In a recent Sunday paper cartoon, a child was questioned by his mother because he was laughing while he was supposed to be reading about history.

Monday, March 25, 2002

In a recent Sunday paper cartoon, a child was questioned by his mother because he was laughing while he was supposed to be reading about history. I’ll bet he was reading the 1882 edition of the &uot;History of Freeborn County, Minnesota.&uot; In fact, he must have been reading from pages 298 and 299. This section of the book was written by Daniel G. Parker, a Freeborn County attorney, Civil War veteran, and editor of the &uot;Standard&uot; newspaper.

Parker had arrived in Albert Lea in March 1857, and shortly after went back to Hastings to get his wife. Before he left, George Ruble gave him &uot;a well executed plat of the embryo city, and a power of attorney constituting me (Parker) an agent for the sale of lots. While at Hastings I fell in with a Boston capitalist named Stowell, to whom I sold two or three lots, which judging from the plat and site designated for the printing office, were quite eligibly located. Stowell was a rather convivial sort of a fellow, and had plenty of money which he was investing in wild lands and town lots in what he considered the best localities.

&uot;The town plat of Albert Lea had been surveyed in the winter, and in order to preserve the symmetry of form which would be most pleasing to the eye when it was placed on paper, a corner of the lake was taken in. I was not aware of the fact at the time, and the lots I sold to Stowell, happened to be that particular part of the plat.

&uot;I had been back from Hastings only a few days when Stowell put in an appearance. had said so much praise of the new town, pictured in glowing colors the great natural beauty of the location, that after buying the lots, he couldn’t resist the temptation to come and see for himself.

&uot;It was a very wet season; the river and lakes had over-flown their banks, every slough was a lake in itself, and how the fellow got here when he did was a mystery. He said he swam most of the way, and I was inclined to believe him, for I remembered that shortly afterwards I went on horse-back to Geneva after a cow I had purchased from Mr. Robson or John Heath, I don’t remember which, and I had a terrible time of it.

&uot;The horse was a blooded animal; I don’t remember exactly whether he was sired by old Duroc, Hambletonian, or Lucifer, but I do think he must have been, as Mark Twain would say, damned by everybody who ever rode him. I started to drive the cow home, and whenever I came to a slough, I would drive her in and cracked the whip at her till she got across, and then I would get on the horse, start him in, and hang on to his tail so as to be ready to pull him out in case he got mired. Sometimes before I could get across, the cow would start back again, higher up or lower down, and then the horse and I would have to follow suit. When I finally got that cow home, she was blind of one eye, and couldn’t see out of the other, had lost a horn, and had but a part of a tail to tell the story of her own muley-ishness, and man’s inhumanity.

&uot;But here I’ve got two stories mixed. Before I got on that last tangent, I was about to say that after Stowell had been here a day or two, he came to me and wanted to know if I had a boat or a canoe, I told him my partner had a canoe, and if he wanted to go duck shooting, I would get it and go with him. ‘Duck shooting be —- blessed!’ said he, ‘I want to go out and look at those d-ashed lots you sold me, that’s all!’

&uot;I went with him to Mr. Ruble, who very readily and willingly consented to make a fair exchange with him, gave him the same number of lots on terra firma, and he went away satisfied.

&uot;I did not see him again till the latter part of summer. I then met him at the Merchant’s Hotel, St. Paul … He was a trifle the worse for liquor. Being obliged to remain over Sunday, myself and a friend or two concluded to attend divine service and Stowell decided to go along … As we were sitting down, the minister began lining out that old familiar hymn:

‘There is a land of pure delight

Where saints immortal dwell,’

when he was interrupted and the congregation horrified by the emphatic exclamation from Stowell–‘Yes, thash’s another Minnesota story, sell wile Ian’s and water lots!’

It is needless to remark that our friend Stowell didn’t remain to hear the sermon, but was unceremoniously ushered out, and I have never heard of him from that day to this.&uot;

When I hear laughter coming from students and their tour guides or the museum’s library, my curiosity is aroused. People were funny hundreds of years ago and we are funny today. That cartoon kid’s mother just hasn’t figured that out yet.

Bev Jackson is executive director of the Freeborn County Historical Museum.