
Sam Marty grew up when Teddy Roosevelt was president, and the Rough Rider's influence showed. Sam was known for his big personality, animated storytelling and jokes, hunting prowess, and generosity. Everybody in town knew Sam Marty. It was said he would lend you the shirt off his back. In the Marty Brothers farming partnership of 1912 to 1951, he was the extrovert and businessman, the early adopter of modern inventions. Descended from mountain Swiss, he was small, yet larger than life.
Sam was my great-uncle, the older brother of my grandfather. I didn't know either one of them except from stories. My own dad and uncle talked about Sam a lot. They loved and respected their own dad, who was shy and old-fashioned, but they emulated Sam.
His marriage to a beautiful woman who grew up on the farm next door was too short. After the birth of a son, Mamie suffered from illness for years, finally submitted to surgery, and died in Minneapolis in 1930. Her death certificate identifies her malady as acute pancreatitis.
A year later, Sam emerged from mourning to begin another chapter of his life. He, too, had undergone a surgery, something I know only because my grandmother wrote on the back of one of these photographs: "After Uncle Sam's operation, he gained so much so weighed 160 lbs. Had to show it by a picture."
Life had its setbacks, and the Great Depression was escalating, but Sam was not one to go down without a fight. These photos were probably taken by my grandmother, who had come to the farm as a working girl while Mamie was ill and would marry my grandfather a year later. This was the fun-loving uncle who gave my dad and uncle so much energy and optimism, living in the same house where they were born during the dark days of the 1930s.
In 1940, with World War II on the horizon, Sam would build a new little house across the yard and remarry. His second wife was the younger sister of his first wife. During the years of the war and the the post-war, Sam and Margaret made sure there was never a dull moment on the farm. Life was too short to do nothing but work—fishing, hunting, day-trips, and holiday celebrations were required!
Life was indeed too short. On a day in early September 1951, Sam had a stroke and died a few days later. He was only 62. My dad was 14, my uncle was 17, and a light went out of their lives. The next few years were full of hardship, caring for their father who became ill, taking on Sam's workload, and helping their mother keep the farm. Uncle Gaylon went into the army, and my dad fell in love with my mother and took over the farm.
I was born only seven years after Sam died, but his spirit persisted. Because my dad married first, he brought my mother to live in the house Sam built. There I grew up. In the attic, we found things of Sam's—a big watercolor of a little boy in boxing gloves titled The Winnah! and a many-volume set of books by Teddy Roosevelt. In my room was a piece of wood furniture we called Sam's little writing desk, with a matching chair.
Sam Marty, May 1931. Photos by Viola Marty.