Kittie Lanham
Oakes
16 July 1894 -
PROSPER, COLLIN COUNTY, TEXAS
Shortly after that, Papa moved us
to Prosper, another Texas town.
I was then in the fourth grade and far more advanced than some of the
adolescent
boys in my classes, several of whom were grown in size. A few
of
them were so unruly, the school board
thought it wise to employ a man teacher.
The grade school teacher was a character I associated in my mind with
Ichabod
Crane and there certainly were strong physical similarities.
Mr.
Dean was almost bald, tall and angular and
he was fired with a great determination
to drill mental arithmetic into our heads. An excellent idea,
perhaps,
but then, some heads are virtually impenetrable, meaning some of those
larger boys. They were slow in
books but not necessarily dumb for
many of them were already qualified to take a man's place at round-up
time
or harvesting.
Math was not my strongest subject, but I could figure
much more
rapidly than these over-grown boys. In return for a whispered
answer,
I was
kept well supplied with apples, candy and chewing gum, sometimes
even Sen-Sen.
Gum and Sen-Sen were contraband
but my Geography was large enough
to provide me with an adequate screen. And if the strong
scent of
the Sen-Sen gave me away, I could always say in all innocence that I
had
been given some at recess.
Come Spring, and these older boys and girls began to
moon around
and to make lovesick calf eyes at one another. It was so
obvious
that love-love-love had struck his older pupils that even Mr. Dean
recognized
the symptoms and decided his best course of
action would be to shuffle the seats.
These young Romeos were much too shy to stand around corners and waylay
the girls of their fancies so they resorted to note writing, an
activity
that was strictly against Mr. Dean's rules of conduct.
Mr. Dean's schoolroom was long and the double desks
were arranged
facing the front with a long aisle between them, and since they were
expected
to need more help with their lessons, the smaller children sat in
smaller
desks closer to the front where teacher's desk was placed. At
the
back of the room the desks were large enough to accommodate grown-ups
and
that is where these older pupils were seated with the girls on one side
ant the boys on the other. The aisle was too wide between the
two
rows of desks to make it safe to pass notes between them, for Mr.
Dean's
desk was placed exactly in the middle where he would have the best
opportunity
to see and intercept anything passed between.
The water bucket was
near the door just back of Mr. Dean's desk and we were permitted to get
a drink at any time during the day provided there was no other pupil getting
a drink at the same time. I'll never know why Mr. Dean assigned me to the aisle seat next
to the back. Neither will I
ever know how many trips I made to that
water bucket. On each trip I picked up a note to Gertrude from Ed's desk
and passed the answering note to Ed on the way back, but Floyd and Bessie,
John and Lou, also took advantage of my unquenchable thirst.
My first business experience occurred while I was in Mr. Dean's
room. It was common practice for the teachers to present school programs
during the year. Proud parents delighted in watching Bill or Sue
sing or recite a poem, and different classes had group singing. Always,
these programs were well attended for very few recreational opportunities
existed. If there was a need for certain supplies for the school
not provided in the regular budget, these programs helped to raise the money. Admission
charges were always low, but receipts amounted to $75 or $100 at times.
Papa never wanted to take this money to the bank himself. So, when
I was about eight, he called me into his office and showed me how to prepare
a slip for the bank deposit. He gave me the money tied up in his
handkerchief or in a brown paper envelope, and told me to be at the bank
before closing time, and he usually allowed me the barest minimum of time
to make it. The first time, our banker was quite surprised to see
so small a child transacting business in such amounts. I had to stretch
to reach his window and he kindly offered to fill in the slip for me.
But I told him Papa had meant for me to do it myself.
There were a lot of things I learned in that school, most of them
not under Mr. Dean's tutelage. First, I learned how to make stilts
with a wire strung through tin cans, I think I got the idea from some magazine
I read.
But when they saw me walking on my cans, nearly every child in school
did likewise. "Monkey see, Monkey do." But just imagine the clatter
several score of small children can make on a rocky hill. After that idea
caught on, it was not long until the boys were busy making real wooden
stilts for themselves. One of the older boys made a nice pair for
me and these held my feet about two feet above the ground. Some of
the larger boys built theirs five or six feet up and then climbed out of
the lower windows
to balance themselves for walking on them. All
of those who had stilts formed a line according to the height of his stilts
and paraded about the schoolyard in a "Crane Brigade." It was a lot of
fun, but only a few of the girls tried it.
[Lightning struck the school building while Flinch was played.
My first cigarette for two bits.]
The last year we were at this place, the school board had some trouble
finding a qualified teacher for the primary rooms and Mama decided she
would go back to teaching. The school building was set at the top
of a long white rock hill. It was a frame building and the road in
front of it was flatteringly called "Main Street" and led into the business
part of town at the bottom of the hill. Just across the road, a family
by the name of Jones moved into a large house from a good farm south of
town. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were rearing a family of nine children, including
the young granddaughter whose mother died at her birth. The two older
children of the family were not at home as the oldest son was married and
the oldest daughter was away at school.
The very happiest two years of my childhood were spent in this home
with motherly Mrs. Jones in charge. Her heart was huge, big enough
to take in our whole family - Papa, Mama, Sister and me - and to treat all
four of us exactly as if we were her own. I shall never know how
she managed to care for the fourteen of us, with no extra help, but
she seemed to have ample time for everything, loving us all, and teaching
us practical things, too. She prepared three bountiful meals each day,
did all the laundry except that the girls were expected to iron their own
garments. She worked
a small garden in the back yard, though the
big garden was planted back at the farm. She canned vegetables and
fruit in season, made her own clothing and dressed her four girls nicely.
With all of this strangely enough, she never seemed rushed or flurried.
She had help mornings and evenings from her girls, but during the day they
were all in school.
Her two youngest daughters and the small granddaughter were close
in age to my sister and me. In some homes, there might have been
quarreling and jealousy between us with five girls so very close together
in age, but I cannot remember that any of us ever had more than the tiniest
spat during the two years we were together. When Mrs. Jones assigned
chores to her daughters, such as dish washing or feeding the chickens,
Sister and I were expected to help but to us, it always seemed more of
a lark than work.
As I have said, Mrs. Jones was all heart, and her generosity went
much beyond her own family. Once, I recall, tragedy struck a young
family living nearby. The young father was rushed to an asylum after
becoming suddenly violent and almost succeeding in killing his wife and
baby. After the horrible experience, the little wife went into deep
shock and was unable to care for herself or her child. Mrs. Jones
gathered up the baby and its mother immediately and took them home with
her. They had no claim on her except their desperate need.
For several weeks, she cared for the baby, petted and nursed the mother
until she recovered enough to begin to try to pick up the pieces.
And Mrs. Jones did all this in addition to managing her already over-sized
family.
The Jones farm was a large and prosperous, only four or five miles
out of town. Mr. Jones still did a large part of the farm work himself,
though he had a tenant in the old farm home. There was a nice small
orchard back of the house and to one side a large well-kept garden.
These two supplied much of the food for the family and every year Mrs.
Jones put up great quantities of preserves and jellies, canned goods and
dried vegetables.
She still kept poultry there, ducks, geese, guineas, turkeys, and
chickens, going back often to see that they were properly cared for. I well
remember going to the farm one early spring day when she took Mama with
her to help pluck the geese for their down. The feathers were ripe,
she said, and the geese were beginning to shed them. I don't remember
how many bags of down we picked, but the job of picking looked easy when
Mrs. Jones did it. She sat in a chair, tucked the goose's head between
her knees and plucked at a great rate. When I tried it, my skirts
were too short, and the old gander reached his head around and almost took
a chunk out of the calf of my leg. I had a big, blue bruise for more than
a week but I was determined to do my share, so I borrowed a long skirt to
protect myself and got on with the job. Another time that year, we went
down to the farm to can peaches. The smaller girls and I climbed
trees to pick the fruit because we were light and would not break the branches.
After that job was completed, and Mrs. Jones and Mama were busy peeling
and canning the fruit, I took a notion that I wanted to see a great deal
more of my surroundings than I could see from the ground. There was
a tall windmill between the house and the barn to supply water to both.
It was turning rapidly in the breeze. Up l went, to the very top
and was standing beside the spinning wheel. I don't know who tattled,
but Mama
came running out of the kitchen, white as a sheet. If the unpredictable
wind had veered, that wheel would have struck me and knocked me down for
a drop of about thirty or thirty-five feet. Mama called me to come
down at once; and when I had done so, she turned me over her checkered
apron for a spanking I never forgot.
Old Kate was the bay mare that raised most of the Jones children
and she was gentle as could be, but she was fully aware that she had earned
her retirement. Sometimes her patience was a bit short. When
Mr. Jones gave me permission to ride her if I could catch her when she
was loose in the big pasture, I walked miles but she stayed just out of
my reach. Mr. Jones could catch her easily and part of the time,
he kept her in the barn
at the back of the lot in town. While she
was there, any one of us five little girls who wanted to ride, could put a rug across her back, bridle
her and ride around town. Usually when this happened, as many kids
as could scrambled on too. She never bucked, but if we wanted more
action out of her than she felt necessary, she just stopped where she was
and shook. That settled the matter.
THE TOWN OF PROSPER
[Riding Steers]
I have not described the town, which was only a few long blocks
down the long, white rock hill. It was probably typical of other
small towns. There was a bank, a post office, a few small stores on each
side of the unpaved street, which was deep in dust in the summer, and knee-deep
in mud in the winter. Boardwalks were built up about two feet above
the ground in front of these stores; and all along the outer edge of these
walks, hitch racks were provided for the teams and horses of customers.
Practically any hour of the day a few saddle horses would be seen, as familiar
to the town merchants as their owners.
The first big snowstorm that I can remember came while we were living
with the Jones family. In that section of Texas, snow that stayed
on the ground was rare. This time there were waist-high drifts all
around the house. Papa, Mama and some of the older boys and girls had a
snow fight in the yard, washing each others faces in the loose snow and
generally having quite a hilarious romp. Sister and I were too small
to get into the scuffle so we stood at the window to watch. I thought
it was grand fun to watch them tumbling around, laughing and squealing, but
Sister began screaming at the top of her voice. Nothing could convince
her that it was all in fun. She threw such a fit that she managed to break
it up in short order.
The snow melted a little during the day, then froze hard and crisp
during the night. Next morning it was just right for sleds but no
child had one.
We improvised and had as much fun, maybe more. A big old dishpan
had been used to water the chickens until one night it froze and the bottom
of the pan swelled and bulged. It was large enough that one child
could sit in it, and a slight push at the top of the hill sent it spinning
and sliding
all the way down at a great rate. We picked up speed
as we went. Each of us had a short piece of broom handle to try to
guide our projectile but that was not easy. We took turns, and when
Sister's turn came she was so entranced with the speedy ride she failed
to steer herself and swing
out into the middle of Main Street. Instead,
she and the pan hit a rock and veered in toward the stores. She slid directly under some
wild half-broken colts and why she didn't get her brains kicked out was
a wonder. Hers was the last dishpan ride we got. The banker
saw it happen, came out and took the pan away from us, stopping our fun
in a hurry. He not only confiscated our pan but he phoned Mama to
give her a piece of his mind for letting us pull such a dangerous stunt.
Somebody is always ready to tell parents just how to raise their children!
Later that spring, we found another way to use that long hill to our advantage.
Mr. Jones had a young colt he wanted to train to drive and he brought the
colt in from the farm and kept it in the barn at the back of the lot.
He also brought in a very light two-wheeled training cart. The colt
was very skittish and we did know better than to try anything with him.
But that cart! We were certain we could make it useful. As
many kids as could hang on to it piled on. Then, with one child
running in front to hold up the points of the shafts, the gang could ride
all the way down the hill. The long slope coupled with the weight
of the children built up considerable momentum. It was enough to
make those two wheels spin fast. That was great fun until one of
our runners stumbled and fell, dropping the shafts. Those points
dug into the ground, and the cart, children and all, did a complete half
circle into the air and over. Luckily, none of us were hurt.
OUR PET "ANTELOPE"
One pet that we children enjoyed during this period was a young
antelope shipped from New Mexico by Mr. Jones' brother as a pet.
She was immediately named "Vet" but why I don't remember. She was
hardly half-grown when she arrived and was already quite tame. We
loved her at once for she made an exceptionally nice pet. A safe
place was made for her in the barn, but she much preferred to live in the
house with us. She ate from our hands and if we had a snack of bread
and butter, she expected her share, too. If she did not get what
she wanted or if we scolded her, she would throw herself on the floor and
pout like a spoiled child.
When we were outside, she followed us like a puppy and she rarely
ventured beyond the gate, though it was not long until she could easily
clear the fence in a bound. If a strange dog came into view, she
would show her white flag of a tail and two round spots of bristles would
stand conspicuously erect. Anytime she saw a dog, she would snort,
then bound up on the porch. Whoever was nearest when the tiny hooves
clattered on the porch rushed to the door to let her inside the house.
Once when somebody carelessly left the front gate ajar, she ventured
across the road into the schoolyard. A pack of dogs saw her and gave
chase. She was terribly frightened and streaked around the
school building, into our yard, but the dogs were gaining on her and she
came in so fast she could not manage a leap to the porch. She
was forced to circle the house and the dogs were gaining on her.
By that time, I was out with
a broom to beat off the dogs, and Sister was
holding the front door wide open for her. Vet was so exhausted she
barely made the leap to the porch, and when the door slammed to behind
her, she dropped to the floor and lay there trembling. It was a close race.
A TEXAS STORM
Texas weather was often unpredictable. One spring day a sudden hailstorm
came up and hailstones as big as hen eggs fell. I have never seen
them so large since, nor so many of them. The wind that accompanied
the hail was so strong and the hail beat against the front door until it
took Mama and Ginnie, the oldest of the Jones girls, both bracing their
weight against the front door to hold it closed against the force of the
storm. It was frightening, the din of the heavy ice pounding against
the walls. The hailstones drifted against the garden fence until
it took three days of warm sun to melt them all. Lou and I took a
big wash tub out to the drift and picked up enough clean hailstones
to freeze ice cream that night for supper and to have some left for ice
tea a couple of days. [Genevieve and Frances and the hail.]
Mama was worried frantic all during the storm because Papa had taken
one of our horses earlier in the day and was away on a business trip.
She had expected him back before noon but something detained him and he
had not returned when the storm struck. Fortunately, he saw it coming
in time to make it to the barn and only one or two of the stones struck
him. He and the pony barely made it to shelter. The barn had
a tin roof and the noise of those chunks of ice falling on it was deafening,
he said. He took the saddle off of Fannie but she refused to go into her stall.
She nuzzled her head under Papa's arm and was so frightened that she stood
there trembling until the storm was over.
Fannie was a beautiful sorrel mare, gentle as a kitten, but very
temperamental. Papa was an excellent rider but while I never saw
Fannie throw him and do not think she ever succeeded in doing so, on several
occasions I have seen her buck him out of the saddle. She was an
expert at sun fishing, could whirl on a dime, but she never tried to fall
backwards.
I rode her sometimes but only when I was sure she was willing.
She had a certain way of snorting, cutting her eyes around in a sneering
manner when I started to saddle her, that warned me I'd better pick a more
suitable time. She never gave me a bad spill but when she was tired
of amusing a child, she would stop, hunch her back in warning. If
the child did not take the warning, she would bounce gently once or twice.
If the child still stayed on, she bucked, easy at first but getting harder
every jump. I learned to crawl down at about the third bounce. I
knew that if Papa could not stay in the saddle when she was in earnest,
I couldn't. Fannie and I had an understanding; I loved her and I
think she loved me, but she would stand for no foolishness. Sometimes
Sister rode her too, but only after I had tried her out to see if Fannie
was agreeable. There was always some hay in our barn, but in one corner,
we girls cleared and swept out a spot to set up housekeeping. It
was a splendid place to play whenever the Texas sun beamed down with all
its heat and there was usually a nice breeze through the big open doors.
And when it was rainy, we would be as noisy as we liked. One rainy day we
were underfoot too much to allow Papa to concentrate on some of his studies
for he was a very bookish man, always absorbed in deep theories.
He wanted us to go out to the barn to play in the hayloft.
"But, Papa, there is a bumblebees' nest right by the side of our
spot!" we protested. He snorted at that idea and said bumblebees always
made their nests in the ground. He even got out one of his textbooks
to prove it. We insisted that we knew they were in the hay but he was not
convinced, unfortunately, for he went out to the barn to throw some hay
down to the horses. He was badly stung.
THE BIRTH OF A NEIGHBOR'S SON
A young couple who lived just behind the Jones' home was expecting
their first child. Mrs. Lord's mother lived so far away that there
was no chance for her to come and be with her daughter during the confinement
and there was no nearby hospital. In those days though, there was
always some woman in the neighborhood, who out of the goodness of her heart,
would volunteer to help out in such cases. Mrs. Jones with Mama's
help and that of a few other neighbors, took over this case. Mrs. Lord's
two-day-old baby was the first tiny infant I had ever seen. I was
not fascinated for I remarked that he looked like a shriveled-up old man
except that he was so red. Mama was shocked at my frankness and gave
me a private lecture later on the subject of tact. Mrs. Lord expected to
nurse her little son as a matter of course. After the third day she
had so much milk that her breasts pained her and began to cake. Mrs.
Jones knew exactly what to do but her remedy was rather jolting to Mama.
Mrs. Jones instructed Mr. Lord to find a young suckling pig for his wife
to raise right along with their son. That little pink porker certainly
looked queer cuddled in her arms while she fed her own baby at the same
time. But it was a very practical solution to the difficulty, as
both the child and the pig were thriving and fattening at a great rate. Once
in a while, Mr. Jones complained about rabbits eating up the garden or
gnawing his fruit trees. These wild creatures were numerous and could
cause a great deal of damage. When the subject came up, Papa and
Mr. Jones decided to go
rabbit hunting. They were very successful
and brought back enough rabbits to divide with the neighbors. Nobody
then knew anything about
rabbit diseases, but from all appearances, these
were quite healthy and when Mrs. Jones fried them like chicken, they were
equally as delicious. Mr. Jones was quite fond of them and always made the
same remark. "If you don't like rabbit, ain't the gravy good?"
He believed in feeding children all they could possibly hold.
Whenever Mrs. Jones or Mama decided any child had had enough and wanted
to call a halt to that child's gorging, it was his custom to slip an extra
piece under the tablecloth to that child. He was adept, too, and
rarely got caught in the act.
GRANDMA'S SEWING
Grandmother
had six granddaughters and she trained each of us to
sew nicely, though I doubt if any of them ever quite reached the
standard
of excellence she expected. One of her prized possessions, given
her as a wedding gift, was a beautiful silver thimble handsomely
engraved
with her name on it. As an inducement to our learning to sew, she
promised to give each of us a silver thimble as soon as we could earn
it. To earn it, we would have to be able to make a neat flat fell
seam, a French
fell, work a pretty button-hole, and make a nice hem. Nothing but
tiny even stitches would do. I earned my thimble by making a
dress
for my favorite doll and the thimble was my birthday present when I was
seven. I still have it.
Learning to sew for me, was not an unmixed joy. Mama hated
to darn, particularly socks. Papa was extremely sensitive to the
tiniest knot or the slightest roughness in his socks and his toes poked
through so easily.
He was inclined to tantrums if he could feel the darned place at
all. From the time I learned to darn, every Saturday afternoon, I was made
to do all the darning of hose for the four of us. The chore was irksome,
not alone because of Papa's exacting demands, but because while I was paid
one nickel for doing the darning, I was required to place that same nickel
in the Sunday School collection the next morning. Sister got her nickel
for the Sunday School collection the same as I but there was never any
explanation as to how she earned it. She got her thimble when she
was ten, but sewing was a talent she never used, or almost never.
RATTLESNAKE
I killed my first rattlesnake at the age of eight. I had been
sent on an errand for Papa and on the way back I saw a small ground rattler
crawling along by the side of the road. It was very light in color
and almost the same shade of light gray-tan as the ground. I remember
that it had only one rattle and a button. I killed it by jumping
on it and bringing my heels down as hard as I could, then jumping away.
I jumped back and forth, again and again. Still not satisfied that
it was really dead because it continued to writhe, I got a heavy rock and
pounded it. I had no idea that Papa might be watching me from a window
but when I reached home, he met me at the door, angry and scolding because
he was, as usual, impatient with any slight delay that I might cause him.
He threatened to whip me for playing on the way when he had sent me on
an errand for him. From me, he always expected instant obedience.
I told him I had not been playing. He reminded me that he
had watched me. Then I told him about killing the snake. He did not
believe me and accused me of lying. When he went into the yard to
get a switch, fortunately one of the neighbors who lived down the road
came by and remarked to Papa how brave he thought I was to kill that rattler
all by myself. Papa still doubted the story enough that he went to
see the evidence, or else he just wanted to see the snake for he was very
interested in all kinds of reptiles. When he came back, all he said
was that I was never to try to
kill another snake in that manner, as it
was too dangerous.
TAKING CARE OF "SISTER"
I cannot recall that Papa ever admitted that he could make a mistake,
not where I was concerned anyway. He was never wrong. Once
when I was about nine, he sent me to bed without any supper and I have
always remembered the incident with a tinge of bitterness. Mama was
to be away from home for the afternoon and Papa was busy with some project
at home that he expected would take several hours to complete. Sister
and I were told to play in the yard and not to bother Papa while Mama was
away.
Soon after Mama left, Papa remembered something he intended to do
at the school building. He would not be far away, and he left us,
telling us not to go outside the yard. He was hardly out of sight
when a little girl we played with frequently came by and asked Sister and
me to go with her across town to see her grandmother. I told her
that Sister and I were not allowed to go so far without permission, and
Papa was too busy for us to bother him to ask to go. Sister went
anyway, in spite of my protests. I stayed home obediently.
Papa came home first. Whatever he had been working on at the
school building had not turned out as he expected and he was vexed about
it. He asked me where Sister was and I told him she had gone with
Luella to her grandmother's house. I never understood why he took
his bad temper out on me, but he said he detested a tattler though I had
merely answered his question. He said it was contemptible for me
to tattle on my Sister and I was ordered to bed with no supper.
Mama came home before Sister did, and it was nearly dark before
the child returned. Sister was not punished in any way. I told
Mama what Papa had said to me and why he said he made me go to bed, but
she never interceded or tried to make it up to me in any way. There
were many other times when Papa showed his preference for Sister in various
ways but Mama never interfered. She must have known that he petted
and spoiled Sister outrageously. Most of the time, Mama herself tried
to treat us fairly, I think.
I know that, as a child, I was extremely sensitive and many times
drew back into my shell, especially if Papa was in the vicinity.
I hardly believe, however, that the attitude of my parents inflicted any
serious or lasting damage to my personality. To some extent, it might
have since I am still inclined to be retiring. It certainly taught
me to depend on my own resources, and never to expect much in the way of
favors from any one.
PAPA'S HEALTH
In my childhood, the one person who never let me down was Grandpa.
I adored him for he understood me and was unfailingly considerate of my
feelings. I knew that he truly loved me, and that I could always
draw on his wisdom and gentleness. I needed that healing balm many
times. Papa was never a robust man, and after teaching ten or more years,
he developed a hacking cough. He became convinced that breathing
the chalk dust of the schoolroom constantly was having an effect very detrimental
to his health. He was haunted, also, by the fear that he would
die early as his mother had done. He was only a stripling when he
lost her and although the doctors did not diagnose her last illness as such,
Papa was convinced that her death was from tuberculosis and when he began
coughing, he feared the same end.
He gave up teaching, for good and all, he said. His preparation
and training had all been in that field and he liked the work. Consequently,
it was a hard decision for him to make, partly because he had no idea how
else he could make a living for his family. After much discussion,
he took Mama home to her parents while he went out to the Texas Panhandle,
hoping that a change in climate would improve his health. He was
sure a change of climate was what he needed. He stayed two years
in Amarillo, only coming home on short visits and his health did improve.
During that time, he sold insurance, but was barely able to make enough
to support himself with nothing left over for his family.
Biography Index
Susan Hawkins
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