The Daily Oklahoman
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
April 27, 1910
page 10
FERGUSON - L. L. Ferguson died at the local hospital Monday. Stomach trouble was the cause given by the physicians, the man having been ill for a number of years. The body was sent to Ripley, Okla., where the funeral was held Tuesday.
Newspaper from Caddo County, Oklahoma (possibly the Binger Journal) Frank Skelton [died 21 Mar 1927 at his home in Binger, Caddo Co., OK] Mr. Frank Skelton was born in the state of Arkansas May the 22, 1871, was married to Etta Ferguson. To this union six children were born. One of which has passed to the great beyond. Mr. Skelton was an intense sufferer from a severe attack of appendicitis to which he succumbed. He suffered intensely and made the remark that death to him would be a great relief. His family and neighbors did all they could to relieve his suffering, but all in vain. God had seen fit to call, to which the deceased seem anxious to answer. The remains to mourn this loss, his wife and five children, Cyrus, Jewel, Raymond, Artis and Guy, one sister living in Mississippi and a half brother and a host of friends. Mr. Skelton was a good husband and a good father. Was friendly with all whom he come in contact with. Rev. R.G. Koons officiated at the funeral. The family wishes to thank the many friends and neighbors for their many kindnesses which they manifested through their dark hour of trial. [Frank Skelton is my Grandfather. I descend through his son, Raymond.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------ Binger Journal, Binger, Oklahoma, June 14, 1955 Mary Etta Ferguson Skelton Mary Etta Ferguson was born in Myrtle, Mississippi July 18, 1876 and departed this life June 14, 1955 at Anadarko, Oklahoma at the age of 78 years 10 months and 27 days. She grew to womanhood in Myrtle and moved with his parents to Searcy, Ark where she united in marriage to Frank Skelton, Sept 10, 1894. To this union six children were born. Her husband and two sons preceeded her in death. Early in life she accepted Christ and twenty-eight years ago united with the Baptist Church. She moved with her husband and family to the Binger Community in 1916 and made this her home until her death. She leaves to mourn her passing, two daughters, Mrs. Jewel Mason and Mrs. Artis Meeks, Binger; two sons, Guy of Binger and Raymond of Chowchilla, Calif. Also three sisters, Mrs. Lena Lantrip and Mrs. Annie Armstrong, Pontiac, Mich. and Mrs. Lula Woodall, Flint Mich.; one brother, Lee Ferguson, Searcy, Arkansas; fourteen grandchildren, five great grandchildren, besides many other relatives and friends.
Silas Edward FERGUSON was born on February 10, 1861. Anne Susanna HOWARD was born April 3, 1860. Silas Edward FERGUSON's parents were Andrew William FERGUSON b. 1837 Mossy Creek, Habersham County, Georgia, and Malvina Jane WHEELER b. 1845 Kentucky. Andrew William FERGUSON's parents were Edward Hamilton FERGUSON b. 1816 Cumberland County, Kentucky, and Selina W. DUCKETT b. abt 1816 in Buncombe County, North Carolina. Edward Hamilton FERGUSON's parents were William FERGUSON b.May 11, 1764 in Amelia County, Virginia, and Juda WOOD. Anne Susanna HOWARD's folks were Calvin Thomas HOWARD b. 1839 North Carolina, and Margaret Ann "Maggie" BROCK b. 1839, Habersham County, Georgia.. Margaret Ann "Maggie" BROCK's parents were Fayette BROCK and Wilma JACKSON. Listed below are the children of SILAS EDWARD FERGUSON and ANNE SUSANNA (HOWARD) FERGUSON.

CHILDREN:

Calvin Wain FERGUSON
John Talton FERGUSON
William Edward FERGUSON
Mertie Mae FERGUSON
James Emory FERGUSON
Malvina Jane "Mallie" FERGUSON
Joseph Andrew FERGUSON
Drusilla Gertrude "Dru" FERGUSON
Susan Viola "Ola" FERGUSON
Thomas Ozro FERGUSON
Beluah Odessa "Dessie" FERGUSON

The FERGUSON's were in Cleburn and Izard Counties in Arkansas before moving to Stephens County, Oklahoma. They lived in the Hope Community, and some of them are buried in the Hope Cemetery. Others later moved to New Mexico and lived around Roswell. Both Silas Edward FERGUSON and Anne Susanna [HOWARD] FERGUSON died and are buried in Roswell, New Mexico

 

WALTER FERGUSON
1886-1936
Walter Ferguson, son of Thompson B., and Elva Shartel Ferguson, was born March 28, 1886, at Wauneta, Kansas, and died Marsh 8, 1936. He was married to Lucia Loomis, November 7, 1908. Three children survive, Benton, Ruth Elva, and Tom B.
The only authentic picture of the people, conditions, or life in early day Oklahoma presented in Edna Ferber's malevolent novel, "Cimarron," sprang, not from the egoistic mind of the author, but from the understanding heart of the artist illustrator, V. C. Wyeth.
On frontis page and jacket we see a strong, reliant, clear eyed mother, guiding a team of sturdy farm horses over a rutty road. Perched upon the high spring seat of the wagon is the figure of a small boy, his eyes alert with eager interest. The mother's face is eloquent of faith in the future; of that fearless faith that ignores hardship and sacrifice; that asks only to work and to serve; a faith that makes a shrine of struggle, and reckons not the cost in weary, lonesome, hours, but counts that day well spent that sees security for her loved ones brought one step nearer.
The tense figure of the boy radiates excitement. One can hear his shrill, childish treble, as a coyote or jack rabbit bounds from its hiding place by the road side, or a cowboy, picturesque in chapps and spurs, bursts suddenly from a dry creek bed, riding hard on the heels of a straying steer. Only the present, the novel, entrancing present, absorbs the boy. But the future, the long, hard, coming years, have use for the sturdy body and active mind of that boy. He will not fail that future, for he is a pioneer, and is to be the product of pioneering.
The original of that illustration hangs in the hall of the Ferguson home today. It belongs there. It is the artist's conception of Walter Ferguson's entrance into the land he was to love so intensely; which he was to serve so devoutly, and which he was to see developed into a state that became his absorbing pride.
Exactly as pictured by the artist, the Ferguson family entered Oklahoma in 1889. The mother and son in a wagon containing their household effects, and the father following in another, loaded with a few fonts of type, and the primitive press which was the first crude equipment of the Blaine County Republican, for long years the champion of law and order, and cultural progress in western Oklahoma.
The heart beats of any community are heard and felt best in a newspaper office. It is the common nerve center that receives and records the thought, impulses, and activities of that community. Walter's infant
wails were drowned by the thud of a Washington hand press, and the odor of printer's ink was always, afterward, a haunting lure. His restless, roving spirit drove him into many and varied fields, but always, in any situation, he was the trained observer, the student of values, feeling the pulse of the public unerringly, and subconsciously swayed by that sixth sense which marks the real newspaper man.
Watonga, Blaine County, was a county seat and court town, remote, raw, and unorganized. Peopled by men and women of every class and creed, strangers from near and far who had become neighbors in a day. Walter lived his buoyant, boyish years in this environment. His young and plastic mind received and absorbed a thousand impressions from the clash of viewpoint and opinion that were fused in the melting and moulding of the strong, sturdy, cosmopolitan settlers into a commonwealth truly American.
Here was born his kindly tolerance. With his natural instinct for truth, he separated prejudice from reasoned conviction, weighed warped sincerity, and instantly recognized a subtle wrong. He learned to measure men. He had an instinct for friendship, and saw something interesting in everyone he met. Grown men who bought papers from a barefoot boy, before Watonga had a railroad, never forgot him, and hundreds of his nation wide friendships antedated his early 'teens.
No boy could ever know a stranger, or more complete assortment of men than Walter was thrown among. Temple Houston, with his long, black hair, high heeled boots, and tongue touched with fire; Jesse Dunn, dignified, astute philosopher; Chris Madsen, veteran of four wars, fearless, relentless peace officer; priests and preachers, gamblers, politicians, and lean, lank ranchers. Position and place, then or afterward, meant nothing to him, but in every man he sensed something that sets the individual apart from his fellows.
While young Walter was busy sticking type, selling Wichita Eagles, and running errands for the court house crowd he found ample time for the pranks and pastimes of the small town boy. He knew every fishing hole and turkey roost for miles around Watonga. Halloween and the old-fashioned "Fourth" found him in the thick of things. In after years he often recounted with relish an anecdote which he said established his rating in deportment.
A farmer brought to town a huge diamond-backed rattler he had captured. Someone suggested that the reptile was extremely dangerous and should be killed. "No, no," a bystander objected, "turn it loose, it may bite that Ferguson boy."
In a heated campaign his dignified father was addressing a Republican rally. Walter planted himself on a cracker box in front of the platform and proceeded to lead the applause. His enthusiasm focused the attention of the audience and the orator was forgotten. The one-boy cheering section had to be removed.
There may have been regret, but there certainly was relief when the "Ferguson boy" left town to attend Wentworth Military Academy.
While Walter was at Wentworth, his father was appointed Territorial governor and moved to Guthrie.
At Guthrie, at the age of seventeen, young Ferguson laid the foundation of his career as columnist, newspaperman and politician. His first serious effort was a column in the Shawnee Herald, published by Adjt. Gen. Charles F. Barrett. "Over The Tea Cup" became a sensational news source. So much inside information appeared in the column that the Governor's advisors complained that the tea pot must be on the family table. Walter was barred from future party talkfests, but his reputation as a political writer was established.
The seething territorial political pot boiled hottest at Guthrie. The State Capital was the ruthless Republican mouthpiece, and Frank Greer its able, vitriolic editor. Under his tutelage Walter found a wide field for his talents. Possessing rare political sagacity he rapidly developed into the territory's leading free-lance writer.
Here, again, Walter widened his acquaintance among the men who were making Oklahoma history. They all became his friends. All doors were open to him. He lambasted and satirized his Democratic friends unmercifully, but the absence of malice and venom, and the rare spirit of wholesome good humor, so pervaded everything he wrote, that those at whom he aimed his sharpest shafts became his closest pals.
While working on the Capital, Walter decided to complete his education, and matriculated at the University of Oklahoma. His irrepressible spirit could not be confined within the usual routine of the college curriculum. He established a news bureau, and wrote feature articles and short stories for the metropolitan papers, helped organize the first fraternity, Kappa Alpha, and played his full part in campus life.
All who have read Walter Ferguson's serious writing, have had no doubt of his moral courage, but less is known of his physical stamina.
While at Norman he went with a group of friends to the wilds of Canada on a hunting trip. It happened that they pitched their camp in a region infested by the "Wolf Boys," an outlaw gang as quick on the trigger as any of the famed gun men who roamed the western plains in "border" days. One evening while the college boys were resting around the campfire, Bud Wolf and his pack rode in upon them. Bud threw his six gun and peppered the coffee pot. The boys took to the brush-all but one of them. Ten minutes later, hearing no more shooting, they came slinking back, and there stood Walter, kidding the life out of Bud, and the outlaw was laughing.
Walter spent three years at the University, and returned to Guthrie as city editor of the State Capital. Here came the opportunity for some of his most important work. The constitutional convention convened, and while reporting its proceedings he was in close touch with the inside workings of that body. His salty wit enlivened his stories, and the coffee grew cold on a thousand breakfast tables, as the head of the house read the panning dished out in easy flowing satire. His penetrating powers of perception enabled him to picture the leaders as faithfully as a photograph.
Walter Ferguson had much to do with the making of the reputations that were established in the convention, and his unpublicized influence is reflected in much of the state's organic law. The real leaders, the men of ability, respected and loved him and eagerly sought his council. The four-flusher feared him. He was death to "stuffed shirts," for the only thing Walter Ferguson ever hated was pretense.
No one could have a deeper sense of the importance and significance of the constitutional convention than he, but even that could not suppress the flood-tide of his humor. He it was who dubbed the president, Wm. H. Murray, "Cockleburr Bill," and organized the famous "Squirrel Rifle Brigade."
His humor often had a deflating effect, and many a man who became a leader, was stronger and more sincere because a flash of Ferguson wit gave him a good look at himself.
Page 96
Upon the convening of the first session of the legislature of the new state, Wm. H. Murray was elected speaker of the House of Representatives, and at once appointed Walter as Reading Clerk. Upon the floor of the House, he was in intimate touch with the proceedings of the important body, which made effective and gave life to the provisions of the constitution which had been ratified by a vote of the people.
There is no way to measure the weight of Walter Ferguson's influence during the sessions of those two fundamental lawmaking bodies; no way of knowing how many salutory provisions owe their existence to his interest and wise foresight, but certain it is, that he was both loved and feared by the members; that in caucus and council he was respected, and his influence was enhanced because it was universally understood that he "had no ax to grind."
After the adjournment of the legislature, Greer sent Walter all over the twin territories as a correspondent, and thus he saw at first hand, and often helped to supervise, their welding into the new state. He reported the amalgamation of the Oklahoma and Indian Territory Bar Associations, the medical associations, The Oklahoma and Indian Territory Press Associations, the merger of the educational associations, and in the final blending of a divided citizenship, long swayed by prejudice, and even deep-seated dislike, the friendly, tolerant spirit of Walter Ferguson was again of inestimable value. Men just naturally became friends in his genial presence. He kidded provincial prejudice out of them, just as he joshed the bravado out of Bud Wolf.
His work on the Capital was congenial, but Walter was independent, ambitious, and he wanted to be his own boss. He took a double plunge.
He bought the Cherokee Republican, and married Lucia Loomis, his college sweetheart.
For ten years this perfectly mated team worked side by side, enduring the hardships and sharing the joys that make the publishing of a country newspaper the most interesting and soul-testing experience on earth. Walter watched his wife (now a nationally known newspaper columnist), develop the talent that, to the day of his death, was the source of his greatest pride and joy. In the files he left was found a yellowed copy of her first story, and crumpled clippings of her first features.
The influence of the metropolitan press of the present day is in doubt, but the country newspaper is a power in the hands of honest, courageous publishers. The Fergusons made the Cherokee Republican more than a local news vendor. The editors had opinions and ideals, and fought for them.
Alfalfa county is solely an agricultural community. When a government agency limited the price of wheat, during the world war, the Republican commended the action. There was widespread indignation among the farmers, and hundreds cancelled their subscriptions, but the Fergusons, afire with patriotism, never wavered in their position, and so stressed their country's need that their readers were finally made to feel the thrill that comes from sacrifice for a righteous cause.
Walter continued his political writing. His column, "Bugscuffle Bugle" gave the paper a state-wide circulation. Office seekers he put on the pillory read it and shuddered; voters read it and laughed themselves out of a year's subscription.
He believed that a public officer should reflect the sentiments of his community. He lived squarely up to that principle. When the people of Alfalfa county elected him to the state legislature, he introduced and valiantly fought for the passage of a bone-dry liquor bill. The bill had teeth in it. The measure provided, not only for a fine, but for imprisonment for the mere possession of intoxicating liquors. No one could possibly enjoy a social drink more than the convivial Walter, but his constituents were dry, and as their elected representative, he considered their collective will an imperative mandate. He believed that in no other way could a representative democracy be made to work. He believed that probity in politics is essential in a republic, and that the lack of it constituted his country's most dangerous weakness.
The Republican was the first advocate of the construction of large lakes at public expense. It emphasized the benefits to be derived as means of conservation, recreation, and the probable influence on climate and rainfall. On the great Salt Plains in Alfalfa county is now being constructed one of the largest earthen dams in the nation. Soon countless thousands will enjoy the fruits of long, weary hours of research and effort contributed by the young editor to the public weal. The Great Salt Plains lake will be a fitting memorial to his vision, and to his passion for unselfish service.
During his busy years at Cherokee Walter found time to serve as postmaster for six years, and to perform the exacting duties of Chairman of the county exemption board during the war.
Few men will remember Walter Ferguson as a worker. They will forget his thoughtful editorials and articles; they will only vaguely realize that his broad, comprehensive knowledge of history and politics, and his grasp of the multitudinous causes and conditions that gave his beloved Southwest its color and romance, could only come from intensive study and thought. They will remember him as the genial, high spirited, fun loving host, transforming groups of worried men into laughing, singing boys, breaking through the artificial shell of their reserve with a pointed jibe, a wild tale, or an absurd anecdote.
Hundreds of men, day dreaming at their firesides, will recall the days and nights at T-Bone ranch in Alfalfa county, Nationally known writers, dignified judges, merchant princes, cold, calculating bankers, lawyers and doctors, men in all walks of life, famed for great achievment, will remember when they were completely disarmed and relaxed at T-Bone. They will remember when Walter slapped them on the back, and they found themselves, glass in hand, telling stories, making impromptu speeches; singing high tenor in off-key quartets, and loving their fellow men. They will remember that many of their finest friendships date from a Ferguson party on the plains. A dignified statesman will remember a leather-faced rancher he met in that spacious, rustic, mint-scented retreat. Senators, congressmen and globe trotters will remember the oil men and old timers, and best of all, the big jovial host who had them milling and mingling with the joyous abandon of care-free school kids.
No wonder that men, everywhere, came to Walter Ferguson when a favor meant much to them. No wonder Walter always knew a fellow by his first name who could turn the trick. He believed that man is his brother's keeper. He used his friends to help his friends, and multiplied the joys of all.
The T-Bone ranch is still there on the Alfalfa county plains; men still gather under the broad beams of the high-hipped roof, but the laughter is more subdued, the mood is reminiscent, for they're thinking now of a broad, infectious smile, a cheery voice now still, and they long for a hand clasp they can almost feel.
In 1909 Walter Ferguson became vice-president of the First National Bank at Oklahoma City. It was a radical change, but Walter was successful in his new avocation. He served six years as a member of the Federal Reserve Board, and removed to Tulsa in 1927, becoming associated with the Exchange National Bank.
Big business made no change in Walter's personality. In his office in the somber bank, one heard the same hearty chuckle, and he filled the temple of the money changers with an atmosphere of warm, human friendship.
The field of history and biography was Walter's natural habitat. From early youth he collected and preserved items and objects which he knew would some day have great historical interest. When he located in Tulsa he selected a home with a large, unpartitioned attic floor. This room became a nationally known retreat and rendezvous. Upon shelves, and walls and ceiling he spread the mementoes that represent years of searching, hoarding, and understanding discrimination. It is a perfect panorama of the long years that saw the great Southwest struggle on under five flags to become the most democratic and cosmopolitan region on earth today.
Long shelves line the side walls of one end of the room. In the volumes that fill them is recorded about all that has been written about the region. Scores of them are out of print and priceless. Some are learned tomes crammed with tedious but essential data. Others are racy, readable stories of Spanish adventurers, French explorers, Indian warriors, border gunmen, and cattle kings. There are leather bound volumes containing the statutory laws of several Indian tribes-laws, that because of their simplicity, and fairness, put to shame the work of modern legislative bodies. The white man's Bible, printed in the tongues of so-called savage red men, lean against the bound record of solemn Indian treaties, all broken by white men. (Did Walter place them just that way to emphasize the exchange a primitive people made, of their simple religion for broken pledges?) Rare documents and manuscripts fill to bursting commodious files.
On the walls and ceiling hang hundreds of photographs showing the pictured faces of those who had part and place in the making of the Oklahoma we know. In one group on the west wall will be found the face of almost every editor and publisher who ground out the history of Oklahoma in the pioneer press. In another group are the statesmen, the judges, and lawyers, the men most active in public affairs. Photographs of noted Indian chiefs, of early day peace officers, and even of notorious outlaws, (most of them just stark, rigid, bullet scarred bodies), completes a pictorial biography of the most colorful state in all of the forty-eight. It is significant that almost every picture is autographed, "To My Friend, Walter."
There are scrap books containing incidents and anecdotes more revealing than many pages of prosaic written history.
At one end of the room stands the bar of the old Red Dog saloon at Guthrie. Even the original brass rail is there. Much of Oklahoma's history was made by men while leaning on this old rail. A roulette wheel and a poker table from another social center in early day Guthrie stands invitingly near by.
A rare map of the old ranches in "No Man's Land" and the branding irons of the cattle kings who owned them are placed in a conspicuous corner.
Mementoes of the outlaw days completely fill the back bar of an old saloon. Six-shooters carried by desperadoes who scorned to prey upon the helpless, but "shot it out in the open," hang beside the guns of intrepid peace officers who subdued them.
This room reflects, as nothing else in the new state does, the color, the romance, the strain and struggle, the labor and the sacrifice, that went into the making of the unique commonwealh that is Oklahoma. It should be preserved in its entirety and placed where future generations can visualize the entrancing past.
Walter Ferguson was as much a part of Oklahoma as her broad, sweeping plains, and native hills. He was not only a part of its colorful history, but out of the very soul of him, dyed that color with some of its richest hues. He played his part in the pioneer's barehanded fight with nature in the raw. Where and while he worked and played, from infancy to manhood, all races, and all cultures, met, and mingled, and fused. He helped to make and mould a new and distinct social structure, and was, himself, its peculiar progeny.
Only in a primitive society do men outweigh possessions. Only there are men implacably measured as men. Courage, strength, and loyalty must be his, and generosity, and quick sympathy, are first essentials where roving want presses hard upon the heels of all. To Walter these qualities were innate, but were doubtless emphasized by his environment. Daily he saw sturdy men drain themselves of strength and substance for neighbor and friend, for community and state, and saw their lives grow full and rich from giving and doing. In the life of the hard-fisted frontiersman he found a premium placed on real manhood, and an utter disregard for station and things that was to become his code. And by that code he lived and died.
E. E. KIRKPATRICK
FRANK G. WALLING
Tulsa, Oklahoma