Showing posts with label Shoshoni Wyoming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shoshoni Wyoming. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 26, 2023

Thursday, July 26, 1923. Harding visits Vancouver.

President Harding disembarked at Vancouver, becoming the first U.S. President to visit Canada.   While there, he delivered this speech:

Citizens of Canada: I may as well confess to you at the outset a certain perplexity as to how I should address you. The truth of the matter is that this is the first time I have ever spoken as President in any country other than my own.

Indeed, so far as I can recall, I am, with the single exception of my immediate predecessor (Woodrow Wilson), the first President in office even to set foot on a politically-foreign soil. True, there is no definite inhibition upon one doing so, such as prevents any but a natural born citizen from becoming President, but an early prepossession soon developed into a tradition and for more than a hundred years held the effect of unwritten law. I am not prepared to say that the custom was not desirable, perhaps even needful, in the early days, when time was the chief requisite of travel. Assuredly, too, at present, the Chief Magistrate of a great Republic ought not to cultivate the habit or make a hobby of wandering over all the continents of the earth.

But exceptions are required to prove rules. And Canada is an exception, a most notable exception, from every viewpoint of the United States. You are not only our neighbour, but a very good neighbour, and we rejoice in your advancement.

I need not depict the points of similarity that make this attitude of the one toward the other irresistible. We think the same thoughts, live the same lives and cherish the same aspirations of service to each other in times of need. Thousands of your brave lads perished in gallant and generous action for the preservation of our Union.

Many of our young men followed Canadian colours to the battlefields of France before we entered the war and left their proportion of killed to share the graves of your intrepid sons. This statement is brought very intimately home to me, for one of the brave lads in my own newspaper office (Harding owned the Marion, Ohio Star) felt the call of service to the colours of the sons of Canada. He went to the front, and gave his life with your boys for the preservation of the American and Canadian concept of civilization.

When my mind reverts and my heart beats low to recollection of those faithful and noble companionships, I may not address you, to be sure, as “fellow citizens,” as I am accustomed to designate assemblages at home, but I may and do, with respect and pride, salute you as ”fellow men,” in mutual striving for common good.

What an object lesson of peace is shown today by our two countries to all the world! [Applause.] No grim-faced fortifications mark our frontiers, no huge battleships patrol our dividing waters, no stealthy spies lurk in our tranquil border hamlets. Only a scrap of paper, recording hardly more than a simple understanding, safeguards lives and properties on the Great Lakes, and only humble mile-posts mark the inviolable boundary line for thousands of miles through farm and forest.

Our protection is in our fraternity, our armor is our faith; the tie that binds more firmly year by year is ever-increasing acquaintance and comradeship through interchange of citizens; and the compact is not of perishable parchment, but of fair and honourable dealing which, God grant, shall continue for all time. 

An interesting and significant symptom of our growing mutuality appears in the fact that the voluntary inter-change of residents to which I have referred, is wholly free from restrictions. Our National and industrial exigencies have made it necessary for us, greatly to our regret, to fix limits to immigration from foreign countries. But there is no quota for Canada. [Applause.] We gladly welcome all of your sturdy, steady stock who care to come, as a strengthening ingredient and influence. We none the less bid Godspeed and happy days to the thousands of our own folk, who are swarming constantly over your land and participating in its remarkable development. 

Wherever in either of our countries any inhabitant of the one or the other can best serve the interests of himself and his family is the place for him to be. [Applause.] A further evidence of our increasing interdependence appears in the shifting of capital. Since the armistice, I am informed, approximately $2,500,000,000 has found its way from the United States into Canada for investment.

That is a huge sum of money, and I have no doubt is employed safely for us and helpfully for you. Most gratifying to you, moreover, should be the circumstance that one-half of that great sum has gone for purchase of your state and municipal bonds, — a tribute, indeed, to the scrupulous maintenance of your credit, to a degree equalled only by your mother country across the sea and your sister country across the hardly visible border.

These are simple facts which quickly resolve into history for guidance of mankind in the seeking of human happiness. “History, history!” ejaculated Lord Overton to his old friend, Lindsay, himself an historian; “what is the use of history? It only keeps people apart by reviving recollections of enmity.”

As we look forth today upon the nations of Europe, with their armed camps of nearly a million more men in 1923 than in 1913, we cannot deny the grain of truth in this observation. But not so here! A hundred years of tranquil relationships, throughout vicissitudes which elsewhere would have evoked armed conflict rather than arbitration, affords, truly declared James Bryce, “the finest example ever seen in history of an undefended frontier, whose very absence of armaments itself helped to prevent hostile demonstrations;” thus proving beyond question that “peace can always be kept, whatever be the grounds of controversy, between peoples that wish to keep it.” 

There is a great and highly pertinent truth, my friends, in that simple assertion. It is public will, not public force, that makes for enduring peace. And is it not a gratifying circumstance that it has fallen to the lot of us North Americans, living amicably for more than a century, under different flags, to present the most striking example yet produced of that basic fact?

If only European countries would heed the lesson conveyed by Canada and the United States, they would strike at the root of their own continuing disagreements and, in their own prosperity, forget to inveigh constantly at ours. 

Not that we would reproach them for resentment or envy, which after all is but a manifestation of human nature. Rather should we sympathize with their seeming inability to break the shackles of age-long methods, and rejoice in our own relative freedom from the stultifying effect of Old World customs and practices.

Our natural advantages are manifold and obvious. We are not palsied by the habits of a thousand years. We live in the power and glory of youth. Others derive justifiable satisfaction from contemplation of their resplendent pasts. We have relatively only our present to regard, and that, with eager eyes fixed chiefly and confidently upon our future.

Therein lies our best estate. We profit both mentally and materially from the fact that we have no “departed greatness” to recover, no “lost provinces” to regain, no new territory to covet, no ancient grudges to gnaw eternally at the heart of our National consciousness. Not only are we happily exempt from these handicaps of vengeance and prejudice, but we are animated correspondingly and most helpfully by our better knowledge, derived from longer experience, of the blessings of liberty. 

These advantages we may not appreciate to the full at all times, but we know that we possess them, and the day is far distant when, if ever, we shall fail to cherish and defend them against any conceivable assault from without or from within our borders.

I find that, quite unconsciously, I am speaking of our two countries almost in the singular when perhaps I should be more painstaking to keep them where they belong, in the plural. But I feel no need to apologize. You understand as well as I that I speak in no political sense. The ancient bugaboo of the United States scheming to annex Canada disappeared from all our minds years and years ago. [Applause.] Heaven knows we have all we can manage now, and room enough to spare for another hundred millions, before approaching the intensive stage of existence of many European states.

And if I might be so bold as to offer a word of advice to you, it would be this: Do not encourage any enterprise looking to Canada’s annexation of the United States. [Laughter.] You are one of the most capable governing peoples in the world, but I entreat you, for your own sakes, to think twice before undertaking management of the territory which lies between the Great Lakes and the Rio Grande. 

No, let us go our own gaits along parallel roads, you helping us and we helping you. So long as each country maintains its independence, and both recognize their interdependence, those paths cannot fail to be highways of progress and prosperity. Nationality continues to be a supreme factor in modern existence; make no mistake about that; but the day of the Chinese wall, inclosing a hermit nation, has passed forever. Even though space itself were not in process of annihilation by airplane, submarine, wireless and broadcasting, our very propinquity enjoins that most effective cooperation which comes only from clasping of hands in true faith and good fellowship. 

It is in precisely that spirit, men and women of Canada, that I have stopped on my way home from a visit to our pioneers in Alaska to make a passing call upon my very good neighbor of the fascinating Iroquois name, ”Kanada,” to whom, glorious in her youth and strength and beauty, on behalf of my own beloved country, I stretch forth both my arms in the most cordial fraternal greeting, with gratefulness for your splendid welcome in my heart, and from my lips the whispered prayer of our famed Rip Van Winkle: “May you all live long and prosper!” 

He gave the speech at Stanley Park, and attended a state dinner at 7:00.  After that, he reembarked on the USS Henderson and must have remained hungry, as he dined on some crab while the ship steamed to Seattle and shortly thereafter became very ill.

High waters brought disaster near Shoshoni.


The Tribune also reported that the French had lifted the blockade of the Ruhr, and they updated the curious case of Father Grace, who apparently objected to prohibition to some extent.  He had apparently forged an order for ten barrels of whiskey for the J. H. Mullen Home for the Aged in Arvada, Colorado.  He was turned over by another Priest.  Fr. Grace was the pastor at St. Anne's in Arvada, having been installed at the newly built church on July 4, 1920.

Catholic theology would hold that under some circumstances there's no obligation to comply with an unjust law and Fr. Mullen did not seem to be, at least at first, sorry for his act.  Maybe there's more to this story than it might at first seem.  This story isn't one that's easy to follow, however, so what became of him and what he later thought, we don't know.

Saturday, September 1, 2018

Railhead: Abandoned Chicago & Northwestern line, Powder River, Wyoming

Railhead: Abandoned Chicago & Northwestern line, Powder River, Wyoming



This is an unusual picture if you know what you are looking at.  In the distance, you can see an abandoned Chicago & Northwestern rail bed.  The line provided rail service from Casper to Lander starting in 1906, but its fortunes declined when it lost the U.S. Mail freight in 1943.   Shortly after that the Chicago & North Western began to run on the Burlington Northern line between Casper and Shoshoni, which still exists and most of the rail pulled.  In 1972 the portion of the rail between Lander and Shoshoni was abandoned for the most part, although a small local line still runs in the Shoshoni area.
This photograph not only shows the 1906 to 1943 rail bed, but also part of the original state highway that has been moved here and there in favor of a better road grade, as well as the current highway.  The old highway is to the right, the new one to the left.  The Burlington Northern is just a few miles to the north, but of course can't be seen in this south facing photograph.
This photo has made me realize how many rail locations I pass by all the time and haven't posted here.  This entire line is one I frequently encounter and could have posted long ago, and its not the only one.

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Railhead: Transportation juxtaposition

I recently posted this on our companion blog, Railhead: Transportation juxtaposition:


I noted in the text for that;
BNSF rail tunnels on left, Wyoming Highway Department tunnels on the right.

Wind River Canyon, Wyoming.
What I didn't note is how emblematic of modern local transportation this is.  The rail line on the left, running from Thermopolis to Riverton Wyoming, is spectacular in this stretch, but it carries only freight, like every other Wyoming rail line. At one time, that wasn't true.  It carried passengers as well. But that was decades ago.

The highway on the right is also spectacular, one of Wyoming's best in my views.  The replacement for the means of conveyance on the left, although in fairness I'm sure the road is quite old.  I don't know when the highway tunnels were put in.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Big Town, Small Town.

"I grew up in a small town"

Everyone has heard this comment, probably a million times, and let it pass on without comment.  Indeed, the American background story is, almost invariably, "I was born in a small town" or "I grew up on a farm".  So archetypal is it, that rocker John Cougar penned a song called "Small Town" which is entirely about the virtues of small towns.  Iris Dement, on the other hand, penned the heart breaking "Our Town" about a town that's clearly a small, and dying, small town.  John Prine went one step further and penned "Paradise" about Paradise Kentucky, a real small town, that he somewhat fictionally claims was "hauled away" by the Peabody Coal Company, to their enduring irritation.

The small town of Paradise Kentucky, in the late 19th Century.

Leaving the "I grew up on a farm" comment aside for a moment, it might serve to actually look at the statement. What's it mean?  That is, what is a small town, and do we really recognize one when we see one.

Do we really recognize a small town when we see one?

I grew up in Casper Wyoming.  It's not a small town, it's a medium sized city.  Because it is a western city, however, it's a medium sized city that's an island in the prairie to some extent, although this is now less true than it once was. Suffice it to say, however, the entire time I've lived in Casper, it's been a medium sized city, although my father lived in it when it was a small city and he lived through its growth to be a medium sized city, something he never commented on but which I'm glad in a way hasn't been my experience, as I would have lamented the change.  Having said that, I have lived in a small city, Laramie Wyoming, for a period of several years, and because it too is an island in the prairie, or more accurately the high plains, the geographic feel of the city doesn't vary tremendously from Casper in some ways.

While Casper is a small city, or rather a medium sized city, I've heard time and time again, both in the past and currently, that Casper's a "small town".  Far from it. It's definately not.  It has ample population to be regarded as a medium sized city, and if the greater metropolitan area is included, there's no doubt of that at all.  So why do people think that?

I wonder if it is, in part, because true "towns", at least in this region, have taken such a hit.  A lot of them are mere shadows of their former selves, if they are there at all.  For example, in this county, the small town of Powder River at one time spread across both sides of the highway and the town featured a church, post office, bar/restaurant, another restaurant, a hotel and a store.  It also had a railroad station.  It was never more than a small town, however.

Today, Powder River retains a church and a post office (and maybe the hotel is functioning, I'm not sure), but nothing else I've mentioned above still exists.  A person cannot even buy gasoline there, and the  nearest station is over 20 miles away.  It's not a town that a person could live in and expect to have any local services.

 
House of Our Shepherd Church in Powder River, Wyoming.  This Assemblies of God church is served by a pastor who is a local rancher, which adds another element to this story, as this town was always so small as to have a single church, in so far as I'm aware.  Slightly larger towns, like Shoshoni Wyoming, had considerably more services, including churches of more than one denomination.  The blue building to the left is or was a hotel.

Arminto, just up the railroad, may provide a better example.  It was always quite small, but none the less it was at one time very active.  It was the largest single railroad loading facility for sheep on earth, at one time.  It had a famous bar, a store, and a population that served the railroad.  Now, the bar is gone (burned down), there is no store, and the railroad doesn't stop there any more.

Arminto Wyoming, looking towards a grove of trees that stand where the bar and a hotel once did.  This town has the Disappearing Railroad Blues.*

And I could go on.  But, suffice it to say, in order for a small town to really survive now, it has to have a reason independant of isolation and the railroads, and even then things might be rough for it.  Shoshoni Wyoming, for example, hangs on, but it's at a junction for two state highways near a very busy recreational reservoir.  And even it is a mere shawdow of its former self.

For that reason, I think small cities, like Riverton Wyoming, get confused for "small towns" fairly frequently.  A true town, like Lander Wyoming or Thermopolis Wyoming, is probably a larger town by historical standards. Small towns that really hang on, for example something like Hudson Wyoming, or perhaps Dubois Wyoming, are exceptions, and exceptions for a definite reason.  We hardly recognize a real small town when we see one.

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*From the lyrics of The City of New Orleans, about a train named that, on its last run.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Transportation, Early 20th Century



Natrona County Tribune, 1909 A trip to write about -- "AN auto-stage line is to be established between Shoshoni and Thermopolis in the near future, and every editor in the state is hoping that the gasoline wagon will be in operation before the meeting of the Press association."

An item noted in today's Casper Star Tribune.