Thunda
and his followers








Complier

Len Zajicek

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Thunda's Family History began when former Mayor of Waterloo, Nebraska, Ralph Wilson suggested the compiler contact Georgene "Gus" Sones, the publications director of the Nebraska Genealogical Society. As a result, helpful publications from the society were soon in hand.

Also aiding was the Eastern Nebraska Genealogical Society of Fremont. Especially helpful was Margie Sobotka, author of the Nebraska-Kansas Settlers. 1891-1895. This book of reference fits well with the important work of Rose Rosicky's History of Czechs in Nebraska. Rose's father, John Rosicky, one-time resident of Crete, was the publisher of the long-running Czech weekly magazine, Hospodar.

Documents were collected from the National Archives, the state of Nebraska, Saline and Lancaster counties, as well as libraries in Omaha, Crete, Wilber, and the Nebraska Historical Society. Newspaper microfilm also was drawn from the state historical society.

Equally important were relatives such as Irma Ourecky who wrote A Poetic History of Wilber, a unique study of the history of Wilber between 1865 and 1985.

Irma's cousin, Lennie Schmucker traced and privately published the genealogy of several families, including that of Thunda. Copies were provided to me by Irma and her sister Gertrude Aksamit of Crete.

Gertrude also provided indispensable photographs as well as ready counsel.

Catalysis for this history came during a visit to great grandfather's grave. With me was second cousin Leonard Freeouf. We gazed at the impressive marble monument but had nothing to say about the man so honored---we knew little more than his name and who he was, and not anything of his life and times. Nothing of that sort had come down to us from our families.

Leonard suggested that since so little was known, the time had come when something more might be added.

The compiler agreed and that is how the history of Thunda came about.


Len Zajicek Omaha

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT FOR THIS EDITION

When Len Zajicek died at his home in Omaha, NE on December 8, 1998 he had not completed what was to be his definitive paper on Anton Zajicek. He left behind several revisions and many notes on what he was working on. After the estate sale, Gertrude Freeouf Aksamit asked for the family history papers that Len had been working on.

Gertrude read and sorted the information that she had obtained. She then asked me if I would type the paper up so that it could be distributed among the family.

I have put together this paper from those revisions and notes with the help of Gertrude. I hope it is what Len had in mind.

Stephen Ourecky 4/14/01

Additional note: This is a HTML conversion of the booklet that was put together. If you are a family member that would like a hardcopy that includes illustrations contact me.

CHAPTER I

“ . . . Ja Pojedu Do Ameriky. “
(“I will travel to America”)

There was good reason for his sudden appearance in America. Like many before him, Thunda's journey began a step or two ahead of authorities. In this case, the foreign army occupying the ancient city of Prague.

Thunda, the nickname of Anton Zajicek (Awn'thon Sigh Check), slipped quietly into the port city of Galveston.

He was surprised to find he had entered another city which also was occupied by foreign troops. America's Civil War was over. Galveston, however, remained occupied. It was destined to remain so for next the five years.

Thunda kept his distance from the soldiers. Their blue uniforms reminded him of the Prussian and German uniforms. His leave-taking was as hasty as it had been earlier in Prague. Thunda went north to St. Louis.

Thunda's people had been farm folk for as long as anybody could remember. His own early memories were of "umpah's" small farm in the duchy of Bohemia, just to the northwest of Prague.

Thunda grew to manhood there, living in a village and going to work in the fields by day. Schooling was limited to three years at the German public school. On Saturdays, there was the privately financed Bohemian school where he was allowed to speak ceske (chess ke), the native language of the province. Ceske was discouraged everywhere, including the Czech regiments of the Austrian Army. Even in Bohemia, Czechs and their life style were accorded open contempt by the smug minority, the resident German ruling class. That, alone, was enough to send the rash and the brave to kinder realms.

Saturday morning
1 August 1868

July had been hot and dry. More of the same in August would definitely bring the specter of drought to the Tall Grass Prairie of eastern Nebraska. Here, the greens of summer were being replaced increasingly by the golds of autumn.

Occasional morning breezes hinted of the coming cold as they swirled across the flatlands, skipped along the meandering ravines, and rustled through thickets of wild plums.

Overhead, a hawk circled in a sky of pastel blue.

Below, two men were making their way slowly through the tall, wild growth of belt-high and wind-twisted grass. Every step was a step against resistance.

Anton Zajicek (Ahn THON Sigh Check) and his guide were trying to find a boundary marker. So far, they were not having much luck.

For Anton and many others, it was a time of exodus from the old Austrian Empire. In fact at that very moment Anton’s wife, “Josie”, the children and a baby daughter he had never seen were preparing to board ship for America.

Those days, emigrating to America was a dream which was shared by many Europeans. Anton, for example, had talked and planned most of his life about making a new start.

The pursuit of those hopes had taken Anton to the Nebraska frontier where the search for a boundary marker was underway but which was not going at all well.

Eventually, Anton and his companion entered a more promising area. The wild grass there was shorter and softer. The matte had fewer twists. Suddenly, he saw a grassy mound.

Anton knelt. He pulled apart thatch, exposing two sturdy objects. They were metal and did resemble boundary markers. Stamped in the metal were numbers and monograms. At first, they puzzled him.

"C&M RR, 19-7-4E ?" Then, he began to understand.

"C&M RR" meant the Chicago and Missouri Railroad!

"19-7-4E" was a list of locations!

For example, "19," was the 19th numbered section of a grid map. And "7," the Big Blue township. "4E," Range number "4." The "E" for east --- east of the Prime Meridian. Interesting, but definitely not the homestead marker!

Anton turned to the remaining stake. "U.S.G.S.," he read. "United States Government Survey."

"Sekera Mansky!"(Suck a Rah Man-sky), Czech equivalent to "My Oh My! How About That!" literally meaning Blessed Sacrament. For this, he had come more than a thousand miles?

He laughed. Then, he began to write, penciling in the figures of "S 1/2, SW 1/2," meaning "South one half of the Southwest one fourth," and locating exactly the land he sought.

The owning of land was important to Anton. It gave a purpose to his life which had eluded him in the old country.

He understood homesteading was a chancy business and that many failed. Anton realized some were successful, such as the man at his side, Vaclav Shestak (VatsLav Chess Tock.)

The two men were much alike. Both were Czechs. Both had traveled half the world to get to Nebraska.

Shestak, however, had gotten there sooner. He came with the first Czechs, entering Saline (Sa Lean) County in the Spring of 1865.
The pair, however, did differ. Anton was older. He was booted and wore an army field cap and he was letting his beard grow farmer-style. Shestak, by contrast, had high top shoes, wore a straw hat, and he sported a neatly trimmed Van Dyke, which he now pointed into a rising west wind. Gusts were bending the tall grass into long, rolling waves. They seemed to move across the prairie, one illusion chasing after another.

Shestak smiled. He said it was time to talk about neighbors, starting with the Czech Colony on the Big Blue. The Czechs were the best neighbors of them all, he said.

Just north of the Czechs, were the Yankees, a friendly sort. They had settled there before and during the American Civil War.

West and south of Turkey Creek and along the West Big Blue were the so-called, "Pierce Democrats." Many of them came from the old slave state of Missouri. Some were good neighbors. Some were not. All of them, however, had been accused of being "Copperheads"(Confederate sympathizers), by radical Republicans. Shestak said "the bloody old party men" had a point. Turkey Creek Democrats did tend to sympathize with Rebel causes.

In fact before the war, they once helped to stage a slave auction at Beatrice (Be At rist) to show dislike for persons they termed abolitionists and radical scalawags.

Anton wondered if any of the slaves in the Beatrice auction ended up in Nebraska after the war?

Shestak didn't think so. However, "Negrsky cernoch" (Black people) were coming. John Burden and his family planned to settle in the Turkey Creek area, near the Gilberts.

"Gilberts? Own a lot of land, don't they?"

"Some," Shestak admitted. "They have 1,000 acres and they divide those acres among members of the family."

To Anton, one thousand acres translated as 2,471 hectares, too much land for any one man to own or control. Old country experience had convinced him big land owners meant big problems for everybody else. He saw the same big acreage trend taking place in America. His suspicions were further aroused by land restrictions he, himself, faced.

Shestak shrugged, noting the Gilberts had bought their land --- not from the government but a private land owner, Hardin Duval, who was using the sale money to lay out and build a town.

Town builders made Anton nervous. Those newly imposed federal land restrictions on government land made him angry. Homesteads were being restricted to 80 acres in a railroad “benefit” zone. This “benefit” zone was six miles wide on each side of the tracks. The limitation was imposed after the railroad posted its land claims and adopted a building schedule.

Congress said a railroad guaranteed increases in land values because farmers for the first time would be able to ship farm products to markets they never had before. Biggest gainers would be farmers within easy-hauling distance of the tracks. This group was being restricted, Anton among them.

The doubling in value did not impress Anton. What could be bought with the added value, he asked?

Shestak suggested it could be collateral to buy private land from the railroad. Or, Anton could surrender his 80 acre claim and go elsewhere to homestead the regular 160 acre grant. And lastly, Anton could return to Omaha and forget about homesteading for a while.

Anton said nothing. But he was thinking. He recalled the railroad owned land next to his claim. Could tracks be far behind?

Anton's voice rose several octaves. The thought of profit, it seems, was having an effect on his imagination!

Shestak cautioned Anton he was getting excited over something that wouldn't happen. Attempting to divert Anton, Shestak grabbed a spade tossed aside earlier. He shoved the spade toward Anton. Instinctively, Anton reached to ward it off. He did so easily. Taking the spade, Anton applied its blade to the sod, making sure the hole he would be digging was lined up with the boundary markers.

All the while, however, he was listening. Shestak was saying railroad tracks probably would be laid some three miles north of Anton's claim.

Anton continued to dig. His one response was to put a lot more effort into his spade work!

Shestak said there might be a second set of tracks laid along the eastern edge of Saline County. This would be a feeder line to Beatrice.

Anton stopped digging. Shestak's words had stopped him. Specifically, the words "Saline County." It was as if he had heard "Saline" for the first time.

"Where," he asked, "is the salt in Saline County?"

"Some place else," was Shestak's answer.

There were no salt basins in Saline County. The early geographers, apparently, had gotten Saline County mixed with nearby Lancaster County and Lancaster salt works.

Getting to his feet, Shestak walked over to the wagon and dragged a cedar post from the wagon bed and carried it over to where Anton was working. They began seating the post into the hole Anton had dug.

"Others, post claims by making little stone houses," Shestak confided. "We have no rocks. We post with a post!"

"As we should, mein General Ministr Posty!" (Postmaster General) Anton saluted Roman style, raising his right forearm.

Both men burst out laughing.

"Rocks in this place, would not slow spring plowing," Anton observed. There was more laughter. Anton recalled spring plowing in the old country often was delayed until rocks were removed that had been pushed to the surface during the winter. "But no pushing, here" Shestak agreed.

"Nein, mein General!" Anton did not salute this time. Instead, he took a handful of fill-dirt and let it sift through his fingers. The richness of the dirt reminded him of the past --- not his grandfather's poor acreage but of the soils from manor lands owned by lesser Austrian royals and Italian lackeys of the Roman Catholic Church.

The manor soils were similar to those in Saline County and perhaps had a similar beginning as well.

Shestak said the difference was depth. Anton nodded. They had made test digs on Anton's claim and found the soil cover averaged three-and-a-half feet.

While they had been working, huge banks of clouds had been building in the southwest. Shestak hoped for rain.

A couple of good rains, Shestak said, would bring in a crop of about 60 bushels an acre.

Indian corn, Anton asked?

Shestak agreed, but he cautioned that other cereal grain would grow almost as well.

Getting crops to grow, would be the least of Anton's worries, he predicted. The biggest problem would be water.

Earlier, both men had crisscrossed the tall grass prairie on Anton's claim, looking for water and finding none.

The nearest fresh water, apparently, would be from the Czech Colony and the Big Blue. Turkey Creek although a mile away had problems. It was girded by a heavy stand of timber. The goodwill of the "Pierce Democrats" there was uncertain.

Anton would be able to solve his own water problems in a year or two. He planned to dig a seep well. Meantime, as soon as possible, he would begin diking for a dam to collect runoff water. In the meantime he would be hauling and storing water. His son Rudolf was just the lad for the job.

DIGGING AND DAMMING,
TOP PRIORITIES

It was not possible for Anton and settlers like him to hire a steam rigs to drill their wells in 1868. Huge drilling machines of that era were too heavy and too big for the roads of the time. Shipping by rail was not possible, either. No local tracks had been laid west of Nebraska City. Best guess is that it would take about five years before a local service network of tracks were built.

NOTHING BUT MILES AND MILES OF MILES AND MILES!

When they were packing to leave, Anton was reminded by Shestak that the inside walls of the well would have to be lined to prevent a cave-in. Anton said one of the things he would do in Nebraska City was to buy lining for the well.

He was not looking foreword to the trip. "That's going to be a long walk," Anton said aloud.

"It's an even longer haul," Shestak snapped. He was bitter about the weeks he had wasted the last two years hauling supplies from Nebraska City.

Anton was consoling. He also was something of an optimist. "Railroads," he said "will bring changes."

"Certainly. Then we do business in new towns we must build. Order things with money we don't have, from stores yet to move in. And all of it, dependent on railroads which have not laid one foot of track west of Nebraska City!" Shestak was practically shouting.

The rest of the packing was done in silence. Stowing completed, Anton untied the snub line to the horses and joined Shestak on the wagon seat.

Shestak drove to the road and then turned the team toward the sun. "Anyway, there will be good good roads. We can count on that." Shestak had in mind the big land owner Anton was worrying about, Jonas Gilbert, County Commissioner who traveled the very road their wagon was rolling.

Gilbert was engaged in county business, going to and from Swan City.

Swan City was located in the extreme southeast corner of the county. Although it was very small, Swan City was the only place which could pass for a town. But pass it did and there upon Swan City was named the County Seat. Quarters, however, were limited. Commissioners, for example, met in Tom Freeman's General Store.

Shestak was confident Swan City would not be a County Seat town much longer, not after another town was up and running.

"That could be the town Hardin Duval is building, Anton said.

"Duval will have competition," Shestak said flatly.

He was a would-be town builder, himself. In fact, Shestak was soliciting "C & M" railroad for its support in his town building scheme.

"Will you name it Shestak?"

"Could be. Then maybe not," Shestak replied gruffly. "Shestak City. It has as ring to it, wouldn’t you say?, or maybe Shestak, just Shestak. That would be enough."
They drove on. Shestak continued to talk about the town builders, saying the most active was the "C&M" railroad, It was about to lay out a town on the Big Blue River.

The "B & M" town was to be located alongside a town the railroad had tried to buy. J. C. Bickle had 40 acres and dreams of getting rich. he called his town Blue River City and he was selling lots as fast as he could. Bickle got the U.S Post Office to name him local Postmaster, helping his battle.

As Shestak's wagon continued east, Shestak pointed out three homestead claims in Section 20. Fire breaks had been plowed. Several small fields were being cultivated. The beginning of a cabin was taking shape. Meanwhile, a dugout served family needs.

The Znamenaceks (Sa Nem En Nah Checks), were not home. They had gone to Nebraska City ---two brothers and a sister, each to file a claim for 80 acres of homestead land.

The three 80's shared a common corner. And it was at this corner that a cabin was being built. The idea was to have everybody under the same roof while at the same time meeting the residency requirement to live on a homestead claim for five years. The sharing was an example of not only Czech frugality but also of the ingrained trait for "making do with what you have" by pioneers everywhere.

Not far from the half-finished cabin was an old Indian trail. It had been laid out by braves who wanted to be at the lowest level possible while moving between Turkey Creek and the Big Blue. The trail in other words, followed the bottoms of ravines. The old trail was still in use when Anton and Shestak came by. Local Indians continued to follow the old trail to escape being seen by enemy raiding parties, such as the Dakota Sioux, the Arapahoe, and sometimes even by their normal protectors, the Pawnee.

There were no Indians on the old trail when the wagon carrying Anton and Shestak crossed one segment of the trail. Shestak was not surprised. Most local Indians were in Seward County taking part in the Fall Buffalo Hunt.

"When those Indians returned to the Valley of the Big Blue, would they cause any trouble?" Anton had developed a sudden interest in the matter.

Shestak said most hunting parties were more a nuisance than dangerous.

"Their village, it is near?"

"A couple of summer camps in the county," Shestak said.

The reservation, itself,was south of Beatrice on the Kansas Nebraska border.

"Not much trouble, then?" Anton's question came as they climbed back into the wagon to resume their Journey. "Not much. The Army helps keep it that way," was the answer given by Shestak. Anton had some other ideas. He pulled a newspaper from his knapsack and began reading --- in English!

Settlers, chased by Indians, have abandoned their farms, leaving their crops in the fields, and are camped on the Blue opposite the Capital quarries above Beatrice.

Anton paused, awaiting Shestak's reply. Nothing.

EARLY ANGLOS ARE “CZECHED”

"This," said Anton could be the beginning of a new Indian War!"
Again, no comment.

Anton waited.

Shestak shifted his weight and flicked the lines to the horses several times. Clearly, he was uncomfortable.

"Indian scares are common," he volunteered. There had been several evacuations of white settlers in recent years.

"Some horses were stolen. Nobody was hurt or anything like that," Shestak noted and he didn't think the Jefferson County raid would amount to much, either.

Anxious to change the subject, Shestak made a special point of a posted claim by the Vacaseks' (Vah-Sah-siks.) Sod breaking had just started and there was nothing to see.

Then, Shestak remembered Anton had read the Indian raid story, not in Czech or German but in English! How had he managed to do that, Shestak wanted to know.

"Memory. Only memory," Anton said, and he was following advice to read newspapers as a way to learn English. This was the advice given Anton by Edward Rosewater.

"Rosewater?"

"Edward Rosewater. From Praha. First Czech to come to Omaha, which he brags about!"

They were coming to the end of the uplands. Before descending into the valley, Shestak stopped and from wagon seat, they were able to see large sections of the Czech Colony.

Except for the fire breaks, much of the land appeared little changed from what it had been before the coming of the Czechs. There appeared to be more grazing land than tilled land. Fencing was limited. New hedges were just getting started. The hedges, however,would take years to mature. To ease the fence shortage, some of the farmers had fashioned mud-wall enclosures.

At the Shestak family farms, Anton helped to unhitch and put the team to pasture. Chores done, Shestak disappeared into the cellar and later returned with a clay jug of barley beer and a ring of sausage.

The home brew was chilled and somewhat bitter tasting. It also had a thirst-cutting edge, which Anton felt all the way to his stomach.

Anton said the beer was as good as the best he ever got in the old country. Neither believed the praise but it was a thing one did at such times.

Reluctantly, Anton declined Shestak's offer to share tobacco. Instead, he left his pipe where he had packed it in the knapsack. He stowed the sausage alongside the pipe and prepared for leave-taking.

Goodbyes were brief. Anton intended to be in Nebraska City on the third which meant he had better get a move on.

Thunda followed the Big Blue north to the West Branch crossing and then northeast to catch the Nebraska City Cutoff. On the trail, he encountered his first wagon train --15 wagons. Most, were Mormon wagons. A good number had stove pipes protruding through the canvas tops. The travelers were of no religious order and they were not Gypsies, even though they had adopted, apparently, the vagabond life of that wandering tribe. The wagon train was followed by a large herd of cattle.

Thunda encountered an entirely different wagon train later on. This one made up of 40 wagons, all double coupled, and headed for Salt Lake City. The linked wagons were drawn by six mules, pulling a cargo of dry goods and groceries.

He left the road to hunt for a place to sleep and found it at the foot of two large cottonwood trees.

Thunda ate the last of the sausage, smoked a final pipe, before he was ready to unroll the worn canvas and lay down for a night's rest.

It was only then that he allowed himself to think of Josie and the rest of the family. He wondered about the baby. Whom would she look like? What should he say when he saw her. Would she know she was named Barbara?

Thunda was smiling as he drifted off to sleep.

The next day, the flies were as bad as ever. There were swarms of them with some of the flies the size of his thumb.

An avoidable problem was coping with animal and human wastes. Looking before stepping, solved that problem.

Gradually, the prairie was undergoing changes. Farms were more frequent. Barns and houses more numerous. Gentle rises were becoming steeper, fallbacks sharper.

Both numbers and varieties of hardwood trees increased the farther east he walked.

That night, Thunda sought rest under the branches of a giant black walnut. He feasted on large, red and yellow plums he had gathered at the edge of the woods.

It was with considerable reluctance, Thunda resumed the trek the following morning. He had more than enough of the road. He disliked the summer heat. Constant winds and the occasional dust devil triggered his anger. The pushing and shoving of teamsters and their animal charges were no longer a source for amusement. And flies, always flies!

Thunda decided to leave the main road at the next overnight stop, the Wilson ranch, a stage depot for Ben Holliday's coaches.

Early the next morning, Thunda was moving toward the nearest timber. He intended to market-hunt the rest of the way.

From the outset, the hunt appeared promising. There was the bark that had been nibbled. And stripped saplings!

He pulled the hammer to half cock.

Any second, he expected to come face to face with something. Who knew what? A sense of uneasiness raced through him. Thunda pushed the trigger to full cock.

If any deer had been there, they were gone now.

The edges of the woods, those were the places deer liked. They came here to browse, to chomp prairie grass, maybe to just look around. His Florence experience taught him deer were drawn to such places.

Thunda was hunting slowly and deliberately. He wanted no sudden noises. A flicker of brown caught his eye. Again, movement. The brown patch was growing. All at once he could see the antlers.

The Mortimer came to full cock. Thunda would try a breast shot. He squeezed the trigger. A shower of sparks ignited the flash pan. Flames and spurting clouds of burning powder exploded from the muzzle.

For few seconds, Thunda's couldn't see a thing or hear much, either. Did he hit anything? Was the buck down? The gunsmoke thinned rapidly. He could see much better.

The deer was lying on its side. There was no reaction as Thunda approached. Quickly, he gutted the animal and then proceeded to field dress the deer quickly.

The carcass was hung for drainage. Afterward, Thunda estimated the dressed weight to be 25 pounds. The legs were tied together, forming a circle, which allowed Thunda to shift the carcass from shoulder to shoulder as he walked to town.

Thunda was fortunate to come across a county road and he decided to follow it all the way into Nebraska City. He was distracted briefly by a limestone barn. At any other time Thunda might have tarried. To do so then, however, meant giving up the idea of marketing the deer.

He returned to the road. An hour later, Thunda was being hailed by a clerk from Rottmann's Mercantile in downtown Nebraska City. The clerk offered to buy the deer. Thunda did not dicker. Instead, he accepted the offer of four dollars and fifty cents.

It was only after the sale that Thunda realized the exchange was entirely in German, a surprising thing, since the last time he talked so much German was at Breman, nearly two years past. And here in Nebraska City, again with the German!

"So the Land Office, you get to it, how?" The directions, as it turned out, were not needed. The U.S. Land Office was closed. A note was tacked to the door. Inquiries were to be made to Guy A. Brown, Clerk for District Court of Otoe County.

Rosewater had warned him. The move to Lincoln was expected. What wasn't, was the exact date. The answer would have been two weeks in August. Thunda was not happy about the timing. A big reason for coming was to ask for citizenship. Only citizens could own land.

Owning land had become quite important to Thunda. The idea grew in importance every mile taken from Austria and he reckoned it made the desire for U.S. citizenship about two thousand times stronger by the time he got off the boat at Galveston. A declaration of intention was scheduled for Wednesday.

Meantime, he would check in at Petrashek's boarding house and also look around for the contact guide.

Taking a last look at the note,Thunda decided there was no point in talking to Brown. There were others he wanted to talk to more. And if he had the time, Thunda planned to take a look at those steam driven well diggers.

The following morning, Anton began making calls. Among the stops was the Otoe County District Court. There, Thunda watched District Clerk, Guy Brown prepare the forms that were needed.

Almost at once, Thunda noticed the clerk had made two mistakes Brown listed "47," for Thunda's age. Thunda would become 41 in January. A much more serious mistake was the misspelling Thunda's last name --- making it "Zir Check."

Thunda realized his listed name was one-half wrong and one-half right! The "Zir" part was the half wrong.

On the other hand, Thunda compounded the problem by the signing of his name "his way." The signature was unique. It would cause major problems over the next l00 years.

To readers of English, the signature appeared to be "Zayjicek." Actually, The signature was a curious blend of upper and lower case German script. It was the signature Thunda said he learned in a German school. Bohemia was under the rule of the Hapsburg Empire and German was the official language.

He came to accept "Zajicek,"the Czech-American version of his name but it looked to him as strange as the Wisconsin or Pennsylvania family name adaptions of "Saichek," or "Seitchick."

Thunda’s adaption was “Saitz Check” which was different but minor in importance. Just the opposite was true for "ZirCheck," the made up family name Thunda was given in Nebraska City and which followed him to Lincoln. The “Zircheck" name would haunt him for years and for a time even threaten Thunda's rights to own the land he had homesteaded.

The Lincoln Land Office was housed in a new, two story building and it was there, that Thunda filed for a Homestead on 4 March of 1869. His created last name of "ZirCheck" had been one of those which had been sent to Lincoln when the Land Office was transferred from Nebraska City.
"Thirty dollars," he was thinking as he left the Land Office, "that was a month's wages! A month's work, judged on what he had been making in Omaha cleaning bricks.

Lucky for him, he wasn't expecting any handouts. There was no such thing as free land, no matter what they said."

Out-of-pocket expenses for Thunda's homestead came to a total of $30.20. Fees charged were $14.00. An additional charge of $16.20 was assessed for the extra 6.48 acres the homestead contained.

Feeling reassured by his own good sense, Thunda squared his shoulders and walked confidently toward the south and to the outskirts of village capital, now said to be nearing some fifteen hundred souls.

He spared but a quick look at the Capitol Building, itself. He would have preferred a closer and longer inspection of this big crate of a building. They were working on the second story when Thunda came by. He had heard work on the stone tower would begin in about two months.

Thunda, a sometime mason, had his doubts about the stone which was reported as coming from the limestone quarries at Beatrice. He wondered if the local stone was strong enough to be load-bearing, especially for a building of such size.

He would learn that his doubts were well founded when 5 years later the Governor said the building was unsound and not repairable.