Ella Rosina Boast

November 8, 1918:  Ella Rosina Boast was born in Illinois March 24, 1852, and passed away in De Smet, S.D., October 30, 1918 at the age of 68 years 7 months and 6 says.  In early childhood she came with her parents to Iowa where she was later married to Robert A. Boast of New Hartford on June 5, 1869. Ten years later she moved with her husband to Kingsbury county, S.D. where she has ever since resided. For the past twenty-five years she has been an invalid and a sufferer but has borne her affliction with great patience. Her death was caused by pneumonia after an illness of ten days.  She leaves to mourn her loss a husband and one brother. Short services were held at the home by Rev. A.N. Courtney after which she was laid to rest in the De Smet cemetery.

Robert Abey Boast

July 29, 1921:  DEATH MR. BOAST IS KEENLY FELT  --  JUDGE CHAS. S. WHITING TELLS OF LIFE OF SERVICE  ---  Graveled Streets and City Park Were Hobbys to Which Mr. Boast Gave Attention

In the death of R.A. Boast of this city the community lost a good friend and worker. Mr. Boast was always interested in the welfare of the town and its people, the most prominent among his activities being graveled streets and the city park on the railroad grounds.

Obituary. - Robert A. Boast was born at Richmond, Quebec, Canada, May 23, 1848, remaining with his parents at the home of his birth until nineteen years of age. He then moved to New Hartford, Iowa, following agricultural pursuits more particularly.  He was married to Ella Rosina Peck on June 5th, 1869, and continued to live in Iowa until 1879, when he moved to Kingsbury county, South Dakota. Here he settled on the farm east of De Smet the place now occupied by Fred Kracht. He beautified the farm with trees and shrubbery and erected suitable buildings.  On account of his wife’s poor health they moved to De Smet about 1900 and through the years of her suffering he was a most loving and faithful husband and nurse until her death nearly three years ago. His devotion to the invalid wife was beautiful to witness. Mr. Boast died at his home in De Smet on July 15, 1921, aged 73 years, 1 month and 22 days.

Speaks at Funeral. - A tribute was paid to Mr. Boast in the talk given by Chas. S. Whiting at the funeral, so fitting a talk that Mr. Whiting was asked to put it in writing so that all might read it, as the rainstorm interrupted the outdoor funeral exercises.  The talk follows:

Mr. Whiting’s Talk - But a few weeks ago, upon a visit to De Smet, it was my pleasure to spend an afternoon in the company of our departed friend. You can imagine my surprise when, but yesterday morning, word came to me of his death, as I had not even heard of his illness. With this notice of his death, came also a request sent in behalf of old friends and neighbors, that I come here to add a work of tribute to his memory,  I consider it a great privilege that has thus been given me.

I wish to speak of various phases of our friend’s life: of his political and social activities, but more especially of his home life. Far be it from my intention to indulge in any fulsome praise.  Our friend was human and like all of us had his faults. It would be highly  improper and out of place to deal in superlatives upon an occasion of this kind; my desire is to speak of our old friend and neighbor as I knew and understood him and his actions.

He was one of the pioneers of this state. Some of you know of these early struggles better than I, as he came to this community ten years before I did. Undoubtedly if it had not been for the condition of his wife’s health he would have remained on the farm. He believed in South Dakota and its future, and was one of those hardy pioneers who laid the foundation upon which have been erected this great common wealth.

He was born in a foreign land. As a young man, he came to the United States as a matter of choice. There was nothing of the hyphenated citizen in Robert Boast. He was an one hundred per cent true blue citizen of this country. If all our foreign born were today as good and loyal citizens as was our deceased friend, this country would not be faced by many of the dangers that imperil its future.  He aspired to no political preferment, but sought rather to meet his every-day tasks and serve society as opportunity might offer to the private citizen. And yet he was a man of firm and strong political convictions, as those who knew him twenty-five years ago can well testify; but it was always clear that he was moved by a desire to promote that which he believed to be best for the public welfare without regard to any personal benefit.

As a worker in this community you have been right here where you could observe, know better even than I what he has done. To Robert Boast, perhaps more than to any other person, we owe the improvements that have been made at the cemetery. But above either of these, to Robert Boast we owe the beautiful park-the park that is the envy of every town from Chicago to Pierre-a park which is often referred to by the traveling public, as I well know from personal experiences. Here I must pause to express the hope that not many days will pass before steps will be taken to give to this park the name of ‘Robert Boast Park;’ so that the coming generation may stop to inquire who Robert A. Boast was and to learn of his beautiful life.

Regardless of all that he has done for this community as a community-of his unselfish service therefore- my attention wall called lately by an article in the local paper which stated that his work had been done for filthy lucre. No more damnable falsehood could have been conceived. It does not seem that it could have come from lips of any but those who, themselves without public spirit, were unable to conceive that there exist people desirous to serve others, moved simply by the pleasure which unselfish service brings to the giver.

The services of our friend in this community are not limited to those of a nature such as just noted; but he was a man who quietly and unbeknown to  the public at large, gave much in the way of true charity-a phase of his life perhaps unknown to all but a few.

But it is because of his home life that Robert Boast will be held in deepest and fondest memory by those who knew him. It lacked but a few months of half a century that he and his beloved wife were given to enjoy married life. During this long period, our friend-I was tempted to say bore his cross bravely and cheerfully, but to him, to wait upon and care for his dear one was not a cross but a privilege. Her proper care required that he not be away from her for even a half day at any time. In memory’s picture, we see him, as of old, wheeling his wife about on the streets, or to the various public vices, and always so gentle, so kind, and so forgetful of self. Many a time have I thought upon this apparent sacrifice that he was making; and I cannot but look upon it as the most beautiful example of conjugal love and service that it has ever been given me to see. I have, when addressing some of you in the past, taken occasion to call attention to the fact that a man’s life, the deeds with which it is filled, is much like the weaving of a fabric. Many of you have seen, and the rest know, how the fabric grows in the loom by the casting back and forth through the warp of the woof-bearing shuttle.  So it is with life—life that is but a moment between two eternities.  The shuttle of time is cast back and forth through the warp of eternity, leaving behind the woof of achievement, thus weaving a fabric which is more or less beautiful in accordance with the nature of the woof that may be woven therein.  I would not pretend for one moment but that, in the fabric of life woven by Robert Boast, there were some dark threads among the woof.  Who is there among us here present, who has not woven, into the fabric of his life, threads which he would give perhaps his life to be allowed to withdraw there from; but the fabric so woven by our friend has therein few dark threads, while there are many of silver and gold; and, as we look at the fabric as a whole, it is a thing of beauty, and well might any of us be proud indeed if we could know that, when we had lain down the shuttle of life’s loom and passed to the great beyond, the fabric which we had woven would be as beautiful as that left by our friend. But the beauty of the fabric of cloth which comes from the loom is not a matter of chance. The beautiful patterns therein woven were produced through the control of the shuttles by the hidden pattern. So it is with the fabric of life, it is not a matter of chance, the beauty of the fabric which any one may weave is controlled by the strength and beauty of the soul of the weaver. There are two kinds of Christians. There is the man who believes in the divinity of Christ, admires the work which He accomplished and yet fails to attempt that greatest of all things which the life of the lowly Nazarene taught-service to one’s fellow man. There is another Christian-it is he who whether or not he believes in the divinity of Christ, follows His teachings, and strives, as opportunity offers, to render service to his fellow men. I know nothing of the religious views of Robert Boast; but, regardless of what they may have been, I know that he was a Christian and that no better Christian lives in the City of De Smet.

My attention, has this day, been called to a beautiful poem, a poem which it seems to me, might well have been written by our friend as an expression of his views of life. It was suggested by this line from Homer: ‘He was a friend to man and lived in a house by the side of the road.’ and it is entitled ‘The House by the Side of the road.’  Since it expresses more beautifully than it is possible for me to express, the views exemplified by the life of our departed friend, I read it to you.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn...(27 or so lines omitted.)

Robert Boast ‘was a friend to man, and lived in a house by the side of the road.’  The community in which he lived has been made the better of his life. There is not one of you here but has been benefited by knowing him and knowing of his unselfish service. He has gone to his reward; his soul is with its Maker.

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