(An account about Owen Joshua Tolman written by his grandson, Paul Montgomery.)
Although Owen Tolman’s life was filled with services and deeds performed to mankind, I would like to relate a portion of the services he did in the later years of his life.
Owen was crippled in early 1950, to such an extent that he could no longer farm or tend his stock. Rather than be idle the rest of his life he founded a trade in which he could be both interested and useful. At first glance one might think his occupation, that of hauling livestock to market and selling them for his customers, a very trivial and minor service to the community. But when one stops to think how hard it would be for a man forced to support himself on two canes to gather, load, unload and sell stock with no help other than his faithful dog, a person will admire him for his accomplishments. Not only was his occupation an admirable deed for a man of his capacity, but it was a service which saved many of the citizens of Oakley, Idaho a great deal of time and money. For the citizens in this small town often found themselves with one or two animals ready for market, but a special trip for just one or two would be a loss of time and money. Owen realized the plight of these small farmers and turned it into a profitable transportation business, both for himself and for the farmers. When someone had an animal to take to market they could call Owen. When he had accumulated a load he would take them to market.
Owen’s service to the community of Oakley came to a sudden and violent halt in November 1947. As he drove his little pickup truck and trailer onto the highway he was struck by an oil tanker. How he escaped death is still a mystery. The pickup was a total wreck. For many days Owen, the grey-haired, broad-shouldered old man with the cane, hovered on the brink of death. Few bones had been broken, but many muscles and tendons were torn. His superior will power won out and six months later he was wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair, a man told he would never walk again. But Owen didn’t lie around feeling sorry for himself with those big, strong, and yet gentle hands of his, the same hands which had helped me into the world when deep snows isolated my mother from the doctor, he began to massage life back into his legs. When massage made little headway, he rigged a pulley on his bed and stretched the cords and tendons in legs. After nearly two years of stretching and massaging he was able to walk again.
From that time on Owen became what his patients jokingly called a “Horse Doctor.” In an old pickup truck, much like his old one, he traveled to the small towns around Oakley, helping his friends and relatives at what ever he could. A constant delight to small children, he became “the best darn baby-sitter in town.” Children would sit for hours listening to his tales of the pioneer days, of the Indians and his bear hunting trips. But more important both to Owen and his patients, he had the time and patience to restore life to crippled legs and arms, just as he had done to his own. The healing powers in his hands seemed miraculous. Numerous homes in the vicinity of Oakley had a member restored to health by this jolly old follow. Owen went through the last years of his life, helping restore dormant limbs and faith and courage in those who had ceased to help themselves.
On July 21,1954, my grandfather, Owen Tolman, after helping mother with the supper dishes, suddenly became ill and died an hour later in my arms in the Cottage Hospital.