The Comanche National Grassland rolled on and on as we drove eastward on U.S. 160 in the southeast corner of Colorado. It seemed as if the scene would never change, but then a group elevators enigmatically appeared on the horizon. We hadn’t seen a cultivated field other than alfalfa for hundreds of miles on our drive from Utah’s canyon country. Where did all the agricultural bounty, as suggested by the elevators, come from?
We soon arrived at the Pritchett complex of Panhandle Milling. Not a soul was around, so I helped myself to some pictures. Most intriguing was the suave elevator with the stepped cupola. There were two manhole covers, but they were high up and I couldn’t read the embossed inscriptions. On subsequent review, they reveal the builder’s identity and more: Mayer-Osborn Co., Denver, Colo., The Hutchinson Foundry and Steel Co.
I was on the hunt for Tillotson elevators, so this was an unexpected find and it’s a big one, the first Mayer-Osborn elevator we’ve chanced upon in a while. We’ve never gotten our hands on Mayer-Osborn records and don’t know how many they built. Pulling one out of the weeds, so to speak, is a big deal.
The stepped cupola is a signature Mayer-Osborn feature, a great support in our argument that the architectural significance of grain elevators isn’t fully appreciated. Hello, Smithsonian!
The other concrete elevators at Pritchett revealed nothing significant to our cause. I did linger a few moments at the old wooden elevator, which is fresh-looking and could still be in use.
The Mayer-Osborn elevator may have been part of the story on November 25, 1951 when the Pueblo Chieftain reported “Baca County Farmers Near New Crop Production High.”
Jess Suhler, manager of Hart-Bartlett-Sturtevant Grain Co., told the Chieftain that about fifteen carloads had shipped from Pritchett. An agent at the Santa Fe station in nearby Springfield said the grain was going to Denver and then to west coast feed mills. The paper further reported:
“Shipments do not nearly total the crop production, however. Much of the grain is being held locally for feeding and for later sale. The 1951 maize crop promises to be a record one.”
Taking a closer look at the towering elevator, I saw Hart-Bartlett-Sturtevant Grain Co. in fading letters on lower part of the headhouse. In a 1950 suit against the I.R.S., the company declared its headquarters to be in Kansas City, Mo., and it owned and operated 54 grain elevators in seven states. It was renamed Bartlett Co. in 1954.
There’s undoubtedly more to learn about Mayer-Osborn’s elevator in Pritchett, but it’ll have to be saved for a future post. Meanwhile, we’re still reveling in our good luck.
The elevator in Gordon, Nebr. was built by Mayer-Osborn, as attested by its manhole covers. It was built in their iconic style.
Story and photos by Kristen Cart
When someone reaches their middle eighties intact and in good health, they can do whatever they want. It’s a reward that comes along with advanced age. Okay–it has to be within reason–say, within the budget, but there shouldn’t be any major obstacles, unless care-giving is in the picture. With my dad, Gerry Osborn, no such obstacle existed in 2019, before Covid-19 made its debut.
Gerry Osborn at the courthouse in Rushville, Nebr.
Dad and I had taken a western driving tour in 2018 to visit the house where I grew up in Salt Lake City, Utah, which he had architecturally restored from a sadly worn and altered state. It was a foursquare brick farmhouse with historic ties to early Mormon settlers. The current and longtime owner, Gundi Jones, kindly gave us a tour. We admired her finishing touches, which updated the mid-seventies decor as we had left it, to a European country style. It was beautiful.
We also took in Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, before heading east for a stop at Mesa Verde, a marvelous place that captured Dad’s imagination. He was especially taken with its large collection of pre-Columbian artifacts.
Then, on our way home, we stopped at the Nuckolls County courthouse in Nelson, Nebr. The place brought back old memories. Dad explained that when he was a young student, he and his friends would play a game where they collected sightings of Nebraska license plates, each identified by a number designating its county of origin, 1 to 93. Each county was assigned a number, to be displayed on the license plate, in the order of the number of automobile registrations extant in each county as of 1922. So the most populous county was assigned the number 1, and plates with the number 93 were quite scarce.
Dad and his friends raced to try to find a plate from every county. The hardest ones to collect were from small counties at the other end of the state from Dad’s hometown of Fremont, Nebr.
Now he said that he would like to find them all by visiting every county courthouse in the state. He also wanted to see each courthouse out of curiosity–he loved the old architecture.
At the far left, the Mayer-Osborn elevator at Gordon, Nebr. displays the stepped, rounded head house typical of the company.
I said, “Sure, why not?” It made perfect sense to me, since I was a collector of all sorts of things, with an irresistible impulse to complete the set, whatever it happened to be. License plates sounded like a great excuse to spend time with my dad, while setting the world in order by collecting them all.
Beginning in early 2019, we started our project. We decided to photograph Dad in front of each courthouse, while surreptitiously snapping a shot of a local license plate. He had great fun Google-mapping our routes and itineraries, and over the course of the year, we completed our mission, taking several day trips and a couple of overnighters. We didn’t research any of the courthouses before we visited the county seats. Instead, we saved our first impressions for later, so each courthouse would be a surprise. Sometimes we would gasp in awe as a magnificent courthouse came into view; other times, we would sigh in disappointment.
The grain elevator in Merriman shares the characteristics of its predecessor in McCook, Nebr. and other Mayer-Osborn elevators, including its neighbor in Gordon, but we have not confirmed its builder.
Dad and I covered the entire state during our courthouse expedition, and incidentally, we crossed paths with his father Bill Osborn’s travels when we stumbled upon some of his grain elevators. Bill Osborn was based in Denver for a good part of his career as a builder, but he got back to Nebraska a few times while building elevators for Joe Tillotson and later for himself as partner in Mayer-Osborn.
Dad recognized the name of one of the elevators we encountered shortly after we visited the courthouse in Rushville, the seat of Sheridan County.
The elevator at Gordon, Nebr. (a town along Hwy. 20) had the trademark Mayer-Osborn rounded and stepped headhouse, and it followed the plan of their other larger elevators. It also sported manhole covers embossed with the name of the builder, which confirmed Dad’s thought that his father had built it. What a happy find!
Another view of the beautiful grain storage facility in Merriman, Nebr.
Its twin in neighboring Merriman, a town further east along Hwy. 20, had the same headhouse as the Gordon elevator and the same general plan as seen from the outside, but we couldn’t corroborate its origin, either by manhole cover, local attribution, or Dad’s memory. Yet we put it down as a strong maybe.
The elevator at Limon, Colo. had confounded us for a long time because of its resemblance to other Mayer-Osborn’s elevators, until we found that it was built after Bill Osborn had left the business. So there’s also a question mark over the elevator at Merriman until we can learn more.
Unfortunately our itinerary was pretty tightly planned, or we would have tried to track down someone who knew the history of the two elevators. We set the locations aside for a future visit. Now, years later, we haven’t been back, but we still have some photos to share here.
