Tom Anglin, a hardy young pioneer with a vision, scouted several communities before coming to a decision. With a six horse outfit, lugging a trailer wagon behind, his wife and a dog and all their worldly possessions aboard, Tom headed east up Bonaparte Creek from Parry's trading post and up the long winding cobble stone and sand-hole grade. Today we know it as State Highway 30 which takes us to Republic. Eight miles up that grueling grade, Tom’s horses had it. So did Tom and his wife, Molly.

They hauled to a stop, put the nosebags on the hungry horses and sat down to mediate. "Why not drive our stakes here" mused Tom. His wife agreed. Early day stage coach stops and freighter stops were spotted where the traveler just had to stop for rest and food. Quickly word got around the Anglins hoped to have a community around them, and one after another, new dreamers, pulled in. A restaurant, saloon, blacksmith shop, and livery stable, those were the four corner stones upon which many a dream-town built its foundation.

Naturally it became known as "Anglin". By 1904, the freighter stop had become a town, large enough, in fact, that they put on a long remembered Fourth of July celebration. Time moved along, and other green pastures lured families away, one by one.

Today people driving leisurely up that highway can see the various level places in the sod where Anglin buildings once stood. A small apple orchard, long ago gone wild, a tiny four inch sign board reads "Anglin" and not far from this sign, across the road, hanging on the barbed wire fence another sign reads "Anglin Cemetery".

Not many today if any of the countless thousands who pass that way even know there was once a town there. And this was Anglin. Truly the work of men’s hands fades quickly away and goes back to dust.