Ed. note: Thus, begins life on Cooper Creek Farm where Pearl experienced her adolescence into mid-teen years and romance. Enjoy! (This section of Pearl’s narrative was published earlier and is now republished as Chapter 22 in chronological order.) RAN
HOME AT LAST (November, 1916)
“You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memories.”
Stanislaw J. Lee, UnKempt Thoughts (St. Martins)
It began to grow dark perhaps a mile and a half before we came to the corner of our land, as Papa pointed out. We were glad to be nearing our destination, but as we traveled another quarter-mile, Papa announced that we would turn into our drive which would take us several yards further down beyond the hill. At last we arrived!
Mr. Cox assured Papa that we would have possession of the house at a designated time, which was by now well overdue, but to our dismay when we drove into our yard what should we see by our house, which should have been vacated, ablaze with light, revealing to us that it was still occupied! Our spirits fell!
Papa climbed down from the wagon and knocked on the door, where he soon learned that due to the rainy weather some of the cotton was still in the field, preventing the family from moving out. Their tent-home was still erect on the premises where they had lived as cotton harvesters or cotton pickers. When the renters of the land moved on they occupied the house, never dreaming that they would not be finished with the cotton crop in plenty of time. But now, given the few days of dry weather, they would vacate the house. Papa and the family reasoned that if we didn’t mind, their tent could give us shelter for the present, simplifying the moving process, somewhat.
When Papa came back and presented the decision to us, needless to say we were all disappointed and thoroughly disgusted. The family took us in and fed us, however. And then, the men with lighted lanterns proceeded to put up the cook stove, the table and to arrange mattresses on the floor for spending the night in the tent.
The tent was probably a 14-foot square structure, well-installed with 12-inch boards around the bottom to which the tent was fastened. Two amusing incidents mark this unusual experience. Arising the next morning, Billy, now seven, was discovered coming in through the tent flap; we thought he was still asleep. Looking at him with surprise, someone said, “Billy, where did you come from?”. Billy said, “I fell out of the bed onto the ground.” Bill Linsky was a man possessing a great sense of humor, demonstrating it with a loud boisterous roar.
“Well,”, he said, “Billy fell out of the house!”, which provided a big laugh from us all. With three men and three kids under her feet, Mama shouted out a complaint none of us had ever heard from her before, as she labored to prepare breakfast for us all. She yelled: “It’s so crowded in here you couldn’t cuss a cat without getting hair in your teeth!” This remark became a household joke and a source of a good laugh for many years to come.
Billy and I collected our school books and supplies and began school at Rita (pronounced “Right-a”) District No. 253 on November 20, 1916. The reason this date is so distinct in my memory is that Thanksgiving Day came on November 23 that year as there were five Thursdays that month. Billy and I had just enough time to barely get initiated into the new school before the holiday. In fact, items of art paper were being prepared to put in the windows or as Thanksgiving wishes to take home to parents. These objects were new to me, as I had male teachers for the past four years, and now both teachers were women. Miss Katherine Caldwell was teacher for the upper grades and Miss Anna Amyx taught the lower grades. So, we soon got into the swing of things at Rita School. In the seventh grade, this class was almost exactly on the same textbook pages as the class at Valley View. It is relatively easy to break into a new small school, as students are always alert to new events. Consequently, new students are interested in one way or another.
At home on the new farm, life was not so easy. Still in the tent, life was almost unbearable to us. To add to our discomfort which lengthened our time in the tent, it began to rain! I don’t know how much cotton there was still in the field, but apparently, it was about one week’s work in dry weather. So we probably got two weeks of rain as we lived in the tent for three weeks. Later on, something would occasionally come up to remind us of that difficult experience and Mama would say, “Phew! The old tent; we lived in it three solid weeks!”
Following the family’s removal from our house, there was some cleaning and to keep out the cold wind, Papa went into town and bought a large roll of building paper with which to line the center room. The paper was heavy, and not very malleable, so to hold more steady, Papa got some bright brads and some large-headed nails with which to strengthen the paper. Mama shook her head at this-I didn’t like the looks of them either but I’m sure the paper was more secure on the wall.
Also, we had mice! Many, many of them. Although Papa had never cared for cats in the house, he changed his mind, deciding a cat would help solve our problem with mice, as traps we set were not nearly as effective as we want them to be. One day Papa was at the country store and complained to his listener about our mouse population. One neighbor ventured to suggest that we should get a cat, as that was the best safeguard against them, and he had one to give away. So, Papa said he would take it. The next evening late he came home bringing a little black female kitten. We petted her some and fed her some milk. We decided to let her stay inside until she became used to the premises. After supper, we were all settled down. Suddenly, she darted under the bed that was in the corner of the room, and soon came back with a mouse. We all applauded the cat. She was “in”! But that was only the beginning. Then with Papa reading and Mama and we kids enjoying our new pet, she caught four mice that evening by bedtime. Papa had a happy tale to tell the men at the store the next day.!
One cold, frosty morning, after the rains had gone and the night had become cold and clear, I went out to the out-house; well, there was no out-house, only in a draw, down the hill apiece, overgrown with a willow-cottonwood thicket (of course, Mama didn’t let Papa rest until he did build us an out-house on the edge of that thicket). On my way back to the tent that cold morning, I remembered that Papa had been telling us just how cold a piece of iron can be on a frosty morning. He used the iron-rimmed wagon wheel as an example, saying that he knew someone foolish enough to try to lick the frost from the wagon tire and found his tongue stuck tightly to the iron.
I surely felt highly adventurous that morning as I saw the white frost practically stacked up on that wagon wheel, and proceeded to lick it off! Uh oh! My tongue did stick to the wheel! Soon saliva began to flow, the tongue was loosened, and I ran to the tent, a wiser kid than when I had left it. Papa had warned; don’t try to pull the tongue off or the skin will come off on the iron. I escaped that discomfort by remembering Papa’s warning! Whew! A close call!
I recall those cold, crisp days in that winter immediately after we moved into the new community. We had left a comparatively flat terrain south and west of Randlett in Cotton County to move to this little home on the banks of Cooper Creek, which traversed almost the entire length of our farm. Flowing under a moderately high bridge just west of our house, it moved south, winding southeasterly, making its way southward again, as it flowed to the next farm under a barbed-wire fence. Our domain was not to be this “neck of the woods” altogether, as the east field, south field, and west field were all level fields. The near-west field sloped toward the creek on two sides and provided a good garden spot in the bend of the creek. So, our place was comparatively level except where the creek flowed through.
On the north side of the 160-acre farm, the ground was level. The cotton gin and the DeFord Grocery were there with the residential buildings which belonged to them. Lank Bacon and his wife Miranda lived in the gin residence as he was the cotton gin manager. They had a small daughter, Idell, about two years of age, called Baby Dell, and Miranda’s niece, Christine Hamilton, age nine. She and I became good friends. The DeFords were not as friendly as the Bacons, we found. They were Harry and Harriet and their daughter, Peggy, age seven. Billy was “struck” with Peggy and named his only daughter Peggy, perhaps because of his acquaintance with Peggy DeFord. She was a very pretty little girl with the dark brown eyes of both parents and black curly hair. Harriet DeFord was a slender, dark-skinned woman always wearing a serious expression. Harry was a stocky man wearing glasses and a sports cap all the time. I never saw him without it.
Billy remembered a humorous incident that occurred a short while after we moved to the homestead. Our field came up to the fence surrounding the gin and store property. Papa had two horses when we came from Randlett, and he soon bought a third work animal, a mule, already named Harriet. I don’t remember the horses’ names but Papa put Billy to plowing on the upland near the De Ford house. He was riding a sulky plow, with a three-horse hitch, and as he plowed he would shout at the horses, calling them by name. “Get up there, Harriet, whoa, Harriet.” And so on. One day Papa came home after sitting around the store for a while and began laughing. We asked him what was funny, and he said he just discovered Mrs. DeFord’s name was Harriet! He told Billy to be careful about calling the mule’s name while plowing around the buildings up on the hill!
Upon the still higher level, on the farm across the road north from ours was Mr. Hogan. I don’t know his first name, but I can see him yet as he cruised about in the low-slung race car, wearing a driver’s cap and goggles. He was not a race car driver himself, but his son Worth, dubbed “Rusty”, dabbled some in car racing. He died early on in an automobile crash, but perhaps not in a race track. Dorothy and Dick were the two younger children. Mrs. Hogan lived in town with them, to keep them in school by the time we knew the family in 1916.
A humorous incident is coupled with Dick Hogan’s beginning school days. He refused to attend school. Do what she might, his mother could not persuade him to go on his own. So, Mother Hogan got a good, keen switch, probably off a willow tree, and followed him part of the way to school down the hill from their house which sat back from the road, down to the bridge across the creek, to the top of the hill. Legend has it that she whipped him all the way; she probably didn’t, but under the shadow of that menacing willow switch in the hands of the persistent mother, he trudged on to school! Probably resenting the fact that he was forced to attend school, he drew a house resembling the schoolhouse. He put a brick chimney on the top with black smoke rolling out the top. In telling the teacher about his picture, he remarked that he was going to get in the stove and go up that stove pipe with the smoke and just keep going as far as the smoke would go! The impression that the teacher received was that he was referring to extending his education on and on, but I assume that he was thinking in terms of an escape. Incidentally, he did go far in education, attending Oklahoma University and becoming an educator of some renown.
The farm east of the Hogans was leased by the Southern family. Their children were out of school when we knew them. Tom Southern was the oldest of the children. Ida was the only sister, and Dewey was the youngest, a large hefty, type individual. Ida was a music teacher and Papa even dreamed of having me take music lessons from her. But, we never got a piano, and intervening circumstances prevented music lessons at that time.
Across the road, east of our farm, lived the Floyd Taylor family. Mrs. Taylor had passed away before we knew them, but his son Arlis moved into their home and took care of them. An older daughter, Dora Taylor, was out of school, another daughter lived with relatives in Texas, but Minnie Taylor was near my age, maybe one year younger. She was the only other girl in our neighborhood until early in 1917, when the Noels moved to the adjoining farm south of us. Minnie Taylor was very friendly and was, I’m sure, a great help in orienting me as I began life in the new school.
The most outstanding girl in all of Rita School, however, was Ida May Bowman. She was ten, to be eleven in February and I would be twelve in January. Ida Mae began the very first day trying to become acquainted. This was her style. I saw her use it over and over again when other newcomers came into our midst-her way to welcome them aboard, to orient them, actually. “What school did you attend? What are some of the family names? How many were in your class?”, were some of her questions. She had such a direct way of approaching newcomers, she was always received kindly. She really did want to learn all about each new person. She and I are still good friends after the span of 70-odd years.
There were other sweet girls in school; the Wolfe girls, Beatrice, Zeta Mae, Zelma, and Hazel. A brother, Paul, was the youngest, about Arthur’s age. Harold was the older brother and was he good-looking! I was getting to the age that considered boys but didn’t want them to notice me. Well, I really did but didn’t know how to handle it. Earnest Bowman was good-looking too, and Bill Earp wasn’t bad-looking but didn’t interest me.
The young fellow that had his eye on me and tried to get my interest was Loyace Hicks. How he tried, but I wouldn’t give him a chance! He was a good boy, Papa said, and I know that was true, but perhaps he came on too strong and I became disgusted. We never did become friends but I’m sure I was the strange one, it was not his fault.
But at night that winter in my bed in the little side room, east side of the living room, I would pull my covers over my head and as the wind shook the house, the guy wires holding the stove pipe above the roof would squeak out a fiddle tune, I would fall asleep dreaming of the good looking boys at school who had come into my life!
Ed. note: Pearl will turn twelve years old just two months after moving into this new neighborhood. In 1916 adolescents grew up fast and took on many responsibilities. We will see how things develop in this next interesting chapter of Pearl’s young life. Stay tuned. RAN