SMALL BOY DROWNED

LISLE HAYS MEETS HIS DEATH IN THE RAGING 'BOTNA

Little Lisle M. Hays, ten-year-old son of Mr. and Mrs. Harry Hays, while attempting to float a board on the water last Friday noon slipped into the swollen river, just a few rods in the rear of his home and was drowned.

No one else was near except his little brother, who was younger than himself, who saw him go down to his watery grave. He immediately ran to the house and informed his mother, who ran to the creek, frantic with grief, and would have jumped in, in hopes of saving him, if she had not been stopped.

The word soon spread over town and in an hour's time, there were over fifty men in search of the child, but owing to the fact that the water was so high and ran so swift, it was a very difficult matter to do, but everything they could do was done.

The water subsided very fast and by 4 o'clock, a new idea was conceived to find the boy, which was proved to be successful. A long rope was secured and ran from one bank to the other with plenty of men on each end to hold it, and then some sixteen, volunteered to go in and wade down the stream, standing so close together that they could not miss him.

As the water had been so swift, they suspected the boy had washed down some distance by that time. He was found about 40 rods below where he first slipped in and was taken to the Undertaker Mueller's store and washed down and dressed before taking him to his home.

Lisle was a bright boy and loved by all his little playmates, many of whom watched with interest for his recovery.

The funeral was held from the home at 1 o'clock last Saturday, Rev. Giffen of the Presbyterian Church officiating, after which the remains were taken to the Arney Cemetery, some four miles northwest of the city, followed by a long concourse of sorrowing relatives and friends. The bereaved parents have the deepest sympathy of the entire community in their sad affliction.

The undersigned desire through the columns of this paper, to thank the many friends for the many kind acts received from them during the search and burial of our dear little son, Lisle. Mr. and Mrs. Harry Hays

Contributed by Alan Williams, 22 June 2000

Editor's Note The following feature story was written by Myra Hamann. Miss Hamann's parents, were 11 years old at the time of the blizzard and much of the information was gleaned from hearing them tell of the storm. Miss Hamann resides with her mother, Mrs. John Hamann in their home just south of Schleswig.

The Black Blizzard of January 12, 1888, which left scores of persons dead and an unestimated number injured, whipped across the Midwest 78 years ago this week.

The Hohenzollern area - Schleswig was not mapped out until 1899 - lay in the path of the big storm. The winter up to the time of the blizzard had been moderate and only light amounts of precipitations had been reported locally.

For Hohenzollern settlers, Friday, January 12, 1888, began mild and cloudy with an ominous stillness in the air. Shortly before the storm hit, the stillness was broken by the sudden, low howl of the wind as it raced the blizzard into the locality from Nebraska and the Dakota Territory. (North and South Dakota became states in 1889.) Farmers, working outdoors in near spring like comfort, were alerted to the oncoming blizzard and hurried to feed and shelter farm animals. Emergency supplies of fire wood, coal and cobs were brought indoors to keep occupants warm through the storm period.

Around 4:30 p.m. the Black Blizzard arrived with unpredicted speed and violence. Enormous amounts of snow and dust, driven by winds up to hurricane velocity, created an instant blackout. The temperature began dipping to subzero marks. The lowest reading for the Hawkeye State stood at 42 degrees below, observers noted. The storm pounded Hohenzollern most of the night, piling snowdrifts estimated at 15 feet deep, which remained until the spring thaws set in.

The morning of January 13, 1888, brought sunshine and bright blue skies. The wind was calm but the bitter cold held its grip for sometime.

The Black Blizzard claimed the life of an area resident, Mrs. Jurgen Jepsen. Jurgen Jepsen and his family, it is said, were caught in the 1888 blizzard as they were returning home from nearby relatives, whom they had assisted with a butchering job. Jepsen, according to reports, was taking a short cut through a cornfield when the double-tree of his wagon broke and the team of horses ran away. Turning the wagon box over to shield the family from the raging storm, Jepsen set out retrieve his runaway team.

When Jepsen failed to return, it is assumed that Mrs. Jepsen grew apprehensive and went to search for her husband. Unable to find back to the wagon, she apparently collapsed in the sub zero temperature. Searchers recovered Mrs. Jepsen's body the next day, whereas her family survived the dangerous storm.

A former Schleswig carpenter, Teddy Jepsen, was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Jurgen Jepsen and is said to have accompanied his parents on that disastrous January 12, 1888, trip home. Ted's fingers were frozen and his left hand crippled the rest of his life.

Lists of the dead and the injured were reported in sections of the storm-battered Middle West. Hard hit were parts of Kansas, Nebraska and Dakota, where the Black Blizzard reputedly was of longer duration than in western Iowa. In Dakota alone, for example, 148 known deaths were attributed to the weather, pioneer history asserts.

Topping the list of casualties were small children, who froze to death as they were returning home from rural schools. Farmers out in the fields when the blizzard sprang up were frequent victims. Although the Midwest has had numerous destructive blizzards, perhaps none set a deadlier record than the Black Blizzard which headed into the local area 78 years ago.

Contributed by Bob Kuehl