MEMORIES OF GOVERNOR JOHN A.

MARTIN’S HOUSE
At
315 North Terrace
Atchison, Kansas

Ernst F. Tonsing, Ph.D.

Thousand Oaks, California
2 August 2009

INTRODUCTION

In 1870-71, pioneer editor of the Freedom’s Champion and Mayor of Atchison,

Kansas, and also future Governor of the State of Kansas (1885-89), Colonel John
Alexander Martin, built an Italianate mansion high on the bluffs of the Missouri River in
that city. The brick dwelling was to be home of the Martin and Tonsing families for
nearly a century. My memories of the “House,” as it was called, tumble out not in any
particular order; the latest ones crowd the earlier ones. To fix them in print somehow
causes their dynamic character to become prosaic. Words are but pale abstractions of
what once had place, mass and vitality, but words nonetheless have the power to call
forth sounds and scents of structures long gone and images of the people who once
inhabited them.

For those who never had the opportunity to see the house, perhaps the following
description can enable one to make an imaginary visit, and to revive the sense of
spaciousness, the sounds of children, the smells of food, and the joys of family gatherings
that continued into the 1960’s. As a grandson of Ruth (Martin) Tonsing, I lived in that
house while my father, the Rev. Ern(e)st F. Tonsing, later of First Lutheran Church,
Topeka, was serving as an U. S. Army chaplain in World War Two. In my junior high
and high school years, often I was sent up on a bus from Topeka to Atchison to “help
grandma” on weekends, sleeping on a Civil War, wire-spring hospital bed in the former
parlor that Governor Martin had obtained for his growing family in the 1870’s. Also, my
family paid frequent visits until Grandmother Ruth entered the hospital during her final
illness and the house was sold.

A. THE HOUSE

The structure was located on two lots at 315 North Terrace, overlooking the
Missouri River. According to a letter that grandmother Ruth Tonsing wrote to me,
October 27, 1955, the house was on “The Hill,” at the site of the first printing office in
Atchison, the old Squatter Sovereign, “the Rebel paper that Grandpa bought and changed
its name to Freedoms Champion.” The house was Italianate in style, with the
characteristic modillions, or decorative horizontal brackets, under the eaves of the roof.
The fourteen-room house was finished in time for the Colonel and his new bride, Ida
Challiss, daughter of Mary Ann and William Challiss, M.D., to take up residence after
their marriage on June 1, 1871. The couple’s seven children were born in the mansion.
Ida Martin owned the house until her death in 1932, and it was passed, in turn, to her
daughter, Ruth, and her husband, the Rev. Paul Gerhardt Tonsing. Widowed in 1935,
Grandmother Ruth lived in it until her death on March 20, 1967.

In looking at a map of Atchison, one notes a peculiarity in the street name for the
house. The streets extending west of the house are named, “Second,” “Third,” etc.
According to Paul Tonsing, Jr., who grew up in the house as son of Ruth and Paul
Tonsing, technically the street was to have been named “First Street,” but, he suggests,
perhaps due to his grandfather’s influence as mayor of the town, it received the much
more attractive name of “Terrace.”

The building was built of locally-made bricks upon a foundation of native

limestone. These bricks were of a dark red color, much different from the rather orange-
red color of the bricks in the adjacent homes built some twenty-five years later. The
double walls of the exterior enclosed an air space to prevent the penetration of moisture
and cold or heat from the outside. The arched, casement windows were tall, but the
bottom panes could be raised only with difficulty. In a letter to me from Grandmother
Ruth, May 14, 1960, she mentions a storm: “Many yrs ago we had similar hail here, and
lost 30 window-lights on the side of the house….” Paul Tonsing, Jr., notes that in the
year 1935, a hail storm from the north shattered all of the north windows, and that “the
hail flew clear across the library and bat on the bookcases and doors on the south wall.”
The south, oriel window illuminated the dining room. Next to it, the chimney held a
trellis with orange, “trumpet-flowers” that always gave delight to the children who could
pick them, bite off the ends, and run about tooting through the hollow blossoms.

B. THE CISTERN

Nearby was the cistern that furnished water for the house. Once, I was curious,
and opened the four foot high, metal, tombstone-shaped apparatus. I was able to discover
that it operated by a mechanism consisting of parallel chains with little, triangular
buckets. One turned the crank, and, soon, a stream flowed through the spout extending
from the front panel. It was getting a bit rickety by the 1950’s, and we were told not to
walk on the wood platform that held the wellhead. But, of course, grandmother’s
warning was not enough to stop a little boy from stepping up gingerly and giving the
crank a turn just to hear the chain rattle and echo up from the depths. Paul Tonsing, Jr.,
recalls that it was his duty just before the evening meals that he would have to go out to
this cistern to fill a pitcher. He mentioned that it had a distinctive taste about which
guests “raved,” proclaiming it the best water in Atchison. He didn’t care for it, however.

C. THE FRONT PORCH

The front porch was located on the east, Missouri River side, where the sidewalk
descended the slope to steps which went over a limestone wall that lined North Terrace
Street. Limestone hitching posts used to be there, with iron rings on the top. Originally,
access to the house was gained by ascending steps on the right side of the porch.
Sometime later the steps were moved over to the south side and the banister on the front
side was added. This open porch held a swinging seat that provided amusement and
some cooling during the hot, Kansas summers for the Martin and Tonsing children and
their cousins, including members of the Challiss families and Amelia Earhart who lived
several doors down. Grandmother Ruth Tonsing told me that Amelia would like to get
the swing going so high that she could touch the ceiling with her toes. Grandmother
always cautioned her, however, because she was afraid that the grommets holding up the
swing would come out and the children would crash on the floor or be flung out over the
railings of the porch. From this porch one could observe the rapid currents and eddies of
the Missouri River far below the cliffs, and admire the treed landscape of Missouri.

D. THE INTERIOR OF THE HOUSE

There was a doorbell on the front and two back doors. They were attached to the
middle, wood panel, just below the frosted glass panes, and made a loud noise, something
like a bicycle bell, when one turned the butterfly handle. As one entered the front
entrance hall, a door to the right gave access to the library, and one on the left to the
parlor. Straight ahead was the dining room, and, further, a little hallway held the hat and
jacket rack, and doors, left, to the outside, and a bit further, right, to the kitchen. The
ceilings throughout the house were ten feet high, and the rooms were decorated with
wallpaper with rich, Victorian designs and colors. The front, entrance hall had stairs that
ascended along the left wall and wrapped around to the right to give access to the upper
floor.

The steps and banisters were identical to those of the Judge Alfred Otis home,
now the Amelia Earhart Birthplace Museum, one house and a street away to the south.
They were probably installed by the Abernathy Brothers Company of Leavenworth,
Kansas. Founded in 1856 by James L. Abernathy and his brothers, William and John, the
company produced bedroom furniture, dining suites, and other items for homes for nearly
a century. James Abernathy had served as Lieutenant Colonel in the Eighth Kansas
Volunteer Infantry under Colonel John A. Martin, as had Alfred Otis, during the Civil
War (1861-65), so it is quite probable that Martin relied upon his old Army friend for the
construction of his home.

The sturdy banisters were some eight or ten inches across, as Paul Tonsing, Jr.,
remembers, “with a slight hump in the middle, and a round newel at the bottom.” He
recalls the hours of fun sliding down it. By my days in the house, however, it was getting
somewhat rickety and such pleasures were strictly forbidden, although I did try it several
times without grandmother’s knowledge.

E. THE FIREPLACES

Throughout the house were fireplaces with decorative tile-surrounds. These tiles
were mostly very dark green or very dark brown. They had stamped flowers and
geometric designs under the glaze, and the tiles glittered in the light of the lamp bulbs.
As one entered the dining room from the parlor, a fireplace on the left was built at an
angle facing the center of the room, and was used to heat both rooms. Later, a large
wood-burning stove was placed in front of the fireplace, its flue extending back to a hole
in the chimney. A couple of vases and a black clock with four pillars on the front and
lions holding rings on the side, ticked merrily away from its place on the mantel, away
from investigating hands of little children. (It was not safe from the prying fingers of a
neighbor girl, however. Grandmother Ruth Tonsing told me that her cousin, little Amelia
Earhart, loved to take the clock down and remove the back so that she could see how the
clock with its pendulum worked.)

As the house was never warm enough during the winter, the family enacted a
ritual that lasted into the 1960’s, according to Paul Tonsing, Jr. The fire in the stove
would be “banked,” that is, the live coals would be heaped up in a mound and covered
with ash, and bricks would be placed on the mound, one brick per bed to be occupied that
night. After the bricks were hot, they would be wrapped in newspapers, carried to the
bedrooms and placed under the covers at the foot of the bed. They would actually keep
one’s toes warm until one had to get up in the morning. Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembers
“the smell of the scorching paper as it was wrapped around these bricks.”

F. THE PARLOR

The parlor, or “sitting room,” located to the left of the front door, became Mrs.
Ida Martin’s bedroom when she was unable to mount the steps and was bound to the
large, oak and rattan wheelchair. It was well lighted and ventilated by windows on the
east that opened on to the front porch, and one on the south. This room also held a
bookcase, more elegant than the rest, eight feet high and five feet wide. Low drawers
with oak-leaf pulls were below, and the high, arched doors above held two panes of
“wavy” glass. Circles and lozenges decorated the dark wood of the case. Among the
furnishings of this room was a large picture, forty-one inches high and thirty five and
one-half wide, identified as “Photographed and Copyright by M. B. Parkinson,” of New
York, in 1886. The oak frame has a boarder of oak leaves and acorns. Depicted is an
elderly woman seated in a large chair, wearing a black dress with a lace scarf crossed and
pinned in front, and a ruffled, lace bonnet. A young girl dressed in a plaid skirt and dark
blouse, two large buttons on her sleeve and lace around her neck, grasps the wrist of her
left hand with her right hand, encircling the neck of the elderly woman. Cheek-to-cheek,
both smile sweetly. The title of the picture is below: “I’ll Take Care of You.”
Grandmother Ruth declared it to be her favorite picture when she gave it to me sometime
in 1953 or ’55, and remarked that the eyes of that woman probably saw the American
Revolution and the great history of the nation since. I am yet unsure why she made that
gift, but it is cherished just as much today, and proudly decorates my living room.

When the parlor was transformed into a bedroom, two iron, wire-spring, Civil
War hospital beds were placed along the walls in the parlor. Among the devices in the
head and foot frames were medallions with an eagle, wings spread, above a wheel with
crossed sword and key. In places the rust showed through the brown paint. The
“springs” of the bed were lattice works of wires attached to little, perforated, metal
squares. The whole was then attached to springs at the long ends of the beds. Puzzled
about the origin of these cots, grandmother told me that they had been “Civil War
surplus” bought when the bedrooms had to be furnished for the growing family. Moving
from the parlor, “pocket doors” slid apart to gain access to the former dining room.

G. THE DINING ROOM

The dining room was a living room by the mid-twentieth century. It contained a
circular oak table and chairs, a large bookcase on the north wall, and an oak glass-fronted
cabinet which, as Paul Tonsing remembers, was “filled with little souvenirs and costume
jewelry…all the things that Mom loved so dearly.” It also held a number of vases and
her cherished Haviland china with their scalloped edges and light pink, rose designs.
Only grandmother could open this case, and the plates had to be carried slowly, with
extreme care, to the table, or back. A bit to the left of this cabinet was the door to a cloak
closet that extended back under the stairs in the hallway. Along the southwest wall below
the windows was a large, transitional, empire style couch, which had thick, turned legs.
It was covered with a black material and offered little “give” when one sat on it. During
the days this room became the sitting room for “Grandma” Martin, her wheelchair was
usually placed with its back to the oriel window. Paul Tonsing, Jr., had the irksome duty
to close the wood shutters of this window at night, and to open them at first light.

H. THE LIBRARY

From the front entrance one turned right past a window and a forty-five degree
angle corner to the door that led to the most interesting room of the house. Located on
the northeast side of the house, it was the largest room of the house, the library. All of
the glass transoms above the doorways in the house were painted bouquets of various
flowers. Above the entrance to the library from the dining room, I recall, was a cluster of
red roses. This room had huge walnut bookcases, eight and one-half feet high and five
feet two inches wide. They were divided into a lower section with two, wide doors which
opened onto wide, deep shelves, and an upper section which held two doors, each having
two panels of “wavy” glass, the upper panels having a scalloped top. The lower cabinets
held all sorts of wonders, including a Stereopticon with a small suitcase for the paper
slides, and some music boxes.

These cases were likely to have been made by the Abernathy Brothers Company
of Leavenworth as well. Two of these cases, one quite elaborate, now reside in my home
in Thousand Oaks, California, while a sixteen foot long case is in “The Pink Barn
Antiques & Lamps” across from Atchison at 17600 SW Old Highway Road, Rushville,
Missouri. (It was purchased in 1946 by David Kottman for his antique shop on
Commercial Avenue in Atchison from Ruth Martin Tonsing, and later transferred to
Rushville.)

When the home was the mayor’s house, and then the governor’s mansion, guests
would be feasted in the dining room, after which the women would retire to the parlor,
the men to this room. A desk was placed under the north east window, a large, library
table in the center of the room, and various chairs along with an upright piano were other
furnishings of this room. One chair had red and black upholstery, turned legs, and a back
that curved sharply backward in an arc. Grandmother called this chair the “back-
breaker.” Through the years it had become quite dilapidated. In 2008, I had the
upholstery matched and the chair restored, refreshing the finish of the wood, keeping the
original springs and the tufted design. It is placed near one of the Martin bookcases in
my living room.

Above the fireplace in the center of the north wall was a large engraving of, “The
Highland Hearth,” published by George Stinson of Portland, Maine in 1881. The wood
frame, forty-five inches wide and thirty five and one-half high, shows a collie dog resting
before a low hearth which has bread being cooked on a flat pan suspended from a chain
and hook. Behind it is a bench with a draped cloth, ball of yarn with knitting needles,
and a vase behind a stack of flat loaves. To the left of this is depicted a wood door left
ajar. The picture embodied the sentimental Victorian spirit, but the friendly eyes of the
dog followed one as one walked around the room! This picture, too, resides in my home.

Many of the books in the cases had leather covers with stamped gold decorations.
In the light that entered the windows or the glow of the evening lamps, these glittered like
stars in the dark sky above, but, here, these were the golden gleams of a book-lover’s
heaven. At Governor Martin’s death in 1889 the shelves held over six thousand volumes,
the largest library of any kind, public or private, in the state.

I. THE KITCHEN

The kitchen extended the full width of the west side of the house. Access was
gained from a small hallway on the south, as well as a screened porch and the “back
steps” on the north. The room had gleaming, white wainscoting of wood. The sink,
stove and “icebox” were along the west wall. Above the sideboard, an eight-drawer spice
box furnished seasoning, and on the counter was a white, ceramic, “Dundee Marmalade”
jar that held wood spoons and various other implements for cooking. Paul Tonsing, Jr.,
remembers that, “Mom was great on making pies, using apples, cherries, rheubarb [sic],
gooseberries and mulberries that grew from trees in the yard. (I realize these don’t all
grow from trees.) As I was an avid crust person, she’d bake me a little crust on the side.”
He also remembered that, “Mom was extremely indulgent, and would let us kids cook
fudge, popcorn balls (which would never stick together…but we ate them anyway) and
divinity, using one of her cook books.” In the southwest corner, below a window, was
the large, oak table at which the family ate. Later, several steps and a door were added to
this corner which gave admittance to the stairs that led left, up to the master bedroom. In
the mid-1950’s a door was added with its own little porch so that a woman who was
renting an upstairs room could enter from the outside without disturbing the family.

On the east side of the kitchen was a little table, always covered with a white
cloth, and, above it, a frosted glass window which opened high in the wall, perhaps
giving some illumination to a closet in the dining room’s west wall. Near it, close to the
top of the ceiling, was a gas light fixture remaining from the very “modern” installation
when the house was new. When the house was “electrified” (yes, that was the word
used), the wires were simply attached with insulators over ceilings and around the corners
of the rooms.

J. THE CELLAR

A door on the right side of the east wall of the kitchen led to the steps that
descended into the full basement paved with cement. Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembered that
just below the steep steps was a large, wooden door flush in the floor. He wrote, “Lifting
the handle of this door revealed two depths of cement, perhaps two and three feet down.
This was the cooler, and watermelons and other perishables were put in there during the
summer to stay in the relatively lower temperatures.” Just to the right of the bottom of
the stairs was a pantry with shelves of preserves in Mason jars. Occasionally winter
freezes caused the jars to burst. Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembers the terrible mess that this
made, and the trouble it took to clean it up. The water pipes were suspended from the
wood beams of the cellar. These, too, would freeze and burst, and sections would have to
be replaced quickly.

A little farther in the basement was the large coal furnace, some four feet in
diameter and five feet high. However, according to Paul Tonsing, Jr., it never worked,
and the various rooms were heated by individual stoves. Extending through the south
wall of the basement were steps that led up to a nearly horizontal, very heavy, metal trap
door. There was a large iron ring in the middle of the door outside, and a curved pipe
railing kept one from falling over the raised cement surround of the door. When needed,
loads of coal, wood or corncobs were poured through that door. I remember what a
frightening racket was made when the coal was dumped down the curved, metal “shoot”
which rested on the steps. With modern furnaces, we forget the chores involved in
providing warmth for the house. After the coal or wood was carried up to the rooms and
placed on the grates of the stoves, corncobs, soaked a few minutes in kerosene, were
lighted, and, soon, the radiant heat would dispel the frosty clouds of one’s breath.

The floor of the cellar was concrete, but of the poorest quality, and was all broken
up. Paul Tonsing, Jr., thought that John Martin had been cheated by the contractors, but,
it appears that it had been the basement of a prior building in that its size and quality did
not match the dimensions of the Martin home. It had been. Newspaper records state that
the home was built on the foundations of the former slave state newspaper, the Squatter
Sovereign, which had been purchased by Martin and changed into a Free State paper, the
Freedom’s Champion. Martin later had moved his paper to Commercial Street in
downtown Atchison.

K. THE NORTH PORCH

The north porch was not large, as I recall, some eight feet by fifteen. There were
several, large, copper tubs there, with a contraption with two rubber rollers. These were
used for washing clothes. Bars of soap would be carved in little curls and dropped into
the hot water and stirred. The dirty clothes were added and the switch turned to start the
wood paddle swishing back and forth. After a while the steaming clothes were picked up
and rung through the rollers into a rinse tub, and then, once more into another. Placed in
wood baskets with metal, wire handles, the clothes would be carried out to be hung to
dry, attached to the clotheslines with wood clothespins. However, one had to keep
looking out of the windows for any rain clouds that might appear suddenly. With the first
drops of rain there would be a flurry of activity, clothespins flung into a sack handing on
the line and sheets and shirts gathered quickly into the arms. Once inside, a few sox and
“long johns” could be dried on a wood scaffold set up in the kitchen. This was a
mechanical and architectural wonder to one who needed to figure out how it could stand
so well and yet collapse neatly into a low, rectangular group of poles and posts.

Among the wash tubs on the porch stood a “pie keep,” with tin sides pierced by
many holes, and a large “settle.” The latter was a bench with a large, square back that
swiveled down on wooden, peg hinges that went through the back of the arm rests. The
arms, themselves, formed the platform upon which the back laid, making, instantly, a
sturdy table. It was very old, as grandmother told me, and had come from a cabin at the
town of Woodlawn owned by the Challiss family. The porch was screened in, and the
swinging door leading to the steps made a cheery “bang” when the coiled spring pulled it
back. At least the sound was cheerful for the children. The adults minded, however, as
they always do.

L. THE “LITTLE HALLWAY”

Back in the kitchen, except for the door which led to the porch on the left side, the
north wall was filled with cabinets above and below, with a counter running the full
length, some twelve or fifteen feet. Another door to the right led to the “little hallway,”
that had what I think was a pantry on the left side. But, Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembers it
had a box with a wooden lid, perhaps for dirty clothes. The bathroom was on the right
side, with toilet, sink and tub. As I recall, the hot water heater was not large, and was
behind the tub at its head.

Above the tub and water heater were shelves that held the large, bound, file copies
of the Slave State newspaper, the Squatter Sovereign (1854-1857) and Martin’s
Freedom’s Champion (1858-). When the house was closed, my father brought these
volumes to Topeka. He and I presented them to the Kansas State Historical Society for
safe keeping. In the enthusiasm for technology of the early 1960’s, these important
volumes were microfilmed by inept photographers who neglected to include much of the
first columns and jumbled loose pages. The originals then were incinerated “to save
space,” and thus the vast number of articles written by Governor John A. Martin over
thirty years was lost forever.

In the bathroom door and below the low ceiling on the east side of the room were
windows which had been covered with translucent paper. I was always amused by this
paper's’ design of blue, red, yellow and white geometric shapes, each surrounded by a
black border. It was like being in church illuminated by stained glass windows. Another
door on the east wall led to the dining room. From the little hallway between the clothes
hamper and the toilet one continued through another door back into the library.
 M. THE UPPER FLOOR

Upstairs were spacious bedrooms, a bathroom on the north side in the middle, and
the huge, master bedroom on the west. From the master bedroom a door on the north of
the east wall led to a large closet and a dressing room with its built-in dressing table
facing a north window. A door in the middle of that wall gave access to the hallway that
led by the bathroom on the left, and bedrooms on the right. Through another door one
found the landing, the stairs descending down from the right. In the middle of the
hallway was a door on the north of a bedroom occupied in the earlier part of the twentieth
century by Ida (Denton), and, to the east of this, the room occupied by Ernest (Ernie).
Across the front of the house was a little landing which led to the southwest bedroom.
The bedroom in the middle of the south side was reserved for guests, and its large size
and south-facing windows made them feel welcomed.

N. THE GARDEN

To the south of the house was a large lot that was tilled for a vegetable garden,
some thirty by forty feet. Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembers that, “it was my duty to till this
thing, plant some of, and go out before meals and get the radishes, carrots, rheubarb [sic]
and whatever we were growing that season to serve fresh at meals. Tomatoes were
prominent, also, and corn.” The garden also held the beautiful roses so beloved by Ida
Martin and her daughter, Ruth. Grandmother Ruth recalled in the May 14, 1960 letter,
that, “Grandma Martin and I watched the hail tear our flowers to shreds.” She also
recalled in her letter to me from May 12, 1961, that there was a mulberry tree in the yard:
“Usually I get enuf for jelly, but none last yr.” Her letter of November 5, 1962, also
mentions the death of the old cherry tree. I remember the wonderful cherry pies
grandmother made from the fruit of that tree planted by Colonel Martin.

O. THE GYMNASIUM

Parallel to the house and north was a gymnasium, entered by a door opposite the
back steps of the house. This large, two story structure, too, was built of brick upon a
limestone foundation, but had windows continuing around three sides for light and
ventilation. A stairway going up the west wall led to the story above the stables attached
to the west side of the building. When I was a child, the gymnasium still contained some
parallel bars, rings hanging from the ceiling, and an assortment of the peculiar bowling-
pin-shaped weights that were popular athletic equipment in the nineteenth century. This
building was pulled down and its equipment taken to the town's dump at the end of the
1940’s.

P. THE CARRIAGE HOUSE

On the west end of the gymnasium was the carriage house. It was some forty feet
to the northwest of the house and was accessible from the alley. About forty by fifty feet
in size, it once held the carriages and horses for the family. Paul Tonsing, Jr., recalls, “It
was during the Depression, and as my brothers were pretty good mechanics, [brother]
Ernie in particular taught me, and it was a habit of Dad’s to go out somewhere and find a
’23 or ’24 Chevy in the weeds, pay $5 for it, and drag it home for us to fix…In the upper
story of the barn was an old winch that had a cable that led to a pulley in a big
cottonwood tree, and it was our want to put one of the old Chevys under that tree and pull
the motor or other part.”

Q. THE LAST YEARS OF THE HOUSE

In the years that Colonel John A. Martin was an editor and Mayor of Atchison,
the house saw many receptions and dinners. The house saw little of him, however, while
he was governor of the state. As grandmother Ruth mentions in her letter of June 12,
1962, that, “…we saw so little of him the last 4 years of his life as he was in Topeka all
the time. There was no Governors mansion there then, so he went back and forth on that
old Sfe [Santa Fe] plug train Mondays and Saturdays.” Paul Tonsing, Jr., remembers
many visitors to the home: “We had a very active household…the aunts and uncles came
frequently, and Grandma [Martin] was continually entertaining as she was prominent in
the Baptist church, the Women’s Christian Temperance Union and other associations. I
guess being a governor’s widow brought her prominence. Dad [Tonsing] was also very
convivial, and as different preachers would hit town, he’d ask them home for lunch or
supper. And salesmen who called on him at the print shop were often guests. Of course
the siblings were almost daily visitors…”

R. NOW—ONLY MEMORIES

The Martin-Tonsing residence served as a home for the family nearly one hundred
years. According to cousin Ralph Martin, in 1955, the Kansas State Historical Society
designated it as one of the five buildings to be preserved in Atchison. As none of the
immediate family was living in Atchison at the time of Grandmother Ruth’s death in
1967, it was put up for sale. Due to its poor condition, the asking price was $800, with
the house’s repair and restoration as a condition of the transaction. Sadly, the contractor
who purchased this venerable, historic house merely wanted to sell the bricks. Without
removing the elaborately paneled doors, tile fireplaces and those beautifully painted
transoms, he soon demolished it. As a market for bricks did not exist, the large pile of
rubble stood in the ruins for years, forlorn and unsightly Only the large ash trees planted
by the newly married couple who built and enjoyed the home nearly a century and a half-
ago now mark the site. It remains, however, cherished in the memory of the family.

©Ernst F. Tonsing (August 2, 2009)