Volume 7, Number 4 - Summer 1980
The Layton Story--Part III
By Viola Hartman
The prominence of the Layton family at the turn of the century was unquestionable. On Layton Hill, the mansion with its high ceilings and carved fireplaces was the setting for the fancy parties and social affairs of Western Taney County. The great parlor filled with elegant furniture that had come all the way from St. Louis, was still the most impressive in the area. Its surrounding grounds held the interest of the younger set and to small visitors the twin haylofts were irresistible. From the open mows they jumped to the piled hay below and cared not at all for the history that had been created by the land’s owners.
However, the family knew and the sons and daughters, nieces and nephews wore the name with pride. By now the custom of wedding their cousins had died out and they married into the intrepid pioneer stock of the hills. Their partners brought to the family the fresh and stimulating character facets that kept the Layton line powerful and strong. They were active and interesting, their vibrant personalities a driving force that lifted them above the humdrum or ordinary existence and made them leaders -- outstanding and unforgettable.
When Randy and Sarah Whorton left Madison Co., Arkansas and took up residence in the Turkey Creek area not far from Layton Hill, their daughter, Fronea was fourteen. In 1891, at the age of 25 she became Mrs. William David Layton. She was tall and slender with brown hair and eyes, quiet and gentle and deeply religious. With the solidarity of their combined ancestral background, this couple had every right to expect that their future would bring happy fulfillment to their dreams. For a short while they lived in the Oak Grove community, a few miles to the north along the White River. There they attended the church that had figured so prominently in the lives of the Fortner and Hopper families and was the setting for the tragic shooting between Captain Nat Kinney and Andrew Coggburn, sparking the Baldknobber era. As soon as they could afford it, they bought an 80-acre farm near her parents and settled down to raise a family. In those first days they got milk from their neighbors, Hardin and Lou Warren (Aunt Lou claimed it was sweeter because she fed her cows on sweet bran) and a good portion of their meat from Dr. A. J. Storms who raised hogs in great numbers. This was the usual barter system, with neighbors helping at "killing time’ and being paid off in meat. Still it was a happy period as compared with the life of a decade or so earlier. The county, now with some 6,000 persons, was more law-abiding with a sheriff who meant business. A new courthouse replaced the one burned December 19, 1885 and functioned according to standard regulations. And, some of the Laytons were employed there as public servants.
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Then a severe drought struck and the young couple was forced to find more acreage as pasture for their stock and try to raise enough produce to feed themselves. Further up the creek, near what is now S of 0, they located a farm belonging to Bob Powers and rented it, leaving their own place idle for more than a year. When the weather finally normalized things began to improve and when the crops were laid by and the work caught up they decided to move back to their Turkey Creek home and prepare the ground for the coming spring planting.
While Fronea prepared a farewell dinner for the neighbors she had grown close to, the Jess Oliver and Marion Ellison families, William saddled his horse and rode to Forsyth to pay up the taxes. He had caught cold and on his return trip through Silver Creek, near what is now Powersite, he began to feel feverish and by the time he reached the farm he was too weak to do more than fall into bed. Already weakened from a previous bout with pneumonia, William didn’t have the strength to throw off this latest attack and all Dr. Storms’ valiant efforts to pull him through were to no avail. When he realized he had reached this point, William counseled Fronea as to what she must do for she would now be without his help and on her own.
She should dispose of the Springfield wagon (or borrowers would wear it out), sell the stock, (being careful of who set the price), be sure each child received a fair share of the property (when it reached maturity) and above all, to keep her faith with God. He died on the day of the new year’s arrival, 1903, leaving her with three small children, Ben, Randy and Edna and ten-week-old twins, Lonnie and Ollie.
Sorrowfully Fronea had him laid to rest in the Whorton family cemetery. Mindful of his advice, she did as he had outlined and also sold the farm to the St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern Railrod for use as a right-of- way, taking her children to her parents’ home for a year. Remembering William’s warning, she priced her own stock as she sold it--a fact that was to remain a point of pride with her for the remainder of her days. Then with the money she received from the railroad she bought 160 acres of timbered ground back in the Oak Grove area near her brother, Rev. G. C. Whorton and close enough for the children to walk to school. Still it was an uphill climb all the way. The two older boys helped with the chores, took care of the horses and cut the wood for heating and cooking, even doing the washing for the younger children. As they cleared the land she planted apple and peach orchards and kept a garden going. Then she canned the fruit and produce, raised cotton which she transformed into shirts and dresses and quilts, sheared her sheep, carded the wool, spun it and made the cloth with which she sewed the family’s winter clothing. She also knitted socks and filled special orders for Dr. Storms who insisted they be long enough to tuck under his toes to keep them warm. She was a good mother, teaching her children what she knew from her own experiences and reading books to them as they grouped around the fireplace in the evenings. On Sundays she took them to the old church, wanting above all for them to grow up to be as honorable as their father had been. And, as William had desired, she kept her faith and lived to the age of 91 years and 4 months.
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Today, her daughter, the tiny twin, is still in possession of the home place.
The days of sailing ships, gold mining and enormous private enterprise became largely a thing of the past by the beginning of the 20th century, yet, in many ways the life of Ben Layton paralleled that of Thomas Foster Layton. He was as ruggedly individualistic self-reliant and productive and bridged the eras of his famous ancestors and his own descendants, comfortable with each and as much at home in yesteryear’s saddle as today’s mechanical conveyances. His life has made a great impact on this area and his influence is still an important part of the lives of a number of people. His domain covers 240 acres on the perimeter of Layton Hill. In the modest rock house on what was once the ‘Jackson place’, built just after the town of Melva was destroyed, he lives alone with his memories and the comforting presence of his eight hounds.
He has much to remember for he has known Taney County from the growing pains of its adolescence to its maturity, from the aftermath of the Baldknobber era to its present position as the sophisticated center of the nation’s tourist playgrounds. And, like a strict and caring parent he helped to discipline its unruly exuberance through the many phases of its development. He has worn a lawman’s badge for most of his 84 years and still carries a deputy sheriff’s commission. He views the world with a more tolerant attitude than perhaps he did in his younger days and he seems to have arrived at an understanding truce with life. His humor is delightful and contagious. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he recalls the numerous struggles throughout that long period and one senses the satisfaction he feels at having won the majority of them. He is tall and erect, a bit reserved, but altogether a very handsome and impressive man. His recollections and anecdotes flow in a continuous stream of the charming combination of a soft Virginia drawl and an Ozarkian dialect. In his talk the grace and dignity of another age is apparent. At 84, he still refers to those who were his elders with deference and respect. The courtesy titles of ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ with ‘miss’ for maiden ladies reveal the quality of his rearing. Today he is the oldest member of the Layton family, the patriarch of the clan. He is a remarkable personality whose name is prominent among the elite group of pioneer families of Taney County, the real Hill People of the Ozarks.
Ben was ten years old when his father died and much of the family responsibility fell on his shoulders. Although he had to forsake the luxury of a full formal education, he had the inborn benefit of the Layton heritage. From the time he started to walk he had been at his father’s side, learning the lore of the hills, the mark of good stock and storing away the knowledge and training that was to help him through the trying periods to come. He inherited a love of fine horses and a natural aptitude and instinct for selecting the best breeds, a fact that was to be one of his great advantages.
And, having experienced the thrill at his father’s side, he adopted the Ozarkian’s urge to follow the hounds in the starlit pursuit of fox and coon.
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"I was something like seven or eight years old when he used to take a horse and we’d go coonin’ down in the corn fields on the creek," he said. "That’s just before the railroad started building through Hollister. I think that started about 1902 and that’s when they went to work cutting the right-of-way. They were two or three years building and at that time there was nothing much there. The Ellisons lived at the top of the hill on the county road (now Bus.65) Uncle Marion Ellison and a big family--I was raised up with them. We all lived here together and always got along well. They were wonderful people. The Lewallens lived in a house about where the north end of the viaduct is now, a great big white building. Uncle George Caldwell owned the place up the hill, Pa Whorton and Uncle Tony Keith, the Strahans -- all right up the creek. I knew everybody clear to the head of it and after awhile, most everyone in the county.
"The first fella ever put in a store in Hollister was a man named Rube Kirkham. Big fellow and he had one daughter, Willard. Same name as Bessie Ellison’s girl -- that’s who I named my daughter for. We were all about the same age and all went to school together. The store was a big, long frame building, not much by today's’ standards but for the time it was good. He sold lots of groceries. There was plenty of team work going on up and down the creek and the teamsters and everyone were buying there. Well, things got to building up and then there was some trouble--Rube got into it with a fella -- sort of a personal matter, knocked him in the head and hurt him pretty bad. But back in those days folks didn’t go to court over such things, they just ‘fit’ it out."
He paused, obviously enjoying the memory of that action. "Well not long after, the store burned and the Kirkhams left. Tom Jennings had a new building put up and went on with business. Then they moved over a bunch of buildings from Kirbyville. One big one stood on the Northwest corner (Broadway and 4th) and Pete Kite put in a drug store on the bottom floor. I worked for him for quite a while, sold candy and tobacco, ran the soda fountain, that sort of thing. The tourist used to come to Hollister on the train then-- you’d see them all over the roads, afoot," this was before the arrival of automobiles and people walked. There wasn’t much to do, he said, except hunt or fish and not everyone care for those sports. "Uncle Dick Whorton put in a little stand down on the creek, sold cold drinks and the like.
Soda pop was kind of a treat then and used to be in big, thick bottles with no caps, but a sort of push-down stopper." It was the one modern concession to the untouched charm of the hills.
He said as things began to grow, disputes arose. The railroad, viewing the expansion of tourism, wanted an idyllic resort area with no unsightly or disturbing influences. Merchants whose incomes depended on those customers also wanted a pleasant, uncluttered village. But the stockmen, long accustomed to free range and all that it implied, wanted to bring their animals to town for shipment without any restrictions. Thus, the stock wandered at will through the town and interfered with any attempt at order to say nothing of sanitation. The newly written ordinance calling
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for penning up of all animals to be shipped was reinforced by the building of stock pens in which to hold them until they were loaded on the railroad cars. The pens were torn down and carted away overnight, presumably by the stockmen and tempers on all sides flared. The man hired as marshall to enforce the law was a miserable failure and the situation was utter chaos.
It was at this point that the young Ben Layton asked for the job. "I was seventeen," he said, "but Pete Kite knew me and knew I could handle it. He wasn’t much older than I was and he, Bill Johnson and Bill’s brother-in-law, Dick Everette used to go hunting with me. "Anyway," he said succinctly, "I was hired and I got the job done." From then on things were generally peaceful. There were some problems but nothing like there had been in the past.
There was other work going on. The passenger depot was being built and Ben helped on that -- hauling rock and sand with John Keith for a man named Shoemaker. "Didn’t get too much but times were poor. We all worked at whatever we could to make a dollar."
To Bill Johnson, it seemed the time was at hand to handle those dollars. "He wanted to put in a bank. He didn’t have enough money so he went out to see Dr. Storms and see if he’d back him--put some money in the bank. The doctor was a mighty nice old man and worth a lot of money but he had some funny ideas. He judged a person by the bumps on his head. (The doctrine of Phrenology, originated by Franz Joseph Gall, had its heyday in Storms’ youth and he adhered to its use.) Bill said the doctor wouldn’t do a thing until he felt all over his head and guessed that it proved out to his satisfaction. Anyway, Storms let Bill have the money but he became president of the bank. Had his picture enlarged and it hung on the wall there for years.
Presbyterian Hill was the setting for the great Chautauquas and church affairs and was one of the main attractions in the area. It was from a Sunday evening service that 21-year-old Ben Lyaton escorted the daughter of Ida Berry Waugh and Alexander Kaneaster to her home in the vicinity of his mother’s Oak Grove farm. It was the beginning of a new life for him for he was suddenly and irrevocably in love. On January 9, 1914 Rosa married Ben and was his "Rosie" from that day on.
Rosa Victoria was born when Alexander, the champion of Robert E. Lee was 60 years of age. He had huge peach orchards and considerable property but she knew little about him for he died shortly after her birth. Her mother then remarried (for the third time) another Missouri pioneer, Joe McGill. She had two daughters by Waugh, Mary Florence and Grace and three by Kaneaster, Betty, Bessie and Rosa. Theirs was a happy life for there was unity in the large family. They were involved in school functions with old-fashioned spelling bees and the hundreds of wholesome no-cost parties and entertainments to be found in the hills. They read good books and Ida read to them from the magazines she subscribed to, keeping up with what was going on in the world outside
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the Ozark hills. She was an elegant lady, well educated and fond of swishing skirts and fashionable blouses and wore colorful ribbons in her hair. She was stately and tall and devoted to her family. She dressed her girls in lovely feminine styles and they were the envy of the crowd. All the nieces and nephews vied for the affection which she graciously and generously bestowed. She gave each of her daughters the name of a queen, (Mary, Anne, Victoria, etc.) and said she expected them to act like one.
Whether Rosa came up to Ida’s expectations may never be known but certainly to her own children she was a queen -- a diminutive, joyous individual with a great zest for living and a fondness for playing pranks. She was petite and pretty with velvet brown eyes, full of music and tinkling laughter and an air of expectancy as though she were always anticipating something better to come along. She turned her misfortunes into jokes and retained the childlike quality of her girlhood throughout her lifetime. Fortune, good or bad she shared with Ben. On trips that necessarily took him away from home she could not go but was the welcoming beacon to which he returned.
He bought stock all over Arkansas and Oklahoma, cattle, hogs, horses, "Whatever I thought I could make money on. We used to have rough times in this country." he said. "If folks today were up against them, they’d die.
He recounted his adventures driving a herd of hogs across the Boston Mountains in a blinding snowstorm; numerous cattle drives, many of which were accomplished with just the aid of a good saddle horse and his favorite stock dog, Snide who "could do everything but talk" and the particularly exasperating chore of driving a pair of mules to the Springfield mule barn. He told the hilarious tale of driving the first Model T Ford into the town of Mincy and scaring the schoolchildren (about 18 of them) who had never seen one, away from the playground and into the hills. He recalled the bleak winter when he was hauling railroad ties (at l0ยข a tie) and took time off for a chance at hunting wolves. It was one time he was lucky for he shot a female with six pups and got paid off by the various stockmen’s clubs in the area to the tune of some $350.00. This was enough to fence his place, buy seed for planting and an extra pair of mules.
He was involved in or observed many tragedies, the holocaust when Branson burned, the brutal murder of Sheriff Newt Boles and probably most memorable of his experiences, rescuing the bodies of the children who were swept into Turkey Creek when a tornado destroyed the town of Melva. His account of that day, from the appearance of Uncle Marion Oliver running down the railroad tracks, hatless, his face streaming blood and yelling, "The house is blown away and Sarah’s a’layin’ in the yard with her hip broke," through his lashing his mule into a frenzy of haste through the storm and into the torrential stream was a spine chilling tale. His
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locating of the final body and diving for the child whose "stiff fingers seemed to reach up and meet mine was an act far above and beyond the responsibility of an officer, a neighbor or a friend. But those who know Ben agree it was typical of him and add, "he’s a Layton."
He was acquainted with the famous and colorful personalities of the area--Rose O’Neill, Jim Holiday, Josie Barnes, Hardin Warren, Dr. McIntyre, Jerry Butterfield, Professor Blankinship, Bethel Eiserman, Charles Moore, the Hofmeisters, the Plymptons, Otto and Mattie Kohler and Jessalee Blankenship Nash, to name a few.
He is still a man admired and respected, consulted on matters vital to the life of an Ozarkian, whether it be the value of a stallion, a herd of stock or a piece of ground-- or more likely, a hound dog. He holds court in his cozy rock home with its ancient fireplace and a few necessities for ‘batchin’. Old friends drop in to share a few hours and strangers (dog lovers and stockmen) come from as far away as Texas to seek his advice. The list of his friends is endless and they visit frequently. The names of Dawson, Linkous, Yarnell, Snowden, Holiday, Miles, Burnett, Lowrey, Simmons, Hillman, Oliver and Allen Pleake are household words. Often they bring their wives for the women are an important part of today’s fox hunts and they are ‘into’ dog stories. One woman who visits is his neice Pearl McFarland Hodges, who claims relationship on both sides of the family.
It is his son and daughter-in-law who took over the mansion in 1939. His grandchildren and great-grandchildren have played beneath the huge trees, in the old barns and on the grounds around the intricate rock-faced cellar. They take the ancient cemetery as a matter of course. Times are better now than they were in Ben’s youth. His descendants, like the old Virginia ancestors are making the most of their opportunities and for them, Layton Hill is the personification of their heritage.
Material for this article was obtained from personal interviews with the Layton family. Permission for its use is gratefully acknowledged.
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