In 1904, thousands of New Yorkers were paying a nickel to ride under the streets of Manhattan on the city’s first subway. That same year in St. Louis, people were forking over 50 cents to see the first Olympic Games ever hosted in America.
But in Wellington,Kan., the most exciting attraction of 1904 cost nothing to see. Kansans were lining up to gawk at the angry alligator that was thrashing around in a shipping crate. Former Wellington resident C.W. Richardson had captured the gator in Louisiana and donated it to the Sumner County High School in Wellington. His reasons for sending an ill-tempered bayou dweller to Kansas are unclear. But the students enthusiastically accepted their razor-toothed gift. They named him Lige and made him the school mascot. Lige did celebrity appearances at two county carnivals but spent most of his next 14 years in a tank in the school basement. “In spite of many caresses, he has never grown tame,” one student lamented in the SCHS annual.
“That annual was called The Alligator,” said Jim Bales, facilities director at the Chisholm Trail Museum, where Lige’s stuffed body now resides. “They mentioned him in the school song, too. But one frigid night in 1918, the furnace went out and Lige’s tank froze solid in the basement.”
Some of its contents, shown from “Lige,” Wellington’s favorite stuffed reptile; the town’s first X-ray machine; a cattle rustler’s posthumous pair of boots; a coat made from the hair of a resident’s favorite horse.
The gator had been so highly regarded by the school that they stuffed him and kept him in the biology room for years after his death. “But when the new high school opened in 1933, they changed their mascot to the Crusaders, and Lige went into storage,” Bales told us. “He’s been on display here at our museum for as long as I can remember.”
Visitors to the Chisholm Trail Museum quickly realize that there’s a lot more than just Chisholm Trail artifacts to see here. The handsome three-story building was once a private hospital, built in 1916 by Dr. A.R. Hatcher. So several of the museum’s rooms have medical themes. There’s a fully equipped dentist’s office, a hospital nursery, a surgical suite with Dr. Hatcher’s operating table, and a doctor’s office that’s packed with vintage instruments and equipment. Wellington’s first X-ray machine sits there ominously, looking like it belongs in Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. But the most advanced technology of the day couldn’t always save the patient. So among the medical instruments, the doctor’s office also displays a hand fan from the Fisher Mortuary.
It’s the juxtaposition of oddities that make this museum so entertaining. A moose head admires the newborns through the nursery’s glass window. An anteater skulks outside the attorney’s office. And down the hall from the well-stocked general store, there’s a raincoat made of monkey hair & coconut fiber. It was used for camouflage during the Korean War, the sign says. Presumably so the wearer could blend in with all the Korean monkeys & coconut trees.
There’s a white brick from the original White House here. Wellington’s first TV set, from 1949. An ornate Victorian-era Beckwith Royal Grand Organ, purchased from the Sears catalog for $39.85. A jumble of mammoth bones from a local sand pit. A creepy wreath made from braided human hair. An armless blonde mannequin sitting beneath a canopy of electric wires that dangle from a beauty parlor’s permanent wave machine. Margaret Fowler’s 1929 Reading trophy is here, along with Beatrice Roberts’ 1932 prize for Physical Efficiency and Marcus Gordon’s 1926/1927 trophy for “ORAT ORY.” Fashion has not been ignored, either. There’s a red double-knit polyester leisure suit festooned with ribbons from Wellington’s 1971 centennial.
And yes, there’s also a room crammed with memorabilia from the days when the Chisholm Trail thundered right past the museum. There’s a coffee pot that was used on the Trail, a muzzle-loading Colt pistol that was found alongside it, and a pair of tall boots worn by a caught-in-the-act cattle rustler who apparently died with them on. Justice was swift in the Old West.
There’s also a coat owned by a Mr. Herrington. When his favorite horse died, Mr. Herrington was devastated. But he pulled himself together, wiped way his tears, then grabbed a sharp knife and skinned his beloved chestnut mare. Mr. Herrington then hired someone to tan the old girl’s hide and stitch it into a long rider coat. There’s no right or wrong. We all grieve differently.
The museum claims to have 20,000 artifacts, and I don’t doubt their math. We spent over two hours wandering the fascinating hallways without seeing everything. “I’ve been here 12 years,” Bales told us. “But I’m constantly discovering things I’ve never seen before.”
June through October, the Chisholm Trail Museum is open 1-5 daily. In November & May, it’s open on weekends only. Or you can call 620-326-3820 and request a private tour for a group. The museum is staffed entirely by volunteers, so it’s a good idea to call before making the trip.
Admission is free, just like when Lige first came to town, but donations are genuinely appreciated.
