Across the Fence: Oliver T. Jackson, Colorado pioneer

Returning from the Colorado Cowboy Gathering in Golden, Colo., this past weekend, Deb and I decided to take the roads less traveled. Instead of the more direct Interstate 76 we traveled north on Highway 85 out of Brighton, through Fort Lupton, past Fort Vasquez to Highway 34 then headed east through northeastern Colorado's sandhills following the south fork of the Platte to Fort Morgan.

I had traveled this Highway 34 route several times before, as a teenager, when I'd visited my grandparents in Fort Morgan and they had taken me to Estes Park and up Trail Ridge Road. Even then I was fascinated by the prairie and fell in love with the wide and wonderful vistas of the west; far different from the rolling hills and heavy timbered river bottoms of northeast Kansas.

As Deb and I traveled east I began to recognize the lay of the land and remembered those infrequent trips from Fort Morgan to the Rockies and back. The prairies looked pretty much the same as they had 50 years ago except for the profusion of oil wells, drilling rigs and storage facilities for countless barrels of crude. I was shocked to see hundreds of acres of prairie stripped of all vegetation; the unstable, sandy soil exposed to wind and weather and I could not comprehend the purpose unless perhaps to clear the sage and prairie grass for dry land wheat, a risky proposition for the semi-arid prairies of northeastern Colorado.

While memories of childhood travels with Grandpa and Grandma rattled around in my head I seemed to have recalled an old abandoned settlement along this stretch of highway. I could not remember the name but did remember that Grandpa had told me that it was a "colored" settlement from the early 1900s that had failed. I have always been enchanted with the mystery of old, abandoned buildings and the stories that lay hidden among their weathered ruins and I often turn to look back when passing by in hopes of catching a glimpse of ... perhaps a ghost.

It was as if my memory had conjured up the vision of that old settlement because, suddenly, there it was. I saw, ahead of us, the vaguely familiar lines of the abandoned buildings and knew that it was the place. The green and white highway sign read, "Dearfield."

Unlike nearly 50 years before, the old buildings were in considerably worse condition and in stark contrast to the jumble of collapsed rafters and falling walls there were a few newer manufactured homes scattered about the prairie, just beyond the ruins. I might have passed on by except for the small sign that announced, "Historical Marker," I find it difficult to pass an historical marker and I braked for the turnoff.

Beside the dirt road that passed between two of the remaining structures of Dearfield was a red granite marker that gave a brief history of the settlement. According to the engraving on the monument, made in the simple yet elegant lines of a solemn tombstone, it was Oliver Toussaint Jackson, who filed a desert claim on the site in 1910 for the purpose of establishing an African-American agricultural society. Today, the Black American West Museum and Heritage Center, owns 16 acres of the original town site along with the buildings that still remain, though in continuing stages of disintegration. Although a six-foot chain link fence surrounded the building that was once the local dining hall, the gate was open and I ventured in. The structure was most definitely unsafe and though I was tempted to step inside it seemed the better part of good judgment to peer in through paneless window frames and open doorways.

As we explored, a local couple drove off the highway and into the settlement. They neither waved nor smiled as they eyed us in what I judged to be a look of unmasked suspicion. They followed the dirt road to their nearby home while Deb and I climbed into our car, made a U-turn at the old abandoned Conoco station and headed home.

Oliver Toussaint Jackson was born on the sixth day of April 1862 in Butler County, Ohio, to parents Hezekiah and Caroline Jackson. The 1870 census reports his father as 47 years of age, a sawyer by trade but does not list his mother. Seventeen years later, in 1887, the Cleveland, Ohio city directory lists Oliver T. Jackson as steward and caterer for The Vendome on 220 Superior; W.H. Brown and Co. proprietors. Oliver had begun his training as a caterer at the age of 14 and continued in this profession for much of his early life.

By 1890, Mr. Jackson had relocated to Denver, where he continued his career as a caterer and in 1893 was employed as the caterer for Stillman Café and Ice Cream Parlor, one of the most select dining resorts in Boulder, Colo. The census of 1900 finds Oliver Jackson in Lafayette, Colo., with Sadie, his wife of 10 years, the mother of 1 with none living. The household includes his brother, sister-in-law and a 16-year-old niece Jennie. Oliver's occupation is still that of a caterer who owns his home with a mortgage.

By 1910, life has taken a very different turn for Olive – now living in Valmont, Colo. His wife, Sadie, has died and Minerva, 10 years younger than he, has been his wife for six years. There are still no children for Oliver and his life will end with no offspring of his own. Oliver is no longer in the catering business but has made political connections and is serving as a messenger in the State House for the Colorado Governor. Oliver's political connections stemmed from his efforts to organize a Black agricultural community.

Taking inspiration from Booker T. Washington's autobiography, "Up From Slavery," Jackson believed that the brightest future for Denver's African-American population was through land ownership and agricultural production. Oliver began by seeking support, financial and promotional, from Booker T. Washington himself, but Washington refused to help.

As the governor's messenger, Oliver gained access to political figures both locally and nationally and quickly became respected and recognized in the political arena of the day. In 1910, O.T. Jackson was able to persuade Colorado Gov. Shafroth to assist him in filing a desert claim on land that would become the black community of Dearfield. The money to finance the venture came from Jackson's personal savings and six other families who would locate on the claim.

Jackson wrote, "The new settlers at Dearfield were as poor as people could be when they took up their homesteads. Some who filed ... did not have money enough to ship their household goods or pay their railroad fare. Some of them paid their fare as far as they could and walked the balance of the way to Dearfield. ... Some were in tents, some in dugouts and some just had cave in the hillside. The first year there were but seven families in the settlement and we had only three teams. That winter only two of us had wooden houses, and the suffering was intense. We had scarcely any wood to burn and buffalo chips and sagebrush was our chief fuel. What fire wood we could get had to be carried on our heads from three to seven miles from the Platte River."

By 1914 Jackson had recruited and increased the population of Dearfield. He recorded, "We now have... 27 families. At the present time we have 20 teams, -23 milk cows and calves, 32 hogs and 1,000 chickens, ducks, turkeys and geese ... farming tools, buggies, wagons, seed corn, [and] ... plenty of alfalfa and wild hay to feed. ... the outlook for 1915 is very bright and we are looking forward to a ... prosperous year"

The next few years would see Dearfield grow and prosper to several hundred souls in 70 families. With their own school, restaurant, grocery store, gas station and two churches, Dearfield, Colorado was on the road to a grand future.

The end of the World War in 1918, beginnings of the great depression in the 1920s and the devastating financial crash of 1929 set the settlement into a financial tailspin. Many of the residence could not meet their mortgages and sold out or abandoned their claims. Then came the dustbowl of the '30's and dry land farming meant sudden death for any agricultural endeavors. By 1940 there were only 12 people living in Dearfield.

Oliver and Minerva remained in Dearfield for the rest of their lives. Oliver ran the Conoco station until illness prevented it. Minerva left him when she died in 1942 and Oliver remained until he was hospitalized in Denver and died on Feb. 8, 1948.

The last surviving, original resident of Dearfield was Oliver's niece Jennie Jackson, who lived there until her death in 1973. She was 89.

M. Timothy Nolting is an award-winning Nebraska columnist and freelance writer. Contact him via email at [email protected]