The Minneapolis Moline

From the time he was big enough to steer a tractor, about age 7, Bobby Doyle Russell was his dad’s main farm hand, the son who helped with the plowing, planting, weeding and the endless other farm tasks that crop up (no pun intended). Bob was also responsible for moving the cattle to pasture and back each day, but this story is about tractors. This responsibility, largely unpaid and unappreciated, continued until Bob joined the Navy in 1962.

 

Over the years Bob's dad, Doyle Russell, acquired quite a number of tractors. I am guessing about twenty but maybe closer to thirty. One winter day in the late 1970s or early 1980s, Doyle drove his Minneapolis Moline down from his place just north of Colorado County Rd 70 in Larimer County, to our place on Colorado County Rd 58, about twelve miles south. Bob had asked to borrow the tractor a few days to clear some land.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I took a few photographs of the two of them checking out the tractor, going over a few fine points of operating it. 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t realize at the time that on Martin Luther King Day, January 15, 1996, Doyle would have a life-changing accident with that Minneapolis Moline. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It caught on fire while Doyle was adding gasoline and the fire burned Doyle badly. He survived after months in the Greeley Hospital burn unit, but was never able to return to his farm and independent living.

Today I came across these photos and realized they are a metaphor for the relationship between this father and son. I can only imagine the Erskine Caldwell style book Bob Russell could write about his life with his father, if only he would. However, Bob's respect and love for his dad would never allow him to do that so I am thankful that over the years I've been privy to hearing this story, parts of it, anyway, and my life has been enriched by that.

Rosa's Cantina

 

The song El Paso, by Marty Robbins, came out in 1959 and it has always had special meaning for me. My dad bought our first console record player, stereo system in 1960 and a few record albums too. I remember The Soundtrack of Tales of the South Pacific, Son's of the Pioneers, and Gunfighter Ballads by Marty Robbins. 

 

 

That year, 1960, Dad was working at Ford Motor Company's Stamping Plant in Chicago Heights, Illinois, about 45 miles north of our rental duplex in Bourbonnais. I was thirteen years old, my siblings eleven, nine, and five. On his days off from the Ford plant Dad would play his records in the living room and soon we all knew those songs by heart. It was a happy time for us all when the music was playing and Dad was singing along, sometimes dancing around in that self-conscious way of is. I especially loved "Tumbling Tumble Weeds".

 

 

 

Dad worked the 3 to 11, or afternoon shift at Ford, leaving the factory a little before midnight each night, driving south along Illinois State Highway 45 toward home. Friday nights were paydays when he liked to stop at his favorite Bar just south of Chicago Heights, a place named Purgy's. He'd cash his check and have a few drinks before coming home.

Sometimes Dad would have more than a few drinks and those were the nights I remember most (worst). They weren't often, but they were frightful. The window in the bedroom I shared with my two sisters was high off the floor and I would stand on my tip toes watching the car lights come up over the bridge on North Street, willing it to be Dad as each set of headlights appeared, knowing the sooner he got home the less drunk he would be.

Dad had a jealousy problem, and after a few too many drinks he'd accuse my mother of infidelity, of flirting with tall, dark, handsome men. Lots of yelling and ugly accusations. Sometimes shattered dishes and broken flowerpots. I use to blame alcohol but now I believe the real problem was Dad's low self esteem caused by a traumatic childhood. The alcohol was his relief valve. Dad needed mental health counseling and medication but men of his generation, tough men, Bosun's Mates in the U.S. Navy during WWII, preferred punching a guy in the nose to seeing a psychiatrist. Eventually, after twenty-three years of marriage, dad lost his wife, the love of his life, to another man. We, their four kids, watched it happen and there were no winners. Mom was not the flirt Dad accused her of being. She was a woman who had reached the end of her rope. And Dad was a good man, always a “good provider”, his generation’s measure of a husband and father.

Dad knew we all dreaded those nights. So what did he do? He changed "Rosa's" to "Purgy's" in Marty's El Paso and would sing El Paso, parts of it anyway, like this..."Out through the back door of Purgy's I ran, out where the horses were ti-i-i-ed.." . and then he'd laugh, Dad's distinctive chuckle. Oh, did he sing that over and over and laugh and enjoy it. It is forever etched in my mind, a happy memory of my dad singing and laughing at his own frailty.

This past week my cousin Patty Devine French and her husband Joe French came to visit me for the first time ever. We all told family stories which opened windows in my mind that had been shuttered for years. After their visit I was sitting in the recliner in my and Bob's bedroom and glanced up at a framed print on the wall, one that has hung there for years. Bob loves the artwork, by Stephen Morath, titled "Evening would Find Me" and then it clicked, “Evening would find me at Rosa’s Cantina, music would plan and Felina would whirl…” There it was again, Marty Robbins’ famous song, and it took me back.

 

And the day after that, over dinner with our family, my husband asked our daughter-in-law, Alejandra, “What is your favorite Mexican food?” As she started to answer she turned to her husband, our son, and asked, “What is the name of our favorite Mexican Restaurant in Longmont?” and Patrick answered, “Rosa’s Cantina.” Ha! I had to laugh and then I heard my dad laugh in my memory. And my heart clutched and I felt the loss of my dad in my life again, thankful for all he means to me, for all our shared life together, the good, the bad, and the musical. I asked my cousin, in front of her husband, did you marry a man like your dad? And she said no, and I said, neither did I, but I know there are similarities in my dad and my husband, one of them being "never a dull moment."

Patty’s and Joe’s visit has rekindled my appreciation and love for Illinois, for coal miners, for Route 45, my Devine family, and for my dad, Joe Uknavage. Thank you, cousins, I needed that. See you next Spring!

Grandma Reese, Was She Indian?

  

Grandma Reese, my dad’s maternal grandmother, was born Gertrude Mae Johnson on the 25^th day of February 1882 in Terre Haute, Vigo County, Indiana. At the tender age of 14, on August 11, 1896, she married Thomas Maple “Mape” Devine, a coal miner, in Vincennes, Knox County, Indiana. In April of 1912 she gave birth to her sixth child, a full term boy, stillborn, they named Orvil Lee Devine. Gertie buried him and was still mouring his death when her husband Mape died June 28, 1912, in Muddy, Saline County, Illinois, at the age of 36. His death certificate lists Bright’s Disease, a kidney failure, as his cause of death. Gertie was left with with no money and five children to raise by herself, John, 14, Annie, 12, Inez, 8, Charlie, 5, and Roy, almost 4.

 

Gertrude’s parents had divorced in 1891 and were not available to help her. Helena Johnson Potter, Gertrude’s younger sister, had four children of her own by 1912, unable to provide money but probably a shoulder to cry on.  Soon Gertrude’s situation became desperate and there was talk of the county taking her children and farming them out, a plan she could not tolerate. Nearby was a neighbor, a batchelor twenty years older than Gertie, William Edward Reese, who approached her and said if she would marry him he would be take responsibility for her and her kids, would keep them together. And so she did, in 1914, and became our Grandma Reese.

 

 

 

 

Gertrude and Bill Reese had two children together, Susie Ardena Reese in 1916 and Mary Jane Reese in 1919.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I first started studying our family history, thanks to my younger sister Kathy Benoit Hillary, I attended our annual Smith Family Reunions in southern Illinois each summer and asked a lot of questions. One subject that often came up was this “was Grandma Reese part Indian, i.e., Native American?” Many of us have remarked on her looks, dark hair, dark brown eyes, and high cheek bones. I now know that is a very common question by those who study genealogy, that many families have heard that someone in their family is Native American, most often Cherokee, but that after much study those same families rarely find proof of that. DNA testing has become affordable and popular and has helped identify ethnicity in families. Rarely is there evidence of Native Americans in the family trees.

 

 

Realizing that several of Gertrude’s relatives were interested in this I asked Mary Jane Reese Stark, Gertrude’s last living child, to take a DNA test, and at the advanced age of 98, she did! A special thanks to Mary's daughter, Lydia, for helping her mother take the test and for mailing it in. I really hoped that before Mary passed away I would be able to tell her, “YES”, you are part Native American, but I was not able to do that. Mary died August 31, 2021, at the age of 102, our longest lived relative. I have continued to study her family background, almost daily, as more and more DNA matches come in. Oh, I forgot to say that Mary allowed me to add her DNA results to my family tree so that I can see the names and family trees of those who share DNA with her.

Yesterday, October 18, 2024, my first cousin once removed, Patricia Faye Devine French, daughter of Gertrude Mae Johnson Devine’s son Charles, came with her husband Joe French, to visit me from their home in Missouri. We talked a lot about our families and, sure enough, the question of whether or not Grandma Reese was Native American came up again. That has prompted me to give my family an update on what I have learned, so far, about that.

 

 

 

 

 

Just this year (yes, it has taken me seven years!) I found that one of Gertrude’s ancestors is Elizabeth Jane Payne, born 1813 in Tennessee, Gertrude’s paternal gr-grandmother. Elizabeth’s great grandparents were, supposedly, both Cherokee Indians, Thomas Payne (Motoy), b. 21 Oct 1721 Christchurch, Middlesex, Virginia and Ardwood C (or Jennie Running Horse) Koch, b. 1720, Hanover, Virginia. I found this in other family trees and have not verified it!! As I told my cousin Patricia, I don’t feel confident about this and should not even put this word out without further study, but then I realize I am 77 years old and don’t want to go to my grave without someone knowing this might be real, provable information. And I want to point out that even if it is true this means Gertrude Mae Johnson was only 1/32^nd Native American, hardly enough to have a strong influence on her looks! But there you have it! 

I continue to study Grandma Reese’s family tree and may find another connection to Native Americans. If not, I am thankful she was a strong, healthy woman and I’m proud to be descended from her, through her second child, Anna Jane Devine.

Joe Uknavage, Jr. and the Civil Conservation Corps, CCC

 

In 1936 my dad, Joe Uknavage, was sixteen years old, living with his parents and younger brother in Royalton, Illinois, a poverty stricken coal mining town hit hard by the Depression. He signed up for the Civil Conservation Corps despite their rule that a man must be 18 years old, and soon was sending $25 a month home to his mother, of the $30 he was paid. That was mandated by the CCC rules.

 

 

 

 

 

The Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) was a work relief program that gave millions of young men employment on environmental projects during the Great Depression. From its inception in 1933 until it was disbanded when the United States became involved in WWII on December 7, 1941, more than 2.5 million men had served in more the 4,500 camps across the country. They had planted over 3 billion trees, combated soil erosion and forest fires, and occasionally dealt with natural disasters such as hurricanes, floods, and droughts. (Quote: Joseph M. Speakman, 2006)

 

Dad became a man over the next three years, working his way west in CCC camps in Illinois, Minnesota, Idaho, and California, making friends, toughening his body and his mind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In November of 1937 he was sent home to his mother’s bedside as she lay dying. After giving birth to her fourth child in 1924, Anna Jane Devine Uknavage was advised by her doctor that another pregnancy might kill her. We believe her kidneys were failing. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anna managed that directive until 1937 when she once again found herself pregnant and ill. She died in December of 1937, age 37, leaving a married 22-yr-old daughter, Petrona Tucker, 17-yr-old son Joe,13-yr-old son Bill, and her husband, Joe Uknavage, Sr., age 50. My Dad told me that he prayed and prayed, walked the dirt roads of Wasson, Illinois, begging God to save his mother, and that when she died he lost his faith in God, so angry, so lost. 

 

He returned to the CCC and was in Tulare, California in late 1939. (In researching the CCC online I just discovered that CCC records are being digitalized and made available to family members so I have ordered my dad's. I hope to learn of all the Camps where he worked and when).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dad’s father, Joe Uknavage, Sr., died on a cold, wet day in February of 1940, in Benton, Illinois, his health eroded by alcoholism, poverty, and loneliness (my opinion). In April when the 1940 federal census was counted Dad was living in Harco, Saline County, Illinois with his Uncle Roy Devine and next door lived Dad’s sister and her husband Reuben Tucker. 

On the census form Dad’s occupation is “Leader in CCC”. Two months later, June 4, 1940, Joe Uknavage joined the US Navy and started training at the Great Lakes Naval Training Station. For the next six years he was a U. S. Navy Sailor, rising in rank from AS to BM1c, Bosun’s Mate First Class. Dad was always proud of his Naval career and before that his participation in the CCC's. In both, his leadership skills brought him success. 

In August, 2016, Joe Uknavage's granddaughter, Rachel, took her son, Simon, then age 6, to visit a memorial site in southern Illinois that featured a monument to the CCC men. She took that opportunity to tell Simon about his Gr-Grandpa Joe's service to our country, building parks, planting trees, clearing waterways. That particular monument did not have Joe Uknavage's name listed but now we know that just north of there near Springfield, in a small town named Meredosia, his Gr-Grandpa Joe was at CCC Camp 2677 in 1938.

RD’s Art – Overcoming Depression

 

One of our friends is struggling with depression right now and that brought to my mind a highly personal and sensitive subject, one RD might rather forget, but I think it is another example of his creative side and since it was such a big part of our lives I want to talk about it.

Thank God, after years of struggle, he overcame debilitating depression and I think he did it in a very creative way. At the risk of embarrassing RD by telling too much about this time of his life I will describe some of the ways he tried to come out of that deep hole he was in.

He spoke honestly with our family physician, Dr. Maynard "Mike" DeYoung at the Family Clinic and the two of them decided on a regimen of anti-depressant medicines which he took for awhile, but they didn’t help him and the side effects were not good. In his determination to help RD, Dr. DeYoung became a personal friend and he and RD went deer hunting together in the Rocky Mountains, along with a couple of Dr. DeYoung’s friends.

 

 

 

 

After gentle probing about RD’s spiritual beliefs Dr. DeYoung invited the two of us to join him and his wife Barbara at First Christian Church where we came to admire the minister there, Charlie Patchen. Some months later Dr. DeYoung told us of a Wednesday night church group that met in the basement of First Christian, and there was talk that people were getting real help from the ministry of Derin Carmack, former principal of Wellington Junior High, also lay minister. We met new, interesting people there; Loren and Sheila Crabtree became good friends and Sheila taught us both about positive affirmations, a confidence-building technique that helped.

RD also starting going to a chiropractor in town, Ole Lipiec, who treated his lower back pain using the Palmer Method of chiropractic, a gentle technique of adjustment. Soon many of our friends availed themselves of Ole Lipiec’s healing touch and we still talk of him today. He, too, became friends with RD and tried his best to heal the whole person. Ole and his wife, Kathy, moved to Maryville, Missouri, or we would still be going to him.

But the depression lingered, sometimes exacerbated by life events, but always present. After years of struggle RD finally consented to see a psychiatrist for I thought talk therapy was the answer as it had helped me when I struggled with mental health issues. RD was balking at the plan, telling me his experience in the Teams with mandatory sessions with psychologists and how he and his teammates taunted and teased them, never confiding or complying.

Right before his first appointment with the psychiatrist RD came to me with an alternate proposal for his treatment. It was “If we can afford to pay a psychiatrist, maybe instead of that we can afford to get a horse?” He went on to say that he’d always wanted a horse of his own and that the care and training of the horse just might be the medicine he needed to come out of his self-destructive thoughts and behaviors. So that’s what we did, cancelled the psychiatrist appointment and RD soon had his first horse, Rocket, a bay thoroughbred, gelding owned by a friend, Nick Chenoweth. Rocket had been returned to Nick by the trainer he hired who said Rocket was untrainable. RD thought otherwise. He and Nick soon struck a deal.

And yes, it worked! Not immediately, not overnight, but each day RD got up and went outside to work with Rocket who needed a great deal of care, understanding, and patience, for he too was damaged. Those with horses know that keeping one involves more than just clean water and a little hay. 

 

 

Soon, RD was learning where to find the best second-cutting horse hay in this area, when it was available, how the prices compared, etc. He and Rocket preferred a mix of grass and alfalfa. And we bought “sweet feed”, a grain/molasses mix that Rocket really liked and was his reward for good behavior. Ranchway Feeds was our go-to place for that. Then, big, strong tarps to cover the hay and tack, all sorts of tack including ropes, bridles, brushes, combs and saddles. RD removed ticks and dewormed but brought in a mobile veterinarian for shots and stitches and a farrier to trim hooves. If I remember right, after a couple of farriers RD took over trimming the hooves himself. Together RD and Rocket healed themselves and each other.

Rattler soon joined Rocket and became RD’s second horse. Maybe he thought Rocket needed a companion. Rattler got his name after being bit in the nose by a rattle snake when he was a colt. He was a roan quarter horse gelding and very smart. He loved to learn and didn’t have Rocket’s startle reflex. 

 

 

I recall one of the games he and RD learned to play whereby RD put some grain in an old tire and Rattler taught himself to grab the tire with his teeth and bounce it up and down on the ground as the grain hopped out. Then he ate the grain. Years after RD stopped putting grain in the tire Rattler still tested each tire in the pasture that way.

 

 

 

Nick took his herd up in the mountains for the summers then brought them down to a grazing pasture near the foothills as fall set in. One year he asked RD to feed and water the herd at that foothills pasture while he took a trip. I went along a couple of times. There was a young black horse with an injury, an ugly cut, on his forehead. We watched as he tried to eat the hay RD threw out for the herd but the other horses kept him away. Of course, RD soon came up with a way to keep the main herd occupied with their hay while he fed the little black horse away from the others. When Nick came back from his trip RD told him about the injured black horse and Nick said he’d probably have to put him down. That was the day RD became the proud owner of his third horse! 

He brought him home and gifted him to me, and let me name him, too. I named him Sid after RD’s Uncle Sidney Russell who was injured overseas in WWII and came home to Arkansas a changed man, sad and quiet. Sid was a small black quarter horse gelding with a white blaze on his nose. He was my first and only horse but RD cared for him, became quite fond of his fiesty spirit. Sid was always watching for an open gate. Only after he died did we learn from our vet Charlie Mizushima that Sid was stunted in growth due to parasites in his gut and the extreme amount of scar tissue they caused. He probably lived with a lot of  pain.

 

 

 

 

RD’s last horse, Roamer, came to us from his dad, Doyle Russell. Doyle was a staunch Democrat and may have named this horse after Governor Roy Romer, or maybe it was Roamer, as in drifter. I never knew for sure. Roamer was a white half Arabian, half wild mustang gelding. He was different from the quarter horses in temperament. One difference I recall is that he didn’t like to walk in water, as in cross a creek. But he had a good personality and we loved him. We loved all four of these horses but I know Rattler was RD’s favorite.

For the next fifteen years RD had horses, and what they brought to our lives was invaluable. He rarely rode them, aside from that eighteen months or so he hired a local cowboy to help him with training. He never put shoes on their hooves. Never needed a horse trailer. Instead he studied them and the way they interacted with birds, dogs, and people. RD trusted them and they trusted him. He learned Linda Telllington’s “The Tellington Touch” a deep massage technique that brought pain relief and calm to each of the horses. 

Thank you, Rocket, Rattler, Roamer, and Sid. And thank you, RD, for finding your own creative approach to restoring your mental health by giving of yourself to other living creatures. My respect and admiration for you grew as I observed and filmed those fifteen years of you with your horses.

RD's Art - Class 29 Book

 

In June of 2000, RD completed and published a book titled "To Be Someone Special - The Story of UDTra Class 29". It had been in the making for about a year. and is all about his Underwater Demolition Team Training Class #29 in the winter of 1962, Coronado, California.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were 41 graduates of that class, seven officers and thirty-four enlisted men. The initial group numbered approximately four hundred enlisted men and 30 officers, but the attrition rate was steep over the twenty-six weeks of intense training as men voluntarily dropped out or were dropped due to injury. On December 10, 1962 Class 29 graduated forty-one victorious frogmen. RD was one of those enlisted men. He was also one of the nineteen enlisted men who came straight out of Navy boot camp to UDT training, a new experimental policy instituted in 1962 in an effort to improve the trainee attrition rate while not compromising the quality of training. It was successful in Class 29 and those nineteen "boots" were proud of their achievement.

After training the frogmen were assigned to either UDT 11, UDT12, or SEAL Team One, west coast Teams. They rotated from advanced training to deployments in Vietnam over the course of their enlistments. 

RD's book is about their shared experience in training, not about their time in Vietnam. In the 1960s the UDTs and newly formed SEAL Teams were secretive by design. The mystique of "The Men With Green Faces" had a huge role in their success. Nowadays with all the movies, books, and even video games about Navy SEALs the public doesn't realize the UDT/ SEAL Teams operated as a clandestine force, a secret weapon in Vietnam.

 

 

RD located and contacted as many of his classmates as he could. That in itself was quite a roller coaster ride, the reunions, the long telephone conversations, the joy at finally getting contact information on a classmate only to learn he was no longer alive. Eleven of the forty-one had died, and two he could not find. He asked the twenty-seven living teammates, seven officers, "The Magnifient Seven", and twenty enlisted, to write about their memories of training, and they did! And Jack Sudduth, OIC of the training unit, contributed his memories of training, and that class in particular. As for the thirteen who could not contribute, and a few who could but didn't, RD wrote about those men whom he remembered well yet struggled to tell their stories as they would want them told.

 

 

The book is heavily illustrated with photographs, charts, artwork, and even poems. As RD received each story from a classmate we filed it in a separate folder then searched for appropriate photographs to accompany the story. RD's memories of training, already vivid and accurate, were stimulated by what his teammates wrote. For months he re-lived and breathed his UDT training experiences in his head and his fitful sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finally, in June of 2000, we took the finished manuscript, created on our home PC, to Kinkos, ordered fifty copies of the 180 pieces of paper, most printed on both sides, brought those back home where we formed an assembly line on the big flat surface of a bed, and walked up and down with armloads of papers, making RD's book. We hadn't numbered any of the pages for a couple of reasons so it was essential we not make mistakes in the page order as we assembled fifty books. Then back to Kinkos to have them bound with coil binding and clear plastic front and back covers. 

This was a huge undertaking by RD, born of love for the Teams and his desire to share his memories with his classmates, let them know what they meant to him. He never intended to make the book available to the public therefore most people don't know about this creative project of RD's. The books were well received by his classmates, treasured even, well...except for one. One of RD's closest friends in Class 29 was married to a woman who insisted he walk away from his experience in the Teams and not look back. She was offended by the booklet RD sent out, a preview of the book, with Team art included, a humorous thing. Perhaps she had her husband's best interests at heart. We'll never know. It was she who wrote to RD and told him to stop corresponding with her husband. It made him angry and broke his heart but he did what she asked, no, she demanded. And he made the offhand comment to me that the guy always did have a problem with the women in his life.

Throughout this class's training RD's boat crew excelled but it was during Hell Week they really pulled ahead, so much so the instructors suspected that somehow they had sneaked in an outboard motor. But no, they truly were an exceptional crew with six enlisted men and ENS William T. White III as coxswain. RD tried to explain the dynamics of that to me several times but I didn't really understand. I came away with this...Mr. White knew the water, the waves, and how to read them from his experience surfing all his life and his crew trusted him completely. They won Hell Week and secured early, a big thing. RD was surprised to learn that thirty-eight years later Jack Sudduth still believed Boat Crew 6 must have cheated. No, they were really that good!

 

 

At some point when there was discussion about naming the book RD suggested "Yesterday's Wine", after Willie Nelson's song with that title. He created a cover using that theme. But he was outvoted and the other cover with Barney House's art was preferred. When we assembled the books I made one with RD's Yesterday's Wine cover for I think it says a lot about him and his relationship to these men.

RD's Art - the Shop and the Weasel

 

After RD's military service in the Sixties, a sailor in the Navy's Underwater Demolition Team ELEVEN, he lived in Houston a short while before returning to his folks' place just north of Wellington, Colorado. The transition from the UDT/SEAL Teams to civilian life in the 1960s where the mood of the country was anti-war and anti-warrior, took some time.

 

He and two friends, Larry Johnson and Bill West, built a 30'x50' wood-framed machine shop on RD’s parents' property, applied for a license to run a garage, and started a business. RD and Bill were business partners with Bill bringing to the table his expertise and skill in operating the flame cutter and metal lathe.

 

 

RD recalls a particularly challenging and fun project for Western Scientific Services. He located a WWII military amphibious track vehicle, a Weasel, in the scrap yard at the Air Force Base in Colorado Springs, and brought it back to the Russell Garage. No doubt, it was RD's UDT experience which prompted this solution to Western Scientific's need. Finding the Weasel in a place where WWII vehicles go to die is so 1960s UDT where funds were scarce and cumshaw a skill. UDT 11 Chief Gagliardi was a cumshaw pro.

 

The Weasel needed work as its Studebaker engine was undersized for the use planned for this vehicle in the deep snow of the Colorado Rockies. So RD and Bill replaced the engine with a more powerful Ford engine. I don't imagine that was a quick and simple job.

 

 

 

The Weasel is probably scrap again, up near Leadville, Colorado, a place that often has the reputation of being the coldest place in our nation.

That was over fifty years ago so Western Scientific's weather station has long since been replaced by modern technology. But as long as RD and Bill West are around to tell their stories, and people like me write about creative projects, the Weasel lives.