The Joplin Carnegie Library and the Origins of Joplin Public Library: Part Two

Under a bright October afternoon sun, a crowd of ten thousand gathered to watch a parade snake its way from Fourth and Joplin streets to Main Street.  It turned under the watchful gaze of the Keystone Hotel and then proceed south to Ninth, where it turned again to the right and came to a stop at Ninth and Wall.  It was October 8th, and the people of Joplin had come to celebrate the laying of the cornerstone of the new Carnegie Library.

The parade had formed at 2:30 pm and consisted of a number of different groups.  In the vanguard was Police Chief Jake Cofer with a platoon of police officers.  Behind the police, the South Joplin band played and stomped in celebration, and were followed by 66 members of the Knights Templar from Joplin and the surrounding area.  The contingent of Knights Templar was outnumbered by the 151 members of the Masonic Blue Lodge.  Behind the Masons came 2,386 excited school children, headed by 29 high school students and teachers, walked four abreast down the city streets.

An Elks Parade on Joplin's Main Street

A different parade, but an example of a parade down Main Street and how the Elks might have marched that October afternoon.

Behind the flood of children came 24 grey headed members of the Grand Army of the Republic from  Joplin’s O.P. Morton Post. As in 1865, the veterans marched proudly behind a cherished battle flag.  Approximately 60 individuals of the Elks and Eagles followed the veterans and then bringing up the rear were thirty members of the Knights of Pythias commanded by Joplin attorney Joel T. Livingston.

Thousands surrounded the construction site of the library.  The limestone walls soared over the crowd, such was the progress that had been made since Augustus C. Michaelis was selected as the architect in February.  A platform rested against the side of the building next to where the cornerstone was to be laid.  Children, anxious to see the ceremony, climbed the surrounding trees and hung perilously from branches.

A band took up position beside the platform while the mayor of Joplin, John C. Trigg, climbed onto the platform to address the crowd.  His speech, the lengthiest of the day, began with the origin of the movement for the library.  The mayor boasted that the tax revenue from property valued at $4,000,000 was more than sufficient to support the library, but also noted that it had not been enough for the construction of the building.  For this, Mayor Trigg credited industrialist Andrew Carnegie who, “came to the rescue and dissipated all doubts and disquieting fears.”  Trigg continued:

“No event in the history of the city of Joplin will perhaps stand out in bolder or more prominent relief in the future than the laying of the corner stone of the Carnegie public library building…It should be accentuated as a distinct epoch in the annals of the city, from which to date as from the dawn of the new century, an augmented zeal in the material, moral and intellectual improvement of our people of all classes and conditions…”

After the mayor established the effect of the library on the city, he then described the benefit of books, “The inestimable value of books is no longer a vexed or mooted question.  The wise, the good and the great of all ages and nations, divines, poets, philosophers and statesmen, have contributed the most cogent and convincing testimony in support of the premise.”  Trigg went on, reading excerpts from such authors as Joseph Addison, Richard DeBury, and Louisa May Alcott.  Finally, and perhaps to the relief of some in the crowd, the mayor concluded his speech.  This was followed by a brief rendition of the song, “Remember Now Thy Creator,” that setup the next speaker, Reverend Paul Brown.  Brown was a substitute for Judge Picher, who had been unable to attend the ceremonies that day.

Reverend Brown reflected on the origin of free libraries and then spoke of libraries as essential to democracy:

“What is the end of democracy?  I answer the end of democracy is a natural aristocracy.  There is an aristocracy of nature which no contract or statute can ever abolish….Here in the district, our chief industry, mining, weeds out weaklings and cowards, and creates a natural aristocracy of physical courage and vision in the depths of the earth.  Now what does democracy guard against?  Not natural aristocracy, but artificial, the aristocracy of mere birth or place or force or accident.  Democracy means that equality of opportunity which will give the natural aristocracy a chance.”

It was books, Brown argued, that provided the opportunity for men to overcome the privileged aristocracy who were born to fame, title, or fortune.  Brown, after noting famous authors of history, praised the city’s superintendent, J.D. Elliff, whom Brown stated, had played the crucial role in seeing the library created.  Brown soon concluded his remarks, followed by a song from the band, and again, when the time finally came for the actual laying of the cornerstone.

Laying of the Joplin Carnegie Library cornerstone

The laying of the cornerstone of the Joplin Carnegie Library.

This august moment was overseen by the Most Worshipful Grand Master of the Masons, John C. Yocum.  The Grand Master announced the placement of the cornerstone, as it was guided by a small crane and lowered carefully into place.  An invocation was given by the Mason’s Grand Chaplain, who was accompanied by the Masonic ceremonies of deposit and consecration.  One last speaker arose, Dr. W.P. Kuhn, a senior grand warden of the Masons from Kansas City.  Dr. Kuhn opted to win the crowd through praise of the children present, as well a quick joke about Methodist and Presbyterian preachers:

“ The Methodist preacher never prepared a sermon or at any rate never had any reference notes, but his services were largely attended, while the Presbyterian divine labored conscientiously over his discourses, wrote them painstakingly out and read them with painstaking fidelity.  But, his flock was few, and in a spirit of discouragement he came to the Methodist preacher and asked him why it was that the people crowded to hear him who never prepared a sermon while his own church was all but empty.  And the Methodist replied, “My good friend, you write out your sermons and the devil is right there behind you.  He knows every word that you’re going to say and he is able to circumvent every effort you make, no matter how praiseworthy.  Now I don’t know what I’m going to say and I know the devil don’t know what I’m going to say either, and that’s the difference between us.”

Dr. Kuhn concluded by stressing the importance of free libraries, as they were part of the “three planks that the structure of every American community is founded.”  The other two planks were free thought and free speech.  Immediately after the crowd sang, “America,” and the cornerstone laying ceremony ended with a benediction offered by the Rev. Charles A. Wood.

With the cornerstone laid, construction on the library resumed.  The building incomplete, the actual Joplin library, which was already in existence was housed at the Joplin high school and overseen by Lucile Baker, the first librarian.  Ms. Baker was a writer for the Joplin News-Herald and used the byline of “Becky Sharp” in a nod to Missouri’s own Mark Twain.

The library was finally completed a year later.  The city received its first check from Andrew Carnegie at a sum of $5,000.  Twelve years later, the city sought and received another $20,000 from the generous benefactor for an addition to the west side of the library.  In charge of the library, now at home in its new building, was Mary B. Swanwick, who was joined by assistant librarians Blanche Trigg, Mary Scott, and Hattie Ruddy Rice.

The Joplin Carnegie Library

The Joplin Carnegie Library not long after completion.

As of 1911, the library had 15,737 books as well as 2,643 magazines and periodicals.  Over the year, over ten thousand people used the library, around 1/4th of the city’s population, and almost 65,000 books were circulated.  Active card holders numbered almost 7,000.  Ten years later, the head librarian, Swanwick, passed away and was eventually replaced by Blanche Trigg, daughter of Joplin Mayor John Trigg. She oversaw the institution until 1949.  It was under the oversight of Trigg’s successor, Margaret Hager, who helped lead the movement in the 1970s to purchase the Connor Hotel and the rest of the 300 Block as the site of a new library building.  That building, the present home of the Joplin Public Library, opened in April, 1981.

Sources: Joplin News Herald, Joplin Globe, “A History of Jasper County, Missouri and its People,” by Joel Livingston, and Missouri Digital History.

That Froggy In the Window

Window shopping in early Joplin was undoubtedly entertaining. The Model clothing shop, Christman’s and Newman’s Department stores, T.W. Osterloh’s bookstore and bicycle shop, just to name a few, offered passersby a tantalizing look at shiny, new goods.

Bullfrog

A common bullfrog

The Saddle Rock Café, however, had perhaps the most mesmerizing display in the summer of 1905 when owner Dick Lapham put seven dozen bullfrogs in a water-filled zinc tank in the front window of the café. Pedestrians on Main Street stopped to gawk at the sight. For those in the mood for frog legs, they could choose their own from the tank to be prepared by the café staff. Lapham told a News-Herald reporter that he caught them six miles south of Joplin on Shoal Creek.

Conservation laws aside, it might seem unusual to hear that someone had caught that many bullfrogs today, but it was not uncommon for the Ozarks to send sack loads of bullfrogs to distant cities like St. Louis to fill the ravenous demand of city dwellers. For those in Joplin, though, all they had to do is mosey down Main Street.

Source: News Herald

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Miner’s Wife Scorned

Saloons were not the only places that jealous lovers sought revenge.

On a sunny afternoon in 1899, a dozen miners sat at the entrance to the Boston mine just east of Joplin.  After spending their morning below ground, the sunshine must have provided a welcome relief, but their boisterous talk was soon interrupted when a well dressed woman stormed up to them.  She demanded to know if her husband, Ralph Market, was at the mine.  The miners replied that he was not and that they did not know him.

Mrs.  Market, however, was no fool.  She insisted her husband worked at the mine and demanded to see him.  Once again the miners replied they had never heard of Ralph Market.  Mrs.  Market, frustrated, demanded to be hoisted down into the mine because she knew he must be hiding somewhere in the mine shaft.  The miners tried to tell her that it would be awhile before they descended back into the mine, but Mrs.  Market replied she, “did not care for company on the way down,” assured the men she was not afraid of mine, and wanted to be the first one down so her husband could not escape.

Interior of a Joplin Mine

The interior of a Joplin mine, which might have looked like the mine where Mrs. Market unsuccessfully searched for her husband.

The hoisterman finished his lunch and told Mrs.  Market to step into the tub.  It was probably best that he did.  When she gathered her skirts about her as she prepared to enter the tub, the miners spotted a loaded six-shooter strapped to her waist.  It was then that the “boys then believed that she meant business and they respected her wishes.” Mrs.  Market went down into the shaft without a light, but one was sent down when requested.  She searched the mine but failed to find her husband.  She asked to be returned to the surface and asked for the superintendent’s office to find out if her husband was employed at the mine.  The miners speculated the woman’s actions were the result of jealousy.  Ralph certainly must have had a heck of a welcome when and if he returned home to his wife.

Source: Joplin Globe

The 1902 Collapse of Easth Seventh Street

In the spring of 1902, just before noon, East Seventh Street collapsed.  The debris from the street plunged downward into the gaping maw of an old mine drift from the defunct Zola mine.  The dark chasm sprawled 50 feet.  The Joplin News-Herald remarked that the street was “the main thoroughfare east and there is scarcely a moment that if it is not traveled at every point along the route.” Fortunately no one was on the street when it collapsed.  Traffic was diverted onto Fifth and Fourteenth Streets until the vast hole could be filled in.

As we have noted before, there are numerous mine shafts all over the Joplin metro area.  For now, it seems that most shafts are filled up with water, and are holding steady.  In the future, though, with some speculating that the water table in the Four State area could drop, it seems plausible that shafts may open up as the water disappears.  While we here at Historic Joplin are not hydrologists, geologists, or any other type of “-ologist,” we find the idea of the underground honeycombs of mining shafts and drifts in and around Joplin intriguing.

Source: Joplin Daily News Herald, 1902

In the spring of 1902, just before noon, East Seventh Street collapsed. The debris from the street plunged downward into the gaping maw of an old mine drift from the defunct Zola mine. The chasm sprawled 50 feet. The Joplin News-Herald remarked that the street was “the main thoroughfare east and there is scarcely a moment that if it is not traveled at every point along the route.” Fortunately no one was on the street when it collapsed. Traffic was diverted onto Fifth and Fourteenth Streets.

As we have noted before, there are numerous mine shafts all over the Joplin metro area. For now, it seems that most shafts are filled up with water, and are holding steady. In the future, though, with some speculating that the water table in the Four State area could drop, it seems plausible that shafts may open up as the water disappears. While we here at Historic Joplin are not hydrologists, geologists, or any other type of “-ologist,” we find the idea of the underground honeycombs of mining shafts and drifts in and around Joplin intriguing.

Source: Joplin Daily News Herald, 1902

General Coxey Comes to Joplin

In 1899, General Jacob S. Coxey rolled into Joplin to try his luck in the mines. General Coxey was not a hero of the Civil War; instead, he was a hero of the working class who twice led a rabble of unemployed workers dubbed “Coxey’s Army” on quixotic marches on Washington, D.C.

Coxey, a native of Pennsylvania, who despite his status as a prosperous businessman, believed that business monopolies brutally crushed the common man. One year after the nation descended into financial panic during the economic crisis of 1893, Coxey led a ragtag group of unemployed workers to Washington, D.C. to protest unemployment and to ask the federal government to create public works projects to provide jobs for the unemployed. His plan anticipated the economic recovery programs of Franklin Roosevelt’s administration, such as the Works Progress Administration (WPA) and the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Although unsuccessful, Coxey and his followers captured the country’s attention. He would later launch a second march in 1914 that also failed to achieve lasting results.

General Jacob S. Coxey

General Jacob S. Coxey, leader of "Coxey's Army" in his later years via Library of Congress

In between marches Coxey continued his successful business pursuits, but remained open to new ventures. The year 1899 found Coxey in Joplin, Missouri. He brought with him a sixty foot long railroad car that had once been outfitted for traveling in luxury, including his personal office on wheels, but had since been converted into a car that carried machinery. On board was a boiler and engine, mining timbers, mine cars, and other equipment brought from an Ohio coal mine.

Coxey announced his intent to mine according to his style, but the Joplin Daily News remarked, “what use he has for a dozen coal cars experienced miners here cannot explain.” Coxey’s mine was made up of two lots on the Shoal Creek Company’s lease located at Redding’s Mill south of Joplin. Coxey’s railroad car and its contents attracted “unusual attention” among onlookers at the Frisco Depot.

One week after his arrival Coxey departed Joplin to return home to Massillon, Ohio, and announced his intent to return in the following weeks to check on his mining operations. He was described as a “business like man and has plenty of ready cash” who “merely smiles and says but little when politics is broached. He is a good storyteller and never fails to tell jokes on himself.” In looks he was a “plain business appearing man, middle aged and wears the latest style tailor made clothes and tan shoes.”

While in Joplin, he reportedly became good friends with Thomas Connor, who would later build the New Joplin/Connor Hotel, and expressed his interest in “the story of Mr. Connor’s success.”

It is unknown just how much money Coxey made from his mines, but he certainly livened up Joplin for at least one week in 1899.

Source: Joplin Daily News, Library of Congress

He Pulled A Gun

Downtown Joplin is fairly quiet compared to what it was like on a Saturday night one hundred years ago.   At that time the Worth Block sat at the corner of Fourth and Main where a small park, once famous more for its vagrant population than the namesake statue of a miner, now sits. The Worth Block was owned by the eccentric James “Jimmy” H. Worth, a native of Indiana who married well, and lived life fast.   In the future we’ll write about “Colonel” Worth, but for now will focus on yet another scrap on the streets of Joplin.

Busy corner of Fourth and Main

A daylight view of the busy intersection of Fourth and Main

“Last night about 11 o’clock a little excitement was created at the corner of Fourth and Main streets by a hair brained individual with a gun who made a public exhibition of himself and then gun in hand fled before the righteous wrath of an unarmed man.  This spectacle also created much amusement.  Chas. Allen is a driver of carriage No. 5, of Finch Bros. line.  At the hour named last night his carriage stood at the southwest corner of Fourth and Main streets.  He was about to drive to the Gulf depot when Richard Risdon, formerly a driver of Watson’s line, but now of Webb City, came along and asked Allen if he was going to the depot.  Allen answered in the affirmative and Risdon swung himself up to a seat on the box.  With an oath Allen jumped to the pavement pulling from his pocket a revolver as he jumped.

He presented his gun at Risdon as though he intended to fire, but Risdon had nerve and alighting from the box advanced upon the warlike Allen, asking him why he didn’t shoot.  Allen weakened, and turning in the face of his unarmed adversary fled across the street, pocketing his revolver as he flew, ran through Kinsella’s saloon and disappeared.  Risdon is well known in Joplin as a gentlemanly young man and a man of nerve and by his action last night bore out his reputation.

It seems that the driver, Allen, had a private grudge against Risdon and that they had had some trouble before. Risdon returned to his home in Webb City last night, but up to the present writing Allen has not been apprehended.”

Source: Joplin Morning Herald, 1892

Bad Boys at Byersville

A letter published in the Joplin News Herald offers a hint to some of the problems that arose in Southwest Joplin:

EDITORS-HERALD: – Will you please give a little space in your columns in the interest of the quiet and law-abiding of the district known as Byersville in southwest Joplin. The good people of this part of the city pay taxes to keep up a police force, and think that they are entitled to at least some little protection. It is a fact, although I am almost ashamed to acknowledge it, that we have some very bad boys. They have been warned many times, but it seems that the warning has no effect on them. They often disturb the peace by loud and unnecessary noises, throwing rocks, and have gone so far as to egg houses that are occupied by quiet families. We ask the city authorities to see that quiet is kept in this part of the town. The boys gather on the store porches at late hours and make such noises that break the rest of peaceful citizens. They even go so far as to make fun of and tantalize citizens on the streets or in their own enclosures. There are a half-dozen or more of them. While many of us would just like to see our neighbor’s boys in trouble, we must have the nuisances stopped: And it will be better for the boys, for if allowed to continued, some day they will receive sentence for a grave crime, then they will say: “If the better citizens had arrested me for some small offense it would have saved me from this everlasting disgrace.” Now, boys, take warning, be good boys and grow up to be good men and you will an honor to the community, and if you do not you will have to face the police court and take the consequences.

A Quiet Citizen.

Source: Joplin Morning Herald, 1892

The Boxer McCormick

Over the years, Joplin saw its share of characters.   Alvin Clarence Thomas, the pool shark better known as “Titanic” Slim Thompson; Bonnie and Clyde; and Jim McCormick were just a few of the colorful folks who stopped but never stayed.

Boxer Jim McCormick

Boxer Jim McCormick

You may not recognize the name Jim McCormick unless you are a hardcore boxing fan.  McCormick, a native of Galveston, Texas, was at one time a notable boxer.  During his career he fought both John L.  Sullivan (Sullivan’s last match) and Jack Johnson (twice).

McCormick ran into trouble when he came to Joplin with business on the mind.  After meeting with a man named Dunham about opening a boxing school in Joplin, an altercation ensued, and McCormick was picked up for assault and robbery.

His wife, Lucretia Vincent McCormick, hired the Joplin law firm of Clay and Shepherd to defend her husband.  The two reportedly met when McCormick worked as Sullivan’s sparring partner and Vincent, a vaudeville singer, was part of Sullivan’s entourage while in Seattle, Washington.  They married in March, 1905, and had lived previously in Topeka, Kansas.  Interestingly, Lucretia noted that her husband’s real surname was Heiman, but used his mother’s surname of McCormick as his ring name.

Mrs. McCormick

Mrs. Jim McCormick

Although the details of McCormick’s life are incomplete, it can be assumed that after he and Lucretia hit the road in search of better luck.

Source: Joplin Globe

The Shooting of Ben Collier

In previous posts we’ve covered shootouts, robberies, and prostitutes.  Sometimes, however, officers of the law made the headlines — for the wrong reasons.

On a fall evening in 1906, Joplin Patrolman Johnson was standing outside the Mascot Saloon at the corner of Tenth and Main.  It was 9:30 at night.  The sun had set and it was a cool Friday night.  Johnson may have anticipated trouble, but not until Saturday night, which was when the miners were paid their weekly wages.  Special Officer Ben Collier swiftly walked past Johnson and entered the Mascot.

Shots rang out from inside the saloon.  Johnson dashed inside and saw Police Day Captain Will J.  Cofer standing with a gun in each hand.  One gun belonged to Special Officer Ben Collier; the other, still smoking, belonged to Cofer.  Cofer laid Collier’s gun down on a beer keg and then began to holster his pistol.  Patrolman Johnson, however, demanded, “Give me those guns.” Cofer obliged.  Johnson then noticed the motionless body of Ben Collier lying on the floor of the saloon.  Johnson checked for a pulse, but found Collier was dead.

Interior of the Mascot Saloon

Sketch of the interior of the Mascot Saloon

Johnson took Cofer into custody and headed for the city jail.  On the way Johnson was met by Assistant Chief of Police Jake Cofer, who was Will Cofer’s uncle (and was commonly known around Joplin as “Uncle Jake” as he had served for several years on the police force), who took charge of his nephew.  Upon arriving at the city jail, Jake Cofer asked Will to remove his police badge, and then locked him in a jail cell.

It appears that the difficulty between Will Cofer and Ben Collier began over a woman named Rose Proctor.  She was described as a “small and pretty blonde” who lived at 1216 Main Street.  Proctor was reportedly estranged from her husband who still lived in Illinois.  She may have come to Joplin due to the fact she “had several married sisters” living in Joplin.

Will “Rabbit” Cofer was a twenty-three year old married father of five year old son.  At the age of 17, he married a woman from Pierce City who was ten years his senior.  His father, Tom Cofer, served as Joplin Chief of Police before moving to Portland, Oregon.  Will stayed in Joplin and worked as a blacksmith and in the mines before joining the police force.  He had only been on the police force for a year, but was supposedly a satisfactory officer.

Ben Collier, who, at age 55, was older than Cofer, arrived in Joplin in the mid-1880s.  He worked as a butcher for several years before became involved in mining.  Collier eventually served on the police force, but left to become a private watchman.  He was still working as a private watchman when he tangled with Cofer.  Collier’s first wife had died and was allegedly estranged from his second wife who lived in Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Cofer and Collier had quarreled in the past.  A Joplin Globe reporter had been standing on the street with Cofer the previous Wednesday when Cofer reportedly pointed to Collier and remarked, “There stands a fellow who has sworn he will kill me and I am afraid that he will try to do it before long.  If he would only come to me and tell me about it, it would be a different matter and we might get things straightened up, but he always talks behind my back.”

Members of the Joplin police force knew that the two men disliked one another and did their best to keep them apart.  Upon learning the Will Cofer was in the Mascot Saloon with Rose Proctor, Uncle Jake Cofer had sent word to his nephew that if he [Will] had any respect for him, Will would leave both the saloon and Rose.  Will Cofer, however, ignored his uncle.

Later that night, around 8 o’clock, Ben Collier appeared at the boarding house room that Rose Proctor called home, but was told she was not home.  Collier then spent an hour visiting with Proctor’s next door neighbor, May Stout, who told Collier that Rose was out with Will Cofer.  When he learned that Rose was with Will, Collier allegedly remarked, “I’ll kill him if I can find him tonight.” He then stalked out of the boarding house.  May Stout tried to call the Mascot Saloon to warn Will and Rose, but failed to reach them in time.  That’s when Ben Collier strode past Patrolman Johnson, entered the saloon, and a series of shots rang out.

There were only a few witnesses: “Red” Murphy, a cook at the Sapphire restaurant; Fred Palmer, bartender at the Mascot Saloon; and Rose Proctor.  In her statement to the police, Rose said she and Will Cofer were drinking a bottle of beer when Collier came in.  Collier called out, “Rose, come to me.” Rose coyly asked, “What do I want to come to you for?” Cofer, looking at Collier, offered to take Rose home.

Collier, enraged by Cofer’s interference, growled, “I have been looking for you and I have got you now!” The two men were standing roughly six feet apart when Collier drew his .44 caliber revolver but Cofer beat him to the draw.  Cofer managed to hit Ben Collier three times above the heart with his .38 caliber revolver.  Collier fell to the floor dead.

Will Cofer

A sketch of Will Cofer

Rose Proctor’s testimony was verified by the two other witnesses.   Upon examination, Collier’s revolver was half-cocked and had not been fired before Collier fell dead.  Jasper County Sheriff John Marrs arrived and ordered Collier’s body be sent to the Joplin Undertaking Company.

At the coroner’s inquest the next day, Rose Proctor and Fred Palmer, the bartender, testified that Collier pulled his gun on Cofer the minute he entered the saloon.  Proctor also testified she had attended “the races at Carthage” earlier in the week with Cofer.  After Collier found out, he waved his revolver at her and threatened to pull the trigger.

Patrolman Henry Burns testified that Collier had told him that morning that he would “get” Cofer “before night.” Joplin Police Night Captain Ogburn testified Collier had made threats against Cofer earlier in the year.  After the coroner’s jury made a trip to the Mascot Saloon to see the scene of the crime, the members made their decision: Cofer killed Collier in self-defense and was free to go.  Cofer shook hands with his friends and then resigned from the Joplin police force.

By 1910, Will Cofer and his wife Amelia were living in Portland, Oregon, where he shoed horses for a living.  According to the federal census, their son died between 1906 and 1910.  The couple was childless.

Curiously, in 1920, Will’s wife is listed as Rose.  His first wife, Amelia, either passed away or the couple divorced.  It seems unlikely, however, that this was Rose Proctor as this Rose listed her birth place as Oregon.  What is certain, though, is that a shooting took place in a Joplin saloon on a crisp fall night and Ben Collier lost much more than his heart.

Sources: Joplin Globe; 1900, 1910, 1920 federal census

Progress

From the city’s founding in 1873, a spirit of progress seemed to buoy Joplin.  This illustration from the Joplin Globe exemplifies that spirit of a city that believed that growth and industry was ever in its future.

Joplin Progress

Progress in the future!

Source: Joplin Globe