PREFACE

Like many others I have said with a sense of guilt, “Why didn’t I ask more questions about my family, or listen more carefully to Father as he spoke of them?” No, it was not his fault. I had turned a deaf ear in the direction of family history.

Little did I appreciate then that James Bruce and Isadora (Swift) Cartter, my paternal grandparents, had played such pioneering roles; and that both had descended from immigrant ancestors who came to America in the 1630’s. By varied routes they had reached Wisconsin shortly before it was made a state.

As with most of us when we approach retirement age, I began to realize my neglect, – but not until after many sources of information were no longer available. Other sources did remain, however; and the search has been most interesting and rewarding.

Louise (Adams) Curran 93 years young, my cousin and the only living relative who knew both grandparents, has been a helpful source on family background. Old letters were found which added insight into the joys and sorrows of earlier days. Many of these letters are being preserved and catalogued by my niece, Mrs. John Forssen, of Missoula, Montana. They will later be deposited with the Wisconsin Historical Society. Old pictures and newsclippings also brought to light personalities I had never known. The archives of the Wisconsin Historical Library produced a wealth of information which added much detail and many historic facts about the times.

Perhaps the most interesting experiences have been those trips which my wife Rachel and I made to areas where the Cartter families have lived. Court houses, old farms, and churches were visited. An occasional distant relative was also found.

I have attempted to set forth the results of this search in two parts, the one in story form (non-fictional) and the other in genealogical record. James Bruce Cartter, my grandfather, was chosen as the central figure for the former primarily because he seemed to represent those qualities which characterized so many of our pioneer forefathers.

The genealogical record covers eleven generations of Carters and Cartters in America, the first four being quite abbreviated. Each individual is identified by a number which may be found in the index. Unfortunately the records are incomplete in several places due to lack of information. Any reader who may be able to add facts, or correct errors is urged to contact the author.

/s/ Bruce L. Cartter
Madison, Wisconsin

Update:

Bruce Lanpher is my paternal grandfather. When this book was first published, in 1973, I was a young boy and, much like him, not really interested in the family history. History has a funny habit of repeating itself, for those not paying attention the first time around, and I find myself wanting to know more but finding that many of the “contacts” are no longer around.

The request for correction or additions stands for this very reason. I know that there are many more relations out there than are listed in this update. Please use the comments section, or e-mail me directly, to fill me in on information I may not have.

Traveling is a luxury in this day and age that I am not able to indulge in, due to scheduling restraints and the historically high prices of fuel. There are many times I have kicked myself for not asking to go along with Grandfather while he was working on the original manuscript, during those summers that I was allowed to stay with him and Rachel.

I will attempt to do his memory proud by bringing this into the information age.

Cary Bruce Cartter
Glendale, Arizona
August 6, 2005

This weekend is my high school class’ 25 year reunion. It is such a difficult thing to grasp – I’ve been out of high school for 25 years. Twenty Five Years. There are bloggers out here who haven’t been alive that long.

It’s been quite a while since I was back in New Madison, Ohio. The last time I was there, I was driving a big rig cross country for a living, and was passing by the area, so I stopped in. I saw a few friends, shot a few games of pool at Jack’s Place (is it still standing?), and then moved on down the road. Of course, since I was going to drive truck for the rest of my life, I knew that I would be able to stop in there anytime I was in the area.

I stopped driving for that company about two months later, and started driving for a local cabinet shop in Paso Robles, California. Funny how life takes you down different paths.

Speaking of different paths – after graduation, four of us enlisted in the Marine Corps. Bob Fugate, Kenny Earles, Gene McNew and I signed up during the school year, after we had turned eighteen, and planned to serve together. The USMC doesn’t always take your thoughts and feelings into consideration when you enlist, so naturally, that’s not the way it happened. Kenny and I were at USMCRD San Diego at the same time, but we were in different platoons. Bob went to Parris Island, and Gene decided not to go.

Bob just retired last year from the Corps, after serving as a helicopter maintenance crew member and leader for 22 years. He’s getting married soon, and that’s another big event I’ll be missing.

Yes, missing. As the class gathers tonight and tomorrow, to catch up, to refresh memories, to mingle, I will be here in Arizona. Life threw TMBWitW and me a bit of a curve, in the form of a savings-draining series of auto repairs that pretty much chewed up the travel funds. So, while they are gathered in the Moose Lodge (here’s to you, my fellow classmates! may we all be blessed with at least another 25 years!) I will be here puttering about the house, and thinking of all of them.

I am curious, though – how many of you will check out this entry? Can we have a roll call of comments? Members of the class of TVHS 1980, please sign in below.

And, if you are former faculty, I would like to hear from you, too. Who knows – this may turn into a short series here on the blog.

My paternal grandfather, Bruce Lanpher Cartter, published a genealogy in 1973 of the Cartter family. I’ll be posting chapters from that book, along with the family tree, over to the side. Look for it in the upcoming days.

Meanwhile, I am still tired and cranky from my road trip. I think I will do as TMBWitW says and just sit down and watch a movie.

I’ll post more later, I promise.

I had occasion to travel to Kingman this past weekend. Twice. The first time was for a wedding, and TMBWitW and I drove her car (1994 Infiniti J30) in spite of it’s history of transmission problems. The second time I was driving a friend’s Dodge Durango with a car transporter behind it.

We paid for ignoring history. Please refer to this post for all the details.

The first trip, on Saturday, we managed to average 70-75 mph, running with traffic for the most part, and passing when it was either a passing lane or a four lane stretch. I don’t feel it is safe to pass on a two lane stretch, unless the vehicle ahead is moving at docking speed and I can see the road ahead for about two miles. That doesn’t happen too much on Highway 93.

The second trip, on Sunday, I was the slower vehicle. I averaged 65-70 on the way there, and I couldn’t believe the number of vehicles in a hurry to get to Kingman. In all fairness, they may have been headed on through to Las Vegas, but still…

I was passed by a lot of people, but the ones who scared me the most were the ones who felt they could force either me or the oncoming traffic to hit the brakes so they could complete the pass in safety. That happened a lot more than you would think, considering that stretch of road’s reputation for accidents.

On the way back, I was moving even slower – averaging 50-55 mph, and playing tag with a thunderstorm for most of the trip. Yes, I got passed by big trucks, little trucks, cars, and even a Mini Cooper (Actual Size sticker in the back window) at one point.

My beef? The MORONS who would pass no matter whether they had the clearance or not! In one instance, I had to hit my brakes hard (with a car transporter? what fun, cary!) in order to let the jerk back in – meanwhile, the big truck coming at us was locking up his trailer tires, blowing his big horn, and flashing his headlights at this racer wannabe. The truck driver and I were both shaking our heads and, I am sure, looking for fresh underwear by the time we were passing each other.

I am just very thankful that I don’t have to make that trip everyday, and my prayers are with those who do.