If You Got 'em Smoke 'em

 

 

This is week 13 and the prompt was 'favorite photo'. I am really enjoying this. How about you?

I had a really hard time deciding what photo to use. I really wanted to do one of my grandmother flashing a great big beautiful smile while holding a birthday cake, but I decided a lot of what I would write about might give out too much information... and the internet isn't always safe about things like that. I started going through all my genealogy pictures and nothing was standing out - or the ones that did, I had already written about those individuals. Then I went searching through my grandma's old photos and found one that I just had to write about.

Meet my Great-grandfather, Newell McKinnley Stepp, and his brothers-in-law, John Thomas and Joseph "Joe" Charley Acord. This picture was taken in the late 30's or early 40's. And you guessed it, they're stealing honey from a bee tree!

 

Newell McKinnley Stepp was born April 24, 1896, "out in the woods near Fallsville" as he said in an interview by my 2nd cousin Tarona , who kindly shared it with me. Fallsville is a small community in Madison County, AR. His parents were James Jonathan and Rebecca Matilda (Merrill) Stepp. When he was 21 years old he was drafted to fight over seas in WWI. He was a Private in the Trench Art., Co B 6th Regt., and was discharged Jan 29 1920 from oversea service. In the same interview mentioned above he said he served in France and never even had to shoot his gun! He said he must've just been there for numbers and that by the time the American boys got over there, it was pretty much over. He was in France for about 6-6 1/2 months.

Three years later on April 1, 1923 he married my great-grandmother Zula Jane Acord. The two boys in the picture above were two of her younger brothers. The one in the middle is John Thomas and the one holding the smoker is Joe.

Newell and Zula had seven children, one died as an infant. One of their daughters, my grandmother, Reba, had grown up watching her daddy raise bees and when she had a place to raise some of her own, she got some help from her family to capture some from a known bee tree out on 'Eldridge Holler' (not the one pictured). This story is one that much of my family still tells today.

My grandmother's youngest brother Dwight had cut down the tree but it had become lodged in another one. Everyone was trying to get Dwight to get out from under it - when Dwight's youngest brother Tooter (who had been drinking a little) showed up and also tried to get Dwight to get out from under the tree. Next thing they knew the brothers had gotten into a fight. A lot of the family was there, Grandma Zulie and a few grandkids as well. When the boys began fighting underneath that lodged tree, Grandma Zulie fainted and the little ones started crying because they had thought she died. Finally Tooter's wife, Roma Lynn and Dwight's wife, Peggy encouraged Tooter to come with them down to the creek and on the way there he began singing "poor little black sheep", feeling a sorry for himself.

As story telling goes... there's usually a few different versions. Here's a snippet from an interview Tarona did of my great-grandmother Zula in 1985 with her version of the bee tree story. Click here.

There seems to be a lot of hesitation in telling the famous bee tree story, but my second cousin Debra, Art's daughter, was one of the first to give her account (she was about 10 years old):

"We went way up in the holler that day. Everyone walked in. Tooter had been hitting the bottle and when we got to the business of robbing the bees, the tree (or some tree) had to be cut down. I don't remember who was doing the sawing with the chainsaw, but I remember Tooter & Dwight got into a fuss over something. As the tree was about to fall Grandma Zula came up to calm them down and the tree almost fell on her. Scared everyone to death!! Tooter was scared like everyone else and he started crying and singing "I'm the Black Sheep of the Family". He sang it all the way back to Grandma's house."

Dwight's wife Peggy remembered it like this:

" What I remember about cutting the bee tree

One afternoon we all, grandpa Stepp, Grandma Stepp, Art, Reba, Tooter, Dwight, their spouses and all the little kids walked up the hollow and up the hillside. We went to cut a bee tree for Reba. Grandpa Stepp told Dwight how to cut it. Cut it where it will lodge in another tree and come down slow so it won't bust the bee tree up. Dwight did just what Grandpa said. Tooter had already had way too much to drink. He grabbed the saw from Dwight. He said Dwight was the worst tree cutter and started over the hill to cut the tree it was lodged in. The bee tree was coming down and Tooter was under it. Dwight saw the bee tree was going to fall on Tooter. He ran over the steep hill and bulldoged Tooter and they went rolling over the hill. The bee tree hit the ground right by them. Grandma thought it was falling on them and she fainted. The little kids thought she had died and they were all running, screaming and crying. The bees had come out of the tree and had covered Dwight, stinging him all over. Tooter was wanting to fight Dwight. Roma Lynn and I got Tooter and started to the house with him. He was singing he was the black sheep of the family. We decided when we got to the creek where the foot log was across we would let Tooter fall in, hoping it would sober him up. That didn't work. We couldn't even push him off. He kept wanting to go back and fight Dwight, then he was say Dwight was the best brother anyone could have and then he should just go back up there and whip him. Wasn't much fun at the time but we have had a lot of laughs about it since. Dwight ended up with so many bee stings that he was very allergic to them the next time he got stung. Guess Tooter had so much alcohol in him that they didn't sting him. Grandma was ok and the kids finally settled."

Now for stories about Newell and his bee keeping skills - My great-aunt Merle remembers having to help her Dad rob all of their bees. She said her momma was afraid of the them. Merle recalls that before they got a smoker for keeping the bees off when they were getting the honey they used rags rolled up to the length of a flashlight or so and would light it with a match and it would smoke instead of flame up. She had to hold the rags and smoke the bees while her dad got the honey. She said she never got stung very much. She remembers one time when she was a young girl, there was a big tree in Chinquapin (near Friley) that had a bee hive in it. There were several people trying to get that honey and nobody was able to get it, the bees kept them away . Then her dad, Newell, and her Uncle Roy Bentnar decided to go and try to rob those bees. It was on a Sunday and a big crowd of people came to watch. They were successful in getting the honey. She said her daddy would just wipe the bees off him and he didn't ever swell up or anything. Aunt Merle dates the above picture around 1939 or 1940 because that was about when they got their first smoker. She said the way Newell would hunt for bees was by setting out some sort of sweet bait and when the bees would get full he would follow them home.

Newell's mother Rebecca (Merrill) Stepp would hear a swarm of bees coming and she would get under a tree and hold up a big wash pan and bang on it with a spoon and it would make the bees come and light on the tree. Then they would get them and put them into a bee gum.

This tradition of bee keeping hasn't died out with the younger generation. Newell's grandson James Stepp and Merle's grandson Sundance both keep bees.

James shared a memory of the last bees he caught:

"The last bees I caught was on the side of the road by where I work. A guy from work wanted them so I told him I would be back with them. I gathered up a cardboard box, some tape and some pruners to cut the limb off with. The hardest part was getting someone to hold the box while I cut the limb off. We got about 5-6 pounds of bees and the queen with no smoke or head net with neither one of us getting stung. I watched and helped my grandpa Harmon with his bees - the secret is to not be scared!"

With any luck, when my husband and I are able to move out to our 5 acres - we would love to try our hand at it. Both my mother and father-in-law as well as my brother and sister-in-law have been keeping bees for about 2 years now. I hope we can join in the "fun" soon!

Until next week,
Becky

And don't forget to check out my bee keeping sister-in-law's genealogy blog Days of Our Lives!

 

 

The Way Things Were

Last week's 52 Ancestors blog prompt was 'same' so it is only fitting that this week the prompt is 'different'.  I thought this was a fitting prompt for the local doctor in the community where some of my family was from.  The way things were back then are quite different than the way they are today. This week I am going to introduce to you a man who was both well known and well loved by those in the Oark, Catalpa and surrounding communities. His name was Doc Floyd. Now I am not related to this man, but if it weren't for him a few of my ancestors may not have survived -my mother included- therefore I wouldn't be here to write about him or any of my ancestors.

So let us begin, with the bare bones facts...

 

John William Earnest Floyd was born Oct 27 1881 in Hunt, Johnson Co., Arkansas to James Richard Floyd and Alice Lou Ella Bennett. (Hunt, at that time, was known as Hunt Town or Hunttown). He was the oldest of five children, followed in birth by two sisters, Stella and Lula, then two brothers, Norman and Russell. In 1902, at the age of 20, he married Laura Ella Pyron. The following year they had their first child, a daughter, Ocie Lee, and soon after Frankie Estelle, Tommie Irene, Ruby Miriam and last Deward Wilson.

If it weren't for my Great-Aunt Peggy, I wouldn't even be writing this post at all. A few weeks ago she posted the photograph on the left on Facebook and began asking all her friends and family members if they had any great stories about this man. I, having a love for anything old-timey, was naturally drawn to the conversation. I began to ask a few questions and followed along reading each of the stories shared and decided he would be a wonderful addition to this blog.

Peggy has an unsual connection to Doc Floyd that she herself didn't discover until just a few years ago. Her mother, Irene Adams, confided in her that before she had married Peggy's father, Leroy Clark Harmon, she had been married to Doc Floyd. The story Peggy sent me is as follows:

"In 1935, my mother, Irene was at school and took a bad case of appendicitis. Doc Floyd came to her house that evening and told her mother, Eva, to give her nothing but a small amount of soup and no sweets period, and to not get out of bed. She stayed in bed for 6 weeks. Doc Floyd came to see her nearly every day. On her 17th birthday he gave her a ring and asked her to elope with him. She went with him and worked as his nurse. He would leave her with his patients and she would care for them in their homes. On March 22, 1940 they went to Cassville, MO and got married in the court  house. They came back to Eureka Springs and spent the night at the Basin Park Hotel. When they came back to Oark he continued to have her stay with his patients. Come to find out, he didn't want his family knowing they were married. In the fall of 1942 he rented a house in Oark and they moved into it. He still wouldn't make it public that they were married. My Mother didn't like them living together and people thinking there were not married. In 1943 they were divorced. The first time she asked for a divorce he didn't want one but he had his brother-in-law who was an attorney to write one up and she found out it wasn't legal. He had another one made and she signed it and Dr. Floyd was supposed to have it recorded and she thought he did but I have never been able to find it."

 

 

Now for how this man impacted my life - even though I never knew him. It would seem that not only is my Dad "Lucky To Be Alive", but so is my mother, thanks to Doc Floyd. In the early 60's my mother's family lived about half a mile from their grandparents, OZ and Bondell Melson, near Oark. My Aunt Diane recalls the story:

"When we were kids we took baths in the wash water. I got in the washing machine and Nay and Shell used the rinse tub. Shell some how broke a gallon jar getting into the rinse tub and Nay decided she would tell mama about the jar. The soapy water was really slick (I can still feel the ability to slide around in the washing machine to this day). Nay got out of the water and stepped on the rounded lid of the canner and fell back into the broken jar. It had really long spikes sticking up from the base. One of shards, sticking up like a dagger, went through her back near her shoulder blade. She was able to get up off of it, but then she slipped again and fell on her butt onto the same glass point. Mom came in to see about all the screaming. When she saw what had happened she grabbed some clothes for me and told me to run and get Granny and Papaw. They had a car. I ran the fastest I could. I can remember thinking that if I stopped running Nay might die. I have no idea how far they really lived from us, I had been there several times to watch TV, but this time it seemed to take forever. I got to the house and no one was there. I was scared. Then I heard the tractor down in the pasture and I ran to them screaming for help with every step. Granny told Papaw "Turn that thing (baler) off can't you see this girl is upset." I told about the incident and we went to the house. When we got there I saw Mom walking down the road toward us carrying Nay wrapped in a big quilt with blood dripping off the bottom. Michelle, only being two, was beside them struggling to keep up, crying. We stayed with papaw while mom and granny went to Doc Floyds. Nay was so pale I can remember that day as plain as yesterday. I was about 6 years old."

I called my Grandma Reba for her memories of the incident. She said when she went to see what was going on and she saw my momma cut, she told Diane, "Run and go get Granny and Papaw, Reine is cut all to pieces" (She later found out that her saying that had really scared little Diane because Diane thought Reine was hacked up into little pieces.) She remembers carrying my Momma while Michelle
followed behind them crying and that my Momma said "I hope little Shell don't get lost." Grandma said she doesn't remember my mom bleeding too much, since no main blood vessels were cut - though there was blood. She said once they got loaded into Granny and Papaw's car it was only about a 5 mile drive to Doc Floyd's.

She recalled it was a hot summer day and it was cooler to be outside Doc's office than it was to be inside. Doc Floyd had a rock outside his little office that many people remember sitting on, either for treatment or for waiting their turn. This rock is where my Grandma sat while holding my mom, so that Doc Floyd could begin stitching her up. She recalled that her cousin Hurley and my Grandpa Leroy were working on the grade school building in town and came to Doc's office when they heard what was going on. She said that Hurley fanned Momma with his hat.

Doc Floyd's Office

Diane also had to have some stitches from Doc Floyd once. She said they had a little sandbox and they kept an old tin can in there to scoop the sand. One day when she went to go play, she tripped over the side wall and plunged her hand into the can hitting the edge full force gashing her hand. She says the scar is very small now, but when she was 4 or 5 the gash had gone clear across her hand. She remembered a dark room and him putting stitches in her  hand but she doesn't remember if he numbed it. She figures he probably did because she doesn't have any negative memories about it.

When I called my Grandma to ask about my Momma, Grandpa Leroy told her that his Dad, Obie
Zearl (O.Z) had once chopped off his big toe with a chopping axe. They only lived about 150 yards from Doc Floyd. Doc sewed OZ's toe back on and it survived. Grandpa said his dad's toe didn't wiggle but it healed. Grandpa Leroy also remembers collecting old medicine jars and taking them back to Doc Floyd for a whole nickel. Grandma remembers taking their old medicine jars back to him, but she didn't remember if they were paid for it or not. From other stories I'll share, Doc Floyd seemed like a very kind man, and was always treating the little children with a small amount of money for an ice cream from the store next door. He may have paid my grandpa a nickel, just out of kindness since he was such a small child, and his neighbor.

My Grandmother Reba's brother Dwight remembered when he and Tooter (another brother) were young boys Grandma and Grandpa (Reba and Leroy) brought them a rod and reel. They wanted to see how long the line was. Tooter held the rod and reel while Dwight ran through the yard with the line. When he got to the end of the line it jerked the lure went into his hand. They had to make a trip to Doc Floyd's. Doc cut the hook off and shoved it on through his hand. And Grandma remembered when Dwight got a bean stuck up his nose, and their neighbor Austin Denzer had to take them to Doc Floyd.

Peggy sent me a memory from Anita Pitts, who was a neighbor of the Stepps.

"Doc Floyd delivered me and my little brother, Glenn at home. Dad would go get him and he came. With the help of the neighbor women we were safely delivered and well taken care of. As we got older when we had sore throats, ear aches, etc. he was always at his office in Oark. He would give us pink throat tablets and usually penicillin or sulfur drug in tablet form. What I hated the most was the black croup pills. He would have Mom crush them and pour calcidrine cough syrup over them. I can still smell something that smells like that terrible yellow cough syrup and gag! Mom would hear one croupy cough at night and here she came with a spoonful of that terrible stuff and a dripper that should have had a good drink of water in it, but she barely let it touch your lips and said no more. I got a lot of ear aches from swimming in the creek and one year I could not get rid of them. He gave me penicillin pills along with those ear drops  he always had on hand but the ear ache would just come right back. His cure was for me to come to his house every morning before school and get a penicillin shot in the rear end. That cured them up for years. He always had plenty of those little pill boxes that he wrote directions on and such He did not give prescriptions to take to the drug store. Most of the medicines were kept in his office. I can remember a few times he would have Mom and Dad go by Laster Drug Store and pick up  medicines he had ordered.

He was a very knowledgeable doctor who knew how to treat most things. When he didn't he would send them somewhere else. I know Dad was sick with heart problems and he sent him to Holt-Krock Clinic in Fort Smith for a diagnosis. Then after the diagnosis he treated him. Without him having to go back to Fort Smith every week or month. I wish we had doctors like them today."  

Peggy recalled that Doc Floyd made his own antibiotic ointment. He mixed Vaseline and powdered penicillin. A cure all for cuts, scrapes or infected insect bites.

One of Doc Floyd's granddaughter's, Gwendella, says,

"Papa Floyd was a 'dyed in the wool - yellow dog Democrat'. He also refused to change the time on his clock. He didn't "spring forward" or "fall back". He was a good musician. He loved his Fiddle. He was quite a baseball fan too. At one time he had been quite a good player. He loved watching the game on the TV in his later years. Another thing he was strong for was a good education for all children. He was quite instrumental in getting the good school in Oark. Another accomplishment he had to do with was the good road to Oark. At one time it was not much more than a trail from Harmony to Oark."

Memories shared from Peggy's Facebook post:

 



 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From all these memories I believe Doc Floyd had a compassionate heart for the people of the community in which he served. He made house calls, kept them well, and helped them in every way he could.  These days we tend to have a negative view towards those who work in the medical field. But I believe, and know, there are a still several out there who still care deeply for their patients.

In closing I hope you'll take the time to read this article on Doc Floyd, as there is quite the story of some teenage boys helping him capture little runaways in the woods.

And if you're in the Clarksville, AR, area stop by the Johnson County Historical Society. It's my understanding that they have an exhibit dedicated to Dr. John Floyd, MD.

As always be sure to check out my sister-in-law's genealogy blog over at Days of Our Lives!

Until next week, 

Becky

The Springfield News-Leader
Springfield, Missouri 27 Sep 1994, Tue • Page 9

 

It's A Family Tradition

Here we are 12 weeks into this genealogy blogging challenge. This week the writing prompt is 'same' and I've decided to write about a recent discovery I made about my name and the name of FIVE of my ancestors. You see my given name is Rebecca Sue. I was named after both of my grandmothers - maternal first, paternal second. This year while building my tree on Ancestry, I discovered that my maternal grandmother was named after her grandmother and that her grandmother was named after hers and her grandmother was named after hers - for a total of NINE generations! The line in which I discovered this comes from Northern Ireland. The Irish follow a tradition in naming their children.

1st Daughter named after Mothers Mother
2nd Daughter named after Fathers Mother
3rd Daughter named after Mother
4th Daughter named after Mothers eldest sister
5th Daughter named after 2nd oldest sister or Fathers eldest sister

So while this tradition may have started out intentional, I wonder when it just became coincidence.  Now that I've picked up on it, I hope at least one of my three children will have a daughter and name her Rebecca and that her granddaughter will also be named Rebecca and on and on and on ....

My maternal grandmother's name is Rebecca Inda. She was also named after both sets of grandmothers. She was the fourth child born to Newell McKinley and Zula Jane (ACORD) STEPP. Newell's mother's name was Rebecca Matilda MERRILL and Zula Jane's mother was Clara Inda EVANS (Sometimes misunderstood to be Clarinda.) My grandmother married my grandfather, Leroy Harrison MELSON on November 23, 1955. She didn't have the opportunity to know her namesake because her grandmother died nearly three years before she was born. Also, just as I go by Becky instead of Rebecca, my grandmother goes by Reba, instead of Rebecca.

My grandmother's grandmother, Rebecca Matilda MERRIL, was born October 12, 1867 in Henderson or Buncombe County, North Carolina. She was the daughter of Abner MERRIL/MERRELL and Martha Elizabeth YOUNG. I still have a bit of a road block when it comes to Rebecca MERRILL's paternal line as I can't prove who Abner's father is. There were twin boys, William and Jacob MERRILL both of whom, apparently, named sons Abner. I have documented proof of William having a son, Abner. But only "word of mouth", undocumented, online family trees that say Jacob did. William's wife was Nancy McCRARY and Jacob's wife was Jennie M. McCARSON. Does the 'M' stand for Matilda? What was Nancy's middle name? Either way, I do know that Rebecca MERRILL was named after her mother's mother, Rebecca EDMONDSON.

Rebecca EDMONDSON was born around 1806 in North Carolina. She was the daughter of William EDMONDSON and Sarah PATTON (Sarah's sister is Elizabeth PATTON -who married Davy CROCKETT). Rebecca EDMONDSON married William YOUNG sometime before 1830. The two of them had at least six children together as he died fairly young sometime before 1850. Rebecca and her children are mentioned in her father-in-law, John YOUNG's,  Will as his son William's widow and heirs.



And much to my excitement, I just discovered while doing some research for this post that Rebecca EDMONDSON was named after her maternal grandmother Rebecca CATHEY. Rebecca CATHEY was the daughter of George CATHEY and UNKNOWN and was the wife of Robert PATTON. She was born around 1766 in Rowan County, North Carolina. Proof of her parentage and marriage to Robert PATTON comes from a court document, apparently a land dispute, out of Wilson County, Tennessee. It can be found in pages 112 - 115 - Wilson County (Tennessee) Court Minute Book - 1821-1825.

Below is the record transcribed and below it I included a cropped picture of the document so you can read the part that includes Robert and Rebecca PATTON:

Robert Neill versus George Cathey. William Neil, the complainant's father, sometime in the month of October 1783 gave to one George Cathey sixty-five pounds and securing for him lands in the western country. Said George purchased 640 acres in partnership with William Campbell. The bill also charges that William Neil gave to his son John Neil the tract of land. The bill also charges that the complainant purchased said land from John Neil his brother. The bill also charges that William and George Cathey, sons of George Cathey, executed their bonds of John Neil to convey to him said tract of land. Said bond has been lost. The bill also states to Violet Cathey, one of the daughters of said George Deceased and John Reed who had intermarried with Esther another of the daughters of said George executed a deed of relinquishment to the complainant. The bill also exhibits a release of Alexander Neil and James Neil, brothers to the complainant. The deed of relinquishment, dated 1 August 1821 given by John Neil, James Neil, Sarah Neil, John Plumley, William Plumley, Archibald Plumley, Jacob Howe, Hannah Howe, Benjamin Howe, and William Howe. That George Cathey, Violet Cathey, Jane Adkins, Samuel Lusk and wife Betsey, Benjamin Burgen and wife Mary are the children of said George Cathey deceased, that George Patton, John Logan, and wife Rebecca are the grandchildren of said George Cathey by his daughter Margaret who intermarried with Elija Patton and who are both deceased. Also Robert Cain and Daniel Cain, grandchildren of said George by his daughter Elizabeth who intermarried first with Robert Cain, also James Reed grand child of said George deceased by his daughter Elizabeth by her second husband Robert Reed, the said Robert Cain, Robert Reed and Elizabeth being all now dead. Also Robert Patton and his wife Rebecca who is daughter of said George, John Reed and wife Esther who is also a daughter of said George. Also Andrew Neil and wife Mary, the said Andrew being a son of William Neil Deceased and his wife Mary, a daughter of said George (Note: this last refers to the wife of Andrew-mp) Also Robert Gillespie and wife, Ann granddaughter of said George by his son William Cathey and George Cathey, James Cathey and Andrew Cathey and William Mahaly and wife Betsey, grandsons and daughter of said George by his son William Cathey now dead. And also the defendants James Neil, Mary grand daughter of said William by his son Archibald who is also deceased. Also Hardy Hightower and wife Hariet grand daughter of said William by his son Archibald, Alexander Neil, Samuel Neil, and gilbreath Neil, sons of said William and James Neil and wife Sally, Hannah Howes daughter of said William, also William Plumley and John Plumley, Jr., grandchildren of said William by his daughter Betsey who had intermarried with John Plumley, Sr. and is now dead. 1822

This PATTON/CATHEY line is new to me, as I only discovered them this week. I haven't been able to find conclusive evidence that Sarah PATTON was indeed married to Wm. EDMUNDSON/EDMONDSON other than records cited and kept at the Old Buncombe County Genealogical Society. I did however find a land record where William EDMUNDSON sold land to Thomas HEMPHIILL. Ages aren't given so I am uncertain as to whether this Thomas is Jr. or Sr. The younger Thomas would be William's son-in-law's uncle where as the older would be his son-in-law's grandfather. The land borders John YOUNG, Rebecca EDMONDSON'S father-in-law. The land description also mentions that a section of the land was originally granted by the State of North Carolina to a William YOUNG on the 17th of October 1796 - this William YOUNG is probably John YOUNG's father or brother as I haven't made it any further than John at this point in time.

So to recap - This tradition of naming daughters after their grandmothers has been going on for at least nine generations, spanning at least 200 years... unless one of my children continues the tradition.

Me (Rebecca Sue), my mother, my grandmother (Rebecca Inda), her father, her grandmother (Rebecca Matilda MERRILL), her mother, her grandmother (Rebecca EDMONDSON), her mother, her grandmother (Rebecca CATHEY).

Until next week,
Becky

And as always please be sure to check out my sister-in-law's blog over at Days of Our Lives.

Lucky To Be Alive

This week's writing prompt is "Luck of the Irish". I considered writing about a few ancestors I have traced back to Ireland, but felt that it would be a bit dry and fact based. I also thought about writing about my 23 and Me DNA results that said I am 63.9% British and Irish but I didn't know what else I would say since it has been nearly two years since receiving my results and I still don't fully understand how to read them, aside from ancestry composition. Then last minute it hit me... I'll write about my dad!




Now my Dad isn't exactly what you would call a lucky man. In fact, growing up he would always say "If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't  have any at all." But after some thought I decided that I would have to disagree. You see my dad has had too many near death experiences, only to come out on the other side still breathing to be called unlucky.

My dad first cheated death when he was just an infant, around 6 months of age. He swallowed a safety pin. After a tracheotomy to help him breathe the safety pin became lodged in his lung. At one point the respirator quit working and Grandpa Rufus and the attending nurse had to get it up and running again. In order to remove the safety pin from his lung the doctors had to nearly cut his arm off, reaching in from behind at his shoulder to remove the pin. It was a very close call. I can still remember being a little girl and massaging my daddy's sore back and tracing that scar, that reached from right under his armpit all the way up to the top of his shoulder, with my tiny fingers.

Now being a rambunctious little boy (My Mammy, his mother, always spoke of how he kept her on her toes.) at the age of five or six, he decided to climb a tree one Sunday morning (yes, Sunday, before church), when a limb broke and he came crashing down, only to hit his head on the retaining wall beside the tree. Not long after that he would tie a make-shift cape around his neck and jump from the roof of the house. The boy was fearless. Or hard headed. Maybe both.

At the age of about 15, he was driving the family's tractor from his dad's place to Mr. Odell Brown's when it slipped out of gear and the brakes wouldn't work. It began to "frog hop" first the front left tire hitting the ground followed by the back right. He was going down hill and was only gaining momentum, while the tractor ride was becoming more and more violent. He managed to jump off right before the tractor began to roll end over end. And as if that experience with a tractor wasn't enough, fast forward a few more years to when he was fueling up his the family's 8N Ford tractor.  Dad recalled that the exhaust on that little tractor was hot and it was near overheating. When he began filling it with gas some splashed onto the exhaust and before he knew it the tractor was in flames. Not too far off in the distance was the farm propane thank. Some quick thinking and he began kicking up all the dirt he could and threw it on the tractor until finally the fire went out. Another close call.



He's not even 18 yet, and I'm just getting started. Sometime in either his Junior or Senior year of High School (He remembers almost not graduating because of missing so much school) he found himself hanging side by side with a half skinned calf, on a gambrel-bar, used in dressing animals at the family owned processing plant in Canehill - known as McClellans. Dad was skinning a black angus calf when the cord of the hoist had come unplugged. FDA regulations state that the electrical outlets must be 10 feet up the wall. Now growing up around the processing plant I have an good understanding of how wet and slippery and kind of bulky the boots and aprons can be. I didn't spend much time on the kill floor, but I remember  the conditions very well. Dad, dressed in his heavy, yellow apron and black rubber boots, got out the ladder and began to climb it in order plug the hoist back in. His boots would've been covered in blood and other slippery animal excretions and of course, he slipped, and when he did, he fell into the hook on the gambrel bar and was left hanging. Next door his mom and dad were processing chickens and just inside past the cooler, his Granddad Rufus and Grandma Willie Belle were cutting meat. There was a lot of machinery running and no one could hear him screaming for help. He said he eventually used his good arm to wedge it between him and the half-skinned calf and was able to push himself off, just before Rufus had shut off the band saw. Once he did, Grandma Willie Belle heard him yelling and they came running. He recalls his granddad telling him it wasn't that bad, saying, "I've had worse in my eye-ball". Of course, he hadn't, and dad was taken to the local doctor in town, Dr. Tucker. A fairly good indicator of the times, he remembers the nurse cleaning his wound just in time for the ashes from Dr. Tucker's cigarette to fall into his wound.

The next tale come from right around the time I was born. He and his best friend Cary Bartholomew and Cary's younger brother Mitch were trying to load some cattle into a gooseneck trailer when the truck slipped out of gear and began to roll down hill. Dad recalled that Mitch ran for the truck first, but that Cary yelled at him to stop. Dad being closer to the truck anyway, decided he'd try to get in and try to stop it. He reached the truck and just as soon as he got the door open and started to step in the trailer jack-knifed and crushed the door into his chest and neck. Crushing his windpipe and lungs. The last thing he remembered was slapping the back glass just before passing out and seeing a white light. By then Cary made it to the truck and entered in on the passenger side giving it some gas. The tires spun out but he was able to move the truck about a foot, which was just enough slack to let the door open enough for dad to fall out. Working like he did on the farm, my dad was a pretty stout young man. He recalls the ER doctor telling him if he hadn't of been quite so muscular the impact of that trailer pinning him in the door would've left him with pizza for lungs.

Fast forward to when I was about 11 or 12. I had my heart set on getting a horse so Dad bought me one. A green broke strawberry roan filly. She got out one day and Dad was trying to herd her in the right direction with the truck. She was running at him hard and made no signs of stopping for the truck, just before she jumped right in the back,  he cut the wheels hard and she clipped the back side sending the truck rolling. The horse and Dad made it out alive, but the truck was totaled. I remember that horse with fondness and then also not-so-much. She was very gentle as long as you were petting her. But once the saddle went on, it was a different story. When he was trying to break her, he and Dawna each took turns riding her so she would be completely wore out by the time it was my turn in the saddle. After what seemed like an eternity, it was my turn. I climbed on and was ready for the ride of my life but she just stood there, refusing to move. He told me to give her a little kick. I did, and she just stood there. He told me to kick her again, and again she just stood there. Then he told me to kick her harder, and you guessed it - she just stood there! Finally he said, "Beck, I can spit harder than you can kick!" And I thought to myself, "Oh, yeah?" So I hauled off and kicked her in the flanks with all I had and well... that was the last thing I remembered before coming too on the outside of the corral screaming at Dawna who was coming in across the field through the gate. I sure was sore and thought I had broken my arm, but the doctor in Lincoln said I had just bruised the bone.

Another close call was when Dad was brush hogging and stirred up a hornets nest. He was stung so many times that he swelled up so badly he had to put a straw in his mouth just to get air.

There are many more close calls, as it can be a dangerous job being a cattle farmer, and even more so working at the sale barn. I remember some of my favorite times was when he would come home from the sale with all his stories of near injury to both himself and the boys he worked with. My dad may not be one much for luck when it comes to equipment working, or things going right, but I'd say he's definitely got a guardian angel when it comes to keeping him alive, and I couldn't be more grateful! I love you Dad!

Until next week,
Becky

And don't forget to check out my blogging partner in this #52Ancestors challenge - my talented SIL over at Days of Our Lives. This week she uses Irish Limericks.

*Winnie Sue's sister, Francis, says they drove to the hospital in their station wagon with a mattress in the back and made Winnie Sue and Charles go take a nap in it while she watched over Johnny. She said that because he had that trach you couldn't hear him crying but you could see his tears. Such a pitiful story but amazing he survived!!