community committee that came to ask if they had provender
and means to winter and start a crop out. They very thankfully answered
yes, and ever afterward remembered that as a wonderful welcome.(The underlined words are links to more information on the person. To get back to this document use your browser's "back button".)
My Grandfather Garee lived near “The Old Red Schoolhouse” in western
Pennsylvania. On his farm was an outcropping of coal in a vein so thick
that, in mining it from the hillside, they could take in a horse or mule
to haul out the cart loads of coal. He signed as security for a neighbor
for a large amount. When, on his death bed, the neighbor called him
in and told him not to worry about the money that it was provided for.
This proved untrue, and it took grand dad’s farm to pay the
debt.
Not long after that, the family, including a son, and two daughters, moved
to Northern Ohio, near Diamond and Ravenna where my Father was born in 1846
and a daughter later. The oldest daughter, I never saw.
She, Susan, married a man named William Force and they lived their lifetime
and raised a family there. About the 1930’s I was privileged to
see the old house they grew up in and to visit several of the remaining
kindred. Some of them lived quite near the big dam that had backed
water over hundreds of acres of the land where my Father had hunted many
times with his favorite coon dog “Old Toss”, a bulldog.
Uncle John served 3 years in the Union army, and because he was a good penman
he was retained in Washington for some time afterward to help “muster
out” the armed forces. He was in the Ford Theatre when President
Lincoln was killed: heard the shot and saw Booth fall on the stage as he
escaped.
Not long after that the families moved to Saline County Mo. Shortly
after their arrival there they were visited by an
organized community committee that came to ask if they had provender
and means to winter and start a crop out. They very thankfully answered
yes, and ever afterward remembered that as a wonderful welcome.
At the time of this move, the two brothers paid $28.00 for a double
barrel shotgun, one barrel 12 ga., one 11 ga. It was the gun with which
I learned to hunt, was a good one and the only such gun I ever owned until
after we moved to Noble in 1896, and traded Dr. Murphy a pony for a near-new
Baker 10 ga. breech loader. We still have the older gun, but ammunition
for it disappeared from the market years ago.
Uncle John and his wife were never very satisfied in Missouri
so they went back to Ohio and raised their family in the old neighborhood.
I do not know how long the “western” branch of the family remained
in Missouri, but later they were pioneering in Butler County Kansas.
Grandfather and the two daughters operating a farm and my Father out going
it alone. He worked at two trades: he was a cheese maker and a broom
maker. He raised a little crop of broom corn, bought a little more
and worked it all up into brooms, then started out with wagon and team,
wholesaling them in the nearby towns. He had disposed of one big load
and returned to El Dorado just in time to see the building burn down with
the balance of his season’s work. I remember, after I was grown
up, seeing a letter his Father had written to him, after the fire, telling
him to “buck up”, don’t be discouraged, “you have it
in you to come again and get another
start.”
Not long after that he met my Mother, the oldest daughter of the
Hamilton’s, an Indiana family that had settled about 6 miles south of
Whitewater. When they went on horseback to be married (spring of 1872)
the preacher lived in a dugout. Not wanting to be married in the dugout,
they stepped outside and had it said on horseback in the open prairie.
A little later, the younger sister, Jennie, married a Canadian William Wiggins
and the two couples settled near each other in Greenwood county which joins
Butler on the east. The middle sister, my Aunt Rhoda, divided her time
between the two homes except that she had filed on a claim adjoining my
Father’s and she had to live on it enough to be able to “prove
up” when the proper time came. She was engaged to marry a young
man who was operating a frontier freighting line until he could accumulate
enough so they could make a home on her claim. He was evidently killed
by the Bender family who operated a road house a county or two south east
of where they lived. So many of their customers disappeared that people
finally caught on and a posse of officers and settlers started out to
“get” them. They evidently got wind of it and started to
leave for the Indian Territory, but they were too slow. My Father later
talked with 2 members of the posse. Their stories of the chase tallied
to a dot up to the point of overtaking. Neither would say a word about
what or how, but the story was over.
My memory is quite vivid along this line. Some of the things are more
clearly remembered then some more recent events. Others have been told
to me so well that I may just think I remember
them.
From all accounts, I must have been a rather irascible kid and a little hard
to get along with. Here’s one bad habit. Any time something
went wrong and made me mad I would fall down, take some very awkward position
and begin to yell “I’m broke, I’m broke!” One day
I got “broke” too near the spring. Dad was just passing with
2 big buckets of water. He downed one of them on me and waited a few
seconds: it hadn’t done any good, so he emptied the other on me
and returned to the spring for another load. As he approached me and
set one bucket down I peeped up at him and said “Are you a going to
drownd me?” As the story goes I was pretty well “broke”
of the “broke” habit.
Our home in Kansas was near one of the “cattle trails”, over which
thousands of Texas cattle were driven to Northern markets or to skipping
points (I saw the first passenger train come into Eureka; flat cars with
railing, about 1877). Some of the driven cattle would become footsore
and lame. Drovers would sell these to settlers at very low prices.
With a few days rest they were “good as new”. Some of these
were wild, others well domesticated and gentle.
One evening I was watching the milking operation, a big long horn Texas cow
picked me up on the tip of her horn swung me around at the troublesome flies
and dropped me back where I had been standing. Not a scratch or bruise,
didn’t even tear my shirt, but they say it made me pretty mad to be
done that way by a cow.
My mother taught me to fish when I was 4 years old, if not earlier.
We lived in Greenwood County, Kansas near the headquarters of Tadpole Creek,
in fact the surplus flow from the spring that furnished us water meandered
off down through the pasture and found its way into the creek. It was
only a short walk down to where small, deep holes abounded in catchable native
fish. We went to them often and usually the results were highly
satisfactory.
One time we went my mother caught nothing but a small turtle while I got
3 bullhead cats, one a dandy, one middle size and the other about
as little as we ever kept. Dad was away that day, so Mom cleaned the
3 and planned a nice dinner for the two of us.
A near neighbor had a grand-dad or old uncle living with them, most too old
for much work, but a good hand to keep up with the neighborhood visiting.
Just as the feast was being spread, in stepped Mr. Hoddington. Of course,
Mother asked him to eat with us. Before he was fully settled in the
chair, he forked over and put the big one on his plate.
Of course I was heart broken, but I doubt if the old codger knew what he
had done to me. How I ever kept from raising the “rough house”,
nobody knows. Maybe it was an early lesson for me. A fellow is
likely, in a lifetime, to have some “downs” along with the
“ups”.
We moved from the claim when I where I was born in Greenwood Co. Kansas to
a little farm in Vernon Co. Mo. in the spring of 1879, just before I was
6 years old. That fall, I enrolled at “Center” school about
a mile away. My first teacher was Ona Swartz, a fine young lady and
an excellent teacher. We all loved her and did well under her
tutelage. My next was an elderly man named Logsden. He was a
crusty old codger that nobody liked. Once he caught me and another
7-year old in some little infringement of his strict rules and threw a big
switch, near a yard long, at us and told us to carry it up to his desk.
As we turned to go, he hit us one lick each with it across the shoulders.
Most everybody, my parents included, thought that was a cowardly, mean way
to handle the affair, but we lived over it.
We moved to El Dorado Springs early in 1882 when the town was
7 or 8 months old, and I was about 8½ years old. We left there
something over 14 years later, so I practically grew up there and have many
memories of early happenings in the town. The Cruce Brothers owned
the land around the spring. As the wonderful healing properties of
it’s water became better known, the town grew rather rapidly and the
two of them (cousins of our Oklahoma Ex. Gov. Cruce) soon established, Cruce
Bros. Bank, later incorporated as Cruce Banking Co., and some later as First
National Bank. Having heavy interests in the growing town, they very
naturally wanted to have a hand in the management of town affairs.
With many people this was O.K. while others resented it. Two of my
good friends, Dick Morris and Wes Goodwin operated a 4 page weekly
newspaper. Some question in town management came up for discussion.
Editor Dick came out stating his side as he saw it. Cruces asked them
to change and endorse their view of it. Dick refused.
The bank promptly foreclosed their mortgage on his little shop and plant.
For some time Dick had been adding to a small savings account at the Bank
of El Dorado Springs. He may or may not have had some backing from
them, but he jumped on the hack over to the R.R. and in a few hours was in
Kansas City where he bought a complete printing outfit, rushed it home and
came out just one day late with Vol. I, number 1 of the El Dorado Free Press,
a two page newspaper which soon grew large, and appeared weekly for
years.
When I was about 9 or 10 years old a scourge of diphtheria became rife in
our town of El Dorado Springs. The doctors were doing their best but
nearly every case was fatal. Finally, a young or middle aged Doctor
Wells, with a full beard reaching nearly to his belt got a new treatment
for it. This consisted largely of a rather severe swabbing of the throat
to remove the lumps which interfered with breathing. He had his first
two patients definitely on the mend when the thing struck my school friend
and me. Laura Griffith was a cantankerous little girl and her parents
did not have the fortitude to hold her and have the swabbing properly done
so her life was soon over. I was really the third survivor.
Modern science has done a lot in 80 years. That was good
beginning.
When I was an early teenager, I went fishing with two grown ups: young me,
Jim Dawson, son of a local doctor and Sid Dyer, editor of the local
newspaper. The only way they would have been interested in going out
with a “kid” was that I could have my dad’s wagon and team
for a 4 or 5 mile drive out to Little Clear Creek. I fished a little
away from them: when we met for lunch Sid, having a shot gun along,
had 2 teal ducks and Jim had a bass around a pound and a half. They
were in high. I was in the dumps. I had hung a big bass
and he got away. When I told them I had hung a fish twice as big as
Jim’s, and that he got the line around a brush and got away they made
fun of me: said I was excited, etc.
I went back up to the end of the hole, sat behind a bush and
never crawled out till I had two like the one that got away and two like
Jim’s. They got no more. The wonder is that he got the one,
for the water was clear as a spring. They tried all the way home to
buy some of my fish I wouldn’t listen to them. If they had not
made me mad, I probably would have divided with them. I am not mad
now.
We moved to El Dorado Springs near the north west corner of Cedar Co. in
the spring of 1882 when the town was 7 months old.
For a while I attended subscription schools, $1.00 per month.
A little later went to organized district school in any available building,
a term or two each in Wheeler Hall, down town, and the “Old Flat”
church in the south east corner of town. In 1886, the 8 room house
was built in the scattered woods at the north edge of town. Eight grades
and high school, the best on in the county. I attended school there
and finished the courses, but dropped out before they had a graduating
class.
In that time, I had 3 excellent teachers Mrs. S. B. Woods, an
elderly southern lady of culture, Ira E. Barber, later an attorney,
and G.M. Liston, later a doctor. The old building was later named Liston
School in honor of him and a widowed sister-in-law Mrs. S. C. Liston who
taught for several years in the primary grades.
While in Mr. Liston’s school, our math class, teacher and all, got
“hung up” for 2 days on a tough problem. I cannot quote it,
but it ran something like this with a little more detail:
“A farmer estimated he had enough provender to supply 13 cattle thru
the winter. When he had fed 40 days, cattle plague broke out and killed
R (?) cattle daily for 3 days. Long winter compelled him to feed 5
days longer than expected when the feed was exhausted. How long would
the provender have lasted had no deaths occurred?”
The third morning I announced a solution, so did Prof. Liston and asked me
to give mine first. Believe me, I had an attentive class. As
I finished, he said mine was better in one little detail and did not offer
his. By the way, years after that as the family and I returned from
a visit to El Dorado Springs we drove by a Kansas town and visited with Dr.
Liston an hour or two. He mentioned the cattle feeding
problem.
At an earlier date, the town school board, of which my Father was a member,
employed as head of our school a man named Sexton. They soon learned
they had made a mistake, for he was not much good. When we reached
the last problem in fractions in our old Rays arithmetic, the whole class,
teachers and all, hung up for a couple of days. The class was
11:30-12. He got on a high horse and said that problem would be solved
next day before anybody went to dinner. He was mad!!!
I got my orders to hurry home if were dismissed on time, and if I did not
show up by 12:10 Dad and at least one other board member would be on their
way over to see what it was all about. Luck saved us: somebody solved
the problem and that story was over.
In August 1887, T. B. Cooper and wife, two of her sisters, four other grown
ups girls, the elderly Mr. S. B. Woods and myself camped in a big tent at
the county seat, 20 miles away and attended the 4 weeks Cedar County
Teachers’ Institute. At the close, I took the examination along
with about 80 candidates in the 10 subjects required and handed in my
papers. The examining board consisted of the County School Commissioner
and two who had been teachers for the 4 weeks term. When my case came
up, one spoke up “His grades are good, and he has passed well.”
Another said “There is no age limit in the requirements” the other
said “Nobody would hire the lad even if he applied for a school job,
which he will not do.” So they issued me a third grade teachers
certificate 3 weeks before I was 14 years old. Can anybody beat
it?
I continued for several years to attend the county Teachers Institute for
the four weeks of August. In 1888 I got a second grade certificate
good for two years and including exams in 4 or 5 high school subjects added
to the ten elementary ones required for third grades. The following
August, I was one of five in the county (2 of them my former teachers) to
get first grader’s good for three years. My teaching work did
not begin until 1896 about 3 weeks before I was 18, at the
“Harscrabble” school near Jerico in the south west part of the
county (four months @ $30.) About this time the school law was changed
a little. First grade certificates were made good in any county in
the state. I got one of the three issued in our county that
year.
In the fall of ‘92, I was able to find a vacancy at a little better
pay (4 months @ $36) at “Red Hill” in the east side of the
county. Not a desk in the house. Seats were made of saw-mill
slabs of various lengths, each with 4 leg stakes driven into holes hoved
in the corner side and sawed off to provide proper height for large and small
students. Three or four larger boys bought lumber and made for themselves
a long desk. All around the wall for back-rest: I had a chair and a
small stand table for a desk.
My term was to be out on Friday before Christmas. The Saturday
before that, I had ridden my pony about 10 miles to Cane-Hill (Post Office,
Doctor, Blacksmith, 3 stores, with Schoolhouse about half a mile out).
Their teacher had been elected to a county office and was leaving them at
mid-term. They were quite glad to see me and I finished out the
term for them. Then they elected me for the following year: 6 mos.
@ $40. That was the best and most enjoyed of all my school
experience. Theirs was a fine class of young people that should have
been in junior high. Also primary and intermediates; most of them from
good families and it was well above the average. There was one
exception. I had some trouble with two unruly kids about in their early
teens, and next day their dad came in to straighten me out. For a burly
to come, lick the teacher and break up the school was not unheard of.
I met him at the door, invited him in and treated him decently and he left,
not quite as mad as when he came in. We had in school, Earnest Becknell,
22 years old, paying $1.00 a month tuition and classed with children
half his age, trying to pick up a little of what he missed as a lad.
All the time our “belligerent “ was “telling us off”
Earnest sat about a yard behind him with a stick of stove wood between his
knees for what he was afraid might happen. Several of the youngsters
saw the stick of wood and knew what it was for, but I had not caught on till
I was told.
Soon after the end of that term, I got a letter from the president of the
board of “Center” school, adjoining Cane-Hill. He told me
they had “imploid” me to teach their school the next year and asked
me if I would take it. I did and had a good and very interesting
term. By fall the school board had re-organized. The new president
sent me a boy 8 years old (had been to school) and his sister who lacked,
a week or two of six. This little girl was so timid that she would
cry every time I spoke to or even near her, so I very carefully avoided her
for a few days. After she became a little more accustomed to surroundings
I got her so she would stand at my knee for a few lessons. Soon she
became a regular in the primary class, and by spring she could read and spell
better than her brother. He was a slow learner and she was a quick
one.
That was the last of my district school teaching. Once in the meantime,
I had taken on a spring term about 10 miles from home. It was planned
for a 3 months term but the board would give me only a one month contract.
At the end of the month we went right along without further arrangement.
At the end of the second month, there was just beginning a short summer term
at the Miller Normal and Business College half a mile from home. I
had had some contact with Prof. Miller and his excellent wife and knew them
to be exceptional teachers so I resigned and enrolled. The board claimed
I didn’t do them right. I answered that the mistake had been
theirs. Had I been under a 3-month contract I sure would have stayed
with it. The fact that the girl I afterward married, was enrolling
at the same time - well - I - I -
Yes, I have met them. When I was about 4 years old I stepped on a little
one not 10 feet from the kitchen door. Before my mother took time to
kill the snake she bound up my foot in a poultice of salt and soda, moistened,
and which she renewed every few minutes for a while. It never got sore
nor made me sick.
Several things about it I remember very clearly: 1- The big stick of pole
wood she got at the wood pile to kill the snake; 2- Dad and a neighbor had
started to town on horse back, were not out of sight. Mom probably
could have called them back, but did not; 3- What that first poultice looked
like when she took it off in a very short time, discolored by the blood and,
venom ugly!
I was lucky in two ways: The snake was small, little if any more than 18
inches long: with my foot on his middle he got only a twisted strike at me
and only one fang broke the skin on the side of my heel, so I got much less
of the venom than I might have had.
Just after the turn of the century, my father and I prospected one of the
southwestern land openings by wagon and team as thousands of others were
doing. Driving slowly across a prairie dog town to observe the antics
of the little fellows, we heard the loud, clear warning of a rattler.
I picked up the shot gun and stepped out of the wagon. Believe me,
that, even in that sparsely grassed area, I looked carefully before every
step. Soon we located him 2 or 3 feet down a dog hole. I turned
the muzzle down the hole and blazed away. We took off a stay-chain
and let the hook end down the hole. The snake soon entangled himself
on the hook and we pulled him out. He was near 5 feet long and all
of 3 inches thick in the middle.
One more. Some 10 years later, I found a small rattler in the barn
lot, but I was too late: the mules had already taken good care of
him.
I would like to join the “White Fang Club” at the time of the Okeene
Rattlesnake Hunt, but up to now have not been able to get the address of
the secretary. Will try again next spring. (Aug. ‘64)
I grew up in the town of El Dorado Springs, Mo. moved to that town when I
was less than a year old and I was 8 past. When I was some 17 or 18,
with parental consent, I joined the town volunteer fire company. The
town had no water system, so we had what was called a “side
pumper”. Pulled by hand to the scene of the fires if we could
get our suction hose into a shallow well or cistern we could put out a small
fire quickly, or at least keep it from spreading to other buildings: a pretty
good small outfit.
All the other towns around us had 4th of July celebration. We never
did. We always waited until July 19 - 20, the anniversary of the town
founding and had 2 or 3 days of it. People came by hundreds and by
thousands from miles around, many of them to camp a night or two or even
longer. It soon became the largest event of the kind in that part of
the world.
One “twentieth” the Central Committee asked the Fire Company to
take charge of and operate the fireworks display. We agreed. A while
before night, we were approached by a young man who told us his father operated
a fireworks factory. He represented himself to us as rather an expert
in the line and offered his help for the evening. We were glad to have
him. One part of our display consisted of a mortar or gun about 30
inches high that shot straight up to a considerable height, a bomb, near
the size of a croquet ball, which exploded and dropped an immense shower
of sparks to fall slowly as a real bouquet of fire - beautiful!!
The young man lit the fuse on one of the bombs and dropped it into the
mortar. The fuse burned a little slowly and - yes, our expert
looked in to see if it was still burning. It was. He fell rather
away then toward me, but not more than 2 or 3 steps from me. Two others
and I kept firing Roman candles to hold the crowd while others quickly made
a stretcher to carry him and the fireworks display was over. We carried
him just a block to his hotel room, 2 doctors with us where they cleaned
him up a little and took a few stitches, and a couple of us stayed with him
till morning. The bomb was big enough that the bones of his cheek,
nose and forehead saved his eyes. I never saw him again, but heard
later that he made a good recovery.
Early in the century we organized a volunteer fire company in Noble, and
because I had some “experience” they made me chief. However,
I did not retain that job long. We found it better to have a chief
who lived nearer to where our equipment was housed.
We have had some pretty bad fires in Noble. On the east side of the
street, where the service station now is, was one of the oldest buildings
in town. It was a brick store with a lodge hall on the second floor.
Joining it on the north was a 3 front stone building with lumber partitions
dividing off the 3 owners. It was comparatively new. Fire broke
out in the old brick. By the time people got there, nothing could be
done for it, as it was about gutted. I got on top of the 3 in 1.
It was not in danger. The south wall of it was good. The only
way for fire to reach it was to burn out of the big store to the light lumber
porch, then burn back into the corner of the newer building. With 2
boys to carry water I could easily have stopped it there. Nobody would
bring me one bucket full. They were too busy carrying out things, so
I promptly went down the ladder. I went across the street to where
Deputy P.M. Miss Wise had just reached the office. I helped her get
the mail and equipment bunched together for a quick carry out if it became
necessary, then I got one of the thrills of a lifetime. In pulling
a drawer out of a thread case, she spied the half inch corner of a paper
sticking out from under a false bottom of the drawer. It was the
“advice” of a $20.00 money order that had been missing
for 2 or 3 days, and she was just on the verge of having to make it up from
her salary. Was she happy!!
Then I got on top of the porch of Arthur Wagners butcher shop and stood guard
that sparks and cinders did not bring the fire across the street. Some
boys carried me a little water: One of them thought I was getting pretty
hot and dashed a part of one bucket on me.
Arthur was a good citizen. He was the son-in-law of Granny Martin one
of the most loved elderly matrons in town. Next day he wanted to pay
me for protecting his roof. I said no: I don’t fight fire for
pay. He insisted: I still refused. So he stepped up to his block,
and with knife and cleaver chunked off a nice family size roast, wrapped
a paper around it and said “Take that home and tell your wife to cook
it for you”. That’s what happened to the roast.
Along about that time a couple of Chickasaw boys who thought they were a
little wild would come across the river, run their horses through the street,
yell a time or two and a few shots from their pistols and take off for
home. Arthur remarked one day the Town Council ought to appoint a marshal
to put a stop to such foolishness. At the very next meeting, the council
appointed him town marshal. That was a good joke, and many a hearty
laugh was had about it.
Not too long after that, the boys came to town, started up the street on
a gallop and let out a yell or two. It so happened that in front of
Arthur’s shop, tied to the rack, was a little saddle mare, not his,
but he knew her to be a good one. So he mounted her, took after one
of the boys, chased him a block or so, caught him, jerked him off his horse,
landed on top of him, held him till help came. That was the end of
the rowdyism, also the end of the big joke.
For about 17 years Charley Hobough operated a service station on the east
side of the street opposite the bank. He kept opened till bed time
and always allowed us to have an orderly pitch game in the office after
supper. One night, one of the fellows spied a fire blazing up in the
glass front store across the street. Somebody grabbed the phone and
called the Norman fire department which made a quick run, but they were not
needed because some of our fellows had forced the door and had the small
fire already out. Presently the Norman fire chief asked me to go in
the building with him. We found a partly burned pile of box-top kindling
and two similar piles well covered with kerosene under other counters.
These 2 had not been touched off. So far as I know, there was no criminal
action started: at least I was never called in to court to tell what I had
seen.
We existed along for a while, built one bridge in Logan Co. at a fair profit
(before we moved) and finally got the big bridge at Noble done in August
of 1898. It was a promotion affair. We had sold about enough
shares in it to buy the material, and did most of the work ourselves, two
men and four mules, with the help of a few sturdy fellows who had subscribed
a share or two on the “work it out” basis. At the conclusion,
we owned a controlling interest in the $7,000.00 structure for
the near three years till the Canadian cut a new channel and left it proudly
spanning a sand bar and a mudhole. Tolls from the bridge always paid
some, but never as much as we had hoped. The town wanted us to turn
the river back under the bridge, but we knew better, so they bought
us out at a low price and tried it. After their failure, they went
down river a quarter mile and built a beautiful leg bridge, using most of
the material from the old one. As they were starting to paint it, came
the largest rise of all time (1904) - two miles wide from the first of the
Noble hill. It took every vestige of the new bridge and all of ours
except the end that was anchored into the rocky hillside. That ended
the bridge efforts for Noble. As the town workers removed all the usable
material from the remaining part of the old one, a couple of my old friends
brought me one of the 270# tower caps, and laid it in my front
yard as a keepsake. It still lies there.
(More information and photos on the Suspension bridge.)
Shortly after the turn of the century my Father and I were operating a newly
established nursery. A. H. Symcox, an ancestor of the present operators
of the City National Bank, lived just south of Norman. About 1904,
Mr. Symcox traded me a pure bred Duroc Jersey sow pig for $10.00
worth of fruit trees. We named and registered her “Red
Dress”. She proved to be a good one and was the beginning of a
considerable herd of Durocs which we operated for a number of years
as a side issue to the nursery business. We added a few animals from
time to time always from the top blood lines of the breed and in Sept. 1907
I drove into the show ring “Red Ranger” the first Grand Champion
Duroc Jersey boar of the Oklahoma State Fair, of which Dad and I were charter
members. We continued to exhibit Duroc hogs, honey and other products
at the fair for a few years, always with a fair share of winnings.
In the fall of 1909, brought home a case of hog cholera, but that gives rise
to another story.
In the State Fair of Sept. 1908, I drove in the “summer up” for
Grand Champion Duroc boar. We had won 1st in the 6 mos. to 1 yr. class.
A Tattarax hog in the 12 to 18 mo. or the 18 to 24 mo. class, took 1st in
that class here, and the judge asked his owner and me to drive out to show
for champion. Tattarax had been Champion of the Kansas State Fair just
before coming here. He looked back and forth between us several times
before giving the purple to Tattarax. The Kansas hog had a slight fault
in the way he stood on his front feet and I saw the judge checking that I
thought I was going to win, but he evidently saw some fault in my hog that
he considered worse: I never learned what.
One entry was sired by our Gold Tip Notcher, a sow of Tip Top Notcher, Worlds
Champion, and his claim was Proud Perfection, our daughter of Perfection
Chief, champion of the Chicago Worlds Fair. So, you see we were about
as near the top as the average breeder could hope to get.
We kept our state champion Red Ranger and used him till he was
10 years old and sold him to a neighbor who used him more years that I know
about, and there my story ends.
An Indiana farmer Robert Ridgeway, by means of accident and observation,
solved the hog cholera problem some years ahead of the scientific fellows.
Early in the century, he had a scourge of cholera that took most all of his
hogs. By some means, 2 of his brood sows recovered. As soon as
he had “cleaned up” he restocked his farm and later had another
round of cholera. At this time, he noticed that his 2 sows, each with
a liter of pigs, all lived with the sick and dying hogs and never missed
a feed or turned a hair. Here is the whole story. His 2 sows
were immune. Their pigs were born immune and remained so as long as
they took only the mother’s milk. As they begin to eat
away from her, they begin to lose that immunity slowly, but because
they were running with sick hogs, eating greedily and still nursing, they
took cholera, but in such a light form that nobody knew it and that’s
the secret. They became immune for life.
Mr. Ridgeway published and copyrighted a pamphlet setting up all these
facts. Soon after the State Fair of 1909 when we brought home a case
of cholera which took most of our pigs but from which we were able to save
most of our older herd. I paid $10.00 for one of the Ridgeway
books and a “farm right” to use it. His method was crude.
We had to bury a cholera carcass to keep the virus till we needed it again,
or drive to a sick herd and get one. I have done both ways.
The survivors of our State Fair herd made an excellent foundation and we
began breeding Durocs in earnest. I think we made the first catalogue
sale of guaranteed cholera immunes in the state.
When our liters were about 6 weeks old and eating greedily, we would put
the raw virus in their slop and see that all ate some. By watching
closely I could see a very slight bowel reaction that I never would have
seen except that I was looking for it after 6 to 9 days.
About this time science stepped in and did a much better job of it.
A serum was developed that gave temporary immunity and if the raw virus was
also injected the immunity became permanent.
I had a lot of fun buying the virus alone from the serum plants. “You
will kill all your pigs if you give them virus without serum.”
However they never refused to sell me for 35¢, enough virus to kill
all the hogs in the township. The serum was much more
expensive.
I lost out on it once for a very definite season. After we had sold
out the herd I had kept one immune sow for personal use. When her pigs
were just right, I gave her pigs the virus. Within 4 or 5 days
she developed the worse case of milk fever I ever saw. Her udder puffed
up, tight as a toy balloon, and by the time for the pigs to react to their
cholera exposure, she was totally dried up; not a drop of milk to protect
the pigs. They all died. Had I seen it in time, it is possible
that heavy injections of the serum would have saved them. It was then
on the market and easily available.
All the happened around 50 years or more ago. I am quite sure that
modern veterinary science has practically eradicated hog cholera, or at least
has it so well under control that no up to date breeder has cause to fear
a serious loss from it.
When we moved to Oklahoma in 1896, small game was plentiful almost
anywhere. There was very little law to regulate hunting and such a
thing as a bag limit was unheard of. You simply shot all you wanted
if you could find it.
We had a team of mules that did not mind our shooting from the wagon.
they were used to it. Late one afternoon my Father and I decided to
get some quails. so we hitched up, drove to the north east corner of Noble,
then a mile north, a mile west, one south and back east into the north west
corner of town. In that drive, 7 was my lucky number. I shot
3 times, getting 7 each time. We all pitched in and got the 21 quails
cleaned before dark.
I built our first home in the S.W. corner of Block 12. Had part of
the block planted to orchard trees, and a hop pasture with a small pond in
the N. E. corner. I was out that way one day with my gun, a bunch of
quails ran into the path ahead of me and lined out down the path.
The distance was just right: I stooped low and fired down the line.
I picked up 12, and had seen one fall from the remnant of the flock a block
or so away. My bird dog was away, so I did not go to look for it.
I had enough and besides 13 would have been terribly unlucky.
Another time, I slipped up the dam of my own pond, fired into a big bunch
of “butter ducks”, I missed as they rose, pumped in the third shell
and got one. Picked up 10 ducks and saw one fall, way across the pasture
on the adjoining farm. 10 ducks at a shot.
In 1904, the Canadian showed us “the biggest ever” - two miles
wide at Noble. Receding, it left many lakes, some deep, some shallow,
mostly small but a few larger. Many of them were left well stocked
with fish but all together made a wonderful way-station for the myriad of
waterfowl on their twice a year travels north and south and it seemed like
a lot wintered here. Ralph Ellinger and I were hunting at one of them
when it was frozen over solid, but too thin to walk on. The ducks were
simply crazy. If we stood up in our blind they came in just about the
same. Some would alight on the ice and slide half the length of the
lake. We shot some as the slid by us. When we ran out of shells,
we had only a duck or two. At home, I had a small home-made float
boat. We went and got it, took a big club, broke the ice, pushed the
boat around and picked up either 15 or 17 ducks, I forget which. Some
duck shoot!
Harrison Everett and I were hunting in the same locality with
double guns. We sneaked up on some ducks in a smaller lake, took a
shot each on the water, got one each as they rose, reloaded one barrel each
and got one each before they got away. That was skill!!
Everett was an especially good shot. I was always proud of the fact
that in that one instance I was able to do as well as he did.
In the summer of 1902 or 1903, a Mr. Whitehead, J. A. Shriver, E. L. Sheets,
and Frank Casey organized the Farmer’s Store Company at Noble, Capital
stocks $10,000. Dry goods, groceries, hardware, lumber - most
anything. In just under 60 days, beside the cash business they had
done the total $10,000 was on their books, credited, mostly to farmers, secured
by crop and livestock mortgages. I owed them over $600.00
on open account, having built my first office and packing shed that burned
about 50 years later. Their credit was good: they were still
doing business.
But back to the original story: Mr. Whitehead had equipped a nice little
boat with an outboard motor, about the first such seen in these parts.
I was one of a little party spending with it, a week end at one of the new
lakes. We were catching some fish and having a lot of fun when LO!!!
- the propeller picked up a trotline. That line was wound and twisted
into a knot half as big as a nail keg and took a lot of work wit knife and
screw driver to get it off in something like a hundred pieces. The
fine little machine was not damaged a bit.
I was a rather successful squirrel hunter. Unless when hunting with
a trained dog, I never walked much but would find a likely place in the timber,
sit down and let the squirrels hunt me. They usually did. Years
ago, I used to cross the Canadian and hunt on or near the Johnson-Graham
Ranch. Gray and fox squirrels were both plentiful them. Later
the grays disappeared from this section. Later my hunting was largely
confined to the big cottonwoods along the lightly timbered branches east
of Noble. Once, daughter Stella and I headed for a familiar spot about
2 miles out. Just before we got there we passed 2 or 3 horsebackers
with about the most hounds I ever saw at one time. We had located under
a pair of big cottonwoods, and here they came. The woods around us
simply filled with hound dogs. I remarked to her “Our hunting
is over till this mess clears”. About then I hears a little
bark-scratching, looked up, fired 3 quick shots and 4 bushy tails fell.
We never knew which shot got 2, but there they were. Another time Grandson
Wayne and I planned to go hunting after school so I met him at the school
house at 4 o’clock and we drove to a big tree not too far from the site
of the hound dog story. That tree suddenly “came alive” with
the bushytails. I quickly shot 5 and Wayne saw another run into a
hole. That was enough we drove home. He stuck his head in at
the kitchen door and to his Grandmother said “Grandpa and I want to
go squirrel hunting.” She said “Wait a minute, I want to
fix you a sandwich.” He pushed the door open and dropped, the
5 squirrels at his Grandmother’s feet. I do not remember if he
still got the sandwich - he probably did.
Went hunting once with my son-in-law Harry Dean (now departed). I sat
on a stump near the middle of a small grove and shot 8 bushytails while he
hunted it over and never saw a live one. Another proof that my plan
is the way to get them.
When Ralph Ellinger came to Noble just after the turn of the century to establish
the bank he lived at the home of C. F. Wantland. In fact, after he
married, he and his wife lived with this fine elderly couple for some time
even after their first son was born. They soon learned that Charles
was not a normal, robust child and needed a lot of care. Mrs.
Ellinger’s parents lived in Oklahoma City. Making week-end visits
ups there they found a night woman who could take care of the sick baby better
than any of them, so they brought her to Noble a few times. Somehow
a rumor got started that “they” were going to run that
“nigger” out of town.
Ellinger was sleeping on a pallet at an upper window, his pump gun beside
him, and the gate clicked. Night clad, Mr. Wantland, holding a double
barrel gun with one hammer broken, beat him to the door. A dog had
clicked the gate.
Nothing ever came of the rumor. It may have been only idle talk at
the beginning.
Clyde M. Holliday came to Noble from Agra in the fall of 1904, to help out
at the bank in the cotton rush for 3 weeks. My wife agreed to board
him the 3 weeks. He practically never left. After a year or two,
he married and brought his wife here. Except for a couple of years
spent farther west, their home has been Noble, Washington or Norman ever
since.
While he was in the bank here we had what has been called “The Bankers
Panic”. Nobody understood all about it. All local banks
had a rule that nobody could draw out over $5.00 a day.
Business went on about as usual everybody wrote checks. A nurseryman
at Tecumseh wrote a stanza of poetry about “Oh! The checks, the beautiful
checks”.
While Clyde was in the bank here, I thought I needed eight or ten dollars,
so I stepped confidently up to his window but $5.00 and a smile was all I
could get.
That rule evidently meant me too.
Not too long after I came to Noble, two of my friends, Harrison Everett and
Jim Shriver opened a hardware store a few doors north of the present Post
Office. At that time, there was so much hunting that they somewhat
specialized in guns and ammunition even to the point of putting a complete
shell loading outfit in a front window. As their business prospered
a little, they each ordered for his own use an Ithica hammerless double barrel,
12 ga. shot gun ($22.00 wholesale) SOME GUN!!!
Shooting matches at the stock-yards at west edge of town were almost daily
occurrences in pretty weather. Stories of how much better
“patterns” the two Ithicas made than any and all other guns tried,
were told and retold at the store. One day I remarked to Jim that I
was beginning to see the real need of going to the stock yards with them
some day. This pleased him very much and he mentioned it to me several
times until finally, we went. I took my 10 ga. Baker. Jim ignored
the fact that my gun shot ¼ oz more pellets than his. We shot
at long range at a target made from ½ size of a newspaper. Two
shots each with bird-shot (#8) resulted in 4 patterns so near
alike that we called it a “draw”. Then Jim suggested we try
it with coarser shot. Now any experienced gunner should know the results
of a test of a 12 ga. full choke gun against a 10 ga. “modified”
choke with heavier shot. Yes, in a trial of #4 shot I put
twice as many in the paper as he did. Then with a load of very coarse
(B.B. size) his gun put 3 or 4 in the paper while mine put so many holes
in the big paper that we did not take time to count them. That shooting
match was never mentioned to me again!!
Later, the fellows made up a trap shooting club here. A
saucer shaped “clay pigeon” was thrown from a little machine.
As the quick part of the flight was over and the “pigeon” started
to fall, my long range gun would break one of them. I broke 6: the machine
broke the 7th into half a dozen pieces and “rattled”
me. It was no trouble for me to miss the other 3. Along with
club dues pigeons and ammunition, I decided it was a little too expensive
for me and I decided to save my ammunition for wild game, and that my
last and only.
The shooting stories on folio 16 bring to mind another worth
telling. About that time all our gunpowder was the old fashioned black kind,
exploded by a spark of fire and the modern “nitro” powder
was being introduced. Nitro powder requires a heavy shock to explode
it, and shells loaded with it are equipped with a different type of cap on
“primer” which produces the necessary shock. Our friends
in the hardware store had not learned this, so when they got in a small supply
for trial, they loaded a few of the old time shells with it just to show
us a “new one”. They did. At the next “Stock Yards
Session”, Jim took his turn to fire at the target. At the pull
of his trigger his old time primer set fire to his nitro powder. As
the powder slowly burned and expanded into smoke and gas, this ounce of shot
was pushed out of his gun and fell to the ground not over 6 feet
away. You could have caught it in a basket.
They got a supply of the more powerfully capped shells, and the result was
different. The new powder proved to be much better and the old fashioned
black powder has practically disappeared from the market.
Bob Hobbs was an old time friend of mine that lived on a farm 3 or 4 miles
south of Noble, near the river. He was a good citizen and a good
sport. He liked to play jokes on his friends and tell tales.
If somebody told a story first, he could usually come back with a better
one. I will admit that sometimes he may have exaggerated a little.
He used to grow and sell yellow meat watermelons of extra high quality.
He saw somebody saving some of the seed, and said he did not have to plant
the seed that on his sandy river land the roots live over and come up next
year. The story was told that he brought in a large woody root of a
perennial stinging nettle and persuaded somebody to plant it in the
garden. However, I do not vouch for the story.
Bob was an expert rifle shot. If he could get somebody to toss up a
quarter or half dollar he would usually hit with a .22 bullet from his automatic
rifle. If he was lucky to hit it the first shot it might knock the
coin so far it could not be found. Then he would laugh. For a
while he was a game ranger and wolf trapper and caught a number of
coyotes. It has been said that sometime a wolf will gnaw off part of
a foot, or his mates will do it for him. Sometimes Bob would fasten
his traps to a stump or bush but would use a chunk or piece of board as an
anchor. This would make a clear trail in the sand and Bob would follow
with a gun. One time he missed a trap, so he followed the trail.
soon the wolf jumped out of a bunch of big grass for another try at running,
but was too far away for a good shot. A little way ahead was a “duck
blind”. The wolf made for it, best he could. When he broke
into it, the two duck hunter did not need to be told to get out. They
were too excited to take a shot at the animal, so Bob had to follow it a
little further for a shot.
He told another story. As he was approaching two hunters in a blind,
he saw one hunter throw his gun into the shallow water of the river.
As he checked for their license, one of them had his all O.K. but the other
had none. “He was just along”. As Bob left them, he
hid in a brush patch not too far away and watched the hunter wade in for
his gun which he was unable to find. Whether he returned later and
found it Bob never knew.
At an early date, I saw very plainly the work of beaver on stumps near where
the South Canadian hits the Phillips hill south west of Noble so I know the
following is easily possible. The story is, that a law abiding citizen
showed Bob a beaver pelt and asked what it was. Due to the fact that
it was so evident there was no intention to violate the law, Bob allowed
him to destroy the pelt and never reported it.
Just as the present sewer system for Noble was about finished, Charley Hobough,
Wes Spencer and I took over as Town Council. The supply of the big
concrete pipe proved to be some 400 or 500 feet short of the needs and the
money was all spent. Charley went to see the people who had it for
sale. He told them our needs and the condition of our treasury, and
that the 3 of us recently elected for 2 years, would personally see that
they got the money but could not say when. We bought that little pipe
on these terms 10¢ per foot less than the previous council had bought
miles of it with money in the bank to pay for it. Had we been asked
a little more per foot than they had paid we would not have been
surprised.
Want to make a guess?
Years ago, I was approached by
a member of the Norman City Council with this proposition: - He wanted a
price on 200 shade trees for the City park at a price to the City and a 10¢
lower price to him. I did not sell the trees, and, do not know if they
were sold on that kind of a deal.
Joe Peters is in charge of the crew that takes care of the
grounds at O.U. He works with “Bob” Rucker, head of the Landscape
Department. A short drive over the grounds will show you how well they
get the job done.
Some time ago the Board of Regents decided to buy a new pressure type dump
truck for hauling trash. They were offered several kinds and selected
2 for a demonstration and let “Bob” and Joe decide which they liked
better. As the demonstration began, one salesman approached Bob and
quietly said “I can make it worth while for you to select our
truck.” Bob looked him in the eye, a second or two and said: “I
lost a leg in the war: ‘Uncle’ pays me a pension. The University
pays me a salary for what I do here. I can get along without doing
business with such as you.” They took the other truck.
(Later I got a chance to tell his story to Dr. Cross who had been a valued
friend before he was made president of O.U. - His only remark was
“That’s old Bob for you.”)
When R.F. Ellinger came to Noble in 1902 he and I soon learned one particular
thing we had in common: we both liked to fish. At that time Walnut
Creek, near Washington and for a few miles above and below was well socked
with wide mouth blue cat that apparently up to now has been missed
by the scientific fellows and has never been classified, named and put into
the books.
I had a light team and hack also a heavier team and light wagon to use if
we took a larger crowd and more camping outfit. Not long after he married,
he and I went at 4 o’clock Saturday, seined our bait, put out quite
a string of bank lines, which we attended pretty regularly until toward midnight
when we left them well baited and took a few hours of sleep. In the
morning our wives borrowed the pharton and black pony of the Wantlands and
arrived at our camp about 9 o’clock. We led them to the edge of
a high bank at a creek bend and pointed to 5 big strings of fish tied in
the edge of the water below. They said it reminded them of the hitch
rack in Noble on Saturday afternoon. We had some 40 or 50 cats from
1# to 4 or 5 pounds.
Personally I have a horror of them and will not use one. However, I
drive very little and do not ride very much as a passenger.
“Pro-belters” claim that statistics are strongly in favor of
belts. I wonder if they are absolutely fair in getting their
statistics. For instance, in that accident last week in which the car
was pictured flat on its top: all wheels high in the air. All passengers
escaped with minor injuries.
That case would not have helped the seat belt statistics very
much.
(Miller Fergusson, one of the wildest, near Sand Springs - Apr. 26 4 or more
all minor inj. 90 miles estimate.)
Not long ago I read a statement about planting pecan trees, made by our Cleveland
County Demonstration Agent, Vernon Frye, whom I regard very highly.
He said 50% of the planted pecan trees do not live I agree, and know a very
definite reason for much of this loss.
Nurserymen do not grow pecan trees to any extent in this section. We
ship them in from North Texas or further away. Never in my life have
I opened a bale of the trees that had not been perfectly packed: plenty of
damp moss, or Exelsion with stout paper and burlap wrapping. The roots
are too long to permit standing in the heel yard, so we lay them down at
a low angle and cover to a few inches of the tips with soil. Years
ago, we had one of the bad ones: days and days of dry, windy weather
between winter and spring, and I noted that most of those exposed tips were
dry as a pipe stem while any part covered by an inch or more of soil was
as fresh and fine as ever. We learned our lesson. We always insisted
that the trees be set to the proper depth (usually about a yard) and that
soil be banked up around them “about as high as you can make it
stand”, and leave it there until after growth starts and you can remove
it in fine weather. If the tree is more than 2-3 ft. high, it is advisable
to wrap the stem to near the top with burlap or paper.
We sold one order of 50 pecan trees the past spring (1964) to a Mr. Goad
living east of Norman. Some of them were shipped to him direct from
the Texas grower, other picked up from our heel yards. He reported
to us in July just passed that he had done everything just as directed and
that every tree was alive and growing.
Later we have the suggestion from one of the better pecan nurseries in north
Texas, that wrapping the stems completely with foil will prevent this loss
of moisture - after planting. Sounds good. May be as good as
the soil banking. We have never tried it.
(Acer saccharum - Sugar Maple) Hard Maple
About the late twenties I found in some canyons in Caddo County, some acer
saccharum (sugar maple) that did not turn brown in August, but held the sap
in the leaves so they could turn brilliant red and yellow at the approach
of frost. I soon began selling a few of them, but cannot trace any
of them now, except one.
About the mid-thirties, Howard Jenson and I spent a Saturday in one of the
canyons. Howard was head of the O.U. Landscape Dept. While I
was getting small seedlings to plant in the nursery for later sale, he spent
the day searching out and digging larger trees to plant on the campus.
If you want to see any of the 16 trees resulting from that day’s work,
drive over the campus on the approach of frost. You will not need to
have them pointed out. Every one will show itself.
Recently, Robert Rucker, head of the Landscape Dept. and his foreman, Joe
Peters (now deceased) have planted a lot of them and have grown a small nursery
of them near the south edge of the grounds.
I have dubbed it “Caddo Maple” to distinguish it from hard maple
from any other source, which up to now, have never failed to brown and lose
their beauty in August.
(More about the Ed Garee, the horticulturist)
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