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| Birth: | 21 Aug 1897 in Rush Center, Kansas 1 2 |
| Death: | 29 Dec 1988 in Woodburn, Oregon 1 2 |
| Sex: | M |
| Father: | Clement Laird Harris b. 18 Jul 1863 in Fairbanks, Indiana |
| Mother: | Julia Anna Herring b. 21 Oct 1866 in Titusville, Pennsylvania |
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| Christening: Social Security #: 518-05-2266 2 1 |
| Burial: Issued in: Idaho 2 1 |
| Fact 1: Last residence ZIP: 97071 2 1 |
| Burial: Riverview Abbey Mausoleum, Portland, Oregon 1 |
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Individual:
[Scranton Current.FTW]
[Broderbund Family Archive #110, Vol. 1 A-L, Ed. 6, Social Security Death Index: U.S., Date of Import: Dec 26, 1998, Internal Ref. #1.111.6.105404.171]
Individual: Harris, Leroy - Social Security #: 518-05-2266 - Issued in: Idaho
Birth date: Aug 21, 1897 - Death date: Dec 29, 1988 - Woodburn, Oregon 97071
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David Scranton stated in an e-mail 4/11/2001: I just discovered that records are available on the homesteads Grandma and Grandpa acquired in Montana in 1919-1920. This includes enough information to locate the homestead on a map, and it also appears I can get copies of their homestead "patent" or deed and other related papers.
Here is the information on the homesteads they acquired:
NAME MERIDIAN TWP RANGE SECTION ACREAGE DATE
HARRIS AUGUSTA REMPEL 20 036 N021E 032 320 12/16/1920 (acquired?)
HARRIS AUGUSTA REMPEL 20 036 N021E 032 320 01/08/1937 (surrendered?)
HARRIS LEROY 20 035 N019E 007 240 05/06/1919 (acquired?)
HARRIS LEROY 20 035 N019E 007 37.2 02/10/1938 (surrendered?)
HARRIS LEROY 20 035 N019E 007 37.44 02/10/1938 (surrendered?)
HARRIS LEROY C 20 036 N021E 029 320 03/29/1924 (acquired?)
HARRIS LEROY C 20 036 N021E 029 320 01/08/1937 (surrendered?)
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Peg Scranton stated in an e-mail 4/11/2001: As I recall, and mind you, like too many kids growing up not a lot of attention was paid to family subjects that should have been, Grandma Harris went to Montana to teach. She'd been going to Bethel College in Kansas. She could teach by taking a test and I think she'd planned just to earn some money and eventually interested in going back to learn nursing. She had a brother who was homesteading there and why she was drawn there.. Now which of the Rempel brothers, I'm not sure, but may have been the one who ended up in Canada (Ben, I think).
So, Grandma also did the homesteading thing upon getting there, I believe adjoining Ben's spread. She and Dad met at some teachers meeting. That was probably in 1917-1918, as I think they married in 1918 and Eleanor was born in 1919. While Dad was homesteading, his Mother(my Grandma Harris) lived with him. Both of his brothers, Lloyd and Frank, were in WWI and Dad couldn't join up as was Grandma's only means of supporat -- he always regretted in a way that he could not fight for his country.
When he and Mom married, they lived in the "shack" Dad and his Mom had, I'm positive. When they left Montana, they did not come to Wallace or Mullan -- they went to Craigmont, Idaho (not far from Lewiston, Idaho), where Dad taught. Then in 1923 or 1924 they moved down to Lewiston so Gramp could go to Lewiston Normal School. Prior to that his only advanced ed was his one year at Willamette (before he went to Montana). Mom and Dad were ahead of their times in his college experience -- they were married, they had Dean in 1924, and he worked doing janitor work at college and ended up with superior grades. It was probably 1926 when they went to Mullan, where they lived and he taught, when I was born in 1927 -- Wallace the town with the hospital. Gramp and a friend built their house in Silverton (West Wallace, we called it back then) probably 1928. We lived in the basement as soon as possible while they built the rest of the house.
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2 THE SPOKESMAN-REVIEW Sat., April 19, 1952
MY GREATEST EXPERIENCE
(This is one of a series of true-life experiences being contribute by readers of The Spokesman-Review. The author of each ac-count published will receive a gift award. The entries adjudge to be the three best of the series will win for their authors Unite States savings bonds of $100, $50 and $25, mature value, respec-tively, Entries must be no more than 1000 words long and should be addressed to My Greatest Experience, The Spokesman-Review Spokane, Wash.)
By LE ROY C. HARRIS, Wallace, Idaho
One year shortly after World war I, I was dry farming along the "high line" of northern Montana. To a drylander the most important thing in the world is moisture, preferably in the form of heavy winter snows or drenching summer rains. It was mois-ture in concentrated form that gave me an experience there shall not soon forget.
Spring had arrived after a very open winter. There was just enough moisture in the ground to start off the 300 acres of wheat from Which I hoped to lay the foundation for my first million seed wheat had cost $3 per bushel and hay for the horses ha been $40 per ton.
But now the season was well advanced into May and the rains had not come. Hot, dry winds sopped up the ground. The wheat which had come up in a find stand, stooled out a little, stood still, and seemed slowly to be sinking back into the brown earth. Then Slim dropped into my place with a proposition.
"Brown has 80 acres of winter rye down by the creek which he says I can cut off for feed. It's 'bout 10 inches high. Won't amount to anything unless its rains. If it rains later it may make a crop yet. I'll go halvers with .you if you'll help me."
Offer Accepted
Even before the gangling Norwegian could drag out his "snoose" I snapped up his offer. There was nothing in the haymow except a pile of old straw. Feed was mighty precious.
So we set to work on this rye field two miles away on the bot-tom land of Sage creek. We each took a team and hayrack. He had the.mower and I the rake. Since we wouldn't be back for noons we also hauled down a barrel of water on a stone boat.
He mowed and I raked. It was so dry we were able to haul home a load each evening and stow the priceless stuff away. This went on for several days with the temperature going up each day and our chances for a crop going down.
Air Was Muggy
On the fourth day there came a peculiar mugginess into the air after our noon lunch hour. A few thunderheads began to form in the west. We watched them hopefully as ,we crossed the field. A storm was brewing and fast.
.The field was half a mile long. As we made the turn at the far end from Our wagons on the third round, the western sky was sud-denly a mass of curling, dark, ugly clouds, Jagged lightning cut across it, ThUnder rolled in the distance. Never have I seen a storm form so fast.
Slim was ahead with the mower and I followed .with the rake, each with a tight line on our teams and our eyes turned toward the storm. The sun disappeared. A cool dark-ness crept:over the prairie. It grew deathly still. Those thunder clouds began to churn, boil and roll like mud in a Yellowstone geyser. The horses strained nervously on their bits and tossed their worried heads. A crinkly feeling began to chase up and down my spine. Definitely that storm was coming right at us.
Rain Begins
As we neared the end of the field the air was suddenly very cool. A few big drops of rain splat- ! tered on my thinly clad back and bounced off the horses' steaming! sides.
"Let's unhitch and get under the wagons," Slim yelled.
It was no easy task. My sorrel' mares were dancing a tango as I struggled to hold the lines with one hand while I dropped the traces with the other.
I held up the rake tongue to free the neckyoke and yelled "Gid-dap!." The mares jumped and I wrapped the lines round my wrists to hold them as I swung their backs into the wind that suddenly swept down the slope from the benchland above.
"Let's back them to the racks," I called to Slim, who had his team free by now. Hurriedly we strained at the lines walking backwards to-ward the shelter of the racks.
Horses Disappeared
Whoosh! Something struck my right shoulder and I hit the ground face first. Instinctively, as I fell I must have unwound those lines from my wrists. I saw the sorrels swallowed up in clouds of swirling water as I released them. There was a quick glimpse of a hayrack sailing majestically off into space.
The running gears Cut crazy gy-rations out of sight into the storm as the tongue seemed to root here and there like a terrier's nose after a rat.
I would have sworn the ground was only barely damp when I started to fall, but I plowed my face into six inches of the coldest mass of water and hailstones I ever saw. I tried to get up, but the wind slapped me down again. Hailstones the size of small eggs peppered my back and stung my ears.
Slim Is Gone
I struggled to my knees and looked for Slim. The water seemed to be coming down by bucketfuls, and ! could only see a few feet of sodden prairie grass ahead. My hands were over the back of my head for my hat was long. since gone. and with the hailstones numbing my fingers I somehow got on my feet and drifted with the storm. '
I ran as never before up a slope for a quarter of a mile, over a low cutbank and landed beside an old cabin that still stood protected by the løw hill. I hadn't even thought of its being there when I let the storm take me.
The whole disturbance probably didn't last over 10 or 15 minutes. As soon as the wind began to die down, the storm:cleared up.a bit. I climbed over the brow of the cutbank and looked toward my starting Point. Coming toward me was a most disheveled Slim. A gunny Sack draped his head and shaking shoulders.
"Where'd you go?" I yelled as he came up.
Any Port in a Storm
"In the water barrel," Slim replied through chattering teeth. Course I couldn't get my legs in but I just dived in as it came by and managed to keep the bottom end headed into the wind."
We found 'Our horses down by the creek Which was now running bank full. His team was tangled in the brush, The sorrels were hang-ing partly suspended by their heads on either side of a barbed wire fence. There was not a scratch on them but in some way the flood had stretched that wire 10 feet off the ground after they had straddled it.
There was no use trying to re-trieve the wagons then, so we each climbed on a horse and led an-other as we headed out of the creek bottom and onto the bench-land. I was chilled to the bone and feeling the way a drowned-out gopher looks. My spirits sank still lower as we came in sight of the ranch.
Barn Gone
Our hip-roofed barn with its precious load's of hay was scattered over a mile of prairie. All outbuildings, were gone, fences were down and nothing stood but the two-roomed shack. It only had escaped because of its anchor of strawy manure which I had piled high around its base the winter before. Two horses lay dead or dying from eating poisoned oats from the wrecked barn. I'd had a sack for killing gophers.
As we chased the rest of the herd of horses away to prevent more casualties, Slim remarked as he viewed the desolation, "Anyway the drought's broken."
Slim was a poor prophet. That was the only ram that sagebrush, saw all summer. I took $5 from a; neighbor that August to give him the privilege of turning his stock on what was left of my 300 acres of crop before I pulled out. In a way, it was just a gift. He could have turned them in for nothing as soon as I was out of sight over the hill. He very well knew I wouldn't be back.
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Sunday, March 4, 2001, "Closing of a silver mine hurts northern Idaho, Philadelphia Inquirer, By John K. Wiley, ASSOCIATED PRESS: KELLOGG, Idaho - The Sunshine Mine, the nation's largest silver mine, has been a mainstay in this community for more than a century, providing jobs, driving the economy, and helping the region earn the name Silver Valley.
But the regional economy was dealt a serious blow when the mine closed, after years of low prices and foreign competition. Four days after the Feb. 12 announcement, 130 miners were out of work.
"There's a lot of depression and uncertainty about where we're going next," said Ken Poulson, a Sunshine mechanic. "Most people are wandering around. They knew it was coming, but it's still a shock."
General manager Harry F. Cougher shook hands with the mechanics and contract miners as they left. The mine owners will keep a skeleton crew to run massive pumps and fans so the mine can be reopened if silver prices rise.
Silver has sold for $5 or less an ounce for several years and recently dipped as low as $4.50 an ounce. Silver prices once thrived, trading in the teens in the early 1980s.
Discovered on a hillside east of Kellogg in 1884 by brothers True and Dennis Blake, the Sunshine Mine became the nation's largest and most productive underground silver mine. In its heyday, it employed nearly 600 workers and had yielded more than 300 million ounces of silver by its 100th anniversary.
The mine, with shafts plunging 6,000 feet beneath the surface, was the scene of one of the nation's worst mining accidents when an underground fire killed 91 miners on May 2, 1972.
The owners have fallen on hard times in recent years, going through two bankruptcies in the last decade.
"We were losing a bit, but we were paying our bills," Cougher said. "Our surprise was that it [the silver price] has stayed down as long as it has. It would have to be consistently above $6 for us to reopen."
Larry Brown, a mechanic who has worked at the mine for 26 years, criticized the company for its handling of the layoffs with only four days' notice.
"We all live here in the Silver Valley. There are no jobs," he said. "A lot of us are going to head out of town."
The future of the northern Idaho area could depend on tourism. Kellogg has adopted a Bavarian theme and depends heavily on the tourist trade, but it has not flourished because the area is within one of the largest Superfund toxic-waste sites in the country.
As Sunshine miners packed their personal gear in plastic bags, skiers getting a jump on the weekend rode a gondola car from downtown Kellogg to the Silver Mountain ski resort.
"We do like the touristy type of attraction," said Doris Miller director of the Kellogg Chamber of Commerce, sounding a note of optimism amid the gloom.
"Silver Mountain has room for growth. We don't know if they're going to, but it's also a summer resort, with concerts, hiking and biking. If we can get that going, we'll be fine."
Despite the tourism efforts, losing the Sunshine Mine will weigh heavily on the Silver Valley.
"It's like a member of the family disappearing," Cougher said. "There's a sadness, whether you work here or not."
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- Title: Scranton Current.FTW
Media: Other
Text: Date of Import: Sep 10, 2000
- Broderbund Family Archive #110, Vol. 1, Ed. 6, Social Security Death Index: U.S., Date of Import: Dec 26, 1998, Internal Ref. #1.111.6.105404.171
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