Courthouse holds memories of home

As most of you know, when I think of the word, “home,” I think of the canyons at lma because they were my first home and because they are the place to which I turn when I need to “feel at home.” Of course, I have had several other places I called home, but I spent many of my early years at our home in the Quay County Courthouse.

In 1939, when Dad became Sheriff, we moved into the residence in the old courthouse. By the end of that year, we moved into the residence on the third floor of the new courthouse. Off and on for twelve years, we called that residence our home. That was a great place in which to begin to learn a little about life.

Recenty, I went into the courthouse to take a picture of the mural which features Coronado and spent some time wandering around the building while remembering many of the experiences I had during those years. Just entering the front door brought back many memories and many echoes of the past. I saw the offices as they were at first and saw the officers and their deputies as they were in 1939.

As I ascended the stairs to the second floor, I could hear the laughter as my young friends and I would run up and down them. Upon reaching the second floor, I looked up at the mural and remembered Dad taking me in to watch Mr. Meade painting it. At that time, I didn’t give that activity much thought, but now I realize how fortunate I was to have a father who wanted his daughter to know a little about her early surroundings and what they really meant.

As I climbed to the third floor, I recalled even more experiences and the fun we

had in that home. We did not have the “bridge” between the two sections of the third floor in those days so we got even more exercise by going back to second and up to third if we wanted to talk to the people in the extension office.

When I returned to the second floor on that recent visit, I wandered into the courtroom and was greeted warmly by Judge Mitchell who took the time to let me look around and to talk about the changes that have occurred through the years. Of course, I was remembering attending trials when Judge Patton and later, Judge Compton would preside before we became an independent district. I could still hear the screams and cries as Judge Bonem sentenced Heisler to death after a long trial. I think I could almost list the people in attendance that night.

That building holds much history and is still beautiful with its Georgian marble walls, its aluminum railings, and its feeling of home to this woman from lma.