It has been generally understood all along that the town was named after a New York official of the railroad which came through here in 1867. Confirmed, this would seem to kill the Taylor version of it, by at least two years. The matter, I believe, was settled for all time a couple of summers back when a New York woman, returning by automobile from the Pacific coast, called at the Wetmore post office to mail some letters. She told Postmaster Jim Hanks that the town was named after her father, who was an official of the railroad—and that she had driven a hundred miles out of her way to have her letters bear the Wetmore postmark. I have seen Wetmore grow—and slip. Compact at the time of my entry seventy-nine years ago, occupying less than a half block, the town spread out through the years to a space of one-half mile by nearly one mile—not quite solid. The town became a City in 1884, with Dr. J. W. Graham as first Mayor—and at its peak had a population 687. The population at this time—1948—is 373. There is not a person in this City today who was here when I came. Gone, all gone now. And nearly all dead. Something more than a tinge of sadness accompanies this thought. There is not a building of any kind standing that was here when I came—not a tree but what has been planted since that day. In truth, there is nothing, not a thing left, save the eternal hills and the creek which flows through the south edge of the City that antedates the time I came here. Yet, I do not feel old. And should any of my friends choose to wish me anything, let them wish with me that I never do grow old. The Mineral Spring To enlarge a bit on our ever-flowing mineral spring! It was—and is—near the creek in a natural grove of big trees at the southwest limits of Wetmore. Nathaniel Morris, an early-day merchant, had an analysis of the water made—and talked of developing the spring into a health resort. The water was pronounced medicinally good — mostly iron, I believe. But, beyond attracting large celebration crowds, his dream was never realized. However, Morris induced the railroad to run in an “excursion” train of flat-cars canopied with heavy-foliaged brush against a blazing summer sun, on the occasion of one Fourth of July celebration. Green leafed brush also covered some of the stands on the south margin of the grove. Green brush was the standard picnic coverings in those days.