Monthly Archives: June 2025

Biographical, Edwardian/Pre-War, History, Strong Women

Lulu the Princess and the Sea

Lulu, the Princess, and the Sea

Skagway, Alaska Territory. October 23, 1918. Latitude 59.5 degrees North. Temperature: 30F.  Wind: Light.

It’s nearly 7:00PM, twilight.  The steam whistle of the SS Princess Sophia, moored in Skagway Harbor, blares out her All Aboard, a last call to her 268 passengers. Scheduled departure is 7:00PM.  Seagulls along the harbor’s four piers flit and shriek, proclaiming their annoyance at the whistle. A waning gibbous moon is ascending on the southeast horizon – hidden, for now, behind the steep mountains that guard the fjord.

Skagway Harbor, early 20th century

Sophia’s port side is snug against the wooden pier, secured firmly. This is one of the final few scheduled trips of the season for the Canadian Pacific Railway fleet.  Sophia expects to soon have 75 crew members aboard. But not yet.

The Spanish Flu, which has been raging around the world, has reached even Alaska and the high seas. Some crew have fallen ill, and replacements are still being sought. This delay will last over three hours. [1]

Sophia’s skipper is Captain Leonard Locke. With 40 years of seafaring experience, he has piloted this trip at least 80 times.  He’ll take the Sophia down the Chilkoot Inlet, at the top of Lynn Canal, one of North America’s largest fjords, then south to Juneau via the Lynn Canal and Stephens Passage. From there, she’ll sail to Vancouver, British Columbia, via the Inside Passage — a well-traveled marine route favored for its shelter from the open ocean by countless islands of the Pacific Northwest, making it safer in most weather. And from Vancouver, then to Seattle.

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In August 1896, gold nuggets were discovered eight miles up Rabbit Creek (soon renamed Bonanza Creek) from its mouth on the Klondike River, very near the confluence of that river and the Yukon. When word of this discovery reached the world, it sparked one of the most feverish and dramatic gold rushes in history. The Klondike Gold Rush. Tens of thousands — perhaps as many as 100,000 — hopeful fortune seekers poured into the rugged northern wilderness at the same time, chasing dreams of striking it rich.

But the journey was perilous. Only a fraction made it. Many died and a majority of the remainder turned back, or returned after arrival when they discovered there were no more claims available. The best routes to the Klondike goldfields required sailing to Skagway or nearby Dyea, then traversing treacherous mountain trails: the Chilkoot Trail from Dyea and the White Pass Trail from Skagway.From there, prospectors crossed into Canada, hiked to Whitehorse, and then floated north, down the mighty Yukon River — often on shabbily made rafts — along Lake Laberge, all the way to Dawson City at the rivers’ confluence. A distance of nearly 700 miles.

Consequently, Skagway exploded from a tiny, quiet fishing village into a vital gateway for those bound for the Yukon goldfields. Its deep, sheltered harbor also made it a key stop for steamers traveling the Inside Passage. The major waves of the gold rush boom faded by 1899. But many gold recovery enterprises remained.  Skagway’s role remained significant in regional transport — a place where gold seekers, mine laborers, settlers seeking a new life, and all their families embarked and disembarked on seasonal steamships, like those operated by the Canadian Pacific Railway.

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Chilkoot Pass climb, late summer, 1897. Thousands of hopefuls made this climb dozens of times each, with 50-100 lbs carried each trip.

Murray Smith Eads was born the oldest of three children to Theo and Lucy (Smith) Eads on December 29, 1868, in Knoxville, Illinois — amid rich prairie lands abundant with wheat and corn fields. Grain elevators and train whistles marked the passing of seasons, but that settled life was not for Murray. He roamed west and found success running merchandise and drug stores in the U.S. Pacific Northwest.

He was a prospering merchant in Seattle when news of Yukon gold reached the city. Seattle was likely the first major location to learn of it outside Alaska and the Yukon. [5] Murray, conveniently already there — at the key embarkation point for the wild, untamed north — smelled opportunity. He wasted no time. Selling his business, he became one of the first “stampeders” to reach Dawson City in 1897.

Eads did well financially — not by striking gold himself, but by running the businesses all gold rushes have needed: dance halls, bars, and hotels. He thrived in this economy that accompanies the goldfields, supplying comfort, entertainment, and a taste of refinement at the very edge of civilization. He was invested in several other enterprises, including a bank in Seattle.

 

Lulu Mae Johnson

Lulu Mae Johnson was born in Alabama around 1878.[3]  Known for her striking beauty and natural talent, she could light up a room with her voice and dance. But it was more than just performance—Lulu had a spark, a mix of grace and grit — earned from survival in the rural post-war south — that made her stand out in any crowd. With the air of a Southern Belle and the steel of someone who’d faced hard times, she caught the eye of recruiters for Murray Eads. Like Murray Eads, this rural life and culture was not for her. A promising escape path. She was off … off to entertain the flood of hopefuls who’d made their way to Dawson.

Miss Lulu arrived in Dawson in 1899 as part of a dance troupe, stepping into a world of rough edges and wild dreams — ready to carve out her place in this wild frontier.

Captain James and Louise Alexander

Captain James Alexander was a veteran of the Boer War, where he earned the title Captain. He and his wife, Louise, arrived along the southern parts of Tagish Lake—headwaters of the Yukon River—in the early 1900s. There, on the borderlands between British Columbia and what would become Yukon Territory, they staked a claim and developed the very successful Engineer Mine.

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Skagway Harbor, Alaska. October 23, 1918. 10:10PM. Temperature: 28F. Wind: strengthening, white caps whipping up.

Replacement crew have been found.  It’s the end of the season. Likely the last chance to exit Alaska’s remote panhandle until spring.

Sophia gives two whistle toots that roll along the harbor, cutting through the small town of some 800 sleepy inhabitants. The gulls again protest.

Winter is closing. The sky is black, well past twilight. Breezes are stirring, swirling through the fjord as they dance over the mountains and up the channel. An unspoken apprehension hangs in the air: bad weather might be approaching.  It’s very unpredictable in these parts. Is this freshening breeze an omen?

Princess Sophia’s four coal-fueled Scotch Marine boilers are all fired up – full steam, full pressure.

Tugs come into place. The mooring lines — bow, stern, springs and breasts — eight in all, some are doubled for safety, are released. The tugs help Sophia slip her slip, carefully in the intensifying wind, and nudge her to the deepest part of the fjord’s channel, Chilkoot Inlet, at the top of the 90-mile-long Lynn Canal. Over three hours late.

Now above Face Mountain and Mount Cleveland, the gibbous moon, 80% illuminated, will help illuminate the Sophia‘s 12 hour journey to her first stop, Juneau. [4]

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The Canadian Pacific Railway

Founded in 1881, the Canadian Pacific Railway was Canada’s ambitious project to unite this vast and geographically diverse country from east to west. It was a critical link—both political and economic—that connected the eastern provinces to British Columbia.

In 1887, CPR’s rails reached the Pacific, terminating near present-day Burnaby, just east of Vancouver, on Burrard Inlet.

From this western terminus, CPR saw an opportunity to expand into marine transportation. It developed the Princess Line of ships —a series of elegant passenger steamers launched in the early 1900s, designed to link ports from Vancouver through British Columbia and the Inside Passage. Sophia was launched in 1911, in Glasgow, built by the Clyde Shipbuilding Company.

Sometimes called “Pocket Liners” these ships were intended to serve as smaller versions of the great upscale liners of Cunard and White Star that traversed the Atlantic. [5]

The Princess ships, including the Princess Sophia, were known for their combination of reliability, comfort, and fashionable accoutrements. They became vital lifelines for coastal communities, carrying passengers, mail, freight, and gold rush hopefuls through the stunning — but often treacherous — fjords and inlets of the Pacific Northwest.

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Late night, October 23/24, 1918.  Northern Lynn Canal, Alaska. Latitude: 59 degrees, North. Temperature: 26F. Wind: 25-30 mph

Captain Locke has navigated Chilkoot Inlet and the Lynn Canal many dozens of times — northbound and southbound, in clear daylight and in the murk of night.

A gibbous moon, climbing higher, should cast a glow over the water and its well-known hazards, including Vanderbilt Reef. Steam whistle soundings, timed by echo, reveal the distance to the walls of the fjord.

But a storm is moving in. It’s cold, windy. Clouds gather and swell, snuffing out celestial light. Snow begins to fall. The wind’s howls begin to muffle the sound of the whistle’s echoes.

As the now-invisible moon continues to rise, the tide comes into the Lynn—one of the largest tidal swings in the world— and begins to flow northward, up the channel. Perhaps wanting to make up time lost to the ‘crew flu’, and going against the tide’s flow, Locke orders full speed ahead.

Vanderbilt Reef, still hours away, waits in silence.

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Lulu and Murray quickly formed a close business partnership, soon becoming inseparable in both work and life. She worked a room like a pro — singing, dancing, pouring drinks. Rumor had it she could charm a prospector out of a poke of gold dust — and make him feel lucky to part with it. In Robert W. Service’s famous poem “The Shooting of Dan McGrew,” the “lady known as Lou” was modeled on Lulu herself.

She was a wise and ambitious business partner.  She convinced Murray to rename the dance hall from the risqué-sounding Flora Dora to the more dignified Royal Alexandra—a royal female name that hinted at a “Princess.”

The Flora Dora stands, restored, but now abandoned

They had rooms above the hall and soon expanded further into hospitality, opening a hotel with rooms upstairs.

Such a good business pair that they wed in 1904. They were doing very well, importing fine jewelry, clothing and house furnishings for themselves.

A likely extra source of income was laundry.  Many women took in laundry.  Working the river dredges and mines was dirty work. When a laundry load (by hand, of course) was complete the tub was very carefully and slowly drained, often revealing a thin coating of gold dust on the bottom.

Another source of income. Those “rooms above” and “upstairs” were for their brothel business. Hospitality comes in many forms. Some 20 ladies and rooms were available for carnal pleasures. Eventually they were confronted by the Northwest Mounted Police. They were highly regarded, the prince and princess of the town. They were arrested, but not charged. That branch of the business came to an end.

Even after the rush ended, they stayed on in Dawson, enjoying a pleasant lifestyle. By 1918 they’d had enough though. Murray’s family had moved to Omaha, and that’s where they would go – one way or another. Lulu Mae had no interest in returning to the post-civil-war south, cursed with poverty, Jim Crow and the stench of white supremacy. Backward in almost every regard, and still suffering from the hangover brought by the war’s consequences: Reconstruction and the Yankee Carpetbaggers.

The White Pass Railway was completed in 1900. It had dozens of trestles and tunnels.

They sold everything.  Keeping their clothes, boxes of expensive jewelry, and wads of cash, they set out.  A sternwheeler took them up the Yukon to Whitehorse. The White Pass train took them over the mountain to Skagway. There they bought passage to Seattle. And from there they’d go by train, and settle in Nebraska. Get out before they had to go through another arctic winter. [Although, whether a winter in Nebraska is an improvement is debatable].

James and Louise Alexander wanted out too. They negotiated the sale of their mine, for $1.5 million, a staggering sum, and headed out for their bank in Vancouver, where the deal would be formally concluded.

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Post Midnight, Lynn Canal, Latitude: 58.6 – 59.0 degrees North.  Air temperature, 25 degrees.  Water temperature: 42F. Winds: approaching gale force, with gusts beyond.

The Princess steams down the Lynn. Murray and Lulu Eads, and Captain James and Louise Alexander, settle into their comfortable cabins. As they drift off to sleep, snowflakes tap, tap, tap against their porthole windows, carried by a now audible wind.

Over the hours, the wind drives the Sophia nearly two miles off course. With only the ship’s lights, it’s impossible to tell exactly where she is. Yet, she steams on ahead. The high tide covers Vanderbilt Reef, its jagged rocks submerged, invisible, just feet below the surface. Lookouts, recently recruited, can’t see it.

Bang! Screech! Eerie, creepy, disturbing sounds of metal scraping on hard rock. At 3:30 AM., October 25, the Sophia strikes Vanderbilt Reef, coming to an abrupt halt from 12-14 knots. Passengers are jolted from their beds. Sophia’s bow rests clear of the frigid water, perched on the reef, pitched upward.

As the Princess Sophia lay stuck, precariously balanced on the reef, her keel wedged in a crag, she was pounded by high winds and heavy waves.  The tide is now out, and as the twilight of dawn begins its glow, the great size of the reef becomes apparent. The bow is well above the low tide water line.

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A rescue boat, attempting to save passengers, captured this photo of the Sophia stuck on Vanderbilt reef

A radio call for help went out immediately.  Locke was hopeful that the next high high tide (yes, “high high” tide) [6] , later that night, would free the Sophia, as it will be slightly higher than the night before. Rescue efforts struggle – and fail – in the storm. The tempest persisted.  The Sophia was stranded on the reef for hours.

The next high tide, although slightly higher, did not free the Sophia. The storm renewed its vigor.

5:30 PM, October 25. The sun was down. Twilight was fading. The Sophia had been stranded through 40 hours of growing panic. Then, sans warning, the steel double hull began to break apart. By 6:00 PM she was gone. And so were all 343 people aboard. It remains the most terrible maritime disaster of the Pacific Northwest.

EPILOGUE

  1. There was one survivor: a dog named Tommy, the Chesapeake Bay Retriever belonging to the Alexanders. The breed’s endurance, webbed feet and water-shedding coat helped him swim 10–15 miles through frigid water, then trek nearly 40 rugged twisty miles to Juneau. Cannery workers found him, emaciated and covered in oil. He feared water for the rest of his life, which he spent with the Alexanders’ relatives near Victoria, BC.

    All passengers were deemed to have died from hypothermia or ingesting oil … not drowning.

  2. Well, it was indeed “one way or another” to get to Omaha. Unfortunately, it was “another.” The earthly remains of Murray and Lulu Eads were sent to Murray’s relatives, in Omaha. They are buried side-by-side in Forest Lawn Cemetery, Omaha, in section 11, Lot 468. Together for eternity, on earth, and beyond.
  3. When Lulu’s body was discovered, washed up ashore, a large wad of cash was found on her person. Perhaps several thousand dollars. None of that stash of cash, nor much of their prized jewelry, made it to Omaha. Someone had pinched Lulu’s poke.
  4. The disaster is often referred to as the Titanic of the Northwest.

Joe Girard © 2025

Thank you for reading. As always, you can add yourself to the notification list for newly published material by clicking here . Or emailing joe@girardmeister.com

 Footnotes and stuff, with glossary below

Alaska Daily Empire, November 4, 1918

[1] We went on a short cruise last month. Hand sanitizer was everywhere, often with crew standing by to strongly encourage that passengers use it — and frequently.

[2] One history site has him born in Kentucky, but all other sources I found say Knoxville, IL.

[3] Turns out that Lulu Belle was a stupendously popular name in the south about that time.  Finding the exact Lulu was beyond impossible.  Plus, Lulu Mae could well have been a stage name.  Some records, including the manifest of the SS Princess Sofia for that trip, show her born later, up to 1881.  Not uncommon for women to do this in that era – who is going to check up on these details?  The Yukon census of 1911 shows her age 31, so born around 1880.

[4] Despite its name, Lynn Canal is not a man-made canal but a natural fjord—a deep, narrow inlet carved by glaciers. Like Hood Canal in Washington state, the term “canal” here likely stems from an old usage related to “channel.”

[5] The Titanic was part of the Britannic line of White Star.  It went down just 6-1/2 years before Sofia.

[6] There are low high tides, and high high tides, separated by, on average, 12.4 hours. Or 24.8 hours between high high tides.

Omaha Bee November 20, 1918

Ketchikan Daily Progressive-Miner, October 30, 1918

 

The Lost Money Scandal

Some Author notes:

I imagine that the flu-stricken crew originally felt unlucky, and then … very lucky.
We visited Dawson and Bonanza Creek recently.  We were shocked at the damage done by the dredging and hydraulic mining.  Those methods are now long gone — forbidden actually — but the heaps and piles of rock, the devastation to the creek beds and the hills that channel it, remain: it was all very ugly and nauseating.

more reference links below the Glossary

GLOSSARY (First time I’ve done this.  Lots of unusual words here, and their usage.

  • All Aboard – Final boarding call sounded before departure, typically by steam whistle.
  • Boilers (Scotch Marine) – Cylindrical steam boilers used in marine vessels like the Princess Sophia.
  • Breast line / Spring line – Types of mooring lines used to secure a ship at dock.
  • Chilkoot Inlet / Lynn Canal – Natural fjords in Southeast Alaska, not man-made canals.
  • Crew flu – A creative reference to crew delays caused by the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic.
  • High high tide – The higher of the two daily high tides in semidiurnal tide regions. As they are on average just over 24 hours apart, occasional days will have only one high high.
  • Poke (noun) – A small bag or pouch, often made of leather or cloth, used to carry gold dust. Common among prospectors during the gold rush era. Example: “She could charm a prospector out of his poke of gold dust.”
  • Pinch (verb) – To steal or take something, especially slyly or dishonestly. Example: “Someone had pinched Lulu’s poke” means someone likely swiped her stash of gold or cash.
  • Pocket liner – Nickname for small, luxurious coastal passenger steamships like the Princess fleet.
  • Slip (noun) – A narrow docking space at a pier or marina where a ship is moored. Example: “Sophia slips her slip” means she departs from her docking space
  • Slip (verb) – To leave quietly or smoothly; in maritime use, to leave the dock or disengage mooring lines. Example: “The tugs help Sophia slip her slip.”
  • Stampeders – Gold rush fortune-seekers, especially during the Klondike Gold Rush – mostly those who arrived in Dyae or Skagway in 1897 and arrived in Dawson in 1898.
  • Trestle – A bridge-like structure supporting railway tracks over valleys or rugged terrain.
  • Vanderbilt Reef – A rocky outcrop in Lynn Canal, mostly submerged at high tide, site of the Sophia disaster.
  • Whistle soundings – Navigational technique using sound echo times to measure distance to shoreline in poor visibility.

 

 

 

https://www.nps.gov/articles/khns-princess-sophia.htm

The money??? https://onlineacademiccommunity.uvic.ca/ssprincesssophia/topics-of-interest/the-lost-money-scandal/

https://explorenorth.com/library/bios/ladue-joe.html

https://dawsoncity.ca/discover-dawson/klondike-gold-rush/

https://yukonnuggets.com/stories/who-was-dan-mcgrew

https://www.biographi.ca/en/bio.php?BioId=41600

 

Biographical, History, Strong Women

Minnie Blizzard

The teacher had her students outside – it was a surprisingly lovely day. Looking toward the horizon she spotted an angry steel gray band, with a sharp blue patch beneath.  A blue norther!

Thursday, January 12, 1888. In extremely rural, Nebraska, near Ord, 19-year-old Minnie Freeman is a boarder in a prairie farmhouse. She awakens before dawn. She needs to get to school early to prepare the one-room Midvale School in Mira Valley, south of Ord. She’s the teacher.

Minnie walks through the morning pre-dawn twilight, over the one and a half miles to the unassuming schoolhouse. The weather’s  been unusually pleasant lately. The morning skies promise more, even better weather. The sun and soft warm breeze will likely melt away what little remains of the last week’s snow. In fact, the entire US plains and Midwest seem to be mesmerized by this lovely weather.

The young school teacher lights a small fire in the pot-bellied stove, pumps water from the well, and fills the ceramic water dispenser. Soon after these morning tasks 13 students, aged 5 to 15, trundle into the sod-walled schoolhouse,

Nebraska became the 37th state in the Union in 1867. Before that, the Nebraska Territory was formed in 1854.  Its southern boundary, even today as a state, was the 40th parallel, separating it from Kansas Territory, and later State of Kansas, to the south. This boundary extended well west, following 40°  to the mountains of what is now Colorado.

The population of the westernmost parts of the Nebraska and Kansas Territories had swelled, and cities popped up across the Rockies Front Range and up into the mountains.  Its population had grown due to immigration driven by the Colorado Gold Rush – particularly the Fifty-Niners.

Neither territory really wanted the responsibility to manage the rowdy new arrivals in lands so far from their governmental centers, well to the east. So, Colorado was split off as its own territory in 1861.

Settlers there and in the great prairie lands of the Midwest, like Nebraska, were also driven by the desire to depart the crowded, sooty, malodorous and unsanitary conditions in eastern US cities.

 

Early January 1888. A strong high pressure forms in northwest Canada. It begins drifting southeast.  A strong low pressure system forms in the southwest US and begins drifting east-northeast.  Pressure isoclines draw tighter and nearer together.

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Minnie Mae Freeman was born on February 25, 1868, to James and Sarah (Cushing) Freeman, in Potter County, Pennsylvania. She was by seven years the youngest child. [1]  It’s a wide, rural, hilly stretch at the northern reaches of the Appalachian chain; Potter county’s northern boundary is the state of New York (latitude 42 degrees). During that period many families began moving west into America’s frontier, seeking opportunity, better fortune and land.  The Freemans fit in. When she was age 3 years old her family moved to central Nebraska.

Many came to the expansive upper west to take advantage of the Homestead Acts, offering up to 160 acres to settlers for a small filing fee. It was theirs if they could improve the land (build on it) and make it productive. As timber was so very scarce, many of the first homes and buildings were made of sod.
Prior to that, the land we know as Nebraska became part of the United States pursuant to the terms of the 1803 Louisiana Purchase, as part of the upper Mississippi watershed. Both the Spanish and the French had long before begun trading with Native Amerindian tribes.
And of course, approximately 10,000 years before the white European peoples settled these lands, American Indians had arrived and settled, mostly hunting big game, such as bison.

Minnie attended the Methodist Episcopal College, in York, Nebraska graduating in 1886. She then began teaching school. (Very young teachers were quite common, in fact the norm.  (See It Happened F

Young Minnie Freeman

irst In, Part II).

She took an assignment for the little sod schoolhouse near Ord, Nebraska. She was offered reasonable lodging at a farmhouse about a mile and half from the school. She felt like she fit right in; it was her calling.

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One thing that Nebraska has always had is size. It’s large. Not just its geographic size, but its weather too. Harsh “old man” winter has always been a regular visitor, bringing nasty weather on the cold arctic air that sweeps down from the great plains of Canada and the Dakotas.

It can be fierce: arctic cold that freezes spit before it hits the ground, high winds to carry off pets, and snows that bury a prairie house. Summers can be ferociously hot, with dry winds – and massive thunderstorms with cyclonic clouds that can break out on almost any summer afternoon.

Snowy days can turn into bright  warm days; and the reverse as well, when warm sunny days suddenly turn wintry.

North of the equator, air rotates clockwise around high-pressure cells.  And counterclockwise around low cells.

This rotation causes the leading fronts of high pressure cells to pull down air from the north. And the reverse: the leading fronts of low pressure cells pull up air from the south.

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Typical upper plains sod house

The embryonic national weather service, then part of the Army Signal Corps, made use of telegraph to aggregate weather reports and atmospheric conditions from locations around the continent. These reports were assembled, notes were placed on a map, then studied. Weather forecasts were generated and then wired across the country – to places that had access to the Talking Wires, which were mostly along established railroad lines. Thence the forecasts were printed in the many thousands of newspapers.

For January 12, 1888, they had forecasted a sunny, warm morning, turning cold in the afternoon. Period.

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Despite the January date, it was so alluringly pleasant that Minnie decided to conduct the midday class outside. It’s not unlikely that the students begged her do so. I recall doing this in elementary school. Sometimes the nuns would acquiesce. They liked the weather too!

Approaching Blue Norther (AI generated)

Minnie had grown up on these plains. She was innately aware of its moody and changeable nature. She instinctively took a moment periodically to scan the sky.  It was about noon when she spied the signs of a blue norther to the northwest: stormy dark steel gray and silver clouds, with a thin layer of contrasting dark blue below. Calmly, without panic, she quickly herded the students into the schoolhouse. They had less than 5 minutes to get shelter.

First the winds. 30mph steady, then 50. Then 80. In just a few minutes. The winds brought a sudden temperature drop, from near 50F (10C) the mercury immediately plunged 18 degrees F.  And kept dropping. To the 20s, the teens. To zero. The powerful high pulled down frigid arctic air. There was no geographic feature along the plains — from the north of Alberta and Saskatchewan to the plains of the US Midwest — to stop or slow the soul-chilling winds. [2]

Hail fell. Then, in a minute, it turned to snow.  Heavily. The equally powerful low had pulled up warm air from the south, pregnant with moisture. Powered by hurricane force winds the snow began to pile up against walls, on hills, and in valleys. Soon houses, barns and other structures were getting buried by the drifts. [By evening the temperature dropped to -40.  Some weather stations reported a fall of 100 degrees in only 10 or 12 hours]

The wind came through cracks in the sod walls. The temperature in the wee schoolhouse dropped alarmingly.  The pot belly stove couldn’t keep up. The children weren’t dressed for winter, let alone for a storm like this.

Minnie huddled the children together, near the stove.  Would the storm last long? Or blow over?  Either was possible. She commenced to lead them in prayer. She also began thinking about burning the desks, books and papers if the wood ran out.

White out!

Thoughts of fueling the stove were soon made moot. The school door and hinges began to fail, the door, dangling open, awkwardly and askew. The view out the doorway revealed … nothing.  It looked like an artist’s blank palette with a matte finish. Total white out. The older boys tried to re-attach the door. It seemed they had it fixed, then …

… the tar paper roof ripped, detached, … and disappeared.

If not before, it certainly was now a matter of life and death. 14 lives. 14 deaths. And Minnie was in charge.

They had to go somewhere.  Somewhere safer, warmer.

Minnie took a roll of twine, and, while giving her students a pep talk, tied them one student to the next, all 13, and finally to herself.  They headed out – but to where?  Minnie had a good sense of the fields and simple structures between the schoolhouse and the farmhouse where she dwelled.  After all, she walked to and from that house every school day. But in literally blinding snow?

In the bleak prairie, no features stood out. One’s own feet were not visible. The sky looked like the ground. Direction?  Up vs down? The ground couldn’t be seen. North, south, east and west: all looked the same. There was no perception of these. Only gut feel, one’s inner compass, and dead reckoning for navigation.

The flakes, falling sideways in the howling winds and scowling skies, struck their skin – their faces! – like sandblasting.  Like a hundred teensy weensy needles poking at any exposed flesh every minute.

Music for song praising Minnie

Against all odds, Minnie led them all safely to the farmhouse. All survived. [3]

For a few years Minnie Freeman was a national heroine.  Songs and poems were written about her heroic achievement, played and sung at gatherings and shows, and published in newspapers.

She didn’t think much of it.  Just a job that needed to be done.

It’s now commonly called the Children’s Blizzard. It’s estimated that at least 250 people died in the storm, from Minnesota, to Kansas to North Dakota. The vast majority of fatalities were children, perhaps 90%. Many were sent home and never made it, or were walking home at the end of the school day when the storm hit. Others froze to death as they waited in their schoolhouses.

Minnie was indeed rather famous. She received many unsolicited marriage proposals. Some say 50; others up to 200.

In 1890 she met Edgar Penney, a local farmer from a prominent family – probably at a local rural society rendezvous. He was well off, she was famous.  [Edgar’s father, Seth Penney, was a leading farmer, merchant, banker and school board member in Fullerton, Nebraska. High Society]. Edgar was two years her elder.

Distinguished older Minnie Freeman Penney

Minnie and Edgar were married on April 22,1891, in Omaha. They settled initially in Fullerton, NE and had 2 sons: Freeman and Frederick Penney. Of course, this ended her teaching career – married female teachers weren’t permitted, especially mothers. But, married to Edgar, she probably wouldn’t have taught anymore anyhow. Eventually Edgar was made president of the C.A. Mosso Chemical Company (petrochemical-based pharmaceuticals, ointments, skin and beauty products). With his job they re-located to Chicago, in 1923. Until about 1930 they maintained their official address in Fullerton. [4]

 

Minnie’s star continued to shine after her teaching career.

  • She was a member of:
    • The Republican National Committee from Nebraska [5]
    • Daughters of the American Revolution
    • Order of the Eastern Star [sister org of Masons, a worldwide service organization, focused largely on serving children (think El Jebel for women)].
    • First president of the Department of Nebraska of the American Legion Auxiliary
    • She was on the committee to redesign Nebraska’s state seal.
  • She was an active advocate for
    • Education (promoting proper training, high teacher standards and screening … hiring 17–19-year-olds seemed inappropriate)
    • Political leadership (morals and qualifications)
    • Promoting civil service at state and local levels (you – yes, you! – can serve your government, from volunteering, to employment, to elected office)
    • Women’s rights, especially suffrage

On November 1, 1943, when they were living in an apartment, at 1055 Granville Avenue, on Chicago’s near north side, Minnie passed away. Her remains were cremated.  Edgar passed October 13, 1955, just one day short of the 12th anniversary of Minnie’s passing. [6]

 

Joe Girard © 2025

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[1] one source says she was born in Raymonds Corners, PA (York County), south of York PA. I believe this is wrong.  Raymond Corners is not near York, it’s in northern PA.  This from a post by the York County historical society.
One source has her as the youngest of 6 children. This is possible, as the “four” children might be referring only to those who survived childhood.  Life was rough.

[2] Alberta and Saskatchewan were then not Provinces, rather unsettled land that was part of the Northwest Territories.

[3] Some children and sources have it differently.  Some sources say it was half a mile to a shack. Some children didn’t remember the twine that supposedly linked them.  One remembered it as a tug-of-war rope. And another source says they went to a sod farm shack about ½ mile away.
It doesn’t really matter.  There were many reports of people getting disoriented and freezing to death less than 100 yards from where they started.  Some were found only just a few steps from their homes.

[4] Research data were not uniform or clear on Edgar’s climb up the corporate ladder with regard to timing and locations.  But, in 1923 they DID move to Chicago, and he was president.

[5] Politics and political parties were different then.

[6] Minnie’s remains are not in any record, except it’s recorded that the cremation was at Graceland Cemetery, in Chicago.  We presume the ashes went to family.  Edgar is buried at Memorial Park Cemetery, in Skokie,