THE PHILLIP SMITH FAMILY, Our Yesterdays, Jefferson Co., MT

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                         THE PHILLIP SMITH FAMILY

Our forefathers were original settlers in the Boulder Valley in
1865. Pilgrims they were who had emigrated from Ireland to New
York State and, some years later, moved to Madison, Wisconsin.
After three or four years there, they crossed The Great Plains in
covered wagons to settle in Denver, Colorado. However, in 1864,
they joined the gold rush to Alder, Montana. The lawlessness and
violence rampant in that mining town so shocked these gentle,
God-fearing people that they decided on yet one more move.

The fertile sweep of the Boulder Valley seemed to beckon to them. 
There was this unspoiled wilderness with grassy hills and bench
lands supplied with numerous springs. Wild game abounded there
and in the surrounding forested mountains.

Picture this wagon train made up of Irish Catholics, slowly
winding its way from Alder to the Boulder Valley--the Smiths, the
Clarks, the Ryans, the Wickhams, the Bradys, and the Dunns! 
Gratefully they staked out claims of their choice and settled
down like weary birds after a long flight to their home land.

Other than the distant mountain springs, only the river, running
like a silver ribbon the entire length of the valley, supplied
water. Wells had to be dug, land cleared, dwellings erected,
sheds and barns built for the stock, crops planted. Back breaking
toil went into the converting of virgin territory into a
homeland. What fortitude and perseverance, what courage and
stamina our forefathers possessed--the men who tried to wrest a
living from the soil--and the women who followed their men in
that primitive existence! Their zest for living, for accepting
the great challenges they had to meet and their enduring love,
loyalty, and sympathy for their own families as well as their
neighbors were the never-to-be forgotten marks of the pioneer
women.

To begin with, what desperate heartache they must have felt when
they left their parent's homes not knowing if ever again they
would see their loved ones. The advice given to one such daughter
in the group was, "If you must go west, make sure you take your
heavy underwear and your fortitude with you."

And indeed many a great dose of fortitude they sorely needed, for
how could they have begun to realize the awesome experiences that
they were to undergo. Even at the end of their long, perilous
journey, little did they dream of the days, weeks, and months
they would spend caring for their families with no facilities
other than those provided by a covered wagon. Until the home was
built, the family had to sleep, eat, wash, iron, bathe, tend the
needs of the children, and at least pretend to lead a happy life.

Perhaps our little Grandmother Smith summed up the philosophy of
the pioneer women when she said, "Goody Gody! Goody Gody! What it
is to love a body!"

But theirs was the faith and the will that harnessed the river to
provide water for their crops and their stock, that moved
mountains to construct roads, but hewed trees to build homes and
barns and sheds.

Life was a struggle. Only, now, for the first time, the people
owned land they could call their own. They were "The Giants of
the Earth" for they were free to work for their own livelihood,
and what they accomplished was theirs.

It is difficult to comprehend "the good life" with no
conveniences--no telephone, no electricity, no indoor plumbing,
no central heating system, no nearby stores to replenish
supplies.

In 1865, the Civil War had just ended; Virginia City became the
territorial capital of Montana; and Governor Edgerton the first
territorial governor, had just proclaimed Jefferson as a county. 
The county seat in 1865 was Jefferson City (in 1869 Radersburg
became the county seat, and in 1883 Boulder was made the county
seat).

In 1865, Boulder was incorporated, but it was a primitive mining
village. In 1868, Elkhorn was established as a mining town.
Boulder and Elkhorn were thus the nearest trading posts for basic
supplies such as sugar, flour, salt, coffee, tea, etc. Needless
to say, the trips made for supplies by team and heavy wagon were
long and arduous and undertaken only from absolute necessity.

In Montana, the 1860's and 1870's were a territorial saga of gold
rushes, stage-coach robberies, hectic politics, no game laws,
open ranges, vast buffalo herds, great cattle drives from Texas,
Indian Wars, the decline of the fur trade, and the beginning of
cattle ranching, per se.

Yet, considering the turbulent and often violet happenings
elsewhere in the territory at this time, life in the Boulder
Valley was a haven of tranquillity and peace. A great bond
existed among the pioneers there. They shared an Irish heritage,
a Catholic faith, the love of the land, and the same
vicissitudes, the same challenges. Their simple mutual pleasures,
when they managed to get together to relax, were dancing, games,
picnics, spelling-bees, and singing the songs they had learned
from their forefathers.

But above and beyond everything else that closely united them,
and woven deeply into the very fabric of their lives, was their
Roman Catholic faith. How they clung to it and practiced it,
despite the fact that seldom did a missionary priest visit them! 
When, upon rare occasions one did come, the celebration of the
Mass or the baptisms or the funeral services took place in one or
another of their homes. Some early missionaries in the valley
were Father Kuppens, Father Palladino, Father Menetrey, Father
Follett, Father Venneman, and Father Lambaere.

But take something like a faith, a dream, a will, and what
marvels can be accomplished! Finally in 1880, the great hope of
building a church of their own began to materialize. The
carpenter, Matthias Weber, a resident of the Valley, contracted
to build the church. The site selected was the center of the
valley, on land donated by Mike Quinn. The people raised the
necessary money by subscription and helped haul in the materials.
In 1881, to the everlasting joy of the faithful, the church was
dedicated.

As the little white church in the Valley stands as monument of
the enduring faith of our forefathers, as their tombstones in the
churchyard cemetery testify to a life-time devotion to the faith,
so should be our dedication to the ideals for which they lived
and died. To us they've left the legacy of their faith, and
paraphrasing Colonel John McCrae, "to us they throw the torch of
their devotion; Be ours to hold it high!"

Our grandparents were Nancy and Phillip Smith. Our father was
Cornelius Smith. He was born in New York and moved with the
family to Madison, Wisconsin, when very young. At the age of ten,
when his family moved to Denver, Colorado, Father helped drive
one of the wagons. How he managed that incredible feat at such a
tender age seems unbelievable. When he was thirteen, the family
followed the Gold Rush to Alder. Again, Father drove an ox-team
on that perilous journey. Of all the hardships endured along the
way, the one that seemed to bother Father most was when a band of
Indians swooped down upon the wagon train. Fortunately they were
more curious than hostile. However, one daring brave spotted a
red shirt of Father's hanging at the rear of the wagon. 
Jubilantly he pounced on it and made off with it--much to
Father's indignation, for that, of course, was his favorite
shirt!

Father was fourteen when once more he managed to drive one of the
wagons in that historic trek from Alder to the family's final
settlement in the Boulder Valley. Since he was the only son, his
help on the newly acquired location was sorely needed. 
Nevertheless, less than two years later Grandmother and
Grandfather Smith determined that their beloved boy must have
further formal education. No matter the sacrifice, they would
send him to a Jesuit school in Chicago (Grandfather's two sisters
lived there, so, at least, he would have relatives close by). 
All winter, Grandmother sewed and prepared the clothing and
necessities that "Con" would need. Grandfather drove him and his
well-packed trunk to Helena where he was to go by stage to Fort
Benton, by river boat to Sioux Falls, Iowa, and thence by train
to Chicago.

While Grandfather and Father waited in Helena for the stage to
arrive, both began to have misgivings about the forthcoming
separation. At the moment of parting, both wept so bitterly that
Grandfather said, "Son, if you feel so bad about leaving home,
we'll forego the grand schooling." So -- back they drove to the
Valley, Grandfather, Father and the well-packed trunk.

Our Father must indeed have been a most devoted son, for he
remained with his parents for another nine or ten years, until
their farm or ranch was well established. Then in 1877, filed for
a homestead of his own, some ten miles further south in the
Valley. In time, he had built there, what was in those days, an
impressive, two-story, eight room frame house. It faced south and
boasted both a wide veranda and an upstairs balcony which ran the
full length of the building. "The house was well carpeted, and
equipped with beautiful woodwork and plush and walnut furniture. 
In the living room, or parlor, as it was then called, was fancy
wood-burning stove, and an ornate ceiling, from which was
suspended and exquisite chandelier with brackets holding
decorative coal-oil lamps. Beautiful lace curtains hung at all
the windows. But the center of attraction for the merry-makers in
later years was the organ. Around it gathered the music-lovers
who sand all the rollicking tunes of the times.

Near the main house was a large one-room log structure where milk
from the dairy heard was cared for. Some distance away was a
great, imposing barn with stalls for the horses and room for the
harnesses and saddles. Adjoining were sheds for the wagons,
buggies and farm implements. On the other side of the barn were
the chicken coops, sheds for the cattle, and the corrals. At the
rear was the pig sty.

Great care was taken in the planting of shade trees, apple trees,
and berry bushes. To the right and to the rear of the house, the
ground was reserved for vegetable gardens. Otherwise, with the
exception of the meadows and grazing land, the rest was planted
in alfalfa and grain. Many cattle grazed in the acreage, and
there was an outstanding band of horses. One of the saddle
horses, "Golden Boy", was Father's special pride.

This, then, in 1888, was "The Spread" to which our mother came as
a bride of not quite nineteen years of age. To the early
settlers, our father's place was just a little short of palatial,
but to Mother, who came from a well-to-do, "city" family, used to
the most modern conveniences, the glamour of home of her own
involved unimagined toil, never-ending work, and often sheer
drudgery. Nevertheless, our proud, spirited, talented little
mother made up her mind to compete with "the rest and the best of
them." She kept that big house sparkling with no other help than
broom, dustpan, and mop. She did the incredibly large washings
assisted only by washboards, tubs, hand-wringers, and boilers for
the white clothes. She did all the ironing with the aide of flat-
irons heated on the kitchen stove. She learned to excel in
cooking stupendous meals. She gave birth to ten children, three
of whom died in infancy and one at the age of fourteen in a
tragic hunting accident. She nursed those children through all
the childhood diseases--nineteen miles away from the nearest
doctor. She taught them their prayers, instructed them in their
catechism, and prepared them for reception of the sacraments. She
was a leader in all the church activities, sang in the choir, and
sewed not only for her family but for the many church bazaars. 
She was ever ready to help a neighbor even though in the
beginning, it took all the courage and stamina she could muster
to assist in ways of which she had no previous knowledge.

Mother told us of the first time she called on, along with
several other women, to help prepare a neighbor for burial (Of
course, in those days there was no such thing as embalming or
mortuary services.) The women were expected to bathe and dress
the departed, but Mother recoiled in horror from touching the
cold body. However, she did force herself to help dress her. 
Nevertheless, Mother was literally shaken to the roots of her
being by the experience. Even so, Mother said she was so ashamed
that she could not suppress her feelings about being unable to
touch that lifeless body that she resolved that never again would
she permit herself to shrink from doing her duty. So--like a true
pioneer woman, thereafter she lent a helping hand to any and all
subsequent needs of her neighbors.

Years later, how comforting it was to have the sorrowing
neighbors assist us in a great family tragedy! One December, our
brothers, Jack (16) and Lloyd (14) set out to check their traps.
In a skirmish with a muskrat, Lloyd's gun misfired, wounding him. 
Jack pillowed Lloyd's head on his coat as best he could and ran
home for help. Father and our oldest brother, Phil, hitched up a
team to a spring wagon and raced to the field to pick up Lloyd.

There were, as yet, no telephones down the Valley. Jack saddled a
horse and began the nineteen mile ride to Boulder for the nearest
doctor. He rode at such break-neck speed that his horse was spent
by the time he reached the Quinn ranch, five miles away. Each
rancher along the way gave Jack his best horse, and Jack
continued his frantic ride for help. Again, he changed horses at
Petie Smith's , and then on to Boulder to Dr. Leighton, who
immediately drove to the ranch. From Boulder, Jack phoned Dr.
Monahan in Butte, Mother's brother-in-law, and described the
accident. Dr. Monahan and Dr. Kistler arrived in Boulder, by
train, the following morning, then drove by horse and buggy to
the ranch. After examining Lloyd, immediate surgery was decided
upon. The dining room table was covered with sheets and used as
the operating table. Despite the efforts of the doctors, Lloyd
died in the operation. So, we lost our beloved brother, Lloyd,
whose death left a void in our family never to be filled.

The only hired help that Mother had was a mid-wife who arrived to
assist in delivering the babies and who remained perhaps two or
three weeks. About once a year, a seamstress, usually Mrs.
Forbes, would come from Boulder to sew clothing needed for the
school children as well as for "dress-up" occasions.

On the other hand, there was usually help in running the ranch. 
For a number of years, one of Father's nephews, Dickey Smith,
made his home with Mother and Father and was expected to be
Father's right-hand man.

Especially during spring planting, haying time and grain
harvesting a steady stream of workers arrived. Year after year,
we remember that Mr. Weber made major repairs to the buildings
and always came in the fall to make huge barrels of sauerkraut. 
Billy Smith was the handyman who made the rounds of the ranches
doing blacksmith work, sharpening tools, and sometimes
constructing fancy stands and tabourets of wrought iron or woven
willows.

Besides being a skillful artisan, Billy Smith was the "gossip
columnist" of his day. Since he spent his life working at and
journeying to and from one ranch or another, he carefully
observed many interesting tid-bits of life among his employers. 
These he passed on in his next place of employment. There being
nothing really malicious in the tales he carried, he had avid
audiences wherever he went. When the day's work was done and
"supper" over, Billy would begin his reminiscences with "Holy
Fady (Father), Mrs. Con"-- and he was launched on the news and
antics of the neighbors he reported. (Mother often wished that
she could tune in on the tales he retold of the Con Smith
family.)

Other names of perennial hired men we recall were M. McQuade, Tom
Moran, Frank Tindall, Barney Duffy, and Barney Cooney. The latter
was one of our favorites. When he became to ill to work, Father
outfitted one of the log cabins on the ranch and that was "Mr.
Cooney's cabin" where he lived for years until he had to be
hospitalized. He was a dear old man and we all loved the tales he
told of his early days in Canada, most of which were prefaced
with, "Be the Hokeys now..."

Of course, there was a tremendous amount of energy demanded in
operating a ranch. (Besides our home ranch, Father had a half-
section of bench-land, five miles away.) To wrest from the soil
the living for a large family, as well as to support a
considerable heard of cattle and a great number of horses,
required careful planning and work from dawn till dark. Every
spring, there was ploughing, harrowing, raking and seeding to be
done. As soon as the crops were up, one man was kept busy
irrigating; fences needed constant repair, calves and colts had
to be branded, then cattle and horses driven to the open range. 
The herds had to be checked from time to time to make sure they
had plentiful grass, water, and salt. The dairy herd required
year-round constant care. During the late summer, many trips had
to be made to the mountains to cut sufficient fire-wood to supply
a year's need. After the logs were hauled home, they had to be
sawed into lengths easy to handle, then chopped into stove wood
lengths and piled into ricks. In July and August, the alfalfa and
wild hay had to be cut and stacked. In September, potatoes and
vegetables were dug and picked or stored in bins or in the "root
cellar". October meant the Fall roundup of the stock and the
harvesting of the grain.

Threshing time meant a great co-ordinated work of ranchers and
ranchers' wives. But to the children the whole process was as
exciting as a Wild West show. Down the road would come chugging
Henry Delaney's threshing machine billowing smoke signals from
its wood-burning engine.

As many as twenty neighbors would arrive usually in heavy wagons. 
As soon as the thresher was set in place, the action-packed
scenario began. A relay of men and wagons sped to the fields to
pick up the bundles of grain, while others made ready to haul the
finished product to the granary. The bundles were pitched into
the hopper of the thresher; then the complicated mechanism
separated the grain from the straw. Through a great pipe or
funnel the straw was blown out to pile up in what would become
the straw stack. On the opposite side of the machine, the grain
was forced to pour out through a spout. Men held gunny sacks to
the spout, filled them, and tied them with twine. Other men
grabbed the sacks and tossed them into the waiting wagons. 
Drivers of these wagons rushed to dump their loads into the
granary, then as fast as possible, hurried back to retrieve
another load.

All this activity would throw the dogs into a frenzy of barking
and racing to keep up with the wagons. Occasionally horses would
be frightened and rear and plunge in protest. Then the drivers
would really have all they could handle to subdue their terrified
animals and try to drive off the interfering dogs. Meanwhile,
from a safe distance, the children watched in fascinated horror
or delight.

This relay of integrated motion went on until all took a break
for the noon day meal. The men, reeking with perspiration and
with faces often smothered in "chaff", lined up at the outside
basin facilities or at the back door trough to wash up as best
they could.

All this time, Mother, and whoever came to help her, scurried
like the wind to set up the tables in the house and to cook up
huge servings of meat, potatoes, vegetables and always hearty
desserts. In no time at all, the hungry crew would simply devour
the enormous supplies of food, and then hurry back to the
threshing operations. Then the women would begin all over again
the preparations for yet another meal.

Hopefully, with good weather, continued speedy co-operation and
barring a breakdown of machinery, the threshers would finish
before nightfall.

In November and December came the hunting season when wild game
was procured to add to the winter's provisions. This was also the
time for "butchering"--the slaughter of what beef and pork would
be needed through the months ahead. Now, too, the semi-annual
trip to Boulder must be made to lay in basic supplies for the
winter. When the river was solidly frozen, many days were spent
cutting huge blocks of ice, hauling them to the ice house, and
packing them securely in sawdust. (This was our non-electric, but
quite satisfactory, system of refrigeration.)

The months of January and February meant the great daily chore of
hauling hay to the cattle and  horses. These winter months were
also spent repairing farm machinery and mending harnesses and
leather equipment. Finally, came the Spring and the whole cycle
of farm and ranch work began over again.

Father and Mother were very hospitable people. Our house was
often a gathering spot for the men who planned the yearly
roundup, for those who discussed the politics of the day or who
made plans for combined ranch-owner activities. In later years,
there were the baseball games played in one of our fields or the
rodeos where our older brothers and daring neighbors competed. 
the doors of our home were ever open to welcome relatives,
friends, neighbors and often strangers passing through the
Valley.

Because we were so far away from town or even near neighbors, we
children were especially glad to greet any and all visitors
whether they were cherished relatives or neighbors or "beggars"
or peddlers. Oh, the indescribable joy of watching a peddler open
his pack! We were simply fascinated with the wealth and variety
of his wares whether gaudy or practical. Some carried folding
cases of sewing materials; bolts of cloth, laces, trimmings,
buttons, needles, pins, thread, etc. There were cases of jewelry,
assorted knives, and various small tools. There were perfumes and
creams, shaving equipment, and gift items. (In later years, even
a first visit to Tiffany's in New York or to Neiman-Marcus in
Dallas, Texas, couldn't hold a candle to the thrilling excitement
of the peddler's pack.)

Then there were the hide peddlers that the men especially
welcomed for it gave them a chance to dispose of the hides and
furs they had accumulated. The women were particularly pleased
when the "The Watkins Man" arrived so they could replenish their
supplies of extracts, spices, liniments and patent medicines--the
latter guaranteed, I think, to cure everything from "summer
complaint" to ingrown toenails.

Among our greatly welcomed guests were the priests who often
stayed overnight with us when they celebrated mass in the Valley
church or who sometimes spent a week at a time in our home. 
Early day priests who visited the ranch were Father Follet,
Father Lambaere, Father Batens, Father O'Farrel, Father Lechner
and Father (later Monsignor) Day. Dearest of all to our family
was Father Thompson, the first resident pastor in Boulder (1900-
1905). On the fourth Sunday of the month, he said mass at St.
John's. We always looked forward to his visits. He was a great
spiritual leader, a dynamic personality, and blessed with fun-
loving, jolly disposition. As long as he lived, he was a frequent
and revered guest in our home.

Father Thompson, by his cheery presence, added to the joy of many
of our Christmas seasons. And, oh, the Christmases of our early
days! Nothing, but nothing, could ever compare with the
expectation, the preparation, and the celebration of the
Christmas season. Months in advance, Mother ordered from the
"catalogues" gifts for each individual. She made the most
delicious fruit cakes and mincemeat and stowed them away in great
stone crocks. She and Father made head cheese and sausage, salted
strips of pork, and put into a thick, salty brine the meat that
would become corned beef. Eggs that would be scarce during the
winter season were packed in crocks of salt. Father and his sons,
Phil, Jack, and Lloyd, scoured the hills to get the just-right
Christmas tree. Each rural mail delivery brought boxes shipped
from various members of Mother's families or from the mail-order
catalogues.

Often relatives and friends came for the two week holiday season. 
We remember as many as fifteen or twenty gathering at the ranch
to spend that time. Then the house really rang with laughter,
singing, dancing, and feasting from morning until night.
Sometimes, different neighbors entertained the whole merry crowd. 
Other times the fun centered at our home.

At any rate, on Christmas eve, the stockings of all the children
were carefully hung and the youngsters scampered to bed awaiting
with joyful anticipation the coming of Santa Claus. Immediately,
the adults went to work. The tree was set up in the parlor,
festooned with popcorn and cranberry strings, and ropes of
tinsel, highlighted with vari-colored candles and dotted here and
there with shimmering decorations. Beneath the branches rested
piles of gifts; and the stockings were filled.

Meanwhile, the children were supposedly sleeping "nestled all
snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their
heads."  Actually, unbeknown to our parents, only outer garments
were discarded and covers were pulled up to our chins in case any
doubting adults investigated, and scarcely an eye closed awaiting
that simply miraculous sound of sleigh bells heralding the take-
off of Santa Claus or else the voice we longed through the night
to hear of Father calling up the stairway, "Christmas for
everybody, boys and girls!"

What childhood thrill could ever compare with the sheer
unadultered joy of finding a beautiful, hand dressed doll with
outstretched arms or the toy of ones dreams in the top of the
stockings or beside them waiting to be claimed!

Naturally, every day was not Christmas. There was the ever
demanding problem of education for the off-spring. How early the
schools were established in the Valley we are not sure. We do
know that our oldest brother, Phil, who was born in 1889, entered
the first grade in Weber School, which was a log cabin building
in the central part of the Boulder Valley. Probably at that "same
point in time", there was a rural school called "Finn"
established in the northern part of the Valley and one in the
southern section of the Valley called "Cold Springs".

Each of these was a one-room building. The teacher was expected
to teach all the grades, Most of them did a creditable job. For
the most part, we respected and usually had great affection for
our teachers, who boarded and roomed either at our home or at
that of the Murphys. In fact, one of our teachers, Mary Donaghy,
who was an orphan from Odgen, Utah, and who lived with us, either
adopted us or we adopted her. At any rate, she became a beloved
part of our family until she married a well-to-do rancher from
Logan and established her own home there. 

Rarely did we have a teacher who failed to relate to us. However,
one such stayed with the Murphys. She was so strict and so
uncompromising that one day we rebelled. When she went home to
lunch, we gleefully gathered sage brush, crammed it into the
heating stove in the school room, and set fire to the "smudge" (a
method devised to repel mosquitoes). Then we all took off and
hid. What we hoped to accomplish I really don't know. What we
failed to realize was that our plan could back fire, but it did. 
When the teacher returned, she took off the lids of the stove,
opened the windows and let out enough of the stifling smoke until
she could stand it. Then she rang the school bell so loud and so
persistently that we feared our parents would hear it even though
miles away. So--we all trudged meekly back into the schoolhouse
and choked and coughed, and with smarting eyes, suffered through
the remainder of the day.

Weber School was two and a half miles distant from our home. To
get there, we were driven either by one of our older brothers or
by Father. Seldom did we have to walk. Because of the severe
weather, we never had school during the worst part of the winter. 
Hence our school terms consisted of three months in the Spring
and three months in the Fall. Even so, before the Fall term
finished in December, many a morning we arrived at school
shivering with the cold. When we'de get the fire going in the
wood-burning stove, we would move benches on either side of it,
sit there bundled up, and proceed with our lessons with
chattering teeth until we would gradually thaw out.

For a man of so little formal education, our Father was a
stickler for propriety and for the use of only "the King's
English." Never were we permitted to call "Senior Citizens" by
their first names. Always we had to reply, "Yes, Ma'm", "No,
Ma'm", "Yes, Sir", "No, Sir", to queries from our elders. 
Profane or even slang phrases were strictly forbidden in our
household. Yet no objections were ever attached to such typically
Western Wordage as "locoed", "mustangs", "mavericks",
"buffaloed", "critters", "riding shot gun", "riding night herd",
"bronco buster", "ranch hand", "wrangler", "rustler", "tender-
foot", "cayuse", "rule the roost", "take things out of a face",
etc.


Father ran the ranch while Mother managed the household. 
Together they provided their children not only with nourishment
but with a faith in God in mankind, a love of the challenge of
life, and a hope that "tomorrow will be better" either here or
hereafter.

And so the years rolled--busy, fruitful, sometimes joyous,
sometimes sad, but always teeming with the wonder and the
complexities of life in the early days in a rural community.

In 1911, friends of Father's persuaded him to run for a political
office. He was elected County Treasurer, and the family moved to
the county seat, in Boulder.

Our Father, Con Smith, died in Boulder, June 1925. Our Mother,
Sarah E. Smith, died in Rochester, Minnesota, June, 1940.

Phil, our oldest brother, married a Boulder school teacher, Elsie
Helford, and continued to run the ranch until it was sold (to our
good friend and neighbor, Frank Carey). Phil then worked for The
Fish and Game Commission, later moved to California, and
eventually returned to Butte, where he worked for Montana Power
Company until he retired. He died in Butte in 1966.

Jack worked for years in Boulder for Beck Barteau as a blacksmith
and as a machinist. He married Louise Sinclair a Jefferson County
High School teacher. They later moved to Helena were Jack worked
as a car salesman. Eventually he became a partner in the Dodge-
Plymouth Motor Company. He and Louise had one child, Lloyd, who
died in infancy. Jack retired in 1956. He died in Helena in 1974.
His wife, Louise survives. She lives in Helena.

After Marie finished from the State Normal College in Dillon, she
taught school until she married Lieutenant Jack Murphy. They
lived in Alaska, Germany, and at several military posts in the
United States. They had one son, Shaun, who was killed in the
service in 1964. While they lived in Germany, they adopted a son,
Fred, who married Bonnie Poelman, and lives with his family in
Salt Lake City. After Jack was killed in the service in 1958,
Marie returned to Butte, where she now lives.

When Roseanne graduated from the State Normal College in Dillon,
she taught school for a number of years in Montana. She married
Jimmy Harris who was the principal of the Junior High School in
Butte, and later assistant principal of Butte High School until
he retired. They had one daughter, Sally, who married Gib Nichols
and lives with her family in Wolf Point. Roseanne and Jimmy make
their family home in Butte.

Paul is the only member of the family who followed in his
father's footsteps as a rancher and a politician. Paul worked in
various offices in Jefferson County Courthouse in Boulder, and
was elected County Treasurer. Later, he was elected to the State
Railroad and Public Service Commission, where he served over
twenty-five years. He married Vivian Flaherty of Portland,
Oregon. They have two children, Tresa (of Washington, D. C.) and
Paul B. (Brud) who is an attorney in Missoula. Paul and Vivian
live on the Lazy T. Ranch in the Boulder Valley.

After Alice graduated from Montana State College in Bozeman, she
taught Home Economics in Jefferson County High School in Boulder,
where she met and married Norman Drew, a fellow teacher. For a
couple of years they operated "The Fountain" in Boulder, then
moved to Alaska, where they lived briefly. They returned to
Butte, where they still live. Norman worked in the Anaconda
Company offices until he retired. They have one daughter, Diane,
who is a Home Economics teacher at East Junior High School in
Butte.

SUBMITTED BY MRS. MARIE MURPHY AND MR. AND MRS. PAUL T. SMITH