“Oklahoma City’s peripatetic meetin’ house”
I will admit that when I came across the headline above, that appeared in The Oklahoman for August 22, 1909, I wasn’t completely sure what peripatetic meant. But after reading the story I understood the defintion from Merriam-Webster Online: “movement or journeys hither and thither.”
“When a man named Jackson built a little frame chapel at the corner of Broadway and Noble avenue (now SW 3rd street) in 1899, he little dreamed what its influence was to be on the religious history and development of Oklahoma City.
“The little chapel was built originally for the use of the Salvation Army, but was later acquired by the Baptists of the city and in 1902 was removed to Washington avenue (now SW 2nd street) and Walker avenue. Here it was used by the Washington avenue Baptist Church for about six months, that now flourishing congregation being organized there. In 1903 it was removed to Capitol Hll. In it the Capitol Hill Baptist Church was organized and it was the only home of that organization for the next two years. Then, in 1905, the First Baptist Church bought the building and placed it on the corner of East Fifth and Phillips streets. It was used for a mission Sunday school in the Maywood district, under the supervision of Dr. H. Coulter Todd for the next year. In 1906 it was again removed to East Ninth and Phillips streets, where it was again used for a mission Sunday school under the supervision of G.N. Longfellow.
“On October 24, 1907, the little chapel was acquired by the Immanuel Baptist church, which was the third and last Baptist congregation to be organized within its walls. The Immanuel Baptist church then had but twenty members, but they were “game” and bought the building and lots for $1,367. That night the Rev. Forrest Maddox was called from the Portland Avenue Baptist church at Louisville, Ky., to the pastorate for the little new church in Oklahoma City. The Rev. Maddox proved to be a hustler. He got the Baptist state board interested and it helped out financially. The little chapel was torn down and a new temple built last year with a seating capacity of 700. The church has grown from twenty persons to a congregation of 169. The Immanuel Baptist church also owns a mission at the corner of Kelham avenue and East Fourteenth street, and its total property is worth over $7,500.
“The little church was moved about so often during the days of its existence that among the church people of the city it came to be known as “the peripatetic meeting house.”
Of the churches mentioned, the Salvation Army is still a force in Oklahoma City as is the First Baptist and Capitol Hill Baptist churches. Immanuel Baptist and the Washington Avenue Baptist Church which became the Second Baptist Church are no longer in existence.
Meet Mr. Robinson
If you go downtown, at some point you will probably find yourself on Robinson Avenue. It certainly is one of Oklahoma City’s oldest streets.
A story published in The Oklahoman July 16, 1972, reported, “The morning of April 23, 1889, surveyors set up tripods and squinted through the transits. The links of surveyor chain clanked as Robinson Avenue was surveyed from Reno Road through South Oklahoma toward the North Canadian River. Marching north from Reno at Second Street, the Oklahoma Station surveyors hiked up the old Boomer ‘blue hill’ painted and perfumed by a carpet of wild violets in bloom, and Robinson Avenue stopped at a homesteader’s claim at Seventh Street. ”
“Robinson Avenue began as a dusty or muddy road, depending on the weather, a mile and a quarter long through the townsite of Oklahoma , and South Oklahoma.”
But who was it named for? A Vermonter and a man who never was a resident of Oklahoma or Oklahoma City, Albert Alonzo Robinson. Born in 1844 and raised on the edge of the Wisconsin frontier, he graduated from the University of Michigan in 1869 and began his career as a surveyor’s axeman (the man who cleared the way for the surveyor). By 1886, he was the newly promoted chief engineer for the Santa Fe railroad, and Santa Fe had obtained a federal charter to build the railroad across the Cherokee outlet and Oklahoma lands, working south from Arkansas City to what would become Purcell in the Chickasaw Nation. They started in September 1886, and by February 1887 they were at Deer Creek, OK. Many of the railroad employees were Boomers, those who settled Oklahoma Territory legally. They recognized that the railroad building was a “double blessing,” it provided a good living and kept them near the land they hoped to homestead.
The charter had a deadline of April 20, and it looked like the tracklayers had no chance to meet it.
The government sent a marshal to serve a writ on the railroad, but they didn’t reckon with Mr. Robinson. He sent his chief clerk to take over, and while he laid track and avoided the marshal, Robinson ignored all the messages to cease construction. On April 26, the tired marshal rode in to the railroad camp and told Curtis he was there to serve the writ because the work was not finished.
Curtis said, “The track is all finished, look for yourself.” The marshal agreed.
“That was the last Robinson and the Santa Fe heard of the federal writ. Old Boomers slapped each other on the back about how Robinson had saved the railroad for Oklahoma country.” The famous photograph of the Run of ‘89 shows some of the settlers arriving by train on the track that Albert Robinson made sure was laid.
During his 22-year career with Santa Fe, Albert Robinson was responsible for building more than 5,000 miles of track, the bridge over the Royal Gorge and rising to vice president of Santa Fe. When he retired as president of Mexican Central, he returned to Topeka, KS, and died in 1918.
It’s been 120 years since Robinson Avenue was surveyed and named for the Boomers’ friend, Albert Alonzo Robinson, but it is fitting that Oklahoma City’s “main street” is named for the man who made sure the railroad made it to Oklahoma.
Note: Some of Robinson’s biographical information was obtained from Internet biographies.
Two Halloween stories
Halloween is almost here!
Here are two stories from The Oklahoman just 10 years apart that show how the celebration of Halloween has changed. You’ll notice neither one mentions candy.
From Nov. 12, 1912:
97 POLICE CALLS FOR HALLOWE’EN
Old Pa Oklahoma City, robbed of half his fences and gate posts, disgruntled after a sleepless night and by no means pleased with the prospect of undergoing a thorough cleaning, is feeling the morning after effects of Hallowe’en today. The youngsters demonstrated to the satisfaction of everyone, including the police, that though Hallowe’en may gradually be losing it significance, the years detract nothing from its violence.
Of the ninety-seven calls answered by the police between 6 o’clock and midnight, more than half were for vandals attempting to destroy property. A few rowdy gangs were broken up by the police. Masqueraders and boys enjoying innocent fun were not molested.
This one is from Nov 1, 1922. Notice the difference in the pranks and the nostalgic comment at the end.
RAIN FAILS TO HALT HALLOWE’EN PRANKS
Auto Placed on Front Porch; Tracks Greased
Not even the steady downpour of rain could keep Oklahoma City boys at home in bed Tuesday night. Some of them wandered up and down Broadway marking up windows with shaving soap. On one prominent drug store they placed the label “soup house.” On the window of an art shop they wrote “see the wild women.” The picture in question was an interpretation of spring by two women dancers.
Out in Capitol Hill they greased the streetcar tracks, to the consternation of motormen. On East Eleventh street they placed sewer pipe crossways of the street, nearly causing serveral automobile accidents.
Chicken houses were turned over and some were placed in the middle of Classen boulevard, near Seventeenth street. An electric automobile was placed on the porch of a house in the 1770 block on West Eleventh. Its owner has not yet been found.
Several boys were brought to the police station but were turned loose and warned to have a good time but not to destroy any property.
“Gosh! I’ll be glad when this night is over , ” said one of the policemen.
The full shift of police was on duty, and extras had been engaged for the night, police officials said.
No wanton destruction of property was reported. although pranks were many and varied. Citizens who had not made fast porch chairs, swings, rockers, cans, flower pots, or anything else movable, will wake up Wednesday morning to find things topsy turvy.
“Nothing like old times,” was the comment of the older generation Tuesday night.
Watch out for the ghosties and goblins, and have a safe and Happy Halloween.
mphillips@opubco.com
It was just a shivaree.
This reminiscence of Mrs. M.C. Milner, an early day settler of Oklahoma City was published in The Oklahoman Feb.7, 1937.
On a night early in the 1890’s, Oklahoma City had a very harrowing experience indeed.
People from the north part of town started dashing Paul Revere-like through the streets, gathering the women and children up before them.
“The Cheyennes and Arapahos are off the reservation!” the cry went up. “To the hills men–the dam has broken” would not have been a more fearsome warning. Sure enough, bearing down from the northwest could be heard an unholy din and shrieking and commotion.
“But sure enough it wasn’t the Indians after all–it was just a ’shivaree’ party, coming in from somewhere out in the country,” explained Mrs. Milner.
“Charivaris–or just plain shivarees– of a somewhat violent nature, were just part of the general atmosphere of anything-can-happen in which early-timers here moved,” Mrs. Milner said.
Another version was reported in the newspaper on April 18, 1937.
It said that the Charles Pigler family, homesteaders living about 10 miles west of the city near Bethany “saw glaring lights to the northwest and heard what they believed to be the war cries of Indians. Riding by different routes to warn the city residents, these boomer Paul Reveres came in on Twenty-third street, road the Tenth street road and Reno avenue, crying: “To arms!”
The hardware store was opened and all the guns sold. Women and children took refuge in the brick house at 205 Northwest Fifth street (where the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial now stands) and the men stood ready to fend off the attack.
“But the glaring lights turned out to be a prairie fire and the cries the Piglers heard had been a charivari. Everybody felt pretty sheepish when they found it out”
Webster’s New Universal Unabridged Dictionary’s definition for shivaree is “a mock serenade with kettles, pans, horns and other noisemakers given for a newly married couple; charivari.”
A shivaree was part of the play “Oklahoma!” celebrating the marriage of Laurie and Curly.
Mary Phillips
Wrong way Zeppelin
On a summer’s night in August 1929, the eyes of Oklahoma were directed skyward in hopes of glimpsing the Graf Zeppelin, Germany’s great airship, as it was completing a round-the-world flight.
Oklahoma’s U.S. Senator Elmer Thomas, along with Stanley Draper, manager of the Oklahoma City Chamber of Commerce, and former congressman E. B. Howard, had extended a formal invitation for the Zeppelin to visit Oklahoma City enroute to Lakehurst, N.J. The State Chamber of Commerce sent an invitation on behalf of 237 local chambers saying ”that a decision to pass over Oklahoma would add impetus to aviation in the state that has progressed more rapidly than any other of the United States.”
The Zeppelin, while it could be steered, was still subject to the whims of the wind, and when it arrived at Oklahoma’s borders on Aug. 28, 1929, the wind and its crew sent it to the northeast, bypassing Oklahoma City.
The Oklahoman reported on Aug. 29, 1929, ”at least a dozen towns in Oklahoma got a glimpse of the Zeppelin. Entering the state in southwestern Beckham county, the big ship flew over Carter, Elk City, Clinton, Arapaho, Thomas, Watonga, Kingfisher, Hennessey, Perry, Mulhall, Ponca City and Fairfax” before it left Oklahoma headed for Kansas City.
When it was realized that the Zeppelin would miss Oklahoma City, an Oklahoman reporter and staff photographer took
This photograph, copied from The Oklahoman, shows the Graf Zeppelin as it flew over the Osage Hills in Oklahoma. It was taken from an airplane by Roy Sisk, Oklahoman staff photographer.
an airplane and caught up with the Graf Zeppelin near Fairfax. WKY radio fielded calls from all over the area and distributed the “best information available” to its listeners.
In a story published Sept. 6, 1929, W.B. Estes, general manager of the State Chamber of Commerce, received a letter from Dr. Hugo Eckener, commander of the Graf Zeppelin, in which he admitted, “I was lost, but then I was lost since we left Los Angeles two hours behind.” He said he had tried to maintain a course that would lead him over Oklahoma City, and he thought he was circling El Reno on the morning of the 28th, with a wide enough circle that those watching in the city would catch a glimpse, when actually he was over Perry, Marshall and Mulhall.
In his letter, he expressed his delight over a telegram Estes had sent him in German, telling him that “2,000,000 persons in Oklahoma hoped to see him.”
Local aviators were inspired by the flight as indicated by this statement from the Nov. 15, 1987, newspaper report: “Post (our Wiley Post, of course) like other Oklahomans watched from the ground in 1929 when Germany’s Graf Zeppelin flew over the Sooner state in 1929 on its way to a record voyage around the world in 21 days. With navigator Harold Gatty, Post flew the Winnie Mae from New York’s Roosevelt Field June 23, 1931, landing eight days, 15 hours, 51 minutes later with a new round-the-world record.”
The Graf Zeppelin was grounded in 1937 after the explosion of the Zeppelin Hindenburg and in 1939 an explosion attibuted to the Nazis destroyed the Zeppelin and the hangar where it was stored.
Mary Phillips
mphillips@opubco.com
Just for fun
From 1906 to 1913, The Oklahoman published a column called “New State Notes.” It consisted of several short items from state newspapers. The reporter who wrote these probably gleaned them from other newspapers, but he had a knack for the humorous. These items were published in the September 22, 1909 newspaper. Read and enjoy!
Mayor Steel of Cordell asserts that during July and August he was the happiest man in his town, for the reason he says, that his pastor, Sunday school superintendent, the city marshal, his wife and his mother-in-law were out of town at the same time.
A Woods county farmer shipped a carload of chickens to New York and by the time they arrived enough eggs had been laid to pay the freight. This recalls the old story of the hen that laid an egg for Beecher after he had saved her life when she was a mere chicken, wet bedraggled and half frozen by the roadside. The story ends thus: “And in this way did the Henry Ward Beecher.”
An Alfalfa county merchant closed out his stock of goods and failed to give his family any of the money, whereupon his wife had him arrested on the charge of embezzlement.
Bootleggers in Custer county have removed Judge Lattimer from the bench ten times but he retains his regard for the bench and proclaims his willingness to sit on the carcass of any bootlegger in the county. The indications are that Judge Lattimer has not treated the bootlegger fair, according to their ideas of fairness.
About the next thing you hear from Oktaha will be an announcement from the editor of the Leader and the next issue of his paper will be edited as Christ would edit it. The Rev. Mr. Frazier is one of the typo(grapher)s on that journal and the Rev. A.M. Beman was the first paid subscriber.
Governor Donaghey of Arkansas once lived in a tent in Sayre. He was townsite promoter for the Choctaw railroad at that time. Senator Jeff Davis of Arkansas used to have a duck hunt in Beckham county and occasionally he came into Sayre. Once while there he was told that Donaghey lived down the street in a tent. “Keep him here, ” said the budding senator, “Arkansas can do without him.
It looked for a time like the Beggs fair was going to be a dry affair, owing to the scarcity of water, but the asssociation drilled a well 260 feet deeep and found 140 feet of water. Thus was removed any excuse for other wet goods.
Mary Phillips
Walker Avenue, the man behind the name
Walker Avenue is one of the most used streets in Oklahoma City. It runs north and south and crosses the Oklahoma River.
After my success discovering the person behind Blackwelder Avenue, I was curious to see who Walker Avenue was named for and why he warranted having a street named after him.
This is what I learned.
Dr. Delos Walker was a true pioneer of our great state. He was born October 19, 1837 in Pennsylvania, raised on a farm and attended the University of Michigan. His medical studies were interrupted by service in the Civil War with the Union army. He graduated and practiced medicine in Pennsylvania, Michigan and Kansas, before participating in the Run of ‘89 and settling in Oklahoma City.
He was a member of the Oklahoma Town Company which on arrival, surveyed the townsite south of Sheridan Avenue which was originally called Grand Avenue, not to be confused with Grand Boulevard.
The rival Seminole Land and Improvement Co. surveyed the north part of town. The two companies used different points to start their surveys. When the two townsites were joined, each company refused to change their survey. The differences in the surveys created a jog in the north-south streets at Sheridan Avenue that many Oklahoma Citians will remember. This jog was gradually eliminated, with Walker at Sheridan being the last street to be straightened in 1991.
Dr. Walker staked out lots on Reno Avenue, built a grand house across the street from what is now the Myriad Gardens and lived there until his death on July 30, 1910.
In his obituary published July 31, in The Oklahoman, when asked who knows the story of the birth of Oklahoma, the president of the ‘89ers association answered, “Dr. Delos Walker can tell you more perhaps than any other man in the city because he was here with the first who came in the great run. He lived through the whole history of the city and was one of the leading characters in the enactment of the great drama of life, …
In the book “A History of the State of Oklahoma 1908 Vol II” by Luther Hill,” the biography of Dr. Walker states: ”He helped organize the first public school and became the first president of the school board of Oklahoma City. For five years he was health superintendent of Oklahoma county, and was the first president of the Board of Health of Oklahoma City, holding that office five years. He was also one of the organizers and the first president of the Oklahoma Medical Society. At the present writing Dr. Walker is president of the association of Oklahoma pioneers known as the “89′ers”.
No wonder, they named a street after him.
Mary Phillips
A turkey by mail?
This short item was published in The Oklahoman, February 7, 1937. It illustrates the life of a fish and game warden isn’t always about protecting the great outdoors.
Fish and game provide great sport as a hobby, but they can cause a lot of worries as a job. That’s what L.D. Rickey, state fish and game warden, has discovered.
Looking after wild life isn’t the fun it’s cracked up to be, Rickey observed Saturday as he wiped his care-creased forehead. In fact it makes you fair game for about everyone.
The warden exhibited a typical day’s mail for proof.
“Here’s a fellow in McCurtain county wants to know if it’s all right for him to kill a wild turkey,” he said.
“And here’s a guy in Osage county wants to know if I can get a wild turkey and send to him.”
Another was a complaint from a farmer in Hughes county about too many cows and there was a complaint from a Creek county resident about the lack of feed for quail.
Then a request from Beaver county for assistance from the fish and game commission in obtaining WPA money to build a nursery.
“It goes on like that for hours,” Rickey observed.
The headline for the story probably says it best: “Rickey, Poor Fish, Is Game For Everyone.”
L.D. Rickey, an Ardmore oil man, naturalist and sportsman, was appointed game warden in 1935 and served until 1937. He died January 13, 1939 and in his obituary it stated “that the position as game warden was the only political position he ever held.”
Mary Phillips
A redbud controversy
Oklahoma's offical tree, the Redbud, in bloom on the Northeast corner of the State Fairgrounds NW 10th and May Ave. - Oklahoman Archive photo by Jim Argo
I must admit I never knew. I was doing research on soil conservation for a reporter and came upon a short item titled “Judas” in the March 28, 1937, Daily Oklahoman. I was hooked. I had to know more.
It discussed the battle that was ongoing in 1937 when the state was planning the adoption of the redbud as the state tree.
Mrs. Roberta Lawson of Tulsa, who was the national president of the Federation of Women’s Clubs, was objecting to its “adoption as the state tree on grounds it was the tree on which the disciple, Judas, hanged himself.”
A bill, sponsored by the local Daughters of the American Revolution, had made it through the Legislature and was on Gov. E.W. Marland’s desk for signing, when a telegram arrived from the above Mrs. Lawson declaring that “it would be most unseemly to have such a tree as Oklahoma’s state symbol.”
After a five-day delay, the governor signed the bill commenting, “This resolution is signed at the earnest request of the good women of Oklahoma, and I hope they plant enough redbud to hang every Judas in the state.” He went on to say, “What is the date–the 30th? I couldn’t put this off until the first of April could I?”
In the April 1, 1937, Daily Oklahoman quoted tree expert George Phillips, a former state forester, but then with the federal forestry service, said ”that the redbud and the Judas trees are of the same genus but not the same species.”
A quick search of the Internet shows 17 variations of the genus Cercis.
I believe that Mrs. S.I. Flournoy, chairman of the D.A.R. committee responsible for the tree bill, said it best in a letter she wrote to Mrs. Lawson. “I’ve heard of people hanging themselves from a lot of things, including chandeliers. But I should think if anybody should really want to kill himself, he’d pick out something sturdier than our pretty little redbud.”
The tempest must have blown over after the redbud became official. I could only find five references to redbuds and Judas in the next 69 years.
Mary Phillips
The 9-foot bed sheet
In the May 30, 1909, Daily Oklahoman this advertisement appeared: “Oklahoma Legislature “Nine Foot” Sheets–Full 81×108 inches–made of best wearing quality, linen finish sheeting–seamless, torn, hemmed, each …..75c”
Seems odd that the state Legislature would be promoting bed sheet sales, but in 1908 the state lawmakers passed a law ordering hotels to provide 9-foot sheets for their beds. While it was alleged that William H. “Alfalfa Bill” Murray, then speaker of the house, had the law enacted because he “was forced to sleep under a five-foot, 2-inch sheet one frosty night.” The provision was part of the hotel inspection law.
The July 16, 1908, Daily Oklahoman contained this excerpt from the Alva Record explaining the reasons for the law.
“The growing danger of tuberculosis, or as it is now called “the white plague” is alarming, not only this country but the entire world, and associations are being formed in many cities to enforce every means to prevent the spread of the disease. A healthy person who occupies the bed in a hotel where a consumptive has slept the night before may catch the disease. A nine foot upper sheet is long enough to spread two or two and a half feet over the top covers at the head of the bed, and as every respectable hotel washes the sheets daily, following their use, it tends to do away with the danger of catching any contagious disease. The medical world and all thoughtful people agree that the nine-foot bed law is one of the wisest laws for the protection of the traveling public, that was ever enacted”
The Alva article goes on to say, ” The grand council of Commercial Drummers of Missouri have just closed their annual convention at St. Joseph, and they have decided to make a vigorous fight not only for the nine-foot bed sheet, but for better sanitation at hotels along other lines. Score one more for Oklahoma. Other states will follow.”
Kansas and Missouri did, and bills were offered in New York, Nebraska, Illinois and Texas.
While the 9-foot bed sheet law often shows up in lists for strangest laws still on the books, it was actually dropped from the state statute books in 1910.
The next time you’re in a hotel and you see how the top sheet is long enough to cover the blankets on the bed, think of how our state legislators were thinking of our safety and health in 1908.
Mary Phillips
