John T. Thompson, born October 17, 1857 in Union County, Iowa, died May, 1933.
In 1863 he crossed the plains with his parents to Weiser. The next spring they moved to Falk's Store and, next, to Salubria. His father was killed while oiling a pitman rod on his thresher.
John married Emma Vandike, daughter of Mrs. Maria Merrit, in 1874. They had five daughters and two sons.
When the Indian War started he left his family at the fort and went to fight.
The Thompsons moved to Tuscarora, Nevada, in 1876 and he hauled sage brush to the mines for fuel. Their daughter, Alice, was born there. They returned to Idaho and lived on the old Underwood place. They cared for the three little Underwood girls after their mother died. A daughter, Florence, was born there.1 In the spring of 1880 the family moved to Hornet Creek. Five children Anna, Emma, John, Lula, and George were born there.2
John Thompson hauled the first load of ore from the Seven Devils to Weiser, which was the nearest railroad in 1894. He freighted to Silver City and other mining areas.
He and his wife separated but he kept the children together.
In 1899 he went to Sumpter, Oregon, to work in the mining camps.3
1. Obituary of John T. Thompson, Adams County Leader, May 26,
1933
2. 1880 Census, Hornet Creek, Washington County, Idaho
3. Obituary of John T. Thompson
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Thorpe
Arthur Clayton Thorpe, born in western Iowa January 1, 1861, to parent! of Scottish origin, died April, 1931.
When he was seven years old his family moved to California by ox team, arriving at San Francisco in late 1868. He grew up there and worked as a stone cutter, carpenter, and boat handyman. At age twenty seven he went to Oregon and Washington and to British Columbia prospecting and mining for gold. He was a storekeeper in a small town on the Columbia River.
A. C. Thorpe married Gennette May in Dayton, Washington, June 5, 1888. He was a farmer and stock raiser in Stevens County, Washington, for fifteen years.
Thorpes moved to Little Camas Prairie and raised stock before moving to Council in 1918.1
There were five children: Earl, Arthur, Raymond, Mary, and Mattie.
The Thorpe farm was on Hornet Creek, adjoining Art's farm.
Mrs. Thorpe died January 18, 1922.
1. Obituary of Arthur Clayton Thorpe, Adams County Leader, Council, Idaho, May 1, 1931
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THURSTON
This Is March, 1971. I am Mary Thurston, recording memories
of my late husband, Dr. Alvin S. Thurston, who practiced medicine in a
mountain community from 1931 to 1949. The dates do not indicate pioneering,
but the circumstances did. He grew up in Chicago, receiving his medical
training at the university of Illinois Medical School after two years in
service during World War I, including being wounded in France and subsequent
hospitalization. He interned at St. Luke's, then a new and one of
the largest hospitals in Chicago. After two years' practice in Denver,
he hunted for a small town, and found it in Council, Idaho.
We arrived late one afternoon, having driven from Denver with
a 5-month old daughter and a German Shepherd dog. Dr. Higgs, from
whom we were buying the practice, took us to see the house he had found
for us, saying it was a real nice place. It was a square box, partitioned
into four rooms; one room had a sink in one corner, and a cupboard in the
opposite corner; one room had a closet; there was a back porch. "But
where is the bathroom?" asked my city husband. "Oh," was the nonchalant
reply, "There aren't many bathrooms in town." Well, we camped there
a few days until we found a better house--at least it had another bedroom
built on, a large porch, and a bath-- even if it did open between the back
bedroom and the porch, and it was a bit cold in winter. The house
of course was stove-heated; in winter the frost stood on the wall of the
north bedroom. We took the electric range out of the kitchen to make
room, in winter, for a chuck-wagon stove.
The office facilities were similar, most of the homes too.
This was a remote area, and in the midst of the depression. The first
night we were there the doctor had to go out to deliver a baby; this house
too had only a back-yard faucet. When he came home, he laughed that
he would have to write a book, "Mother Council," instead of the well-known
"Mother India.
Practice was general and varied--home deliveries, tonsillectomies
and minor surgery in the office, pediatrics, fractures, everything. Dr.
Higgs had had his brother, a surgeon, come from Fairfield twice a year
to operate.
In 1924 he did appendectomies at the Perkins ranch, up Hornet
Creek, on Laura, Pearl, and Gene; he also operated at the Poynor ranch,
on Mill Creek, and did more kitchen-table surgery at the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Robert Young. Mrs. Young also helped him with baby cases. Dr.
Thurston did a minimum of home surgery; instead he took his cases to a
cottage hospital at Weiser, 60 miles away, or on 15 miles farther to Holy
Rosary Hospital at Ontario. He had to invent an ambulance--the front
seat came out of the Ford, a board stretcher with a front leg went in,
and the mattress was one cut down and covered with oilcloth--plastics were
as yet unknown; later this was replaced with a rubber mattress.
The extensive territory included all of Adams County, down into
Washington County, on up into the Riggins country, the Seven Devils, and
Hells Canyon, and later even into Long Valley. After a couple of
years he took on an assistant, Dr. Jim Dinsmore, and opened an office in
New Meadows twice a week, 30 miles north of Council, for minor diagnosis,
shots, and so on; also an office in Midvale thirty miles south on the road
to Weiser.
The Thursday afternoons at New Meadows were really long; they
saw a record of 105 patients one day. A good friend, whose father had been
a pioneer sheepman and who appreciated the difficulties, used to take over
a box lunch every Thursday in the late afternoon, so they could have a
bite if and when they had time. This was the depression: people
couldn't afford gas and really appreciated having service brought to them!
For the same reason--to save them the 6D-mile trip to Weiser--he extracted
teeth. Before long he brought in an X-ray for the Council office**:
again making it possible to give better service close to home.
[**1933]
Dr. Dinsmore stayed a few years, went on to his own practice.
He was followed by a series of young doctors, until there were two at a
time. Then the war came, the assistants went into the army, and for a while
the practice was a one-man thing, necessarily somewhat curtailed.
Dr. Edwards came in 1947, is still there; also Dr. Thurston found an able
assistant in Bud Grimes--no formal training but a natural who learned to
do everything, driving the car, getting it ready to go on emergency trips
complete with oxygen, giving anesthetic, doing the X-ray work, giving shots.
There was no way of explaining his position, or his ability, but he made
the war years possible.
The office was a former "flat" over the drug store: waiting room,
consulting room, laboratory and small surgery combined (which the small
daughters called "Daddy's kitchen"). Later an adjoining room became
available and was filled with eight beds and couches of sorts, as well
as some examining and consultation rooms. That was where the tonsillectomy
patients, sometimes eight in one morning, came out of the anesthetic.
Babies were delivered at home, as our second daughter was. Hazel
Perkins, untrained but willing, learned to give the necessary anesthetics
and to assist in minor surgery. Sometimes "home" was miles out in
the country, with no phone, which meant the doctor sometimes spent the
night, not always comfortable. Or else a woman could stay in town
with Grandma Zink, who also took care of sick people in her home; or they
went to the home of Mrs. Grace Elliot, who had come to Council in her girlhood
by covered wagon from Kelton, Utah: her house had no running water,
nor did that of Mrs. Edith Thorpe, or Mrs. Maude Nichols; but these women
followed the doctor's directions carefully, which was all he asked.
Other women helped with home deliveries, particularly Mrs. Elgie Bratland,
known to the younger generation as Salmon River Sue as she followed the
Riggins ball games religiously. Incidentally, the doctor's fee was
$25 from the first office call until the baby was a month old; eventually
it went up to $75. Not all bills were collected, of course, but the
doctor let it be understood that he objected to taking on a second delivery
when no attempt had been made to settle for the first. Sometimes there
were problems getting through the snowdrifts, and more than once the children's
sled went into the car and was used to pull the heavy O.B. kit to the house
from the road. In case of a premature baby an incubator would be
improvised from an apple box or carton, with light bulbs, flat irons, or
hot water bottles. And sometimes there would be an audience, not
always welcome: cold night, warm room, neighborhood women wanting
to be helpful or just bored and glad for a little excitement. Then
there was the time the father knew the doctor couldn't get to Goodrich
by road (in 1932 that stretch of road wasn't kept open in winter) so he
arranged for him to make the night trip from Council by railroad handcar,
ten or twelve miles. [This baby was Eleanor Schmid Riggin.]
Quarantining was almost unknown. During our first winter,
there was an epidemic of small pox. City-trained Dr. Thurston had never
seen a case, but he did quarantine. One man from Indian Valley announced
laughingly at the Mesa Store that he was supposed to be quarantined; he
didn't think it so fun when the storekeeper reported to the doctor and
the sheriff. Also at that time the community learned about vaccination,
and accepted it, though with some doubts. One Sunday afternoon, with the
family going along for the ride, was spent in New Meadows vaccinating in
the hotel lobby.
One night there appeared at the door a young woman and a cowboy
friend. Her mother had been kicked by a horse, and the daughter had
ridden three miles from their ranch to Wildhorse, a settlement on the Snake
River down in Hells Canyon. The phones were out, so the cowboy rode with
her about twenty miles--still no phones--to the Hanson ranch on Hornet
Creek. Mr. Hanson [Bill] drove them the last ten miles to Council, then
all of them back to the ranch, where he loaned the doctor a horse and a
man to go along. People are really kind; when they reached the ranch,
the injured woman insisted they rest and have breakfast before they set
her leg. A week later they made the trip again, but by this time
spring was on the way, roads were passable, and they went by car all but
the final three miles from Wildhorse to the ranch. He was not a horseman,
but those trips were necessary, so he made them.
[The young woman who appeared at the door was Helena Moore (later
Schmidt) who lived her entire life on "Starveout Ranch" on Wildhorse. Her
mother, Carmeta Moore, was the one with the broken leg. Carmeta was
born Mar 11, 1879 and died at Wildhorse in July 1947. Dr. Thurston filmed
part of this trip to Wildhorse with his home movie camera. Video versions
of his films are available from the Council Valley Museum.]
Another horseback ride was miles up the Middle Fork of the Weiser
over what is now a pretty good motor road, but then was a mere trail.
This particular trip was about dawn, and he came home talking of the beautiful
sunrise he had ridden through. Not all the trips were hardship; in
fact this particular one had a touch of humor in it: the patient
he had gone to see was a remittance man from a good Eastern family--indeed
his brother was well known in Washington. But Charlie was different,
lived alone, and though his isolated house had a bathtub, he used it to
store coal.
Highways in the snow could be bad. I had a few uneasy hours one
morning at six: "Doc isn't here yet." I knew he had started
in plenty of time, learned later that--possibly not really awake at that
hour--he had started to take the "summer turn" before going up Mesa Hill
instead of the regular road to Indian Valley, and had to be shovelled out.
He was alone that time, which was unusual, because there were half a dozen
men in town who said--and sincerely meant--"Don't ever start out at night
or on a risky trip alone, Doc; call me and I'll be ready in five minutes."
So usually when it seemed advisable he'd take Hugh Addington from next
door, Alta Ingram, Dee Russell of the Forest Service, Alex Shaw--all men
who were not only willing, but capable of handling any road situation.
Even after Bud Grimes, the right-hand man, was part of the staff, these
loyal friends were called on now and then. I remember phoning Vern
Brewer, a Forest Ranger, telling him where and when the doctor had gone.
He said, "Well, we'll give him another hour." In less than that he
phoned from the Hornet Creek Station, "Doc just stopped on his way home,
and everything's fine.
Homestead is down in Hells Canyon. In summer one goes down
the Kleinschmidt Grade, but it was winter when Aliene Darland called.
We knew her well; she belonged in Cuprum but was spending the winter down
on the river. The phone connection was poor, very poor; all the doctor
could understand was who was calling and that the need was urgent.
He drove through Cambridge and Brownlee, down the river part of the way
on the railroad track. That was before the dam and the subsequent
roads. He was a bit disconcerted when he arrived to find that Aliene
was not calling for herself; but for a neighbor who was having a baby--and
he hadn't brought his O.B. bag!
Another memorable case occurred [in 1935] when Mr. Fanning, who
had a small sawmill at Crooked River, about twenty miles above Council
toward Cuprum, got his head caught in a saw and was cut so that his brain
was exposed. He had to be brought by improvised ambulance to Council,
Alta Ingram this time riding in the back seat by him and giving constant
reports to the doctor-- who was noted as being the fastest driver in the
area. They had to delay in Council because there was a very sick
man there who had to be checked, Bill Shaw, who in his late seventies had
a severe case of spotted fever. Then they went on to Ontario and took Mr.
Fanning into surgery. In a matter of weeks he was back at Crooked
River, not as good as new, but able to be about.
[Adams County Leader, June 14, 1935--Frank Fanning injured at
the W.S. Rucker saw mill on Crooked river. He stood up under the
circular saw and it entered his brain cavity. He is about 65 years
old.
Adams County Leader, Jun 21, 1935--Dr. Thurston says Mr. Fanning
will have a metal plate for part of his skull, but will be "normal again
after a few weeks."]
The side roads were often impassable, so Dr. Thurston ordered an outfit
from Wisconsin, a cat track with runners to let down, and had it mounted
on a Model A sedan. That rig became known all over the area as Doc's
snowmobile, and it went all sorts of places, noisy but effective.
[This snowmobile is also shown on Dr. Thurston's home movies.
Gene Perkins had another just about like it which is in the films.]
One day the doctor with one friend started for Brownlee, but
drifts the size of a barn turned them back. The Forest Service worked
all night, and next day he started out again with three faithful companions,
and the snowmobile loaded--some firewood in case they were caught in a
blizzard, two milk cans of extra gasoline, and enough food for any emergency.
This time they went through, and fortunately the patient was not so ill
but that he had waited fairly comfortably. Even a flat tire on the
snowmobile was taken care of when the son of the family had one the same
size, and mounted it.
All this time the "home fires" were kept burning. Council had
a fine man, Mr. Alcorn, as drug store owner and pharmacist, and an excellent
assistant in Charlie Winkler. Their hours were sometimes erratic, for they
would fill prescriptions in emergencies as well as during regular hours.
The telephone exchange, too, cooperated; usually they knew where to locate
the doctor as well as the office or his home did, if he were out on call,
and wasted no time. This was true of Midvale and New Meadows, as
well as Council. Mrs. Ethel Doyle had the exchange in the early days,
and Mr. and Mrs. Erik Lawrence, affectionately known as Poppy and Mommy,
were long-time managers and friends.
And what about pay? Well, there was a lot of meat taken
in, including a quarter of tough beef that we had to eat up ourselves;
there were potatoes, apples, any sort of produce. The local grocer
one day pointed to a team of horses pulling a sled down the street, sayings
"Those horses belong to Doc and me--the fellow owes us both. But
we're letting him use them--he feeds them that way." Our first fall
in Council Ben gave us the hind quarter of a fawn, the choicest of all
venison, on the grounds that he'd kept the doctor from going hunting to
deliver his baby boy. As long as we lived there, each fall brought
a choice piece of meat. They had a large family, and I used to drive
out and get vegetables to credit to their account. One fall Ben came
into the office with a wad of bills, and said, "What do I owe you, Doc?"
Doc assured him he ought to keep enough to see him through the winter--he
had just sold his wheat crop. He insisted--they reached an agreement:
Ben owed $150, so they settled for $100 cash. Some people ignored
their bills, but the ones like Ben--and the ones who brought trout because
Doc hadn't time to fish, or fresh peaches from down on the river, or showed
their appreciation in the many ways they did--they kept up our faith in
humanity. There was even the woman who heard that the doctor, ill
at the time, wanted chicken livers, not to be purchased in the store then,
and brought a jar; I always felt she had butchered especially that day,
and was duly grateful.
After a few years the time came when Dr. Thurston told the town we
needed a hospital. We owned a bit of property, taken partly on a
bill; like other places it had a minimum of plumbing, but the people of
the area rallied round, signed notes, found money and supplies, and under
the direction of John East, a fine local carpenter, the result was what
was described in the Adams County Leader for July 28, 1939, as "a most
compact and complete nursing home, with two single rooms and two 2-bed
wards, an operating room, a delivery room, bath room, linen room, and a
most complete kitchen. Dr. Thurston will turn all his patients, who
have formerly been going to the Weiser and Ontario hospitals, to the new
enterprise, and states that he has had enough needing hospitalization to
keep a small nursing home going. He has contracted with Ella Camp,
a Council girl and a registered nurse, to have complete management of the
establishment. Dr. Thurston furnished the operating room with surgical
instruments, but asked the community to help furnish the home with other
necessary equipment. He plans to turn over the whole home to a non-profit
corporation with a board selected from the community at large, so it will
be a community enterprise." The paper published a detailed list of
equipment needed; much was donated from what people could spare, a dresser
here, a bed there, a couple of sheets, cooking utensils, an electric range
from a Weiser merchant, similar contributions from local merchants, other
goods and cash donations from all around, from Weiser to Riggins.
Even bridge for a long time was 256 on the corner, for the hospital.
As need arose--as someone said, when they began to have to hang patients
on hooks in the hall--additions were built, remodeling was done.
It was truly a "Topsy"--"it just growed." The board of trustees was made
up of representatives of the civic groups of the territory it served,
changing every year or so, except the treasurer, Mae Ingram, who was
permanent--and efficient.
As a sequel--newer ways came in, the hospital was outdated. Dr. Thurston
completed plans for a remodeled surgery, but died, in 1949, before it was
finished. Dr. Edwards, who had worked with him, stayed on.
As the need for a newer facility became more and more apparent, the
same community spirit worked out plans for a county hospital built just
behind the old building.
None would have been prouder on May 8, 1962, when this new "Community
Hospital" was dedicated than the country doctor of depression days, who
had seen a need and had done his best to fill it.
Biography of Mary Thurston:
Mary Planert Thurston was born in Cairo, Illinois in 1898 and
was educated in Chicago schools. In 1929 she married Dr. Alvin S.
Thurston. From 1931 until Dr. Thurston's death they lived in Council, Idaho.
They had two daughters, and during the years the girls were growing up
Mrs. Thurston was active in school and church affairs. Their home
was a gathering place for community affairs. Both of the girls
were Girl Scouts, and their mother was an enthusiastic Scout Leader.
During the war years Mrs. Thurston taught in the high schools
at both Council and Eagle. Primarily she taught English and Latin classes,
but she also did a great deal of library work in both schools. After Dr.
Thurston's death, Mrs. Thurston moved to McCall to establish her home and
began her work here as Librarian and Latin teacher in the McCall Donnelly
school system.
Mrs. Thurston was one of the members of the first board in McCall
to plan and promote our hospital. Her cheerful, untiring efforts
were devoted to both organization and fund raising activities.
Since the successful completion of this project she has continued to work
for. the benefit of the hospital and auxiliary.
After she retired from active teaching, Mrs. Thurston was appointed
to the McCall Library Board, and as it's chairman she has been working
closely with the State Librarian to continue improvements. The education
of youngsters through use of library material is still a primary concern
with her. She is now engaged in a program to obtain a
new building and facilities for the Library·
Mrs. Thurston's two lovely daughters are:
1. Mrs. Donald E. (Janet F.) McMahan, age 34, Fruitvale,
Idaho, a graduate of Stanford University in 1952 with a major in biological
sciences, and a graduate of University of California School of Medical
Technology in 1954,. She was employed for two years before marriage
as a medical technologist at U. C. Medical Center in San Francisco, California.
She is now married to a rancher and newspaper publisher, and is the mother
of four children.
2. Mrs. Earl T. (Sally M.) Clark, age 32, Atlanta, Georgia, is
a graduate of University of Oregon, class of 1954 with a major in business.
She was employed as secretary for the United States State Department prior
to her marriage in 1955 to Security Officer for the U. S. State Department.
She is the mother of three (living) children, and is active in church and
State Department affairs.
[Mary Thurston died in a Boise nursing home on Dec. 31, 1981.]
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Tomlinson
George W. and Mary E. Tomlinson had five children Sarah, Ema, Edna, Henry, and Harry.
They moved from Raton, New Mexico, to Protem Missouri and in 1900 to John Day, Oregon, and finally in 1902 to Council.,
Harry Tomlinson, born May 16, 1894, at Raton, New Mexico, married Evelyn Sayles at Billings, Montana. He died in October, 1972.
Edna Tomlinson, born in April 1889 at Raton, New Mexico, married Rollie McMahan. He died in 1966 and Edna in May, 1970, at Nampa.
Sarah Tomlinson, born June 20, 1884 at Ault, Colorado, married Ralph Yantis at Council November 9, 1908. They homesteaded what is called Fort Hall hill, where they lived the rest of their lives. They had three sons, Ray, Frank, and Fred.
Mr. Yantis died suddenly on December 6, 1928. He took a load of turkeys to the lower valley the day before. Returning in the Ford, without curtains, he was seriously chilled. He was just recovering from influenza and apparently was still in a weakened condition.
1. Obituary of Mrs. Edna McMahan, Adams County Leader, June 4, 1970