Submitted by:
Kay Cunningham
EARLY LIFE
CHAPTER 2
MY MISSION
I am part of all I meet,
Of all I do and say;
The thoughts I think, the friends I greet,
The prayers to God I pray;
They all unite to weave in me
The pattern of my destiny.
-J.W.T.
I was born on the 12th day of July, 1871, by Gum Creek, near Jacksonville,
Texas. Anyone who has heard me say "Dad gum it !" will get the connection. That
expletive is, and always has been, my most profane utterance.
When I was nearly two years of age-too young to re- member my
birthplace clearly-my parents moved to Coryell County, located about two and a
half miles west of a little town called "The Grove," where there was a good
school, even in that faraway section. My father bought a farm of 160 acres, and
he had one old mare, Fly, that he used to help make the crops.
Father first built a log house, which was later used as a kitchen,
and it was in this little log house that my brother Oscar was born. Soon after
that, a frame house was built, and the family continued to increase.
We lived near a little stream called Flint Creek, and I was brought
up on cornbread, buttermilk, eggs, flint rocks and turnip greens, with
molasses-rather a substantial and hard diet. But I managed to get by on it. We
could see Owl Creek Mountain from our home, looking large and beautiful in the
distance. On Owl Creek grew the biggest owls in the country, and they could hoot
the loudest.
That section of Coryell County was taken over during the War, and
on that terrain thousands of soldiers were trained to fight. Later in World War
II strange dusts mixed with the dust of old Coryell on the boots of these men
when they dispersed for foreign service. Because of the rough timbered hills and
many streams and valleys desirable for
training soldiers
in strenuous exercises and maneuvers, Coryell County makes a splendid permanent
camp.
As a boy I seined and fished in Cow House Creek; looked with wonder
on Sugar Loaf Mountain, and tried to figure out its geologic formation. I gazed
on Owl Creek Mountain, with its evergreens in winter, and waxed poetically
eloquent. I tramped through the woods and over hills and dales in the magic
Springtime, enjoying thrills of ecstasy as I gazed on Nature's beauty of the
dogwood, redbud and black- haw, and the wild flowers in bloom everywhere. I
dreamed of manhood, when I would be a great doctor and teach my patients to live
in health and happiness, following the laws laid down by Moses, and the eternal
truth that "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he."
In these same
surroundings, General Bruce dreamed, planned, tried out and perfected his tank
destroyer unit that had so great a part in the successful conduct of the war.
And then, as now, even in the midst of warlike preparations:
The sun kissed the rain-washed blushing
skies;
The stars peeped through like angels'
eyes;
The plaintive cry of the whipporwill
And the shivering screech-owl haunt me
still;
But I change from them to the mockingbird,
Whose rollicking songs are gladly heard.
-J.W.T.
It was a wooded, wild country in the days of
my youth. Well do I remember one of the first near-tragedies of my life. I was
about five or six years of age, and was sent with a can to our nearest
neighbors, the Gillespies, to borrow a coal of fire. In those days, matches were
not common, and the "kindling coal" was guarded on the hearth, lest the fire die
out and we be without a way to rekindle it.
Can in hand, and hurrying on my errand, I was about half way down
the wooded path when just in front of me I saw a huge bear lumbering across my
path. I was terrified-so terrified that I stopped in my tracks and waited
without a sound or movement until the bear had passed out of sight. Then I ran
on my errand, got the fire, and hurried with the speed of the wind.
It was a fright that I never forgot, but it taught me to stop and
think in an emergency, which is the right thing to do in most cases.
A short distance across Flint Creek my father and some of the
neighbors built a rough plank church called The Methodist Church, or Pope's
Chapel. It was also used for a Sunday School, and for a public school in the
winter.
I always went to Sunday School on Sunday morning, studied some in
the afternoon, then got out with the other boys and chased rabbits, twisting
them out of hollow trees with sticks, and throwing rocks at wasp-nests. We
frequently were stung on the face by the infuriated wasps, but we went back to
school next day as heroes, getting much sympathy and attention from the girls.
My school life began when I was six years old, and my first teacher
was Mr. Cross-a kind and good man in spite of his name. He taught boys and girls
alike the virtues of cleanliness and personal hygiene, and coached us all in
etiquette according to the old Southern regime.
I well remember the ancient Blue Back Speller, and my joy when I
reached "baker" and could spell all the words in that lesson.
My next teacher, a few months later, was Mr. Battle. I was engaged
in a "battle" with him nearly every day. He kept a little dogwood switch within
reach and had me sit close to him. Every time I would laugh or giggle he would
give me a switching with that little dogwood, until I would move out of his
reach; but he never, at any time, had energy enough to follow me.
During the summer that I was seven years of age, I went to The
Grove to school. We walked two and a half miles and I remember many incidents
that occurred during those walks. One of these was indelibly impressed upon my
mind. That was a total eclipse of the sun. It was some time in August, as we
were on our way from school-about five o'clock in the afternoon. It became
so dark the chickens went to roost. Some people were dreadfully frightened, many
of them thinking the world was coming to an end.
Mr. Nelson Robinson was a teacher who came to conduct our school at
Pope's Chapel when I was ten or eleven years old. He was about forty-five years
of age and had had varied experiences in life. He had not had much opportunity
for an education, but he was a big-hearted, common-sense, practical fellow and
he gave me great encouragement to go ahead and become an educated man. "Don't do
as I do, but as I say you should do," he admonished me.
He taught us that habits formed in youth stay with one. "So don't
form habits that are harmful, mean or debasing. Cultivate habits of promptness,
dependability, honesty, fair- dealing and regularity while you are young and
they will stay with you through life." He often warned us, "Don't chew or smoke;
don't curse or drink. Those vices are costly and damaging to your character. I
formed such habits when I was a boy, and they are hard to quit."
I had heard a man swear, and I thought it was manly and up-to-date,
so I tried it for just a little while-not with much enthusiasm, however. But on
the advice of my teacher I quit, and have never cussed since-unless you count
"dad gum it !" Mr. Nelson Robinson passed on, but God bless him, his precepts,
and not his example, have been my inspiration and guide.
At eleven years, I was able to solve all the problems in Ray's
Arithmetic, in Davies' and Sanford's Arithmetics, and to spell most of the words
in the Blue Back Speller. I could read all the lessons in the old McGuffey's
series of readers, many of which carried moral and religious ideas. Text books
of today do not have so many religious or ethical lessons in them.
Nor shall I forget my sweethearts of those days. My first was Miss
Lillie Cary. I was then a little past six, in my first school, and she was about
sixteen or seventeen years of age. Her name, Lillie, brought to my childish mind
the beauty of the lilies. She always praised me and encouraged me to do my best.
She had a beautiful face. When I talked of her at home, my mother told me about
the Gary sisters and read to me a poem by Phoebe Cary. I memorized the verses
with a thrill in my boyish heart. And I had no difficulty in committing to
memory these beautiful words from the Scriptures:
"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They toil not,
neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was
not arrayed like one of these." Miss Lillie!
Pause for reflection, you male readers, and everyone of you will
recall "That Old Sweetheart of Mine." Perhaps it was your grade teacher, a high
school teacher, or perhaps your Sunday School teacher who left her imprint on
your mind and heart as a formative factor to influence you through the years.
A later sweetheart was a dashing blue-eyed girl who rode horseback
over the country, always riding at a gallop. She stirred my youthful fancy and
fired my imagination. I had a jingle I used to repeat during this interval:
My girl's name is Lula ;
Her mare's name is Beulah;
My girl is so smart
That no one can fool her.
But she fooled me. One day I kissed her, and it made me sick for
half an hour, for in that kiss I made a discovery! She dipped snuff! And I was
allergic to all forms of tobacco. I had tried it once and it made me very sick.
So I became allergic to her, too.
With my natural propensity for rhyming, I used to write Valentine
verses for twenty or thirty of the school boys and girls. I couldn't be
sweetheart to all the girls, but my facile pen was ready to express the ardor of
all the boys. The little silly rhymes in this book are remnants of youth
bubbling out again in song, laughter and rhyme. (My wife is English, and
reserved. She thinks these jingles should be left out. I am Scotch-Irish, and I
cannot repress them).
One of the greatest of all gifts vouchsafed to man is the sense of
humor. It adds to the joy of life, minimizes sorrow, and mitigates the strain of
penance or peril. A sense of humor is more than the ability or the tendency to
pass wise- cracks at the expense of others-that is a drawback to personality and
not an aid. A sense of humor is really a sense of proportion, and its highest
development is the ability to see your own weaknesses as jokes subject to
correction.
After school, in those early days, there were always the chores to
do at home-cutting wood, feeding cattle and pigs, and milking the cows. I never
did like to feed and milk the cows, and always got it over with as soon as
possible. My mind was as busy as my hands, trying to think of some way to
shorten the work. Finally I invented a cowmilker which I thought would lighten
the task. It was made of soft white pine board, and was designed to have fingers
of pliant rubber that would feel like human fingers. I never got far enough
along with the experiment to supply the rubber fingers, but I made what I
thought was a workable model and tried it on Old Spot. She resented it actively!
With one flirt of her muscular leg she kicked me over, got rid of my
labor-saving device, and ran away. After that, she was allergic to me-we called
it "sensitive" in those days-but anyhow, Old Spot very definitely severed
diplomatic relations with me. After the milker incident, whenever she saw me she
would take to her heels like a mad thing, and kick and run if I tried to come
close to her. However, the invention did save me labor, for one of the other
boys milked her after that.
By the time I was eleven years old, I could hoe cotton as any of
the grown folks. I was large and strong at that age, and proud of my skill with
the hoe. The cotton we hoed in 1882 yielded a bale to the acre, and we did not
finish picking until March of 1883.
About that time, I looked after the orchard, too, and would plant
new trees when the old ones had "played out." We did not know enough about fruit
trees and their care to combat their enemies, and the borers killed many that
might have been saved. All we knew then was that the trees would die after four
or five years of fruitfulness and we must have new trees ready to plant when the
old ones became diseased and had to be cut down.
Along with other duties, I tended the bees and the honey. One
morning I took out some fresh honey from the hives, and ate too much. It made me
very sick, and I became allergic to honey. I couldn't even stand being called
"Honey." But finally I began eating a small amount of honey at a time, to build
up my tolerance for it, and gradually grew to like it again. "What's one man's
food is another man's poison," commented my Mother.
Between school hours and chores I had little time of my own,
and much of that was used in dreaming of the future. "The thoughts of youth are
long, long thoughts" indeed. I gazed far along down the years as I planned for
manhood and preparation for a useful career. I remember how I used to climb up
on an old flat stump-too big to be burned out in the newly plowed field-and
imitate different preachers I had heard. My fondness for this pastime gave my
family reason to believe I was going to be a preacher.
But from the time I was seven years of age I had known what my
profession was going to be. As soon as I could read them I began to study
almanacs, hoping to get some understanding of the basic principles necessary for
a medical education. David D. Jayne's Almanac contained interesting facts about
the human body, with pictures of the various organs, as well as detailed
accounts of the miracles wrought on these organs by the panaceas the almanac
advertised.
My first cousin, the late Dr. Howard O. Smith, and I agreed
together that we would be doctors, and our childhood motto was:
When I am a man, I will be a doctor,
If I can-and I can.
My powders and pills
Will be so very sweet;
And you shall have as many
As you can eat.
Among those who probably were influenced by my choice of the medical profession
were several boy friends from The Grove who since have gone out into the world
as doctors: my youngest brother, Bert M. Torbett, who died just after graduating
from Vanderbilt University; my brother, Dr. Oscar Torbett, who was here in
Marlin with me for thirty years, and the two Whigham boys, Jim and Will, now
well known in their profession. Also, David Homan and F. C. Green, all of whom
went to school to me when I was teaching at Leon Junction and studying medicine.
My nearest neighbor of those early days, Leigh Gillespie, is now a practicing
physician in Oklahoma.
S. A. Watts, who then lived on my father's place in Coryell County,
became a doctor and was on our staff at Marlin for twenty years. He was honest,
efficient and dependable, and always my friend. Thus, in choosing our "way of
life," we are inevitably influenced by our associations.
Anyone who thinks that life in a country community is tame and
uneventful cannot have lived in one during his impressionable years. The
miracles of life and death loom large.
Well do I remember the first person I saw die. It was our neighbor,
Mr. Ben Gillespie. He had cirrhosis of the liver and had been tapped many times
by the doctor, but finally came to the place where he no longer could be helped.
One Sunday afternoon we were told that Brother Gillespie was dying-that he had
but a few hours to live. The neighbors gathered at his to give what comfort
they could to the sorrowing family. I stood by and watched our old friend as he
passed into the Great Beyond. It had a profound effect upon me to see his
breathing slow down, then cease altogether as his eyes closed and the pallor of
death crossed his face. It was a great consolation to all of us who had loved
him to know that he was divinely sustained in his hour of departure by the
Christian faith that had guided his life.
My Father said to me later, "Son, now that Brother Ben is gone,
I'll have to take his place and lead the music in the church. When you are old
enough, I'll train you to sing bass in my place." I did begin such training as
soon as my voice had matured, and I still sing bass at church.
A tragedy in our community about that time had an abiding influence
on my life. Old Mr. Ferguson, who lived in our community, was a very good
neighbor, but he went on periodical drunks. At those times he would not know
what he was doing. One night, when he was drunk, he went to the of a
neighbor and tried to break into his house. Mr. Hobdy, the owner, called out to
him, but the prowler did not answer. He was too far gone to sense the situation.
The owner of the called out again, and when he still received no reply, he
shot at the introducer and killed him.
My Father took this occasion to warn me, saying, "Son, Mr. Ferguson
was naturally a harmless old man, and it is a shock to Mr. Hobdy that he killed
him. But it is done and cannot be helped now. Let this be a lesson to you, my
boy; don't ever touch intoxicating liquor. It does nobody any good, and it does
much harm in the world. Promise me, Son, that you will never touch it." And so I
promised. It was a pledge that did much in helping to form my character.
Another tragedy occurred in our midst that I will never forget.
Gene Graham, a likeable youngster, was overly proud of his biceps development.
He was always boxing or fighting. Whenever I had a stye on my eye-which was
quite often when I was ten or twelve years old-he would invariably call me a
fighting name. We'd fall to and pommel each other for twenty or thirty minutes-a
painful experience to me, combined with the stye! But I was determined to defend
my personal dignity and believed in "fighting for my rights."
Well, Gene came to a tragic end. One day he called a much smaller
boy a bad name. The infuriated youngster jumped at him with a knife, stabbing
him to the heart. It was all so sudden and the circumstances were so familiar to
me, that I was impressed. Then and there I decided never to make a disagreement
worse by fighting, but to defend myself with verbal resistance and argument, if
possible; otherwise to keep silent.
So much for Pope's Chapel and its "Schoolhouse by the Road." Mr.
Nelson Robinson continued to encourage me, and when the term was ended he
advised me to go to his brother, Tom Robinson, about two and a half miles
farther up the creek. Here was a little school-house called Flint Creek School
or "Hide-Out School," because it was hidden in the woods. I went there for two
sessions, with my old- time friend, Tom Morgan. We rode horseback and the books
we carried were text-books on Algebra, Geometry, Astronomy, Physiology and
Hygiene. They opened a broader vista before me.
I took my examination at the end of that term and was given a
second-grade certificate, though only fifteen years of age.
At the close of this school term, in the spring of 1887, previous
to the State prohibition election in August, a well- attended debate on the
prohibition question was held in the old Flint Creek school-house, with Tom
Morgan (afterward a lawyer in Marlow, Oklahoma) and myself on the affirmative
side. Our teacher, Nelson Robinson, and a Methodist preacher named Art Williams,
took the negative. Tom and I won the decision with such uproarious pedal
applause that some of the planks in the floor gave way. In denouncing the
licensing of liquor, I closed with these lines, in my most dramatic style:
Licensed the poor man's to sell;
Licensed to fill this world with woe;
Licensed to make this earth a hell,
And fit men's souls for hell below.
I frequently went to church services just to hear the preachers, some of them
being rather outstanding. One, a very eloquent speaker, was Stump Ashby, who
once had been a clown in a circus. After a spectacular conversion, he finally
fell from grace and eventually quit preaching to become a leader in the Populist
party. Later, he became one of the leading Anti speakers in the prohibition
election of 1887. I remember that on one occasion he imbibed too much of the
liquor under discussion. He was debating with Rev. H. A. Boaz, later elected to
bishop, who was then a very eloquent young orator on the Pro side. Stump had
been drinking, and when he got up to speak he became nauseated. He felt that an
explanation was in order, so he said with a slight hiccough, "My fellow
citizens, the arguments of my opponent always make me sick at the stomach."
We were all encouraged to adopt teaching as a career, and a number
of students in that little school out in the woods did decide on teaching as a
profession and spread themselves out over the State to help train the rising
generation. In the summer, I taught my first school, which was at Eagle Springs,
the boyhood of Pat M. Neff, later Governor of Texas. It was then that I
became acquainted with him and also with his mother, a wonderful woman who gave
me encouragement toward high ideals and worthy ambitions - the kind of advice
that had been such a help to her own son.
"Mother Neff" was very kind to all aspiring young men, and adopted
me as one of her boys, in whom she was greatly interested. Her sterling
character, her counsel and kindness, were ever an inspiration to me. When I left
to go to Medical College, Mother Neff laid her hands on my head and gave me her
blessing.