Charles Herman Sisson 1868-1927

    “If I study hard, I can learn to make the plans and build a house so grand”, thought young Charles Sisson, as he passed one of the large framed homes along the road to school. The old log cabin that his family called home didn’t begin to compare. It was difficult sometimes, living in one of the worst homes in town. His classmates from the wealthier families, though they mostly tried to be polite, still seemed to look down their noses at the Sisson siblings. His father, like his father before him, was a farmer and seemed content with his lot in life. Charles, however, was determined to provide a different kind of life for his future family. Carpenters and joiners were the highest paid workers in the area. Buildings were popping up all over town as the population increased and the need for homes, schools, churches, and businesses increased along with it. Charles knew that if he could learn the trade, he would never struggle to provide for a family.

    The second child of Luther Sisson and Mary Jane Bassage, Charles was born in the summer of 1868 in Yates County, New York near Penn Yan. His brother, James, was two years older and then came his younger sisters, Dora and Emma. His father was born near there, too, and was part of a large family. It seemed there were cousins everywhere Charles turned. Some of his cousins planned on becoming farmers, like their fathers. Charles didn’t want to be a farmer and felt lucky to have the parents he was given. Luther and Mary encouraged all their children to follow their hearts. The children could farm if they wished, but they were encouraged to choose for themselves. “Education is the key to your dreams”, his father would say.

 A few of the many merit awards presented to Charles Sisson by his teachers in Yates County, NY.

    Charles worked very hard in school and regularly earned merit awards from his teachers. As soon as he was old enough he began to apprentice under an experienced carpenter. He diligently acquired the tools he would need to step out on his own while working every hour possible to learn the trade. Part of this time may have been in Michigan, where many members of his family eventually settled. By his early 20s, he had moved to Ottawa, Illinois where he found work building bridges. The city of Ottawa, at the confluence of the Fox and Illinois Rivers, is where he would realize his dreams of finding success.

Charles Herman Sisson. 

On the back it reads "Sunday, Nov 18th 1894"

photo from the collection of Charles & Edith Sisson

    Springtime in 1895 was a season Charles had anticipated all his life. Edith Amy Duffield, a young woman from Ottawa, had agreed to be his wife. It wasn’t long before their first child was expected, and Charles wrote to his family to share the exciting news. They welcomed daughter Vera in February of 1897 in their rented home at 408 Marcy Street. Edith quickly became pregnant again and daughter Edythe was born in December of the same year. Those two baby girls were Charles’ pride and joy. He wanted to give them the best of everything.

Vera and Edythe Sisson, daughters of Charles Sisson.

    While still working as a bridge builder, Charles saw that carpenters employed building homes were earning higher wages. He began to network and look for a new opportunity. He joined the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners of America Local Union #661 and became a member of the Masonic Lodge. Soon he was offered a job with Sinnott Brothers, a reputable contractor in Ottawa that was building homes and commercial buildings around the area. Charles took pride in his woodworking skills and the detail he added to the jobs. Homes built in that time period were heavy on elaborate trims, moldings, stairwells, and built-ins. Charles' work was in high demand. He quickly earned enough money to purchase the home he and Edith had been renting, as well as some other properties around town.

      Charles was proud that Vera and Edythe were spared his experience as a young boy growing up in poverty. His daughters were respectable young women in the community, wanting for nothing. And, as he became more experienced in the home-building field, Charles earned the respect of his peers and called on to apprentice other young men. He expected those he taught to work as hard as he had when learning the trade. He enjoyed passing on the skills that would provide a good living for the apprentices. Work was plentiful, his daughters were carefree and happy, and life was good in Ottawa, Illinois. But there was a place where life could be even better.

Union ribbon belonging to Charles Sisson.

    Los Angeles, California was exploding with growth in the early 1920s. Money, serious money, could be made there. Edith’s sister Mae had moved to Long Beach a few years earlier and written many letters describing the climate and beauty of the area. After a long Illinois winter, the warmth of southern California was like a beacon. Charles knew that he had only a few good years left before he’d have to retire and where better to do it than in sunny California? In 1922, when Charles was almost 53 years old, he and his daughters loaded up and headed for the land of sunshine and beaches. Edith stayed behind to pack up and sell their home on Marcy Street. Charles went to work.

Receipt for land purchase in Los Angeles, Charles Sisson.

    His first task in Los Angeles was to buy a lot where he could build a home for his family. While temporarily living in a hotel, he then went to work building the house. Though not as grand as the homes he was inspired by in his youth, he was putting his best effort into making it a solid home for his family. His youngest daughter drew a rough floor plan of the house and sent it to Edith in Ottawa. Letters exchanged were charged with excitement for this new chapter in their lives. Soon the house in Ottawa was sold, and it was time for Edith to join them. Charles was so busy, he couldn’t take time off to travel and help her, so daughter Edythe went back to Illinois to accompany her mother. He hustled to finish the house before their arrival.

Edythe Sisson drew this diagram of the house her father was building and sent it to her mother.

    The minute she hit California, Charles proudly led Edith on a tour of their new home. He surprised her in the kitchen with a handmade dining table. The large oak pedestal table filled the room. He had labored over it as a housewarming gift for his wife and she loved it. They quickly settled into life at their new address. The girls, now adults, were soon both married. Charles was busier than he’d ever imagined he would be. Business was booming. Outside of work, he joined the local Masonic Lodge and volunteered his time as a Mason and Shriner to help children’s charities whenever he could spare the time. He didn’t want any child to suffer because of poverty.

The dining table Charles Sisson made for his wife, converted to a coffee table as it's used today.

     Charles Sisson, from the time he was just a young boy, had worked tirelessly to pull himself up and out of the poverty he was born into. He plotted a course and stayed true to it, providing the kind of life for his children that he’d once only dreamed about. In 1926, Charles became a grandfather. The joy that he felt was replaced with grief when Edith died suddenly, just two months later. With his daughters married and his beloved wife gone, he felt terribly alone in the house he had built for his family. He died, broken-hearted, within a year of his wife’s passing. The dining table that Charles made for his wife remains in the family today, almost one hundred years after he crafted it with love. It is a cherished symbol of the man’s pride and determination to give a better life to his wife and children. 

Duffield/Sisson Postcards No. 46

This card is from a collection of postcards dated between 1908 and 1914 that was found in the Sierra Madre, California home of Warren Brown after his death in 2015. Warren’s mother, Edythe Grace (Sisson) Brown (1897-1978), was the daughter of Edith Amy Duffield (1864-1926) and Charles Herman Sisson (1868-1927). Charles and Edith were married in Ottawa, Illinois in 1895. They remained there until the early 1920s when they moved west to Los Angeles, California. Their collection of memorabilia was passed down to Warren, my husband’s cousin, and is now in my possession.

12555 Central School, Hammond, Ind.

Postmarked October 22, 1910, in Hammond, Indiana

Addressed to:

Mrs. Chas. Sisson

408 Marcy St

Ottawa

Illinois

Hello Aunty Sisson,

Well I have been very

busy and had not much

time to do anything but

go to school. How is ever

thing down their. I hear

the Ohme's have lost 

some school. Well I

guess I will close I have

to go and see Dad 

off.    Milan S.

Written by one of the sons of Edith's former neighbor and close friend, Carrie Stiles. The Stiles family had recently moved to Hammond, Indiana because of their son Teddy's health. This is one of many cards sent to Edith after the family moved. The Ohme family was another neighbor on Marcy Street whose children had been close in age to the Stiles children. 

A Lynching in Asotin

Nine-year-old Clifford Aplington became "man-of-the-house", along with his brother William, who was two years older, when their father died in a Colorado silver-mining accident in 1897. Mining was dangerous, and their father had made it clear to the boys that they would be in charge of the family's safety if anything happened to him. Mother had no desire to stay in Colorado after father died. She enlisted the assistance of her late husband's brother, Nathan Aplington, who had homesteaded near Joseph Creek in northeastern Oregon. He helped her find some land and the family set about farming in the rugged countryside. Though Uncle Nate was now nearby, the boys were determined to do whatever was necessary to shield their mother and older sisters from harm.

Some of the Aplington family in Oregon, 1906. Cliff is on the far left.

Cliff loved being outdoors and was often found riding his horse across the hills near their farm. Whenever possible, he volunteered to run errands for his mother to Anatone, the nearest town of decent size. It was a journey of several miles into Washington state and, his favorite part, it required crossing the Grande Ronde river by ferry. Steep, rocky hillsides with few trees for shade or wind-break made the trip an arduous one in any season.  Seated proudly on his horse, always on the lookout for danger, Cliff became a common sight along the road to town and back. By 1900, his sisters Claire and Rena, along with their husbands, had homes near Anatone. This provided the rough and ready trail-rider yet another excuse to head north. One Sunday, in the summer of 1903, as he had countless times in the past, Cliff, now 14, was on the road to Anatone.  He was the last witness to see young Mabel Richards alive.

On the road to Anatone. The photo was taken in 2002. 

"She was walking along the road and I was going at a good fast gallop and she got out of the way to let me pass," he began. "I next saw her today," he paused, remembering the horrible sight of the dead girl. Cliff was being questioned by the Asotin County Coroner after the discovery of Mabel's body. He swallowed and went on, "quite a piece from where I saw her yesterday, and her body was lying along the same road, a short distance in the woods."

The Spokane Press ( Spokane, Washington) - Tuesday, Aug. 4, 1903, Pg. 4. Clipped from Newspapers.com.

Mabel, the daughter of Sheriff R. H. Richards, was heading to Sunday School in Anatone when the attack occurred. A local man named Hamilton admitted to the coroner that he had met Mabel on the road. "I jumped down off my horse and hugged and kissed her," he said. He refused to give further details. He was taken to Asotin and placed in the County Jail. News of the brutal murder spread quickly. In an interview with the Lewiston Tribune from the jail cell, the man told a reporter the details of his crime. News of his confession brought people from nearby communities into the streets of Asotin and a crowd grew to more than six hundred people. The girl's lifeless body and the club used to kill her were witnessed by the throng and mob fever steadily increased. There was soon talk of a lynching.

This was not the first brutal attack of a young girl in the area. In 1896, a 17-year-old girl was robbed and violated just outside of Asotin. Her statement to the local authorities led to the arrest of a half-breed Nez Perce man. After she positively identified her assailant, thirty men forcefully took the keys from the jailer, removed the man from his cell, and, after returning the keys to the jailer, hung him in the yard outside of the jail. Now, seven years later, the local vigilantes were preparing a noose for a murderer.

On the night of August 5, 1903, a large crowd gathered in Anatone. In the middle of the night, more than one hundred men donned masks and rode their horses down the hill to Asotin. They overpowered the jail guards and dragged the attacker out of his cell and down the street. After confessing his crime to the crowd, Mr. Hamilton was hung until he was dead. The men were all masked, so it's not known if young Clifford or any of his family members participated. The coroner's inquest concluded that the man was killed by "persons unknown".

The road from Anatone to Asotin.

The view of Asotin coming in from Anatone.

The population of Anatone was roughly 300 people at the turn of the century, and the precinct covered a wide area of land. It is very possible that an Aplington relative was a part of the lynch mob that dark August night. Because of Clifford's testimony, it's certain that he was in the Asotin crowd that gathered after the girl's death with other family members who would have accompanied him. This atrocity happened to a child in their community and the outrage was palpable. Though the murderer would have faced punishment by law, to these men, it was much too personal. Like young Clifford, they felt responsible for the safety of their families and, therefore, justified in their actions.

Cliff Aplington, near Asotin, WA about 1920.

After serving his country in the first World War, Cliff married and started a family of his own. He and his wife had four daughters. He remained fiercely protective of them until his death in 1965.

All photos courtesy of my cousin Rene Rodgers.

Aunt Joan's Quilts

In the small town of Houston, Missouri, Joan Womack’s name is synonymous with quilts. A self-taught artist, she has spent the last forty years creating beautiful designs for her family and others. Some have featured elaborate machine quilting, but Joan is most proud of the simpler hand-quilted projects she has completed.

Her hand quilting is what most others recall, too. Perhaps because it takes so much time and skill and younger members of society today are seeking more instant gratification. Piecing a quilt top requires precise sewing skills and can take many weeks. Quilting it by hand can then take months if it’s a large quilt. Those that devote their time to such a pursuit are becoming rarer.

Joan in 2013 with a quilt she made to raffle at our family reunion.

The sixth of eight children born to Ernest and Julia Powell, Joan grew up on a farm in Hartshorn, not far from Houston where she now lives, in the Ozarks region of Missouri. In the log cabin her father Ernest built for his family, there was no electricity or running water, so everyday work was hard work. Bringing water from the pump outside the back door, stoking the fire in the stove for heat and cooking, washing and hanging laundry, caring for the cows and chickens, snapping beans and shucking corn…it seemed there was always work to be done. In the Powell home, however, there was also room for creativity. Julia could often be seen working her hand shuttle as she created beautiful, intricate lace. Joan thought her mother’s tatting was almost magical. She remembers, “The shuttle moved so fast back and forth that we were never able to figure out how it worked.” Julia could also sew, likely out of necessity to clothe her large family, and she passed the skill to her daughters. In addition to sewing, some of the girls learned to crochet and embroider. Joan mastered all three.

In 1944, Joan Powell and Ermel Womack united in marriage. They raised three sons and operated many different businesses in the Houston area. Those years were busy ones for Joan, so her handwork took a backseat to work and raising her boys. She still enjoyed crafting, but it was something she rarely found time for. In July of 1974, when the boys were all grown, Joan and Ermel opened Joan’s Fabrics. Sewing was something Joan had always done and quilting was not entirely new to her. Joan once remarked, “My mother was not a quilter, though she did piece a Lonestar top. She never finished it.” Joan acquired a commercial sewing machine and learned to machine quilt. She began finishing quilts for customers in addition to the ones she created for herself and her family. After selling the store, Joan continued to work part-time in a fabric shop. One day, the owner of the shop brought in quilting hoops to sell. Intrigued, Joan purchased one and took it home.


In the Ozarks of Southern Missouri, as in other rural areas of the country, quilting was traditionally done by the wives and daughters of the early settlers. Nothing went to waste. The women of a family would piece a top out of old clothing and then get together with friends to finish it by quilting. All the work was done by hand. It was a practical craft; the families needed blankets. But the women, like Joan’s mother Julia, also felt the need to create something beautiful to balance the hard, hard work of everyday life. As decades passed, fewer and fewer women possessed the skills to finish a quilt by hand. With sewing machines readily available, what once took weeks could be completed in practically no time at all. Joan knew this to be true. She couldn’t count the number of quilts she had finished by machine.

It wasn’t until Ermel passed away in 2000 that Joan took up that hoop and taught herself to quilt by hand. She had five quilt tops put away. They were pieced, ready to quilt, so she pulled one out of the closet and tucked it into the long-forgotten hoop. Quilting came easily to her and became a way to work through the grief of losing her beloved Ermel; a way to pass the hours of the long days alone. It wasn’t long before others began to notice the work she was doing.

Many family members have received a quilt crafted by Joan. In recent years she donated one to be auctioned as a fundraiser for a family member battling cancer, gifted one to a great-niece as a thank you for organizing a family reunion, and donated one as a raffle item to raise money for future family reunions. There are so many others, too, that have been lucky enough to be given one of Joan’s quilts. They are carefully used or proudly displayed in the home of each recipient. The quilts are so treasured that some family members refuse to use them at all, hoping the quilts will last forever.

A quilt made in 2010 that Joan gifted to me.

One of Joan’s favorite projects was a quilt she completed for the anniversary of her son Keith’s Highway Patrol unit. With his help, she collected a bunch of old uniforms, both the shirts and pants and disassembled them to cut pieces for the blocks. The pants, with the stripe down the leg, made for some interesting design elements in the quilt she pieced from the fabric. For the center panel, she had a photograph of the whole patrol squad transferred to fabric. The transfer of photographs to fabric is more commonplace now, but years ago it was cutting edge and Joan was right there to try it. The finished quilt was proudly hung in the patrol office for many years. She doesn’t know where it is today, but the memory of creating that quilt remains one of her most cherished. She still has a photograph of the finished quilt that she’s happy to show anyone interested.

At 87, soon to be 88, Joan has put away her quilting hoop and stowed her needles. Her hands aren’t as steady as they once were, and her vision is beginning to fail. Though she has slowed down, she isn’t done creating. Today she enjoys crocheting, though laments never learning to knit, “Ermel’s mother could knit, and I kick myself for never asking her to teach me. I know she would have been happy to do it.” Joan has done enough, though. She has given advice and passed on her skills to anyone who has asked. It is women like her that help to keep the traditions of our ancestors alive.