Daugherty Family - Wessington

I love this story written by Jean De Haven Walz, aunt of Jean DeHaven, first cousin of my mother, Helen Daugherty Hostvet.

Jean titles this, "Teddy Roosevelt and the Wessington Blacksmith". I only wish that Grandpa Fred's brother, Robbie, would have been the blacksmith mentioned. He was not...the honor goes to Jimmy Cowell, one of two or three blacksmiths in Wessington, S.D.

"I was five in the year 1915 and had just moved to my first metropolis - the central South Dakota community of Wessington, boasting around 650 souls. I had lived first in a sod shanty on a homestead in Capa (now a west river ghost town.) Capa had maybe thirteen inhabitants - counting cats, dogs, and rattlesnakes.

My cattle buyer, horse trader, auctioneer, entrepreneur father (Albert DeHaven) next moved his wife and five children to a bigger, more settled village - attractive and treeshaded Forestburg. The even larger community of Wessington presented a challenge to me. I did a fair amount of exploring.

One day I met Jimmy Cowell - one of two or three blacksmiths in Wessington. Jimmy was a squat, solid, reddish-bearded man - not too clean, even greasy in his heavy blacksmith's apron. He was also by nature taciturn, as he worked or lounged outside or inside his long, two-storied, shed. We somehow became friends as I - always talkative - tagged at his heels. As I spent pleasant summer afternoons in his company, it didn't bother me that the good citizens of Wessington and vicinity had little to do with him, except to use his professinal services. He was a good blacksmith.

But before long, new friends, school, a pony of my own and other such pleasures for children of small town life made me forget Jimmy Cowell - no, not forget, just not find time for.

When I was in high school, I mentioned to my brother-in-law, born and raised in Wessington, this early admiration of mine for Jimmy Cowell, and he told me the following story. Of course one needs to understand first the excitement of the daily arrival of the 10 a.m. train which broke the monotony of small town life.

That monotony was certainly shattered, one particular day, when Jimmy Cowell appeared at the station - shaved, clean, dressed in his very best and driving a rented team hitched to a likewise rented Studebaker wagon.

In the wagon were groceries, a tent, and bedding - all the supplies needed for a camping or hunting expedition. None of the inquisitive gapers dared ask questions of the broadly smiling Jimmy. The train pulled in, and who should get off but Teddy Roosevelt! He and Jimmy greeted each other as long-time, sturdy friends. Teddy threw his gear into the wagon. The two friends climbed onto the wagon seat and off they drove.

At the time my brother-in-law told me the story, what they did for several days before Jimmy delivered his famous guest back to the 6 p.m. train going east, was still shrouded in mystery. It was, however, strongly held that they disappeared 20 miles into the Wessington Hills to camp and hunt. Rumor, supported possibly by hints dropped by the blacksmith himself, had it that they had met and forged a mutual admiration when Teddy had visited the North Dakota Badlands, living the life of cowboys and regaining some lost health.

Now let us skip ahaead a few more years. I was a freshman or sophomore at Northern State Teacher's College Aberdeen when, one noon, I dashed into the apartment shared with my sister, a teacher in Aberdeen High School, opened a letter from my mother (Eva Eddings DeHaven), and read: "Jimmy Cowell died this week. Imagine the surprise when people entered his upstairs living quarter - which no one had ever seen - to discover it filled with lovely and beautifully refinished old, solid walnut furniture."

Here was a man who lived in his own isolation, ignored, sometimes shunned, looked down upon, but a man who could befriend a lonely five-year-old. Who could ask for more than he had; a rich and enduring friendship with a magnetic leader of his country and a love of beauty - the beauty of fine design in wood?

I'm glad I knew Jimmy Cowell."

Note: At the time of this writing, 1989, for the South Dakota Magazine, Jean was living in Brookings. I'd like to find out more about her. I need to get in touch with DeHaven relatives that have E-Mail. I think I'll send Deanne Rowen a note.