Individual Details
Herman Nierman Jr.
(October 24, 1859 - November 5, 1937)
My dad, Herman Nierman, 1859, was an officer in the German Army from 1880 to 1883. He came to USA on a clipper ship with his 2 sisters in April 1884. He was in Germany during the religious war KULTUR - KAMPF. As a young lad he was confirmed by a Bishop dressed in working man's clothes in Munster, which is 40 miles from his home.
He served under Field Marshall Von Moltke, at the time of Chancellor Bismark. He had step-brothers and sisters as well as half-brothers and sisters, the Stupers and the Nojes. His sisters Veronika, Theresa and my dad went to Florida with the Joe Nathe family about 1891. There he married Joe Nathe's daughter Mary, my mom.
Dad used to "carry mail" on horseback from San Antonio, St. Joseph and Chipco through the woods. He recalls one day seeing a Negro hanging on a tree, the next trip he went by there, he saw only a mound of dirt besides the tree. Dad also worked in a saw mill, where he lost the tips of the 3rd and 4th fingers on his right hand. Number 4 finger had a real hard growth on the very tip, from a small piece of his fingernail which was not entirely cut off. Part of the root stayed on the finger and it grew out on the tip. When I was real small he used to let me cut teeny chips off it as it was so hard. Also, when he wanted to swat me for some reason, he'd tap me on the head with that finger. It hurt and I guess he made his point.
He used to tell me that in about 1885-7 his hog pen had a night visitor that was threatening to kill and make off with one of the animals; it was a timber wolf. His dog got the wolf by the throat and likewise the wolf had the dog. Dad pulled out his jack knife, grabbed the wolfs legs, flipped it on its side, knelt on it and cut his throat. All this time the dog had the wolf by the throat and the wolf still had the dog.
We 4 boys all carried a jack knife at all times in our pockets, I like to feel that we got used to that from dad. Dad, Ben and I always kept our knives sharp and we used to swap knives back and forth like horse jockeys. We used to tear the others' knife apart, so to speak, and tell him how good our knife was. After the swap we always felt that he had gotten the other guy and he had gotten the best deal. When Ben died, Bert, his wife, told me he had 30 so odd jack knives. I swapped one round knife, about the size of a silver dollar and it is good steel and it is sharp.
Mom's mother used to tell her about the times that Indians used to come to their house. The settlers used to hide the butchered pig under the bed so the Indians would not take it by force. They used to lift off the hot cover of the pot on the stove and sniff the odor from the boiling pork. Also, she used to tell mom about the times that the oxen were hitched to their cart and flee to Freeport (to where they took wheat to be ground into flour) or to Sauk Centre, where the Fort was located. She recalled the times that they'd see heads of white people they knew stuck on the fences. Then they'd cut the oxen loose from the carts, and flee afoot for Freeport or Sauk Centre. I'd guess this must have been in the 1860s of 1870s, when there were isolated instances of Indians attacking some smaller settlements. It was after the big Sioux up-rising in 1862.
While in the German Cavalry, my dad found out how to handle horses, he had a reputation of knowing horses in the neighborhood. Usually when somebody got stuck, the farmers used to hook up teams in tandem to get the vehicle pulled out of the mud, or whatever. Dad never permitted a team to be hooked up in tandem with his favorite team, Ned & Bob. He'd hook up his horse alone and they'd pull it out without help from another team. I can still hear dad talking to his horses. When all was ready to go, he'd tighten up the reins and merely say "Nah", and they would really dig in.
At threshing time, dad's job used to be to keep the water tank mounted behind the steamer's big drive wheels, full of water. Once he told Joe to get a tank full of water (as a kid I used to accompany dad on this), he backed it up to a slough, threw the big heavy hose into the water and then pumped the tanker full. When it was full, he tried to get the rig out, he began to pump the tank out so it would be half full, so he would get back to the steamer with a 1/2 tank full as dad would give him hell if he ran out of water. As he was pumping the water out of the tanker, dad came across(on foot) the hill wondering what was keeping Joe. When Joe told him, dad told Joe to fill up the tanker. When it was full dad got beside the tanker, picked up the reins, tightened them and when the horses felt the reins and heard his "nah", they dug till their bellies were about a foot from the ground and pulled it out. That's how dad knew how to handle horses.
He served under Field Marshall Von Moltke, at the time of Chancellor Bismark. He had step-brothers and sisters as well as half-brothers and sisters, the Stupers and the Nojes. His sisters Veronika, Theresa and my dad went to Florida with the Joe Nathe family about 1891. There he married Joe Nathe's daughter Mary, my mom.
Dad used to "carry mail" on horseback from San Antonio, St. Joseph and Chipco through the woods. He recalls one day seeing a Negro hanging on a tree, the next trip he went by there, he saw only a mound of dirt besides the tree. Dad also worked in a saw mill, where he lost the tips of the 3rd and 4th fingers on his right hand. Number 4 finger had a real hard growth on the very tip, from a small piece of his fingernail which was not entirely cut off. Part of the root stayed on the finger and it grew out on the tip. When I was real small he used to let me cut teeny chips off it as it was so hard. Also, when he wanted to swat me for some reason, he'd tap me on the head with that finger. It hurt and I guess he made his point.
He used to tell me that in about 1885-7 his hog pen had a night visitor that was threatening to kill and make off with one of the animals; it was a timber wolf. His dog got the wolf by the throat and likewise the wolf had the dog. Dad pulled out his jack knife, grabbed the wolfs legs, flipped it on its side, knelt on it and cut his throat. All this time the dog had the wolf by the throat and the wolf still had the dog.
We 4 boys all carried a jack knife at all times in our pockets, I like to feel that we got used to that from dad. Dad, Ben and I always kept our knives sharp and we used to swap knives back and forth like horse jockeys. We used to tear the others' knife apart, so to speak, and tell him how good our knife was. After the swap we always felt that he had gotten the other guy and he had gotten the best deal. When Ben died, Bert, his wife, told me he had 30 so odd jack knives. I swapped one round knife, about the size of a silver dollar and it is good steel and it is sharp.
Mom's mother used to tell her about the times that Indians used to come to their house. The settlers used to hide the butchered pig under the bed so the Indians would not take it by force. They used to lift off the hot cover of the pot on the stove and sniff the odor from the boiling pork. Also, she used to tell mom about the times that the oxen were hitched to their cart and flee to Freeport (to where they took wheat to be ground into flour) or to Sauk Centre, where the Fort was located. She recalled the times that they'd see heads of white people they knew stuck on the fences. Then they'd cut the oxen loose from the carts, and flee afoot for Freeport or Sauk Centre. I'd guess this must have been in the 1860s of 1870s, when there were isolated instances of Indians attacking some smaller settlements. It was after the big Sioux up-rising in 1862.
While in the German Cavalry, my dad found out how to handle horses, he had a reputation of knowing horses in the neighborhood. Usually when somebody got stuck, the farmers used to hook up teams in tandem to get the vehicle pulled out of the mud, or whatever. Dad never permitted a team to be hooked up in tandem with his favorite team, Ned & Bob. He'd hook up his horse alone and they'd pull it out without help from another team. I can still hear dad talking to his horses. When all was ready to go, he'd tighten up the reins and merely say "Nah", and they would really dig in.
At threshing time, dad's job used to be to keep the water tank mounted behind the steamer's big drive wheels, full of water. Once he told Joe to get a tank full of water (as a kid I used to accompany dad on this), he backed it up to a slough, threw the big heavy hose into the water and then pumped the tanker full. When it was full, he tried to get the rig out, he began to pump the tank out so it would be half full, so he would get back to the steamer with a 1/2 tank full as dad would give him hell if he ran out of water. As he was pumping the water out of the tanker, dad came across(on foot) the hill wondering what was keeping Joe. When Joe told him, dad told Joe to fill up the tanker. When it was full dad got beside the tanker, picked up the reins, tightened them and when the horses felt the reins and heard his "nah", they dug till their bellies were about a foot from the ground and pulled it out. That's how dad knew how to handle horses.
Events
| Birth | October 24, 1859 | Germany | |||
| Immigration | April, 1884 | ||||
| Marriage | April 28, 1891 | Mary Elizabeth Nathe | |||
| Death | November 5, 1937 |
Families
| Spouse | Mary Elizabeth Nathe (1873 - 1955) |
| Child | Marie Josephine Nierman (1892 - 1920) |
| Child | Clara Catherine Nierman (1893 - 1972) |
| Child | Theodora Veronica Nierman (1895 - 1938) |
| Child | Martha Elizabeth Nierman (1897 - 1969) |
| Child | Bernard Joseph Nierman (1898 - 1970) |
| Child | Joseph B. Nierman (1900 - 1976) |
| Child | Mary Elizabeth Nierman (1902 - 1974) |
| Child | Anton N. Nierman (1904 - 1965) |
| Child | Anna Zita "Orlanda OSB" Nierman Sr. (1905 - 1972) |
| Child | Eva Margaret Nierman (1908 - 1994) |
| Child | Elizabeth Bernadine "Lalande OSB" Nierman Sr. (1911 - 1991) |
| Child | Herman Bernard Nierman (1915 - 1979) |