Spurrier, William H.

SPURRIER, BARRETT, CAMMACK, FRAZIER

Posted By: Mary H. Cochrane, Volunteer
Date: 7/9/2019 at 06:35:08

BIOGRAPHY ~ WILLIAM HENRY SPURRIER
February 23, 1839 ~ February 22, 1911
Lamoni, Iowa

Lamoni's Passing Parade
Anthony, Joseph H. p. 55. ca. 1948

In the early days of Lamoni there was no man who was better known than W. H. Spurrier. When the town was in its infancy he had purchased section nine – one of the finest pieces of land in this entire section of country – fenced it while it was virgin prairie with fences running a mile in each direction, then continued the development of it until it was generally considered one of the finest farms in this part of the country and he one of the most successful and prosperous tillers of the soil.

I had not lived in Lamoni long until I learned to recognize him as one of the familiar figures of the town. He always drove a spotted bay and white horse hitched to a single-seated phaeton, which made his identification one of extreme simplicity, but it was sometime later when I became an apprentice harness maker under his nephew that I really had opportunity to become intimately acquainted with him.

I thought of him then, and still do, as a typical Santa-Claus type of man, in fact I can think of no man of my acquaintance who seemed so naturally adapted to that role as he. He was short and rather heavy, and wore a full white beard. The clay pipe was never in evidence and I am not too sure of the bowl of jelly, although he definitely possessed the typical Santa-Claus twinkle in his eye and a hearty, contagious sort of laugh that not only made you feel you had nothing to dread but also invited your friendship. No one enjoyed a good story more than he, and while he was a good listener he also got the keenest enjoyment out of telling them, and his stock of stories seemed ample for all occasions.

His visits to the little harness shop were quite frequent and on cold winter days he would draw his chair close to the stove, that he might absorb its maximum amount of warmth. If others of his friends were present he enjoyed visiting with them, but when there were not so many visitors and the conversation lagged he would search around among the empty boxes or in the kindling pile for a nice, soft-pine stick. Then finding one which suited his fancy he would draw his knife from his picket and edge over to the harness bench with the remark:

"Just touch it up a little on your stone. No place like a harness shop to get your knife good and sharp."

Of course we would accommodate him and when we had finished sharpening it on the stone and had given it a few finishing strokes on a smooth strap of leather, he would run his fingers lightly over the edge and examine it carefully, then his eyes would twinkle in a manner that expressed his thanks more emphatically than words could have done.

Then seating himself comfortably on the chair close to the stove he would begin slicing off long, fine shavings from the soft pine stick. He loved to whittle just for the sake of whittling and when he would taper the stick down to a real sharp point he would sit meditatively, using it as a toothpick, or more for the sake of tasting the clean woody fragrance than because he especially wished to dislodge some particle from between his teeth. There is something I the taste of nice, clean, newly cut pine that is pleasant and refreshing to the taste, and then to him whittling probably offered his main form of recreation.

It was while he was thus occupied that he would tell us of some of those incidents in his life which had been of most interest to him – about the rattlesnakes and how he had battled to exterminate them when he first took possession of section nine. The long grass of this open prairie had offered them seclusion and proved to be a favorable haunt, and they resented man's intrusion. They were numerous and vicious, and it required many months – even years – to dispose of them to the extent that man or beast was considered entirely safe to relax and feel free to roam the meadows without unconsciously listening for that startling rattle or seeing those long, lithe, spotted bodies coiled for the strike. It is difficult to imagine today as one views those fertile acres that probably from the beginning of time until people began thinking of founding a village here that this land had served chiefly as a hideout and habitation for venomous snakes.

He might have told us, too, about his little red dog, Snyder, that in his declining years was his constant companion. How the master had removed his coat in the field and commanded Snyder to watch it, and then forgetting the incident wondered what had happened to the dog when he was not seen around the house for several days. Then one of the family happened to accidentally cross the same field and found Snyder, hungry and cold, faithfully protecting the coat as he had been commanded. Needless to say, after this incident, so far as Uncle Bill was concerned, Snyder became on of the most important members of the family.

Then there was the story about how he made a special trip to Pennsylvania so he could personally make the last payment upon the farm; and the one about George, the spotted pony, tipping him over in the snow drift, and many, many others, some humorous, some serious, that would make interesting reading. And speaking of reading, had one desired to write a book using early Iowa farm life as a setting, I know of no place where a more perfect background could have been found than upon the farm home of W. H. Spurrier – an ideal pioneer Iowa farm. And characters, plenty of them – there was Polie, the independent, happy-go-lucky son who could not content himself until he was upon his own; Frank, of more serious turn with inclinations toward the ministry; two attractive and charming young daughters besieged with attentions – some from Lamoni's most promising young men; and Richard, the youngest, one of the finest characters it has been my pleasure to know – a man about whom a volume could be written.

Yes, the background and characters were there, and properly portrayed, section nine might have become just as interesting and inspirational as certain sections of the Ozarks, or the prairies of the West which have become famous through verse and story, but lacking this glamorizing procedure its romance and glory will remain treasured only in the hearts of those who knew it intimately and there learned to live and love.

W. H. Spurrier was not attracted to this locality by the church interest which attracted so many of the early residents of Lamoni. But nevertheless he was a Christian man who believed and taught his family that the incorporation of Christian principles in their lives was a necessity, and Lamoni can be proud that men of his caliber chose to settle here and hep build a community founded on the principles which dominate our great country.

W. H. Spurrier was a great pioneer who followed the teaching of the Golden Rule. He took a justifiable pride in his achievements, he was a good neighbor, sincere, sympathetic, and his word was as good as his bond; and among those who knew him best there is no question as to the importance of the part he played as a participant in Lamoni's passing parade.

NOTE: William Henry Spurrier, son of Richard C. and Amy (Barrett) Spurrier, was born February 23, Cadiz, Ohio, and died February 22, 1911, Lamoni, Iowa. His wife, Sarah Jane (Cammack) Spurrier, the daughter of Levi and Elizabeth (Frazier) Cammack, was born July 18, 1843, Salem, Iowa, and died September 26, 1916, Lamoni. They were interred at Rose Hill Cemetery, Lamoni, Iowa. The Spurrier Schoolhouse has been moved next to Liberty Hall in Lamoni, Iowa, and has been restored.

Spurrier Family photograph