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Showing posts with label Jackson County Missouri History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jackson County Missouri History. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 26, 2020

Waldo's Santa Fe Hills: An Exclusive Indian Village with Layers of History



Treasures lie in the midst of housing developments, hidden within modern structures and under paved roads. As Kansas City grew, subdivisions to the south were platted by professional real estate developers and amateur speculators looking for a quick profit.

1877 plat map for the area shows the location
of the Boone farm; current-day roads have
been marked for reference. Click image for
full view.
But before there were subdivisions, hundreds of acres were held by various pioneer families. Sometimes those pioneers are remembered in the chosen name of a subdivision. Just south of 89th St. where I bought my first house and live today, Boone Hills was platted on land once owned by the descendants of the national folk hero, Daniel Boone.

There were Boones everywhere. 

The first Boone to settle on this side of the state was Daniel Morgan Boone (1769-1839), the son of the famous frontiersman. He, along with twelve children, came to the area around 1825 when he was given a job as a farm instructor for the Kaw Indians. 

In 1831, he patented acreage and built a log house at 63rd and Holmes. Known as "Morg" to friends, he sold part of his land to his nephew, Boone Hays shortly before his death.

On that land was what locals called the "Boone-Hays Graveyard," and when Morg died of cholera in 1839, he was buried there in an unmarked grave. In 1850, his wife was put to rest next to him.

With a family of this size... why? No one thought to mark the spot with a proper headstone??

The little two acre cemetery was used by people of the area to bury their loved ones for generations. Over the years, stones disappeared and next to nothing was left. In 1934, the Daughters of the American Revolution counted nine headstones, but it was known that dozens of others were buried there.

All stones were gone shortly after.

With the help of the Native Sons of Kansas City, fifteen acres of this farmland between Prospect and The Paseo (including the old cemetery) was donated to the city. In 2005, the Boone-Hays Cemetery was marked along with Morg and his wife's graves at 63rd and Euclid. 

Morg's son, Daniel Morgan Boone, Jr. settled a bit further south of this spot.

Today, nestled in the middle of winding roads in Santa Fe Hills, stands the remnants of a pioneer homestead that has layers of history.

Simply stating the Boone family had an impact on Missouri is an understatement, and the image of Daniel Boone (1734-1829) as a folk hero with a coonskin cap is etched in our memory. This national legend was the grandfather of Daniel Morgan Boone (1809-1880) who came to Jackson County with his family in 1826 and settled later on land he purchased just south of current-day Waldo off the Santa Fe Trail (now Wornall Rd.). 

Napoleon, James, and Edward Boone followed by patenting their own acreage south of 83rd St. Because of the influx of Boone family members, pioneers called the area “Boonetown.”
Daniel Morgan Boone's surviving boys, taken after 1880
Standing: James (b. 1862), John (b. 1856) and Daniel IV (b. 1846);
Sitting: Theodore (b. 1844), Napoleon (b. 1842), and Nathan (b. 1852)

Sometimes, it feels like everyone in Missouri is related to Daniel Boone- and I mean that.

Daniel Morgan Boone and his wife, Mary Constance Philibert (1814-1904) had twelve children between 1833 and 1862. They raised all their children while living on their Jackson County farm.

Around 1838, Daniel built a three-section clapboard house that developed into a two-story frame dwelling south of current-day 85th St. just east of the Santa Fe Trail. Over time, additions were added to the home as they further expanded. On the northeast corner of the property, the Boones used the creek passing through their land and added a pond.

The little Boone children recalled that during the Battle of Westport in October 1864, General Sterling Price’s Confederate troops fled south and were followed by Union soldiers. While hiding, they heard shots being fired near their home as the Confederate troops retreated to the town of New Santa Fe at current-day 122nd and State Line.

Daniel Morgan Boone's surviving daughters & wife,
taken after 1880. 
L-R: Sarah (b. 1854),  Mary Frances (b. 1838),
Mary Constance Philibert-Boone (wife; b. 1812), 
& Cassandra (b. 1849).
A one-room country school at the corner near current day Sweeney Blvd. and Maiden Lane was built in 1868 on land purchased from the Boones and became known as Boone School. In 1929, a four-room brick school at 89th and Wornall replaced earlier structures and was named Boone Elementary. It stands today.

After Daniel Morgan Boone’s death in 1880, his youngest son, Nathan (1852-1926) maintained the old homestead and continued farming the land. As he advanced in age, he opted to sell off much of his land.  Nathan Boone didn’t marry until 1901 and had no children of his own. He stayed nearby at 85th and McGee where he lived out the rest of his life. The original Boone homestead passed along to one of Kansas City’s most prominent citizens who was looking for a quiet country life just outside the city. 

Cue the rich newspaper man of notoriety!

William Rockhill Nelson (1841-1915)
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections,
KCPL.
William Rockhill Nelson (1841-1915) is best known in Kansas City as a real estate developer and owner of the Kansas City Star. His primary residence, Oak Hall, was donated after his death and was torn down to make way for the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art.

Nelson always held an interest in livestock, and it was his hope to raise cattle on a large farm. In the 1880s, Nelson purchased the old Boone farm and hundreds of acres surrounding it and quickly made upgrades to the simple home. 

Adjoining the original house, he built a large two-story lodge with a wide front porch overlooking Indian Creek. He often would take his friends from the city out to his lodge and entertain them.

Although his new residence and acreage was convenient to his primary residence at Oak Hall, he found he didn’t have enough acreage for his cattle. In 1901, he sold the property to the LaForce family.

In 1912, Nelson purchased his perfect farm (over 1,700 acres) just south of Grain Valley, Mo. and called it “Sni-a-Bar Farms” after the creek that ran nearby. There, he was able to raise shorthorn cattle and experiment with new breeding techniques until his death in 1915. In his will, he allowed for the breeding operations to continue for thirty years after his death.

The Boone-Nelson home was to be converted into the clubhouse in 1923. The largest addition to the left was built by Nelson
sometime in the 1880s; the original Boone home can be seen as three different additions added at different times.
The only original Boone structure that survives today is the middle two-story structure; the two to the right
have since been removed. Image courtesy Kansas City Public Library.
On a side note, the City of Grain Valley has now purchased part of old Sni-a-Bar Farms with the hopes of saving the old farmhouse and using the land for a municipal office complex.

The LaForce family kept the land south of 85th purchased from Nelson until 1919 when it was sold to a self-made millionaire with a mission. Emory J. Sweeney picked up 180 acres for $205,000.

This story wouldn’t be the same without the influence of this incredible man.

Emory J. Sweeney
Image courtesy of Kansas City Public Library
Born in 1883, Emory J. Sweeney came to Kansas City from Chicago at the age of seven with his parents. His father worked in the stockyards, and E.J. Sweeney followed at first in his father’s footsteps. Living in Kansas City, he attended Catholic grade school and fell in love with one of the neighborhood girls, Mary Smith. After one year of high school, he started buying and selling cattle.

Before he asked for his childhood sweetheart’s hand in marriage, Emory purchased a small four-room frame house in Kansas City, Ks. and worked on weekends to fix it up as best he could. Every week, he saved as much money as he could and purchased a piece of furniture that was stored in his soon-to-be father-in-law’s attic. In 1905, he married his sweetheart, Mary and started a family while continuing to trade in the cattle business. Unfortunately, he lost everything and had to start over.

Looking for a new business venture, Sweeney headed to the library with the hopes of checking out a few books about the chicken industry. The chicken industry, he figured, wasn’t as risky as cattle. While in the library, a book about automobiles caught his attention. He thumbed through the pages that detailed the mechanics of vehicles. He later told the Kansas City Star, “I took this book home instead of the chicken book, and read it and decided to be an automobile man.”

He picked up a job as a mechanic and earned $25 a week fixing automobiles. Before long, Sweeney was an expert mechanic and began training others. The growing automobile industry needed well-trained mechanics, and E.J. Sweeney came up with an idea: he could hands-on train men on how to fix vehicles.

Sweeney Auto and Tractor School was built in 1917 and was the site of the
school until 1930.  It is located across from 
Union Station at 215 W. Pershing
and is on the National 
Register of Historic Places today.
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections, KCPL
In 1908, he founded Sweeney Auto and Tractor School, one of the first vocational schools in the nation. He advertised far and wide and became nationally known. In a short time, he had thousands of students coming to Kansas City to be trained. During WWI, the government put 5,400 men into his school for instruction and was able to use this financial windfall to expand his operations.

In 1917, Sweeney built a ten-story building across from Union Station for the school. The building included rooms for students to live in and even had a pool and a movie theater. The building still stands today.

As his professional career was making him a millionaire, his personal life took an unfortunate turn when his wife, Mary- the mother of his nine children- unexpectedly passed away. After her death, he married a 20-year-old woman named Virginia Cassuth in 1918 and had one more child.

The 1918 flu pandemic gravely impacted Sweeney School (to read more about the 1918 flu in Kansas City, click here!). When the second wave hit in January 1919, 2,700 students were enrolled. Within three days, 1,100 of them were sick. Sweeney felt personally responsible for these men, so he borrowed money so he could pay their hospital bills. He told the Kansas City Star, “I took care of the sick boys, though I was paid only to teach them. Influenza became the country’s problem, but I made the boys my own problem.”

The mansion at 5921 Ward Parkway built by Emory Sweeney for his new wife and children. 
His school was so popular that he decided to add an aviation school in 1919. In that same year, Sweeney built a sprawling 33-room mansion at 5921 Ward Parkway. The nine-bedroom home was built to be kid-friendly.

Sweeney and his new wife, Virginia along with several servants and his first wife’s mother moved into the massive property. He had bought an additional lot next door to the property on Ward Parkway for $50,000, enlarging the property to five acres; he had plans to build a personal art museum on the land. He did begin collecting art, and Sweeney served on the Kansas City Art Institute’s Board of Directors.

The nine Sweeney children born to Emory and his first wife, Mary. From L-R: Anthony (b.1905), Madeline (b. 1907),
Rose (b. 1908), Catherine (b. 1909), Mary (b. 1910), Josephine (b. 1914), Theodotta (b. 1914), Emory, Jr. (b. 1916)
and Louis (b. 1917). Photo taken about 1919. His tenth child, John, was born in 1921. Courtesy of the Sweeney family.
The incredible property featured a large fountain designed in 1922 by Jorgen E. Dreyer that was meant to not only be beautiful but act also as a swimming pool for his children.

This fountain and water feature sure was fancier than your average backyard pool.
The fountain on the Sweeney property on Ward Parkway
served also as a pool for his children.
Photo courtesy of the Sweeney family.

I could adapt to this lifestyle.

This “red-cheeked, jovial Irishman” told the Kansas City Star, "I've been lucky in my two wives and ten children.  It was pure good luck that I got two such wonderful wives.  The first one helped me make my fortune, inspired me, advised me.  After she died, the second wife stepped in and raised the nine children of my first wife and gave me a tenth child, and made me a home that is a heaven on earth.”

Life had been good for self-starting Mr. Sweeney. 

In 1922, WHB Radio was founded inside Sweeney’s school with financial help from Sweeney himself. As Sweeney’s financial success seemed inevitable, he continued to invest in projects that interested him. It is said that he ran speakers into public parks so that the nightly radio show could be played as people took their nightly strolls.

With everything working out so perfectly for Emory, it’s really no surprise that he decided to take more risks. 

A portrait of Virginia Sweeney was commissioned by
her husband and featured in the newspaper in 1920.
In 1919, he purchased 180 acres outside the city limits that held the original Boone farmhouse and an impressive addition by William Rockhill Nelson. The land bordered 85th St. on the north, 89th St. on the south, Wornall Rd. on the west, and Holmes on the east. The Dodson streetcar line reached the edge of the property.

His plan was to use the land for his aviation school- and those plans were vast. A $1.5 million dollar idea to build a self-sufficient school for his boys was the original hope.

The Kansas City Star reported that the new Sweeney School would “embrace mechanical and agricultural courses ranging from aviation to poultry raising.” 

Apparently he went back to the library and got that chicken book.

This new school was supposed to house 2,500 students. 65 acres of the land would be set aside for an aviation field. He hired architects to design two-story structures covered with stucco and topped with tiled roofs to work as dormitories and classrooms.

The old Boone home that was enlarged by Nelson was to become a clubhouse and a library for students. His plan was to move the entire school operation out south by 1920 and repurpose his building across from Union Station into a 550 room hotel called “The Sweeney Hotel” – set to be the largest hotel in the entire city.

Why this didn’t happen is still a mystery. He chose to open his aviation school in Kansas City, Ks. You may know of the old site, as it later became Fairfax Airport.

Sweeney thought of another idea for use of his land at 85th and Wornall.

The cover of the 32-page booklet
Sweeney printed as promotional material
for his subdivision. The sketches following
all come from this booklet.
Courtesy Kansas City Public Library
He wanted to build “a small city” in the middle of the country- a new community built “for the man of moderate means- the man who wisely lives within his earning power- and to give to such economists an opportunity to have a real home.”


For whatever the reason, Sweeney saw opportunity when he looked harder at the investment he had made. In the center of this was a sturdy farmhouse, built originally by Boone and expanded by Nelson. For the first few years, Sweeney used the property as a place to take his second wife, Virginia and his ten children. Apparently, his mansion at 59th and Ward Parkway wasn’t “removed” enough from the bustle of Kansas City.

The 180 acres of land acquired could have stayed a farm, but Sweeney had envisioned something greater for the property. Although father to the north and to the east, subdivisions were surfacing on the outskirts of the city. And, a plus for homebuyers was that subdivisions south also didn’t have city taxes attached to the purchase.


With a beautiful home in the center of his land, Emory J. Sweeney had an idea as to how to profit.  

Sweeney was about to enter the residential real estate business.

In 1923, E.J. Sweeney announced his impressive plans for a new subdivision he coined “Indian Village.” He chose the name “because this district will be populated by real Americans.” Just to the east of Sweeney’s new subdivision was Ivanhoe Country Club which had been organized in 1921. The private par-three course bordered the eastern side of Sweeney’s land and had a steady stream of golfers coming in from the city.

* Click on image for full view *
The overview of Indian Village Country Club subdivision, platted in 1923. The Boone pond in the NE corner was repurposed
as an "open air theater;" the Boone-Nelson home became the clubhouse; the old barn was transformed into a "Town Hall;"
the entrance in the NW corner at 85th and Wornall featured the Dutch Windmill. Courtesy Kansas City Public Library.
Hoping to “make a beautiful home a possibility for the average wage earner,” Sweeney enlisted renowned landscape architects Hare & Hare (who had designed part of The Paseo and the grounds of his home on Ward Parkway) to design the winding streets. 550 homes were carefully planned on streets paying homage to Native American history and folklore. 

The Dutch Mill on the property was one of the first
things seen when entering at the main entrance
at 85th and Wornall. It served as the real estate office.
Pocahontas, Minnehaha, and Hiawatha are just some of the names chosen for Indian Village. Other streets such as Daniel Boone Rd. and Sweeney Blvd. were named for the original owner of the land and its developer. Virginia Lane was named after Sweeney’s second wife. Street signs were displayed on painted ceramic totem poles imported from Mexico.

I can’t make this stuff up!

This wasn’t your typical subdivision; it was built to be a thriving, self-sufficient community in the country. At the main entrance for “motor cars” at 85th and Wornall, Sweeney built a large Dutch mill that housed the real estate office after you entered the main gates. The choice of a Dutch mill may seem strange, but Sweeney insisted it made sense because the Dutch first established trading posts with Native Americans.

He even commissioned 68 street lamps to be on top of terra cotta totem poles that towered 18 feet high. At the entrance, a one-hundred foot “chime tower” with tubular chimes was placed to sound every fifteen minutes to alert residents of Indian Village of the time.

1940 tax photo shows the property after it was converted back
as a single-family home. Image courtesy State Historical
Society of Missouri.
The old farmhouse built by Boone and enlarged by Nelson was to be the subdivision’s exclusive clubhouse. A peace pipe was hung above the mantel and hickory furniture was accompanied by Navajo rugs on the wood floors. A restaurant and even a daycare would be offered in the clubhouse for residents of Indian Village. The dining room- a part of the original Boone home- could be rented out to residents who wanted to host large parties.

Athletic amenities, including a football field, baseball diamond and running track would be available to Indian Village residents directly behind Boone School. Just to the east of the clubhouse, Sweeney built a fire station and a playground. The grounds already included an old barn, so Sweeney repurposed it to be the Town Hall. 

Sweeney ran hundreds of ads in the newspaper with hopes
of enticing potential buyers with live music performed by
musicians featured on WHB. This ad appeared in 1923 in
the Kansas City Star.
Near the Dodson streetcar line on the northeast corner of the property and close to what was then called Ivanhoe Country Club was a lake dug and filled by the Boone family. It was to be concreted and used as a swimming pool along with an “open air theatre.” Electric lights for “color effects” would be installed on the stage so that plays and WHB concerts were possible.

Advertisements printed in the paper urged homebuyers, “Be a good Indian and give your children a chance.” It was clear that Sweeney had envisioned a paradise inside Indian Village.

The first house for sale was built across the street from the country club (the old Boone-Nelson home) at 8734 Virginia Lane and was called “the Love Nest.” It was Spanish mission in style, a design quite new to the area and still, to this day, a bit out of place in the neighborhood. It was said that at the time, the “exterior stucco” was “in the cream, blue and orange coloring of the hacienda.”  In front of the Love Nest and for a span of several homes, an ornate stone wall was built to give additional character to the budding neighborhood. Today, the remnants of this wall can be seen while traveling the winding streets of Virginia Lane.  

The "Love Nest" at 8734 Virginia Lane was the first home built in the subdivision. Courtesy Kansas City Public Library.
A “demonstration house” furnished by the Jones Store was on the market for $6,000. Sweeney’s marketing was top-notch for his new neighborhood; he even had advertisements following the fictitious “Jack and Mary Jackson” as they went on their journey to find the perfect home. The actors chosen were Jones Store employees who worked with the developer to record short films as they pretended to find their dream home and establish themselves in Indian Village.

The "demonstration home" that staged the factitious Jackson
family featured in advertisements. The home sits at 8525
Hiawatha Road and has been added onto many times since it
was built in 1923.
The recorded films were advertised in the newspaper and everyone was invited nightly to the clubhouse at 7:30 to view “Jack and Mary” on their journey to the perfect Americana lifestyle. The film was shown as the Sweeney Radio Orchestra from WHB played live music as a soundtrack.

Lots were sold from $1800 to $4000, and Sweeney sweetened the pot by offering zero-interest loans for ten years to homebuyers.

His advertisements were so frequent that E.J. Sweeney even published a “census of Indian Village” in 1923 that proclaimed there were 374 married couples, two “eligible bachelors,” seven women (also “eligible”), and four widows.

The extensiveness of advertising was a big seller in Indian Village. E.J. Sweeney offered a free 32-page booklet to be sent to potential homeowners to sell Kansas Citians on the beauty of Indian Village. In truth, Sweeney went with what he knew; he had built his school with creative advertising throughout the nation. His gamble on Indian Village was gauged on his vision- he had to ensure it worked.
The "Open Air Theatre" was in the northeast corner of the property and also
served as a swimming pool for the subdivision. This was the original site of
the Boone pond. Courtesy Kansas City Public Library.

Sweeney proposed cutting off his winding roads in Indian Village from traffic to further entice the middle-class families to settle into his little subdivision. Anyone entering Indian Village to visit would be given a pass.

By the end of the 1920s, Sweeney had sold an impressive amount of the lots; however, not many people had built houses on the land. . .

And a financial mess what on its way.

Troubles began for Sweeney in 1928 when he was upside down in his various business interests. He opted to sell his 33-room home on Ward Parkway to lumberman Harry Dierks, and Sweeney “downgraded” to the Dierks 15-room home at 3727 Forest.

In March 1929 on the eve of the Depression, foreclosure proceedings on the south 99 acres of Indian Village had started due to default interest payments. Sweeney said the land was worth one million- but he owed $165,000.

Virginia Cassuck Sweeney,
namesake of Virginia Lane.
“Big, aggressive, red-haired and robust,” E.J. Sweeney wasn’t about to go down without a fight. The government took away his radio license and were threatening to condemn his ten-story school building across from Union Station- a building he owned outright. Even though he had to liquidate his assets, Sweeney told the Kansas City Star, “I want you to tell the people who bought home sites from me in Indian Village that they won’t lose a dollar.”

Emory J. Sweeney was a self-made man whose willingness to take a risk worked – some of the time. Sweeney Automotive and Tractor School had brought thousands of young men from across the nation to the city, and the lack of the city’s help to continue its success was a thorn in Sweeney’s side.

Sweeney told Mayor Cowgill that there were two types of people who lived in Kansas City- those who lived off the city and those that made the city.

The city had been after Sweeney for his property across from Union Station because it had hindered their plans to build a municipal center between the station and the newly-built Liberty Memorial.

Due to so much financial loss, Sweeney was forced to sell Indian Village to an investment company financed by W.T. Kemper. By 1932, Sweeney was bankrupt and had personal assets of $775. He moved to Wichita to operate a branch of his automotive school and retired in 1951.

A 1938 advertisement in the Kansas City Star notes the
name change to Santa Fe Hills.
The new development company had to simplify Sweeney’s lofty plans for Indian Village. In 1935, the development announced that the “club format” of Indian Village had ended -including private roads. There would be no private entries, exits or buildings within the subdivision.

By 1938, the original vision of Sweeney’s faded further when the totem poles, the windmill, and the stone pillars were removed. The original lake, playground, and athletic fields were eliminated and made into lots to be sold. The new developers scrapped the name “Indian Village” and renamed the community “Santa Fe Hills” as homage to the old Santa Fe Trail that crossed nearby. Ivanhoe Country Club followed suit in 1945 and renamed their 56-acre golf course “Santa Fe Country Club.” The Kansas City Star reported, “The original developer is given credit for an attractive street layout. Trees have matured in the passing years to add their share of natural beauty.”

Even though the subdivision lost its original name, the street names within the community stayed intact.

The old clubhouse, the site of the Boone farmhouse and Nelson’s summer retreat, was rezoned to be sold as a private family home.

The south side of the Boone-Nelson home at 26 Porte Cimi Pas today; the front side has a large fence around it.
The only Boone structure that remains is the far right side of the home. 
In the early 1940s, homes, “some cooled by refrigeration,” were advertised and enticed families to “live out in the country.” The housing boom after World War II helped fill most of the subdivision’s lots and ranch-style bungalows were built. Even though the “club” lifestyle was rejected, the character of Sweeney's dream remained.

This unique subdivision’s history explains why there are so many different styles of homes with very few looking identical to their neighbor. Some were built in the 1920s, and many weren’t constructed until the 1950s.

The subdivision wasn’t annexed to Kansas City until 1958.

Emory J. Sweeney lost almost everything in 1930- including his second wife, Virginia. He remarried for a final time and moved to Wichita to continue his school there. In a final twist of fate, he left Wichita and opted to spend his final years as a resident of his old subdivision. He purchased the two-bedroom Spanish-style home he had coined “the Love Nest” years earlier at 8734 Virginia Lane – the very first house built in his master plan of suburbia living.

Top: the 1940 tax photo shows the old barn that was made into the
Town Hall when Indian Village was developed. Bottom: the same
structure was later repurposed as a residence at 8702 Rainbow Ln.
That means his third wife lived on Virginia Lane- a street named after his second wife - and he was apparently proud of his creation enough to return to it years later.

I had the pleasure of talking to his grandson, Emory “Jack” Sweeney III on the phone, and he recalled some of those prized memories that one cannot find in newspaper clippings, booklets and official records kept in courthouses. Jack would ride his bicycle from his home at 75th and Walnut in order to visit his grandfather.

. . . Back in the days where the only bounds you had were how fast you could peddle a bicycle or move your feet.

That “Spanish-style house” that was one of the bright, beautiful showcases of the subdivision was his home after he was forced to surrender his interest in Indian Village- yet he moved back to the neighborhood. Even his grandson is surprised he chose to go back to the place that cost him so much.

Emory Sweeney's final quiet years were spent surrounded by his large Irish Catholic family. 

In 1953 at the age of 69, Emory passed away of complications from heart disease at his home in Santa Fe Hills. His occupation at his time of death was not listed as an “auto mechanic”. . . He is listed as being a retired real estate broker.

The town listed on his death certificate is Santa Fe Hills.

The Sweeney family owned the “Love Nest” in the subdivision until 1962. 

The Daniel Boone-William Rockhill Nelson home-turned-clubhouse at 26 Porte Cimi Pas was used as a group home and was later sold. Today, part of the original Boone house has been removed from the structure and is a private residence.

The lake at Santa Fe Hills Country Club. In the distance to
the west, Santa Fe Hills subdivision can be seen.
Photo taken in 1964 by Bob Bliss.
The Town Hall Sweeney had converted from an old barn was repurposed as a single-family home and stands today at 8702 Rainbow Lane. Santa Fe Hills Country Club to the east of the subdivision was sold in 1967 and the land was used to build apartments that stand today. The pond that was part of the old golf course is still found behind the apartments.

Although Sweeney’s vision for an affordable, exclusive subdivision didn’t come to fruition, portions of his original plan can still be seen throughout the winding streets of Santa Fe Hills. Pre-Civil War history along the old Santa Fe Trail is a part of the charm of this established neighborhood that was settled by the Boone family, improved by Nelson, and was repurposed by entrepreneur E.J. Sweeney.

Traveling through Indian Village- or Santa Fe Hills- is a trip through thousands of architectural plans. There is no such thing as cookie-cutter homes in the subdivision- and this has to do with the strange yet interesting history that encapsulates its very existence.

If this ground could talk, it would have stories that include many layers of Kansas City history.

I would like to dedicate this story to the Sweeney family and my friends, Kent Dicus and Sam Davidson who called Santa Fe Hills their childhood homes.

This story was originally published in the Martin City Telegraph in two parts and was expanded for this blog. 

* * * * * 

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Friday, April 24, 2020

Learning from the Past: The 1918 Flu Pandemic in Kansas City

Soldiers being treated for influenza at Camp Funston at Fort Riley, Ks. Image courtesy of the National Archive
It was given an incorrect name that stuck. It seemed to come from nowhere, and doctors at the time had little treatment for it. It was unclear how it even was transmitted, as the theory about germs was in its infancy. Public officials tried to balance the line between protecting the population without scaring them and reporting the straight-up facts.
Camp Syracuse in New York, taken October 1918.
Courtesy U.S. Army
Many historians call the influenza outbreak in 1918 the “forgotten pandemic.” Even though everyone in the United States was affected in some way, the public over time forgot about it- but scientists didn’t.

We do tend to forget the past.

The lessons learned from what came to be labeled the Spanish Flu should have laid the course for what and what not to do during a pandemic. Kansas City in particular suffered harder than most large cities due to divided politics, mixed messages, and a raging World War.

The story, many now believe, begins in a county just shy of of 400 miles southwest of Kansas City. 

King Alfonzo VIII of Spain 
(1886-1931)
In January 1918, rural Haskell County in the southwestern corner of Kansas was facing a serious problem. Practically overnight, people were reporting severe symptoms. The newspaper reported, “Most everybody over the country is having la grippe or pneumonia.”

"La Grippe" or "the Grip" was a common term for influenza at the time. 
  
Shortly after, several young men kissed their mothers goodbye and headed to Camp Funston at Fort Riley, Ks. to be trained in the Army to fight overseas in World War I. They didn’t just take their luggage with them- they were likely carrying with them a deadly strain of influenza.

By the beginning of March,1100 soldiers came down with this mysterious flu at Camp Funston. Because of the war effort, these soldiers carried the virus to other Army camps. Before getting their ticket to the battlefields in Europe, influenza infected at least 24 of the large Army camps in the states and spread to nearby communities.
  
The United States stayed quiet as the virus virtually spread like wildfire – no one wanted the enemy to know that soldiers could have been weakened by sickness. By the time it reached Europe and crossed the invisible borders into Spain, millions of people had been infected.... including their king, Alfonzo VIII.

Boss Tom Pendergast (1872-1945)

Spain was neutral during World War I, so they openly reported the outbreak while most everyone else downplayed the problem. In turn, this new, deadly strain of influenza got a new name- the Spanish Flu.

The name has stuck for over a century.

By 1918, Kansas City’s population was around 225,000. Because of rapid population growth, the city was congested. Many boarding houses crammed tenants into them, and modern plumbing was a luxury. The absence of sufficient bathing houses, running water and lack of personal hygiene was the perfect breeding ground for a deadly virus.

The people making political decisions were a part of the “Democratic Machine.” Joe Shannon and Tom Pendergast had at one time been at odds for control of democratic politics but had agreed to work together to elect “their people” into office.

Mayor James Cowgill was one of these people, and after put into office, Pendergast and Shannon split appointment of government offices in half so each boss could have equal control over the police and fire departments, the City Council and even the Health Board.

Old City Hospital (General Hospital No. 2), the first black hospital
in Kansas City, operated from 1908-1957
Kansas City had one public hospital called General Hospital that had about 350 beds. There were over a dozen private hospitals- if you could afford them. The head of General Hospital was Dr. E.H. Bullock, and he was appointed director of the Health Board.

The president of the Health Board was W.P. Motley, and most everyone on the Board were people who “worked” for the Democratic Bosses. The political setup in Kansas City would directly affect the way these men would respond to a public health crisis in 1918.

And of course, we were in the heart of the Jim Crow era, so equality in Kansas City was certainly lacking. Hospitals were segregated. In 1908 when General Hospital built a new and nicer building across the street from their first location, African Americans in Kansas City finally got their own hospital -their only one at the time- called "General Hospital #2," commonly referred to as the Old City Hospital or the Negro Hospital.

Dr. William J. Thompkins (1884-1944)
At the time, African Americans made up 10% of the city's population- 25,000 people. They were crowded into three areas of the city and had their own bathhouses- although there definitely weren't enough for a population of their size.

The Old City Hospital was set up to cater to black and Latino people and was run by Dr. William J. Thompkins starting in 1914. He worked to set up a school at the hospital to train African-American nurses. 

Although influenza had attacked the Army and other communities in March and April, Kansas City seemed to have avoided any direct threat to the virus. As the second wave of this strain of flu emerged in late September, it swept through Kansas City and created mass chaos.

Ironically, a second hospital for blacks called Wheatley-Provident Hospital opened at 1826 Forest Ave. on September 29, 1918- two days after the first case of the flu crept into Kansas City. 12,000 people gathered on their opening day to witness the dedication.  Founded by Dr. J. Edward Perry, the facility was designed to run as a hospital and training school for nurses.

There were two black hospitals for 25,000 people in 1918. Today, over a century has passed and racial disparity is still alive and well in Kansas City.
12,000 people gathered on September 29, 1918 outside of Wheatley-Provident Hospital to celebrate
its dedication. Photo courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections, KCPL

On the other side of the segregated city, the first case of flu likely started with the Army in town. Starting in the city’s two Army motor corps schools, the first cases of the disease were immediately put into quarantine but the damage had already been done. The soldiers had been in contact with some young ladies, and shortly thereafter, they came down with the illness. According to the University of Michigan, “By October 1st, twenty percent of the city’s army training schools [in Kansas City] had contracted influenza. Forty-three civilian cases had appeared, with 33 of them under isolation.”

Mayor James Cowgill (1848-1922),
Kansas City's mayor from 1918 until his death
Health Director Dr. Bullock acknowledged the cases but said it was “not yet dangerous.” Five days later, 24 deaths were reported in one day. General Hospital was already crowded and people were being turned away.

It sure was an inopportune time to be battling a deadly virus, especially since doctors didn't even agree at the time what caused the spread of it.

In the 19th century, no degree was required to enter medical school and there were various theories of disease transmission. When this flu broke out, it didn’t get diagnosed correctly at first because the symptoms were so unique.

Instead of infecting the young and old, it seemed to have targeted the population who should have been the strongest. This strain was killing young, healthy men and women at their prime. Patients experienced a quick onset of a high fever, a wet cough that brought up blood, and their faces would turn blue. Within 24 to 48 hours, many would succumb to the illness.

Treatment at the time was varied. Young doctors better trained in medicine had enlisted in the war, leaving a shortage of them throughout the nation. The Army saw quarantine as the best way to fight the disease. Susan Debra Sykes Berry, who wrote a thesis on the pandemic in Kansas City, explained, “Quarantine was one of the best public health measures, and most Army doctors were aware that a 21-day period was the ideal.”

A Naval hospital in California in November 1918
takes care of influenza patients
Many people used remedies spanning back to Egypt and wore onions and garlic around their necks. Some believed eating them was even more effective. Non-smokers began smoking, thinking it would choke out the disease. Others believed eating yeast would do the trick, and many ended up with terrible stomach aches as a result. The Kansas City Star reported, "Under the negro practice, night sweats can be cured by placing a rusty ax edge under the bed." 

Well, these are certainly interesting theories...

In truth, the best remedy for influenza was nurse care which included drinking fluids, keeping warm and trying to lower the patient’s temperature. Many doctors recommended aspirin or quinine and ordered patients to stay home.

List of recommended remedies for the flu published
in the Kansas City Star October 6, 1918
Even as the flu ravaged through Kansas City by October 6, there were no orders issued by the Health Board except for “asking” places where people congregated (such as theaters, churches and streetcars) to disinfect surfaces at night. They offered suggestions such as people should stay out of crowds, keep bowels active with laxatives, get plenty of sleep, and keep warm by proper dressing, just to name a few.

Since the Health Board in Kansas City wasn’t leading, an unexpected group stood up and demanded action. The Chamber of Commerce led by Bernard Parsons asked for a meeting with the mayor and Health Board. Closing businesses to the public would directly hurt the Chamber, but they argued that the lives of Kansas Citians were more important.

Businessman R.A. Long said, “I’d feel like a criminal, personally, if I were a businessman and insisted on keeping open in a time like this. If the epidemic grips your own household you will then commence to know what human life means as compared to money.”

Headline in the Kansas City Star from
October 7, 1918
It was agreed after the meeting on October 7th to forbid gatherings of more than 20 people and they closed schools the next day.

Sound familiar?

On the Kansas side of the state line, the mayor took swifter action and closed schools, churches, and theaters. All public gatherings of all kinds were prohibited until “after the danger from the disease has passed.” For the most part, Kansas never lifted their quarantine.

The minute that there was a decrease in cases in a 24-hour period, Kansas City resumed talks to lift the ban. To no surprise, saloons were still open and quite crowded. Because the Democratic Machine was directly involved in saloons and also controlled the police, they went about business as usual knowing that no action would be taken against them. Many even boasted signs at the back of bars claiming the flu could be fought with quinine and whiskey, but the Kansas City Star noted, “The saloons continued to work extra bartenders to accommodate crowds- not for advised quinine- but for tall steins of ‘suds.’”

It is true that whiskey was seen to be a remedy to the flu. Many people claimed that people who regularly drank whiskey could avoid getting sick.

That's the polar opposite advice I would give to any twenty-something today. Like, if you want to get sick, drink a ton of whiskey at a party.

1899 advertisement of Kansas City's J.Rieger & Co. whiskey
claiming it was a "good thing for the grip." Courtesy KC Journal
Local companies like mail-order whiskey house J. Rieger & Co. followed the trend and advertised their product was a "good thing for the grip."  The resurrected J. Rieger & Co. in the East Bottoms has wisely dropped the company's prior claim of using whiskey as medicine and has used 21st century technology to make hand sanitizer during the Covid-19 pandemic.

Now that is "very good for the grip" - and germs in general.

In any case, just one week after placing a ban on crowds (which was not enforced) on October 7th, 1918, the Health Board and the mayor lifted it despite the glaring evidence that most physicians didn’t agree with the decision. Major Dell D. Dutton with the Red Cross stated, “I consider it very unwise to lift the ban. The history of other epidemics shows this to be the critical time. To lift the ban now is to invite the return of the epidemic.”

Ahhh.... the parallels....

Health Board president W.P. Motley responded that if lifting the ban was a mistake, “we can rectify it later on” while another man present warned, “A dead man cannot accept apologies.”

113 cases of the flu were reported the next day.

Schools in Kansas City, Mo. decided to remain closed for a week longer despite the lift on the ban October 7th. 

A postcard of the new General Hospital
at 24th and Gillham in 1908
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections
Two days later, Missouri's governor Frederick D. Gardner issued a Proclamation
"appealing to the people of the State to take every possible precaution against the spread of influenza."

On a side note... just over two weeks later, he issued another Proclamation announcing "Sunday School Day."

So much for taking every precaution, Governor.

That also sounds strangely familiar.

On October 15th, 106 new cases were reported at General Hospital followed by 113 the next day.

The Chamber of Commerce was irate when the ban was lifted and saw a growing problem in the streets of Kansas City. They cited that neighboring communities were still under quarantine, so those people were coming to Kansas City for entertainment. That was always the case in the West Bottoms since the state of Kansas was dry of libations. Boss Tom Pendergast made a lot of his money operating saloons along "the wettest block in the world" where liquor stores, brothels and bars operated steps away from the state line. 
Cartoon in the Kansas City Times, October 19, 1918

And when you're still ordered to be under quarantine and you wanted a little fun and a cheap drink, men in Missouri were ready to serve you.

Head of contagious diseases in Kansas City Dr. A.J. Gannon claimed pressure (likely from the political bosses), “The responsibility of preventing [the flu’s] spread should be assumed by the individual.” 

The concerns of the Chamber worked to change their minds; a second ban closing nonessential businesses was ordered on October 17th but exempted “war industries, butcher shops, grocery and drug stores.”

In turn, the Chamber of Commerce- the heart of Kansas City business- emphasized there would be "heavy losses in the event the ban was removed, but [the Chamber of Commerce] emphasized the fact that the lives of Kansas City citizens should be placed above personal gain."

So in 1918, businesses with vested interest were the steady voice of reason in Kansas City.

Digest this. The businesses of Kansas City were begging for the city to keep businesses under quarantine- city officials influenced by politics were the ones considering otherwise.

A headline in the Inter Ocean from 1907 
An editorial the following day in the Kansas City Star was critical of those in charge, specifically Mr. Motley, president of the Health Board. They wrote, “Throughout the epidemic, he has acted much more like a representative of the interests that would have put their own profits above human lives, rather than like the guardian of public health.”

Even as the Health Board was under scrutiny, they continued to mitigate with denial. Head of contagious diseases, Dr. A.J. Gannon, claimed in a statement to the Kansas City Star, "I do not believe it necessary to put the ban back." The second ban was lifted two days earlier on October 14th. He continued by stating, "The responsibility of preventing [the flu's] spread should be assumed by the individual."

That's an interesting claim.

Pretty unbelievable claims were printed in area newspapers during the pandemic. The African-American newspaper The Kansas City Sun printed, "Those optimistic colored folks who insist that race prejudice is often a blessing are pointing with pride to the fact that the influenza has almost completely ignored the Negro."

That was far from true, and death certificates prove this. By October 19th, the Old City Hospital where blacks were treated had 56 cases and 15 had reportedly died. We also have to consider that many blacks in the city weren't able to get proper medical care, so deaths from the flu may have been written off as something else altogether.

A portion of a death certificate from Kansas City of an African American's
cause of death listed as "Spanish influenza." 
In midst of the pandemic, the slums of Kansas City were under a close eye. Urban planning during this time wasn't even a consideration, so it wasn't uncommon to see shanties in the shadows of large, impressive buildings indicating progress.This was just the case of McClure Flats, one of Kansas City's most infamous slums.

Located at 19th and McGee, McClure Flats housed the poorest of the city. In 1909, the Kansas City Journal reported, "They're bathing less in the McClure Flats. Private bathtubs have always been an unknown luxury there. . . an investigating committee last summer estimated that there were approximately 10,000 people in the city who had not the use of a bathtub."

So it's pretty certain that by 1918 these conditions hadn't improved. These three-room apartments that had 125 units were certainly unsanitary, yet African-Americans, Mexicans and other immigrants continued to live in them. Historian Karla Deel notes in her book Storied & Scandalous Kansas City,  "One-story tenements offered dirt outdoor privies and no running water, and most housing was in a state of decay."

When city inspectors on the track of the flu pandemic made their way to McClure Flats, they found abhorrent conditions, including 94 families living in 138 rooms. Children were said to play near the garbage of the waste from flu victims.

The conditions in this area of time really shine a light to how the city's poorest would have suffered during this era.
Back alley of McClure Flats (looking north) - photograph taken in 1912.
 From the 
third annual report of the board of public welfare. 

The truth was- a lot of Kansas City's high poverty areas were the perfect breeding ground for a virus. Even though the city found the area "unfit for habitation," people continued to live at McClure Flats until the place was bulldozed in 1919.

The height of flu cases occurred in October, but the damage to the city continued due to mismanagement by city officials. The death toll was on the rise, but maintaining the order over a long period of time became difficult. 

The Chamber of Commerce responded on October 25th, "Every man and woman in Kansas City will have to help fight this epidemic and fight it with all their might. It is no time to slack."

Two weeks later, the mayor seemed to think everything back to normal- even as cases continued to stack up. Inconsistencies in Kansas City plagued their overall response.

By November 8th, 1918- 21 days after the second ban was implemented- Mayor Cowgill commented that the present ban “is needlessly hampering businesses.” He then lifted the ban and only required that streetcars still limit capacity. Theaters reopened and crowds went back to normal on the streets.

But the city wasn't ready to tackle a deadly virus even then.
  
A streetcar on an unidentified street in 1915
Courtesy Missouri Valley Special Collections
November 11th welcomed Armistice Day, and Kansas City had over 100,000 citizens crowding the streets of the city in celebration of the end of the war. One week later, schools reopened for the first time in five weeks.
  
The biggest problem was that cases were still being reported at a steady pace, but due to the want to stimulate the economy and the Democratic Machine’s pocketbooks, politics took a front seat to public health.
  
When new cases spiked yet again on November 26th, it was attributed to schools being reopened, but evidence shows it was the overall ban being lifted that likely caused the increase. The next day, Dr. A.J. Gannon was fired and schools closed once again on Nov. 30. The day before, a record 414 cases were reported in one day. The damage had been done.

The desperation of hospitals for healthy workers was still a major problem in Kansas City. Dr. William J. Thompkins at the Old City Hospital saw that the all-white hospital across the street was being crushed under the pressures of sick staff and overcrowding.

African American nurses trained at the Old City Hospital are in the black row of this photo.
Those sitting include the doctors overseeing their training in October 1918. Dr. Thompkins sits in the center.
Photo courtesy of The Kansas City Sun
In December, The Kansas City Star reported, "Black nurses trained by Dr. William J. Thompkins, super of the Colored Hospital #2, volunteered to treat patients at General Hospital, and their offer was accepted."

If this acceptance doesn't tell you how desperate city health officials were in a very segregated Kansas City, then I don't know what will.

A 1918 photograph taken at 9th and Locust
It was clear the misguided leadership of city officials created confusion and caused more harm in the long-run. No one knew who to listen to, and their decisions cost human lives. 59 deaths from the flu were reported on December 10th, and quickly Kansas City was becoming one of the deadliest cities in the nation. Children under 16 were ordered to stay home from church, school and theaters and by December 16th, saloons were ordered temporarily closed. It’s unclear if these orders were ever completely carried out by the police. Schools didn’t reopen until December 30th.
  
On December 23rd just in time for Christmas, the city lifted their bans and Dr. Bullock proclaimed, “The epidemic is over if the people will continue to observe precautions against large crowds and follow the personal preventative measures.” In that same breath, he projected cases would likely rise after Christmas. For all intents and purposes, life by Christmas in Kansas City was back to normal- minus the large number of cases of influenza still circulating the city.

In the last four months of 1918, 1,865 Kansas Citians died from what was coined the Spanish Flu, but it's hard to know if that number is even close to accurate. Deaths labeled as simply pneumonia, which could have been onset by the Spanish Flu, may or may not have been counted in the numbers. When cases finally evaporated in Spring 1919, there were over 11,000 cases and around 2,300 deaths in Kansas City. The number of deaths was estimated to be at least 50 million worldwide with about 675,000 occurring in the United States.

Kansas City was one of the hardest hit cities in the country with more cases per capita than New York City, Chicago, and Seattle. Kansas City was also the only major city in the entire country forced to close schools three times during the 1918 flu pandemic due to lifting bans too soon- most closed twice. St. Louis had one of the lowest cases in the nation due to adhering to a strict quarantine. Division in politics and how to respond to this pandemic in 1918 cost the city greatly.

Even recently, St. Louis was praised for their response to the 1918 flu - and Kansas City still remains at the bottom of the largest fifty cities due to their lack of sticking to a quarantine over 100 years ago.

In the end, history matters. If we don’t learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it. The 1918 flu pandemic was lost in the pages of history, rarely referenced by people even with how devastating it truly was. Scientists haven’t forgotten; they reference these responses as a lesson in how to best preserve human lives and respond effectively in the direst of circumstances.

* * * * * * * 
A shortened version of this story was originally published in the Martin City Telegraph


** Check out my FREE history podcast with 610 Sports Radio Personality Bob Fescoe called Kansas City: 2 States: 1 Story! It's FREE! Don't be scared to try out the format of a podcast. It's as simple as going to a website and listening! If you download it, you can listen later at any time!  To listen to the podcast on the 1918 Flu Pandemic in KC, click here!
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Recommended Reading: 

Karla Deel.  Storied & Scandalous Kansas City: A history of corruption, mischief and a whole lot of booze. Guilford: Globe Pequot Press. https://www.amazon.com/Storied-Scandalous-Kansas-City-Corruption-ebook/dp/B07X8T2BV9/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=karla+deel&qid=1587707674&sr=8-1

Susan Debra Sykes Berry. “Politics and Pandemic in 1918 Kansas City.” https://mospace.umsystem.edu/xmlui/bitstream/handle/10355/7521/SykesBerryThesisPolPan.pdf?sequence=1

John M. Berry. The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History. Penguin Press. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000OCXFWE/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0