Dr. More and his horse-drawn sleigh, 1890s. Photos courtesy of Archives and Special Collections, University of Minnesota Duluth (General Historic Photograph Collection).
EDITOR’S NOTE: This memoir was written by Eveleth pioneer Dr. Charles W. More (1861 – 1947) in 1926. More was a well-known Eveleth citizen who, in addition to operating the More Hospital, served on the school board and the library board, and Eveleth’s football stadium is named for him. This document, edited here for length, is held in the St. Louis County Historical Society archives, on permanent loan to the University of Minnesota Duluth’s Kathryn A. Martin Library. —Tucker Nelson, Editor
I came to Eveleth in June 1894, walking from Virginia by way of the Auburn Mine; from there we followed a trail through the woods. John Lawson, Civil Engineer for the Minnesota Iron Company, was coming in this direction and kindly piloted me.
We came suddenly upon a clearing where a few men were hoisting ore from a small shaft. The boilers furnishing the steam for the hoisting engine was in the open. The stockpile was about 12 feet high. This was called the St. Clair Mine, operated by Mr. George A. St. Clair, who had begun sinking the shaft in 1893. They commenced hoisting ore from this shaft in April 1894. There were four drifts. Sixty or seventy men were employed. Later as the mine developed, the name was changed to Viga [Vega.] The late Mr. John Morrow was a teamster.
The interior of Dr. More’s hospital, 1895. His first building constructed specifically for hospital purposes was a one-story, 25-by-40-foot structure that cost $300.
Goren Gustafson, an excellent cook, had the contract for boarding the men. The kitchen and dining room was in a tent. The men slept mostly in tents and shacks; some at a boarding house operated by Mr. and Mrs. S. S. Childers, the parents of Mrs. Peter Schaefer of Ely, Minnesota. As you know, Pete is the editor of The Ely Miner.
This was the year that Hinckley burned and on that day most of the crew were out fighting fire around the property here. I remember Mr. St. Clair had a potato patch on the hill, and the running fire roasted many of the potatoes. It was a hot, dry summer with fresh vegetables scarce and water hard to obtain. The meat was kept in an old test-pit and at one time we were out of meat for several days, as a skunk had fallen into the test pit and could not be safely dislodged. Most of the men took it good naturedly, but the conscientious, hardworking cook was greatly upset as he was trying hard to please everybody. I got my drinking water from a test pit, which eventually became the Adams Mine, until I drew up in my bucket some rabbit hair; then I changed test pits. This was also the time of the great B. & O. strike and money was practically nil. I received $48 and board in the tent for my summer’s work and sent $25 of it to my wife.
After Dr. More made do with makeshift or cramped hospital quarters, and Eveleth’s buildings were moved east to accommodate mining activity, the new 20- bed More Hospital was built at the northwest corner of Grant Avenue and Garfield Street in 1901. It closed in 1955.
The townsite of Eveleth was in the valley. No work had been done on the streets, but most of the timber had been removed, and no one could tell where the streets and lots began or ended. The townsite was surrounded by forests extending for many miles especially to the south and east. A road had been cut out of the timber over the hill from Virginia to Eveleth. The stumps had not been removed, but shallow ditches had been dug on each side for drainage. Otherwise little or no work had been done on the road. There was a spring on the top of the hill from which clear, cool water flowed in both directions, north and south, along the ditches. It was a popular watering place for man and beast.
We got our mail at Virginia. Mr. Morrow, the teamster, going to Virginia nearly every day, would bring mail back if he had time to call at the post office. Other times I walked to Virginia for my mail as my wife wrote me daily and sent papers. On such occasions, I would frequently stop at the First National Bank to see my friend, Newton Brown, who was cashier and whom I had known in Ely. Occasionally I dined with him and enjoyed the good meals immensely after our camp fare.
There was a small spring of nice cool water across the townsite on the side hill about where the electric light plant now stands. Someone had scooped out a hollow which would retain a bucketful of water, but I was not able to get my supply there as it would be frequently drained out, especially when the neighboring townswomen would have used the water for washing, and it took considerable time for the excavation to fill up again. Later in the fall William and John Shea, who had started a saloon, laid a pipe line from the spring to a horse water trough in front of the saloon.
When I first came to Eveleth, I borrowed $50 of my friend Mr. Joseph Sellwood. I purchased a few drugs, a secondhand set of bed-springs and a cheap mattress. My office was in a one-story deserted saloon building, which was boarded up on the outside with rough boards only. An eight by ten room had been partitioned off in one corner of the building for sleeping quarters. The window had been removed, and I covered the opening with cheesecloth to keep out the flies and mosquitoes. The mine carpenter, with the consent of Mr. St. Clair made me a pine table (which, by the way, is in use today), and they also made me an operating table, quite a unique affair (it is still stored in my garage attic…) By this time, the middle of summer, my finances consisted of a $5 gold piece, which I was trying to keep for a real rainy day.
One cold morning, as I was walking up the path between the office and the mine to warm myself in the boiler shack, I met a man coming toward me whom I had formerly known in Ely and whose family I had taken care of professionally. As soon as he saw me, he burst into tears. It seemed he had been looking for work but could find nothing to do and had no money. We went down to our one business house, a saloon, and had my five-dollar gold piece converted into change [worth approximately $170 in 2022] and I gave him half of it. It cheered him considerably and I felt that the money was well invested.
September was a very cold month and I had no stove, was not very warmly clad, and had but a single blanket. The piece of cheesecloth was still standing guard over the window and doing its best to serve as protection against the cold. The winter ahead looked like a serious proposition to one so equipped, and I decided to ask my friend Mr. Kinney, who was president of the First National Bank of Virginia, for a small loan, although I had been owing him about $500 for a year or more.
I purchased a stove, some blankets and a few other necessities, and then a few luxuries as cheese, crackers, and green apples. At this time there were a few inches of snow on the ground. Mr. George Watts, Resident Civil Engineer for the Duluth & Iron Range Railroad, and some of his surveying crew of which Mr. Duncan Austin was a member, set up the stove for me and cut some wood. We certainly enjoyed sitting around the fire.
During this summer, I was looking after the medical side of an exploration camp north of Eveleth on what was then known as Section 30 and another one at Section 26, which was east of the old village of Sparta. I walked to these camps once a week following a trail outlined on paper by Mr. John Lawson, Engineer for the Minnesota Iron Company. It was a winding trial though the woods, swamps, and underbrush. The air was usually murky with smoke from the small forest fires; and there was one marshy place near Sparta, where the deserted Wymer logging camps were, that I always dreaded. There the weeds grew higher than my head and swarms of flies and mosquitoes were a torment, an occasional porcupine was to be met in the marsh; but I felt repaid when I arrived at the camp because I always received a hearty welcome and a good meal.
The last of August or first of September, we were visited by an epidemic of typhoid fever. I had but few drugs. A number of the men were cared for in shacks, others in tents. Mr. St. Clair, who was ever considerate of his employees, had a tent set up into which were moved a number of the men with typhoid; others were in the tents or shacks in which they had been living. Mrs. Van Buskirk and a young son of Mr. and Mrs. Childers were taken down with typhoid. I was doctor, pharmacist, and nurse to most of the men, changing beds, bathing them, etc.
Otto Munter, who is still to be seen occasionally on the streets of Eveleth, was seriously sick and delirious for several weeks, so also was Alfred Holter. Many of the patients had a temperature of 105 degrees and were very sick. As I have said before, it had been a long dry, hot summer, with flies by the millions. This with the lack of fresh vegetables and good water was a great hardship.
The typhoid cases all recovered, but before they had done so, I was taken down with it myself and sent for Dr. Brown of Virginia to come and look after my patients. Dr. Brown came from the state of Virginia and was a thorough gentleman and one of the most skilled physicians ever on the Range and one of God’s noblemen. Virginia lost a valuable citizen by his death which occurred many years ago. So Dr. Brown attended to my patients and I was sent to St. Mary’s Hospital in Duluth where I remained two months, afterward recuperating at Milwaukee, Wisconsin, until about the middle of February, 1895.
During my absence the opening of the Adams Mine was started under charge of Mr. J. H. Hearding, Superintendent. The mine was owned by the Lake Superior Consolidated Iron Mining Co., Mr. W. J. Olcott, President, with headquarters in Duluth. They also started to open the Fayal Mine southeast of Eveleth with George Wallace as superintendent. This property was owned by the Minnesota Iron Company. The Duluth & Iron Range had started to construct a branch road from McKinley to the Fayal Mine.
You may be sure, I was gratified to learn before I returned to Eveleth that Mr. Olcott had appointed me physician for the Adams Mine and Mr. Ellsburg had appointed me camp physician for the railroad construction crew; and I was also appointed mine physician temporarily for the Fayal Mine. I returned to Eveleth about the middle of February 1895, rather weak, still walking with a cane, but full of ambition with a set purpose and a determination to “make good” the recommendations of my friends.
George Watts met me at McKinley where we remained overnight and the next day we drove from McKinley to Eveleth following the tote-road used to bring in supplies to the five camps along the right of way. We started out with a one-horse jumper with no back to the seat which was a board laid across the box. It was mighty painful for one in my condition. Arriving at one of the camps, Contractor Ellsburg loaned us his team and cutter and we made the rest of the trip in comfort.
Mrs. More, who accompanied me as far as Duluth, followed in a few days, arriving by way of Virginia. I met her there and we were driven to Eveleth by a liveryman at a lively clip especially downhill, which caused us to catch our breath and hold on with anticipation of being tipped over, but nothing of the sort happened, just a thrill.
When I first returned to Eveleth, I borrowed $500 and bought a horse, a secondhand buggy and harness, and opened an office of one inside room, the only room available, over the drug store and established office hours and made a permanent arrangement with Dr. Darmes to continue as my assistant. I established a schedule for one of us to make daily trips over the railroad construction, and one to the Fayal Mine, which was just opening up. The Adams location had not been established. Many of the miners lived about the town and others in a boarding house run by Frank O’Neill, who was also the head blacksmith at the Adams Mine.
In the spring, we obtained three rooms over the drug store over what was later Goss’s Bank (I think three of the front rooms over the post office). We lived there until February 1900, where we entertained and dispensed hospitality. It was at this time that Mr. Hearding was married, and Mr. Charles Webster, and they used to visit us, and the friendships formed in those days were generally lasting and endure to the present time.
Mr. O. D. Kinney, a banker who started the first bank in Eveleth in conjunction with the one in Virginia, and Mr. Joseph Sellwood, general manager of the mine in Ely, saw Mr. Olcott and urged my appointment as surgeon. Mr. Kinney came down to the hospital in great satisfaction and told me that Mr. Olcott had appointed me surgeon for this time. I cannot tell of my reaction. A few days later, the newly appointed general manager of the Adams Mine came to see me and to learn what kind of looking man the doctor was. As he opened the door and he and Mrs. More confronted each other, they were both speechless for a moment and then shook hands as old friends. It seems they knew each other well in Milwaukee since childhood. Well, that helped to lighten my burden, and I was greatly taken to Mr. Hearding and never had an occasion to change my mind since except to add to the favorable impression.
The first hospital was the old building afterward used by McNamara as a harness shop, and it was boarded up on the inside only when I first took possession. We boarded it up on the outside as far as the first story, tacked building paper on the inside boards, and filled the space with sawdust.
I bought some good, comfortable beds and mattresses and began receiving patients, mostly fractures, although we had one man with pneumonia who became delirious that a lath nailed up and down to hold the [building] paper on were a lot of women tormenting and laughing at him.
We had a number of patients with broken legs in the hospital. One, Sakkri Lappi, developed gangrene, caused by the broken bone cutting off the blood supply. As a safety precaution to the other patients, I had them removed to the boarding houses and took the better part of the day to get their broken legs readjusted.
I put up another building, one story, 25×40, contractor Jim Dowling, price $300. I afterward built a small addition for an operating room. The building now stands in the Volcansek or Carlson Addition and is used as a store [It was later as Nemanick’s Tavern.] About the time it was ready to be occupied, the gangrene patient developed conditions that required amputation. Dr. E. F. Reamer had arrived a day or two before my assistant. This patient was moved to the new hospital and his leg amputated about 7 o’clock at night by lamp light, Mr. G. Clark holding a kerosene lamp. Two of the patient’s friends were present.
George Morrow helped take care of the patients and horses and kept the office clean. He would bring the harness into the room by the stove to oil and occasionally repair, and this helped to entertain the patients; as I look back, they were generally as happy a lot as you will find in the more modern hospitals today. Occasionally a grumpy one would be a damper, but as a rule, everyone was good-natured.
During the years 1898 and ’99 the town was moved from the valley to its present site. There were three house-moving concerns. Not infrequently some house, in which there was a sick man, woman, or child to whom we had been called, the next day would be somewhere between the old and new location, or at its final destination and not always easy to find. But the people where we were needed would be on the lookout for us and would pilot us to the proper place, and everyone took the situation good-naturedly.
Before the town was moved, we had acquired sidewalks and electric lights, and it was some time before we were so well-equipped again. In the meantime, we resorted to lanterns on dark nights and to rubber boots during rainy seasons.
New Year’s Eve, either December 31, 1898 or 1899, about 9 p.m., as I returned to my office after making some professional calls, I was met by Mr. P. E. Dowling and one or two [Missabe Mountain] township and village officials who informed me that a man with smallpox and been brought from the lumber camps, southeast of Sparta, and that he was in a “jumper” (a sled) nearby. I went to him and lifted the blankets from his face and felt of it. It was too dark to see, but a diagnosis of smallpox was readily made, but it was not of a severe type.
Most of the dwellings in the village had been moved from the old location to the present one. There were no vacant rooms, houses, or shacks to be had and I advised the driver of the outfit to take the man to Virginia, as they had a small quarantine hospital there and could take care of him. Dr. Bates, who was then health officer of Virginia, refused to receive him and sent him back to us, saying he belonged to Eveleth. We had absolutely no place to put him and directed them to return to the camps. He was given some medicine and I promised to see him the next day.
The village and township officials met that night, wise or otherwise, solemn conclave, organized a number of men, had them sworn in as deputy police, armed them with Winchester rifles, and sent them in charge of a local policeman to the camp to quarantine it and to see that no one left the camp.
I was very busy the next day and had no opportunity to go to the camp. About 10 p.m., 24 hours after the quarantine had been established, a messenger came from the camp saying a man had been shot and a doctor was wanted immediately.
Dr. A. W. Shaw, now of Buhl, who was associated with me at the time, went with me. We took a change of clothing, to be worn while attending the smallpox patient, plenty of vaccine points and other things needed, and drove to the camps, inquiring our way at Sparta. From there we followed a tote-road through the woods for some miles. It was a clear frosty night.
We arrived about midnight. The guards had established a picket line rather close to the camps and had built fires at different points for warmth. They reported that the camp cook had taunted them most of the day and threatened to shoot them if he only had a gun, and some of the guardsmen were pretty well worked up. During the evening, while one of the men from the camps was feeding the horses, the supper horn sounded. One of the guards, named Anderson, ordered him to go to the camp as the supper horn had blown and, according to Anderson’s story, the man became angry and started toward him in a menacing manner. The guard, Anderson, slipped a cartridge into his rifle and fired.
Dr. Shaw and I first changed our clothes out in the open, then went into the foreman’s camp and as we opened the door saw the body of this man lying on the floor. The foreman’s reception was naturally not agreeable. He said we were a blankety-blank set of men to shut them up and shoot them down like dogs. Our only reply was that we were here as physicians and not as officers and I asked him to go into the men’s camp with us, but this he refused to do and Dr. Shaw and I went in together.
Our reception was not particularly pleasant. After attending to the patient, who was rather peeved because we had not come to see him earlier in the day as promised, we turned to the subject of vaccination. Some were hostile, others were inclined to listen. One antagonist showed me his arm with a large scar caused by a previous vaccination and told me he had nearly lost it. I readily agreed with him on all points that he must have had a “dickens of a time.” However, we succeeded in vaccinating about 40 of the 75 men and left well pleased with our trip.
The guard, Anderson, was arrested and tried for murder. The village and township officials furnished money for the defense, but the evidence was against him. The judge remarked that he felt sorry for him and that if he were younger he would send him to the reform school, but under the circumstances he would have to sentence him to the penitentiary for an indefinite term.
As he was admitted to the penitentiary, the warden said: “Hello, Anderson! You back again!”
It was the custom of the Fayal Mine to pay the men in gold once a month; and once a month four or five trusted employees armed with loaded rifles were driven in state in a lumber wagon to meet the train bringing the gold. It was taken to the mine office and guarded during the night, and the next day the men were paid.
I remember coming home with $320 in gold. I took it from my pocked and placed it on the bed. It was rather a small pile for so big a receptacle. I wish I could describe to you my feelings after working day and night, Sundays and holidays, through sunshine and storm, spending nights with the sick and injured, going out in rainy, stormy nights, through the mud and storm, wearing rubber boots and coat, carrying a lantern which was frequently blown out; leaving my wife alone, night after night while I was responding to sick calls.
The feeling came over me that if this little pile of gold was to represent and be the compensation for such service, why serve? Mental nausea and sinking of the heart to think that worth-while work had no greater reward than a few pieces of gold. I was glad to get back to work and forget the feeling that came over me; for after all, as you Rotarians know, and as I fully realized at that time, the real joy in life is to serve others.
In the early days the saloons were more prevalent than any other institutions. I was called to see a man who was very severely cut during a fight in a saloon and bleeding profusely. The saloon was packed full of excited men and the crowd extended beyond the door to the sidewalk. Small chance I had of getting in, but as I approached a man caught sight of me and sung out to those inside, “Make way there, the doctor has come.”
As the men parted and left a way through the saloon, I heard a rough voice cry out, “Thank God.”
I have heard that remark at different times during my professional life, and so life has its compensations and “He profits most who serves best, and the best profit is not necessarily a financial one.”
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