Sam Konkel’s 1929 campaign to bring government closer—and avoid another county-seat war

In early 1929, southeast Colorado revisited an old frontier argument: county government was too far away. Residents on the far east end of Las Animas County faced trips of “100 miles or more” to reach Trinidad. The cure, local boosters said, was bold—create a new county with Kim as the seat. Depending on the week (and the column), the plan went by “Kim County,” “Wood/Woods County,” or simply the new county.

A campaign takes shape

No one pressed the case more insistently than Sam M. Konkel, editor of Springfield’s Democrat-Herald. Konkel wasn’t theorizing. He had lived through the 1888–1889 county-seat fights when Baca County was cut from the east end of Las Animas and Springfield won the seat amid the burning of the Boston, Colorado, hotel. He knew how fast civic rivalry could harden into hostility—and he wrote like a man determined not to watch a sequel.

On January 11, 1929, the paper reported active organizing: Konkel joined V. L. Waters, Sam Wright, and A. M. Rice in Trinidad to sound out the Chamber of Commerce, county commissioners, and other leaders. The Trinidad mayor, F. R. Wood, was “very outspoken” in support and a special chamber meeting was called. I suppose you could interpret that as they would be more than happy to get rid of those pesky “East Enders.” Soon after, sponsors filed a bill in Denver:

• House: Rep. Fred Harris (Baca) and Rep. Mrs. Kitty Brighton (Las Animas)
• Senate: Sens. Jas. B. Ryan (Rocky Ford) and Carl Burke (Lamar)
  

Petition drives claimed ~65% of property owners in the east end, and Trinidad’s business leaders lined up behind the move. One dispatch even sketched the footprint—~36 miles east–west by 45 miles north–south, discussing how they wished to mirror Baca County’s dimensions.

Konkel’s two-track argument: growth and peace

Konkel’s editorials made a practical case and a cautionary one.

• Practical: A nearer courthouse would unlock settlement and commerce. The paper predicted an “immediate movement of settlers” and, within two years, doubled population and production—“more business for everybody,” including Baca towns that already drew Kim-country trade until a railroad pushed farther west. Although the westbound construction had actually stopped at Pritchett when east west rail extended into Baca County in 1926, boosters in 1929 still wrote as if the line would push on to Kim—and ultimately Trinidad.
  
• Cautionary: Drawing on 1888–1889, Konkel warned that if the new county failed, the east-end townships might seek attachment to Baca, setting off a county-seat war—Pritchett vs. Springfield—or even tempt schemers to split Baca “down Main Street in Springfield.” He invoked Kansas seat wars as a template for how ugly it could get, clearly remembering Old Boston’s fiery end in April 1889.

Opposition answered from another angle. A letter under the Morris Land Co. (Lawrence, KS) masthead argued that smaller counties meant duplicated courthouses, more officials, higher taxes, and that modern roads had blunted the old case for tiny units. If anything, consolidation saved money across the plains.

Momentum—and the bottleneck called Rules

Through late February and early March, Konkel’s updates from Denver sounded upbeat. The bill cleared the House Committee on Counties and County Lines; opponents were invited to testify and didn’t show, so the measure was reported out favorably. “Sentiment,” he wrote, was “crystallizing” for passage.

Then came the procedural reef every Statehouse veteran knows: the Rules Committee. On March 15, Konkel reported that Rules had pigeonholed the bill—kept it off the calendar. He and allies moved fast. Working with Sen. Burke, they drafted a circular and blanketed both chambers, urging members to vote to pull the bill to the floor. Rep. Fred Harris earned praise for fairness and pledged to speak for the measure when (if) it reached debate.

April 5, 1929: “Stabbed to its death”

Three weeks later, Konkel wrote the obituary. Under the headline “NEW COUNTY BILL MEETS FOUL PLAY, AND STABBED TO ITS DEATH,” he explained for readers how Rules works: every bill leaves a standing committee only to live—or quietly die—at Rules’ discretion. He stopped short of alleging bribery, but argued the opposition pre-arranged a burial in Rules, which is why they skipped the public hearing earlier. Either way, the practical lesson was clear: next time, elect or position a representative willing to offer a floor resolution to force the bill out of Rules.

“The finis to the Wood County bill has been written and right now is the time to organize for the fight of 1930–31.”

Why Konkel’s commentary carried weight

Konkel’s 1929 essays read differently when you remember what he saw in 1888–1890 the fracturing of communities, Springfield’s selection as county seat, and the burning of the Boston hotel as tempers boiled. His refrain in 1929 wasn’t mere rhetoric; it was a veteran’s plea to gain local access without rekindling a seat war. The new county, he believed, was the cleaner release valve.

The arc in one glance

• January 1929: Organizing, petitions, sponsors—real traction.
• February–early March1929: Favorable committee report; optimism surges.
• March 15, 1929: Rules shelves the bill; supporters mount a pull-to-the-floor campaign.
• April 5, 1929: Konkel declares the bill dead in Rules, and pivots immediately to strategy for 1930–31.
  

The Wood/Woods/Kim County push didn’t fail for lack of local will. It failed where many reforms do: in the quiet power of a political calendar. Konkel, carrying the scars of 1889, tried to steer his neighbors toward growth and peace. The map did not change that spring, nor has it since—but his editorials preserved the case, the cautions, and the playbook for a possible next round.

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