OPERA HOUSE
The Beattie Opera House was built in 1904 at a cost of $10,000.
The city provided nine-tenths of the funds and Guittard Township paid the
other one-tenth. At that time it was said it was the best public building of
its kind in Marshall County. The building was 40 feet by 60 feet with an
annex on the front, which provided space for the ticket office and was 25
foot to the eaves. The walls were of native limestone and the interior
construction was of wood.
Times and customs changed during the years the Opera House was
used. It was used for commencement exercises, school plays, Memorial Day
services and other public gatherings. The basement served for dances,
band room and a meeting place for many organizations.
The Opera House burned down December 22, 1938. The fire seemed
to have started in the furnace room. The siren blew at 11:30 and by 1:00
the roof had fallen in and the woodwork was largely burned away. The walls
of native limestone still stood.
The fireman and volunteers responded quickly and found flames
pouring out of the basement windows on the south side of the building. All
the visible flames were put out, but the fire had worked its way up partition
walls to the second floor and to the roof.
The limestone walls were supposed to be torn down and used in
the church at the Marysville City Cemetery. However, the limestone was used
to line the new swimming pool in the Marysville City Park.
THE FITZGERALD KILN
An object lesson in history is located just west of Beattie on
the FitzGerald farm. Readily visible from the county road, it is called a
kiln. Believed to be the only one of its kind still standing in Marshall
County, the kiln is but one of the ancient crafts used by pioneer craftsman.
It was constructed in the 1860s by James FitzGerald, an Irish
immigrant and early Beattie land owner. The kiln became a necessity as homes
were being constructed of the fine building stone from Mr. FitzGerald's
quarry. Particles of native limestone were burned in the kiln for about a
week and the resulting product was then mixed with sand to form the mortar
used between the building stones.
The historic kiln, constructed of the same native stone, is
nearly as large as a room. Decades of neglect had allowed trees and brush to
cover and block the entrance. In 1974 volunteers from the 69th brigade of the
Kansas National Guard brought equipment and manpower and cleared the area,
helping to restore one more chapter from Beattie's past.
GRASSHOPPER TRAGEDY 1874
In 48 hours time, the grasshoppers made the place look like a
graveyard. There were only a graveyard of skeleton corn stalks where had
stood the wonderful field of ripening corn. Even conservation men had
estimated that this field of corn would yield 100 bushels to the acre. An
honestly measured field, a few miles to the north of them on the Lie farm,
had made 120 bushels to the acre the year before. The grasshoppers began at
the tops of the stalks and ate clean as they went down to the ears, husks,
and kernels of corn, but left untouched the cobs. For some reason of their
own, corn cobs were not on the menus. Below the ears they left also the corn
stalk after having hollowed out the pith, clear down into the roots. On
some of the larger, lower leaves where the mid rib was heavy, they left the
rib dangling from the stalk. It was a gruesome sight in those devasted
fields.
They ate every morsel of the good garden, leaving only the
black soil on which it grew. Father and Edd were hoeing in the garden when
the grasshoppers fell. They left their jackets and hoes on the picket fence
that surrounded the garden and started for the house. Several days later
they thought of the hoes and their jackets and found the hoe handles so
deeply eaten and pitted that they could not be used, and their jackets were
eaten up entirely except for the buttons.
There were some peaches ripening on the trees that Mother was
just ready to put in the cans for the winter. Every leaf even was eaten by
the grasshoppers. The peaches were eaten off the seed perfectly clean and
the seed left hanging on the tree as if they hoped another peach might grow
on the seed.
North of the house Mother had her house plants for winter and
several boxes of old-fashioned moss or pottulacca. Mother had planted the
moss in some shallow boxes in which tobacco had come. The tobacco seemed to
appeal to the grasshoppers for after finishing up the moss, they ate off
entirely clean from the soil the wooden boxes in which they grew.
At Beattie the grasshoppers stalled the trains. When in motion,
the trains kept the tracks clear, but when the train stopped and the tracks
filled with the grasshoppers and the wheels began mashing them, the wheels
would not stick and they could not start the train. The engineer and train
men had to cover the tracks with sand after cleaning them with their hands
before the wheels would hold.
There was desolation everywhere. The repulsive pests could
scarcely be kept out of the houses or off the table. You could not go
outdoors. They flew in clouds all over you, were in your hair, in your
mouth, and snatching at your clothes.
The prairies were only blank, black soil. They did not look as
if tall prairie grass and blue stem ever grew on them. The poor cattle had
nothing to eat. The splendid field on ripening corn was only a memory. The
good garden out of which the daily food came was gone. A year of hard labor
was lost in 48 hours.
THE GREAT AMMONIA LEAK
Anhydrous ammonia fumes spurted from a ruptured storage tank in
Beattie one summer evening in 1968 sending two persons to local hospitals
and hastily evacuating the entire citizenry for the night. Owned by the
local Farmer's Co-op, the tank began spurting fumes at about 6:45 in the
evening. As the fumes reached the local telephone office, Mrs. Eldon Koch,
telephone operator on duty, propped the lever for the town's siren into
place and hastily abandoned ship. Mayor Doc Gaston leaped into his car and
sped to Home City where he called C. J. Wassenberg, assistant director of
the county civil defense team, who spread the alarm.
The siren was sounding but residents did not know the reason
until employees of the Co-op drove every street shouting, "Get out of
town!" One whiff of the air was all the explanation needed as residents
grabbed family members and pets and raced for their cars. Cooperation
without panic was evident as residents responded, driving to homes of
relatives or friends away from the polluted air. Car owners picked up
elderly neighbors and everybody sought to help others, providing rides and
a place to stay. Farm homes were soon opened to anyone who needed a home
while many who were caught away from home stayed in motels in the area.
An erroneous report that there was a fire and explosion caused
havoc bringing emergency vehicles and unneeded law enforcement from several
counties, but they were utilized for traffic control as the curious began
gathering. Civil defense teams checked every building in town and provided
security as most residents had literally jumped up from the supper table and
ran.
Several persons did inhale enough of the fumes to require
treatment. Catherine Lord was taken to the Axtell Hospital and Clayton
Glick, employed at a service station near the anhydrous tank, was taken to
the Marysville Hospital. Both remained overnight but were not seriously
ill.
R. D. Easton, manager of the local Co-op, said the tank
contained about 10,000 gallons of liquid ammonia. At about 11:30 p.m. a crew
was able to approach the tank, open a valve and bleed the remaining
pressure into a tank truck. A slight southwesterly breeze throughout the
night dispersed the remaining fumes so residents could return to their
homes at dawn.
The following morning, as people returned, the fumes were gone
but vegetation appeared as if it had been hit by a hard freeze. Leaves on
trees and shrubbery near the area of the bank were black and withered and
soon dropped to the ground. However, new growth would appear within a few
weeks.
Houses were "aired out;" much of the fresh produce and
dairy products from the local grocery store were discarded but otherwise
little damage was discovered. The report that some dogs and cats were killed
by the fumes was unfounded. By midday life pretty much returned to normal in
Beattie. The majority of citizens shrugged it off but all were grateful that
no one was seriously injured.
PREDAWN RERIDE STOP DRAWS
60 PEOPLE AT GUITTARD STATION
Despite the early morning hour of 3:00 a.m. and a cloudy sky
with little moonlight and a few stars, 60 people assembled Friday, June 17,
1994, at the Guittard Station site north of Beattie to welcome the Kansas
Pony Express Association reriders under the leadership of Mike Pacha.
Rider Keith Mover took the mochila out of Marysville. Other
riders covering the miles from Marysville to Guittard Station included Rich
Pacha, Matt Pacha, John Pacha, Jim Pacha, Joe Harbor and Kenny Martin, who
brought the mail down the lane.
Trucks with flashers escorted the riders. The lead truck,
carrying two United States flags, was driven by Russell Sanner, Waterville.
Frank Wessell, Axtell, drove the other truck.
Neighbors who gathered to watch included Therese Kopp, Glen
Wuester, Raymond O'Neil, Doug O'Neil, Frank O'Neil, Gene Bernasek, Paul
Skalla, John Rueger and their families.
Also there was Viola Tegethoff, who owned the property where
the station is, and Lyle and Margaret Polson, who live on the property.
Beattie Lions Club and Darrel Boyd, Pony Express rerider,
provided refreshments.
People at the station discussed trail history and what life was
like during those days.
Rider Mike Pacha took the mochila and headed east into the
timber and pasture to ford the creek. He told people he would fire two
shots when he reached a clearing. People at the station reported hearing
the shots as Pacha and the mail headed towards Seneca.
Boyd's crew of reriders who took over at Summitt included Don
Newton, Ed Nutt and Bill Mayberry. Boyd took the mochila into Seneca where
breakfast was served to them.