Leroy Marsh and His Horse Barn


Leroy Marsh's Horse Barn	Leroy Marsh 1843-1929	Charlie Plank & Emil	Main Street in 1880

If you walk down Main Street and stop any man who was a boy in Galesburg at the turn of the century and say to him "Do you remember the Horse and Mule barn?" his eyes will light up and he will say, "I should say so. I used to play hookey from school to watch them exercise these horses." Or "I used to loiter around the barn watching Mr. Marsh, waiting for him to take a dime out of the ear of one of the boys hanging around, or perhaps if it was hot weather throw a handful of dimes in the street for the barefooted, overalled boys to scramble for. Sometimes in the hot dusty weather he would pick up the hose and squirt the boys when they scrambled. He always sat in front of the barn with his cane which he used to point with or to poke a small boy with." Or perhaps the answer would be. "I'll say I do." Mr. Marsh took me downtown and bought me a pair of shoes because he said he was tired of seeing me run around barefooted."

"It is a fine day for the race," Mr. Marsh would say. The new boy asked properly and excitedly, "What race?" "Why the human race." And the admiring laugh burst out. It was understood by all his friends and acquaintances that this joke was always funny. Or perhaps he might greet you with "Better keep your eyes open today." "Why?" "Why, so that you can see."

Or perhaps the talk will turn to Charlie Plank, the great auctioneer, and his generosity to his friends. One boy remembers how because he was an orphan Charlie would give him 50c or $1.00 and he would spend part of it for dinner at Mrs. Swanson's restaurant next to the barn, feeling his 9 year old importance to be mingling with the other horsemen.

Charlie Plank had come to Galesburg from Gloversville, N.Y., with a load of horses to sell in 1902. On auction day he found Mr. Marsh worried—no auctioneer. Charlie said. "I don't know too much about it. but I think I could sell for you." Mr. Marsh said. "Go ahead," and when Charlie left town that day he went with a promise to come back the next week to take the job of auctioneer. His services as an auctioneer were so much in demand that he traveled a circuit between Galesburg. Chicago and St. Louis selling on a set day of the week at each place. Mr. Plank was never married but he too was fond of small boys and very good to them. In 1918 he adopted Emil, a 15 year old Swedish lad who had come to this country alone, and was a devoted father to him.

Sophronia Alden Marsh 1812-1858
Leroy's mother

Alta Marsh Phillips - Alden Marsh 1870-1896

Philena Bell Marsh - Leroy Marsh

Leroy Marsh was born in 1843 on a farm just south of the place where Lake Bracken now is, the farm his father had settled on in 1834. There he was born and there he brought his bride, Philena Bell, and there their two children, Alden and Alta, later Mrs. Fred Phillips, were born. When he moved to Galesburg about 1880, he kept the farm, until the panic of 1896 forced him to dispose of it as well as his other assets.

Leroy could remember a time, when, as a small boy, he saw a great camp of Indians within a quarter mile of the Marsh home, seven hundred of them being moved west by the government. He could remember, as a boy of fifteen, coming to Galesburg for the great political meeting. He remembered the great crowd, mostly coming by lumber wagon or horseback, a few in wagons drawn by the farm oxen, oxen which the farmers used for breaking the prairie and for plowing.

He remembered the debaters, the short, proud, fiery Douglas, the lanky, quiet Lincoln, who took time to talk to little boys along the parade route. When he shook hands with Leroy. he gave him a quarter. "I wish I had kept it." said Leroy, fifty years later.

As a young man he was interested in horses and began trading as a boy. By 1861 he had a small market for the local trade on the home place. A good farm horse could be bought for $25.00 to $50.00 per head. But with the outbreak of the Civil War, the government sent men out to buy horses for the cavalry and for the artillery and the prices began to go up until they were better than $100.00 per head. The war depleted the stock of draft horses to such an extent that after the war prices skyrocketed to $200.00 per head and more. Since Mr. Marsh was a good judge of horses and a shrewd buyer, his business kept expanding until he decided to leave the farm and move to a more central location where the transportation was good and there were plenty of accomodations for the buyers. In 1877 he moved to Galesburg where his Galesburg sales barn was located at Cherry and Waters Streets. It was a wooden structure which he had moved from the old fair grounds where it had been used as a floral hall. At this time all the horses which were not ridden or led in from the country were shipped by the Burlington Railroad and led from the stockyards in strings of 8 or more to the sales barn where they were stabled, shod and cared for until the sales day. They were walked and trotted up and down on Waters Street daily to keep them in top shape for the sale. The men who led the horses from the yards rode lead ponies. Each one would lead several head, tied tail to halter, one behind the other. That is one of the sights that the small boys, now old men, remember.

In 1887 the Santa Fe railroad came through Galesburg and many of the horses were shipped by Santa Fe thereafter. They were run up the steep loading chute into the cars, until finally a special loading platform was built. After that, it was easier to handle them.

In the early days of the sale barn, the horses were sold on Waters Street. Jim O'Connor was the auctioneer, Ed Lynch the ringmaster. An old lumber wagon was used for a platform and everyone passing by would pause to see how the bidding was going. After the big fire of 1912 the same platform was used in the street again until the new barn was built.

The greatest market was in good sturdy work horses. Every farmer wanted the best he could afford, and was apt to spend more money decorating his horse than his wife. One woman at 75 bought herself the set of dishes she had always wanted but never had because dishes were an extravagance though the best harness and the best horses were none too good for the men in the family.

Poor old worn out plugs were sold for slaughter. In those days dogs had table scraps and some farmers fed horse meat to their hogs. So for $5.00 or $10.00 the farmer acquired the poor old horse, had him slaughtered, sold the hide and put the carcass in the hog lot where it was eaten, bones and all.

Many remember the old barn. First, next to Waters Street was the office, then the stables, then the sales ring, the blacksmith's shop, the restaurant. Almost always buyers or sellers would be loitering around the office discussing last Saturday's sale or speculating on next Saturday's sale. Sometimes an unsuspecting buyer would join the group sitting around gossiping with their chairs tipped back and their feet on any handy table or desk, and get the trick chair, which had rollers on the back legs so that when that man tipped back he was in for a surprise.

They remember the high board fence which enclosed the land back of the barn to Broad Street. They remember that there were often western horses there, familiarly known as coyotes. Sometimes some of the men would put on a show on Sundays, kind of a rodeo, with roping and trick riding. On a trip West a few years ago some Galesburg people ran into a couple of old cowboys who used to bring those "coyotes" to Galesburg. In the same enclosure Bill Corn, a tall, powerfully built negro, could be seen breaking horses, perhaps a pair that William Coffman had raised on his farm in Maquon Township, and sold to the Galesburg fire department.

Chester Little and his son, Edgar, went to work for the barn about 1913. Mrs. Little remembers how kind the men at the barn were to them after her husband's death a few years later. They took up a purse as was customary in cases like this. One shipper who had always wanted Chester to take care of his horses insisted that he owed him money and sent her a generous check. Edgar remembers Joe Hayes, Jed Pratt, Tom Hilton, Ed Reed, Glen Sharp and John Broderick, foreman while he was working at the barn.

Lots of people remember old John, the try-horse, who used to be hitched with a horse about to be tried out. Often a seller had a horse who needed an old hand to steady him down, and many a spirited young animal was sold hitched in double harness with John. There had been an earlier John, a lead horse, who knew his way from the stable to the stock yards so well that he hardly needed a rider and couldn't be kept tied because he could untie any knot. One day he untied himself and got into some green corn and foundered in spite of the frantic efforts of Mr. Marsh and the stable men to save him.

For over 30 years Ernest Panhorst led the horses in the sales ring, but if you go down in the stock yards to look for him don't ask for Ernest, ask for Ky. because that is how he has always been known. Glen Sharp also works there. Many a horse he led from the stock yards to the barn and many a brass check he received, a check which would be redeemed for 50c on payday. After the Santa Fe came through in 1887 the picture changed somewhat and many of the horses were run up loading chutes to the cars in the shipping sheds between Cherry and Prairie Streets on Waters Street.

There was a tall, colored man named Sherrard Barber who drove the horses to the exercise cart, testing their wind. Up and down Waters Street Barber would trot and gallop them, little boys watching admiringly. Across the street, at a safe distance, the girls watched, too, knowing that over there it was a man's world.

For a while Mr. Marsh owned a farm on North Seminary Street, just opposite the place where the Research Hospital is now. Some of the men remember going out there to help put up hay which was always hauled to the barn. The hayracks were driven out in front of the barn on Cherry Street, the hay loader lifted the hay up to the great loft above the stables and there it was ready to throw down into the mangers. In the old barn the planks had shrunk so that there were wide cracks between the boards. Mr. Marsh and Mr. Gatton, the druggist, used to match coins by throwing dollars up high in the air and catching them. Once in a while one of the dollars they threw would go up between the cracks so naturally the loft was the favorite hiding place for small boys. With the new barn that sport was over.

Once two Galesburg buyers, Springer and Willard. went to France to buy a load of Percherons and Belgians. When they returned from LeHavre they brought George Leroy with them to help them with the horses. George had a hard time learning the English language and many tricks were played on him. When he went to work at Marsh's barn, if he wanted to know how to say "Good Morning", one of the jokers would probably teach him to say "Go To Hell". However, he had a natural charm and dignity and became very popular with his fellow workers and the visiting horsemen. "He was a brilliant young man with a lot of personality. You might say he was dynamic", says Fred Dunbar. Everyone called him Frenchy. In 1907 J. R. Justice went on a buying trip to France and took Frenchy with him to help him so he had a good visit with his family. Frenchy made more money in tips than wages. He loved to dress the horses up with rosettes and specially braided bridles of different colors, and to curry their tails and manes so that they were shining. The sellers realized that this helped their sales and they were generous in their tipping. Frenchy's boy, Oscar, used to sell popcorn, chewing gum and cigars to the horsemen, and made quite a good thing of it. Ben Swanson, the foreman of the barn, lived in the first house south and Mrs. Swanson decided to open a restaurant. She was a wonderful cook and it became a popular place to eat. So popular that the men took to dropping in and buying their cigars in there so Oscar's business declined.

Oscar Leroy was working in the bottling plant next to the barn when one day he noticed smoke coming from the high loft. His first thought was of his father. "Pa! Pa!" he called. "Fire! Fire!" Frenchy came running and tried to get in and save as many horses as he could. Some of them he brought out and tied to telegraph poles, but many of them broke away and rushed back into the fire as panicked horses will do. One Galesburg woman, when asked what she remembered about the barn, said ''I will never forget the screaming of these horses till my dying day." Oscar was on the roof of the bottling building trying to wet it down with the hose to keep the fire from spreading when Dr. William O'Reilly Bradley (the mayor and the family doctor) came by. "Oscar" he yelled. "Get down. Quit wasting water. We need all our water pressure for the fire".

After the fire the barn was rebuilt and made as nearly fireproof as possible. The new buildings were sanitary brick structures. The hardwood double stables were whitewashed every week and continuously disinfected to avoid disease.

The business continued to expand. The war in Europe increased the demand for horses to such an extent that business boomed. Even after the war it held up amazingly well. Just before he retired, Mr. Marsh gave an interview to a reporter in which he said, "While automobiles and motor trucks have displaced horses to some extent, the demand is still good and healthy and nothing will entirely fill the place of the horse. Since the European war has taken so many horses out of this country the business of horse production offers unusually good opportunities to the man who succeeds in meeting market demands successfully and it would appear to be good judgment on the part of the farmers to raise more horses especially of the better classes."

In 1920 Leroy Marsh was seriously hurt by a runaway motorcycle and his health began to fail. So he sold out the business to the Galesburg Horse and Mule Company. Death came to him in 1929 at the age of 86. Few men who have lived in Galesburg are remembered so affectionately by so many.

In 1895 a boy named Fred Dunbar came from the country to work for Mr. Marsh. When he was 7 years of age, his mother, who had been deserted by his father, left Illinois in a covered wagon with him and his three little sisters. They went to Nebraska. The wagon was always parked by the side of the house or in the orchard. Mrs. Dunbar supported her four little children by family washing. Says Fred, "There was no law in those days to compel children to go to school, so I talked her out of it until I was 13. I started in the first reader. Six weeks later, back into the covered wagon and into the State of Kansas, where my mother had relatives. I never finished the first reader".

In 1892 they came back to Galesburg and a few years later Fred went to work for Mr. Marsh for 50c per day. Fred has been described by those who worked with him as a firecracker. His memory of those days is as fresh as ever so that the rest of the story had better be in his words.

Leroy Marsh was born in 1843 in the vicinity of Knoxville. Illinois— he died in 1929. In 1861, by chance he met an army sergeant, who was buying horses for the Union Army in Abingdon, Illinois. Mr. Marsh helped him to buy 18 horses and then Mr. Marsh, with some help, led them to Peoria, Illinois, where they were shipped by boat. He continued helping the U.S. Government until the war was over.

In 1872 he conceived the idea of starting a weekly Horse Market, the first one in the United States. The National Stock Yards in East St. Louis was anxious to have him come there. Chicago Union Stock Yards was interested, but Mr. Marsh's choice was Galesburg. and he located on the southwest corner of Cherry and Waters Streets. For his office he purchased the floral hall from the Race Track, which had gone out of business that was located east of where the Cottage Hospital is now. His business grew fast and by 1895 he was receiving 15 carloads of horses per week. At that time Mr. Marsh ran into financial trouble through a partner who like many others at the time was trying to get rich by speculating on the grain exchange. The next year in 1896 we had that terrible depression, which completely put him out of business and he was financially broke. I was 21 years old at the time and was working for Mr. Marsh. For months he walked the street a broken-hearted man. One morning while he and I were standing on the sidewalk at the corner a man drove up with his horse and buggy. He was Judge Alfred Craig, of the Bank of Galesburg, and he said, "Leroy what are you doing?" Mr. Marsh replied, "I am not doing anything." Mr. Craig replied, "You're too valuable a man not to be doing anything—here's a check book." The same day Captain James L. Burkhalter, President of the Farmers & Mechanics Bank, came down and said to Mr. Marsh, "You should buy this corner back—it can be bought for $4000.00" and Mr. Marsh said, "I haven't got any money." Mr. Burkhalter said, "Come up to the bank tomorrow and we will let you have it". So you see only for the efforts of these two men and these two banks, Galesburg would never have had her "mighty horse market". From 1896 to 1920 Mr. Marsh's business grew rapidly, because of his honest reputation and his horsemanship it grew fast. As soon as the word spread across the nation that Mr. Marsh was back in business the horses came from everywhere in the central west, and the smaller dealers at Richmond, Virginia; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Boston, Mass.; New York City; Syracuse and Buffalo depended on Mr. Marsh for their weekly supply. Mr. Marsh was known in every state in the union, as well as England. Germany and France. In one auction day in 1917 there were 1027 horses sold at Mr. Marsh's barn. By this time he had expanded his location west to Broad Street.

By 1910, Mr. Marsh was receiving 25 carloads of horses a week and the same number of 25 cars would be shipped out—making a total carload business for the two railroads of 50 cars per week. Five hundred horses per week had to have 500 new halters. Each horse had to have two shoes on his front feet, which made a total of 1,000 horse shoes per week. From 7 to 10 blacksmiths were busy the week around making the shoes. Five hundred horses per week consumed about all the hay and straw raised in the adjacent counties. Mr. Marsh employed 25 regular men, and he always had 40 to 50 extra men for Friday and Saturday. The hotels and restaurants of Galesburg looked forward to those weekly sales. Every sale was equal to the present day conventions. On some occasions the horses had to move fast. By ordering 14 express cars which held 28 horses each, the Burlington Railroad would give him a special train with a sleeper attached for the horsemen's convenience. Their first stop after leaving Galesburg would be Buffalo, New York — their next stop would be their final destination. By ordering 16 freight cars holding 20 horses each, the Santa Fe would give them a special: first stop, Buffalo, New York—second stop their destination. The horse and mule business was not a staple article. It was a case of good judgment and a judge of the markets. If a buyer coming in sold his horses for less than he gave, he was soon out of business. At the peak time of the year, when horses were in demand, with their famous auctioneer, Mr. Charlie Plank, they would sell one horse per minute. The horse sale ran into a great volume of money. The yearly sales sometimes averaged a gross between 3 and 4 million dollars.

From 1895 to 1900 all horses that arrived over the Burlington had to be led from where the Burlington stockyards is now down to Cherry and Waters Streets. Most trains arriving in here at night sometimes kept 8 or 10 men busy leading the horses all night. Then when they were sold they had to be led back out there, that is if they went over the C. B.& Q. About 1905 the Burlington Railroad decided to help Mr. Marsh out. They built him a private loading and unloading chute at the extreme end of South Cherry Street, and that made a shorter distance. The Santa Fe Railroad built him a private loading and unloading chute on the northeast corner of Cherry and Waters Streets. In leading these horses from the C. B.& Q. stockyards to Mr. Marsh's barn, each man led four horses and for that he got 50c for each lead and the same was paid for leading them back to the stockyards after the sale. But the men who did the leading of the horses and the regular men that worked around Mr. Marsh's horse barn did not depend on that exactly for their living. It was the habit of the seller and the buyer to tip these men that they depended on.

If a man shipped in a load whoever took care of him would get a tip of $5.00 from the seller and with some exceptions would get a $5.00 tip from the man who bought them per car. The horsemen, both coming in and going out, were good tippers, and the people who labored there knew it. That made help around the barn plentiful.

A horse ring is usually called an auction ring. It is always inside of the larger building where horses are kept, so as to protect the buyer and seller winter and summer from the weather. An auction ring is simply a space where horses are sold. They usually average in size about 80 feet square. On one side of the ring there is what is called an auction block built up high where the auctioneer can look all over the horses and over the crowd. They usually have bleachers where 100 to 200 people can sit but they are never buyers. The buyers who buy the horses come down close to where they can hear how the horses are being sold. At the right of the auctioneer are always two bookkeepers. One marks down the price and who bought the horse. The other one makes notations as to how the horse is being sold or represented. Now if the horse is correctly represented the man who buys him is supposed to keep him. But if he finds something on him which was not mentioned in the ring, then he has the right to reject him, and the horse comes back to be resold. Now the ringmaster, better known as ringman, has the responsibility to see that this does not happen. In case of any dispute at the time of the sale, the ringman is supposed to look at his age. look him over and tell the bookkeeper just how he is to be sold, regardless of the man that owns him who is up in the box who would rather have his horse sold with as little blemishes as possible. There is a lot of work to being a ringman. There is a lot of advantages too. In the sale of 400 to 500 horses a week, he gets the benefit of learning more about horses, and when he goes to the country he is better prepared to spend his own money in the horse business. When a horse is sold and then has to come back and be resold, it is the ringman's job to tell why he is back, what the trouble was, be sure that the bookkeeper this time gets it down and the horse is sold on his merits and will not be back again. In all horse and mule markets the ringman plays a very important part. It is up to him to please the seller and the buyer. All arguments of soundness and the way the horse was being sold is up to him in the ring. And while horses were being sold, perhaps at the rate of one per minute, he had to work fast in order to please them all.

Now as to the specifications and the qualifications of the different kinds of horses. Yes, it was a big business. In 1912 U.S. Census showed that there were 40 million horses and mules in the United States. Each farmer kept an average of 7 work horses. He raised some colts to replace them when they got old or if he should happen to sell them to a horse buyer. In 1914 Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany tried to conquer the world and World War I started. All equipment had to be drawn by horses or mules and the buyers came here from England, France, Italy and Belgium, and they bought all the horses at the different markets in the United States that filled their specifications. The horse business was conducted by classifications. During World War I the English paid $185.00 each for horses to pull cannons. Those horses were known by the horsemen as English gunners. The French bought a different type of horse and paid $165.00 each. They were classified as French gunners. The Italians paid $150.00 each and their type was known as Italian gunners and the Belgians likewise. It was in those palmy days that Mr. Leroy Marsh, in 1917, sold 1027 horses at his mighty Galesburg Horse sale. Now horses are sometimes born with defects, such as ringbone, sidebone, spasms, curbs and jacks or mooneyed. A mooneyed horse is the way that the horsemen described infected eyes. When the moon is out his eyes are good. In the dark of the moon they cloud over and sooner or later they do not open and the horse goes blind. Other horses have defects from injuries. Maybe when they are 2 years, 3 years, 4 years or after he starts to work. Now the country horse buyer has to know those blemishes and if he buys and does not buy accordingly, when he gets to market he will lose money. But the most of them are familiar with the blemishes, but it seems that some of those buyers have a failing memory. When they get to market where they are selling one horse per minute they forget or they don't care and they call "five years old and sound". They are only wasting their time. The buyer has one hour at noon to look over his horse and if he has been misrepresented he is rejected and the next buyer is more careful.

Now about the breed of these different horses. Well, it goes away back to the mustangs in Texas. But the English were the first people to export horses to America and they were the Shire horses. A lot of hair on their legs, a strip down their face and we Americans didn't know any different. Later over came the Clydesdale from Scotland. They were hairy legged, too, but they had white legs and a strip down their face; pretty in the show ring at night, but neither of them were durable. But about 1912 the Belgians started to export their best horses to America for breeding purposes. They were a wonderful horse. In color they were always strawberry roans, blue roans or sorrel with white manes and tails. The American people were very fond of them. But after World War I our boys came home. They had heard about the tractor, the iron horse. They could plow their fields fast, drive in in the evening, step off the tractor and walk into the house for dinner. With horses they would have a 5 horse hitch to harness and unharness, to feed, and to water. The country was very prosperous after World War I and the people decided that they would have tractors and trucks.

Now to give you an idea of the extent of the horse business in its palmy days around the turn of the century. The city of New York worked 1800 horses daily to pull its street cars. Before the days of artificial ice, when the ice had to be hauled from the rivers or the lakes and put in storage bins and covered with tanbark, the Knickerbocker Ice Company with headquarters in Boston, branch offices in New York City. Philadelphia, Cincinnati, and Newark, New Jersey, worked 10,000 horses. They bought 2000 horses every year for replacements. They were bought in Galesburg. These horses were called ice horses. Now I remember once when a large coal company in Pennsylvania used horses under the ground to pull their coal to the shaft. One company had 800 horses under the ground and had their stables down there. Their horses would weigh as much as 1800 lbs. They had to be low-headed and strong. Once a year they brought them up for a vacation for two weeks. But the light affected their eyes and when taken back down those deep shafts so many of them went blind that they discontinued and never brought them up any more except in case of death. Those horses were called miners. Now just stop to think of all the fire equipment in the United States being drawn by horses. They had to be a long-legged horse with high spirit. They were called fire horses.

Now in all the big cities at that time they had the mounted police. I remember when Chicago had 2000 mounted police. Those horses were called police horses. Now up as late as 1920 the large cities in the United States all pulled their street sweeping equipment with horses. I remember when Chicago owned 4000 horses that they used for sweeping the streets. Those horses were called sweepers. The large dairy farms in the big cities used lots of horses. I remember when a big dairy in Chicago would buy nothing but a black horse and they worked 800 every day delivering milk. They were called milk horses. Now, as funny as this may seem, in my day there was a horse called the celery horse. There was a large colony of Finlanders in Michigan that raised nothing but celery and when they wanted horses we called them celery horses. Now again there is the apple horse. The large apple raisers in the State of New York used to pull their equipment under the trees to spray the trees. They had to be low-headed and small and they were known as apple horses. Now up in the rugged timber of the State of Maine and Wisconsin where the stumps are thick and the trees are many, they had to have large horses that were stout in every way and we called them log horses. Now up in the State of Maine there is one county 400 miles long and 25 miles wide. It is known as Rustic County. They grow nothing but potatoes, and the rocks which are usually the size of potatoes hold the moisture for the potatoes and that is why there are no eyes in the potatoes from the State of Maine. You can peel them with your hands like you would an apple. They were great buyers of good horses. And the horseman said, "That is a pair of potato horses." Now the buyer that goes to the country should know all of this in order to buy horses that qualify for these different jobs; otherwise, he might come in—we will say—"like a fur coat in the spring of the year".

Telling the age of horses. With all due respect to veterinarians or horse doctors as they used to be called, I have never met one vet that could tell the age of a horse. It must be that they don't teach that in veterinary colleges; but. however, it is very important. Because if you are selling a horse to be 8 years old at auction and the man who buys him looks in his mouth and finds him to be 9 or 10. he just won't keep him. Now when a horse is born he has 16 baby teeth. 8 above and 8 below. That doesn't include his jaw teeth or ganders, as they are often called. When the horse is 2 years old he still has the 16 baby teeth 8 above and 8 below. A short time before his third birthday, he will shed 2 teeth above and 2 below, and 4 horse teeth appear. Then the buyer knows he is 3 years old. Just before his 4th birthday, he sheds 4 more baby teeth, 2 above and 2 below, and then the buyer knows he is 4 years old. Just before his 5th birthday he sheds 4 more baby teeth, 2 above and 2 below. Then the buyer knows he is 5 years old. And from then on all teeth have what is called a little cup. which is a black streak in the top of the tooth. At 6 years old. all cups are perfect. At 7 years old the cup leaves the 2 center teeth above and 2 center teeth below. At 8 years old all cups begin to fade away. At 9 years old he only has a cup in each corner tooth. At 10 years old he has no cups left, and is called smooth mouthed. Then after that he isn't worth so much as the average horse only lives to be 12 years old. Now this applies to work horses only. Saddle horses, show horses and ponies live longer because they are better fed and have better care and don't work so much. Now this does not apply to horses raised in Montana, Wyoming. Nebraska, Kansas. Colorado or Oklahoma where there is sand in the grass which deteriorates their teeth. The mouth of those horses always shows that they are 1 to 2 years older than they really are. It seems as if this way of knowing was worked out by the older horsemen and was handed down to the younger buyers which kept on handing it down. It is something that you don't learn too fast.

The word "horse-trader" was always offensive to the horsemen. In other words, they considered it a phony. To give you an idea of what a horse-trader is, they originated in England and moved to the United States. The Egyptians followed it for awhile then it spread into a bigger business. Before the roads were concrete, byroads were gravel, there was plenty of grazing. The horse-traders lived in their covered wagons and they started out with 4 or 5 phony horses. We often called them counterfeits. They camped along the road, always near a farm house. Sometimes a farmer has a no-good horse that he can't sell, even to a horse buyer. So he looks at the horse-trader's horses and decides that one of them is surely better then the one that he has got. So he says to the horse-trader "How will you trade?" Well, the real horse-trader lives on boot money. So he says, "I will take $10.00 to boot." So the farmer wants to get rid of his no-good horse so he trades and gives $10.00 to boot. And the horse-trader moves on. Sooner or later the farmer will find out that the horse he got was not as good as the one he traded. So really that is what a horse-trader consists of. I have been introduced to some very fine people and when they learned my business, they said, "Oh, you are a horse-trader." Then you have to explain the difference.

I am sometimes asked how one becomes a horse buyer. It is sometimes simple. I started without money with the backing of Leroy Marsh. My first experience was—one day he signed a blank check and took me to the 5 o'clock train and told me to get off at Rio, Illinois, to see a Mr. Mooney Almgreen—he had a horse for sale. He told me that Mr. Almgreen wanted $125.00 for his horse, and for me to stay all night with him, get off as much as I could and ride the horse back the next day. The Almgreen family were outstanding people—very nice in every way. So I watched him milk his cows, his wife had a wonderful dinner and he put me in a big feather bed for the night. He. knowing that I did not have any money, asked me how I was going to pay for the horse. Then I made the mistake of my life—I showed him Mr. Marsh's check already signed. Then I told him I could not give him more than $115.00 and he said. "No. no." Then I offered him $120.00 and he said, "No". Then he said. "All you got to do is fill out the check, it is already signed." So fill it out I did, and that is where I met my Waterloo. It was Friday morning and I took the entire day leading the horse 12 miles. I watered him every 20 minutes that night and curried him often. The next day was the sale—I led him in—I held up his head—and it is ringing in my ears yet today—I heard the auctioneer say "$117.50. Sold to Ed Lynch." Then I knew I would have to go back to work in the barn for $8.00 per week. The next day Mr. Marsh said, "Your horse lost $7.50, plus $2.00 feed, $1.50 for shoes and $.40 for a new halter. Half of that is your loss." And I said, "Well, I will work it out." So he let me work one week.

The next week Mr. Marsh signed five checks and sent me to Macomb, Illinois. I went down on a Sunday evening. He gave me the name of a man down there who would help me. I contacted the man on a Monday morning. And after riding with him all day Monday I found out that he was a disreputable, phony horse trader, who had been cheating the farmers around that community with counterfeit horses for many years. But I noticed that we were not welcome, even in the farmers' barn yard. He had something mean to say about every farmer as we were leaving. When night came I didn't owe him anything because I was to give him $1.00 per horse and I hadn't bought any. I told him I didn't need him the next day. In those days livery stables were like garages are today. Some good:—some bad. But as I walked around the town that evening. I walked into the Lee Rexroat livery barn. I could see that Mr. Rexroat was a distinguished citizen. I spoke to him about going to the country the next day, and he said he could go. So on Tuesday morning we started out. The atmosphere was different. Every farmer seemed happy to meet him. And when he introduced me, then I knew I was in good company. We bought three horses that day and filled out three checks. The next day being Wednesday, we bought two horses and that consumed all my checks. I ordered each horse delivered Thursday morning to Mr. Rexroat's barn in Macomb. The next morning early I went to the Burlington Railroad freight house to see what it was going to cost to get my five horses to Galesburg. I was surprised to know the price would be $35.00. I just couldn't see where I could get that much money above what I gave. So the horses were all in by noon, then I made the decision that I would lead them to Galesburg. They were all nice big fat horses, none of them broke to ride. So I picked out a gentleman, tied one to his tail, another one to the other's tail, another one to the other's tail and the fourth one to his tail. I borrowed a bridle from Mr. Rexroat. I had no saddle. Now you must remember it takes a fast horse to walk four miles per hour. And when I mounted my horse, well, he did nothing vicious, he just didn't care to walk fast with me on his back. So I leaped to the ground and by leading he came right along. This was the year 1902 and I was 27 years old, didn't mind a little walk. It is 15 miles from Macomb to Bushnell. I got there just at dark. I had taken them to Mr. John Roach's livery barn. He was an outstanding citizen and came up every Saturday to the Galesburg sale and bought small mules and small horses for the St. Louis market. I asked him if I could keep my horses all night and he said "Yes". So I put them in his barn, watered them, bedded them down and he helped me feed them. Then I went across to a little restaurant and got a lunch. About 8 o'clock that evening I came back to his barn and he came there to close it up for the night. I told him that I would like to pay for the keep of my horses now because I would be leaving early in the morning. He said "There will be no charge, Fred, and I will see you in Galesburg Saturday, and we will wait and see if they make money". Then I asked him if I could sleep on a lounge in his office and he said "Yes", which I did. About 5 o'clock in the morning, I watered my horses, fed them a little and tied them together again and started for Galesburg. But the 15 miles had put blisters on my heels and my feet were sore. So I tried riding again. But that horse wouldn't walk fast enough so I got off and walked. During the day I watered them several times but didn't wait for any dinner. About 7 in the evening, this was Friday. I arrived in Galesburg. I bedded my horses down, fed them good and went up to my home where I lived on the corner of Monroe and Fremont. After washing up and resting up I came right back down to the barn and stayed with them until midnight. There were several buyers in town, mostly from Chicago. Men like Frank Hanley, Ed Lynch. Mark Shubert, Willie Newgas and Pat Hunter. I showed them my horses the next morning and to my surprise they didn't ask me what I wanted for them and they didn't offer to buy any and that was very discouraging to me. Nine o'clock came—time for the auction. There were about 40 horses ahead of me for the sale. The bidding to me seemed to be very slow. So I picked out one horse that I was sure I had bought cheap and put him first on the auction block. He was a nice seal brown horse, cost $140.00. And I gave the man all he asked for him. But there was that great auctioneer in the box, Charlie Plank. If there was a dull, slow auction he never tipped his mitt. He looked over the crowd, he took the bids here, there and everywhere and no one could tell whether he really had them or not. And when my first horse arrived for sale, and I decribed him as being sound, Mr. Plank said $150.00—$160.00—$165.00— $175.00—$185.00—$190.00" and then looked down to me and said "do you want him sold". I was shocked—I said "Yes". And he was sold for $190.00. That gave me as much courage as anything that had ever happened up to this time in the horse business concerning me. And the next four he just took them the same way and run away with the bidding, confused the buyers and sold them. That night late, Mr. George Dimmit, the head bookkeeper at that time, said he had my bill figured up and after deducting the commission, feed, shoeing, new halters, he said "Your horses made $81.00". Just then Mr. Marsh stepped in the office and he said "Fred, you know I am your partner, I furnish the money".

Mr. Marsh said. "We will split the profit and no doubt some day you will have a loss and I will lose one-half of it". I said "I don't intend to have any losses". And he said "That is the way it will be". That continued for a couple of years. Finally, I had saved about $700.00 of my own profit and I had it deposited in the Second National Bank of Galesburg, where the First National Bank is today. Mr. Pete Brown was the President. He was the father of the late Curtis Brown of Galesburg. And he always seemed to be interested in what I was doing. So at this time I sat down and told him that my horses sometimes were making as much as $100.00 or $200.00 per week and I didn't think the use of Mr. Marsh's money was worth that much. And he agreed with me. He said "How much have you got here on deposit?" and I told him about $700.00. And he said "Fred, just check direct on us and we will take care of your checks until after your horses are sold". And from then on I didn't have to tell Mr. Marsh or anyone else what my horses cost, it was then none of their business. And very soon I got to buying carload lots, which is 20 head. And the Good Lord must have had his arm around my shoulder for it was more than 10 years before I had a load that lost more than $50.00. And I might say from that time on, no competitor, no commission man, ever pushed me around or slowed me down.


The Brewers Big Horses	Near Wataga - 1885	The Hay Market- Cedar & Simmons The Free Kindergarten Stands There Now

In regard to mules, they were once said to be the cheapest power on earth. They were used to descend into the Grand Canyon. They never made a mistake with a mount on their back. If one foot slipped off, they pulled it back. With a horse, if he lost his step, he would fall over. Mules seemed to have the instinct of nature. They would never drink too much when they were hungry. They took good care of themselves. Yes, the mother of a mule is a female horse. The father a mammoth jack, originated from Spain. I am not familiar with the ancestry of the Spanish jack. I have heard it said that they originated from the zebra and the mountain burro. However, the mule carried that instinct.
The southern people fully depended on the mules and the negroes for raising their crops; cotton, tobacco, peanuts and rice. But in 1931, 1932 and 1933, during the depression, the southern people were in financially bad shape. Then in 1934, the Federal Government gave them a cash loan on their cotton and they needed mules and had the money to pay for them. I heard that the market was extremely good at Atlanta, Georgia. Not having too much experience in mules, I went down to Stronghurst, Illinois, and bought 20 head—a carload—and consigned them to Raggsdale, Lahor and Wheil. Mr. Raggsdale's father had succeeded himself as mayor of the City of Atlanta, which had a population then of 300,000. So you see the background was good. I shipped the mules and they made $500.00 to $600.00 more than I expected. And that set me going. The next week I went over to Aledo, Illinois, and bought a load and shipped them to the same people and they brought much more than I expected. Then I knew for sure that I was a good mule buyer. So I put every man in the middle West to buying mules for me. In a short time I had 200 head—that is 10 carloads. I shipped them to Atlanta, Georgia. I made arrangements with my banker in Galesburg and he was carrying me for about $15,000.00 of the money. I boarded a train at Galesburg for Chicago, got on the Dixie Flyer. This was in depression days, not many people traveling. The first two hours I sat in the observation car alone, with a big black cigar, and I imagined that I was surely a big shot. Later I proceeded to the dining car and there was another man besides myself having dinner. All the time I was figuring what a big shot I would be when I arrived in Atlanta, Georgia. The next evening I did arrive and checked in at the Robert E. Fulton Hotel. There were the buyers standing around in the lobby, southern plantation buyers, they seemed to be sad. I edged around, introduced myself and they were telling me about the terrible quarantine. I said "What quarantine?" They said, "If you have any mules coming you will know about it." The state of Georgia had quarantined all the mules in Atlanta and those that were coming in, because of a diphtheria which I had never heard about. I heard an Alabama man say, "I don't buy no mules here, I'm going home." Everyone was talking about going home. The clerk at the desk said, "Yes, they stopped the sales last week," and all of this I don't know when I shipped my mules. Well, I must have been the man who started the coffeebreak, because every 15 or 20 minutes I got a cup of coffee. I got a room and a bed and I couldn't stay in it. The next morning I said. "How do I get out to the stockyards?" The clerk said, "The streetcar goes right by the door—it starts at 5 A.M." I said, "How far is it?" He said, "About 6 miles." I was sure out there at 5 a.m. Here came a car with a big sign on the side. It said 'Niggers Only'. They don't let me on. I waited for the next car—another big sign said 'Niggers Only'. I don't get on. Third car said 'Whites Only'—and I did get on. I arrived at the stock yards. No one around but the night watchman. I told him who I was, how many mules I had and could he please tell me where they were. He said "Brother, your mules are down in the morgue." I said "What do you mean—'down in the morgue'?" He said "Mules died here last week like flies. They had to stop the auction." I said. "Could you go with me and show me where my mules are?" He said, "In about 15 minutes." So down we went. Now they were feeding my mules cotton seed meal, which is just like flour and when those mules stuck their noses in it and that cotton seed meal went over their heads I really didn't recognize my own mules. They seemed to have gotten smaller. Eight or nine o'clock came, officials came out and said we couldn't do a thing until the State lifted the quarantine. So the feed was $1.00 per day per mule—$200.00 per day for me—7 days, $1400.00 feed. Freight expenses ran $400.00 per car—$4000.00 freight. I sure did have a lot to overcome. But on the 8th day they held a conference, and the quarantine was lifted. Southern buyers were skeptical on bidding on mules that had been exposed. I really knew that I was ruined for life. They told me to go take some niggers and get 100 of my mules. I said "Open the gate and let them all go." I figured if they got down there they would have to sell them. But Mr. I. N. Raggsdale, the mayor of the city, came out at once and said he had a couple of nephews who he was financing on some plantations down in Virginia. One of them wanted 40 mules and the other wanted 50 mules and he bought them all from me—which helped me out a great deal. Now it was the longest week I ever had away from home. I wired my wife that the mules were quarantined. That old Galesburg banker got nervous. His name was Merle Cline of the First National Bank and he called my wife to find out what was delaying me. She told him the mules were quarantined, but he thought she said that I was quarantined. Se he continued to call for about three days to know about my health. But finally I got them sold and they only lost $300.00. I was completely worn out, must have looked terrible when I arrived home. In fact, it must have been bad—my own dog tried to bite me. The next morning I take my little Whippet car, which my wife had been using, and start for the bank. I got about 6 blocks and ran out of gas. As you know, women driving other people's cars never buy gas. I walked 6 blocks and got a quart, it started and I finally reached the bank. Mr. Cline was glad to see me and he thought my health had broke and I told him "No, it was the mules," and I have never tried to be a big shot since then.

It was on Wednesday about 10:00 A.M. The previous Saturday they had their usual run of horses, 450 to 500 head. They were all sold with the exception of 4 large horses, which were owned by Mr. Fred Oliver, who resided in Galesburg at that time. He bought the horses at Osceola, Iowa and shipped them here. He did not sell them because he figured they would bring more the next week. The fire started across the street from the Santa Fe passenger station, on the Northwest corner of Waters and Broad. To make matters worse, straw which was used to bed the horses was very scarce in Knox County and adjacent counties. The week before he had bought 3 carloads of baled pine shavings from a lumber yard in Chicago for that purpose. They made very good bedding but were very flammable. They were stored on the second floor of that building. Mr. George Leroy, one of the faithful help of Mr. Marsh, who had been with him for more than 30 years, was consigned to that part of the building. That morning as he passed through the building from Cherry Street, which is a block long, he met a gentleman who tipped him $5.00 for his good service the week before. He put it in his jacket pocket, hung his jacket on a nail and proceeded to take care of those 4 horses. Immediately he heard a crackling upstairs. He saw smoke and he ran to the office, which was on Cherry Street one block away, and told the bookkeeper to turn in the alarm. Then he rushed back to where he had hung his jacket, but the flames had destroyed it. It seems as if when the fire got into those shavings it set up a heat draft which quickly spread to the Cherry Street offices. The entire structure one block long on Waters Street was totally destroyed.

On a Monday morning previous to the fire, I left for Aledo in Mercer County, Illinois, to buy a carload of horses for the next sale. I was going through the country by horse and buggy and about 12 o'clock on Wednesday I was 10 miles north of Aledo when a lady came out of a farm home and said, "Are you Mr. Dunbar?" I said, "Yes." She said, "We have just heard over the telephone that Mr. Marsh's barn has been destroyed by fire." I immediately turned around and headed for Aledo. It takes the average horse about 2 hours to go 10 miles. I had 18 horses bought, needed 2 more for a load, but decided at that time that I had enough. On reaching Aledo. I immediately went to the hotel and put in a call for Mr. Marsh, not knowing that I really could get him. But a small brick building to the south of the main structure facing on Cherry Street housing the restaurant and the blacksmith's shop did not burn. So they immediately transferred the telephone to the restaurant. In a few moments Mr. Marsh was on the line. I said, "Is it so that the barns have burned down?" He said, "Yes. Fred it's awful." I said, "I have 18 large horses bought and was going to ship them tomorrow. What shall I do?" He said, "Go ahead and we will sell them out on Waters Street." So the next day I shipped the horses and came to Galesburg. It sure was not a very pretty picture. Mr. Marsh had stopped all the horses that he knew were coming. But about 100 head came anyway. We were all worried as to who would buy them. But some New England buyers had left a few days before and arrived in Galesburg not knowing of the fire. And it was a very good sale. Not enough horses to fill the demand. As I recall, my horses made money. Then here was the picture—25 regular men, mostly family men. out of work; blacksmiths and bookkeepers out of work; shippers in the MidWest with no place to go.

So Saturday evening after the sale, Mr. Joe Deets, who had moved here from North Henderson in 1910, who was a good judge of horses, and a gentleman, too, and later bought many carloads of horses here, said to me, "What are we going to do? Mr. Marsh only has $7000.00 insurance and he cannot build with that." I said "Let's go up to the Union Hotel (which is the Broadview Hotel now) and see Mr. J. R. Justice, who was a buyer for Mr. Marsh for many years before he retired.

Mr. Deets explained the situation to Mr. Justice and Mr. Justice said, "Don't you think that we and the community could match the $7000.00 and maybe he would rebuild?" Mr. Deets said, "I will give $250.00 to start it." Mr. Justice said, "I will give $250.00." Then they said "How about you, Fred?" I was not very heavy at the time, but I said, "I will give $250.00." Within the week, the shippers into Galesburg, with the help of some Galesburg businessmen, they matched the $7000.00. I say "they" because about all I could do at that time was to raise my own $250.00. I went to the Second Galesburg National Bank to Mr. P. F. Brown, the President, and borrowed the money. He said to me, "Fred, do you think that is a good investment?" I said, "Yes. A future investment." And it was, for me, for the next forty years. Mr. Marsh discontinued the sales for 4 weeks. He first built the brick structure that the City of Galesburg tore down in 1937 for the city parking lot. I remember it cost $6200.00. Then he continued the construction straight through to Broad along Waters Street.

Most all men, women and children love horses and ponies, but they are not all judges, and in as much as it was a fascinating business most anyone might try his hand.

How well I remember a certain character, his name was Willy Waters. He came from a little town called Cumberland, Iowa; it is at the end of a Burlington branch railroad. He arrived one day in the month of June with a load of large horses, which was unsuited to the market for that time of year. They were like buying a fur coat in the spring. But Mr. Waters was distinguished, he had a red vest, a derby hat on the side of his head, a watch chain as big as your thumb. He did not consider Mr. Marsh or the personnel of the horse market of much account. He checked in at the best hotel and wanted to meet the Eastern buyers. One by one he introduced himself. He called taxis when he wanted to come to the market, he called taxis when he wanted to return to the hotel. He dined them and he wined them and they were ready for his reception. The night before the sale he gave them a large banquet, and the next morning he called 3 taxis at his expense and brought them all down to the market. They had all been around and they knew how to handle characters of this type. They patted him on the shoulder, lit his cigar, looked at his horses, but they told him they would see them in the ring. He represented everyone at 5 years, 6 years, 7 years and sound. And he had a hot sale. At noon he said to me "I should have been in this business long ago. My load is making $400.00". Then he took them all to dinner. Then he brought them all back.

Then they looked over his horses and told him that he had misrepresented them all. They rejected 18 head, and had a right to as he was a bad judge of soundness when he bought them. But when he opened his afternoon sale, he was an angry man. He. changed from a gentleman to a western cowboy. I said, "Now wait just a minute. You sold this pair of horses as sound. This one has a spot in his eye. The other has side-bone." He jumped down, looked at the eye, and said, "It ain't very big." He felt of the sidebones and got back in the box and took the market price. Every horse brought $25.00 to $30.00 less than they did in the forenoon. In the evening he said to me, "This ain't much of a horse market. I think they're a lot of crooks." He had never identified himself and we assumed he was a big Iowa farmer. But to make matters worse, he wired his banker at noon that his horses made $400.00. Two months later, I was in Greenfield. Iowa, and I thought that I would go over to Cumberland and see Mr. Waters. Maybe he would help me. I was informed that he was down the road about half a mile. I went down there and he was working for the road commissioner. He said he could not help me and he didn't ever want to see a horse again. He said he was getting $1.50 per day and had a good job and would be the rest of his life paying the banker. I went uptown and bought 6 horses and went into the only bank they had and the banker said to me,, "One of our local men here shipped a load of horses to your town not long ago and he never knew that a load of horses could lose so much." I said. "Well, it's possible that he bought them too high, or was not a good judge of soundness." So I could see that the banker had financed him and was still holding the sack. Two months later I was in Bridgewater. Iowa, buying a load of horses and over came Willy Waters. I said, "Are you still working for the road commissioner?" and he said, "No, he can go to hell, and that smart banker can wait for his money." So you see it don't take long to get into the horse business and it don't take long to get out.

Having been ringmaster for Mr. Marsh for 25 years, it gave me a great opportunity to see different characters come and go.

As I recall to my mind another character in the horse business. It was about 1910, one Saturday morning, sale day, when a young man came in the front door on Cherry Street. He was well-dressed, very polite and had a wonderful way of introducing himself. His name was Charlie Watts. Immediately I assumed that he wanted to buy some horses so I started to walk and talk and show him different strings of horses. As we passed through the large barn, he asked me what different horses might bring. Then he would ask me what certain teams of horses might bring, and when we got through to Broad Street I said to him, "I have two carloads of horses over in the south barn, so let's go over there and I will show them to you." When we arrived, I said, "Now let me bring them out and show them to you and maybe I can sell you some." He said, "Oh, no, Mr. Dunbar. I just came over here to get acquainted with the market" and he asked me, "Is this a public market? Can anyone ship horses here that wants to?" I said, "Oh yes". Then I said. "You can go to the country, buy some horses, ship them here and we will give you a square deal and get you every dollar that we can for them." He said. "Now, Mr. Dunbar, I am a married man. I have been working as a tenant farmer around the country near Fort Madison, Iowa. My wife inherited $1800.00 and she wants me to go in business. So I thought I would get acquainted with the market and maybe do so." I said, "$1800.00 won't buy a carload." He then said, "I would just buy $1800.00 worth." I said, All right."

So during the day, he was a busy man. He made acquaintance with the Eastern buyers. He got in contact with the men who had horses for sale. He was certainly dynamic. To look at him you would want to know him. He was very clever. When time came for the auction at 9:00 o'clock, he was in the front line. When I had to stop a horse or a team of horses to speak of their blemishes so the bookkeeper could write it down, the buyers would rush into the ring to see how bad the blemishes were. Mr. Watts was right there. When they ran into one another, he would excuse himself and step back in the line. When noontime came, the Union Hotel, which is now the Broadview, had a hack—you might call it a bus. It was drawn by a nice team of bay horses. The driver was a colored man with a Union Hotel uniform on. He drove in front of the barn every day at 12 o'clock. It held 16 passengers. Free ride to the Union Hotel dining room where they served a 50c dinner. The dining room was noted as at the best between Chicago and Omaha.

Only the Eastern buyers and the big shots could afford the price as good restaurants uptown were serving a 25c meal. I noticed that Mr. Watts boarded the bus with the buyers. When the bus came back at 1:00 o'clock. Mr. Watts was on the first line. He was doing his best to learn the business. In the evening I didn't see him when he left Galesburg. But I learned from him that he lived in Fort Madison, Iowa. The next day I left for the country. The next Friday when I came home, Mr. Ralph Sharp, a bookkeeper for many years, told me Mr. Watts was in with 15 head. He was over in the restaurant getting his dinner. I walked over, he remembered me with a friendly smile, and asked me to join him. I said, "No." I had been to dinner. He said, "Wait, I want to show you my horses." We went down and he started to tell me what they cost him. I said I wouldn't tell anyone what his horses cost. If he bought them cheap, the buyers would want them cheap. He said, "Well, you are the ringmaster and I think you could help me more if I did tell you." I said, "All right." So he led out the first horse, a black horse. He said, "Now he cost me $75.00". I said, "How did you buy that horse for $75.00?" He said, "That is all the man asked me." And I said, "He will bring you $150.00." Boy, he was happy. Then he led out a dapple gray horse. I said, "What did you pay for this one?" He said "$85.00." I said, "How did you buy him for $85.00?" He said, "That is all the man asked me." I said, "He will bring you $185.00." I never saw a man so happy. The rest of his horses were not so good but these horses had not been hitched and ran up and down Waters Street for their work and good wind. So in a couple of hours, the barn help hitched them and when they ran these two horses they were badly windbroken. Then I said to Mr. Watts, "How did you buy those horses?" He said "The farmers told me that they were sound as far as they knew." And I said, "That releases them of any guarantee, so you will have to take the loss." So the next day when he came into the sale, the black horse, badly windbroken, brought $50.00, the gray horse, badly wind-broken, brought $65.00. But being an outstanding young man, he stood in the auction box and he did not misuse anyone. And Mr. Plank, the Auctioneer, who was always a gentleman, put his arm on his shoulder and said, "I don't believe you are having a very good sale." And with a big lump in his throat he said. "No, I am not." We continued the sale and late that afternoon I found him in the west barn sitting on a bale of hay. And he said, "Mr. Dunbar, I have just about lost my shirt." And then I said to him, "How did you come to go into this horse business?" He said, "My grandfather had the best race horses in Iowa and we have his picture and my wife and I both love horses." He said, "Mr. Dunbar, how much do you think my horses will lose and how much expense will I have here?" I said, "You will have about $50.00 freight from Fort Madison. You will have $45.00 commission. You will have $22.50 shoes and about $30.00 feed." He said, "When will I know?" I said, "The bookkeeper will make out the bill Monday, and you will get it and your check Tuesday." He had a beautiful wristwatch which I had admired during the day. He said, "My wife gave me that for Christmas. It cost $15.00." He said, "I have 10 minutes before my train." So I opened the gate on Broad Street and walked with him into the depot. He bought the ticket and then he said, "You have done much to help me." and he wanted to pay me. I said, "No, Mr. Marsh pays me." Now he had gotten himself on the mailing list and every week he would get a market report, and instructions as to the kind of horses he should buy. But a year or more passed and I never heard anything from Charlie Watts. A little later I had a layover of 4 hours in Fort Madison and I decided to look him up. My first inquiry from a man said, "Only 3 blocks down the street, little white house on the corner." The man said. "I think he is home as he works nights in the Santa Fe Shops." So down I went. He remembered me, was glad to see me, and introduced me to his wife. He had 3 little children. He said, "You know, Mr. Dunbar, when I came from Galesburg I knew I would never make a horseman and my wife said that I should trade that wrist watch that you liked for an alarm clock and get a job. And I did. I work for the Santa Fe Railroad." That was my last contact with Charlie Watts.

I don't recall of only 5 of the big shippers that are living that once consigned their horses to this market. They are Frank Meeker of Alexis; Charlie Nelson of Rio; Sully Francis of Kewanee; Frank Huston of Wataga and Dean Bowen of Sheridan, Iowa. In speaking of Mr. Bowen, he was a young fellow, looked more like Hollywood than a horse buyer, good natured and well liked, very choicy about his girl friends. A few years after the markets closed, he came through and stopped to see me. He said. "Fred, I am married and I got a boy 9 years old. My wife is 29 and I am 49 and we are getting along fine." And on August 6, 1958, Mr. Dean Bowen and family, after touring Canada and the New England States and visiting Niagara Falls stopped here to see us and he had another boy 5 years old. His name is John Bowen. named after his brother Dean, who is President of the Bank of Sheridan, Iowa.

Now I know that this is my farewell interview and can conscientiously say that if you would trace the history of Uncle Tom and his cabin from the jungles of Africa to his cabin door, no where would you find anything in parallel to the grief, the troubles and the difficulties that the average horseman had. So I say good-night and God Bless the Horsemen.


Frank Meeker	Horse Market 1934	Charles Nelson	Bill Mathers

The idea of placing a stone marker at the site of the Marsh Sales Barn was conceived by Mr. J. Orton Finley of Oneida. With the help of Mr. J. K. Wasson and Mr. Fred Dunbar, this has been accomplished.

Contributors to the Leroy Marsh memorial marker:

J. Orton Finley
Fred Dunbar
J. K. Wasson
Sam Coffman
Jack Deets
Charles Nelson
L. F. Meeker
Cornelia Thompson
Islea F. Deets
Kirk McDowell
Walter Smith (in memory of James Barton)
S. F. Francis
Dr. J. W. Lucas
V. B. Laswell
In memory of M. W. Laswell
Earnest Panhorst
Oliver Panhorst
Oscar LeRoy (in memory of George LeRoy)
McCreery Motor Co.
Glen Sharp
Emil B. Plank (in memory of C. H. Plank)
Claude Graver
In memory of Chris Fredericks
A. L. Doubet
Sig B. Nelson
Frank Houston
In memory of William Houston
John Derer
Oscar Cushman
Guy Routh
Mrs. Max Montgomery (in memory of Fred Oliver)

I want to thank the following people for their help in furnishing information and pictures:

Charles Nelson
L. F. Meeker
Islea Deets
Earnest Panhorst
Oscar Leroy
S. F. Francis
Jack Phillips
M. M. Marsh
Leon Benson
Perry Sargent
Glen Sharp
Emil Plank
John Derer
Joe Coe
Edgar Little
Mrs. Max Montgomery

I also want to express my gratitude to Paul Monson, Herman Pfisterer, Rosemary Berg, and Margaret Berggren, without whose cooperation this little book could not have been ready in time for the dedication of the Marsh Memorial, and especially to J. Orton Finley for his leadership in the move to perpetuate the memory of one of Galesburg's great industries. — Cornelia Thompson


Burlington Depot	Santa Fe Depot — 1881