When Ava Olson first walked into the American Heritage Center’s reading room, she had no idea she was about to unearth a history that had remained largely untold for nearly a century. Today, we’re proud to announce Ava as the recipient of our 2025 Undergraduate Research Award for her groundbreaking paper, “St. Michael’s Mission: A Supposed Sanctuary.”
Ava Olson. Photo courtesy of Ava Olson.
Behind the picturesque circular layout of St. Michael’s Episcopal boarding school in Ethete, Wyoming – which operated from 1917 to 1956 – lay a troubling reality that Ava meticulously pieced together through primary sources in our collections
Diving Into the Archives: A Detective Story
Working under the guidance of Professor Samantha Vandermeade in a course on Wyoming, Race, and the Archive (itself developed through an AHC Teaching & Research Grant), Ava examined multiple collections to investigate the school’s complex history.
Yellowed letters in the Episcopal Church Diocese of Wyoming records revealed the school’s initial optimistic intentions. Faded blueprints showed how the buildings were deliberately arranged in a circular pattern inspired by Arapaho traditions.
But as Ava examined oral histories and administrative documents, a different narrative emerged. The documents revealed a story of contradiction: while St. Michael’s founders claimed to respect Indigenous culture and create a new model of education, the everyday practices mirrored the assimilationist policies seen across North America.
Bishop Nathaniel S. Thomas (1867-1937), founder of St. Michael’s Mission (1917) for Northern Arapaho students in Wyoming. As the “Indian Tuskegee,” St. Michael’s featured a circular layout inspired by Arapaho traditions while providing vocational training. Portrait from Samuel Hart, The House of Bishops, 1913. Courtesy HathiTrust. Public domain.
Records and oral histories documented how students had their hair cut upon arrival and were doused with kerosene. School policies enforced English-only rules in classrooms and dining halls, implemented military-style drills, and imposed punishments for speaking the native Arapaho language. The stark contrast between the school’s stated philosophy and its actual practices became evident through Ava’s careful analysis of these primary sources.
Arapaho students and instructors. The Rev. Sherman Coolidge (Arapaho Episcopal priest) stands at far left, while Rev. John Roberts (Episcopal missionary) sits at far right with hat on leg. Both men were instrumental in early Episcopal mission work with the Arapaho people, preceding St. Michael’s Mission in Ethete. Photo File: Indian – Tribe – Arapahoe, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Bringing Hidden Truths to Light
What makes Ava’s research so valuable is that it illuminates a significant blind spot in Wyoming’s historical record. As Professor Vandermeade noted in her nomination letter, “scholarly and/or secondary sources addressing St. Michael’s role in the forced assimilation of Indigenous children were almost nonexistent.”
By examining internal correspondence, photographs, and firsthand accounts, Ava revealed how this small Episcopal mission school participated in what is now recognized as a nationwide effort of cultural erasure. Her research shows how St. Michael’s, despite its intentions to be different, required students to conform to white Victorian standards of appearance, enforced English-speaking requirements, emphasized vocational training over academics, and maintained military-style routines and discipline.
Translation of the Lord’s Prayer into the Arapaho language, part of a larger effort to translate portions of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer. This work was prepared by Rev. John Roberts (1853-1949), who served as an Episcopal missionary on the Wind River Reservation for 69 years, in collaboration with Fremont Arthur (d. 1901), an Arapaho translator. Box 1, John Roberts papers, Coll. No. 37, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
The Power of Undergraduate Research
Ava’s achievement demonstrates why we’re passionate about getting primary sources into the hands of young researchers. With fresh perspectives and rigorous methodology, undergraduate scholars can challenge established narratives and recover histories that might otherwise remain buried in archival boxes.
The $500 award recognizes not just the excellence of Ava’s scholarship, but also her contribution to our understanding of this difficult chapter in Wyoming’s past. Her paper stands as a testament to how primary source research can illuminate complex historical truths and bring marginalized voices back into our collective memory.
The AHC extends our warmest congratulations to Ava on this well-deserved recognition. Her thorough research and thoughtful analysis exemplify the highest standards of undergraduate scholarship. We look forward to seeing where her academic journey takes her next. We also wish to express our sincere gratitude to Dr. Samantha Vandermeade for nominating Ava’s work and for her dedication to teaching archival research methods. By guiding students to explore challenging aspects of our shared history through primary sources, professors like Dr. Vandermeade help fulfill the AHC’s mission of enabling historical research and interpretation across disciplines.
The AHC Undergraduate Research Award will continue to recognize excellence in undergraduate research using our collections. We encourage all University of Wyoming faculty members to consider nominating outstanding student work for next year’s award.
These primary source materials—including photographs, documents, manuscripts, and more related to Wyoming’s Northern Arapaho and Eastern Shoshone tribes—are available through digitized resources, online exhibits, and with assistance from Reference Department staff to help teachers educate students about the cultural heritage, history, and contributions of Wyoming’s tribal nations while supporting Wyoming Social Studies Standards.
For more information about using the Center’s resources, contact the AHC’s Reference Department at ahcref@uwyo.edu.
While we often remember how the American Revolution began—with the “shot heard round the world” on April 19, 1775—the story of how it ended deserves equal attention. As we mark the 250th anniversary of the war’s start, the journal of Winthrop Ballantine (1762-1845) offers us a compelling window into those crucial final months when America’s independence hung in the balance.
The collection documents one of the most precarious moments in American history – the Newburgh Conspiracy of 1783. While formal independence had been won on the battlefield, the fragile new republic nearly collapsed from within when unpaid and disgruntled officers contemplated using military force against the civilian government they had just fought to establish. Ballantine’s papers provide insight into how General Washington’s leadership preserved America’s experiment in republican government at this critical juncture.
Who Was Winthrop Ballantine?
Born in Westfield, Massachusetts in 1762 to Reverend John and Mary Ballantine, Winthrop was just a boy of 12 when the Revolutionary War began. By the conflict’s end in 1783, the 21-year-old Ballantine had some association with the Continental Army, though his exact role remains somewhat mysterious.
The nature of his collection raises intriguing questions about his involvement. Medical invoices and recipes for various remedies suggest some connection to healthcare, while his records of Washington’s communications during the Newburgh Conspiracy indicate access to important military documents. Given Ballantine’s youth during most of the war, it’s unlikely he served as a physician to Washington or in any senior medical capacity. More plausibly, he may have served as a medical apprentice, a junior aide, or perhaps collected these documents later in life as part of his personal or professional interests.
Ballantine’s journal at the AHC.
A Note on the Documents
The papers in Ballantine’s collection represent an intriguing example of how Revolutionary-era documents circulated and survived in multiple forms. During this period, important military orders, speeches, and correspondence were routinely copied by hand for distribution to different officers, units, and government bodies.
Additionally, educated individuals frequently maintained personal journals and commonplace books where they transcribed significant texts they encountered. While the National Archives and other institutions hold original or official copies of many of these same documents, Ballantine’s collection offers a unique perspective on which materials a young man associated with the Continental Army considered worth preserving. Rather than diminishing their value, the existence of these documents in multiple collections underscores their historical importance and demonstrates how revolutionary ideas and information circulated through early American society.
The Newburgh Conspiracy: A Nation in the Balance
In March 1783, as the war was winding down, the Continental Army encamped at Newburgh, New York, faced a serious crisis. Officers, frustrated by years of unpaid wages and the Continental Congress’s seeming inability to honor its financial commitments, contemplated taking matters into their own hands—potentially through military action against the civilian government.
The collection includes anonymous addresses to the army officers that urged them to refuse to disband until Congress had settled their pay. In response, Washington personally intervened with an impassioned speech to his officers on March 15, 1783, appealing to their patriotism and dissuading them from any actions that might undermine the republic they had fought to create.
One striking passage from Washington’s address preserved in the Ballantine papers reads:
By thus determining, and thus acting, you will pursue the plain and direct road to the attainment of your wishes – you will defeat the insidious design of our enemies… you will give one more distinguished proof of unexampled patriotism & patient virtue rising superior to the pressure of the most complicated sufferings – And you will by the dignity of your conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, ‘had this day been wanting the world had never seen the last stage of perfection, to which human nature is capable of attaining.’
The crisis was ultimately resolved when Congress promised it would not disband the army without first settling payment for all soldiers in full for their service.
Washington defuses the Newburgh Conspiracy. Drawing his spectacles for the first time in public, he humbly remarked, “Gentlemen, you must pardon me. I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind,” moving many officers to tears and peacefully ending threats of military revolt. Painting by Jane Sutherland/George Washington’s Mount Vernon.
The Revolution’s Pharmaceutical Front
Equally fascinating are the medical aspects of Ballantine’s collection. An invoice lists medicines that would have been valuable to a Revolutionary War-era practitioner: opium as a powerful pain reliever for battlefield injuries; camphor used in topical applications for muscle aches and inflammation; myrrh serving as an antiseptic for wounds and cuts; gum Arabic functioning as a binding agent for pills and emulsifier for medicines; aloe applied to burns and skin irritations; ammonium likely used as smelling salts to revive unconscious patients; and silver nitrate employed as a caustic agent for cauterizing wounds.
The collection also contains recipes for various remedies, including antimony diaphoretic to induce sweating, aromatic bitters for digestive complaints, colic drops, elixirs for asthma and other conditions, tincture of myrrh, and laudanum liquor (an opium preparation). These pharmaceutical items offer a glimpse into 18th-century medicine—a blend of scientific understanding and traditional remedies that represented the state of medical knowledge during this transitional period.
Medicinals listed in Ballantine’s journal, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Peace at Last
Perhaps most moving about the Ballantine collection are the documents that capture the raw emotion of America’s victory. In general orders dated March 28, 1783, Washington announces the end of hostilities with these stirring words:
The Commander in Chief far from endeavoring to stifle the feeling of joy in his own bosom, offers his most cordial congratulations, on the occasion, to all the officers of every domination, to all the troops of the United States in general and in particular, the gallant and persevering men, who had resolved to defend the rights of their invaded Country so long as the war should continue.
Later, in orders from April 10, 1783, Washington reflects on the magnitude of what had been achieved:
For happy, thrice happy shall they be pronounced hereafter, who have contributed anything, who have performed the meanest office, in erecting this stupendous Fabric of Freedom and Empire on the broad basis of Independency – who have assisted in protecting the rights of human nature, and establishing an asylum for the poor and oppressed of all Nations and Religions.
Evacuation Day (November 25, 1783). This 1879 chromolithograph by E.P. and L. Restein depicts Washington’s triumphant entry into New York City after British forces departed, marking the final British withdrawal from America. Though artistic license places St. Paul’s Chapel (left) along the route, the actual procession followed a different path through Manhattan, concluding what Ballantine’s papers described as “erecting this stupendous Fabric of Freedom and Empire on the broad basis of Independency.” Library of Congress Prints and Photographs division.
The Society of the Cincinnati: A Revolutionary Brotherhood
The Ballantine collection contains a detailed copy of The Society of the Cincinnati’s organizational structure and principles, giving us insight into how Revolutionary officers preserved their bonds after the war. As recorded in these papers, the Society took its name from the Roman Cincinnatus, with the document stating:
The officers of the American Army, having generally been taken from the Citizens of America, possess high veneration for the character of that illustrious Roman Quintius Cincinnatus, and being resolved to follow his example, by returning to their citizenship, they think they may with propriety denominate themselves, The Society of the Cincinnati.
This choice was particularly meaningful as Washington himself was often compared to Cincinnatus for his willingness to relinquish command and return to Mount Vernon, earning him the nickname “The American Cincinnatus” among his contemporaries.
The papers in the collection describe the Society’s guiding principles, including “an incessant attention to preserve inviolate those exalted rights & liberties of human nature, for which they have fought & bled” and promoting union between states.
Ballantine’s copy details practical matters as well: state branches meeting “on the fourth day of July annually,” officers contributing “one months [sic] pay” to support members and families in need, and provisions for membership by “the eldest male branches” of officers who died in service.
The Verplanck House (Mount Gulian) in Fishkill, New York, where Baron von Steuben established the Society of Cincinnati on May 13, 1783. Image: Rolf Müller, May 21, 2006, CC BY-SA 3.0.
A Living Connection to Our Past
Ballantine’s journal offers more than historical facts—it provides an emotional connection to those who lived through America’s founding struggle. We better understand the anxiety of unpaid soldiers contemplating mutiny, Washington’s personal intervention to preserve civilian authority, and the relief of peace finally achieved after eight years of conflict. These documents remind us that history was lived by real people facing uncertainty, making difficult choices, and celebrating hard-won victories.
The Winthrop Ballantine collection helps us understand not just what happened, but the enduring significance of America’s founding struggle. Whether Ballantine transcribed these documents himself during his youth near the time of the Revolution, copied them later in life, or acquired them through other means as part of his personal or professional interests, his selection reveals which aspects of this pivotal era resonated most deeply with him. The fact that these particular documents—many of which exist in official form elsewhere—were preserved in his collection offers insight into how Americans of his generation understood and valued their revolutionary heritage. Researchers and history enthusiasts will find in these papers not only facts and dates, but a curated window into the hopes, concerns, and watershed moments that shaped the American identity.
Post contributed by AHC Simpson Archivist Leslie Waggener.
While Kraft Music Hall (KMH) earned its reputation through unforgettable music performances, as explored in “Take it Away, John Scott,” the show’s enduring charm also rested on its clever comedy. Producing a live, weekly variety show featuring music, comedy, and guest appearances was no small feat. Every broadcast needed to be engaging enough to maintain listener interest and keep the show’s sponsor, Kraft Foods, satisfied. This challenge fell largely into the hands of Carroll Carroll, whose sharp scriptwriting and comedy ensured that each episode delivered top-tier entertainment.
Scripts and Soundwaves: Carroll Carroll’s Process
Carroll Carroll, a writer hired by the J. Walter Thompson advertising agency, played a pivotal role in shaping the comedic voice of the KMH. In addition to crafting scripts that felt natural and spontaneous, he wrote copy for Kraft Foods, delivered by announcer Ken Carpenter. Carroll’s writing was essential to Bing Crosby’s relaxed, easygoing persona—Crosby, with limited acting experience and discomfort with ad-libbing, relied on Carroll’s scripts to keep interactions with guests feeling effortless. As John Scott Trotter remarked in an undated interview in Carroll’s papers, “A more organized person there never was,” underscoring Carroll’s attention to detail in writing for the show.
Carroll Carroll, ca. 1935. From AHC Photo Files, Carroll Carroll, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Carroll referred to the show’s core cast—Crosby, Carpenter, Trotter, and Mary Martin—as “The Family,” recognizing their familiar rapport as central to KMH’s appeal. Integrating guests into this established dynamic required careful planning. Carroll believed that featuring more than one guest alongside “The Family” during an interview segment risked overshadowing the cast, describing it as “confusing radio.” To maintain clarity and balance, he tailored dialogue to fit each guest’s style, ensuring interactions felt smooth and humor appeared entirely improvisational.
To keep the humor fresh, Carroll wrote multiple variations of jokes, allowing Crosby and his guests to seem spontaneous even during live broadcasts. One of the standout comedic personalities on the show was Bob Burns, a regular fixture whose homespun storytelling and folksy wit made him a fan favorite. Burns’ signature instrument—the bazooka, a homemade contraption fashioned from gas pipes and a whiskey funnel—became an iconic part of his act, earning laughs from audiences nationwide.
Recording of Bob Burns playing the bazooka, 1938. Box 452. John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Nicknamed the “Hillbilly Philosopher,” his self-deprecating humor and Southern charm provided a distinct comedic contrast to Crosby’s more polished persona. Carroll’s scripts played into this dynamic, allowing Burns’ rambling, offbeat humor to flow naturally into Bing’s wry, deadpan responses. The result was a comedic interplay that felt effortless but was carefully structured behind the scenes.
Setting the Dial: Balancing Comedy and Crooning
Each KMH episode resulted from extensive preparation, with all scripts requiring prior approval from Kraft Foods. The sponsor ensured that the content aligned with the company’s image and target audience, giving the creative team some freedom but also imposing certain constraints. Carroll noted that Kraft disliked cheapening guests and preferred interviews to be structured like natural “conversations,” maintaining a refined, polished tone.
Carroll was known for tweaking lines to match a guest’s delivery style, understanding that timing and personality were key to a joke’s success. Revisions were common, ensuring jokes landed and the balance between comedy and music remained seamless. He also gauged audience reactions, retiring stale gags and introducing fresh elements to keep the show engaging. His attention to detail extended beyond the scripts—every segment needed to flow naturally within the broadcast’s runtime.
Carroll Carroll’s notes on scriptwriting for Kraft Music Hall, undated. Box 1. Carroll Carroll papers, Coll. No. 3123, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Blending humor and music was essential to KMH’s appeal. Unlike many contemporary variety shows that leaned heavily toward one or the other, KMH struck a balance that captivated audiences. Carroll’s scripts ensured that comedy never overshadowed the music, creating a natural interplay between Crosby’s witty exchanges and his signature baritone performances.
Carroll’s adaptability was particularly evident during World War II when KMH became a tool for promoting war efforts. Carroll described the challenge of integrating such material, stating that for radio spots that promoted the war effort, “it is generally best to bear in mind that they should be entertaining and bright as well as instructive and directive. Try to avoid the maudlin… as one of them might destroy our usefulness as a medium of true propaganda.” The show’s reach did not go unnoticed; according to Carroll, officials in Washington “recognized the value of the Kraft program as a means of indoctrinating the American public.”
Static and Signals: Adapting Through Change
No long-running program is without its challenges. As KMH evolved, its creative team had to navigate shifting audience tastes and industry changes. The humor of the early 1930s, often rooted in vaudevillian slapstick and rapid-fire wordplay, gave way to a more conversational, character-driven style by the 1940s. Carroll adapted by refining the show’s comedic structure, ensuring that KMH remained relevant to a changing audience.
Bob Burns (playing the bazooka), John Scott Trotter (at piano), and Bing Crosby. Box 442. John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Guest bookings were also unpredictable, especially with Hollywood’s busiest stars balancing tight schedules. Despite KMH paying some of the lowest guest star salaries in network radio, most guests enjoyed appearing due to Carroll’s skillful writing. He ensured visiting performers weren’t mere setup men for Crosby but were given witty, engaging material.
Carroll Carroll was very adroit in fashioning scripts that would fit these people… Then, we’d do a duet, and we might even work Bob Burns in there and have a trio or a quartet.
Bing Crosby. Audiocassette tape reminiscing on Kraft Music Hall. Carroll Carroll papers, Coll. 3123, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming
Carroll explained, “The guests have learned to expect courtesy in the way of jokes. They do not come on Kraft knowing that they’ll wind up playing straight. If this were the case, we would never be able to book anybody at the dough we offer. We pay it off in laughs.”
One of the greatest challenges Carroll faced was the push to cut the show’s length from an hour to 30 minutes to save costs. He argued passionately against the change, stating that shortening the program would lead to a smaller audience, as “the talent cost could not be appreciably reduced without a serious reduction in the size of the audience.” Carroll believed the hour-long format was crucial to the show’s relaxed charm and well-developed comedic rhythms. He also pointed out that “the actual results in Kraft sales serve as factual evidence that a full hour does the work required.”
Despite these pressures, Carroll continued to adapt and refine KMH, remaining attentive to audience responses. His knack for maintaining the show’s dynamic balance between music and comedy helped sustain its popularity during a rapidly changing era.
Broadcast Echoes: The Creative Impact of KMH
The behind-the-scenes efforts of KMH’s creative team left an indelible mark on radio entertainment. Carroll Carroll’s sharp writing, Trotter’s impeccable musical direction, and the careful orchestration of comedy, music, and advertising set a high standard for variety programming. Their innovations influenced future radio and television variety shows, demonstrating how a combination of talent, preparation, and adaptability could create lasting entertainment. Though Kraft Music Hall eventually left the airwaves, its creative legacy endures, reminding us of the skill and craftsmanship that went into making audiences laugh week after week.
That’s the final curtain call for the AHC’s Kraft Music Hall series! From Kraft’s ads to Crosby’s crooning to Carroll’s comedy, we’ve covered the notes and the punchlines that made radio history. Thank you for joining us for this week’s broadcast—it’s been a swell time! Signing off.
Post contributed by AHC Audiovisual Archivist Jessica LaBozetta
Aside from being an effective tool for advertising, as explored in On the Air and in the Aisles, Kraft Music Hall (KMH) owed much of its enduring appeal to the caliber of musical performances and the talent behind them. The show’s blend of orchestral arrangements, popular tunes, and live performances from emerging stars made it a standout in the Golden Age of Radio.
At the heart of this musical identity was John Scott Trotter, whose orchestrations helped define the show’s unique sound. With an ear for lush, full-bodied arrangements and an understanding of popular taste, Trotter shaped the program’s musical direction, making it a premier destination for listeners eager to hear top-tier entertainment each week.
From Piano to Podium
John Scott Trotter’s journey to KMH began in his college years at the University of North Carolina, where he majored in architecture and played piano in the student band. During his time at UNC, Trotter reconnected with his childhood friend, the rising big band leader Hal Kemp. Recognizing his talent, Kemp invited Trotter to join his professional orchestra, prompting Trotter to leave school before completing his degree. This decision set him on a path toward becoming one of the most respected arrangers of his era.
John Scott Trotter at the piano. Box 442, John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Trotter’s first foray into film came in 1936 when he was asked to orchestrate the Columbia Pictures film Pennies from Heaven, starring Bing Crosby, Madge Evans, and Louis Armstrong. The project not only showcased Trotter’s skill in blending jazz and orchestral elements, but also was the beginning of a working relationship with Crosby that would last for more than 36 years. That same year, shortly after Crosby took over as the host of KMH, Trotter was tapped to replace Jimmy Dorsey as the musical director for the program—a role that would prove pivotal in shaping the show’s distinctive sound.
A 1942 newspaper clipping from a scrapbook in Trotter’s papers highlights Bing Crosby’s regard for his longtime collaborator, noting that “Crosby remembered John Scott Trotter with warm appreciation. He recommended the latter for the vacant musical director’s post.” This endorsement not only cemented Trotter’s role at KMH but also marked the beginning of a creative era that would define the show’s signature sound for years to come.
Composing the KMH Sound: Trotter’s Orchestral Arrangements
John Scott Trotter’s orchestral style combined sophistication with accessibility. His arrangements—marked by sweeping strings, bold brass, and delicate woodwinds—were crafted to complement Bing Crosby’s warm baritone. As a show intended to highlight up-and-coming talent in music, Trotter’s arrangements made every performance feel polished yet effortless, a quality that resonated with both live studio audiences and listeners at home.
John Scott Trotter and Bing Crosby. Photo File: Crosby, Bing, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Trotter’s arrangements were not only tailored to Crosby’s vocal style but also thoughtfully adapted to highlight the unique strengths of each guest performer. His flexibility as a musical director created a welcoming platform for up-and-coming artists, allowing them to appear confident and at ease. Trotter’s versatility allowed the program to transition seamlessly between swing numbers, sentimental ballads, and patriotic anthems, ensuring the musical content remained fresh and appealing throughout the show’s long run.
Bing & John Scott: A Perfect Chord
Bing Crosby’s tenure as host of KMH was deeply intertwined with John Scott Trotter’s musical direction. The two developed a close working relationship, which led to many memorable performances between the crooner and the orchestra under the leadership of John Scott, including musical selections tied to newly released films. Broadcasting from Hollywood, a groundbreaking development in radio at the time, offered a distinct advantage to the show. The studio’s proximity to film sets allowed the ability to easily incorporate both music and talent from current motion pictures. This allowed Trotter and Crosby to create timely and relevant content that further connected the show to the broader entertainment industry.
Recordings in the John Scott Trotter papers reflect this synergy, showcasing performances of film-related songs arranged specifically for the program. These selections often helped promote upcoming films while also serving as standalone entertainment. Other recordings capture Crosby’s nostalgic renditions of classic tunes, such as the 1873 standard “Silver Threads Among the Gold.” These sentimental pieces—often introduced with the wistful phrase “Do you remember?”—became a regular feature on the program, known as “Memory Spots,” and offered a reflective contrast to the more contemporary musical selections.
Recording of Bing Crosby performing “Smiles” as part of KMH Memory Spot, 1937. Box 451, John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming. Script for Kraft Music Hall Memory Spot for “Smiles.” Box 1, Carroll Carroll papers, Coll. No. 3123, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Trotter’s steady presence provided a sense of continuity as Crosby rose to become one of music’s biggest stars. A newspaper clipping from the John Scott Trotter papers notes his dedication, stating that he was present for every Thursday night broadcast of the program for “339 straight weekly airshows without a rest.” Bing and John Scott’s works played a significant role in keeping the show fresh and engaging, ensuring that audiences tuned in week after week.
The Stage That Made Stars Shine
Beyond Crosby, KMH welcomed an impressive roster of guest musicians. Trotter’s orchestra provided the perfect backdrop for a variety of performers, from jazz greats to classical virtuosos. The show’s commitment to high-caliber music helped elevate the role of radio as a platform for serious musical artistry.
We had all kinds of music. We had opera, we had the finest classical pianists, we had popular music all mixed up.
Quote from interview about KMH on audiocassette tape. Carroll Carroll papers, Coll. No. 3123, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
KMH also featured a diverse range of new talent, reflecting the growing variety in popular and classical music. Alongside Crosby, stars like Frank Sinatra and series regulars such as the Music Maids added their unique styles to the show. Opera singers like Kirsten Flagstad and classical musicians such as violinist Robert Virovai brought a touch of sophistication, expanding the program’s musical range. This blend of talent helped position the show as a platform for both contemporary and classical music, further enhancing its appeal.
Although KMH offered lower performance fees than many other programs, artists were often eager to participate for the exposure and the opportunity to connect with audiences in the show’s setting. That inviting atmosphere—shaped by Trotter’s musical direction and Crosby’s affable on-air persona, developed through Carroll Carroll’s script writing—played a significant role in endearing performers to the public and bolstering their popularity.
Bing Crosby, John Scott Trotter, Axel Stordahl, and Frank Sinatra. Box 442, John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming
Trotter remained with KMH even after Crosby’s departure on May 9, 1946. Crosby’s 11-year tenure made him the program’s most iconic host, but Trotter’s influence persisted, maintaining the show’s musical integrity.
A Lasting Influence
John Scott Trotter’s contributions played a crucial role in shaping the sound of radio variety programs. Even after Crosby’s departure from KMH in 1946, Trotter continued to collaborate with him as musical director for future projects, including The Bing Crosby Show and Crosby’s iconic recording of “White Christmas.” As the entertainment industry transitioned from radio to television, Trotter’s influence remained, underscoring the enduring power of exceptional music and skillful direction. In the 1960s, his expertise extended to The Peanuts, where collaborated with Vince Guaraldi, further cementing his impact on mid-century music. Trotter’s career stands as a testament to the timeless nature of great musical direction, leaving an indelible mark on both radio and television.
Keep that dial set! In the final chapter of our AHC limited series on Kraft Music Hall, we’re bringing you the laughs with the sharp comedy of Carroll Carroll. Stay tuned—you won’t want to miss it!
Post contributed by AHC Audiovisual Archivist Jessica LaBozetta.
Track maintenance workers in Wyoming, ca. 1976. Image courtesy of Howard Meeker (second from right).
When you think of the Union Pacific Railroad, you might picture massive locomotives or endless stretches of track crossing the plains. But for a recent American Heritage Center oral history project, it’s the people and their stories that take center stage. Through funding from the Union Pacific Foundation, former UP employees shared their railroad experiences, now featured in five themed videos that bring their memorable stories to life.
Pioneering Women of the Rails
The 1970s marked a turning point for Union Pacific as women entered roles previously closed to them. In one of the videos, a roundtable discussion features Teresa Straub, Celeste Malloy, Kris Tomanek, and Danny Roeseler, who were part of the early wave of women to work as brakemen, conductors, and engineers in the switch yards and on locomotives. Their discussion reveals not just the physical and social challenges they faced, but also the strong bonds of friendship that developed among coworkers, creating a supportive network in what was then very much a man’s world.
I think for me, the camaraderie [impacted me most]. I still have really good friends who worked for the railroad, and you trust these people with your life and limb, literally. If they make a move, you could get split in two or hurt really bad. So, that life and limb kind of bonding and knowing the crazy schedule and the crazy lifestyle it was.
– Kris Tomanek
Women railroad workers in Cheyenne, ca. 1992. Those pictured include four participants of the Life Between the Rails project. Photo taken by Paul Chesley. A similar photo taken by Chesley appeared in the book America: Then & Now: Great Old Photographs of America’s Life and Times-And How Those Same Scenes Look Today (1992) by David Cohen. In the book, Cohen placed the 1992 Cheyenne group photo alongside a comparable image of female railroad workers from the Cheyenne rail yard in 1918. Image courtesy of Celeste Malloy.
Not every railroader welcomed these changes. As women entered traditionally male-dominated jobs in the 1970s and ‘80s, they sometimes faced direct pushback from their colleagues. Retired UP engineer Debbie Martinez recalls:
I had a man, an older man, and he told me, “You don’t need to be out here. Women should not have this job and be out here. You should be at home with your kid and you should just stay home.” I tried to explain to him why I was out there and he says, “I understand, but I’m old fashioned and that’s my idea.” We ended up being good friends after that, after I explained to him. I never took anything too personal.
A Railroad in Transition
Two trains pass on Sherman Hill, ca.1978. A steam locomotive is on the right and a train transporting quarter-mile welded rail is on the left. Image courtesy of Howard Meeker
At the Laramie Railroad Depot and Cheyenne Depot Museum, veteran railroaders gathered to share memories of an industry in transformation. Their discussions paint a vivid picture of railroading’s evolution, from the era of roundhouses and cabooses to today’s computer-controlled locomotives and satellite communications. These stories capture how railroad workers adapted to sweeping technological changes while maintaining the skills and dedication that kept the trains running.
The computerization of the railroad – we saw it in its infancy and we saw it the way it is now, where locomotives are run by computers. We just saw a lot of changes, the railroad coming into the 21st century and being pretty modern. Getting rid of the cabooses was a thing that was going to happen. It changed how we ran trains as engineers and how the railroad wanted trains run and it was quite an art to run a train with two guys on the rear end and not hurt them running across Wyoming at 70 miles an hour. And when they got rid of the caboose the conductor came up to the head end with us and made sure we rode the straight and narrow.
– Howard Meeker
Breaking Barriers
The 1970s marked a pivotal shift as more Latino and Latina workers gained access to train service positions at Union Pacific. Through interviews with railroaders like Abe Madrid, who worked his way up from brakeman to engineer, and Roy Sanchez, who worked as a brakeman and switchman, plus family members like Carol Pascal whose relatives worked multiple generations on the railroad, one of the videos documents their groundbreaking achievements while also exploring the challenges and discrimination faced by Hispanic railroad workers across different generations.
Sanchez recalls the barriers he faced trying to get hired in the 1960s and early ‘70s:
They would not let me on. They said no…He said, “I’ll give you a job, yeah, but you’re going to go out there pounding spikes with your other people.” I said, “I don’t want to do that. I want to be a brakeman because you’re hiring brakemen right now.” I said, “Why can’t you hire me?” “I can’t do that.” “Why?”
In his interview, Madrid reflects on how his grandfather’s generation of Hispanic workers were often relegated to the hardest physical labor:
My grandfather as a section man, they almost solely hired minorities because that was hard work. They were working on the tracks back then. They didn’t have a lot of the machinery and a lot of the technology that they have now. They had to do a lot of that work by hand… Just labor. Moving ties and making sure that all the spikes were in place and so on and so forth. I think once a week, they’d walk the track. They’d have to walk so many miles of that track, check them for loose spikes or rail and so on and so forth.
Carol Pascal, whose family’s collective UP service spans nearly 300 years, shared difficult memories about a painful chapter in railroad history:
They would say, “Here, you can use this pass, this railroad pass, to get to Mexico”… John Scott, who I don’t know if that’s his real name, who said, “Here’s the railroad pass. You don’t even have to pay for anything. You can take you and your family.” Later, my Uncle Carlos told me… “I don’t know whether they cared whether we went to Mexico, as long as we left here and left our jobs.”
Women Answer the Wartime Call
The videos reach back to World War II through the memories of children whose mothers and aunts answered the nation’s call to keep the trains running. Sally Meeker tells of her mother Myrtle Peterson Forney’s work at the isolated station at Sherman, Wyoming.
Following two months of classes, the instructor called for three student volunteers to go to Cheyenne, Wyoming, for assignment to Sherman Station, just south of Ames Monument, the highest point of the Union Pacific Railroad… On a blustery day, one of the days at Sherman when the chain stood straight out blowing in the wind, we arrived at the Sherman depot where we were to live and work….We had an outdoor privy, coal stoves for heat and cooking, bathing in an old wash tub, and carrying water from an outside pump across the tracks. As our truck arrived with furniture and supplies to furnish our new home, we actually considered not unloading it but returning at least to Cheyenne…. Thanks to an understanding dispatcher and the support of those caring section men and their families, we were encouraged to stay.
– Sally Meeker, reading from Myrtle Peterson Forney’s autobiography
Myrtle handing over orders to the conductor on the caboose, ca. 1942. Image courtesy of Sally Meeker.
Stories of Carol Pascal’s aunts Lupe Serrano Arias and Rosemary Arias Weible reveal the challenges women faced in the Cheyenne yards.
My Aunt Rosemary, when she worked during the war, she prepared some of the meals for the passenger cars….there were a lot of troop trains and so they made little packages of food for the troops, too…. My Uncle Ruben told me that she would write little notes like, “Good luck” and “We love you” on the packages. So she got to work inside….at some point they replaced her with an Anglo lady and she went to work outside…..She said she couldn’t wait for the war to be over because the winters were really hard on her.
– Carol Pascal
Railroad workers in Cheyenne during WWII. Carol’s Aunt Rosemary Arias Weible is pictured in the center, with chin on hand. Image courtesy of Carol Pascal.
Carol’s Aunt Lupe Serrano Arias in the Cheyenne railyard, ca. 1943. Image courtesy of Carol Pascal.
Ricky Durrant shared memories of his mother Mabel Turner Durrant’s experiences working at various points along the UP line during wartime. Initially working at an ammunition plant in Arkansas, she seized an opportunity when the railroads offered telegraph operator training in Denver. She then worked her way across Wyoming and Utah as an operator, moving from Rawlins to Wamsutter, Bitter Creek, Carter, Altamont, then Evanston, Wasatch, and Morgan, Utah.
Mom was a telegraph operator and a phone operator. She started working in Rawlins… Then she went west to Wamsutter, Bitter Creek — she skipped Green River — Carter, Altamont, then Evanston, Wasatch, and then Morgan, Utah…Nobody wanted to work Wasatch, so [her job] was safe.
– Ricky Durrant
Ricky’s mother Mable Turner Durrant pauses during a work day as a telegrapher out Rawlins depot, ca. 1942. Image courtesy of Ricky Durrant.
Human Stories Between the Rails
One of the videos focuses on the unexpected moments and humor that lightened long days on the railroad. These stories remind us that behind every train that crossed Wyoming’s vast plains was a community of workers who shared not just the work, but their lives. The camaraderie they developed helped sustain them through challenges and created bonds that lasted well beyond their railroad careers.
Bernie broke through the snow drift and stopped the locomotive and panicked on the radio, called me up and he said, “I’ve lost the snowplow.” He said, “It broke loose!” There went the snowplow on its own, heading for the river. I drove as fast as I could to Saratoga and went over by the lumber yard. As it rolled by, I managed to get on it and set the handbrake about 20 yards before it went in the river. And of course, they came down and got it – we pinky swore that we wouldn’t tell anybody.
– Ken Klouda
We were digging out a car out of a train that had a missile on it, and you could tell by the markings and we picked it up and we were going to hand it off to a BN crew and we were doing everything very carefully and very slowly and not having any problems and when we hooked up to the BN crew and my foreman pulled the pin on the locomotive and we backed up, I hollered on the radio, “Bombs away!” I was just kidding, thinking we don’t have it no more, you know. Next thing you know, there’s three guys in a military jeep and they wanna talk to me and then one of our managers shows up and they go, “Why would you say something like that?” and I says, “Come on, lighten up. This job’s hard enough as it is.” I was always clowning around on the radio, that’s kinda what I did.
– Celeste Malloy
Preserving Railroad Heritage
Through the interviews and these documentaries, the AHC has captured an important piece of Union Pacific history. These aren’t just stories about trains and tracks – they’re about the people who kept one of America’s great railroads running through decades of change. Their experiences, now preserved in our archives, help us understand that the true legacy of Union Pacific lies in its people.
Railroad workers in Rawlins on Engine #7021, 1927. Image ah05195_0344, Box 8A, Frank J. Meyers papers, Coll. No. 5195, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
You may also be interested in the AHC’s virtual exhibit “The Art of the Railroad” and “Hell on Wheels: Union Pacific Towns in Wyoming.” The first explores the cultural impact of railroads like those featured in these oral histories, while the second examines the rough boom towns that sprang up during the original construction of the line these workers maintained and operated.
Post contributed by the “Life Between the Rails” project team Tana Libolt and Leslie Waggener.
On March 14, we lost Al Simpson. My heart feels heavy as I write these words.
At the American Heritage Center, we knew him like so many others did—as a benefactor, yes, but more importantly, as a friend. I’ve been the Simpson Institute archivist at the AHC since 2008, and the memories I’m sharing only scratch the surface of who Al was to me and to so many others.
Al Simpson on the cover of Empire Magazine, November 11, 1984. Image ah000916. Photo File: Simpson, Alan, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
The Simpson Institute came to life back in 2000 through the generosity of Julienne Michel, a friend of Al and Ann who believed their legacy deserved preservation. Her initial gift of $500,000 and promised estate gift of $1 million allowed us to properly archive the papers of not just Al, but also his father Milward (Wyoming’s 23rd Governor and a U.S. Senator himself) and his brother Pete, the historian and politician. Since then the Simpson Institute has grown to sponsor oral history programs, Wyoming History Day awards, research fellowships, public programming, and so much more – all in the spirit of Al’s dedication to Wyoming and public service.
I remember the first time I went to Cody for a Buffalo Bill Center of the West board meeting. The Simpsons have deep ties there. What sticks with me most is watching Al walk in and, before doing anything else, making a beeline to hug his brother Pete. The love between them was palpable—something genuine and touching that I can still picture clearly today.
The friendship started early. Al and Pete as boys playing Chinese checkers. Image ah003342. Photo File: Simpson, Milward, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Al knew my father-in-law Dick Waggener well. Dick had once held a fundraiser for Al in Green River during Al’s US Senate campaign. Whenever I saw Al, he’d ask about Dick and his wife Eleanor. As Dick’s health declined, talking with Al was a comfort. Al had been through watching his own father’s decline and understood what our family was experiencing. That kind of empathy can’t be faked.
I got to attend Al’s birthday party at the Simpsons’ Bobcat Ranch outside Cody in 2011 with my husband, Robert. Nothing fancy—that wasn’t Al’s style. BBQ and casual wear. And a kiss on the cheek for me from both Al and Pete. Nobody left without hearing at least one joke from the brothers.
Aren’t I the lucky one! I get a kiss from Al and Pete at Al’s birthday party on September 5, 2011. Photo courtesy Robert Waggener.
Al and I didn’t always see eye to eye. He thought I was being too liberal in my approach to an immigration symposium I organized in 2014 on behalf of the AHC. And you know what? He was right. But that didn’t stop him from flying from Cody to Laramie to kick off the event with a talk. He nearly gave me a heart attack showing up just 10 minutes before it started—but the point is, he showed up.
He showed up again in 2019 when we hosted two former congressmen as part of the Congress to Campus program at UW. After the discussion, I watched as people from across the political spectrum—die-hard Republicans and equally committed Democrats—lined up to shake his hand, give him a hug, ask about his family. Al had this rare gift of being everybody’s friend, and everybody knew it.
Al conversing with retired Democratic congressman Brian Baird (D-WA3) and ASUW Vice President John Houghton, September 17, 2019. AHC Photo.
What always moved me was how he talked about Ann. She would inevitably come up in conversation—her beauty, her wisdom, how she had to put up with him. There was a real love story there, a deep friendship that was beautiful to witness.
Al with his beautiful and beloved wife Ann Schroll Simpson early in their marriage. They married in 1954. Image ah002217. Box 574, Milward L. Simpson papers, Coll. No. 26, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Over the years, my phone would ring with calls from reporters, regular folks, even school kids, all wanting me to connect them with Al for his take on whatever was happening in the world. His relevance never faded.
I think what made Al special, especially in today’s world, was how he showed us you could disagree without being disagreeable. That you could hold strong convictions while still reaching your hand across the divide. That politics didn’t have to mean sacrificing your humanity or your sense of humor.
Quintessentially Al. He shows his moves dancing to “Gangnam Style” in a video produced by The Can Kicks Back campaign in December 2012, highlighting his commitment to engaging millennials in addressing the national debt.
The American Heritage Center will continue preserving Al’s papers and recordings. We just probably won’t receive them every time there’s a UW home football game. That was our ritual; we always expected a box from Al when the Cowboys were playing at home. He’d bring in the latest additions to his papers, another piece of his remarkable career to archive. But those of us lucky enough to have known him will remember the man himself—his booming laugh, his straight talk, his generous heart.
The AHC has lost a champion, Wyoming has lost a giant, and we’ve all lost a friend. Thank you for everything, Al.
Post contributed by Simpson Institute Archivist Leslie Waggener.
A standard of the Golden Age of Radio, musical-variety radio programs surged in popularity in the early 1930s as consumers gained access to affordable radio units. These shows, often blending comedy with music, remained beloved throughout the Great Depression. Typically sponsored by well-known companies, these programs became powerful vehicles for both entertainment and commercial influence.
During World War II, many shows incorporated patriotic standards and messages urging households to support the war effort. While these shows remained popular into the 1950s, they often transitioned to a televised format as more households purchased televisions in the post-war years.
There are many notable programs within this genre, including The Burns and Allen Show, the Western-themed Gene Autry’s Melody Ranch, and the wartime Meet Your Navy program. Despite stiff competition in an expanding market, Kraft Music Hall (KMH) achieved remarkable success and became one of the defining radio variety programs of the era.
From Static to Stardom
Network radio experienced rapid expansion throughout the 1930s and 1940s, evolving from a novelty to an essential household medium. With this surge in listenership, advertisers recognized the power of radio to reach a wide audience. As a result, musical variety shows—which blended comedy, music, and guest appearances—became a popular format for programming. Their broad appeal made them ideal for sponsorship, as they could attract diverse audiences and integrate advertising seamlessly into the content.
From left to right, musical director John Scott Trotter and Kraft Music Hall announcer Ken Carpenter. Box #442. John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, AHC, Univ. of Wyoming.
A major shift in the late 1930s also influenced the show’s production. Up until 1936, most radio programs were broadcast from New York City due to AT&T’s cost-per-circuit mile rate, which made transmitting shows from other locations prohibitively expensive. After the passage of the Federal Communications Act in 1934, federal regulatory agencies intervened and forced a lower rate. After continental transmission rates decreased, NBC capitalized on the opportunity and began moving many of its radio programs, including KMH, to Hollywood.
This transition allowed for greater access to film stars and high-caliber talent, integrating Hollywood’s booming entertainment industry with radio broadcasts. It also enabled more seamless advertising tie-ins, as studios could use radio to promote their latest films by featuring actors and songs from upcoming releases. This shift helped shape the future of corporate-sponsored entertainment, demonstrating the powerful synergy between public radio programming and the silver screen.
Harmonizing Entertainment and Advertising
In 1933, Kraft Foods introduced a new mayonnaise substitute: Miracle Whip. That same year, KMH premiered on June 26. While the show didn’t achieve immediate commercial success, its partnership with Kraft Foods laid the foundation for its future growth.
Initially hosted by orchestra director Paul Whiteman, the show’s advertising was managed by the J. Walter Thompson (JWT) advertising agency. Based on Madison Avenue, JWT achieved a reputation of successfully appealing to female target audiences through their work with other household products like Woodbury Soap and Kellogg’s cereal. JWT developed straightforward, informative copy for use in advertisement—favoring more a more refined dialog and celebrity associations to a brand.
Advertisement for Kraft Dinner in a 1937 script for Kraft Music Hall. Box 31. Carroll Carroll papers, Coll. No. 3123, AHC, University of Wyoming.
Kraft Foods had partnered with JWT as early as 1922, but it was the development and delivery of advertising through KMH that helped Kraft establish a lasting brand identity. Even so, Kraft was adamant that the advertising and entertainment portions of the show remain distinct and separate. To maintain this balance, Ken Carpenter served as the program’s announcer, delivering Kraft advertisements developed by JWT between breezy comedy and catchy songs performed by the cast.
Although advertisements were kept separate from the main entertainment, the show’s comedy writers often incorporated mentions of Kraft products into skits and dialogue. While these references were not direct commercials, the humor surrounding them—placed just before Carpenter’s formal advertisements—helped the promotions feel like a natural extension of the show rather than a disruption
Recording of Bing Crosby and Connie Boswell parodying “Remember Me” (1938) to gently poke fun at KMH announcer Ken Carpenter while subtly advertising Kraft. Box 450. John Scott Trotter papers, Coll. No. 8424, AHC, University of Wyoming.
This model of brand integration helped shape the future of corporate-sponsored entertainment, setting a new precedent for blending marketing with storytelling. JWT’s approach of tasteful, unobtrusive advertising helped create lasting connections with listeners, influencing future radio and television advertising strategies.
Big Bands, Bigger Stars
Over time, KMH underwent key transitions in its hosts, format, and audience reception, all contributing to its enduring success. The original intention of KMH was to offer a more cultured version of the variety programs popular during the time. A 1935 review in Radio Reports explained that the program “turned variety-type. Evidently a higher, less hokey formula than used by the same agency, J. Walter Thompson, for Rudy Vallee’s Fleischmann Yeast is in prospect”1
Paul Whiteman remained host of the show until late-1935, when the show underwent a brief transition period where both Bing Crosby and Whiteman shared hosting responsibilities for the program. Crosby took over as the sole master of ceremonies for the show in 1936, which marked a pivotal shift in the show’s direction, as Crosby’s charm and smooth vocals attracted a broader audience. His easygoing on-air persona—crafted by JWT writer Carroll Carroll—and widespread appeal helped elevate KMH to new heights. The program’s signature blend of music featuring up-and-coming guest stars kept listeners engaged in the program.
Cue the Applause
Through its innovative blend of entertainment and advertising, KMH not only became one of the most beloved programs of radio’s Golden Age but also set a new standard for corporate-sponsored media. By balancing engaging performances with seamless product promotion, the show demonstrated how brands could become part of the cultural conversation without disrupting the audience’s experience. Decades later, KMH remains a defining example of how thoughtful storytelling, star power, and advertising can harmonize in a way that defined the Golden Age of Radio.
Folks, don’t touch that dial! Coming up next in the AHC’s limited series on KMH, we’ll be swinging into a deep dive on the toe-tapping tunes of maestro John Scott Trotter and the golden voice of Bing Crosby. So, grab your toasted cheese sandwich, settle in, and stay tuned—it’s sure to be a swell time!
Post contributed by AHC Audiovisual Archivist Jessica LaBozetta.
Land, J. (1935, September 18). “Radio reports: Kraft Music Hall.” Variety. Retrieved from Variety Archives (1905–2000). ↩︎
Many are the visitors to Wyoming who have been taken in by the legend of the jackalope. Mounted specimens of the elusive creature can be found in restaurants and coffee shops around the state. Jackalopes are reputed to be the rarest animals in North America.
The elusive jackalope, a mystifying hybrid of antelope and jackrabbit, has proven impossible to capture alive due to its incredible timidity and remarkable speed. Local legends claim these creatures can reach velocities of 90 miles per hour – inheriting 60 miles per hour from their antelope ancestry and 30 from their jackrabbit lineage.
Tracing the history of the legend of the jackalope is difficult. According to some, the first white man to see a jackalope was a trapper named Roy Ball in 1829. Others maintain it was a different trapper, Rail Amai, in 1851. Regardless, jackalopes have captured the imaginations of generations. Even serious organizations like the American Automobile Association have given the jackalope a publicity boost.
Wyoming Motor Club newsletter, 1964. Box 20, Clarice Whittenburg papers, Collection No. 400066, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Douglas, Wyoming, claims to be the jackalope capital of the world, with a jackalope statue featured in the town square. This title is well-earned – the town’s connection to the legendary creature began in the 1930s when local brothers Doug and Ralph Herrick, combining their hunting and taxidermy skills, created the first physical jackalope by mounting deer antlers on a jackrabbit carcass. After selling their novel creation to a local hotel, the brothers began supplying jackalope taxidermy to retailers in South Dakota, establishing a crafting tradition that taxidermists continue today.
Box 78, J.D. Love papers, Collection No. 10748, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Legend has it that jackalopes only mate during thunderstorms, in the glare of lightning flashes. Some have taken it upon themselves to come up with further bits of jackalope lore. Penelope Quick, of Hanna, Wyoming, asserts that jackalopes produce their young by laying eggs, and that the Easter Bunny is really a jackalope that has shed its antlers. Of course, Quick noted “no one has caught a jackalope or the Easter Bunny alive.”
Tale of the jackalope eggs by Penelope Quick. Box 5, folder 9, Wyoming Folklife Archive, Collection No. 545018, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Tongue-in-cheek Wyoming chambers of commerce and entrepreneurs have issued hunting licenses for the elusive Jackalope. One such permit stated that the bearer was allowed to take “one one-tailed jackalope in the boundaries of Converse County, June 31, between the hours of midnight and 2 a.m. only.” Next to the hunting licenses, some gift shops even sold cans of jackalope milk. Not to be outdone by Douglas, other parts of Wyoming have laid claim to the jackalope. The Red Desert area of South Central Wyoming issued its own jackalope hunting permit, signed by deputy game wardens, “Phil Graves & Berry M. Deep (also local undertakers).”
Box 18, Neal L. Blair papers, Coll. No. 10483, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
While there are those who have expressed concern about the fate of the jackalope in modern times, its only real enemy is a society where people have lost the ability to laugh and where there is no time for mischievous tall tales around the campfire.
Happy 307 Day – a celebration of all things Wyoming, named for our one and only area code. (When you’re the least populated state, you don’t need a spare!)
Post contributed by AHC Writer Kathryn Billington.
Few individuals witnessed and participated in pivotal 20th century events as intimately as Olive Ewing Clapper (1896-1968). Born in Kansas City and educated at the University of Kansas, Olive married her childhood sweetheart Raymond Clapper in 1913 after they eloped as teenagers. As Raymond built an illustrious career as a journalist, political columnist and radio broadcaster, Olive worked closely by his side.
Olive Clapper reading galley proofs of Watching the World in 1944 with her husband photograph by her side. Photo File: Clapper, Olive Ewing, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
As childhood sweethearts, Olive and Raymond Clapper lived a block apart in Kansas City’s packinghouse district. The grocer’s daughter and the laborer’s son went to the same Sunday School and high school. When 17-year-old Olive began dating Ray, she found herself in conflict with her parents who worried the relationship was moving too fast. One day Olive told Raymond of her father’s ultimatum to end the teenage romance by sending her away to out-of-state relatives. Raymond replied, “Let’s get married,” and the two youths eloped in 1913.
During World War I, Olive was a social worker and case worker while Raymond reported for the United Press. When they moved to Washington D.C. in the 1920s, Olive headed the Home Service Department for the American Red Cross while Raymond managed the UP bureau. As Raymond gained fame covering presidents from Woodrow Wilson to FDR, the Clappers socialized with the political elite yet remained modest outsiders in temperament and middle class roots.
Luncheon honoring the Clappers at the launching of the USS LST289 by Olive in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, November 1943. Photo File: Clapper, Raymond, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Their creative partnership was anchored in frank criticism and moral support: “Every morning, Olive sat on his bed while they criticized his efforts to ‘write it for the milkman in Omaha.'” Olive also edited Raymond’s columns and assisted with his seminal radio analysis throughout the 1930s and early 1940s. Their collaborations ended tragically when Raymond died in a naval accident while covering the Pacific Theater in early 1944.
After decades supporting her husband’s celebrated career, Olive now emerged as an influential voice in her own right. Within months she published Watching the World, a collection of Raymond’s columns from 1934-1944. Her follow up book Washington Tapestry (1946) drew on Raymond’s diaries and her own recollections of encounters with countless historical figures leading up to and during World War II.
At a book fair in Boston after publication of Watching the World, 1944. Photo File: Clapper, Olive Ewing, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
As Olive’s writing career took off, she also became a radio commentator with the Mutual Broadcasting Network, covering the 1944 presidential conventions and election.
From 1953 to 1962 she served as Director of CARE’s Washington D.C. office, leading fundraising and advocacy efforts. She traveled extensively during these years, including tours of Germany, Yugoslavia, Greece, Italy, Pakistan, India, and across East Asia.
Olive Clapper handing out books at school in New Delhi, India, in 1954. Photo File: Clapper, Olive Ewing, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.Olive Clapper seen with actor Kirk Douglas (right) and a Mr. Davidson of the Florida Hacht Company, March 19, 1955. The poster they’re holding is to advertise a benefit aired on television for CARE by the American National Theatre Academy. . Photo File: Clapper, Olive Ewing, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Throughout her journalism, nonprofit work and even a candid memoir (One Lucky Woman), Olive sustained Raymond’s commitment to internationalism and peacebuilding. As she wrote prophetically: “If the peace issue is neglected or bungled, we may as well begin to dig our cities underground.” The AHC contains these writings along with her abundant correspondence and humanitarian efforts continue to resonate today.
In the context of current global dynamics, Olive Clapper’s experiences and insights offer a historical lens through which we can view events happening in the world. Her work with CARE and her international travels during a time of reconstruction and the Cold War provide a parallel to the ongoing efforts of humanitarian organizations in a multipolar world. The challenges she faced remain pertinent as we navigate through an era of complex international relations and peacekeeping efforts.
Post contributed by AHC Simpson Archivist Leslie Waggener.
“M. Mory, my Fascist friend, had his wife roast up a beautiful rabbit for us. Worthy of a poetess – in a huge Dutch oven with a ring of brown roast potatoes and more than a hint of garlic.” So wrote Paul Deutschman in December 1942, recording one of his many memorable meals during his World War II service in North Africa. But this wasn’t just any soldier’s letter home – it was the careful observation of a man who would become one of the war’s most interesting chroniclers.
Before donning his uniform in 1942, Deutschman was an English student and copywriter. These skills would serve him well as he documented the daily life, struggles, and even humor of American GIs serving in the Mediterranean Theatre. As an ammunitions handler in the 319th Bombardment Group, he had a front-row seat to history – and he never stopped writing about it.
The 99th Fighter Squadron in Tunisia, 1943. Box 6B, Paul Deutschman papers, Coll. No. 7890, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
While serving in North Africa, Deutschman witnessed history in the making. The 99th Fighter Squadron, operating alongside his unit in Tunisia in 1943, would go on to become one of the war’s most decorated units. These airmen, best known as part of the Tuskegee Airmen, flew an astounding 1,578 missions and proved their exceptional skill and courage by destroying 136 enemy aircraft in the air and 273 on the ground. Their achievements – which included earning 95 Distinguished Flying Crosses, 14 Bronze Stars, and 744 Air Medals – came at a heavy cost, with the squadron suffering hundreds of casualties in their fight against the Third Reich and Fascist Italy.
Deutschman’s letters and diaries also paint vivid pictures of life as a Jewish American soldier during WWII. Along with his bunkmate “Rosie” (Meyer Rosenberg), he navigated both the physical challenges of desert warfare and the complex social dynamics of being Jewish in a unit where some mistook his Germanic surname for enemy heritage. The two men formed a close bond, united by their shared experiences of antisemitism within their own ranks. In one painful entry, Deutschman recounts being called “Jew bastards” by a member of the own unit. These moments of prejudice led him to explore his own family history in his writings, reflecting on his Jewish ancestors in Germany and their conversion to Lutheranism during the Reformation. Through it all, his friendship with Rosie provided a source of strength and understanding that helped him cope with both the horrors of war and the sting of discrimination from their own compatriots.
But it’s Deutschman’s sharp ear for language that really brings his wartime accounts to life. In one fascinating letter, he captures how American GIs adopted local Arabic expressions. “Some French finds its way into GI everyday talk, but for the most part Arabic expressions predominate,” he wrote. His favorite example was the word “malesh” – meaning “never mind” or “what the hell.” As he observed, soldiers’ relationship with this phrase evolved over time: “At first the GI thinks it’s funny; after a month or two the expression causes fits of frustration and rage; by the time you carry two overseas stripes on your arm you are a submissive part of the land – and use the expression yourself.
Even the local phrase for “no more” – “mafish” – became a survival tool, as Deutschman noted it “has saved many a GI’s rations of chewing gum and cigarettes” from persistent local children. And every soldier quickly learned “baksheesh” – the equivalent of “Buddy, y’a got a dime for a cup of coffee?”
These keen observations caught the eye of military publications. By 1943, Deutschman was editing for both his unit’s newspaper and YANK: The Army Weekly. His writing later expanded to LIFE magazine, where he shared GI experiences with the American public through powerful firsthand accounts.
German Prisoners of war in summer, 1944, at Oran Hospital in Algeria. Box 6B, Paul Deutschman papers, Coll. No. 7890, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
His camera captured another side of the war as well. In the summer of 1944, Deutschman photographed German prisoners of war at Oran Hospital in Algeria, documenting a rarely seen aspect of the North African campaign. These images of former enemies receiving medical care presented American readers with a more complex view of the conflict – one that went beyond simple tales of victory and defeat.
After the war, Deutschman didn’t forget his fellow soldiers. In the 1970s, he started a newsletter called “Randy’s Flying Circus” to help members of the 319th Bombardment Group stay connected. Through this publication, he continued collecting and preserving their stories, creating what would become a valuable historical archive.
Deutschman holding a copy of his satirical novel The Adipose Complex. The book humorously critiques society’s obsession with weight loss and body image, reflecting hiskeen eye for cultural commentary developed during his years of reporting. Biographical file, Paul Deutschman papers, Coll No. 7890, American Heritage Center, University of Wyoming.
Deutschman went on to become a novelist, though his military experiences never left him. He was working on a World War II novel when he passed away in 2002, leaving behind an invaluable collection of wartime writings that capture the human side of history.
Today, Deutschman’s papers are preserved at the AHC, offering researchers and history enthusiasts a window into the daily lives of American soldiers during World War II – complete with roast rabbit dinners, cultural misunderstandings, and the gradual adoption of Arabic phrases that marked their time in North Africa.
Post researched by Archives Aide Jade Vandel and written by Archivist Leslie Waggener.
Olive Clapper: At the Center of 20th Century Politics and Peace Efforts
Few individuals witnessed and participated in pivotal 20th century events as intimately as Olive Ewing Clapper (1896-1968). Born in Kansas City and educated at the University of Kansas, Olive married her childhood sweetheart Raymond Clapper in 1913 after they eloped as teenagers. As Raymond built an illustrious career as a journalist, political columnist and radio broadcaster, Olive worked closely by his side.
As childhood sweethearts, Olive and Raymond Clapper lived a block apart in Kansas City’s packinghouse district. The grocer’s daughter and the laborer’s son went to the same Sunday School and high school. When 17-year-old Olive began dating Ray, she found herself in conflict with her parents who worried the relationship was moving too fast. One day Olive told Raymond of her father’s ultimatum to end the teenage romance by sending her away to out-of-state relatives. Raymond replied, “Let’s get married,” and the two youths eloped in 1913.
During World War I, Olive was a social worker and case worker while Raymond reported for the United Press. When they moved to Washington D.C. in the 1920s, Olive headed the Home Service Department for the American Red Cross while Raymond managed the UP bureau. As Raymond gained fame covering presidents from Woodrow Wilson to FDR, the Clappers socialized with the political elite yet remained modest outsiders in temperament and middle class roots.
Their creative partnership was anchored in frank criticism and moral support: “Every morning, Olive sat on his bed while they criticized his efforts to ‘write it for the milkman in Omaha.'” Olive also edited Raymond’s columns and assisted with his seminal radio analysis throughout the 1930s and early 1940s. Their collaborations ended tragically when Raymond died in a naval accident while covering the Pacific Theater in early 1944.
After decades supporting her husband’s celebrated career, Olive now emerged as an influential voice in her own right. Within months she published Watching the World, a collection of Raymond’s columns from 1934-1944. Her follow up book Washington Tapestry (1946) drew on Raymond’s diaries and her own recollections of encounters with countless historical figures leading up to and during World War II.
As Olive’s writing career took off, she also became a radio commentator with the Mutual Broadcasting Network, covering the 1944 presidential conventions and election.
From 1953 to 1962 she served as Director of CARE’s Washington D.C. office, leading fundraising and advocacy efforts. She traveled extensively during these years, including tours of Germany, Yugoslavia, Greece, Italy, Pakistan, India, and across East Asia.
Throughout her journalism, nonprofit work and even a candid memoir (One Lucky Woman), Olive sustained Raymond’s commitment to internationalism and peacebuilding. As she wrote prophetically: “If the peace issue is neglected or bungled, we may as well begin to dig our cities underground.” The AHC contains these writings along with her abundant correspondence and humanitarian efforts continue to resonate today.
In the context of current global dynamics, Olive Clapper’s experiences and insights offer a historical lens through which we can view events happening in the world. Her work with CARE and her international travels during a time of reconstruction and the Cold War provide a parallel to the ongoing efforts of humanitarian organizations in a multipolar world. The challenges she faced remain pertinent as we navigate through an era of complex international relations and peacekeeping efforts.
Post contributed by AHC Simpson Archivist Leslie Waggener.