Jack County and the

Thompson Family
Jack County
1854-1857
The Homestead Law of 1854 was passed in Texas, declaring all unsettled land to be
a part of the public domain and open for preemption settlement. In that year the
first permanent settlers reached this section and our ancestor, Berry Lewis Ham,
was one of the first to arrive in what would become Jack County.

The land had undulating timber and prairie land with valleys traversed by the West
fork of the Trinity River and also by the tributaries of the Brazos River. There
was an abundance of water from surface shallow wells and artesian sources. The
prairie was covered with sedge and mesquite grasses, which made it a fine cattle
country. The mild climate made feeding necessary only in the midwinter months.
Timber growth was varied, with pecans furnishing a large nut crop and the soil was
very fertile. There were also extensive mineral resources such as coal, asphalt,
potter’s clay, and limestone.

In 1857, a thirty-mile square tract of land was taken from Cook County to officially
form Jack County.

The Ham Family

Berry Lewis and Dorcas Matilda Ham were born in Ellis County, near Ennis, Texas.
They grew up, were married and were the parents of eight children: six girls and
two boys. In 1854, B.L. moved to Jack County. In 1855 he brought his family there
from Ellis County. They lived six miles west of Jacksboro.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

Berry Lewis was among the first commissioners who bargained for the Jack County
Court House, a crude building with a buffalo hide for the door. He was also among
the number voting in the first Jack County election in 1857. The Butterfield
Overland mail route’s first stop was at Ham Springs, located near the Ham
residence and on Ham land and B. L. kept the Butterfield Stage Station. All eight
of the children grew up in Jack County, married and reared their families in Jack
County.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
A number of Negro slaves were living in Jack County before their freedom was
proclaimed in 1863. B.L. Ham owned one of these slaves, a woman about twenty-five
years of age. She was furnished a log cabin room a few feet from the house. She
helped with the raising of the Ham children and was a highly regarded person by
the family.

Supposedly, B. L. Ham was buried in a graveyard near the Ham home and on
Lawrance (neighbors) land. The only way this graveyard is now discernible is by a
rock fence and piles of rocks where the graves were. Several members of the Ham
family and the Lawrance family were buried in there. Dorcas Matilda Ham was
buried in Oakwood Cemetery in 1909-1910.

The children of Berry Lewis Ham and Dorcas Matilda Ham were: Evie (married
John Simpson); Jeanette (married Colonel. H.J. Thompson); Elizabeth (married Jim
Jones); Martha (married J.W. Bailey); Jane (married Wyatt); Virginia (married
Arch Pascall); Jim (married Carrie Farrer); Abner Lewis (Married (1st Cherokee
Wilson, (2nd) Mary Susan Bryant).

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Jeannette Ham Thompson

The Ham Children in later years

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

The Thompson Family

From 1857 to the start of the Civil war, Jack County was a rough place to live. Even
though there were only a few hardy settlers, there were three or four murders for
which the reasons were shrouded in mystery.

Into this environment, in 1859, came Henry Jack Thompson, then twenty-seven.
Originally from Tennessee, Henry had received a commission into the State of
Tennessee Militia on August 20, 1851.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Henry’s father, Robert H. Thompson, was a native of Tennessee, had been a soldier
in the Revolution, and was a prominent farmer. (Robert died in Parker County in
1862.) In 1859, Henry accompanied his parents to Texas and located at Veal’s
Station.

On March 14, 1861, H. J. married Jeannette. Henry was 29 and Jeannette was only
15. She was extremely tiny and weighed 90 pounds throughout her life. She dipped
snuff and had a reputation as an amazing shot—even well into old age. The following
verbal account came from my mother who had been told this by Jeannette when my
mother was a little girl. Henry was a friend of her fathers. He came by often for
meals and they became friends. She told my mother that she loved him from the
day she first saw him and he was very handsome in his Calvary officer uniform. One
day we went to leave and she walked out to see him get on his horse. He leaned over
and kissed her and said, “Will you marry me?” She clamed she said, “Yes—right
now!”

By 1861 and the start of the Civil War, times in Jack County had become even more
turbulent. Now the reasons behind murders were clear—North/South tensions
were running high. The Hancock family, for example, supposed to be Union
sympathizers, were attacked. The father was murdered and the eldest son was
left for dead. Although the County maintained its organization and regularly
elected county officers, once the war started many of the men were away in the
Southern Army, the military posts along the border were all abandoned, and danger
from Indians remained always imminent. At places, a few families were forted up
together to protect themselves. Many other families moved away to more thickly
settled counties, to escape Indian dangers.

By the summer of 1861, Henry had been made Captain of a Company of Rangers.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

Henry Jack Thompson

In the fall of that same year he moved to Jacksboro and took charge of a cattle
ranch belonging to his father-in-law (he had married Jeanette Ham on March 14,
1861).

He continued in both the Rangers and in the cattle business there until 1863. He
had never hidden the fact that he was a Union sympathizer and in 1863, in the
midst of that war, he was accused of abetting the Union army and a warrant was
issued for his arrest, dead or alive.

One Source’s account of what happened next:

“Confederate soldiers came to his house to make the arrest. He met them
at the gate, took the warrant to read, and while he was reading, a posse of
his own men, who were stationed in a small house nearby, came up and
surrounded and captured the officers, holding them prisoners and taking
them nearly to Mexico before releasing them. It was at this time that

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Captain Thompson and his men went North, and in their long journey, they
came near starving, being for five days without any thing to eat.”

Another source’s account of that event:

“(Because of the lawlessness of the region) an organization of what was
called Minute Men was effected, and all the men who were left at home
joined this organization and did valiant service against the menaces. In
particular in 1862 or 1863 any Union sympathizers in the area were in grave
danger. Prominent Union men in the area: Henry Thompson, Ben and Bev
Lawrence and their sons, and Jack and John Wright were compelled to flee
for their lives. To escape Southern soldiers they had to go from Jack
County to Kansas through the most dangerous Indian country, but after
many perilous dangers and hardships made it through. How they succeeded
in doing so was almost a miracle.”

Yet another account

“In April of that year (1863) he (Captain Thompson) raised a company of 100
men and went North, from here directing his course west into Mexico, where
his men scattered, thence north through Colorado and on to Kansas, and
thence to Missouri. He traveled about considerable, freighting some in
Utah, and at Emporia, Kansas where he engaged in merchandising. “

My mother told me that many months at a time would pass before Jeanette would
hear any news of him (as was the case for all of the Southern families with loved
ones in the war). She was afraid of him never returning but there was also fear of
what would happen and how he would be accepted if he did live and return. Also of
grave concern was the fact that this family, again like so many in the South, had
family members who had fought on opposing sides, “brother against brother.”
Although H.J. had fought for the North, his own brother had fought for the South.

The war was over and the South had lost but Jeanette had not heard of him or his
fate for almost a year. When the war ended Southern men were stranded around
the country because train tracks and other modes of transportation had been
decimated and travel was arduous. Jeanette told my mother, when she was a little
girl, that one day Jeanette was on her front porch shelling peas. Looking up she
saw him, coming over the hill walking toward her. With him was his brother. They
were walking side by side. She told my mother that at that moment she knew
everything would be all right.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
An account in a book, carries on the story:
“At the close of the war (1865), Henry Thompson met up with one of his
brothers, who had served three years in the Confederate Army. Together
they went to St. Joseph, Missouri and Council Bluffs where they bought up a
lot of horses, which they then brought to Texas. In the meantime they fell
in with five men who had been in Captain Thompson’s Ranger Company and
the seven journeyed south together. They had some trouble with the
Indians, and on one occasion were captured and held twenty-four hours by
the red men. At another time they were pursued for sixty miles by hostile
Indians, but made good their escape.”

After the Civil War: Fort Richardson is founded

The end of the Civil War found the Texas frontier in a very desperate condition.
Fire-scarred ruins of the homes of the settlers and numerous indications of “Indian
deviltry” bore evidence of the disaster which had overtaken the frontier. With
“impunity and boldness”, the Indians were still carrying out their forays, many times
within the vicinity of Decatur, Waco, Austin and San Antonio. The more advanced
towns of Jacksboro, Weatherford, and Comanche were “scenes of constant horror”.

The frontier people were helpless in the face of these destructive forays. When
the alarm was sounded at the approach of a war party of Indians, the settlers
would hastily assemble, mount their plow horses and move out toward the west. As
a rule, though, long before the settlers could get within striking distance, the
Indians would be well out of harm’s way, with the booty taken from the plundered
homes, riding horses stolen from the farms and ranches and driving others before
them.

In the face of this deplorable state of affairs, Governor Throckmorton appealed to

the President of the United States for troops to guard the Texas frontier. At this
time, President Johnson was carrying on a political struggle with a stubborn
congress, which charged him with being in sympathy with a “Sullen South”. General
Sheridan was heartily in accord with the position taken by Congress. When
Governor Throckmorton asked for the reoccupation of the frontier line of forts,
which were garrisoned before the war, the fiery General interpreted the request
as a subterfuge of the state executive to draw Union troops away from the area.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Consequently a controversy developed which in the end proved advantageous to the
frontier. The Texas legislature entered the field of conflict on the side of the
Governor and provided an act for the raising of three Battalions of the Texas
Rangers, to be placed under the charge of the commander of the federal troops in
Texas.

General Sheridan did not like to accept the services of these forces and finally
wrote Governor Throckmorton that he had transferred the Fourth Cavalry to the
frontier and would therefore not need the Texas troops. Following this action,
additional forces were sent into the state until a line of defense was reestablished
along the frontier.

In reestablishing the frontier lines of defense, new posts such as Fort Richardson
in Jacksboro, were erected. Fort Richardson was the first federal post south of
the Red River. With the establishment of the Fort, Captain Thompson was given
the contract to build the Fort.

Many years after his death the following article appeared. I have the original
yellowed paper but no reference to the date or the paper.

Henry Thompson, Pioneer, to be honored in Highway Name

Back in 1848 to 1850, Henry Thompson broke the trail between Fort Worth
and Fort Richardson, an outpost of civilization which later became
Jacksboro. He hauled supplies between Jefferson, in East Texas, to Fort
Richardson, by ox team and under contract with the government, built the
Fort.

But there was some misunderstanding about the contract, and Thompson
never received pay from the Government. Now, 75 years later, he is to be
honored for his pioneering a movement, having been started in Tarrant and
Jack Counties, to name newly proposed highway from Fort Worth to
Jacksboro as the “Thompson Highway.”

Jack county already has voted a bond issue of $400,000 and is at work upon
the road, with the state aid amounting to $800,000, a fund sufficient to
provide one of the best hard surfaced roads in Texas.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
The road, it is proposed, will run from here to Springtown, Poolville, and
Jacksboro, crossing a part of Parker County. Jack will extend the highway
to Young County and citizens are asking that these counties assist in
connecting the historic route. It is the hope of Jack County that this road
some day shall lead westward as far as Roswell, New Mexico.

Thompson, in the early days, passed through many adventures in fetching

supplies from East Texas, fighting Indians being all in a days work. His home
was in Tarrant County, and his widow, Mrs. Jeannette Thompson, still resides
near White Settlement. She is now in her nineties. Her husband has been
dead 45 years.

The ruins of old Fort Richardson at Jacksboro may still be seen. There was
little difference then between Fort Worth and Fort Richardson. Both had
their garrison of soldiers and a few white settlers, none of whom ever
dreamed of Fort Worth becoming a city of 175,000. But it was due to the
efforts of the early trailblazers like Thompson that gave Texas its start.
Thompson is said to have had $100,000 due from the government.

Fort Richardson
Once built, H. J. became the officer in charge of the Commissary. At some later
point he was promoted to Colonel.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
One Source writes:

Although the war had ended, Captain Thompson and his men found, upon
their arrival in Texas, that the trouble was not over and for a number of
years he felt that his life was in constant danger. On one occasion while
attending a sale of government wagons in Weatherford soon after his
return, a man drew a pistol on the Captain and would have killed him if it had
not been for his brother, who shot the would-be murderer. At this sale he
purchased a number of wagons and for some time thereafter was engaged in
contract work for the government, supplying grain and hay for the stock at
Fort Richardson, and in this made money.

In this role, he made trips regularly from Fort Richardson and Fort Worth for
supplies. These trips were extremely dangerous and they left his wife and small
children (Cherokee (Check-our ancestor), Al, Tchude, Luke, Tom, and Charlie)
at home alone (also dangerous). Later he became a real estate broker.

Here is a business card that he had in 1870

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
In the 1980’s my mother wrote of Jeanette’s recollections of that time:

We had a really pleasant outing to Fort Richardson Sunday. They have done
a lot of work since we were last there but still have a long way to go. Some
of the Commissary lists are signed Henry Jack Thompson, Colonel, U.S.C.,
Commissary Officer. He was Cherry’s great-great grandfather and his
mother was the full-blood Cherokee. By the time I knew Grandma
Thompson, his wife, she was in her nineties and wheelchair-bound, but still
with a very sharp mind. She died when I was nine, but before that I spent
many hours sitting on a footstool at her feet and drinking in her stories
about life on this Fort. I just wish someone older than I had had the
gumption to write them down. The commissary building is being restored,
but the living quarters are all long since gone. However, with the map and my
memory of some of her tales I could pick the spot where their cabin stood.

Theirs was the end cabin toward the open prairie and lake, which meant that
they were less protected from Indians, etc. than the others.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
(Once) he was on a trip to Fort Worth (took two weeks by wagon train) for
supplies and she was alone with four small children. She heard noises at the
window shutter in the middle of the night, asked who was there. She got no
answer, but the noise kept recurring. Finally she got the shotgun (she was a
dead shot even in her old age) and shot through the window point blank. No
more noise, but she sat up the remainder of the night with the gun across
her lap. At daylight she looked out and discovered she had shot their only
milk cow stone dead! She would tell this story, close her eyes, lean back in
her chair and laugh until tears ran down her cheeks. Even then I wondered
what it must have been like to live in that kind of constant fear.

She never got over the fear. The shotgun stood—loaded—by the door as
long as she lived, and nobody, including her own sons, approached her house
after dark without stopping well out of range and yelling until they had
properly identified themselves. She narrowly missed shooting my great-
uncle Al’s head off once because he remembered in the nick of time that he
had stepped on the porch without yelling “Ma” and hit the dirt. (Al had a
lifelong problem with alcohol.) She was not remorseful but furious with
him—made him spend the next day replacing the window she blew out as
punishment. He always thought this was funny—I never was sure I did!

Luke was still a boy when they moved to White Settlement. There had been
a scare about a panther in the area. Uncle Luke was walking through the
cornfield and filled his overall pockets with of dry ears of corn. As he
continued to walk he began to hear a hissing noise. Convinced that the
panther was after him, he started to run. The faster he ran, the louder the
noise became. It was not until he got home, told his story, and his mother
began to laugh that he realized that he had been hearing the dry corn
shucks in his pockets rubbing against each other.

Guess I should take time to write down the things I do remember, now that
you mention it.

Just how dangerous the trips between Fort Richardson and Fort Worth were
became clear on May 17, 1871. Colonel Thompson alternated these supply runs with
Captain Henry Warren. One evening General Sherman (of Civil War fame) and his
men had just arrived at Fort Richardson after having made an inspection of other
military posts. After refreshing himself, General Sherman joined Colonel McKenzie

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
on the wide veranda of the Fort for a visit. Both gentlemen were startled a few
minutes later to see three men run out of the nearby woods towards the Fort.

They brought the tragic news that Captain Henry Warren, and eight of his
teamsters, while making their supply run, had been killed, scalped and mutilated by
a large force of Kiowas and Comanches several miles from their Fort. Their 12
wagons had been looted and burned. Some of the murdered teamsters had been
tied to the wagon wheels and burned also. Five others, although wounded, managed
to escape with their lives.

General Sherman and his escort had passed the same spot the day before. The
Indians were there at that time, eager to attack. The only reason they did not was
that their medicine man, De-he-te (Owl Prophet) had prophesied that the party
that would come after would be more easily captured. Sherman was understandably
quite alarmed by his narrow escape. Previously he had been skeptical about the
reality of Indian atrocities on the frontier. Now he ordered an all-out pursuit of
the raiders and an immediate arrest of the three Kiowa Indian Chiefs responsible:
Satanta, Big Tree and Satank . They were easily captured because they were found
boasting of their grisly exploit to the Indian agent at Fort Sill. They were taken
back to Jacksboro under military escort to stand trial for murder.

As Sherman and his party returned to Jacksboro with their notorious captives and
neared the spot where Warren’s government wagon train had been demolished,
“Satank suddenly began a weird death chant. Translated it meant: o sun, you
remain forever but we, kaitsenka, must die. Finishing his death chant he seized a
Spencer carbine and attacked a soldier. He was immediately killed. After this,
Satanta and Big Tree were put in chains.”

They were tried in the court at Jacksboro. At their trial at Fort Richardson,
Satanta said,
“I have always been a friend of the white man. I am suffering now of the
crimes of the bad Indians of Satank, Lone Wolf, Kicking Bird and Fast Bear.
If you will let me go I will kill the three left alive with my own hands.”
The evidence against the chiefs was considered overwhelming and the jury quickly
brought in a verdict of murder in the first degree. Satanta and Big Tree were
sentenced to hang, but the judge recommended to the Governor that their
sentences be commuted to life imprisonment.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
In two years they were paroled under promises of good behavior and were returned
to their reservation. Big Tree lived up to the terms of the parole and died on the
Indian reservation in Oklahoma at a great age. Satanta “forgot his promise, and
once again off the reservation led his braves on raids against the Whites.” He was
rearrested and returned to Huntsville. He “pined away for the prairie and the
mountains and the free life of the Indian Nation. At last, broken hearted, he flung
himself in despair from the third floor of the prison.”

Jeanette continued to live in fear of her husband’s own trips under these
conditions. (She kept all of the newspaper articles about the event and the trial. I
have them but, needless to say, today they are just yellow crumbs.)

The widely publicized trial was the first time Indians were tried in a white man’s
court. It caused a temporary decrease in Indian raids but had even greater
consequences: it led directly to a permanent solution of Indian troubles on the
frontier. General Sherman authorized a policy long recommended—to pursue
marauding Indians to their camps, destroy their horses, supplies and force them
back into Indian Territory without resources for future attack. This proved
successful. By 1875, the frontier of Texas was relatively secure, and the services
of the troops at Fort Richardson were no longer needed. Orders for the
abandonment of Fort Richardson were issued March 29, 1878.

White Settlement, Texas (now part of Fort Worth)

Before the final disbandment, Colonel Thompson became the superintendent at the
government mills on Big Sandy for one year. After that he had bought a section of
land in Tarrant County, in the White Settlement Area., and in 1873 moved to that
place and commenced farming. He built this home there. (see below for picture).

On March 8, 1877 in the Commercial Advertiser in Chicago, Illinois, the following

real estate article appeared advertising this home for sale:

A Model Plantation

It is 1,200 acres in extent and is located six miles up the West Fork of the
Trinity River. This splendid estate lies in the bottoms and along the slope to
the West of the river and embodies some of the loveliest landscapes I have
seen in the South. It is finely fenced and in a high state of cultivation. The

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
green wheat fields in the bottoms, the undulating pastures along the slopes
and the grand parks of live oak, in the midst of which is the beautiful half-
gothic mansion house make up a picture of rural beauty and comfort which a
baron might covet. Colonel Henry Thompson, an old Tennessean, came this
way on a summer evening, asked for a nights lodging and, being denied,
registered in his heart a vow to won the estate one day. He kept his pledge
by subsequent purchase, laid out and perfected the plantation, and built an
elegant home from which he dispenses a hospitality which his guests are
never likely to forget.

He is a gentleman of simple tastes and habits, lives in close sympathy with

nature, and is one of her noblemen. I hold in memory the charming day at
the Thompson farm, envy the great hearted owner the pleasure of his quiet
and philosophical life here and hope to sit in the shadows of these grand live
oaks in one of the happy future days.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Also in the family papers is a copy of the 1877 sale of some of the goods from
house:

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
A page from a history book states:

From time to time he added to his original tract until he became the owner
of 2,000 acres in Parker County, 2,000 acres in Tarrant County, and also had
land in Jack and other counties.

According to newspaper reports, Henry and Jeanette were “prominent in civic,

religious and social affairs. They entertained with a calico ball, a very formal
affair. Jeanette’s brother, A. L. Ham and his wife attended traveling by train from
Jacksboro.”

I have two of the original tickets to the Ball:

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

After settling on his farm, he became greatly interested in raising stock, and at the
time of his death on August 26, 1883, had a “herd of choice cattle”.

“Long before he died, however, he won the confidence of the people about him and
was at peace with all mankind.”

Thompson Family

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

Future history of some of the children

Also raised a Mary N. Campbell (Aunt Mirt) born 1873 and died 1933. Not sure of
the reason but remained very dear to the family over the years.

Charlie E. Thompson (born 1882) was assassinated in 1907. No further information

is known about this.

H. L. (Luke) Thompson (1867-1922) married Lizzie Tinsley (186901938. One of

their sons, Rob, lived with my mother when they were growing up. He was like a
brother and I knew him as an uncle.

Jeanette, Al, and Luke or Tom

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

World’s Fair

In 1893, one of the children went to the first World’s Fair in Chicago. They bought
this glass with Jeanette B. Thompson and the date, 1893, engraved on it.

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 Jack County and the
Thompson Family

The Thompson 28

Family
 Jack County and the
Thompson Family

Henry
Jeanet
te Jack
Thomps Thomps
on on

Al Luke Charlie Mary Eva

Martha Cherokee
“Check”
1861-1940

Sources:
History of Jack County, pp. 113-114. Author unknown—just one photocopied page
was found)
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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Old Fort Griffin
Newspaper article from the Dallas morning news, September 29, 1929
By C. C. Raster
Secretary of the west Texas historical association

Taken from History of Texas p. 283

Was born in Tennessee on august 5, 1832 and died at his home in Tarrant county,
Texas August 26 1883.

Various undocumented photocopies of pages from books and old crumbling

newspaper articles—also undocumented.

Appendix: Ham Family

Texas Rangers
One of the most interesting characters of the frontier was the Texas Ranger. The
purpose of assembling the Texas rangers was to operate against the Indians in Jack
county and surrounding territory during the interim of 1860-1875.

The rangers received but little reward for their labor. The privates, a small salary,
the sergeants, lieutenants and captains a little more. They furnished their own
horses, clothing, arms, and ammunition. The rangers were composed of those heroic
spirits who made a choice between liberty or death. The ranger, like the few
remaining pioneers of today, in recounting his own deeds was modest, never talking
unless pressed. The deeds of bravery of the rangers were of such countless
numbers, that history will fail to know even the most prominent, conscientiously
doing his duty and daring all dangers. He broke the way for the onward March of
civilization.
This tribute to the Texas rangers was taken from Ninety-four years in Jack county
1854-1948, by Ida L. Huckabay.

Abner Lewis Ham was a Ranger from 1860-1875.

Service records of sons and Grandsons of the Hams

James Lewis Ham served in World War I in the quarter Masters Corp. He was
stationed in San Antonio, Texas, and served there until one year after the war
ended in 1919.

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family
Forest Ham was called into service in 1918 and was sent to France after training at
camp Pike, Arkansas. He was on the battlefield when the Armistice was signed in
1919. He was kept there for a year and brought home in 1920, safe and sound.

Ham grandchildren who served in WWII.

Earl Turner, Jr., son of Virginia Ham Turner, served from March 1943 until May
1946. He was a chief warrant Officer.

Covey Lewis Ham, son of James Lewis Ham, enlisted in the Air Corps and was sent
abroad for several years. He served in India, flew the Himalayas. To of their four
children were born in foreign countries. He became ill and was sent to Fort Worth.
He remained in the Air Corps until his death in 1956.

Pat and Pete Wood, sons of Elizabeth Ham Wood served overseas in the Air Corp.

Pat and Joe Davis, sons of Jane Ham Davis served several years in the Air Corp

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Jack County and the
Thompson Family

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Fort Worth and The
Farmers
Before 1840
Fort Worth through the years has been a city of “overpowering drama”. Indian tribes built
their villages in the little forests which lined the banks of the Trinity River long before a
white man ever came there. From these camps they raided white settlements as far south
as the Gulf coast. Buffaloes roamed through the present limits of the city, and herds of
wild horses, said by many to be finer than Arabian horses, were hunted by men from the
United States until 1838.

1840-1850

In the spring of 1846, E. W. Farmer arrived in Texas with his parents. He had been born
and reared in Roane County, Tennessee. At first the family stayed in Lamar County but
after three months they moved to Fannin County, where they raised a crop and stayed until
the fall of 1850.

In an article in the 1930’s, his son, Jim, says:

(My father) entered the ranks of cattlemen by earning a heifer through grubbing a
patch of mesquite trees for a neighbor. Other heifers were added to his herd and
for a time he ranched in Young County. Indian raids were a constant dread and
ranching at that time had many other handicaps unknown to the present day
generation of cattlemen. He helped to drive one herd of cattle from Texas to
Memphis, Tennessee where they were loaded out and shipped to St. Louis. They
could not be sold there and the cattle were sent to a point in Illinois.

In 1850 the Farmer family moved to Tarrant County. Fort Worth at that time was only a
small military post. This is how it appeared in 1849.

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Fort Worth and The
Farmers

At some point E. W. Farmer married Sallie Jackson. He established his home in the old
White Settlement and for many years was connected with agricultural interests. After two
years he located on a place about six miles west of the post which would become Fort
Worth. For many years he was well known as a stockman, being engaged in handling cattle on
the range in the country west of Fort Worth, always retaining his home in Tarrant County.

Another article says:

“E. W. Farmer was one of the pioneer stockmen and kept his herds largely in Young
County and vicinity. Like others in those early days he suffered greatly from the
depredations of the Indians, but with his headquarters at Flag Springs, he sent his
cowboys out upon the range to care for the cattle. The second year after the war
the Indians had become so troublesome that Mr. Farmer sold his cattle and
returned to his home in Tarrant County. He lived out his years in North Fort Worth.

Last Major Indian Battle

After the treaty of 1843, most hostile Indian tribes around Fort Worth retreated to West
Texas. A few remained, however, in Parker and Palo Pinto counties.

In 1849, a group of Comanches, led by Chief Ned, who thought Fort Worth was too close to
the Indian hunting grounds, came from Palo Pinto to obliterate the Fort. A war council was
held, in which it was decided that the tribe would divide into two groups. One, led by Chief
Ned, would take the southwest route to the Fort. The other group, with Chief Featherhead
in charge, would go by the northwest trail. The warriors planned to meet near Fort Worth
on the following night.

On the second night according to the plan, Chief Ned camped and awaited his fellow
Comanches, but a fur trapper spotted the sleeping warriors camped at the foot of the
Trinity Bluff. Within twenty minutes the trapper galloped to the Fort with the news and
soon Major Ripley Arnold’s men were prepared for battle. The Fort’s reliable six-pound
howitzer was rolled to the bluff above the camping Indians and made ready to fire, while
the troops split into three groups for the attack.

Because of a full, bright moon, Arnold’s men were able to make every shot count, and the
frightened Indians fled. In their retreat, they met Chief Featherhead’s advancing braves,
returning with them to Palo Pinto.

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Father of Fort Worth: Captain Ephraim Merrill Daggett
“Too big for a man, not big enough for a horse,” mumbled an Indian when introduced to
Captain Daggett in 1853. In truth Daggett was a giant both in stature and in politics. He
distinguished himself in the Mexican War. After the war, he returned to his home in East
Texas and represented Shelby County in the State Legislature for two years. During this
time, he made many visits to the fort to see his friend from the war, Major Arnold.

In 1849, Daggett and his brother staked out large tracts of land around the Fort and in
1853, when the troops evacuated the Fort, Daggett was one of the driving powers which
transformed the abandoned Fort into a town. In 1854, he moved his family and slaves there
and in 1856 obtained an order to have this new town, now called “Fort Town”, become the
County Seat.

James D. Farmer
On June 25, 1858, Jim Farmer was born. He was reared on his father’s home place in White
Settlement and spent some years on the farm of his uncle while his father was in Western
Texas in the cattle business.

There were three courthouses built (two burned down). This is the third, still standing
today.

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Farmers
From the 1860’s to the 1880’s: Cattle Trails Made Fort Worth
After the civil War, the northern markets called for Texas cattle. Texas cattlemen
rounded up the thousands of unbranded cattle roaming the prairies and drove them to the
railroads in Kansas. For nine years, from 1867 to 1876, when the railroad finally reached
Abilene, the only way to get Texas cattle to Kansas was up the trails. Since Fort Town, now
renamed Fort Worth, was the last outpost of civilization on the trail to Dodge City or

Abilene, Kansas, the cowboys stopped on the drive to shop, to restock the chuck wagons,
and to take a last fling in the saloons before continuing their lonely and difficult journey of
two months up the trail. As one old-timer later put it, “Fort Worth was less conscious of
her morals than some of her neighbors”. Some city fathers encouraged the somewhat
boisterous cattle trade for the money it attracted.

Exchange Avenue was born, a place where saloons (thirteen in it’s heyday), hotels, saddleries
and boot makers thrived.

(This is a drawing of how it looked then. It has been preserved and looks the same

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today—even to the point of having longhorns driven down the street in the summer for
the tourists.)

Also thriving were the cattle commission companies and meat packing plants.

At this time, as a young man, Jim Farmer was engaged in the cattle business and was
“successful in the undertaking, handling his herds in Parker and adjoining counties, and
having a ranch in Parker County for about ten years.” With the establishment of the stock
yards in North Forth Worth, he was among the first to engage in the cattle commission
business and organized the first firm for this purpose: the Fort Worth Live Stock
Commission Company.

His first office was in hotel. One of the large pictures in the family was taken outside it.

Note the little guy in the left rear holding up his hat to be seen! Also note the way
these businessmen (and women) dressed for business each day in the Texas heat.

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As an historical aside, one of the chief rivals for Fort Worth in those days was Fort
Richardson in Jacksboro. The two towns were each vying to get the cowboys to use the
trails which went through their areas. (See Thompson family history for more on Fort
Richardson). At this time, this major business area was actually north of Fort Worth (a
point which became important in later years).

A new nickname stuck: Cowtown.

1870’s Coming of the Railroad

Steamboats on the Mississippi made New Orleans the “Queen City Of The Gulf”. Railroads
across the prairies to Fort Town would make that town the “Queen City Of The Prairies”.
At least, this was the business logic of Fort Town’s boosters in the 1870’s. To transform
that logic into fact plunged the citizens in 1872 into a series of mighty battles and heart-
breaking delays which lasted until July 19, 1876, when the Texas and Pacific Railway came
snorting into the town.

In June of 1872, several eastern capitalists who represented the railway visited Fort
Worth. A committee of citizens, including Captain Daggett, entertained them and donated
land for the railroad and station. In August, a contract was signed to build the railroad by
January of 1874. Before that could happen the “Panic of ‘73” brought financial ruin to the
eastern capitalists, and the railroad was left stranded a few miles east of Dallas. This
financial crash also spelled potential ruin for Fort Worth.

From the fall of 1872 to the panic of 1873, Fort Worth had boomed into a bustling city of
4,000 with people flooding in in anticipation of the railroad. When the railroad plan
collapsed, the thriving city again became a hamlet, and “grass literally grew in the streets”.

The faith of the town’s founders, however, did not waver. Each succeeding Texas
Legislature extended time for the construction of the railroad another year. Finally, in
1875, the town citizens, despairing of the railroad being completed by the Texas Pacific
company decided to build it themselves. And so they did, laboring through the day, working
by torchlight until midnight, and resting until dawn. From sunset until midnight, ladies of
the city served coffee and sandwiches to the workers.

To meet the necessary deadline, ties were laid on top of the ground supported at each end
by fieldstones and rails. The track was so crooked and unstable that the train was forced
to creep the last three miles into the city. But they did it—the railroad was officially built
by the deadline imposed.

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On July 19, 1876, the first train puffed into Fort Worth. At daybreak, inhabitants, many
seeing a train for the first time, thronged into town. They came on foot, in wagons, and in
carriages. Cowboys rode in groups to view the spectacle.

When they arrived at the station, the people stood a great distance from the track, ready
to make a fast break for open country if necessary. Indians, who had come to the city with
great trepidation, stood far off, calling the monster a “puff wagon”. As the whistle blew a
warning and the train screeched to a stop, it blew steam and the frightened spectators
scattered. But after their first scare, they returned to marvel at the huge train.

If that locomotive had not screamed its entrance into Fort worth by that date the town
would have stayed just another hamlet, as did all the other towns which the railroads by-
passed. With the coming of the railroad, however, Fort Town became Fort Worth, the
town, “Where the West Begins”.

1880’s Promises and Struggles

Population more than tripled during this decade to more than 23,000. Beef production
increased sharply by 51 percent. Registered breeds finally outnumbered the longhorns.
The Texas Live Stock Journal, published in Fort Worth for the Cattle Raiser’s Organization
reached a circulation of 18,000. However, events of the decade would destroy many of the
optimistic hopes of the Fort Worth businessmen.

On April 19, 1883, James D. Farmer

married Cherokee Thompson.
This picture would have been in the
1880’s.

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1890’s Business depression

Uneven supplies of cattle contributed to the depressed situation, particularly during the
spring of 1892. The packing plant seemed at the mercy of the large Chicago packers. The
frequent unavailability of refrigerator cars when needed also created problems. An
entrepreneur from the north, Simpson, convinced all cattlemen to sign pledges to market all
of their cattle at Fort Worth until January of 1895. He then bought out all the existing
cattle commission companies and created the Fort Worth Stock Yards Company in 1893. In
1896, the first Southwestern Exposition and Livestock Show and Rodeo, which continues to
this day, was born.

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The Coliseum was build it 1908 (photo about 1920). It was the “Home of the World’s
first Indoor Rodeo”.

With an eye to helping business and calling more attention to their market, the Fort Worth
Stockyards Company, early in the summer of 1897, offered to build vats to dip cattle for
ticks, something which was killing large portions of the herds. One of the family pictures is
of these vats.

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1900-1920: Cattle Industry Thrives

In 1901 numerous cattlemen joined together with officials of the Fort Worth Stock Yards
Company and commission firms to incorporate into the Fort Worth Livestock Exchange to be
headquartered in the Exchange Building of the stockyards company. This exchange
functioned like the New York Stock exchange. All sheep, hogs, cattle, mules, and horses
sold on the Fort Worth livestock market was cleared through the exchange. Jim Farmer’s
Commission Company became “a very profitable undertaking” by reason of the great impetus
given to the cattle industry of these enterprises. At that time his company joined the
National Live Stock Commission Company and he became vice president and was in charge of
cattle sales for that firm. An article of the time says, “He is an experienced and expert
cattleman, being among the foremost representatives of the business.” The sales there
made Fort Worth the largest livestock market in the nation and by 1913, Fort Worth
became the largest speculator and feeder market in the world.

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Live Stock Exchange building built 1902

1905

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A small sampling of the acres of cattle pens.

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Interior of the Fort Worth Livestock Commission Company, 1903

James D. Farmer is on far left. Mother said that the man in the center is Mr. Cal
Calloway, Jim’s assistant for many years. The newspaper article I found said he was
Mr. Farmer’s partner, A.W. Wardlow, who later became President of the Exchange
State Bank. The woman is Miss Carrie Low, first stenographer at the Stock Yards.

James D. Farmer becomes Mayor

This profitable area was actually north of Fort Worth, and in 1902, a vote came to
incorporate this large area as it’s own city: North Fort Worth.

Quote from Livestock Legacy:

“Predictably, most candidates for the new community’s city council owned
commission firms or held other stockyards interests. James D. Farmer, a partner
in a commission firm on the yards, became the first Mayor of North Fort Worth.

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He owned land in the area and encouraged development by lending money to
newcomers to build houses if they would come there and work in the packing plants.“

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By the spring of 1903 the city council had adopted a resolution prohibiting the hitching of
horses on Main Street for longer than thirty minutes and reminded farmers bringing their
livestock to market to take note. “Perhaps the city fathers did not want the men to linger
to long at Frenchy’s Blue Goose Saloon”.

The council also adopted a resolution to expel “squatters” living in tents. People apparently
were moving in faster than carpenters could construct houses. Furthermore, many of the
immigrants from Eastern Europe were “tenting up” to save money for down payments on
their own homes rather than staying in the available boarding houses or renting from the
“company”. To expedite permanent settlement, the council announced that tent dwellers
would be fined $10 for every day they stayed after being given notice to move. “North Fort
Worth had begun taking itself seriously”.

The growing community soon acquired its own city hall and jail, both contained in a single red
brick building at the southeast corner of Twentieth Street and North main. At the council
meeting on February 11, 1903, the members even presented Mayor Farmer with a beautiful
wooden gavel with silver bands and a silver tip.

North Fort Worth existed as an independent municipality for only a little over seven years—
1902 – 1909. During that brief period it faced the same problems and concerns as any
burgeoning frontier community, including law enforcement, budgets, and public policy. Just
before Christmas in 1903 the council passed an ordinance prohibiting the shooting of
firecrackers and Roman candles on Main Street. This represented a considerable
improvement over earlier days when citizens more frequently shot off six-shooters than
Roman candles on Main Street. The following May, the council instructed the city attorney
to draft an ordinance forbidding the use of slingshots in North Fort Worth and also
“prohibiting leaving horses unhitched on streets and alleys and prohibiting some to awning
posts or lamp posts or fences”. Some stockyards cowboys must have angered citizens--a
civilized city could not allow horses just anywhere. The next month, the council passed an
ordinance to prevent persons from hopping steam cars while in motion.

The stockyards and related activities remained the city’s major industry and took
precedence over all other considerations. For example at the March 1906 meeting the
council authorized the city marshal to pay for four extra policemen during the livestock
show.

In 1909, North Fort Worth abruptly ceased to exist. At that time the state legislature
could merge incorporated cities whenever it chose and, with no consultation and in secrecy,
the legislature annexed this lucrative area into Fort Worth for its tax base. Since the
smaller city did not have a State Legislator living in its midst to advise them of

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developments, the city fathers literally awoke one morning to find themselves no longer a
town. They had been swallowed whole by Fort Worth.

1911-1930: Continued Success

These years were memorable and profitable, marred only by two major fires on Exchange
Avenue. The first was on March 14, 1911, the day that former president Teddy Roosevelt
was visiting. The second, presumably started by a spark from a locomotive was on June 25 a
year later. Great losses of livestock and buildings occurred in both of these.

In the 1920’s the raising of livestock remained the predominant industry of Texas, with
Texas providing eleven percent of the cattle for the entire country, nearly as much as any
other two states combined. Toward the close of the decade, however, cotton was growing
increasingly important, pushing livestock to second place.

1930’s:The Depression Years.

The decade of the thirties began badly, with an attempted robbery by a man carrying
nitroglycerine. He accidentally blew himself up, killing many around him and causing
extensive property damage. From there the decade saw erratic market receipts,
plummeting prices, and federal programs designed to stabilize the markets. Lower profits
came to stockyard owners, not only because of the national business decline, but also
because the use of trucks and the expansion of feedlots nationwide began to break the
power of the meat trust. Even so, it was reported that Fort Worth employment still
enjoyed a ten percent advantage over the state as a whole, thanks to the activities
encouraged by the livestock market.

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Mother wrote:
I forgot to write on those three pix you took home—I am not sure but I think the chuck
wagon one was taken on a ranch in Archer County near Wichita Falls around 1915 and that
the man is Uncle J.D. Farmer.

The other two are uncle Jolly Farmer (that was his name—he was the ninth child and maybe
they had quit caring by then? Also a Captain Jolly was a close family friend). The horse is
Centipede, whom he later gave to me and who was either my best friend or worst enemy for
a lot of years—I was never sure which! The pictures were taken at our place in
Weatherford.

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The 1923 Model T truck was my first “Driver’s ED” vehicle! Picture is around 1930, I
think.

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1940’s
Jim Farmer, now known as the “Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”, died in
1942.

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Sources:

Much of the history of Fort Worth is taken from Down Historic Trails of Fort Worth and
Tarrant County by the Arlington Heights Junior Historians. It is edited by Kathryn Garrett
and Mary Daggett Lake, designed and produced by Dudley Hodgkin’s Company in Fort Worth,
Texas. Copyrighted 1949. It is a collection of history of Fort Worth essays by high school
students. The second major source is Livestock Legacy: The Fort Worth Stockyards by
J’Nell L. Pate, Texas A&M University Press, College Station, 1988. Information on James D.
Farmer and his parents is from History of North and West Texas. (There are just some
photocopied pages so the rest of the information is unknown).

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“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

On June 25, 1858, Jim Farmer was born in a log house in the woods just south of what is
now Lake Worth. In an interview in 1937 he recalled distinctly the loss of his little red hat
while attending his first school in the White Settlement district west of Forth Worth. He
also recalled a broad checked, bright-colored dress worn by little Cherokee Thompson (his
future wife) while attending school at Veal’s Station. He was reared on his father’s home
place in White Settlement and spent some years on the farm of his uncle while his father
was in Western Texas in the cattle business.

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Cattlemen Magazine, which did an article on him, noted that many of his classmates at
Mansfield College, which he attended for two years, were prominent later in the political
and business life of Texas.

“Farmer’s unofficial school activities included a moonlight foray on a water-melon

patch by a group of boys who were caught in the act and the uneasiness that
followed the untimely end of the dog that chased him. Farmer is an effective
storyteller and you will enjoy hearing him tell of these and other events.)

In that same article it was noted:

James D. Farmer was the first mayor of north Fort Worth. He is keen student of
politics and takes much interest in the civic life of forth worth. It is not unusual
for him to express his views on some subject in poetry. He has the courage of his
convictions and is ready to express them. However, he has the faculty to differ
with one about something and no lose his friendship.

Farmer was an inveterate smoker but had to quit. He went for three or four years
without having a cigar in his mouth. For about twenty years he has used three or
four cigars a day but he never lights one. You seldom see him during the day without
a cigar in his mouth. He with is cigar is a familiar figure about the yards at Fort
Worth and when the market is very slow he uses an extra cigar or two if he has a
string of steers to sell.

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“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

On April 19, 1883, James D. Farmer married his boyhood sweetheart, Cherokee Thompson,

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Jim Farmer was a lifelong writer and a poet. He published many many poems and stories
over the years, usually under a pen name. His two most frequent nom-de-plumes were
Guillermo and Evan Lambert. I have a full scrapbook of probably at least seventy-five
published poems and stories. However, most are yellowed, crumbly and unreadable. There
is one, however, that was saved. It was referenced in an article in the Fort Worth Star
Telegram. Apparently in his later years he put a sidewalk in all around his home.

Immediately this sidewalk was used by all the neighborhood children for skating and
scootering. Someone asked him if the noise bothered him.

His reply was the following poem which was published widely:

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“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

The picture below was taken at Jack Farmer’s Ranch in Albany, which at one point was
100,000 acres. Left to right is Jack, Minnie, Check, Jeanette?, Cherry (my
grandmother), Jane (my mother) Martha (her sister). I am not sure who the man is,
in back is possibly Al (J.D.Jr.’s son). In front is Jim Farmer.

Essay on James D. Farmer

Jeanette Farmer, who the family called, "Sis", was one of Jim’s three daughters. My
generation called her “Auntie”. She was a schoolteacher who never married. She loved
literature and was a published writer. Every year for Christmas she gave me a book. She
wrote and published the following, which is not only a colorful description of him, it offers
insight into the times.

She writes:
It is not conventional to write tolerantly concerning profanity. To express open
admiration for it is no less than brazen impiety. But the thing I have in mind seems,
somehow, set apart from the profane. It is more in the nature of the therapeutic.

“The release of pent-up forces,” says the psychiatrist, “is as essential to the soul as
food is to the body.” “Pent-up emotion,” says the physician, “is an ulcer on the

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 Jim Farmer
“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”
spirit—it could lead to grave ills. It must be drained.” Thus the learned professions
recognize the universal need of an emotional escape hatch.

How human kind responds to this urge to “get it off the chest” depends on
conditioned reflexes. A child may kick and scream. Nice old ladies, goaded too far,
can slam a door with significant fervor. A man I know claims eloquence in four
languages: English, Spanish, Sailor, and Oilfield. He can, on occasion, substantiate
this claim. And his is a most untidy verbiage. There are some who seek refuge in
the bottle. And we have those who suffer in silence. To each is own…

In an era fast fading into oblivion, in a land fast being settled and fenced, there is a
manner of speech—a picturesque parlance—which belongs exclusively to the West,
to the cow country and to the man whose business is cattle, himself fast becoming a
legend.

His is a racy idiom—a fluent flow of fanciful phrases—easy, relaxed, as natural and
as wholly reflexive as the breath he draws. As a means of communication it is not
elegant, but it is wholly adequate. It is a dependable safety valve for honest wrath.
Sometimes it can seem a solace against drought, blizzard, government interference,
and woes ad infinitum that plague the cattleman.

For an otherwise inarticulate cowboy, it provides a verbal outlet for deeper

emotions—love, grief, and yes, reverence. There is a story that a minister and a
cowboy were each seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. The minister, deeply
moved, spoke from the fullness of his heart—“Lord, how wonderful is thy
handiwork.” The cowboy reached up and removed his hat. He spoke quietly to his
companion—“Don’t that beat Hell?” They were expressing the same emotion. The
difference was in syntax, not sincerity.

If his verbal communion with his Maker seems, to the uninitiated, casual and
informal, one must remember that a life of constant conflict with the forces of
nature has brought the cowman into a close relationship with his Creator. He often
needs and he often receives Divine Aid. He has a working partnership with the
Almighty. And he speaks to him as one partner to another.

These are good men and true—men of worth and dignity—the salt of the earth.
They take their personal obligations and their church affiliations seriously. They
take their cussing likewise and most are past masters of the pungent phrase.

I recall with singular clarity the day that I knew that this vernacular was not an
iniquity but a tool of the trade—a matter of taste and certainly of talent.

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My father, a livestock commission man, was one of this breed—honest, fearless, a

Presbyterian, a fanatic prohibitionist, a friend to all who came his way.

He was a big man, more than six feet tall, very handsome and very distinguished. He
habitually wore in his mouth a long unlighted cigar on which he chewed reflectively
throughout the day.

I was his official chauffeur and one blistering Texas afternoon it fell my lot to drive
him out some forty miles from Fort Worth to where a customer was to ship a bunch
of nondescript old strays who had, by sheer villainy, hitherto escaped the loading
dock.

We arrived as the gaunt old specters came straggling in, milling uneasily as sore and
weary cowboys struggled to divert a few young cattle, not ready for market, to the
adjoining pasture where the wire gap had been thrown back to receive them.

By some unaccountable insanity, the engineer of a rattle-trap old switch engine,

backed in on the siding, chose this moment to open one of its wheezy valves and
release a long hiss of steam. That did it! They were gone in a second—in a roar and
a great choking cloud of dust.

The Great Partner was standing by or we might all have been killed. As it was, no
man or horse was in their path.

They took off straight back to the thousand or so acres of brush from which they
had so recently and so painfully been gathered.

All but one—an old dun-colored steer, a mean and crafty old hunk of hide and tallow,
related to Satan as much in character as he was by hoof and horn, had elected to
stand his ground. A departing cowboy yelled to us to hold him there. But he had no
intention of being held. He had decided to escape to the near-by pasture instead of
entering the small trap where he was supposed to await deportation. And
accordingly, he started toward the gap.

My father descended from the car and ran toward him waving his hat. At least it
was a reasonable facsimile of running. My Pop was nearly seventy, a little on the
heavy side, but he hadn’t run in twenty years.

Dun gave him a calculating look but he swung about and retreated. He soon turned
and came back, only to be waved back a second time. This see-saw routine went on

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and on. Each time Dun advanced he gained a few feet. His adversary, realizing this,
committed what turned out to be a tactical error. He took up a last stand in front
of the open gap.

The day was hot, the dust was stifling, and Dun was bored and tired. If this hat-
waving was a bluff, he would call it. He did. He tore across the cattle guard and
into the pasture, knocking my parent down and into the barbed wire gap.

Before I could even wonder if he had been killed, my father rose to his full height.
One leg of his trousers was ripped in the rear from belt through cuff. His best
Stetson had been trampled in the dust. His cigar was gone and he had no spare. His
glasses were bent and hung at a cock-eyed angle.

He stood, middle-aged and fat, pants leg flapping, blood trickling from his many
wounds, sweat pouring in rivers down his dusty face, the maddest man I ever saw.

For one horrified instant I thought he would have a stroke. But I needn’t have
worried. He, apparently, knew all about the release of pent-up forces. And he rose
to the occasion forthwith and ably. He indulged in some very competent self-
expression. I who had a moment before been thinking dispiritedly of a bathtub and
a cool house, was suddenly electrified. I listened delightedly to the saltiest, the
toughest, the most un-Presbyterian terminology it has ever been my pleasure to
hear.

The assault on the character of that old dun-colored demon was a masterpiece of
polished prose—of words and phrases worn smooth in their passage down the years.
Dun’s personal shortcomings, and they were many and lamentable, were well taken
care of. Dun’s maternal ancestry, even more lamentable, was disposed of in the
graphic, time-honored cliché, known to most small boys and to all ancestors of small
boys. It left Dun’s bovine genealogy open to grave question.

The discourse, for obvious reasons of censorship, cannot be reproduced here, but it
bore the hallmark—the stamp of artistry and authority.

To me, a prim pedagogue, obligated to uphold high morals and pure English, it was
music to my ears and refreshment to my spirit. I had a feeling that a virtuoso was
playing to an empty theater. But it was not quite empty. Dun was there.

He had stopped on a little rise nearby and he looked back listening, as if his ear
were attuned to just such rhetorical harmonies. This was a language he understood,
and he stood for a long moment giving my father’s remarks careful consideration.

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By some process of bovine reasoning, he seemed to know he had gone far enough.
Then he did what any cowman knows he did—the totally unexpected.

He lumbered with great dignity back across the cattle guard. And, with a flirt of
his tail and a movement almost like a ballet dancer, he darted into the trap and
calmly started browsing on its few tufts of dry, dusty grass.

He was in no way chastened in spirit, no less villainous in character. He had not been
persuaded. He had been convinced.

My father limped over and fastened the gap. Dun lifted his head and stared across
the fence at him. A long and understanding look seemed to pass between them.
Were they antagonists? Each knew the password of a great fraternity. They
understood the same language. Perhaps both knew they were haring the last fading
echoes of bawling herd and yelling cowboy. Perhaps each knew himself to be a
symbol of a glorious epoch that would pass this way no more.

As we drove away, we paused and looked back in silent salute to the gallant old rack
of bones who stood lonely and bewildered at the end of the trail.

His freedom was gone. Sun and space and solitude were lost to him forever. He
seemed to know. But his fighting spirit was unbroken. Dignity and pride still were
his. And why not? Had his progenitors not once been the very dependence of
prosperity in this land? Had they not been the great herds that once grazed these
prairies and helped to build a vast industry? Were they not the genesis of an era so
colorful as to be unsurpassed in all the world? Already they were immortalized in
sculpture and painting, in song and story of a great nation.

My father pronounced a final imprecation as we drove away, which somehow had

more the ring of a tribute and perhaps a little of the sadness of a benediction.
“You__ _____ old brindle cuss”, he said. And added, “I’ve been shoved by many a
son __ _ _____ who isn’t fit to live in the same country with you.”

Many silent miles later, he said, “Sister, call Doc first thing in the morning and get
my glasses fixed. My eyes keep watering.”

To the hardy souls who understand it, the speech of these men is just part of the
sound and color and movement of a once magnificent way of life. Were they profane
or were they just proficient?

I leave it to a jury of there peers, if, indeed, they have any peers.

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 Jim Farmer
“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

Here he is playing with his granddaughter, Sarah, Minnie’s daughter:

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 Jim Farmer
“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

The Bow Tie

Jim Farmer’s beloved Check died a year and a half before him. He had worn a tie his entire
life, even in this hunting picture he can be seen wearing a coat and tie!

He was a large man, well over six feet. Check was tiny, under five feet. My mother told me
that as his last act every morning before leaving the house, he would put his bow tie around
his neck, and lift up Check and hold her while she tied his tie. He would then kiss her and
put her down. From her death onward, he wore his bowtie dangling around his neck. He
would not tie it, nor would he allow anyone else to.

55
 Jim Farmer
“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”
Here is the poem he wrote about her:

Cherokee
By Evan Lambert

Blithesome as the day is long

All the hours beguiled with song,
Always happy, glad and free,
Is the winsome Cherokee;
Dropping lashes black as jet
For she is a sweet brunette’
She’s mischievous, full of glee,
Is the winsome Cherokee

Amongst far nations I have been,

All their daughters have I seen,
Yet none seemed so fair to me
As the winsome Cherokee.
But why speak such praises fine,
When she never can be mine?
Lost forever more to me
Is the winsome Cherokee.

Oft in dreams I seem to kiss

Those sweet lips in endless bliss,
But I never more will be
Kissed by winsome Cherokee,
Though I did possess the earth,
‘Twould be but a farthings worth,
Unless I the form could see
Of the winsome Cherokee.

He died in January 1942 at the age of 84. In his obituary it was said:

Starting in 1938, it had become a custom for his friends and associates to honor Mr.
Farmer with a birthday celebration. At one of these affairs it was stated that “if
all the cattle he had bought and sold could be strung out in single file, the leaders
would be drinking out of the Atlantic Ocean when the “drag’ of the line would still be
in Fort Worth.”

56
Jim Farmer
“The Grand Old Man of the Fort Worth Stockyards”

57
 Check
Farmer

57
 Check
Farmer
The picture above was beloved by the family because it captured her. She is sitting on her
front porch where, in her later years, she spent long hours reading, shelling peas, or playing
with the grandchildren. Across the street can be seen the Fire House.

She was born on December 28, 1861 just as the Civil War was breaking out. She must have
had a very stress-filled childhood growing up with a father who had to flee the family for a
few years during the Civil War because he was a Union sympathizer and who for his long
career as a Calvary Colonel was away from the family for weeks at a time. (see Thompson
Family History). Her own childhood--left alone with her mother and brothers and sister,
facing constant fear of Indian raids, must also have been harrowing. She went to school
with Jim, her future husband, and at one point they did not live far from each other.

Theirs was a devoted marriage. All of the family spoke of both of them with great love. My
mother told me that her grandmother’s first act, every morning of her life, was to make a
huge batch of biscuits for the large family.

Here she is a young women.

She was very tiny, not even
five feet tall, but her
Cherokee ancestry can be
seen very clearly.

58
 Check
Farmer

59
 Check
Farmer
On April 19, 1883, Check married her childhood sweetheart, Jim Farmer. Of the picture my
mother wrote: the dress was plum-colored, very soft wool. She still had it and could still
wear it in my lifetime. I wish they were both standing so you could see how huge he was and
how tine she was. Also I dislike the solemn expressions required then. Grandpa was never
that solemn! And Grandmother, who even as an old lady was pretty, had a sweet delightful
expression at all times. The picture also does not show how Cherokee she looked. Her hair
was jet black and her eyes very dark.

This is the home Mayor Farmer built in North Fort Worth at 702 N.W. 24th St and Refugio.
They lived there from 1898 to their deaths in the 1940’s.
Jim, Check, and Minnie are seen in the front yard.

This is the rear view

60
 Check
Farmer

Mom told me the following about the house:

It was built in 1898 for them and had six bedrooms. You entered into
the Reception Hall, which had a large marble fireplace. It was large
enough for two sets of square dancing at once and the home was often
filled with guests doing just that!

To the right was the Parlor, also with a fireplace. That room had walls
lined with glass-front bookcases. There were double sliding doors
between the Parlor and the Reception Hall.

Behind the Parlor was the master bedroom. It was huge, with two
daybeds in addition to a four-poster bed. Across the hall there was
another bedroom. The hall made an L and behind it was yet another
bedroom. Behind that were stairs going up. Then came the kitchen
with a large pantry on the left.

Over the years they had nine children: Fred, Mary C. (Minnie), Ward, Jeannette, J.D. Jr.,
Martha Cherokee (Cherry- my grandmother), Jack, Jolly, and Robert, who died in infancy.

This is Fred, Ward, and Minnie

61
 Check
Farmer

Below is Jack and Jolly

62
 Check
Farmer

Cherry Farmer at age 3.

A letter she wrote to her children on genealogy follows:

Dear Children,

This is in no sense intended as a genealogical record. Many documents and records

to which I have access are so yellowed and faded as to be useless and some have
crumbled in my hands…I have tried to give only facts that I can verify.

…There are many old tales handed down from one generation to the next. If I
include any of these it will be because I have loved them, not because I can vouch
for their authenticity as very old people are prone to remember kindly the days of
their youth, and as many a teller of tales was already living in an album-tinted world
where harsh realities were mercifully softened by failing memories, it is hard to
separate fact from fancy.

Records substantiate that the Farmer family migrated from Ireland an England, and
the Thompson family from Scotland. But it would take years of dedicated research
to explore these dim trails and I have neither time nor energy

Besides, it is my firm belief that the best proof of sound heredity is the use you
make of it to uphold the spiritual and political ideals bequeathed to you by your

63
 Check
Farmer
forbears…Sometimes a man, due to unfortunate circumstances, cannot add great
luster to a good name. But every man, no matter what his adversities, can keep his
name untarnished. He owes it to himself and to his country to bequeath to his
children the heritage of a good name, and to train them so that they may do the
same for their children.

He can leave them no greater legacy.

Check died on May 12, 1940.

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