Before Ina's birth mama suffered from an abscessed tooth. She was forced to live on liquids. After the baby came, the doctor
lanced her face but did not his the infected spot so that it broke forth in another place in a few days. Her face was scared
forever. J. C. and I went home with Grandfather Harris and Aunt Mamie, his youngest girl, while Aunt Gusta stayed with
Mama. We two had a good time and found several interesting things to get into; I suppose Aunt Mamie was glad when it was
time for us to go home. Grandfather liked to raise watermelons and that year had a large patch behind the dam of the tank
where they could be watered easily. We wanted to get out there but he wouldn't allow that. He picked out his finest melon to
take to Mama. On the way home we stopped in Breckenridge at Uncle Edgar's house. Grandfather moved his melon from the
buggy to the porch so that it would be in the shade instead of the still hot September sun. J. C. and Charley rolled the melon off
the porch with disastrous results, to the disappointment of everyone. when we got home, mama's face was bound up. One
glance, and thinking she was dead, I went into hysterics. Only when Papy put me on the bed and she had talked to me would I
be comforted. That was the worse scare I ever had! The next summer Cousin Docia Allen Milam of Memphis visited us all.
She was "pleasingly plump" and very jolly. She was Grandfather Allen's niece whom Uncle Tom had visited previously. She is
the only relative of his I ever saw. She had a brother named Jim who never married and a sister, Elizabeth Wright, about whom
she told us. Oh yes, Cousin Docia rocked Ina so much in her wicker buggy that mama had to use extreme measures a few
times thereafter. Pappy had some cows and a few mares so that he could sell calves and colts for ready money. One year he
set aside a very dark colored pony, had it broken to the saddle, and gave it to J. C., who had been riding some. J. C. named
the pony Blue Dog. Pappy saddled the pony and put J. C. on for a little ride. A few minutes later as I was in the yard the horse
returned with an empty saddle. My screams brought out parents, and we ran to look for brother. I caught a glimpse of his straw
hat and called out again. Whether he simply fell off, not very likely, or whether the horse went under a tree limb and dragged
him off we never knew. Anyway, J. C. was unconscious for several days and the results later were far from good. His hearing
was affected and grew worse so that in old age he could hardly hear even with an aid. Pappy blamed himself for not walking
with him, but he had been assured the horse was so tame that a child could ride him. We lived 12 miles from Breckenridge and
it took time for a doctor to come out. Pappy had a large "Doctor Book", which he consulted frequently. We had all childhood
diseases and bumps and bruises. He kept calomel, quinine and castor oil on hand and with kerosene and turpentine, he could
dose for minor ills. When anything looked serious, he called the doctor or sometimes took the child in question to the doctor.
He said he'd rather we'd eat than be sick. Our parents were solicitous of our health on body and spirit. They were generous
with their time, their work, and their financial means. No one in either family was ill that mama did not at once go to their
assistance, if at all possible. They were upright, devout people who did not talk about religion but every day gave us examples
of Christian behavior. OUR EARLY SCHOOL DAYS Now there arose the problem of school. I had wanted to go to school
and at the mature age of five had stayed some time with my Aunt Tuela Lindsay and her family who lived near Pecan. The two
sons -- Otis and Willie -- and a daughter named Ola Mae were all older than I. We walked across a pasture in which the boys
insisted there was a bad bull. Ola Mae and I ran and ran to school and back while the boys laughed. That's about all I recall of
that time. The next two years, as I have said, I went to Breckenridge part of the time. Our Art Literature readers were beautiful
books, smooth paper with large print, pictures and filled with stories, most of which had morals and poems. Robert Louis
Stevenson's short poems were my favorites. When I went home, I repeated them for J. C. and Tommie. We often "sang" them
all the way to church. Now suddenly J. C. was seven and Pappy decided to move to town so that we would attend school
properly. As Tommie was five, it was thought she might as well go along. However, it happened she didn't like school, too full
of playing, I suppose. She cried every day until the teacher allowed her to sit with J. C. or Cousin Charley - all being in the
same room. The house we lived in was large but east of Gonzales Creek and that was a long walk. To tell the truth, we were
actually exhausted when we got home. One afternoon we were plodding across a hill when a strange sound was heard -- one
we did not know. We were frightened and ran as fast as we could. Pappy went out to see what it might have been and found a
hoot owl sitting on a tree near the path! It happened once I did not feel well and had stayed home from school. Mama lay
down for one of her long naps (15 or 20 minutes) and told me to watch after Ina and Fred. Ina and I were playing with our
dolls and I forgot Fred. When mama came in, she asked for him, but he was nowhere to be found. There were two water tanks
near the house, a stallion in the barn, and perhaps more danger about. Frantically we looked everywhere, all to no avail. [Line
drops off page again] . . .but I followed our path across the pasture, calling as I went. Soon I spotted Fred in his blue rompers
with Pappy's black hat on his head. He had tried to follow Pappy to town, had reached a gate he couldn't open, and turned
back. I felt very bad about that incident, and I never again forgot to watch out for the younger children. We liked school, I
especially. I was double promoted into the fourth grade with an exception in arithmetic. At that time figures were puzzles to me
so I crossed the hall to study arithmetic with the third grade. All my teachers were wonderful persons, I thought, and they really
gave me considerable attention. Now I had caught up with Nellie, who wasn't at all pleased about it since she was nearly two
years older than I. Our teacher had us memorize much poetry, such as "Crossing the Bar", "A Psalm of Life", "Little Griffin of
Tennessee". I can quote most of them yet, but when she assigned "Thanatopsis", was too much for my understanding. Finally,
Miss Edith Rosenquest allowed me to do something else instead. In those days every school desk had an inkwell. We were
taught to write with a penstaff and pen so we must have ink. All girls then had long hair, plaited, with beautiful bows of ribbon at
the head or maybe at the end. Anyway the boys were delighted to dip the end of the hair into the ink wells. What a mess it
was! The only defense was to be sure your pigtails were down your front instead of your back. One day I had a new bottle of
ink and in opening it I spilled it all over myself. I began to cry; I was so embarrassed I just couldn't bear all the giggles, etc. By
this time we were living near school and Miss Edith gave me permission to go home. Of course, mama bathed and dressed me
again, assuring me she could ge the ink out of my clothing. I didn't want to go back to school, but mama said I must. One does
what one must! After some two years in Breckenridge it was thought that we were old enough to drive a horse and buggy and
thus attend school at Ivan. I was 11 and J. C. 9, but we believed ourselves quite capable of driving five miles to school.
Toward the end of that term, we all, including Grandfather Harris, were back at our old home and glad to be there. We three
children walked over to Pecan for the remaining days of school. It was a long way, but we enjoyed the old familiar places, the
plants, the animals and the people. I doubt that we learned much at school, but we did get reacquainted with old friends. The
teacher was Miss Ruth Moore of Eliasville, whom Uncle Tom was driving abou with in his Ford Roadster. Of course, we were
fascinated and hoped they would marry. Actually, Miss Ruth was in love with another man whom she later married. Uncle Tom
didn't care; he was just out for a good time. He was now living alone on his parents' place. Meantime, Pappy was making
preparations for the next school term by buying a buggy and finding a horse gentle enough for us. Uncle Tom was at our house
frequently and it was during the following years that we learned to love him better than any other of our uncles. As long as he
lived, he treated us all almost like his own children. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY Pappy had a team of horses - Red and
Preacher. When he settled the place but had later purchased a span of large mules - Kate and Beck. Old Preacher was a large,
bony bay with a white streak down his long nose, giving him a look of solemnity, thus his name. We drove Preacher 5 miles to
Ivan , where the school yard was fenced so that the horses of many of us could be free during the day. Old Preacher was
patient with us, but the next year he died. Grandfather Harris had a dark red horse called Dallion. He was old too and very
gentle but also wise as I shall prove later. So we drove old Dallion. I said he was wise. On one occassion a light snow fell and
someone, probably boys, rolled up a huge snowman right by the road. When Old Dallion saw that figure he balked. J. C.
seemed to have instinctive feeling about animals so out he go, took the horse by the bridle, talking all the while, but "No!" the
horse wouldn't move. J. C. left me to hold the bridle, walked down to the snowman, touched it, walked around it, came back
and spoke to the horse as if he were a person. "It's nothing to be afraid of - just some snow there. You say it didn't hurt me,
didn't you?" Dallion still looked doubtful so J. C. continued to talk, finally took hold of the bridle, and Old Dallion went on a bit
unwillingly. When he had had a closer look at the snowman, he snorted as if in disgust and went on at this accustomed slow
pace. Another time Dallion actually saved Mama's and Fred's lives. When we learned that Mama's brother Walter, had
suffered a broken leg, she, with Fred, hurried off in our buggy drawn by Old Dallion. Uncle Walter lived in Crystal Falls, about
12 miles across the Black Ranch with all roads marked but following one paths from gate to gate. The nigh before their
expected return there was a snow, but in the day itself the sun came out and the whole world glittered. They should have been
home early but the hours passed and no buggy! Finally, Pappy could stand the suspense no longer and saddled his horse to go
looking for them. He was telling us four, J. C., Tommie, Ina and me -- that he would be back before night when the buggy was
at our gate. Mama and Fred had been snow-blinded, and the horse had brought them home. The foreman of the ranch, Mr.
Fade, said later he was out seeing to the cattle and spotted their tracks, recognized Dallion, and knew it was Mrs. Allen, so he
followed and found that the horse had pulled buggy up hills, across streams, throught almost impassable places, but he had
never faltered in going home. One summer Dallion got his foot caught in a barb wire fence and his useful days were over. He
lived a year or so, pampered and petted by the entire family, Then Mr. Fade sold us a horse named Dan. He was young and
had been worked so hard that he was poor and old-looking. With nothing to do but pull a buggy ten miles a day, Dan soon
grew "fat and sassy." One afternoon when we started home, boys who rode horseback to school raced by us. Dan raced too,
but J. C. and I together succeeded in running him into a fence, J. C. flying out on the right, Ina to the left, and I over the
dashboard. Tommie, who was sitting in the bottom, remained in place. Several men happened to be in town; they picked us up,
knew we were only scratched up a bit, replaced the broken buggy shafts, and set us on the way home, the oldest neighbor boy,
J. D. Phillips, driving. I never trusted Dan after that, and he did run with us afterward, fortunately on a straight road. For four
years we went to school in a buggy. We had to leave home early and return late. In those days school opened at 8 o'clock and
ran until four. In the short winter days we were little or no help at home. One winter for some reason which I do not recall we
left our horse and buggy at the blacksmith shop owned by a friend named Frank Deavers. Then we walked north to the school
about 1/3 mile away. Mama often kept us home in bad weather. If she let us start, she heated rocks for our feet, wrapped us in
coats, scarves, gloves and weighty comforters. Under the regular cover of the buggy we were never cold. However, one
morning the cold was deceptive, no snow, not windy buy just cold! Walking from the shop to the school Tommie said her
hands hurt. We rushed to the school building. Fortunately, my teacher, a man was ahead of us and had a fire. He bathed
Tommie's hands in cold water and held her in this arms for a long while to warm her gradually and so that she could not get to
the fire. Her hands were nearly frozen, and to this day they hurt when cold. Mama was very grateful to the teacher! At Ivan
there were two school buildings, near but not connected. A lady taught first through fourth grades in one, and a man had pupils
in fifth grade and up in the larger and older room. I was in the fifth grade in our first year in Ivan, I watched the older students
and listened to their recitations. Algebra entranced me and I learned much about it, though I had always been weak in
Arithmetic. My first teacher in Ivan was Mr. Jordan, and excellent teacher, who in 15 minutes could take one a long way in any
subject. He had a very peculiar deformity, his left arm and hand were the size of a baby's limbs, but he could hold a book in
those little fingers, but not pick it up. Years later I met him at the University of Texas one summer. He was still teaching and
looked unchanged at all. Unfortunately, some other men were not capable teachers- one so strict we children lived in dread and
others so weak there was not order. There was a whole change of the faculty every year. The women teachers seem to have
been better at their job, for J. C., and Tommie, and Ina, during the last two years there, all seemed to advance steadily. There
was ample room on the school yard for all sorts of Play. The younger children liked running games, such as "Wolf Over the
River" or less active, "Drop the Hankerchief." The only sport of the larger students was basketball, played in a cleared off spot
with goal posts set up but little else to guide us. It took all the larger boys and girls and the teacher as well to play a match
game. I was large for my age and rather rough, I suppose. No other game has ever interested me as student or teacher. By the
time I was in the 7th grade, J. C. had moved into the same room. He never had to study, an ability which I envied him.
Arithmetic had always been hard for me, but now grammer was worse. I worked hard and learned much but the school was at
this time not allowed to teach higher than the 7th grade, so I repeated it. Actually I didn't go to school much that year because
Mama was seriously ill and my first duty was to take care of her. I studied when I had a few minutes. Pappy bought me the 8th
grade book (there were no books furnished then) Ancient History, Physical Geography, Algebra, and a Grammar. I loved
Algebra and read the others, but grammar remained a mystery to me. At home we always found things to do. J. C. and I were
sober without much imagination, but Tommie had enough to keep us all agog. She could always plan a show, a school day, a
church service, a wedding or a funeral in a short time. A straight back chair was converted as if by magic into all kinds of stage
properties. Near the house there were several large oak trees, in one of which Pappy placed a swing. One tree in particular
was easy to climb, no problem for Tommie to climb to the very top, but I was clumsy. Anyway we would sit, each on a limb,
and dream of the future. Our nearest neighbors were the Sam Phillips family -- four boys, J. D., Floy Tom, Elmer, and Robert.
So we girls were in the minority. We were together often climbing trees, or jumping off the barn roof (strictly forbidden
naturally), swinging, jumping rope, or any game thought of. Sometimes the boys would declare their independence and go off
alone. Then we girls might build a playhouse -- sweeping a spot under a tree, with pebbles to show walls, and broken dishes
for furniture. Usually by the time we had it all ready the boys returned and promptly kicked our playhouse in all directions. Our
younger brother, Fred, had in childhood and still has "charisma" that something which draws others to him. He was a sickly
child, once he had eczema on his head which all Mama's remedies or the Doctor's prescriptions did not cure for many months.
Then he had a large purple rising on one knee. It was very painful and a long time in healing. The doctor said he had a leakage
of the heart. You can easily understand why he was humored. In spite of all bad predictions, he grew up to be a large,
handsome fellow. We children had every disease in the book. J. C. was most susceptible to germs from roseola to whooping
cough, measles, mumps, and even itch. [ A neighbor of mine told me that the remedy for the itch was to make a paste with
sulfur, cream of tartar, and grease. Apply the cream to your hands, I guess that's where it normally affected someone, and sleep
with gloves on.] Then we girls would get them too. One late spring when we had measles, Mama spread a comforter on the
floor so we could lie down or sit up as we liked, laughing at our many red bumps. Whooping cough hit me especially hard, the
neighbors almost a mile away saying they could hear me. The itch spread through school, Mama was greatly ashamed at our
catching it and scrubbed us and our clothes daily until she got rid of it. In December 1918 we had the influenza which swept the
country and killed so many people. Mama was already ill and the flu almost killed her. Ina developed each infection. Fred was
very ill, but eventually we all recovered. That was Christmas. Santa Claus almost forgot us. Pappy did not take the flu so he
walked through severe weather to Ivan where he was able to obtain a few oranges. How welcome they were! Our good
neighbors, Mrs. Phillips and her sister, Mrs. Lee Robertson, came over and baked some cakes and other Christmas goodies
for us. We didn't really feel like eating but were happy not to be forgotten anyway. Now the reader must not think our young
lives were all fun. There were many things even small hands could do -- bring in the wood for the cook stove, water the
chickens and the dog, gather the eggs and soon milk the cows. When Grandfather Harris was there, he chopped the wood into
small sticks just right for the stove. I noticed the difference between his sticks and Pappy's; later I found that whatever
Grandfather did was exact. He cared for the chickens, kept their house clean, fed them, looked after setting hens, put the young
chickens and mothers into coops so Mama didn't have to look after them all. Yes, if your chickens didn't have a home, wolves
would come for them and hawks flew overhead searching for the chicks. At this point I should like to speak about Grandfather
Harris, whom I also greatly loved. Born in Georgia in 1844, he went to the Civil War as a boy, holding horses at first but later
fighting under General Lee. He lost three unmarried brothers in that war. He and one brother survived; he had one sister named
Hassie, who married a man named Ingram and they lived in Tallahassee, Florida, until her death. When Grandfather married
Sarah Jan Wilkerson, daughter of a Methodist minister, in Barbour County, Alabama in 1870, she taught him to read and write.
He never spoke of his war experience, but talked freely of his wife. Grandfather read the Bible every day, but he liked me to
read from two treasured books - The Life of Lee and the Life of Jefferson Davis. Nothing pleased me more than to sit on the
porch or in a tree shade and read and read to him for hours. I became an ardent Confederate! I also wrote letters for him in a
large childish sprawl, feeling very important all the while. His dearest and only wish was to be buried in Breckenridge Cemetery
by Grandmother - be clad in his Confederate Uniform. He took that garment wherever he went. In the spring and again in the
fall he brought it out for airing. Even when J. C. was quite small, Grandfather would drape the coat over the boy's shoulders
and say it looked very nice on him. Many times we played around his chair without protest from him. Between Mama and her
father there was great love, which even a child could recognize, and which I am sure is not usual between father and daughter.
If they ever quarreled or ever strongly disagreed, I never knew it. Since he was alergic to milk and butter, she always thought of
him first when she could prepare for him to eat beside his one cup of coffee. Then she thought was Pappy liked, and finally she
considered what we children liked (not difficult, because we liked nearly anything). Grandfather grew senile in his last years,
and it is a pity that my younger sisters and brothers cannot remember the gentleness and sweetness of his earlier days. In 1922
he died at our home in Graham with the last word "Hassie" on his lips. He was buried beside Grandmother Harris and dressed
in his Confederate Uniform just as he wished. It has always seemed good to me that our grandparents, all four of them, lie near
one another in Breckenridge Cemetery. As far as work on the farm was concerned, J. C. was taught how and what to feed the
stock, how to plant and plow, and anything that a farmer should know. I can remember standing on a box to wash dishes.
Besides housework I cut weeds, chopped cotton, picked cotton and so on along with my parents. Every year J. C. and I dug
up a large patch of stinging needles in the northeast corner of the field - to no avail. Next year they came up again.! I never
drove the mules or plowed, but I did much work in the field and garden. Tommie always thought up something to entertain J.
C. and me, and then we all three shirked. Mama solved that problem by assigning Tommie to care for Fred and Ina, a job she
liked and did extremely well. So far as I know they were never hurt while in her care. She carried Fred on her hip so much that
one hip became smaller than the other and still is so! All we girls had heavy hair which Mama braided tightly every day. I can
still see Tommie with her dark brown pigtails, Fred on her hip, and Ina, with her blond pigtails, trailing along behind. Our
parents were industrious and thrifty. We were up early and in the field by good daylight if work was to be done there.
However, we rested an hour at lunch time and quit early enough to milk the cows, feed the stock, have supper and clean up
before dark. Then we had time to listen to Pappy's talk, to read, to bathe, or whatever should be done. We lived, as did our
neighbors - on our own resources - cows for milk and butter, chickens for eggs, hogs for pork and lard, and grain for us and
fodder for the stock. Twice a year Pappy loaded his wagon with wheat and drove 25 miles to Graham to have his wheat made
into flour. He purchased a stock of sugar, salt for man and beasts and coffee and we were set for another six months. We
watched eagerly for his return the next day. He usually brought a special treat -- a whole box of fresh apples, or large sacks of
dried fruit, or a 3 gallon pail of Jelly. You can see he had a sweet tooth! But one time he "goofed". He had large sacks of corn
flakes, not crispy and toasted, but white and gummy. No one liked them - how different from corn flakes to come! Mama used
all her ingenuity to find some way to make them tasty but to no avail. When they finally disappeared, I was suspicious but did
not try to find out their fate. They were good I suppose for hog food. Corn from our own field was ground into meal at the
Donnell Water Mill at Eliasville. Once in a while some family would slaughter a fat bull calf, take out what they could use
quickly, and then drive through the community to share beef with everyone. It is easy to understand that by taking turns all had
beef without great loss to anyone. Yes, a friend grew sugar cane and made molasses. Pappy bought that for us, but he
preferred thinner syrup. We were fortunate children, for we were never hungry or cold (except one instance already related) or
neglected.
 

Last Update Monday, 07-May-2018 17:55:44 CDT

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