Marion Co TOC

This column contains snippets of wonderful stories and memories. I have never met Mrs. Shipman but I look forward to her column and it's normally the first thing I read when I receive the Echo. Mrs. Shipman has been kind enough to allow me to share with you some of her stories and memories.

Mar 30, 2000:
     Caney community had a few nights singing school. It brought back a lot of "once upon a times." It was interesting to see some of the young men leading the singing. They were being taught to keep time. The school only lasted for four nights and we always had about two weeks of it. The shape notes are taught, also time, signs, etc. The last night ended with several songs sung. It is always a delight. Holland Davenport, Guy Rose and Ancil Baker were among the best teachers.
     I believe several 4-H Club members are getting their baby chicks in their poultry chain projects. When the Extension Office was in the basement of the courthouse, everyone knew the day of arrival of the chickens. You could hear them quite well in all directions. The children were so excited, as well as their parents.
     Once upon a time, Mom had a nice bunch of baby chicks, with a mother hen, which she was keeping up at night for their protection. She didn't notice a hole in the floor. One night a rat noticed the hole and smelled a good dinner. The next morning most of the chickens were without legs. The rat had pulled them off. Mom was very upset and I don't know how long it was before that old hen set again. Daddy tried tying an old hen down on the nest to make her set, but it didn't work.
     There were also complications with a bunch of baby chicks when Myra grabbed up the chickens' mother and bartered her a magazine from a paper salesman.
     So I guess what I'm trying to tell you is, it takes something to grow baby chicks and it is wroth the try, but there may be a few mishaps along the way.

April 20, 2000:Top of Page
     ... As we were wondering how our Great Grandmother Mary grew up, it is the same thing we all wonder about - how it was, what they did and the times they lived through.
     One think I know in common with us now, wild turkeys to hunt and foot on the table - if you are lucky.
     Some have been fortunate to get one or tow. I have heard some tall tales, tired bodies adn sleepy eyes during this period of hunting and have experienced some good eating.
     With Willard Stoops, the turkeys seem to almost run over him, or, "I hard them a little ways off." I don't think he ran from them. Louie, his son, heard the fowl somewhere. He used his caller (I reckon that's what you call it) and the answer came back loud and clear - but it was down under the bluff. He gave another call and didn't hear a thing. Would you believe he heard it on top of the bluff, where he had just come from? He ventured back up the steep place, ever so quietly, and the turkey would never see him because he looked like the dirt and forest all over. Maybe the wild thing smelled him ... it flew right from the spot where he had been. He said they flew away and sure were pretty. The bluff was the cause of all of the mishap. The echols from that bluff threw all his hearing off direction.
     When Wesley Shipman heard Louie's story (Wesley had also climbed a bluff) Wesley asked, "How high was that bluff?" Louie told him. Wesley dropped his head and said, "You bested me. Your bluff was the biggest."
     Once upon a time my Uncle Guy Dillard was the best turkey hunter around. He learned to use his own vocal cords to call the birds and acquired the name of "Hooter." Maybe the men around here need to take heed of a little more of our ancestor's hunting abilities.
     Wesley got his quota of turkeys and shared them. I hope he looks more rested this week.
     I like turkey talk, even if it is cold turkey!

Apr 27, 2000: Top of Page
     Once upon a time, a long time ago, a child growing up near the Mississippi River acquired a nickname he hated. Because he had red hair and freckles, folks called him "Freck." This he told to his wife, Sarah (Smith, I think her maiden name was) when she asked him about his past.
     Freck told Sarah he had no brothers or sisters to take up for him in school and many times the bigger boys ran over him. They verbally abused him about some of his past. As the tears came into both his and his wife's eyes, he continued the story. "One morning while I was working hard on my lessons, I looked up, to rest my shoulders, and the teacher said, "Get that lesson, Freck." This was a heyday for the kids in that one-room school an they laughed as the teacher made a laughing stock out of me."
     The poor little boy had lost his mother at the age of 2, and no wonder he felt alone. His dad was a doctor and he had a stepmother, but he felt he had no real ties at home.
     The teacher had a habit of ducking his head when he laughed. Little did he know that Freck had a big glass marble in his pocket. As the teacher ducked his head and roared with laughter, that little boy's hand grasped the marble and threw it at the teacher. As the teacher's head was turned toward the big boys, that marble hit his temple, just at the edge of his hair, and he flopped to the floor. Freck declared, "That was the last I ever saw of that teacher or school."
     He built a raft with some good sound logs, which were plentiful, and lashed them together with bark. He floate on that raft for several days, eating wild onions, eggs from nests he knew not what, a soft shelled turtle raw .. but the best things he had to eat on this trip was frogs. The persimmons were tasty, too.
     At last, he left the raft in search of work and found it with a good farmer. Somehow he came here to the Ozark Mountains and made his home at Water Creek.
     He was accepted here to an extent, but was still called Freck and teased about so many things. He realized the men were laughing at him but not his wife, who loved him dearly and never turned away from him, no matter what. He was her only love.
     He worked at the cotton gin and gristmill in the community, which was owned by Riley Smith, perhaps, and they shared food and firewood with them in the cold of wintertime. Even the owners of Bruno and Water Creek stores were accommodating, but as time went on business owners had some stormy times and formed a union, trying to put each other out of business. There was competition back then as now.
     Some of the people of this long ago time who were in the business world of the little community were Jesse Baker, S A Lay, Ben Mullens and Charles Cummings. Mr. Cummings, who was a bachelor, bought a little sandy field on the creek, worked hard and got a good prospect of a young crop of "sang" (ginseng) in the garden. He made a deal and sold out the garden to Frank Rice. The "sang" garden was where high-priced medical herbs were grown.
     Lots more could be said about this community and I will tell more, but back to our Mr. Freck. One day he was feeling poorly and the men at the mill said they would pay him his wages and for him to stay home until he felt better. He thought it a good time to pay the men back for making fun and teasing him. His sick spell was lasting too long and the men were about to run him out of the settlement. He and his wife did leave. He got a gob in the mines at Rush Creek, but not before the post office on Water Creek was named "Freck".
     According to Dwight Shipman, a group of men, including Freck, were sitting outside the store discussing what to call the up-and-coming post office. The whole settlement was excited. One of the men said jokingly, "Let's call if Freck." Officials in Washington DC agreed to the name, so Freck it was called.
     Freck was heard to say, "I despise that name so bad, I get mad every time I hear it and it makes me nervous." It reminded him also of the time Bow Harris filled his eyes with tobacco juice. He never went inside the post office named after his nickname.
     Sarah, his dearly beloved wife, died in the spring of 1912. He married again. He left the area and no one knew where he went, but his mark is still with us.

May 4, 2000: Top of Page
     Some of the stories are still bearing on my mind that were told about Freck last week. I understood that the first school teacher was Epley Parnell, who taught before the school burned. This was around the year 1932 and another was built about 1935, as best some of the folks remembered. They spoke of the long timbers used in the school building out of virgin trees which were cut and sawed by the men of the community.
     I believe Mr. Parnell was teaching when, once upon a time, one of th eboys stuck a gun shell inside of a stick of stovewood, making the old stove dance and the stovepipe curve and twist when it went off. It was a Shipman responsible, but poor Ben Davis was accused. When the teacher looked at Ben, pointed his finger at him and said, "Ben, you did that," Ben, who, for a wonder, was not guilty, ran like a chicken with its head cut off and no more schooling for him. Verl Shipman was not left unpunished.
     A Mr. Swafford and Mrs. Keeling were also teachers at Freck.
     Neville (Davis) and Dwight remembered about 16 children attending school, with Ver, Buey and Odell Davis being the oldest students attending during Neville's time.
     Church was also held in the school house. Dwight said he remembered when he went to church hearing Floyd and Gertie Smith's cowbells. He declared that Floyd had bells on every one of them. That was music we heard over the hills once upon a time.
     Uncle Tom and Uncle Andrew Davis were very active in church there. Once when a Ray or Roy Barnes rode up on a horse, Tom greeted him and told him how proud he was t see him at church. Barnes said, "It sure is rough roads here." Uncle Tom replied, "Yes, and there are a lot of rough roads between here and Heaven, too."
     Vance Shipman remembered the first time he saw a bulldozer. Dee Phillips was the operator and was building the road above the Freck Church and the schoolhouse.
     Once when Dwight was taking Aunt Millie Davis somewhere in a wagon, I don't think he was the best driver, at least, something happened tht made Millie fall out of the wagon and roll down the hill. She got up dusted her clothes, slapped her hands together and said, "That's one steep hill.". No bones were broken, though. She used to have certain trails she traveled and has been remembered as such for years. What a wonderful, jolly, good woman the Freck community was blessed with.
     Uncle Tom and Aunt Josie Davis always had lots of flowers. Tom decided one year he would decorate all the graves in the cemetery. He felt so bad that some of the graves were decorated with so many flowers and some with none. He picked a bushel basket full of roses and every grave was remembered. It was stated, "How beautiful the cemetery looked with all those red roses."
     Wouldn't it be nice to be able to pick a bushel basket of flowers for the living as well as for our loved ones of long ago?

May 11, 2000: Top of Page
     (Speaking about the "old time working" at the Desoto Cemetery to be held May 13th) ... Once upon a time, many years ago, a cemetery committee was appointed, consisting of "Doc" Dillard, Harrison Smith and Tom Langston, I have been told. The following information was in the Mountain Echo in the 1920s: "Everyone should come on Friday before the third Sunday. Bring all the tolls needed for cleaning of the cemetery (as was the custom for many years) and the women will bring dinner. Be prepared to spend the whole day and if the job is not completed we will come back Saturday and finish the job before Decoration on Sunday. After Decoration, everyone will take dinner to the Desota Springs to eat. We will have singing and if there is a preacher available we will have a sermon after dinner" I hope our job will be as well done as our ancestors did. I'm afraid we ladies can't come up with the food our mothers and grandmothers bought to the working.
     Lee Davenport said Decoration Day over the whole county was where the boys loved to go. I heard of one Decoration Day, once upon a time, around Tomahawk Schoolhouse, close to where the burying grounds were located. A large crowd was gathered and decorated the graves until it looked like a big garden of flowers. (I wonder if a lot of them might have been paper.)
     About eleven o'clock the preaching service began at the schoolhouse and when the service was over a gang of tough boys was standing outside, waiting to start trouble, so they accused another young man of lying about something. That didn't set well with this feller and he doubled up his fist and knocked one of the tough boys down - war began.
     This tough gang was very much opposed by several of the men who were tired of these boys breaking up meetings of church services and such. During the fight one of the gang saw his bunch falling like ten-pins and he got out his knife made a lunge at one of the strongest men on the good side. This man picked up a club and knocked the ruffian out as cold as a cucumber.
     One feller saw one of the smaller boys, who had been sorta pushed out of the way but still wanted to be in the middle of the fight, draw his knife, but he was grabbed by the neck and held. The man holding the boy was so interested in the fight that he had forgotten about what he was doing until he felt the boy start collapsing. He turned the victim loose and didn't return to the fight.
     When some of the good guys had let it go on long enough, they yelled at a neighbor to go get his Winchester. He said, "I've settled worse fights than this and I can settle this." The neighbor lost no time in going after the gun. When they heard this and saw that he meant business, the rough boys ran off, never to pick up that fight again. What a Decoration Day to remember.
     Lee, I know you were not with this bunch, because this happened around 1899.

May 25, 2000: Top of Page
     (Speaking of float trips on the Buffalo River) ... It takes the children's children back to their ancestors, because they were fishermen and loved hunting and camping on the river. Sometimes it was called "laying out on the river." Few, if any, had a tent, but many nights were spent on the Buffalo River.
     ... was my grandpa, Charlie Davenport. Once upon a time someone was eavesdropping on him when he was setting a trap. He said to himself, "I wonder if this trap is strong enough to hold a coon." As he began to work it he opened the trap up and it slipped out of his control and snapped on his finger. He was heard to say, "You fightin' right it'll hold a coon!" I don't know if he caught one or not, but he was teased many times about trapping for a whole season and making 90 cents.
     Great Grandpa George, I have been told, loved to argue on the on the Bible. Sometimes (probably to get the best of someone) he would quote a verse wrong. When he got home he woul ask his wife Martha (Moore) to go make amends and tell them the right quotation and she would reply, "You do it yourself." I don't know if he did or did, but if the next time they argued another way the scripture fit better rightly quoted, he would say it right. I wish I'd known him. I've never head of his fishing and hunting as his sons loved to do. George's father and mother are buried at Stone Cemetery. I wonder what his likes and dislikes were.
     George and Martha are buried at DeSoto, where several of their children are. Next to their grave is Aunt Betty Ann and Tom, their son. Betty Ann had died and Grandpa George was going over to their place and died before he got there. This must have been a bad time.
     Aunt Julie (Davenport) McClain was George Davenport's sister. Bill, her son, told me some interesting things of the two. Once upon a time when Bill's Uncle George was pruning peach trees, Bill was playing around and, as most boys at the time, loved to ride the trees to the ground and bounce on the limbs. George saw him riding one of the peach trees and gave him a good bunch of "peach tree tea" (a whipping). This made Aunt Julie angry and she lost no time in telling George off. The next morning Bill hid behind a stump with a piece of timber in his hand and as Geroge walked past the stump Bill whacked him across the knee. He made it to his sister Julie to give full details. Aunt Julie replied, "I don't blame Bill one bit. You deserved it."
     They didn't stay made at each other, Bill said, but he didn't say he did his uncle that way again. Kids were kids back then, too.

Jun 1, 2000: Top of Page
     In "This 'n That," another column in the Echo Elda Powers asked if anyone remembers the Paradise Theater in Cotter. I don't know if that is the name of the one we attended when I was young, but once upon a time, in fact, more than once, in the later 1930s and maybe early '40s my dad and mother would start the old ton-and-a-half flatbed, which was used for a log and lumber truck, as well as being our community transportation, and start gathering the kids up around here. We rode safely back and forth to the movies at Cotter. Some nights it would be very cold and we all had quilts to wrap up in. The wind on the back of a truck was still cold, but we didn't seem to mind much because the next time we could get Dad to take us we were ready to brave the rain or snow, just so we could be together and have the big treat of going to a show at Cotter, which was located right downtown. It would be interesting to know if that was the same theater.
     It wasn't the safest way of travel, I grant you that, but most of the time that was our way of going to church, the river to swim or the woods to work, but the police never stopped us to see if we had seatbelts on, nor did they stop us when four, five or more were in the cab. I remember when the CCC Camp was located out here, they also had what we called an outside theater and I remember one time when there were around nine people riding in the dab to go to the show.
     As time went on, more cars were appearing and Daddy asked, "What do you want, a new car or new house?" Mom was outnumbered. We got the car, or pickup. That's always the way it was. She did get a new house, though.

Jun 15, 2000: Top of Page
     Once upon a time a woman came to the Ozarks. Her name was Mary Magdalene, the Dillards' great grandmother. She lived at several locations; Freck, Rush, Dillard, Dillard's Ridge, Eureka Springs and other areas. This was a time when women had no rights, the schools were mostly for the wealthy or males only.
     Transportation was wagon or horseback and electricity was unheard of. Running water was only in creeks, springs and rivers, where washing was done. Buckets of water were carried to the house and springhouses were for keeping the food longer. Cloth was hand-woven for clothing and old remedies wee used for the health of individuals. She lived through three major wars; Mexican War (1848), Civil War (1861-65) and Spanish American War 1898. She even survived the Bushwhacker problem.
     It has been written: "You survived eight births without anesthetic or hospitals. You were talented. You could play the fiddle and had the ability to make a happy home - singing, playing, knowing and recognizing your needs from your wants and accepting the situation."
     For hard work in the fields, raising your family, serving as a midwife, even perhaps a barmaid, and digging ginseng roots to keep your family together, we salute you, Grandma and remember you this weekend. We will celebrate your memory, the ways you left for us to always love one another.

June 29, 2000: Top of Page
     ... This reminds me of a story in the Tall Tales Dillard Book, written by Frankie Joe Dillard. Once upon a time, Grandpa Doc owned a car and it was the type you had to crank to start. Grandpa couldn't drive, so he had Uncle Ted drive him to Yellville one day. After taking care of business and cranking the car several times they started home. Just before they got home, Grandpa said, "Ted, honey, when I get out to open this last gate, whatever you do, don't let the car die." Grandpa got out and opened the gate, and, of course, the car died. Grandpa gave Uncle Ted a bad look, got the crank and cranked the car several times. The crank kicked back on him and hit him in the arm. He threw down the crank and went to the side of the road and grabbed a rock about the size of a cantaloupe. Uncle Ted thought he was going st throw it at him, so he got down in the floorboard. Grandpa threw the rock and hit the radiator dead-center. Hot water went everywhere, all over him and Uncle Ted. Uncle Ted said he would never forget Grandpa's words, "Kick now, you s.o.b."

July 6, 2000: Top of Page
     Mrs. Shipman is talking about a family member who was recently killed - the daughter of Evelyn (Smith) and the late Bill McClain. The granddaughter of Alice (Dillard) and Harrison Smith and Uncle George and Aunt Julie (Davenport) McCain
     Many old-time memories come to my mind about these families. Once upon a time there were no telephones in the Old Dillard Settlement, so the ring of the phone wasn't heard, but the "holler" rang out with voice calls to Aunt Alice and Uncle Harrison's family. Mama's voice was one that could carry for a great distance and I can almost hear her voice ring out, "Ohhhh .... Alice!" The "Oh" was held for a long time as the voice went a little higher and louder. Most of the time she got results, since either the kids were out playing or Aunt Alice was outside washing on the rubboard with the black iron pot boiling a bunch of dirty overhauls with suds aplenty from lye soap and a punching stick to pound the clothes as they boiled.
     She got a gas washing machine, but Billy Frank, one of her sons, experimented with the motor and I don't know if he got it put back on the washing machine right or not. He learned a lot from his everyday play and experimenting. I guess that's why he is such a locksmith, and he didn't even have to change his name!
     Aunt Alice, when a little girl, checked on her daddy Doc's watermelons by cutting a plug out of each one. When she told her mother, Mama knew she was in bad trouble. Grandpa Doc found this out for himself and stormed into the house and yelled, "Bett!" She knew what before she answered, "What?" All the watermelons were rotten and poort Betts had to tell him it was his daughter, Alice. This provided her with her first whipping (I bet it was the only one) she got from her daddy. Mary, her daughter, said her mother said, "It hurt my pride more than it did my backside."
     Her big brothers didn't make it easy for her to forget, either. They would slip around her and laughter and snicker because she got her just reward. Brothers!

July 13, 2000: Top of Page
     Even though spring has turned to summer, I'm still reminded of the springtime when Mama would get out and find the nests that old hens had hidden in hopes no one would find them so they could surprise everyone with a bunch of baby chicks. They didn't pull much over on Mom, especially when she got hungry for egg custard in the spring, which seemed to be the biggest craving for this delicacy.
     Once upon a time when she had a desire for such a custard, she built a fire in the wood cookstove, just a slow, easy-cooking fire. How she got the right temperature remains a mystery, and as I stood by watching the procedure she told me every step of the measuring, even when to add those freshly-found eggs, stirred it lightly and showed me how to slide it carefully into the moderate oven.
     As it cooked and sent the delicious fragrance into the whole house, my mouth was made to water, just anticipating how it would taste with a hint of nutmeg sprinkled on the top.
     Here is the special way Mama guarded her success with egg custard; she gently slid the custard out of the oven onto the oven door, took a think knife, inserted it in the middle of the custard and if the knife came out clean, it was done.
     When we were ready to eat it I could see the anxious look on Mom's face. She carefully sliced the golden goodie and when she served it the slices stood upright without any disturbance of running. It was a success ... and good!

Aug 3, 2000: Top of Page
     I sat down to watch Where the Red Fern Grows through mist in my eyes, for the most part. One of the outstanding scenes that brought back such valuable memories was when a move was taking place and the zinc washtub was placed in the wagon.
     Once upon a time when I was a little girl, my family would move from our home on the hill to the Buffalo River farm to make a crop or move to the cabin to run the Dillard Ferry for "a spell". In moving, which was done by wagon and team, I remember how dishes and other breakables or kitchen goodie were packed in washtubs, along with everything else we had to have to survive. It was only 5 or 10 miles we traveled, but, my, how exciting. It was also exciting to move back to our home on the hill, where the old familiar playhouse had been, which was formed by rowing up rocks and dividing the rooms off in like manner. There were boards I used for the table and chairs, with pieces of glass around I used for dishes. That was life at its best.
     Then I remembered Leon telling me once upon a time his Uncle Andrew and Aunt Bertha loaded up their wagon with all their possessions- and the kids - with washtub and all moved to near Bentonville, Ark. I am sure Neville and Odale had a good time. The Davis family was also happy to get back to Freck, even if there were no bathroom facilities. There were other places for accommodations ... no close neighbors and plenty of big trees.
     Funny how a scene with a tub can make a person think of so many things. I wonder if my great grandmother had a moving tub. I'm sure that if she did it wasn't a zinc one. And what did she put in it?
     Aunt Jenny Baker had a pretty good saying which she thought the Bible help up. She said, in her fine, high-pitched, sweet voice, "Well, you know, the Bible says every tub sets on its own bottom." She had a point. It is remembered on its own merits and I guess we will be, too.

Aug 17, 2000: Top of Page
     When you pass by the old school houses which are not in use anymore, don't you wonder how it was? What happened that was good? Where is the spring they carried water from? What games did they play? Did the children love and respect the teacher? Did the teacher like his or her job? I can imagine many thigns just as I fancy how families had lived in the old abandoned homes we see sitting out in a pasture or hidden in the timber and undergrowth. I guess the best thing I can say is, try not to be too sad, because I have heard those are good places for ghosts, or "h'ants," to abide and the old covered bridges, as well. It's getting nearer all the time for these "h'ant" tales to come to live, so be prepared for a few.
     I think this year I will be in fashion. I heard that the "in" thing this year was called "dirty jeans, skirts and jackets." Also, even the cosmetics are geared to the dirty look - whatever that look will be. I know a lot of times I sure do get my clothes pretty dirty. I don't guess that's what they had in mind.
     Once upon a time it was embarrassing to have dirty-looking clothes to go out in public and if they were torn (especially in certain areas) we were poor or our mothers didn't have time to patch our clothes, and the boys really wanted to have what they called a "slick" haircut and shave before they were caught out courting. That was the "in" look. I'm not sure which is best, but when it was so hard to come up with 50 cents or a dollar, beside the trip to town, knowing that Bryon was going to give Leo a hard time and his cry could be heard all over town, with two big sisters to help hold him. I was sorta glad the trend was a little longer hair.
     Then I was really happy when the "in" thing was little boys' hair that could be combed into bangs instead, with that straight part which looked so neat. My boys couldn't keep a part. That was good. The girls nowadays don't have to have their hair in place or have to wear the wave clamps to sleep in. That is where I drew the line anyway, I wanted sleep, but I guess Myra, my sister, didn't mind; she had the perfect hairdo every day. She didn't like the wind disturbing it or my arms around her neck to move a hair, and somehow I had the biggest desire to show her I loved her with a big bear-hug at those times.
     All in all, you can see I am at least halfway for some of the "in" styles - don't get carried away, though.

Aug 24, 2000: Top of Page
     It's the opening of the school year and I start remembering opening that lard bucket of school dinner. I can smell that egg and ham, if we were lucky, peanut butter and biscuits and a biscuit filled with butter and wild grape jam. Remember how purple and blue that jam made the biscuit? It wasn't a pretty sight, but, oh, my, the taste made up for the looks. Mom and Aunt Alice could make a good batch of jam.

Sep 14, 2000: Top of Page
     Yakima Valley News by Frankie Seay Mt. Echo Sep 7th issue .... They have around 100 rose bushes of every color and kind and when the petals finally started popping off they were so big that I reverted back to my childhood and started popping the petals on my forehead. Rufus never saw anyone do that, but I told him it was a little girl thing and I'm sure his sisters did it. I wonder if this generation of girls has learned to do that. Probably not, because they have so many things to play with, but to us things like popping rose petals was great fun and didn't cost a penny. ... I'm glad Frankie Sue her husband straight about popping rose petals being a "girl thing." I am sure a lot of girls in our day and time knew just how to fold them to capture enough air in the side of the petal to make it pop like a paper "poke" we used to blow up and pop - if we didn't need to save the sack to pack our school lunch in.
     One of the things us girls loved to do in the spring was gather daisies and pluck the petals off to see if our "fellers" loved us or not. With each petal pulled we would say, "He loves me, he loves me not," and so on until the last and we always tried to make it come out on "he loves me." If it didn't, we did it again, but otherwise we let well enough alone.

Sep 21, 2000: Top of Page
I know Doretha won't mind if I sneak in a short note from Frankie Seay's column.
     Moleen's husband, the late Ralph Cline, will be remembered by all old timers in Marion and Boone counties for playing shortstop on the George's Creek ball team about 1945-35, along with Josh Tolliver, catcher; Rufus Seay, 2nd base; Ray and Otis Wilmoth, pitchers; Leon Briggs, 1st base; Jewell Briggs, right field; and Red Keeter, Roy Wilmoth, Splint Keeter and G Pierce were fielders and extra players. Ralph went on the play semi-professional ball in California, plus coached young players and at one time was on Yellville's ball team. ... Moleen remembers one time when one young lady in the crowd got so excited jumping around that the elastic broke in her underdrawers and she just picked them up and went on yelling for her team. What else could she do? She wasn't about to miss watching her favorite players! And there was a time when Ralph played for the Yellville team for a while and had to wear one of their uniforms and he came down with a humongous case of the itch - nearly scratched himself to death (it probably took a washtub of pokeberry juice to take care of that). He never wore a Yellville uniform again. Lots of good memories from over 60 years ago.
     Doretha: Sunday was no less of a pleasure for a celebration of my 75th birthday.

Sep 28, 2000:Top of Page
     Once upon a time during a hot summer back in the early '50s, which was a hard time and one of the times we were broke, we had to go away for several months to work. This was an adventure in many ways. For one, my first child entered school in the Horse Creek Valley, SC area. One of my daughters, Ann, had won a price of $50 worth of groceries in a talent show in Little Rock. That helped us out so much.
     Then when we found out about a talent show contest in Augusta, Ga., Treva and Ann made it quite often and always placed and were awarded Sankins Ice Cream. We had ice cream the whole summer we were there.
     I reckon there is always a way and pleasure. One of the prizes was a record player with several records. One of the records was "Mama's on the War Path". This song stayed with my children then, and especially after I had all seven. When I got upset they would start singing, "Mama's on the War Path." This was another time of trials and tribulations, but my song to them when they got upset was "Love One Another." All is well now and it's the once-upon-a-time memories that I treasure.
     Last week I was invited to go up in Missouri with two of my sisters-in-law, Mary Sue Swayne and Rose Nell. We hit the antique and garage sales. What fun we had. The antique places brought back many pleasant thoughts. I bought a first-year reader, "Fact and Story Readers." Perhaps some of you remember that book. What I remembered were the pictures of the squirrel's home entering into the home through the root of a tree and the cozy, quaint rooms down in the ground under the tree.
     When I showed the book to some of my grandchildren and family, they were surprised at the difficult words for the first reader. I'm sure the "Baby Ray" primer must have been before this and I have never seen that book in print since I cut the paper doll out and I played with it for months. I am still looking for that book.
     talking about a fish fry at the Bruno Fire Dept I was reminded of a tall fishing story of one of my uncles. I may have told you, but if I did, read it again, it might help you out at your next fish fry.
     Once upon a time Millard Reeves and Bazze went fishing on White River. It was in August and if it was anything like August of this year it was hot and when it's so hot a lot of times the fish don't bite much and as these two cousins talked of how to catch fish, they decided to go over to a large boulder in the river and just go swimming to cool off for a while.
     There were several large boulders about five feet under water where they were swimming. They were still thinking bout the fishing trip they were on and that they had caught "nary" a one when Bazze asked Millard, "Did you hear a sound like a grunting hog?"
     Thinking it might be a big catfish, they got back into the boat and untied the 30-foot anchor rope. Willard took one end of the rope and dove under the rock. It was dark and the sound of the catfish was his guide.
     After the third dive, they found the catfish's head sticking out from under a cave formed by a boulder and the bank. It was a sight to see that catfish opening its mouth, taking in the cool, clear water.
     The boys finally figured out how to bring him in. They put the rope through the fish's mouth and gills. Tying the rope seemed to agitate the catfish and it began to thrash about. In doing so, the fish's side "thorns" put a 3-inch gash in Millard's forearm. Returning to the board with the rope in his mouth, Millard's mouth that is, they had a struggle handling that 63-pound catfish.
     A fish that size would go a long ways toward serving a group of folks, wouldn't it?

Oct 12, 2000: Top of Page
     Turkey Trot .... "Do you recall when Miss Drumsticks didn't necessarily dress in bathing suits? Many of the girls who were in the beauty pageant would be behind a turkey or even maybe the curtains would be hiding all but the legs - the rest would still be in their evening dresses. And I remember sometimes the evening wear would drop down and that was an amusing thing. I guess you would say that once upon a time this event was not taken as serious and formal as today, but I believe it was enjoyed as much.
     I do remember a couple of times the winners didn't think about winning., they were only helping out to have enough girls to keep the event with more than just a scant few who would dare to enter "sich" a thing, as the old-timers would say. One winner was a widowed mother and business woman and she was totally embarrassed when it was revealed. A young teenager in Yellville was a winner and did her mother ever object to that! Those are special remembrances of the past."
     " ... I passed the road that turns down to the head of Greasy Creek, where Leon and I used to live when he first came back from the war. At that time we had a horse drawn sled to haul our milk up the little rocky road to the county road. Once upon a time when we were going up the hill my baby daughter and I were ridding the back of the sled. The old horse gave a jerk and out the back of the sled I tumbled, with Ann held high and she never touched the ground ... I did!"
     a story about raisins: "Once upon a time the weather had been real dry, about like it was here this summer, in California, I believe in the San Joaquin Valley. It was so hot and dry that all their grapes just "pur-o-de" shriveled up on the vines. We farmers of all kinds sometimes have to figure out what to do when things don't go as planned and one of the grape farmers though, 'I will gather up these dried grapes and take them to San Francisco.' He did and one good shop-keeper agreed to try to sell them. Here comes one of the "name" brands - he called them "Peruvian Delicacies," which sounded fine to enough folks around there that they were wold out within a few hours, which made other dealers start fizzing around trying to find more of the locally-grown 'foreign delicacies.'
     By 1912 or thereabouts, the farmers formed the California Raisin Company, which provided work for many folks, including women. One young packing girl, Lorrain Collett Petersen, was most beautiful, which all the workers noticed. When the big celebration - the Panama-Pacific International Exposition - came to San Francisco about 1915, of course there had to be parade, just like with out Turkey Trot, and Lorraine was selected to represent the raisin company.
     Being like all young ladies, she washed her long, black hair and sat out in the sunshine to dry it (she didn't have a hair dryer). She put her mother's red bonnet on to help control her hair and then her mother ever so gently curled eight long beautiful curls, which extended below the bonnet.
     One of the executives of the raisin company was in town for the event of the year and happened to pass by and see the lovely girl sitting in her yard drying her hair. He recognized her as one of the workers who had been permitted to go up in a small airplane to throw showers of raisings out to spread over the ground for advertisement of their product.
     With his advice, others in the company got the bright idea of a trademark and Lorraine was it, after she sat for two weeks for an artist to paint her for the new name, Sun Maid Raisin Growers of California.
     This beautiful Sun Maid with the red bonnet and tray of grapes in her arms on our box of raisins today is Lorraine of long ago, even if her modeling for the two weeks of sittings was counted as her wages of $15 a week.
     One never knows what getting prettied up will come to."

Nov 2, 2000:Top of Page
     Doretha's column this week is devoted to a weatherman by the name of C C Williford who wrote a book about himself and his experiences in the early days. It is interesting reading but the man was not from Marion Co.

Nov 9, 2000: Top of Page
     "I recall a story I used to tell children at assorted programs. Once upon a time there was a very good young school boy. He was never into mischief, although something possessed him to push their outhouse over the bluff at which it was located.
     As he carried his lard bucket full of his school lunch, his mind was not on the ham and biscuits and jar of sorghum in the bucket, it was still thinking of the big boom it would make if he pushed the outhouse off the cliff. (There was one such outhouse here not far from the Buffalo River - or used to be.) The desire was so strong that he did it and it gave a rewarding crash.
     The conscience of the poor little feller hurt him badly and he worried all day at school; what would his daddy and mother sayd, and what would they do to him? How he dreaded going home that evening. One thing gave him encouragement .. the class was studying about George Washington and how he never did tell a lie and when asked who cut down the cherry tree admitted the crime and he didn't get punished, so the boy decided to tell his dad the truth and he felt confident he had the problem solved.
     As soon as he got home that evening, he said, "Dad, I have got to tell you what I did." Dad replied, "Yes?". "I was the one who pushed the outhouse off the bluff." Dad: "You what?!" He got a long switch and wore it out on the boy. After the severe punishment the boy said, "But, Dad, George Washington told the truth about cutting down the cherry tree and he didn't get punished."
     Dad replied, "Yes, but George Washington's father wasn't in that tree."

Nov 16, 2000:Top of Page
     "Aunt Flo (Laffoon) Davenport seemed very chipper a few days ago. I thoroughly enjoyed talking to her and having her tell me once again about when her grandmother and grandfather lived below Rush on Plum Creek, which runs into Cedar Creek, as she remembered, then on into the Buffalo River. Their home was a one-room log cabin. At the Civil War time things were in a state of confusion, as in all wars, loved ones leaving to fight for our welfare. This was true of Flo' grandfather. When he went to the call of duty he had to leave his wife and two children, of which Aunt's dad was the oldest. There were left with only an axe for protectin. One night she heard the scream of the dreaded animal, the panther. I have written a few stories about that. Quietly, she got up, sat on the side of the bed with the axe in her hand, ready to protect her young ones and kept the panther away from home and family. Her wish was the children would not wake up, because she had heard how panthers are attracted to children: They didn't awaken.
     She told of the time she and other young girls of the settlement went flower-picking in the spring of the year, with Blanche Curtis. Blanche, the oldest of the group became lost. She had lost her way in those Buffalo hills, but being the mountain girl that she was, she knew to follow the hollow and it would lead to the river. They made it safely, but not without being reprimanded by a group of worried parents.
     These things took place in the area of other places on the Buffalo I was not acquainted with. Like so many other places which are named after people who lived there, or where some particular incident had occurred. The Brently Bend and the Lonely Hole were two places she mentioned.
     She told of how her dad had learned to make cloth from his mother, Aunt Flo, you made my day and my next visit with you I will enjoy you telling me the same stories."
     "Mr. Ives ... asked me if I had ever heard the story about corn and the lazy man?" .... Once upon a time there was a terribly lazy man in the community and folks took a dislike to anyone who didn't work. They told him if he didn't start working and keep up his family that they were going to bury him alive.
     That didn't seem to have an effect on the problem, so the men built a coffin with plenty of space between the boards. They placed the man in the box and started down the lonely, rocky road to the burying ground. The wagon carrying the coffin and assistants was making a loud grinding noise on the stones as it was driven, but the men with the loud voice tried to bargain with the lazy creature and told him if he would promise to work they would turn him loose and provide him with a good batch of corn. He asked "Is it shelled?" "No", the men replied. The trifling man said, "Keep a-going.". I doubt if the corn got shelled for him, but what happened then?"
     I know Doretha won't mind me adding a bit from Frankie Seay's column (pg 6). ".... ground squirrels are thick, which makes the five grandsons happy. That reminds me of about 40 years ago when one of their uncles was visiting family at Mull and took the Grayhound bus home to Yakima by way of Phoenix and his mother fixed him a paper sack of fried squirrel and biscuits to take along and he loved it, but got some weird looks when he took the squirrels' heads out and cracked them with a knife to get the brains out, which was one of his favorite foods. The other passengers wondered when they saw him eating what they thought was little chickens, but when he started cracking the heads they moved away from him and gave him plenty of room to eat his lunch. Too bad the squirrels at Terry's house aren't edible, she could feed a lot of boys on them. And squirrel brains and heads are really a delicacy to some people; not to me, but to some."

Nov 23, 2000: Top of Page
     "I attended Jeff Still's funeral Thursday. I had not seen him for some while. He had been in bad health and I believe was still living in Bentonville at the time of his death. We are never ready to give our people up. My love goes to all the family.
     Since we grew up together, there was a little story I remember about his daddy (Jeff called him Poppy, if I remember right). Once upon a time on a cold, blustery winder day it was milk time and my daddy Pate took the milk pail ... milk bucket, we called it ... and went down to the barn, got his milk stool - it might have been a bucket - sat down and began to squeeze the milk out of the old cow. His hands were cold and he had his hat on and collar turned up and I am sure was in deep thought. He couldn't hear well and Lonzo, who was Jeff's father, came up behind Daddy unobserved. He always walked slow and quietly. He had an earflap cap pulled down over his ears (he couldn't hear well either) and a long black coat on. All of a sudden he spoke pretty loud. The old cow had no hard time hearing Lonzo and in her fright gave a full grown kick, knocking the bucket of milk to smithereens and Daddy fell off the stool. I don't know what Daddy said, but I am sure their conversation continued with both Daddy and Lonzo holding their hands cupped behind their ears so they could understand each other.
     I think the cow had the remainder of that milking session discontinued."

Dec 7, 2000: Top of Page
     Yakima Valley (Wash.) News by Frankie Seay Nov 28 # 307: "Marie Hargraves said she has a picture that might be of interest to the Wickersham family. If so, she would be happy to send it to them or bring it with her to Flippin. It's an old photo of a lady (about 5x5 inch frame) standing by a table or chair adn on the back it says "Belle (Adams) Wickersham, Bill's mother." It also says "My grandmother Wickersham" and has the name "Thelma Knopp" written there. Marie thinks Thelma is deceased, but that she had a son who lives at St. Joe, Mo. There was a Bill Wickersham who grew up in the Yellville area and this lady was probably his mother. Marie says it is a beautiful photograph, but she has no use for it and would like to give it to some of the family. Write her at: Marie Hargraves, 5901 Barge #24, Yakima, WA 98908."
     Dorthea's column: I am always happy to hear of our friends and relations in Washington, Thanks to Frankie Sue. She keeps us informed about Zelma (Davis) Baker and reading about her the past week, I wondered if she remembers when once upon a time, she was staying in the Loy Shipman's home attending school at Bruno along with the Shipman brothers, Leon and Verl, who were first cousins. One bitter cold winter morning they grabbed their dinner pail (a lard bucket) carrying the lunch. I'll bet it contained some good biscuits and sorghum. Anyway they took off walking the long distance to school. As the day dragged along, the children gathered by the old wood stove turned first one way and then the other to try to get their bodies a little warm. I doubt if their clothes were very thickly layered, but be it as it was, the time to go home had arrived and the day had grown colder. Ice had accumulated and they thought of the slick foot log they would have to walk over at Hampton Creek. When they arrived at the log, they began to carefully walk over the creek,, they thought of how cold the water would be to fall in. They soon found out. Leon and Verl hit the cold water with a breath-taking experience.
     Lucky for them their school mates and neighbors, John Glen's daughters, were along and took them to their home to get dried and warm. When the little boys clothes were re moved, the overalls stood up alone, not from starch but be cause they were frozen stiff.
     It has been cold these last few mornings, but was it that cold? I don't think so.

Dec 14, 2000: Top of Page
     "I was all excited Monday morning to get a call from one of my cousins who lives in Arizona. He said, "Doretha, I thought of another story about my grandmother, Mary (Seats) Ore."
     I was all ears and eager to hear even the least of anything about our Indian ancestry.
     Bob Collins began his story: Once upon a time during the hardest of times, the Depression time, he, his dad, mother, brother, grandmother Mary and her youngest son Arlie, drove their old Model T car out to west Texas to try to make even a meek living.
     They lived in an old cabin called a "line shack," where a lot of workers had to live who worked in that area. They had the bare necessities to exist. In fact, they really didn't even have that. His grandmother, my Aunt Mary, being of Indian descent, had a way of knowing how to make do under adverse conditions and used her ingenuity to build an oven outside, since they had no stove to cook on. (Bob said several of the Indians where he lives today, even though they have nice homes to live in, have ovens built in their yard to bake in like Aunt Mary built long ago.)
     The owner of their abode gave them permission to use all the clay they needed to build an oven. Bucket after bucket of clay was carried for the construction. She started it large at the bottom to hold up the remaining portion, which gradually became smaller and came together at the top to make the cover.
     Bob didn't know where she got a grate, but she had one built in to hold the baking pans. She put coals in the bottom of the oven for the heat.
     In my imagination, I can almost smell and taste the biscuits and cornbread which were brought out of that meager, useable, humble oven.
     I wonder where she learned how to do this. Was it from her father, mother Sarah (Cypert) Seats or her Indian descendant husbands?"

Dec 21, 2000: Top of Page
     Yakima Valley (Wash) News, By Frankie Seay Dec 10 #309): I asked if anyone could tell me where the name Bald Jessie came from and where it is located off Hwy. 14 S. If I understood Pauline [Melton], 'Bald Jessie is a mountain on the farm where she and Omer lived, the old Alford Pyle farm, and the mountain was named for a man named Jessie who hid out in that area during the Civil War, watched some women buy a man killed by bushwhackers. They buried him in Cowan Barrens Cemetery. Jessie was afraid for the women to see him so he hid there and since he mountain was bare and they had no other name for him he was called Bald Jessie and the place ha carried the name ever since. I don't know if Jessie was bald or what happened to him, but he has a mountain named after him in Marion County. If the bushwhackers didn't get him, too, he may still be hiding there'. Thanks Pauline, for the information and I know about where Ralph is, but who was it named after? All I ever knew about it was that's where Guila and Odale Davenport live, but we never had a name for it, or I didn't hear it, but that's a good name and good people live there. I'm learning something every day with the help of people like Pauline who know that county like the back of their hand".
     (Old Dillard Settlement) "Lee called the other day and said that Frankie Sue's column brought to his memory when once upon a time his family lived near Yellville and Grandpa Davenport stopped by and had caught a groundhog. He said, "I don't skin it, I fix it like when we kill hogs, by boiling water, scalding it, scraping the hair off and baking it." That didn't sound very appetizing to Lee and he told his Uncle Charlie so. That didn't make any different to Grandpa and the cooking continued.
     It took a while for the groundhog to cook, but my how good it looked. The skin was golden brown and little crunchy. Lee wouldn't touch it. Grandpa encouraged him to take a nibble. To console his Uncle Charlie (my grandpa), he nibbled. He didn't stop at two or three nibbles. That was the tastiest hog he ever age. Finally Grandpa said, "I'll not try to get you to nibble like that anymore." Wouldn't that be good for a Christmas Dinner?
      More about west Texas - see last week's column "Something else about this west Texas they were living in, he talked of a two-gallon crock Mary made her sourdough in and it had to be replenished every two or three weeks. Fresh bread was made each day. Mary's grandson, Bob Collins, who has given me the info, remembers his dad hauling water from the windmill. They had two large barrels one held drinking water and the other was for washing. He said they didn't get many baths. This changed after they lived there for some time. In about six months other men started bringing their families out there. They set up two rows of tents, graded a street down between them and called it Rag Town. A well was drilled and water piped down to the tents. A town site was laid out, soon there was a store, a school was built and things were going well, but then Bob said, "Then the riffraff started coming into the town; gamblers, bootleggers, prostitutes and other undesirables. An election was held (I'm glad they knew how to county votes) and a judge, sheriff and police were picked. A courthouse and jail were built.
     "An oilfield worker lost a lot of his paycheck one night at the gambling place. The cheating didn't pay off for the large woman who was running the place. The roughneck workers didn't take to letting one of their men get cheated, and the next day several of the bad people were found dead. One boy who had beaten his girlfriend was taken to a tree and hung. The bunch was told to get out of town by the next morning. They left." I can see why a jail was built and a sheriff elected.
     This must be why the west is called the Wild West, don't you think? I'm glad those bad ole days are over, because I've read some mighty bad things which happened in Yellville, especially during the 1860s, according to the Turbolt [Turnbo] Chronicles".

Dec 28, 2000: Top of Page
     I got several "Christmas Eve Gifts," early in the morning. I don't know how many of you readers that have a custom of saying that first to all your family and friends. We do, and it even paid off for me this year. What a beautiful doll and table to spread our desserts on for our dinners on the farm. Byron, my son, made the table from cedar of which his dad had saved to fix a fence, which make it more precious to me.
     Beci answered her phone of Christmas Eve (thinking it was one of the family,) with a Christmas Eve Gift, it wasn't the family but a strange voice answered after a pause, it was her daughter's boyfriend. I guess that's the last of that, with a ho! ho! ho!.
     Once upon a time, many years ago, I saw a very unusual Christmas tree. I think it was one of the kind except in the woods or fields where the cedar trees grow. My dad, Pate was always a nature lover, so after my mother had died, he set him up a Christmas tree and gathered up leaves of nature and decorated it and under the tree among the presents or maybe I should say, the presents were among the leaves it was a sight to be hold. Perhaps if it had been full of lights, I would never have remembered it so vividly.
     Have you considered how different the Christmas presents are today, than what they were years ago, you older citizens? For instance, I remember when aprons were a very popular gift, pretty handkerchiefs, socks, scarfs, dresser sets, baby dolls or dolls without batteries so you could talk for them, toy cars to roll with no controls except the hands of the little boy and perhaps a pretty kitchen dish, It was all as exciting then to receive the little inexpensive things as a new car now, I guess, and I know it could thrill me just as much. I remember making my mother a clothes pin apron which I appliqued a clothespin and a bar of soap to it. I was so glad to give it to her becau8e she could use it, One of the aprons I made her was just for Christmas because I appliqued a Santa Claus on it. She was always proud of anything I got for her however small it was. What a wonderful thought when I look back to my childhood with mom, dad, brother and sister, what a good memory I have of Leon and I raising our family, with a trip to Marshall or Harrison for Christmas shopping, and what an exciting time it is now enjoying these Christmas times with my extended family of in-laws, grandchildren and all the great-grand children.
     Time goes and on and don't you just love it?
     Yakima Valley (Wash.) News by Frankie Seay Dec 17, #310 "I'm not even going to TRY to be jolly and upbeat today because I'm just plain miserable. As best I can tell, I have a cold, a stopped up nose, headache (and every thing else in that line). I called our doctor to complain to him and he sent me the strongest antibiotic he had plus a bottle of nasty tasting cough syrup that does absolutely nothing so I guess I'll just continue to gripe, take my nasty tasting medicine and see how long I can live. I did take my flu shot, and I have a dear little lady living next door who checks on me two or three times a day and I don't think either she or Rufus believe me when I say I AM taking my medicine. Jim Davenport used to come through the kitchen and turn the turpentine bottle up to his tongue and Swore that kept him from ever getting a sore throat. John Dillard's sore throat remedy was a DIRTY sock tied around his neck, Lee Davenport swore by Bayer aspirin and I'm about ready to start using all of them.
     In the last two issues of the Echo, we read of the Legion Hut in Yellville being considered for nomination to the National Register of Historic Plies in Arkansas and I really hope that happens. I have a lot of memories of that old building; we used to go to moves there in about 1939 or '40 when my sister Jimmie Ruth and I cleaned the Methodist church every Saturday morning and made twenty five cents a week BETWEEN US so we couldn't go to the movies EVERY week, we had to save our quarter 'till we had enough for both of us to go so every other week, we'd both go and it would cost us 20 cents each for tickets and we each had a nickel for a Grapette, Dr. Pepper, or a Coca Cola. I know there were other forms of entertainment there that I was too young to go to, dances, etc, but Rufus remembers going there with his friends and his sister Zera and they all learned to dance to a juke box. And it was also used for stage shows, sorta like the old vaudeville shows but not as elaborate of course, I remember one summer a group came to town, recruited some of the local teenagers and put on a musical, with costumes, etc. (NOT like the costumes we see nowadays) and they played to a full house, .the first time most of us had ever seen any thing like that. Some of the local teens that I remember were my sister, Jimmie, Betty Jean Caviness, Anne Marie Pyle, Marie Adams, and so many more and they did a good job, something new for a little town like Yellville. And I also remember in the 1950s the Red Cross set up in the Legion Hut for a blood drawing and I helped by talking to the donors to keep them from get ting nervous, and when the Turkey Trot was new at Yellville, and I was the secretary of the American Legion Auxiliary at the time, we met at the Legion Hut to make plans. Lots more memories that are more important than mine, but I'm sure there are a lot of other just plain citizens with memories of the old building who would like to see it honored".