My Mother came to Arbon in 1933. She had answered an ad in the paper, put in by Tom Daniels–a widower with three children needs help in raising children and running a store. So Mother and her two year old daughter MaryLou moved to Arbon. They traveled from her Mothers home in Alameda (Pocatello) to the railroad tracks by car-then transferred to a sleigh (horse drawn of course) at Rooster Rock and onto the Arbon Store. Mom was afraid of Indians and had never been around anyone who drank (alcohol that is). Upon her arrival to the store she was to find both of these. She said that she was tempted to turn around and go back, but she needed the job too badly and furthermore she and her little girl were both too tired to make the trip back. 

(Snapshot of two small children. The picture is located on the center left hand side of the page. Caption says: Jack Daniels and Jean Daniels Evans.) 

My brother Jack and sisters Jean and Virgie used to tell me that I was born in August and Mom and Dad got married in September–I always sorta hoped it was the other way around but I’ve never bothered (or maybe dared) to ask. Anyway, when I was born my Mother was still afraid of Indians. The first time an Indian Lady named Lilly Jackson saw me, with my thick black hair, she told Mother that I was an Indian and she was going to steal me. Because of this, Mother would hide me when Ben and Lilly Jackson drove up with their team and wagon. Mother had an unbreakable rule–she bathed her babies every morning at 9:00 a.m. regardless. One morning just as she was getting my bath ready the Jacksons arrived. Since the world would have come to an end if I wasn’t bathed at nine, Mom made the only possible decision. She took my pan, water and towel into the store and she and Lilly gave me a bath. Several times during my growing up years, she expressed disappointment that Mrs. Jackson didn’t steal me. 

(Snapshot of a young girl in overalls, standing in front of a store. Picture is located in the upper right hand corner of the page. Caption says: LaRue Daniels-Gunter). 

When I was born, the store was somewhere between the crossroad and Vern and Carolyn Munns house. It was a log building and both Dad and Mom have told me the story of its burning down. The way they both told it was– They were returning from town and saw smoke pouring out of the building, out of a window several puppies were thrown to safety followed by Mary Lou, Virgie, Jack and Jean. I once asked Jean why the pups were the first out. She replied that little sisters were easy to come by but Dad never would let us have a bunch of puppies (which was true). 

Dad loved to tell about my brother Jack when the public health nurses came to vaccinate the school children for smallpox. They couldn’t catch and hold Jack long enough to vaccinate him. So they went to the store to ask Dad what to do–typical of my Dad. He laughed and asked them what kind of adults they were that they couldn’t handle a little kid, so they went back, took him down and vaccinated him. When they let him up he poured a bottle of ink over the vaccination. Whether the ink made a difference or not, I don’t know, but it didn’t take, and no one volunteered to try again. 

From the time my dad was a young man until the day he died (1965), his closest friend was Waldo Evans. Waldo had the ability to relate to people of all ages I guess, because he was also my best fiend when I was growing up. He taught me to drive and once let me ride in the trunk of his car from his house to the store. Don’t ask me why I wanted to ride in the trunk. I just remember I wanted to and he let me. That’s what counted. He also, incidentally, married my sister Jean–Dad told me, and I have no reason to doubt it, that when Waldo was a young man of 18 years or so–he was sitting with Jean on his knee and he told Dad that when Jean grew up he was going to marry her–Waldo was obviously a man of his word. It was often debated between the Evans and Daniels who was more stubborn an Evans or Daniels. But the truth is, an Evans is stubborn, but Daniels is always right. 

I never knew Dad when he could see very well. By the time I was born he was blind in one eye and about 1/10 normal sight in the other. He and Jean used to drive the pickup to town to get groceries. The way it worked was Dad would drive and Jean would fill in the details like how to stay in the middle of the road. (Where the road was for that matter.) If a car came, Jean would tell Dad and he would pull over to the side until the car passed, then they would go again. When they reached the railroad tracks Les Evans or Bill Richards would meet them, drive them around to the wholesalers and return them to the tracks. Again Jean would help Dad drive home. 

When Mom moved to Arbon, Dad was still very much part of the Old West or to put it another way he either carried a gun or kept one awfully handy. If someone made him mad or he just had too much to drink, he would start blazing away. He always said he shot once into the ceiling, once into the floor and then at whoever angered him. Once, after a dance, Dad got into an argument with Henry J. Lawson. Henry accused Dad of giving him the wrong change. I don’t know what was right or wrong but Dad pulled out his gun and everybody headed for the hills (This also included Mother.) Another incident happened at the old store (not the one that burned but the old store at the crossroads). There was a hole in the door from the time Dad took a shot at Frank Bell. Consider, if you will, that Dad considered Frank a dear friend–what would he have done if Frank had been an enemy? 

In 1936, Dads health became so poor that it was recommended that he move to Arizona. So we did–I have no idea what belongings we took with us but in our 1934 Dodge pickup were–Dad (Tom C. Daniels), Mom (Ora Daniels), Grandpa (Donum Daniels), Grandma (Martha Daniels), Uncle Ralph Daniels, my sisters Jean, Virgie, Mary Lou and my brother Jack and myself. Knowing Dad we probably picked up hitchhikers too. Mom did not know how to drive but on this trip she learned. She has always talked about Uncle Ralph Daniels’ cool, calm manner while teaching her to drive. She said if she got nervous, she would panic and forget where the brake was. Once a man crossed the street directly in front of the pickup, Mother screamed in panic to Uncle Ralph that “I think I’m going to hit that Man!” Uncle Ralph in his usual calm manner said, “yes, I think you are”. She didn’t but I suspect they were probably moving about 5 mph. Mother said she always had to have one of the older kids sit in front with her while she drove. She couldn’t watch the road and read too. So they would read the signs to her. 

We were fortunate to return to Arbon in 1942. The store was at the crossroads, the roof leaked. In place of a chimney we had a stove pipe sticking out (which caught fire occasionally). We had no water, but hauled water from Vern Munns place. Our outhouse had no roof or door. The lack of a door was no problem as it faced the hills, but that seat on a snowy day was enough to make you forget what you were there for. There was a contest among the men to see who could lift a block of salt above their head, with one hand. I don’t remember who did it the easiest, but I do remember deciding that George England was the winner. 

In 1944 (45) the foundation for the current store was poured. The cement mixer had gas engines but the rest was pure manual labor. There is no way I could remember, let alone list, the people who helped on the store, but I do remember John, Walt, and Carl Hayden were the carpenters. I had never seen men with heavy moustaches before and I was fascinated. The store itself was the Old Secrist house from up South. 

In 1945, a young handsome, though somewhat bald man came to Arbon to work. I was eleven years old and I told my niece Renee Evans (Lorraine Irene Evans Chandler) that when I grew up I was going to marry him. When I was sixteen, I did! As Waldo Evans said the only thing stubborner than Evans, is a Daniels. 

No story of the Daniels and Evans family could be complete without mentioning of “Nuke” Leishman (real name Newell Leishman) Nuke was a sweet, gentle little guy. He never married, but influenced my raising greatly. He lived and worked for Waldo and Jean Evans for years. The Evans children were his pride and joy. I (as their Aunt) used to complain about them. Partly because they were little monsters, and also to listen to Nuke defend them. The “Nuke” hollow in Arbon Valley, Idaho is named after Nuke. 

Written by LaRue Gunter–daughter of Tom and Ora Daniels