A Wagon Train of Gypsies

On the old Price and Wellington road, at that time, just before you entered the town of Wellington was a group of trees and, among these trees, several Gypsies were camped. They were traveling east in covered wagons. They had teams of horses that pulled the wagons, four or five saddle horses, a lot of dogs, plus several goats. Milk goats which they staked along the ditch bank and milked each morning and evening. They had a lot of kids from babies on up.

In addition to the animals named, they had a big black bear, which they kept chained to a tree. There was at lease one man and sometimes two or three people watching and keeping people away from the bear. They told us kids and everyone else, I suppose, that if we irritated the bear and if he got mad, the bear would break the chain. The chain wouldn’t hold him and it was possible the bear might kill and even eat us up! Well, us kids weren’t about to bother that old bear other than to look at him.

The Gypsies had signs up and down the road above and below their camp, plus the tree the bear was chained to, was just a few feet off the highway and in plain sight of anyone passing up and down the road. The bear was always pacing back and forth, to and fro. There weren’t many cars in those days and the road was plain dirt, but what cars, wagons, buggies did come along, all stopped to see the bear. He was the big attraction, and I am sure the first live bear this young squirt had ever seen, up to that point.

When the people stopped to see the bear, a big man named Tony, would lecture to the people about the bear. How he had caught him, where he caught him, how old he was. The Gypsy man, Tony, would show scars on his body proving indeed that Tony had had some real narrow escapes and harrowing experiences with the black bear. Tony, also, told the people if they would come to Wellington on a certain night down to the Norton store where there was a hard wood floor and plenty of space, he would make the bear roller skate. In addition to this, Gypsy Tony offered a very handsome sum of money to any man who would wrestle and throw the bear. I don’t remember how much money but a large sum. This was quite a challenge to a lot of men. Earn Milner was a big two hundred and fifty pound strong young man. A lot of the fellows about town tried to get him to try the bear, but he wouldn’t. They also tried to get my dad to wrestle the bear. Dad also refused.

The Gypsy man, Tony, said he would wrestle the bear, but would prefer to wager a sum of money in favor of the bear, against any man, no matter how big or how professional the man was. Tony was wanting to bet his bear could throw any man. When people stopped to look at the bear, the Gypsy women, especially young ladies in their teens, would mingle among them and try to get the people to let them read their palms, tell their fortune. I sure would eye these Gypsy girls dressed in their bright clothing, etc. The men too wore pants tucked into boots, a wide sash about their waist, plus a turban about their head. They were a strange people to all us kids.

Every day as we passed the Gypsy camp, going to work up to the farm, was quite an experience to a young boy like me. Dad stopped only once that I can remember and walked over to look the bear over. And, of course, the Gypsy women wanted to tell his fortune, also to get him to wrestle the bear. I, Dell, and Andy, would beg father, after we got home from the farm, to let us go up and visit the Gypsy camp. For a long time, Dad said, “No, those people mean trouble. I want you boys to stay away from them.” But he saw other kids about their camp, so finally, dad let us go to the Gypsy camp a few times.

The Gypsies told us the big man Tony was their king! And I suppose his wife was their queen. Anyway, he was their king and whatever he said for them to do they would do it. Some of the Gypsy kids, big boys and girls, and men and women would go from door to door asking for eggs, butter, bread, flour, sugar, all kinds of food, and I know a Mormon town, our religion teaches us to give, if we knew the truth, the Gypsies did real well!

Then, too, the women folks, always two together, would knock on every door. They had a lingo they would tell the people. They were gifted by a great power and for a dollar or fifty cents, they would like to read the palm of their hands telling their fortune, even, I am sure, promising good luck. Andy says two of these women came to our house. I don’t think mama would let them tell her fortune. However, Andy says they did tell mama there was going to be a big change in our family.

I remember one day, we were working on the farm, I believe piling hay. Some of these Gypsy women drove their buggy team up to the gate, left the team and one man in the buggy outside the fence. The two women came through the gate, started walking over to where we were piling hay. Dad said, “Keep working boys.” He met and talked to the two Gypsy women. I can remember this, I was real curious and I, Dell, and Andy were wondering if dad was going to let them tell his fortune. Finally, the Gypsy women left and dad came back to where we were piling hay. We asked, “Dad, did you let them tell your fortune?” Dad kind of chuckled. He said, “I gave them fifty cents to get rid of them! But I don’t believe and I don’t want you boys to believe in fortune tellers.” “Ya, but dad, what did they tell you?” “Oh, a bunch of junk,” dad replied, and let it go at that.

However, I and my brothers, Dell and Andy, can remember hearing dad say, “I might kick the bucket this fall!” That is one of the ways dad expressed it. Another phrase was, “Maybe, I’m gonna croak this fall.” I, Andy, and Dell always did believe the two Gypsy women did tell dad he was going to die.
Well, Dad didn’t believe in Gypsy fortune tellers and neither do I. But the Gypsy in a lucky hocus pokus guess, I suppose, hit the nail on the head that time because dad did pass away in November of that year.

We couldn’t wait for Saturday night to come because that was the night Tony, the Gypsy king, was going to wrestle the bear. Dad had told us we would all go and see it. Us boys couldn’t believe a bear could skate, roller skate, and wrestle a man. For us three young buttons, well, we just couldn’t believe it. Everyone was talking about it, and it was really going to be something to see! Saturday finally came, and working on the farm with dad and my brothers, it was an exciting and a very long day for me, just a button, still wet behind the ears. It seemed as though the day would never pass. But it did, and we found ourselves on a wagon loaded with loose hay headed for home and so we passed the Gypsy camp.

Sure enough there was the old bear chained to the tree close to the road pacing to and fro. Dad said, “No man alive can throw that bear. I want you boys to know that. That bear will weigh at least four hundred pounds and his strength is equal to a small horse. That bear will tear hallow tree logs apart to get wild honey. He can kill a big buck deer with one hard stroke of the paw. Can’t you boys see why no man will wrestle with the bear? You boys stop and take time to think. Tony, the Gypsy king, knows no man can throw his bear. That is the reason he is willing to bet a lot of money, even two dollars to one that no man can throw his bear. You boys don’t want to believe anything these people tell you. If they tell you something, come to me or to your mother and we’ll tell you if it’s true or not. Do you boys understand this?” We all answered, “Yes, dad.”

When we got home, Dad, Dell, and Andy unloaded the wagon load of hay. Dad would pitch the hay off the wagon up onto the stack, and Dell and Andy would place it about on top of the stack. When working in the hay, each night Dad would bring home a big load and stack it so we wouldn’t have to haul it in the winter.

The main road passed our house and we were just finishing supper, when down the road came the Gypsies. They had the bear loaded in a big iron cage on a wagon pulled by a team of horses. The harnesses on the horses were a bright white and red. The Gypsies were all decorated real pretty. Their king, the man Tony, was driving the team. All the Gypsies were following the wagon and a couple men were playing accordions. They marched up and down two or three streets doing this to attract attention before they stopped at the Norton store. By this time, every kid in town, big and small, was a following the Gypsies and I was one of them.

In spite of everything I had heard about them and the many stories, boy howdy, to me they were ok! And I just wished I was one of them. They didn’t have to work and every night there was music, dancing, and laughter in their camp. To a young squirt like me, I thought they were ok. In fact, dad said he thought he would give me to them!

At the Norton store, there were a lot of people. Us kids had to pay ten cents. Adults, I think, paid fifty cents, which in those days, was considered real high. I sat behind a heavy glass door on top of the counter. I could look around the side or through the top of the door which was glass. I mention this because of what took place later. Finally, the time came that we had all been waiting for. The man Tony, the king of the Gypsies, entered with the bear. He paraded around the floor a couple of times, then, he commanded the bear to sit on a little stool. Then Gypsy Tony lifted one of the bear’s back feet and put a shoe with a roller skate attached on the bear’s foot. While Gypsy Tony was doing this, the old bear growled! All the time, Tony kept talking to the bear, then, he picked up the other foot, the bear still sitting on the stool, and put the other skate on. All us kids watching, personally, I know this bear can’t skate.

The Gypsy man Tony took a hold of the lead rope. They had some kind of a chain halter on the bear. Tony now commanded the bear to stand and after a couple attempts, the bear made it to his feet. The people applauded loudly then the man began to lead the bear and the bear began to skate. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, as fast as the Gypsy man Tony could run around the store room floor went the man and the bear. It was wonderful and the people loved it. They applauded him again and again.

The bear had laid down. Now Tony commanded the bear to get up. After a couple attempts, the bear made it. Tony started about the room again, but this time in a figure eight and real fast. It was amazing! The bear was an excellent skater. No matter where Tony went or how fast, Mr. Bear was always there. When Gypsy Tony stopped this time, he stopped right by the door where I was sitting. He said there would be a fifteen minute intermission for him and the bear to rest before they wrestled. During this period, the Gypsy women were circulating among the people telling people’s fortunes and trying to get people to let them read their palms.

Anyway, this short horn, who doesn’t have enough brain power to pour water out of a boot, is sitting on the counter, behind the door, looking through the top glass part of the door, and what does this youngun do to show off, I begin to growl and to growl through the glass at the bear. The man Tony is talking to a couple men and paying no attention. He doesn’t know what is going on. Finally, that bear gets plumb fed up having me pull faces and growling at him. The bear draws back one paw and “Wham” he lets go at me. He don’t hit me, but he does hit the wood part of the door, which comes back against my legs with a bang making a lot of noise. Immediately, Tony and the two Gypsy men he is talking to grab hold of the chain. They are shouting and pulling on the bear to get him away from me.

They made a big fuss, much more than I think was necessary, making a big show. They took the bear to the far part of the store, then Tony came back and asked us kids what we were doing. I wasn’t alone, some of my friends were with me. We told Gypsy Tony we weren’t doing anything. In broken English, Tony said, “I a know a you a boys a do a some a ting.” Then he said it was a good thing the bear still had the roller skates on or they wouldn’t have been able to handle him.

The Gypsy man Tony, a Gypsy king in his own right, a master of showmanship, began to walk up one side of the big store hall and then the other side of the hall, saying, “I, Tony, king of the Gypsies, will bet one hundred dollars against forty dollars. Come on.” But no bets. “I tell a you, I, Tony make a bet one hundred dollars against a twenty a dollars a. What a you a say?” Everybody wanted big Earn Milner to wrestle the bear, but Earn refused saying the same as dad had told us kids. No man could throw that bear, plus they had just seen the bear skate and it was an excellent skating performance, therefore, by this time, the people had a lot of respect for the bear.

They Gypsy man Tony took off his shirt. He also slipped off his long pants. He was bare down to the waist and from the knees down. Then Gypsy Tony, proudly strutted around each side and end of the hall telling the people and showing his scarred body. I was just a button, still wet behind the ears, however, I’ll never forget the man called Tony. His body was a solid mass of scars. His one breast had been completely torn off, arms had been chewed. The calves of his legs were knotted and scarred. His back, no matter where you looked, that bear had left his brand. Gypsy Tony told how each time his people had nursed him back to life and of his determination to conquer the bear to be a real king, the Gypsies could be proud of.

Tony led the bear out to the middle of the hall. He then took the long lead chain off the halter, replacing it with a short rope which was braided. He commanded and the bear stood up his full height, the bear looked taller than Tony. They began to circle each other, then they closed in, the wrestle was on. They had each other about the body in what we would call, and this was, a real bear hug. Tony was grunting. You could tell by his muscles he was doing the very best he could to throw his bear! Then the bear picked Tony up and throwed him to the floor, not too gentle and not too hard. The bear was on top and soon Tony began to call out enough, enough! The referee, a Gypsy man, grabbed hold of the short rope. He pulled and hollered loudly and the bear got off Tony. Fall one was over in favor of the bear. The people applauded again and again. They liked the bear. Tony, the Gypsy king, was becoming more and more respected and appreciated. His customs and his system of living much different and yet in his own right and among his own people, Tony, indeed, was a king.

Fall two, they rang a dong, each from opposite sides of the hall, walked to the center of the floor and again, they circled each other. Then they took hold of each other’s arms, as though they were sizing each other up, then Tony and the bear fell to the floor, then Tony got a scissor hold around and just above the hips of the bear. Tony’s toes and feet were locked. Everyone thought Tony had a good hold, however, the bear merely reached down, took hold of Tony’s feet and easily pulled them apart. Then the bear was on top of Tony and, soon, the man began to holler, and fall number two was over and, again, the people applauded. They liked that bear!

Fall three was a little different. They circled each other, then closed in, this time, I believe, the bear let the man Tony get him on the floor. Tony, his body was glistening with sweat. There was no question but what he was straining and working real hard. This time, Tony threw the bear to the floor, Tony on top of the bear. They struggled a few minutes or seconds. Then the bear turned Tony over on the floor and sat on top straddling Tony, pinning the Gypsy man, and, again, made him say enough! Fall number three and the wrestling match was over. Three falls, all in favor of the bear. The people applauded. They were well satisfied with what they had just seen.

Dad gathered his three boys together saying, “It’s all over, come let’s go home.” And as we walked, he asked each of us, “Did you like what you just seen?” We each replied, “Yes, dad, we thought it was great!” Dad said, “Now you can see why no man wanted to wrestle the bear, because the bear has the strength of a small horse and the king of the Gypsies done a good job of training that bear!”

It is 1977 and the years have passed by. Thousands of times, the man called Tony, the king of the Gypsies, and his bear have passed through my mind. I know nothing about these people or how to choose a king, but to me, just a short horn and beginning to spread out in the world, Tony, the Gypsy, was, in deed, a king.

I do not believe in fortune tellers, the reading of palms. However, the two Gypsy women, who came to the farm, they read dad’s palm. He said, “I just gave them fifty cents to get rid of them.” However, I and my bothers, Dell and Andy, heard dad say a couple of times “I might kick the bucket this fall, or maybe I’m gonna croak this fall.” I and Andy have talked about this. He also remembers.

This about covers the territory. The Gypsies hooked their teams to their wagons and headed east. I’ll never forget the team with the beautiful red and white harness. This was the team that hauled the bear in the iron cage and driven by, none other than, Tony, the king of the Gypsies.

The Water Snake

We didn’t live in the grainery at the farm very long, just long enough for dad to find and buy us a new home in town. It was almost a new house with a beautiful orchard of trees, fruit trees, corrals, stock yard, pond for water, etc. After father bought the home in town, we would travel back and forth to the farm with team and wagon.

At this time, I was in the third grade and Mrs. Charlotte Liddell was my teacher, The third and fourth grades were in the same classroom. At the back and in the right hand corner of the room was a table, and on top of this table, was a screened pen and in this pen, our teacher kept several snakes. A couple blow snakes, the rest water snakes. Mrs. Liddell would lecture to us kids about snakes, that they were harmless and that they did a lot of good catching and eating mice, rats, bugs, insects, etc.

Mrs. Liddell had told us kids if we saw snakes, not to kill or hurt them, but to bring them to school where they would be put in the pen with the other snakes. It was my job to help take care and to help find lizards, mice, bugs, etc. to feed the snakes. I liked this and felt like a big shot. I had a key and could open the door, and I would reach in and get a certain snake and hold it or give it to Mrs. Liddell when she was giving a lecture on snakes.

We had a nice big fat blow snake. Maybe four or four and a half feet long. He was extremely cranky. He would often throw his head up and back, open his mouth real wide, and blow and hiss for all he was worth! This big blow snake kept getting out of the pen, and we couldn’t find out where he was getting out. Everything looked tight. I had caught him and put him back in the pen several times. Each time, he didn’t like it, and he would blow and make hissing noises! Also, he would let out a very unpleasant odor that was real hard to take.

My teacher, Mrs. Liddell, suggested we move my seat down against the snake pen so I could keep an eye on old blow snake to see how in the world he was getting out of his pen! This we did and one day, I watched the blow snake crawl up the side of the screen wall till he came to a place where two screens met and had been tied together. He pushed his head into what you would believe to be an impossibly small opening. Old blow snake began to push and push. The opening never gave, but the snake’s head and body flattened and, before we knew it, he was out of his pen. I had called our teacher and the whole class watched this, and a half inch thick, four and a half foot long snake crawled through a half inch opening. Unbelievable!

One day, at the farm, I and Andy found a very nice big fat, maybe three and a half foot long water snake, and that is a good size for a water snake, at least in this part of Utah. Up at the farm, out in the yard, was an old stove and into the oven of this stove, we put Mr. water snake. We wanted to take the water snake to school as Mrs. Liddell had asked us to do, if we found any kind of a snake, except a rattler.

However, Andy and I had a problem, “How to get the water snake to town and to school without dad finding out we had the snake!” This was our problem. It was about two miles to town, and we were usually in a wagon or on top of a load of loose hay, or us kids would be riding double on one of the horses. At night after school and weekends, we always had to go to the farm to work as there was always plenty of work to do.

I and Andy had that snake in the stove oven for a couple of weeks, and we were getting desperate as to how we were going to get him to school. Dad was always with us in the wagon going home each night. That snake had about as much chance of riding to town in the wagon with us, if dad knew we had him, as a fox would have looking for a fair trial if caught stealing chickens in a hen house. Dad didn’t like snakes! I and Andy knew this. He was plumb spooky of snakes, and I don’t believe he liked anybody that did like snakes.

Well, we were getting desperate. Andy and I had been catching grasshoppers, bugs, etc. feeding the snake. This time out at the farm, we were going home in an empty wagon. This wagon had a spring seat, enough room for three people to set in and be comfortable. Dad always made us ride on the seat with him so he could talk to us about school. Dad had great plans for his boys to get an education and to make something of themselves.

Andy and I had found an old gallon, maybe bigger, honey bucket, with a lid that clamped on the top. Andy said, “I’ll tell you what, Cotton, we’ll put the snake in the bucket, and when we get in the wagon, you sit in the middle, that way I’ll be on the outside and I’ll hold the bucket with the snake in it. Ok?” I said, “OK.” “And when he asks us what’s in the bucket, we will tell him we got some grasshoppers and a couple frogs for the snakes that Mrs. Liddell has in school. What do you say,?” Andy asked. Now dad knew all about our teacher and her snakes, so I thought a little and said, “Ok, Andy, I believe it will work.” It almost did.

I can still hear dad saying, “Well, boys it’s Saturday and we’ve done a good days work. Let’s call it a day. You boys hitch the team to the wagon while I change this setting of water and we’ll go home a little early.” I and Andy already running to the corral getting the horses and hooking them to the wagon. Then, waiting a few minutes for dad, Andy had the snake in the honey bucket and sitting on the far side of the seat. I told Andy, “Be sure to leave the lid open just a little so the water snake can breath.” “Yea, I know, don’t worry, the snake will be ok. It’s dad I’m worried about. If he looks in the bucket, he will give us the dickens, not only for having a snake, but especially for telling him such a big whopper of a lie!” We both were worrying. I know Andy was as scared as I was. For one thing, Dad never never would stand for any of us to tell him a lie. No matter how trivial or simple the lie was about. Dad was extremely honest and straight forward and he wanted to instill this principle into his children.

Dad came and I handed him the lines. He said, “How come you are sitting in the middle and how come you want me to drive?” I said, “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought I would ride in the middle and let you drive for a change.” This was very unusual because I was always quarreling and arguing about me driving. If there was anything to do with the horses, that’s what I wanted to do, and the driver always sat on the right outside of the seat. Dad spoke to old Ted and Jack and we headed for town and home.

The horses traveled at a fast walk and sometimes a slow trot. Dad asked Andy what he had in the bucket. Andy said, “I and Cotton caught some grasshoppers and a couple small frogs for the snakes at school. Mrs. Liddell asked us to try and get something for them to eat. “Well, I don’t know,” dad replied, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to have snakes in school, and besides, to feed them poor grasshoppers and especially the frogs to them snakes. I don’t like it! Them frogs do a lot of good. They catch mosquitoes, bugs, insects, etc. They do a lot of good!” Dad never doubted for a second but what we were telling the truth!

Everything went fine. Just as we came into town, we were about to pass the Billy Tidwell home. Mr. and Mrs. Tidwell were sitting out on their porch and as we came along, they called, “Hello, Al!” Dad said, “Whoa!” and stopped the team. Mr. and Mrs. Tidwell both walked out to the wagon and began to talk to dad about the farm and about our milk cow that had got bloated real bad a few days before. Mr. Tidwell had stuck the cow in the left side to let the gas out and to keep the cow from dying.

All this time, Andy is holding the snake in the bucket and is leaving the lid open just a little so the snake could have air to breath. Well, glory be, holy smokes! Mr. water snake got tired of being in that bucket. He flattened himself and crawled out through the crack in the lid. Andy was busy listening to dad and Mr. and Mrs. Tidwell talking. I happened to look down and that water snake was almost all the way across my lap and well up and starting across my father’s lap. Boy howdy, I gulped and swallowed, missed a couple heart beats! I nudged Andy with my elbow. He looked down. We just sat and stared! Boy oh boy, I’ll never forget it. As I write this, I have to laugh and laugh. But at that time, it was no joke and, above all, no laughing matter!

Holy smokes! All at once, dad looked down. He saw that water snake! Dad let out a scream I’m sure they heard in the next county! Dad picked up the snake, quick as a flash, gave it a throw, the harness lines, everything! But the doggone snake lit either on Mrs. Tidwell or at her feet. She let out a scream and ran into her house! The team, it was a good thing, it was old Ted and Jack. If it had been Bess and Nelly, they would have runaway. Old Ted and Jack took a few steps, dad ran, picked up the lines, said “Whoa” and they stopped.

Dad said, “Boys, come with me.” He led us over to the Tidwell home. Mr. Tidwell was standing in the yard. Dad said, “Mr. Tidwell, will you ask Mrs. Tidwell to come out here. My boys have something to say to you people.” The door was open, Mrs. Tidwell could hear father, and she came out of the house into the yard where we were all standing. “Dad said, “Now, Mr. and Mrs. Tidwell, I didn’t know these boys had that water snake. I am terribly embarrassed. Now, Andy and Cotton, I want you boys to start at the beginning and tell the whole story about that snake. Don’t miss a single detail. Then when we get home, I’ll take care of you.” We both knew we were in for a licking, but we told the story.

We told how we had caught the snake two weeks before, how we had kept it in an old stove oven, how we caught grasshoppers and put them in the oven for the snake to feed on. We said we knew dad didn’t like snakes and we were afraid he would make us turn it loose or perhaps kill it. We told about how our teacher had told us boys if we seen any water snakes or blow snakes to bring them to school. We told we didn’t know any other way to get the snake to town so we decided to put it in the bucket and that Andy was supposed to keep the lid open a little so the snake could have air, and because the lid was open a little, the snake got out, crawled across my lap and onto the father’s lap.

Dad said, “Cloye, did you see the snake when it crossed your lap?” “Yes, I did,” I replied. “Then why didn’t you tell me instead of letting the thing scare the socks off me?” I and Andy replied, “We were afraid to say anything and we hoped it would turn back so we could catch it!” By this time, dad and Mr. and Mrs. Tidwell had gotten over their scare. They were all laughing and, what I mean, they really did laugh. Ha ha! Mr. Tidwell had laughed from the beginning. Mrs. Tidwell said, “I thought you were playing a joke on us!” Wiping the tears from her eyes because she had laughed so hard.

Well, this about covers the territory of the water snake. I think now, fifty six years later, if Andy and I had told dad, he would have helped us and everything would have been okay. But we were just buttons and beginning to spread out in the word and we did what we thought we had to do to get the snake to school.

During all this commotion, dad throwing the snake either on or at Mrs. Tidwell’s feet, also throwing the harness lines away and then jumping off the wagon and running, grabbing the lines and stopping the team, the water snake completely away, and I hope he raised a big family and had a long got and happy life.

The Eagle

We had a hay field that was alongside a marsh or swamp land. The grass was exceptionally high and provided coverage for a verity of birds. One day while working in that particular hay field, I suppose we were working close to the fence against the swamp, when we frightened three young eaglets. The birds would fly eight or ten feet at a time and then hit the ground. Well, being boys, Dell, Andy and I wanted to catch those young eaglets.

We climbed over the fence and took after the three beautiful eaglets. We tried, but we just couldn’t make the grade, especially me as I was too short legged. Dell and Andy would almost get their hands on one before it became air born then it would fly a short distance and then light. It seemed as though their bodies were too heavy for their wings. Again, Dell or Andy would almost get one of them in their clutches and then the bird would be off again.

Dad got into the chase and he did catch one. He had long legs, being around six feet tall, and he managed to get an eaglet into his hands. Boy Howdy! How it did fight! Flapping dad in the face with its long, spread out wings, and snapping at him with its beak. After dad caught it, I can remember dad telling us to keep away from it. He said it was dangerous. Every time we would put a stick or anything close to it, the eagle would make a loud noise each time it snapped its jaws together. Its jaw must have had a lot of power in it. It would break a small stick plumb in two.

During the fracas of catching the eagle, it sank its claws or talons into dad’s arm between the wrist and the elbow. Dell, Andy and dad, with me watching, had a hard time getting the eagle to turn loose. Dad didn’t want to hurt the bird and kept saying, “I don’t want to kill it in order to get it loose.” Finally, they got its claws out of dad’s arm. I can remember seeing the blood run down his arm and off his fingers.

We held the eaglet down with a greasewood bush, looking it over. It was a beautiful bird, a dark reddish brown color and, it seemed to me, it had a little white on its head. Dad thought it was unusual for eagles to hatch their young in swamp or marsh land. He thought usually they nested in high peaks, ledges, etc.

After looking it over and especially those talons and its beak with sort of a hook on it, dad said to let it go. We saw to it and got it back into the swamp where the others were.

Riding the Cultivator Horse

During the summer of 1921, we boys had many experiences working on the Powell farm. We had ten or twelve acres of potatoes. It seemed to me, we were always working in the potatoes. Dad was constantly cultivating the potatoes. It was my job to ride the cultivator horse. Dad held the walking cultivator. I had to be on the job all day long, wide awake, guiding Old Ted or Nig, the horses, whichever one we happened to be using, guiding him straight as I possibly could up and down each row of spuds. My rear end got so sore until it toughened. Sometimes, I could hardly set down. Once in a while, Andy and Dell would ride the cultivator horse, but dad said I was the lightest, and this would make it easier on the horse.

Then, after I and the horse were well broken into the job, and we both knew what we were doing, dad would let Dell and Andy spell him on the cultivator. Dad was very strict. If I got careless and let the horse get too close to either side of the rows of potatoes, then the cultivator would pull up the potato plants, and we would have to answer to dad. So I would try my best not to let it happen, but once in a great while, it did happen. Then, whoever was a holding the cultivator would holler out, “Hey you, wake up sleepy head,” and I would jerk myself back to reality.

That fall, Dad had about fifteen big boys and girls come each day to the farm to pick up spuds. He kept a couple or three wagon teams busy hauling the potatoes, sacked, to town where dad had a man dump the spuds in a bin in a long potato cellar for the winter. Dad was depending on cash from his potato crop to carry us through the next year, plus to make the payment on the new home in town he bought for his family.

One of dad’s main purposes in leaving the coal mine at Sunnyside and getting us on the farm was to teach his boys to work, and work we did! Especially Dell and Andy. They were eleven and twelve years old. Handling a cultivator was a man’s job but they did it.

The Old Naked Spur

It seems to me when I was a short horn, I had to be in the middle of things. If you don’t, you feel like an old empty bottle. If there was any action, there is where I would be, and if there wasn’t any action, I would make some.

I was determined even when I was just a button, I suppose around three or four years old, I was going to be a cowboy and a few years later I did become a cowboy, a bronc rider, rodeoer, etc. But somewhere along the trail, there is a beginning.

One way or another I had come by an old spur. Just a plain, lone, single naked spur. No spur strap to hold the spur on my shoe. At this point, I had never owned such a thing as a cowboy boot. In them days, as I remember, they didn’t make cowboy boots for kids as they do now. I spent one whole fore noon finding a leather strap and fixing holes; and after many attempts, succeeded in getting the spur to stay on my shoe. I was about as happy as a frog in cool water over this achievement.

Next I needed a pair of cowboy chaps. To accomplish this venture, I found two round, empty Mother’s Oats cereal boxes. I cut holes in the bottom of each box just large enough to make each foot squeeze through and those were my chaps. And again, I’m plumb proud of myself. I now had a spur that would stay on my foot and a pair of imitation chaps. In my boyish mind, plumb good bull hide batwing chaps.

What I needed was a horse. Dad had a real fine brown, stocking legged, bald faced four or five year old mare. We called her Dolly. Old Dolly was about seven eighths thoroughbred and, boy howdy, what a horse! Lots of life, good action, a fine traveler. Dolly was way too much horse for a short horn like me, even if I had of had a world of experience with horses, which I didn’t have up to that point. I was young and green behind the ears for this type of horse. But I had seen Dell and Andy, my two older brothers, ride Dolly and I figured that if they could ride Dolly, I could too.

I had asked dad a number of times to let me ride Dolly. Dad always said, “Cotton (my nick name since my hair was so white), you’re just a button and still wet behind the ears and Dolly, well – she’s just too much horse for you to ride.” “But dad,” I’d say, “I ride old Ted, old Nig, or when Max Tidwell or Aaron Jones comes to see me, I ride their horses, and besides I have seen Dell and Andy ride Dolly and I’m as good a rider as they are.” Dad would say, “Dolly is a different kind of a horse than any of those other horses. They are cold blooded animals, gentle, can’t hardly get them off on a walk. And Max Tidwell’s and the Jones’ horses are kid ponies, but old Dolly is a hot blood, almost a full thoroughbred. She’ll run at the drop of a hat. That’s her nature. I worry about Dell and Andy riding her and I shouldn’t let them ride her. But Dell is three and a half years older than you and Andy is two and half years older than you, plus they have had more experience than you. Now, Cotton top, you’re just gonna have to set and scratch a while. This is final. Don’t ask me anymore about riding Dolly, because you can’t.”

But I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I had to learn for myself, the hard way. If you see a sign which states ‘wet paint, don’t touch!’ What do people do nine times out of ten, they have to put their finger against the paint to see for themselves if the paint is wet or not. They can’t help it. They do it. They won’t accept what the sign says.

In spite of what my father told me, ‘old Dolly was way too much horse for me,’ I had to find out for myself. One way or another, I was going to ride that mare if it was the last thing I ever done. Dad knew this. He had suspicion that the first time I got a chance I would be in the middle of that horse so dad told Dell and Andy to keep the riding bridle hid from me. This they did. I would beg them to tell me where the bridle was, but they wouldn’t.

After spending considerable time looking for the bridle, I gave it up and went and got a tie rope. I walked into the horse corral and singled Dolly out from the other horses. I walked up to her slowly, speaking low, “whoa Dolly, whoa, Dolly.” I got a rope around her neck and then I led her over to the side of a wagon and I put a loop over her nose. I got into the wagon and then onto old Dolly’s back. I was ready for my ride.
I eased her away from the wagon across the yard onto the road and started across the field along side the road towards the gate. Dolly began to trot and since I was riding bareback with nothing to hang onto I suppose I clinched my legs to old on and in doing so, touched her with that old naked spur. Holy Smokes! Old Dolly, when I touched her with that spur, she left the earth. When she hit the ground again, She was on a dead run. What I mean is that horse was packing the mail. Talk about the pony express. They weren’t even in it.

Part of the road was really muddy where irrigation water had puddled. I was scared. I thought for sure Dolly would fall when we hit the mud, but through it she went, mud flying in every direction. Across the field to the south fence then she turned east along the fence still on the road, running like the wind and the wind was whistling in my ears.
Then I began to worry. ”What will she do when she gets to the gate? Will she try to jump the gate?” My heart was in my throat! But when we got to the gate, Dolly kept going straight past the gate along the fence toward the south east corner. I thought she might hit the fence, but no, she turned north at the east corner and headed straight toward the big wash. The wash was man made to help drain a swamp and had grown to a considerable size.

Holy Smokes! Boy howdy! She can’t possibly jump that wash! No horse could jump that wash! To my eight or nine year old mind that seemed gigantic. Way too wide! Old Dolly is running like a bullet shot out of a rifle. I had buck fever and that cotton picken spur was still socked in clear up to the hilt. Dolly liked to run anyway and that old naked spur was added powder in the gun barrel.

We reached the wash and then we were sailing through the air like a bird. I looked down and saw the bottom of the wash a long ways down. Then I felt Dolly’s feet hit the ground. Holy Smokes! Dolly had jumped the wash! I had ridden her through all that mud and then she was a packing the mail, really running and then jumped the wash! I’m gonna be a real cowboy. Confidence came flooding back into my veins. Then my brain began to work. I finally realized that the spur was making things worse. I withdrew the spur but dolly kept running just like the wind. I kept pulling on the rope looped around her nose and saying, “Whoa Dolly, whoa Dolly,” but she just kept going like a streak. I was on a seven eights thoroughbred horse and she was a running away with nothing but a loop on her nose.

Dad had a patch of ground with lots of tumbleweeds and grain stubble. Andy had raked these weeds with a hay rake and team into a huge pile, thinking, I suppose, to have a big fire. As yet, he hadn’t started the fire but was standing there with a pitchfork in his hand watching me and old Dolly.

Dolly had turned at the northeast corner and was now running west and straight toward that big pile of weeds, which was also in the direction of the corral. I thought at first that she would go around the pile of weeds, then when we got closer, I thought, “Oh, oh, Dolly’s going to try and jump over the top of the weeds.” I also thought for sure “Ill fall off here.” But no, to my great surprise, Dolly went straight through that big high pile of weeds, weeds flying everywhere!

Boy, oh boy, then confidence again, I hollered to Andy, “Don’t you wish you could ride like me?” Andy told me afterwards that he never heard a sound just old Dolly running so fast that the wind whipped the words to nothing, no sound. Unconscious of what I was doing, I am sure that old naked spur was sunk clear to the shank of old Dolly. She was or had gone completely crazy with that spur in her ribs.

When one stands in the stream of time, older and experienced, he is much wiser or should be. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but this one takes the whole biscuit. I must have been quite a sight with those round Mother’s Oats cereal boxes for chaps. Yes, sir, this young bucko must a been somethin to look at.

By this time, we had completely circled the east half of the farm. We were coming back up toward the corral where it all started from. Old Dolly kept going. She never slowed down or attempted to go into the horse corral where the other horses were. She passed the corral headed in the direction of the house. Holy smokes! Dad saw her coming and he ran between Dolly and the house waving his arms at the same time calling “Whoa, Dolly Whoa, trying to turn her into the corral.” But Dolly didn’t know what she was doing with that old naked spur in her ribs. Straight for the house she flew. She didn’t slow down one bit.

Just a split second before she hit the house, I tried to jump off. Dad said Dolly put on the brakes when she felt me slide off. Dolly braced her legs but too late – she hit the house with a jar and a thump that shook the entire building.

When I came too, I was lying on the bed with mama, dad and the family gazing down at me. Mama said, “How’s my baby boy?” (I didn’t like her to call me baby even if I was the youngest boy.) I said, “I’m ok. What happened?” They told me Dolly had hit the house about the same time as I hit the ground. I said, “Is Dolly hurt?” Dad said, “No, she is waiting outside for you to continue the ride.” I said, “Well, maybe we’d better wait till tomorrow.” Everyone laughed. I had a lump on my head about the size of an egg where my head had hit the ground.

By this time, I was sitting upon the side of the bed. Dad said “That’s some spur you got there.” I said, “Ya.” Dad asked, “Do you know what it’s for?” I said, “Ya, it’s to make horses go faster.” Again, dad and everyone laughed. Dad said, “To a certain extent yes, but a cowboy knows how to use his spurs. Sometimes cowboys ride good horses and lots of times they never use spurs at all. He’s got his spurs on his boots all the time, but he doesn’t have to use them. A plumb good horse responds to leg pressure, the way the cowboy speaks, or handles his body, etc. Old Dolly is one of these kinds of horses.

She’s a thoroughbred with lots of life, high spirited. It’s her nature to move quick and to want to run. You never need a spur or a whip on a wonderful horse like Dolly. Therefore when you socked that spur into her ribs, old Dolly went crazy! Plumb loco! She was running wild, plus you didn’t even have a bridle on her. I knew you wanted to ride that horse so that’s why I told both Dell and Andrew to hide the bridle from you. It was very foolish for you to think you could ride her with just a loop over her nose even if you didn’t have a spur on.

Now, Cotton, my son, you’re just a button and your beginning to spread out a little and you want to learn. I appreciate your ambitions, but remember you’re still wet behind the ears - young. I will never let you ride old Dolly until you are ready and can ride her. I don’t want you hurt. Is it a deal? You ride Dolly when I say so. How about it.” I said, “Ok, Dad, I won’t try again until you tell me. I promise.” However, at the very moment I said I wouldn’t ride Dolly again, I was planning my next ride. However I had graduated on one point. The next time Dolly and I got together, I would have a bridle on her and I would leave the old naked spur a hanging on a nail that had been driven into the side of the house.

Team Runaway

We boys loved Wellington. It was a wonderful town to me. Cowboys! I liked this, everyone rode a horse, or a team and wagon, or a nice buggy! And I loved horses! The kids living on farms, out of town, came to school in a buggy or rode a horse.

I loved the farm. Every morning you could hear the beautiful meadow lark singing. There were a lot of, what us kids called, king birds. I don’t ever see them anymore. Man has destroyed many kinds of birds. It always made me feel good, and still does, to see and hear beautiful birds.

When dad or Dell and Andy were plowing, dad had a twelve inch walking plow and one of these three were always plowing, there were always a large number of different kinds of birds following behind the walking plow getting worms out of the fresh, new turned over, earth. This was exciting to me. I used to say, “I’ll sure be glad when I get old enough to be able to handle the walking plow.” Dad kept three teams of horses and he would change teams, but the plow kept going. When the plow shear became dull, it was taken off, another shear put on, but the plow kept going. The dull shear was taken to town to the blacksmith, George Milner. He would sharpen the shear, then it was ready to be put back on the plow when the other shear became dull.

When enough ground was plowed, dad took another team of horses, a very high spirited team called Bess and Nelly, hooked them to a harrow and either Dell or Andy would harrow the newly plowed ground, breaking all the clods and making the ground very nice for planting.

Well, I figured I could drive Bess and Nelly with the harrow and I kept after father to let me do so. Dad would say, “No, son, you’re still too young, besides Bess and Nelly are very high spirited and if anything went wrong, they would run away. You’re too young to handle them.” “No, no Dad, I know I can handle them. I know I can.” I had driven old Ted and Nig on a wagon behind dad in another wagon, clear over to Castle Dale, Emery County, after a load of grain. They were a plumb gentle team. If anything went wrong, all you had to do was say “Whoa” and they would stop. I was seven years old, I suppose. At this age, I figured I was a teamster.

Well, dad said, “Ok, but you got to be real careful.” He took me along with Bess and Nell over to the harrow. There was a long 2x12 plank on the harrow. Dad helped me hook the team onto the harrow. He said, “You can ride on the plank, but when you come to the end of the plowed ground, whatever you do, get off the harrow when turning around! Be sure! Whatever you do, you get off the harrow each time you turn around! Also, be sure to make a big turn! Now don’t forget this. Be sure to get off each time you turn around and number two don’t forget to make a big turn each time you turn around. If you turn too short, the harrow will stand up on its edge and, if this happens, the harrow teeth will touch the horses and off they’ll go. They’ll run away.” Again, dad emphasized, number one “get off” and number two “make big turn.”

“Ok, I said, I’ll remember!” Father even followed me a couple of rounds to be sure I would be ok and doing it right. Then he went to a alfalfa field close by where he was tending irrigation water. Everything went fine for about an hour. I was proud and about as happy as salt and pepper would be in the same shaker. For the first time, I was driving old Bess and Nelly, a very high spirited team and doing a good job of it.

At the end of the plowed ground, I would get off. I would make a big turn, but in making the big turn, I would leave a small piece of unharrowed ground. This bothered me. I learned afterwards, when turning the harrow around, there is suppose to be a small spot not yet harrowed, then when the plowed ground is finished, you’re suppose to make one round on each end and in doing this, you get all those little spots missed when turning. Well, I didn’t know this. I kept turning the team in a smaller circle, and then it happened.

I turned old Bess and Nelly too short and cramped the harrow, and the harrow did just as father told me it would do. The harrow tipped straight up on its edge, the butt end of the harrow teeth touched old Bess and Nelly on the heels and, being high spirited, they were on their way - runaway. Boy howdy! The lines were long, I wrapped them around my hands and held on, pulling back as hard as I could, at the same time hollering out “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Old Bess and Nelly wouldn’t stop. Faster and faster they went, I couldn’t keep up. I fell, but held onto the lines calling “Whoa, whoa!” The horses kept going, gaining speed, across the plowed ground we went, pulling me, and me laying flat on my stomach.

Father seen what was a happening. He was running toward me and the horses just as fast as his legs would carry him. He never was very far away where he was irrigating. Dad could see he couldn’t get to me in time to stop the horses. The harrow had dropped back onto the ground. It wasn’t bumping or touching the horses in any way. We learned later, this team had runaway with several adult people. Anyway, father was running as hard as he could toward me, at the same time calling out “Let go the lines Cloye, let go, let them go!”

By this time, Bess and Nell had reached hard ground. They were running hard. They had taken the bits in their teeth, and I was seven years old, didn’t weigh enough to make a fly track. Dad had trusted me. He told me again and again this team would runaway. I was young and just wouldn’t get the message, and now I didn’t want to let father down! But, I couldn’t hold onto the lines any longer! All these thoughts running through my mind, as the team kept dragging me across the field. Dad hollering, “Let them go! Let them go!” I couldn’t help it, I had to let them go! Boy howdy, go they did! What I mean they really did pack the mail! It was about a hundred acre field. We were in the upper left corner of the farm. The team went down along the side to the bottom, across the bottom of the field, up the other side, passed and circled the house, out into the middle of the field, and then to the corral and stock yard. Here they stopped, winded and excited, the harrow was new, all iron, it seemed to me it spent most of its time in the air.

Dad was at my side almost immediately before I could get up. He helped me up and said, “Are you ok?” I said, “Yes.” Dad said, “Are you sure?” I said, “Yes, I am sure.” Then I said, “Gee, Dad, I’m real sorry. I really am.” Dad put his strong arm around me and said, “It’s ok. It’s all my fault. I knew better than to let you drive that team of horses! In a year or two from now, you’ll be ok, but not now! It’s all my fault, son.” This kind of talking completely surprised me. I had expected dad to get after me.

I know now, why dad was so strict about me getting off the harrow while turning around at the end of the patch each time. I would have been killed, for sure, if I had stayed on the harrow. When we got to the corral, the team was still breathing hard because of running and being so excited. However, they were ok, but it was a different story with the new green harrow. The iron frame that held the teeth, were broken in a couple places, plus some of the teeth were gone. We found them later by following the path of the runaway team.

About this time, our neighbor, Bill Jones, a very good man, showed up. Mr. Jones had been working in his field, which joined our farm, and he saw the runaway. He said to dad, “Al, looks like you had a little excitement.” Dad said, “Yes, Bill, and I feel real bad. I have broken your new harrow. I’ll hook up to the wagon and go to Price (about six miles away) and buy you a new harrow.” Bill Jones said, “No, you won’t. Let’s look it over.” They looked it over and Mr. Jones said, “All you need to do, Al, is to take it to Wellington to the blacksmith. He’ll weld it and it will be as good as before.” So this is what father did. I remember it cost him $3.00. There is a lot to be said about Bill Jones, which I intend to do later. How he helped the family after dad died.

This about covers the territory of the runaway with the harrow. Since that time, I have harrowed hundreds of acres of plowed ground and, one thing for sure, I never did make another too short a turn. I was just a short horn, beginning to spread out in th world. I loved my daddy. There was no one like him, and I felt that I had let him down by letting Bess and old Nelly run away.

Moving to Wellington

About the year of 1919 or 1920, Grandpa Peterson sold his ranch at Sunnyside, horses, cows, everything to a man by the name of John McMahan. John later became a close friend and he helped us boys in many ways. Then in the early spring of 1921, perhaps March, our father, who never did like working in a coal mine, made a decision to get out of the mine. So dad went to Wellington where he leased a nice big farm from a Mrs. Maggie Powell north of Wellington on the old Price road. On the farm was a one room grainery. Dad moved his family, for a short period of time, into this grainery until he had time to look around, then he bought a very nice home in town. It was a new house and had a big orchard of new trees.

Dad used two teams of horses, plus two wagons moving our furniture. Dad drove one wagon, Dell and Andy drove the other wagon. The horses on the wagon Dell and Andy drove were real gentle, their names were Ted and Nig. I can imagine this was a real thrill to Dell and Andy to drive Ted and Nig behind dad’s wagon, a distance of about twenty five miles. The roads in those days were dirt, lots of chuck holes, part of the road was graveled.

This wasn’t the first time Dell and Andy had driven a team of horses. They had done this a number of times on Grandpa Peterson’s farm clearing off sage brush, hauling hay, breaking up new land, but to drive a team along a road this distance was a new experience. There would always be jack rabbits, cotton tails, now and then a coyote would cross the road and they and I would watch the coyote as he ran through the brush, then too, almost always, a hawk would be a soaring in the sky high up in the air, blue jays, black birds, many kinds of birds. Always something to catch the eye.

On the farm was a big experience to all of us boys, still real young and wet behind the ears. Dad planted ten, twelve acres of potatoes. Maggie Powell had a big spud cellar. In those days, all the potato seed had to be cut by hand, one eye on each part of the potato. Anyway, dad had a couple men working for him sorting and cutting potato eyes. It must have been the first part of May because I do remember these men helping dad get ready to plant spuds and you do this in May.

Anyway, dad may have kept us boys out of school for a few days, at any rate these men who were helping dad used to tell Dell, Andy and I, “These kids in Wellington are real tough and you Peterson boys better walk real easy around them because they’re mean. And if you don’t be careful, these Wellington kids will beat the socks off you.” I remember dad would listen to this kinda gab with a smile on his face. He wasn’t worried. He knew at Sunnyside, a much bigger school, many different kinds of nationalities; almost every day, we would get into a scrap or two.

In addition, dad had a cousin who was a professional boxer. His name was Art Olsen. He stayed with us for some time at Sunnyside. Uncle Art saw to it that us boys boxed. He made us put the gloves on a lot. He also gave us a pair of boxing gloves that he wore and killed a man while boxing in the ring at Vernal or Roosevelt, Utah. They were boxing on cement. The man’s name was Babcock. Uncle Art knocked him down, his head hit the cement, and the cement killed the man. Anyway, Art gave the gloves to us kids, then he and dad saw to it that we boxed.

Dad used to tell us boys, “I never want to see or hear of you picking a fight and on the same principle, I never want to hear or see you run away from one either.” In Sunnyside, if mama wanted something from the store, always she would send two or three of us to the store, never one alone. Kids at Sunnyside also had gangs, and if you were alone and in the other kid’s territory, two, maybe three or four kids would catch you and beat you up. Sometimes the kids, upper town or lower town or middle town, gangs would send word they were coming up, or upper town would send word, “Were coming down.” Then maybe fifteen or twenty kids would march to the other’s territory and, what I mean, there would be some real gang scraps. Often clubs, rocks were involved and often a kid would be hurt quite bad. This happened with different age groups. We boys each had our gang. Generally, if we were in our part of town, we were ok, but let us get into another part of town, and there was hell to pay.

Well, dad knew all about these kid gangs, plus dad knew we had to learn how to take care of ourselves. If we didn’t, we would be in hot water at school and everywhere else at Sunnyside, so far this reason, we were taught to defend ourselves. To make a long story short, I believe my dad, and I have had a lot of other men tell me the same thing, that dad could whip any man himself. He taught Dell, Andy, myself to fight, but at the same time, we were never, never to start or pick a fight.

So, when these men, Bill Jones and Billy Tidwell, who were helping dad in the potato cellar, would tease and try to scare us boys by telling us to be careful and to step light when we started to school because Wellington kids were real tough, our dad would just grin from ear to ear. He figured we could take care of ourselves. Mr. Jones and Mr. Tidwell were just having a little fun with us kids. Dad figured, after getting along in Sunnyside, we wouldn’t have any trouble swatting these Wellington flies.

On our first day at school, dad said, “Try the biggest kid in school, then the rest will leave you alone.” I don’t remember about Dell, but Andy got into a tussell, not a fist fight but a wrestle, with the very biggest kid in school, Twisty Rich. Twist was at least six inches taller than Andy, and I do believe, Twist could whip any kid in school, but in a wrestle? The first time Andy took Twisty down, he said he tripped because of a peg hole, a marble hole, so they got up and Andy took Twisty down again. All the older boys, Boyd Pierce, Boyd Blackburn, Albin Hall, many others, began to tease Twisty. Twisty didn’t like it! Twisty said, “Let’s see one of you guys take Andy.” They all backed down. Andy had it made. They left him alone.

There was a kid, Brig Bently. Brig had a bird egg and was showing it to me. Chancy Draper broke the egg in my hand with a stick. I had my palm open, looking at the egg, when he hit it with a stick, kinda messy. I didn’t mind the mess so much, as I did all the kids a laughing because of the smart trick pulled on the new kid on his first morning to school. I wiped the egg off my hand on the ground, all the kids still laughing and having a good time at my expense. I felt so uneasy because being a stranger. I stood up from wiping my hand, then I hit Chancy right in the jaw. I kept laying rights and lefts into him. He was also swinging at me for all he was worth, but he was losing ground. I had him backing up and I could see I was hurting him. Just then, the bell rang and we had to quit. I think this may have been my first recess or perhaps I hadn’t been in school, as yet, to enroll. I said, “I’ll finish you at noon.” When noon came, no Chancy! I got along fine after that.

Quick as school was over, we had to go to the potato cellar to cut potato eyes for seed. Mr. Tidwell said, “Let me see, did you get a black eye today. Let me look you over.” I said, “No, but I gave one away.” We told all that happened. Dad just sat and continued to cut potato eyes. He had a grin on his face from ear to ear.

The kids at Wellington weren’t too much on the scrapping, fist fight side of the fence. Oh, we had several fights all right, but in comparison to Sunnyside, Wellington was easy so far as fist fighting. But, they were real mean in other ways. I remember in the fifth or sixth grade, the older boys caught a blow snake, three and a half for four feet long. I don’t remember the teacher’s name, so I’ll call her Miss Draper. They put the blow snake in Miss Draper’s middle desk drawer. All the kids filed into the classroom, class studies began, the boys who put the snake in the drawer pretending to study. However, their eyes and ears were glued and tuned on Miss Draper to see what was going to happen.

Now, Miss Draper was loved by all her students. She was a very kind person. Very nice looking, a very good sport. She had been out playing ball with her class. I don’t remember if it was noon or recess. I think noon. She was very pleasant and showed concern for everyone, no matter who it was. She kept her desk real tidy and neat. She knew where everything was in each desk drawer without looking.

Miss Draper opened the desk drawer that the blow snake was in! Boy howdy, she put her hand in the drawer, thinking to pick up a particular object, and placed her hand directly on top of that big, fat, four foot long, cold, slimy, scaley snake. Miss Draper froze for a second, horrified and then terrified, she screamed one long piercing scream. She and her chair keeled completely over backwards. She had fainted dead away. Her dress was up exposing her legs, one slipper off. Almost immediately, her whole class was at her side.

Someone ran and got the principal, Mr. Snow. In just a few seconds, every teacher in the building was at Miss Draper’s side giving her what they knew about first aid, making everyone stand back so she could get air. It was sometime before Miss Draper came around, and when she did, they took her home and she didn’t return to school for a couple of days.

In the meantime, the old blow snake crawled out of the drawer, onto the top of the desk. He was madder than a green hornet that had just caught his stinger in the rump of a polecat skunk. The blow snake had his head up and throwed back, mouth wide open and a hissing and a blowing for all he was worth. Then, he crawled over and down the side of the desk and started across the floor. When one of the boys went to pick it up by the tail, he immediately hunched up and began to blow again. Then, Boyd Blackburn pinned his head down with a ruler. Boyd, Dell, Albin Hall, others took the blow snake out of the school house and, I think, they turned him loose.

Mr. Snow, the principal, spent the next few days going from room to room, class to class, lecturing and telling what he was going to do when he found out who put the snake in Miss Draper’s desk. He interviewed a lot of kids, offered rewards, trying in every way to find the scoundrels who done this. To my knowledge, he never did, and if he did, it’s possible Mr. Snow thought it best to let it die.
I may be wrong, but I always thought Dell, Boyd, Dick Smith, Twisty Rich, one of them and maybe all of them, put the snake in Miss Draper’s desk.

After Dad died, Dell, it seems to me, done about what he wanted to do. No strong arm to keep the lid on top of the kettle, so to speak. One day the principal started to walk down off the top of the hill where Wellington’s old school building was located. He lived not too far from the school, and on his way home to get his dinner, Dell Peterson, Twisty Rich, Boyd Blackburn, Richard Smith, and Albin Hall, I am quite sure all of these boys, I could be wrong on some of the names, but I don’t believe so. Anyway, Principal Snow was going home, when suddenly, this group of kids riding horses coming on a dead run, caught Mr. Snow and using their quirts, they horse whipped Principal Snow all the way home, striking him about the head and face and body. They had no compassion and abused him terribly. These kids, as I remembered it, were sixth grade kids. Unbelievable! Mr. Snow was a good man, liked by all the kids. He hadn’t done a thing to any of these short horns except correct them in a mild way when they got too far out of line.

Sometimes, people, and this is what happened to these bunch of kids, they got bogged down in evil thinking, spinning the wheel in the wrong direction. They thought it would be a great honor to whip the principal, the head man. But Principal Snow was loved by all who knew him, and not one boy or girl or teacher, not one person in the entire town of Wellington, praised, they all condemned. And I have heard Dell say, many times, how sorry he always felt and wished so much he hadn’t participated in the affair.

The town citizens held a meeting. Each boy’s parents was visited. Each boy was made to apologize to Mr. Snow, and told they would be expelled if any conduct of any bad experience happened again. Old Satan sure opened the gate, when they horse whipped Principal Snow.