Fox War Chief Sogonapothanji

Sogonapothanji was a Meskwaki (Fox) war chief in what is now eastern Iowa. His name meant “He Slew Three Sioux,” and it wasn’t a metaphor. It was a record.

Among the Meskwaki, names like this marked what a man had done, not what he hoped to be remembered for. Sogonapothanji’s reputation came from direct conflict with the Dakota (Sioux), longtime enemies in a region where raids and counter-raids were part of daily reality. Survival depended on speed, strength, and nerve. Leaders proved themselves in action.

He was not a council chief. His authority came from warfare—planning attacks, leading fighters, and defending Meskwaki territory when violence broke out. Killing enemy warriors was dangerous, personal work. Doing it more than once mattered. Doing it three times gave him a name people remembered.

By the time Americans began building forts and pressing westward, men like Sogonapothanji were already veterans of another kind of struggle. Intertribal warfare didn’t pause for treaties or survey lines. It continued even as a new and far larger threat crept into the region.

Meskwaki Chief Taimah

Chief Taimah was a Meskwaki (Fox) leader in the early nineteenth century, known less for fighting than for dealing with Americans face to face. That alone made his job dangerous.

He was a civil chief. A negotiator, expected to sit through long councils, listen to translators stumble through his words, and answer to officials who already believed the outcome was decided. Taimah understood that once something was said, it lived on paper. And paper lasted longer than promises.

He spent years moving through that system. Treaty talks. Delegations. Repeated demands that the Meskwaki give up land and move west. Saying no often brought soldiers. Saying yes brought regret. Taimah chose his words carefully because there were no good options left—only less immediate disasters.

He wasn’t naïve. When he signed treaties, it wasn’t trust. It was calculation. Delay could mean another season on familiar ground. Another year to plant corn. Another chance to keep families together before removal became unavoidable.

George Catlin said he was calm, dignified, and deliberate. He noticed how carefully Taimah dressed and carried himself. That wasn’t vanity. It was strategy. Appearance spoke before words did.

Pashepaho, The Little Stabbing Chief

Pashepaho, sometimes written as Pah-e-pa-ho,  was a civil chief of the Sauk Nation in the early 1800s.

In Letters and Notes, George Catlin described Pashepaho as "grave and deliberate." He was one of five Sauk delegates who signed the 1804 treaty at St. Louis, which gave away most of the tribal lands, including Saukenuk.

He showed up to speak for his people while land disappeared and choices narrowed, knowing restraint was the only tool he had left—and using it, anyway.

He sided with Black Hawk’s British Band during the War of 1812, then sided with Keokuk’s peace faction during the Black Hawk War in 1832.

Photograph Of Downtown Eldridge In 1929

The Davenport Democrat and Leader. December 1, 1929.

The Davenport Democrat and Leader printed this photograph of Main Street in Eldridge, Iowa, as part of a photo spread on progress in the city. 

Bill Glasgow University of Iowa Hawkeye Half Back

Des Moines Register. January 19, 1930.

University of Iowa All-American half back Bill Glasgow received the Chicago Tribune Big Ten Trophy of 1930 as a star of the Western Conference.

Book Review: The Lincoln Highway in Iowa: A History

The Lincoln Highway sounds innocent enough. A nice old road. Something you learn about from a brochure while standing next to a bronze plaque. Darcy Dougherty Maulsby’s The Lincoln Highway in Iowa: A History takes that tidy idea, shakes it hard, and shows you the mess underneath.

The Lincoln Highway wasn’t some graceful ribbon of progress floating across Iowa. It was a fight. Towns clawed at each other to get on the route, knowing that a line on a map could mean survival—or a long slide into irrelevance. Meetings were held. Deals were cut. Routes shifted. Winners celebrated. Losers stewed.

 

Maulsby is especially good at showing how rough the early days really were. Before smooth concrete and reliable maps, Iowa roads were muddy traps waiting to swallow cars whole. Early motorists were gamblers. You might make it to the next town. You might not. That sense of risk hums quietly beneath the book.

 

The book really comes alive along the roadside. Gas stations, cafes, tourist cabins, motor courts—each one a small act of faith. People built their livelihoods on the hope that cars would keep coming. Some struck gold. Others watched traffic dry up when the route shifted a few miles south or a bypass cut them out entirely. Maulsby has a sharp eye for these human stories, and lets them unfold without sentimentality.

Davenport Locomotive Company Engine Used In China

Des Moines Register. September 14, 1930.

The Des Moines Register printed this picture of the Number One locomotive on China's K. P. Railroad. It was made by the Davenport Locomotive Company and has been in service for years.