Major Israel McCreight
Little need be said about Uncle Maj's achievements. They speak for
themselves. When my grand-daughters were in school, they were required
to write about "A Great American". Both wrote about Uncle Maj. It was
understandable. His books of Indian tales, magazine articles, his work
on conservation and countless clippings from the DuBois Courier gave
them ample proof to back up the fact that their great great uncle
deserved that title.
Uncle
Maj married Alice B. Humphrey 20 July 1887. They had seven children who
lived to maturity: Donald, Catharine, the twins (Jack and Jim), Martha,
Major Israel, Jr. and Rembrandt Peale. Their Catharine, Aunt Sue's
Gertrude and I were about the same age. I couldn't have felt closer to
sisters of my own. As children, we sat around the fireplace in the den
at The Wigwam and listened to true stories that Uncle Maj had heard
from famous Indian chiefs, who had been his guests. I have been
thankful that he carefully recorded them, and had them signed by name
or thumb print. William Cody was his friend, and was his guest when he
bro't his show to DuBois. Mr. Cody bro't little striped bags of
horehound candy to the children. In 1908, Uncle Maj was made a blood
brother of the Sioux by Chief Iron Tail. His Indian name was Tchanta
Tanka.
Uncle Maj sounded, deliberately, gruff. He grunted, if a
grunt would do. Sometimes we'd get a bear hug to go with it. We never
questioned our welcome. Aunt Alice had beautiful deep blue eyes and a
smile that reflected their warmth. She was another dear aunt, who was
"My Mom", too, while I was with the family. She never failed to
remember some incident, usually funny, connected with each of us, and
told it every time we appeared, with gusto. She always asked us how old
we were, and quickly checked our answer with her own statistics,
according to her children's birth dates, just to be sure we were right.
The summer Catharine was ten, Aunt Alice had a beautiful party for her.
That night, I awakened and saw a glow. Thinking it was a light on the
sleeping porch, I went out, and saw that the big white barn was
burning. That night both my aunt and uncle proved their mettle. The
gardener and Don were away. Aunt Alice was afraid of their fine horses,
and until then, Uncle Maj hadn't driven their car. Aunt Alice, in her
bare feet and night gown, put gunny sacks over the heads of the
spirited horses and led them out to safety. Meanwhile, Uncle Maj drove
out the car, and rescued the twins' pony, Pedro! The twins were only
six years old, and were on their knees praying. Their youngest sister,
Martha, was not so lucky. Her little Bantam rooster did not survive the
fire.
An interesting incident occurred in the board room at the
bank. Uncle Maj was in conference with some Republican politicians, who
were trying to persuade him to run for a political office. Grandmother
came into the bank, and went back to see her son. Uncle Maj introduced
her and explained the situation. He said, "Mother, what do you think?"
She answered briefly, "The McCreights have always been honest, but they
have never been politicians!" Eliza left, and my uncle said,
"Gentlemen, my mother has given my answer."
Another significant
memory of Uncle Maj occurred the day the radio announcement was made,
that the bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima. We were in his den at The
Wigwam. He said, "That is the end of the world, as we have known it".
Uncle
Maj's love for trees was constant. Next to his family and his untiring
effort to better conditions for our Indians, conservation was the next
motivating interest in his busy life. He was one of the men responsible
for having Cooks' Forest made a state park. One Sunday I drove with the
family in a surrey to visit their friends at the Cook mansion. It was
my first picnic in that magnificent forest. We drank from the spring,
beside which, there is now a stone tablet engraved with the names of
the pioneers who made the park a reality.
The last time Mother
and I drove to The Wigwam before his final illness, he was down in the
woods directing a crew of men with bulldozers. Showing them exactly how
he wanted them to remove trees that had been destroyed by ice and wind
storm. He was well past his ninetieth birthday, but protecting every
living tree was still important to Uncle Maj. No matter how often we
drove thru his treasured forest, before winding up around the hill to
The Wigwam, we were struck by its unchanging beauty.
Aunt Alice was with me on her 93rd. birthday, the day my mother was buried. That loving wife and mother lived to be 97 years old.
Major
Israel McCreight died in 1958. The day of his funeral, his trees were a
blaze of glorious color, as if in tribute to the man who had loved them
well.
B. 21 April 1866 † D. 13 November 1958
So far as I know Uncle Bruce was always at the Deposit National Bank.
His daily routine never seemed to vary. During banking hours, he was
there. He was as quiet and reserved as Uncle Maj was outgoing and
colorful by comparison, yet there was a strong bond between the
brothers, as there was among all the children of John and Eliza.
Grandfather gave his children money for a trip abroad when they
finished school. Uncle Bruce went to Europe. He bro't back with him
English bicycles for himself and Mother. Since they were the youngest
of the family, they were very close.