Sweet Springs Yesteryear
The subject of Sweet Springs is one very near and dear to me – childhood recollections of long, sunny, summer days spent at my grandmother’s cottage are very happy ones.
Everyone there is very familiar, I am sure, of the past glories of Sweet Springs. When the Marmadukes, distinguished Missouri family that gave two governors to the state and a civil war general, spent more than a million dollars developing Sweet Springs and settled there, it became a social and political mecca, known as the Saratoga of the West. The sumptuous hotel accommodating 400 to 500 guests was adjacent to the springs of sweet water that flowed so freely from the highly ornate pagoda where ladies and gentlemen sat in leisurely elegance to sip the magic waters, whose high medicinal values were first discovered by Dr. James Pelot in 1871 – one time surgeon in Longstreet’s brigade of the Confederate army who build the finest house in the country.
The hotel was ringed by a group of summer cottages built and occupied by such distinguished and important men as Sen. George Graham Vest, political figure of the era, for many years U.S. Senator from Missouri, Sen. Francis M. Cockrill and Thomas T. Crittenden, later governor of the state, Judge Phillips of the federal bench in Kansas City, Dr. Morrison Mumford, owner of the old Kansas City Times, Judge John Henry of the Missouri Supreme Court, my grandfather, John Campbell, Kansas City pioneer whose career was to carry him through war and adventure to a great fortune in less than 20 years. Born in Kent, Surrey County, England, he came as a young man to Kansas City, when known as Westport Landing where he had a prominent part in the development of Western Missouri. An extensive freighter and owner of wagon trains that pioneered into Mexico, then the storm center of the continent, he became involved in expeditions into the Rocky Mountains and Santa Fe and the famous Fremont expedition. He (was) later to buy 1/7 of the original site of Kansas City for the then exorbitant price of $50,000.
His wife, Charlotte Campbell from Scotland, was a woman of literary taste and a hostess of great charm. In 1872, they built Campbell cottage which has provided hospitality for four generations of their descendants.
The trip from Kansas City to Sweet Springs for us children who accompanied my grandmother for the summer was one of sheer joy. We loved it all. The little jerk-water train that chug-chugged importantly past Waterloo, Napoleon, Emma, filled us with thrills of delirious anticipation – while we swayed and rocked into the little wooden station of Sweet Springs where we were met by Robinson’s bright red bus drawn by four gorgeous dapple-grays, who deposited us, children, adults, baggage and visiting pets at the white gates of our cottage.
We were always accompanied by Arthur Harvey, young colored boy, faithful servant to children and grandchildren, our beloved black Arthur with a white, white soul.
Upon arrival Arthur took down the green wooden shutters, carried in the baggage and trailed by all us children, took off for the Sweet Springs water where we clattered down the broad steps to the source where the spring gushed forth profusely, and we filled our gallon jugs.
The Sweet Springs waters played a most important role in our lives. We used it for many purposes, cooking, drinking, my grandmother bathed her face with its magic, believing in its medicinal potency as a beauty aid.
The drinking of the Sweet Springs water also constituted a social event of no small importance. On the stroke of five we little girls dressed in our white dresses and blue hair-ribbons and shining black patent leather pumps, accompanied by adult members of our family, the ladies resplendent in the flowing skirts with tiny wasp waists and flapping flowered hats of the era, walked sedately to the cupolaed pagoda where we drank from metal cups that swung from the ceiling on chains. On Saturday evenings, the haunting strains of the Blue Danube floated through the trees. The gentlemen came too, elegantly attired in very narrow trousers and fancy waist-coats with heavy gold watch chains across their stylish fronts.
Our favorite game was croquet. Every garden boasted a croquet ground. We children played all day in ours, and in the evening hung paper lanterns from the trees where we played until 9 o’clock, our official bed-time when Arthur Harvey corralled us into our beds “Your gran’mother say she doan want no nonsense from none of you.”
Our sit-down games when it rained were “Round the world with Nelly Bly” and “Famous Authors.” Also we played “Robbers” – the huge clumps of African grass in my grandmother’s grounds made a lovely hiding place in their cool depths for a small child.
My grandmother’s activities like those of her contemporaries consisted of most lady-like duties, picking flowers in her garden, doing fine needlework and pasting clippings into her scrap-book, a popular pastime of that day. When she sat in the garden with her scissors and home-made flour and water paste, a sudden rippling breeze would send millions of tiny newspaper clippings flying in all directions and we children were sent running to retrieve them.
Another duty was dusting the what-nots which contained many tiny, delicate fragile objects which got an occasional dusting from my grandmother’s red-handled feather duster. We children were not allowed to touch the what-nots – simply to gaze from a respectful distance. To this day I feel guilty when I touch their cherished contents.
Sunday was most rigorously observed. We children went not only to Sunday school but also attended church where it was hard work not to fall asleep during the long sermon. Then home and after a delicious dinner of Arthur’s fried chicken we were marshalled into the parlor where we sat on uncomfortable little gilt chairs while our grandmother read to us from a dull and ponderous book called “Stepping Heavenward.” No croquet was allowed, no singing or playing the piano. A few more worldly neighbors played the piano but this was frowned upon by my grandmother.
One never-to-be-forgotten Sunday in a spasm of rebellion we children with Arthur Harvey took our fishing rods and sneaked off to the Blackwater where we actually caught a small fish – a short-lived triumph. We were immediately apprehended as we stole back by my grandmother who as punishment made us all walk back in the broiling sun and throw back our fish into the Blackwater. We never went fishing on Sunday again.
I think everyone was very well-behaved in those days. I remember hearing that there was no jail in Sweet Springs. If anyone by some odd chance committed any wrongdoing he was hastily carted off to the jail in a nearby town.
Later Sunday afternoon, neighbors made formal calls upon my grandparents. Arthur in a white coat served cut glasses filled with strong delicious liquid with a lump of sugar in it (brandy, no doubt) to the gentlemen who with my grandfather toasted everyone’s health, the future of Sweet Springs, etc. It was all very gay. We children, never allowed to enter the parlor on these occasions, peeked from behind the swinging bead portieres. The ladies drank nothing stronger than tea.
Among the callers I remember a very handsome, tall, slender young man, Eugene Field, the poet, and I can still hear the deep, ringing voice of Senator Vest as he held forth with the same eloquence that held the courtroom speechless when he made his impassioned eulogy in defense of man’s best friend, the dog, which still lives in history.
Of all the visitors we children liked him the best. We admired his beautiful white hair, also he always left several good drops of the fiery liquid in his glass which an alert child with good timing could easily snatch off the tray before Arthur carried it away.
My memories of Sweet Springs are fond and nostalgic. No matter how far away in what far-off lands my travels take me, I shall always cherish a real affection for the Sweet Springs of yesteryear.
MARY SCOTT CRABBS
Mrs. Mary Scott Johnson Crabbs was born in Denison, Texas, the daughter of Jesse Newport Johnson, who amassed a fortune in African diamond mines following discoveries near Capetown, South Africa. Jesse Newport Johnson went to Kansas City in 1884 to settle the estate of his brother, Augustus Johnson, a millionaire Kansas stockman. Mary Scott Crabbs lived most of her life in Kansas City, where she was a charter member of the Junior League. She received her education in Paris, Berlin, Rome and Spain; and she also attended Barstow School in Kansas City. She was a world traveler most of her life and wrote for several European publications – including the Paris edition of The New York Times.
The Campbell Cottage she describes in this paper still stands at 1217 Columbia Avenue in Sweet Springs and is currently a private residence. Mrs. Mary Scott Johnson Crabbs passed away Sunday, September 24, 1972, at her home in Kansas City, MO, located at 4618 Warwick.