Reprinted from the Kiowa County Star-Review, Aug.
2, 1951.
There
isn't much business in Frank Lugert's store these days. The thriving
town which once bore his name is gone. Even the site of that town is deep
under the lake water and his store has moved three-quarters of a mile to a
new location along the "new" route of S. H. 44.
Most of the traffic zooms on past, but the few fishermen and other visitors
who stop in the little country store feel well paid for their time. And they
learn why the lake will probably always be called Lugert, instead of its
official name Lake Altus.
The reason is the man they find inside, Frank Lugert, now in his eighties,
somewhat crippled from a broken hip bone which refused to heal exactly
right, but still the same indomitable, cheerful person who came to the
United States as an immigrant lad of 12 years. He taught himself the English
language and proceeded to make a place for himself in a new country.
His store is 50 years old this year (1951) the same as Kiowa County. Like
other1901'ers who came at the time of the opening to white settlement, he
can tell fascinating tales of hunting wild boars in Russia, of a trip across
the Atlantic alone as a small boy, of logging in Wisconsin and of the run
into the Cherokee strip.
There have not been many dull moments in his long life and except for trick
of fate, a large town today might bear his name. The town of Lugert was
established in 1901, soon after he filed his claim. It nestled at the foot
of the Wichita Mountains and stopped off the North Fork of Red River. The
town thrived.
There were general stores including his own. There was a brick bank
building, a lumber yard, pool hall, restaurants and a population of some 400
or 500. But all that was before the cyclone of 1912. He remembers that day
clearly.
It was about noon when the twister moved in from the southwest, and when it
had gone, there was little left. Most of the business buildings and
residents were swept away, and three people were killed.
The town never did build back. Frank LuŽgert shakes his head, puzzled, when
he talks about it. He remembers, especially, about the town's doctor. "He
told me he was leavŽing, that he wasn't going to stay in a place where they
had damned cyclones." "Ididn't like for him to say that. I told him they
might have a cyclone the next place he went to, and he might not get out
alive the next time."
But people left anyway and the town gradŽually dwindled away. It was not
however, unŽtil the dam for the W. C. Austin irrigation project was built
and the land was to be inudated that it completely disappeared. The post
office, which had been in his store alŽmost continuously since 1901, moved
to the new location with him. But it was disconŽtinued last October (1950).
Even the store was closed during the winter months.
Tourists like to buy pictures of the tiny railroad station with the name
Lugert across it-- all that really remains of the town. If Frank Lugert is
unhappy over the events which turned his homestead into a lake, you'd never
guess it by talking to him.
In the slightly broken English which he taught himself some 60 years ago, he
will tell you proudly that he has "lived here 50 years, don't owe anyone a
cent, and have raised a good family, and they are all doing well."
He will tell you it was just a piece of good luck that ever brought him to
the area in the first place. Established at Perry after the
Cherokee Strip opening, he decided to have a try at the
Kiowa-Comanche-Apache opening, he registered for the lottery at El Reno.
"I got the second to the last lucky number in El Reno district." he recalls,
"and there wasn't anything much left."
A friend working in the land office gave him the tip which finally meant his
getting the farm. He told him about a quarter section at the foot of the
Wichita's, and that it showed on the map it had been filed on, but he
happened to know it hadn't. He suggested Lugert make a quick trip to the
location and investigate.
He came by horse and buggy, driving day and night, then left his exhausted
horses at Lone Wolf while he hired a liveryman to take him on down to the
claim. He liked what he saw a fertile farm with a spring on it and
bordering on the river, "so he could go fishing if I ever had time." He was
informed an official of the K.C.M&O. (Kansas City, Mexico, and Orient
Railroad) was planning to file on the quarter, but he resolved to beat him.
He did, by a few hours.
For some reason, Lugert chuckles when he talks about the various attempts at
mining which have flourished in the nearby Wichita's. During the years, none
of them were successful because ore was never found in commercial
quantities. Most of the pros-pectors were looking for copper, and some were
looking and still do occasionally for buried Spanish treasure.
"Guess they never found any, though," he will tell you with another chuckle.
"If they did, they never said anything about it."
He never did go in for any of the mining himself. He explained that it takes
money and he likes to stay on a cash basis. He did. however, put a little
money at various times into the mining efforts of others money which never
came back. You get the idea he could tell you of other characters besides
miners, who used to inhabit the Wichita's, in the early days. known as Flat
Top, were supposed to be the
hideout for horse and cattle thieves. Occasionally some of the bad men would
visit his store, but he followed a policy of minding his own business and
found they did the same. Some of those who acted the toughest, when they
came in the door, were usually laughing with the genial foreign born
storekeeper before they left.
He recalled the time a couple of armed customers came in and demanded
something to drink. He told them the best he could do was the popular
medicine of that day, "Hostetler's Bilious" which was 70 percent alcohol.
Although many men in territorial days carried a gun, Lugert never did.
Before he came to this section, a friend advised him never to carry one
because, the friend told him, he would meet up with so many men whose
business was carrying guns. He wouldn't be able to beat them at their own
game, so he would be safer without one at all.
Going back to his boyhood, Lugert very well remembers his trip across the
Atlantic from Hamburg, wearing a sign both on his back and his front
labeling him as an orphan who "must not be harmed." His mother, who was a
widow with six sons and six daughters, sent him across the Atlantic before
he was 13 because at that age he would have had to have gone into the Army.
A brother was already in the United States in Wisconsin, and it was to him
he went.
He has never been back to the Old Country but he still remembers some things
about it, including those wild hog hunts up into Russia. He spoke no English
when he came to the United States, and living in a German settlement, found
it hard to learn a new language. He made up his mind he was going to,
because he wanted to get out on his own and go to work for a sawmill. He is
proud of the fact he taught himself the English language and did a good job
of it.
He likes to tell about the run into the Cherokee Strip. He bought a pony
especially for the occasion. A friend told him only the good riders would
have a chance, so he practiced daily on a race track at Guthrie until he
became expert."No one would beat me," he tells you proudly.
He got a farm seven miles east of Perry. Later he sold his interest in it
and moved to Perry, where he tended bar. He was married in 1895, while
living there and had a nice two story home, which you can still see when you
go to Perry. He sold it for $600 when he moved here and reserved the right
for his family to stay there until he had a place ready for them here,,
His wife has been dead for a number of years, and his only son, Frank jr.,
died in 1946. His three daughters are Mrs. H. E. Broughton and Mrs. W. O.
Lewis, Oklahoma City and Mrs. J. T. Jarnagin, who with her husband own and
operate the farm on which the present Lugert store is located.
You won't talk with him long without learning he is proud of his family and
that he thinks life has treated him pretty good. He doesn't even have a
grudge against windstorms although they have twice played cruel tricks on
him. It was a windstorm which two years ago was responsible for his broken
hip.
He started out the door of his store as the wind hit, blowing the door
outward and throwing him into the yard. It annoys him a little that he can't
get around as fast as he would like to, but with his cheerful philosophy, he
explains, "You can't expect 82 year old bones to heal just right."
And that statement reflects as well as any the refreshing philosophy which
makes him a delightful conversationalist. He hasn't expected things to come
easy, and he has been grateful for those things which did come his way. He
will tell you "I thank God every night and morning."
