Silver Tailings: The Last Indian Massacre

While Nevada is known for several firsts — legalized gambling and prostitution—being two, it should also be known for its historical lasts. This includes the last Indian massacre in the U.S.

It happened near Golconda, east of Winnemucca, February 16th, 1911.  A posse chased down a band of Indians led by Mike Daggett, for the deaths Harry Cambron, Bertrand Indiano, Peter Erramouspe and John Laxague , the month before.

It fell to Indian tracker “Skinny” Pascal to go into the camp try to talk the band into surrendering. Instead, the Indians painted their faces and began to do a war dance.

Daggett would be the first to fall, but the last to die. Pascal shot him twice after Daggett opened fire on the tracker but missed.

Shot up to nine times, Daggett survived for more than four hours; another three Indians died outright.  Women and children, armed with bows and arrows, fought next to the men.

When it was over, one posse member and eight Indians lay dead, among them two boys and two women. All were buried at the site of the battle.

A coroner’s inquest held March 5th, 1911, noted the Indians had taken mostly clothing from the four dead men.  It also concluded the children were wearing those clothes as protection from the cold.

Captured were a teenage girl about 17, a 7-year-old boy, a girl about 4 or 5 and a baby who was found strapped to her dead mother’s back.  They were taken to the Indian school at Stewart south of Carson City, known then as the Carson City Indian School.

A short time later, Evan Estep, superintendent of the Indian agency at Fort Hall in Idaho, took the children with him. Within a year, all the children, save the baby would be dead from tuberculosis.

Taken in by the Estep family, the baby was given the name Mary Jo. She would become a teacher, dying in 1993 when given the wrong medicine while in a Washington state nursing home.

Refitting the Media Template

This is how the same-stream media shifts a story around to fit its template:

From the Associated Press

“SPOKANE, Wash. — Police have arrested one of two teens suspected of fatally beating an 88-year-old veteran of World War II who had survived the battle for Okinawa.

Authorities say the two young men, between 16 and 19 years old, approached Delbert Belton in his car at random Wednesday night outside an Eagles Lodge as he was waiting for a friend.

Spokane Police say they have surveillance images of the attackers. Police have released few details about the person they arrested, other than that he is a juvenile male being held on charges of robbery and first degree murder.”

So what’s missing? The fact that Belton was white and the two teens — Black.

It would have been nice if the same same-stream media had been this unbiased when it came to the death of Trayvon Martin. You can’t trust jus’ one source of news for all your information, you need to do your own investigating.

Silver Tailings: The End of Virgil Earp

At one time Goldfield was the largest city in Nevada and boasted some notable people and events, including Wyatt and Virgil Earp, famous for the gunfight at the OK Corral in Arizona.  Virgil Earp moved to Goldfield in 1904, along with his wife, Allie.

Shortly after his arrival, Earp became a deputy with the Esmeralda County Sheriff’s Office, but his term was brief.  The following year, he came down with pneumonia and on October 19th, 1905, he died in the Miners’ Union Hospital of Goldfield.

But he is not buried in Goldfield, as some stories report. Instead, he’s buried in Portland, Oregon, the home of his daughter, Nellie.

Chris Chism, 1952-2013

Christopher Chism, born November 5th, 1952, passed away August 16th, 2013. He was 60.

Chris graduated from Fortuna High School in 1971, and upon graduation he relocated to the Bay Area. Chris worked at several restaurants: Star’s, A. Sabellas and Lark Creek all in San Francisco.

Chris is survived by his sister Betty Phelps and brothers Dennis Chism and David Chism; sisters-in-law Rita Chism and Sharon Chism and was preceded in death by his parents Donald and Evelyn Chism; brother William Chism; nephew Barry Phelps; and sister-in-law Eileen Chism.

The Fall of the Roman Empire, Rise of the Ottoman Empire, and Today’s Progressive Parallel

The Roman Empire in the 6th century was actually Christian, and divided between the Western and Eastern Roman Empire, and they were falling apart from within.  They had an overextended military, debased their currency to pay off their debts,  a bureaucracy living off the entirety of the Roman people and no of control over their borders.

Sounds vaguely familiar.

Because of this, a number of cities that were originally Christian, like Istanbul or Alexandria, were picked off one by one by the first caliphate.  And if you were a non-Muslim, you fell under a separate legal category called, ‘dhimmi.’

‘Dhimmi’ is an agreement, meaning ‘protection,’ and the those who are ‘dhimmis,’ while protected, are a second class citizen. This “custom,” stretches back to the beginning of the Islamic conquest all the way through the Ottoman Empire.

‘Dhimmis,’ sound much like anyone not willing to side with Progressives, i.e. “Tea Party,” “Conservative,” “Libertarian,” “Christian.” However, it got worse for those living in the region during the time period between the 6th century and the late 1930’s.

Eventually, those placed under ‘protection,’ were either forced to accept Islam or live in this legal area where they could be killed or enslaved. And unlike under Roman law, religious minorities were also disarmed to ensure they could not defend themselves, plus they had to pay a “jizya,” a tax for not being Muslim.

Kind of sounds like “Obamacare,” where you have to either purchase a regulated insurance package or pay a ‘fee.’ But it doesn’t end there’s when you consider the concept of “fay,’ meaning all property actually belongs to the umma, the Islamic community, and anyone outside that community can therefore have their property appropriated to wage war.

Don’t believe it?

Recently the City of Richmond, California put forth a plan to seize underwater mortgages through eminent domain to ‘combat blight.’ City leaders claim the purpose is to keep families in their homes and prevent destabilizing impact of foreclosures.

It’s jus’ crazy talk — isn’ it?

Jeremiah’s Steakhouse is No More

The old and fenced-in building next to Carrows Restaurant near Plumb Lane and Kietzke is no more after crews started demolishing it. Olcese Construction began tearing down the building that formerly housed Jeremiah’s Steakhouse, Tuesday.

Jeremiah’s was one of the first place my wife and I visited for dinner after we moved to Reno. We liked the place so much that we even took her parents and my parents there at various times.

One of the unique things about the restaurant was it ‘cowboy boot collection.’ They had some of the best looking, most artfully designed boots on the shelves wrapping the dining room.

Clearing out the remains of the building should take about five days. There are no plans to replace the restaurant at this time.

Even though it closed nearly a decade ago, I hate to see a piece of my memory torn down.

Return To Six-Mile Canyon

The three of us parked our vehicles, they in the Jeep, me in my Ranger, and we walked across the narrow roadway. It was there that I had one of the most frightening paranormal experiences of my life.

Jus’ two-weeks before, while alone, I was in Six-Mile Canyon, below Virginia City hoping to capture some shots of the sun as it set over Mount Davidson, when I found myself ‘attacked.’ What I at first thought to be an animal, turned out to be a black mass, much like a statically charged, wet blanket drop over me.

By the time I had gathered my wits about me, I was back across the road and struggling to get in my truck. It occurred to me by then that what I thought had happened was something other-worldly.

It left me shaken for a couple of days and I did my best to relate to others what had happened, vowing never to return to the spot. However my friend, Tonya and her husband, Rich wanted to come see if they could experience what I had.

“It’s a little farther back,” I said as I lead the way across the dry creek bed.

Soon we were standing near the spot where I had my experience. I felt a small knot in my gut as Rich continued up the embankment and onto the flat above me and Tonya.

He turned and smiled, “Yeah, there’s a lot going on, here.”

Rich is a ‘sensitive’ and is able to see beyond the dimensions we normally see. Tonya and I climbed up the embankment and joined him.

“There’s a woman standing over there,” he pointed.

Neither Tonya nor I could see anything more than a bush in the place he was indicating. That was nothing new for Tonya as she was still waiting for her first real paranormal experience.

Then Rich added, “She has a husband here and her kids.”

As he said this, Rich pointed to where the three children were. He turned slightly to his right and said, “Samuel is over by that low tree branch.”

Without a word, I raised my camera to take a picture of him. I was hoping to capture a shadow, an orb or perhaps a mist-like image.

“He’s got his shot-gun pointed at you,” Rich informed me.

That’s when I decided I best interact with these spirits before I caused something like what had happened to me before to occur again. I raised my hands over my head as if surrendering.

“This is a camera,” I stated, “and it won’t hurt you. I’d like to take your picture.”

Though I couldn’t see this Samuel, I felt as if I had best be respectful. Rich looked at me and said, “He says ‘Go ahead.’”

I quickly lifted the device to my face and pushed the button, releasing the shutter.

“The three kids like to play along the roadway,” Rich continued, “They’re fascinated with the headlights on the cars and trucks.”

Tonya then asked me, “Are there a lot of accidents along Six-Mile?”

“Not a lot,” I answered, “However they do happen – in fact there was an accident along this road the middle of last week.”

“That’s them,” Rich responded, “People see them and try to avoid hitting the kids playing in the street.”

“I still can’t see or hear or feel anything,” Tonya complained.

“Maybe you’re trying to hard,” I chimed in.

Rich stopped our chatter by raising a hand. He moved his head slightly to the left as if listening.

“Hmm…there’s another Samuel here,” he finally announced, “and he recognizes you, Tom. In fact he’s the one who tossed the net over you the last time you were here.”

“A net,” I shot back in surprise, “That’s what it was!”

Then without warning, I felt weak in the knees, as if I had suddenly been drained of energy. I tried to shake the feeling of, but it wouldn’t go away.

It was at that moment that I saw the fuzzy outline of a man in a red shirt standing next to me on my left side I wanted to turn and look directly, but I knew that if I tried, he would be lost to my peripheral vision for ever.

“There’s someone standing next to me,” I calmly stated.

“Yeah, that’s Samuel,” Rich responded. “He’s the stronger of the two and stronger than all of them.”

“Well, now that I know he’s there, I’m feeling weak,” I complained.

No sooner had I said this, than the figure in the corner of my eye disappeared. However the internal vibrating remained.

“Darn it!” Tonya exclaimed, “You guys are having all the fun!”

She turned around and looked up the hillside. It was obvious having never seen or felt a ghost frustrated Tonya.

That was to suddenly change.

As she turned back, her eyes grew large and she whispered loudly, “I feel someone or something touching my right shoulder-blade.”

She smiled.

After a few more seconds, she added, “It’s a hot sensation, but it doesn’t burn.”

“That’s Samuel,” Rich told her. “He wants you to know he’s here and that he’s real.”

We stood there another two or three minutes, taking in the sounds of the wildlife, watching the sun flit through the canopy of cotton woods above our heads. It was Rich who finally voiced what were thinking.

“It’s time to go,” he said. “I’m starting to feel a bit drained.”

Without saying anything the three of us head back down towards the creek bed and out to the road. I was in the lead and suddenly noticed a large segment of grass tramped down as if something or someone had been there.

I stopped in my tracks.

“What is it, Tom?” Tonya asked.

“There are four or five spirits in front of me, crouched,” I answered.

Unbeknownst to me Rich had already seen what I was feeling, and had held up four fingers to his wife. As I answered Tonya, four white butterflies sprang from the matted-down grassy spot.

“Asians,” I stated flatly.

And as I spoke the words, I heard a voice speaking inaudible words in broken-English. It sounded forced and rehearsed.

While I couldn’t hear the words per say, I sensed them.  I couldn’t help but turn and look at Rich with a smile.

He knew exactly what I was feeling.

Without hesitation I stated to whatever presence was confronting me, “You’re an educated man.”

Somehow I knew that spirit I was sensing was not simply a ‘Chinaman’ working in the mines or some other menial labor-intensive position. Well-educated, he could speak English and held a place of some importance within his community.

I looked at Rich and told him what I was sensing.

He already knew as he answered my next question before I could ask it, “He pretends to by ignorant, so the White man doesn’t know that he understands what they’re saying or doing.”

My head felt light, and I became dizzy. I quickly turned and rushed up to the roadway before I found myself collapsing where I stood.

I had never felt that open before – not once had I ever communicated with something I could not explain and agitated, I could hardly control my excitement.

It was obvious that Tonya was feeling the same agitated excitement as me. Her husband, Rich was kind enough to allow us time to revel in what we had jus’ experience.

About an hour later, we got in our vehicles and headed back up the canyon towards Virginia City. As we climbed our way out of the valley, I heard the echo of children’s laughter reverberating across the high, rocky walls.

“Did you hear the kids?” I asked Rich as he and Tonya pulled up beside me.

“Yes I did,” he answered, “There playing on the hillside over there.”

He pointed directly to the area from where I’d heard the laughter. Tonya slapped the steering wheel of her jeep, “Dang! What children?”

I heard Rich laughing as I pulled away.

The Truth is Out There — and the CIA Admits It

In Nevada, Area 51 is also known as Groom Lake and now the CIA is acknowledging its existence. The top-secret Cold War test site has been the subject of conspiracy theories for decades.

Recently declassified documents not only mention secret installation, they describe some of the activities that took place there as well as place the site on a map. Now, if only the National Security Agency would fess-up to what they’re storing at their new facility in Utah.

Perhaps in another 50-years…

The Flooding of 1861 and 62

The first recorded flood by settlers in Del Norte happened between December 1861 and January 1862. Heavy rains hammered the area with floods following.

At high tide, the breakers forced themselves over “drift-wood, bulk heads, and break water, into the streets of Crescent City.” Huge logs washed up onto the sidewalks, crashing into Front street buildings, breaking windows and doors, and wreaking havoc.

But the losses in Crescent City were slight when compared with the loss suffered at Klamath. Fort Ter-Waw and the Wau-Kell Agency became inundated by flood waters, and most of the buildings swept away or wrecked.

One large officers’ tent from Fort Ter-Waw eventually washed up on the beach near Crescent City. The damage was so great that the post and agency were eventually abandoned.

A professor of Agriculture in the Sheffield Scientific School, William H. Brewer visited the area in 1863. He found the waters had brought down a large measure of wood, much of which ended up on the beaches between Crescent City and the mouth of the Klamath.

He reported there was enough timber along the shore, south of Crescent City, “to make a million cords of wood. It is thrown up in great piles, often a mile long, and the size of some of these logs is tremendous.”

Debris, 200 yards wide and three to eight feet deep, covered the beach for eight miles. Although worn by water and their bark gone, it was not uncommon to find logs 150 feet long and four feet in diameter at the small end.

Harry’s Art Work

The last few days one of our local TV news affiliates has been running stories about road kill that crews, rather than move, have either paved over or painted road-stripes on. This same affiliate spoke to the people in charge of such work crews, and they claimed it was simply an over-sight.

I thought it was jus’ more of Nevada’s Senator Harry Reid’s roadside artwork, he generously paid for using our taxpayer money.

How Reverse Racism Works in the Media

leon coffee

It’s completely American to poke fun at politicians of all stripes. Take for instances, rodeo clown Leon Coffee wearing a Hillary Clinton mask during the 59th Annual Stock Show and Rodeo in 2008 at the AT&T Center in San Antonio, Texas.

Now, jump to present day and the fact we have a Black president.

Note, I didn’t say African-American — because to truly qualify for that title, one must have been born in Africa, like say Rabbi Daniel Lapin. Unfortunately, Rabbi Lapin doesn’t fulfill the same-stream media’s bias of what an African-American is — after-all he’s a white guy.

Over the weekend a rodeo clown caused the same-stream media to go nuts once again by wearing a mask resembling President Obama, then asking the audience if they’d like to see him “run down by a bull.” The clown not only has been permanent ban from performing at the Missouri State fair, they voted unanimously to forbid use of ‘Obama masks’ at the venue again in the future.

This is the same same-stream media that tried to paint George Zimmermann as a racist, even after he was found not guilty of murdering Trayvon Martin. It’s also the same same-same stream media that gutted Paula Deen’s career and reputation, only to see all the so-called charges tossed out by a judge.

Oh and lest I forget — take off the Hillary mask and face paint and you’ll learn Leon Coffee is Black.

Strange Mail

We get some pretty odd mail at the radio station. This is jus’ one of the many examples.

strange mail

Inquisitive to see where this might lead, the first thing I did was look up Psalm 37:20, which reads, “But the wicked will perish: Though the Lord’s enemies are like the flowers of the field, they will be consumed, they will go up in smoke.”

So far, so good.

Next I looked for an overlay of “God’s Temple upon America.” Try as I may, I could not find one.

In the end this piece of strange mail remains jus’ that — strange.

A Light Artifact

light artifact 2

Though I have been in the area of Fourth and Valley several times this year taking pictures, I had never seen the large statuary tucked back against the building I was now photographing. It reminded me of some sort of Egyptian god, but I have no idea which one.

So since I was there, I figured I’d snap a shot or two of the thing and head for home. I had to get close to the relief as it was pushed back under the awning of the building.

Though I was in the shade of the building, there was enough light outside at three in the afternoon that I didn’t require my flash. I took a close up of the face, followed by a picture of the entire statue.

Surprisingly, I found ‘light artifacts,’ around the relief in both frames taken. While I’ve no idea where they came from, but do have some idea what it means.

Anita Zick, 1959-2013

anita zick

The week continues to get rougher for my wife, Mary. First one childhood friend dies and then another passes, jus’ as sudden.

Anita Zick was 54-years-old and recently diagnosed with a non-operable brain tumor. She lost her battle with the malignant cancer, passing quietly in her sleep.

Mary and Anita graduated from Ramona High together in 1977. My heart aches for my wife’s pain and if I could take it from her, I’d do it in a split-second.

All I can do is remain quiet, offer an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on.

Now That Deen’s Been Done In

Paula-Deen-2013profile

Now that her public image and livelihood is destroyed, the “Associated Press” reports:

“A federal judge Monday threw out race discrimination claims by a former Savannah restaurant manager whose lawsuit against Paula Deen has already cost the celebrity cook a valuable chunk of her culinary empire.

Lisa Jackson sued Deen and her brother, Bubba Hiers, last year saying she suffered from sexual harassment and racially offensive talk and employment practices that were unfair to black workers during her five years as a manager of Uncle Bubba’s Seafood and Oyster House. Deen is co-owner of the restaurant, which is primarily run by her brother.

But claims of race discrimination by Jackson, who is white, were gutted in the 20-page opinion by U.S. District Court Judge William T. Moore Jr. The judge agreed with lawyers for Deen and Hiers that Jackson has no standing to sue her former employers for what she claims was poor treatment of black workers, regardless of her claims that she was offended and placed under additional stress.”

Too little, too late.

Paul Ransom, 1963-2013

paul ransom

It’s been a difficult and sad couple of days for my wife, Mary as one of her childhood friends has died. Paul Ransom was only 50-years old and battling lung cancer when he passed away.

In fact Paul’s mother, Esther and his sister Janet tossed our wedding rehearsal dinner in January 1987. However, I first met Paul when Mary’s sister, Sarah and her husband Ron tied the knot two years before, at which point I referred to him as “Smilin’ Paul,” because he always seemed to be smiling or laughing.

I found an online posting from the Ramona Vineyard Church:

“Paul Ransom will live on in all the hearts he touched everywhere he went. Paul was a man that never met a stranger; as he touched and still will touch many lives by the kind words he has always so graciously spoken to many.

Paul Ransom was an amazing man of God that that lived a selfless life; serving his wife, his friends and his community in a Christ like manner.

If you didn’t know Paul Ransom (a man that most all in Ramona do) you wouldn’t have known the disease he was battling with this last year that finally took him home to Jesus where his pain finally stopped. Paul was more concerned about what storms of life others were in, RATHER THAN HIS OWN!

He will be missed be all that knew him. There will be a huge hole in Ramona that Paul once occupied as he ministered Christ to many.

However knowing Paul and his sense of humor; I think he would say: ‘Let Christ now fill that hole until we meet again in Glory!’”

There’s not much else than can be said – so I won’t even try.

Broken Promise to Myself

It surprises me, how much I cleave to the past. I’m not talking about history, but rather my past.

My brother’s 50th birthday, came and went and I promised myself, I wouldn’t allow it to grip me, leaving me sad and heartbroken. He died in 2010 and it still feels like the moment my Aunt Barbara called to tell me of his passing.

Furthermore, I promised myself, I wouldn’t write about it, knowing I’ve spent a lot of time going over Adam’s death, both on paper and in my head. I cannot hold out anymore, especially when I saw my sister, Deirdre’s Facebook post:

“Adam’s Birthday today, August 4, 1963. I sure do miss him. Of every person lost in my life, I have wanted to talk to him the most. Hey Adam, I plan to see in about 54 years. Time passes quickly and it will be like a wink of an eye.”

Yup, it’s exactly how I feel. But I’ll get there sooner than she will.

Horace Gasquet’s Toll Road

The Gasquet Toll Road is a corduroy road, with a bed composed of timbers laid across its width and a surface of dirt and gravel. The result is an improvement over impassable mud or dirt roads, yet rough in the best of conditions and a hazard to horses due to shifting loose logs.

A newspaper of the time described it as a “wagon road leading from the forks of the Smith River up the middle fork of said river on the left hand bank thereof about four miles, thence across the same; thence to the mouth of Patrick’s Creek; thence up Patrick’s Creek to Shelly Creek; thence to a point on the state line between California and Oregon, about three miles east of the ‘Robin’s Nest,’ being about twenty miles in length and intended to be a toll road.”

Corduroy roads built of huge logs were the mainstay of local logging practices and called skid roads. These were the origin of the more widespread meaning of ‘skid road’ and its derivative ‘skid row,’ referring to a poor area.

The Gasquet Toll Road was planned by a French immigrant, Horace Gasquet, and was built by Chinese American workers. The road was begun in 1881 and completed in 1886.

On May 15, 1881, petitions were circulated among the citizens of Del Norte County to document their endorsement of the plan and ask for approval by the board of supervisors to build a new road. The May 15, 1881 issue of the Del Norte Record quotes Gasquet: “Understanding this great work, I consider myself the servant of the people interested and a full accounting shall be made of all expenditures and progress.”

Although the road may have been repaired or resurfaced with dirt and gravel in later years, it has largely retained its original composition and construction. It can still be used, but it is narrow and winds through the mountains.

Klamath County

Klamath County might still exist today, had it not been for its  geography. When Del Norte County was founded in 1857, Klamath was still a county, with Siskiyou to east, Del Norte on the north and Humboldt and Trinity Counties to the south.

The history of the northern counties of California goes back seven-years prior, when the state legislature created 27 counties. At that time the extreme most northern counties were portioned off into two counties, Trinity and Shasta.

A year later, Klamath County was carved from the northern part of Trinity and in 1852, Shasta County was divided, forming Siskiyou County. Then in 1853, Humboldt County was drawn out of parts of Trinity County.

At this time Klamath County entailed present day Del Norte County, parts of Humboldt and a chunk of Siskiyou. This, and the fact that transportation was poor, led to disagreements over where the county seat should be located.

At one point the seat was held in Trinity, later at Crescent City and finally at Orleans Bar on the Klamath. The Bar was a natural location because it was both centrally located and could be accessed by the river.

However during the early part of 1856, petitions started circulating asking for the division of Klamath County, because it was difficult and dangerous to reach the county seat. In fact the Crescent City Herald‘s February 23rd, 1856 issue called for Klamath to be subdivided, creating Requa County.

When the petition made its way to the legislature in 1857, in the form of a bill, several names were bandied about, but all were rejected for one reason or another. Then someone suggested, “Del Norte,” Spanish for “of the north.”

Since it seemed right, the bill passed and the new county of Del Norte was formed. At the same time, Crescent City was designated the new seat.

Eventually, though Klamath County existed in various forms for the next few years, it was finally dissolved by an act of the 1874 legislature. The public debt as well as the remaining land was divided between Humboldt and Siskiyou Counties.

Historically, it can be stated Del Norte County predated the dissolution of Klamath County by 17 years. Furthermore, California state records show no other county has been dissolved after its boundaries were officially noted by the legislature.

Finally, Klamath County still exists today. It can be found north of the California state line and east of the Klamath River in Oregon.