Coral City
(The Deserted Village)
From temple spires and towers of ancient monasteries, through fathoms deep of billowing seas, fancy hears the call of vesper bells, and many a faithful worshipper still finds incense, sweeter than the lily’s breath, dispensed from golden censers impearled in coral depths, where old-time cities sank beneath the sea.
But we of a more materialistic country have not so fine a fancy, nor hearts attuned to the whispers of sacred traditions. The last statement is substantially the charge brought against us, as a people, by the old-world nations.
Our answer is: No people ever saw or heard so much in fancy’s realm as we. Our motto is still: “Onward and upward.” Our fancy and imagination are the products of robust youth and manhood in its prime. Constantly climbing we have reached heights never before attained: “And the thoughts of men are widening with the process of the suns.” We have: “Dipped into the future far as human eye could see”, and from our eminence we survey our past and behold it merely as a vestibule to the temple of our future.
But youth will have an end, and manhood, though spurred on by the strong ambitions, will weary at last; then shall we hear the voice of memory and turn our glance fondly, lovingly, to the hearths of childhood and the arbors that charmed us in youth.
The recollections of a strong people who wrought with all their might, who drank deeply from every goblet that life presented, will then sweep over us and the visions of our past will be as entrancing as the visions of our future have been glorious.
Forty years ago, Coral City had its Main Street, State street, Public Square and prospects of a prosperous future. It had several general stores, shops, hotels, saloons, a good mill; in brief, all the equipment for a lively, busy country village. In 1873, the G.B. & W. R. R. came down the Trempealeau valley and divorced this joyous burg from all its trade and future prospects. Buildings came down like tents pitched for a summer outings and life of the village was over. Grasses and grains now grow in its streets and gardens are tilled where once stood its marts of trade. Not quite so desolate as Goldsmith’s “Deserted Village”, but nevertheless, a pathetic silence saddens the hearts of those who knew it in its days of prosperity.
That it was one of the liveliest places in Trempealeau county during its short existence is attested by many still living witnesses. When men like Philetus Nott, G. W. Follett, Joseph Popham, John “Peg Leg”, “Nigger Guss”, and Mart Allen lived there, it was impossible for dullness to creep in.
Lawsuits, in those days, served not only the purpose of settling disputed rights but afforded highly seasoned amusement, and Coral City was noted for its spicy and protracted trials in Justice Court, some of them lasting a week.
The Wright Brothers, Phineas and Benjamin, may be credited with beginning the town. They built a flouring mill in the summer of 1863. And other places of business soon followed. Egbert Carpenter, C.E. Scott, Andrew Olson, Ryland Parker, Dr. Sheldon, and Seneca Johnson are well remembered names of some of its early business men.
Granville McFarland, one of the men employed in building the dam for the mill, is probably more responsible for the name given this place than anyone else. While digging on the north side of the creek for the dam, some queer-looking rock was found. McFarland, it appears, made Uncle Phin, who headed the enterprise for building the mill, believe that the rock was coral. Uncle Phin, who was one of the best and most straight-forward men in the country, not knowing he had been imposed upon by a practical joker, platted the village and called it “Coral City.”
The noted flood in March of 1876, entirely destroyed the mill built by the Wrights, but the following summer another mill took its place, and there, in its romantic setting, may grists be ground, tolls be taken and the beloved name, Coral City, cling so long as human hearts shall gladden at the memory of day of “Auld Lang Syne.”
(H.A. Anderson, April 24, 1913, from Pictorial Atlas of Trempealeau County, compiled by Title Atlas Co., Minneapolis, Minn., 1984)
When Zephyr Went on a Frolic in Coral City
Coral City, during its “little day” was a lively place. Full of the robustness and exuberance of youth, its inhabitants in a large measure lived up to the Biblical injunction “Take therefore not thought for the morrow for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.”
Into its brief existence, of scarcely ten years, it crowded enough episodes of fun, pranks, and frolic to fill a large volume. Even the rumble and whistle of the first G.B. & M. trains in the late days of 1873—which sounded its knell as a village—could not disturb its sportive gaiety, for its people accepted that merely as a signal for a grand holiday during which they could carry their goods and buildings to a place of greater promise.
Therefore, the story of the capers of the wind which follows is so much in harmony with the spirit and atmosphere of the place that I find it appropriate to call the performance of the win a “frolic.”
It was sometime during the early 70’s. The hour was noon. The day was warm and sunny. McCormicks, Champions, Buckeys, Economists and other kinds of reapers made their whizzing music as they cut the golden grain. The mill hummed its drowsy song, when someone exclaimed, “look!” and a Jack-pine was seen whirling around and around in the air below the village. A noise was heard, as leaves, grass and limbs of trees came gyrating through the air along the course of the stream. The oncoming of this airy performer was leisurely so that people had plenty of time to go to their cellars or to anchor themselves to some solid object. A Mr. Lowry lifted up his voice in a loud warning to run for safety. One man put his arms around a tree with a lover-like embrace. Old man Jake was trundling a wheelbarrow across the bridge above the mill when he saw Zephyr coming. He abandoned the wheelbarrow and ran towards the town. A few moments later the Imp-of-the-Air twisted off the mill chimney, picked up a couple of planks lying above the mill, and finding the wheelbarrow in his path, took that along and then gave his undivided attention for a time to playing with the mill pond. Here he scooped up the water, molded it into a graceful Doric-like column which rose from the pond hundreds of feet in the air—the top of which shone like a rosy nimbus in the sunlight until it blended with the blue sky like a faint vapor. Many watched it until it reached the upper end of the lake and was lost to the eye among the trees that bordered the winding stream. The wheelbarrow was deposited near where Edwin Cummings then lived on the south side of the creek, and the planks were dropped on the north side.
My friend, Mr. Thorson, who was an eye witness of this peculiar phenomenon, desiring to be conservative, tells me that it took a “lot of water.” My neighbor, Mr. Kidder, also a witness, who, during many years has almost daily repeated the solemn injunction “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”, assures me that the cyclonic wizard practically scraped the bottom of the pond to get material for his wonderful performance. But no matter what quantity of water was used to form this crystal-like pillar which pirouetted up on the pond with the exquisite grace of a Russian dancer, it was a phenomenon rarely seen in our part of the world and therefore considered worth recording.
(H.A. Anderson, Oct. 1, 1923, from Pictorial Atlas of Trempealeau County, compiled by Title Atlas Co., Minneapolis, Minn., 1984)
From temple spires and towers of ancient monasteries, through fathoms deep of billowing seas, fancy hears the call of vesper bells, and many a faithful worshipper still finds incense, sweeter than the lily’s breath, dispensed from golden censers impearled in coral depths, where old-time cities sank beneath the sea.
But we of a more materialistic country have not so fine a fancy, nor hearts attuned to the whispers of sacred traditions. The last statement is substantially the charge brought against us, as a people, by the old-world nations.
Our answer is: No people ever saw or heard so much in fancy’s realm as we. Our motto is still: “Onward and upward.” Our fancy and imagination are the products of robust youth and manhood in its prime. Constantly climbing we have reached heights never before attained: “And the thoughts of men are widening with the process of the suns.” We have: “Dipped into the future far as human eye could see”, and from our eminence we survey our past and behold it merely as a vestibule to the temple of our future.
But youth will have an end, and manhood, though spurred on by the strong ambitions, will weary at last; then shall we hear the voice of memory and turn our glance fondly, lovingly, to the hearths of childhood and the arbors that charmed us in youth.
The recollections of a strong people who wrought with all their might, who drank deeply from every goblet that life presented, will then sweep over us and the visions of our past will be as entrancing as the visions of our future have been glorious.
Forty years ago, Coral City had its Main Street, State street, Public Square and prospects of a prosperous future. It had several general stores, shops, hotels, saloons, a good mill; in brief, all the equipment for a lively, busy country village. In 1873, the G.B. & W. R. R. came down the Trempealeau valley and divorced this joyous burg from all its trade and future prospects. Buildings came down like tents pitched for a summer outings and life of the village was over. Grasses and grains now grow in its streets and gardens are tilled where once stood its marts of trade. Not quite so desolate as Goldsmith’s “Deserted Village”, but nevertheless, a pathetic silence saddens the hearts of those who knew it in its days of prosperity.
That it was one of the liveliest places in Trempealeau county during its short existence is attested by many still living witnesses. When men like Philetus Nott, G. W. Follett, Joseph Popham, John “Peg Leg”, “Nigger Guss”, and Mart Allen lived there, it was impossible for dullness to creep in.
Lawsuits, in those days, served not only the purpose of settling disputed rights but afforded highly seasoned amusement, and Coral City was noted for its spicy and protracted trials in Justice Court, some of them lasting a week.
The Wright Brothers, Phineas and Benjamin, may be credited with beginning the town. They built a flouring mill in the summer of 1863. And other places of business soon followed. Egbert Carpenter, C.E. Scott, Andrew Olson, Ryland Parker, Dr. Sheldon, and Seneca Johnson are well remembered names of some of its early business men.
Granville McFarland, one of the men employed in building the dam for the mill, is probably more responsible for the name given this place than anyone else. While digging on the north side of the creek for the dam, some queer-looking rock was found. McFarland, it appears, made Uncle Phin, who headed the enterprise for building the mill, believe that the rock was coral. Uncle Phin, who was one of the best and most straight-forward men in the country, not knowing he had been imposed upon by a practical joker, platted the village and called it “Coral City.”
The noted flood in March of 1876, entirely destroyed the mill built by the Wrights, but the following summer another mill took its place, and there, in its romantic setting, may grists be ground, tolls be taken and the beloved name, Coral City, cling so long as human hearts shall gladden at the memory of day of “Auld Lang Syne.”
(H.A. Anderson, April 24, 1913, from Pictorial Atlas of Trempealeau County, compiled by Title Atlas Co., Minneapolis, Minn., 1984)
When Zephyr Went on a Frolic in Coral City
Coral City, during its “little day” was a lively place. Full of the robustness and exuberance of youth, its inhabitants in a large measure lived up to the Biblical injunction “Take therefore not thought for the morrow for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.”
Into its brief existence, of scarcely ten years, it crowded enough episodes of fun, pranks, and frolic to fill a large volume. Even the rumble and whistle of the first G.B. & M. trains in the late days of 1873—which sounded its knell as a village—could not disturb its sportive gaiety, for its people accepted that merely as a signal for a grand holiday during which they could carry their goods and buildings to a place of greater promise.
Therefore, the story of the capers of the wind which follows is so much in harmony with the spirit and atmosphere of the place that I find it appropriate to call the performance of the win a “frolic.”
It was sometime during the early 70’s. The hour was noon. The day was warm and sunny. McCormicks, Champions, Buckeys, Economists and other kinds of reapers made their whizzing music as they cut the golden grain. The mill hummed its drowsy song, when someone exclaimed, “look!” and a Jack-pine was seen whirling around and around in the air below the village. A noise was heard, as leaves, grass and limbs of trees came gyrating through the air along the course of the stream. The oncoming of this airy performer was leisurely so that people had plenty of time to go to their cellars or to anchor themselves to some solid object. A Mr. Lowry lifted up his voice in a loud warning to run for safety. One man put his arms around a tree with a lover-like embrace. Old man Jake was trundling a wheelbarrow across the bridge above the mill when he saw Zephyr coming. He abandoned the wheelbarrow and ran towards the town. A few moments later the Imp-of-the-Air twisted off the mill chimney, picked up a couple of planks lying above the mill, and finding the wheelbarrow in his path, took that along and then gave his undivided attention for a time to playing with the mill pond. Here he scooped up the water, molded it into a graceful Doric-like column which rose from the pond hundreds of feet in the air—the top of which shone like a rosy nimbus in the sunlight until it blended with the blue sky like a faint vapor. Many watched it until it reached the upper end of the lake and was lost to the eye among the trees that bordered the winding stream. The wheelbarrow was deposited near where Edwin Cummings then lived on the south side of the creek, and the planks were dropped on the north side.
My friend, Mr. Thorson, who was an eye witness of this peculiar phenomenon, desiring to be conservative, tells me that it took a “lot of water.” My neighbor, Mr. Kidder, also a witness, who, during many years has almost daily repeated the solemn injunction “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth”, assures me that the cyclonic wizard practically scraped the bottom of the pond to get material for his wonderful performance. But no matter what quantity of water was used to form this crystal-like pillar which pirouetted up on the pond with the exquisite grace of a Russian dancer, it was a phenomenon rarely seen in our part of the world and therefore considered worth recording.
(H.A. Anderson, Oct. 1, 1923, from Pictorial Atlas of Trempealeau County, compiled by Title Atlas Co., Minneapolis, Minn., 1984)