BJ Alderman is a native of Kansas and has spent the past five years researching the life and times of Sheriff Jim and Kate Weakley. Articles written by BJ have appeared in the November 2002 and March 2003 issues of the Chronicle of The Old West and the Winter issue of Cumberland County History of Carlisle, PA.

Readers may also enjoy articles by this author in other fine Old West publications. Her most current article appears in the May/June issue of Kansas Cowboy.

Recently, BJ also received the Tihen Research Grant for 2003-2004 from the Kansas State Historical Society in Topeka.

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Part 1

Russell County, Kansas exists in the heart of the prairie near the center of the continental United States. Some who settled there in the first half of the 1870s were the grandchildren of American Revolutionary War soldiers. Many who settled there had fought for the Union cause during the War of the Rebellion. Most of the nation looked upon July 4th, 1876, the Centennial of Independence, with enthusiasm and jubilation. It had been but a dozen years since they lived through the near demise of the United States when fighting raged between North and South. Just days after the citizens of fledgling Russell County celebrated one hundred years of growth and progress in America, disaster struck and much of their own newly hard-earned growth and progress disappeared in but a moment.

Those who had gathered joyfully on July 4th in one of the rare sylvan groves in the center of the county, gathered again on the 10th in Russell City to help each other and two train-loads of strangers cope with the aftermath of a cyclone that roared through the new county seat and surrounding area. The terrible storm struck at 7:30 p.m. just after most of the towns residents had enjoyed an ice cream social. Fortunately, most had already returned to their homes because of the ominous clouds threatening from the west. Lightning and thunder heralded the approach of the storm across the rolling vastness of the Great Plains. The dirt streets stood silent witness to the flying dust as the winds reached town. The few residents still out and about dashed for cover to avoid the first giant drops spattering heavily, first here and there, then everywhere in a steady downpour. The atmosphere turned a sickly green. The clouds let loose.

As the rain fell in torrents and the wind increased in velocity, bits and pieces of buildings flew through the air. Citizens cowered in their homes as the walls around them trembled and shuddered. In a few minutes that felt like forever, roofs blew away, several construction sites collapsed, and chimney bricks rained down into the now muddy streets along with the watery onslaught from above.

The newspaper editor, printing the larger than usual next edition full of news about the day-long celebration of the Centennial, fled his office as the plaster ceiling fell down around him. Moments before, the tin roof protecting the interior of the stone building where he worked had clattered noisily into the street a block away. A week later, he was up and running again; able to report We sustained some damage to books and stock, and are looking every minute for the balance of the plastering to come down on our heads: otherwise we are perfectly happy.

Russell County suffered a variety of calamities during those few minutes as the result of the Centennial Cyclone. Lightning struck and killed cows belonging to the dairy owned by Mr. Tusten and his partner, causing a setback in their production of a fine local cheese that was proving popular with the public. Lightning also killed a span of mules belonging to a man who had lost all of his grain the harvest before in a prairie fire. Mr. Landis, the unfortunate soul, must have wondered if he was meant to farm in Russell Country after losing so much so quickly. His friends and neighbors donated $100 with which Landis replaced his team and returned to his hauling business, a venture much needed by the citizens of the new county.

The Kansas Pacific tracks sunk below water level somewhere around Dorrance. Trains from both the east and the west stopped at Russell City until the water receded and tracks could be inspected. The passengers headed from Kansas City to Denver and Denver to Kansas City poured out to view the untidy aftermath, grateful to be on solid ground again. Everyone was fed and comforted by the dazed residents of Russell City while scouts struck out along the tracks to ensure that they were still in place and stable.

The Kansas City train was able to proceed west toward Denver the next morning, toward an even worse fate. The passengers from the train headed for Kansas City from Denver, watching their counterparts continue their fateful journey, grumbled a little at being force to dally in Russell City. Repairs were required near Wilson as there had been a number of severe wash outs with which to contend.

The passengers from Denver must have been shocked by the fury of the storm that overtook them as it and they headed east. They probably felt quite fearful to be trapped in what suddenly became a very flimsy train that crawled tentatively along the huge expanse of prairie as it was pounced upon by a horrifying monster of lightning and thunder, hail, rain and tornadic winds. The gale had blown hard enough to more than gently rock the cars and all who sat white-knuckled within. They said it was akin to sailing in a ship at sea: how large the ship feels until a storm blows and the waves mount. Then the vessel seems no more substantial than a childs paper boat.

It took almost a week before the residents of Russell County saw the next train from either direction. The express that continued on for Denver after its overnight stay in Russell City, ran off the damaged tracks somewhere in the desolate western Kansas prairie. No one saw the wash-out caused by the cyclone until it was too late. The fireman and engineer died in the tangled wreckage and passengers were left stranded, caring for their wounded. It took five or six days to clear the wreckage and align the tracks. The repair crew brought much needed water and food. It was suspected that there may have been more than a few on that train who decided never to partake of modern transportation again.

Elias Helm, several weeks into the process of putting up what came to be called The Centennial Hotel, suffered its complete loss the evening of the cyclone. Lumber twisted, splintered and collapsed. The cyclone caused the downfall of Mr. Helm but he was not to know that until the following year. Determined to open his hotel on schedule, he employed extra men in order to regain lost ground. One week later, the bones of The Centennial Hotel stood nearly as complete as the night of the storm. Workmen crawled about the timbers like ants on a sugar cube, so much so that the sidewalk supervisors wondered how they accomplished their individual tasks without injuring one another.

During a time of setback and tribulation, this pioneer community composed of folks from Wisconsin, Ohio, Pennsylvania and a smattering of other states, blossomed into one community. All who lived at the edge of civilization, by necessity, held more than one job: farmer or stockman plus a trade or business required to build a new life out of nothing but hard work. Issues that divided the county before the cyclone, like the contentious fight over which town would become the county seat, diminished in importance at last. The town and affected county were put back together again. Mr. Landis hauled goods for any who needed him and managed to win the largest watermelon prize the following summer. Elias Helm built a much needed third hotel to house new settlers to the growing county, so the entire population had an interest in its completion. The hotel opened for business by the end of the year.

A Christmas Ball inaugurated the Centennial Hotel and the triumphant citizens of renewed Russell saw only the smiling faces of Elias and Addie Helm as they welcomed their guests in formal finery. No one knew, the night of the Christmas Ball, that the building which had suffered total destruction in July of 1876 was to become the eye of a different storm that raged for six months of the following year, six months in which the fragile sense of community was to be sorely tested. The Centennial Hotel proved to be the site of a controversy in which everyone and their dog sued everyone else and their cat. But that is another story, one that will be told next in the next issue.

Copyright © 2003  BJ Alderman. No unauthorized reproduction or transmission by any means whatsoever permitted under federal criminal law.