready and we ate our Christmas breakfast and our Christmas dinner and our dinner and supper of the day before, all in one.
"Then our little train followed the snowplow to Valentine, and there was the father of those two little girls, waiting to kiss them and their mother and take them out to the sodhouse on the homestead. The mother told him about the little girls hanging up their stockings and he tried to thank everybody. The old cowman just wiped his eyes, muttering something about the cold making them water, and said: "'First time I've enjoyed Christmas since I was a boy.' "And the last I saw of those two little girls, they were being bundled up in a sled and carried away. As they started they waved their little hands to us and shouted: 'Merry Christmas!'
'Now, my dear grandson, I've told you enough to prove that there is a Santa Claus, and that he always remembers little boys and girls. There is a Santa, and he will love little children as long as the world stands, because he lives in every heart that can love little children. And, Santa remembers grandpas and grandmas, for they hear the patter of his reindeer every time the grandchildren patter over the floor. Now, young fellow, you skip off to bed and dream of Santa Claus and Christmas." THE END
Above is a story of one Christmas in Nebraska, told by a grandfather, who experienced it the year he headed west to work in a printing office. The story first appeared in 1925, written by Will M. Maupin. It is a true story of Christmas on a snowbound train.— Editor.GALLERY OF WINTER SONGBIRDS
(Continued from page 38)of red that is often seen in one tree, then in another, is usually a cardinal. A common resident in the eastern half of the state, this bird is uncommon farther west. However, there is evidence that it is moving slowly westward along the state's major river valleys. It was first recorded in Scotts Bluff County in 1956.
The chickadee is the playboy of winter. A permanent, common resident, he becomes a feathered little devil in the woods. Like the nuthatches and kinglets, 64 his frequent companions, he actually enjoys a snowstorm. In bitter weather, he frolics and frisks from tree to tree, happy and carefree. His cheerful dee-dee-dee is a welcome greeting on a winter day. Although he has other notes, this is the call he utters in winter.
The yellow-bellied sapsucker is one of winter's drummer boys. An uncommon visitor and rare winter resident in the Missouri River Valley, he is the most migratory of all woodpeckers, but when he is around, you are sure to hear him. He braces himself against a tree with his feet and tail, then pecks away at the bark so rapidly that his head is just a blur.
In tune with the rat-a-tat-tat of the sapsucker is the sweet, melodious song of the winter wren. He is so shy that you are lucky if you get to see him, however. He is most common in the eastern third of the state.
The tufted titmouse, a common, permanent resident in the Missouri River Valley region, is the bold one. In winter, he travels with his mate and their two summer broods. Like his cousin the chickadee, he is curious as all get-out, and a daredevil to boot. There is an interesting comparison between the brown creeper and the white and red-breasted nuthatches. The creeper always works his way up the limb of a tree, never down, while the nuthatch always searches his way downward, never up.
Other common winter visitors are the Lapland longspur, the juncos, the white-crowned sparrow, the pine siskin, the Harris sparrow, the horned lark, and the rufous-sided towhee. Rare, or erratic winter visitors are the Bohemian waxwing, the purple finch, the evening grosbeak, the Townsend solitaire, the kinglets, and the common redpoll.
One unusual visitor is the red crossbill who migrates irregularly, but is often found abundantly in local areas throughout Nebraska. As his name implies, his bill is crossed. Some would call this a misfortune, but it is actually an example of nature's intricate handiwork, because he can put his bill into a pine cone, spread it apart, and expose the seeds on which he feeds. Often, during a calm winter day, you can hear him at work as you walk through a park.
This, and other sounds are part of the beauty of a white winter. Take time for a stroll and listen to the crunch-crunch-crunching of your boots on the snow, then pause for a moment, and cock an ear for the noises of nature. Many of the sounds you hear will be birds going about the business of finding the day's food. Stand a moment longer and a chickadee will salute you! THE END
LIFE IN A CABOOSE
(Continued from page 37)Southern Pacific Manifest. After a short wait, we departed Bailey Yard at 9:10 a.m. Our conductor was John Harper. W. C. Lindvall was rear-end breakman.
"Extra seems to be somewhat regular in freight train names, doesn't it?" I asked our new conductor, flashing a friendly smile at him.
"Yes. All freight trains are extras. They are not on the regular passenger train schedule, so they are extras," John explained.
As we chatted, the scenery changed from flat farmlands to rolling Sand Hills. "A lot of deer in this country," John said. "We see quite a few during the early morning and late evening runs. Look. There are some pheasants in the right-of-way."
I queried John about his experiences with the railroad, while Norm snapped pictures. Norm and I agreed that we best liked life in the caboose, compared with yesterday's stint in the engine. Even if it was a "crummy", it was fun. We had room to roam, and plenty of chairs. Also, we didn't have to put up with the constant blowing of the whistle at each crossing.
"Railroading has come a long way in the past 30 years," John stated. "It used to be that every 40 miles we had a breakdown of some type or another: a hotbox, broken drawbar or knuckle, or something. But now, the equipment is a lot better and this type of breakdown is unusual. Hotbox detectors are placed at intervals along the track. They take the temperature of each axle and relay it forward to the next station. If any trouble is detected, the station manager calls on the two-way radio to stop us."
John went on explaining: "Communications are possibly the biggest improvement. Before we obtained two-way radios, we conductors couldn't even communicate with our engineers. We passed notes to each other and it was all pretty confusing."
Today's freight was as varied as it had been on the other train the day before. Automobiles, paper, tires, furniture, machinery, cable, and television sets were just a few of the items on the long list.
About 9:30 a.m. a miracle happened. Old Man Sun made his first appearance in two days. Norm was obviously the most delighted, as he started snapping pictures. Dick and I stood outside on the caboose's rear platform, breathing the fresh, crisp air of western Nebraska, and watching the world go by.
Far too soon, John announced that our next stop was Sidney. That was the end of the track for Norm and me, and the San Francisco-bound freight's last stop in Nebraska.
Dick, too, was continuing on to Cheyenne, Wyoming. The heavy freight started on its way again, and Norm and I boarded a van for the ride to the train station. I was really sorry the trip was over. All the trainmen had been so friendly and co-operative. They answered our thousands of questions with nary a whince. It was a life of danger and responsibility for the men, but they demonstrated remarkable hospitality.
As I pondered over the facts that Union Pacific Railroad calls Nebraska home, with its headquarters in Omaha, that the company employs more than 8,000 Nebraska men and women, and has an annual payroll in excess of $70 million, I thought to myself: "Who needs the Union Pacific Railroad?" The answer was easy. THE END
NEBRASKAlandNEBRASKAland TRADING POST
Acceptance of advertising implies no endorsement of products or services. Classified Ads: 18 cents a word, minimum order $3.60. February 1071 closing date, December 9. Send classified ads to: Trading Post, NEBRASKAland, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebraska 68509 DOGS AKC Chesapeake Bay Retrievers, champion blood lines. Excellent hunters and pets. Pups, trained pups, and stud service. Tom Foster, Paxton, Nebraska 69155. Telephone (308) 239-4347. AKC German Shepherd pups, 5 months EXecember 8. AKC Doberman Pinscher pups expected soon. Stud on both. Also coon hounds available. Bennett Kennels, Belvidere, Nebraska 68315. Phone (402) 768-2158. AKC hunting dogs. Irish setters, English Spk. spaniels, pups, dogs and stud service: Also Westie and Basenji in December. H. D. Lubben, Hebron, Nebraska 68370. Tele. (402) 768-6237. AKC registered hunting dogs, pups ready. Also St. Bernard stud and many puppies of smaller breeds. Westside Kennels, 463-2214 or 463-9263, Hastings, Nebraska. ENGLISH pointers. Excellent gun dogs. Pups, dogs, and stud service. M. D. Mathews, M.D., St. Paul, Nebraska 68873. HUNTING DOGS: German shorthairs, English pointers, Weimaraners, English, Irish, and Gordon setters, Chesapeakes, Labradors, and golden retrievers. Registered pups, all ages, $60 each. Robert Stevenson, Orleans, Nebraska 68966. OVER 500 prize puppies available every month. All popular and rare breeds. Major credit cards accepted. Send $2.00 for comprehensive booklet on dogs, supplements free. Excalibur International, 4230 South 84th Street, Omaha, Nebraska 68127. Telephone (402) 331-5005. POINTERS. Pups, 8 weeks to 6 months, well bred. Priced for quick sale $50.00 and up. Few started and finished dogs. Roy Jines, Emmet, Nebraska. Phone 336-1779. MISCELLANEOUS ACCOMMODATIONS for 6 hunters. Private entrance and lounge. $4.00 per person or $7.00 per room. Jim Lightner, Box 281, St. Edward, Nebraska 68660. BUMPER STICKERS, decals, buttons. Low-cost, custom-made advertising for your business, special event, organization, or political campaign. Buy direct from manufacturer and save! Write for free brochure, price list, and samples. Please state intended use. Reflective Advertising, Inc. Dept. N, 8551 Page Blvd., St. Louis, Missouri 63114. Phone (314) 423-5495. CHUCK Wagon Cookbook . . . 133 authentic ranch recipes for both home and outdoor cooking. $1.75 postpaid. Mrs. Chapin, 6545 Calleluna, Tucson, Arizona 85710. FREE unique gift catalog, Box 174 (N), Edgerton, Wisconsin 53534. EUSTIS—pheasant, deer, waterfowl, small gam Mrs. Myron Schultheiss. 6 miles west of Johnson Lake. Phone 486-3588. Can accommodate 9. S.F. $3 each. Freeze 10$. Cooking facilities available. FLY tving; jig making kits; quality materials, Mustad hooks. 'Tnfo" at The Tackle Shop, 2406 Hancock Street, Bellevue, Nebraska 68005. _ FOOTBALL fans. You went through another season without the binoculars you want. Don't put it off another year. Order your binoculars today. Binoculars make a perfect Christmas gift. See our display ad in this magazine or send 25$ for illustrated brochure. Mid-America Optics, Box 94672-C, Lincoln, Nehraska 68509. FREE. Jewelry gift catalog. Nebraska made items. Quality workmanship. Rock-Art Jewelry, Rt. 54, Curtis, Nebraska 69025. DECEMBER 1970 HELP save your guns: Display "When Guns Are Outlawed only Outlaws Will Have Guns!" bumper stickers. Mail $1.00 each in cash to: Bumper Sticker, 3444 Norhaven Rd., Dallas, Tx. 75229. LIVE traps for turtles, muskrats, small ariimals. Free delivery. SHAWNEE, 3934-AX Buena Vista, Dallas, Texas 75204. NEW, used and antique guns, $1 for year of lists or stop in at Bedlan's Sporting Goods, Fairbury, Nebraska 68352 OIL coloring photographs—A fascinating hobby or profitable sideline for those with artistic talent. Learn at home. Easy simplified method. Free booklet. National Photo Coloring School, 835 Diversey Parkway, Dept. 664-81D, Chicago 60614. OLD fur coats, restyled into capes, stoles, etc. $25.00. We're also tanners, and manufacture fur garments, buckskin jackets and gloves. Free style folder—Haeker's Furriers, Alma, Nebraska. PERSONALIZE your favorite gun, carving and checkering, Nebraska grown walnut stocks, D D Berlie, Box 906, Chadron, Nebraska 69337. Phone (308) 432-2075. "PREPARE for driver's test". 100 questions and answers based on Nebraska Driver's Manual $1.03. E. Glebe. Box 295, Fairbury, Nebraska 68352. ROCK tumbler: 3-pound all rubber barrel. Comnlete with motor. $12.95 postpaid. Grit and polish $3.00 box postpaid. Dick's Rock Shop, 1840 North Garfield, Fremont, Nebraska 68025. SOLID plastic decoys. Original Do-It-Yourself Decov-Making Kit. All species available. Catalog 25 cents. Decoys Unlimited, Box 69E, Clinton, Iowa 52732. THE ideal gift for the "outdoors" man NEBRASKAland Bola Ties. Beautiful handcrafted cabochon gem stone of Nebraska agatized wood. $4.95 postpaid. Chic's Gems, 114 West 10th Schuyler, Nebraska 68661. WILD geese live or dressed. Shipped air express for birthdays, holidays, special events. Special rate to sportsman clubs. Norman Walbrecht, Wild Wings Game Farm, Telephone (402) 799-3601, Route 5, Lincoln, Nebraska. REAL ESTATE GOVERNMENT lands. Low as $1.00 acre. Millions acres! For exclusive "copyrighted report" . . . plus "Land Opportunity Digest" listing lands throughout U.S.: and valuable 17 x 22 treasure map of U.S.. send $1.00. Land Disposal, Box 9091-NE, Washington, D.C. 20003. Satisfaction guaranteed. GOVERNMENT lands . . . low as $1.00 acre! Millions acres! For exclusive "Government Land Buyer's Guide" . . . plus "Land Opportunity Review" listing lands availahle throughout U.S., send $1 00 Satisfaction guaranteed. United Lands, Box 19108-XL, Washington, D.C. 20036. TAXIDERMY CREATIVE taxidermy—Modern methods and life-like workmanship on all fish and game since 1935. Also tanning and deerskin products. Sales and displav room. Joe Voges, Naturecrafts. 925 4th Corso, Nebraska City, Nebraska 68410. Phone 873-5491. GAME heads and fish expertly mounted bv latest methods. Fortv years experience. Excellent workmanship on all mounts. Christiansen's Taxidermy. 421 South Monroe Street, Kimhall, Nebraska 69145. 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. REAL life taxidermy: Life-like appearance stressed. Bird mounting a specialty, also fish and small animals. Showroom downtown. Mike Kenner, 1140 Olive, Hehron, Nebraska. Phone 768-6624. TAXIDERMY work—big-game heads, fish-and-bird mounting; rug making, hide tanning. 36 years experience. Visitors welcome, Floyd Houser, Sutherland, Nebraska. Phone 386-4780. TAXIDERMY work. Recreate big game heads, fish, birds, and small animals. Visitors welcome. Larry's Taxidermy Shop. House of Birds, 1213 Second Street, Fairbury, Nebraska 68352. The staff of NEBRASKAland wishes to take this opportunity to wish each and every one of our readers a very Merry Christmas.OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air
SUNDAY KHAS Hastings (1230) 6:45am KMMJ Grand Island (750) 7:00am KBRL McCook (1300) 8:15am KRFS Superior (1600) 9:45am KXXX Colby, Kan. (790) 10:145am KRGI Grand Island (1430) 10:33am KODY North Platte (1240) 10:45am KCOW Alliance (1400) 12:15ppm KICX McCook (1360) 12:40pm KRNY Kearney (1460) 12:45pm KFOR Lincoln (1240) 12:45pm KLMS Lincoln (1480) 1:00pm KCNI Broken Bow (1280) 1:15pm KAMI Cozad (1580) 2:45pm KAWL York (1370) 3:30pm KUVR Holdrege (1380) 4:45pn KGFW Kearney (1340) 5:45pm KMA Shenandoah, la. (960) 7:15pm. KNEB Scottsbluff (960) 9:00pm MONDAY KSID Sidney (1340) .6:15 p.m. FRIDAY KTCH Wayne (1590) 3:45pm KVSH Valentine (940) 5:10pm KHUB Fremont (1340) 5:15pm WJAG Norfolk (780) 5:30pm KBRB Ainsworth (1400) 6:00pm SATURDAY KTTT Columbus (1510) 6:05am KICS Hastings (1550) 6:15am KOTL Scottsbluff (690) 7:45am KJSK Columbus (900) 10:45am KCSR Chadron (610) 11:45am KGMT Fairbury (1310) 12:45am KBRX O'Neill (1350) 4:30pm KNCY Nebraska City (1600) 5:00pm KOLT Scottsbluff (1320) 5:40pm KMNS Sioux City, la. (620) 6:10pm KRVN Lexington (1010) 6:45pm KJSK-FM Columbus (101.1) 9:45pm DIVISION CHIEFS C. Phillip Agee, research William J. Bailey Jr., federal aid Glen R, Foster, fisheries Car! E. Gettmann, enforcement Jack Hanna, budget and fiscal Dick H. Schaffer, information and tourism Frank Foote, asst, director Richard J. Spady, asst. director Lloyd Steen, personnel Jack D. Strain, parks Lyle Tanderup, engineering CONSERVATION OFFICERS Ainsworth—Max Showalter, 387-1960 Albion—Robert Kelly, 395-2538 Alliance—Marvin Busslnger 762-5517 Alliance—Richard Furley, 762-2024 Alma—William F. Bonsall, 928-2313 Arapahoe—Don Schaepler, 962-7818 Auburn—James Newcome, 274-3644 Bassett—Leonard Spoering, 684-3645 Bossett—Bruce Wiebe, 684-3511 Benkelman— H. Lee Bowers. 423-2893 Bridgeport—Joe UI rich, 262-0541 Broken Bow—Gene Jeffries, 872-5953 Columbus—Lyman Wilkinson, 564-4375 Crawford—Cecil Avey, 665-2517 Creighton—Gary R. Ralston, 425 Crofton—John Schuckman. 388-4421 David City—Lester H. Johnson, 367-4037 Fairbury—Larry Bauman, 729-3734 Fremont—Andy Nielsen, 721-2482 Gering—Jim McCole, 436-2686 Grand Island—Fred Salak, 384-0582 Hostinqs—Norbert Kampsnider, 462-8953 Lexington—Robert D. Patrick, 324-2138 Lincoln—Leroy Orvls, 488-1663 Lincoln—William O. Anderson, 432-9013 Lincoln—Dayton Shultis, 434-8926 Milford—Dale Bruha, 761-4531 Millard—Dick Wilson. 334-1234 Norfolk—Marion Shafer, 371-2031 Norfolk—Robert Downing. 371-2675 North Platte—Samuel Grasmick, 532-9546 North Platte—Roaer A. Guenther. 532-2220 Ogallola—Parker Erickson, 284-2992 Omaha—Dwight Allberv, 558-2910 O'Neill—Kenneth L. Adkisson, 336-3000 Ord—Gerald Woodgate, 728-5060 Oshkosh— Donald D. Hunt, 772-3697 Plattsmouth—Larry D. Etston, 296-3562 Ponca—Richard D. Turpin, 755-2612 River dale—BUI Earnest, 893-2571 Rushville— Marvin T. Kampbell, 327-2995 Sidney—Raymond Frandsen, 254-4438 Staple ton—John D. Henderson, 636-2430 Syracuse—Mick Gray 269-3351 Tekamah—Richard Elston, 374-1698 Valentine—Elvin Zimmerman, 376-3674 York—Gail Woodside, 362-4120 65
The perfect package to put under your family's Christmas Tree!
Custer in Nebraska
ONE OF THE MOST flamboyant characters ever to appear on the early-day Nebraska frontier was General George Armstrong Custer. During the Indian uprisings of 1867, Custer was dispatched to an area that is now Dundy County, where he established a temporary encampment for Indian fighting operations against the warring Sioux and Cheyenne. In commemoration of the famed soldier and his invaluable contributions toward taming the wild Nebraska prairie, the Dundy County Historical Society has erected an Historical Marker at the site of Custer's 1867 camp.
In 1866, following the Civil War, the U.S. War Department authorized the creation and formation of the U.S. Seventh Cavalry, and Custer was given the command.
On June 22, 1867, Custer, commanding troops A, D, E, H, K, and M of the Seventh Cavalry, was dispatched to southwest Nebraska to help check the Indian trouble there. Custer, accompanied by some 400 troopers, was in the field with orders to bring in the Indians.
After a powwow with Sioux Chief Pawnee Killer, Custer was assured by Pawnee Killer that the chief would lead his men in peace. Two days later, Pawnee Killer directed a pre-dawn attack on Custer's camp. The controversial Custer met the attack hatless and in stocking feet.
Having broken his word and failed with his surprise attack, Pawnee Killer retreated in fear of Custer and his fabled Seventh. The next few days were of extreme uncertainty. A parley between Custer and his officers, Pawnee Killer, Pole Cat, Fire Lightning and Walk Underground was staged. The meeting proved uneventful as the angry Indians refused to go back to Fort McPherson with Custer.
Later, General Custer's supply train of 16 wagons was attacked while returning from Fort Wallace, Kansas. Casualties were high on both sides. On June 30, Custer departed his Dundy County camp in pursuit of the Indians. On July 12, he discovered the mutilated bodies of Lt. Kidder and 10 troopers who had missed the general's camp when traveling from Fort Sedgwick, Colorado.
The Indian Wars of 1867 were squelched soon thereafter, and during the next few years Custer continued to make history through his colorful way of life. Then, on June 25, 1876, on another Indian fighting campaign, Custer and his troopers were massacred in the battle of the Little Big Horn. THE END
NEBRASKAland
