Monthly Archives: September 2022

Chapter 11-The Life And Times of William Roy Caple-The Wild West Show

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Samuel Hugh Caple

Roy and his dad joined the throng headed for the show grounds. Several thousand folks decked out in their best dresses and suits roamed about the many tents set up outside the main arena.

They joined a group in front of a shooting demonstration. The sharpshooter lit a 12-candle candelabra. He set it on a gentleman’s head. Bang, out went a candle flame, bang out went the next and next until all were blown out.

 The crowd clapped and cheered at the end of the demo. “Don’t forget folks, you’ll see much more if you get a ticket for the main event,” said the sharpshooter.

Roy touched his father’s elbow, “What do you say, we head over to the main arena and get our seats?

iHis His father walking in front of him said, “that’s splendid idea.”

They joined the long line that snaked around the main arena. The line moved quickly and soon a, a man took their tickets, “Enjoy the show and stick around afterwards for more side shows.”

“Will do, “said Roy as he gave the ticket taker a brief wave.

The soft sound of mini booms accompanied by the buttery sweet smell of popcorn filled the air. Roy’s dad sniffed. “That smells mighty good. What you say I spring for a couple of bags.”

Roy rubbed his stomach. “Thought lunch stuffed me, but who can resist that smell.”

“Two popcorns,” said his dad to the man working the popping machine.

The man handed them each a bag, “That will be 20 cents.”  

Roy’s father handed him two dimes. Popcorn in hand, they headed for the crowded grandstand. They found their seats in the front row of wooden bleachers.

Roy leaned toward his dad, “whoa aren’t these dandy seats.”

His Dad nodded in agreement as they settled themselves.

Roy grabbed a handful of popcorn and munched as he watched all the stagehands scramble to get things set up. “Hard to believe how much stuff they bring in for one of these shows, isn’t it?”

“Yep, I read in the paper this morning, it took 48 train cars”

“Forty-eight,” repeated Roy, “that’s a lot.”

The two men grew quiet as they munched on their popcorn. Marching music filled the air as a voice over the loudspeaker announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen may I present Buffalo Bill’s Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders.”

The crowd stood and roared. “Ladies and Gentlemen please, be seated,” blared the loudspeaker as Buffalo Bill sitting tall upon his horse entered the arena.

He wore his trademarked fringed leather jacket, work gloves, felt hat and in one handheld his shotgun. The crowd let out a deafening roar as he took off his hat, held it high and circled the arena.

Roy yelled over the roar of the crowd. “I can’t believe it I am looking in person at the most famous in all the world.”

Roy’s dad leaned over closer to Roy’s ear. “When I knew him, he wasn’t famous or gray, guess I wasn’t either,” he laughed.

Buffalo Bill put his hat back on.

The loudspeaker blared, “May I present the Congress of Rough riders.”

The clipped clop of horse hooves filled the air as riders from all corners of the world filled the arena, Russian Cossacks, mounted troops from Germany, Mexicans, Spaniard, Filipinos, Cowboys, and Chief Sitting Bull with the Sioux warriors in full headdress.

Roy’s dad yelled over the crowds cheering, “And I thought I could ride, they put me to shame.”

He had never seen such an extravaganza, he, and his dad along with the rest of the crowd, sat transfixed as one incredible act followed another.

 Buffalo stampeded across the field as a buffalo hunt was reenacted.

His dad leaned over; “I heard about those buffalo hunts but never experienced one myself.”

They both stood to cheer and applauded with the rest of the crowd when the Deadwood stagecoach raced onto the field followed by blood thirsty whoops and holler of Indians in hot pursuit. Other acts featured Indians dressed in the native costumes and feather headdresses preformed some of their native dances. Riders on horseback showed off their riding skills and sharp shooters their shooting skills. Roy sat breathless as cowboys sat astride horses that did their best to buck them off, and other showed of their skills as they lassoed cattle and horses.

Roy nudged his dad, “I certainly never mastered those skills when we lived in Oklahoma, but Milo wasn’t bad at it.”

“I reckon so,” said his dad. “That would’ve been something if he had gone to work for Cody. Don’t suppose he’d ever want too though.”

The reenactment of Custer’s last stand interrupted their conversation. The crowd went wild and Roy found he needed to sit and catch his breath after all the cheering he did. Only to have his heart race again when finale started. An Indian attack on a settler’s cabin.

As the announcer announced the end of the show, Roy put his bowler hat back upon his head. “That was quite the show. What did you think Dad?”

“I’d say Cody found his niche in life, all right. Thanks for bringing me, son. I never believed I could enjoy it so much.”

“They exited the Arena. Roy waved toward the tents set up around the grounds. Let’s take in a few more side shows before we head home.”

They watched some Indians show off some of their dancing. Their bodies rose and dropped up and down with the beat of the drum. The bronco bucking and sharpshooting acts reminded Roy he would never have made a good cowboy.

After viewing the elephants his dad said, “I reckon it’s time we called it a day.”

They walked past a row of performer’s tents toward the exit. A voice said, “If it isn’t Sam Caple. It’s been years since I saw you.”

His father stepped toward the nearest tent. “Why, Bill, I am surprised you recognized me, it’s indeed been years.”

Oh my God, thought Roy, It’s Buffalo Bill himself. Dad wasn’t telling a tale; he really knew him.

He heard Buffalo Bill say. “I’d recognize those blue eyes of yours anywhere. So, are you living here, now?” 

“Sure do,” said his dad, “Well, actually next door in the town of Puyallup.”

 He motioned for Roy to come closer. “This is my son, Roy. “

Cody reached out his hand to shake, “Glad to meet you. Your Pa and I go way back to our scouting and freighting days.”

Roy gulped, what did one say to someone so famous. “Nice, nice to meet you, sir,” he stammered.

A man came to Cody’s side. He whispered something in his ear, Cody nodded and turned back to them, “I’d love to reminisce with you but I have some affairs to attend to.”

 He leaned over and shook his dad’s hand. “Sam, it was nice seeing you after all these years. Take care,” and he turned and disappeared into his tent.

  

Author’s Notes:

Details for the Wild West show came from watching clips of the show on You Tube. My grandfather often mentioned going to see this show with his dad and how surprised he was when after the show Cody recognized his dad calling him by name. The Puyallup newspaper has an interview with his dad shortly after Cody passed away where he tells of their freighting days when he knew him. Another newspaper article in Kansas mentioned Milo’s prowess as a cowboy.

Chapter 10-The Life and Times of William Roy Caple, 1910

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Roy stood on the corner of Meridian and Pioneer and watched cars weave in and around the horse driven wagons going down the street. In 1907 Doc Kushner had brought the first car to Puyallup, and now three years later everyone seemed to be yearning for a car. If he hadn’t spent more time in a logging camps than town, he’d be tempted, too. He turned to the building looming above him. Plastered on the side of its wall was a huge advertisement. “Buffalo Bill Cody Wild West show, coming soon to Tacoma, Washington, September 16, 1910.”

Roy ran his fingers across his thick, black mustache. How many times had he heard his dad brag, “I knew Cody back in the day before he was famous, when we both freighted between the forts in Kansas.” Though it had been long before he was born, Roy had never quite believed the story. He’d probably worked in the same area as Cody all right but he suspected he only knew him from afar.

 Just then, his friend Jimmy Phillips startled him with a tap on the back. “Surprised to see you here, what brings what brings you to town?” 

“Just taking a short break from logging. I got bruised pretty good by some falling branches the other day and decided a few days of rest were in order. I’ll be back at camp soon enough.”

Jimmy waved at poster behind Roy’s back, “what I’d give to go to that Wild West show.” 

“I’d love to go too,” said Roy.

“Well, I definitely can’t afford it right now.” said Jimmy. “Between your logging and berry fields you must have some money saved up. You certainly aren’t one to drink and gamble it away. I bet you could swing it. I’d like to talk longer but I have an appointment to make. Stop by the house if going to be around a few more days. Maybe we can do a little fishing before you go back to camp.”

Roy watched his friend cross the street and pondered. I’m not one to spend money foolishly, but I do have a nice nest egg saved up. Seeing that Wild West show would sure be something. But do I really want to spend the money? I’d have to stay here in Puyallup a couple of extra days, but I bet Dad would get a kick out of going with me. We don’t get a chance to spend time together much anymore. We could just go and partake in the parade and free parts of the show. No if I’m going to do it, I should take in the whole show. Maybe I should make sure Dad is free first.  Oh heck, if I don’t get the tickets now I never will. I’ll take Lida if Dad can’t go. She would love going, too.

 Throwing caution to the wind, he strode into the drug store.

“May I help you,” said the pretty young woman at the counter.

“Yes, I’d like two tickets to Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.”

“Certainly, she said, and will there be anything else. “No, thanks” said Roy, “just the tickets will be fine.”

“All Right, that will be two dollars.”

Roy took out his worn, leather wallet from his back pocket and handed the woman two green backs.

 She handed him the tickets, “Enjoy the show. I wish I could afford to go.”

“I probably shouldn’t splurge either,” he said, “but I want to do something special for my dad, I’m taking him.”

At home that evening, he pulled the two tickets out of his wallet and waved them in front of his dad’s face. “Look what I bought? How would you like to go with me on the 16th?”

His Dad’s eyes widened, “Those set you back a bit. I’d love to go. Why I remember how Cody and I ran freight back in Kansas like it was yesterday. He was quite the performer, even then.”

“Great,” said Roy. “What you say you and I make a whole day of it.”

“Sounds like plan to me,” nodded his father.

The morning of September 16, 1910 dawned bright and sunny, both men dressed in their Sunday best.

Roy’s Mother handed them both their bowler hats at the front door and waved them goodbye. “Have a wonderful time.”

 They caught the electric train into Tacoma and joined the throngs of people all decked in their finest suits and dresses to watch for Cody’s arrival.

Clip- clop, clip-clop down the street appeared two fine white horses drawing a carriage where Buffalo Bill himself sat. The throngs cheered. Behind him trailed Cossacks, Indians, Mexican Spaniards, Filipinos, cowboys, the famous Roosevelt Rough Riders all dressed to the hilt and interspersed with bands.

When the last of them disappeared into the distance. Roy turned to his dad, “what you say we get ourselves an early lunch and then head over to the event grounds in plenty of time for the 2:00 show.”

His dad tipped his head, “Sounds good to me. I wouldn’t mind getting a load off my feet for a bit how about we try a meal across the street in that Jap restaurant. Since you bought the tickets, lunch is on me.”

Roy stepped off the curb. “Deal.”

The two men negotiated their way past the cars, buggies and throngs of people and crossed to the other side of the street.

They found a table inside the restaurant and sat down.

A man came and filled their glasses with water.” What can I get you?”

Roy scanned the menu, “I’ll take the number 3.”

His Dad lifted his eyes from the menu, “make mine the same.”

The waiter bowed his head, “two number 3’s coming right up.” And he walked away.

His father leaned into the table. “He speaks pretty good English, don’t you think?”

 “Yes,” said Roy, “I imagine he was born here and not Japan.”

“Getting to be a lot of them farming in the valley,” said his dad. “Wasn’t that parade something else. Never saw so many interesting folks or animals in my life.”

“Sure was,” said Roy. “Cody is quite a show man. His fancy carriage even had a footman.”

“Yep,” said his dad, “It sure wasn’t that way back when I first knew him, he drove an ordinary freighting wagon.”

Roy was glad the arrival of food interrupted his dad’s story. He’d heard enough of his freighting stories with Cody to last a lifetime.

The two men dug into their food. Roy thought the rice tasted particularly good. He wasn’t something he partook in often. Meat, plenty of potatoes and bread were the mainstays of logging camp food.

When they finished, their waiter returned with the check. His Dad took out his wallet and paid the sum then he pushed back his chair, “I reckon we should mosey over to show grounds. Don’t want to miss anything.”

 

 Author’s notes:

My grandfather often talked about how his father had worked with Cody freighting in Kansas and their visit to the Wild West show when it had come to Tacoma. He said he was so surprised when Cody recognized his Dad. There is a Puyallup newspaper article written after Cody died where Sam is interviewed and said the same thing. An archivist at the Cody museum in Wyoming told me that for my grandfather getting to meet Cody would be much like meeting the most famous person of today.

The Life and Times of William Roy Caple-A new life in in Puyallup, 1901

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For a time, Roy’s family stayed in a boarding house. His father started his own delivery business. By September, they settled on a small ten-acre farm near Meeker Junction. Unlike the one room sod house they’d had in Oklahoma, this house had a covered porch, a proper parlor with a bay window, a dining room, kitchen, and four bedrooms on the upper floor. Roy shared a room with Joe while Lida and Richard had their own.

At 16, Roy felt he should find work instead of going to school. To his surprise, both his father and mother urged him to go continue his studies and graduate from the eighth grade.

“You love learning,” said his mother, “And for once we can afford to let you devote your time to studies.”

In the fall of 1901, Roy found himself back at Spinning school, where he’d gone as a first grader. After classes, he helped his dad with deliveries which made him feel better about not working full time.

In the summer, berry and hop picking gave him the money for his personal needs. His dad let him use an acre of his farmland to experiment with growing berries on his own.

In June, 2 years later, Roy sat on the stage of the school as the valedictorian of his graduating class.  His parents had bought him a new suit for the occasion. Nervous, he twisted his program as his classmate, Robert Dargan, finished his recitation of “My first Recital.” He felt clammy as the girls sang the song “Hey-ho Merry Jane.”

“And now,” said the Superintendent of the schools J. M. Layhue, “our valedictorian, Roy Caple, will give his speech titled, “Out of the Camp and into the Field.”

Roy rose and walked to the podium. He gazed into the crowd and spotted his family in the front row.

He took a deep breath and began. “And so gathered here today…”

He remembered little of the rest of the speech, just being relieved when he finished and the audience applauded. He wasn’t much for the limelight, although being valedictorian had been an honor.

His teachers at Spinning urged him to go on to high school. But at eighteen, he felt it was time to join the workforce. He couldn’t depend on his parents forever. His Dad was getting old, he’d be sixty soon.

“I understand how you feel,” said his teacher, “but you have such a keen mind. Perhaps you can continue your studies with correspondence courses.”

“Now that’s worth looking into,” said Roy.

His dream to become of becoming an electrical engineer seemed impossible. Even if he took correspondence courses, he’d never find the time to complete both high school and college. He’d have to do the best he could to learn it on his own.

That summer, he kept busy picking berries and then hops. He enjoyed working with berries and expanded his own field. But it was seasonal and weather dependent. Did he really want to take the chance on such a business even if he found the money to buy the needed acreage?

He could continue to work for his dad and one day take over the transport business. Except he found it hard to work for his dad.

In September, he stood outside the neighborhood store as train on the other side of the road roared past loaded with logs when a neighborhood friend emerged from the store.

“Hey Ernie,” Roy called. “I haven’t seen you around in a while. What are you up to?”

“I started working as a logger,” said Ernie. “Just back here to visit the folks for a few days. What about you?”

“Looking for work, now that picking season is over.” His friend swept his hand up to the hills surrounding the valley. “There’s plenty of money to be made in up there. You’ve got the muscle and brawn a logger needs. I’m sure the place I work for could use you. Plus, it’s close enough to come home every weekend for your mother’s home cooking.”

“Guess I could try it,” said Roy.

Ernie folded his arms in front of himself. “First you got to get yourself some better work clothes.”

Roy looked at his overalls, shirt, and sturdy shoes. “What’s wrong with these?”

“You need some tin pants.” Ernie guffawed, “course they aren’t made of tin but a thick waterproof canvas.”

He pointed at Roy’s feet. “And a pair of good cork boots and pants that only come to their top. Otherwise, they hang up on the brush and cause injuries. Also, you’ll need thicker shirts to prevent bug bites and scratches and warm socks. It doesn’t pay to skimp on logging clothes unless you enjoy spending all your spare time mending.”

Roy heeded Ernie’s advice and invested some of his hard-earned berry picking money on good logging clothes. And on the first Monday in October he followed Ernie to a logging camp near Alderton to inquire about work.

When they arrived, Ernie pointed to an office in a railroad car. “I’ll introduce you.”

They stepped inside the office.

A man rose from a desk covered in paperwork. “Do you need something?”

Ernie turned to Roy. “This is my friend, Roy Caple. He’s looking for work. I can attest that he is a real hard worker. You won’t go wrong hiring him.”

The man looked Roy over. “Well, you’re dressed like a logger. And those broad shoulders look like they could handle the work. We always need more buckers. Do you know what they do?” 

 “I believe they’re the ones who cut the limbs off the felled trees.” 

“You’re hired,” said the man.

He thrust out his hand to shake. “I’m Mr. Smith, by the way.”

He assigned Roy to Ernie’s bunk house.

“I hope you aren’t expecting much,” said Ernie as they approached the bunkhouses.

Author’s notes:

Info on the house came from the 1910 census, and my aunts written memories of the house. I also have a photograph. The info of the graduation ceremony came from the program in my possession.

The store Roy stood in front of still stands some 100 years later on the corner of Pioneer and SE. 16th street. Just this past week I drove past it as a train on the other side of the road roared past my car.

The house pictured above burnt down in the late 1930’s when his parents no longer lived there.

Chapter 7-The Life And Times of William Roy Caple-Leaving Spokane

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     Cheney didn’t prove to be their home long. Within a couple of months, his father felt they’d be better off in nearby Spokane. A brief time later, he announced there were better opportunities on the west side of the mountains. All of his life, Roy’s dad thought the grass was greener somewhere else, and so once again they headed in search of a better place to live.

     Ever since they’d left Cheney, his parents had been bickering over where they should settle. Before they left Spokane, Roy 16, and his brother Joe 18, considered staying put on their own.

     Discussing it one day, Joe had said, “I’m just not sure this is where I want to live.”

     “And it would devastate mother, if we stayed behind,” added Roy. “Besides, I’d like a chance to finish grammar school and maybe go to high school even if I am getting old. I’ll never finish if I set off on my own.”

     Joe rubbed his stomach. “I don’t care about schooling, but I’d miss Mother’s cooking. I don’t spect the two of us could make much of anything edible.”

     Roy nodded, “And I’d like to live close enough to watch little sis grow up and help Mother and Dad if needed. They’re not getting any younger, you know. If we stay here we’ll be too far to help much.”

     “You’re right, besides, when we lived in Washington before I liked the green western side of the mountains better. The climate here reminds me too much of Oklahoma.”

     And so, they dropped any thought of staying behind.

     On an early fall day in 1901 the family wagon rolled down a long dusty road called Pioneer Way. They entered the town of Puyallup, Washington where 10 years previously they had lived.

 “Whoa,” said his father as he pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the businesses on main street. “You folks sit tight while I go inside and check out prospects for work.”

     He jumped out, tied the horses to a hitching post, and headed into a nearby building.

     Under her breath, Roy heard his mother mumble, “And soon you’ll be back saying you’ve heard of a better place.”

     Roy gazed at all the businesses lining both sides of the street. “Looks like this place has grown a bit since we last lived here.”

     “Looks a heap more prosperous, too,” said Joe.

     His mother fiddled with her bonnet, “I always thought we should have stayed here. From the looks of all the activity, they’ve recovered just fine from the depression that drove your dad to leave. I’m sure we’d have managed here just as well as we did in Oklahoma.”

    “So why don’t we stay,” said Roy. “I don’t remember a lot about this place except being happy to go to the fine new school they’d just built. If Father wants to move on, let him. I’ll stay here with you.”

     “You could count me in, too,” said Joe. “Between the three of us, I’m sure we could make a living.”

     Roy made a smacking sound with his lips. “Mother, with your good cooking, you could run a boarding house. I’m sure Joe and I could find some kind of work.”  

     “Humph,” grunted his mother, “I’d hate to leave your father. You boys might be old enough to go without him, but Richard and Lida are still so young. I need some time to think on this a bit. You two stay in the wagon and keep an eye Richard and Lida while they nap.”

     She hitched up her skirts, climbed from the wagon, and commenced marching up and down the street.

     A few minutes later, his father appeared from the store he’d gone into. Spotting their mother down the street, he called, “Maggie, just heard of a town a few miles down the road that sounds like it has better prospects. Let’s get back to the wagon. I want to check it out before nightfall.”

     His mother walked back to where his father stood.

     Joe groaned, “Here we go, moving on again.” 

     But to Roy’s astonishment, his mother planted her feet wide, held her chin high and said, “Samuel Hugh Caple, this place is good as any. Go on, if you must, but the children and I are staying put.”

    She bustled over to the wagon. “Boys, you can unload our things here. I’m sure the hotel across the street has room to put us up for the night.”[i]

     His father stood, his mouth agape in shock. Then he rushed to her side. “You don’t seriously mean you’d stay here without me, do you?”

      His mother’s eyes locked on his. “Indeed I do. So, which is it, Sam? Either you stay or the children and I go it alone.”

     His father stood stunned and silent. He took his hat off and swept his hands through his hair.

      “I think I need me a few minutes to deliberate,” he stuttered before he strode off.

     Roy, too dumbfounded to say anything, watched as his father marched to the far end of main street and stood rubbing his forehead. After a bit, he tramped back to where his mother still stood on the sidewalk.

     Holding his fists tight, he said, “Maggie, you win. I could never leave you and the children. If you say this is the place we should live, then Puyallup we stay.”

     His mother reached up and gave his Father a kiss on the cheek. “Oh Sam, I knew you’d make the right decision.”

     His Dad glanced up at the wagon where Roy sat dumbfounded. “What do you say? Looks like Puyallup has become our new home.”

Author’s notes:

[i] My grandfather often told the story of how they were sitting in the wagon in front of what is now Pioneer Park and his father coming out if a business and saying he’d just been told of a better town nearby. He said his mother put her foot down and refused to go, if he wanted to go he’d do it alone.

The family had lived in Puyallup in 1891. Samuel is listed in the towns directory has an express man at Marker Junction which was near the town depot in those days. My grandfather said he attended 1st grade and the then new Spinning school.