08/01/2026
The beautiful child pictured here is Iska Susan Wilcox Jones. She was born in Prosser in 1895 and resided here for more than 90 years. Like many people of her era, Iska was a gifted storyteller who painted vivid word pictures to entertain family and friends.
The museum's archive is home to Iska's extensive oral history interview (conducted by Cora Mason in the 1970s), which demonstrates her ability to transport us back in time to early-day Prosser. Here are two excerpts. The first is a humorous tale of a naked purveyor of peaches, the second is a chilling description of a murder Iska witnessed when she was a young woman. Both describe real people and true events that took place in our community long ago.
*****
A Naked Purveyor of Peaches
by Iska Susan Wilcox Jones (1895-1988)
My name is Iska Wilcox Jones. My parents farmed out in the Buena Vista District beginning about 1890. They had to wait for the irrigation water to arrive before they could plant anything, so my dad went to work for the Northern Pacific. Mother stayed on the homestead to prove up on it, but she’d move to town in the winter.
I was born in a house on Market Street here in Prosser in 1895. I was delivered by an 80 some year old retired doctor who lived nearby.
Here’s a funny story you might like:
Seems like everyone had a fruit tree in their yard then - a pear tree or an apple tree. The fruit trees were our shade trees too. My family loved peaches, but for some reason we didn’t have a peach tree. So, we had to drive up the River Road to see an old man who had a peach orchard there. No one would go up to his place alone. They was scared to death of that old man, but I wasn’t scared of him. You see, he was perfectly harmless, he just didn’t like to wear clothes. People would stop a ways from his house and holler until he’d answer ‘em. They they’d just sit and wait, because they’d really want a box of his deeelicious peaches. Finally he’d come out with a gunnysack wrapped around his hips. Then, he’d get ‘em their peaches.
*****
Hardly Anybody Spoke of Harry Favor Again
by Iska Susan Wilcox Jones (1895-1988)
Now, here’s a very, VERY sad story.
I was involved when Harry Favor shot his wife Lucille, you know. She and I had been at the afternoon theater to see "Quo Vadis." Harry was walkin’ the streets and he saw us. He come up to Lucille and tried to get her to go with him. She’d gotten a divorce from him three months before and so she said: “No, I’m NOT going with you. I have these girlfriends with me and I’m going home.” We got in the buggy and started home, Lucille and Edith Fordyce and me.
I was driving the buggy and Lucille said: “Iska, drive down to the deputy sheriff’s house down there on the river bank. I want him to drive ahead of us and protect us.” So I drove down there and she called him out. “You’re all right,” he said. “Harry won’t bother you.” Lucille said: “He’s in a fightin’ mood and I don’t want to meet up with him. Please, please come with us!” The deputy wouldn’t do it. He was eatin’ his dinner and he didn’t want to be bothered, so we went ahead.
Well, Lucille was as nervous as a witch on ice. She made me nervous too, don’t you know. We went through this cutoff and there was a big irrigating ditch there. You know how shrubs will grow all along its banks - you know just wild things - cottonwoods and willows and everything? We went by the ditch and Harry Favor just raised right up right out of those weeds!
He stood in front of the buggy and said: “Whoa Molly hoss. Whoa.” Well, my horse just stopped dead still, and I couldn’t get her start again for anything because a man’s voice is so much stronger than a woman’s.
Harry walked up to the buggy. He took hold of Lucille with his left hand and he had a gun in his right. He said, “Lucille, you come with me or I’m gonna shoot you.” She said, “Shoot if you want. You can kill me, but I wouldn’t live with you no matter what! I’d rather be dead than to live another day with you.” And he shot her three times.
I grabbed the buggy whip and I started to whip Harry with all my might. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. But, he just took the buggy whip away from me and threw it into the bushes. I said, “Harry Favor, you done all you can do. Now get out of here and leave us alone.” I said it two or three times. Finally, he wandered off.
Lucille jumped out of the buggy and started off runnin'. They tell me if somebody’s been shot, they’ll always try to run. She started running down the road. I yelled, “Lucille!" Then she fell. She wasn’t conscious, but she was in terrible pain. One of the shots entered her arm and lodged on top of her wrist. You could see it pokin’ out a little bit. The other two bullets entered her lungs.
There was a funny thing about the incident. That was, my friend Edith Fordyce wouldn’t touch a rein. No. Edith wouldn’t drive a horse for love or money. She was scared to death of horses.
But, when I said: “Edith, drive up to the Powells and tell ‘em to come help us!” - why, she grabbed those reins and started that horse up lickety split. She was so scared! Well, who wasn’t?
Edith saw Mr. Powell harnessing his horse. Edith didn’t stop. She just whizzed by and screamed, “Harry! Down there! Help! Help!” and she went right on home as fast as she could go.
Mr. Powell ran down to where I was. I said “Harry Favor’s walkin’ around. There he is!” But Mr. Powell didn’t listen to me. He just looked at Lucille and said “Oh my God!” and her lifted her into the buggy. I jumped in and stood behind her. I held her arms straight up because when they were down they pulled on her lungs and hurt her so bad. That’s the way we come to town.
Some men carried her into Mrs. Bourquin’s hospital (Park Avenue), carried her to a bed upstairs. Her folks were already there. They wept and cried and were absolutely heartbroken. Lucille lived until eleven that night. She didn’t talk anymore than she had to, but she asked, “Mamma, will you keep my little girl?” Her mamma said: “Of course I’ll keep her.” And she did.
Well, the Mahans were the sheriffs, and when they got to town that night things went to poppin’. They sure shook the blankets for Harry Favor. I said to my mamma: “Let me go and show ‘em. I know where he is.” Mamma said “you’re not goin’ anywhere young lady!’
But I knew exactly where Harry Favor was. You see, when we were driving away, I saw him watch us a long time. And just when we got out of sight, I heard him shoot himself. Sure enough, that’s what happened. He just fell into those weeds and willows and laid there dead. The Mahans finally found him.
Not long after, Lucille’s parents and her daughter moved to California. They never did let that little gal know what happened to her mother. Harry wasn’t her father, so of course Lucille’s folks never spoke a word about him. Come to think of it, hardly anybody spoke of Harry Favor again.
A sad story. Yep, a very sad story.
