Adolescent Memories

From a very early age, my mind was made up as to what I would be when big enough.  Grandpa brought back glowing tales of the accomplishments of his two sons, both telegraph operators.  Both had reached a much higher plateau, but owed their success to their accomplishments as operators when they were getting started.  Uncle George had two boys, both following in their father's footsteps, and were working as operators.  Each spring we would hear glowing accounts of their progress.

When my older brother, Forrest, was 13, he received a letter from Uncle Lawrence in Texas saying there was a job open there as a call boy for the railroad.  Uncle Lawrence would teach him telegraphy at the depot.  There was no holding him back.  We didn't see Forrest for about ten years after that.  Papa went to him when he nearly died of typhoid fever in Palestine, Texas, and stayed with him until he recovered.

When I was thirteen, the three kids remaining at home contracted whooping cough.  It is said to be the worst outbreak ever to visit our part of the country.  We whooped from morning until night, and often throughout the night.  Papa contracted the disease from us kids and it nearly killed him.  The violent coughing caused a blood vessel to his heart to rupture, and he never knew another well day in his life.

Mama Neave, the two girls and I took over all the farm work.  The horses Mama Neave brought with her on her wedding day were all high spirited horses.  Papa's horses were of the same type.  Neither of them could abide an old, slow horse.  They both loved the high-stepping, rambunctious horses.  They could handle them, but when it came to untrained 10-13 year old kids handling them, that was something else.  We were rather inadequate.

We were known throughout the neighborhood for the near-disastrous runaways we had with our teams, although no serious injuries were encountered.

One day while sister Gladys and I were plowing corn, the doubletrees on her  plow broke.  The team took out across the corn field with the ends of the doubletrees hitting their hind legs at each jump.  They circled and came back and ran over the plow they had broken away from.

One fine mare broke her leg and had to be destroyed.  Luckily Gladys got off the cultivator before they hit it or she would have been killed.

Another cold winter day Gladys and I were hauling a barrel of water from the pond which was about half a mile away.  The horse spooked as she stood at the front end of the sled, knocked her down, and dragged her all the way to the house over the frozen ground.  Luckily she had on a heavy coat or she would have most likely been permanently injured or killed.