The Harvest Story: Recollections of Old-Time Threshermen

The Harvest Story

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The Harvest Story Recollections of Old-Time Threshermen

Robert T. Rhode

NotaBell Books An imprint of Purdue University Press West Lafayette, Indiana

Copyright ©2001 by Purdue University. All Rights Reserved. 05 04 03 02 01 5 4 3 2 1 TM

The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Rhode, Robert T. The harvest story : recollections of old-time Threshermen/Robert T. Rhode. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references (p.). ISBN 1-55753-208-7 (pbk.: alk. paper) 1. Wheat—Threshing—United States. 2. Farm life—United States. 3. Threshing machines—United States. I. Title. SB191.W5 R575 2001 633.1'15—dc21 00-051827

This book is dedicated to my friend William M. Lamb (1908–1997), an engineer who ran a Gaar-Scott steam engine in Lexington, Kentucky, and to my father, Joseph C. Rhode (1918–1999), a thresherman whose uncle Charley Cobb ran a Reeves steam engine in the area of Pine Village, Indiana. Bill taught me much about the history and practice of steam engineering, and my father inspired me to write The Harvest Story.

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Contents Foreword Introduction Chapter One

ix 1

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

5

Chapter Two

The Who, What, When, Where, and How of Threshing

47

Chapter Three

Cutups and Capers

86

Chapter Four

Steam Engine Agonies and Ecstasies

128

Appendix 1

Steam-Engine Nuts and Bolts

165

Appendix 2

Thresher Basics

190

Appendix 3

Chronological and Regional Variations in Threshing in the United States Notes Suggested Reading

198 205

223

vii

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Foreword

It is unquestionably an honor to have been asked to write a foreword for this book. Much of the content of Dr. Rhode’s enjoyable volume have been taken from the lively pages of the IronMen Album Magazine. For the past two decades the Album, which I serve as an editor, has absorbed a substantial portion of my daily energies. Dr. Rhode makes clear the amazing achievement of Rev. Elmer Ritzman, the magazine’s founder, in capturing the ¤rsthand accounts of steam threshing in its golden days. Unfortunately, changing times and the inevitable passing of those who lived through that era have necessarily changed the content of the Album. While a camaraderie still exists among those devoted to the steam traction engine, the experiences related are no longer reminiscences of the lives of true threshermen. Today the threshermen’s children and grandchildren continue preservation and exhibition as an honor to their forbears. Their enthusiasm for the subject is inspiring, but one can hardly help but be nostalgic for “the real McCoy,” or the colorful ¤rst-person accounts of an earlier rural life. Fortunately for us, Dr. Rhode has captured some of the very ¤nest contributions from the early issues of the Iron-Men ix

x

Foreword

Album Magazine. In this form, many of the poems, tales, and anecdotes have found a permanent home, and a place from which others less entrenched in the history of steam threshing may be intrigued and amused by them. In addition, his appendices and bibliography offer a wealth of technical explanations and agricultural chronology which make a ¤ne reference for the student of the subject. Dr. Rhode has long been and continues to be a contributor to the Iron-Men Album. Unlike most of our readers, he is not only an engine owner and “hobbyist” but a scholar as well. His reverence for his subject matter is deep and apparent in all that he writes. We have been grateful for the many articles he has contributed to the Album over the years. It was a great joy for me to read this book, as Dr. Rhode has brought together so many of the now out-of-print back issues of our magazine. In the day-to-day operation of publishing a periodical, not much time is available for poring over stacks of old issues. Thus, it is for me a very personal kind of attic journey to be able to see these highly entertaining stories compiled into a single volume. The world of the steam traction engine collector may seem to be a somewhat esoteric one. Dr. Rhode has opened a window onto that world, which I feel certain will be an invitation to those on the outside. There is much to learn from these pages, and I applaud his effort! Linda Weidman Managing Editor, Stemgas Publishing

Introduction

The Harvest Story tells the epic tale of wheat threshing in turn-ofthe-century North America. This book gathers into a coherent recitation over ¤fty volumes of material published in The Iron-Men Album Magazine from 1946 until the present. An unparalleled source of eyewitness accounts stretching from the late 1800s through the twentieth century, the Album consists of thousands of pages. From this rich mine, the author has distilled a story of hard but honest work, of heartfelt cooperation, of triumph not unmarred by tragedy—a complex, fascinating story about America’s past. Until 1920, over half the American population lived on farms. For many farm families, harvesting the grain to make bread to feed the growing country became a collaborative mission. The business of threshing varied widely from region to region and across time. The rising technology of the steam engine and the threshing machine remained too expensive for most individual farmers, and, in many states, so-called “rings” and “runs” developed, permitting groups of farmers to hire a steam1

2

Introduction

powered rig that traveled from farm to farm. An individual farmer or a group of farmers might own the equipment. In other situations, a local company might form to purchase the machinery. In certain areas, custom threshermen threshed the grain. Most custom threshermen did not work on the ring principle, but others assisted runs. Where rings existed, the members of the ring would bring their teams, their wagons, their pitchforks, and their earnest labor, helping one another to separate the wheat, oats, and other grain from the straw. Rural and metropolitan citizens alike now recall long-ago harvests and the threshing season as constituting a golden age when life appeared simpler, people friendlier, the environment cleaner, and hope stronger. This book tells the story of that time. The Harvest Story presents the people’s story. In their own idiom, threshermen and their families from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico tell what they did, how they did it, and why they did it. With an astonishing range of narrative styles, the testimonies in this book convey memorable scenes, powerful emotions, and frank philosophies. Rooted in enduring truth, these accounts reveal our grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ lives—their accomplishments and their ideals. The sheer weight of anecdotal information leads to the conclusion that there once existed a threshing culture, with all that the word “culture” implies about re¤nement of the mind—about ideas, customs, and arts. The book begins with the present-day nostalgia for the epoch of farm collaboration. Readers ¤nd themselves transported back to the threshing era with its shocks of bronze-colored wheat stretching across the golden ¤elds of summer. They hear the tales, the songs, and the poems of those who pitched the bundles of grain onto the horse-drawn wagons, who unloaded the bundles into the thresher, and who proudly watched the stream of clean wheat cascading from the machine. Readers follow a narrative ennobled by rites of passage and rituals as old as the seasons.

Introduction

3

The book then turns to the industry of threshing. Responding to the needs of farmers, industrialists developed new technologies and new machines, including the steam traction engine and the thresher. The former resembles a locomotive that has left its tracks to amble freely across the earth. The latter appears to be a large magic box. In one end go the stalks of grain. From the other end comes the grain in one direction, the straw in another direction. Together, these two machines helped to change American farming. While readers imagine the panoramic harvests of yesteryear as enacted upon a serene landscape, they might overlook the wit and humor that characterized these vast, often communal endeavors. The third chapter offers the jokes hard-working men and women told and the pranks they played on one another. Threshing may have been a bone-wearying task, but those who engaged in it knew that humor could lighten the load. Threshermen and their families did not live in Eden; theirs was an epoch menaced by dangers. Droughts, ¶oods, and insect infestations threatened the harvest. Also, big machines posed hazards resulting in injury and death. The Harvest Story examines the dark side of the threshing era, to discern how threshermen coped with malevolent circumstances. Told in the threshermen’s own voices, the stories reveal their fear tempered by courage, their resignation balanced by dreams. The concluding chapter of this book examines the birth and development of a movement to rescue the past from oblivion. In the 1930s and 1940s, certain farmers began to collect the old iron machines. Others initiated reunions of threshermen, who would spend an afternoon or several afternoons running a steam engine and thresher while reminiscing about the good old days. At the same time, Elmer Ritzman, a minister with a passion for agricultural history, launched a magazine devoted to the stories of people who remembered the farms and factories of the

4

Introduction

late 1800s and early 1900s. In unvarnished prose, Ritzman urged readers to contribute their own accounts and to tell their stories in their own words. With remarkable foresight, Ritzman inaugurated what would become a treasury of ¤rst-person narratives. Ritzman and a growing host of collectors began a movement that now attracts millions of people to over eight hundred antique equipment shows each summer in North America. To make reading this book more enjoyable, the author has standardized the spelling and punctuation of material quoted from The Iron-Men Album Magazine. Names of contributors and their addresses, however, are spelled as they were in the Album. The author has included appendices offering easy-to-follow explanations of how steam engines and threshing machines work. He has also provided a suggested reading list for those wanting to pursue this book’s subject more broadly. Through this book, readers experience and comprehend a signi¤cant era in North America. The Harvest Story affords access to important historical information while entertaining readers with literature from and about America’s heartland. This book depicts the life of threshermen.

Chapter One

Those Good Old Days of Threshing “I guess they will have to pat me in the face with a spade to get me to forget the sight and sound and the smell of the good old steam engines.”1 —Jonas H. Williams of South Bend, Indiana

When the last agricultural steam traction engine rolled out of the Kitten factory in Ferdinand, Indiana, in 1940, the steam era on the American farm was winding down. Already, affordable gas tractors and combines were enabling farmers to work independently of one another. This trend banished the spirit of cooperation prevalent in the last ¤fty years of the nineteenth century and the ¤rst ¤fty years of the twentieth. During the steam century, harvest and grain threshing in many locales constituted a grand communal endeavor. Professor Thomas D. Isern has called this period of North American history “a golden age of rural culture.”2 For years after the passing of that epoch, people who had experienced steam threshing spoke nostalgically about the era and the engine. This nostalgia stemmed partly from their fascination with the machinery and partly from their perception that the steam epoch fostered a camaraderie that they enjoyed. 5

6

Chapter One

Gus Gephart’s rig featured a J. I. Case steam engine, built in Racine, Wisconsin. In the panoramic view above and on page 7,we see, from left to right, bundle wagons bringing in the sheaves; the threshing machine, grain wagon, and bundle wagons with

Gilmar Johnson of Frederic, Wisconsin, observed, “Threshing without steam is like eating bread without butter.” Roy Holding of Galva, Illinois, explained, “When you’ve got steam bubbling in your veins and the tang of coal dust in your nostrils, you don’t succumb so easily to progress.”3 Testimonials to the power of steam match the de¤nition of “nostalgia.” The yearning for former times is the thread that runs true through the recollections of those who experienced the golden age of harvesting and threshing. Beginning in the 1940s, reunions of threshermen and their families were held to keep alive the old ways. These gatherings spawned others in celebration of antique machinery. Today, over eight hundred such events take place every summer across North America.4 At these thresherees, smiling people “wallow in chaff, coal dust, nostalgia, and smoke.”5 For seniors, yesteryear’s primitive conditions spell sweet memories, and, for citizens born after threshing ended, jovial scenes prompt wistful wishes. Those who lived through the hard times and heroic harvests told their stories with rich language, which “holds one like the handclasp of an old friend.”6 Melge Golterman, Jr., of Wentzville, Missouri, painted a word portrait resembling a ¤ne old albumen photograph:

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

7

pitchers ready to feed the thresher; the engine; and the water wagon to replenish the boiler. The photo was taken east of Attica, Indiana. Photo reproduced courtesy Berry’s Camera Shop.

The dust and dirt of the thresher was not objectionable for there was a joy in being able to help a neighbor in the exchange of work. . . . the young ladies in the community would come out and insist on riding either on the dusty separator or on the coupling tongue while the machine was moving from one crop to another, not minding the fact that their white starched skirts acquired a brown sticky dust as a result of the experience.7 People like Golterman tell a story of harvest and threshing— a story of a time when the unveiling of a new steam engine at the centennial celebration in Philadelphia was reason enough to bring out the president of the United States, a 1,000-member choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus, and a 150-piece band performing a march composed by Richard Wagner.8 S. C. “Casey” Jones of Wichita, Kansas, urged threshermen to record their story for posterity: “The joy, sorrow, busted bridges, broken crankshafts, bad water and . . . romance followed the life of a thresherman. . . . let us hear you tell the story over once again. Tell it now, while the world is dying for a little bit of love, and we’ll all join in the chorus.”9 This book presents that story. (The story necessarily entails technical

8

Chapter One

terms which readers may understand by consulting the appendices.) There is indeed romance in the tale of the lovers of threshing. Titus Brubaker, Jr., and Christiana Garvey were married on the platform of a Frick traction engine.10 More recently, John E. McDowell and Beatrice J. Weidman were wed on John’s Baker engine, Dennis Christiansen and Cheryle Salchow exchanged vows on Dennis’s Advance-Rumely engine, and Harold Higley and Patty Miller were joined in wedlock by the Reverend Daniel Bare, who looked on from the platform of Richard Munk’s Baker steamer.11 To hear old-timers tell it, engineers were married to their engines. Before dawn, they took their lanterns and strode to the steamer. In the wheat lands of the Dakotas, Montana, and the adjacent Canadian provinces, the northern lights played near the horizon. Encapsulated in those threshing sunups of long ago is the tale of the steam-power era—a story of mechanical and technological marvels, of ingenuity and inventiveness, of hardships and triumphs over hardships, of danger, of humor, of enormous work, and of collaboration. Lantern in hand, the engineers stepped into the promise of each new day. Slim Rennewanz of Ennis, Montana, remembered how the morning would be “still as death.” The engineer would “break the silence” by “rattling the latches on the smokebox door” and swinging it open with a “grating squeal.” The engineer scraped the ash and cinders from the smokebox and from the ashpan beneath the ¤rebox. After making sure the boiler was well supplied with water, the engineer would kindle a ¤re in the ¤rebox, and wisps of smoke would drift from the smokestack. Before long, “you could hear the pleasant sound of water in the boiler beginning to sizzle.” The engineer would listen to the murmur of the steaming boiler for a second or two—“the most relaxing moment in the day of an engineer.” Then “a ¶icker of light appeared in the farmhouse kitchen window and the smoke of a cooking ¤re” rose from the chimney. The engineer heard “the rattling of milk

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

9

buckets” and “the bark of the farm dog trying to convince the milk cows to be barned at this early hour.” When the farmer approached the barn, the “nickering of work horses could be heard.” In the light of the rising sun, the tips of weeds in dew or frost sparkled yellow, and “a young lad or two would slowly venture toward the engine, stand off at what he considered a safe distance, [and] gaze at the formidable looking monster which had started to get hot by now and emitted . . . mysterious sounds.” Drops of water formed “around valve stem packing glands” and fell, hitting “the hot boiler shell” with “faint crackling noises.” The engineer “would always bring the young fellow out of his trance with a cheery, ‘Well, good morning, sonny, you are sure up bright and early.’” The lad would “forget his fears” and, “with a wide eager grin,” would come up to the engine platform. When the engineer turned on the blower, sending a loud rush of steam through the smokestack, “the lad would take off like a young colt and circle around the engine with misgiving.” The engineer would have to explain and coax. Finally, the lad “would be back . . . piling heaps of wood on the engine platform, getting a great thrill out of the blazing ¤re in the ¤rebox.”12 Such scenes were repeated from dawn to dawn across North America when people experienced steam “thrashin’,” as the word often was pronounced. (For a detailed explanation of the way farm steam engines work and the terms for parts of engines, readers may turn to Appendix 1.) In the urban present, envisioning a predominantly rural past is a challenge, but storytellers like Alden R. Moural of Milton, Iowa, reclaimed a bygone era by recapturing details: the morning ritual of pulling the tarp off the separator, a quail on a fence post, a prairie chicken drumming, the “pleasantly acrid engine smoke” mixed with cylinder oil, and the fragrance of “hay and alfalfa and many varieties of wild ¶owers.”13 The majority of reminiscences sound Edenic, at times self-congratulatory. The

10

Chapter One

threshing era’s propensity for verbal excess is seen in the advertising language of the old-time machinery catalogs, each seeking to outdo the other. To express matters in hyperbole became traditional. A few storytellers, however, mentioned the rough conditions threshermen faced with stoic endurance. Harry Fischback of Kettlersville, Ohio, recalled: We stayed with the farmers all week. There were no modern homes with hot air furnaces. The best they had was a cook stove and a wood heating stove. Most of the farmers had their spare beds up in the attic under the rafters. You did not have Deluxe innerspring mattresses to lie on. You slept on a sack ¤lled with straw or corn husks. . . . You covered up with a feather bed or tick as they were called. Oh! those darn feather ticks; many a night I slept with my coat on and woke up with a layer of snow on my back. . . . I did not have to worry that I would not wake up early enough in the morning. The farmer would take care of that. He would be there at 4:30 to get you out. Then you . . . gave your face an ice water shampoo.14 While certain accounts of hardship are intended to underscore the storyteller’s fortitude, others sincerely report the dif¤culties and challenges of rural life long ago. Strenuous labor amid harsh conditions typically would not engender nostalgic memories; nevertheless, the steam epoch held a special meaning for men and women engaged in harvesting and threshing. Why would people decorate their tombstones with engravings of steam traction engines? Why would they permanently perch a traction engine on the grass above their grave?15 Such practices suggest homage to the machine, but, more likely, such people honor an era. To comprehend this unique brand of nostalgia requires listening carefully to the voices speaking from the ¤elds of the past.

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

11

Time has erased the names of the people in this 1912 photograph, but their expressions are as fresh today as when the shutter was snapped. The engine is a J. I. Case, manufactured in Racine, Wisconsin.

That past appears colorful and inviting. People with distinctive personalities proudly answered to splendid nicknames: “Steam Engine Joe” Rynda, Henry “Father Time” Lucksinger, and “Old Whiskers,” whose given name had all but vanished.16 Engines and threshing machines bore intriguing trademarks. The Russell Company of Massillon, Ohio, featured a commanding bull known as “The Boss.” The C. Aultman Company of Canton, Ohio, chose a star to symbolize certain engine models. On the smokebox door of Rumely engines was cast the image of the La Porte, Indiana, factory atop the Western Hemisphere. Similarly, the Case eagle of Racine, Wisconsin, stood magni¤cently on top of the world. It had not always done so; on early Case engines, the eagle perched on the branch of a tree. That famous eagle began its career as a living bird, its name Old Abe. Captured in 1861 by a member of the Chippewa tribe, he changed owners until he was adopted as the mascot of the Eighth Regiment of Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry, the soldiers of which named him Old Abe. During the Civil War, the eagle took part in over thirty battles and skirmishes. Having seen this extraordinary bird, Jerome Increase Case

12

Chapter One

determined to place Old Abe as the trademark for his company, destined to become a leader in the agricultural machinery business.17 Old Abe was not the only eagle in the history of engine insignia; the Eagle Machine Works of Indianapolis, Indiana, boasted the logo of an eagle killing a thin rooster—a rooster which uncannily resembled the trademark of the competitive Aultman & Taylor Company of Mans¤eld, Ohio. That starved rooster advertisers ironically claimed was “fattened on an AultmanTaylor straw stack”—with the implication that the thresher made by that company saved all the grain and spilled none for the chickens. Artist Charles T. Greener of Faulkton, South Dakota, was credited with having created the famous famished rooster.18 The American-Abell Engine & Thresher Company of Toronto, Ontario, exchanged its earlier symbol of a dragon slayer for a rooster when John Abell heard that, on October 20, 1897, Lance Corporal Findlater of the Gordon Highlanders had been shot through his legs at the battle of Dargai Hill in India yet had bravely played the song “Cock o’ the North” on his bagpipes. Abell named his equipment line after the song. The Advance Thresher Company of Battle Creek, Michigan, ornamented engines with the well-known Banner Boy. Avery engines from Peoria, Illinois, were graced by a no-nonsense bulldog, a trademark which Mack trucks later adopted. The Birdsall (Auburn, New York), D. June (Fremont, Ohio), Lang & Button (Ithaca, New York), Lansing (Lansing, Michigan), and Wood Brothers (Des Moines, Iowa) companies selected the popular star to represent their equipment. Buffalo Pitts of Buffalo, New York, had—what else?—a buffalo! The Gaar-Scott Company of Richmond, Indiana, carried the image of a tiger standing on not one but both hemispheres of the world. A sleek greyhound dashed across the water tanks of Greyhound engines from Toledo, Ohio. The Harrison Machine Works of Belleville, Illinois,

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

13

identi¤ed itself by the renowned elephant named Jumbo. An elegant woman on horseback rode across the smokeboxes of KeckGonnerman engines made in Mount Vernon, Indiana. A lion smiled from the smokebox doors of engines built by the Waterloo Manufacturing Company of Waterloo, Ontario. All companies which paid royalties to the Indiana Manufacturing Company for the privilege of attaching windstackers to their threshers (and that included most companies) gave the farming world the face of the old farmer. Such an array of celestial bodies, human beings, ¶ora, and fauna in the trademarks of the time period attests to the inventive genius of an exciting epoch. Few, if any, monopolies on agricultural equipment existed. At various intervals, over a hundred different companies produced steam engines. Add to that ¤gure the manufacturers of threshers, hullers, binders, headers, stook loaders, and a host of other machines useful in the harvest, and the sum totals to hundreds of ¤rms engaged in the vital and healthy marketplace of competitive enterprise. Each tried to outsell the other and to establish brand loyalty among customers. The trademarks of agricultural-equipment manufacturers re¶ect how they vied with one another for sales. In a competitive atmosphere, each ¤rm tried to out-invent the other. Companies paid attention to the inventions of private citizens who discovered important innovations, many of which found their way into patents and pro¤ts. The Avery low-down feeder, which conveyed wheat to the threshing mechanism of a separator, is one widely known example of an idea which originated in a farmer’s ¤eld, not in a drafting room. The pages of The Farm Album and The Iron-Men Album magazines offer numerous additional instances of such private inventions. Competition encouraged creativity. Hardly anything could rival the thrill and awe felt when the machines of iron and steel manufactured from such genius (and

14

Chapter One

from a healthy dose of trial and error) appeared for the ¤rst time in a farming community. C. R. Willits of Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, communicated the excitement and joy he experienced: “The ¤rst [engine] I ever saw came by the schoolhouse at morning recess in 1888. I was eight years old. I remember that the smokestack was at the back . . . and that a man sat on a seat on [the] front of the boiler driving a team hitched to a tongue attached to the front axle.” Later, Willits could not study while a Rumely engine, tantalizingly poised just outside the classroom windows, sawed wood. “Another time,” Willits recalled, “late in the fall, on a cold frosty clear morning while still in bed, I heard it whistle coming by our house. I did not wait to dress but jumped out of bed, nightgown, bare feet and all, and ran to the road to watch it go by.”19 Only after the engine had passed by did Willits feel the frost beneath his bare feet. Mary Louise Dersewch of Ridgetop, Tennessee, remembered: From the moment the lonely sound of the big steam engine’s whistle was heard down the road, letting us know we were the next farm on the list, to the time when it died away in the distance at dusk, this was the most exciting day of the year for country people. Not only that, but it was one of the social events that we always looked forward to because this was a time when everyone came to work and eat and visit. . . . the excitement was outside the house, what with the big steam engine puf¤ng up the country road, its whistle sounding throughout the country. . . . Next was the trek into the wheat ¤eld, the big black engine leading the way, puf¤ng and snorting and the driver pulling the whistle cord. The thresher, that had previously looked to us like some terrible animal, followed tame and obedient behind the engine now. The wagon and mules came next with the

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

15

farmers guiding them toward the wheat ¤eld. We stood awed and silent as we watched the straw ¶ying from the . . . thresher and the golden grain sliding into the sacks.20 For many a child, threshing ranked as a favorite holiday. Recalling when the railroad brought his father’s ¤rst engine to town, Roy E. Boling of Hazelwood, Missouri, remembered watching in fascination while “the big engine” began to “roll over onto the dock” and then descended a ramp “to have its four wheels resting for the ¤rst time on Saline County soil.”21 The purchase of such equipment was a major expense for the few families who were willing to take the ¤nancial risk of entering the threshing business, but high costs alone cannot account for the excitement expressed in the numerous ¤rsthand narratives about engines coming fresh from the factory to the farm. The engine and associated equipment symbolized promise while captivating the imagination with mechanical wonders. L. K. Wood recorded these adolescent memories: We drove from Mendon, Utah, our hometown, in a white top buggy and arrived in the terminus town at dusk. I did not stop for supper but rushed down to the station to see if the Reeves engine was there. Sure enough, she occupied the big ¶atcar on which were several big boxes and a water tank stamped, “Reeves and Company, Columbus, Ind.” To say I was thrilled would be expressing it mildly. I didn’t sleep much that night, and, before daybreak, I was down to the railroad siding opening crates and placing the shiny brass boiler ¤xtures in their respective places, and by the time Mr. Evans, the factory expert, could eat his breakfast and get down there I had her all ready for ¤lling and ¤ring up. I watched with eagerness the steam gauge rise and kept

16

Chapter One

up a slow ¤re, oiled all the moving parts and ¤lled hand oilers with cup grease as well as using what waste I had to shine up the pretty boiler trimmings. It was indeed an inspiring sight and presented a dream to my boyish ideals.”22 The arrival of the rig on the home place quickened the childhood pulse, prompting George Bruce Dougna of Bettendorf, Iowa, to state that “the most exciting day of the year wasn’t Christmas, it was Thrashin’ Day.” When the “giant gray-black Reeves steam engine” came to Dougna’s farm, the “uphill slope of our driveway made the engine hint at its great power, like an enormous ¤st in a velvet glove.” The faces of the driver wheels “pressed wide, ¶at tracks onto the ground,” and the exhaust “brought goose bumps” with its “[s]onorous, slow, clipped, soft but mighty” sound—“chuffa, chuffa, chuffa.”23 At once simple yet fascinatingly complex, the emotional response of a child confronting such a machine as an agricultural traction engine speaks to the power of the nostalgia felt by those whose births occurred in the steam era. Ludwig B. Glantz of Minden, Nebraska, recalled boyhood memories of watching an engine one summer: “I had heard of some of the boilers blowing up. One water hauler had been killed. That sort of scared me, but I would be cautious. . . . The engineer in my opinion was a brave man.” Glantz observed the engine barking under a heavy load. Suddenly, the safety valve opened with a nearly deafening blast of escaping steam, and Glantz “thought that must be the boiler blowing up.” He ¶ed, but the “crew stayed around the machine, and no one ran away or seemed to be concerned.” His curiosity at peak performance, Glantz returned. Gradually, he became accustomed to the engine’s puf¤ng and its rocking back and forth while working hard. With his hand on one of the driver wheels, Glantz made a determination: “I pretty much decided when I grew up I was going to be an engineer.”24 The steamers represented artistry, ingenious mechanics, and

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

17

Threshing season was like Christmas in July for youngsters. These boys, reminiscent of Huckleberry Finn, were eager to have their picture taken with a J. I. Case engine, manufactured in Racine, Wisconsin.

practicality worthy of respect in any age. That children admired the engine comes as no surprise. The spectacle of a steamer belted to a thresher exercised a magnetic in¶uence on the childhood curiosity. If the many published recollections of threshermen and their families can be trusted for their accuracy, readers may assume that most engineers treated children with indulgent kindness. As Herb E. Beckemeyer of Champaign, Illinois, said, “those engineers would look after me like ‘an ol’ sitting hen.’”25 People who worked around engines and threshers were fully apprised of the dangers inherent in the machinery. They kept a watchful eye on children, whose natural curiosity might eventuate in harm. The record of the threshing past contains few accounts of injury to children. The incidents wherein youthful mishaps occurred generally involved mischief, as when boys might try to ¤re and run an engine with no grown-ups around to recommend a wiser course of action.

18

Chapter One

To a child, a steam engine appeared to be a mystical machine invented by a wizard. More accurately, by the late nineteenth century, it was a slightly smaller version of a railroad locomotive but with wheels to run on the ground, not on rails. An evocative vocabulary grew up around threshing rigs. Engines endearingly were called “old teakettle” or “puffer-belly.” Threshing machines descriptively were termed “the box.” If a thresher were too small in someone’s estimation, it might be dubbed a “coffee grinder.” Einar Ose of Cosmos, Minnesota, claimed to have coined that disparaging epithet for diminutive threshing machines. The term caught on and spread.26 Certain words re¶ected particular regions within North America. There were distinct geographical variations in threshing. (Readers are directed to Appendix 3, on chronological and regional differences in threshing.) Depending on where the speaker lived, he or she might refer to the grouters on the drive wheels of the engine as “grouters,” “cleats,” or “lugs”—or switch from one of these words to another of them. Some people may have thought of sharp grouters as cleats and of thicker, ¶atter grouters as lugs. Dialects based on region accounted for differing colorful names for geographical features encountered by the engines. Midwesterners spoke of “sloughs” (muddy hollows or bogs with water seeping through) while Northwesterners told of “coulees” (deep gulches wet or frozen in winter, dry in summer). The steam epoch has left a legacy of sayings which have persisted through the end of the twentieth century. To state that an angry person is “blowing his or her stack” derives from the world of engines puf¤ng smoke from their smokestacks.27 If a thing is excellent, it might be said to be “top-notch,” a descriptor springing from the engine’s reverse lever, which (on most engines) worked back and forth in a quadrant having notches to receive the lever and hold it in place. To be “steamed up” is to be angry. To “let off a little steam” is to complain brie¶y and to

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feel better afterwards—a minor catharsis. “Blowing off steam” means complaining longer and more loudly. To say “I’m losing steam” is to confess to a growing tiredness, and “hasn’t lost any steam” means the person continues to be vigorous or important. A person who is “all ¤red up” is full of energy and enthusiasm —like an engine with a hot ¤re in the ¤rebox. Going “full blast” suggests movement having great energy, as in a blast of steam from a pop valve or whistle. During the threshing era, water wagons regularly delivered water to a working engine in the ¤eld; a person who had sworn off alcohol was said to be “on the water wagon,” thereby implying that he or she was drinking only water. The phrase later became shortened to “on the wagon.” To say “they steamrolled us” is to imply that the opposition got its way like a steamroller which crushes anything in its path. “Boilerplate” is ready-to-print copy used in newspapers, trite writing, phrases repeated in standard correspondence, or formulaic wording in contracts, deeds, and warranties. The idioms “full throttle” and “full steam ahead” mean to make progress with the utmost speed. An authentic item is “the real McCoy,” a phrase that developed from Elijah McCoy, the African-American inventor who patented the drip lubricator, which revolutionized steam engines. Buyers were to beware of ineffective imitations and purchase the real McCoy.28 Within most parts of the so-called “lower forty-eight,” workers hauled “bundles” of wheat from the ¤elds while, in parts of Canada and in certain locales in the United States, such workers hauled “sheaves.” Likewise, “shocks” of wheat in most portions of the United States were “stooks” of wheat in most areas of Canada.29 Although engineering handbooks decried its use, the word “clock” often substituted for the proper term “steam gauge” in colloquial banter. Flywheels with curved spokes were “dogleg ¶ywheels.” Despite the fact that “threshers” (or “threshing machines”) had evolved into “separators” (threshing the grain, sep-

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arating the straw, and winnowing the chaff from the grain) at least as early as the 1837 patents of Hiram A. and John A. Pitts of Winthrop, Maine, the term “separator” did not catch on until almost a hundred years had elapsed. Ambiguously, the word “threshers” also meant either the workers involved in the activity of threshing or, more speci¤cally, the owners of threshing rigs. An engineer did not “carry a license”; he or she “had papers.” Anyone who has heard a “snappy” Russell knows what is meant by “stack talk.”30 Certain engineers who lived into the era of the gas tractor complained that modern language was anachronistically creeping into accounts of the steam threshing days. Said Laurence J. Hathaway of Easton, Maryland, it should not be “the operator was at the controls” but “the engineer was at the throttle.” Similarly, engineers ran engines and threshers; they did not operate them. Earl Maynard of Millville, Utah, said: We were respectively “engineers,” “separator tenders,” “bindermen,” “header punchers,” “¤remen,” “spike pitchers,” “bundle pitchers” (in the ¤eld), “bundle haulers,” “oilers,” “sack sewers,” “sack jigs,” “roustabouts” (with team and buggy to [go] to town for food. . . . There never was a “steam tractor.” We loathed tractors! We gloried in “steam engines.”31 Apologies to Maynard, but Abner Baker experimented with a “steam tractor,” there was a Bryan steam tractor, and International Harvester built two prototype steam tractors not sold commercially.32 These tractors represented experimental designs markedly different from typical steam engines. An advertisement on page 9 in the April 1915 issue of The American Thresherman and Farm Power magazine, however, refers to a standard steam engine as “the Nichols-Shepard Steam Tractor.”

This ad from 1858 depicts a portable engine. This is an artist’s conception, and one wonders how often the tiny bucket depicted here would have to be re¤lled to supply the engine.

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Similar ads for Case and Rumely engines call them steam tractors. Maynard’s point, nonetheless, remains well taken. In the days when “work out” did not mean to exercise in a gym but to hire out one’s physical abilities for work, “if you heard someone refer to members of the crew as ‘You Guys,’ you knew that he was a hobo or some silly kid trying to act like one.” And threshing people, agricultural historians, and hobbyists alike understand how easily one can catch the “steam bug.”33 Such word-smithing represents the stock in trade of storytellers, and storytelling receives its inspiration from the oral tradition. The threshing decades did not lack for captivating storytellers. To the extent that the threshing rings brought families in certain communities together, people congregated and wanted entertainment, preferably the kind which also enlightened and inspired. The presence of an audience and the desire for entertainment conspired to create excellent storytellers, who took for subjects the scenes around them. Advertising, as seen in the machinery-company catalogs, often relied on storytelling as one means of promoting sales. Wherever the catalogs circulated— including remote or sparsely populated regions—people had the opportunity to observe the crafting of stories. With curious, colorful, and quaint language informing the story of harvesting and threshing, many turned to verse to sing of their nostalgia. Often expressed in ballad stanzas, a poetic form with roots in medieval Europe and with branches in church hymns, such verse presents another dimension to the harvest story: For some of us remember And often we recall A pleasant mild September Or later in the fall. An early morn before the dawn

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The time the roosters crow We had just got up to stretch and yawn When we heard the whistle blow. And for us little farmer lads The grandest time of all Was when we went to watch our dads While threshing in the fall. Somehow we always got a thrill ’Twas music to our ears To hear the call of the whistle shrill And the rumble of the gears.34 Hazel Wheeler Blauth of Franklin, Illinois, contributed this verse: Every engine has a language, And its owner knows it best; He can hear it from a distance. . . . Knows its voice from all the rest.35 W. W. Slaw of Zion, Illinois, departed from the meter typical in threshing verses and painted a nostalgic picture: When summer has ended and all down the lane The wheat ¤elds are waving with ripe golden grain, When orchards are heavy with fruit on the bough And barns are o’er¶owing with hay in the mow, Then I love to remember the wonderful scene That was made by the old-fashioned threshing machine.36 According to certain de¤nitions, verse and poetry are not the same. Verse has rhythm and may have rhyme but places little

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emphasis on ¤gurative language. Poetry invokes such referential language as metaphors, similes, and symbols to strive toward great feeling, to convey a particular spirit, or to communicate an understanding of abstract concepts. Eva K. Anglesburg wrote verse which approached the level of poetry: So you like this country, stranger? Well, I wish you could have seen it, In the nineties when the land was new and we were raising wheat; When the Valley of the Red was one great sea of ¤fe and bluestem, Raising grain enough to furnish bread for all the world to eat. It was nothing like this modern sort of farming with its turkeys, And its sheep and hogs, and cows and hens, and beets and spuds, and hay. It was something big and splendid like the swing and sweep of seasons, Seems as if the Lord intended men to farm that grander way. .... We’d start thrashing in September, when the lazy winds were sleeping And the air was still and balmy, and a purple haze was spread Over all the distant landscape. . . . Evening’s stillness brought the eerie Minor chant of far off blowers as the sun sank round and red. ....

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Gone forever, those great straw ¤res, gone the blowers’ somber chanting And the giant drive-belt’s humming and the rich, warm smell of grain. It’s the price we pay for progress. Wheat no longer rules the Valley. With its passing went a splendor we shall never see again.37 Anglesburg’s verse laments the passing of an era. Why would the hard, dusty, dangerous work of harvesting and threshing ¤eld upon ¤eld of grain so inspire people to regret so deeply the loss of that arduous labor? Why would people be so conscious that a way of life was receding into the darkness of history that, even before the threshing epoch had ended, they had begun to rescue and restore the engines which symbolized that fading past? One answer lies in the nature of shared work. Where farmers formed threshing rings, mechanized threshing was anything but a solitary activity. In regions relying more upon custom threshing, crews that were bent on pro¤ts learned to collaborate ef¤ciently. In North America’s colonial and pioneer years, the farmer often worked alone, but, with the advent of agricultural/ industrial technologies in the generation before the Civil War and with the proliferation of harvesting and threshing machines after that war, many farmers learned to collaborate. In many instances, an aura of goodwill surrounded the threshing season. Charles Vindex of Sandstone, Minnesota, wrote: In my remote, remembered boyhood there was a time each year, soon after summer, soon before winter, when all the year’s labor and hope culminated in one great united effort. . . . autumn was threshing time, and threshing stood out—

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a period unequaled then in its special quality, and, for me, unapproached ever since. . . . When the ripe wheat poured from the threshing-machine grain spout, bright with the very color of the sun, the farmer knew where he stood, how well his family would eat, how warmly he could afford to clothe them. More than that, it was the one season when farm activities became a community activity, when neighbors stood together to challenge the swift shortening of . . . days, the sure roughening of a savage and capricious climate. In that setting the season produced a sense of urgency, of total involvement, ¤nally of accomplishment, that was largely lost when the combine [that is, the power takeoff combine pulled by a tractor] made harvesting a onestage, one-man job—another routine, another chore.38 In the environment of cooperation which mechanical threshing often engendered, engineers occupied center stage. More than half of them felt a powerful fascination for the machines they ran. “It is a great thrill,” commented an engineer, “to stoke that old ¤rebox and listen to the exhaust chuckle as the bundles are fed into the separator—occasionally a tough bundle will cause the governor to kick out several loud barks, then settle down again.” He added, “I guess these are the things that cause me to . . . endure the heat, dust, and soot.”39 During threshing, the engine and the engineer captured people’s attention. Vindex offered a vivid sketch of threshing: I remember watching from a Great Plains hilltop as threshing went on in all directions. . . . A machine miles away could be spotted by the mountainous yellow straw stack at its end and the cloud of dust and chaff that the blower spewed over its top. . . . Eventually a stack exceeded the blower’s range; then the straw spattered against its

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peak, unable to lift over it, and the dust cloud ¶ared away like an opening ¶ower, the outer edges of its petals constantly trimmed by the prairie wind. .... Before “setting” the machine for a new day or a new location, the “separator man” scooped a handful of dust and threw it high to observe its drift. The machine was moved to face its feeder-end [almost directly] into the wind, and leveled to make the threshed grain ¶ow back evenly over the screens inside. The [engine] backed [into] . . . the great brown belt, which two men unrolled. . . . One man backed a grain tank under the spout at one side of the machine, while another cranked the blower up out of its . . . cradle on the roof. Two teamsters drove bundle wagons up beside the feeder and picked up their pitchforks. The wheels began to turn. Work-trained horses moved empty wagons at an easy run to where the dusty gold shocks stood in rows. . . . Each wagon with its wide rack jounced and clattered over inequalities of ground while the blue-overalled teamster stood alert, loose-jointed, accommodating his body effortlessly to every jolt. .... When rain threatened, work extended into darkness . . . and might continue until midnight. . . . the owner ¤red the stack for light to work by. Straw stacks burned bright orange and red all over the wide countryside. The smoke billowed away before the wind, strong and acrid near a ¤re but mellowing with distance. . . . At moving time the last two teamsters to unload drove their wagons aside and returned to clean up around the feeder. One man gathered fallen bundles and straw

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with a fork; the other used a broad shovel to scoop up detached heads. They worked in a choking gray cloud of dust. Chaff . . . and dirt dribbled into open collars and over damp skins. . . . Then the machine moved along the shortest possible route across ¤elds and meadows to the next site. Fences meant nothing; a man hurried on ahead, pulled the staples out of a few posts or tore a few posts out of the ground, and laid the wires ¶at while the rig moved over them. On level prairie it could lumber from farmyard to farmyard in a line as straight as the ¶ight of a bullet.40 Old-timers fondly remembered engines’ whistles. Ed L. Halle of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, said that “when the day’s work was done and the engine man banked his ¤re and shut off his water glass for the night, he would blow his whistle—two or three long toots. He would be answered by some other crew in another quarter, then another would answer and so on from all sections.” Halle attested that each whistle’s tone was distinctive “and easily identi¤ed.” As Halle put it, “There was Otto Fenner, Frank Hanson, August Clein, William Shultz, Mike Sentner, the Broameys, Phillip Checobe, Frank Adrian, and, of course, the Lamb boys. It sometimes happened that some of these boys would be twenty miles from home, and their whistles would be missing.” A stranger’s whistle would be heard instead, “and you wondered who he was.”41 In 1870, a Montana settler wrote to the Wood, Taber & Morse Company of Eaton, New York, “Your engine is a rare sight in these mountains. Some of the old mountaineers have come down the valley and camped for two or three days to see the machine and listen to the whistle of my agricultural steam engine.”42 Almost as memorable as the whistle were the threshing dinners. Vindex said that “¤ve meals a day were served.” Breakfast included

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Certain steam engines, like this Reeves, manufactured in Columbus, Indiana, were designed to pull plows as well as to thresh.

hot cakes and sausage or “heaped plates of potatoes boiled, chopped ¤ne, then browned in a skillet with butter or fragrant bacon fat.” At 9:30 a.m., “the women brought the ¤rst lunch out to the ¤eld.” The large baskets contained sandwiches, cakes, donuts, cookies, and rolls, along with “coffee that sent its aroma shimmering across a half mile of dusty stubble.” At noon came dinner, “basically a banquet for carnivores.” The second lunch appeared at 3:00 p.m. At 6:00 or 6:30 p.m., the workers “washed dusty faces at a basin set on an apple box in the yard” and entered the house for supper.43 When harvest and threshing ended, emotions were mixed— elation at completion of a gargantuan task blended with a vague sense of sorrow that a whole year would have to pass before there could be another threshing with its camaraderie and feasting. Custom thresherman Roy W. Ross of Innisfail, Alberta, said, “There were so many things that were hard, and then when it was over for the year, and everyone had gone home, there always seemed to be a great loneliness take you for days. The rush and excitement, long hours and the great meals we had, all gone for another

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year.” At the end of the threshing season, even competitive custom threshermen missed the cooperation they had experienced. Bill Thurman of Archie, Missouri, said, “We cared for one another. No matter what happened we were always friends, where together no problem could become too much that as a ‘crew’ we couldn’t overcome.”44 Many of those who lived during the heyday of threshing have bestowed the legacy of their experience through their stories. Their voices form a chorus of individual parts which blend into harmony. The result is melodiously nostalgic. O. R. Aslakson of New Rockford, North Dakota, said: I was four or ¤ve years old. A rig pulled into our pasture to do some threshing, and I can still see the bright red wheels of the engine. . . . The engine puf¤ng up the stack and rocking a little with the motion, the gurgling hiss when the ¤reman started the injector . . . , the smell of hot oil and smoke already fascinated me. Of course the engineer was the most important man there to me. . . . I am not sure if my ambition to become an engineer started right then. . . . My dad knew everything and could do anything . . . but even he did not run an engine. Somehow several thresher catalogs came into my possession . . . , and I really studied them; when I was older I often took them along on horseback while herding cattle.45 Amos Rixmann of Nashville, Illinois, astutely commented, “The gasoline engine has given us great power in a small package. . . . Yet the potential of the reciprocating steam engine design has never been developed beyond its infancy.”46 A Japanese concept holds that what is truly beautiful must fall like a cherry blossom; in other words, when the petals have attained the pinnacle of beauty, they drift off and away from the tree. So it was with the

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steam engine. A peculiar combination of factors—world war, economic slumps, changes in transportation, population shifts, a renewed independence, and aggressive advertising by petroleum industries and gasoline-engine manufacturers—brought a sudden end to steam-engine technology at the historic moment when engines were becoming perfected. In large part, this dramatic disappearance of the steam engine from America’s rural landscape accounts for the power of the nostalgia felt for the days of harvesting and threshing: I am not a very old man as far as years go, but I have had over thirty-¤ve years experience in building, rebuilding, and handling engines of various makes. They are about all passed into the past, but . . . I can look back and dream pleasant dreams of the smell of steam and the sound of a good clear exhaust and the smoothness of operation and ¤ne performance. We could get a lot out of those old iron giants, and my prayer is not to let those ¤ne engines disappear completely from us.47 So spoke Ray King of Louisiana, Missouri. The preservation movement (described in the fourth chapter of this book) answered King’s prayer. Soon after the gasoline-powered tractor and the tractorpulled power takeoff combines made farmers relatively alone at harvest time, threshermen began to mourn the loss of the steam era. A. Preston Gray of Kingsport, Tennessee, said: Don’t speak. Just a minute, be quiet. I’m listening to music of long ago. I hear those steam whistles as the sound echoes through my soul to this day, and I see those slowly moving wonders of beauty and power. . . . I have seen the blue wood smoke from that boiler . . . hang suspended . . .

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like some celestial thoroughfare over which angelic chariots might move in iridescent splendor.48 Gray added that a steam engine became “a living thing, throbbing with energy”—one reason to explain the attachment people felt for the machine. That which compelled such nostalgia after the steam engine faded away also compelled the development of the engine in the ¤rst place. E. C. Foreman of Tacoma, Ohio—who had served as a sales agent for Gaar-Scott—put the matter in this way: “Down through the age of the thresher, horse power, and the steamer, I believe it can be truthfully said that the development and advancement was more of a compulsion than invention to care for the expanding production of grain and the needs of the increasing population.”49 Steam power was mysteriously alluring. Logan D. Trent depicted the threshing scene: It was in late September—the most glorious, fascinating, and bewitching time of all the year in North Dakota. There was no moon, but millions of stars. . . . As if trying to make this perfect day still more wonderful, the Aurora Borealis put on a special display. Great streamers, like delicate silk curtains of subdued rainbow colors, hung from the center of the dome of the heavens. . . . We were on the southern slope of the Turtle Mountains. . . . I got my bearings from a hundred familiar lights that were now gleaming from as many steam engines dotted over the level prairies to the south. . . . We had counted smoke columns arising from as many as two hundred threshing out¤ts visible from the Turtle Mountain tops that fall.50 Trent witnessed a spectacular vista of great historical importance. As John Hildebrand says in Mapping the Farm, Trent

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“couldn’t have known it then, but he was living through the golden era of American agriculture.” Ira C. Mast of Elkhart, Indiana, explained the attraction of that golden age: “The ‘good old days’ . . . were very important days. There was little education, but people had vision and energy. They worked hard and were self-sustaining. They didn’t have too many comforts of life and money but were content and happy helping each other in their work. They were not confronted with the many complications of today.”51 In the sampler of recollections embroidered with vibrant quotations runs a common pattern—the force of memory and the consciousness of unalterable change compelled threshermen and their families to record their reminiscences for the ineffable future. They intended for their story to be universal and timeless. Ted Carter of Asheville, North Carolina, wrote about “the days of past years when folks were close to the seasons, the days of rural living. Harvests were grand in the mountains, matching the season. . . . Neighbors were close then, helping with the labors, ‘swapping work’ with each other. . . . Folks meant it when they said, . . . ‘We don’t have much, but what we have, you’re welcome to.’”52 What they had was dignity in participating in a profession which they perceived as noble. What they had was independence and self-reliance set within a mutually supportive series of relationships from the core family, through the extended family, and, in many instances, to the neighbors and their families. Within these concentric circles they had opportunity for compassion and service. They also had pride in doing a job well and in seeing the rewards of their labor; furthermore, they had a sense of familial history—of where their ancestors had been and of where they were going. They sent down deep anchoring roots, if not in a speci¤c place then in their ancestry. And many rural people settled in one spot, never to leave for half a dozen or more generations. They had, therefore, a stability. What people had in the late nineteenth and early twentieth

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centuries, despite periodic recessions, was what they would recall as having been a golden age in North America. To hear the oldtimers tell it, many of them recognized their good fortune at that historic crossroads without having to wait for hindsight to be their teacher. Speci¤cally, these old-timers, in their youth, witnessed industry’s impact on agriculture, and they actively participated in transforming North America into the world’s breadbasket. It is equally fair to say they witnessed agriculture’s in¶uence on certain industries because the need for improvements in harvesting and threshing techniques initiated many an invention and many a factory to build equipment. The small shop (often in the home or in a nearby shed) run by an enterprising inventor (like George Frick or Peter Geiser) and a handful of workers in the decades just before the Civil War had, by the turn of the century, boomed into the sprawling factory with hundreds of employees. The sheer vitality and raw energy of these bustling manufacturing ¤rms impressed themselves upon the recollections of those who visited these plants. For John O. Rhinemiller, a boy of four or ¤ve years of age in the ¤rst decade of the twentieth century, the “most vivid memory” of the Huber factory “was the boiler room, two rows of boilers and such a noisy place!”53 In the peak period of steam threshing, plants scarcely could keep up with demand and must have been deafening. Iva Burris of Yucaipa, California, recalled when her husband, Frank, had worked for the J. I. Case Company of Racine, Wisconsin, in the ¤nal-testing department: New steam engines were pushed from the assembly buildings to the testing ¶oors by a live steamer. If it happened to be rainy weather and the wood block paving became slippery, the steamers were too light on the front end to do such pushing of their cold brothers. This often led to

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Husking and shredding corn was a late-autumn chore. In this photograph, the people are dressed for cold weather. Raising corn was a labor-intensive activity, becoming mechanized relatively late, and photos of husker-shredders powered by steam engines are rare.

jackkni¤ng of the ten-foot pike pole used to connect the engines. But the operators on the pusher were very adept at handling an engine under such circumstances, and, instead of stopping or trying to tow, which would have resulted in extra operations near the Prony brakes, they simply left the throttle wide open and maneuvered their engine by the reverse lever and steering wheel. It became full speed ahead, full reverse to straighten out the jackknife, then full speed ahead again.54 C. R. Willits remembered touring the Avery factory in Peoria, Illinois. He “enjoyed a ride down in the yard on the ¤rst eighteen-horsepower Avery built and which they used in their machinery loading department for years.” Willits said, “I fell in love with the Avery Undermounted then and there, and I have never gotten over it.” Louis Huber likewise “rode on the Avery

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that they used in their yard.” The engineer was Huber’s uncle. Huber noticed that the engine had power steering, “so much talked about today on cars and tractors.”55 Prussian-born Joseph Kitten ran a lively factory in Ferdinand, Indiana: “While working in his shop, he and his work force honored the then well-accepted custom of gulping brew on the job. Each day, at his four after-breakfast meal breaks, Kitten would send his boy apprentice to the local tavern with an empty ale bucket for each of his employees.”56 Kitten would not permit the ale pails to run dry. Jesse H. Shoemaker of Kankakee, Illinois, commented on the interest which the Keck-Gonnerman factory in Mount Vernon, Indiana, took in each customer: “Mr. Keck instructed his night watchman to sell to any of his customers anything any hour of the night when they came for repairs.”57 In those days, ¤rms like Avery and the Advance-Rumely Company of La Porte, Indiana, published songs to advertise their products by delighting their customers. Such songs were not jingles but complete lyrics to popular melodies.58 The industrious sales agents of the halcyon days of steam power accumulated stories to last a lifetime. Gaar-Scott representative E. C. Foreman distinctly recalled a sale made to German immigrants in West Virginia: We got the unloading done by late evening ready for an early start next morning. Before we got the out¤t off, Jake got somewhat charged up on something stronger than river water that ¶owed close by. I told him that if he were in that shape in the morning the rig would not be moved. He said he could get as drunk as a mountain owl and still go better than sober people. The next morning Jake was right there before daylight and sober, saying he was as fresh as a new potato dug from the old German soil.59

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Such anecdotes enable readers to glimpse one of the most expansive periods in American agriculture. The stories readers reclaim from the rapidly vanishing agricultural past do not exactly resemble the history of renowned leaders or prominent events; yet, the stories from the era of the steam engine and threshing machine have value as part of America’s farming legacy. The history of a predominantly agricultural United States came to an end at about the time that farm steam engines fell out of use. Steam-powered locomotives on the railways of the United States lasted longer: “As recently as 1941, over 42,000 of the nation’s 44,333 locomotives were run by steam. But by 1965 only ninety-three steam locomotives remained on U.S. rails.”60 The traction engine of the rural landscape ceased sooner. In 1929, Cecil Simpson of Bargersville, Indiana, was able to buy a Russell threshing machine for only ¤ve hundred dollars, “as the company was going out of business.” In fact, Russell had sold out in March of 1927, but the company continued to provide service for its equipment until 1942.61 Companies like Russell either closed or adapted to new circumstances by diversifying into other areas. In 1934, on April 1, in Twin Falls, Idaho, over eight thousand people “gathered at the rim of Snake River Canyon . . . to observe what was supposed to mark the passing of the steam engine.” A twenty-¤ve-horsepower Reeves cross-compound traction engine under steam and poised precariously on the south edge of the canyon was put in gear, and plummeted to an explosive ¤nale far below.62 Indeed, the steam engine was slipping into obscurity. The Frick company sold its last new traction engine in 1927, its last rebuilt traction engine in 1930, and its last portable engine in 1943. The last Kitten engine, built in 1940, was sold in June of 1942 for $2,550.00.63 The Case company had stopped regular engine production as long ago as 1924 and assembled that ¤rm’s two last engines—both portables—in 1925 and 1926. Until about 1950, J. C.

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Clore ran a Frick portable, which had been built in 1877 and used continuously until purchased by the Smithsonian Institution. The last time that the citizens of Galva, Illinois, were treated to the thrilling sight of an engine unloaded in the railroad yard was in 1952. LeRoy York of Stewartsville, Minnesota, quit professional threshing in 1956, and F. W. Johnson of Fulda, Minnesota, did his last threshing in 1958.64 By the 1950s, the combine had replaced the separator, and threshing dwindled to a fond memory. In turn, the cooperation that many threshermen had experienced disappeared, leaving only the solitary life of combining. The invention of the tractor-pulled power takeoff combine requiring only one operator was an important technology of service to society; however, its disservice appeared in its tendency to dissolve the interdependence that threshing had brought about in certain locales. Such combines required only one operator, making a community of harvest hands redundant. When Hiram Moore tested his combine on July 12, 1838, he could not have foreseen the future;65 the ¤rst combines required teams of mules or horses and a crew to run the machinery. A century later, however, small one-operator combines shoved aside the threshing machine. Recalling the excellence of the thresher, George Brown of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, said: “Those were the days of well-threshed grain . . . in contrast to the . . . so-called modern method of harvesting which they call combining with your bins part full of . . . grain and weed seeds and the chaff, which is the best part of the straw, left in the ¤eld instead of in the straw stack where it belongs.” Brown spoke for numerous old-timers, who believed that if the ancestors “would see how their grandsons are leaving grain in the ¤elds with their combines, they wouldn’t turn in their graves; they would come right up and take over.” E. A. “Frog” Smith of Fort Myers, Florida, exclaimed, “I wonder how they can ¤gure that a diesel can outlast a steam engine, when there are so many more of them in the junkyards. And so far very few steam

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engines have actually been worn out. Usually they wore the job out.”66 Those who lived in the threshing days often sounded hardpressed to name the advantages of the combine, the gas or gasoline tractor, and the diesel-¤red internal combustion engine. But the steam engine and the thresher were gone, apparently never to return. Gone, too, were the factories that built threshing equipment. Fred Fox of Mt. Royal, New Jersey, lamented the loss: “Gone is the . . . chubby foreman who walked around with his old felt hat and his curly pipe emitting sparks because someone had put cast iron dust in it at lunch time. Gone also is the company spirit . . . when a man felt that his company was King—and without him it could not produce.” Fox observed that present-day plant supervisors have “never given one hour’s thought to such things as leadership, morals, or power of command,” and that, in the steam era, supervisors could look in an employee’s toolbox and “judge his ability.”67 Many old-timers, like Fox, perceived that threshing-equipment factories, which did not rely on an assembly-line approach and which were small, were more personable than later, larger ¤rms, which they considered faceless. In turn, they linked their memory of economically “good times” with the smaller factories. Amid the changes which followed the demise of the threshing epoch loomed what many threshermen and their families regarded as the loss of community: The excitement and the fun of the threshing machine is gone forever. Its place has been usurped by the more ef¤cient combine. Only in museums do we see the “monarch of the plains,” with its attendant cookhouse, bunkhouse, and water wagon. When the threshing machine went, it took something valuable with it. The selfsuf¤ciency of the modern farm unit has contributed to the decline of community life in rural areas.

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. . . Men no longer have to work together, so they show less and less desire to meet together for community projects.68 The dwindling percentage of people engaged in agriculture may have contributed to the perception of loss. Before the 1920 census, over half the population of the United States lived in rural areas. The highest number of farms in this country—6.8 million—existed in the year 1935;69 after that time, foreclosures, weak ¤nancing, military service, the promise of more lucrative jobs in metropolitan settings, and the changeover from products to services menaced farming, and the number of individual farms steadily declined. Simultaneously, mass production’s assembly lines changed factory life, and workers began watching their watches instead of their work. Charles L. Genter of Byron, Oklahoma, set his thoughts in verse: The smoke is gone from the prairie, And the boys from the cook shack door. The whistle is silenced forever, And its call is heard no more. No more in the summer’s darkness Will the engineer rise at three And crawl in a sooty ¤rebox As black as black could be. No more on sunlit mornings Will we load the racks with sheaves And across the ¤elds go trailing To some old faithful Reeves.70 James F. Percival of Watertown, South Dakota, remembered the end: “Steam engines that were good for another ten or ¤fteen years . . . were sold for junk. . . . The old machines were left in

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fence corners for the turkeys to roost on, and the cook cars were used for chicken brooders.” Glenn R. Barick of Upper Sandusky, Ohio, commented, “I now own the farm that has been in our family for 120 years, but the farm is only . . . a hobby while I am forced to seek employment elsewhere. The same wonderful kind of people still live in the old neighborhood, but we don’t have time to be neighbors anymore. Just an occasional ‘Hi!’ as we rush madly about trying to keep up with this crazy world.”71 Ironically, the period of steam-powered threshing also was a time of “individual freedom as no future generation will ever know it.”72 To many threshermen, the demise of threshing meant the disappearance of a way of life. Steam threshing vanished because of the ¤rst World War’s reduction of agricultural manpower at the very time when crops had heavy yields—thus making it necessary to resort to tractors to get the job done; the Great Depression when farms went under, businesses failed, and railroads trimmed payrolls; World War II and the consequent decrease in men seeking work; the WWII mentality of “fast and cheap”; the concentrating of the majority of the population in cities; industries’ changeover to gas, gasoline, and diesel fuels supposedly to cut down operating costs; the mushrooming power of petroleum interests; and farmers’ desire to be less dependent on threshing crews and better able to harvest on their own schedule. After the combine replaced the thresher, however, the subsequent drive toward bigger farming caused farmers to relinquish their independence little by little. People who admired steam power to the extent of adoration were allowed a quip about gasoline-¤red machines: “One of the most ef¤cient steam turbine plants was owned and operated by— get this—the Ford Motor Company! . . . King Henry, the Ford, mass (or mess)-produced and merchandised the infernal comebusting engine—but used the steam turbine to power his own plant.”73

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This splendid threshing scene was snapped near Hedrick, Indiana, on the Illinois state line, at the farm of Henry Lohmyer. Note the ladies’ white starched dresses, which must have been uncomfortable on a hot day. The engine is a Keck-Gonnerman,

Similarly ironic was the fact that Japan purchased American scrap iron, including junked engines, which, by World War II, became bullets ¤red at American soldiers. Engines and armaments share histories. The word “engine” is derived from “ingenious” and was ¤rst used to refer to “engines of war,” such as the catapult. To a lesser extent during World War I and to a greater degree throughout World War II, a sense of patriotism motivated farmers and threshers to offer up their steam engines for scrap drives to build up American weapons. The scrapping of engines later motivated Elmer L. Ritzman, the Methodist minister from Pennsylvania and founder of magazines devoted to old iron, to comment on the preservation movement: “Had these threshermen not united to save our ¤ne old engines, they’d have long ago been melted into bullets to damn Mankind.”74

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manufactured in Mount Vernon, Indiana. The Lighty Photo Company of Williamsport, Indiana, produced the picture, reproduced courtesy Berry’s Camera Shop.

Nostalgia for the steamers prompted individuals in the 1930s and 1940s to conceal engines from the eagle eyes of junk dealers and scrap collectors. Fearful that the future might hold no steam engines, these individuals banded together, and a full¶edged movement to preserve the history of agricultural steam power gradually got underway (as shown in the fourth chapter of this book). Threshing bees sprang into being on private farms. Next, public reunions of men and women with threshing experience were held on farms and fairgrounds. In certain locations, these reunions were billed as “steam rodeos” or “rallies.” Always at the center of such events were two or three—and eventually twenty, thirty, or even a hundred—agricultural steam engines. The lure of “our ¤ne old engines” attracted ever-larger crowds to the bees, reunions, rodeos, and rallies: “They are drawn by that sound—a low, rhythmic throbbing, mixed with a whirring

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of many ¶ywheels, the soft purring of well-oiled pistons . . . , the hiss of escaping steam, and the clanking of metal wheels and steering chains as one more mighty traction engine maneuvers into place among the trees at the edge of the ¤eld.” The engines “sit there . . . idling—huf¤ng and puf¤ng, building pressure in their boilers—getting ready to . . . do the work they were so welldesigned to do.” They resemble “a herd of placid elephants resting in a grove of trees.” A parallel movement in Great Britain, by the early 1980s, had placed in preservation an estimated two thousand steam traction engines.75 No reliable count of extant engines in North America has materialized, although Blake Malkamaki of Concord, Ohio, has compiled a list of over two thousand. Estimates range from four thousand to much higher numbers. The ¤gure surely must be higher than anyone in the 1940s had the right to expect, although not as high as the several hundred thousand steamers built in the United States and Canada during the age of steam. Each summer, hundreds of shows of antique farming equipment are held in North America. These events serve to celebrate the past. They unite people to honor the broad, diverse agricultural heritage and to institutionalize a commonality of values. Historically the ¤rst public reunion of threshermen and their families, the National Threshers Association hosts an annual rally in Wauseon, Ohio; the four-day thresheree affords attendees the opportunity to share the nostalgia many rural people feel for the steam era. The bees, rodeos, reunions, and steam-o-ramas present to throngs a yearly opportunity to renew the values many feel are rooted in the agricultural legacy. Steam threshing equipment occupies center stage at most of these annual gatherings. Dedicated preservationists have rescued from near oblivion engines and threshing machines, now restored to mint condition. Chester Phalor of Columbus, Ohio, expressed his nostalgia in verse:

Those Good Old Days of Threshing

Upon my cottage porch I sit And dream of happy days, When old steam threshers rolled along The lanes and dusty ways. .... I liked to watch those clouds of steam, And loved the whistle’s tone. I liked to hear the drive wheels ring When they would crush a stone. .... I’d meet it halfway up the lane And walk along beside, And I’d envy my big brother As he ran the thing with pride. The engine seemed to have pride too, As though it were alive. It seemed to try to please him, And would purr when he would drive. I thought I could not wait until The time I’d grow to be A ¤rst-class traction engineer, I hoped as good as he. .... The little modern combine has Replaced the threshing crew, But modern harvests do not have The romance that we knew. So when our task on earth is done And we are called above, I hope to meet that threshing crew That I had learned to love.

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And surely, when St. Peter ¤nds That we are standing by, He’ll send us out to thresh some wheat, Some barley, oats, and rye. And when we get out to the ¤eld, I know that we shall ¤nd An engine with full head of steam And a thresher hitched behind.76 Dr. George Shepherd of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, summarized the sincere feeling which many threshermen have conferred upon later generations: Some writers like to talk of the romance and glamour of the harvest ¤elds when steam was king. Those of us oldtimers who lived those days have no quarrel with the words. We recall those days with a silent prayer to the memory of that gallant army of men and women who shared their hopes and fears with us. And as we move around among the threshing machines in the present-day reunions, amid the chaff and straw and noise, all the moisture in the old-timers’ eyes isn’t caused by the dust.77

Chapter Two

The Who, What, When, Where, and How of Threshing

L

ow stone walls amble over hills and beneath trees on a picturesque farm in Cat Hollow in New York. Only the splashing of a boulder-strewn stream interrupts the hush of the world. What were the needs of such a farm? A highland farm in the southern Appalachian Mountains features split-rail fences delineating sloping ¤elds embroidered with rhododendron, azalea, and pine. What were this farmer’s needs? Near the bayou in Louisiana stands a ¤eld of rice; acrobatic birds with stilts for legs go ¤shing in the sultry marshes. What were the rice-grower’s needs? Not far from Kinsley, Kansas—halfway between New York City and San Francisco1—the land stretches treelessly in all directions beneath a sky that seems unnaturally vast and deep blue at the zenith. What were the needs of the farmers there? Along the border of Washington and Idaho rise the Palouse Hills (a Nez Percé name also found in “Appaloosa”—which means “a Palouse” horse).2 47

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Clumps of bunch grass dot the high plains. What were a homesteader’s needs in the long, hot summer of the Palouse? The sudden appearance of winter outside Saskatoon tests human endurance; the blizzard erases all landmarks from the broad back of the earth. What were a Saskatchewan farmer’s needs? In these places and in so many others, each with its own topography, climate, and traditions, multiple technologies arose to answer wildly varying needs. (For an overview of chronological and regional variations in threshing, readers may consult Appendix 3.) In its greatest sense, a “technology” is an inventive solution to a vexing problem—a triumph of the undaunted intellect over perplexing obstacles—all for the purpose of helping society to attain a higher standard of living. By this de¤nition, a machine may represent a technology, but it is not the technology. For example, the thresher is not the technology; what it does and how it does it is the technology. Each moving part of a working steam engine—in its motion—re¶ects discoveries. Every energetic wheel, rod, and shaft shows that someone somewhere sometime answered the challenging question, “How can we get this job done?” In a simple wheatthreshing set-up, from the smoky end to the dusty end (that is, from engine to thresher) are more technologies than one person can imagine and invent in a lifetime. In its 1907 machinery catalog, the Geiser Manufacturing Company offered a quotation frequently attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson: “If a man build incomparably well, the world will make a beaten path to his door, though he build in a forest.”3 In the latter part of the 1800s and through the early 1900s, the Geiser ¤rm and hundreds of other companies invoked technologies, built incomparably well, and largely satis¤ed the requirements of farmers and custom threshermen confronting all manner of obstacles that earth and its seasons could pose. In the era of steam-powered threshing, whistles proclaimed the dawn of a new working day—plain whistles, multi-

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toned chime whistles, and wildcat whistles which could warble like an opera singer or wail like a banshee.4 Even whistles served differing needs. In the wide diversity of technologies evident in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, many inventions were directed toward improved farming. Magazine advertisements show that agriculture predominated well beyond 1900 in North America. In that epoch, a popular ad proclaimed the advantages of Page Woven Wire Fence, which claimed to be “Horse high, Bull strong, and Pig tight.”5 Throughout the steam era, most farmers would have paid attention to that ad because they still raised livestock and were not involved exclusively in crop farming. Only two generations earlier, a whopping three-fourths of the population of the United States were farmers who raised crops and livestock.6 Until 1880, the majority of jobs in the U.S. sprang from the agricultural industry. In the steam years, the nation was mindful of its proud agricultural heritage. It is yet possible to reclaim part of the excitement when, in 1923, Harley Coppock, who lived near Pleasant Hill, Ohio, not far from Hog Path Road, bought from Fred Wrong “a Port Huron engine, . . . AultmanTaylor separator, . . . McCormick corn husker, Birdsell clover huller, steaming pan to sterilize tobacco . . . , water wagon, and a bunk house”—all in one transaction.7 With such a haul, Coppock’s needs were sure to be answered. To a nostalgic eye, those days appear less confused, more certain, and simpler—and they may have been. Many threshermen perceived that, in the steam era, less importance was placed on processing information quickly. To them, the pace of living seemed slower—or less complicated. In that time, for example, a simplistic method of ¤re-prevention for a factory took the form of lining up barrels of water along the roof.8 That arguably uncomplicated era witnessed a spirit of invention and discovery. The technological achievements that heralded mechanized harvesting and threshing occurred before the

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Civil War. The ¤rst reaping machine in the United States was built in 1809 and tested in 1811 by Jacob R. Thomas, who abandoned his idea but who had, meanwhile, inspired his cousin Obed R. Hussey to carry the project to a satisfactory end.9 History would come to name Cyrus Hall McCormick the inventor of the reaper in the United States, although his experiments with his machine were suf¤ciently concurrent with those of Hussey to warrant sharing the distinction. The innovative mechanism of binding with wire or twine, which, incorporated with the reaper, more or less automatically bound together bundles of grain, marked a signi¤cant step forward in the technologies of harvest. Three of many inventions which revolutionized agriculture were the cotton gin, the improved plow, and the reaper. The thresher was not far behind in importance, for, without it, the high yields of easily reaped grain could not be conveniently processed. (Readers wanting to understand the working mechanisms of a threshing machine may consult Appendix 2.) An early version of the threshing machine “was a hand thresher with cranks turned by two men. . . . When the grain was beaten out by the cylinder, the straw was thrown to one side. This hand separator was called a groundhog thresher.”10 A farm magazine of 1838 complained that the groundhog thresher wasted the straw, which otherwise would make good fertilizer, and stirred up too much dust. The magazine went on to advise farmers to stick with the tried-and-true method of threshing—tramping the grain out with horses or oxen.11 This advice against a new technology seems to con¤rm the stereotype that farmers resist change; however, farmers’ reluctance to adopt new methods is a matter of perspective. In a sense, the acceptance of reapers, threshing machines, and (eventually) steam engines was rapid, given the initial scarcity of such equipment and the relatively high costs of purchasing a complete rig. It is said that the ¤rst steam engine in the United States was

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Contrary to popular opinion, the steam engine did not replace the horse. The proliferation of gasoline-powered tractors in the mid-twentieth century did that. When steamers were used, horses still pulled reaper-binders like the one shown here. This photo was taken in Kansas.

“an English Newcomen-type” used “to drain a copper mine” in 1755. In the generation prior to the Civil War, the South employed stationary and portable engines to help to gin cotton and to process sugar. These engines were of various makes, British and American. Shortly after the Civil War, shipments of engines built by John Fowler of Leeds arrived in Mississippi to “work the . . . cotton ¤elds when slavery was abolished.”12 In other regions, engines for agricultural purposes became popular more slowly, while many farmers continued to rely on literal horse power. For example, one, two, or three horses could be made to run an inclined treadmill to generate power. F. L. Raisty of Glendale, California, said, “The machines were all powered with a horse power, using twelve horses on it to drive a thirty-two-inch cylinder . . . , and the hum and ring of the bevel gear on the cylinder could be heard for a mile or two on a

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windstill day. You could tell if a man was a good feeder or not by the evenness of the hum.” Convincing a dozen horses to collaborate was no small task. Bob Book of Caldwell, Idaho, explained: “Some of the horses were fast, and others were slow. . . . To start one of those rigs, the horses had to lean into the collar and take short steps. It then took ¤ve or ten minutes to get the separator going. . . . After they ¤nally got up enough speed and grain went to hitting the cylinder, the horses wanted to run away.”13 Steam engines ultimately replaced the sweeps and their cantankerous carousels of horses. Technology progressed. The ¤rst agricultural engines in wide use were portable, or drawn by horses. Next, engines could drive themselves but had to be steered by Ol’ Dobbin. Finally, engines were traction engines steered by engineers. Horses pulled even some traction engines, particularly in states demanding that horses go in front of the steamer on the highways to help to prevent other horse traf¤c from panicking at the sight of the engine. The strongest of the traction engines could pull massive loads and plow tough sod. As fate would have it, the biggest and best engines appeared only a few years before steam traction engines would fade from the farm scene; however, companies continued to build and sell portable and stationary engines even after the gasoline engine had made steam engines obsolete. The ¤rst Case engine sold to a customer is known as Old No. 1. Built in 1869, Old No. 1 was lost until 1925, when it was discovered on a farm in Minnesota and acquired by Case.14 Like other manufacturers of agricultural equipment throughout the steam era, the Case factory was small by present-day standards, but it became the largest producer of steam engines in North America. Several people told of visiting the A. D. Baker Company of Swanton, Ohio, and being surprised to learn that the man wearing dusty overalls and pushing a broom was Abner Baker, president of the ¤rm. Marcus Leonard of Salina, Kansas—longtime

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salesman for, initially, the Advance Thresher Company, then Avery and Nichols & Shepard—and a staunch defender of Advance— referred to the Advance Thresher Company as the “Grand Old Company,” the Gaar-Scott & Company as “friendly,” and founders of ¤rms like Avery, Wood Brothers, M. Rumely, Aultman-Taylor, Nichols & Shepard, Russell, Frick, and Geiser as “honorable and worthy of . . . con¤dence.” These companies and many others had such outstanding reputations that merely a view of a copper cut in a catalog suf¤ced to sell equipment. C. E. Woolley of Decatur, Illinois, said, “Mr. Hamre had no previous experience in the steam plow ¤eld but stated he wanted the biggest engine that there was. . . . when he saw the picture of this [Gaar-Scott] double cylinder tandem compound, he quickly decided that was just what he wanted, so the deal was closed then and there.”15 In the form of posters and catalogs, advertising enabled ¤rms to compete. Companies jealously guarded their reputations. Lee F. Priseler of San Diego, California, said that his father “went to Peoria, Illinois, to buy a used Avery undermounted steam engine and a Yellow Fellow separator.” A hole had rusted through the smokebox of the engine. The Avery of¤cials agreed to repair the smokebox in time for the threshing season; however, when threshing time came, the engine had not yet arrived. “So Dad took off for Peoria on the train,” Priseler recalled. “When he arrived at the Avery Company, there stood the engine, still with the rusted hole. Dad’s temper mounted, and he called off the whole deal; but, before he could get away, the president of the company arrived on the scene, found out the trouble, and said, ‘Give Mr. Priseler a new engine for the same price as the used one!’”16 A customer saved was a reputation earned. Companies invested years in building up business from precarious beginnings. A. H. Borstad of Devils Lake, North Dakota, explained: “The manufacturers of threshing machines before the turn of the century must have been the champion

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optimists of all time. Who else would have the faith and the courage to make a machine out of wood and a few poor castings . . . and ship it two-thousand miles to some farmer . . . and expect it to work well enough to enable the buyer to pay for it?” Optimistically, the Aultman & Taylor Company of Mans¤eld, Ohio, sold its ¤rst threshing machine to Nicholas R. Darling of Fredericktown, Ohio. Aultman & Taylor praised Darling “for his ingenuity, skill, and patience in making many improvements so that the machine became a success.”17 After using the thresher for ¤fteen years, Darling was presented a new machine, courtesy of Aultman & Taylor. Engine and thresher companies were inventive. Hiram A. Pitts patented the endless apron thresher in 1837.18 This invention carried the straw through the machine on a kind of conveyor belt and was two machines in one: a thresher and a fanning mill. Originally from Buffalo, New York, Hiram and his twin brother, John, built such threshers in Alton, Illinois, then in Chicago, where Hiram founded the Chicago Pitts company. John left Illinois for Ohio. He made threshers in Spring¤eld from 1842 until 1852, when his son, John A., took over the business.19 Meanwhile, John returned to New York. There, he founded the Buffalo Pitts Company, and he remained at its helm until his death in 1859. In 1882, the Spring¤eld Engine & Thresher Company bought out John A. Pitts. In 1889–90, that ¤rm became the O. S. Kelly Company. A thresher that used no apron was the Agitator, sold by the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company as early as 1880.20 Still, Case was by no means the ¤rst company to use this technology. The straw-walker principle—called a “vibrator”—originated in Belleville, Illinois, in 1852.21 It was the invention of Cyrus Roberts and John Cox, who, according to the 1891 catalog of the Harrison Machine Works, had begun building threshing machines in Belleville in 1848. Recognizing the importance of the straw-walker, the

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This is a typical threshing scene, from the grain wagon at the left to the water wagon at the far right beside the J. I. Case steam engine, manufactured in Racine, Wisconsin. The threshing machine has a webstacker, a conveyor belt for lifting the straw to the top of the stack.

Nichols & Shepard Company of Battle Creek, Michigan, soon advertised a thresher incorporating a similar design. Aultman & Taylor also made a popular threshing machine based on the vibrating method. Case would contribute a “¤rst”—in 1904, the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company originated the all-steel separator. Threshers made of wood were prone to ¤re. A non¶ammable, steel separator offered a powerful inducement to buy. Inventiveness went hand-in-hand with marketability. One of the most marketable inventions in the threshing era was the windstacker, commonly known as the blower. Essentially a pneumatic tube, the windstacker fanned and jettisoned the straw in a stream which could be directed to form a neat stack. Thomas Kirshman of Cooper County, Missouri, invented the ¤rst practical windstacker; he recognized that “with the proper size and speed,” a fan could come into contact with the straw and not grind it. Kirshman experimented with his windstacker at that Mecca of inventors— the Belleville factory of the Harrison Machine Works. Agriculturists in the area were known as “Latin farmers,” a term implying a level of education beyond that customarily received. One of the

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well-schooled inventors in the region, Kirshman “put several of his stackers on the Belleville threshers in the year 1890.” Kirshman’s windstacker was an obvious improvement over the conveyor-type stackers which threshers had been using. Nicknamed “Uncle Tom,” Kirshman “was greatly loved by all” at the Belleville plant, which was turning out more and more windstackers in 1892 and 1893. One of the Harrison company’s artists created a caricature of “Uncle Tom” Kirshman “simply as a joke.” At about this same time, an inventor named J. J. Buchanan patented a less practical windstacker. Identifying an opportunity to make virtually unlimited pro¤ts, a cadre of Hoosier lawyers led by A. A. McKain bought Buchanan’s patent, “formed the Indiana Manufacturing Company, and set out to license . . . manufacturers who wanted to add windstackers to their threshing machines. . . . The new device was called the Farmer’s Friend Stacker.”22 Indulging in monopolistic practices, the Indiana Manufacturing Company sought to purchase or to ¤ght all other patents pertaining to windstackers or similar devices. McKain’s group got ahold of Kirshman’s windstacker, saw the caricature of “Uncle Tom,” liked it, and had the caricature redrawn as “a handsome label” to be attached to each Farmer’s Friend Stacker. Every company that put the Farmer’s Friend windstacker on its threshers charged $250 for the stacker, $30 of which went to the Indiana Manufacturing Company. Only the Harrison Machine Works was excused from having to pay the $30 royalty to McKain. By 1900, more than nine thousand windstackers were being sold each year, and the Indiana Manufacturing Company was making a tidy pro¤t. Despite the near monopoly on the windstacker, others experimented with the pneumatic-tube method of dispensing straw. The Randolph Double Tube Blower featured two pipes but had a “very limited swing.”23 The Fosston blower boasted a wide tube, but the Maplebay was almost as wide as the thresher

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This photo depicts a sleek Advance traction engine and thresher, manufactured in Battle Creek, Michigan. We see here a winter landscape, so it may have been a wet, and therefore late, threshing season.

itself. The straw did not come into contact with the fan on the Maplebay, and the roar of this stacker was impressive. Jack Thompson of Stratford, Ontario, saw many chaff blowers: “They were located behind the shoe,” which collected the cleaned grain, “and in front of the straw blower. They collected the chaff that came off of the shoe, and the farmer could blow it into a separate boarded-up area off of the barn ¶oor.” The chaff was hardly worth saving: “If you ¤gured the value of the total digestible nutrients of the chaff and balanced this against the discomfort and extra dust created by the chaff blower, I doubt if it was worth using it.” Thompson added that certain threshers also had straw-cutter attachments, which increased the machine’s weight “about a ton” but which helped to store more straw in the barn and to make the straw more suitable for bedding. Lightweight straw shredders eventually replaced the straw cutters. Lobsinger Brothers of Mildmay built a popular straw shredder. Thompson said, “The advantage of storing the sheaves and threshing them in the barn meant one’s crop was exposed to the weather for a shorter

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period of time. . . . The disadvantage was that one had to take the discomfort of working in the dust at a barn threshing.” In years of good weather, “if the farmer completed his cutting and stooking in short order and started storing the sheaves in the barn before the natural sap had dried out of the straw . . . the sheaves molded.” Soon, “the barn would be ¤lled with a gray moldy dust so thick you could not recognize a man standing ten feet from you.” People began installing water pumps on the thresher to spray water through the blower and thus settle the dust. The crew at one barn threshing achieved the same effect by running a hose from the steam engine into the blower. The engineer opened the tap wide. The following January, the engineer “called on the farmer to collect the money he owed him for threshing. He didn’t ¤nd him in the stable . . . so he went up into the barn loft. Here he found him cutting out a day’s supply of bedding” with an ax, for the water in the straw had frozen. The engineer made a hasty retreat when “the farmer threw the ax at him.”24 Not all innovations pleased humanity. An invention that did earn the praise of many a farmer was the wing feeder. This device consisted of two feeders in a V shape funneling in toward the thresher cylinder. With certain regular feeders, the pitchers had to lift heavy bundles high, but, as the wing feeders lowered to the ground, the pitchers simply dropped the bundles onto the feeders. Threshing machines thought to be too small for the Plains were dubbed “pepper boxes.”25 For Plains-sized jobs, big 44" × 64" or 44" × 72" threshers commanded respect. Such a large machine kept fourteen or sixteen bundle wagons busy feeding its capacious maw.26 Not all threshers emerged from commercial-sized factories. The ¤rst thresher that Jake Weaver of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, made had only two wheels. He soon built fourwheeled threshers suitable for six and eight horsepower. From

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The erecting room of the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company in Racine, Wisconsin, must have been as noisy as it was busy. At Case, groups of workers functioned as independent units to build engines. Case hired the group as a package deal.

the late 1800s until 1914, Weaver manufactured no more than ¤ve threshers per year, but each was made well. According to the local miller, one “could always tell the wheat from a Weaver thresher because of its lack of chaff and straw.”27 Such meticulously hand-crafted machines were not exclusively the province of small-scale manufacturers. Even though certain factories were larger than Weaver’s shop, the workers paid patient attention to detail. In these days before the assembly line, it was typical for teams of workers at assigned stations to build engines and threshers from the ground up. By participating in the full process of assembly, workers were more likely to think of useful inventions. Of course, some experiments were more successful than others were. Threshers were designed

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to run with two belts from two pulleys to two ¶ywheels on the engine.28 This invention did not catch on. In 1907–8, Halvor O. Sageng of Dalton, Minnesota, experimented with a “Combination Thresher,” having the engine and the separator combined in one unit.29 In this case, the engine was a seventy-horsepower, fourcylinder gasoline motor. Even though the Sageng Combination Thresher did not become popular, its existence attests to a time when new ideas were ¶ourishing. Shop foremen discovered improvements for valve gears. Harry C. Clay, foreman of Reeves & Company, gave his name to a new reversing mechanism, and the Butter¤eld valve gear, used on some rear-mounted Nichols & Shepard engines, was named for a shop foreman.30 Foundry employees also experimented. The Minneapolis Threshing Machine Company of Hopkins, Minnesota, boasted excellent castings and gearing. A worker on the night shift explained that “after throwing in old well pumps and Deering mower wheels . . . the guys . . . began to test the melted iron, which was not up to test yet.” Next, they “threw in junked Model T motors until it was just right.” They “always threw in a few extra ones to be sure.”31 During this competitive era, manufacturing ¤rms proliferated. In the United States, Ohio had the highest number of engine and thresher companies.32 For each year during a twenty-year period, 1,800 traction engines rolled out of the Frick and Geiser factories, both in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania.33 The largest center for the distribution of threshing equipment was Wichita, Kansas.34 By 1910, the U. S. Department of Agriculture “estimated that 100,000 engineers were operating self-propelled steam engines for threshing, plowing, grading roads, grinding feed, hauling freight, and moving buildings.”35 In its history, the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company built just under 36,000 steamers. In the 1880s, the Geiser Company experimented with a combined harvester/thresher pulled behind a traction engine with the

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The gear train along the side of the Wood, Taber & Morse engine, built in Eaton, New York, commands attention. The owners were G. W. Folmer and S. H. Folmer. Photo courtesy of the Kenton County (Kentucky) Public Library.

straw returned to the engine for fuel. Curiously, like so many viable concepts, the Geiser “combine” never quite bloomed, and Geiser turned its attention to other developments, such as the steam plow.36 The O. S. Kelly Company built one experimental set of cable-plowing engines, but the European technology of positioning two engines on either side of a ¤eld and drawing a plow on a cable back and forth between them never caught on in North America.37 In the early 1900s, the spirit of invention decreed there be a Phoenix Centipede Log Hauler.38 In front, this unusual steam engine employed a steersman to guide two wheels, and, in back, the Log Hauler laid endless tracks, as ¤rst patented by Alvin O. Lombard in 1901.39 Benjamin Holt of Stockton, California, endured considerable litigation over the Lombard patent when he was independently developing the endless crawler tread,

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which would become well known as a “caterpillar” track—Holt coined the term. He formed the Holt Manufacturing Company to create crawler-type traction steam engines. Daniel Best of San Leandro, California, linked massive upright-boilered steam engines and combines to produce a steam harvester. The advent of large-scale farming in California coincided with the production of truly huge harvesters (such as combines pulled by seemingly endless teams of horses and mules), and the need for belt-work from an engine ¶ywheel disappeared fairly quickly. One innovation crowded out others. Elsewhere, while steam reigned as king, the local conditions of each region of the country dictated which fuels would ¤re the boiler, and engine manufacturing ¤rms had to invent ways to handle coal, wood, or straw (and, occasionally, oil) ef¤ciently. In particular, ¤ring with straw challenged mechanical engineers to design ¤reboxes with unique accommodations, and a “talking point” for many of the manufacturers of return-¶ue engines was how well they handled straw. At threshing time on treeless plains too vast to make the hauling of coal practical, straw was ever at hand. The inventive companies that built agricultural implements came up with a machine to harvest virtually any crop, from grains, through clover, to peanuts. For example, Frick produced a Peanut Picker.40 The Birdsell Clover Huller was renowned. Companies also had to adjust to various methods of harvesting. (Readers are reminded to consult Appendix 3 on chronological and regional variations in threshing.) Certain regions used headers to cut the grain. H. K. Peterson of Trenton, Missouri, explained: “The header was essentially a machine that clipped the near-ripe heads of grain as short as possible and elevated them by canvasses in a continual stream into header barges (wagons with grain-tight ¶oors) towed alongside by a team of horses.” While one man drove, another made sure that the headed grain ¤lled the barge evenly. The heads were hauled to a central location, where they were

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stacked to await threshing. The man running the header steered it with his legs. Four horses pushed the header into the uncut grain. Another variation on the theme of threshing was the shock loader or stook loader; its name implied its function.41 From the smallest steam engine (perhaps one made by Thomas H. Robinson, a Toronto watchmaker, which weighed four grains troy and generated 1/498,000 of a horsepower) to the largest (among traction engines, perhaps the German-made J. Kemna of Breslau—a compound-cylinder 310-horsepower behemoth built in 1905 but not imported into the United States),42 the ingenuity of inventors and mechanical engineers was constantly tested. One invention which should have succeeded but was doomed by the quick ¶ight of time was Abner Baker’s steam tractor, which carried three hundred pounds of steam pressure per square inch. Baker began this project too late, when the days of steam power were nearly over. The ¤nal steam traction engine built in the United States was Kitten #224 in 1940.43 Because small threshing machines could be belted to gasoline-powered tractors, threshers outlasted the steam engine—but ultimately were pushed out by tractor-pulled power-takeoff combines that could be operated by one man. In 1952, 2,210 threshing machines were purchased in Canada, but in 1953, only 701 were bought. The “Lion” threshers (commonly known as “Mildmay” threshing machines) produced by Lobsinger Brothers of Mildmay, Ontario, likely were the last, as the company continued to build a few threshers as late as 1967.44 Eventually, time ran out. There were those who continued to thresh until the bees and reunions started. Such people never really quit threshing. With their equipment continuously in use, they were not, properly speaking, “collectors.” Most farmers, however, switched to combining their crops, thereby creating the need to collect and restore the old iron used in threshing. The dismaying sight of separators sinking slowly in the mud along a fence row and turning

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ruddy brown with rust became increasingly common on the back roads and byways of North America. The steam engines not scrapped stood abandoned in barn lots or were left in sheds that gradually rotted down around them. In their former place ran tractors. For approximately a hundred years—say, ¤fty years either side of the turn of the twentieth century—many farm families achieved the apex of their contentment while taking agriculture farther than many would have dreamed it could go. The thresher and steam engine (as well as a host of other machines, including binders, headers, and harvesters) helped to make possible the prosperity which many experienced. Emil L. Wallach of Paci¤c, Missouri, said, “I have been attracted to steam engines like ¶ies to molasses. . . . All grain those days was bagged in two-and-a-half bushel cotton bags and piled in the ¤eld. After threshing was ¤nished, the farmers helped one another haul this bagged wheat to a railroad car in Eureka where the bags were . . . shipped to commission men in Saint Louis who sold it for the farmers.” While the Missouri wheat made its way from shocks to bundles to bundle wagons to bags to market, Canadian wheat went from stooks to sheaves to stook wagons to sacks to market.45 While Wallach drove the only water wagon necessary, an Idaho rig might require two water wagons “so one could be ¤lled, while the other one was supplying the engine”; also, a team of two horses pulled Wallach’s water wagon, whereas an Idaho water wagon might have four horses because the “terrain was very hilly.”46 Regardless of the location, no one had a corner on the badweather market. Fred T. Scharrer of Zephyrhills, Florida, remembered, “When I landed in northwestern Canada in February 1913 . . . the next day it was sixty-¤ve below.” O. M. Johnson of San Jose, California, recalled wintry dawns in North Dakota: “The morning after an early snowstorm when the ‘get up’ bell rang from the cook car, I’d . . . ¤nd my shoes . . . , shake the snow out

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of them, and then break the ice on the horse trough to get water to wash with—and then ¤nd towels which had been hung on the outside of the cook wagon overnight frozen stiff.”47 Engineers looped steam hoses around the engine plumbing and the pump on the water tank to prevent freezing. They built ¤res in the driver wheels to melt them loose from frozen ground. Such ¤res also had the advantage of taking the chill out of spokes that might break from the cold.48 R. G. Jacaley of Marengo, Iowa, described the menacing winters of western Canada: “I ran the separator twentytwo days in the snow. . . . This was ten-below weather. In the morning my brother would carry straw for a ¤re on the windward side of the engine to draw the frost out of the metal. The frost would come white on the engine. The ¶ywheel would remain white until ten o’clock.”49 George F. Hubert of Ronan, Montana, put his separator on sleds. He could continue to thresh grain covered with ice and snow because he had a Geiser machine that used rollers instead of sieves. A thresherman in North Dakota in 1910 out¤tted his crew with “big buffalo fur coats with high standup collars and four-buckle overshoes.50 In 1927, foul weather in the area of Rushville, Indiana, delayed Luther Caldwell’s threshing; he ¤nished in March. Amos K. Mast of Cochranville, Pennsylvania, recalled a severe hailstorm: “Teamsters just could not control their horses, and manned teams ran off.”51 High winds— especially on the prairie—delayed threshing. On rare occasions, lightning struck threshermen. When inclement weather held up a crew too long, many of the men would silently drift away. Other foes threatened threshing crews. Attacks by insects approached biblical proportions. Rudolph Novotny of Clarkson, Nebraska, said that at three o’clock on a day in August of 1874, “a vast cloud” of grasshoppers approached from the north, “and when they descended all vegetation, corn, and grain . . . disappeared.” Known as Rocky Mountain locusts, these grasshoppers

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invaded from the Dakotas to Texas and east into parts of Missouri, Iowa, and Minnesota. The year before, drought conditions prevailed, and, even though 1873 saw its share of grasshoppers, the lack of rainfall that year encouraged the much more devastating attack in 1874.52 As if harsh weather and menacing pests were not troubling enough, laws inveighed against engineers and owners of threshing machines. In Iowa, for instance, engines on public highways could not blow their whistles and were required to stop a hundred yards from anyone with a horse, horses, or other animals. The engineer, furthermore, had to send someone ahead the same distance “to assist in any emergency arising from frightened animals.”53 To cross any bridge or culvert, the engineer had to carry four planks twelve feet long by one foot wide and two inches thick; these planks were to be placed under the wheels of the engine. The ¤rst and last of these provisions may have been sensible, but to insist that someone walk ahead of the engine to assist in scared-animal emergencies surely was excessive. Laws steadily toughened until engineers feared driving on all but the leasttraveled back-country lanes. Blizzards, hailstorms, prairie ¤res, locusts, and discriminatory laws aside, wheat threshing by the late 1800s had assumed a position of towering importance in the lives of people in such areas as the Red River Valley. Eventually, wheat was crowned king of cash crops throughout much of North America. It was in 1874 that Mennonite immigrants from South Russia brought Turkey Red hard wheat into Kansas.54 Several varieties of wheat were developed. Wheat made Kansas and neighboring states the world’s breadbasket. Wheat, however, had to be harvested and threshed under optimal conditions, and much could go wrong. In 1915 in Iowa, “the grain grew in the shock to where it was like threshing manure.”55 The term for small threshing jobs was “set jobs”—where the

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thresher could be positioned, or set, only once to accomplish all of the work for a given farmer.56 Typical set jobs involved barn threshing. Walter L. Blakely of Danville, Ohio, said, “In hill country where I lived in steam-engine days, ninety percent of the threshing was done out of the barn. The barn ¶oor was always level while the barnyard . . . was never level. Therefore, it took a lot more work to level the engine to get ready to thresh than it did the separator.” Clarence O. Myers of South Bend, Indiana, commented: Here in St. Joseph’s County there was considerable barn and stack threshing before 1912 and some later. The reason was there were not too many machines, and those were old hand-feed and straw-carrier rigs powered with about a twelve-horsepower steamer. All the farmers raised wheat and oats; the oats were a late variety that ripened about a month later than wheat, and the threshermen having a large area to cover could not make two trips to one farm. They would thresh out of the shock and then the stacks and barn jobs, frequently hulling clover seed and shredding corn, and then ¤nish up the last few barn jobs.57 Stack yards might contain as many as six stacks of bundles. Except for the dust, barn threshing and stack threshing were easy on a crew and usually cost the farmer a cent or two less per bushel. To steer the thresher into a barn, the engine lower down the incline of a typical bank barn gently pushed the separator with a bunting pole.58 The crew was called to assist if the ramp was quite steep, the entrance narrow, or the engineer of only average skill. While some barn-threshing experts chose side-mounted engines for their narrow wheel base and alleged tractive superiority, others selected rear-mounted engines as better for the job because their weight distribution made them better ramp climbers. The en-

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This 1890 photograph by J. S. Byers of Rochester, New York, depicts a D. June portable engine, built in Fremont, Ohio, with the thresher inside the barn.

gineers’ biases caused some to assert one proposition, others to claim the opposite, with all theories about equally meritorious. C. C. Campbell of Tampa, Florida, described stack threshing: Before the turn of the century in the eastern half of the country . . . stacking in the ¤eld was general practice, usually in ricks with foundations ten by twenty feet made from fence rails placed about a foot apart, borrowed from the nearest fence that could be left open until the threshing was done, at which time the fence would be replaced. The ricks were placed side by side in pairs spaced to admit the separator between them and then end to end if there were more than two ricks. . . . Sometimes there were double rows, which required an extra bundle pitcher to pass them to the stack next to the separator when it was about half threshed down, the man on it passing them on to the machine. In pulling between the big ricks “easy did it” with

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all draft dampers closed. I never knew of but one stack being set on ¤re, and it did not burn. . . . The ricks were brought up to a gradual apex, topped out from a long ladder with “cap bundles” saved back along toward the last. An old neighbor once said that my father could put up a stack that could . . . rot off to the bands and still be sound and dry at the heads. I never saw one that had taken water, no matter how much rain. . . . The average crew back in the “old stackin’ days” consisted of the engineer, water monkey, separator man, two feeders, and before the advent of the windstacker usually a straw stacker. The farmers furnished fuel for the engine and also the pitchers, baggers, and band cutters, on a swap-work basis. I very well remember cutting bands when I wore knee breeches, as all boys did then. . . . Wheat and rye harvest started by or before the ¤rst of June . . . , and eventually somebody conceived the idea of threshing from the shock, saving the hard work and time of stacking, thus moving the starting date of the threshing season back to around the ¤rst of July.59 In the days before the invention of the windstacker, some farmers “bucked” the straw into “caterpillar-shaped” piles by means of “a long pole pulled by a horse on each end.”60 In parts of such states as Minnesota and Kansas and in the Dakotas and Canadian provinces, the wheat ¤elds were so vast that there would be more straw left at the end of threshing than livestock could use. Straw stacks were torched. Straw also provided a ready source of fuel for the engine. E. R. Dugan of Waterloo, Illinois, said: “I ran a twenty-¤vehorsepower Reeves simple engine for a thresherman in North Dakota. When coal was too high, he would decide to burn straw, and that was music to my ears.” Dugan would replace the coal rocker grates with straw grates and install ¤rebricks to create the proper

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draft and hold heat. He would remove the ¤redoor and insert a funnel trapdoor for straw, and he would place a screen over the smokestack to catch the sparks. Dugan would make sure a special hose and nozzle on the injector were working so that he could wet down the area around the engine to prevent ¤re. Each Sunday, the grates would have to be cleaned: “Burning straw would form clinkers like glass over the grates.”61 Dugan appreciated the economy of burning straw, not expensive coal. Threshing practices varied not only over time but also from region to region. In parts of the West, derrick threshing was practiced. C. R. Miller of Yacolt, Washington, said that between stacks of headed grain “was placed the derrick table,” which measured ten feet by sixteen feet. Three poles were set to form a peak from which two pulleys were suspended. This arrangement permitted manual dumping of the derrick forks to place the grain within reach of the “hoe downs,” two men who raked the grain into the portable conveyor leading to the feeder and cylinder. According to Miller, “A good ‘forker’ was appreciated by the ‘hoe downs’ for, by his dumping the grain at the proper place, their work was made easier.” Two-horse teams dragged the forks to the table. Derrick drivers managed the teams. Miller reported, “In the backing-up process they grabbed up the doubletrees, kept the tugs tight and the cable slack, so the forker had the minimum to pull on returning with his fork.” Derrick crews ranged from ¤fteen to more than twenty workers.62 Wheat, oats, and barley may have shared the spotlight on the threshing stage, but rye, alfalfa, sorghum, beans, red top grass, tobacco, and rice played their roles in the steam-power drama. The Birdsell Manufacturing Company of South Bend, Indiana, produced 1,500 to 1,800 clover and alfalfa hullers annually. Invented in 1855 by John Comly Birdsell, a New York farmer, the clover thresher/huller/cleaner became a machine of signal importance in the threshing era. Painted “scarlet red,”

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At the right of this photograph from the American West stands a derrick that enables headed grain to be lifted by pulleys and forks and deposited near the “hoe downs,” two men who rake the grain onto the conveyor that leads to the threshing machine. A team of horses provides the power to lift the forks. The engine is a Minneapolis, manufactured in Hopkins, Minnesota.

this wooden machine sported “yellow and black trim and yellow spoked wheels with black and red stripes radiating from each hub.” A Birdsell huller could achieve the seemingly impossible— cleaning an alfalfa seed, which weighs “only one-thirtieth as much as a grain of wheat.”63 For bean harvest, companies like Huber designed bean hullers. Merle W. Shipley of Cabazon, California, attested, “There is no grain grown that is as dusty as beans, for they . . . are cut by what is known as a bean sled. The blades on this sled are somewhat like a plowshare . . . so the bean vines are actually pulled and not cut. This is why there is so much dirt connected with the vines.”64 In southern Illinois, threshers separated and cleaned red top meadow grass, sold as lawn seed.65 The raising of tobacco, largely a labor-intensive, tender-loving-care crop, suggested a novel use for the steam engine. The farmer plowed the soil six to eight inches deep, leveled it with a garden rake, placed a broad but

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shallow pan (perhaps six by eight feet wide) over an area of the soil, banked earth around the edges of the pan, turned on a steam hose from the engine to the inside of the pan, and steamed it for ¤fteen to thirty minutes. This steaming of the soil killed weeds, weed seeds, and insects, eliminated plant diseases, released soil fertility, and hastened the growth of young tobacco plants.66 Menno L. Hess of Mount Joy, Pennsylvania, recalled, “We would sometimes take a couple of eggs and bury them about an inch and a half deep in the loose ground . . . marking them with small twigs. In ¤fteen minutes when we changed that pan—the eggs were hard-boiled.” Billy M. Byrd of Madisonville, Kentucky, also enjoyed steaming potatoes, “which tasted good on a cold winter day.” The phrase “steaming tobacco” had a second meaning; occasionally, the steam from the engine boiler was directed into the tobacco barn or into cases of tobacco to moisten the plants enough to ready them for market.67 Human ingenuity conceived of a wide variety of ways to employ steam power on North American farms. Engines—often specially designed heavy-duty traction engines—were made to plow ¤elds. Wesley Reese of Austinburg, Ohio, said, “I was reared on the prairies of western North Dakota, my parents having homesteaded there when it was all prairie. I witnessed the coming of the steam-plow out¤ts, many new rigs being brought in during the years 1908 to 1912. This was ideal steam-plow country.” Reese explained, “The land was all high ground, no swamps or sloughs, and the sod, being very tough, provided excellent footing for the drivers. . . . There were several [110-horsepower] Cases with twelve to fourteen bottoms, two [thirtyhorsepower] Minneapolis doubles with twelve-bottom John Deere plows, and several Reeves machines. . . . The Reeves engines were all cross-compound.”68 No matter what the make of the equipment, the spectacle of engines pulling plows across a broad expanse or the image of gently rocking engines belted to

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The threshing crew stands beside the Huber engine, manufactured in Marion, Ohio, with its fancy canopy and extended telescoping smokestack. This relatively small crew is composed of independent farmers cooperating in the harvest. Such shared labor typi¤ed farming in the East, South, and Midwest.

whirring threshers with hearty crews in synchronized movement offered memorable scenes. The crews defy attempts to categorize them. They were comprised of all types of people, and the size of the crew depended on the level of mechanical sophistication of the equipment in any given year, the number of acres devoted to growing the principal threshing crops and the threshing methods employed in a given geographical region, population density, economic factors, and the organizational structure of the crew—that is, was the rig owned by a boss who employed workers in a company, was the rig owned jointly by the members of a company, or was the rig privately owned and the crew made up of farmers willing to share labor? A thresher in 1885 required two people to cut bands, two to feed the bundles or sheaves, three to build the straw stack, and four to sack and haul the grain.69 Later machines would make band-cutting automatic and would provide a windstacker to help with the straw stack. Fewer people, thus, were needed for these tasks. To generalize about the tasks of threshing crews over time and from region to region is impossible.

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From Texas to Canada, the stories of hoboes and threshing crews are practically countless. Hoboes were not bums: “The working hoboes usually resented being called a bum or tramp. As a rule they were good workers, and some were entertaining companions.” Said Charles L. Genter of Byron, Oklahoma, “Among my dearest wishes is one that I might meet once again some of those hoboes and spend a few hours of chinfest.” The hoboes were nonconformist wanderers: [The hoboes] could hardly be called a fraternity or a brotherhood, as there was no common bond . . . other than all being individuals and each and every one a free man. . . . [They were] a blend of all creeds, colors, nationalities. . . . No one was ever disquali¤ed from becoming a member; possibly in later years this individual will go down in history as the early American nomad. He was not a pioneer in any sense of the word; he followed the path of least resistance.70 Among the hoboes were certain ranks, according to Henry McMillan of Galva, Illinois. The tramps were the lowest, having no belongings, wearing poor clothes, hardly ever working, and pilfering along the way. Just above the tramps were bums, who would work—but not for long. They were better dressed than tramps and occasionally were clean-shaven. Around the neck they wore a straight razor wrapped in brown paper tied with string. The true hoboes were neither tramps nor bums. They dressed well enough, were glib, and would work. They were reluctant to discuss their past. There was considerable ¶uidity among these groups, and, in some parts of the country, the de¤nitions of the terms “tramp,” “bum,” and “hobo” varied. They traveled with all manner of transient laborers (from college students, through urban of¤ce work-

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ers, through mechanics, through factory workers, to semi-skilled farm hands) writing a colorful chapter in the history of threshing. While migrant laborers and workers contributed less to harvesting and threshing than did hands who resided on North America’s farms, they were highly visible, riding the rails and waiting outside employment of¤ces. E. R. Dugan recalled: I . . . roamed and worked with the hoboes and I. W. W. [Industrial Workers of the World] from the panhandle to Moose Jaw. . . . I made good money and rode the passenger trains most of the time, so I guess you could call me one of the ¤rst-class hoboes. In the early twenties I recall coming into Jamestown, North Dakota, and while there a . . . freight train went through . . . loaded with hoboes. It looked as if there was more tonnage of hoboes than freight. I . . . got a job running a steamer on a thresher. The thresherman said to me, “We will have to get some men.” He told me to drive the truck, and he took the car. We drove about thirty miles to Carrington, North Dakota. There was a government employment of¤ce there that hired out those hoboes. We came home with fourteen hoboes and went to threshing.71 The hoboes were exotically mysterious because they seemed to come and go from nowhere. Like most migrant farm laborers of the steam era, the majority probably came from the area of the Mississippi River.72 Hoboes, however, could be found anywhere. William S. Strayer of Dillsburg, Pennsylvania, remembered that “hardly a day would pass without seeing a traveling man go by the farm.” The hoboes “carried all their possessions in a large handkerchief at the end of a cane over their shoulder.” According to Strayer, they “slept in barns overnight then would appear at the kitchen door for a handout at breakfast time, after which they

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would travel to one of their camps . . . usually located along a small stream under a large tree where a crude ¤replace was built.” Strayer recalled “¤reman Joe,” a hobo who had two cooking utensils, “a broken-handled dirt shovel and a one-gallon molasses bucket.” He would break eggs into the shovel and cook them by holding the shovel over hot coals. The bucket “held some potatoes mixed with beans or cabbage and had been hung on the engine injector with steam turned on so as to be ready when the eggs were fried.”73 Charles Genter of Byron, Oklahoma, wrote these haunting verses: Where are the hoboes of yesteryear, The boys of the mulligan stew, The boys we liked for their fun and wit, The boys of the threshing crew. Where are the hoboes of bygone days Who were free as the winds that blow. Tonight we envy their carefree way As we sit by the ¤relight’s glow. Where are the hoboes of yesteryear Who mocked the coyote’s cry. From potter’s ¤eld to potter’s ¤eld In unmarked graves they lie.74 While many put down roots and did not vanish into potter’s graves, the hoboes, for the most part, seemingly appeared from nowhere and returned to nowhere, taking with them their secret pasts. Those laborers who joined the Industrial Workers of the World were viewed with mixed opinions. Those who favored unions respected the I.W.W.; those who did not, did not. From

Hoboes, who often migrated from farm to farm during threshing season, inspired jokes, stories, books, and songs. Here is a piano score for the parlor grand.

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1914 through the 1920s, the I.W.W. sought to organize farm workers, presumably for the workers’ own good but actually for revolutionary agendas. E. R. Dugan told of a typical incident involving the I.W.W.: We needed fourteen men to drive the bundle wagons. There was an employment agency there where all the I.W.W.s, harvest hands, and hoboes registered for work. [The agent] . . . gave us a list of names. He told us we would ¤nd them jungled up out in the park, so we went out and had roll call. One by one, as we called their names and looked them over, the boss asked them if they were I.W.W.s. They all swore they didn’t belong to them. . . . We started threshing at seven o’clock, and everything was going good. The boss and I both thought they were pretty good workers. At ten o’clock they all drove their wagons to the machine, got off their wagons, and got in a huddle. . . . They then took out their little red songbooks and started to sing. The boss asked, “What’s the matter, boys?” Then they all showed their red cards . . . and said they wanted ¤fty cents an hour raise or they would quit. . . . The boss took his Model-T, drove home, got his checkbook and ten-gauge shotgun, and came back. He said to me, “Here, take care of my gun while I pay the ones who have money coming.” When the pay roll was over, down the road they started on foot. . . . I stayed with the threshing out¤t to guard it just in case one of the discharged workers might try to slip back and burn the thresher. This often happened in that country. I.W.W.s were known to ruin threshers by concealing wire, horseshoes, chains, and twine balls in bundles.75 Canadian of¤cials would not permit I.W.W.s to enter the country. Thomas D. Isern’s Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs offers the

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full history of transient labor and shows that threshing was men’s work. A few women, however, quali¤ed for a license to run either stationary or farm engines. Alice V. Downes of Canton, Ohio, passed the state examination and held her mechanical engineering license in the early 1900s. Alverda Stout may have been the ¤rst woman to be licensed as an engineer in Ohio in 1900; she was in sole charge of the engine plant of a ¶our mill in Dyesville. In 1910, a woman in Columbia, South Carolina, began farming and ran a Tozer steam engine to thresh grains and peanuts and to saw wood.76 In Aberdeen, South Dakota, Elizabeth Strohmeier obtained a license to run steam engines. Born in England and skilled as a dressmaker, she came to the United States in the late 1800s to regain her health after a bout of consumption. It is said that she “understood steam so well, she could operate any steam engine.”77 The Threshermen’s Review for December 1912 reported that women of the southern Appalachian Mountains routinely hand-threshed ten bushels of wheat daily;78 as may be understood from such a fact, women in many regions had experience with threshing either by hand or by machine, thereby facilitating their transition into becoming engineers. In 1910, Mary Myers (fourteen years old) received her ¤rst-class engineer’s license after running a thirty-horsepower Alberta Special Avery undermounted engine at the Minnesota State Fair, and Harry G. Yates said that in 1923 in Minnesota, a daughter of an engineer went on to become “a very ef¤cient engineer” in her own right. In Ohio, Dorothy Litten learned to run her father’s McNamar engine.79 The threshingwomen tradition continued with the advent of the bees, rodeos, thresherees, and reunions. At bees hosted by “Steam Engine Joe” Rynda, women in Czech costume carried on the custom of threshing.80 Even as Jean Roberts, daughter of Central States Threshermen’s Reunion founder J. D. Roberts, was accounted a ¤ne engineer, so, too, were the following, who

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comprise only a partial list of expert engineers: Mildred Ary, Beverly Atteberry, Beth Brodbeck, Carrie Farmer, Jaqueline “Jackie” Hart Farner, Mrs. Fred Freschette, Doris Grubb, Anne and Joyce Hoffmaster, Pat Holcamp, Tina Irwin, Susan Kreutner, Marianne Leicty, Doris Lindenmier, Beverly Meyers, Mary Jane Mixon, Mrs. Dean Saunders, Kathy L. Seyfert, Dawn Somers, Esther Sorg, Margaret Tribbey, Marjorie Webb, and Erna Wright.81 Many more women engineers could be named, but this incomplete list offers readers ample evidence of the impact of women on steam engineering. Certain African-Americans contributed to the history of harvesting and threshing. Joe Anderson was a slave who collaborated with Cyrus Hall McCormick in designing and testing the reaper.82 Readers have already seen how Elijah McCoy invented the lubricators used on steam engines. African-Americans headed up custom threshing rigs83 and worked as engineers. Among them were Henry “Doc” Davis, Ben and George Slaughter, and Pearl Thompson. Several photographs published in The Iron-Men Album show members of threshing crews who were black. A few people overcame physical hardships to serve as engineers. Albert F. Meisel of Sturgis, South Dakota, said that his father went looking for an engineer and “made inquiries” in a hotel in Watertown, South Dakota. There, an “elderly man stepped up and said . . . , ‘I can run your engine but must have a boy twelve or fourteen years old to help me, as I was born a cripple.’” Meisel’s father hired the man, who proved to be a ¤ne engineer. Paul W. Holton reported, “Mr. Hill . . . had the misfortune to lose a leg, so that for the rest of his life he wore an arti¤cial limb.” During the steam era, “whenever there was a need for someone to go inside the boiler for repairs or cleaning, Glenn . . . could remove his arti¤cial leg and . . . get inside the boiler a lot easier than the rest of the gang. . . . A ¤ne example of the ever-dwindling breed of dyed-in-the-wool old-time steam men.” Fred Shinrock said that

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in the western wheat states in the late teens, he served on a threshing crew with an engineer who “was a woman with only one leg.”84 Threshermen and their families are so diverse as to resist generalities. What unites the men and women of the steam era is their engagement in an elemental undertaking—collecting the grain, which would become ¶our, which would become bread. Individuals among them invented technological solutions to the problems confronted in threshing. As mentioned earlier, the popular Mahoney feeder, sold by Avery, was one well-known example of a “home-made” innovation adopted by a major manufacturer. In 1889, David Spencer of Pleasant Mount, Pennsylvania, paid more than ten thousand dollars to build an entire steam engine of his own design for the logging industry. Unfortunately, no company became interested in Spencer’s engine. As long ago as 1858, Joseph McCune of Jefferson County, Ohio, turned his portable engine into a traction engine by inventing a gear train; he drove his engine under its own power to the Cadiz Fair, twenty-three miles away.85 Eli Yost, who lived near New Holland, Pennsylvania, from 1845 to 1904, invented a compensating gear for his engine, and Enos M. Hostetter, who lived north of Quarryville, Pennsylvania, from 1862 to 1929, independently invented a differential. Hostetter hoped to patent and market his idea to the Geiser Company, but the Old Order of River Brethren Church, of which he was a member, dissuaded him “from the new-fangled industrial revolution.”86 Ira C. Mast of Elkhart, Indiana, told this story concerning his father, Jacob, and his father’s partner, Isaac Lehmer: Lehmer and Mast took their old horse-drawn engine and converted it into a traction engine. . . . This was done by belt pulleys and gears, with the ¤rst friction clutch ever used, which Lehmer and Mast developed and put into the large pulley. . . . About the year of 1898, . . . Nichols and Shepard Company . . . and the Rumely Company . . . got

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into a lawsuit on patent rights on a friction clutch. Finding out about this old engine of Lehmer’s and Mast’s with its friction clutch, the old engine was . . . taken to La Porte, Indiana, to prove in court that a clutch similar to [Rumely’s] had been developed and put into practical use prior to theirs.87 Such unsung inventors as these reveal that, often, an intellectual climate of a time prepares many to imagine and create the same, or similar, inventions. Only one or two will receive the credit, and only their names will be engraved in history. In the same way that fame bypassed many inventive farmers, threshing did not always make people rich. While the fees thresher owners charged varied considerably from place to place, from year to year, and from crop to crop, they seldom were exorbitant. George W. Fitzgerald’s leather-bound account book for his horse-powered threshing machine from 1845 to 1851 shows that his price per bushel for threshing wheat was from ¤ve to six cents. R. Benjamin Hayes stated, “I have most of my father’s account books, as far back as 1890.” They reveal that Hayes’s father charged one and a half cents per bushel of oats and two and a half cents per bushel of wheat and rye. Hayes said that the fee for labor was from a dollar to a dollar and a half per day.88 Despite the low wages, bustling energy characterized threshing scenes. Dr. George Shepherd of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, explained: In the early days of steam threshing with a crew of up to twenty-¤ve men, the only time money was made was when the grain bundles were actually going into the grain separator. When a threshing out¤t moved into a ¤eld of grain stooks, the engine pulling the grain separator would be

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unhooked and swung around ready to be belted to the separator. This is where speed and skill counted. To be the owner of a threshing out¤t gave the owner standing and prestige in his community. This was sometimes dearly bought, for the operation of a threshing out¤t was an extremely hazardous business. There could be wet weather, breakdowns, or sometimes a heavy stand of straw with very little grain. Small wonder that a great many owners of steam threshing out¤ts went broke at the job. In the early days of steam threshing many engineers secured a well-deserved reputation by the speed with which they could make a set and have the out¤t earning money in record time.89 From the days of the tally boxes that counted the bushels of grain to the later automatic weighers, the owners of threshers depended on steady speed. The number of bushels of wheat that could be threshed in a given amount of time depended not only on the skill of the crew but also on the size and quality of the equipment and the condition of the crop. Each crew set its own records. In the spirit of industrial competition that characterized threshing in general and custom threshing in particular, old-timers boasted about the ¤gures they helped to attain. Bill Hey of Kansas, with his 1910 Peerless steam engine, which had “the old-fashioned charm of a pot-bellied stove, the voice of a wildcat, and the speed of a tortoise,” set a record of ¤fteen bushels a minute “on a bet.”90 How much wheat could a crew thresh in a single day? Here are a few records: 2,670 bushels, 4,300 bushels, and 6,183 bushels.91 Ironically, this last record was set in the nineteenth century— speci¤cally, in July 1879. A special-order J. I. Case thresher with a cylinder measuring forty-eight inches accomplished this impressive feat on Dr. Hugh Glenn’s 45,000-acre wheat farm. Thomas B.

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Mahoney of Dorrance, Kansas, who invented the Avery LowDown Feeder mentioned earlier, threshed over 100,000 bushels of wheat in the year 1924. Melge Golterman, Sr., of Wentzville, Missouri, threshed 1,765,000 bushels of wheat in his lifetime.92 Grains larger than wheat—oats, for example—set higher records. William F. Steuck’s crew, in Primghar, Iowa, averaged 495 bushels per hour in one season of threshing oats and barley; Steuck said, “This was a wonderfully cooperative and hardworking crew which made remarkable records.”93 F. W. Johnson, who did his ¤rst threshing in 1897, stated that in 1918, in ¤ftyone days, he threshed 137,000 bushels of grain, including oats, barley, and ¶ax; he averaged 2,750 bushels daily, and his best day ran 4,100 bushels through the separator.94 LeRoy Blaker of Alvordton, Ohio, enjoyed a similar season in 1924, with over 125,000 bushels of oats and other grains threshed. An Alberta record for oats was held by M. VanDer Velde, who threshed 8,657 bushels in one day. An American-Abell engine, rated at 120-horsepower on the belt, weighing 25 tons, and consuming up to 5,000 pounds of coal per day, threshed 1,300 bushels of oats in a single hour.95 The weather helped to determine how many days a threshing crew would be in the ¤eld. J. Hubert Knapp of Colville, Washington, said, “I never threshed less than forty-¤ve days, and one fall I ran just over ninety days.” Fred C. Haszler of Tonica, Illinois, threshed for ninety-two days in Montana in 1915.96 Beyond the numbers and the records were the memories stored in the mental treasuries of threshermen and their families—memories of a pioneering, inventive, industrious time. Dr. Reynold M. Wik of Oakland, California, wrote: Any careful estimate of the rural engineers will destroy the easy generalizations of some who look upon farmers of yesterday as ignorant lunkheads, strong of vertebrae

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but so weak in mind that they didn’t know whether they were the backbones or boneheads of the nation. These sons of the sod with their red necks, pitchforks, and corncob pipes might appear to be plodders far behind the times, yet among them were those of mechanical ingenuity, selfreliant and progressive. . . . . Perhaps it is the fate of these farm engineers that their names are not famous; yet, life for them was full of rich experiences in an outdoor job they liked and in an enterprise of inestimable value.97

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ome might argue that farming in the threshing era was all farm work and no farm play: “Now some people tell us there ain’t any hell, / But they never farmed, and they can’t tell.”1 Others might remember the farm life as noble: “It’s great to remember my mother there / Toiling for each one of us then. / She hummed, as she worked, the tune of a hymn. / ’Twould be Heaven to hear again.”2 The yesteryear of threshing was neither monotonous (and tedious) nor sanctimonious. The era saw its cutups and capers. Helen Virden of Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, said, “Remember how the new members of the ‘ring’ were the ‘fall guys’ for the old practical jokes! Somehow it was considered good fun to steal a pin from a doubletree, nail a hat to the wash-up bench, or bribe the ‘water boy’ to ‘salt the jug.’”3 Across the years, the look of bewilderment on the face of the one who ¤nds a hat refusing to leave the wash-up bench still can be seen in the mind’s eye. And the one taking a swig from a salted water jug—that look would be priceless! 86

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The mischief, mayhem, and mishaps of this bygone era may tell readers more about the harvesting and threshing experience than anything examined so far. Ben Walsh of Courtenay, North Dakota, recalled a western threshing company’s cook car: “There were generally two cooks and two million ¶ies.” Walsh continued, “the ¶ies did not work at their task unaided. Three times daily they were ably assisted by the crew whose appetites could . . . be best compared to . . . a herd of elephants.” Walsh described the scene when ¤fteen or twenty workers sat down to eat: “The etiquette and table manners were not . . . precisely what Emily Post . . . would have approved. . . . The paramount objective appeared to be to get the food from the plate to the mouth by whatever means.” A fork “could be used to spear food that otherwise would have been out of reach.” When the threshing crew bedded down in a barn loft at night, they had “no thought of a bath!” In the stalls below, the horses “that were strangers to each other and had not been formally introduced” bided their time “until the wee small hours to begin their horsing around.” Above, the men “thought that the prophets of old might have been right after all and that the world was indeed coming to an end.” Soon, one of them would cast “pointed insinuations upon all members of the equine family.” Walsh remarked that it was easy to tell which of the men in a crew was the separator man: “He swore more calmly than an ordinary spike pitcher.” The ¤reman “seldom spoke and even more seldom washed.” Spike pitching “was a form of slavery which had not been abolished by the Civil War.” Spike pitchers “stood at the machine from early morning until late at night and helped the bundle haulers unload their loads into the separator.” According to Walsh, “There was no rest for the spike pitchers.” For their work, “they would receive twenty-¤ve cents or, later, ¤fty cents a day more than an ordinary bundle pitcher.” A ¤eld pitcher, however, “was often a sly fellow who believed that the

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The bundle loader prepares to pitch another sheaf while the threshing company agent looks on.

world owed him a living.” Working in the far corners of the ¤eld, “he could loaf and still draw pay.” The ¤eld pitcher’s “policy was to talk much and accomplish little.” Walsh said that he “always suspected that the ¤eld pitcher of yesteryear was . . . the forerunner of our present-day . . . Congress.”4 To many a boy and girl, the crew members were heroes, and their arrival at the home farm marked an occasion for adoration. L. K. Wood of Mendon, Utah, remembered the crew “all in a jolly mood, laughing and shouting.” Welcoming them “was the crowning feature of the day.” Wood “felt honored to walk up to the house with the . . . boss.” Around the “tub of warm water” gathered the crew, “cutting their little pranks.” Wood’s mother permitted him to sit beside the boss, and Wood felt “somewhat embarrassed among all the big men who were heroes in my young eyes.” Wood recalled that “jests and jovial humor continued during the meal.” Someone might yell, “Hey! you straw monkey, someone over here wants potatoes, too.”5 A spirit of adventure surrounded good threshing crews, and some children felt powerfully attracted to the profession of engi-

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neer. In 1907, an eleven-year-old boy named Marvin Wilkinson worked as an engineer in Win¤eld, Kansas.6 In the eyes of children, engineers ruled as demigods over a high-spirited crew and a fun-¤lled job. From year to year and from place to place, there was considerable variation in the way crews were organized and in the roles of each member. (Readers wishing to refresh their memory of some of the chronological and regional differences in how threshing was done may consult Appendix 3.) In general, the rigs’ owners (sometimes called “threshers”) held the most responsibility of anyone on the crew. Ovid J. Stevens of Barnard, South Dakota, commented that the owner “had to be free, not tied to any one job like engineer or separator man.” In emergencies, however, the owner had to be able “to take either end.” According to Stevens, the owner “had to be a public-relations man, as well as a diplomat.” Keeping order in the crew and “harmony among the farmers for whom he threshed” was the owner’s duty.7 The cooks for custom threshermen who hired a full crew could be either women or men. Most cooks kept the cook car immaculate, but there were a few “you would hate to let your dog eat or sleep in.” On one occasion, a cook gave the crew half a dozen donuts: “Breaking open the donuts we found an average of two ¶ies in each one. The funny part was the steam from the ¶y rounded out a smooth little pocket for his last resting place.” Filthy cook cars pointed to irresponsible owners: “They generally had three crews: one that they had just ¤red, one working and ready to quit, and one just hired.” On rigs employing it, the cook car, often built on the trucks of a discarded threshing machine, jounced and jostled along roads and across ¤elds. They were the social centers of the custom threshing business. Frank Miller of Kewanna, Indiana, said, “We ate such things as ham and beans—things that really stuck to your ribs.” According to Miller, “Whenever the cook ran out of meat, they just up and

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A return-¶ue Minneapolis engine, built in Hopkins, Minnesota, has helped to thresh a mountain of straw while the cook has fed a hungry crew from the cookshack. This scene is probably from the Great Plains, where custom threshing crews serviced vast farms and provided their own cook. Cooks could be either women or men.

killed another critter. . . . [Y]ou could see the heads of critters lying all around.”8 Joining the rig owners, engineers, separator men, ¤remen (if needed—many engineers also ¤red the engine), cooks (on certain custom-threshing crews), bundle haulers (if bundles were threshed, rather than headed grain), spike pitchers (named for the spikes, or heads of wheat), and ¤eld pitchers were the straw monkeys on out¤ts which burned straw. They kept the ¤remen supplied with straw. The water monkeys were also known as “tankies,” “waterdogs,” or “water bucks”;9 their task was to use the “arm-strong” method of pumping the tank full of water to be drunk by the thirsty boiler. Straw monkeys and water monkeys often were boys. Bucking straw and hauling water were demanding jobs—especially for lads. Early on, children learned to avoid the water monkey, who would impress curious siblings and other youngsters into the service of pushing and pulling the pump handle.10 If an adult were hauling the water, he typically would be called a “tank man.”

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Crews of threshing rings and of some custom threshing out¤ts not established on the ring principle also included a “water boy,” not to be confused with the water monkey. The water boy brought drinking water to the men in the ¤eld. His role was vital, but his place in the pecking order was rather low. Former water boy Harold C. Dimmich of Boswell, Indiana, recalled, “No right-thinking water boy was ever presumptuous enough to crowd in and eat at the ‘¤rst table’ at noon. He may have ‘washed up’ with the ¤rst men to the house, but he always stood to one side and let the men eat ¤rst unless there was that rare ‘one chair left’ which he could have.” Dimmich added that “the water boy was usually the butt of all jokes. . . . [H]e had to rise to the occasion, take his abuse, and not get mad at his tormentors.” Dimmich stoically endured—until one day “when a pitcher in the ¤eld put what I thought was a small snake down my shirt, and I had my clothes off in nothing ¶at, only to ¤nd that it was a ¤eld mouse.” He gave the pitcher “such a tongue-lashing . . . as he had never heard before from a ten-year-old boy.”11 The water boy also did odd jobs, such as supplying the men with tubs of water, soap, and towels by the well outside the house. His was a paid position, and on “settle-up” day, he received several half dollars. Custom-threshing crews occasionally employed a night watchman “who ¤lled grease cups, ¤xed belts, and kept steam up for the morning.” Such an individual might also be known as the “nightwatch.”12 Clinton C. Reed of Teis, Alberta, reminisced, “What a ¶ood of happy memories an old threshing machine can evoke. Sure, threshing was hard work, but it was also a lot of fun, and somehow the memories of the fun have endured while the sweat, toil, and disappointments have been forgotten.” Reed remembered, “Every crew had its pranksters, and practical jokes were played on everyone. The greenhorn was the favorite victim. His education came hard and fast, but he was usually equal to it and

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took his ribbing in the spirit it was given.” Reed recalled a few choice jokes: Many a time a tired bundle hauler went to sleep on his load during a breakdown and, when he went to drive in, found that his tugs had been unhitched. Occasionally a novice on the job had the front wheels on his wagon exchanged with the back wheels, and it took him some little time to ¤gure out what was wrong. Sometimes his lines were crossed with the check reins on the outside with the result that his team drove about six feet apart. Reed also related an incident that provided many laughs later: One young crewman was told, “You will have to sleep with the kid. He is in the room at the top of the stairs.” The thresherman was too tired to light any lamp. He fell into bed as usual and slept the sleep of the just and the weary. When he lit the lamp the next morning, however, he was considerably perturbed to ¤nd he had occupied the same bed as his host’s mother—an old lady of ninety some years who was completely deaf.13 Part of the spirit of good fun which permeated the collective memory of threshing grew from the distinctive personalities of the members of the crew. According to the perceptions of many threshermen, yesteryear bred real characters—horny-handed geniuses with plain common sense. Back then, some believe, a cultural imperative was for each son or daughter to work at developing an entertaining personality. Back then, some say, there were enough noteworthy individuals to keep raconteurs in business. Among threshermen pranks abounded. C. A. Harsch of Spokane, Washington, once felt a powerful temptation to toss “a

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cap into the blower to see how it would come out.” He snatched the ¤reman’s cap, ran to the threshing machine, and hurled it in. Harsch expected the ¤reman “to make a dive” for him, but the ¤reman “just laughed it off, friendly as could be.” Two days passed. Harsch was “fooling around up near the engine” when, suddenly, the ¤reman grabbed him, lifted him up, and dunked him in a water tank.14 As the greenhorn on a job, Harry Bonnema of LeMars, Iowa, had his doubletree pin pulled, and he “landed in between the horses when they started without the bundle rack.” From that experience, he learned not to wrap the lines around his hand. Later, while unloading, he stuck his pitchfork in a bundle, and, when he tried to lift it, he felt as though his arms would break. The bundle would not budge. He discovered it had been tied to his rack. From that experience, he learned to keep a watchful eye on his wagon at all times.15 Humorous episodes occurred at the lavish threshing dinners served on most threshing rings. Albert Wieringa of Middleville, Michigan, said that a farmer had been engaged in animated conversation, and “when he was ready for pie, it was all gone.” The wife said, “There should have been enough, but I don’t suppose anybody ate two pieces.” A crew member named George “was just ¤nishing his third piece, and he looked up and said, ‘Nope.’” At another threshing dinner, Wieringa heard a Mr. Bray ask, “Why is that man Bill always behind?” Wieringa suggested that Mr. Bray put that question to Bill himself. He did so. According to Wieringa, “Bill very slowly set his chair in place and very solemnly sat down and looked Mr. Bray in the face and said, ‘Mr. Bray, I was the last one in our family.’”16 Mrs. H. A. Stringham of Grand Rapids, Michigan, offered this anecdote: Once, when Wilbur Eckerson came to the table a little late, the man next to him generously asked, “Wouldn’t you like

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my cherry pie?” “Don’t mind if I do,” [Wilbur] replied. “Here, have mine,” offered another man, and another, and another. Wilbur thought they were all being very generous—until, that is, he took his ¤rst bite of pie—and found that the maker had neglected to remove any of the pits!17 Such anecdotes attest to the good humor of the threshing era in general and of the dinners in particular. H. C. Etchison of Savannah, Missouri, told about an elderly fellow with a new buggy who “came to where we were threshing to see when the machine would be at his place.” The old-timer and his wife stayed for dinner, and while they were eating, men of the threshing crew traded the high rear wheels for the low front wheels on his buggy. After dinner, the old fellow had to help his wife climb into the buggy “as the step was three feet off the ground, and, when they got in and leaned back, they were almost lying down.” They began to drive off, and the elderly man was overheard to exclaim, “What . . . is the matter with this buggy?”18 Many humorous anecdotes from the steam-powered threshing era feature youngsters as the central characters. Ralph W. Peters of Findlay, Ohio, recalled that when he was thirteen years old, he decided “it would be fun to . . . get up steam” to run his father’s engine to the woods and return while his father and mother were in town doing the Saturday afternoon shopping. “All went well,” Peters said, “until . . . the right rear wheel broke through the top frozen layer of ground.” In a panic over which method of punishment his father would choose, Peters racked his mind to recall what to do for an engine mired in mud. Then he remembered. He had seen his father lay rails or stove wood in front of the wheels. Peters tried this remedy and freed the engine. He restored it to its proper place by the barn. Peters, however, had not covered the engine’s tracks, and his father deduced what

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had happened. Instead of scolding, his father commended the boy “for being able to get it out without any assistance.”19 Similarly, Donald B. Campbell of Marine City, Michigan, decided with the “supreme con¤dence—and ignorance—of youth” that he and his brother could run the engine that had come to their father’s place to thresh. The crew, including the engineer, had just left for the night, and the boiler still had steam. The brothers found the throttle, opened it, and the engine began to turn over. “For a few moments we were content to just let it do that,” Campbell said, “and I think, had it not been for our juvenile inability to let well enough alone, no one would have ever been the wiser.” Campbell next found the clutch, and the driver wheels started to turn. The engine was heading backwards “directly for the house.” Without delay, Campbell and his brother steered the engine in a circle—“all around the barnyard.” Before long, they “had used up all the available pressure in the boiler . . . , and the engine slowly came to a hissing stop.” Unfortunately, they were nowhere near where they had found the engine. After their father administered justice, they developed a “sting” in their “posteriors” which lasted longer than their stint as engineers had. As Campbell put it, “The midday meal, bountiful as all threshing-day meals were on the farm, was enjoyed by both of us, standing up!”20 Raymond T. Stout of Washington, D. C., told how a clever engineer once ensured that boys not regard the engine as a tempting toy. The engineer pulled a cord that opened the pop safety valve. The rushing blast of steam startled the boys, but even more disconcerting was the engineer’s remark, “One more pound and it will blow up.” (A ruse, of course!) That comment caused the boys to run under the mules and head “for the tall corn.”21 Such anecdotes lend critical insight into the life of the threshing days and scarcely hint at the life-threatening facets of that existence. Perhaps the presence of danger enhanced the adventure of that era. More likely, however, the adventure resided in

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the interaction with others. As John L. Willison of Morley, Iowa, said, “A very important and exciting event in the life of most farmers was the ‘threshing days.’ The annual threshers meetings, arguments, actual threshing, the generous and delicious meals, . . . pranks (cigarette butts in hip pockets), jokes (frogs in drinking cans), and the congeniality of neighbors were eagerly awaited.” That congeniality often was put to the test; as one engineer recalled, “I remember when I would get up at three in the morning to hunt kindling wood to start a ¤re. I bet many a farmer missed boards off his fence, but I never heard nothing from it.”22 Engineer Ben Bertrand seized every opportunity to prove his great hurry. Once, he used his Avery’s front wheels to smash down a farmer’s gate to gain the most direct route to the threshing “set.” In so doing, he broke the front axle. After that, he was more careful; he used his Huber’s driver wheels to smash gates.23 A spark of uncertainty or fear touches off many brands of humor. The punch line of a traditional joke catches listeners off guard and delivers information they were not expecting. Foiled in their anticipations, they can either feel embarrassed or laugh. Most choose the latter route. Told by people for whom threshing not only meant bread and butter but also de¤ned a way of life, threshing stories often humorously described the intense effort invested in communal activity. Storytellers set up readers to expect one outcome then delivered them another. Such stories frequently hinged on the need for cooperation, particularly among the members of threshing rings. Even on custom-threshing crews not established on the ring basis, however, each worker had at least to try to get along with every other, so that the crew would resemble the well-oiled machines they used. Given capricious weather, a vast task to complete as rapidly as possible, and the vying of other crews for desirable business, every crew recognized the necessity of cooperating to the fullest extent humanly possible. Much of

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the adventure, thus, of threshing concerned the risks of collaboration and the challenges of unity. Many of the most outrageously amusing anecdotes related by threshermen—perhaps more amusing in hindsight than they were at the time—derive their humor from the tension just beneath the surface of enterprise requiring some degree of cooperation. An unusually high number of humorous threshing tales weave in the subject of food. A primal activity, eating puts cooperation to the test in a social context. That storytellers would invoke the culinary muse comes as no surprise. Around the dining table, frustration could not take itself out with an extraheavy thrust of a pitchfork into a sheaf. Emery Vestal of Waterloo, Indiana, told about a family which served the threshing crew mutton every day. “After three days,” Vestal said, “the mutton began . . . to spoil, and nobody would eat any.” The family always said grace and often asked others to do so. They requested that “a big Irishman” lead the prayer. He said, “‘Oh Lord, please look down upon this plate of mutton. Once it was meat and ¤t to eat, but now, Oh God, it is rotten!!’” The family took the mutton off the table.24 Tension is evident in Vestal’s account. Karl C. McManus of Bronson, Michigan, said that his brother, a thresherman, had a customer with “a reputation for not being in the upper bracket so far as cleanliness was concerned.” McManus’s brother arranged the threshing schedule so that the crew “would not be obliged to eat a meal at the place.” On the day in question, the men “worked frantically until they saw they could be through” in time. “The wagons left on the run,” McManus recalled. The engine, however, broke down, and McManus’s brother was detained. He could only dream about the appetizing meal of chicken and noodles everyone else was enjoying at the next farm on the ring. C. A. Holmquist of James, Minnesota, remembered a farm where the wife burned “dry cow manure in the cook stove.” According to Holmquist, she picked up the dry cow “pies” in the

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pasture and put them in the woodbox. The husband brought bread to the men in the ¤eld. He put the loaf “under his arm and sliced it with a big bread knife.” Holmquist said that the man had “manure on his jacket sleeve” but no one fell ill.25 Threshing humor gained part of its punch from con¶ict. The potential for contention in threshing frequently sought release in diverting to the subject of bad food. LeRoy Pilling of National City, California, recalled a farmhouse where “everything on the table was black with ¶ies.” Pilling said, “There was plenty on the table to eat, but you couldn’t eat for ¶ies. I looked over at my boss, and he gave me a look—we ate a few bites and got out.” Pilling also remembered a breakfast when “a young hog came in one kitchen door and went out the other. He was very quiet, grunting along.” S. L. Speer of Bismarck, Missouri, ate at one place where “they had home-cured bacon that was strong enough to have walked across the table and said ‘good morning’ to the coffee, but the coffee was too weak to have replied.”26 Engineer E. P. Nelson of Bird City, Kansas, was fond of telling about a team of horses which ran away with the water wagon. Nelson knew the lay of the land and realized that farther than the crew could see stood a fence that would turn the horses. Calmly, he blew the whistle the right number of times to signal the need for water. Just then, the team reached the fence, and the horses swung around and headed back toward the engine. The men were in awe of the engineer who had such command over a stampeding team. Nelson said, “you can be sure I never told them.” William E. Hall of Burtonsville, Maryland, related how, by running an engine on an asphalt macadam road, his grandfather became involved in a trick. A “law against using a steel-wheeled vehicle on a paved road had been passed the year before.” Hall’s grandfather had only three miles farther to go before reaching the next threshing site when a state trooper on a motorcycle stopped him. “They went before the judge,” Hall continued, “and the case was heard.

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The judge replied that, while there was such a law on the books, there was no law preventing a farmer from getting his wheat threshed.” The judge dismissed the case. Said Hall, “I wonder how long it took the state trooper to realize that the threshing was being done for the judge?”27 Halloween offered pranksters an excuse to exercise their creative instincts. Fred E. Starkweather of Boyden, Iowa, told that on Saturday, October 30, 1915, “a group of young blades” ¤red up an engine which did not belong to them, hitched it to a sleeping shack and ¤ve other wagons, and, sometime between one and two in the morning, blocked the main intersection of town—“throwing in some banana crates from the General Store as good measure.” Surprisingly, “at a subsequent investigation not an eyewitness could be found.” On Monday, a group of citizens, including several of the guilty parties, removed the blockade while “loudly denouncing the culprits, whoever they might be.” On Halloween night in 1903, according to Karl C. McManus, mischievous boys loaded a portable engine and shredder on “an empty ¶atcar on the siding.” The next day, “the local freight came along, and the conductor checked the number of the car.” McManus said, “The number corresponded to the one he had on his order for a ¶atcar to be spotted for a customer at Avilla, Indiana, some thirty miles to the south, so it was soon on its way southbound.” The customer had ordered an empty car. He was astonished to ¤nd one loaded with what appeared to be good machinery. He noti¤ed the owner, who had to pay the freight charges of thirty dollars.28 Ralph Thyng of Evansville, Indiana, told a hair-raising tale. A friend had invited him to view the rusting hulk of an old engine one evening. While walking through the weeds surrounding the derelict steamer, the friend began to share the story of the engine: “Old Alex, who was always tight with his money, began to rely on his wife for help at the [sawmill].”

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Here my storyteller dropped his voice, although there was probably no one else within a mile of the place at that time. He told me that the old lady had not been “quite right” for several years, and with the loneliness of her life . . . and her treatment at the hands of the stern, cynical, stingy husband she became steadily worse. “As time went on,” my informant said, “she got awful bad. . . . She hated Old Alex, but there was one part of all this work that she liked. She loved to toot that old whistle!” I looked up at the remains of an old dome-topped whistle on a pipe. . . . It stood slightly askew, and a round hole in its sides testi¤ed as to the marksmanship of some deer hunter. . . . “. . . She blew the whistle until she ruined the nerves of everyone who happened to be within hearing. . . . “. . . Then work began to fall off at the mill, and Alex ¤nally shut down and went into a kind of retirement. Nobody cared enough about them to visit their home. . . . “Early one November morning a few years later two hunters saw a trace of smoke coming from the old engine that they knew had not been worked for several years. They investigated further and found that a terri¤c ¤re had been burning in the old, dry boiler, and there were fresh bloodstains on some wood near the ¤redoor. . . . broken weeds showed that something had been dragged toward the engine. . . . “When a woman’s shoe was discovered not far away, they decided to go tell Alex. They found him in bed with rheumatism—unable to walk, he said. When the hunters told their story Alex seemed awfully worried. “‘Mariah ain’t come back,’ he said. ‘She often goes out at night and plays on that old engine, but she always comes back by daylight. Today she ain’t come back!’ “Neighbors were called in, and a hunt was insti-

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gated, but Mariah was not found. Some kind of inquest was held when more evidence pointed toward ‘foul play’ at the sawmill. There were those who didn’t believe that Alex had rheumatism at all. . . . “But they had always been a cold, mysterious family, and except for morbid curiosity, nobody cared much what happened to them. . . . “Then one cold midnight . . . it happened! Tom Evers, who was lying awake in his farmhouse, almost a mile from the deserted mill, heard it clear as a bell! The old whistle was wailing just as it did when Mariah had swung on the whistle rope and gibbered and danced in glee! He awakened his wife, who heard it, too. “Tom told his story, and many went to look, but the old boiler was cold as the grave itself, and, even then, the whistle was in a bad state of repair. “. . . In the decade that followed just about everybody in that region heard the ghost whistle at least once. Hunters, children, lovers—sometimes dogs howled. . . .” My friend told me that, even at the time of my visit, the place was usually avoided at night. It was getting pretty dark when we left the haunted engine. I seemed to be much colder than I should have been, and a moaning hoot owl in the distance wasn’t making me feel any warmer.29 As O. M. Johnson of San Jose, California, said, “the old-timers would line up on the deacon seats beside those roaring wood stoves and outdo each other in relating many . . . yarns. Sometimes I think it was done largely for the bene¤t of a greenhorn.”30 Thyng’s “haunted engine” story might have been dressed up a little to suit the ears of a new threshing recruit. Thyng himself said:

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Now I don’t know whether that’s a true story or not. But that’s the way I heard it! I have several notebooks full of stories that have been told me by machine men from just about all over the country. I’m sure some of them are true as the Gospels. But I have a feeling that some have been ornamented, embellished, and revised just for ¤ne art’s sake. Thyng continued, “A lanky, bewhiskered Texan once told me with tears in his eyes . . . that he once steered ‘a leetle too fur to the left’ and had had to jump off the platform and watch the best engine he ever owned sink, lock, stock, and smokestack in a bed of quicksand.” Only bubbles on the surface indicated the sixty¤ve-horsepower Case’s ¤nal resting place.31 Part of the study of folklore involves the recognition that legends represent a quali¤ed reality, and legends and superstitions have certain characteristics in common. The ancestry of certain legends and of particular superstitions might be traced to real stories “ornamented, embellished, and revised just for ¤ne art’s sake.” In understanding the experience of the steam-power era, readers recognize that the folkloric facets of the stories of that time communicate a “reality” every bit as much as the historical aspects do. Leon Olson of Salem, South Dakota, stated that if “he heard a squeak from within the boiler” when ¤ring in the morning, “a hard wind was in the making for the day.” William Flowers of Adena, Ohio, reported Herb Holmes’s belief that rattlesnakes hid in the smokestacks of Peerless engines. E. R. Dugan of Waterloo, Illinois, said that when Oliver Rehg found a nest of yellow jackets in the corner of the water tender, he knew why the water tank was leaking—“they stung holes in it.” Lewis H. Cline of Battle Creek, Michigan, asserted, “The weather was extremely hot. On one side of the fence was a herd of cows and on the other a ¤eld of popcorn. It got so hot it popped the popcorn, and the cows saw it and thought it was snow and froze to death.”32 The tall-tale elements

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A threshing crew clowns it up for the camera, one man assuming his pose within the water barrel. The Nichols and Shepard steam engine, manufactured in Battle Creek, Michigan, is barely visible behind them.

of these stories offer evidence that a threshing culture existed which created its own lore. A tradition in threshing anecdotes upholds the common person who slyly rises above obstacles to become heroic. Albert Wieringa demonstrated the art: While I am on the subject of storytellers and liars, I might mention that the threshermen in my time were not considered reliable when they promised the farmer that they would be on his job [soon]. Consequently our clan got the reputation of being liars. Now as I was brought up the old-fashioned way, I resented being classed as a liar. However, I found by looking in a dictionary that a liar is one who makes statements that deceive; consequently as the farmer claimed that he put no dependence on the

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thresherman’s promises he was not deceived—the thresherman was not a liar after all.33 Lee W. Dodd of Niles, Michigan, told about a prevaricating farmer who engaged a crew “to thresh his sixty acres of wheat. By the time the machine was in the neighborhood the acreage estimate was reduced to forty. When threshing day arrived it was down to twenty, and when it came time to pay he claimed only ten acres.”34 In threshing stories, equivocation was the thresherman’s positive trait but the farmer’s negative characteristic. Storytellers learned to punctuate their tales with clever quips. For example, during rainy weather, one worker commented that the face and hands of another member of the crew had acquired a dark tan. The second fellow replied, “Tan nothing! That’s rust!”35 Wayne Parker of Rochester, New York, related this outstanding retort: “I had a . . . short man for water boy. . . . One day he didn’t get back till late so I had to shut down. When he ¤nally came I was a little sore and said to him, ‘If you don’t get around faster, I’ll kick your bottom.’ He looked up . . . and said, ‘You’ll never ¤nd a handier one to kick.’” Harold D. Blackwell of Lake Zurich, Illinois, was only ten years old when he wrote to the Avery Company in Peoria to send a salesman to see him “about buying an Avery out¤t.” When the salesman arrived and discovered what had happened, he made Harold’s father pay half of the salesman’s travel expenses. Later, Harold received a letter from the president of the company stating that he “appreciated my interest in Avery products” but believed “I would get a good many threshings before I was able to purchase one.”36 The pun ornaments the story. Threshing humor often focuses on the contrast between less satisfactory situations and more agreeable circumstances. C. R. Willits of Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, was looking to buy a threshing machine. He ¤rst visited the Case branch house in Peoria and “found a man in a chair with a newspaper over his face.” Willits awakened

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the man, who drowsily asked where Willits was from. When Willits said, “Iowa,” the man “folded the paper over his face and went back to sleep.” Willits next visited the Avery plant: “When I got to the factory I read a sign, ‘Visitors call at the of¤ce.’ I did, was given a yellow ribbon badge and provided a guide.” Needless to say, Willits ended up buying Avery equipment.37 The truth of certain humorous threshing anecdotes rested not so much on their factual reliability as on their authentic charm. How the storyteller crafted the tale often mattered more than the plot. By all accounts, Raymond Laizure of Cadiz, Ohio, was a worthy practitioner of the storytelling art, especially when it came to ¤nding a unique phrase. Laizure described an Advance engine as “the Pride of Battle Creek barking away at a steep grade.” Instead of saying he had begun the milking, Laizure worded it, “I . . . had just gotten hold of the handles on my cow.” When he understood that another person had made a good case, Laizure said, “That laid the facts bare on the table.” When Laizure felt astonishment at witnessing a puzzling event, he said, “It left me sitting straddle of a rail fence with a split basket full of mixed emotions.”38 Such word painting goes well beyond clichés. Laizure knew the rhythm of language, the picturesque detail, and how to convey the aura of sincerity. In stories from the threshing era, elements occasionally were ¤ctional. Fiction is not a lie but a heightened version of the truth. Gary A. Kappedal of Lengby, Minnesota, once claimed that his Judson governor “is so sensitive that, if you spit on the ¶ywheel when it’s running, you hear it let out a chug or two out the stack.” Charlie Harrison of Fredericktown, Ohio, used understatement to give a humorous account of the effects of boiler pressure: “The engineer let his water get out of sight in the glass, so he got a wrench and screwed out the ¤ller plug to see how much water was in the boiler. No one got hurt, but it took the whole crew one half day to ¤nd the plug.”39 Harrison never had to say that the plug shot

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out. (Readers wanting to know the exact workings of an engine and descriptions of principal parts may turn to Appendix 1.) Stories from the threshing era exude authenticity by painting pictures of the life of the times more vivid than snapshots. Readers gain imagined participation in the experience of characters whose anecdotes are told with such claims to honesty that they open like a child’s pop-up book. L. R. Smith said that Ole was “oiling the main bearing next to the ¶ywheel with an old coffeepot of oil” when “the ¶ywheel knocked the pot out of his hand, and it disappeared.” Smith told Ole that “it was in the wheel, held by centrifugal force.” According to Smith, “When he shut down it [came out] but didn’t happen to hit or break anything.” Royal E. Jackson of Silver Spring, Maryland, memorably stated that his uncle’s “little Nichols & Shepard would spout a geyser of sparks one-hundred feet in the air on a still evening.” Peg Tyndal Jackson of North Aurora, Illinois, described the “regular code of whistle toots” which “established communication between the engineer and the twenty or so members of the crew.” Jackson said, “One short and one long blast on the whistle . . . meant, ‘Get another grain wagon here, or we’ll have to dump it on the ground.’ Two short blasts meant, ‘We need a bundle wagon. Hurry!’ Or three short, frantic blasts said to the man who was ¤lling the water tank in the cow yard, ‘Come right now, full or not, or this whole blasted thing will explode!’”40 Genuine experience enlivened this statement by Arthur J. Holen of St. Paul, Minnesota: “Oh man! the beards on the barley straw, how they would crawl up the pants leg. Imagine after a hot day ¤ring with barley straw and at night sleeping in the tender or in the sleeping shack without change of underwear for a whole week! I shudder now when I think of it!” Holen provided a plethora of details helpful in comprehending the experience of threshing in the steam era. He said, “When I ¤rst started ¤ring I got myself rigged out with a black

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Firing up a Nichols & Shepard engine, manufactured in Battle Creek, Michigan, was an occasion worthy of cigars.

¤reman’s cap and of course a red handkerchief. On the ¤rst day . . . [t]he hot August sun beat down unmercifully. That night my ears started to sting. By morning I had in place of ears a baloney ring on each side of my head.” The engineer advised Holen to wear a broad-brimmed straw hat instead. On another occasion, Holen’s

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crew had to thresh four stacks beside a cemetery. By quitting time, only two stacks had been threshed. That fact meant that, before dawn the next day, Holen would have to revive the ¤re in the boiler there beside the graveyard. Holen said, “I lay awake most of the night getting more scared by the hour.” At 3:30 a.m., he “had to go out to the rig and start getting up steam. Anyone who has ¤red up a boiler in the early morning knows that a boiler will make some weird and haunting noises as it is heating up.” Frozen with fear, Holen “stood there poking straw into the straw-chute.”41 Amos K. Mast of Cochranville, Pennsylvania, knew fear, too. Once a week, he had to roll the ¶ues to keep them from leaking, and he was glad he had to squeeze inside the ¤rebox to do that job by lantern light in the night—because there were “pesky coyotes . . . on every side.”42 Told well, such an anecdote enables readers to experience vicariously the age of steam. Such stories evoke complicated responses ranging from fear to laughter. Menaces to people were primarily natural, as when Fred M. Lawrence of Rockford, Illinois, discovered that the sieves in his thresher were “full of little snakes.”43 Yesteryear’s stress was of a different order: “[The tanker man] would be gone for a long time, and pretty soon they would have to shut the engine down because they would be getting low on water. A few of the men would go down to the water hole to ¤nd out what was the matter. And here was the tanker man sitting on top of the tank with a snake on the ground.”44 Even the threat of snakes seemed viewed through a golden veil that softened the scene and made fears almost funny. Ron Harley of Des Moines, Iowa, recounted, “A mouse ran up my water boy’s pants leg. God, he let out a yell. Woke up all the roosters on the farm, and they didn’t stop crowing until sunup.”45 In the days when people had to go to town to get a chunk of ice to make iced tea,46 one of their biggest worries was how to serve a threshing dinner that would earn the compliments of the farm workers who would eat it at noon: “There were fra-

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grant loaves of bread that had been rising all night, apple cobbler, sprinkled with cinnamon, to be served with thick Jersey cream. There were large ham slices; the meat from the smokehouse had been saved for this very time. Fresh vegetables from the garden . . . made up the meal.”47 A lesser worry, perhaps, was getting in trouble with the law. A man who purchased a new Port Huron engine drove it home from the city of the same name. When he passed through the town of Marlette, he did not realize that the smokestack spark screen “was so high that it knocked out all the streetlights.” Since the roads were dirt, the sheriff had no trouble tracing the engine’s tracks to the farm. It cost the engineer three hundred dollars to replace the lightbulbs.48 Threshing stories capitalize on simple humor. Eugene C. Bennett of Gainesville, Georgia, advised, “If you want to see a crew leave a thresher like it was red hot—just let a dozen or so rotten eggs get into the cylinder with a bundle of grain, WHEEOU WEE!” On the trail of a similar scent was this anecdote from Raymond Thackrey of Smith Center, Kansas: “The stinking frog-pond water, when heated in the boiler, gave off an odor that did not smell like a rose garden. The engine got sick, foamed, and refused to make steam. We had to shut down and wash out the boiler. The water boy took no more shortcuts. He went . . . to the well to ¤ll up with fresh water.” Hope D. Earl’s father of Ray, Indiana, had crawled into the ¤rebox all right but could not wiggle back out. He was “on the fat order” and had “swelled up in that warm ¤rebox.” To get him out, Earl’s mother had him take off his shirt. She then “greased him up with lard” so that he would slip through the ¤rebox door.49 Some storytellers portrayed the epoch of steam threshing rings as an elaborate festival full of good cheer—a celebration of harvest—a jovial communal merrymaking. Indeed, fairs were staged to showcase threshing equipment. For the St. Louis Exposition in 1904, Gaar-Scott & Company of Richmond, Indiana,

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A J. I. Case engine, built in the 1890s in Racine, Wisconsin, provides a platform for proud shops workers to pose for the camera.

sent a special thirteen-horsepower engine having nickel-plated hubcaps, cylinder, whistle, and pop valve gleaming like silver in the sunshine.50 To impress potential purchasers at such fairs, manufacturers would sponsor demonstrations. At one state fair, the Avery Company and the Aultman & Taylor Company exhibited their pitchfork-proof separators: “The Avery representative started the show by threshing a pile of old lumber. The AultmanTaylor man did the same, picking out boards with nails and spikes in them, . . . but ¤nally conceded the match when the Avery man brought up a wheelbarrow full of bricks and threw them in.”51 To show off, agents of the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company drove engines halfway up steep inclines, held them there, let them roll almost all of the way back, then ran them to the top—a heartstopping stunt. In 1902, Merrill C. Meigs began demonstrating Case engines on the incline. A man named Walter Geist was one of the fairground demonstrators for Case. In 1905 and 1906, a Mr. Fries ran a Case steamer up the incline at the Minnesota State Fair. Ira Young also braved the ramp. Adam Losch performed stunts

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sanctioned by his boss, the Huber Manufacturing Company.52 To exhibit the speed of his engines, Reinhard Scheidler of Scheidler Machine Works in Newark, Ohio, “offered to race any contender, and since none appeared he would race his engine alone around the dirt track for the entertainment of the crowd.”53 Typical of these audacious performances was the following competition: Jack Adkins, a local Huber salesman, was extolling the virtues of his twenty-horsepower giant. . . . . . . Bud Williams, a factory representative for Russell, who had a twenty-horsepower sample all steamed up, overheard just enough of this power conversation to . . . see his possibilities. . . . . . . [Bud said], “You better steer clear of one of those return-¶ue jobs because they won’t pull the hat off your head, let alone a string of plows, without turning over backwards. . . . Why, I’ll lay you twenty dollars on the line right here that I can tie a chain to your kettle and have her looking up at the moon in nothing ¶at!” . . . Bud had latched a heavy chain into his drawbar and headed on out some ¤fty feet distant, calling back, “Come on there, fellow; let’s not hold up the show. Get turned around and let’s see you take up the slack. . . .” But Jack simply proceeded to ease the Huber ahead gently, . . . stopping just . . . within hitching distance between his front end and the rear of the restless Russell. . . . “What in thunder kind of contest is this?” stormed Bud, as Jack eased back a few inches to take up the slack. . . . “Well, you can’t push on that chain,” shouted Jack; “Anytime you are ready!” Now Bud had to be a good sport and could see no way out of the predicament into which he had so carelessly ambled himself.54

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At the Williams Grove, Pennsylvania fair—“the ‘Wichita’ of the East as far as the exhibition of steam engines and threshers . . . was concerned”—a Huber engine accomplished a feat which only certain return-¶ue engines could achieve: “The Yellow Breeches Creek . . . ran through the grounds. Huber would wade in the creek, water to the rear axle, and then dare any other engine to follow.”55 Locomotive-styled boilers featured low-to-the-ground ¤reboxes, whereas the Huber boiler was a cylinder high and dry. Not all stunts were executed at public fairs; occasionally, daredevil antics occurred privately. L. C. Mazilly of Starks, Louisiana, accidentally allowed his engine to stop on dead center, making it necessary for him to turn the ¶ywheel by hand. Mazilly hopped down on the ground to reach the ¶ywheel, but he forgot and “left the throttle wide open and the reverse in backward road motion.” The moment Mazilly pulled the engine off dead center, the Rumely “started backing faster, it seemed to me, than I ever saw a traction engine roll. . . . I ran behind and looked for a place to grab on.” Amazingly, Mazilly boarded the engine, and “for quick action in shutting off and reversing an engine” he “set a record that stands to this day.”56 The engineers performing stunts at fairs held nothing over an engineer who could board from behind an engine moving backwards. Once the bees, reunions, rodeos, and rallies began, engineers chose to duplicate several of the engine acrobatics of the old-time fairs. E. C. “Big Mac” McMillan (who signed some of his letters “MacCase” because of his advocacy of Case equipment), Harry Woodmansee, David Kemler, “Big John” Limmer, George Bahre, and Jack Egbert fearlessly ran their engines up formidably steep inclines.57 In recent years, Tom Terning in Kansas, Karl and Kim Tuttle in Michigan, and Chady Atteberry in Oklahoma have performed this stunt at thresherees. Melvin Lugten, Titus Brubaker, and Mildred Ary specialized in balancing their engines on massive teeter-totters.58 These engineers

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and others like them drove one driver wheel up onto a high block, thereby giving the engine an electrifying tilt to one side.59 Engineers at reunions throughout North America put the power of their engines to the test on Baker fans, Prony brakes, and dynamometers. Not everyone admired such nostalgic stunting. Glenn Harmon of Lannon, Wisconsin, said, “I have never experienced the thrill of trying to see how close I could come to wrecking a perfectly good engine without going over the limit.” Herb E. Beckemeyer of Tolono, Illinois, added, “I . . . see no point in proving which engine has the most power and ef¤ciency over any other engine or make, especially this day and age. . . . These old kettles are nothing but a hobby.”60 Stunting might be—and might always have been—foolishly brave, except with the most expert engineers at the throttles. In the threshing era, differences of opinion among engineers led to humorous wars of words. Rarely did true ¤ghting occur. Once, the Frick Company sent their Mr. Kirby, a troubleshooter, to Enid, Oklahoma, to collect a rig: “Kirby took just time enough to change his clothes and toss a Colt 45 in his grip. . . . After dark, Kirby . . . coupled up the separator to the engine and shortly was on the road. An hour or two later, our hero, on the engine, heard a wagon and several men approaching.” The tough characters wanted their engine back—without having to pay for it, of course. The Frick man “leveled his 45 on the edge of the coal bunker and told them in words they could understand, if they tried to . . . put a hand on the machine, he would ‘drill’ them both. . . . The next day the out¤t was loaded—destination Council Bluffs.61 Just beneath the surface of cooperation lay the possibilities of cheating and rancor. While William F. Steuck of Primghar, Iowa, lost only one threshing bill and one shelling bill in his career as a thresherman, Mrs. Peter Moe remembered her father’s

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experience of losing “his whole threshing rig and then some, as he believed in paying his workers and also feeding them well but was not paid by the farmers for whom he threshed.” E. C. Foreman of Tacoma, Ohio, told of an altercation involving a man who had come up from a corn¤eld to take a closer look at a new engine: “The pop valve let loose with a terri¤c noise for the ¤rst time. It scared the mule, which took off down . . . his patch of corn in high gear, plow bouncing up and down over the rocks.” The man chased his mule, caught it, calmed it, and then returned to the engine. He said, “‘Who will scare my mule . . . pays me ¤fty dollars on the spot.’” The engineer refused, and the man “sat down in front of the engine, daring them to run over him.” The engineer allowed condensed water in the cylinder to exhaust through the smokestack and shower the man, who “took off for the house.”62 Seething was not always con¤ned to the boiler. Threshing stories exhibit human nature’s varied facets. Billy M. Byrd of Madisonville, Kentucky, remembered two brothersin-law who competed. Although neither knew it, both had bought steam engines. Also, both had ordered Nichols & Shepard engines, but one was a 25-horsepower, the other a 35-horsepower. The engines, furthermore, arrived “on the same railroad ¶atcar.” Byrd said, “The fellow that had bought the 25-horsepower wouldn’t unload it but sent it back to the factory and exchanged it for a 35horsepower.”63 The potential for anger, jealousy, and con¶ict lent the tension required to create amusement in steam-era anecdotes. Several wars of words have raged humorously in the pages of The Iron-Men Album Magazine, which began publication in 1946 under the title of The Farm Album. A forum for friendly recollection of the steam-power days, the Album published (and continues to publish) letters and articles from threshermen. Starting in 1956, several old-timers engaged in verbal ¤sticuffs for nearly a decade. This dialogue is still talked about at thresherees. The following

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account offers only the highlights but is still extensive, thereby showing the lengths to which the participants would go in arguing their positions. Are these exchanges simply the ramblings of old-timers wanting bragging rights? No, these carefully planned assertions and rebuttals reveal the expertise of the correspondents and permit insight into the verbal gymnastics of yesteryear’s threshing industry. In the September/October issue of 1956, Marcus Leonard of Salina, Kansas, defended the Advance Thresher Company: Much has been written which confounded [the] Advance Thresher Company with the M. Rumely Company organized by Dr. Rumely, the Rumely Products Company, and the Advance-Rumely Company. . . . The men who founded [the Advance Thresher Company] and the ones under whose management it prospered and grew to be one of the greatest thresher companies have passed on, leaving but a few of the employees to defend the good name of the “Grand Old Company.” For reasons known only to the Maker of the universe, I have been permitted to remain, and, having been employed by [the] Advance Thresher Company nine years, knowing that company as but few now living knew it, I have come to defend [the ¤rm] against misstatements.64 Innocently enough, Leonard had thrown down the gauntlet. No one quarreled with his article’s clari¤cations regarding the Rumely ¤rms and how Advance was separate from them. It was the tone of Leonard’s exalted praise for Advance that provoked attack. In the March/April 1958 issue of the Album, LeRoy Blaker of Alvordton, Ohio—a champion of Port Huron engines but an acquaintance of Abner D. Baker and, thus, capable of putting in a good word for Baker engines—answered the perceived challenge. Blaker wrote:

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The late Abner D. Baker . . . conceived the idea of building a large fan to work their engines . . . in competition with other engines. My ¤rst records show it was used just ¤fty years ago, or April 3–4, 1907, at Wichita, Kansas, . . . but I believe it was used several years previous to this in other competitions. . . . I was told by a friend . . . that he was there at Wichita and saw the contest. He said the . . . Huber was carrying a terri¤c pressure with the boiler leaking in many places after it pulled on the Baker fan. This was the year the Huber people claimed the . . . Huber turned the fan faster than the . . . Baker. . . . H. C. Miller of Cherokee, Iowa, . . . says he was there both days of the contest. He said he carefully checked the steam pressures carried and the r.p.m. of the Baker fan, and his ¤gures show the . . . Baker turned the fan 692 r.p.m. and the . . . Huber 660 r.p.m. The Huber people claimed they turned it 730 r.p.m. The Port Huron people claimed the Huber was carrying 250 pounds pressure when the steam gauge showed only 150 pounds. The contestants had a choice of pulleys of different diameters. . . . At the Wichita competition the . . . Port Huron did not show up as well as it should have. . . . The management refused to let the fourteen-horsepower Port Huron simple [engine] enter the contest. Up to this paragraph, Blaker’s article sounded guileless, but it went on: While in Swanton, Ohio, several years ago, I was told by an old employee of the Baker Company that one of the years they had their fan at [the] Columbus, Ohio, state fair.

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The Advance people asked Mr. Baker if they could put their engine on the Baker fan. Mr. Baker told them they could but had better wait until the crowd had gone home if they didn’t want to be embarrassed. According to Blaker, the Advance engine did not perform as well as a smaller Baker engine. Blaker continued: The Advance people asked Mr. Baker why there was so much difference; he replied, “You tell that d——n company of yours that they should know better than to try to turn the fan as fast with an engine with their large ¶ywheel compared with the thirty-six-inch diameter on the Baker.” A number of years ago Mr. Baker told me of this incident that happened at Wichita when he was there in person. Someone asked him why the sixteen-horsepower Baker turned the fan faster than the eighteen-horsepower Avery undermounted. He replied, “The Avery was not designed right.” Word of Mr. Baker’s reply got to portly J. B. Bartholomew, president of the Avery Company, and he went to Mr. Baker and demanded an apology. Mr. Baker said, “Our Baker engine did turn the fan faster, did it not?” Mr. Bartholomew said, “Yes, I guess it did.” Mr. Baker replied, “Well, then, I told the truth and do not owe you an apology.” Personally, I think the Avery undermount had a well-designed engine with the Springer reverse gear, . . . Gould valves, and heavy four-bearing crankshaft.65 Claude P. Abbert of Rochester, New York, later explained why Baker fans did not give fair comparisons between engines: “First, their performance is air-density dependent, and second, the speed is relatively insensitive to the power input. . . . The power

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consumption . . . varies . . . as the cube of the rotational velocity.” Abbert added, “Expressed in non-mathematical terms, as a more powerful engine tends to turn the fan faster, the resistance of the fan to being turned increases sharply, and the more powerful engine fails to turn it very much faster than a less powerful one.” Frank Burris of Yucaipa, California, drew the following conclusion: “Consequently, it becomes unfair to compare the power output of two engines having differing diameters of bandwheels. Actually, any particular engine might spin the fan faster if its bandwheel diameter were reduced, or, conversely, if a larger pulley should be placed upon the fan shaft.” Burris pointed out, “Under this hypothesis, a smaller engine might conceivably spin the fan faster than a more powerful engine.”66 Abbert and Burris divulged the “trick” of the Baker fan—a basic principle of physics which Abner Baker himself had as much as admitted to the representatives of the Advance Thresher Company. Even though LeRoy Blaker had called into question the brilliance of Marcus Leonard’s beloved Advance ¤rm, Leonard bided his time before responding. Meanwhile, Hollis Cortelyou of Higgins, Texas, came out swinging: It is now ¤fty-one years ago since the power contest between the Baker and Huber . . . engines on the Baker test fan at Wichita, Kansas. . . . I, at that time, was a young man of twenty-three. I had broken into the threshing business with a new Advance out¤t three years previously. . . . [I]t is quite likely I am the last man living who has proof [that I was in attendance at Wichita]. The May 1907 issue of American Thresherman, on page four, shows myself standing in the coal bunker of the Baker engine. . . . Down through the ¤fty-odd years following that now-famous event I have heard some fantastic tales and a lot of nonsense . . . by those who were . . . at that time not

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born or too young to remember. Now I did not hold the speed indicator on the fan at any time during the run, but it was common knowledge of all that were there that Huber won the contest. . . . As to the fairness of the test I refuse to stick my neck out . . . , but I do agree with Mr. [Blaker] that the Huber engine had terri¤c boiler pressure. During those years I became quite well acquainted with both Balderson and Albeck in charge of the Baker engines, ¤ne fellows and engine experts and no doubt knew all the answers and a few “tricks of the trade,” also.67 Harry Trego of Halstead, Kansas, joined the ¤ght: I was at that convention and saw that contest. I was twentyfour years old at that time, and there are some other men living here who were at that convention and saw the fan contest. . . . A. D. Baker and Prairie Queen Company took three Baker engines . . . and the Baker fan to the 1907 convention. I have a picture of it all loaded on the cars beside the building. . . . A man named Albeck . . . and a man named Balderson [were on the engines]. . . . The Russell Company had two twenty-horsepower . . . engines on the grounds. . . . They put [one of them] on the fan, and it turned the fan six r.p.m. more than the twenty-horsepower Baker Standard. . . . The sixteen-horsepower Huber turned the fan 730 r.p.m. The man on the Huber was LeRoy Keller. . . . Only the Huber men knew how much pressure was on the Huber. There are ¤ve men still living that saw that Huber engine. They and I do not recall the Huber boiler leaking anywhere. The Huber men were not foolish enough to put pressure enough on that boiler to make it leak. . . .

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I have heard the old story of how the . . . Baker outpulled [an] Advance. . . . I owned and operated [an] . . . Advance. I know how it pulled on a . . . separator in tough, damp bundle stacks of wheat. I also know what a . . . Baker engine would have done if put on the same machine, without a shot in the arm for pulling a fan. The story about Baker refusing . . . to put a . . . Port Huron . . . on the fan is news to me. . . . I don’t think Baker refused. . . . I don’t recall other pulleys or the Baker men changing pulleys for different engines.68 In the meantime, Leonard was pursuing a different ¤ght: “Numerous articles have been published relative to the building of twenty- and twenty-two-horsepower simple engines by Advance Thresher Company. The articles were contradictory and confusing. The reader remains in doubt that Advance Thresher Company built either a twenty or a twenty-two.” Leonard declared, “This article is prepared to clear up the uncertainty, leaving no doubt . . . that [the] Advance Thresher Company built [both models].”69 Blaker had taunted Leonard but had not succeeded in instigating an altercation with him. Blaker had provoked Cortelyou slightly and Trego more, however. Blaker next published a piece that would incite Leonard. In the September/October 1958 issue of the Album, Blaker wrote: The Stephenson link, the shifting eccentric, and Marsh reverse gears are slow moving and do not have a full port opening until the piston has traveled nearly three inches when the cutoff is sixty percent on a ten-inch-stroke engine. The exhaust release is also slow, resulting in a dragged-out sound. The Marsh cannot be “hooked up,” and all I can say for it [is] it will reverse the engine.70

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The Advance engines, so near and dear to Leonard’s heart, used the Marsh gear. In the June 1959 issue of the journal Engineers and Engines, Leonard wrote: The resistance on the Baker fan increased much more rapidly as it attained speed, and the more unfavorable the ratio of the pulley to the bandwheel, the earlier the resistance held the engine. An Advance 22-horsepower engine was reported to have turned a Baker fan 570 r.p.m. at Columbus, Ohio. The resistance on the fan . . . was so heavy it held the engine. The speed of the Advance 44-inch bandwheel . . . was . . . too slow for the engine to develop its full power. . . . The Baker 16-horsepower had 40 r.p.m. the advantage over the Advance engine because of the higher speed and developed its power because of the speed. Mr. Miller’s records published on page 5 of the March/April 1958 issue of the Album indicate an Avery 18-horsepower undermounted engine turned the Baker fan 620 r.p.m. and [a] Peerless 18-horsepower 573 at Wichita in 1907. Late the ¤rst afternoon of the engine contest, reports were received at branch houses that neither the Avery nor the Peerless had made a good showing on the fan. They said then, “It was because of the large bandwheels.” . . . Mr. Blaker wrote . . . , “The contestants had a choice of pulleys of different diameters.” Men who were at the Baker engine contest at Wichita in 1907 saw no pulleys with which to make changes. . . . Mr. Blaker . . . quoted Mr. Baker as having said at Wichita, during the contest, “The Avery engine was not designed right.” Mr. Blaker wrote personally: “I think the

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undermount Avery a well-designed engine. . . .” Either Mr. Baker or Mr. Blaker was wrong, but the fact remains the Avery 18-horsepower undermounted engine turned the Baker fan but 620 r.p.m. in Wichita in 1907. That engine was equipped with what Mr. Blaker thinks is required to make an engine, but it did not do it. . . . The Russell engine, which turned the Baker fan 6 r.p.m. higher than the Baker engine at Wichita . . .was equipped with a Giddings valve and Giddings reverse gear. . . . The valve was on long travel that day. . . . That engine demonstrated . . . [that] engines with other reverse gears . . . developed power, too.71 Leonard took up the ¤ght by politely exposing the legerdemain involved in the function of the Baker fan and by gently questioning certain of Blaker’s statements. Edward Hutsel of Mexico, Missouri, did not pull punches: “I, for one, certainly disagree with LeRoy Blaker. He said the Marsh is slow moving. The valve travels two inches while the Case valve travels two and a quarter inches. He also said the exhaust release is slow, resulting in a dragged-out sound. Seems to me as if he has never heard an Advance.” Hutsel added, “It makes me angry to have someone run down what I personally think is one of the best valve gears put on an engine.” Harry W. Hinson of Grafton, Illinois, contributed his two cents: “I owned a fourteen-horsepower Avery that had as sharp cutoff as the Advance. I also owned four Advance engines. . . . I would like to call attention to the fact that Advance never tried to ¤nd something better, and also the Advance was a very economical engine, a good puller both on the drawbar and the belt. . . . I am an Advance fan.” O. W. Bowen of Woodman, Wisconsin, contributed two more cents: “I also disagree with LeRoy Blaker and agree with Edward Hutsel . . . about the Marsh reverse. I see no point of hooking up the reverse

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because . . . it will wear through, and when you want it out full length it is uneven. . . . I know I would not trade the Marsh for a lot of others I have used.”72 Carl B. Erwin of Harrison, Arkansas, correctly noted, “I see our good friend LeRoy Blaker has got an argument on his hands over something he said about somebody’s valve gear. Now, LeRoy, you must know that it will not do to talk about a steam fan’s engine.”73 Then Joseph May of Burlington, Wisconsin, entered the fray: Mr. Hutsel doesn’t seem to agree with Mr. LeRoy Blaker at all. 1. LeRoy is right in every way about the Marsh and the Case . . . valve gear. Mr. Hutsel also seems to think as do some other men that the Advance clear-sounding exhaust indicates an economical and very powerful engine. 2. Again Mr. Hutsel doesn’t agree with LeRoy about “hooking up” on a traction engine. It appears Mr. Hutsel does not have a clear understanding between a governor and the purpose of hooking up on a traction engine. . . . I most certainly would like to explain all this thoroughly for Mr. Hutsel if that is what he wants. But . . . it may be a waste of time.74 Blaker jumped back in. In the September/October 1960 issue of the Album, he criticized comments others had made (not quoted here) about boilers carrying pressures higher than they should be holding—comments aimed at Blaker. He wrote: “I have seen a number of . . . boilers that have exploded or ruptured due to careless operation. . . . [A] few miles northwest of Swanton, Ohio, the lap seam on the shell of an Advance engine let go causing a serious explosion. The wrecked engine was left in the

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A well-dressed family relaxes on the lawn in front of the newest addition to the family, a Nichols and Shepard engine, built in Battle Creek, Michigan. Such equipment was too costly for most people; generally, the most af¶uent members of a community purchased engines and threshers.

farmyard a few years and made a good advertisement for the A. D. Baker Company nearby.”75 At the same time that Blaker was taunting Leonard, Cortelyou punched his way back into the argument over Marsh gears: Since Blaker’s article on valve gears and his attack on the Advance engine—and on the Marsh valve gear in particular— . . . I’ve received a number of critical letters from past and present owners of Advance engines, and all agree the article is at variance to facts. . . . All who have seen [Advance engines] perform in the belt will agree they TALK for themselves. Blaker writes the sharp exhaust is the result of [a] bushing in [the] ex-

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haust pipe, which is not true. . . . On another occasion, he has been quoted as saying it is not possible to set their valve with equal ports for both motions. This also is false, as Advance engineers will testify. . . . I also note Blaker’s appraisal of the Baker valve gear as the most ef¤cient of ALL valve gears. I have no reason to detract from the good qualities this valve motion possesses. However, quoting the late Al Smith, “Let’s look at the record.” I’ll take you back to 1907 and the Baker fan tests at Wichita when several engines other than Huber outperformed the Baker engine. . . . I repeat, “It’s performance that counts—not theory.”76 O. R. Aslakson of New Rockford, North Dakota, next threw himself into the brawl: . . . the Advance is one of my favorite engines, and I like the Marsh valve gear. . . . I certainly will not agree that the Marsh is the “worst” valve gear. . . . I think engines with a short distance from exhaust port to nozzle such as the Advance simple or Avery undermounted will “talk” louder than where the exhaust steam has to travel farther and maybe through a heater. . . . Advance engines are usually considered as very economical, so the Marsh gear must not be too bad. . . . . . . The large, heavy strap and arm of the Woolf and other single-eccentric gears, with considerably more throw than the travel of the valve-stem, along with the sliding block, guide, and pivot all add up to many joints with possible lost motion and noise.77 In the January/February issue of 1961, Blaker made this comment about an engine that had performed well at the National

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Threshers Association reunion at Montpelier, Ohio: “The reverse lever was hooked up close to the center notch, thus accounting for its economy—‘eye wash’ according to Hollis Cortelyou—who has not owned an engine for nearly ¤fty years.” At this frenzied moment in the battle of words, Elmer L. Ritzman, editor of the Album, stepped in to say (in the March/April 1961 issue): “In the past we published an article by LeRoy Blaker, and we had him say concerning Hollis Cortelyou . . . , “He has not owned an engine in ¤fty years.” It should have read, ‘He has not owned an ADVANCE engine in nearly ¤fty years.’ We are sorry, but these weeds grow in every well-kept garden, and ours is not well-kept.” Then Ritzman published this advice in the July/August 1961 issue: “One thing I wish—that we could discuss our opinions and let the other fellow have his. Many historical facts have been brought to light because of our exchange of ideas and knowledge. One thing sure, none of us is always right!”78 Brief like the famous talk at Gettysburg, Ritzman’s address ended the con¶ict. In the January/February 1964 issue, Lyle Hoffmaster of Columbus, Ohio, stated, “LeRoy Blaker’s articles on the results of the Baker fan that appeared in recent issues of our . . . magazines were of considerable interest to me.” In the July/ August issue that same year, O. R. Aslakson, commenting on an earlier article by Blaker, wrote, “So I am with Mr. Blaker in regard to compounds. . . . Unlike Mr. Blaker, I think the Marsh valve gear is one of the best.”79 Such measured responses as Hoffmaster’s and Aslakson’s stood in sharp contrast to the tone of growing enmity which characterized the articles of contributors during the war of words. In the September/October 1967 issue of the Album, Howard Camp of Newman, Georgia, wrote: I was pleasantly surprised and pleased to have such a visitor and celebrity of the steam traction engine world as LeRoy Blaker call on me and look over my old Advance. . . .

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We talked old times, and, yes, lots of it was about the Advance and the Port Huron, and, believe it or not, I am sure the Advance is one of his top three favorites, even if he is an old Port man. We all have our favorites. I wish my friend Hollis Cortelyou from Texas could have been here with us. . . . If we ever have a steam engine heaven up there, I am sure LeRoy will be there along with Uncle Marcus Leonard, Big Slim, A. G. Thomas, and Mr. Wood. . . . I sure hope St. Peter will let me in so I can see the old engines when I am gone.80 The scrapping among friends who agreed to disagree, the pranks, the capers, the stunts—all added up to a most memorable era. But, with such back-aching work as threshing and with danger at every turn, could such jokes lighten the burden? Apparently so: . . . without variation one . . . day slowly follows another until the season is over; . . . long before the last bundle is thrown into the hungry jaws of the machine the pitchers make solemn resolutions to the effect that they will never again follow a threshing rig. However, when the next season opens, the mere sound of a traction-engine whistle, like “the call of the wild,” drives away what remains of these resolutions and sends them out once more into the boundless wheat ¤elds for another season’s run.81 The pleasant humor springing from camaraderie is the hallmark of what Dr. Allan G. Bogue has called “the golden age of middlewestern agriculture.”82

Chapter Four

Steam Engine Agonies and Ecstasies

Readers now enter a dark chapter in the history of agricultural steam power. Ponderously heavy, several engines broke through turn-of-the-century rickety bridges. In that time, manufacturers were not yet so eager to protect people against accidents—and stupidity. Equipment presented many exposed parts, and horrible injuries resulted. The technologies supporting tractive steam power, mechanical harvesting, and threshing had evolved over generations but had only newly arrived at the pinnacle of accomplishment. Manufacturing mistakes were still made. For example, in the late nineteenth century, the knowledge of physics, the science of metallurgy, and the craft of boiler construction were not as advanced as they would become in the early twentieth century. Through manufacturers’ errors and through threshermen’s misjudgments, several boilers exploded. Lives were lost. The technologies of steam power were not uniformly safe for all who employed them. Even when boilers and engines were made 128

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much safer, human ignorance, apathy, or foolishness contrived to push them past their limits, with disastrous malfunctions and explosions the sad outcome. Similarly, the engine-caused ¤res that swept through barns and across prairies are legendary. Such con¶agrations destroyed crops and dreams. For perhaps the ¤rst time in North American history, complicated and massive machines designed from literally thousands upon thousands of pages of scienti¤c and technological research and capable of tremendous power had been placed in the hands of private citizens who rarely comprehended the magnitude of the forces at their command. Of course mistakes were made. Of course barns burned, bridges collapsed, and boilers burst. Of course people were maimed and killed. Then as now, hideous accidents appealed to the prurient interest of the public, and newspapers, magazines, and journals carried sensational accounts of bridge wrecks, boiler explosions, and cruel injuries. When readers discover so many reports of disaster, they can err in thinking that nearly all engines blew up or fell to doom through weak bridges and that nearly all threshers snatched off the arms of the pitchers and made mincemeat of the feeders. Shocking news breeds errors in the imagination. Had all engines and associated equipment been this ruinous to property and life, the technologies would have been abandoned. They were not. At today’s reunions, bees, and other shows of antique machinery are exhibited thousands of examples of apparently ageless machinery collected and preserved for crowds to witness and enjoy. History shows that most equipment did not behave as though it were malicious or vengeful. Accounts of disasters on the farm represent the exceptional, not the usual. Ralph C. Fuller of Minneapolis, Kansas, gave a clear indication of the danger always waiting to happen around threshing rigs: “I ¤red up the engine about daylight on that morning in September when we were supposed to begin threshing and with the sepa-

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A Harrison Jumbo engine, built in Belleville, Illinois, crosses a bridge safely.

rator and coal wagon pulled across a ¤eld into the road and started up a long but not too steep hill. The . . . separator man was steering the engine. . . . Without any warning whatsoever, a ¶ue let go.” Fuller never forgot how the “water ¶ooded the ¤rebox” and “blew the ¤redoor open.” He commented, “Steam . . . engulfed the whole machine, and the separator man jumped from the table right into the feeder of the separator.” Luckily, neither man was burned, “but the steersman, when he jumped into the feeder, punctured his hand on a raddle spike.” On another occasion, a Mr. Kellogg was tending the separator. He signaled Fuller to stop “by dropping his hand.” Kellogg’s other hand suddenly became caught in a sprocket of the feeder raddle, and it “started pulling his hand around the feeder shaft.” Fuller grabbed the reverse lever “and pulled it clear back, at the same time closing the throttle.” Fuller’s quick action saved Kellogg’s arm “from being badly broken and mangled.”1 One of the most frequently encountered dangers for engineers was when the engine became mired in sand or mud. R. D. Waggoner of Ottawa, Illinois, remarked, “I think the worst place to get stuck is in sandy soil that over a period of years [has] grown

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This Geiser Peerless engine, built in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, was not so lucky, despite the attempt to pull the thresher over the bridge only when the engine reached the other side. Such accidents were not uncommon.

a good sod.” He remembered watching while “three teams of oxen and a team of mules” could not dislodge his father’s Nichols & Shepard engine from the mud. Waggoner also recalled the fear of crossing bridges: This was . . . just thirteen miles from Gatlinburg in the Smoky Mountain National Park. . . . [W]e had crossed twelve bridges and broken twelve bridges. Now the thirteenth one we dared not break for several reasons, one being that there would be no [engine] left. All precautions were taken; even the road commissioners were noti¤ed and were there. This was one of those long wooden bridges and very old. Sure did not look good, but my father said, “It will hold,” so that was it. . . . My brother and I had been doing a little planning on our own. . . . I was to steer, and he would handle the controls. When everything was ready to pull the throttle, my father stepped up on the platform and said, “You boys

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stay. . . . I will take it over alone.” . . . that was the longest wait we ever had. I never knew that engine could be throttled down so slow and not stop on dead center. . . . that bridge sagged and cracked under that ten-ton load.”2 Waggoner was as fortunate as Fuller. The threat of a bridge collapsing and the engine plummeting to the rocks and water below is clear—especially in the days before bridges were built to carry heavy loads. The menace in becoming stuck may not be as obvious. In the late 1800s, a return-¶ue Minneapolis was fording a stream, and “[i]n going through the creek the rear wheel struck gravel.” The out¤t mired. Before the engineer could bring horses around to attempt to free the engine, “the boiler exploded.”3 In such instances, the engineers would become so distracted by the effort to free the engine that they would forget to ensure that the boiler had plenty of water. Not infrequently, engines would sink in gravel and mud up to the hubs of the driver wheels, only to be caught in a ¶ash ¶ood.4 Wading across creeks and rivers was particularly dangerous. Once a crew tried crossing the Missouri River: “Sam was driving, and Fred was watching on the other side for big rocks. All went well until they were about two-thirds across, when suddenly the smokestack went down and under water. ‘It’s got to be a deep hole,’ yelled Fred.” Sam reversed the engine, and when “the front wheels came out of the hole,” the smokestack reappeared. They decided to back the engine toward “the place where they had entered the water, but when they were still about 150 feet from shore they ran out of steam pressure.” They were sitting in six feet of rushing water. They knew that the “only practical way to move the big [engine] was to wrap a rope . . . around [the ¶ywheel] and then have a team of horses on shore pull the rope, rolling the wheel. . . . To get to the engine with such a long rope, Mr. Stinson . . . borrowed the rowboat from the ferry, got the coal hauler to go with him, and

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started out.” They had anchored one end of the rope to the shore. Fearing that the rope might “tangle and go overboard,” the coal hauler had tied the other end around his waist. While Stinson was reaching for the engine, the current pulling on the rope suddenly “jerked the coal hauler out of the boat, overturning it at the same moment.” The coal hauler “drowned before those on shore could pull him in.”5 While traction engines crawled, in comparison to the speeds attained by present-day tractors, the engineer had to stay alert to the workings of numerous complicated parts at his or her control. From the vantage point of the engineer, the steam traction engine was going fast—occasionally too fast. Sometimes, even quick thinking was not quick enough, as when an engine going downhill would break a pin or otherwise manage to begin freewheeling. Addison Hapeman of Woodlawn, Illinois, explained, “These steam engines were power plants, ¤rst and foremost; their mobility was almost an afterthought. . . . The top rate of travel was probably two miles an hour, and the fact that there were no brakes was unimportant. The compression of the big cylinder was enough to slow it down on most hills.” The Jackson hill, however, posed a challenge. Hapeman remembered that one crew was descending “at a terri¤c rate . . . when something went wrong with the steering gear. Just at the bottom of the hill the old engine lurched across a ditch, sailed majestically across a ¤eld, and settled down with a wheeze in a mud hole.”6 Such rides on a multi-ton monster careening out of control cast engineers’ lives in jeopardy: . . . we had not gone very far downhill before I knew something was wrong. Sam had taken over and was in charge. I could not understand why he was going so fast in the dark. We did not even have a lantern.

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But I did not have to wait long. Sam told me he had lost control and asked me to take the wheel. I did, but what chance did I have? I could not see the road, going as fast as we were. I could see a little light between the treetops, and I was able to stay in the road for about three-hundred feet. At this point one front wheel hit a small tree. This jerked the [steering] wheel out of my hand; [it] spun around, and the handle hit the back of my hand. The steering chain broke, the wheels jackknifed, . . .we plowed ahead about ¤fteen feet, but no one was hurt.7 A lapse in judgment led to what could have been a fatal ride. Oxen, mules, and horses precipitated other dangerous episodes. In the early days of portable or horse-steered engines, the domesticated animals played a role in accidents. Burdette J. Potter of Okemos, Michigan, related, “When Dad’s big Percherons lifted [the engine] from the trenches it was in, it popped off, and those big fellows headed for an orchard ¤fteen rods away. They had to cross a plowed ¤eld, and I had set the brakes so that the rear wheels were sliding.” Potter relived the nightmare: “The men took out after us and kept yelling to me to jump, and just before [the horses] reached the orchard that is just what I did. [The team] went under a tree with a large limb, and it took the stack and governors . . . off together and tore the pipe loose from the boiler. Steam went a hundred feet into the air.”8 Designing traction engines to pull themselves along the ground helped eliminate one source of danger but added others. Norman P. Dearborn recounted “a hot August afternoon in 1921” when the “front wheels of the Port Huron . . . had just crossed one of the rails of the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Paci¤c Rail Road at a rural crossing.” The two men on deck “looked to the northwest and saw smoke.” They knew this crossing to be dangerous and had been “watching and listening carefully”—but the ap-

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proaching train had been coasting downhill and making little smoke. The brakeman “was riding on the pilot at the front of the engine” and “spotted the threshing rig just beginning to cross the track.” He recognized that he had only a few moments remaining “before he would be caught between the hot, exploding . . . steam boilers.” The engineer “applied the air brakes to the limit but could do nothing more than hope and wait.” At the controls of the threshing engine, Bill Davisson “froze with both hands rigidly clutching the steering wheel.” His partner, Ivor Dearborn, “could actually see the top of the approaching train above the tall corn.” It was coming fast. Ivor leapt “in front of his partner and threw the engine into reverse without even touching the throttle. The engine lurched. . . . As the steamer backed slowly, the slowing train drew nearer and nearer, while all of the men involved . . . stood hopelessly staring at each other.” The train and the farm engine just missed each other.9 Davisson and Dearborn were fortunate. While traction gearing could pose problems, the water glass, a gauge consisting of a glass tube which, under ideal conditions, would indicate the level of the water in the boiler and which would appear harmless enough, could become a formidable foe. One engineer heard the glass crack. He was bending down to shut off the water to the glass, when it shattered with a sound like a pistol shot. A shard lodged in the engineer’s eye.10 Engines concealed a host of dangers. Jesse R. Barber of Lavinia, Iowa, recollected running an engine up a wintry hill when a lug on one of the driver wheels broke off. When he “got nearly to the top of the hill all the lugs broke off of that wheel.” The engine began to slide “about twenty rods.” Barber stayed with the engine: “I would reverse it, and it would turn around; when I was headed down I would reverse it again, and it would turn around again.” The engine came to a rest, and Barber was still in one piece.11 His presence of mind and quick re¶exes had saved him.

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Fire and ice alike menaced engines. Icy weather was treacherous. Pipes, valves, and preheaters could freeze and cause considerable damage.12 Fire constantly threatened engines and threshing equipment. Melvin Good of Fostoria, Ohio, began threshing in 1892, when he was eight years old. He and his father “slept in the barn in case a ¤re might start up from the chaff inside the [Victor clover huller].”13 The intense pressure inside the boiler could spawn terrifying events: “All of a sudden a handhole plate on the throat sheet of the boiler blew out. There was steam and hot water everywhere. . . . In a little over an hour, things were humming again, and the black smoke was shooting up into the blue November sky. . . . Then BOOM—the same handhole blew out again.”14 Blowing out a handhole plate constituted serious business and could have been deadly—particularly if the engineer had not quickly “pulled the ¤re” from the ¤rebox. The moving parts on an engine also could injure or kill: I had started threshing that week, and we had taken the drive belt off on account of a shower. It was a double Buffalo Pitts engine. There were steps to go up to the engine on the left side. I was twenty-¤ve years old. . . . The engine crankshaft . . . came about in line with my hips. I was running the engine at top threshing speed without a drive belt on, checking the engine and oiling up. ... I went to lift up the cap on the crankshaft bearing to see if it needed oil, when I felt the crankshaft take hold of me. I knew right away what was happening. I yelled for my water boy to shut it off. I grabbed for the handhold on the top step and held myself from turning as long as I could. . . . It tore my overalls apart ¤rst, then went up into my

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jacket and shirt. It jerked me off my feet. . . . It whirled me around about six times, according to the words of the people who saw it happening. . . . It broke two ribs and skinned me up all over. I did not have any clothes on but my shoes and socks when I came off of it.15 Despite his injuries, that engineer was lucky. People at the dusty end of the threshing business also faced danger: George Pohl of St. Johns, Michigan, said, “While [I was] relieving a bundle pitcher one day, the fork slipped out of my hand and was on its way through the separator. . . . I thought I would step on the side of the feeder . . . and pick the fork off same. . . . My left foot standing on a bundle gave way. . . . [B]eing overbalanced, [I] stepped on the drive belt, and it threw me on my back right in the feeder.” Pohl could see the band-cutters just ahead of him. He threw out both arms, scrambled to his feet, and jumped off the feeder. In the process, he had grabbed the fork. He felt surprised to see it in his hand, now that he was safely on the ground. Pohl remarked, “One swipe of the band-cutters and I’d been through the blower before the machine could have been stopped.”16 Miscalculations and accidents were bad enough, but vandalism was worse: Bill says that, when he was ¤fteen years old, his father, William Plump, Sr., was awakened one summer night by the bark of an engine that was running much too fast. And it seemed to be situated very close to the place where he had left his own threshing machine—about two miles from the farmhouse in which they lived. . . . what they found when they got there did not make them happy! Somebody . . . had built up steam in the engine, . . . had taken off the governor belt . . . , and had been driving the engine ’round and ’round in a circle.

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But here is the frightening part: before they left it, the vandals had built up a terri¤c ¤re in the boiler and had managed, . . . accidentally or purposely, to stick the safety valve. An inspection by the light of an old lantern revealed . . . the pressure-gauge indicator pressed against the stop pin on the maximum side (250 p.s.i.), . . . the pop valve stuck . . . , the big ¤re roaring merrily on, and . . . not a drop of water showing in the glass! Plump gambled. He sent his boy “scampering out of the danger zone and went to work on the safety valve with the poker.” Once the engine was popping off, he started the pump very slowly. Luckily, the boiler did not explode.17 It easily could have, because Plump did not follow the proper procedure. Engineering books recommend that in situations like Plump’s, dirt be thrown on the ¤re. A few advise running the front wheels onto higher ground, thereby keeping water over the crownsheet, but this second suggestion applies only when the engineer is certain that the crownsheet is not yet dry—that is, when water still covers the crownsheet even with no water showing in the glass. Neither of these methods, of course, would have helped Plump, as the safety valve on his engine was stuck and as he could not have been sure that the crownsheet was still wet. Most engineering books state that if the engine is running, it should continue to run, or, if the engine is not running, it should not be started. Similarly, no aperture should be opened which is not already open; for instance, it would be an error to blow the whistle. All engineering books say never to begin pumping water in a boiler when it cannot be ascertained that the crownsheet is wet. The villainy which could have cost Plump his life and which causes the golden era of threshing to lose some of its glitter prompted a folk motif—a story that may well be based on fact

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but spreads through a culture and is told as though it happened nearby and was heard from a reliable source. In this way, such a motif pops up again and again—the same story with, perhaps, minor variations but occurring in so many places in so many different years that the story cannot possibly be true in all of its details. On page two of the September/October 1952 issue of The Iron-Men Album Magazine and on page nine of the November/December 1952 issue, one such folk motif made its ¤rst appearance in that journal. It reappeared in the January/February 1956 issue as told to Gilmar Johnson of Frederic, Wisconsin: Mr. Harry Winslow, born June 8, 1876, is very much alive at this time and living on a farm run by two sons near the town of Webster, Wisconsin. His boyhood was spent about eight miles south of Zumbro Falls, Minnesota, where he experienced a cold chill he’ll never forget. Seems at age eleven he was obligated to do his part with the dozen or more other men to get the threshing done. There he was cutting bands for the hand-fed thresher—a Case thirtysix-inch agitator machine powered by the tumbling rod from a six-team horse sweep. Harry [stood] to the right and another boy to the left and a certain hard-boiled Nelson between, rolling in the sheaves. . . . Somehow it happened! The boy to the left cut Nelson’s hand. In a furious stupor he grabbed the boy and rammed him head¤rst into the cylinder, fairly pulping the boy’s skull. In a split second the teamsters slammed on the brake, and Harry leaped off in fear. The rest of the crew were now closing in on Nelson. They were self-aroused judge and jury and now no mercy in their hearts. Uncoupling the tumble rod they soon set up a [gallows] against the thresher, and in a short time Nelson was hanged. Nevertheless, as Winslow recalls it, Nelson had a son four or ¤ve years old, and in sympathy

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with his widow the neighborhood took up a collection for her amounting to one-thousand dollars.18 Virtually this same story would crop up again. In the November/December 1967 issue of the Album, LeRoy Blaker of Alvordton, Ohio, wrote: “When I was a young lad living at home near Minden, Nebraska, in the late 1890s, I remember hearing a true story about a boy being thrown into a threshing machine head¤rst by an angry man feeding a grain thresher.” According to Blaker, the boy cut the feeder’s hand, and the man told him “if he did it again he would throw him into the revolving . . . cylinder.” Excessively nervous, the boy again cut the feeder’s hand. The incensed man hurled the boy into the machine. Blaker said, “When I was visiting a cousin and her husband . . . in March 1953, I asked them about it. They said it was a true story, and they heard it when they were young also. My cousin said the murderer was hanged from the end of a propped up wagon tongue.” Blaker noted that Bert L. Smith, an elderly thresherman, also veri¤ed the story in 1965.19 In the January/February 1968 issue of the Album, Jacob Tiessen of British Columbia wrote to con¤rm that Blaker’s story was “exactly the same as his dad told him happened in the U.S.A.”20 Writing in the July/August 1968 issue, Virgil Gerdes had this to say: The ¤rst I heard this story was from one of my uncles who was telling about his ¤rst day at cutting bands. . . . On this particular morning, the main subject of conversation was the incident mentioned in Mr. Blaker’s story, and of course it made a terri¤c impression on a small, homesick lad among strangers, especially so when the big, goodnatured Irishman who was feeding jokingly told of how many boys he had done likewise with.

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. . . The next I heard about the occurrence was from one of our neighbors, who with his family went to South Dakota on a visit several years back. He told of being in the town of Mitchell . . . one evening with his friends, and . . . the subject of murder somehow came up. After listening quietly for some time a very old-appearing man spoke up and informed the crowd that as a boy he had seen two murders in one day and that was enough for him. Of course, some wanted to know the particulars, and he told much the same story as the one sent in by Mr. Blaker. As nearly as my neighbor now remembers the story, it took place farther west than Mitchell. The man who was feeding the . . . threshing machine was one who required quite a bit of “something to cut the dust” and had been much under the in¶uence of his remedy most of the day. According to this version of the motif, the feeder was hanged from a rope “thrown over the stacker.” The sheriff came to look things over. He “loaded the body in his spring wagon, and headed back to town.” The old man mentioned the detail of the feeder’s “boots hanging out the back of the box.” On another occasion, Gerdes asked a man who had served as an engineer in the Dakotas and Nebraska if he had ever heard of this story. According to Gerdes, “He answered without any hesitation that he had, many, many times, and had been shown the machine that was reportedly used that day when it all happened.” Gerdes wished he had inquired as to where he might view the machine. Gerdes calculated, “If my uncle were living now, he would be close to ninety-¤ve years old, and it seems to me as I remember that he was only eleven or twelve when he heard the story, which would bring it close to 1885.”21 These storytellers place the incident in different states and in different years—a good indication that the tale represents a

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folk motif of legendary proportion. In the May/June 1969 issue of the Album, William Lowden wrote, “When I was a kid, Dad read in the paper about the boy that was thrown into the cylinder by the feeder man. We lived near Lincoln, Nebraska, at that time. . . . [A] man named Ruth told me about it here at Downs, Kansas, and said that he had gone to school with the boy.” When Lowden was in Osborne, Kansas, “some old men were sitting by the bank. I asked if they had heard it . . . , and one fellow jumped up and said he had been there and seen it happen and had also gone to school with the boy. He said, if I would take him, he would show me the exact spot.” The man told Lowden that the feeder was hanged by a rope attached to the straw carrier and that the crew burned the machine.22 Not all the details agree; for example, was the thresher burned on the spot or not? Although such folk motifs may arise from real events—and it is possible but not likely that an occurrence of this kind took place somewhere in the plains—the motifs take on a life of their own. The person telling the grisly tale can appear to be “in the know” and can be assured of a faithful audience while the story lasts. Obviously, many of the people who passed along the tale of the boy who was tossed head¤rst into the thresher fully believed the account and trusted the sources who gave them their ¤rst telling. No one’s veracity was at stake in sharing a story which all received as authentic, and the tale probably ful¤lled a need, quite possibly a moral one. The story may have been concocted to discipline young band-cutters. Told far and wide, the tale gained acceptance as a true story. Regardless of the validity of the narrative, it points to the hazards of a lawless time on the prairie, when vandals and villains threatened to topple the social order. The order ensured survival, especially with the need for cooperation in the threshing season. According to the story, danger came not only in the form of complicated equipment but also in the shape of fallen human-

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ity. This latter danger menaced the social fabric in such a way as to necessitate the teaching of moral lessons. The band-cutting boy whose murder the vigilantes avenged represents the triumph of good over evil when sheriffs were too few. If the lynching in the folk motif never truly happened, ample numbers of dangerous and frightening incidents did. I. J. London of Sacramento, California, recalled (probably with a shudder): “I got the engine on the bridge and was rolling along nice and easy . . . when the front wheels of the separator came to the bridge.” London had to open the throttle to roll the threshing machine’s wheels up and over the lip of the deck. “POP-CRACK went the bridge,” London remembered, “and it swung away over to one side about four feet it seemed to me at the time. I thought— here we go . . . but, before I could jump, the bridge whopped back the other way and knocked me down on the seat of my pants by the ¤redoor.” By the time London could regain his footing, he realized that the bridge was still standing, “so I decided to stay on board and go along.” He made it across. The center of the bridge had sagged down, and “the ends of the stringers were just about off their supports.” Providence smiled on London—and on Bruce McCourtney of Syracuse, Nebraska, who, without serious injury, “rode steamers” through four collapsing bridges in his lifetime. Oddly enough, all four of McCourtney’s accidents happened within ¤fteen minutes of ten o’clock in the morning.23 George Ruhlman was less fortunate: “As the engine was going over, the bridge joists collapsed, the drivers of the engine went down, the engine platform pancaked, and the steering handle went through George Ruhlman’s stomach, so that he died in less time than it takes to tell this.”24 On the other hand, I. R. Arnold of Belleville, Illinois, lived to tell this tale after falling through a bridge in the 1916 threshing season: “The water tanks and coal bunkers came up over the back of the boiler, and I came up with them. My left foot caught on the top handhole plate,

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and, as luck would have it, [I] got my foot out of [the] shoe, jumped down on the ground, and pulled [my] socks off, and the ¶esh was scalded so it came off in my socks.”25 Reports of accidents with steam engines did not spare readers: I ran a Gaar-Scott engine for a friend of mine for eight years not knowing what danger I was in when crossing old wooden bridges, until a friend of mine who was running one for someone in or near a little town called Biron, Illinois, one Saturday evening . . . was moving to another job [and] crossing a bridge which was about twelve feet across and quite deep. . . . the engine broke through and [the] platform folded up on him pinning him and another helper up against the boiler, breaking [the] water gauge glass and other pipes, as [the] engine was standing nearly on end, and they were yelling for someone to knock them in the head; but hot water and steam were ¶ying all ways so no one could get near them. I went down where it happened, and the ¶esh was cooked right off their bones.26 The agony can scarcely be imagined. Farmers are sometimes thought to handle injury and death too calmly, as though emotionally detached. On the contrary, rural people accept such traumatic events with a matter-of-fact dignity, but emotion is not lacking: “I put the steam on a little too soon and nearly ran over a man who had his foot partly under the front wheel. This was a hard pull for me. I was up all night bathing the man’s foot with laudanum. Well, he got all right and was able to work, which was a great relief to me.”27 Once, Marcus Leonard of Salina, Kansas, had sold a Nichols & Shepard Company separator to two brothers whom he visited to check on the thresher. The brothers were having trouble.

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Leonard explained, “Wheat did not ripen properly in 1923. The straw had no life, and a cylinder did not take it well when dry. [The brothers] evidently thought it was the feeder, as they had changed it.” They had attached an old headed-grain feeder extension, the raddle of which traveled at a rate faster than the feeder carrier web could carry it away, causing the wheat to bunch up ahead of the knives. “I told [them] the raddles should travel at about the same speed,” Leonard said, “and, as much as I disliked to stop a man’s machine, would have stopped [theirs] and slowed the extension, had they had the sprockets. I have censured myself ever since for not having stopped that machine as soon as I saw they were having trouble.” Leonard began to walk back to his car. Suddenly, “the hanger on the left feeder arm knife came loose, the back knife on the arm knocked the door over the Ruth cylinder off, George Kopf’s foot went into the cylinder, and his body stopped the feeder.” Leonard looked back to see “a cloud of dust above the separator.” He hurried back. They had taken George down from the feeder and placed him “in the shade of a nearby silo.” Leonard said, “I went to him, my friend of nine years, and knew his life was ebbing away fast. I left George, hastily walked to my car, drove to a nearby elevator, and quickly called an ambulance, a doctor, and a priest. George Kopf was a devout Catholic, and it was my wish, because it was his, he receive the Last Sacrament of the Church.” Kopf died en route to the hospital.28 Jesse Connor of Evansville, Indiana, told how easily an accident can happen: “He made a grab, and his hand went in between the connecting rod and the disc . . . ; as it came over she shoved everything up to his shoulder. There he was holding on with the good hand just in front of the drive wheel. . . . [O]ne fellow threw a crowbar . . . between the spokes on the ¶ywheel, and that stopped everything.” The doctor wanted to amputate the arm, but the women relatives of the man would not permit it. Connor said, “They got a lot of hot bread and milk and worked

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the muscles back in place as best they could, and it got good enough for him to hold a pair of calipers.”29 Donald W. Mitich of New Castle, Wyoming, told about “a pitcher who was cleaning up under the feeder when his fork tines got caught in the drive belt, driving the fork handle through his chest.” Unable to pull out the handle, the undertaker sawed off the fork. At any moment, any member of a crew could confront a mishap with fatal consequences. The twenty-four-year-old Alvon Strosnider perished in an accident: As Mr. Bly attempted to move up a side road to the bridge site with the Case engine, the left wheel slipped on the limestone of the roadside several times, stripping the countershaft pinion gear on the left side. . . . As the engine was not blocking the road, he left it until he could get his brotherin-law to pull it the remainder of the way. On Thursday they returned, and Mr. Strosnider . . . went to the top of the hill and backed down to the Case. They coupled up but with a short chain. . . . When the hook-up was made, the pull up the hill was begun. Part way up the hill Mr. Bly suddenly realized that he was being pushed backwards, looked ahead, and saw that the Frick had come backwards into the front of the Case. He jumped off the Case, ran ahead, . . . jumped up and shut off the throttle of the Frick, it being wide open. As he did so he saw his brother-in-law lying in the road in front of the Frick. Mr. Bly ran forward and asked his brother-in-law if he was hurt bad, to which he replied, “Oh, I am afraid so.” He had attempted to jump to avoid being crushed between the engines but had fallen, and the rear wheel had passed over both his legs. . . . . . . It was thought that he might recover. . . . However, the strain proved too much, and he passed away . . . the day after the accident.30

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People were crushed between engines and threshers when one would roll into the other while on the road. In the days when threshers were constructed of wood, separator tenders, walking on top of the machines, would step on rotten lumber and fall into the cylinder. The extraordinary and horrible instances of boiler explosions cast a gloom over the bygone days of threshing. The awesome pressure on every square inch of a boiler commanded respect and constant attention: “Back in 1899 . . . , an engine was humming merrily . . . , and the threshing was proceeding at a lively clip on a farm near the sleepy little town of Hamilton, New York. The day was a pleasant one, and Dan Stokes, owner of the rig, surveyed the scene with satisfaction as he sauntered over to a position beside the engine to replenish the water.” Stokes reached toward the injector, but “the engine wasn’t there.” In a cloud of steam, the engine was “going end over end over the barn.” The front wheels “crashed through the roof of the barn and injured two men.” The rest of the engine “partly buried itself in the ground . . . , its crownsheet another victim of low water.” The injured men were carried away before the barn, the equipment, and the grain burned. One of the injured men survived. Ironically, “[n]o harm was done to the owner standing beside the engine as it was being catapulted up, other than to knock his hat off in passing.”31 Earl King of Manlius, Illinois, gave an eyewitness account of an explosion in 1899. He said, “The air was ¤lled with dust, steam, hot water, pieces of metal.” According to King, “Everyone was dazed for a bit.” A boy was found under a crib “badly scalded, his skin full of scales.” He would survive. A two-yearold girl had been near the engine and was “blown about twenty feet against a garden fence.” She was frightened but unharmed. King remembered, “The engineer, Ben Gorton of Wyanet, Illinois, about sixty years old, was standing on the platform at the rear of the engine turning the little balance wheel on the pump

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. . . in the act of starting it. He and the barrel on the platform . . .were both blown about ¤fty feet. He was unharmed.” Miraculously, “no one else was injured at the time of the explosion, as most of the boiler shell . . .was blown into a corn¤eld perhaps two-hundred yards distant.”32 In 1882, the boiler of an engine in Holmes County, Ohio, exploded, with tragic results: “I had gone into the house and . . . sat down at the window fronting toward the engine. . . . All at once there was a crash, . . . and the air seemed black above and around it with things ¶ying. . . . one piece of the boiler over two feet square was thrown clear over the house and buried itself in the ¤eld.” George Stutzman was lying beside the fence. He was stripped naked “except his right boot and a shred of his pantaloon.” His left leg had been blown off at the knee “and the hip torn loose.” The lower part of his leg had knocked a paling off the fence. Stutzman “was bursted open and part of the internal organs out.” Michael Immel also was nearly stripped. His abdomen was ripped open, “and his bowels scattered about.” His leg and neck were broken. Andrew Beachy was tossed some seventy or eighty feet into the air and three hundred and sixty feet away from where he had been. The blast amputated his left leg, and “[h]is face was much dis¤gured.” Leonard J. Hershberger was blown “168 feet from the engine.” The top half of his skull was found halfway between his body and the engine.33 In 1896 in Canton, Ohio, a boiler exploded, decapitating a Mr. Kettering. The boiler’s water supply had been accidentally closed. Seconds before the explosion, Kettering’s ten-year-old son noticed that the boiler was swelling. He called to his father to warn him. Then the child “turned and ran.” Mr. Kettering “must have started to do the same but was probably just a moment too late. A piece of the boiler struck him under the chin, cutting his head open. . . . He fell backwards, and his head spreading open allowed the brain matter to ooze out.” Shrapnel from the boiler

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was found over three hundred yards from the point of the explosion.34 In 1899 near White Cloud, Michigan, “[a] ¤re had been built in the boiler, which had been ¤lled Saturday night, but a large portion of the water must have leaked out, as, when about forty pounds of steam had been made, it was noticed that the water gauge showed no signs of water in the boiler.” The engineer, Mr. Crabtree, began to pull the ¤re. Meanwhile, Alford Haight turned on the injector, “and in an instant there was an explosion which shook the earth and was heard a distance of four miles.” The blast projected the boiler fourteen rods toward the barn; “timbers twelve inches square were splintered like matches.” Six bodies “lay scattered about, mangled, bruised, broken, and dead.” Four people were seriously injured, and one of them died later. The explosion was not Crabtree’s fault.35 In 1918 near Mt. Eaton, Ohio, Mennonite farmers in the area later attested “that they saw Dan T. up in the air over the woods” after a mighty explosion. Dan came down through a roof over the barn bridge. The blast tore off his right leg: “His foot with part of the leg ¶ew over the barn and got caught in a fence on the east side of the barn.” Dan lived for forty-¤ve minutes after the explosion—long enough to tell a man named Eli that his leg hurt. Eli told Dan that his leg was off and that another man, Albert, was dead. Dan’s chest was so scalded “that the skin came off.” W. M. Hostetler “said he saw Dan’s foot come over the barn with the shoe and sock still on.” The trunk of Albert’s body had separated from the legs. One of his legs “was seventy-¤ve yards from where the engine stood.” The undertaker inadvertently switched Albert’s legs, but “since it would be quite a job to change them they were left that way.”36 The dramatic effects of boiler explosions testi¤ed to the awesome pressure of steam. Fred M. Freschette of Red Deer, Alberta, drew a conclusion about explosions: “I would say, barring material defects, that ninetynine percent of the boiler explosions in Canada and the U.S.A.

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were . . . caused by human error, about ninety-¤ve percent from someone injecting water on a dry crownsheet, and the other four percent caused by someone setting up the pressure on an old worn-out boiler.”37 Miscalculations, failure to detect malfunctions, carelessness, and deliberate abuse of boilers led to cataclysmic detonations. Dirty water in boilers contributed to explosions. In a boiler of one hundred horsepower running thirty days at ten hours each day 360 pounds of sediment could be deposited from ordinary water.38 Often, a hammer test would reveal that the metal in boilers which appeared sound on the outside was thin enough to drive the ball of the hammer through the iron. When the bees, the reunions, and the thresherees began to ¶ourish in the 1940s and 1950s, concern mounted for public safety, in general, and for boiler safety, in particular. Gilmar Johnson advised: “I am convinced an engine used just occasionally . . . gets a greater rust and sediment build-up than those used continuously. . . . Boiler ¶ushing should be routine for any engine. . . . My political in¶uence carries no weight, or I might suggest having a ‘National Boiler-Clean-Out Week.’” Elmer L. Ritzman found only a few words necessary to convey the essence of the safety issue: “A poor boiler in knowing hands is relatively safe, and a good boiler in poor engineering hands is very dangerous.”39 As of the time of this writing, North American shows of working antique equipment have not suffered a deadly explosion, but mishaps have transpired. At one event, a straw stack caught ¤re. At another, a safety valve stuck, and the soft plug in the crownsheet melted.40 As The Iron-Men Album Magazine has published approximately sixty historic photographs of exploded engines, others in bridge wrecks, and still others having toppled from loading platforms, responsible owners of steamers recognize that the same danger which lurked around steam engines and other equipment in the age of steam power is latent in these

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machines today. The bees, reunions, and thresherees have a commendable safety record precisely because members of steam clubs, well aware of what could go wrong, take extra precautions. Exhibits of working steam engines and other threshing equipment began because threshermen were loath to let go of yesteryear’s machines. The dangers of that time notwithstanding, the past, for many of them, had been much more satisfactory than the present. To preserve the memory of the “good old days,” they initiated bees and reunions, the history of which permits readers to comprehend the nature of “threshing fever” and “the steamengine bug.” Those readers who, by now, can taste the dust and feel the chaff on their necks can thank far-sighted individuals who saved the threshermen’s story for posterity. The growth of the collecting and preservation movements, the development of the bees and reunions, and the ¶ourishing of The Iron-Men Album Magazine belong together as one theme. These trends cross-fertilized one another. Chris M. Busch of the Colton area in the state of Washington began his collection of steam engines in 1936. He held his ¤rst threshing bee in 1947. Busch originated the Western Steam Fiends Club in 1952.41 Meanwhile, Walter Mehmke of Great Falls, Montana, had begun collecting engines in the late 1930s.42 Lyman Knapp of Blackwell, Oklahoma, and Paul R. Woodruff of Ponca City, Oklahoma, staged what was probably the ¤rst public exhibition of steam plowing in 1939.43 Chady Atteberry of Blackwell, Oklahoma, said: “I’ve been in this hobby since before the ¤rst shows. We (Lyman Knapp, my dad, and I) were talking and thinking steam . . . before we knew that there were other people in this great country that had the same interest.”44 LeRoy Blaker told how the big public shows originated: There were several groups of threshermen having de-

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monstrations of grain threshing about the time of World War II. Mr. Perry Hayden, a Quaker miller of Tecumseh, Michigan, . . . planted a cubic inch of wheat containing 360 kernels in the fall of 1940. The next July 1941, the wheat was carefully harvested. . . . . . . every kernel [was] saved. . . . After Mr. Hayden gave his tithe or one-tenth to his Quaker church, he had the remaining forty-¤ve cubic inches planted on September 26, 1941. . . . This second crop was cut with cradles on July 4, 1942. . . . It yielded seventy pounds of wheat. . . . This was 1.16 bushels of wheat from the original cubic inch in two years or 2,448.6 cubic inches or 881,499 kernels from the original 360 kernels. On the following Sunday, ten percent or seven pounds were taken to the Quaker church as the tithe. This sixty-three pounds of wheat was planted . . . in early October 1942. Early in 1943, Henry Ford heard about Mr. Hayden’s wheat-tithing project and sent some of his antique threshing equipment from Green¤eld Village to thresh this 1943 crop. . . . . . . I attended the wheat harvesting at Tecumseh in July 1943 and the big threshing with lots of Henry Ford’s antique threshing equipment . . . on July 22, 1944. . . . From those interesting demonstrations, I was inspired to have the ¤rst Thresher’s Reunion gathering on my farm on July 30, 1945.45 In 1941, Joseph T. “Steam Engine Joe” Rynda of Montgomery, Minnesota, held the ¤rst threshing bee. In that same year and in subsequent years, Ben Markley near Wichita, Kansas, collected engines and hid them in a woods to keep them from junk dealers

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The wide smokestack on this Geiser Peerless engine, built in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, was designed to catch sparks. An elegant oval matting such as we see here was more common for photos of family groups.

and scrap hounds. In 1944, Nelson L. Howard of New Castle, Indiana, began his hobby of steam-engine purchasing and restoration. On September 19, 1947, Howard attended a meeting of a new thresher club named the Indiana Brotherhood of Threshermen, and he was elected president. In 1948, the group hosted its ¤rst show; in 1949, the name of the organization was changed to the Pioneer Engineers Club of Indiana. The club was based at Rushville, Indiana.46 As already mentioned, 1945 marked the ¤rst gathering at Blaker’s farm. The National Threshers Association was incorporated in 1950, and the name of the organization was created by Guy Sams in 1948. Notable at early NTA reunions on Blaker’s farm near Alvordton, Ohio, were the appearances by Abner D. Baker and Baker Engine Number One, as well as several former employees of both the Baker and the Port Huron companies. In

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1958, Merle Newkirk proposed that a plaque be placed at Blaker’s farm to commemorate the achievements of the NTA. In 1959, the plaque was unveiled. It read, “Site of the ¤rst steam traction engine reunion in the U.S.A. June 30, 1945, by LeRoy W. Blaker, and organization of the National Threshers Association, Inc., June 26, 1948.” A photograph of the plaque appeared on the cover of The Iron-Men Album Magazine for January/February 1960.47 The NTA reunions later were held at Montpelier, Ohio, and still later at Wauseon, Ohio. In 1948, on the grounds of Arthur S. Young’s farm equipment dealership near Kinzers, Pennsylvania, the ¤rst social gathering of the Rough and Tumble Engineers Historical Association was held. Young had been collecting engines since the steampower era itself. In that same year, Dan S. Zehr of Pontiac, Illinois, was president of the Illinois Brotherhood of Threshermen and originated the Central States Steam Threshers Association.48 The Central States Threshermen’s Reunion shows took place at a fairgrounds in Pontiac. Ray Ernst of Wayland, Iowa, began the reunion at Mt. Pleasant, Iowa. It was destined to become the largest event of its kind in the United States. At the ¤rst Mt. Pleasant reunion in 1950, there were ¤fteen engines (more than at most ¤rst-time reunions in those years); Milford Rees of Franklin, Illinois, had the ¤rst engine on the grounds before the show opened.49 By 1950 and 1951, many bees were forming throughout the United States. Alf Elden, Jim Whitbey, and L. K. Wood were only a few of the organizers of early threshing bees, several of which grew into full-¶edged reunions. Roy Glessner commented on the atmosphere of these pioneering rallies of threshermen and their families: “Here are genuine, friendly people. There is absence of roughness, anxiety, and the nervous tension of fast living.” Such get-togethers preserved the machinery and the nostalgia for yesteryear. James B. Cain described the thresherees:

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There . . . we may see the revolving and oscillating motion [and] hear the staccato bark of the exhaust of the Baker uni¶ow, or the lazy whoosh-whoosh exhaust of the Port Huron compound, the assorted sharps and ¶ats of the steam whistles, all stirring up the nostalgia of bygone days. And . . . we meet—people! Genial, friendly, considerate, thoughtful, and well-mannered people! A type of people so rare in this automated, computerized, dehumanized, moronic age of dogged indifference to individual human needs. . . . Put it this way—how secure would you feel in a big city ball park, with a large crowd, and only two or three policemen? Well, that is about all you will ¤nd at these countryside thresher exhibits, and they are stationed at the gates to control automobile traf¤c. No brawls to break up, no hooligans to handle. Just a large crowd of nice, wellbehaved people enjoying themselves.50 The bees, reunions, and other rallies gave collectors and preservationists the opportunity to exhibit their equipment and presented real old-timers and old-timers at heart the chance to relive the steam-power experience. At one reunion, 104-year-old Dan Kenner ran an engine then said, “Once you ever had it, the know-how never leaves you.” Others in attendance at thresher exhibits became so fascinated with the equipment that they wanted to join the hobby. Bill Paulson said, “You see, [from] watching threshing bees the last four years I’ve developed this compulsion to own an absolutely huge piece of machinery.”51 In the early years of threshing bees and reunions, when people like former Frick branch manager at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, William F. Hovetter would be in attendance sharing ¤rsthand knowledge of the steam era, a VW van often would be found parked on the fairgrounds. A striped awning attached to

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the top and along one side of the van would be supported on lightweight aluminum poles. Under this makeshift tent would be tables loaded with books and magazines and a sign reading, “The Iron-Men Album.” Selling the books, the magazines, and subscriptions to the Album would be Elmer L. Ritzman.52 Of this distinguished Pennsylvania Dutchman, Lyle Hoffmaster of Bucyrus, Ohio, said, “Elmer Ritzman has done more than any one man to revive and keep alive the interest in the steam engine throughout America.”53 Not since the days of The American Thresherman and Threshermen’s Review had there been a magazine devoted to threshing. Ritzman saw the need and went to work. He and Catherine, his ¤rst wife, took a trip to converse with several steam enthusiasts. The Ritzmans visited Russell Williams of Clear¤eld, Pennsylvania; O. T. Oaks of Greenville, Pennsylvania; Ormann Keyser of Canton, Ohio; Carlton Johnson of Clio, Michigan; Eugene T. Walker of Alma, Michigan; Roy Wise of Lorain, Illinois; Fred W. Kiser of Pitts¤eld, Illinois; Oscar Buscher of Edwardsville, Illinois; LeRoy Blaker; Lee Harrison and Steve A. Seibert of the Harrison Machine Works in Belleville, Illinois; Robert Keck of the Keck-Gonnerman plant in Mount Vernon, Indiana; Brady Meltzer of Shelbyville, Indiana; Roy Mitchell and Luther Caldwell of Rushville, Indiana; James W. Chandler of Frankfort, Indiana; Homer F. Holp and his father John in Brookville, Ohio; Leroy Wolf of Xenia, Ohio; Robert A. Darby of Columbus, Ohio; and E. C. Foreman of Tacoma, Ohio.54 Then, on July 29, 1946, Ritzman “wrote his ¤rst paper entitled, ‘Steam Engines Are My Hobby,’” which told of the trip he and Catherine had taken. He sent copies of this document to interested parties. It contained three pages of printing and three of pictures. The paper stated: “WE PROPOSE—One of the reasons for this letter is to get those of the same interest introduced.” Ritzman’s document continued:

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We have always felt the need for a magazine that would give vent to our feelings. Maybe we can get one started sometime. Let us try! We expect to get out another letter in a couple months and would like if you would introduce other interested folks. Write to me giving their names and addresses, also a description of their interests and machines they may have. We could use about three or four good photographs. Thanks a lot.—Elmer Ritzman, Millerstown, Perry Co., Pennsylvania. In the winter of 1946, the ¤rst issue of The Farm Album appeared. It contained eight pages. Soon it grew to twelve pages, then sixteen. The Farm Album ran to sixteen issues. The September/October 1950 issue was the ¤rst to be named The Iron-Men Album Magazine. It was published six times a year, whereas its predecessor, The Farm Album, was a quarterly.55 At ¤rst, there were thirty subscribers, but that number would grow to thousands. Ritzman knew he was preserving history, but could he have known that his open forum would permit all manner of threshermen and their families to have no fear of grammar and to feel free to submit their stories in such a way as to save for future generations a phenomenally rich depiction of an era? Few cultures living in a speci¤c time have left a record of the daily existence among rural people; the Album left such a chronicle—and showed, through the people’s history, just how uncommon the threshing and steam-power epoch indeed was. Only 250 copies of the ¤rst issue of The Farm Album were printed.56 Among those receiving that initial magazine were Oscar Buescher, Roy A. Calame, E. H. Croley, Forrest Cunningham, J. Rex Haver, Arthur Heiland, Carlton Johnson, Donald Kelley, Norbert J. Lucht, Earl Maynard, Bruce McCourtney, Robert Meck, Webster Mooney, Lawrence W. Nachtrab, Kenneth R. Osborn, Frank Ott, Fred Perleberg, George L. Schultz, Frank

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Stark, T. M. Throndson, and Raleigh E. Woltmann.57 Probably all of the people the Ritzmans visited on their trip were original subscribers. Apparently, Ritzman mailed over thirty copies to people he thought might be interested in subscribing.58 The subscription list of The Iron-Men Album Magazine grew to nine thousand by 1966.59 Beginning with the July/August 1953 issue, the Album featured a cover drawing of decorative heads of wheat designed by John S. Kauffman of Mount Joy, Pennsylvania.60 His design replaced a wheat motif which had appeared on covers of The Farm Album since the spring issue of 1948. Earlier in his life, Kauffman had striped equipment for the Geiser Manufacturing Company of Waynesboro, Pennsylvania. He also contributed cartoons to The Farm Album. The Iron-Men Album Magazine was guided by business manager Karl A. Kepner. The magazine became so well known that an envelope bearing only a rubber-stamped depiction of a steam engine, a regular three-cent postage stamp, and the words “Port Royal Pa.” arrived at the business of¤ce of the Album.61 When Kepner passed away and Ritzman hired Anna Mae Branyan as the new editor and business manager in September 1957, with the announcement introducing her to the Album audience appearing in the January/February 1958 issue, Ritzman ensured growth in subscriptions. Her opening words (in the March/ April 1958 issue)—“Hi! to all you wonderful folks of the Iron-Men Album family—I already feel as though I know some of you”— established an immediate rapport.62 Although Branyan right away alluded to letters she had received from subscribers, she established what would become her trademark in the July/August 1958 issue when she began to paraphrase and to quote letters in her column. Readers of the Album almost instantly were transformed into a large and energetic pen-pal network. Each writer felt that he or she knew Branyan personally. Branyan kept things lively. Including tidbits of informa-

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tion, such as her recipe for Whoopie Cakes, Branyan charmed readers with her fresh, direct, and witty approach. During an unusually wet season, she commented that in the reunion parades, engines would have to be rowed. Taking her cue from F. L. “Doc” Pry of Kansas City, Kansas, Branyan, in the July/August 1962 issue, ¤rst ended her column with her trademark, “STEAMCERELY YOURS, Anna Mae.” (Pry had concluded his letter to her with the “steamcerely.”) Branyan sensed the mood of steam enthusiasts. She included re¶ections on the seasons and weather, updates on her children, and thoughts about her Album family: Hi! I mean you out there—the one with that trailer hooked on the back of your car—what’s that in it?? Oh, some models to show at the reunion! . . . and you traveling down Highway U.S.—that’s a nice camper you’re pulling behind you. What? you say I ought to open the door and see the items we have to take out to get in—well, that’s all right— I’ll bet you sell a lot of them at the next show—and like as not you’ll come back with a lot more bought from other places. . . . Good luck to all of you—keep those smiles on your faces and love for fellow men in your hearts—and enjoy our wonderful land.63 Branyan contributed to the growth and development of the preservation movement by providing a column weaving in the many letters she received from collectors and restorers. The November/ December 1994 issue carried the news of her death. In ensuing issues, faithful contributors eulogized Branyan and mourned her passing. Ritzman had a knack for acquiring the services of columnists. Joe Fahnestock, who made an early appearance in the Album in the May/June 1958 issue, eventually wrote two columns, one devoted to honoring threshermen, the other focused on his observa-

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tions about contemporary society. Mae Baber published her ¤rst poem in the Album for November/December 1958.64 By the March/April 1959 issue, she was writing her “Country Echoes” column, ¤lled with rural lore. Baber continued what B. K. Francis had begun. Through the early 1950s, Francis, from Kearney, Missouri, offered nostalgic verse under the title “Song of the Iron Men.” With the July/August 1961 issue, Frank J. Burris started a column featuring ¤ctional versions of real anecdotes involving steam engines and related equipment. Gilmar Johnson had already begun his column in the January/February 1960 issue; Johnson related amusing and informative doings with his numerous friends and associates in the steam movement.65 “The Printer’s Pie” was another regular feature for many years, and Roy Glessner and James E. Mishler contributed cartoons to the Album. The magazine generated metaphors drawn from the steam era; the subscription-renewal notice read, “Steam going down.” Often, letter writers would begin or end their correspondence with similarly ¤gurative language, as in this example: “Well I will close my damper and bank my ¤re.” Another letter ended, “am all out of fuel so must fold up the drive belt for tonight.”66 The language duplicated the age of steam. Although, in its earliest years, the Album had carried announcements of deaths, it was not until the May/June 1960 issue that the magazine printed an of¤cial obituary column. This regular feature became known as “The Golden Roll” with the September/October 1965 issue.67 “The Golden Roll” paid respect to threshermen who had passed away and helped to cement the bonds of friendship between the subscribers and the Album. In the September/October 1957 issue, Ed L. Halle predicted, “It must happen sooner or later that our Album will turn into a model maker’s or a showman’s magazine.” Halle was alluding to the fact that the original threshermen would eventually pass away and accounts of collecting, model making, and restoration

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would replace the ¤rsthand memories of the threshing era. The ¤rst article devoted exclusively to restoration appeared in the July/ August 1962 issue. The November/December 1965 issue announced that a new magazine for gas-engine enthusiasts would appear shortly.68 The Gas Engine Magazine was out by the ¤rst of January 1966. On May 5, 1971, Ritzman passed away.69 With foresight, he had left a legacy of magazines containing certain facets of the agricultural past for future readers to explore. Earlene Ritzman, Elmer Ritzman’s spouse since the death of his ¤rst wife in 1953, assumed the leadership of the ¤rm Elmer had built. Gerald S. Lestz then became the publisher when Earlene Ritzman stepped down.70 The ¤rst cover to feature a color photograph appeared on the July/August 1977 issue. This innovation drew such an appreciative response from readers that it was decided to have additional color covers in the future. Ultimately, Album covers were exclusively in color. With the help of experts like B. B. Brown and F. Hal Higgins in California, collectors and restorers began to preserve agricultural history as a kind of hobby.71 Of¤cial and unof¤cial clubs formed to help with restorations. Engines began to be found in thick underbrush and under water; others were found in sheds where they were parked long ago and in such “like-new” condition as to require little restoration.72 People bought parts and salvaged blueprints and records from thresher companies;73 in this way, much valuable information was retained for restorers of Frick, Geiser, Keck-Gonnerman, Kitten, Port Huron, and Phoenix Log-Hauler engines, to name a few. Other people organized to found agricultural museums, like the great Western Development Museum at Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Others ferreted out the names of the original owners of engines, while still others tracked down the names of current

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owners.74 Throughout this activity—and partly as a result of it— the price tags on antique engines for sale kept going up; “Last lowpriced engine in Northern Michigan,” read one ad.75 Engines which sold for ¤ve hundred dollars in the mid-1950s began selling for ¤fteen thousand or higher in the late 1990s. The Album helped ¤rst to create, then to boost, a market for antique steam engines and associated equipment. Accompanying the tremendous growth of the model making, collecting, and preservation movements were the sales of products bearing pictures of steam engines or assuming the shape of an engine; lamps and lampshades, photo mirrors, souvenir plates, stationery, postcards, rubber stamps, jigsaw puzzles made from engine photographs, watch fobs, calendars, embroidery, coffee mugs,76 along with ties, keychains, buttons, handkerchiefs, and mailboxes shaped like engines, appealed to the engine a¤cionado. Such merchandise was in keeping with the threshing era, when steam-engine companies promoted business through commemorative buttons, watch fobs, matchboxes, and the occasional iron toy. Through the pages of the Album may be seen the escalating status of engines. Steam rollers had appeared in Laurel and Hardy ¤lms, but now traction engines starred on the Mickey Mouse Club News. The National Film Board of Canada made a movie of a thresheree at Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. National Geographic made a documentary about engines.77 Steamers played supporting roles in the following movies: Friendly Persuasion, John McCabe, Days of Heaven, The Long Riders, Of Mice and Men,78 Dances with Wolves, How the West Was Won, The Snowman, The Shepherd of the Hills, and The Green Mile. British engines have appeared in Tess, The Tit¤eld Thunderbolt, Dad’s Army, At the Earth’s Core, and Greystoke, and the Australian ¤lm Ned Kelly79 featured a portable engine. Engineers were interviewed by David Brinkley; engines were featured on a radio show produced by Charles Kuralt; Kuralt’s On the Road highlighted a steam

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Henry Ford would have liked this advertisement, since he admired Westinghouse steam engines.

calliope;80 and Kuralt’s Sunday Morning carried taped footage of an engine built by the Illinois Thresher Company in a story by Roger Welsch, a lover of old iron, television personality, and author. A threshing dinner was the subject for a painting by Grant Wood81 (who also painted scenes depicting engines), and steam engines were prominent in the paintings of Paul Turner Sargent, Edwin Fulwider, Grandma Moses, and Thomas Hart Benton. Engines were often in the presence of Edgar Bergen, whose father was a thresherman in Michigan.82 In fact, Bergen kept an engine on his ranch near Hollywood, was a member of the Western Steam Fiends Association, and was on the cover of the Album for January/February 1967. When a young man, Harry S. Truman ran steam engines.83 President Dwight David Eisenhower honored Charles B. Quick on the occasion of Quick’s hundredth birthday; Quick’s father had purchased the business of Thomas Hussey, Obed’s brother, and Charles B. Quick served for many years as secretary of A. W.

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Stevens & Son, a company which manufactured steam engines.84 Even as Henry Ford collected steamers and is said to have favored Buffalo-Pitts, Port Huron, or Westinghouse engines (depending on “whom you talk to”), another Ford—President Gerald Ford— pitched bundles at the Prairie Village steam jamboree near Madison, South Dakota.85 Smiling pleasantly in a photograph in the March/April 1970 issue of the Album was President Ronald Reagan.86 Steam engines, thus, have been associated with celebrity. From the time when President James Gar¤eld owned a portable Case87 until the end of the steam era, mechanized threshing was one of the hallmarks of an expanding agriculture in North America. Threshermen transformed agriculture into a thriving industry. Thanks to The Iron-Men Album Magazine, which is comparable to having access to hundreds of diaries and journals, we can sample their perceptions of a bygone age.

Appendix 1

Steam-Engine Nuts and Bolts

Recognizing that readers might benefit from an overview of the working principles comprising a steam engine, this appendix offers a step-by-step outline of how an agricultural traction engine runs. The treatment of this subject is simpli¤ed here. Great variations occurred across time, among makes of engine, and from model to model within a manufacturer’s line. To cover these differences fully would demand a lengthy account. In this brief summary, capital letters highlight key terms, an understanding of which would make many passages in this book more comprehensible and enjoyable. An agricultural steam traction engine consists of three components: the BOILER, the ENGINE, and the TRACTION GEARING. The boiler boils water to make steam under pressure. The steam behaves like a gas to power the engine, which can run other machines, such as a thresher. When desired, the boiler and engine can propel themselves along the ground by means of 165

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wheels and gears driven by the engine. The traction-gearing mechanisms accomplish this mobility. The term “engine” also refers generally to the entire machine: boiler, engine, and traction gearing.

The Boiler A set of iron TUBES conducts a ¤re’s hot gases from one end of the boiler to the other. These gases heat the tubes, which, in turn, boil water surrounding them. Many engineers call the tubes FLUES. The number of tubes, their length, and their diameter vary with the make, model, and year of manufacture of the engine. Running parallel with the tubes in certain boilers are THROUGH STAYS (also spelled “thru”) to give the boiler extra strength and support. Both ends of each tube penetrate walls of iron called TUBESHEETS or FLUESHEETS. Certain engineers refer to the tubesheets as HEADS. Technically, the rear tubesheet—the one in the ¤rebox—is not the rear head. Instead, the rear head is that portion of the ¤rebox just above the ¤redoor and, for that reason, may be called the REAR DOOR HEAD. The tubesheet located in the ¤rebox of an early portable, horse-steered, or traction engine was considered the FRONT TUBESHEET, although later engine practice came to regard the tubesheet in the smokebox as the front tubesheet. The through stays are bolts running the length of the boiler and connected to the rear head and the smokebox tubesheet. The ends of the tubes are spread just inside and also outside the tubesheets; after being thus EXPANDED, they are BEADED (pressed against the tubesheets in such a way as to make water-tight connections). Incidentally, the tubes and tubesheets help to strengthen the boiler by lending rigidity and support. To envision a boiler, imagine that your carryout soft drink

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has a straw pressed so ¤rmly against the edge of the hole in the lid that no liquid can leak out around the straw. Next, picture the straw extending through a similar hole in the bottom of the cup and forming another leakproof connection there. You cannot drink any liquid through the straw, and no liquid pours out around the straw (tube). Put in more straws through the lid and through the bottom of the cup. Turn the cup on its side. A boiler is never completely full of water; therefore, leave the uppermost portion of the cup (on its side) free of straws. In a real boiler, this space ¤lls with steam from the water boiling because of the submerged hot tubes. Your cup full of straws represents the essentials of a boiler. The lid and the bottom of the cup symbolize the tubesheets. A real boiler is cylindrical, not ¶ared toward one end as the cup is. Think of blowing smoke and hot gases through the straws until the liquid in the cup boils. If your cup were made of iron, the pressure of the liquid and steam would increase (as in a pressure cooker) without splitting the cup open along its seam; if the pressure were to exceed the limit of the cup’s ability to withstand it, the cup would burst after all. Controlling the pressure in a real boiler counts as one of the engineer’s or ¤reman’s main responsibilities. If you had not turned the cup on its side, and if you had ¤lled the cup’s total space with straws, you would have had a representation of an UPRIGHT or VERTICAL BOILER. A few traction engines used such boilers. In them, the water level comes near the tops of the tubes, but some space is left for steam. This design leaves the upper ends of the tubes unprotected by water, and the heat escaping up the tubes and not being absorbed by water can cause the metal at the upper ends to weaken. Some upright boilers not used for agricultural purposes put the water in the tubes and the hot gases outside the tubes, thus alleviating the problem of metal exposed to too much heat.

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The BOILER SHELL surrounds the tubes. This shell is the black BARREL that is so prominent a feature of an engine’s silhouette. The sides of your cup symbolize the shell. The tubesheets are riveted to the boiler shell; water and steam are contained in the space between the tubesheets within the shell. (In locomotive-styled boilers, water is found on top of the ¤rebox, around the sides of the ¤rebox, and—in certain models— under the ¤rebox, too.) On a so-called LOCOMOTIVE BOILER (referring to the style of boiler used most often for railroad engines and for agricultural engines), a FIREBOX is attached to the boiler. In this largely rectangular box, combustible material burns to produce the hot gases to boil the water in the boiler. The combustible material (coal, wood, or straw) rests on GRATES near the bottom of the ¤rebox. Many grates are designed to be rocked back and forth to shake ashes loose. Such ROCKING GRATES have a long lever extending either through the ¶oor where the engineer or ¤reman stands at the rear of a traction engine or nearby so as to be within reach. Beneath the grates is an ASHPAN to collect the ashes. Rarely, engines burn oil and necessarily have a different arrangement in the ¤rebox. More than a few engines are designed to burn straw. The manufacturers of most locomotive boilers, however, modi¤ed a coal- or wood-burning ¤rebox to burn straw instead. These modi¤cations include a STRAW CHUTE, a rectangular metal box projecting back toward the engineer from the ¤rebox doorway and with a swinging door inside the chute— rather like the “pet doors” some cat or dog owners install in their houses. Most builders installed a FIREBRICK ARCH inside the ¤rebox of a strawburner engine. The arch is set on an angle inclining upward from near the bottom of the tubesheet to near the top of the ¤rebox closest to the engineer or ¤reman. The bricks hold heat and cause the almost continuous stream of new

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straw entering the boiler to catch ¤re steadily. A DEADPLATE, a solid metallic shelf, often is placed over a portion of the grate surface or as a substitute for a portion of the grate surface to direct more effectively and ef¤ciently the ¶ow of air and hot gases through the ¤rebox burning straw. The DRAFT, or wind inside the ¤rebox, catches the ends of the straw on ¤re when they are pushed through the straw chute. The ¤rebox has inner and outer walls with water in between. The lower water spaces at the sides of certain ¤reboxes may be referred to as WATER LEGS. The “ceiling” of the ¤rebox is known as the CROWNSHEET. At its front end, it connects with the rear tubesheet, which does not extend above the crownsheet to the top of the boiler shell. In this way, water and steam can ¶ow over the top of the ¤rebox. In the practice of certain boilermakers, that portion of the shell above the crownsheet is called the WAGON TOP. As the crownsheet receives the greatest heat from the ¤re, it must have water above it at all times. The engineer’s duties include making sure that the water level in the boiler shell is above the crownsheet at all times. In the crownsheet is a FUSIBLE PLUG, also known as a SAFETY PLUG or SOFT PLUG. It is a hollow threaded bolt ¤lled with a soft metal that will melt if the level of the water accidentally falls so low as to permit the crownsheet to begin to overheat. The melting of the fusible plug may save the boiler from an explosion by allowing the pressurized steam from higher in the boiler and the extremely hot water (much of it ¶ashing into steam) from lower in the boiler to come rushing through the hollow bolt into the ¤rebox, thus putting out the ¤re before the crownsheet becomes too hot. Without such a plug, a crownsheet exposed to excessive heat and the STAYBOLTS holding it in place might weaken from the heat and blow down into the ¤rebox. Even such a catastrophic event as the blowing down of a crownsheet might not destroy the boiler or injure people in the

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vicinity. The dynamics of such an occurrence are, however, unpredictable, and a larger explosion easily could result. Certain ¤reboxes have water between outer and inner sheets in the “¶oor” of the box and are called WATER-BOTTOM or WET-BOTTOM (occasionally ROUND-BOTTOM) boilers. Others have water only above the crownsheet and in the walls of the ¤rebox but not in the “¶oor”; such are called DRY-BOTTOM or OPEN-BOTTOM boilers. Not all boilers are of the locomotive type, which are also commonly called STRAIGHT-FLUE or DIRECT-FLUE boilers. Others are known as RETURN-FLUE boilers. Usually, they lack a ¤rebox altogether. Instead, one very wide tube, called the MAIN FLUE or FIRE FLUE, runs from one end of the boiler to the other, and the ¤re burns on grates toward the rear end of the main ¶ue. The hot gases dash along the length of the main ¶ue, emerge beyond the front tubesheet in a COMBUSTION CHAMBER formed as an extension of the boiler, rush into smaller-diameter tubes or ¶ues slightly above and more to the sides of the main ¶ue, and then return through these tubes to the rear end of the boiler. With the hot gases going not once but twice through the boiler, theoretically the return-¶ue boiler uses the heat more ef¤ciently than does a locomotive boiler, wherein the hot gases go only once through the boiler. Generally, return¶ue boilers look shorter (that is, the boiler length is not as long) and fatter than locomotive-styled boilers. Convenient to the engineer or ¤reman is a FIREDOOR, a doorway barely large enough for a human being to squeeze through when he or she wants to make repairs inside the ¤rebox of a locomotive-styled boiler; the ¤redoor on a return-¶ue boiler opens into the main ¶ue. Combustible material is introduced through this door. As ¤re needs oxygen to burn, boilers have vents in various places below and above the ¤re; the engineer or ¤reman controls the amount of air reaching the ¤re by opening

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or closing the DRAFTDOORS, occasionally called DAMPERS, and/or other vents (often located in the ¤redoor). An iron or sheetsteel SMOKESTACK or CHIMNEY allows the hot gases to escape after they have done their work in boiling the water. Some smokestacks feature specially designed SMOKESTACK SCREENS called SPARK ARRESTERS (also spelled “arrestors”). The shape, diameter, and height of the smokestack make for a favorable draft, or “pull” on the hot gases coming from the ¤re. On a locomotive boiler, the smokestack is located beyond the front tubesheet (which, unlike the rear tubesheet, extends to the top of the boiler shell) at the point where the hot gases are escaping after their trip from the ¤rebox through the boiler. Since the hot gases proceed from one end of the boiler to the other end and back again on a return-¶ue boiler, the smokestack appears at the end of the boiler opposite the end where the smokestack would be placed on a locomotive style of boiler. The location of the smokestack at the back of a return-¶ue boiler is that boiler’s most distinguishing feature. On a locomotive boiler, the smokestack is attached to a part of the boiler called the SMOKEBOX, which extends the cylindrical shape of the barrel of the boiler beyond the tubesheet. (An interesting feature on Russell engines is their removable smokeboxes.) On most return-¶ue engines, the smoke and hot gases exit the tubes and enter a crescent-shaped chamber—whence they make their way upward through the smokestack. On a locomotive-styled boiler, the SMOKEBOX DOOR, which closes tightly against the SMOKEBOX RING, gives the engineer or ¤reman an easy access to the tubes, which need periodic cleaning with a FLUE-SCRAPER to remove soot. Return¶ue boilers have various arrangements for opening doors to reach the tubes at the front and rear of the boiler. All boilers have here and there HANDHOLES covered with HANDHOLE PLATES. When the boilers are not in use

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(cold, therefore), the engineer or ¤reman can remove these plates and reach in to clean the boiler or insert a hose to wash down the sediment that collects within a boiler. Each HANDHOLE plate consists of an inner plate and an outer FROG, shaped like a tulip ¶ower on its side, which supports a bolt through the center. A donut-shaped GASKET is inserted in such a way as to seal the inner plate around the edges of the handhole. Each time the handholes are replaced, new gaskets should be used. Boilers usually are also equipped with WASHOUT PLUGS, which are threaded for easy removal, thereby opening additional holes into the boiler. Most American boilers have a STEAMDOME (or, simply, DOME) on top of the boiler. This dome collects steam that is theoretically not as misty or wet as steam might be nearer the surface of the water. Drier steam is better for running an engine. Not all manufacturers thought a dome was necessary; some engines lack one. Dirty water and alkaline water produce FOAMING, which can cause the steam to be mixed with too much water. When water is drawn with the steam into the working engine (an undesirable situation), the engine is said to be PRIMING. All boilers have places to insert water. One such place is the BOILER FILLER PLUG, which can be removed to allow water to be poured into the boiler when the boiler is cold and previously emptied of water. When opened, a BOILER DRAIN VALVE lets water ¶ow out of the boiler. For obvious reasons, sturdy VALVES protect all places where water can exit the boiler. Valves also protect all places where water can be forced into the boiler by means of PUMPS and/or INJECTORS. Such valves have many names based on their design, such as GLOBE VALVES, CHECK VALVES, or GATE VALVES. A great deal of plumbing (pipes and valves) may be seen running along the sides and tops of boilers. Much of this plumbing connects with WATER TANKS, which store water for use in the boiler, and

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with various styles of pumps and/or injectors. Water tanks appear in several locations, depending on the engine. Usually, they are placed on the ¶oor where the engineer or ¤reman stands or beneath that ¶oor. Some are located alongside the boiler; others are supported in front of—or just behind—the smokestack. They may be round or rectangular in cross-section. Also supported by the ¶oor where the engineer or ¤reman works are COAL BUNKERS, FUEL BUNKERS, or—occasionally—STRAW RACKS. Within reach is a TOOLBOX.

The Engine Steam exits the dome (or, on those engines which lack a dome, from the top of the boiler) through a STEAMPIPE. Certain makes of engine run the steampipe back through the upper portion of the interior of the boiler—or even into the smokestack— so as to heat the steam further and to make it drier before introducing it to the engine. Catalogues from the steam-power era often refer to such steampipes, or similar arrangements designed to impart additional heat to the steam, as SUPERHEATERS, although purists would claim that the steam does not become hot enough to be “superheated.” The steam next enters a box called the STEAMCHEST. In this box are places for the steam to exit and to return to the steamchest; these places are called PORTS. These ports (steam channels) lead quickly and directly to a CYLINDER attached to—and part of—the steamchest. If the ports do not lead directly to the cylinder but are a bit too long and, perhaps, too thin, the steam will have a hard time reaching the cylinder, and the power will be lessened; this undesirable situation (which results from faulty design) is called WIRE-DRAWING. Inside the cylinder is a metal plunger that moves back and forth; this plunger is the PISTON. Steam-tight PISTON RINGS (or, simply, RINGS) surround the plunger. The “stick” on the

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piston is the PISTON ROD. Steam on one side of the piston pushes the piston away toward the end of the cylinder. Having done its work, that steam is removed. Fresh steam then admitted on the other side of the piston pushes it back toward the opposite end of the cylinder. Next, that steam is removed, and the process is repeated. The ports admit fresh steam and release used steam alternately, thereby setting up the back-and-forth action of the piston. This motion is the primary driving force of the engine. An engine having only one cylinder is known as a SIMPLE ENGINE. Some agricultural engines have two cylinders and are classed as DOUBLE-CYLINDER ENGINES. If the cylinders are the same size and located beside each other, the engine is called a DOUBLE SIMPLE. (The O. S. Kelly Company of Spring¤eld, Ohio, experimented with a TRIPLE-CYLINDER road locomotive having three cylinders arranged beside one another.) If one cylinder is larger than the other one and they are located beside each other, the engine is called a CROSS COMPOUND. If one cylinder is larger than the other one and the smaller is located in front of the larger (or vice versa), the engine is called a TANDEM COMPOUND. If two tandemcompound cylinders are placed side-by-side, the engine is a DOUBLE TANDEM COMPOUND (which old-time engineer “Windy” Stingle called a “monstrosity”). Huber experimented with two cylinders arranged at right angles to each other—in other words, with one vertical, the other horizontal. Some of these cylinder arrangements have more than one steamchest; some employ only one to serve more than one cylinder. Some have a receptacle between cylinders to hold and/or heat the steam; such a receptacle is called a RECEIVER. Usually located on top of the steamchest, the OIL PUMP regularly feeds a special CYLINDER OIL to the cylinder. Also, a slender rod from the cylinder extends back to within reach of the engineer. Culminating in a ring, knob, or lever, this rod can

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be tugged or pushed to open or close the CYLINDER COCKS, which allow condensed water to drain from the cylinder. The piston rod extends away from the piston and emerges through one end or HEAD of the cylinder. Beyond the cylinder, the piston rod attaches to a box-like affair (somewhat in the shape of the letter X) called the CROSSHEAD. Tracks are provided for the crosshead to run back and forth without jumping out of line; these tracks are known as GUIDES. The portions of the crosshead that touch the guides are known as SHOES, SHOE SLIDES, or SLIPPERS. Certain crossheads—usually from the nineteenth century—are turned horizontally and run in what are known as LOCOMOTIVE GUIDES, LOCOMOTIVE SLIDES, GUIDE RODS, or BAR GUIDES. Also attached to the crosshead is the CONNECTING ROD. Twice during each revolution of the ¶ywheel, the piston rod and connecting rod form a line with the crosshead in between. The connecting rod attaches to the crosshead by a pin called the WRIST PIN. The connecting rod’s other end connects with a disc known variously as the CRANKDISC (also spelled “crankdisk”), DISC, DISC WHEEL, or GUIDE WHEEL. Engines with crankdiscs are called SIDE-CRANK ENGINES. If the crankdisc were a clock face, the connecting rod would attach to that face at a point located at about the distance from the edge where the numbers for the hours are painted. The pin to hold this end of the connecting rod is called the CRANK PIN. Certain engines are called CENTER-CRANK ENGINES because the cylinder, piston rod, and connecting rod are in line with the center of the crankshaft; in such engines, the connecting rod connects to a U-shaped bend in the crankshaft, and there is no crankdisc. The U-shaped bend permits the connecting rod (while spinning the crankshaft) to pass through what otherwise would be the solid center of the crankshaft. Also, on double-simple and cross-compound engines, the connecting rods usually connect to U-shaped bends in the crankshaft (although certain engine man-

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ufacturers connected one connecting rod to a crankdisc and the other to a U-shaped bend in the crankshaft). On engines using a crankdisc, while the piston goes back and forth in the cylinder, and while the crosshead, in turn, goes back and forth, the connecting rod causes the crankdisc to go around and around—pushing it approximately half of the way and pulling it approximately the other half of the way around. Solidly attached to the center of the crankdisc is a heavy rod extending sideways across the top of the boiler. This rod is the CRANKSHAFT. (Older engines placed the crankshaft in front of the smokebox or above the ¤redoor and were known as LOWMOUNTED engines. The newer style being described is a HIGH-MOUNTED engine.) Strong BOXES here and there surround the crankshaft and keep it spinning in place without springing out of line. These BEARINGS are well oiled to reduce friction at the JOURNALS—that is, the surfaces of the crankshaft which rub against the bearings. These bearings often are ¤lled with BABBITT, a smooth metal reducing the friction, but may be lined with PHOSPHOR-BRONZE, also an anti-friction metal. The revolving of the crankdisc makes the crankshaft spin. On the end of the crankshaft opposite to that of the crankdisc is a big spoked wheel; this heavy wheel is the FLYWHEEL, which may also be referred to as the BELTWHEEL, BANDWHEEL, PULLEY, BAND PULLEY, DRIVING PULLEY, or (rightly or wrongly) BALANCE WHEEL. The force of the turning of the ¶ywheel helps somewhat to keep the crankshaft spinning smoothly and steadily—evening out what could be described as a jerky movement from the piston. If the force of the revolving crankshaft and other parts of the engine were suf¤cient for the engine to run without a ¶ywheel, the ¶ywheel properly should be called a “beltwheel” (because the term “¶ywheel” refers to the function of carrying the engine past dead center and smoothing the motion). The ANGULARITY OF THE CONNECTING

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ROD also causes uneven movement. This term refers to the fact that the piston will not be exactly halfway through its journey when the connecting rod is at the “twelve o’clock” or “six o’clock” positions on the crankdisc. When an engine is said to stop on DEAD CENTER, the piston is at one end or the other of the cylinder, the connecting rod is at the “nine o’clock” or “three o’clock” position on the crankdisc, and, with the piston rod and connecting rod in a straight line, nothing can move when the engineer next tries to start the engine. The engineer can try to move the engine off dead center by shoving the reverse lever from one end to the other of the quadrant (a term explained later) but often must take hold of the ¶ywheel, then try again to give the engine the power to begin to turn it over. Double-simple and crosscompound engines do not experience this dif¤culty, since their connecting rods push back and forth at different times (usually the difference of a quarter turn of the crankshaft); one of the connecting rods is always ready to spin the crankshaft. On many double-simple or cross-compound engines, a CLUTCH WHEEL takes the place of the crankdisc. A wide and very long leather or canvas BELT around the ¶ywheel can be connected to a similar pulley on a machine (such as a thresher), and the belt will then run that machine. The power of the belt around the ¶ywheel affords one method of expressing the horsepower of the engine. This is known as BELT HORSEPOWER or BRAKE HORSEPOWER (a term ordinarily referring to the horsepower as determined by a test involving a machine called a PRONY BRAKE). A few specialists draw a distinction between these two terms. Another term often encountered is INDICATED HORSEPOWER, or the power indicated by a testing machine called an indicator and attached to the cylinder during the test. In the threshing days, most manufacturers of agricultural engines expressed their engines’ power as NOMINAL HORSEPOWER, which has no standard de¤nition. Other

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manufacturers expressed the horsepower in terms of the power at the DRAWBAR (a place to hook a wagon, a plow, or other machine behind the engine, which then will pull that machine). Nominal horsepower is closer to drawbar horsepower than to brake horsepower. The drawbar power is always less than that at the belt on the ¶ywheel. One of many reasons to account for this fact is that the friction in all the gears needed to drive the engine along the ground poses serious resistances which eat up the power before it can be delivered to the drawbar. A few manufacturers (such as the J. I. Case Threshing Machine Company) initiated the practice of advertising the belt horsepower of their engines. The ¤gure “110” in “110-horsepower Case” is a brake horsepower measurement. The catalogues of other ¤rms gave both the nominal and the belt horsepower. A 23-90 Baker engine, for instance, provides 23 nominal horsepower and 90 horsepower on the belt. The differences among steam-engine manufacturers’ methods of calculating horsepower complicate comparisons of engines built by various ¤rms. By now, the ways of determining horsepower have changed. Manufacturers of present-day tractors offer liberal estimates, in comparison to the conservative calculations of horsepower in the steam-engine era. In between the crankdisc and the ¶ywheel is another disc on the crankshaft, but the crankshaft does not run through this disc’s true center. This disc is the ECCENTRIC. A metal SLEEVE or STRAP (a casing) surrounds the eccentric but is not stuck to it and does not turn all the way around with the eccentric. The wobbling oscillation of the eccentric instead pushes this sleeve back and forth. A rod attached to this sleeve necessarily goes back and forth, too; it is called the ECCENTRIC ROD. The length of its movement is known as the THROW of the eccentric; the throw is twice the RADIUS OF ECCENTRICITY. (A few authorities de¤ne the throw as equal to the radius of eccentricity or one-half the travel of the valve.) While the function of

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the eccentric never varies, the construction of the eccentric mechanism differs greatly from manufacturer to manufacturer. For example, the Stephenson Link—popular for many years on many makes of engine—uses two eccentrics and two eccentric rods connected to a link. In certain center-crank engines and in certain double-cylinder engines, one or more eccentrics may appear on the end of the crankshaft where the crankdisc would be located on another engine. The ANGLE OF ADVANCE refers to setting the eccentric so that it pushes its sleeve a little early relative to the working of the piston. This strategy provides the LEAD (mentioned later). An arrangement of interacting parts (mostly levers working together at various angles) smoothes the wobbly back-andforth motion of the eccentric rod into a perfectly straight backand-forth movement by the end of the sequence of parts. All of these parts (or some of them, depending on the manufacturer’s de¤nitions of terms), together with the eccentric, the eccentric rod, and a lever for the engineer, are known as the REVERSING MECHANISM, REVERSE, REVERSE GEAR, VALVE GEAR, VALVE GEARING, VALVE, GEARING, or GEAR. One of the functions of this mechanism is to reverse the direction in which the engine is running. The ¤nal rod extending from the reversing mechanism is the VALVE ROD, VALVE STEM, or VALVE SPINDLE. This rod enters the steamchest through a steam-tight STUFFING BOX ¤lled with PACKING in a PACKING GLAND. The piston rod also runs through a stuf¤ng box in the cylinder head. Inside the steamchest, the valve rod pushes and pulls a device shaped like the letter D lying on its back. This device is called a SLIDING-D VALVE, or, simply, the VALVE. The D slides along a perfectly ¶at surface known as the VALVE SEAT. An opening (or openings) in the back of the D communicates with the ports. This valve alternately covers and uncovers the

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ports, thus admitting the fresh steam through the STEAM PORTS and releasing the used steam from the cylinder through the EXHAUST PORT. Certain makes and/or models of engines substitute another arrangement in place of the sliding-D valve; for example, some use a piston instead. Engineers familiar with the working of the valve and the results of moving the piston back and forth in the cylinder de¤ne certain moments in the course of events, such as LEAD (pronounced “leed”) (a little steam admitted early to prepare the piston for its return to the other end of the cylinder), ADMISSION, CUTOFF (when no more steam is admitted), EXPANSION, RELEASE (as steam begins to EXHAUST, or leave the cylinder), and COMPRESSION (cushioning and slowing the piston as it nears a head of the cylinder). Other terms engineers use are LAP (how portions of the valve overlap the ports), CLEARANCE (referring to the cubic space of the ports and of the slight gap between the piston and the head of the cylinder), and BACK-PRESSURE (referring to the pressure exerted against the piston by unexhausted steam). To reach all the parts of the engine (if the engine is mounted on top of the boiler), the engineer climbs STEPS attached to the side of the boiler or ascends a LADDER, which usually culminates in a RUN BOARD or RUNNING BOARD (a wooden plank) alongside the engine. The circle of motion in a typical engine has now been described. In summary, steam from the boiler causes the piston in the cylinder to go back and forth; which causes the piston rod, crosshead, and connecting rod to go back and forth; which causes the crankdisc to revolve; which makes the crankshaft spin; which brings the ¶ywheel to revolve; which keeps the spinning of the crankshaft nearly constant; which causes the eccentric to push the eccentric sleeve back and forth; which makes the various parts of the reversing mechanism go back and forth; which causes the valve rod to go back and forth; which makes the valve go back and

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forth; which, while releasing used steam, admits fresh steam alternately on either end of the cylinder; which causes the piston in the cylinder to go back and forth—and we are back where we started! A pipe removes the used steam. It is known as the EXHAUST PIPE. It enters the smokebox, points up, and may have an adjustable EXHAUST NOZZLE on the end. The exhausted steam goes up the smokestack, thereby assisting in creating more of a pull on the smoke and hot gases (a better draft, in other words). In the steam era, some manufacturers ran the exhaust pipe through a slender iron barrel or other container to heat water before turning the exhaust pipe into the smokebox. This additional use of the spent steam represented a strategy to improve ef¤ciency. Cold water should not be introduced into a hot boiler, and using the exhausted steam to heat the water before pumping it into the boiler makes sense. Such HEATERS or PREHEATERS may be seen in different places on engines and in various shapes; not all engines have heaters. Most engines also have a small steam pipe taking steam from the boiler and leading it up the smokestack. From his or her position at the rear of the engine, the engineer works a valve to turn on this BLOWER, which arti¤cially increases the draft up the smokestack. When attempting to get up steam while the engine is not running, the engineer uses this device to augment the draft. Since a machine belted to the ¶ywheel may quickly alternate between heavy work and lighter work (as in the case of running bundles of wheat through a thresher), the engine needs a mechanism to increase and decrease its steam power in response to the work, or LOAD. This mechanism is an adjustable GOVERNOR (which certain old-timers referred to in the plural— GOVERNORS). It has springs attached to balls which ¶y outward when the shaft of the governor, known as the VALVE

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STEM, spins. The valve stem spins because a belt from the crankshaft turns a pulley on the governor that causes it to rotate. When the crankshaft begins to turn more slowly (as the ¶ywheel is dragged by a heavy load on the machine to which it is belted), the governor also spins more slowly, and the balls on the governor do not swing so far outward. This makes the valve stem move in such a way as to open a valve that permits additional steam to enter the steamchest. This greater quantity of steam gives the engine more power almost instantaneously. Conversely, when the engine encounters a very light load, it tries to run too fast, and the governor balls ¶y outward, causing the valve stem to shut off a goodly portion of the steam supply. The governor keeps the engine running steadily in response to varying loads. Most governors lift the valve stem to increase the steam supply; others lower the valve stem to do the same thing. The engineer has access to a lever called the THROTTLE LEVER or THROTTLE. This lever is connected to the place where the steam is admitted to the steamchest. By moving the throttle, the engineer can give the engine steam or can shut off the steam completely. The engineer controls another lever, called the REVERSING LEVER, REVERSE LEVER, or the REVERSE. This lever is connected to the reversing mechanism by a REACH ROD. By moving the lever one way, the engineer causes the crankshaft to rotate in one direction, and by moving the lever in the opposite direction, the engineer makes the crankshaft rotate in the other direction. When it is time for the engine to drive itself along the ground, this lever controls whether or not the traction engine will run forward or backward. Of course, the engine also can be reversed when the traction wheels are not in use. Many reversing mechanisms are designed in such a way that the reversing lever can be placed in any of various notches at intervals that determine how much steam will be admitted through

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the ports into the cylinder. These notches are arranged along a curved piece of metal called the QUADRANT. Because steam expands, it is possible to admit only a little steam into the cylinder, cut off the supply early (before the piston has gone from one end of the cylinder to the other), and let the expanding steam continue to push the piston toward the cylinder head. Such economical use of the steam saves fuel and water. As the engineer places the reversing lever in notches that allow less and less steam to enter the cylinder, he or she is said to HOOK UP or to NOTCH UP the engine. An engine with the top of the ¶ywheel turning in a direction away from the cylinder is running OVER; when the top of the ¶ywheel turns toward the cylinder, the engine is running UNDER. In addition to the fusible plug, an engine has four safety devices of great value to the engineer. One is the STEAM GAUGE, which has a dial and a hand to register how much pressure is in the boiler. Another is the SAFETY VALVE, SAFETY RELEASE VALVE, POP-OFF VALVE, POP SAFETY, or POP VALVE, which releases steam when the boiler pressure begins to exceed a prescribed limit. A third is the WATER GAUGE, WATER GLASS, GAUGE GLASS, or WATER GAUGE GLASS (sometimes connected to a WATER COLUMN), which (if in proper order and if the boiler is not foaming) shows the level of the water in the boiler. The TRYCOCKS, GAUGE COCKS, or COCKS constitute the fourth safety feature. They are two or more valves allowing the engineer to test where the water level in the boiler is by ¤nding if steam escapes from the uppermost trycock (or trycocks) when opened and if water pours from the lowest trycock (or trycocks) when opened. Most engines have a WHISTLE (operated by a cord or ¤ne chain) to signal the crew and to convey information through a code of blasts. Engines need two ways to force water into the boiler. Usually

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an engine runs a WATER PUMP (which ceases to pump when the engine is not running), and, at any time (including when the engine is not running), the engineer can turn on an INJECTOR (another machine to force water into the boiler and which instantaneously heats it with steam traveling at such a velocity that it can inject a mass of water hard enough to overcome the pressure in the boiler). Some engines are equipped with two injectors and no water pump. Others have an injector and an INDEPENDENT WATER PUMP run by a miniature steam engine whenever the engineer wants to add more water to the boiler. When the water pump is attached to the crosshead, it is called a CROSSHEAD PUMP. A pump working from a gear attached to the crankshaft is known as a GEARED PUMP. A few engines are equipped with JET PUMPS or STEAM JETS to ¤ll a water tank rapidly from a source of water. Several also have an EJECTOR for automatically returning water from a pump to the water tank when the boiler has received enough water for continued safe operation. Engines can be placed virtually anywhere along the top of the boiler. They can be turned so that the cylinder is closer to the engineer and the ¶ywheel farther away (REVERSE-MOUNTED) or so that the ¶ywheel is closer to the engineer and the cylinder farther away. They can be arranged with the ¶ywheel on either the left or the right side of the boiler. Some portable engines have ¶ywheels on both sides (or a ¶ywheel on one side and another wheel, called either a beltwheel or a balance wheel, on the other side). Engines also can be placed below the boiler; these are called UNDERMOUNTED ENGINES.

The Traction Gearing Inside the innermost edge of the ¶ywheel is a mechanism designed to rub wooden blocks, called SHOES, against the ¶ywheel; once these wooden shoes become pressed so hard against the ¶ywheel that

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they begin to turn with it as though attached, they set in motion a gear (called the CRANKSHAFT PINION) located on the crankshaft but not attached to it. These wooden shoes and associated parts comprise the CLUTCH or FRICTION CLUTCH. (Some clutches are designed differently from the description just presented.) The engineer works the clutch with a CLUTCH LEVER. As the crankshaft pinion begins to turn with the ¶ywheel and crankshaft, it interlocks with another gear, which interlocks with another gear, and so on, in what is called the GEAR TRAIN, TRANSMISSION GEARING, or GEARING. (A few older engines substitute a chain or chains for the gear train. Another variation consists of a SUNFLOWER GEAR spun by the crankshaft and attached to an axle slanting downwards to a gear which turns the drive wheels. Certain engines are built in such a way that the clutch mechanism can be pinned in place. Finally, some engines have no clutch but may have a pin and are known as SOLIDGEAR or STIFF-GEAR engines.) The gears in the gear train cause a COUNTERSHAFT or CROSS SHAFT to spin. (Occasionally, two countershafts exist.) The countershaft may or may not carry the DIFFERENTIAL GEAR, DIFFERENTIAL, or COMPENSATING GEAR, which actually consists of several gears. Sometimes this gear is found on the REAR AXLE. In any event, the gear train, by means of the clutch engagement, transmits power from the engine to the DRIVER WHEELS, DRIVE WHEELS, or DRIVERS, the big wheels near the PLATFORM (or FOOTBOARD) where the engineer or ¤reman stands. Each gear has a name, including INTERMEDIATE GEAR, BULL GEAR (also called MASTER GEAR), BULL PINION, and others, with many differences in nomenclature among manufacturers. The number, arrangement, and positions of traction gears on engines vary considerably. Also, some engines have extra gearing to provide two traction speeds. The purpose of the differential is to permit the traction

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engine to turn successfully while moving along the ground. A traction engine will not make a successful turn if both driver wheels are rotating at the same speed; in turning, one must rotate more slowly than the other one. The differential accomplishes this task. The functioning of the differential gear is roughly analogous to opening a child-safety cap on an aspirin bottle. You must have a solid connection between the outer part of the cap and the inner part before you can twist off the cap. Otherwise, the inner part stays in place while you turn and turn the outer part in vain. In the differential, if there is a solid connection between two gears, then both driver wheels must be rotating at the same rate. If, however, these two gears slip at two different speeds—as when you turn and turn the outer cap of the aspirin bottle but cannot get the inner cap to turn—then one driver wheel must be rotating faster than the other. The only difference between the differential and the aspirin cap is that the inner cap of the aspirin bottle does not turn at all until there is a solid connection with the outer cap; whereas in the differential, when the engine is veering off from a straight path, the gear analogous to the inner cap of the aspirin bottle can turn but will not turn at the same speed as the gear analogous to the outer cap of the aspirin bottle. In the case of the aspirin cap, you cause the whole cap to twist off by pushing down and locking the outer cap into the inner cap. In the differential, small gears in between two larger gears lock together the larger gears, and the whole mechanism rotates as one unit as long as the traction engine is going straight along the ground. When the traction engine begins to make a turn, however, the driver wheel on the inside of the turn experiences a harder pull and is reluctant to continue rotating at the same pace as the driver wheel on the outside of the turn. This resistance is instantly compensated for in the differential’s little gears, which begin to rotate because one of the larger gears is beginning to be dragged down by the resistance

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on the driver wheel associated with it. By rotating, the little gears allow the two larger gears to slip at differing rates of speed. These larger gears then permit the driver wheel on the inside of the turn to slow down, while the driver wheel on the outside of the turn rotates faster by comparison. Some engines provide a means of bypassing the differential by pinning a driver wheel so that both drivers must turn together at the same speed; this practicality permits the traction engine to pull straight forward when one driver wheel is in mud. Without the pinning, a wheel would spin, and the engine would not gain ground. Many types of differentials exist, but all of them involve one gear attached to a shaft and another gear on that shaft but not attached to it—with little gears rotating in between the ¤rst and second gears. The engineer turns a STEERING WHEEL to guide the traction engine while it is moving along the ground. A few engines use a TILLER or STEERING LEVER instead of a wheel. The steering wheel works a shaft connected to a WORM GEAR, which, in turn, rotates a shaft under the WAIST of the boiler; this shaft winds a chain, drawing it back on one end while playing it out on the other end. This chain leads like the letter V from the shaft forward toward the ends of the front axle. By shortening either side of the V chain while lengthening the other, the engineer at the steering wheel turns the front wheels left or right. The raised center on the face of a front wheel is known as the SKID RING, FLANGE, or COLLAR. The raised portions on the face of a driver wheel are known as GROUTERS, LUGS, or CLEATS. Driver wheels may have thin BICYCLE SPOKES or FLAT SPOKES (sometimes called STRAPS); occasionally, ¶at spokes are arranged in a BASKET WEAVE. In certain makes of engine, the driver wheels rotate around the axle; in other makes, the axle turns with the driver wheels. The front axle supports the boiler by a PEDESTAL or KING POST. In some cases, the

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pedestal is connected to a BOLSTER, which is attached to the boiler. Few engines have brakes. Their speeds in running along the ground are extremely slow, obviating the necessity for brakes. More importantly, the engineer’s careful use of throttle, clutch, and reversing lever allows the steam in the cylinder to brake the engine when need be. Very few engines have four-wheel drive or are steered at the front axle without the use of a chain. Engines having the rear axle behind the ¤rebox and the ¶ywheel close to the driver wheel are said to be REARMOUNTED. (The Keck-Gonnerman Company of Mount Vernon, Indiana, called such engines REAR-GEARED.) Engines having stub axles attached by brackets to the sides of the ¤rebox with the drivers turning on these stubs and the ¶ywheel farther away from the driver wheel are said to be SIDE-MOUNTED. (Keck-Gonnerman called them SIDE-GEARED.)

Miscellaneous Several engines have a roof called the CANOPY but occasionally referred to as a CAB, although the latter term should be reserved for enclosed structures surrounding the platform. Many engines conserve heat by JACKETING the boiler—that is, wrapping the boiler, the dome, and the cylinder with a JACKET made of material resistant to the conducting of heat and with an outer metal sheath. All engines have numerous GREASE CUPS and OILERS wherever friction is likely to occur—notably on axle bearings. Many have special arrangements of springs and brackets to cushion the engine while running. Preventing the engine and the traction gearing from putting too much physical stress on the boiler was quite a challenge for the designers of steam engines during the threshing era. Many ¤rms invented special BRACES,

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FRAMES, and/or BEDPLATES (including strong metal PILLOW BLOCKS to absorb vibration from the crankshaft) so as to soften the impact of the engine on the boiler. Many also contrived WINGSHEETS and other independent engine mountings to achieve similar purposes. Great attention was paid to the construction of the boiler. Certain boilers seen at today’s reunions are of LAPSEAM design, wherein one edge of the cylindrical boiler overlaps the other edge and is held in place by one, two, or three rows of rivets. It is generally accepted (although the point has been debated for over a hundred years) that such a seam is not as strong as the BUTTSTRAP design of boilers, wherein the edges of the cylindrical boiler meet exactly and are held together by straps of metal (with several rows of rivets) on the inside and the outside of the boiler. Often, lapseam boilers are older than buttstrap boilers—but not necessarily. While this brief treatment of the “nuts and bolts” of agricultural steam traction engines overlooks numerous parts and functions, it is hoped that readers may ¤nd useful this sketch of many of the terms associated with the great metal beasts of yesteryear.

Appendix 2

Thresher Basics

Even as details of steam-engine manufacture varied considerably from year to year, from make to make, and from model to model, the particulars of threshing machines hardly remained static. This appendix provides a simpli¤ed view of the truly complex subject of thresher design. This essay’s purpose is to suggest how a typical threshing machine works. Capital letters highlight key terms; being familiar with these terms would help readers to appreciate certain parts of this book more fully. The thresher described in this appendix is the class of machine which developed in the late 1800s and which persisted (with certain improvements) until the end of the threshing era. Older threshing machines worked on different principles. A threshing machine’s business breaks into three operations: BEATING seeds from husks and straw, SHAKING seeds loose from straw, and SEPARATING seeds and straw, with the seeds saved as valuable grain and with the straw forming a tall 190

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stack, often used for livestock bedding and less often used for feeding animals. Sometimes, in certain sections of North America, straw was so abundant and livestock so scarce that straw stacks were torched and allowed to burn away. THRESHERS may also be called THRESHING MACHINES, SEPARATORS (when they have a separating mechanism), or MILLS.

Beating Before seeds of wheat, oats, barley, or another grain can be beaten from their husks, they and the straw to which they are attached must be brought into the thresher. On older machines (and on later, small machines), a person known as the “feeder” stands on a platform and feeds bundles of grain into the mouth of the thresher. People (often boys) known as the “band-cutters” cut any bands tying together a bundle before the feeder reaches for that bundle to feed it into the machine. Certain vintage threshers boast SIDE TABLES, FEED TABLES, and other arrangements for supporting bundles while the band-cutters and the feeder ready them. A good feeder knows exactly how to spread apart a bundle and to hold back the lower straws while feeding sooner from the upper straws. As automation increased in response to the boom in agriculture, threshers—especially large machines—replaced the bandcutters and feeders by providing SELF-FEEDERS or, simply, FEEDERS. These inventions consist of an open chute to deliver the straw and grain conveniently into the threshing machine; chains and RADDLES (wooden slats crossing between two chains) work in “conveyor-belt” fashion to draw the bundle along the chute of the feeder. Such feeders include various con¤gurations of mechanized CUTTER KNIVES, BAND-CUTTERS, or BAND-CUTTING KNIVES to reach down into the bundle and to cut the bands; some companies’ knives are round, reminis-

192

Appendix 2

cent of circular saws, while others’ knives resemble big alligator teeth. The “jaws” holding these teeth are called CUTTER BARS. The self-feeder introduces the straw and grain to the cylinder; most feeders have a STRAW GOVERNOR and/or FEEDER GOVERNOR to help to control the ¶ow of straw into the machine. If too much straw were to jam up and stop the thresher, the machine would be said to be SLUGGED. The straw governor acts to prevent slugging. Additionally, many threshers provide RETARDERS, which are discs on a shaft (or similar devices) to hold back the straw on the bottom of a bundle while letting the knives deliver the top of the bundle more rapidly into the cylinder, thereby imitating the way the human feeder on older or smaller machines feeds bundles. The thresher derives its power from a steam engine (or from horses or gas engines). A belt from the engine spins a PULLEY on the side of the threshing machine. A shaft through the pulley holds a CYLINDER. (This part is not to be confused with the cylinder on a steam engine.) The thresher’s cylinder is a heavy drum lying on its side, rarely solid on its face, more often made with horizontal BARS attached to circular straps of metal de¤ning the cylinder’s shape. These bars support TEETH. Beneath the cylinder are curved plates or bars conforming to the shape of the cylinder; these curved structures are called the CONCAVES, and they also are lined with teeth. While the cylinder spins, the concaves remain stationary, and the teeth of the cylinder—pointing downward when they meet the concaves—pass rapidly between and among the concave teeth—which point upward—without striking against them. When the grain and straw are fed between the cylinder and the concaves, the teeth beat the majority of the seeds loose from the husks and from the straw. Most of the seeds fall through GRATES onto a GRAIN PAN, which shakes the grain toward the rear of the machine, where the seeds will be cleaned. Nearly all threshers permit the adding or the removing of

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some concaves (replaced by BLANKS), so as to adjust to various kinds of grain, as well as various conditions of grain (wet, dry, heavy straw, light straw). Also, concaves usually can be raised or lowered by means of a lever on the outside of the machine, further re¤ning the process. As the cylinder performs the most important function and is subject to the greatest stress, manufacturers in the threshing era were careful to provide solid SIDE PLATES, sturdy CYLINDER FRAMES, excellent BOXES and BEARINGS (keeping the spinning shaft in position), and strong SILLS to hold the cylinder steady. Given the minimum clearance between the cylinder teeth and the concave teeth, a cylinder on a thresher must run true and not wobble out of balance. A BEATER (essentially three or four wooden or metal blades rotating around a shaft) is located immediately behind the cylinder in most threshers; the of¤ce of the beater is to knock loose any additional seeds in the straw, while helping to move the straw toward the rear of the machine. Some machines employ two beaters. Many threshers place extra grates or FINGER GRATES behind the cylinder; such grates provide a further obstacle to the hurtling grain and straw and, thus, bring about more separation. For years, the Nichols & Shepard Company of Battle Creek, Michigan, included a special de¶ector plate (a CHECK PLATE) behind such an extra grate and called this combination “The Man Behind the Gun.” Near the front and outside of the thresher might be an extra pulley to push against the belt. Such a pulley is known as a BELT TIGHTENER.

Shaking Originally, threshers did not shake the straw very much after it had passed through the cylinder and concaves. In what are called

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Appendix 2

ENDLESS-APRON THRESHERS, it is not too much of an exaggeration to say that, once most grain is knocked loose at the cylinder, the “conveyor-belt” style of hauling the straw to the rear of the machine on an apron of chains and slats (or other arrangement) does little to rescue more seeds. In the historical growth and development of the technology of threshers, the “endlessapron” concept passed into oblivion with the appearance of VIBRATING THRESHERS or “agitating” threshers, which do not ¶ag in their efforts to reclaim grain even after the straw has escaped the pounding of the cylinder and beater(s). The crankshaft turns rapidly. A SPEED GOVERNOR controls the speed. The crankshaft works PITMANS, or metal arms, and other levers (often called VIBRATING ARMS) to do the vibrating. The pitmans and vibrating arms give the straw a powerful shaking after it has escaped the cylinder and concaves. The STRAW RACKS toss the straw upward and backward and let it fall several times on its way toward the rear of the machine; this violent action shakes more of the grain from the straw and chaff. In certain threshers, LIFTING FINGERS beat the straw from underneath for part or all of the length of the straw racks. The internal design of the racks varies tremendously from model to model and from manufacturer to manufacturer; however, several have a zigzag toothed pattern of plates and slats helping to pull the straw apart; these plates are known as FISHBACKS. Beneath the straw racks are the grain pans, also known as the GRAIN CONVEYOR or GRAIN BOTTOM. The grain works toward the rear of these vibrating pans.

Separating While the grain and the straw have been separating all along, at this point in their journey, they aim at different destinations. The grain will go to a SHOE, a wedge-shaped box hit by a virtually

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continual blast from a GRAIN-CLEANING FAN and equipped with various adjustable or interchangeable SIEVES or RIDDLES (the term for coarse sieves) through which the grain drops, leaving the chaff and dirt behind. Sieves differ from SCREENS, in that grain drops through a sieve but passes over a screen. The straw, meanwhile, falls into a STACKER FAN (ordinarily) and is shot at great speed through a WINDSTACKER, essentially a slowly oscillating pneumatic tube, toward a burgeoning straw stack. If a windstacker were not in use, other types of STRAW CARRIERS would convey the straw to the stack. Such carriers as WEB STACKERS with AUTOMATIC SWINGING DEVICES, SIDE STACKERS, delivering the straw to either side of the machine, and even COMBINATION STACKERS, providing a blast from a fan but retaining the “web” or “conveyorbelt” style of delivery, were not uncommon. The Geiser Manufacturing Company of Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, for many years boasted of a series of GROOVED ROLLERS and COMBS (without riddles or sieves) in the cleaning device which replaced the shoe in their threshers. Most threshing machines, however, used a shoe with sieves and a shaking motion to assist in cleaning the grain before introducing it into the GRAIN AUGER. Some threshers shake the grain from end to end (parallel to the length of the threshing machine) and are known as END-SHAKE SHOES. Others shake the grain from side to side and are called SIDE-SHAKE SHOES. Once the grain arrives in the auger, a few makes of thresher deliver it to a RECLEANER (to remove more of the chaff and dirt), but most threshers send it on to a TALLY BOX or TALLIER (more common in the early days) or (in later times) a WEIGHER; a DAKOTA WEIGHER (extra high to facilitate the direct ¤lling of tall wagons); a WEIGHER-BAGGER or WEIGHING-BAGGER (if grain is to be placed in sacks); or a plain LOADER without a weighing device.

196

Appendix 2

Any grain (usually remaining inside heads or within husks) that has collected on the sieves of the shoe may fall with chaff and dust into a TAILINGS AUGER behind the shoe and grain auger; this auger transports this missed grain to a TAILINGS ELEVATOR, which lifts it back toward the front of the thresher and deposits it ahead of the cylinder, thereby giving it a second chance to be knocked loose, carried to the shoe, cleaned, and saved. Other GRAIN-SAVING DEVICES may be built into the stacker fan on some models of threshing machines. Certain threshers separate hulled grain from the tailings, send it directly to the shoe, and pass only un-hulled grain (still in the head or husk) through the cylinder a second time. Many threshers include a CHAFFER, which may be nothing more than a special coarse screen, to clean chaff from the grain. Some add a CHAFF SEPARATOR (resembling a miniature windstacker tube) to direct the chaff to its own pile apart from the straw stack. Others have STRAW CHOPPERS or STRAW SHREDDERS to mulch the straw into a chaff before it leaves the windstacker. Ordinarily quite heavy, these special shredders add a second cylinder and concaves within the stackerfan housing, or DRUM. A ¶exible HOOD at the end of the windstacker tube (with that tube often called the STRAW CHUTE, CHUTE, or BLOWER) assists in directing the ¶ow of straw to the optimum areas of the straw stack. Windstackers are hoisted, telescoped, and oscillated at the mechanical command of the supervisor of the thresher. Threshing machines are transported from job to job by being pulled— usually behind a steam engine. They ride on TRUCKS, or a running gear (a simple chassis) consisting of four wheels. The numerous catalogs depicting brightly painted wooden threshers and (later) shiny metal threshing machines speak of a time when farmers tried to save every seed. Brought to a state of artistic perfection, the threshers of the late nineteenth and early

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twentieth centuries carried over almost no grain into the straw stack. On the cover of the 1898 catalog of the Aultman & Taylor Machinery Company of Mans¤eld, Ohio, appears a drawing of a starved rooster; nearby is printed this poem: This is the cock that crowed in the morn, With feathers deranged and look forlorn; For scratch where he might and roam where he may, He found not a grain his labor to pay. Aultman-Taylor’s thresher had been that way. When the threshers disappeared, gone too were techniques for saving virtually all grain in a condition of nearly perfect cleanliness.

Appendix 3

Chronological and Regional Variations in Threshing in the United States

No chart can do justice to the complicated topic of chronological and regional variations in the ways threshing was done. For example, just within the vicinity of the author’s hometown in northwestern Indiana during the 1920s, three distinct styles of threshing organization existed concurrently: the ring, a group of farmers, usually neighbors, helping a hired thresherman, who had his own steam-powered rig, to do the threshing, with meals prepared by the spouses of farmers; the bucket run, a group of farmers who brought their own food in a dinner pail and who tossed bundles into a wagon with basket racks, rather than having a person (known as the pitcher) on the ground pitch bundles to another man (known as the bundle-loader) on the wagon who would stack them neatly; and the company run, a group of farmers who pooled their resources to purchase a steam out¤t to do their threshing. The following information is necessarily general with numerous exceptions in various places and times. For more comprehensive in198

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formation, readers are directed to consult Allan G. Bogue’s From Prairie to Corn Belt: Farming on the Illinois and Iowa Prairies in the Nineteenth Century, Hiram M. Drache’s The Day of the Bonanza, Thomas D. Isern’s Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs: Harvesting & Threshing on the North American Plains, J. Sanford Rikoon’s Threshing in the Midwest, 1820–1940, and Reynold M. Wik’s Steam Power on the American Farm. The information below is derived from these books.

The Generation before the 1860s 1. Farmers primarily in the East but also in the eastern Midwest and parts of the South use a ¶ail to separate the grain from the straw—an intensive job done by hand. 2. The grain then is winnowed (cleaned of chaff) by hand. The farmer stores the grain in the barn or granary. 3. Hand-cranked groundhog threshers with toothed revolving cylinders knock the grain from the straw, but the grain still is cleaned by hand. 4. Beginning in the mid-1850s, spring wheat is favored on prairie land in the Midwest. 5. Endless-apron threshers knock the grain from the straw and separate the chaff from the grain in one operation. 6. Neighborhood cooperation in threshing begins. 7. Treadmills (also called tread powers) for up to three horses provide the power to run the thresher. 8. Sweep powers for eight to fourteen horses run larger threshers. The horses are hitched to poles (sweeps) radiating from a gear box in the center. While the horses travel in a circle, the gears turn, spinning a tumbling rod, which communicates its motion to the cylinder of the thresher. 9. Threshing rings (also known as runs) begin to materialize. 10. Custom threshing develops. The custom thresherman, who owns the equipment, threshes farmers’ grain for a fee and typ-

200

Appendix 3

ically with the farmers contributing part of the labor. The custom thresherman is usually from the community. Custom threshermen choose their business (a) to make a pro¤t, (b) to work with fascinating machinery, and (c) for camaraderie during the threshing season. Many custom threshermen thresh for a ring, but others do not thresh on the ring principle. 11. Portable steam engines begin to power a few threshers.

From the 1860s through the 1870s 12. Portable steam engines are used increasingly for threshing in the East, Midwest, and South. 13. Barn threshing is preferred on smaller farms in the eastern and upper southern parts of the U.S. where mows are large enough to contain the straw. Bundles are stored in the barn and threshed there during the fall and winter. 14. Grain is stored in barns but also in separate granaries. 15. In western parts of the Midwest, farmers increasingly rely on custom threshermen, who hire their own crews and who rely on farmers’ labor less and less. 16. Vast farms in California call for bigger and bigger machines. 17. Straw-burning engines are the machines of choice where ¤elds are large, coal and wood are hard to come by, and there is more straw than needed for livestock. 18. Threshers with a vibrating mechanism gradually edge out the endless-apron models.

From the 1870s to the Turn of the Century 19. The opening of new farmland to cultivation in such states as Minnesota, the Dakotas, Nebraska, and Kansas spurs interest in steam-powered threshing. In these areas, threshing is done in the open ¤eld. 20. In the western parts of the Midwest and especially on the

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Great Plains, custom threshermen direct multiple crews, often far apart. The custom threshermen and their crews may not be from the area where the threshing is done. Custom threshermen usually expect landowners to provide a barn or other shelter for the crew and their horses, but, particularly in the western Midwest and on the Great Plains, custom threshermen bunk the crew in a wheeled bunkhouse, or sleeping car, and serve the crew meals from a wheeled cook car (also called a cook shack, cook wagon, or chuck wagon). 21. During the late 1870s, fall-seeded wheat is preferred by some Midwest farmers. Also, stack threshing—where bundles are stacked before threshing—is popular in many areas. 22. The Bonanza farms of the upper Midwest make history for the scope of their operation. 23. The preference for larger threshers and more powerful engines grows. 24. Mechanical self-feeder attachments replace the need to handcut the bands of bundles and to hand-feed the bundles into the thresher. 25. The pneumatic-tube windstacker replaces conveyor-belt straw carriers. 26. First, horse-guided traction engines become popular, then self-steering traction engines are perfected. 27. In western sections of the country, grain is bagged and hauled to railroads. 28. As more acres come under cultivation in the East, the eastern Mid-west, and parts of the South, grain is bagged and hauled to markets. 29. In various sections of the country, company runs begin to appear. In this arrangement, a group of farmers pools resources to purchase a steam out¤t to thresh the company’s grain. 30. Tall elevators to store grain begin to appear on major transportation arteries. Grain is hauled directly to these elevators by wagon.

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Appendix 3

31. In California, in other locations in the West, and in regions within the Great Plains, headers pushed by horses cut off the heads of grain and deposit them in header-boxes or wheeled barges. Grain, thus, is not bundled but is hauled loose in the barges and fed directly into the thresher. 32. Derrick threshing from stacks of headed grain offers a novel variation on threshing. A derrick lifts headed grain onto a table, from which the grain is fed into the thresher. 33. In the East, eastern portions of the Midwest, and parts of the South where grain is threshed, rings and custom threshing are in full swing. 34. In Kansas and other parts of the Great Plains, winter wheat is prominent.

From the Turn of the Century to World War I 35. Steam engines become larger and carry higher pressure. 36. Big engines typify threshing in the western portions of the Midwest and in the West. 37. In sections of the West where vast acreages of grain have long been grown for commercial purposes, the use of combines becomes more widespread. A combine is so named because it combines harvesting (reaping) with threshing (knocking the grain loose and separating the grain from the straw). The combine has a history too complicated to be told in this appendix. It has been around for many years but only by the early twentieth century started receiving attention. 38. On more recently developed farms in the Midwest, threshing in open ¤elds is now popular. One reason for this preference is that new barns have mows too small for the straw. Also, it saves one step to thresh directly from shocks rather than storing the bundles ¤rst in a barn or in stacks. At this same time, more and more grain is handled in bulk by wagon, not in bags.

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39. In the eastern Midwest, the straw for livestock is stacked in the open ¤eld. In the western Midwest and parts of the West, where cropland acreages are much larger, the straw is burned because it is not needed for livestock.

World War I through World War II 40. In the Midwest around World War I, more and more company runs develop. 41. The West sees a growing use of combines. 42. More and more kerosene or gasoline tractors power threshers, which are becoming smaller. At ¤rst, the tractors are large, but successful manufacturers soon recognize the need to build small tractors. Also, ¤rms begin to build small tractorpulled power-takeoff combines that one man can run. 43. Collaboration among neighbors during the threshing season gradually diminishes. 44. On the Great Plains, combines enjoy increasing favor. 45. Throughout the grain farming regions of the United States, small combines pulled by tractors become more and more popular. 46. Farmers combine their grain independently of one another. 47. During World War II, many steam engines are scrapped. Others become derelict. 48. Threshing persists in some states but not in others.

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Notes

These notes are in keeping with the spirit of The Iron-Men Album Magazine and The Farm Album, its predecessor. Contributors’ cities and states or provinces appear after the authors’ names. In lieu of giving the title of each writer’s article, the issue of the magazine containing the piece is listed by months and year. The page numbers indicate where quotations in this book originated, not the inclusive pages of the article. Publication data for The Farm Album and The Iron-Men Album Magazine are not given; the place of publication moved from Millerstown, to Port Royal, to Enola, to Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Chapter One 1. Jonas H. Williams (South Bend, Ind.), September/October 1957, 22. 2. Thomas D. Isern, Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1990), 1. 3. Gilmar Johnson (Frederic, Wis.), November/December 1966, 6, quoting Orrin Kurth; Roy Holding (Galva, Ill.), January/February 1968, 17. 205

206

Notes to Chapter One

4. Steam and Gas Show Directory (Lancaster: STEMGAS, 2000). 5. Helen Ward Rennie (Montezuma, Kans.), May/June 1969, 53. 6. Floyd M. Nichols (Quaker City, Ohio), March/April 1958, 21. 7. Melge Golterman, Jr. (Wentzville, Mo.), July/August 1961, 9. 8. No author given, May/June 1976, 7, describing the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia. 9. S. C. “Casey” Jones (Wichita, Kans.), March/April 1970, 35. 10. No author given (Conestoga, Pa.), September/October 1980, 11, photo caption. 11. Phillip D. McDowell (Madison, Wis.), January/February 1995, 19; and Shirley Brodbeck (Ottawa Lake, Mich.), January/February 1999, 1. 12. Slim Rennewanz (Ennis, Mont.), November/December 1968, 34–35. 13. Alden R. Moural (Milton, Iowa), September/October 1957, 5. 14. Harry Fischback (Kettlersville, Ohio), July/August 1958, 16–17. 15. For tombstones, see the photo, November/December 1953, 17; photo, May/June 1965, 24; George B. Walton (Portland, Oreg.), May/June 1968, 39; photo, November/December 1969, 41; photo, March/April 1985, 15; and photo, January/February 1997, 17. For engines on graves, see the photos, March/April 1968, 14, 27. 16. See May/June 1967, 31; May/June 1960, 6; November/December 1975, 18, photo caption. 17. J. H. Green (Medina, Ohio), March/April 1973, 40–41. Also Kenneth Kelley, (Pawnee, Okla.), May/June 1978, 8–9; David Erb and Eldon Brumbaugh, Full Steam Ahead: J. I. Case Tractors & Equipment 1842–1955 (St. Joseph: ASAE, 1993); and Richard H. Zeitlin, Old Abe the War Eagle (Madison: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1986). 18. Gerry Lestz (Lancaster, Pa.), May/June 1988, 19. 19. C. R. Willits (Mt. Pleasant, Iowa), July/August 1959, 3–4. 20. Mary Louise Dersewch (Ridgetop, Tenn.), March/April 1966, 30. 21. Roy E. Boling (Hazelwood, Mo.), November/December 1970, 3. 22. L. K. Wood (Mendon, Utah), March/April 1960, 16. 23. George Bruce Dougna (Bettendorf, Iowa), January/February 1976, 34–35. 24. Ludwig B. Glantz (Minden, Nebr.), January/February 1959, 25. 25. Herb E. Beckemeyer (Champaign, Ill.), January/February 1993, 10.

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26. On these terms, see Paul Dewig (Evansville, Ind.), May/June 1958, 4; Jesse Conour (Evansville, Ind.), May/June 1958, 3; and Einar Ose (Cosmos, Minn.), July/August 1965, 15. 27. Lloyd Bronson (Otsego, Mich.), September/October 1957, 28. 28. Floyd W. Cook (Washington, Ill.), September/October 1969, 8 (reprinted from Los Angeles Times). 29. R. H. Raeburn (Malton, Ont.), May/June 1970, 33; and Clarence M. Reed (Akron, Ohio), November/December 1970, 54, photo caption. 30. Customary usage can be gleaned from reading numerous accounts. For the terms used here, see Albert Slorby (Minot, N.D.), January/ February 1973, 15; Joe S. Miller (Greensboro, N.C.), May/June 1979, 19; William G. Holler, Sr. (Mt. Vernon, Ind.), March/April 1973, 3; Ovid J. Stevens (Barnard, S.D.), November/December 1965, 20; George Shepherd (Saskatoon, Sask.), September/October 1969, 28; Les Seath (St. Paul, Minn.), March/April 1958, 5; and Harold Smith (Ralston, Iowa), May/June 1966, 22. 31. Laurence J. Hathaway (Easton, Md.), September/October 1957, 28– 29; Earl Maynard (Millville, Utah), March/April 1994, 10. 32. Michael Williams, Steam Power in Agriculture (Dorset: Blandford, 1977); for the International prototypes, see plates 97–98 and page 179. 33. I. A. Stellmacher (Cottonwood, Minn.), January/February 1967, 13; Paul Crossen (Antrim, Ohio), March/April 1958, 21; and Lloyd Lehman (East Peoria, Ill.), January/February 1973, 48. 34. William A. Nelson (no city given), January/February 1956, 20. 35. Hazel Wheeler Blauth (Franklin, Ill.), November/December 1956, 13. 36. W. W. Slaw (Zion, Ill.), November/December 1980, 28. 37. Eva K. Anglesburg (no city given), March/April 1957, 13. 38. Charles Vindex (Sandstone, Minn.), May/June 1977, 16–24. 39. Quentin W. Shultz (Griswold, Iowa), November/December 1977, 2. 40. Charles Vindex (Sandstone, Minn.), May/June 1977, 16–24. 41. Ed. L. Halle (Fond du Lac, Wis.), May/June 1957, 7–8. 42. Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), May/June 1968, 23. 43. Charles Vindex (Sandstone, Minn.), May/June 1977, 16–24. 44. Roy W. Ross (Innisfail, Alb.), January/February 1953, 3; Bill Thurman (Archie, Mo.), May/June 1996, 16.

208

45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51.

52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

65. 66.

67.

Notes to Chapter One

O. R. Aslakson (New Rockford, N.D.), January/February 1957, 17. Amos Rixmann (Nashville, Ill.), May/June 1962, 28. Ray King (Louisiana, Mo.), January/February 1956, 16. A. Preston Gray (Kingsport, Tenn.), January/February 1957, 3, 4, 6–7. E. C. Foreman (Tacoma, Ohio), May/June 1957, 16. Logan D. Trent (no city given), November/December 1965, 5. John Hildebrand, Mapping the Farm: The Chronicle of a Family (New York: Vintage, 1996), 113; Ira C. Mast (Elkhart, Ind.), January/ February 1973, 4. Ted Carter (Asheville, N.C.), March/April 1978, 7. John O. Rhinemiller (Huron, Ohio), January/February 1964, 41. Iva Burris (Yucaipa, Calif.), September/October 1967, 34. C. R. Willits (Mt. Pleasant, Iowa), September/October 1959, 16; Louis Huber (Francesville, Ind.), May/June 1960, 14. Paul Dewig (Evansville, Ind.), May/June 1958, 5. Jesse H. Shoemaker (Kankakee, Ill.), January/February 1962, 13. R. D. Yoder (Yoder, Kans.), May/June 1959, 27; and Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), July/August 1959, 32. E. C. Foreman (Tacoma, Ohio), November/December 1958, 4. No author given, November/December 1969, 3. Lawrence Porter (Rushville, Ind.), January/February 1966, 14; A. H. Fasnacht (Massillon, Ohio), January/February 1965, 38. Bonnie Baird Jones (Twin Falls, Idaho), May/June 1971, 6. Also Marvin Kestler (Rio Rancho, N.M.), July/August 1986, 17–18. W. J. Eshleman (Lancaster, Pa.), September/October 1971, 18–19; Robert L. Johnson (North Terre Haute, Ind.), July/August 1958, 18–19. Terry Mitchell (Waynesboro, Pa.), March/April 1960, 3–5; Joe Fahnestock (Union City, Ind.), July/August 1974, 36; LeRoy York (Stewartsville, Minn.), November/December 1957, 12; F. W. Johnson (Fulda, Minn.), January/February 1959, 20. Lewis H. Cline (Middleville, Mich.), May/June 1975, 7, photo and caption. George Brown (Lake Geneva, Wis.), September/October 1957, 24; Einar Ose (Cosmos, Minn.), July/August 1965, 15; E. A. “Frog” Smith (Fort Myers, Fla.), May/June 1958, 16. Fred Fox (Mt. Royal, N.J.), January/February 1970, 26–27.

Notes to Chapter Two

209

68. 69. 70. 71.

Clinton C. Reed (Teis, Alb.), March/April 1972, 5. No author given, March/April 1975, 18. Chas. L. Genter (Byron, Okla.), September/October 1955, 23. James F. Percival (Watertown, S.D.), September/October 1960, 5; Glenn R. Barick (Upper Sandusky, Ohio), November/December 1966, 14, 15. 72. John E. Southard (Allegan, Mich.), September/October 1965, 16. 73. James B. Cain (Dalton, Ill.), November/December 1976, 18. 74. Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), September/October 1967, 20. 75. Ronald L. Scott (no city given), May/June 1981, 4; Gerry Lestz (Lancaster, Pa.), November/December 1982, 21. 76. Chester Phalor (Columbus, Ohio), May/June 1967, 36–37. 77. George Shepherd (Saskatoon, Sask.), September/October 1969, 28.

Chapter Two 1. Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Mitchum (Mead, Wash.), March/April 1968, 10. 2. Glen Linderman (Tacoma, Wash.), March/April 1994, 24–25. 3. Photo caption, November/December 1967, 22. 4. Earl Hamilton (Lisbon, Ohio), March/April 1975, 21. 5. H. E. Clark (Concord, Calif.), May/June 1968, 21. 6. Rolland E. Maxwell (Huntington, Ind.), September/October 1972, 26. 7. Donald A. Coppock (Roswell, N.M.), November/December 1975, 24. 8. Photo caption, May/June 1967, 21. 9. No author given, September/October 1962, 31. 10. Haston L. St. Clair (Kansas City, Mo.), January/February 1958, 12. 11. Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), May/June 1969, 22. 12. Gerry Lestz (Lancaster, Pa.), March/April 1980, 5; J. Hodgeon (Berks, England), November/December 1976, 21. 13. F. L. Raisty (Glendale, Calif.), November/December 1964, 29; Bob Book (Caldwell, Idaho), March/April 1979, 26. 14. Earl L. Smith (Dundee, Fla.), November/December 1971, 45. 15. Marcus Leonard (Salina, Kans.), September/October 1956, 3–4, 6; C. E. Woolley (Decatur, Ill.), January/February 1963, 26. 16. Lee F. Priseler (San Diego, Calif.), November/December 1966, 25.

210

Notes to Chapter Two

17. A. H. Borstad (Devils Lake, N.D.), November/December 1969, 37; S. J. Hoagland (Fredericktown, Ohio), September/October 1971, 31. 18. Rolland E. Maxwell (Huntington, Ind.), November/December 1972, 7. 19. The Industries and Wealth of Ohio (New York: American Publishing and Engraving, 1891), 117. 20. Dan Parks (Ames, Iowa), March/April 1973, 47. 21. Thomas D. Isern, Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1990), 18. 22. Fred W. Kiser (Pitts¤eld, Ill.), July/August 1961, 3–4; Stewart H. Holbrook (no city given), November/December 1959, 3. 23. J. M. Johnson (New Ulm, Minn.), September/October 1957, 16. 24. Jack Thompson (Stratford, Ont.), January/February 1976, 18. 25. A. H. Borstad (Devils Lake, N.D.), November/December 1969, 38. 26. Clyde J. Nichols (Seattle, Wash.), January/February 1972, 26, photo caption. 27. Wilmer J. Eshleman (Waynesboro, Pa.), May/June 1965, 5–6. 28. Knute A. Thompson (Cottonwood, Minn.), May/June 1961, 9, photo caption. 29. Loran Sweet (Mason, Mich.), November/December 1958, 13–14. 30. LeRoy Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), May/June 1972, 3–4. 31. Einar Ose (Cosmos, Minn.), July/August 1965, 16. 32. Emery C. Foreman (Tacoma, Ohio), May/Apr 1961, 4. 33. Arthur S. Young (Kinzers, Pa.), September/October 1975, 33. 34. Hollis Cortelyou (Higgins, Tex.), May/June 1962, 16. 35. Reynold M. Wik (Oakland, Calif.), July/August 1980, 5. 36. Arthur S. Young (Kinzers, Pa.), September/October 1975, 31. 37. R. F. Somerville (Haney, B.C.), November/December 1972, 23. 38. Robert W. UnRuh (Saskatoon, Sask.), January/February 1966, 8. 39. M. E. Lang (Wabeno, Wis.), November/December 1979, 14–15; March/April 1983, 16–17; and September/October 1990, 22–24 and back cover. 40. Cut, January/February 1959, 28. 41. H. K. Peterson (Trenton, Mo.), March/April 1962, 18; see the photos, September/October 1957, 19, November/December 1957, 21, and March/April 1961, 29.

Notes to Chapter Two

211

42. On these two engines, see Mrs. Jerry Swedberg (Wahpeton, N.D.), January/February 1968, 37; and R. F. Somerville (Haney, B.C.), November/December 1972, 23. 43. Photo, May/June 1962, 6. Also Lawrence H. Meyer (Ridgeville Corners, Ohio), July/August 1972, 22, gives speci¤cations from Baker catalog. Jerry Kitten (Slaton, Tex.), May/June 1982, 23. 44. William G. Holler, Sr. (Mt. Vernon, Ind.), March/April 1973, 3; John E. Schmidt (Mildmay, Ont.), September/October 1980, 6. 45. Emil L. Wallach (Paci¤c, Mo.), November/December 1972, 14; R. H. Raeburn (Malton, Ont.), May/June 1970, 33, and photo caption, November/December 1970, 54. 46. John C. Setlow (Pontiac, Mich.), March/April 1973, 16, photo caption. 47. Fred T. Scharrer (Zephyrhills, Fla.), November/December 1967, 55, photo caption; O. M. Johnson (San Jose, Calif.), May/June 1961, 35. 48. Howard G. Mickelson (Kirkman, Iowa), September/October 1993, 21; Harry Jevne (Minot, N.D.), November/December 1965, 35–36. 49. R. G. Jacaley (Marengo, Iowa), January/February 1959, 19. 50. John Pfund (no city given), May/June 1970, 13. 51. Luther Caldwell (Rushville, Ind.), September/October 1968, 24; Amos K. Mast (Cochranville, Pa.), September/October 1955, 6. 52. Rudolph Novotny (Clarkson, Nebr.), September/October 1962, 9; Frances S. Bush (Kansas City, Mo.), May/June 1975, 38. 53. No author given, November/December 1968, 29. 54. Ben Boese (Moundridge, Kans.), March/April 1975, 16. 55. R. W. Raleigh Creek (Batavia, Iowa), January/February 1978, 14–15. 56. Millard E. Secor (Dowagiac, Mich.), November/December 1960, 11. 57. Walter L. Blakely (Danville, Ohio), November/December 1969, 32–33; Clarence O. Myers (South Bend, Ind.), November/December 1959, 5. 58. Hope D. Earl (Ray, Ind.), November/December 1967, 25. 59. C. C. Campbell (Tampa, Fla.), July/August 1959, 16–17. 60. J. M. Johnson (Minneapolis, Minn.), September/October 1970, 20–21. 61. E. R. Dugan (Waterloo, Ill.), September/October 1979, 11. 62. C. R. Miller (Yacolt, Wash.), November/December 1956, 8; Jack K. Williams (Modesto, Calif.), July/August 1957, 8–9.

212

Notes to Chapter Two

63. Steve Wilson (Lawton, Okla.), September/October 1974, 3. 64. Merle W. Shipley (Cabazon, Calif.), November/December 1969, 39. Photo caption. 65. John Fields (Decatur, Ill.), January/February 1975, 24. 66. Gilmar Johnson (Frederic, Wis.), September/October 1961, 22. 67. Menno L. Hess (Mount Joy, Pa.), July/August 1981, 14; Billy M. Byrd (Madisonville, Ky.), January/February 1983, 4–5; W. M. Jones, Jr. (Winchester, Ky.), May/June 1956, 11. 68. Wesley Reese (Austinburg, Ohio), September/October 1965, 29. 69. John F. Buschena (Fulda, Minn.), September/October 1968, 14. 70. Charles L. Genter (Byron, Okla.), March/April 1963, 18; Henry McMillan (Galva, Ill.), March/April 1966, 8–10. 71. E. R. Dugan (Waterloo, Ill.), May/June 1976, 6. 72. Thomas D. Isern, Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1990), 138. 73. William S. Strayer (Dillsburg, Pa.), September/October 1976, 32– 33. 74. Charles Genter (Byron, Okla.), March/April 1963, 36. 75. E. R. Dugan (Waterloo, Ill.), March/April 1967, 27–28; A. H. Borstad (Devils Lake, N.D.), November/December 1969, 37. 76. Brooks A. Jones (Hampstead, N.C.), July/August 1974, 3. On Alice V. Downes, see Gerry Lestz (Lancaster, Pa.), July/August 1980, 17; on Alverda Stout, see A. G. Weyand (Bucyrus, Ohio), November/ December 1972, 17. 77. Lyman Matthews (Aberdeen, S.D.), January/February 1973, 13, 14. 78. Edith Stow (no city given), September/October 1964, 35–36. 79. On Mary Myers, see May/June 1951, 7; George P. Wacek (Oliva, Minn.), September/October 1951; and Harry G. Yates (San Diego, Calif.), January/February 1960, 13, photo caption. On Dorothy Litten, see Lyle Hoffmaster (Worthington, Ohio), March/April 1965, 28. 80. John Hays (St. Paul, Minn.), July/August 1970, 21. 81. Mildred Ary, May/June 1965, 27–28. Beverly Atteberry, Beth Brodbeck, and Carrie Farmer, November/December 1996, 9. Jaqueline “Jackie” Hart Farner, November/December 1960, 12–13. Mrs. Fred Freschette, July/August 1974, 20. Doris Grubb, July/August 1970, 3. Anne and Joyce Hoffmaster, May/June 1981, 7. Pat Holcamp, No-

Notes to Chapter Two

213

vember/December 1996, 9. Tina Irwin, November/December 1996, 9. Susan Kreutner, September/October 1970, 63. Marianne Leicty, November/December 1996, 9. Doris Lindenmier, January/February 1957, 8; also May/June 1996, 7–9. Beverly Meyers, May/June 1986, cover and 26. Mary Jane Mixon, November/December 1970, cover. Mrs. Dean Saunders, September/October 1966, 16. Kathy L. Seyfert, July/August 1986, 24–25. Dawn Somers and Esther Sorg, July/ August 1970, 3. Margaret Tribbey, July/August 1969, 9–11. Marjorie Webb, January/February 1973, 41. Erna Wright, January/February 1969, 15–17. 82. Rolland E. Maxwell (Huntington, Ind.), September/October 1972, 26; and photo, November/December 1960, 4. 83. Alf L. Elden (Oslo, Minn.), September/October 1967, 5. 84. Albert F. Meisel (Sturgis, S.D.), January/February 1964, 35–36; Paul W. Holton (Tujunga, Calif.), May/June 1977, 25, and Joe Fahnestock (Union City, Ind.), May/June 1973, 13–16; Glenn Shoop (Collins, Ohio), May/June 1982, 10. 85. On David Spencer, see W. J. Eshleman (Lancaster, Pa.), July/August 1973, 67, photo caption. On Joseph McCune, see Daniel A. Porter (Columbus, Ohio), May/June 1973, 40. 86. W. J. Eshleman (Lancaster, Pa.), May/June 1975, 28–29. 87. Ira C. Mast (Elkhart, Ind.), January/February 1973, 4. On George W. Fitzgerald, see Clarence E. Dugan (Portland, Oreg.), January/ February 1975, 19. 88. R. Benjamin Hayes (Homer, Mich.), July/August 1973, 12. 89. George Shepherd (Saskatoon, Sask.), May/June 1976, 23. 90. No author given, January/February 1962, 26. 91. Figures given by Melvin Kestler (Twin Falls, Idaho), July/August 1972, 5; Hollis Cortelyou (Higgins, Tex.), May/June 1962, 16; and Dan Parks (Ames, Iowa), March/April 1973, 47, respectively. 92. Elmo J. Mahoney (Dorrance, Kans.), January/February 1966, 26– 27, photo captions; Melge Golterman, Jr. (Wentzville, Mo.), July/ August 1961, 12. 93. William F. Steuck (Primghar, Iowa), May/June 1962, 6. 94. No author given, January/February 1959, 20. 95. Figures given by Joe Fahnestock (Union City, Ind.), May/June

214

Notes to Chapter Three

1969, 8; M. VanDer Velde (Dalemead, Alb.), March/April 1968, 22; and George Shepherd (Saskatoon, Sask.), May/June 1973, 24, photo caption, and George Shepherd (Saskatoon, Sask.), September/October 1958, 32, photo caption, respectively. 96. J. Hubert Knapp (Colville, Wash.), July/August 1969, 24; Fred C. Haszler (Tonica, Ill.), November/December 1963, 17, photo caption. 97. Reynold M. Wik (Oakland, Calif.), July/August 1980, 6.

Chapter Three 1. Harry Fischback (Kettlersville, Ohio), September/October 1957, 27. 2. Ralph C. Fuller (Minneapolis, Kans.), November/December 1969, 13. 3. Helen Virden (Mt. Pleasant, Iowa), January/February 1968, 9. 4. Ben Walsh (Courtenay, N.D.), July/August 1975, 36-39. 5. L. K. Wood (Mendon, Utah), January/February 1959, 22–23. 6. J. W. Thorndike (Ripon, Wis.), November/December 1956, 13. 7. Ovid J. Stevens (Barnard, S.D.), November/December 1965, 20. 8. L. R. Smith (no city given), May/June 1966, 10; no author given, May/June 1956, 5; Frank Miller (Kewanna, Ind.), September/October 1970, 12, quoted by Joe Fahnestock (Union City, Ind.). 9. O. W. Strand (Clarissa, Minn.), September/October 1962, 8; Edmar Tangen (Bottineau, N.D.), November/December 1965, 3; Earl M. Maynard (Tremonton, Utah), September/October 1972, 40. 10. O. W. Strand (Clarissa, Minn.), September/October 1962, 8. 11. Harold C. Dimmich (Boswell, Ind.), November/December 1973, 14–15. 12. Wilfred Koskela (Devils Lake, N.D.), January/February 1966, 39; L. R. Smith (no city given), May/June 1966, 9. 13. Clinton C. Reed (Teis, Alb.), March/April 1972, 3–4. 14. C. A. Harsch (Spokane, Wash.), January/February 1957, 15. 15. Harry Bonnema (LeMars, Iowa), May/June 1972, 29. 16. Albert Wieringa (Middleville, Mich.), July/August 1965, 4. 17. Mrs. H. A. Stringham (Grand Rapids, Mich.), September/October 1962, 14. 18. H. C. Etchison (Savannah, Mo.), November/December 1959, 15. 19. Ralph W. Peters (Findlay, Ohio), November/December 1966, 10.

Notes to Chapter Three

215

20. Donald B. Campbell (Marine City, Mich.), May/June 1964, 3–5. 21. Raymond T. Stout (Washington, D. C.), March/April 1965, 44–45. 22. John L. Willison (Morley, Iowa), November/December 1978, 28; E. E. Danielson (Burlington, Iowa), November/December 1964, 47. 23. Joseph C. Rhode (Pine Village, Ind.), incidents related to the author in telephone conversation on January 29, 1994. 24. Emery Vestal (Waterloo, Ind.), January/February 1967, 12. 25. Karl C. McManus (Bronson, Mich.), January/February 1960, 24–25; C. A. Holmquist (James, Minn.), November/December 1966, 42. 26. LeRoy Pilling (National City, Calif.), September/October 1968, 15; S. L. Speer (Bismarck, Mo.), March/April 1967, 19–20. 27. E. P. Nelson (Bird City, Kans.), May/June 1957, 10; William E. Hall (Burtonsville, Md.), November/December 1976, 26–27. 28. Fred E. Starkweather (Boyden, Iowa), November/December 1964, 51; Karl C.McManus (Bronson, Mich.), September/October 1963, 4–5. 29. Thyng, Ralph (Evansville, Ind.), January/February 1964, 3–5. 30. O. M. Johnson (San Jose, Calif.), May/June 1961, 35. 31. Ralph Thyng (Evansville, Ind.), September/October 1964, 3, 28. 32. Leon Olson (Salem, S.D.), May/June 1959, 12, photo caption; William Flowers (Adena, Ohio), March/April 1980, 10; E. R. Dugan (Waterloo, Ill.), May/June 1970, 26; Lewis H. Cline (Battle Creek, Mich.), May/June 1967, 33. 33. Albert Wieringa (Middleville, Mich.), September/October 1957, 10. 34. Lee W. Dodd (Niles, Mich.), September/October 1975, 10–11. 35. Gilmar Johnson (Frederic, Wis.), November/December 1960, 17. 36. Wayne Parker (Rochester, N.Y.), January/February 1966, 33; Harold D. Blackwell (Lake Zurich, Ill.), January/February 1968, 31. 37. C. R. Willits (Mt. Pleasant, Iowa), September/October 1959, 16. 38. Raymond Laizure (Cadiz, Ohio), September/October 1970, 15, 16. 39. Gary A. Kappedal (Lengby, Minn.), September/October 1975, 25; Charlie Harrison (Fredericktown, Ohio), March/April 1966, 51. 40. L. R. Smith (no city given), July/August 1966, 7 (this article incorrectly gives Ralph Thompson as the author; see the correction in the September/October 1966 issue); Royal E. Jackson (Silver Spring, Md.), September/October 1959, 15; Peg Tyndal Jackson (North Aurora, Ill.), March/April 1972, 39.

216

Notes to Chapter Three

41. Arthur J. Holen (St. Paul, Minn.), May/June 1963, 33–34. 42. Amos K. Mast (Cochranville, Pa.), September/October 1955, 7. 43. Fred M. Lawrence (Rockford, Ill.), September/October 1962, 16. 44. Ted Knack (St. Paul Park, Minn.), March/April 1968, 43. 45. Ron Harley (Des Moines, Iowa), November/December 1970, 28. 46. Chuck Sindelar (Waukesha, Wis.), January/February 1994, 35. 47. Mrs. Ethel Bruce (Dix, Ill.), November/December 1960, 32–33. 48. Walter Sanson (Kingston, Mich.), March/April 1969, 2, 38. 49. Eugene C. Bennett (Gainesville, Ga.), November/December 1969, 34; Raymond Thackrey (Smith Center, Kans.), May/June 1967, 50; Hope D. Earl (Ray, Ind.), September/October 1967, 38. 50. Herbert Thurston (Fountain City, Ind.), July/August 1982, 14, photo caption. 51. A. H. Borstad (Devils Lake, N.D.), November/December 1969, 37. 52. David Erb and Eldon Brumbaugh, Full Steam Ahead: J. I. Case Tractors & Equipment 1842–1955 (St. Joseph, Mich.: ASAE, 1993), 33; Fall 1949, 15; C. W. Fries (Scranton, N.D.), November/December 1955, 17; November/December 1963, 23; May/June 1952, 5–7. 53. William T. Richards (Granville, Ohio), November/December 1963, 23. 54. Frank J. Burris (Yucaipa, Calif.), September/October 1963, 41–42. 55. No author given, September/October 1961, 3. 56. L. C. Mazilly (Starks, La.), January/February 1966, 19. 57. There are numerous references to McMillan, among them January/ February 1957, 9; May/June 1960, 18–19; and September/October 1963, 35. Among the numerous references to Woodmansee, see November/December 1957, 11–12; March/April 1962, 13; January/February 1963, 8–9; July/August 1964, 29; September/October 1964, 38; November/December 1964, 5; March/April 1966, cover; July/August 1971, 77; and May/June 1978, 2. On Limner, see March/April 1967, 6; Bahre, January/February 1970, 24; and Egbert, September/October 1961, 4. 58. For references to Lugten, see, for example, July/August 1964, 31; May/June 1966, 22; September/October 1966, 14–16; and September/October 1967, 28. On Brubaker, see July/August 1971, 55; on Ary, see November/December 1996, 9.

Notes to Chapter Three

217

59. Photo, September/October 1965, 50. 60. Glenn Harmon (Lannon, Wis.), May/June 1960, 8–9; H. E. Beckemeyer (Tolono, Ill.), March/April 1964, 42. 61. Hollis Cortelyou (Higgins, Tex.), May/June 1959, 26. 62. William F. Steuck (Primghar, Iowa), September/October 1962, 10– 11; Mrs. Peter Moe (Crosby, N.D.), May/June 1971, 35; E. C. Foreman (Tacoma, Ohio), January/February 1962, 27–28. 63. Billy M. Byrd (Madisonville, Ky.), January/February 1983, 5. 64. Marcus Leonard (Salina, Kans.), September/October 1956, 3. 65. LeRoy W. Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), March/April 1958, 5–6. 66. Claude P. Abbert (Rochester, N.Y.), January/February 1975, 11; Frank J. Burris (Yucaipa, Calif.), March/April 1975, 5, 8. 67. Hollis Cortelyou (Higgins, Tex.), July/August 1958, 13. 68. Harry Trego (Halstead, Kans.), July/August 1958, 14–15. 69. Marcus Leonard (Salina, Kans.), July/August 1958, 3. 70. LeRoy W. Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), September/October 1958, 16. 71. Marcus Leonard (Salina, Kans.), Engineers and Engines, June 1959, 36–37. 72. Edward Hutsel (Mexico, Mo.), July/August 1959, 2; Harry W. Hinson (Grafton, Ill.), November/December 1959, 6; O. W. Bowen (Woodman, Wis.), November/December 1959, 7. 73. Carl B. Erwin (Harrison, Ark.), March/April 1960, 18. 74. Joseph May (Burlington, Wis.), March/April 1960, 24. 75. LeRoy W. Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), September/October 1960, 14. 76. Hollis Cortelyou (Higgins, Tex.), September/October 1960, 25–27. 77. O. R. Aslakson (New Rockford, N.D.), November/December 1960, 7–8. 78. LeRoy W. Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), January/February 1961, 11–12; Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), March/April 1961, 32; Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), July/August 1961, 2. 79. Lyle Hoffmaster (Bucyrus, Ohio), January/February 1964, 24; O. R. Aslakson (New Rockford, N.D.), July/August 1964, 56–57. 80. Howard Camp (Newman, Ga.), September/October 1967, 16. 81. Henry Harbecke (Chicago, Ill.), November/December 1961, 30. 82. Allan G. Bogue, From Prairie to Corn Belt (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1994).

218

Notes to Chapter Four

Chapter Four 1. Ralph C. Fuller (Minneapolis, Kans.), September/October 1970, 18–19. 2. R. D. Waggoner (Ottawa, Ill.), May/June 1956, 16–17. 3. Leo J. Doern (Portland, Oreg.), November/December 1961, 9. 4. Raymond Laizure (Cadiz, Ohio), January/February 1970, 20. Also May/June 1975, 21, photo caption. 5. James E. Stinson (Brady, Mont.), November/December 1980, 10–11. 6. Addison Hapeman (Woodlawn, Ill.), January/February 1964, 46–47. 7. Albert Slorby (Minot, N.D.), January/February 1973, 17. 8. Burdette J. Potter (Okemos, Mich.), September/October 1957, 18–19. 9. Norman P. Dearborn (Dubuque, Iowa), September/October 1967, 30–31. 10. Al Davis (no city given), July/August 1959, 9. 11. Jesse R. Barber (Lavinia, Iowa), November/December 1963, 5. 12. LeRoy Pilling (National City, Calif.), March/April 1957, 23. 13. Melvin Good (Fostoria, Ohio), September/October 1957, 27. 14. Raymond Laizure (Cadiz, Ohio), September/October 1970, 16–17. 15. W. K. White (Williamsburg, Ohio), January/February 1970, 40. 16. George Pohl (St. Johns, Mich.), March/April 1969, 29. 17. Ralph W. Thyng (Evansville, Ind.), November/December 1965, 30–31. 18. Gilmar Johnson (Frederic, Wis.), January/February 1956, 6. A former thresherman in the author’s hometown told a version of this story to the author’s father. See November/December 1994, 23. 19. LeRoy Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), November/December 1967, 20. 20. Jacob Tiessen (Abbotsford, B.C.), January/February 1968, 26. 21. Virgil Gerdes (Morrison, Ill.), July/August 1968, 51–52. 22. William Lowden (Down, Kans.), May/June 1969, 23–24. 23. I. J. London (Sacramento, Calif.), January/February 1962, 30–31; Bruce McCourtney (Syracuse, Nebr.), March/April 1975, 4–5. 24. No author given, November/December 1959, 24. 25. I. R. Arnold (Belleville, Ill.), March/April 1959, 23. 26. Fred Lawrence (Rockford, Ill.), January/February 1962, 22. 27. Amos K. Mast (Cochranville, Pa.), September/October 1955, 6.

Notes to Chapter Four

219

28. Marcus Leonard (Salina, Kans.), July/August 1961, 35–36. 29. Jesse Connor (Evansville, Ind.), July/August 1957, 15. 30. Donald W. Mitich (New Castle, Wyo.), January/February 1968, 44; William Hall (Bristol, Pa.), March/April 1978, 4–5. 31. Claude Abbert (Rochester, N.Y.), September/October 1960, 17. 32. Earl King (Manlius, Ill.), July/August 1961, 8. 33. No author given, January/February 1965, 16, 18, 21, 41. Article from Iron Valley Reporter, Feb 27, 1882. 34. No author given, July/August 1965, 25–26, 33. Article from the Canton Repository, July 27, 1896. 35. No author given, March/April 1966, 35. Article from unidenti¤ed newspaper of the day. See May/June 1953, 8; May/June 1967, 13, 34; and September/October 1968, 35. 36. Mrs. Atlee Hershberger (Oakland, Md.), November/December 1976, 34–35. 37. Fred M. Freschette (Red Deer, Alb.), September/October 1972, 49. 38. Merlin Elrod (Justice, Ill.), November/December 1970, 42. 39. Gilmar Johnson (Frederic, Wis.), March/April 1965, 20; Elmer L. Ritzman (Enola, Pa.), January/February 1961, 2. 40. November/December 1976, 16; November/December 1969, 42, 44. 41. May/June 1965, 24; March/April 1965, 33. 42. November/December 1970, 97. 43. January/February 1964, 23. 44. Chady Atteberry (Blackwell, Okla.), March/April 1983, 5. 45. LeRoy Blaker (Alvordton, Ohio), September/October 1974, 20–21. 46. July/August 1970, 20–27; May/June 1959, 9–10; July/August 1967, 3–15, and March/April 1957, 14–15. 47. November/December 1956, 27; January/February 1959, 9–10; September/October 1959, 2, 10–13; January/February 1960 cover and 3; January/February 1965, 19; September/October 1966, 11; November/December 1966, 23; and May/June 1967, 14–16. 48. November/December 1959, 23. 49. January/February 1961, 9, and January/February 1964, 9, 29. 50. Roy Glessner (Mechanicsburg, Pa.), January/February 1958, 10; James B. Cain (Dolton, Ill.), November/December 1976, 18–19. 51. Dan Kenner (Elkton, Ky.), November/December 1973, 9, quoted

220

Notes to Chapter Four

by Billy Byrd (Madisonville, Ky.); Bill Paulson (Butter¤eld, Minn.), September/October 1972, 24. 52. Photo, January/February 1960, 24. 53. Lyle Hoffmaster (Bucyrus, Ohio), September/October 1967, 17, quoted by Joe Fahnestock (Union City, Ind.). 54. July/August 1977, 34. 55. Anna Mae Branyan (Enola, Pa.), November/December 1970, 2, 43– 44. Also January/February 1960, 22; and September/October 1961, 22. 56. March/April 1966, 52. 57. Oscar Buescher, January/February 1973, 2. Roy A. Calame, March/ April 1955, 21. E. H. Croley, May/June 1983, 16. Forrest Cunningham, March/April 1973, 32. J. Rex Haver, May/June 1973, 37. Arthur Heiland, May/June 1973, 37. Carlton Johnson, July/August 1983, 13. Donald Kelley, March/April 1973, 2. Norbert J. Lucht, November/ December 1985, 11–12. Earl Maynard, March/April 1994, inside front cover. Bruce McCourtney, May/June 1971, 34. Robert Meck, March/April 1973, 32. Webster Mooney, March/April 1973, 2. Lawrence W. Nachtrab, March/April 1992, 11. Kenneth R. Osborn, May/June 1976, 49. Frank Ott, May/June 1984, 12. Fred Perleberg, September/October 1970, 10. George L. Schultz, November/December 1989, 11. Frank Stark, September/October 1966, 33. Also, November/December 1972, 38. T. M. Throndson, March/April 1985, 25. Raleigh E. Woltmann, September/October 1988, 22–23. 58. September/October 1966, 33. 59. March/April 1966, 52. 60. Spring 1948, 10. Also November/December 1965, 15–16; November/December 1972, 41; November/December 1996, 11; and January/February 1997, 16–17. 61. January/February 1958, 2; May/June 1957, 14. 62. March/April 1958, 2. 63. November/December 1962, 2; July/August 1961, 2; July/August 1962, 46; July/August 1975, 2. 64. May/June 1958, 11–13; November/December 1958, 24. 65. July/August 1961, 44.; January/February 1960, 22–23. 66. John Kelley (Oklahoma City, Okla.), November/December 1956, 8; Harry Yates (San Diego, Calif.), May/June 1960, 22.

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221

67. May/June 1960, 26; September/October 1965, 22. 68. Ed L. Halle (Fond du Lac, Wis.), September/October 1957, 22; July/August 1962, 3–5; November/December 1965, 2. 69. July/August 1971, several articles. 70. Gerald S. Lestz (Lancaster, Pa.), July/August 1973, 5. 71. November/December 1960, 14–15. 72. See, for example, November/December 1959, 25; September/October 1960, 6, and May/June 1961, 10; January/February 1962, 18. 73. July/August 1956, 28; January/February 1957, 25; November/December 1958, 32; September/October 1957, 17; July/August 1961, 25; November/December 1971, 46–47; November/December 1961, 21; January/February 1970, 3–8; and September/October 1974, 45. 74. March/April 1972, 26–27; May/June 1981, 12. 75. July/August 1958, 2—supplemental sheet. 76. See November/December 1956, 11; January/February 1958, 25; March/April 1958, 13; July/August 1958, 1—supplemental sheet (andNovember/December 1975, 9); January/February 1961, 2; May/June 1966, 21; May/June 1968, 51; May/June 1970, 13; November/December 1978, 36; January/February 1983, 26; July/August 1986, 32. 77. March/April 1958, 12–13, and March/April 1959, 24; November/ December 1955, 12; November/December 1977, 6. 78. November/December 1956, cover and 3–4; July/August 1971, 4–5; March/April 1980, 21–23; March/April 1981, 20; May/June 1992, 1–3. 79. Peter C. Wells, “Lights, Camera, Action!” Old Glory 75 (May 1996): 56. Old Glory is published in Great Britain. 80. March/April 1979, 6–7; March/April 1983, 15; January/February 1980, 31. 81. March/April 1967, 13. 82. January/February 1954, 3–4; September/October 1954, 5–6; July/ August 1955, 23; March/April 1960, 9; January/February 1967, cover and 33; and November/December 1975, 30. 83. July/August 1955, 2. 84. March/April 1961, 25–26. 85. July/August 1962, 13; January/February 1964, 33; March/April 1965, 3; and September/October 1967, 35. 86. March/April 1970, 10. 87. July/August 1960, 39.

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Suggested Reading

Alexander, Jack. Steam Power on California Roads and Farms (1858– 1911). Tigard, Oreg.: Binder, 1998. Arnold, Dave. Case Tractors. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1990. Bogue, Allan G. From Prairie to Corn Belt: Farming on the Illinois and Iowa Prairies in the Nineteenth Century. Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1994. Bonnett, Harold. Traction Engines. Princes Risborough, Buckinghamshire: Shire, 1985. Boss, William. The Heath Book for Threshermen. Winnipeg, Man.: Heath, 1908. Bottorff, Michele, and William A. Stahl, eds. The History of Swayne, Robinson & Company, 1842–1997. Richmond, Ind.: Wayne County Historical Museum, 1999. Boucher, John Newton. William Kelly: A True History of the SoCalled Bessemer Process. Greensburg, Pa.: John Newton Boucher, 1924. Brum¤eld, Kirby. This Was Wheat Farming. New York: Bonanza, 1968. 223

224

Suggested Reading

Case Steam Engine Manual. Racine: J. I. Case, n.d. Cather, Willa. My Ántonia. 1918. New York: Houghton, 1954. Clarke School of Traction Engineering. Part 12, Valve Gears and Reversing Mechanism. Madison: American Thresherman, n.d. Reprint, Stemgas. Clymer, Floyd. Album of Historical Steam Traction Engines and Threshing Equipment. New York: Bonanza, 1949. Coffman, George Beard. The Twenty Minute Whistle. Waynesboro, Pa.: Caslon, 1980. Colburn, Zerah. Steam Boiler Explosions. New York: D. Van Nostrand, 1890. Conner, G. F. Science of Threshing. St. Joseph, Mich.: Threshermen’s Review, 1906. Dingee, William W., and Wallace MacGregor. Science of Successful Threshing. Racine: J. I. Case, any of seven editions published between 1899 and 1915. Drache, Hiram M. The Day of the Bonanza: A History of Bonanza Farming in the Red River Valley of the North. Danville, Ill.: Interstate, 1964. Drake, Raymond L., and Robert T. Rhode. Classic American Steamrollers, 1871 through 1935. Hudson, Wis.: Iconogra¤x, 2001. Dregni, Michael, ed. This Old Tractor. Stillwater, Minn.: Voyageur, 1998. Edmonds, Chris. A Little and Often. Burnham, Buckinghamshire: Corinthian, 1984. Edmonds, Chris. A Wager for Ale. Slough: Corinthian, 1985. Erb, David, and Eldon Brumbaugh. Full Steam Ahead: J. I. Case Tractors & Equipment 1842–1955. St. Joseph, Mich.: ASAE, 1993. Ertel, Patrick W. American Steam Tractors. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1997. Evans, Richard J. Collecting and Restoring Old Steam Engines. Blue Ridge Summit, Pa.: TAB, 1980.

Suggested Reading

225

The Farm Album and The Iron-Men Album Magazine. This journal may be dif¤cult to locate, although it is possible that in some areas, copies could be obtained through interlibrary loan. Collectors pay fairly high prices to purchase copies, especially of The Farm Album. Farming Comes of Age: The Remarkable Photographs of J. C. Allen & Son. Carol Stream, Ill.: Farm Progress, 1995. Farming Once Upon a Time: More Remarkable Photographs by J. C. Allen & Son. Louisville, Ky.: Concord, 1996. Farquhar, A. B. The First Million the Hardest. New York: Doubleday, Page, 1922. Fehrenbatch, John. A Library of Steam Engineering. Cincinnati: Ohio Valley, 1895. Fletcher, William. English and American Steam Carriages and Traction Engines. New York: Longmans, Green, 1904. Giddings, C. M. Development of the Traction Engine in America. Madison: American Thresherman, 1916–17. Reprint, Lancaster, Pa.: Stemgas, 1980. Gittins, Bert S. Land of Plenty. Chicago: Farm Equipment Institute, 1950. Gray, R. B. The Agricultural Tractor, 1855–1950. Revised ed. St. Joseph, Mich.: ASAE, 1975. Halsey, Frederick A. Handbook for Machine Designers and Draftsmen. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1913. Hand, Mike. Iron, Steam and Wood: 150 Years with the Waterous Engine Works Company. St. George, Ont.: privately printed, 2000. Hanson, T. L. Farm Steam Power Era. Milton, N.D.: n.p., n.d. Hawkins, N. Aids to Engineers’ Examinations. New York: Theo. Audel, 1902. ŒŒŒ. Hawkins’ Indicator Catechism. New York: Theo. Audel, 1901. ŒŒŒ. Maxims and Instructions for the Boiler Room. New York: Theo. Audel, 1897, 1898, 1903.

226

Suggested Reading

Hildebrand, John. Mapping the Farm: The Chronicle of a Family. New York: Vintage, 1995. Holmes, George C. V. The Steam Engine. New York: Longmans, Green, 1900. Hurt, R. Douglas. American Farm Tools from Hand-Power to SteamPower. Manhattan, Kans.: Sun¶ower University Press, 1982. Isern, Thomas D. Bull Threshers & Bindlestiffs: Harvesting & Threshing on the North American Plains. Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1990. Jennings, Dana Close. Days of Steam and Glory. Aberdeen: North Plains, 1968. Johnson, Brian. Steam Traction Engines, Wagons and Rollers in Colour. Poole, Dorset: Blandford, 1976. Kasson, John F. Civilizing the Machine: Technology and Republican Values in America, 1776–1900. New York: Hill and Wang, 1999. Keller, David Neal. Cooper Industries, 1833–1983. Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 1983. Kelly, Maurice A. The American Steam Traction Engine: A History of Trans-Atlantic Variety. Stamford, Lincolnshire: CMS, 1995. Kent, William. The Mechanical Engineers’ Pocket-Book. New York: John Wiley, 1895. Key to Steam Engineering. Boston: Thomas F. McCarthy, 1905. Maggard, James H. Rough and Tumble Engineering: A Book of Instructions for Operators of Farm and Traction Engines. Iowa City: Republican Print Co., 1900. Reprint, Stemgas. ŒŒŒ. The Traction Engine: Its Use and Abuse. Philadelphia: David McKay, 1915. Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. New York: Oxford University Press, 1964. McKinley, Marvin. Wheels of Farm Progress. St. Joseph, Mich.: ASAE, 1980. Mikesell, Joanna Hill, and Annette S. Warfel. The Gaar Family: Pioneers of Industry. Richmond, Ind.: privately printed, 1999.

Suggested Reading

227

Morland, Andrew. Traction Engines. London: Osprey, 1988. Morland, Andrew, and Nick Baldwin. Case Tractors. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1996. Norbeck, Jack. Encyclopedia of American Steam Traction Engines. 3rd ed. Sarasota: Crestline, 1976. Peabody, Cecil H. Thermodynamics of the Steam-Engine and Other Heat-Engines. New York: John Wiley, 1904. The Power Catechism. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1897. Pripps, Robert N., and Andrew Morland. Case GP Tractors. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1996. ŒŒŒ. Threshers. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1992. Quick, Herbert. The Hawkeye. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1923. Rayner, Derek. Road Rollers. Princes Risborough, Buckinghamshire: Shire, 1992. Rennewanz, L. H. “Slim.” Steam Grain and Saw Dust. Bozeman: Gallatin County Tribune, 1968. Riemsdijk, J. T. van, and Kenneth Brown. The Pictorial History of Steam Power. London: Octopus, 1980. Rigg, Arthur. A Practical Treatise on the Steam Engine. Charing Cross, London: E. & F. N. Spon, 1878. Rikoon, J. Sanford. Threshing in the Midwest, 1820–1940. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988. Rohan, J. V. Young Engineer’s Guide. Racine: J. I. Case, 1894, 1899. Roper, Stephen. A Catechism of High Pressure or Non-Condensing Steam Engines. Philadelphia: E. Claxton, 1883. ŒŒŒ. Engineer’s Handy-Book. Philadelphia: David McKay, 1899. ŒŒŒ. Use and Abuse of the Steam-Boiler. Philadelphia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffel¤nger, 1876. Rose, P. S. Steam Engine Guide. Madison: American Thresherman, 1910. Reprint, Lancaster, Pa.: Stemgas, 1978. Seventy-Five Years of Engine Building. Mount Vernon, Ohio: C. & G. Cooper, 1909. Seventy-Five Years of Progress. Waynesboro: Frick, 1928.

228

Suggested Reading

Smith, G. E. Steam Album. Orillia, Ontario: G. E. Smith, n.d. Smith, T. H. The Album of American Steam Traction Engines. Joliet: T. H. Smith, 1953. Stephenson, James H. Farm Engines and How to Run Them. Chicago: Frederick J. Drake, 1903. Thurston, Robert H. A Manual of Steam-Boilers: Their Design, Construction, and Operation. New York: John Wiley, 1904. ŒŒŒ. A Manual of the Steam-Engine. 2 vols. New York: John Wiley, 1891. Traction Engine Troubles. Madison: American Thresherman, 1909. Reprint, Stemgas, 1986. Welsch, Roger. Old Tractors and the Men Who Love Them. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1995. ŒŒŒ. Busted Tractors and Rusty Knuckles. Osceola, Wis.: MBI, 1997. ŒŒŒ. Love, Sex, and Tractors. Osceola, Wis.: MBI, 2000. Wendel, C. H. 150 Years of J. I. Case. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1994. ŒŒŒ. Encyclopedia of American Farm Implements & Antiques. Iola, Wis.: Krause, 1997. Wendel, C. H., and Dave Arnold. The Iron Workhorse. Osceola, Wis.: Motorbooks, 1988. Wik, Reynold M. Steam Power on the American Farm. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1953. Williams, Michael. Steam Power in Agriculture. Poole, Dorset: Blandford, 1977. Wise, David Burgess. Steam on the Road. London: Hamlyn, 1973. Wright, Harold Bell. The Shepherd of the Hills. New York: A. L. Burt, 1907. Zeitlin, Richard H. Old Abe the War Eagle. Madison: State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1986.