Centenarians in Early Grinnell

According to published data, more and more Americans are living longer. If life expectancy at birth in 1900 was 47 for white men and 49 for white women, a hundred years later the corresponding numbers were 75 for men and 80 for women. African Americans have enjoyed a similar increase—black men's life expectancy at birth in 1900 was 33 but 68 by 2000; black women's life expectancy rose from 34 in 1900 to 75 in 2000. A consequence of this growing longevity is that increasing numbers of Americans are living to age 100 and beyond. If this cadre of the super-annuated was once small, the growing numbers have led various public agencies to count and honor centenarians. The State of Iowa, for example, has created a Department on Aging that solicits information on and organizes public recognition of Iowa's centenarians. As of October 2012, the agency counted 587 Iowans aged 100 or more, and the 2010 census (which did not insist upon consistent reporting of birth dates) reported 846 Iowa centenarians. More than 80% of this group is female.

But what about early Grinnell? If most men and women could expect modestly long lives, were there centenarians in town in the early twentieth century? And, if there were, did the locals remark upon the long-lived, and perhaps celebrate their longevity? The answer to both questions appears to be "yes." Although I found no systematic effort to identify and publicize the long-lived, early Grinnell definitely had centenarians whose great age attracted public attention, perhaps especially because in their time they stood out even more than today's long-lived Iowans. Today's post will examine a few of these early centenarians and how Grinnell marked their long lives.

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Undated photo of Mumpford Holland (1825?-1916)

When Mumpford Holland, former slave and long-time Grinnell resident, passed away in July, 1916, the Grinnell Herald reported that Holland was "believed to have been about 108 years old." The front-page obituary was long and affectionate, if also colored by the language of racial difference. Perhaps most telling, however, was the public perception: "It almost seemed that Mumpford couldn't die. The years passed by and seemed to leave little impression upon him," the newspaper remarked.

Headline from page 1 obituary of Mumpford Holland, Grinnell Herald August 1, 1916

However, for many of his vintage (especially former slaves like Holland), reliable records of birth were out of reach, so that over the years Holland provided census-takers with conflicting data on his age, date of birth, and even place of birth. The 1870 census, for example, reported that Holland had been born in Kentucky and was 30 years of age, which implied that he was born in 1839 or 1840. The 1880 census confirmed place of birth, but identified Holland as being 35, just five years older than reported ten years previously. The 1895 Iowa census, however, indicated that Holland had aged rapidly, describing him as 64 years of age (and therefore born in 1830 or 1831); instead of Kentucky, the 1895 record gave Mississippi as place of birth. The 1900 census reported that Holland was 75 years of age—eleven years older than claimed just five years earlier—and helpfully provided a month and year of birth (January, 1825), the specificity of which seemed to invite credibility. The 1905 Iowa census maintained the Mississippi place of birth, but counted Holland as 80, maintaining consistency with the previous census. Five years later, however, the 1910 census judged Holland to be 100, but omitted place of birth, acknowledging that he was "formerly a slave with no records." The next Iowa census (1915) and the last one to count Holland before his death, repeated his 1910 age—100—but asserted that he'd been born in Kentucky as some of the earliest censuses had claimed.

Record for Mumpford Holland from 1915 Iowa Census

This welter of conflicting information is not unusual where written birth or christening records are rare or non-existent. Nevertheless, the contradictory evidence makes it difficult to determine whether Mumpford Holland in fact reached the remarkable status of centenarian, despite the 1910 and 1915 censuses.  Clearly he seemed old to the people around him. F. W. Thackeray, who completed the 1915 census form for Holland in which he claimed an age of 100, noted parenthetically that Holland was "probably older." If one assumes that the date of birth reported in the 1900 census—January, 1825—is correct, then at his death in 1916 Mumpford Holland would have been 91; if he were 100 in 1910, as the census claimed, then Holland would have been 106 in 1916.

Mumpford Holland (ca. 1890) (Digital Grinnell)

In other words, we can't know his age for sure. Whatever Holland's actual age, it's clear that Grinnellians of the time thought he was very long-lived. His life, begun in slavery, was long and hard. His wife had been sold away when the couple were both slaves, and Holland never saw her again. Once out from under slavery, Holland picked up odd jobs—waiting on tables, working as a gardener, and later doing just about anything to earn a living. Even the complimentary obituary printed in the Grinnell Herald had to admit that Holland had had to put up with a lot from men in town who mocked him. Never rich, he managed to buy his own, modest home, and somehow he kept going, demonstrating a resilience that few could match and which might well have helped him live many years.

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More reliable confirmation of having reached centenarian status comes from Susannah Law Kingdon, who was born in Peckham, England in July 2, 1829, and christened at Camberwell parish October 1, 1829—both dates having been entered in the parish register.

Cumberwell parish register of baptisms, 1829
(Susannah Law's christening is no. 15, 2nd from bottom)

In 1851, when she was just 22, she crossed the Atlantic in a sailing ship that encountered disaster just off Long Island. Susannah made it safely to New York where her brother resided, and where soon she made the acquaintance of William H. Kingdon. According to her obituary, when she and Kingdon decided to marry, Susannah returned to England in 1855 to acquire her trousseau, then crossed the ocean another time, culminating in her 1856 New York marriage. The union resulted in the birth of six children, two of whom died in infancy. In 1870 or 1871 (sources differ on the date) the family came to Iowa, first settling in Malcom, then later moving into Grinnell where William Kingdon operated a small shoemaker's business. Although William was five years Susannah's junior, he died first: William Kingdon was only sixty years of age at the time of his 1894 death. Thereafter, Susannah Law Kingdon lived with one or another of her children. For some years she lived with her daughter Harriet Goodrich, first at 633 Main, then a few blocks to the north at 1033 Main, and then finally at 1221 Broad. When Harriet died in 1928 (she, too, was only sixty years of age), her "aged mother" (as the obituary put it) moved to 1008 High Street to live with her son, Frederick S. Kingdon (1863-1953) (who, his own obituary later noted, had hoped to live as long as his mother).

William H. Kingdon (1834-1894), husband of Susannah Law Kingdon

Consequently, when Grinnell took notice of Susannah Kingdon's one-hundredth birthday, the Grinnell Herald allocated two columns of page one to what the newspaper called a "quiet" observance at her son's home. According to the newspaper, "Many cards and telegrams have been received from various points all over the land to commemorate the occasion"—and on her birthday "more than one hundred messages...were received before noon." Eighty-two people signed the guest book, and Kingdon's photograph was taken "with her birthday cake bearing 100 candles" (if it survives, I could not find this photo). Another photograph captured the centenarian with her five great-great grandchildren." Among the most enjoyable parts of the day, the newspaper observed, was the broadcast of birthday greetings from Des Moines radio station WHO and the next day from a radio station in Shenandoah—this in an age when radio was still in its infancy.

Photo of Susannah Law Kingdon (ca. 1923)
Grinnell Herald July 2, 1929

How much Susannah Kingdon enjoyed all the attention is impossible to know. Certainly her long life had included many sorrows, not least the early death of two infant children, her husband's death in 1894, and then the demise of adult children: Caroline Kingdon Bahrenfuse in 1906 (1865-1906); Charles Henry Kingdon in 1915 (1856-1915); and Harriett Kingdon Goodrich in 1928 (1867-1928). But the town's centenarian was clearly made of sterner stuff, these household crises seemingly unable to slow her march to exceptional life span. With passage of the 19th Amendment to the US Constitution in 1920, Mrs. Kingdon—then already past 90—vigorously and regularly exercised her newly-won right, conceding nothing to age or to the trials thrown up before her. An Episcopalian all her life, Susannah was, her obituary affirmed, "a religious individual," perhaps the source of strength that helped her ford the rivers of adversity she had faced.  Like all other mortals, however, Susannah Law Kingdon did finally have to confront death, which came in relatively short order after her one-hundredth birthday.

When she died in February, 1930, at the age of 100 years, seven months and 19 days (as the obituary pointed out), she died in hospital, having suffered serious illness for most of the last two months of life. She was famous for her embroidery which she continued to produce until her final days, bestowing pieces of her handiwork upon all her numerous surviving descendants—only one son outlived her, but eight grandchildren, twenty-two great-grandchildren, and five great-great-grandchildren remained to carry the memory of their remarkable ancestor.

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Born in Wayne County, Kentucky, Rachel (sometimes "Rachael") Williams was one of seven daughters to whom her mother gave birth. In 1853 Rachel married another Kentuckian, Benjamin Adkins, and to this couple were born nine children (four of whom died before she did). The Adkins family came to Iowa "a few years after their marriage," and as pioneers settled in the eastern portion of Jasper County, near Kellogg, where her husband farmed until his 1887 death. Rachel later lived in Grinnell with her daughter, Mrs. George Cooper, then with her son, Morris Adkins (1854-1922). She died in Grinnell March 31, 1924, her obituary announcing, "Mrs. Rachel Adkins Closes Long Life."

Gravestone for Rachel Williams Adkins, Antle Cemetery, Kellogg, Iowa
(http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=pv&GRid=23116238&PIpi=26799546)

Certainly her life was long, but whether it totaled 100 years is unclear. Her gravestone in the Antle Cemetery in Kellogg reports her as having been born in 1823, adding that she had lived "100 YS 4 MS 20 DS" when she died March 31, 1924. Her obituary, composed, one must assume, at about the same time as the gravestone, presents a different birth date and therefore a different life span. Reporting that the woman had been born in 1824 (not 1823), the newspaper account therefore totaled her life as having lasted "99 years, four months and twenty days."

Undated photo of Rachel Williams Adkins (1824?-1924)
(http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=pv&GRid=23116238&PIpi=22616086)

Apparently Adkins herself was uncertain about her year of birth. Like Mumpford Holland, in succeeding censuses Adkins reported her age inconsistently: the September, 1850 census described her as 26 years old (meaning that she would have been born in 1823 if her birth in fact occurred in November, as reported elsewhere); but the June, 1860 census lists her age as 32 (meaning she was born in 1827 or 1828); the July, 1870 count—almost exactly ten years later—counts her as twelve years older (44, and therefore born in 1826 or 1827), which corresponds well to the following census (July, 1880) in which Adkins is described as 54. Thirty years later (April, 1910), however, she told the census official that she was 87 years of age (and therefore born in 1823 or 1824). In 1915 she reported herself as being 90, an age that was at least consistent with the 1920 census, according to which Adkins was 95 years old. These last two reports would place her birth in 1825 or 1824.

A reliable birth or christening record could clear up this confusion, but I was unable to locate any documentation that reliably recorded her exact birth date, so the question of whether Rachel Adkins was in fact a centenarian remains open. All the same, it's clear that she was very old at the time of her March, 1924 death. Like Holland and Kingdon, Adkins had weathered some difficult moments. Her mother had died when Rachel was very young, and all her six siblings had preceded her in death. Of her own nine children, four died before their mother, including one who died in infancy. And when her husband succumbed in 1887, she began a widowhood that lasted 37 years. All these events played out against the inevitably difficult circumstances that attached to pioneering in central Iowa.

Like Susannah Kingdon, Rachel Adkins was religious, having been an active member of the Baptist church for almost 70 years, so perhaps her faith helped her deal with adversity. Nevertheless, her final years were apparently difficult; according to her obituary, when "her usual vigor" failed and "when the infirmities of old age caused her life to be a burden to herself," she "longed for her last rest," which came with pneumonia.

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So far as I could learn, Rachel Adkins did not receive the sort of adulatory celebration that had attached to Susannah Kingdon's 100th birthday. But there can be little doubt that she, like Mumpford Holland, had enjoyed the attention implicit in very old age. Some other Grinnellians seem to have lived lives almost as long, but apparently none lived any longer than these folk. When Daniel Hays, age 95, attended the centenary celebrations of Susannah Kingdon, the newspaper described him as "the oldest person to call upon her" and "probably the oldest man in Grinnell." Hays's November, 1930 obituary categorically labeled the dead man, by then 96 years old, "Grinnell's oldest citizen." And when George Washington Cooper (d. 1941) passed away, the newspaper headline reported that "One of Grinnell's Oldest Men" had died; he was 92.

Grinnell Herald April 17, 1941

Consequently, whatever the exact age of Mumpford Holland and Rachel Adkins, they, like Susannah Kingdon, were among early Grinnell's most senior citizens. Elsewhere some others lived even longer lives. Delina Ecker Filkins, for example, was born, lived and died in Stark County, New York, reaching the "super-centenary" age of 113. By comparison, James Sinclair Hunnicutt, who died in nearby Tama in September, 1923, was practically a youngster, his life span having measured 101 years, five months, and one day. But in early Grinnell Susannah Kingdon, Rachel Adkins, and Mumpford Holland seem to have lived the longest.

Their advanced age understandably attracted the attention of townsfolk, most of whom could not expect to enjoy lives anywhere near as long. Having survived slavery, like Holland, or having ventured to sail across the Atlantic several times, like Kingdon, or having put down pioneer roots in Iowa's prairie, like Adkins, this trio had seen plenty of hardship. Yet they had lived long. If no office of state government sought to identify and celebrate them as today's Iowa centenarians can expect, fellow townsfolk nevertheless adorned their lives with respect and marked their passing with regret.

Iceman Romeo!

It might come as a surprise that until fairly recently in the state of Iowa, an adulterer could be convicted in state court and sent to prison for three years. That's what happened to Alpha Bassett, a married man who in 1923 was working for Maplehurst Dairy and Ice in Grinnell. Although married and the father of three children at the time, Bassett found himself besotted with a Grinnell teenager, and she evidently reciprocated his affections. So, in August, 1923 they ran away together... But I'm getting ahead of myself; let's go back to the beginning, and start our story there.

Undated photo of Alpha Bassett and his first wife (Des Moines Register, August 23, 1923, p. 9)

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Alpha Bassett was born in Mirabile, Missouri, June, 1889. Despite his name, he was not the first child born to Fort and Eliza Bassett; an older brother and an older sister preceded him, and three more Bassett children followed. Fort Bassett (1853-1940) described himself to census takers as a carpenter who, like his wife, was born in Ohio. In the years before Alpha's birth, however, the Bassetts had apparently moved around: their first child had been born in Wisconsin, and the second in Colorado. By the time Alpha appeared, however, the family had put down roots in Caldwell County, Missouri, where Alpha and his three younger siblings were born and raised.

When officials of the 1910 US Census visited Mirabile, Alpha would have been twenty years old, but the census form reports him as being eighteen. Like his younger brother, in 1910 Alpha worked as a "laborer" doing "odd jobs." In April, 1915 he married a local girl, Mattie Stinson, who was just eighteen, about seven years younger than her new husband. When Alpha registered for the draft in June, 1917 in Mirabile, he told officials that he was married, and had one child. 

For reasons the records do not make clear, Alpha and family moved to Iowa no later than November, 1919, when their daughter Vera was born in Grinnell. The 1920 city directory reports that Alpha, Mattie and children were living at 725 West Street (now demolished), not far from the Maplehurst Dairy where Alpha Bassett worked alongside some fifteen other employees. The directory described him as an "engineer," but, as subsequent stories make clear, Alpha evidently hauled ice, one of several products the dairy company sold.

Grinnell Creamery (ca. 1915), 633 West Street; Maplehurst Dairy bought the business out in 1919 & occupied its premises
(Digital Grinnell)

Ice pick with name of Maplehurst Dairy Company embossed on handle
(http://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/ice-pick-grinnell-iowa-maplehurst-504968915)

In 1923, Alpha Bassett was thirty-three years of age, stood a little taller than five-feet, eight inches, and weighed about 160 pounds. He had dark blue eyes, his hair evidently had some grey mixed in, and his complexion was described as "fair." According to later newspaper reports, Bassett thought himself rather handsome, and, according to informants, reported a considerable likeness to William S. Hart, a 1920s cinema heartthrob.

William S. Hart (1864-1927)
(Library of Congress: http://loc.gov/pictures/resource/cph.3c03842/)

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Wilma Wentzel was the third of five children born to William and Chatta Wentzel. William had been born in Princeton, Illinois, but had married Iowan Chatta Boyle in 1899; children soon followed, all born in Iowa. Censuses and directories consistently report that the Wentzel family was living at 1016 Center Street, just south of Sixth Avenue. Like Bassett, William appears in the 1910 US Census as a "laborer" at "odd jobs," but evidently without much interruption—he told census-takers that he had not been out of work at all during 1914. The 1915 Iowa census describes him as a teamster, the same occupation given him by the 1920 Grinnell directory, which identified him as being employed by Robert Coutts, an important contractor in Grinnell. According to what he reported to the 1915 census, Wentzel earned $1200 in 1914, a respectable sum, especially since Chatta remained at home with the children.

Wilma was born in 1906, and in 1915 was attending school in Grinnell. Nothing so far discovered provides a picture of Wilma; had she passed through school with her coevals, she would have graduated from Grinnell High School in 1923 or 1924, but no high school yearbook from the mid-1920s includes her photograph, indicating perhaps that she dropped out of school. From what we learn about Wilma later, it is possible that she found school too constraining, or that school officials found her behavior wanting. But no evidence confirms either possibility. Most of what we know about Wilma emerges from the story of  her 1923 encounter with "Iceman Romeo," Alpha Bassett.

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Nothing appeared in public about the encounter until August, 1923, when Mr. and Mrs. Wentzel reported to the authorities that their daughter was missing. According to the first newspaper stories, Wilma had seen and replied to a help-wanted ad in the Des Moines Register, and had gone to Des Moines in early August to see about the job. After a few days, the Wentzels received a letter from Wilma, reporting that she had accepted the job, and would be staying in Des Moines. She gave her parents a Des Moines general delivery address and wrote no more; when her parents' letters to Des Moines were returned, the Wentzels went looking, only to discover that the address of the job for which Wilma had applied was also false. Where had the eighteen-year-old girl gone?

Headline of the Des Moines Register, August 21, 1923, p. 1

The Council Bluffs newspaper, Daily Nonpareil, in its August 20 issue wondered whether "white slavers" had captured Wilma, intending to use her for their own nefarious purposes. But a front-page headline in the next day's Des Moines Register offered a radically different take: "Charge 'Kidnaped' Girl Eloped with Ice Wagon Lothario at Grinnell." "Ice Wagon Lothario?" According to the story, Grinnell's "romantic iceman"—namely, Alpha Bassett—had eloped with Wilma Wentzel, but no particulars about how the couple had become acquainted appeared in the story. Perhaps Bassett had delivered ice to the Wentzel family home and there happened to meet young Wilma, the mutual attraction having been sparked immediately? We will never know. The newspaper only cited the Grinnell police chief, A. B. Manson, who offered a warrant for Bassett's arrest. The newspaper reported that pictures of Bassett had been distributed throughout the area, with the hope that they might help authorities locate the fugitive, who faced both "statutory charges" as well as prosecution for wife desertion. 

Wilma, too, was at risk of prosecution. The sheriff said that Wilma and an unnamed sister (Lucille was three years younger, and Lois five years older) had been arrested for "an alleged beating given Mrs. Bassett, the deserted wife, several months ago." In other words, as Wilma's parents and Mrs. Bassett knew very well, Wilma and Alpha Bassett already had "some history," so Wilma's disappearance could not have been a total surprise to the Wentzels. Furthermore, the Register continued, friends of the fugitive told journalists that Bassett "claimed resemblance to Bill Hart, the movie star, and boasted he had been a leading figure in several romantic adventures." In other words, the "cold storage Romeo," as the newspaper called him, was a veteran seducer, and had been engaged in a relationship with Wilma Wentzel long before their "elopement" hit the newspapers.

According to the parents' report, Wilma left Grinnell August 3rd, but only on the 22nd did news of their discovery and capture hit news stands. The Des Moines Register, clearly relishing the narrative, reported that the couple had been found in Boone, and that the "Cold Storage Sheik" had been jailed in Des Moines. Wilma, the newspaper continued, had gone home to Grinnell with her parents. 

Headline from the Des Moines Register, August 22, 1923, p. 1

As if the plot line wasn't already strange enough, it emerged that the girl's parents had invited the Des Moines local of the Ku Klux Klan to search for the missing couple. When Klan members found Bassett and Wentzel, they returned them to Des Moines, handing the fugitives over to police. Inasmuch as officials in several counties had been searching for Bassett and Wentzel for at least a week, and in some cases for several weeks, the "special investigators" of the KKK enjoyed the bright light of favorable public attention. A. E. Brown, said to be the leader of the Des Moines KKK, announced to a Des Moines Register reporter that "the klan did not act in the case until it was appealed to by the girl's parents. We caught the man and turned him over to the authorities." This same thread also enjoyed attention in the Council Bluffs Nonpareil as well as in the Omaha World-Herald, the sort of glowing publicity that the Klan could not easily have purchased. But what connected Grinnell's Wentzells with the Ku Klux Klan remained unspoken.

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Back in Grinnell, where Bassett soon landed since the Des Moines judge declined to authorize proceedings there, the wheels of justice moved rather quickly, if not altogether transparently. Surprisingly, the Grinnell newspapers made no mention of the flight of Bassett and Wentzel, and only once the couple had returned to Grinnell did it report on developments. The Grinnell Register took the high road, withholding Bassett's and Wentzel's names and announcing that, because "most of the wild stories have been greatly exaggerated,...the Register prefers to pass lightly over the whole matter until definite action is taken in the courts." The August 24th issue of the Grinnell Herald was less circumspect; in reporting Bassett's arrest, the Herald added that "His wife has preferred charges of wife desertion." Bassett also faced charges of seduction. 

J. C. Davis, Iowa Criminal Code and Digest and Criminal Pleading and Practice (Des Moines, 1879), p. 344

The Iowa Criminal Code provided for imprisonment in the state penitentiary for up to five years for those convicted of seduction. A key feature of the law was the requirement that prosecutors demonstrate the "previously chaste character" of the unmarried woman whom the offender had seduced. In addition to the testimony of the woman concerned, therefore, corroborating evidence was required, so as to avoid a "he said/she said" situation.

Was Wilma Wentzel a "previously chaste" victim? Perhaps not, because, as newspaper reporting contended, Wilma had gotten into some kind of fight with Bassett's wife long before she hit the road with Alpha; trial on that charge was still pending when the couple disappeared together. Moreover, as one newspaper explained, Wilma had evidently run away from home on at least one previous occasion (although whether with a man the report did not explain). Finally, it appeared that Wilma had cooperated with "Iceman Romeo," misleading her parents about her whereabouts and her intentions and spending nearly three weeks in Bassett's company, during which time she and Bassett had presumably had intercourse.

These circumstances may explain the terse report from Montezuma (where the district court convened) in the October 2, 1923 issue of the Grinnell Herald:  "In court this morning Alpha Bassett plead[ed] guilty to the charge of adultery and was sentenced by Judge D. W. Hamilton (1861-1936) to three years hard work at Ft. Madison." The Grinnell Register published a similar report in its October 4 issue, but added that in "the case against Wilma Wentzell, a similar charge [i.e., adultery], was continued."

J. C. Davis, Iowa Criminal Code and Digest and Criminal Pleading and Practice, p. 10

Why did Bassett plead guilty to adultery when prosecutors seemed intent on convicting him of the more serious charge of seduction? No documents confirm the speculation, but prosecutors might well have determined that proving seduction would be difficult, given how long Wilma Wentzel had stayed with Bassett. Furthermore, if, as the newspapers contended, Wilma had run off at least one other time, could she be counted "chaste?" Besides, as prosecutors knew only too well, Wilma herself was awaiting trial for the beating she and her sister had allegedly given Bassett's wife weeks before the disappearance. And then there is the continuance in the trial of Wilma Wentzell; so far as I could establish, her case never came back to the court, even though the law specifically determined that, "when the crime is committed between parties only one of whom is married, both are guilty of adultery, and shall be punished accordingly." Was Wilma's fate part of Bassett's plea bargain? Did she agree to testify against him in exchange for escape from trial? Or did Bassett's wife withdraw her complaint against the teenager, being satisfied that punishing the philandering husband was enough?

Entry for Alpha Bassett in Iowa, Consecutive Register of Convicts, 1867-1970

We are unlikely ever to learn the answers to these questions, because at this point the story disappeared from the pages of the area's newspapers.

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Ft. Madison Prison (ca. 1914)

Almost immediately after his trial, Alpha Bassett was transferred to Ft. Madison penitentiary, where he remained until he was freed November 22, 1925, which the prison register explained as "exp[iration of] sent[ence]" (although this date was eleven months short of three full years). I found no record of divorce, but one must assume that Mattie Stinson Bassett divorced Alpha after the 1923 escapade—perhaps while Alpha was in Ft. Madison. In any case, after emerging from prison, Alpha Bassett returned to Mirabile, Missouri, and in June, 1927 took Marjorie O'Dell (1908-1981) as his second wife. The Missouri marriage license declared O'Dell to be twenty-one years old, by then apparently a legal requirement in Missouri (the first Mrs. Bassett had been only 18 when she married). But when the 1930 census takers came to Missouri and found Bassett and his new family, Madge Bassett, as Marjorie called herself, reported her age as 21, which would have made her 18 in 1927, the same age as Wilma Wentzel had been at the time of the 1923 "elopement." No subsequent matrimonial collisions brought the couple to the attention of authorities, so they seem to have lived peaceably, raising five children. The 1930 census describes Alpha as a hired man, working on someone's farm, but as the Depression tightened, Bassett evidently lost that work, and by 1940 was enrolled as a laborer for the Works Progress Administration. After that the trail goes cold, Alpha's name emerging again only in 1959 when the one-time "Iceman Romeo" died in Missouri, presumably without ever having reestablished contact with his former Grinnell flame. 

Gravestone for Wilma (Wentzel) and Robert Foster, Rising Sun Cemetery, Des Moines, Iowa
(http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=foster&GSiman=1&GScid=742923&GRid=58564144&)

Wilma Wentzel also got on with life. So far as I could determine, she never faced prosecution for her part in the events of 1923. Her name next surfaced in September, 1926 when she married Robert Foster in Des Moines. The 1930 census found Robert and Wilma living in their own home at 1600 E. 29th Street, Des Moines, and described Robert as a coal-miner and Wilma as a machine operator in an overall factory. Ten years later they were living at the same address, although Robert had abandoned mining, having become floor manager for a city automobile garage; Wilma was no longer working outside the home, presumably tending the couple's two young daughters (ages seven and two) instead. The record whispers little else until 1976 when Robert died. Wilma, who was slightly older, carried on; she died in 1982, and was buried beside her husband in Rising Sun Cemetery near the Des Moines International Airport. Their gravestone features a wedding ring that joins their two names and reports the date of their 1926 wedding, an indication, perhaps, that the winds that had once blown Wilma into the arms of Alpha Bassett had long since calmed, replaced by another, less blustery but more durable affection.

What part the events of 1923 played in the new relationships that Alpha and Wilma struck up with their news spouses later we are unlikely ever to learn. But, so far as public records reveal, they both managed to build new families, living amiably with their spouses and children, and leaving far behind the few weeks in August, 1923 when they became the principal actors in a front-page story of romance, license, and disappointment.

Triplets!

May 13, 1950 was a big day in Grinnell—and not only because on that day Stevie Wonder was born in Saginaw, Michigan.  No, May 13, 1950 brought Grinnell happy news much closer to home: on that day triplets were born to William and Alice Evans in Grinnell's St. Francis Hospital. Because triplets were so rare, it was a very big deal when Jerilyn, Carolyn, and Marilyn Evans made their first appearance in Grinnell, Iowa.

Photograph of the Evans triplets (from left, Jerilyn, Carolyn, and Marilyn) and nurses Lucy Snodgrass, Sister Pauline, and Helen Simeral Mathis at St. Francis Hospital, May, 1950

In 2014 (the most recent US data available), the number of triplet and higher-order multiple births in the United States fell to its lowest rate in twenty years: 113.5/100,000 live births. The overwhelming majority of these multiple births were triplets—4233—whereas the number of quadruplets (246), quintuplets and higher-order multiples (47) was minuscule. Twins, on the other hand, were much more common than triplets: in 2014, for example, twins accounted for 135,336 multiple births.

But if in recent years the number of multiple births in the US has slowly declined, for the preceding several decades numbers rose dramatically, largely as a consequence of assisted reproductive technologies. As recently as 2003, for example, 7110 triplets were born in the US, a large increase over the 1990 data which counted only 2830 triplets.

Before the availability of assisted reproductive technologies, multiple births were much less common, even if the numbers are not easy to tease out. According to one massive study of more than 72 million live births in the US between 1915 and 1948, one set of triplets was born for every 9126 deliveries, whereas twins could be expected once in every 90 deliveries, making twins about one hundred times more common than triplets. Data from 1949 Iowa, as reported in the June 6, 1950 Des Moines Register, seem to confirm these numbers; the newspaper reported that in 1949 six sets of triplets had been born across the state compared to 652 sets of twins—more than 100 sets of twins for every set of triplets. Data like these undergirded the syndicated health affairs columnist—Dr. Bundesen—who wrote in the November 20, 1950 issue of the Marshalltown Times-Republican that triplets could only be expected once in more than 9400 US confinements.

St. Francis Hospital, Grinnell, Iowa (1962 Grinnell City Directory)

It is not surprising, therefore, that when the Evans triplets were born in 1950 Grinnell, much was made of their arrival. Two days after their births, the Grinnell Herald-Register reported excitedly above the fold on its front page: "Triplets Born Here!" To emphasize the singularity of the event, the newspaper added that the "Odds [of triplets are] 8000 to 1," which seems to have been at least approximately accurate. The article went on to provide name, weight and exact time of delivery of each girl: Marilyn, 3 lbs., 8.5 oz., born at 10:59 PM; Carolyn, 4 lbs., 6 oz. at 11:03 PM, and finally Jerilyn, 4 lbs., 2 oz. at 11:20 PM. No photo accompanied the report, however; a subsequent article announced the newspaper's desire to publish a photograph of the babies, but observed that "thus far [the triplets] are being handled as little as possible, and a picture has been impossible."

Meantime, local merchants lined up to donate gifts to the family, a development that the newspaper happily reported. Three drug stores, several grocery stores, a shoe store, two photographers, a flower shop, two department stores and several other merchants provided the Grinnell Chamber of Commerce with gifts to be delivered to the family. No doubt the parents were grateful, since they already had a seven-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter to whom the new threesome would be added.

Finally, on the front page of the May 25 edition of the Grinnell Herald-Register there appeared a photograph of the triplets, their mother, and Sister Pauline, a well-known nurse at St. Francis hospital.

Grinnell Herald-Register May 25, 1950, p. 1

The babies, whose birth weights were low compared to the norm, remained hospitalized for about a month, gradually gaining weight. A brief report on the June 15 issue of the Grinnell Herald-Register announced their release, remarking at the same time that each of the girls had gained about two pounds during their hospital stay. Their mother used the newspaper to thank the Grinnell merchants who had provided the family with gifts and also to thank the doctor who had delivered and cared for them, Dr. J. C. DeMeulenaere.

Leaving the hospital did not mean heading to a home in Grinnell, however. Mr. and Mrs. Evans actually made their home in Kellogg, living in the same house where (improbably) some thirty years earlier triplets had been born to Mr. and Mrs.  O. L. Mulford. But the Grinnell newspaper reported somewhat optimistically that the Evans family hoped to find a new home in Grinnell, inasmuch as Grinnell had been so generous to them when the triplets were born. Whether Mr. and Mrs. Evans sought a Grinnell address or not, a new home for the Evans family in Grinnell apparently never did eventuate. Instead, Mr. Evans, who at the time of the triplets' birth had been a salesman for the Curtis Candy Company, about a year later took a job in Des Moines with what became Martin Marietta, and the family moved to Des Moines.

Carolyn, Jerilyn and Marilyn Evans at their second birthday (Des Moines Tribune, May 13, 1952)

Perhaps precisely because the Evans family did not remain in the area, the Grinnell newspaper made no further mention of the triplets; their fame had risen and fallen in harmony with their closeness to Grinnell. Now resident elsewhere, the little girls merited no further coverage. But the Des Moines Tribune, the afternoon newspaper in the Evans family's new hometown, did take note of the triplets, publishing a photograph of the girls on their second birthday. The caption identified each of the girls and also provided characterizations offered by their mother:  "Carolyn is 'the natural leader' of the triplets," the paper reported, saying that she was somewhat independent, whereas Jerilyn and Marilyn "nearly always play together."

The Des Moines Register, however, the city's morning newspaper, never did report on the Evans triplets, even if occasionally it found space to report on triplets born elsewhere. For example, the June 24, 1951 Register reported on the Winterheimer triplets born in Evansville, Indiana, and the October 3, 1952 Register carried news from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where Mrs. Irma Griser had given birth to her fifth set of twins, who were added to the triplets to whom she had given birth earlier. Later that year the Register published a photograph of the eight-month-old triplets of Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Hill of Fullerton, California, who had just gotten their social security numbers. To be sure, in late 1949 the Register did take note of the arrival of triplets in Des Moines—the Hickman triplets who were born just before Christmas that year. But the paper was just as likely to report on the birth of triplet calves, as it did in the January 9, 1952 issue.

In any event, the Evans triplets attracted little further attention from the media. The family, which had added yet another child, born about eighteen months after the triplets, moved several times within Des Moines, but the triplets seem to have prospered, regardless of where the family resided. All three girls attended Roosevelt High School, graduating in 1968. By this time each had developed her own career preferences, some of which were evident already at Roosevelt. Carolyn, for example, who went on to become a nurse after attending Broadlawns School of Nursing, at Roosevelt assisted the school nurse, and belonged to the Red Cross Committee as well as to the Future Nurses club, of which she was president her senior year. Marilyn, who later attended Drake University to acquire her teaching credentials, belonged to Roosevelt's Future Teachers club, and was as well a member of the Leaders Club. Jerilyn, who later became a successful businesswoman, belonged to the Pep Club, the Riders Club, and the Blue Cadets.

Carolyn, Jerilyn (top) and Marilyn (bottom) Evans as Roosevelt High School Seniors
(The Roundup, Roosevelt High School Yearbook, vol. 45[1968])

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So far as I know, no other triplets were born in Grinnell after the Evans girls (although triplets like the Capers children, who had been born elsewhere, moved to Grinnell in the 1970s). Prior to the Evans triplets, however, Grinnell had been the birthplace of another set of triplets: in December, 1895 Dora Lucas, an African American woman, had given birth to triplets in the Lucas family home at 1517 West Street, Grinnell.  Like the Evans triplets, the Lucas babies were all girls; according to the short report in the December 3, 1895 Montezuma Democrat, the Lucas girls arrived in good health, weighing "5, 6, and 7 pounds"—rather surprising weights for triplets, especially then.

On the face of it, the 1895 report shares some of the enthusiasm of the 1950 Grinnell story. The Montezuma paper, alluding to Grinnell's pleasure at the new arrivals, asserted confidently that the little girls would be "god-children to half the city." Moreover, the newspaper predicted that, when spring arrives, "one of the finest special order baby cabs...shall be placed at their disposal." Whether the Lucas triplets ever received the promised baby carriage is not known, but the Montezuma newspaper undercut its own enthusiasm by un-selfconsciously twice describing the African American children as "pickaninnies."

In Grinnell itself, however, the arrival of the Lucas triplets seems not to have generated much attention. The 1895 Grinnell Herald printed no feature article of the sort that later greeted the Evans triplets. Only a brief note two weeks later humorously denied that the Lucas children would be named Faith, Hope and Charity (inasmuch as their father was a minister in the Methodist Episcopal church), but there was no list of merchant donations, no additional report on the babies' welfare, and of course no photograph or feature story.

As rare as triplets were in those years, it is difficult at this remove to explain the difference in reactions from the local press between 1950 and 1895. Was the relative silence of the 1895 Grinnell newspaper a function of race, as the Montezuma newspaper's report rather awkwardly indicates? Or was it a function of different perceptions of news and the technology of reporting that news? Did the editor of the Grinnell Herald, which regularly placed obituaries on page 1, think that births--even the birth of triplets—was not in fact news of the sort that usually earned readers' attention?

No obvious answer presents itself. Instead, we are left to savor the 1950 stories that excitedly welcomed to the world three baby girls, who had shared their mother's womb for the preceding nine months, and who made their appearance in Grinnell's St. Francis Hospital.

When Grinnell reached out to Vietnam...

As I've written before, I am often the beneficiary of topics suggested to me by friends. Today's post reports on an endeavor I'd never heard about, but which my good friends Dorrie Lalonde and Monique Shore put me onto. The subject is how the town of Grinnell in 1964 got together to raise money to purchase linens, washers and dryers for a hospital in what was then South Vietnam. It's a good story, one we should remember and celebrate.

It may be hard to associate the word "celebrate" with Vietnam, even all these years after that rather grim chapter in American history was written. Rereading the news of the 1960s now, I am reminded that the early public narrative of American interest in Vietnam had a more optimistic and benevolent tone than it came to have as the war dragged on and casualties multiplied. The story of Grinnell's reaching out to Vietnam, however, belongs to that youthful phase of American involvement, and even fifty years later speaks loudly of some of America's—and Grinnell's—most generous values.

Des Moines Airport, August 23, 1964 (Photo courtesy of Drake Community Library)

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The story begins with an article in Look magazine in January, 1964: "Steady Hand in Vietnam's Hell Ward." Like most titles in Look, the article was brief—just three pages—and was heavy on photographs. All the same, it made for compelling reading, telling the story of a young doctor—33-year-old Robert Norton—who, after a Phi Beta Kappa graduation from Grinnell College, and after having completed Harvard Medical School and a surgical residency at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines, had opted to work in an under-equipped and under-staffed hospital in Can Tho, South Vietnam, deep in the Mekong Delta where the war frequently erupted. "I didn't go into medicine to stay in one part of the world and make money while people on the other side [of the world] bleed to death," the magazine quoted the doctor as having memorably said.

Dr. Robert Norton with patient at Can Tho Hospital (Look January 28, 1964, p. 29)

In mid-February, the Sunday Des Moines Register (like Look, part of the Cowles publishing empire) returned to the story, adding a bit more text but using many of the same photographs. Retitled "An Iowa Doctor in Viet Nam," the Register article began with the same inspirational quotation that Look had featured, but contributed detail about the circumstances that confronted Norton and another American surgeon with whom he worked, Dr. Robert Edwards. Almost all the patients at Can Tho were Vietnamese civilians whose war-related injuries accounted for eighty percent of the hospital's intake. In addition to wounds incurred during the fighting, Norton observed, "We see a lot of typhoid fever with holes in the bowel and peritonitis; diphtheria needing tracheotomies, appendicitis where the appendix has been perforated for days, trapped hernias, wombs torn during delivery...and far advanced cancer." Nearly all these patients lay on beds without sheets: "In our 30-bed post-operative ward," said Norton as reported in the Register, "we have...one patient to a bed with sheets. [However,] in our other wards we have two or three patients to a wooden bed with a straw mat [and no sheets]."

These published stories had a powerful and immediate impact upon Grinnell, where Robert Norton had gone to school and grown up. The son of Grinnell College professor, Dr. Homer Norton, and his wife, Margaret, young Robert was born in Grinnell in 1930, shortly after his parents, both Canadians, had moved to town. Young Robert grew up in the family homes, first at 1210 Fifth Avenue, then at 823 East Street where his parents were still living at the time of the media attention. He attended local schools, and graduated from Grinnell High School in 1948. His yearbook photograph shows a smiling, confident young man who, the adjacent biographical crib reported, had been president of both the Latin and Spanish clubs, and also president of the Freshman Science club.

Robert Norton, 1948 Grinnellian

Norton's next stop was Grinnell College, where he focused study upon chemistry and zoology in anticipation of his later vocation. Unsurprisingly, he did very well, and was elected to Phi Beta Kappa, thereby foreshadowing admission to Harvard Medical School immediately after his 1952 graduation. After successfully completing medical school, Norton settled into a four-year surgical residency at Iowa Methodist Hospital in Des Moines, living nearby at 1016 1/2 Pleasant Street. He chose to join the Public Health Service, from whom he received in 1962 the invitation to work in South Vietnam. He and and his family set off for Can Tho, ten years after having graduated from Grinnell College.

In other words, Robert Norton was well-known in Grinnell, so it is easy to understand how townsfolk took notice when a national publication like Look magazine touted the doctor's dedication and high-mindedness. Immediately after the feature appeared in the February 16 issue of the Des Moines Register's Picture magazine, the Grinnell Herald-Register published an editorial that focused upon Norton's work and the needs at his hospital. Noting that Vietnam was situated on the far side of the globe, the paper affirmed that "Grinnellians feel a great pride in knowing that one of their number is serving there in the face of tremendous odds, and serving well." The editorial went on to encourage Grinnell service clubs to organize "a drive for funds to ship supplies to Dr. Norton in Vietnam...and [thereby] deal a blow against death and disease, and for the brotherhood of man."

Editorial in Grinnell Herald-Register February 17, 1964

Evidently the Grinnell Jaycees had anticipated this sentiment, because in a letter dated February 13—three days before the Des Moines Register feature and four days before the Herald-Register editorial—Jim Cunningham, president of the Jaycees, wrote Dr. Norton to solicit details about the supplies his hospital would need, indicating that the Jaycees had already decided that this was an effort that they wanted to undertake, intimidating though it might be.

Jim Cunningham (center) at Des Moines International Airport (Grinnell Herald-Register August 24, 1964, p. 6)

Eleven days later Norton was already typing a three-page reply that described both the general operation of the hospital in Can Tho and the specific requirements that the Jaycees might fund. Norton reported that he and his fellow American doctor had between 250 and 300 patients in hospital, and that they assisted with as many as 30 maternity deliveries a day; their Vietnamese colleagues had another 150-250 patients, and almost none of these 500 or so patients had linens of any sort. Sheets were available only for surgery and post-op; the male and female civilian wards had no linens at all, with between two to five patients per cot. The hospital had piped cold water only in the operating room and in the maternity ward, although they hoped soon to arrange for hot water. Electricity was usually available, so both washing machines and dryers—especially dryers because of the six-month rainy season—were desperately needed.

Grinnell Herald-Register March 30, 1964, p. 1

Before the town turned its calendars to March, the Jaycees had agreed with the Grinnell Ministerial Association to co-sponsor a fund drive in support of Dr. Norton's hospital. A March 30 article in the Grinnell Herald-Register announced that the drive was fully organized; the cash goal was set at $7500, having already been begun with a modest collection ($131.54) from the recently-observed Grinnell Good Friday services. Church youth planned an "Operation Vietnam Workday" for April 11, with a car wash downtown and other youth volunteering to perform odd jobs—yard work, window washing, etc.—all proceeds going to the fund. Grinnell College also joined in the effort: students collected donations at campus lunch lines in early May after an article describing the project appeared in the Scarlet and Black. 

Headline of article in Scarlet and Black May 1, 1964

A May 7 article in the Herald-Register announced that the fund had grown to more than $1000, a significant accomplishment but far short of the announced target—$7500. It was surprising, therefore, to hear that organizers expected to complete fundraising by May 15—just a week away.

Nothing more was said about the fund as summer arrived, but behind the scenes the Jaycees and friends were busy purchasing the needed linens and arranging to acquire the laundry facilities. As they reported in a late-August letter to Dr. Norton, they had purchased and packaged 720 sheets, 288 pillow cases, 300 hospital gowns, 204 towels and 192 wash cloths. More importantly, the Maytag Corporation of nearby Newton had generously contributed six washing machines and four dryers suitable to the hospital's circumstances; manuals, tools, and spare parts were added. This vital donation was not reported publicly, but seems to have made up the bulk of the fund's total cash value.

Meantime, with the assistance of the Air Force, a C-97 cargo plane of the Oklahoma National Guard was directed to the Des Moines Airport on August 22 to collect the donations, which were loaded in the view of some fifty Jaycees, ministers, and other interested Grinnellians. The plane and crew then flew the cargo to Japan; from there the donations were later shipped to Vietnam by regular Air Force transport.

Packing the donated items inside the C-97 at Des Moines Airport (Courtesy Drake Community Library)

Grinnellians watch the loading of cargo destined for Vietnam (Grinnell Herald-Register August 24, 1964)

Jim Cunningham and his group of Jaycees as well as the various clergymen were obviously very pleased at how quickly they had succeeded in collecting and sending off items that were so obviously needed at the hospital in Vietnam. Unlike the increasingly aggressive military options being pursued in Vietnam, the provision of linens and washing machines to a hospital seemed altogether altruistic and humanitarian, sidestepping the more political discussions about communism. The Sunday issue of the Des Moines Register (August 23) quoted Grinnell mayor, Floyd Beaver, to that effect: "This demonstrates man's interest in helping his fellow man," said Beaver. Jim Cunningham also appeared in Sunday's Register, confirming Beaver's sentiment: "We felt [that Dr. Norton] was getting along with so little when we have so much." The Grinnell fund drive aimed to try to even the scales ever so slightly, without worrying about the political persuasion of the patients who might benefit from the gifts. The Des Moines newspaper concluded by observing that "Grinnell is proud of its accomplishment. So is Iowa."

Wheeling a patient from the operating room at Can Tho Hospital (Saigon Daily News January 11, 1964)

The next day's Grinnell Herald-Register joined in the song. In a front-page story, the paper remarked that "a remote Asian land with which most Americans are acquainted only through the headlines seems just a bit closer to Grinnellians this week. For the hand of brotherhood, which seems to clasp the strongest during times of suffering and deprivation, now reaches out to close the gap of thousands of miles between Grinnell, Iowa and Can Tho, South Vietnam." Similar language attended a later report in the Des Moines Register (October 18, 1964): "Grinnell citizens—and all Iowa—in a way were telling Dr. Norton, 'Well done. Keep up the good work.'"

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Later that year Norton was back in Iowa, visiting family and speaking about his work in Vietnam. At a meeting before the Polk County Medical Society in mid-December, Norton outlined the rough conditions under which he and others were working, and showed slides to illustrate the kinds of surgeries he performed. The next month he was in Grinnell for Dr. Robert Norton Day, providing an occasion for Norton to meet some of those who had organized the hospital donations. At meetings like these, Norton offered support for American military involvement in Vietnam, sometimes echoing the language of "domino theory" and other justifications for the war. More immediately, the surgeon confirmed that he and his family—his wife, the three children born to them and the two Vietnamese children they had adopted—would return to Vietnam the following March.

Grinnell Herald-Register January 4, 1965, p. 1

The war, however, was heating up. At almost the same time that Grinnell was packaging sheets for South Vietnam (August, 1964), the U.S. Congress had approved the Gulf of Tonkin resolution, which authorized the President to exercise conventional military forces in Vietnam. One consequence of the Tonkin Gulf resolution was the large-scale bombing campaign of North Vietnam (Operation Rolling Thunder) that opened in March, 1965. The following month the number of U.S. ground troops in Vietnam rose to more than 60,000, and the pace of conflict rose accordingly; North Vietnamese troops now openly coordinated attacks in South Vietnam with the Viet Cong.

I wondered what had happened at Can Tho and how Dr. Norton had reacted to these developments. Did he and his family return as scheduled? And if they did, how long were they able to stay? Had conditions at the hospital gotten worse, despite the arrival of linens and washing machines? Had he or members of his family perhaps suffered wounds themselves?

These days Dr. Norton is enjoying a well-deserved retirement in Port Angeles, Washington, where he lives with his wife, just down the street from their daughter, a nurse. When I reached Norton by telephone, he kindly entertained my questions, but particulars of that long-ago experience proved difficult to call to mind.  Consequently, I am still not sure how his surgical experience in Vietnam played out as the war heated up.

However, I did learn that, even before the family's scheduled return to Vietnam, the U.S. State Department had ruled that American dependents would not be allowed back in South Vietnam, presumably because of the deteriorating situation. The Grinnell Herald-Register, in reporting this news (February 11, 1965), acknowledged that Norton himself had another year left on his contract, and would therefore soon return to Can Tho. However, the newspaper continued, with the family destined to survive apart, Norton planned to renegotiate his contract, perhaps shortening his stay in Can Tho to three or six months.

Grinnell Herald-Register February 11, 1965

How all this worked out, Dr. Norton did not tell me. But what is clear is that, once he left Vietnam, Norton chose to continue his surgical career not at some high-priced, private American practice, but rather at what is today called the Phoenix Indian Medical Center, part of the Indian Health Service. In opting to serve native Americans, Robert Norton reasserted the ideals that had taken him to Vietnam in the first place and that had garnered so much attention back in 1964. Today, therefore, fifty-two years after the fact, we can once again celebrate the selflessness that encouraged a very talented Grinnellian to do good rather than to do well, and the town that embraced and shared in this noble effort from afar.