The following is an excerpt from my newest book entitled The Whitney Storybook: Life on the South Dakota Prairie, which should be available in December. While writing the book I was amazed at how much it resembled the television show Little House on the Prairie, always my Dad’s favorite. Too often old family stories disappear forever. At a family reunion I realized how important it was to document these wonderful tales of the past. I actively encourage folks to record their family history before it is too late. This is a treasured gift for future generations.

     This “Fire” excerpt was written by my Aunt Gloria Allender, and it tells of the fire that burned down their home on a cold night in 1922. My Dad’s family homesteaded on the South Dakota prairie. Love and faith held this precious family together through all the hardships they endured. This is a book you will never forget.
Morning: Before six Dad got up and, still in his nightshirt, started the fire. It was 20 degrees below zero outside. He quickly laid the kindling, piled wood on top of it, opened the dampers, and got back in bed to wait for the welcome heat to take the chill out of the house.

     Upstairs Ross woke up coughing. He turned over, coughed again, and opened his eyes to see a wall of flame six feet from the foot of his bed. A loud cry: “Fire” from Ross roused Dad, who had hoped to catch a few more winks of sleep in his warm bed. Ross and Arch ran downstairs. In moments everyone was up.
The next few minutes were chaos. Dad put on his heavy sheepskin coat, then tried to put on his overalls and stuff the coat inside. Arch grabbed the telephone and sounded the general alarm to neighbors on the party line, ringing “nine shorts.”

     Priorities were unconsciously determined. Mother picked up the sewing machine and carried it outside--something she couldn’t have done under other circumstances. Dad carried Gloria, crib, mattress and all. Somehow a bookcase with a priceless copy of the Whitney Genealogy was saved. The organ was moved out. Garnett saved her doll and a jar of Mentholatum®.

     Mother grabbed clothes from the closet and managed to get Dad’s suit coat but not the trousers, and one shoe. No beds or dishes were saved. A shelf near the kitchen door was forgotten; the remains of Mother’s gold watch which was there were found later among the ashes. A 100-pound bag of sugar dissolved on the attic stairs. Ruth’s treasure chest was not thought of.

     Mother and the children hurried to the storm cellar. Ross admonished Garnett: “Don’t look back.” But as they entered the cave Mother gently said: “Take one last look.”

     In about twenty minutes all was out that could be saved. Mother was to write to Ruth about “how well we worked and nobody lost their heads.” The neighbors were beginning to arrive in response to Arch’s distress call, on horseback, in hastily thrown-on clothing. There was little for them to do. 

© 2001 Nancy W. Vickers. All rights reserved.