Parenting, 1880s Style
From the stories I heard from my great-aunts and uncles, I think my great-grandfather, R.H. Espy, was a stern father. He had high expectations for all of his children and they all did well. They spoke of him with respect but never with much humor or with any warm-fuzzy memories.
Part of it may have been his age. He was forty-four when he married in 1870 and was nearly 60 when his eighth and last child was born. And part of it undoubtedly the parenting style of the times –though the term/concept of “parenting” wouldn’t be known for another century or so. R.H. left the early upbringing of the youngsters to his much younger wife, Julia. When the boys were old enough (five or six) to help with the farm chores, he was more directly involved with them; the training of the girls he left up to his wife. As for formal schooling — he saw to it that they all went to college with the exception of Verona, the youngest, who was an invalid for most of her life. (Multiple sclerosis, the family thought in retrospect.)
Two stories stand out in my mind about R.H. and his parenting. When the first train was to come into the IR&N’s northern terminus at Nahcotta on May 29, 1889, five-and-a-half year old Will Espy was invited to go with his friend Charlie Nelson and family to witness the great event. R.H. said, “No” in no uncertain terms — probably still miffed that he had invested $10,000 in his friend Loomis’s railroad with the understanding that it would come clear to Oysterville. But, young Will was undaunted. He “borrowed” his older brother Harry’s horse and went to Nahcotta anyway. Afterwards, his punishment was to stay in bed for the next two days. He told me more than once that seeing the train come in was “well worth it!”
The other story involves Cecil Espy, seventh child and fourth son of R.H. and Julia. One of Cecil’s earliest memories was of his father taking him by the hand and walking him two blocks south to the Oysterville Courthouse. It was early on the morning of April 11, 1891; Cecil was not yet five years old. As they approached the jail behind the Courthouse, they found a crowd gathered around the bodies of John Edwards and John Rose, still lying in their blood. They had been shot to death through the bars of the jail by an angry mob who had crossed the bay from South Bend. “My boy, R.H. told his young son, “this is what you get for breaking the law.” Cecil never forgot the incident, though he lived well into his nineties.
It was definitely a different era all the way around, but especially in the matter of child-rearing. I can’t help but wonder if present practices have better results… or not. Will grew up to be an engineer and served as the Water Commissioner of San Francisco. Cecil became a banker in Portland and retired to Oysterville where he lived for another thirty years or so. Both men married well, raised fine families of their own, and were leaders in their communities. R.H. would have been proud… but he probably wouldn’t have said so.
When your great-uncle Cecil returned to Oysterville for retirement, which house did he live in?