THE SPIRITS IN THE POOR HOUSE CEMETERY IN BUTTE, MONTANA - STORIES OF THOSE FORGOTTEN SOULS LEFT BURIED

 SOME INFORMATION ABOUT THE "POOR FARM" CEMETERY or POTTER'S FIELD

Name- Potters Field

Also known as Silver Bow County Poor Farm Cemetery or Poor Farm Cemetery. The term "County Cemetery" was also used.

It is a half-acre patch (NOTE: found book (The Life of the Afterlife in the Big Sky State) by Ellen Baumler mentioning that the cemetery was 1 acre) of ground that lies uphill — and close to Interstate 15 — from the former Poor Farm building that is the National Center for Appropriate Technology.

There is some confusion as to when the cemetery was no longer used for burials.  Reportage in newspapers at the time about burials there stop around 1905 but have found death certificates stating removal or burial at the poor farm after 1905 but the keyword being "or".  Bodies could have been removed from the poor farm and buried elsewhere after 1905.

 Also found in an article by the Montana Standard dated May 29th, 2010(Buried a Pauper) the year 1912 is mentioned.

I also discovered cases where the death certificate showed that the deceased had been removed and.or buried at the cemetery before 1905 but deeper research through newspaper archives showed that the family or friends of the deceased claimed the body and gave them a "proper Christian burial".

Per an article in the Montana Standard dated December 2nd 2001 - No exact burial records have been kept so it is unknown how many people are buried there. But it's believed to hold about 500 people who lived and died at the Poor Farm. 

As described in a 1905 newspaper story at the Butte-Silver Bow Archives, the oldest known grave was dug in 1892, but people could have been buried there as early as the 1870s. However, the cemetery soon fell out of favor and the 1905 story laments the cemetery's state. 

“ It was kind of being forgotten by 1905,” said Reavis. 

From my research, there was some records kept such as death records, news articles, etc. but in those earlier years, the records were very sketchy or non-existing as there was very little regulation to keep such records.

Even during the 1905 newspaper story, a lot of the headstones were either deteriorated to the point hardly any information could be read or the headstones were completely gone .

 In 1937,  through the WPA, a large retaining wall of granite was built around the Poor Farm cemetery. This granite came from the Ernest George quarry at the nine mile.

The first mention of the "Paupers' Field" I could discover was in 1888.

This article from 1905 chronicles some of the souls there, and gives a pretty telling picture of the cemetery in that year.

THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

The records begin halfway down the hillside for the graves were put here in rows as one might plant potatoes. Oh, there was no choice of graves or plots among the men and women who died unmourned at the county poor house. There were no spaces reserved for mothers or sisters or children. When one dies he is put beside the last one who died, and his grave is dug days before the end comes.  
For it is nice and handy to have the grave already dug, for the friendless often die suddenly and it is bothersome to have the body of a friendless one lying around. They keep a stock of graves on hand, a dozen or so ready. 

Where Butte's Unmourned Dead Keep Lonely Vigil 

(Written For the Christmas EVENING NEWS, December 18, 1905.) 

  

  Once the cemetery lay open on the hillside, but it is marked now. A trim citified fence surrounds the plot of the graves of the unmourned dead.  When the North Coast Limited thunders along the mountain wall people look from the windows and see what a small girl called " a funny old graveyard." It is rarely seen by any of Butte's thousands of citizens as it is off the main road. It lies between the mountain wall hemmed in by the railroad and the foothills. It is a silent little city of the dead that worries along without storied urn or animated bust.  

TIME DESTROYS EPITAPHS   They put a fence around it a year ago, a neat well-pulled wire fence which keeps the vagrant cows from scratching from the grave posts and trampling them under foot. To the north time has done its deadly work. The mounds are faint, rising slightly above the ground level and the head boards are rotted away and long since gone.  So the records begin halfway down the hillside for the graves were put here in rows as one might plant potatoes. Oh, there was no choice of graves or plots among the men and women who died unmourned at the county poor house. There were no spaces reserved for mothers or sisters or children. When one dies he is put beside the last one who died, and his grave is dug days before the end comes.   For it is nice and handy to have the grave already dug, for the friendless often die suddenly and it is bothersome to have the body of a friendless one lying around. They keep a stock of graves on hand, a dozen or so ready. 

A DREARY SPECTACLE   The wind sweeps down through Horse canyon and fills the empty graves with snow and thaws, sometimes with ice. This isn't pleasant to put a human body into. Somehow the snow has a friendly way of curling about the grave posts and topping them with ermine, white as the purest Vermont marble.  Casually one can see that of the hundreds buried here headboards remain only over the last 250 or so.  "We're the only company they have at the end," said the one-legged inmate of the poor house who digs graves for his fellows and tries to stay 12 ahead of the job.   "I get $1.50 a grave. Thankee for the cigars. I'll smoke 'em tonight. I got a friend, an old Grand army man, I'll give him one. He's bad with the Bright's disease.  This big, roomy graves for him.  He'll go in a week or so."   

GHOSTLY FIRES BURN The old man pothered away with pick and shovel. He had four graves laid out in his mind's eye and on each a fire burned. The fire melted the Christmas frost beneath, and at night from the car windows, the lights burned about the headboards, weird and ghastly, making the railroad travelers wonder what stage scene was this - something that might have been snatched from Hans Christian Anderson's story of a graveyard.  'Welcome to Butte' was what the flames may have said to some.  To all, the flames of the graveyard are a sobering sight.  

NAMES OBLITERATED, BOARDS REMAIN They made very poor headboards in the old days but in the year 1896 there was a change and someone began making good, substantial boards, which stand today.  On the upper slope of the hill the names are all eaten away by the weather, but down where the boards are sheltered, the names remain.  The oldest date discernible is that of Fred Muller, who died in 1892 at the age of 45.  Friends placed a strong heavy cross above the grave and so it stands, where all its fellows have rotted away.  

A SHRUB, A ROCK, A NAMELESS CROSS There is one other grave in this section marked by an alder shrub, a piece of rock and a low, coarse wooden cross, but the name on the second cross is indiscernible. This shrub is the only one in the cemetery. There is a ghastly hole where one mound should be.  Some underflow of water gutted away the grave. The headboard totters drunkenwise, ready to fall into the hole.  On this is carved "Jennie Wells, Oct. 13, 1898," and underneath, carved in small letters is "Baby Is at 318 S. Arizona." One may speculate in vain.  Whatever the mission of that line might have been, it tells its tale now to empty air, after seven years. The headboards of 1897 tell of much work and endeavors of someone of artistic frame of mind to perpetuate the memory of the friendless dead.  Crude flowers are graven on the boards, vines carved across the woodwork. In some cases the names are burned into the wood.  

LITTLE BABY GRAVES Three recent graves in the county graveyard contain victims of smallpox. Above the graves of Ed Wolcott and Mrs. Adams are headboards painted by Dr. Sullivan.  After all it does not matter much about a man.  He was made to fight the battle of the world. Those here lost. Their cell is as roomy as the magnate, but oh, there are tiny graves at the foot of the mountain wall - little baby graves, just the length of the dearest baby you ever knew. It is such a cold place for a tiny baby - such a lonely dark place where the night comes early. Little babies, meant to nestle in the hollow of an arm, left out here all alone with no lullaby but the night wind shuddering through the dry stalks of dead weeds. What wonder if, when shadows fall and night winds send their human-like cries across the barren flat if shades of dead mothers flit to this garden searching for children poverty and death tore from their breasts. 

TWO BABES IN ONE GRAVE   One board, on which the inscription is almost illegible, reads "Two Babies Here.  Baby Clark and One Unknown."  Here is food for the thinker, material for the misanthrope.  Poor Baby Clark!  What was your hurry? Who was your mother? Yet so much richer are you then your tiny companion of your narrow cell who cannot even boast of a name.   And Baby Clark - death and a paupers grave was your portion.  Another Baby Clark has millions, nurses, doctors, teachers. If a window carelessly left open, should allow a zephr to waft cold over the downy couch, consternation would reign among the guardians of the infant.  Poor little Baby Clark lying in a pauper's grave with a frozen crust of earth for a blanket, an unlined box for a cot, no lullabys for your slumber but the voice of a merciless wind.  Were they glad when you closed your little eyes, sent up your last feeble cry, struggled and gasped for the life God gave you, and then went back whence you came, leaving only the morsel of cold humanity they brought out here? Was there a tear for you, Baby Clark? Is there anyone today who cares that you lie in the pauper's cemetery? 

"BABETTE" A t the end of a ridge of leaning and falling headboards, one stronger then the rest, lies the simple epitaph, "Babette, died Sept. 16, 1900." Babette, that's all.  One can fancy the shrug of the shoulder to accompany the mention of "Babette." Above these moldering bones who would analyze the life that one name relates in full?  Had Babette virtues? Surely the worst must have some virtues.  Would she feed the hungry?  Would she weep for a crying child? Surely then - Babette - crime-cursed and sin-stained, if you will - Babette had virtues, Christlike virtues even in this dissipated death. 

END OF THE TINSEL LIFE  Poor Babette! You were pretty once? A laughing, full-breasted girl from sunny France.  Innocent? Yes, all are innocent sometime.  Accident made your fate perhaps, surely not design.  Will all be counted, pro and con - the sufferings that followed, the price you paid for the joyless life you lived? If all is weighed, you paid for all you lost. Ah, Babette, who would not hope for you now when even death refused you a burial place of respectability. 

"C. SING" "C. Sing" is all that marks the headboard of a Chinaman's grave.  C. Sing died of cancer.  He came to Butte with money, but opium, taken without regard to health, broke him down.  Gambling left him penniless and the Chinese, with their horror of the maimed and invalided, shunned him.  Almost rotting away, C. Sing went to the poorhouse and for days lay dying, the stench of his malady keeping everybody at a distance.  Then kind death ended C. Sing's sufferings and the bones care not whether they lie here or in China and the Butte Chinese do not go near the grave or raise their incantations over the sunken mound.   

UNKNOWN MAN  "Unknown man died at 240 East Park, May 18, 1896; unknown here." There was no further legend.  Burned to death was the fate of Lena Olson.  She had no friends.  What little was left of the charred form was put in a little box and given a regulation sized grave.    A badger had made a home in the grave of Charles Wood, died Dec. 12, 1896, aged 61.  He lived here two years in peace and prosperity, the badger did, so the grave digger said, until some mischievous boys discovered him. Setting with a wire snare on the grave of Charles Wood, they snared the badger and ended his career in a dog fight.  So badgers, like men, may have ignominious endings.  Now only the big hole in the grave remains.

  

THE MARBLE HEADSTONE   There is in this pauper's cemetery one marble headstone, and the story that it tells no man can write.  "In memory of John Downie, Beloved Son of Mr. and Mrs. John C. Downie, Vancouver, Wash.   Johnnie Downie, aged 21 years, died of black smallpox; Dr. Sullivan found him dying in the Cash Lodging house, where for three days he had lain unattended.  He had the proverbial 30 cents.  At first he refused to give his name when he found he had been taken to the poorhouse.  Finally, in delirium, he told of his home and aged parents, for whom he had started out to make a home.  But Butte had been too fast for poor, weak Johnnie Downie, prided as he was by his fond Irish parents.  Work was hard to find, he was qualified for few positions and made no friends.  He washed dishes, swamped in saloons. Finally his environment overcame him as did the germs of a dreaded disease.   The slums became his home.  His parents lost track of him.  The day he died Dr. Sullivan sent word to them that he was dying. His mother wired that she was coming but the word went back that her boy was dead.   She wrote a letter such as the doctor, accustomed to heart rending appeals, had never read before.  He was such a good boy her Johnnie, he was working so hard for them.  Oh, he was never careless to her when he was home, Johnnie never missed mass. She had prayed for him night and day, watched every mail for the letter that came not.  Page after page of letters came, written in the heart's blood of a mother.   When Dr. Sullivan put the blanket over the wasted frame of the dissipated boy, who for three months had been little better then a vagrant, he sat down and wrote the mother a letter that would bring tears to her eyes and happiness to her heart.   "Yes John had been a good boy," he wrote. He had had the priest and died happy.  He sent her his love and told them not to worry as he was leaving for a better life.  Such a stone represents months of saving and self-denial for the old couple. But, somehow, they think of Johnnie's death with strange satisfaction which demonstrates sorrow is not always unhappiness. Looking over the pauper's cemetery one recalls the words of a man who saw humanity from the pinnacle and wrote: Oh, yet we trust that somehow good shall be the final goal of ill: That not one life shall be destroyed or cast as rubbish to the void, when God has made his pile complete. 

I started this blog entry after discovering records at FindAGrave.com for the cemetery. I noticed, after some research through different archives (such as FamilySearch and others) that some of the entries were incorrect (that some people listed as being buried there, weren't).

SOME OF THOSE PERHAPS BURIED THERE AND THEIR STORIES - 

 - Joseph Antonelli -

Born 1876 Buffalo, Erie County, New York

Died  July 8th, 1894 Butte, Silver Bow, Montana

The Anaconda Standard,' Anaconda, MT 
 
8 July 1894, page 4: 
Butte, July 7. -- In a pitched battle between a squad of police and a gang of hoboes in the Montana Central yards, shortly after 4 o'clock this afternoon, Joseph Antonelli was shot through the back and mortally wounded. Some time during the afternoon the hoboes broke open a car of beer which was consigned to H. L. Frank, and took out a half barrel of the foaming beverage, which they carried over to the old building of the Electric Light company, and proceeded to enjoy themselves. They became rather noisy and this led to an investigation by the police, a struggle ensued in which shots were fired, and Antonelli was hit. Although he had first stated that his name was George Wilson, he admitted that his right name is Joseph Antonelli. He said that he is 18 years old, and that he came from San Francisco two weeks ago. He said that he was born in Buffalo, N. Y., but ran away from home when he was only 12 years old and he had not heard from his parents since then. His father, he said, is the biggest railroad contractor on the Pacific coast. He believed that his father is now at work on a contract in Mexico. 
 
9 July 1894, page 8: 
Butte, July 8. -- Joseph Antonelli, the young fellow who was shot by a police officer yesterday during a raid on a hobo camp near the depot, died at 10 o'clock this evening from the effects of his wound. He suffered terribly without hope of recovery, and about noon was removed from the jail to the Wells hospital. 
 
10 July 1894, page 4: 
Butte, July 9. -- On Saturday evening Antonelli told Sheriff Reynolds that his father is worth a million dollars. Yesterday morning, when he realized that he was going to die, he asked that after his death telegrams should be sent to Lawyer Bell of San Francisco or the chief of police, either one of whom he said could tell where his father could be found. Both were telegraphed today. 
 
11 July 1894, page 5: 
Butte, July 10. -- An inquest on the body of Joseph Antonelli, the young fellow who was shot at the Montana Central yards on Saturday afternoon, was conducted at the Butte undertaking rooms this afternoon before Coroner Porter. The jury returned a verdict of death from a gunshot wound inflicted by some party unknown. The evidence all goes to strengthen the belief that Antonelli was shot in a quarrel among the crowd of hoboes, instead of by police as was first claimed. The body will be held for a few days in the expectation of hearing from the young man's parents. 
 
•Montana Death Certificate shows Joseph Antonelli died from a "gun shot wound" on July 8, 1894 in Butte, Silver Bow County: age 18; single; residence, 502 W. Park St.; burial in the Poor Farm Cemetery, Butte, Montana. 

Charles Bracken

Born 1838 in Iowa

Burial 1898 in Butte, Montana

Daily Inter Mountain, Butte, MT, 31 Jan 1899

Finding of the Body of Charles Bracken at Divide

Coroner Jillian returned from Divide to which place he was called yesterday by a telegram announcing the finding of a body in a deserted cabin. The body proved to be that of Charles Bracken, a carpenter, who was employed on the Big Hole dam a little more than a year ago, and who disappeared some time ago.

Bracken had evidently succumbed to the inevitable nearly two months ago. The cabin in which he died is located in a lonely spot, about a mile from Divide station. It is a log structure built long ago: the chinking had fallen out in many places, making it a place not to be desired by one in search of protection from the storm. The sash in the two windows of the cabin was gone. When the coroner entered this sight presented itself. Behind an old table, where he had probably, in his last hours, crawled to put some barrier between himself and the cold winds that found easy access, was the body of Bracken. It was wrapped in some old comforters, the lower limbs covered with a blanket and an old coat.

The condition of the remains made it hard for the coroner to get a good idea of what the man in life looked like. The dead man was evidently about 60 years old. The hair, closely cropped, was nearly white, as was also the mustache. An old cap, a carpenter's rule, a pencil, a truss that had been broken, shoes newly half-soled, pipe and tobacco were found in the cabin. Not a scrap of paper that would serve to identify him was found in the clothing.

The coroner caused the remains to be moved to Divide station, where an inquest was held. E.L. Sabin testified that Sunday morning he and several others were cutting ice on a stream in the vicinity of the cabin. Being in need of a plank, he went to the cabin to get one. He entered the cabin and found the body.

Patrick A. Lillis, a Divide saloonkeeper, testified that when the body had been removed to the station he examined it and identified it as the remains of Charles Bracken, a carpenter with whom he had been acquainted in Idaho. Some time since he met Bracken in Pocatello, and a little more than a year ago Bracken had arrived in Divide and secured employment on the Big Hole dam. After working for a time he left, reappearing about Nov. 20 of last year, He stopped about the witness' saloon for about ten days, and did not go to work. During this time he drank heavily. Witness remonstrated with him and Bracken became greatly offended, and with the statement that there were other places, took his departure and the witness saw him no more. Lillis said he made diligent inquiry later and getting no news to his whereabouts concluded he had left the country. He also said Bracken was an excellent mechanic, and had one time been a resident of Anaconda. Bracken told him at one time he was a native of Iowa. Nothing could be learned of the dead man's family.

The body of the unfortunate man was brought in from Divide on this morning's train and is at Tachell's undertaking rooms. The remains will be interred in potter's field some time tomorrow.
---
Note: Birth date and place only obtained from article.

John “Johnnie” Downie

Born: ??? Washington

Died: ??? Butte, Montana

THE MARBLE HEADSTONE 

There is in this pauper's cemetery one marble headstone, and the story that it tells no man can write. "In memory of John Downie, Beloved Son of Mr. and Mrs. John C. Downie, Vancouver, Wash. 
Johnnie Downie, aged 21 years, died of black smallpox; Dr. Sullivan found him dying in the Cash Lodging house, where for three days he had lain unattended. He had the proverbial 30 cents. At first he refused to give his name when he found he had been taken to the poorhouse. Finally, in delirium, he told of his home and aged parents, for whom he had started out to make a home. But Butte had been too fast for poor, weak Johnnie Downie, prided as he was by his fond Irish parents. Work was hard to find, he was qualified for few positions and made no friends. He washed dishes, swamped in saloons. Finally his environment overcame him as did the germs of a dreaded disease. 
The slums became his home. His parents lost track of him. The day he died Dr. Sullivan sent word to them that he was dying. His mother wired that she was coming but the word went back that her boy was dead. 
She wrote a letter such as the doctor, accustomed to heart rending appeals, had never read before. He was such a good boy her Johnnie, he was working so hard for them. Oh, he was never careless to her when he was home, Johnnie never missed mass. She had prayed for him night and day, watched every mail for the letter that came not. Page after page of letters came, written in the heart's blood of a mother. 
When Dr. Sullivan put the blanket over the wasted frame of the dissipated boy, who for three months had been little better then a vagrant, he sat down and wrote the mother a letter that would bring tears to her eyes and happiness to her heart. 
"Yes John had been a good boy," he wrote. He had had the priest and died happy. He sent her his love and told them not to worry as he was leaving for a better life. 
Such a stone represents months of saving and self-denial for the old couple. But, somehow, they think of Johnnie's death with strange satisfaction which demonstrates sorrow is not always unhappiness. Looking over the pauper's cemetery one recalls the words of a man who saw humanity from the pinnacle and wrote: 
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good shall be the final goal of ill: That not one life shall be destroyed or cast as rubbish to the void, when God has made his pile complete. 
 
 
Per article: 
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

Mary Dudley(? - Unsure if buried in cemetery, did find a death record for her which shows she was either buried or removed from the Poor house. This does not always mean they were buried there but cannot find any news reports from the time period for her.)

Born 1857

Died October 4th 1892

No articles found on this person in local papers at the time, just found the death certificate. Cause of death was uremic convulsions. Also shows delirium tremens on the death certificate or DTs from alcohol withdrawals.

Fred Muller (no articles found) 

BIRTH, unknown 

DEATH, 1892Montana, USA 

NAMES OBLITERATED, BOARDS REMAIN 
The oldest date discernible is that of Fred Muller, who died in 1892 at the age of 45. Friends placed a strong heavy cross above the grave and so it stands, where all its fellows have rotted away. 
 
 
Per article: 

THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

Unknown* 

BIRTH, unknown 

DEATH, 18 May 1896 Butte, Montana

 

"Unknown man died at 240 East Park, May 18, 1896; unknown here." There was no further legend. 
 
 
Per article: 
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

William “Billy” Watt 

BIRTH, 1820Aberdeen City, Scotland 

DEATH, Jun 1902 (aged 81–82)Meaderville, Silver Bow County, Montana, USA 

 

The Butte Inter Mountain (MT), 7 June 1902 
 
"Billy" Watt Is Dead 
 
Old "Billy" Watt is dead! The once familiar figure of a grizzled old man driving a burro through the streets of Butte, will no longer be seen. Passers-by who knew him will miss his pleasant smile and favorite salutation, "A good day to you," and the little pet dog he loved so well, will whine in vain for a kind word from his master. 
 
He died of old age in his little cot on the outskirts of Meaderville and was buried in Potter's field. Out beyond Meaderville where the street car line ends and where the blue horizon is broken by abrupt white hills, is a lone and empty grave. 
 
One year ago "Billy" Watt told his neighbors that he thought the end was near and set diligently to work to dig his own grave. With his feeble hands and the aid of a jack-knife he toiled day after day until the little excavation on the side of a hill was complete. He placed a wooden slab to mark the head of the grave. On this he carved some words, "William Watt, born Aberdeen, Scotland, Christmas 1820, Died..... But the old man was not buried in the grave he dug. Being on the hillside it was hardly in a suitable place, and the rains and snow had partially filled it with dirt and washed it away. For this reason his friends gave him a resting place in Potter's field. 
 
Stranger things than a man digging his own grave have happened, but surely a more interesting or lovable character than Billy Watt is very rarely known. He was a familiar figure at all Fourth of July celebrations or Labor Day parades. On such occasions he would dress in his old Scotch costume and drive a burro and little cart in the van of the procession. 
 
His little home, consisting of a small cottage set back in a large yard on the hillside, was in perfect accord with his living. He was a poor man and a humble one, and his heart was as large as his earthly goods were small. The following words painted in large characters on the front fence of the old man's home are indicative of his character: "William Watt's place, Look out for Paddy the dog." His love of animals was of a passionate nature and the only serious quarrel of his life was when he fought a man whom he saw beating a dog. Tramp and wayfarer never failed to find a welcome at his door. The stranger was his friend and his humble fare was to be had for the asking. 
 
"Billy" Watt was a unique character in many ways. He had traveled around the world several times, had served in many armies and navies and had seen much of war. 
 
He made his living for the last few years by raising pigs and dogs. His stock of bull terriers is considered the very best and his dogs always brought good prices. 
 
An effort will be made by his friends to place a suitable marble stone at his grave. 

Jennie Wells 

BIRTH, unknown 

DEATH, 13 Oct 1898Montana, USA 

 

 

A SHRUB, A ROCK, A NAMELESS CROSS 
There is one other grave in this section marked by an alder shrub, a piece of rock and a low, coarse wooden cross, but the name on the second cross is indiscernible. This shrub is the only one in the cemetery. 
There is a ghastly hole where one mound should be. Some underflow of water gutted away the grave. The headboard totters drunkenwise, ready to fall into the hole. On this is carved "Jennie Wells, Oct. 13, 1898," and underneath, carved in small letters is "Baby Is at 318 S. Arizona." One may speculate in vain. Whatever the mission of that line might have been, it tells its tale now to empty air, after seven years. 
 
 
Per article: 
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

William D Wolcott 

BIRTH, 1857Wisconsin, USA 

DEATH, 4 Oct 1899 (aged 41–42)Anaconda, Deer Lodge County, Montana, USA 

Parents: Hiram Wolcott & Sarah Delaplain 
 
Married 26 Sep 1892 in Deer Lodge, Deer Lodge , Montana to Rosa L. (Fergus) O'Toole. SOURCE: https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/F344-GKZ 
 
There are many newspaper articles discussing the death of William D. Wolcott. He contracted "genuine black smallpox" and had not been vaccinated and he died 4 Oct 1899 in Anaconda, Deer Lodge, Montana, USA. At about 8:00 AM in the "Pest House". NOTE: He was brought to the Poor Farm Pest House to die because of his illness. He was not living in the poor house at the time. 
 
A newspaper article from the The Anaconda Standard dated 5 Oct 1899 states: "Word was immediately sent in by telephone from the poor farm and immediately steps were taken to dispose of the body. A coffin was procured from the poor farm and the body was buried in the poor farm burying ground." It goes on to say everything was burned… clothes, bed clothes, etc. "He had a wife, from whom he was separated, who lives in Missoula. She was notified of his death. He had no other relatives living here. He was a well known citizen. Besides his employment with the lumber department of the Anaconda company, he did contracting and had a number of buildings under way when he was stricken down." 
 
ARTICLES: 
Tuesday, October 3, 1899 Paper: Anaconda Standard (Anaconda, MT) Volume: XI Issue: 29 Page: 9 
Thursday, October 5, 1899 Paper: Anaconda Standard (Anaconda, MT) Volume: XI Issue: 31 Page: 10 
Date: Thursday, July 12, 1900 Paper: Anaconda Standard (Anaconda, MT) Volume: XI Issue: 306 Page: 11 
 
A newspaper article from the The Anaconda Standard dated 10 Dec 1901 states "Mrs. R. E. Wolcott of Missoula is in Butte to arrange for the removal of the remains of her husband. William D. Wolcott died in this city two years ago." 
 
A newspaper article from the The Butte Evening News dated 18 Dec 1905 discusses Poor House graves and it says "Three recent graves in the county graveyard contain victims of smallpox. Above the graves of Ed Wolcott and Mrs. Adams are headboards painted by Dr. Sullivan. After all it does not matter much about a man. He was made to fight the battle of the world. Those here lost." 
 
Presumably if the "headboard" (tombstone) of Mr. Wolcott still stands in 1905 then it is likely that his remains were not relocated in 1901. Officials were so afraid of smallpox exposure that they may have not allowed the remains to be disturbed. 

Charles Wood 

BIRTH, 1835 

DEATH, 12 Dec 1896 (aged 60–61)Silver Bow County, Montana, USA 

A badger had made a home in the grave of Charles Wood, died Dec. 12, 1896, aged 61. He lived here two years in peace and prosperity, the badger did, so the grave digger said, until some mischievous boys discovered him. Setting with a wire snare on the grave of Charles Wood, they snared the badger and ended his career in a dog fight. So badgers, like men, may have ignominious endings. Now only the big hole in the grave remains. 
 
Per article: 
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905 

Babette 

BIRTH, unknown 

DEATH, 16 Sep 1900Montana, USA 

 

"BABETTE" 
At the end of a ridge of leaning and falling headboards, one stronger then the rest, lies the simple epitaph, "Babette, died Sept. 16, 1900." Babette, that's all. One can fancy the shrug of the shoulder to accompany the mention of "Babette." Above these moldering bones who would analyze the life that one name relates in full? Had Babette virtues? Surely the worst must have some virtues. Would she feed the hungry? Would she weep for a crying child? Surely then - Babette - crime-cursed and sin-stained, if you will - Babette had virtues, Christlike virtues even in this dissipated death. Poor Babette! You were pretty once? A laughing, full-breasted girl from sunny France. Innocent? Yes, all are innocent sometime. Accident made your fate perhaps, surely not design. Will all be counted, pro and con - the sufferings that followed, the price you paid for the joyless life you lived? If all is weighed, you paid for all you lost. Ah, Babette, who would not hope for you now when even death refused you a burial place of respectability. 
 
 
Per article: 
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905

Robert Iliff (? - His brother was contacted apparently but could not find any other articles that stated that his brother ever responded. Assume that he did not.)

Born ???

Died February 12th, 1903 Butte, Montana

The Butte Inter Mountain (MT), 13 Feb 1903

Robert Iliff, Who Died at The Poor Farm, Was of High Connection

Yesterday afternoon Robert Iliff died at the county poorhouse from the effects of fire, which occurred in the cabin where he was living, some time last week. Iliff was a morphine addict and in a decidedly weakened condition at the time of the fire. He will probably be buried in the potter's field at the poor farm, as he left no money, and there are none of his relatives in the city. He is a brother of Rev. T.C. Iliff of Salt Lake, who is probably the best known minister of the gospel in Utah. He is at the head of the Methodist church in the city of the Latter-day Saints, and has been a prominent worker for prohibition at that place. The county physician has been trying to get into communication with Mr. Iliff, but as yet has not received any word from him.

Peter Mcafee

Born 1840 Ireland

Died 2 Dec 1899 Butte, Silver Bow County, Montana, USA

The Butte Inter Mountain (MT), 22 May 1901

He Fills a Pauper's Grave. Identity of Man Buried in Potter's Field Disclosed By Letter of Inquiry

The letter received by Mayor Davey from Sadie McAfee of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, inquiring as to the whereabouts of Peter McAfee, brought the information to the police that he died here about a year ago.

It was learned that McAfee was buried at the poor farm. Miss Coffey, the writer of the letter of inquiry stated that she is the niece of McAfee and that she had not heard from her uncle for about a year. She stated that a previous letter to Mayor McCarthy had given her the information that McAfee had gone to the Klondike

McAfee was known in Butte as "Double Up Pete." He was not known to work in Butte but was well liked by those who were acquainted with him. He had a good education and was considered honest.

"Pete" went to the Klondike from Butte, but after staying there a short time returned to Montana. He had been here but a few weeks when he was taken ill with pneumonia and died a few days later. McAfee told many of his friends here that he was of a good family and that his brother had been Mayor of Pittsburgh for a number of years

Lena Olson(?)

Born: 1862

Died: September 4th, 1905 

Burned to death was the fate of Lena Olson. She had no friends. What little was left of the charred form was put in a little box and given a regulation sized grave.

Per article:
THE BUTTE EVENING NEWS, DECEMBER 18, 1905

Mrs S. Leonard 

BIRTH, 1849 

DEATH, 15 Aug 1894 (aged 44–45)Butte, Silver Bow County, Montana, USA  

 
'The Anaconda Standard,' Anaconda, MT 
17 Aug. 1894: 
 
Butte, Aug. 16. - This afternoon Coroner Porter impaneled a jury to hold an inquest on Mrs. Leonard, the woman who died suddenly in the county jail yesterday. A number of witnesses had been subpoenaed but the jury asked to have an autopsy made, and the coroner said that in that case the doctor who made the autopsy would be the only witness to be examined and all others were excused. Dr. Monroe was ordered to make the autopsy, which he did without assistance. 
 
At the conclusion of the autopsy the inquest was resumed and and the doctor testified that he found nearly all the organs in the body in a highly inflamed condition, from which paralysis or failure of the heart resulted. He said it was a case of what is known among physicians as "walking typhoid fever," and he was surprised that the woman lived as long as she did. The "evidence of insanity" which she exhibited in jail was the delirium of the fever. The woman had no medical attendance and did not receive the proper care for a sick person. The jury returned a verdict that the woman died from natural causes.

T.H. Kelly  

Died November 28th, 1890 – Born 1840 died from heart disease.

Emma Baker

Birth: 1877

Death: January 28th, 1895

Obituary
The San Francisco Call, page 9, Tuesday, January, 19, 1895
" Suicide of a Lovesick Girl"
Butte Mont., Jan 28- Emma Baker, aged 17, committed suicide this morning by taking strychnine. It was a case of unreturned love.

Henry Mathews

Birth: 1852 Germany

Death: May 19th, 1892

Passed away from pneumonia