by Barbara Rimkunas
This "Historically Speaking" column was published in the Exeter News-Letter on Friday, August 28, 2020.
The first week of August in 1917 brought with it a five-day heat wave. “Saturday and Sunday were delightful,” reported the Exeter News-Letter, then began a period of extreme heat, the 2 pm temperature at Boston on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday having been 98. These figures doubtless approximately correct for Exeter, are official and taken in absolute shade and away from the reflected heat of streets and buildings.” Twenty year old Betty Tufts was home, working on her Victory garden on Pine Street. She noted the heat in her diary, “HOT! 92 degrees late afternoon on front piazza.” Through the hot days, a long line of mules slowly made their way to Exeter. The Borax 20-Mule Team was on an advertising junket across the northeast.
The Pacific Coast Borax Company adopted the 20-mule team as its logo in 1890, when the company organized. By that time, mules were no longer used in the mining process. Like the pony express that long outlived its short 18-month lifespan, the mule trains of Death Valley only ran from 1883 – 1889. The Death Valley National Park Service tells us, “For many people, nothing symbolizes Death Valley more than the famous twenty mule teams. These ‘big teams’ pulled massive wagons hauling borax from the Harmony Borax Works near Furnace Creek to the railhead near Mojave, a grueling 165-mile, ten-day trip across primitive roads.” The teams were hitched to an 80-foot long chain. An imagined conversation with an old-time mule skinner on the National Parks website describes mules as “the smartest thing on 4 legs,” able to haul 36 ½ tons when hitched together.
Individual teams had specific jobs while on the line. The lead team had to be smart enough to respond to the skinner’s slightest touch on the reins – particularly the jerk line that let the lead team know when to stop. Unlike in the movies, where they shout a lot, mule skinners were usually very quiet while driving the team. It was essential that they communicate well with such a large number of animals. Any mistake could be a disaster. They guided the teams with the reins and the crack of the whip. The lead team needed to be able to hear this to respond. The next five teams, called the swing teams, were primarily there for brawn. These could be less experienced animals. The three teams behind them were the pointers – highly experienced teams that were nimble enough to jump over the 80-foot center chain when the team needed to turn. If you’re counting along, this brings us to 18 mules hitched in pairs. The final team, the wheelers, was actually a pair of horses. The dark secret of a 20-mule team is that it consists of 18 mules and 2 horses. The horses were hitched closest to the wagons. Generally larger than the mules, they were docile and strong enough to be hitched to the tongue. Their job was getting the whole thing moving in the first place.
Mules were valued for their hardiness and strength. Less stubborn than nimble-footed donkeys, able to weather extreme conditions and needing less feed than horses, mules had long found their place in the desert areas of the American southwest. They’re a hybrid animal, fathered by a donkey bred to a horse. Strong, tough, unperturbed by distractions, they were highly valued and the reason that mules are a common mascot for many high school sports teams. The Pacific Coast Borax Company chose well when picking the 20-mule team for advertising. The sprawling logo ran across the front of its borax products.
Many of us encountered borax as powdered hand soap in elementary school. It was a bit gritty, but once it was wet it got the job done. In the early part of the 20th century, borax was touted as useful for softening hard water, boosting laundry detergent. It was used in toothpaste and was said to prevent mildew and insect infestations. Borax was everywhere. In the fall of 1916, the company decided to promote the brand by sending the 20-mule team on a cross-country trip. They set out from California in October and got as far as Nevada. From there, they were loaded onto railroad cars for the long trip to Washington, D.C., for the 1917 Inaugural Parade in March. Then they made their way slowly north. In late July, the team had made its way to Hollis, New Hampshire, having left Fitchburg, Massachusetts, the previous day. The Hollis Times noted, “The advertising outfit of the Pacific Coast Borax Co., distributing free samples of borax chips and drawn by 20 husky mules (although we know there were two horses…) with bells attached to the hames of the harness, attracted a lot of attention on Main street Monday afternoon.”
Driving this incredible rig were two men with the colorful names Borax Bill and Tarantula Pete. At some stops, the two would give a brief lecture, usually about the punishing conditions they encountered in Death Valley. “In Death Valley no human being can travel more than a few miles without a large supply of water,” the advertising copy read, “as he must take a drink every five minutes and cannot live over two hours if the supply runs out. Buzzards in plugging across this strip fall dead before they have gone half way, and men who have died of the heat and lack of water have been found with their skulls bursted open like the popcorn that pops over the grate fire.”
Arriving in Exeter on August 1st – in the midst of a miserably humid heat wave – the Exeter News-Letter remarked, “The wagon train made a round of principal streets. It spent Wednesday night in Exeter, the wagons placed at the side of the Square and the mules tethered in the Stephen M. Towle yard. In journeyings through the South its men encountered no heat so oppressive as that of this week in New Hampshire.”
Barbara Rimkunas is curator and co-executive director of the Exeter Historical Society. She listened to Mule Skinner Blues on a loop while writing this article. Support the Exeter Historical Society by becoming a member! Join online.
Image: The 20-mule team of the Pacific Coast Borax Company was on a transcontinental trip in the summer of 1917 when this photo was taken in Exeter. The hastily abandoned bicycle belonged to 7-year-old Frank Richards.