Tuesday 1st September 2009 - What a Library

When the election boundaries of Wabasha county, Minnesota (it's easier to say it if you put a 'w' at the end - wa-ba-shaw; it is a native American name, the syllables all having equal emphasis) were set up in 1858, Township 110 North of the Clarenden baseline, in range 11 west of the fifth principle meridian had, or was given the name "Richland". But by the time we have a second county supervisors meeting in September 1859, it has gone from being Richland, through being "Wacouta", to being "Glasgow". It is represented at this meeting by one Hugh McGowan, who may have had some influence on it's change of name. McGowan carried some burden of tragedy, having lost his wife, and the child, in childbirth in 1855. His wife was the first white woman in the county, the child would have been the first such child.
They had arrived in Wabasha county in 1855, very shortly after Wm McCracken, who is credited with turning the first sod. This ranks McCracken as 'the pioneer'. McCracken was born in Scotland on 15th August 1815, a month after the Battle of Waterloo. But if one looks at the names of the group who arrived then, it is reasonable to guess that many were Scots.
The history books have it that it was called Glasgow because there were many "Scotchmen" there. When the railroad came through, the depot got called "Dumfries". The 1940's map shows a place called "McCracken".

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So it would seem reasonable to think this place was named for Glasgow Scotland.
Trouble is, it's a township. A bit like a congressional or parliamentary constituency, it's not actually a place at all, it's just the enclosure of some lines on a map.

Americans are very apologetic about their history. They don't think they have very much of it. It unnerves them a little when I point out that they have exactly as much history as the rest of us. They just seem to have lost more of it.
But their discomfort causes them to cherish what they have. When I got to the headquarters of the Minnesota Historical Society,I couldn't believe my eyes. Well, to be precise, I thought Dulcie had got it wrong. This is no converted church hall. I half expected to have uniformed guards poking their guns up my bottom again.

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I was going to take pictures of the inside, showing the beautiful oak furniture, the custom-built microfilm racks, the restaurant, and the facsimile Curtis JN4 biplane (the famous "Jenny") hanging in the atrium, but I felt a that it would display an undignified, third-world jealousy.

So you'll just have to imagine it.