The men of Carlin, especially railroad employees, enjoyed taking the field against similar teams from Eureka, Elko, and others. The “Carlin Nine” as they were often called played and practiced on a baseball diamond between the town and the Western Pacific tracks on the south side of Carlin. The earliest mention of a game was in 1888 (played against Battle Mountain) and one of the last was in 1947.
During WWI, the Carlin team played a makeshift team of soldiers stationed at Palisade. Carlin won with a score of 32 to 7. Even mines would form a team and enter the fray. The season would usually go from May to September, with special games often played on the Fourth of July. Sometimes teams would come to Carlin and other times Carlin would hit the road.
In 1925, the teams of Northern Nevada formed a baseball league. The Humboldt League included teams from Winnemucca, Wells, Lovelock, Battle Mountain, and Elko. In the first season, there were 30 games and the players paid for all their own expenses for travel, etc. The league was still playing in 1947 but in 1955 had to be “revived”. In 1956, the newspapers reveal that the funds of the Humboldt League had been given to the communities to finance little league teams. So ended a long-lasting, small-town tradition.
The following is an article by Fran Thiercof. It originally appeared in The Carlin Express newspaper on Wednesday, June 30, 1999. It is being reprinted here with permission from the editor-in-chief, Ruth Hart. Zwingle’s was also known as Victory Station because it sat on Victory Highway (Bush Street).
“THE GOOD OLD DAYS IN CARLIN”
My beautiful picture
Right across the street from the school house was a service station and motel owned by Mr. Zwingle. Isn’t that a neat name? He had a daughter Betty Joy and fellow working for him by the name of George Taylor. George still lives here.
Most of the cabins were rented to school teachers, which was convenient for them as well as Mr. Zwingle. In the station part was a candy and ice cream counter. When my dad was home from his job on the railroad, some evenings we’d go to Zwingle’s and get an ice cream cone, always maple nut, and take the downtown, park on Main Street and watch the people. Why didn’t we buy them at Pete’s you’re wondering. Pete only sold chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. My dad liked maple nut, so we went to Zwingle’s. I used to really enjoy watching the people and I still do.
Mr. and Mrs. Zwingle were divorced. That was rather a mysterious state of affairs for me at the time. Betty Joy usually only spent part of the year here and the other part with her mother. She was with her mother in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. She was able to get back to Carlin right away and entered high school with us. She was a celebrity in a way, having been living in paradise like Hawaii and telling us about looking down from her mother’s house above Pearl Harbor and seeing the Japanese planes dropping their bombs.
She had long red hair, freckles, and a personality to match. Everybody loved her and some of us envied her, her independence. She had her very own cabin!! I mean, come on, most of us didn’t even have our own room, let alone a cabin!
She was a great dancer and she and Donald Fredrickson would show us all the latest dance steps during the noon break at school. We’d all go home for lunch and run back to dance before the afternoon classes began.
One day in the showers after gym class, she showed us all and tried to teach us the hula. We didn’t have any music, but she sang the “Hawaiian War Chant”. It was a good thing there wasn’t any hidden cameras around we sure could have been blackmailed.
Betty Joy’s mother finally was able to get back to the “mainland” and moved to New York. Much to the sorrow of all of us and mostly Mr. Zwingle, Betty Joy moved too. Not too long before she moved, she asked George to cut her hair. He did and it looked like he had used lawn clippers. Thank heavens hair does grow out.
Mr. Zwingle committed suicide awhile later and the station changed hands and eventually, except for one or two of the cabins, was torn down.
The Sagebrush was published by the students of CHS. The oldest edition that we have is from 1934 and the oldest 1948. We do not know if it was published continuously during this period. What we do know is that the students of CHS put a lot of time and effort into each edition. Some were up to 19 pages long and all included illustrations drawn by the students themselves! Each edition had class news from first grade to the senior class, town news, honor roll names, sport and club updates, and stories and poetry written by the students. Some issues included stories that were reprinted, like the following Christmas tale. We hope to share more tidbits from the copies of The Sagebrush that we have and are always looking for more editions so please let us know if you have any!
The Story of Santa
It is interesting to know how our customs of today began. One that is especially interesting at Christmas time, is the origin of Santa Clause. Here it is as told in a story called “St. Nicholas, the Real Santa Clause!”
A rich young man was walking one day through the streets of his native town when he heard sounds of lamentation from the house of a noble born man whose money had all been lost and who was now living on the verge of starvation with his three daughters. The young man listened and he heard a girl’s voice say:
“Father, let us go into the streets and beg, for it is hard to starve.”
Then he heard the proud father make answer:
“Not yet. Not tonight let us wait one more night. I will again pray God to save my children from such disgrace.”
Nicholas hurried home. Among the treasures he had inherited from his father were three bars of solid gold. He took one of these bars at night to the house of the poor man, and finding an open window which he could just reach by standing on tiptoe, he thrust the bar of gold and departed. Then he came on a second night, and left the second bar; and the third night, and left the third bar. But the third night he was discovered, and the poor father who believed the gold had come from heaven, knelt at his feet. Nicholas lifted him up and said.
“Give thanks to God, for it was He who sent me to you.”
This and many another splendid gift of gold did Nicholas make in the name of God and always in secret, so that he is called St. Nicholas, and we say that he comes to children on Christmas Even and fills their stockings with gifts for the sake of his Master, the Lover of all children and the Savior of mankind.
Sometimes the news reported was rather interesting! For example, this edition states that “Silvano Pacini wrecked his car when he ran into a train standing on the crossing.” Perhaps he was hoping for a new one for his birthday which The Sagebrush reported was on November 3rd.
The following is a “tale” from the memoirs of Earl Trousdale titled “Tall Tales” from the Old Timer. Earl spent his entire life in Carlin and was the mayor. We will be sharing with you some of his stories. Enjoy! All spelling and grammatical anomalies are the product of the author and he requested they not be changed.
The Linebarger Family in front of the Linebarger Ranch House which is still located at the west end of Main Street.
When I was a boy, I lived on the ranch at the west end of town where the Joneses live now. That was the Linebarger ranch.
At about age fourteen, I owned three horses, two mares (mustangs) and a welch pony, named Jumbo. Jumbo was a strawberry roan and he was mean and ornery. I used to ride him to town and then, not wanting to bother with him, I’d “con” some kid to ride hi, (all kids wanted to ride him), and of course, Jumbo would go home with that kid trying to rein him and turn him around. I was fair, I always told whoever rode him that if the pony too him to the ranch then he had to unsaddle him and turn him into the pasture. What a racket!
One of my two mares was a bald-face black that my mother bought me for my birthday. She bought it from an old cowboy who made his living catching mustangs, breaking them to ride, then selling them to ranchers as he travelled through the country.
This mare, I named her Shanghi, was real spooky, snorting and shying at every little piece of paper blowing in the wind or anything else that moved. I enjoyed riding her. She at least had some “life” to her—not like Grandpa’s horses that didn’t want to leave the coral and had to be hit with reins to get them out of a walk.
Slowly but surely I trained that mare. Remember I was only fourteen. I “trained” her to run fast and furious (big deal—she was a mustang and that’s all she knew anyway)—I “trained” her that a jerk on the reins meant to rare up and then run like hell. I saw this in the cowboy movies and thought it was the only way to ride. She was mine and I loved to ride her.
One day, Mrs. Layton and my mother decided to go horseback riding. Mrs. Layton rode one of my Grandpa’s horses, and my Mother rode “Shanghi”! They rode at a walk enjoying the nice day but after awhile “Shanghi” got a little nervous, after all she was used to running. Well, Mother jerked up on the reins, the mare rared up, Mother screamed and lost her teeth, the mare took off running with Mother hanging on for dear life. I saw the whole thing-I rolled on the ground with laughter—I’m sorry to say—if it had killed her, I couldn’t stop laughing. You should have seen her when she went by—I know Ill never forget. Anyhow, every thing turned out all right, except I got holy hell! Mother never rode my horse again. I wonder why?
GearJammers was originally opened by Ken and Eileen MacEarchern in 1959. It was located on Old Highway 40 (Chestnut Street). Joe bought the business from the MacEacherns in 1969.
In 1970, the café burned down completely and Joe rebuilt in 1971 where the Nevada Bank and Trust was located on 6th Street (Shear Savagery). When Interstate 80 was finished in 1980, Joe moved the restaurant to where the Traveler’s Inn is now located. Wow! GearJammers got around!
After its last relocation it became a mainstay stop for many truckers on long hauls along I-80. It was busy!
As a kid, I remember, going to GearJammer Joe’s to have soup and crackers with my Dad. I remember the vinyl booths were red and covered in duck tape where they had rips and tears.
Sadly, GearJammers was torn down for the construction of the present-day hotel near the freeway.
The following is a “tale” from the memoirs of Earl Trousdale titled “Tall Tales” from the Old Timer. Earl spent most of his life in Carlin, served as Mayor, and passed on at the ripe age of 99. All spelling and grammatical anomalies are the product of the author and he requested they not be changed.
Railroading, to me, was interesting, challenging and educating. This made the job seem worthwhile to me. It didn’t matter whether Id get rich or even make a decent living. What mattered to me was liking my job and wanting, no, looking forward to going to the job each day. That was the one little bit of wisdom (if it was wisdom) that I passed to my children – make your life’s work something that you enjoy and not to be a drudge. You’ll find peace and contentment – like what you do for a living! I know there are lots of people who will not agree with me. There are lots of people who believe the money earned is the most important. BUT I still believe due to the fact one goes through this life only once, peace, contentment and happiness are the most important. Sure — a little money to pay the bills is important too, it even make misery more comfortable BUT it can’t make you happy.
If I would have stayed on the farm I would have gotten killed by some accident or some angry farmer or rancher would have killed this dumb child for one of my dumb stunts. I didn’t like the cows or farm animals in general – have you ever gone to feed the chickens and about the time you throw out a handful of wheat the chicken squawks and try’s to fly, causing dust and feathers until you cant breathe. Or a dumb cow gets excited and runs smack into a barbwire fence. I never liked putting up the hay in the summer, nor did I like to feed hay to the stock in the winter.
I sure didn’t like working in the hospital – it made me too sick too often. I liked working on the road construction business nut it was too seasonal and so I ended up working for the railroad.
Railroading seemed to suit me. I liked the challenge. We worked by the rules. The rule book was near at hand at all times. Times seemed to be most important. One had to check his watch with the standard clock at the terminal when beginning the shift or trip, then compare time with the conductor, engineer and the rest of the crew. Accurate time was necessary and everyone had a regulation railroad watch. It had to be a 21 jewel pocket variety watch, not a wrist watch. It had to be inspected by a qualified watch inspector each month noted on your watch card and it had to be cleaned once a year. Every crew members watch had to indicate the same exact time or at least within a few seconds, no more than ten or fifteen seconds. Train schedules indicated by time tables that we all carried, informed everyone the time and place of every scheduled train. Passenger trains and hotshots had to be cleared by less important trains. All trains war controlled by train orders which told the crew of one train the time of scheduled trains (it late or on time) and where (what siding or yard track) to clear a certain train. Block signals controlled movement but time was a ruling factor. Time – speed – distance – all were important, but time was the one thing that made the railroad function.
Toward the end of my career, the railroad changed considerably. Diesel engines, giant box cars – instead of steam engines and thirty six foot box cars – Timken bearing wheels instead of friction bearings, miles and miles of ribbon rail instead of short lengths, automatic trail control – the dispatcher, hundreds of miles away, controls the block signals and believe it or not, by push button, controls the switches and can put one train in a siding to let another by. BUT to this day, long after retirement, I still look at my watch every little while and I know that other retirees do the same – habit.
I must tell about George Goodale and his watch. A day come that George had a little emergency in his financial situation and so he hocked his watch. (And I thought I was the only dumb one!) George came to work sans watch. All he had was the watch chain tied to his overalls and the end of the chain sticking into his watch pocket. It was a long time until payday so he had to work under these conditions for several days. He was really clever about it. It was at least two day before I had figured it out. Hed pull out the chain from the watch pocket in such a way that that no one ever saw the end of the chain. Then holding the end of the chain in the palm of his hand, as one would ordinarily hold his watch, he’d shield it – not obviously – just casually and ask the time – like he was comparing time. Then to top it off, he’d say, “That’s what my watch shows”.
Shortly before George got his watch back, the trainmaster stopped us and asked to check our watches. The engineer and fireman climbed down out of the engine and war first to compare time. I was next and I was about sick to think that would happen to George. SURPRISE!! When in doubt, punt. Out of the clear blue sky, George said, “What time did you say you have?” The trainmaster looked at his watch, counting seconds, then told George the time. George, still shielding the end of his watch chain, replied, “That’s just what my watch says, I’m really five seconds off.” He calmly put the chain back into his watch pocket and walked away. The trainmaster didn’t suspect a thing.
Carlin, — 585 miles from San Francisco, at an elevation of 4,897 feet. It is a railroad town, the terminus of a freight division of the road and the location of the roundhouse, machine car and repair shops of the Humboldt Division of the Central Pacific Railroad. It is the headquarters of Mr. G.W. Coddington, the Division Superintendent. The division extends from Toano to Winnemucca, and this place is about half way between them. The town has no business outside of the railroad shops and employees, and numbers about 200 people. The roundhouse has 16 stalls for engines, and the repair shop, six pits. It is in Elko County. The old emigrant road divided just before reaching Carlin, one branch going south of the river, and the range of mountains bordering the same, and the other going north of the hills on the north side of the river. These two roads came together below near Gravelly Ford. In the vicinity of Carlin the four little creeks come in from the north. In the order in which they are crossed, they are called Susie, Maggie, Mary, and Amelia. Tradition says in regard to these names, that an emigrant was crossing the plains with his family at an early day, and that in this family were four daughters in the order given, and that as the party came to these streams, they gave the name of each one of the daughters to them –a very appropriate thing to do, and their names have been perpetuated in history. Just east of Moleen Station, the tourist looking off to the left, will notice the break or gorge through the low hills, on the south side of the river. Through this gorge the South Fork of the Humboldt comes in. This stream rises in the Ruby Range of Mountains and lows in a general westerly direction, uniting with the main river at this point. We will here state that nearly all the people in the vicinity, call the range of mountains last alluded to “Ruby”, and we have followed the custom; but Lieutenant Wheeler’s Map speaks of it as the Humboldt Range, and according to the custom of the people along this valley, nearly every range of mountains in sight, from one side of the State to the other, is called “Humboldt Range” or “Humboldt Mountains.” As to the fertility of these and other valleys in this part of the State, it all depends upon irrigation. A sage brush plain indicates good soil, but water must be obtained to raise a crop. An effort has been made to make Carlin the shipping point to the mining districts on the north, but without much success thus far. The iron horses are changed here, and with a fresh steed we pass down the valley. It is quite wide here, but will soon narrow as we enter the Twelve Mile Canon. Like the former, the road winds around the base of the bluffs and almost under the ledges, with the river sometimes almost under us. The peaks and ledges seem to have no local name, but some of them are very singular. In one place, soon after entering the canon, the ledges on the right side of the track seem to stand up on edge, and broken into very irregular, serrated lines, –the teeth of the ledge being uneven as to length. The height of the bluffs and of the palisades below, is about the same as in the former canon – 800 feet. In some places the palisades are hollowed out like caves or open arches, and the debris that has crumbled and fallen from their summits during the ages, obscures their form and height from view.
Fifteen Mile Canon, in the Palisades, was graded in six weeks by the Central Pacific Railroad Company, one cut herein containing 6,600 cubic yards. Five Mile Canon just eastward, was graded in three weeks, with a force of 5,000 to 6,000 men.
With the perpendicular walls rising on each side of us, we glide around the curves, and in the midst of these reddish lines of towering rocks, arrive at Palisade.
Most Carlinites’ know that the town was named after a military figure. Though there is some confusion about why and what his rank actually was. Captain or General? Did he spend time here or did he just pass through? Did he have three daughters named, Mary, Susy, and Maggie. Well, though some may never agree…here are the facts.
William Passmore Carlin was born in Illinois in 1829. He graduated from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in 1846. In 1858, First Lieutenant Carlin traveled west to Utah. Later that year, he traveled further West to California. When the Civil War began in 1861, Carlin returned to the East and was promoted to Captain and quickly after that he was promoted to the rank of Colonel. By the end of the war in 1865 he had reached the rank of Brigadier General. He died in 1893.
Despite several authors claiming that Carlin was stationed in the area at the “Government Military Indian Reservation Headquarters” until it was moved to Owyhee this is not accurate. His memoirs make no reference to such a posting. They merely document that he passed through the area. The title given the location isn’t exactly accurate either. The reservation was located on Maggie Creek, approximately, 1 ½ miles north of the town. The location was chosen in 1874 and no military post was built there. By 1888, the land was returned to the Department of the Interior. During this time, Carlin was stationed in the Dakotas, Wyoming, and then North Idaho.
Another persistent rumor is that the three creeks that run through the Valley to the Humboldt River were named after his three daughters. But Carlin had only one child with his wife and that child was a boy. Another William Carlin. No daughters to be seen.
So, how did the town get the name? The Central Pacific Railroad used various methods for picking a name for places they “created” as they laid tracks headed east. For example, it is believed the town of Elko was named after an animal and the “o” was just added for some extra jazz. How Carlin got its name is a little more logical. Supposedly some of the pushers and shakers at the Central Pacific admired West Point graduates who fought for the Union in the Civil War. Consequently, William Passmore Carlin, a West Point graduate with 43 years of service in the military was chosen that day.
The following is a “tale” from the memoirs of Earl Trousdale titled “Tall Tales” from the Old Timer. Earl spent most of his life in Carlin, served as Mayor, and passed on at the ripe age of 99. All spelling and grammatical anomalies are the product of the author and he requested they not be changed.
It was the middle of June and time for our annual fishing trip to Beaver Creek. Cremer, Wise, Livingston and I left town about five o’ clock in the morning. A beautiful morning, I might add. We planned to go high on the creek and to keep only those fish fourteen inches or longer, all other to be thrown back.
We traveled up Maggie Creek road, four of us in Cremer’s coupe. The road was a dirt road. On we went past the five mile fence, through the canyon, on past Simon’s field, through Little Jack Creek, over Coyote Creek, through Spring Creek and past the Redhouse Ranch. Eventually we reached the turn off to Beaver Creek. An hour had past and the sun was climbing higher. It was still June so it really wouldn’t be too hot. There were a few clouds in the sky, but absolutely no sign of a storm. We forded Beaver Creek going through about two inches of water which made the crossing easy. The bottom of the creek is composed of pea sized gravel, making it very treacherous in times of high water. There seems to be no bottom in high water and I have seen a car sink down to where the water is running through the cab in a matter of seconds. But, not on this day.
Onward we drove up the creek for about three miles and then it was time to load up our gear and our lunches before we walked another mile or so to begin fishing.
Fishing was excellent! The water was clear and the fish were hungry. By limiting ourselves to fourteen inches, every fish we kept we ended up throwing three or four back into the creek if a fish swallowed a hook. We were very careful not to injure them if possible.
With four fishermen in the party, it was about a hundred yards between holes and so after walking and fishing for several hours, we found ourselves to be a long, long way up that creek. We stopped to eat our lunch and to clean our fish. What a catch – we had all limited out – twenty five fish was the limit at that time.
It had started to snow about noon, but what the hell this was June, it was probably just a spring squall. At any rate, we didn’t pay much attention to it until we noticed the snow was sticking to the ground, it wasn’t melting!
We headed back to the car happy and contented with ourselves. A very successful fishing trip. It was late afternoon and we were going to have to leg it to get back to the car by dark. It seemed like forever and a day before we finally got to the car, those fish had become mighty heavy by the time we got there. It was still snowing and the snow was about six inches deep and the damned car wouldn’t start.
There was a heated argument about just what we would do, continue to walk out at that time, or wait until morning and daylight. It was finally decided that because we were so tired and unable to see the trail because of the snow, we would build a fire. Two would sleep in the coupe while the other tended the fire. We took turns.
While Livingston and I were tending the fire, this dumb child let Livingston convince him that he, Livingston that is, had a great fear of coyotes. True, the coyotes were howling, but I have never seen other that the back end of a coyote. Coyotes want no part of a man, unless of course someone should corner said coyote, then I’d say LOOK OUT! Anyway, I believed the man and I spent my time gathering brush while Livingston sat by the fire and worried about the coyotes getting him, or was he laughing at this dumb, gullible child.
