Siebler Blacksmith Shop

The dawn of the 20th century began the demise of the honored trade of the blacksmith. And as the 1900s rolled along, Vulcan, often referred to as the "father of blacksmithing," must have shed enough tears to snuff out the fires in his forges, said to have been located under Mount Etna on the Mediterranean isle of Sicily.
Vulcan, according to mythology, was the Roman god of fire and patron of metallic handicrafts. The son of Jupiter, supreme Roman deity, he was visualized as deformed and bearded, covered with soot, and always toiling at his forges.
Yes, the 20th century saw mass production grow out of the industrial revolution. Soon horseshoes were no longer shaped from glowing iron by blacksmiths. They were manufactured and sold to blacksmiths. Then automotive power, honed by the development of the internal combustion engine, retired the nation's workhorses. Gas and electric welders made the blacksmith's skill at hand-forged welding obsolete. The anvil and hammer were no longer needed as traditional blacksmithing crept toward extinction.
Of course, farriers still shoe horses at thoroughbred racing stables and tracks, such as Grand Island's Fonner Park. But today most blacksmiths confine their labor to artistic craftsmanship, working at a "smithy" such as Stuhr Museum's restored William Siebler Blacksmith Shop in Railroad Town. This is where former resident blacksmith Ward Brinegar once produced a seven-foot-high, wrought-iron, abstract sculpture which he christened "Skeletal Remains of a 20th-Century Dinosaur."
That's a far cry from shoeing horses or sharpening plowshares and cultivator shovels, once staples of the traditional blacksmith trade.
William Siebler was only 14 years of age when he began as an apprentice in his native Germany where he learned to hand-forge horseshoes. Siebler, honored by the Railroad Town shop which bears his name, followed his trade for 72 years, poor health finally forcing his retirement in the spring of 1954. He was one of the last of the traditional blacksmiths in Central Nebraska. What a delight his career must have been to Vulcan.
What kept William Siebler going through those long years of toil? When his widow, Hattie, was interviewed on tape by Stuhr's public relations director Lew Cole back in 1972, she had a very simple answer. "He loved his work," she firmly stated.
And Hattie enjoyed watching her husband, who she referred to as "Dad" throughout the interview, at his work. "Better than going to the movies," she said.
William Siebler emigrated to the United States at age 19. For 23 years he plied his trade at the village of Cornlea, north west of Columbus in Platte County, before moving to Aurora, Hamilton County, in 1912.
Hattie had good reason to call her husband "Dad," for William Siebler fathered 18 children. He was married in 1891 to Lena Moog, who died in 1909, 10 days after the birth of their 12th child. His 1910 marriage to Hattie (Hattie Hyatt) produced six more children.
The present Siebler blacksmith shop in Railroad Town was his second shop in Aurora, which he purchased in 1923. It once stood in the 900 block on 12th Street, and is believed to have been used as a blacksmith shop as early as 1899.
After Siebler's death on November 30, 1954, the old shop fell into disrepair. It was moved to the Stuhr Museum grounds in 1969 a gift from the Siebler family. The original false front on the 24-by-4O-foot clapboard structure had been destroyed by a storm in 1953. "I didn't want it torn down," said Hattie. "I've got a lot of memories in that old shop."
The museum promised Hattie that the exterior of the building would be restored to its original look-gray paint trimmed in white, black lettering across a new false front reading "Wm Siebler The Blacksmith." But Hattie died before the restoration was completed.
Most of Siebler's tools and equipment had been sold. However, his youngest son, Lee Siebler, now living in Junction City, Kansas, purchased back his father's anvil, a 210-pound "Hay-Budden," and donated it to the museum. Also displayed in the shop is a framed exhibit of 15 horseshoes hand-forged by Siebler.
In the 1972 interview, Hattie was asked how customers paid her husband for his work. "Charge it," she chuckled. "Everything went in the books. Wait until the crops are sold. But some might never pay." She recalled once seeing a customer driving a new car, "but he never paid."
Hattie also remembered once seeing 200 plowshares on the floor of the shop waiting for her husband to sharpen. Siebler was noted for winning state contests among blacksmiths for his skill in sharpening plowshares. For many years, Siebler shod the thoroughbred race horses from the stable of the late Marion VanBerg, one of Nebraska most distinguished horsemen
It's tradition at Stuhr Museum for the resident blacksmith to "fire the anvil" during the annual Fourth of July celebration in Railroad Town. According to folklore, firing the anvil dates back to July 4, 1776, when the "Declaration of Independence" from British rule was approved by the 13 American colonies. Blacksmiths in the colonies fired anvils as a means of notifying the populace of the event.
In Railroad Town, two 50-pound anvils are used, one placed upside down on the ground and gun powder sprinkled on it. Clay is then placed around the powder, and a long fuse inserted. The second anvil is placed right side up on top of the powder. When the fuse is lighted, it ignites the powder, and the explosion hurls the top anvil 30 or more feet in the air.
Did William Siebler ever fire the anvil on the Fourth of July? He certainly did, according to Hattie, sometimes at 4 o'clock in the morning "That really raised the town, " she joked.
Like Hattie, others have also had fond memories of the old Siebler blacksmith shop. During the past outdoor season, this writer was confronted by a tall, elderly visitor who confided that he was 80 years old and had been raised on a farm near Phillips in Hamilton County. I gathered that the gentleman was no longer a resident of this area probably just back for a visit. He rejoiced at the memories of his youth that Railroad Town recalled. But the best was yet to come for this visitor, who proceeded north down Railroad Town's boardwalk where the Siebler Blacksmith Shop would appear. He was soon back, excited and all aglow. "Why that's the old Siebler shop from Aurora,'' he chattered and recalled that he had often visited the shop to have work done for his father. "I just can't believe it," he said. "It looks just the same."
Nothing would have pleased Hattie Siebler more than this man's words. For many, memories are what museums are all about.

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