If a town were to be named "Battle" then one would expect that it might commemorate a great conflict that took place nearby. I believed most logical people would find that a reasonable conclusion. I examined several occurrences and discovered that it wasn’t necessarily the case. Usually the battles referenced were rather inconsequential or not even battles at all. In the United States the battles involved Native Americans invariably quarreling with settlers of European descent or amongst themselves, which said more about the mindset of those who named the towns than the original native inhabitants.
Battle Creek, Michigan, USA
Downtown Battle Creek, Michigan by Corey Seeman, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
Twelve Mile Circle began this entire tangent while pondering Battle Creek, Michigan. I’d been examining historical files that referenced the city. Certainly I’d heard of Battle Creek before although it was the first time I’d actually considered the name. What battle and at what creek did early settlers want posterity to remember? Certainly it must have been immense albeit faded by time and distance because I wasn’t aware of any conflicts in that area. I made it my duty to recall those long-ago events so that new generations could understand the sacrifices of those who may have fought and died valiantly for a noble cause.
The City of Battle Creek reported its etymology as, "named for a skirmish between a government land surveyor and two Indians which took place seven miles away and almost 175 years ago." That didn’t sound very promising. Heritage Battle Creek provided additional details:
The story of white settlement of the Battle Creek area begins in 1825 when government surveyors were working near a stream about 8 miles northeast of the present city of Battle Creek. On March 14 two Potawatomi Indians appeared at the base camp, asking for food. A protracted, contentious discussion ended when the surveyors produced a rifle and settled the argument by subduing the Indians. After reporting the skirmish to the Territorial Governor, the surveyors left the field and returned to Detroit. A subsequent survey team remembered the incident and assigned the name "Battle Creek" to the stream where the altercation took place.
A brief argument underpinned the name of a town of fifty thousand residents? Call me underwhelmed.
I found more recent Battle Creek events of a century ago infinitely more fascinating. The Kellogg brothers invented cold breakfast cereal there in 1906. Battle Creek became "Cereal City" with Kellogg’s (map) founded in the city as well as Post Cereals. Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes, Rice Krispies, Apple Jacks and Eggo Waffles all had greater impact on popular culture than surveyors annoyed by a couple of hungry Indians.
A couldn’t find a decent photo of Battle Ground, Washington (map) so I used this photo of a brewpub I visited when I drove through there a couple of years ago. It’s a suburb of Portland, Oregon, basically.
The story of the "battle" of Battle Ground was even more ridiculous than the various Battle Creeks. The city said,
Battle Ground owes its name to an encounter between U.S. soldiers stationed at Fort Vancouver and Native Americans who lived in an encampment near the Fort. In 1855, a group of the Indians, led by Chief Umtuch, left the encampment and headed for the Cascade Mountains to the east. U.S. Captain William Strong led a company in pursuit of the group and many believed that there would be a battle between them when they met. Captain Strong and his troops caught up with the Indians near present day Battle Ground. After lengthy negotiations, the Indians agreed to return to the encampment.
Chief Umtuch was killed and nobody quite knew whether U.S. soldiers did it or whether more militant elements of the Klickitat were responsible. After a tense standoff, the Native Americans asked only to be able to bury Chief Umtuch privately and in accordance with their traditions. Captain Strong granted the request and the conflict ended. Recent settlers, fully expecting the Army to punish the Indians, were livid when they learned that nothing would happen. HistoryLink.org provided the rest of the story that the City of Battle Ground decided to sidestep:
When told that the Indians had been left unguarded to mourn and bury their chief, the whites were incensed. Strong reportedly was attacked by an enraged settler wielding a knife and suffered a cut to his face before subduing the man. Adding insult to this injury, the women of the fort presented Strong with a red petticoat, which they said should henceforth be used as his unit’s banner… The area in which Chief Umtuch met his end was known at that time as Old Burn. It was briefly and mockingly renamed Strong’s Battle Ground, which was quickly shortened to simply Battle Ground after the Indians had peacefully returned.
Thus, not only was there no battle at Battle Ground, settlers bestowed the name sarcastically.
Some other "Battle" places in the United States included,
Twelve Mile Circle had much better luck with a Battle in East Sussex, England (map). When the English named a place "Battle" they weren’t messing around. I’ll let the town of Battle explain:
The attractive town of Battle gets it name from the Battle of Hastings, which was fought between Harold the Saxon king and William the Conqueror in 1066. The battle was so significant it changed the course of English history. The town grew up around the Abbey of St Martin which was built by William the Conqueror after the battle.
That was a battle truly worthy of a town named Battle.
Battle Harbour, Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada
battle harbour by Matt MacGillivray, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)
Canada had a Battle too, the appearance of Battle Harbour, Newfoundland and Labrador (map). It was quite the popular settlement in nineteenth century Canada and was thought of as the unofficial Capital of Labrador. It fell on hard times as the cod fishing industry contracted. Eventually Battle Harbour was abandoned and its inhabitants resettled by the Canadian government in the 1960’s. Today it is a summertime tourist destination, a well-preserved historical remnant with a few guest cottages and small hotels.
Also, there wasn’t a battle. It is believed that the name probably derived from an Anglicization of an old Portuguese word for boat (batal), and appeared as such on maps dating back to 1560.
As I mentioned in Part 1, the first installment dealt with physical post offices and this one will focus on methods of postal delivery. Both featured examples drawn primarily from the United States Postal Service’s "fun facts" page.
The Postman by Eric Gelinas, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
Pack animals would seem to be an antiquated method of mail delivery. Certainly horses, mules or donkeys had their heyday up until about a century ago before being replaced unceremoniously by an upstart horseless carriage. A modern semi-truck might have around 400-450 horsepower. A draft horse would have, um, one. It didn’t take much convincing for the postal authorities to ditch their animals long ago and transport mail by mechanical means. That became a universal standard nationwide except for one incredibly inconvenient location — Arizona’s Grand Canyon, or more specifically the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Supai, Arizona (map) would be an excellent candidate for the most remote settlement in the Lower 48 states. No roads lead there. That would be impossible. Access required a helicopter or a strenuous hike down an 8 mile (13 kilometre) trail. Nonetheless two hundred people lived in Supai, the primary town of the Havasupai Tribe as they have for at least a thousand years. They required postal services just like everyone else. Mule trains continued to be the most cost-effective method. The USPS estimated each mule hauled about 130 pounds (59 kg) of postcards, letters or packages.
This same method was also used to deliver mail to the National Park Service’s Phantom Ranch, elsewhere at the bottom of the canyon.
JW Westcott II by Lauren, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
Large freighters traveled regularly throughout the Great Lakes hauling grains, coal, iron ore and other commodities, as I learned from my visit to the Great Lakes Floating Maritime Museum. Mariners spent a lot of time away from home although not too far away from land. The Postal Service devised a way to get mail to these sailors as they passed through a narrow slot near the midpoint (map). The J. W. Westcott Co., established in 1874, won the contract to deliver mail to the freighters using its 45-foot boat.
Along the Detroit River, on any given day, a well-known diesel motorship brushes up against a much larger, passing vessel. A rope and bucket are lowered from the ship to the smaller boat, where messages, mail and other items are placed and raised back up. It’s the tradition called "mail in the pail" …and a legacy known as J.W. Westcott, the most reliable and dependable marine delivery service on the Great Lakes.
On June 8, 1959… the Navy submarine USS Barbero fired a guided missile carrying 3,000 letters towards the naval auxiliary air station in Mayport, Florida. Racing along at about 600 miles per hour, the guided missile traveled the more than 100 miles from the deck of the submarine off the coast of Florida to the air station in about 22 minutes… [Postmaster General] Summerfield was quoted as saying, "mail will be delivered within hours from New York to California, to England, to India or to Australia by guided missiles." History proved differently.
Mail in this experiment traveled as the payload within a Regulus guided missile, with the letters replacing a nuclear warhead. An example of such an imposing missile can be seen today at the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum, in New York City as presented above (and map). What could possibly go wrong with a missile-based postal delivery service during the height of the Cold War? The test worked perfectly, other than the possibility of sparking an accidental nuclear Armageddon. It wasn’t particularly cost effective either in an era when jet-powered airmail was already feasible.
The longest rural delivery route caught my attention. According to the USPS that honor went to Route 081 based out of Mangum, Oklahoma (map). I had a hard time finding more information about the service because I was an idiot and my brain converted Mangum to Magnum. I’m not sure if I had guns, big bottles of wine or a cheezy television show from the 1980’s starring Tom Selleck on my mind at the time. I had no trouble finishing my research once I put that little issue behind me though: MAN-gum.
Apparently the subject captured popular imagination as well. The story of septuagenarian Jim Ed Bull and his 187.6 mi (302 km) route that served only 240 customers appeared prominently in both Bloomberg and the NBC Nightly News in 2013. There’s no sense in me repeating it though so feel free to watch the video.
This one might have been a little bogus although I enjoyed the story. Main Street was and has been the most common street name in the United States, no argument there. Of all of the Main Streets though, one of them had to be the longest. The USPS noted that it was Main Street in Island Park, Idaho at 33 mi (53 km). However I couldn’t find an actual "Main Street" in Island Park. The entire length seemed to be signed and addressed as US Route 20 (for example). Nonetheless, Island Park claimed it had the longest occurrence (see the banner on the city’s website) and various local business repeated the mantra. It appeared to a marketing gimmick.
The city of Island Park, for all other descriptive words, is "unique" in its entirety. It was incorporated in May 1947 to meet a state law requiring businesses that serve or sell alcoholic beverages to be within incorporated towns. The city’s government at the time drew up the city’s boundaries to include all the businesses from the Last Chance area north to the Montana border that desired licenses to serve and sell alcoholic beverages. All other areas of what is now known as the Island Park Recreational area remained in Fremont County.
It was about booze. Local lodge owners cobbled together a town 33 miles long and only 500 feet (150 m) wide astride US Route 20 so their patrons could drink. For that, they deserved to remain on the superlatives list forevermore.
I alluded to postal ZIP codes in the recent Zip Lines and I’ll carry that theme through the next couple of articles. I’d stumbled upon the United States Postal Service’s Fun Facts. Someday maybe I’ll explore what exactly makes a fact "fun" although for now I think I’ll simply steal liberally from that page and ponder some of its claims in greater detail. Today I’ll focus on post offices and in the next article I’ll shift to methods of delivery. Spoiler alert: don’t visit that USPS page unless you want to ruin the surprises.
Alma Colorado 2010 by Gord McKenna, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
There was a surprising amount debate about the town with the highest elevation in the United States. I explored that previously in something I wrote a couple of years ago. Was it Leadville, Colorado, was it Alma, Colorado or was it some poseur town that annexed an adjoining ski resort? There was no doubt, however, about the post office building with the highest elevation. Clearly, that was the one in Alma (map) at 10,578 feet above sea level, serving ZIP Code 80420.
Rocky Mountain High, indeed. I’ll refrain from making any jokes about the highest post office being located in Colorado where a certain herbal substance has been legalized. We’re talking strictly about elevation here.
Northernmost and Westernmost – 48 Contiguous States
It’s not that I don’t love Alaska and Hawaii, its that they skew anything to do with directional superlatives in the United States. I’ll give a little nod to Alaska momentarily although for purposes of northernmost and westernmost post offices I’ll focus on the contiguous 48 States. They were both in Washington and not too distant from each other. Best of all, the preferred route calculated by Google required a ferry. That would put it pretty high on the 12MC list of sites I’d like to visit someday. I’ll bet readers in Seattle could probably accomplish this easily. Wouldn’t it be cool to tell folks that you’d been to the northernmost and westernmost post offices in the Lower 48 in a single day? Perhaps mail yourself a letter from each spot? Maybe I’m the only one who would find that interesting. I don’t know.
The northernmost post office served Sumas, Washington, Zip Code 98295. The ZIP Code abutted the Canadian border although that wasn’t special. Lots of other locations shared that attribute. What made Sumas different, however, was the physical location of its post office building just a stone’s throw away from the actual border. I also wondered about the name Sumas. The City of Sumas provided an explanation. It also provided a website that looked like it had been transported through a dial-up model directly from the 1990’s. Wander over there if you’re ever feeling nostalgic about how the Intertubes used to appear including the use of 3-D buttons as links, educating people to "click here" and the placement of a site counter at the bottom of the page.
Sumas (pronounced Soo’mass) means "land without trees". Although lake and swamp once covered most of the area there was also a considerable area that because of natural flooding was a wide open grassland.
The westernmost post office, on the Olympic Peninsula, served ZIP Code 98350 in La Push, Washington. Its name also had an interesting etymology: "La Push is from French La Bouche, meaning ‘The Mouth’ of the Quillayute River, adapted into Chinook Jargon."
The USPS bestowed a tie for the coldest post offices, for Barrow, ZIP Code 99723 and Wainwright ZIP Code 99782, both on Alaska’s North Slope along the Arctic Ocean. The site didn’t offer an explanation for "coldest" although I knew that neither of those locations represented the lowest temperature ever recorded in Alaska. That happened that at Prospect Creek on January 23, 1971, when the thermometer fell to -80°F / -62°C. Rather, I believe the claim was based on average temperature. Barrow routinely remains below freezing for eight months of the year, often considerably below. However its oceanfront location and lack of elevation variation tends to keep its very cold temperatures relatively stable versus the spikes and drops found farther inland. It’s also getting warmer.
Instrumented weather and climate observations were first made at Barrow during the first International Polar Year in 1881-82. The modern era of weather observations commenced in 1920. Climate observations have continued uninterrupted to the present. These observations support what every resident in America’s northernmost town can see: climate change is happening—right now—in obvious and dramatic fashion.
Look at the cute little post office for Ochopee, Florida, (map) serving ZIP Code 34141. Just look at it. The entire building covers only 61.3 square feet (5.7 square metres). A nearby historical marker explained the situation.
Considered to be the smallest post office in the United States, this building was formerly an irrigation pipe shed belonging to the J. T. Gaunt Company tomato farm. It was hurriedly pressed into service by postmaster Sidney Brown after a disastrous night fire in 1953 burned Ochopee’s general store and post office. The present structure has been in continuous use ever since-as both a post office and ticket station for Trailways bus lines-and still services residents in a three-county area including deliveries to Seminole and Miccosukee Indians living in the region. Daily business often includes requests from tourists and stamp collectors the world over for the famed Ochopee post mark. The property was acquired by the Wooten Family in 1992.
It wasn’t a joke. It was a temporary fix that became permanent due to inertia.
Oldest in the Same Building
Hinsdale Post Office by Doug Kerr, on Flickr Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0)
I don’t know why this one fascinated me. Nonetheless it seemed remarkable that the post office serving Hindsdale, New Hampshire (map) had remained in the same building for two centuries, or about a century and a half before ZIP Code 03451 even existed. It didn’t have much of a backstory beyond its age. The town said its "1,327 square foot building was constructed on September 25, 1816, following the appointment of Hinsdale’s first postmaster in 1815." From an architectural perspective, "A Field Guide to American Houses describes this design as a Gable Front Family Folk house common on the East Coast of the U.S. before the Civil War." That was about all I found.