The Bride Had to Shovel It was their first wedding anniversary, and they meant to celebrate it on their own ranch. Family and friends were invited, but it was springtime in Montana, so no one expected Spring. Last year's bride awoke to confront a foot of snow, and the man of the house had the animal chores to attend, so she grabbed a shovel and cleared a path for the guests. Happy Anniversary!
A Double-Barreled Bathtub The tub is beautiful, a true antique, but there it sat in the front yard beside two, bullet-ventilated barrels. When new owners moved into the Beckman house, she asked for a pond for ducks and birds. To accommodate his wife he found an old, footed tub, buried it, filled it with water, and everyone, ducks included, was happy. Later, hired help occupied the old Beckman house, and when called upon to blend chemicals, they found it easier to excavate the tub and make it their mixing bowl. Perforations in the barrels are undocumented but probably only recreational.
Publisher Note: Due to an editorial oversight, the Beckman Ranch story is being rerun in its entirety.
Not all our early ranchers were homesteaders. Born in Minnesota, Albert Beckman came to Roundup to work as a carpenter, found all the homestead land claimed, and bought a section from the Northern Pacific Railroad for $9.00 per acre. In 1917, when he was 30, he married Cora Strike, 18, who lived around Devil's Lake. For a couple of years, they camped in a tent, until Albert hauled lumber 100 miles by horse and wagon and built a house. The complex of buildings is found about six miles out N. Gage, thence to the east.
Because of the nasty condition of that road, schooling was always an interesting proposition for families on that property, but a future article in this series will concentrate on education, so particulars on school strategies here and elsewhere in the state will be deferred until that time.
As with other ranching families of the era, economy sometimes dictated that the wife managed the home and family, while her husband worked away for periods of time. In the case of the Beckmans, the Depression found Cora's operating the ranch and Albert's employed by the government demolishing homes lost to bankruptcy. At certain times he turned this occupation to additional profit and, instead of razing the structures, dragged parts of them home, where he cobbled them to his own buildings, thus expanding his own headquarters.
It was only in 1950, when a power line was strung to the Big Wall oil field, that the family had electricity, and if that signaled prosperity, then it was short-lived, for the 60s saw the end of their hard-won, ranch life. In April of one year, poor Cora died of breast cancer, after which loss Albert was able to stick it out only until late August. He suffered blood clots in his legs and one day could not walk back to the house; he managed to crawl to a shed, where he lay all night. Found in the morning, he was rushed to a hospital, but the doctors were helpless to save his legs, and the amputations were not only of limbs, but also of the ranch life he cherished.
After Albert passed away, two brothers bought the house and original section of land. First Vince, later Frank, Goffena lived there with his family, and even as late as the 1980s, life in the place – not remote in distance, but at times a regular moon flight in transportation - was arduous. A woman that grew up there said the only warm spots in winter were around the living room fireplace and beside the kitchen stove.
The bedroom was a part of the house Mr. Beckman had cannibalized from other ruins. There was no proper basement below it, and, in summer, rattlers nested and buzzed playfully under the floor boards. The kitchen water was solid in winter, and electricity and phone were at best dubious. Today, empty of people, only the buildings are prey to the harsh elements and home to rats, mice, snakes, and memories, but there it was that Albert and Cora raised a boy and two girls, the ashes of the last of whom, Lois Beckman Dietz, were lately scattered on adjoining ground.
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