N. J. Wadsworth and Sons General Mercantile. . . .#1

My father, James Allen Wadsworth and his father,
Nephi John Wadsworth, proprietors of the store.

Ina and Delores on Pardner in the shade at the side
of the store. Beans is laying under one of the trees.

It is a giant stretch for me to get into the saddle, but
I refused to let anyone help me. I think Delores is
upset because I insisted I go by myself.

We were wearing sunsuits mom had made for us. I think I was 6 years old in these pictures.


My grandfather, Nephi John Wadsworth, was very active in the spiritual, cultural, and political affairs of Panaca. One of his positions was as a trustee to the Panaca School district. While serving in that position, he sold the old Wadsworth Store building to the school district to be used as an addition to the grammar school. It had been sitting empty after his brother James Allen, who built, owned, and ran it, died. When the new cement block school building was built in 1909, Nephi bought it back and with his sons, restocked it. Running it became a family affair, and once again, it was serving the people of Panaca and the outlying ranches. The sign that hung above the porch, under the attic window, boldly stated that it was the N. J. Wadsworth and Sons General Mercantile. On the reverse side was printed: Mitchell Wagons - Hay, Grain and Stabling.

In 1922, several years after returning from serving in the Infantry in World War 1, Nephi's son, my father James Allen, took over the store and in addition to his farming and ranching, school teacher, senator, and chairman of many state and national committees and organizations, he became proprietor of the store. He ran it until 1941. My mother and oldest sister, Theresa, worked with him in the store and ran it when he was gone from home for his senate and other state and national appointments.

As I was growing up, many of my most precious memories are of the store. I loved it. I remember as a little girl how I would walk from our home to the store, sometimes holding my shoes and stockings as I waded all of the way in the irrigation ditch that ran beside the sidewalk. In the summer, it was the most refreshing adventure to wade in the cool water under the shade of the huge trees that formed a beautiful canopy along the ditch bank.

When I stepped onto the porch and into the store, I was immediately subjected to the most tantalizing sights and smells. It was a child's paradise. There was a bushel basket of peanuts, one of pistachios, a large crock of huge dill pickles made by my mother, a jar on the counter filled with candy sticks of all flavors, another holding horehound candy, and yet others filled with root beer barrels, all day suckers, and licorice. Any of this could be purchased with the pennies or nickel clutched in a child's hand or stowed in their pocket.

There was the wonderful smell of leather and textiles and the beautiful colors of gingham cloth. Often natural root beer soda would be brewing. In the cellar, big blocks of ice were buried in sawdust to keep the meat, cheeses, and eggs cold. I was fascinated by the old handle crank cash register that sat on the counter. I loved to hear the clicking noise as the purchases were rang up, and the musical clang it made when the money drawer popped open.

The grammar school was on the opposite side of the school, at the end of the block and when I was old enough to go to school, I would often stop on my way home and dad would hand me a candy bar. Sometimes a Snickers, but my favorite was the Three Musketeers bar. At that time, it was made up of three separate pieces; a chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla log, making it a genuine Three Musketeers. Delores related to me that she remembers those special times when dad would give us a candy bar. Like me, she also loved the Three Musketeers bar.

Dad had an American Saddle Bred horse named Pardner. He was beautiful. He was a tall horse, 17 hands. He was spirited when ridden by an adult, but was very gentle with children. He would stand like a rock as I shinnied up his leg to reach the stirrup. My favorite way to spend a Saturday morning was to go to the store with Delores and David. Dad would have Pardner there, saddled and waiting in the shade of the trees by the side of the store. My brother Leo's dog Beans, would be there, too. He and Pardner were the best of friends. Dad would put us on Pardner; David and I alone, or Delores and I together. He would slap Pardner on the rump, tell him "One time around, boy". There was always someone there to watch us and so Dad could go back into the store. With Beans following, Pardner would very carefully walk around the block, back to the store, and stop in the very same spot he left from. He then patiently waited for the process to be repeated. He and Beans would make as many a a dozen trips around the block and never deviate from the route designated for them. Dad knew he could trust them. One time, with Delores and I riding together, he stepped on a board with a huge nail sticking up. The pain must have been terrible, but with his muscles quivering, he stood without moving until Dad made sure we were off. He continued to stand immobile while dad pulled out the nail and disinfected the wound. I cried and cried.

I especially loved being at the store during pine nut picking time. The Indians who came and camped above town while harvesting the nuts, would come into town to the store. Foster Charles, also called Charlie Foster, was the chief of the tribe. He was no ordinary Indian for that time, having been educated at BYU. His father was an important chief and after his death, Charlie chose to go home to help his tribe when he probably could have had a good job. He and Dad were great friends and shared a mutual love and admiration for each other. Dad gave him, and others of the tribe, small jobs to do to supplement their meager income. Charlie would come into town with his wives and several other tribal members. They would sit on the store porch or lounge in the shade of the trees. I was fascinated by the women's brightly colored long dresses and the papooses in cradles on their backs. I became friends with some of the children, but they were very shy and wouldn't speak English, even though I am sure they understood most of what I said. I would stand enthralled for hours and listen to the adults talk among themselves in their native language. Because I was "Jim's daughter", they treated me with the same love and respect they gave their own children.

Delores was two years younger than me. She said her favorite memory of the store was when she was very small and she would go to the store with mom in the mornings. While mom was working, she would play in the store. There were many nooks and crannies where she could happily entertain herself for hours. She loved to play outside on the covered porch and in the shade of the big trees that grew to the side of the store.

All of the children of Panaca loved to go to the store to spend their pennies or nickel. There were several families whose children never had a penny and dad would let them choose some candy, just as if they did. In that same way, he gave goods to the poor, elderly, and infirm people of Panaca. That is why the store never made him rich. I loved the status Delores and I had with our friends as the daughters of the proprietor of that wonderful little store.

After I married and left Panaca, when I would return home and drive up Main Street, the first thing I found myself searching for was the little store building, long vacant, but still standing staunch and firm in the same spot it had stood for almost a hundred years. My heart broke when it started to fall into ruin and I rejoiced when it was designated as a Historical Building for the State of Nevada. It has now been restored and is a museum with pictures, artifacts, and histories of the people and events of the settling of Panaca by the early Mormon Pioneers. Once again, after 128 years, it is standing firm and true. I am proud that it is part of my heritage and proud to have "Grown Up Ina" in that beautiful little town. I have often talked to my children and grandchildren about the little store and it's role in my life and hope I have installed in them a love for it as part of their heritage.

To Be Continued. . . .