This Obituary is taken from a notice with the office letterhead of The Wallace Funeral Home. It is from the Pleasant Hill Times of Friday, November 20, 1908.

At the last stroke of twelve, Sunday night, at his home in this city, and with whom at the fateful moment were Mrs. F.A. Beeler, Mrs. Harvey Lamb, Mrs. Millard Parker, daughters; Milard Parker and Harvey Lamb, sons-in-laws; Glenn Parker, grandson and Miss Edith Hobbs, his nurse, the soul of George Morton Kellogg, citizen and benefactor of Pleasant Hill, gave up the long struggle against the encroachments of disease, passed beyond the curtain between the here and there, and now, in eternity, awaits the trump which shall befall all of mankind before the mercy seat of God. With varying fortunes since March, last, the grim fight had been waged. Upon several occasions word had gone forth that the patient was passing into the Valley of the Shadow, but each time his warrior strength had rallied to the fight and the tide of life flowed back into his veins. There was alternate hope and dispair for months. The original affliction--pneumonia yielded at last to treatment and hope burned high only to be dashed to earth again when a condition resembling Dropsy set in. In turn this was apparently conquered, only to be followed by acute Nephritis, which turned the scale and death won the victory against all that medical science could do or that love could suggest.

Business was suspended in Pleasant Hill Tuesday afternoon during the funeral, and such a throng assembled at the Kellogg home as has rarely been seen at a funeral in this city. The services were conducted by the Rev. E.T. Rice, pastor of the M.E. church, who had administered to the spiritual wants of Mr. Kellogg throughout his illness. The body lay in state in the south side of the south front room of the residence, the casket hidden in a magnificent profusion of floral emblems, both from the dead man's own floral gardens and from those abroad. The members of the family and the employees of the greenhouse each wore a single white Carnation. The house was crowded to the limit, while outside around the windows were grouped a hundred or more men from all walks of life listening intently to the words of the minister. Here were grouped, both merchant and farmer, laborer and professional man, and over all dwelt the solemn hush which falls upon those who have come to pay the last respects to one whom they had hailed as friend.

Taking his text from one of the Psalms, Rev. Rice delivered a sermon whixt dwelt at length upon the career of the man who lay dead before him, his hardships, his unflagging industry, and, when at last fortune smiled upon him, of his benificences. It was a high tribute of singular power, a finely worded bit of English.

At the close of the sermon the employees of the greenhouses passed through and took their last look at the face of the man for whom they had labored. Then the friends passed, one by one, by the flower decked bier. Lastly, the family took the final farewells and the casket was closed. Mankind had looked the last upon the rugged, kindly face of George M. Kellogg. The cortege which followed the body to the grave in Pleasant Hill cemetary was an imposing one. Following the buggy at the forefront which bore the minister, came a double-deck wagon loaded with the many beautiful floral offerings. About forty men from the greenhouses followed this wagon, standing by twos. The six pallbearers, Dr. Rowe, F.A. Beeler, Grorge Cook, Millard Parker, Harvey Lamb and James Bush, all son's-in-laws of Mr. Kellogg, followed in a three seated rig. Then the hearse, the carriages and buggies from far and wide. When the head of the procession began passing the east line of the cemetary the rear was just getting away from the house.

The Kellogg lot is in the east side of Pleasant Hill cemetery, and until the father was laid to rest, the only one there, in a narrow cell forever laid, was the daughter, Blanche, who, at the age of twenty-one, died some years ago. Next to her tenement of clay (it too, was hidden by a bank of flowers) the one for the father had been prepared. The burial service was simple, yet impressive. The rumbling of the significant clods upon the box, at the words "Earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes" was followed by the Lord's Prayer and a petition to the Father for His mercy for the stricken ones. Then "Rock of Ages" by a choir of trained voices--and all was over. In a few short minutes the shovels had done their work and the grave scars were hidden far beneath the fragrant bank of flowers which thus became a blanket for the dead.

George Morton Kellogg was born at Westfield, Massachussetts, April 16, 1838. Living in that vicinity until he arrived at maturity, he came west and stopped at what is now Olathe, Kansas, where he helped to build the first house put up at that point. He remained there but briefly, however next going to Atchison, Kansas, where, August 24, 1859, he was married to Miss Mary Swineheart. Subsequently he made his home for a long period on a farm close to Hiawatha, Kansas, and his place became known as one of the best kept and best improved in that section of country. The year was 1866 saw him "pull stakes" and move once more, this time his choice of location being Independence, Mo. where he lived for a year. In the meantime evil days had fallen upon the young man's fortunes and when, practically penniless, he started overland from Independence to Pleasant Hill, his little family of wife and four children were conveyed in a light spring wagon. Somewhere on the road ...(this part of the article is unreadable)...about forty years since that sorry little caravan came slowly into Pleasant Hill but there are yet here those who noted and remembered it. However, if George M. Kellogg lacked in worldly goods, it seems that he did not in courage. Indeed, his was a spirit enduring and his is an iron will. How he set himself to the task, brushed aside poverty, gained his feet and won independence, achieved disinction in his business and became known far and wide for his philantrophy reads like a romance. In the beginning, housing his little brood in the old boarding house which had been used in connection with a young ladies academy, conducted in the present Kellogg home, but then in the last throes of dissolution from the blight of civil war, Mr. Kellogg began truck gardening on a small scale. In season he would pack a trunk with vegetables, check it to a neighboring town and then peddle the stuff in baskets. In this manner he would cover occasionally every town within reasonable distance. With a bit of a gain in his fortunes he got into the ice business, and later, dairying took a part of his attention.