A crowd gathers at the North Dakota Building for Baked Potato Day, April 27,1915. A sign on the building invites people to “Have A Baked Potato On Us.” SHSND SA E0948-00001

It was a “potato stunt” for the ages.

In 1915, the town of Larimore in Grand Forks County shipped thousands of their prized tubers, each weighing more than a pound, to the Panama-Pacific International Exposition (aka the world’s fair) in San Francisco.

Fairgoers flocked to Baked Potato Day that April 27 at the North Dakota Building, where two large ovens had been set up outside to churn out hot buttered spuds, cooked up by a Great Northern Railway chef and served by “pretty girls.” Mollie Larimore, widow of the town’s namesake, N.G. Larimore, was in attendance for the festivities along with other dignitaries. Souvenir plates, spoons, and buttons were distributed to the assembled, who were entertained with lectures, tater races, and a Native American potato dance.

Larimore spuds head to the World’s Fair, 1915. OCLC 8002312

Heralded as a “big ad for the state” by newspapers, Baked Potato Day was hatched by none other than Larimore Pioneer editor Edgar L. Richter, president of the state’s press association and an energetic North Dakota booster. A local subscription drive raised $230 to send the spuds to San Francisco from Larimore, said to be home to the world’s largest potato warehouse at the time. This was hardly tiny Larimore’s first turn in the world’s fair limelight. In 1893, foreign commissioners from the Chicago World’s Fair visited the Elk Valley Farm, a bonanza farm founded by N.G. Larimore, which attracted international attention.

Grand Forks Daily Herald, April 23, 1915, p. 7

Baked Potato Day was not without some controversy, however. In an unusual twist, a humorous talk by anti-suffragette “Emmy Panthorst” was pulled by program organizers fearing retribution from suffragists and the prospect of a messy brawl involving combatants “armed with hot baked potatoes.” Curiously, news reports at the time insinuated that the mysterious Panthorst, who failed to appear, had been none other than Richter himself.

The State Archives houses a scrapbook of clippings from Baked Potato Day as well as other items related to the 1915 World’s Fair, including photographs, souvenir books, and the North Dakota Building’s visitor register. SHSND SA 30152

This minor hiccup aside, the day came off without a hitch, and Richter returned home pledging to turn Larimore into a winter resort for New York millionaires. Newspapers carried reports of increased California demand for North Dakota tubers. The “baked potato king” or “Spuds,” as Richter was called, would go on to spearhead North Dakota Appreciation Week, another successful booster event, that November. “Probably no man in the entire state of North Dakota,” the Fargo Forum and Daily Republican declared, “has done more to spread the gospel of the glory of the commonwealth throughout the nation.”

Jamestown Weekly Alert, May 6, 1916, p. 5

While North Dakota did not become known as the Potato State as some papers predicted at the time, 110 years from that momentous day, the spud remains an agricultural staple. North Dakota ranks fifth in the nation in potato production, and an endowed professorship of potato breeding was recently established at NDSU. The potato crop is one of many contributing to North Dakota’s agricultural dominance, which will be highlighted as part of an exhibit State Historical Society staff is working on to mark the nation’s upcoming 250th birthday.

Grand Forks Daily Herald, May 7, 1915, p. 10

As for Richter, his post-potato days were eclectic to say the least. A vocal opponent of the progressive Nonpartisan League, Richter launched an unsuccessful bid for state Senate the following year. He also served as president of the Larimore fire department, helped found a moving and construction company, worked as an insurance agent and auto licensing inspector, and was elected Fargo justice of the peace. During World War I, he traveled North Dakota organizing the “Four Minute Men,” who gave speeches to rally support for the war effort.

Richter ended his career as deputy state pool hall inspector, dying in 1926 at age 64. Regrettably, the Bismarck Tribune obituary failed to mention his Baked Potato Day antics at all.

If I had a nickel for every time I called and asked for local businesses’ “garbage,” well, I’d only have 10 cents. But strangely, that’s already happened twice.

I work as the education outreach supervisor, and much of my role involves developing programs that help visitors connect with and better understand the history of North Dakota. One program I lead is called “Native American Sports and Games,” where we share activities that have been played for hundreds of years by the Indigenous people of the Great Plains. Some of these games include lacrosse, double ball, ice gliders, hand game, and bone and pin. This program has become quite popular with visiting school groups, and the items in our games bin see a lot of wear and tear. Because of this, I occasionally need to repair or replace our equipment. While there are plenty of outlet stores and online retailers that sell similar items, I have a crafty heart and a bit too much confidence in my ability to DIY just about anything. Rather than buying new gear, I sometimes try making it myself.

The first item I decided to make was a double ball. Fortunately, I had most of the supplies on hand. The materials I needed were simple: buckskin leather, sinew, and bison hair. I had a few pieces of buckskin left over from a previous project, and a large roll of imitation sinew. But I didn’t have any bison hair—and alas, no bison to groom! That halted the project for a moment, but then I realized that bison hair was likely chosen for its abundance and convenience. So I started thinking: What other natural fiber could I easily get my hands on? Dog hair! A quick phone call to a local pet groomer, and I asked if I could have their end-of-day garbage bag filled with dog hair. They found the request a bit odd but were happy to oblige. And just like that, the project resumed. With all the materials in place, I was able to successfully make an additional double ball for the program.

Completed double ball made of buckskin, imitation sinew, and dog hair clippings.

This fall, I took on a second DIY project: bone and pin. To make this game, you need deer phalanges (toe bones), long bone or antler, leather cord, and another piece of buckskin. I already had the leather supplies on hand, but despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find reasonably priced deer phalanges anywhere. Luckily, fall in North Dakota means one thing: hunting season.

I called up my local butcher and asked if I could have the phalanges from any deer being processed. He couldn’t clean out just the phalanges but could give me the entire lower leg portion. I was thrilled and happily agreed. A few weeks after deer opener, I picked up a box of 44 deer legs from the butcher and brought them to work. With the help of Becky Barnes, a paleontologist with the North Dakota Geological Survey, I learned the process for removing and cleaning bones from the hooves. I will save you the gory details but will say I became adept at removing the flesh and tendon from bone. We washed the bones in a soap water solution and left them to soak in ammonia to remove any remaining oils. After soaking for a few months, the bones were clean and ready to be shaped.

Cleaned lower leg and hoof bones from deer.

I plan to shape them using drills and sanding belts. Finally, I’ll string the pieces together to complete the game set.

Bones shaped for bone and pin strung together on leather alongside unshaped phalange bones.

I’m grateful for these unusual opportunities because they not only connect me to our history but also to my community. In the end, I’m proud to say that both these DIY projects seem to be on a successful track. And as a bonus, I was able to repurpose what would have otherwise been waste from local businesses into meaningful educational items.

Last May, I graduated from North Dakota State University with a Bachelor of Arts in English and psychology. This past summer, I was a reference intern at the State Archives. My main task was to watch the front desk and help patrons in the Reading Room. When we weren’t busy, I fulfilled remote requests, which included scanning documents and photos and finding obituary and naturalization records. I also logged visitors and collections used, completed four “Dakota Datebook” articles for Prairie Public, and fine-tuned six oral history transcripts in our “Flicker Tales of North Dakota” collection.

Coming to this job, I knew very little about what an archive was except that it had something to do with “documents.” Now that I’ve been here for a while, I’ve come to understand an archive as a collection of 2D objects (e.g., photos, books, periodicals, papers, state and local records, newspapers, movies, and oral histories) related to a certain topic. At the State Archives, that topic is the history of North Dakota and its people.

Here’s a bit about how I see the State Archives after my internship, including the challenges and opportunities I’ve encountered in this world.

1. Beginning research in the State Archives, like any research, can be like drinking water from a fire hose.

That’s why the reference team is here. We like to teach the research process instead of give the product. One patron I helped even called us “professors of genealogy” because we taught him how to do genealogical research. Still, I must remind myself not to provide too much of the process right away—there are just so many places one can search for information!

Showing off the Reading Room landing page—my favorite method of introducing patrons to our collections.

2. We interact with historical records on a daily basis.

A lot of our reference requests are for the naturalization records (citizenship papers) of people’s ancestors. I had the realization just recently that these records are way more than just a piece of paper. It means this person’s ancestor was in this place on this date interacting with this person, in line with various others waiting to be naturalized, and touching and writing on these pages. Doesn’t that give you goosebumps?

On the hunt for a naturalization record using a microfilm reader at the State Archives.

3. Indexes are awesome ... when they line up with your search words.

A record may be filed topically, descriptively, by individual, by record type, or in other ways. Consequently, finding records often requires some creativity and can be frustrating.

4. We must constantly wage the battle of getting people interested in history.

With mottos like “History starts with us” and “How can you know who you are without knowing where you came from?” we attempt to make history more personal. Perhaps, however, our culture is still prone to what Jonathan Metzl, writing in the journal Signs in 2002, called “an ahistorical notion of subjectivity.” In other words, we, individually and collectively, believe that we can be whoever we want to be with no regard for how the past has shaped us.

A highlight of my State Archives internship included a summer field trip to Medora. I was fortunate to page through a book in the collections of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park written and annotated by future President Theodore Roosevelt.

5. Preservation can be tricky.

The internet allows us to create so much more quickly, but deletion is often just as fast. Are we losing precious documents? How long will these technologies be around before becoming obsolete? Is digitization a form of preservation as well as access? Should we scan documents to the latest technology even if that tech will be obsolete in a few decades? These questions and more propel us to believe we are entering a digital dark age, where information may be lost because of rapidly changing technologies. It should also be noted that the shelf life of film is said to be hundreds of years, making it the highest form of preservation. However, it’s very costly to convert other media to film.

Well, that’s a wrap on my internship observations. I’m still working here during the State Archives open Saturdays and as part-time digitization staff, so stop by and say hello. Who knows, I just might be able to help you find what you’re looking for!

Preamble to the North Dakota Constitution, 1889. SHSND MSS 31372

The ability to read cursive is an important skill when working with handwritten historical documents. As a historian, exploring these old manuscripts and records is a gateway to the past, showing how events were recorded and information stored and shared. Many of us, including me, can recall learning to write cursive in school, but this skill has faded in recent years as computers have taken over nearly every aspect of life. While it may seem that understanding handwriting is not as important in an increasingly digital world, it is more vital than ever to know how to decipher this writing when dealing with historical documents. It also helps you to appreciate the beauty of the flowing words on the page.

The State Archives has thousands of pages of records spanning the 18th into the early 20th centuries that are in cursive. It’s interesting to note how the style of penmanship changes over time, aside from the differences you will also find among individuals’ unique styles. The subtle differences in a person’s handwriting become apparent when scrolling through microfilm of naturalization and county marriage records, especially when indexing or transcribing hand-written records.

First page of journalist Mark Kellogg’s diary of his time accompanying Gen. George Armstrong Custer and the 7th Cavalry, 1876. SHSND MSS 20017

In the mid-19th century, the Spencerian method of handwriting was the dominant method used in the United States, according to an article published by the National Museum of American History. By the 1890s, this style gave way to the new Palmer Method, designed for business writing, which was taught in schools into the first half of the 20th century. The changes in handwriting styles also reflected the shift from writing with quills to using pens, pencils, and a slate. There may be fewer flourishes in the Palmer Method, but the general appearance of letters in the Spencerian and Palmer methods is largely the same.

Army discharge papers of Nathan R. Goodfellow, 1865. SHSND MSS 80008

One important reason to be able to read cursive well is to promote accuracy in indexing records. This does not mean that there are not errors in transcriptions, as some older records simply cannot be deciphered completely. However, while artificial intelligence programs are starting to be used for indexing handwritten records, these may not pick up the subtle strokes of the pen that can change how a letter is seen by such a program.

The State Archives also holds a few books and manuals related to cursive handwriting and penmanship. One great example is Writing Lessons for Primary Grades (1912) that teaches children how to write the Palmer Method of cursive. Covering proper posture at the school desk and arm and hand placement, as well as muscle movements, this manual contains dozens of pages of drills for helping youngsters navigate the pitfalls of penmanship. The drills were repetitive in nature, ensuring children practiced and developed their skills.

Writing Lessons for Primary Grades, A.N. Palmer Co., 1912, p. 50

Writing Lessons for Primary Grades, A.N. Palmer Co., 1912, p. 13

Writing Lessons for Primary Grades, A.N. Palmer Co., 1912, p. 35

Knowing how this writing style works allows you to better understand how your ancestors may have learned to write and helps you see the beauty in older documents and the artistry of penmanship.

In recent years, efforts to enlist volunteers to help transcribe documents for archival facilities have emerged. The National Archives’ Citizen Archivist program is one such attempt to help make records more accessible to a wider audience through digitization. Knowing how to read and understand cursive is as important today as it was decades ago when children learned the art of writing as an everyday communication tool. Technology and digitization have not rendered handwritten materials obsolete, as many things are still written by hand in day-to-day communication. Failing to retain such comprehension skills will negatively affect our communication skills, which could have unforeseen consequences for future generations.

While technology enhances our lives, knowing older skills remains important. Next time you read a grandparent’s letter, or an older naturalization record, or our state constitution, remember the beauty that is the ink, lead, or graphite on the page and appreciate that cursive handwriting.

On Jan. 7, the punch bowl from the USS North Dakota silver service took its biannual journey to the state Capitol for the reception marking the opening of the 2025-27 legislative session. The punch bowl is part of a 40-piece serving set that citizens of North Dakota gifted to the state’s namesake battleship in 1915. Every two years, reception attendees can enjoy punch from the silver bowl that the Grand Forks Herald once noted was “as large as a small sized bathtub.”

Punch bowl at the opening of the 2025-27 North Dakota legislative session. SHSND 2893.1

Here are some interesting things I learned about the USS North Dakota and its silver service while preparing the punch bowl for the big day.

1. There almost wasn’t a USS North Dakota.

When the U.S. Navy announced contracts for two new battleships in 1907, the names under consideration were the Delaware and either the Utah or the North Dakota. That fall the Navy Department announced that the second ship would not be named after a western state. Instead, it would be named the New York. Political action by Sen. Henry Hansbrough of North Dakota and intervention by President Theodore Roosevelt changed the Navy’s decision, and the new battleships became the USS North Dakota and the USS Delaware.

The Fargo Forum and Daily Republican, Oct. 3, 1907, p. 1

2. Special punch cups were made, but the state collection only has one.

After the battleship’s name was secured, planning started in North Dakota to prepare a silver service for the vessel. Gov. John Burke appointed a nine-person committee to spearhead the long-standing tradition of sponsor states gifting presentation silver to American ships. The Silver Service Committee consisted of three former North Dakota governors, a U.S. senator, state legislators, and businessmen. The committee solicited $16,000 in private donations for the silver set. In addition to the 24 punch cups presented as part of the 40-piece set, nine extra cups were made for the committee members. Each was engraved with the member’s name. The original 24 cups are safe in the museum collection. But we only hold one of the nine specially engraved cups. The family of Roger Allin, a Silver Service Committee member, donated his punch cup in 1991. Maybe someone out there can help us find the others!

This punch cup is engraved with the name of the “Hon. Roger Allin.” Allin was governor of North Dakota from 1895-1897 and a member of the Silver Service Committee. SHSND 1995.35.1

3. Bison appear on (almost) every piece of the silver service.

The Silver Service Committee selected designs created by Fargoans Hans Klimmek and Lilla Lorshbough for the silver service. The Gorham Manufacturing Company of Rhode Island produced the silver service using Klimmek and Lorshbough’s sketches and input from the company’s artist, William Codman. Symbols such as anchors, seashells, and stylized dolphins represent the Navy, while North Dakota is honored through prairie roses, corn, wheat, and bison motifs. The bison heads are prominent on the sides of the punch bowl but look at the table’s feet or the handle on the coffee urn!

Bison-shaped feet support the serving table. SHSND 2893.3

Bison head on the handle of the coffee urn. SHSND 2893.7.1

4. The State Archives holds cool photos and records from the USS North Dakota.

To delve deeper into the life of a service member on the battleship, check out this collection on our Photobook website. You can also visit the State Archives and learn more about other North Dakota naval namesakes.

View pieces of the USS North Dakota silver service on exhibit at the North Dakota Heritage Center & State Museum.

The silver service on exhibit at the ND Heritage Center & State Museum in Bismarck. SHSND 2893

While researching fur trade material culture to develop new programming and interpretation for the Pembina State Museum, I occasionally latch on to smaller details. The past few weeks I’ve been focused on the history of buttons, something most of us rarely think about. But during the 17th and 18th centuries, buttons were big business. Buttons feature prominently in collections from fur trading sites, including at Pembina. Buttons are part of our “Red River Rendezvous” program and will also be showcased in a gallery interactive currently in development.

My fascination with buttons as fur trade material culture comes from my personal experience wearing historical garments at reenactments. Today, if a shirt loses a button, we may choose to get rid of it rather than fix it. Sewing buttons isn’t as common as it once was. At reenactments and living history events, I and many of my colleagues have found buttons to be an omnipresent concern. I have lost at least one button from a coat or trousers at every event I’ve attended. Most reenactors will say the same. Given this frequency, I have learned how to quickly reattach a button between public demonstrations. I rarely read in journals from fur traders or frontier soldiers about losing or sewing buttons, but my experience with historical garments makes me think that it was so commonplace as to not be considered worth mentioning.

Artifacts, including dozens of buttons, collected from the Fort Pembina trading post site.

The history of buttons and button manufacturing speaks to their importance. In England, where most of the fur trade buttons for the Pembina region were made, laws were passed in 1699 and 1721 to protect the domestic button industry. Many of the firms listed on fur trade receipts were founded in the 18th century. Several new developments in button manufacturing were also made at the same time. Stamped two-piece buttons and brass gilding were both developed in the mid-18th century. Hundreds of millions of buttons were made every year in the manufacturing centers of England, France, and Italy. The Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company each ordered tens of thousands of buttons to be shipped to North America and sold to Indigenous customers. In Europe, buttons were practical fasteners of garments. However, for the Indigenous consumer, buttons were adornments for traditional garments meant to enhance the prestige of the wearer.

In this 1832 painting by George Catlin, Tchón-su-móns-ka, Lakota wife of fur trader François Chardon, wears a shawl festooned with brass gilt buttons. Smithsonian American Art Museum

The value of buttons as trade goods lasted from the 17th through the early 20th century. The “Red River Rendezvous” program interprets the value of different trade goods through the lenses of various local groups and their specific needs during the early fur trade period at Pembina. The new interactive elements that I’m working on for visitors in the museum gallery interprets value based on historical costs. The interactive will consist of a scale. On one side visitors can place weights representing beaver furs or pemmican and on the other side weights representing a variety of purchased trade goods. Guests can press a button to see whether their trade is “balanced.” If it isn’t, the scale will tip, dumping the weights back into containers.

By determining the historical prices of items found mostly in fur trade ledgers and journals, the value can be translated into weight as a proportion of their monetary value, with the value of one beaver fur or pemmican pack set at 1 kilogram. I’ve chosen metric measurements to better fine-tune the weights of different items using grams. This leaves some things a bit too heavy. In 1802, a guide in Alexander Henry the Younger’s brigade recorded being paid an annual salary of £15. Compared to the price of a beaver pelt for that same year that would make the weight representing his wages 16.5 kilograms, or about 36 pounds, which is more than a visitor should be expected to lift. A simple solution is to represent the monthly wage instead, which would be £1 and 5 shillings, or a more manageable weight of about 3 pounds. More reworking, as well as designing and prototyping, are required before the interactive is finished. We plan to have it ready by this summer. In the meantime, my fascination with buttons has yielded an enhancement to the “Red River Rendezvous” program.

Here, the author puts skills learned while wearing historical garments to work.

These buttons sewn to hand-drawn cards represent a small but important improvement to the “Red River Rendezvous” program, which resulted from ongoing research for a new interactive element at the Pembina State Museum.

Prior to beginning research for our new interactive, the buttons for the “Red River Rendezvous” were left in loose piles for children to handle. This often meant that the kids, when instructed to buy buttons, would trade for a single button rather than enough to complete a garment. While this offered an opportunity to talk about the historical uses and importance of buttons, our new authentic packaging helps demonstrate the typical quantity of goods directly traded. As in the past, buttons come attached to a card today. While working on the interactive, I took care to attach our buttons to cards with simple hand-drawn labels. This may seem like a trifling detail, but every improvement to the authenticity of the items used in our programs improves the interpretation and creates a more authentic experience. With each new piece of information, existing and new programs become better and better. No detail is too small.

Our new button cards pictured with the other sewing items in the “Red River Rendezvous” program are now on display for visitors to interact with at the Pembina State Museum. To schedule a tour or an interpretive program, contact us at shspembina@nd.gov.