My mother's story before she died in 2000 (standard:other, 4352 words)
Author: Kenneth Nash	Added: May 30 2007	Views/Reads: 3103/2305	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Life story (unfinished) written by my mother

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

color and temperament, and they were treated like members of the 
family. 

In the second wagon directly behind us was Grandpa and Grandma Sampson 
(George & Lula) and their 3 children. 

May and Uncle Roy were Bro. & Sis. (Bailey's).  The two boys, Lonnie and
Walter (better known as Sude) were Sampson's.  May was probably in her 
late teens or early twentys, I can't remember.  Lonnie was maybe 11 or 
12 years old and  Sude was just a few years older than me, maybe 9 or 
10. 

Because of a childhood illness, May remained a child in all her thoughts
and actions, but of course, I wasn't aware of the facts then, and we 
had lots of fun. 

The last wagon belonged to Mr. Crockett and his son, Lonnie, who was 3
or 4 years older than myself, his mother had died several years past. 

I really don't remember how they became part of our company, but they
had their place on the trail, as I recall. 

Camping at nights was the best part of the trip.  The boys gathered wood
and water from springs nearby while the men cared for the teams and 
ect. (etc.)  Gee, even now, I can almost smell the smoke and see the 2 
big camp fires, one was for cooking and the other one kept us warm, and 
invited story telling – singing and ect.  Mama played the mandolin, 
daddy the guitar, Mr. Crockett the harp (as I remember), we all sang 
and danced.  God was good.  We slept in the wagons. 

There was a dog along too – old “Sooner” – he seemed to belong to all
the boys. 

Grandpa had a chicken coop on the tailgate of his wagon and the big red
rooster crowed every morning to wake us up, along with 20 hens.  There 
was a couple of milk cows tied behind Mr. Crockett's wagon, and I think 
his wagon must have carried the food and kitchen utilizes (utensils).   
Grandma made big brown biscuits in the Dutch oven; I remember how it 
was made.  It was a big iron pot, not very deep, with a lid on top that 
helt (held) coals of fire.  Those biscuits would put McDonald's to 
shame.  We had fried pork and sopped “red-eyed gravy” and eggs and 
fried potatoes and home-cooked veggies and fruit.  We ate like royalty 
as I remember.  Now I wonder what worries and problems the adults had?  
I know Uncle Roy and Lonnie went rabbit hunting often.  Mom could cook 
(fry) rabbit and make grave (gravy) fit for a king! 

Somewhere we lived in the woods.  Grandma & grandpa was no longer with
us, as they'd moved on or maybe lived in another logging camp.  I 
remember daddy running a sawmill.  Mr. Crockett and his son was with or 
near us.  They must have been several lumber shacks around because I 
remember mom and dad having friends over until after dark and they'd 
carry lanterns home. 

Mr. Crockett was killed in a logging accident when Lonnie was about 12
and he came to live with us as I recall. 

Next I remember; I believe we moved to the old Parker Place.  I was 8
years and starting to school in Hickory Ridge, AR. 

Daddy and Uncle Roy worked in the rice.  Uncle Roy always lived with us
– even before I was born, I think. 

We walked, ran, jumped and played the 4 miles to and from school.  Much
of the time, I pushed, dragged, and kicked at and cried trying to get 
Boe to school – and ALL the way home! Because I was older than Boe by 4 
years, I was responsible for him! 

We had many unforgettable experiences in those walks to and from school.


Cocoons grew on weeds and bushes in the fence rows. I used to take some
to my teacher, and she would run a thread through the end of them and 
hang them in our class room window. Then in time the beautiful 
butterfly would hatch out. After we would watch it grow strong enough 
to fly away on its own. Mrs. Lowerly would open the window and we would 
say goodbye to it. The cocoons were made of woven silk threads. They 
were strong and beautiful. 

At one of the railroad crossings we had to wait for a freight train to
pass. One cool, clear morning as we were waiting and watching the train 
to go by we saw a familiar figure sitting on a flatbed.  He recognized 
us too and waved. He was a distant cousin, Clifford Hicks. He often 
rode from St. Louis, Missouri, where his mother lived, and stayed part 
time with us in Arkansas. Sometimes he would stay with my grandmother. 

Even though Cliff was only 3 years older than me, he was worldly wise
beyond his years. He became a “precious pest” all through my teenage 
years, but that is another story.  I had not known Cliff prior to our 
moving to St. Louis in 1929 for my mother's surgery. He lived with my 
grandmother at that time. 

I suppose Cliff was the youngest hobo on the Cotton Belt Railroad. At
13-14 years old he hopped the freight trains like a pro. I loved him 
so! 

We lived in Missouri for about a year then moved to Hickory Ridge,
Arkansas. We moved back into the same house on Parker's place where we 
had lived when I started school. Daddy was a valued employee on Mr. 
Parker's rice farms. The Parkers were very wealthy and had one child, a 
daughter, about my age. We spent a lot of time together. She loved to 
come to our house because she enjoyed being in a busy household with 
lots of love. 

I didn't know we were “poor” but I did enjoy her room with so many toys
and clothes, but her house was big, beautiful, quiet, and lonesome. 

We left the Parker place and moved to Ottwell, Arkansas when I was about
14 years old. President Roosevelt was the president and until then I 
had not been interested in who was president. Daddy still worked it the 
rice fields, but life got a little easier. 

There I got my first job and boy friend—or at least a real one.  Edward
Patton had been my boy friend for as long as I could remember—on the 
old Parker place. Edward's mother had died when he was very small and 
his dad was a traveling salesman. He and his brother, who was a couple 
years older than me, spent a lot of time at our house. They lived maybe 
a half mile from us. Edward didn't go to school much as I remember but 
we had much fun playing in the hay stacks. 

I remember one day we were playing this new game “tree fling”. We would
bend a young sapling (small tree) over and take turns as it flew up 
straight. Edward went first and appeared to have a ball, then it was my 
turn—which didn't come really. Just as I got on the tree he turned it 
loose and jumped off. The tree flew up and I flew off right into a 
barbed wire fence. It just so happened that my daddy was plowing on the 
tractor, he either looked up or heard my screams. He came running 
across the field, scared to death that I was badly hurt. When he saw I 
was just scratched up he spanked me and sent me to the house. Edward 
was long gone. He started running when he saw Daddy jump off the 
tractor! 

In Ottwell I really grew up (I thought)! I made several close friends
and worked after school and weekends checking baskets at the bathhouse. 
Probably very few people today would remember what kind of job that 
was. We lived a couple of blocks from Grundon's swimming pool. My job 
was to provide a basket and tag to each swimmer to put their clothes 
in. They pinned the tag to their swim suit and I put the basket with 
the clothes in the racks. I loved the job! 

Many personal stories could be told about that time and place. 

My first real love! Charles Chadwick was 17-18 and was out of school.
His dad drank, and his older brother had been killed in a hunting 
accident. 

It was 1934. 

By best friend Anis and her mother, we called her Aunt Olie, lived
nearby. Aunt Olie would let teenagers gather at her house, but she 
really kept and “eye on their doings”. She was always a good friend to 
us. It was her I went to when I first became “a woman” and didn't know 
what was happening to me. 

Anis was an only child but not at all spoiled. She married Cecil
Courtney who was like a big brother to me. Cecil had lived with our 
family, or circle of friends, for a long time. That would be: Grandma 
Sampson, Aunt Effie Wilson, her husband and their two sons, Willie and 
Johnny. They, too, could be another story. 

We didn't stay in Ottwell long enough. I hated leaving there and cried
most of the way to Oklahoma. 

I was to understand that we moved to Oklahoma for my father's health.
But, to me, at age 15, my dad was taking me away from my true love, 
Charles Chadwick! 

Nevertheless, I remember the last night we spent in Arkansas. The old
Ford truck was packed and loaded much like the one in “Grapes of 
Wrath”. 

Our first stop overnight was in Fort Smith, Arkansas. We slept in the
back of the truck, parked under a tin roof, with the rain making a 
dismal noise. We watched others parked nearby who were in similar 
circumstances. 

Dad and Uncle Roy remembered we had spent the night there in what was
called, “the wagon yard”. We were in our wagon with the wagon train 
some ten years before. 

There was a celebration that night in the streets honoring Will Rogers.
We could hear the music and joyful noise. Dad went to get us something 
to eat. There was no fast-food drive through places in those days. 
Baloney was sold in a tube. Crackers were from a cracker barrel and 
weighed out in paper bags. The baloney was sliced with Daddy's pocket 
knife. It is still the best “fast” snack I have ever eaten. 

I cried most of the night wishing I could run away, and determined I
would not like Oklahoma. But, Oklahoma is another story. 

Our father, John Richard Wallace, was born in Missouri February 5th1889.
The following is as I have heard and some of my own later memories. 

Daddy was the youngest of three sons. His mother, Lula Mae Sherbert
Wallace was 14 when she married Charlie Wallace who was several years 
older than she. Only God knows why the divorced. 

Grandpa took Uncle Sam and Uncle Elmer with him to Oklahoma. They were
probably under 5 and 6 years old. He left daddy because he was still 
nursing. 

From what I understand life was pretty hard for Grandma and Daddy. She
married a man who was a “carnie”. The carnival was in town then. 
Grandpa Bailey stayed long enough for grandma to get pregnant with 
twins, my uncle Roy, and a baby girl that died at birth.   Bailey later 
returned and grandma had another set of twins. May lived and her twin 
died. I don't know if it was a boy or girl. 

During the time grandma was with, and mostly without Bailey, daddy
worked pulling a little red wagon to pick up and deliver clothes that 
she washed to support her children. She was a tiny little lady, less 
than 100 pounds. When daddy was 12 he went to work in a sawmill and 
suffered many beatings and mistreatment from his stepfather Thomas 
Bailey Finally, when he was 17 he caught a freight train and went to 
his father in Oklahoma. There he met my mother. 

Uncle Elmer married Aunt Goldie Brown and she had a couple sisters that
mom was jealous of. So much so she left daddy once and took me to her 
parents. Of course, daddy caught a freight train and came got us. 

Mom said daddy was a “ladies man”.  I grew up with that idea and was
suppose to “keep an eye on him” which I did, but never learned anything 
he did wrong! 

My daddy was a fun loving guy that carried two six-shooters in the early
days of their marriage. I am told that he was also a preacher for a 
while when I was very young. Mom said he worked in the coal mines when 
I was born in Wilburton, Oklahoma August 18, 1920. Uncle Roy went for 
the doctor so I have been told. So, at some time he must have gone to 
Oklahoma to daddy's house. 

I think they must have traveled back and forth from Arkansas to
Oklahoma. Boe was born in Monette, Missouri and is four years and six 
months younger than I am. I do remember Boe being about 3 years old 
when we moved to Arkansas in a covered wagon. 

I cannot remember a time that Uncle Roy didn't live with us. Daddy sent
him through barber school in St. Louis I think it was. But, he didn't 
work at it much. He sometimes helped daddy farm and I remember he 
hunted some, but sometimes I thought he took it upon himself to help 
raise us kids.  He used to stay with us when mom and dad went shopping, 
and even though daddy ask him not to, we knew he was good for some real 
spooky, hair-raising, ghost stories. 

I used to think I had two dads but as much as I loved Uncle Roy, I loved
my daddy more. At times I felt angry at him. 

He was my bed partner, too. I slept with Uncle Roy until I was about 9
or 10 years old.  In these days it would be unheard of, or worse. I 
never knew there was a difference. Uncle Roy just kept me warm and 
fussed because I kicked a lot and pulled covers. I will write more 
about Uncle Roy later. 

I can remember seeing daddy riding an old John Deere tractor. Sometimes
dust covered him and other times he was stuck in the mud. He was 
fearless, and would “walk” the old tractor out of the mud. He would 
rear the front end up so high that the hot water would pour out of the 
radiator. Of course he was always my “hero”! Mom used to send cool 
water to him in the field and often his lunch too. She always took good 
care of him. I will write a chapter on her later. I was always a 
“Daddy's girl” 

Daddy loved music, and he loved to dance. Mom didn't like to dance so
she would send me to dance with him. He taught me to dance by the time 
I could walk, so I am told. I remember the old portable record player. 
It looked like a square suit case and daddy worked hard at keeping it 
playing. I have watched him repair it so many times. He'd take the 
spring out of the round box, or canister with little teeth on one side. 
The spring was strong and dangerous. Daddy would drive a nail at one 
end of the porch, hook the end of the spring over the nail then scoot 
his feet along to rewind it. Then very carefully he would replace it 
and he would have music until the old spring got weak again. No matter 
how tight you would crank the old thing it would go “uh,uh,uhhhh”. Of 
course Victrola needles were hard to get. Daddy would use his whet rock 
to sharpen when they got too dull. I would watch his every move, mostly 
getting my head in the way. He would spit on the whet rock and turn and 
turn sharpening the needle point to play his precious records of Roy 
Acuff and the Bluegrass Boys. He would sing their songs. 

I can almost hear him singing coming home at night after dark. Standing
on that old bumpy tractor singing at the top of his voice. “I am going 
to California where they sleep out every night!” Bless his heart, he so 
wanted to go to California. Some say he had “itching feet”. If so he 
sure stayed put and worked himself to death. 

He used to take me to school and talk to the teachers about my lessons.
Daddy would come home from work and lay on the floor to rest. Sometimes 
he would pretend to be asleep and I would crawl over him. I would play 
like I was the nurse and doctor him. He would be real quiet and still 
and then suddenly jump up and scream like I had hurt him. Then he would 
start laughing and hug me. 

Many times he would bring home baby rabbits for Boe and me. Mom would
help us feed them but they always died. Boe and I would wrap them in a 
rag and bury them in matchboxes. Boe would dig the grave, and I would 
place the “coffin” in it. After Boe filled the dirt in he would 
“preach”. I would sing and cry. 

We had two squirrels that Uncle Roy mostly took care of after one of
them bit mom through the thumb. One time dad brought home a baby 
raccoon that soon became a loveable pet for all of us except mom. I 
think she hated Coonie because he would turn the latches on the 
cabinets and push things out on the floor. Also, he would get into the 
flour and meal barrels. He was a pest, but very smart. Daddy would tell 
him to go wake up Boe and Coonie would get on Boe's head and use all 
four feet in his hair until Boe got up. Coonie went out one night and 
never returned. Dad said a neighbors dog might have got him. Mom shed 
not one tear! 

Daddy loved mom. I can remember how he would embarrass her by telling
her how pretty she was. Mom would blush and say, “Oh, Johnny!” I never 
heard them fuss or get mad at each other. Or at least I don't remember 
it. 

One Christmas times were hard. Daddy walked into town and came back with
a sack on his back. I thought he was Santa! I got a doll, and Boe got a 
truck. We never knew the hardships they endured. They never complained. 
When mom and daddy would bring home groceries I would slip around and 
fill a snuff glasses with coffee, sugar, etc. When I heard daddy or mom 
say they were out and wish they had an item I would go get one of the 
snuff glasses filled with what they wanted and proudly present it to 
them. I bet they knew what I was doing and just played the game with 
me! 

I would pick up kindling (small splinters of pine wood that starts a
fire like gas) and carry wood in for daddy before he got home from 
work. I did it just for the joy of his appreciation. He was so kind and 
thoughtful. 

One winter day I saw daddy looking out the window. He called, “Roy come
here. Do you see what I see?” Uncle Roy said, “Uh-huh”. They got in the 
truck and left. A little later Uncle Roy came back and I watched for 
daddy.  After awhile I saw him driving some hogs home with a stick.  
Someone had taken our hogs off to their house to kill them. Daddy and 
Uncle Roy watched them till they got off our property, and then went 
and got the hogs and brought them back home. The hogs had daddy's 
“mark” in the ears so there was no mistake about whose they were. I 
felt so proud of my daddy! 

To get to our house you had to go past the Ball place. They had an old
hound dog that would always bark and chase the truck wheels. Daddy 
said, “one of these days I am going to break him of that!” And he did. 
I heard him and Uncle Roy laughing and betting Ol' Red wouldn't chase 
anymore cars. Daddy had stopped and tied a toe-sack (burlap bag) to the 
hub or spoke of the truck wheel. The drove past the Ball place and Ol' 
Red grabbed onto the bag. Unexpected he had been twisted around several 
times, thrown clear, scared half to death, and broke from the habit! 

(Note) I found this story among some pictures that mom had left for me
after her death. She worked on it until she got too sick to continue. 
The original was written on loose leaf notebook paper with a lead 
pencil. It was fading badly and I wanted to get a copy to all her kids. 
 I have tried to duplicate it just the way she wrote it. She started 
the writing before she had a computer with grammar and spell check. 

I still have the original written in her handwriting. I will try to
preserve it and am willing for any that wants to see it to be able to 
do so. 

Ken Nash 1/27/06 


Tweet