Transcript of interview with Mary Ellen Campbell by Ronald Robinson, March 6, 1977

UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell i An Interview with Mary Ellen Campbell An Oral History Conducted by Ronald C. Robinson Ralph Roske Oral History Project on Early Las Vegas Special Collections and Archives Oral History Research Center University Libraries University of Nevada, Las Vegas UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell ii © Ralph Roske Oral History Project on Early Las Vegas University of Nevada, Las Vegas, 2018 UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell iii The Oral History Research Center (OHRC) was formally established by the Board of Regents of the University of Nevada System in September 2003 as an entity of the UNLV University Libraries’ Special Collections Division. The OHRC conducts oral interviews with individuals who are selected for their ability to provide first-hand observations on a variety of historical topics in Las Vegas and Southern Nevada. The OHRC is also home to legacy oral history interviews conducted prior to its establishment including many conducted by UNLV History Professor Ralph Roske and his students. This legacy interview transcript received minimal editing, such as the elimination of fragments, false starts, and repetitions in order to enhance the reader's understanding of the material. All measures have been taken to preserve the style and language of the narrator. The interviewee/narrator was not involved in the editing process. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell iv Abstract On March 6, 1977, Ronald Robinson interviewed Mary Ellen Campbell (born 1886 in Panaca, Nevada) about her life in Nevada. Campbell first talks about her parents’ move to the United States from England and her own life growing up in Panaca. She also talks about living in Pioche and the conditions of living in these two small Nevada towns. Also present during the interview is Mary’s grandson, Allen Campbell, who sometimes asks a few questions as well. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 1 This is Rob Robinson in Pioche, Nevada, 6 March 1977, and I’m interviewing Mary Ellen Campbell. You want me to start out with what? You can just—your father and your mother were both born in England? Yes, they were both born in England, and my father come over when he was eight years old with his uncle, and they settled in Panaca, I think—but anyway, they settled and they were down in Dixie for a while—mother was anyway. Did they say why they came from England to Panaca? The church. Oh. The Mormon LDS Church. They were sent to help settle these places, and they settled in Panaca and then they went to Utah, then they settled at a place called Escalante. Escalante? Garfield County. Your father settled there, or? That was my father’s father and mother. Oh, I see. And then when mother come and all, I don’t know where they settled first, but I know they were down in Dixie, (unintelligible) and those places. They told how they had to do (unintelligible) worked in the fields. And she said our lunch and the homemade bread, they didn’t have very fine flour, and the bread was course, and it’d get hard quick. She said she could remember sitting down by the creek and soften the bread so she could eat it, and then she picked cotton. And she picked cotton and—now how did they do?—they had these things that, I forgot what they call UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 2 them. Anyway, they made little cards so big for their quilts, and then finally they got these—what do you call it when you make cloth? Spinning wheel? It’s—yeah, spinning wheel. They weren’t very much improved, but she made some cloth, and it was quite coarse at first, she said, but she kept working with it until they improved on them, of course. And then she made quite a lot of cloth. And then she made it into clothes and things all her own. Her mother had such crippled hands, she couldn’t do anything. She had (unintelligible) and they hadn’t had care, and they had to take a bone out of her finger, so she wasn’t too much help to Mother. She managed, and she helped her mother raise the family. And they lived in Panaca until she passed away in Panaca, both Mother and Father. Now, anything else? Well, what did your father do in Panaca? Did he have a ranch or a farm, or? Oh, well he had a garden of his own he built, but still places down in Panaca, it’s (unintelligible) place. Of course, there have been gone a long and the family’s—Wilford, my youngest brother, he built home on the same property. Both homes are there, and the grandchildren on them and great-grandchildren. Did they ever have any trouble with Indians or anything down in Panaca? Oh yes, they fought the Indians all the time. And some were worse than others. I remember this Lee woman—Indians attacked her. She was pregnant (unintelligible) it affected the child, and I don’t know too much about the rest of it. (Unintelligible) But I just can remember the things that Mother would tell us about how frightened they were of these Indians. And I know even when I was a girl, there was one, we called him Old Sam, and he’d go all over town to—he expected everybody to have something to put in his—he’d have a big sack on his back and (unintelligible) hard bread. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 3 So, then, let’s see, you were born in Panaca—what year were you born? Well, I can’t remember anything anymore, and I got it all done. I figured 1886, does that sound about right? It’s right here. Oh, right. February 13th, 1886. And so then you lived in Panaca until you were, how old was it when you went to Pioche? Let’s see. (Unintelligible) So, you lived in Panaca and then you moved to Pioche later? No, I didn’t live in Pana—we were only down there a couple of months. We didn’t stay down there. The work got so scarce around here that my husband had to do other things. The drugstore burned down, and they didn’t have, the time wasn’t too good. They couldn’t afford to keep it. The doctor had a little office, (unintelligible) place where he cut up his own medicines. So, he studied, took the hoisting engineer, he took the examination—I still got his certificates that he had. Oh, that’s your husband? Uh-huh. And they did that, and he did all kinds of work. He (unintelligible) carpenter, and jack of all trades, he’d say, and master of nothing. (Laughs) You said that you came from Panaca to Pioche on the stagecoach? Yes. How was that trip up here? Was the road pretty good? Well, it was just what they called the wagon road, and of course, this was a coach that we road in, and it had four horses on in it because sometimes it was (unintelligible) people coming back and forth. That’s when they first (unintelligible). I worked up here, I liked it in Pioche, and I got UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 4 married up here, (unintelligible). It was not easy to get back and forth to Panaca. We had some horses for a while (unintelligible). And it wasn’t easy to get back and forth. I went back and forth on it many a time when I (unintelligible). My sister came up to sing in a choir. And Mrs. Price passed away—Prices moved here, and they didn’t have a Pioche ward like they have now, so they always had Panaca, come up and hold the services. But they brought their own choir (unintelligible) ‘cause they didn’t have— Now, was this ever Sunday, or just? No, I can’t recall just how often they had it, but they had it quite often. My father was—she said, “You ought to come down and see Dad, he’s not very well,” you know how (unintelligible). And that was on the 13th of February (unintelligible). And so, he got (unintelligible) and we went, and he was ailing. He thought he has asthma (unintelligible) he had heart trouble. He hadn’t called the doctor. So, my husband, he goes right out, he had to go clear uptown to the (unintelligible) and tell his father to be sure and come, ‘cause he knew it was serious. And so, he came and he stayed with him all night, and he died early in the morning on the 14th of February in 1928. Mother didn’t (unintelligible) after that, she was past ninety-two—she was old as I am. So, your husband’s father was the doctor of Lincoln County? Yes. Was he the only doctor here, then, at that time? Yes, he was the only one here for a long time. Then as time started picking up and we had two or three doctors all at once. We had Dr. Hasting, Dr. McCall, and of course Caliente was getting to be a pretty good town, so there was running back and forth—there was three right here. I had two of them when (unintelligible), Dr. McCall and Dr. Hasting. Dr. Campbell only had one arm? UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 5 Well, he operated on (unintelligible) for cancer, and somehow or another, he cut his finger and didn’t take care of it or something, and just by not taking care of that finger, he lost his whole arm, was amputated about there. He had to have two or three operations before it got so it was right. But he was a wonderful man. He still went on with being a doctor after his arm was amputated? Oh, yes. Did people have to help him or? Uh-huh, he’d go and stay all night with you if he didn’t have other sick patients, if you were very sick. He’d sit up all night and watch. They don’t do that now. You can’t hardly get them to come see you; you gotta go see them. Right. And he took (unintelligible) out in Eagle Valley, you know where that is? Yes. On the wagon roads, you know, (unintelligible) the hills? And the horses would throw mud when they run, you know. I’d see—there used to be a road right across there and connected down here. And them horses would just run just as hard as they could run, and of course in that mud you don’t—he had a fur overcoat and a big (unintelligible) hat that he wore, and it was full of mud. And the coat was just covered, and he hung it on the clothesline and got it dry, and then my husband went with the stable to (unintelligible) carry horses, carry that mud out, and swept it with a broom. But it was cold weather; you had to have something on. So, it was cold out this way one time, and it didn’t have—he had to stay overnight, and the man had died. He said he laid down with the side of him to get a few hours of rest before he’d get home. (Laughs) (Laughs) UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 6 He said, “Oh, aren’t you frightened?” And he said, “No, it’s not the dead ones I’m afraid of; it’s the live ones.” (Laughs) Ellen was saying that down in Eagle Valley, they would send out somebody for the doctor and then at the same time they would send out another team so they would meet them halfway? Yes, they stationed one, they’d walk one out so far, and then he’d get out of that one and get in the other one, and they’d run them horses the rest of the way in. I said, “Did you (unintelligible)?” He said, “Yeah.” She’d have to be an old lady. Of course, she’s gone now. She was (unintelligible). Oh, I can remember scenes that (unintelligible). If you’d start, now Grandpa Campbell never went to bed at night if he didn’t write down what happened in the daytime. Even around the home, if he was called out and anything, he had diaries he just filled them, books, and then (unintelligible) one time to clean up after, they sold the place and they put some of the stuff out and they (unintelligible) that they had. I don’t know (unintelligible) why I didn’t think about it sooner, but anyway, he coulda had a lot of books, ‘cause he wrote down things every night before he went to bed as small as he could. And then when he couldn’t, he got sick, he had her do it (unintelligible). I hope that isn’t (unintelligible) Oh, we can take out anything— Huh? That’s fine. Let’s see. I’m not a very good reporter. Oh, you’re doing fine. Might have the cart before the horse. You know, in things I’ve read, it say that Pioche was a pretty wild town. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 7 Well, it wasn’t as bad in my day—it was bad, not like it was in the early days. That’s why they had them big iron doors on some of them buildings up there. They had to have them for safety. You were not safe if they could get in, you know. Of course, it was saloons and things; there was five or six saloons here since when I first come, some on both sides of the street. And there’ve been lots of big fires that burned up clubs. Oh, in the town? They didn’t have a very good water system, it was—all anybody had in those days, and they just improved them, got fire trucks and things now. (Unintelligible) had to go back ‘em out and pull them [themselves]. You’re seeing those old carts. Mm-hmm. When that corner burned down (unintelligible). Did you ever make a trip to Las Vegas back in those days, or did you even hear about Las Vegas? There was ranches then. Just ranches in Las Vegas at that time? No, I never went further than Caliente—I’ve been to Vegas when it was a small town and lived there. My sister married and lived down there—her and her husband, both gone now, Runnels, you heard of the Runnels? Mm-hmm. At that time, was Las Vegas smaller than Pioche, or was it? Oh, it was just a ranch. Just a ranch in Las Vegas? There’s ranches here and there, and of course, you just kept building up and building up. It was flat; there wasn’t any hills (unintelligible) I guess, as far as I know. Built a lot since I’ve been UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 8 down there and all, I mean I’ve been down, but I haven’t been around all over, you know, for my folks lived down there, my son Jess moved down there. He comes up once in a while. His wife is crippled up with arthritis, so he’s (unintelligible) keeps the house. What did you do for recreation when you lived here in Pioche or Panaca? Oh, we used to have dances, and sometimes there’d be a show or something. Everybody went to dance, young and old—everybody danced. That’s one thing. That (unintelligible) still up there, but it’s—some of it they tore off. And everybody danced, young and old. Pioche was one of the most sociable, entertaining places that everybody was invited, and if they had a dance, everybody went. They (unintelligible) that you got to dance. They had what they called (unintelligible) walkers, and when new people would come, they’d make their self acquainted and then they’d introduce them to others and if you were older and you wanted to dance, you could dance. It was really sociable. Everybody would be dancing, (unintelligible) six and eight (unintelligible) square dances. And then of course, they had (unintelligible) so he could dance anything. It was a wonderful place. Those people are now strangers to me, but when I first come to Pioche, they made everybody acquainted. The ladies put on their best dresses and go make their selves acquainted, and then they’d go and take their friends and neighbors so that everybody got to be (unintelligible). And that was one thing that, at a farming town, they don’t do, and I thought that was just wonderful. I can still remember my mother-in-law (unintelligible) there’s some new people come to town, they made them welcome. Now, they’re ready to (unintelligible). It’s a different place altogether, isn’t, huh? I’ve done an awful lot of work, that’s why I’m (unintelligible). So (unintelligible) and everything imaginable. When the people got married here in the last several years, I made the tops from quilts to 103 just wedding quilts. And UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 9 people can’t believe me that I got (unintelligible) ones that were gone. The town was full of people, and they would come and go, (unintelligible) quilt. Do you remember when the first car, automobile, came to Pioche? I remember the first—oh, we were living (unintelligible) Prince. The (unintelligible) Prince Mines, or? He was an engineer; he was more the air compressor (unintelligible). And we were living over there, and there some guy come through there—I can’t remember the name of the car, but it wasn’t a Ford or (unintelligible). And cars he (unintelligible) trying to get customers, and he’d take you for a ride in it, and I still remember that. The wind was blowing, just blowing terrible and dust and dirt and didn’t have (unintelligible). I said that was all right, but I was sure glad to get out and get in my house. We had a horse over there, we had a horse—we had our own rig. We’d come to down whenever we’d want—just one horse, but she was a pacer; boy, she could go. How long did it take you to get from the mines, the (unintelligible) to Pioche? It was (unintelligible) they shipped all the ore and stuff up to these mills in Utah. How long did it take you, an hour or two hours? Come over? Yes. Oh, it’d take about an hour, I guess—not that (unintelligible), it could (unintelligible) a little less than an hour—come over the hill up there, that big hill right there, they’d come in (unintelligible) and he’d go around there. It shortened the road quite a bit. The road’s still there, isn’t it, Al? Yeah, the same old road. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 10 The old place has built up quite a bit. It is pretty good, but most of it is just the neighboring people that were there, but now there’s quite a few people that live over there that have homes. What kind of a building did you live in when you were at the Prince, Grandma? Tell him about— When we first went there, we had a large tent that we built up, made two rooms. It was fixed in two room to build up, and that part that we built up, my brother brought and built that house up there—they don’t own it now—it’s across that way from where our home is down there. And he bought it and then he kept adding to it and adding to it and fixed it until he got a pretty good home. Of course, he’s dead and gone and the (unintelligible) from when she passed away, and I don’t know who’s got it now. Isn’t that where you had Marion, though, was in that tent over in Prince? Marion was born over there. Grandpa Campbell was the doctor. And there was a lady over that did nursing that lived over there. Her husband worked on the (unintelligible) or something. It was (unintelligible). Things have improved. I don’t think people are as happy as they used to be. I think they spend more time together. I remember (unintelligible) horse (unintelligible) animals. He liked animals, I think, better than he did people. And Roy (unintelligible) here in town, and his was a (unintelligible), didn’t want to go and go backwards (unintelligible) move forward. (Laugh) I can still remember out there, you’d get giggling, you laugh so hard you—(Laughs)—couldn’t see out of your eyes. And Roy would always have something funny to say. You remember him, don’t you? Don’t you remember Roy? He was dead before I was born, Grandma. Oh, has he been gone that long? Yeah. He was sure a lot of fun. There was more fun in him than there as in the rest of the whole town. UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 11 I remember his wife, but I never knew him. She lived quite a while after he died—Gloria—and Billy was a judge, you know. They moved to Vegas, he (unintelligible). He’s gone, too, and his wife’s gone, too. They’d be quite old. Of course, (unintelligible). (Laughs) You said that when you went to Caliente, it was just tents? I didn’t ever live in Caliente, but there was some mining clearings on one of those hills, they call it the (unintelligible) mine district. And we used to go there into the stores, but first, there was no stores, there was no Caliente, just fields and ranches. You had to haul water, ‘cause there was no water up there. And my father was working for a company that he had some men doing some assistant work, and that’s when he wound up with a horse—buckets, sometimes, that had (unintelligible). Caliente was— They called it a win. What’s that? That was what they got the horse, pulled the bucket up out of the mine with the dirt in it. Oh, I see. Were they doing mining in Caliente, or was Caliente a railroad town, or? No, that was the railroad that brought Caliente. And it was all tents? Yes. And they had (unintelligible) holes through them to make tunnels through them hills. And my niece’s husband, he was a carpenter, (unintelligible) those timbers, they built those tunnels. I guess they still have some of those tunnels; of course, they’ve had to redo them a good many times, I imagine. I haven’t been down there for a long time, (unintelligible). After you got cars and all, you could go to Vegas, but some people still use it. Certain days, it runs, they haul UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 12 freight, and they put one of those cars, you know, if somebody wants to go they can go. A big long train comes down from Salt Lake and over here to Los Angeles, I guess, and I don’t know how much (unintelligible). So, did you use to be able to take a train ride from Pioche to Caliente or wherever you wanted to go, or—in a passenger car, you mean? Well, we had horses and cars and the kind we always got—(unintelligible) there used to be a station in Bullhead down here, you know, at the junction, they call it. You could get on the train there and come to Pioche, and it would stop if there was passengers let them off that hauled some freight. That was the old Jackrabbit Train, wasn’t it? Yes, they’d come in from Jackrabbit and unload those, they’d have to come down here, they had a loading place. I don’t know where it is now. And (unintelligible) and some of them, you know, they were on the train, that little train, it went through the Jackrabbit and (unintelligible)—cars that came in, they were trying to load them on the railroad cars, and they’d be froze so hard, they (unintelligible) sometimes and get that ore out and load it through the train. You (unintelligiblte) haven’t you? Yes. Al (unintelligible). That was their home right there. The old home was up here. Mr. Ewing, the old man, was a blacksmith. That’s when I had to take, put shoes on the horses and everything. They had a blacksmith shop right up here, just where these launders are. Now the old Liberty Stable in where Chinatown was or something, wasn’t it? Chinatown’s right over there, but the stables was a little further. Charlie, after he went to China, he sent me things, you know, Chinese things, but he’d been dead a long time. He was the store UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 13 man, but the restaurants was all around China. They were nice restaurants, too. I (unintelligible) when they have the jury—there was no Las Vegas then. They came through (unintelligible) jury down there to jury up here at this old courthouse, and this Charlie, he had a regular place for the jury. There was always a jury; there was always so much crime and stuff, they had to have jury trials. I waited on tables for them, and they had an (unintelligible) so they couldn’t—they had to all be at one table so that, you know, the first three tables were a special (unintelligible) for the jury. Boy, the town would be crowded when they had a jury—you couldn’t hardly get up the street. Was that before or after you got married? That was before. I’ve been married a hundred years. (Laughs) Not quite but a long time. The people in Las Vegas would have to come up here to go to court? They didn’t have a court— Yes, there was ranchers then; there wasn’t Las Vegas. So they’d have to come all the way up to Pioche? There’s ranchers all along there and clear down. Of course, it was built up and a lot clear farther. Yeah, the jury was always up here. [Recording ends, begins midsentence] They had to go clear to (unintelligible) to have his arm taken off, because there was no surgeons here. And after he came home for (unintelligible) it bothered him so much, there was something wrong and he’d feel it. He could still feel that arm, you know. So, my husband and a neighbor they had, Mr. (Unintelligible), they went down to the cemetery to try to find it, but there had been so many big flags and things that some of the flesh that my husband figured was (unintelligible) but it was gone, it was washed away, you know, and (unintelligible), they had to UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 14 guess it where they went, but they never did locate it. ‘Cause he could feel it, he said it was cramped and he could still feel it, and (unintelligible) “Bring it home and straighten it out,” you know. But eventually, you know, after years passed, it sorta got lighter and lighter until it—and it always bothered him, always. What was this, the bottom of his arm? Well, see, when they amputated his arm, or something, somehow, he said he felt like his fingers were cramped. I’m gonna go get that picture and show him. He’s such a wonderful man. Okay. Anyways, his fingers, he felt like he had a cramp; he wanted to straighten his fingers out. See, when they amputated his arm, and the muscles in his upper arm felt like his hand was in a cramp. And so, he sent them down there to find the arm to straighten out his fingers, but they never could find it. It got washed away or something, and so it took him four or five years before he got to where his arm didn’t hurt or have any cramps in it. Oh. Oh, yeah. And he was kind and good, and the kids all loved him. He always had time for ‘em. I can remember when he was dying, he was sitting there—he knew he was dying. And he was just about, his legs kinda going, you know, and (unintelligible), and he’d sit there, “Grandpa likes you, Grandpa likes you, tell your mama to get your haircut like your daddy’s.” So, I went up and I got—of course, my husband could it, I didn’t have to use the barber—didn’t cut it too short—and so I’d put him up so he could see him, but he was too far gone, and he didn’t notice him. I had just sunken, you know, so I had (unintelligible). Your husband Wilkes went to Salt Lake City to go to college? UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 15 He went up there to college. He come from the east from Michigan when he was thirteen. His father had come with us, but he left them there with his mother and his sister, and then when Grandpa finally got located out here on the other side of Ely, one of those places, he had him come and he come on the train in care of the conductor. And then they had to meet him in Salt Lake. There was no (unintelligible) then, and so—and it was all by team. And this state had some little (unintelligible). They can’t (unintelligible). He couldn’t imagine because back east, they had nothing but great, big horses. So, he didn’t think that the little mules could pull the stagecoach over the mountains? No, he couldn’t imagine; he thought it was too much for them, and they pulled it over. (Laughs) Of course, they slowed down. I remember how I even hated those trips there, but that wasn’t bad. I went down before Panaca, you know, but we had to get the team from the stables. We went down before he died, and then we went down (unintelligible) other team. When we hauled wood, he used to get (unintelligible) from the stables to haul some wood for the winter and (unintelligible) out here. They’d sell wood sometimes, and we’d get some (unintelligible) but in the meantime, we got a team for (unintelligible) hauled his own wood. Are you talking about your dad, or? I’m talking about my husband. Oh, Wilkes. No, Dad had woodchoppers, I don’t know whether he chopped it, but they had to have it carted so many feet for the mills, and he had woodchoppers. He drove one team, and he had two, and then he had to drive it for (unintelligible). One time I got up and see them while they were—they measured it, you know, they paid you so much a car, and there was no roots or nothing along. It UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 16 was just the straight wood, and that’s why there’s so many stumps, as they call it, now. But they got them all (unintelligible) now. People have fireplaces and things. So, when Wilkes was in Salt Lake, what did he study while he was there? Pharmacy. Pharmacy? Mm-hmm. He took a special course. And then from there he came to Pioche? What? Where did he go from Salt Lake? Here. To Pioche? (Unintelligible) lived here. But he wasn’t a pharmacist here? No, he went to school—he wasn’t a pharmacist, he was only thirteen when he come over from Michigan. But (unintelligible) weren’t very popular—I mean they were popular, but they weren’t like the trains you have now. They weren’t so fast. But he came back to Pioche, and he didn’t become a pharmacist. He went into this other thing with the—? Well, they settled over here in White Pine County, and then later they came to Pioche when the town with Grandpa was—there was just too many doctors there, so he decided to find a new place. So, they had to have a doctor, and so he come to Pioche. And of course, the mines advanced and more mines until the town was cabins and things all over those hills, (unintelligible) people lived on. We always had a pretty good shack to live in. (Laughs) We UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 17 hadn’t had this place too long when my husband died, but (unintelligible). They had them (unintelligible) as they called it, you know, to build bedrooms on the north side, and when the snow get very deep, if you didn’t shovel it off, it’d cave in, and use too many timbers. So, I had it re-timbered once in the old part, and then I decided that it was always having trouble with the snow getting on there about that date, and it was (unintelligible) about caving in. So, I had it torn off and built with new rooms on this side—built me a new kitchen, too, it was (unintelligible). We just lived in this one room while we did, but this was the old room. There was two rooms; I had the partition taken out. And lived in it and had one of these little stoves to cook on till it got fixed like it is now. Of course, I’ve had it painted a good many times. It’s a wonder it hasn’t (unintelligible) with paint. (Laughs) But that’s where you live. And that rocking chair that (unintelligible) as kids. Linda’s got it now; she’s had it with this other baby; that’s Allen’s sister. But I’m (unintelligible) sure hear from me. They can bring it back around (unintelligible). She always rocks her baby; Grandpa says is you don’t rock ‘em, (unintelligible) you don’t have to. She sits up at night and rocks him the night. She told me she did. Do you remember any famous people coming to Pioche or any presidents or anything like that? Judges were always—there was always lawyers, if you call them famous. Well, there was lots of travel through here, but of course it was all team then—lots of travel now. You can see them going across the street, coming in this way, going that way constantly. And they’re building these reservoirs and places where they can hunt and skate and things. But when the (unintelligible) the town was crowded; there was cabins and tents everywhere, ‘cause they had three shifts, the whistles were blowing, and train was running, honking. There wasn’t as many cars running up and down this street as there is now. It’s quiet now that (unintelligible), but still UNLV University Libraries Mary Campbell 18 you’d be surprised the cars that go up and down to the grocery stores. They must (unintelligible) make a living or they wouldn’t stay. Do you remember the courthouse was built? Yes, I remember my brother-in-law helped build—of course, he’s gone (unintelligible). That was Thelma’s husband, Lee Adams. He was a good carpenter. He (unintelligible) in Caliente, too. I think she lives in Las Vegas now, Thelma; her family’s there. (Unintelligible) relatives (unintelligible) school teachers, some of them retired. You live in Las Vegas? [Recording cuts out] Just travelling people, all it was. There were a lot of stations here, but too many would come in, you know, at the time looking for work and stuff, and some of them come just to gamble, and big gamblers with lots of money. It says here in 1918 there was a flu epidemic, killed a lot of people? Yes, Grandpa (unintelligible) never lost one case. He had a hundred and some-odd, 103, I think, but he treated it like (unintelligible)—when you go to bed, stay there, and get something to cut the fever, but he worked on your stomach a lot. Was there quite a few people that died from it? Oh, yes, they were dying like everything around here. Mrs.—oh, what was her name, Dolan, she lived up on Cedar Street—she had two sons die right close together—grown men. The (Unintelligible) brothers, you know Phil, don’t you? You’ve heard of him anyway? Frank Dolan; of course, Frank’s dead. [Recording ends]