"POP"

A MEMORIAL TO MY GRANDAD

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Grandfathers have many names,
Where they all come from---
No one is sure.
Paw Paw, Gramps, Pop Pop,
Gran, Grand, Poppy,
Grampy, Grandy, Pee Paw,
Big Daddy, Big Pop, Pa...

My granddad we simply called "Pop."
He deserves to live on, and not be lost
Forever from all Americana.
For: He WAS A GREAT AMERICAN!
The kind that has made our country what it is!

Born to an East Texas farm family
into hard and humble beginnings--
All he EVER knew...was hard work,

daylight to dark.

Probably never had a vacation--
Never had a television; didn't matter anyway,

 It was hard for him to watch,

for when a young man, in a storm, under a
sheltering tree, he was hit by lightning!
Lived, but was always blind in one eye.
Wore thick glasses...

Never had a telephone 'til very late life;
Didn't matter either, for, in those days phones
were not for "endless palaver" (as T.S. Eliot said)
But for "we're a coming to see ya," or
"Somebody died."

He never had a full first  name, or even a middle name;
He was simply known as "D," plus his last name.
Big families, lots of kids, people just
ran out of names, I guess;  maybe ink was scarce.
Remember the "J.T's" and rhe "R.B's"... and on...
Signing everything "D." saved time.

A contemporary of all the great WWII generals,
("Pop" was born in 1889),
He likely never went to high school.
He knew cotton farmin'...and  some maize growin'.
He knew mules too, handled them all the time
as he grew up, and had deep dents in his beat up shins
where the mules had kicked him.
He said, it'd make you sick
to get kicked by a mule.

Up 'til he got his first bright red Farmall tractor,
about 1939 (it looked beautiful sitting there under the elms
right next to his his house--where it was safe; I saw it!),
He used to harness those mules, nolens volens,
then walk behind them all day, holding that heavy plow
in the ground, plowing rows SO STRAIGHT, you couldn't
believe it. I went once in 1938, and helped him, and watched

him plow (while someone watched me!)

His rows were straight as arrows.

My own Dad said a number of times:
" 'Pop' is the best farmer I've ever known!"

But don't forget, before the mules and plowing,
he had to get up at 4 a.m. to feed the livestock,
milk the cows, and eat some good old country ham and eggs,
Biscuits and grits, yes grits!
To be ready for all that walkin'.
And the cows, remember, had to be milked
again before bedtime.

He moved from East Texas to Dawson County,
That is south of Lubbock;  Lamesa country--
Don't say it La Mesa--the natives say--"Lameesa."
Bought a piece of land, and moved into an old
gray-wood farmhouse, cold and drafty...
It was from then on "The Old Jones Place."
Kept that land, bought another farm as time passed,
The new place had a big drafty two story gray-wood house,
where I stayed once with hot bricks, wrapped
in blanket pieces, by my feet...under quilts.

"Pop" was a no-nonsense sort of man;
Not your sentimental type.
To raise a family and make a living in rural America...
was not for sissies. If there were crop problems, or
financial problems--you were your own "welfare."
The Jeffersonian idea of little or no government applied.
That is, until 1933.
Farmers raised chickens for eggs and fryers.
They depended on cows for milk, butter, cheese and dairy products.
When the family kin came, "Pop" brought out his big
ice cream freezer--the hand-turn kind--and all the men
sat outside, and had a turn at the turn.
Egg nog at Christmas was a big event to "Pop."

Farmers from time immemorial depended on pigs,
for much important food--ham, bacon, sausage, pork chops.
Hog-killin' time came when it got real cold.
"Pop" sometimes would give each kid a hog at Christmas.
Thus we butchered four, an all day thing, and more..
I helped, as a ten year old, cut up fat
for renderin' in that big black pot outside,
and with "Pop's" sharp knife, cut right through
My fingernail into my finger and got sick and dizzy...
He could really sharpen a knife.
Hog butcherin' night we had fresh liver to eat, (Oh, Goody!)
and for breakfast next day, we had "brains and eggs."
Only the squeal was wasted.

By 1937, he had worked hard, saved up, and
built a brand new white clapboard house,
With a black wood shingle roof---it had two bedrooms,
And a large tall three-car garage that he called:
"The Car House." Just as well--the three car idea--
For when the boys went off to fight WWII, their cars
were safely parked in there.
On the back of the car house was a room for the sons,
and a Separator Room for doing something to cream...

 Right in the middle of the back yard was a grape arbor,

 with grapevines every six feet; they climbed, spread, and made

 a marvelous cool, good-smellin' shade in summer.

The new house had a porch off the front bedroom, 

 later screened in, for sleeping hot nights;

When the boys were off in the war, we sat out there
after supper, and talked, and you could hear cars or trucks

miles away, those  lonesome night farm sounds...

that carried, forever.

I loved "Pop's" windmill and its homey clangy sound.
It was right across the fence from the kitchen.
Someone had taken an old Pabst Blue Ribbon beer can,
and as only farmers, handy with their hands,
and wire could do---had fashioned a wire handle for that
old can; it hung there by the faucet which when
turned on, put out a delicious stream of cold water.
As a  boy, that's where I stayed, drinking all his water,
and wearing out his Pabst can.

Though his house was small by today's standards,
He went first class for those times...nice little red barn,
Big white chicken house, "tractor shed" for the new Farmall,
With a little meat storage room in one end for hanging
and curing pork.
Dust Bowl days were not over; on west side of his house 

was a fifty yard grove of elm trees, four rows deep...
as a windbreak.

His house had a nice rock wall all the way around it---
Front yard to back, not tall, but nice.

When down there at his place in 1950, I went to bed early,
while  Dad and "Pop" went two miles over on his land,
to watch them drill for oil.
A gusher came in, middle of the night, and I missed it.
My grandad eventually gave up growing chickens, pigs, cows,
And bought his food in town like the rest of us.
But he kept plowing on his Farmall 'til he was 65.

In his house, the rooms kept heated were the kitchen and back bedroom.

The back bedroom was where "Pop" sat to rest, in his rocker.

 An old Philco upright radio stood near the corner of the room, 

 so he could listen to W. Lee "Pappy" O'Daniel and

 his "Texas Hillbiily Band" ("Pass the biscuits, Pappy!"),

 or H.V. Kaltenborn, on the news...or Fibber McGee and Molly

 if Dallas radio was coming in with no static...

 A Cloverine Salve single shot ,22 rifle stood in the corner

 near the radio; one of the boys sold a lot of Cloverine Salve

 to get it. Kept there, mostly unnoticed, it was for two or

 four-legged varmints (or hog killin');

 Not that anyone worried about varmints much

 in  those days; the doors weren't even locked at night.

 Anyway,  the only .22 ammo around the farm

 was buried in the ash tray with the needles, pins, and buttons.

 The main art in the room was the famous old picture

 of the big wolf up on the snowy hillside

 and the lights of the far off little village

  down in the valley.

  Probably purchased one day at Woolworth's...

  "Pop's" only work apparel was that of all farmers--

  Blue bib overalls, with an old blue or khaki work shirt.

  On Saturday afternoons, all farmers went to town.

  It was just done that way then... all over rural America.

  "Pop" put on his pressed khakis, tooled leather belt,

  Stetson hat, and best shoes. On arriving in town

  He would get a shine-- whether he needed it or not.

  The barber shop was the center of social activity.

  It was the only time you would ever see him

  wear his gold pocket watch, with the chain draped

  out of his khaki watch pocket. Looked nice--dressed-up-like.

  The whole population of the county, it seemed

  Wound up on the shady west side of the square,

  on  those Saturday afternoons....

  there across from the courthouse In Lamesa.

  Familiar family words: "See you later on the 'west side.' "

  They sat on car fenders in front of

  Penney's, Anthony's, others, and two drug stores with their fans

  sending out onto the sidewalk--those great fountain smells,

  and  a little bit of cool air. 

  My "Pop" rests today in the Lamesa cemetery, a half mile

  from his house. He passed away in 1973.

  Not once did he ever go to town or return home that he 

  didn't  pass that cemetery and was reminded I suppose

  every time, of his mortality.

  His middle son rests there too, the one who graduated from

  Texas A&M, went right into the Army Air Force, came back as a Captain;

  One hot June day in 1955, "Pop" and his son were plowing; 

  A thunderstorm came up suddenly, and they tried to drive out of the field.

  A hundred yards across the road from "Pop's" house--

  a lightning bolt flashed and hit my uncle on his tractor.

  I later saw the two Farmalls, sitting over there,

  one twenty yards behind the other.

  We loved my uncle, the "captain".  He was 36 years old and had "gravitas".
  On his grave is the inscription:  "May your rest be as sweet as our memory of you."

  

  A little story for wrap-up:

  Times were hard in the 30's; people worked for a dollar a day,

  and were glad to get it.

  I was very small; Dad needed a job;

  Found one in a laundry at Wink, Texas.

  We took it, got down there, and the nice employer

 gave us the use of a little empty house behind the laundry.

  One day, in about 1936, I'm guessing,

  "Pop" loaded up an old cotton trailer, with 

  a surprise for us...a gift.

  He pulled that trailer all the way from Lamesa to Wink...

   behind his old tan Dodge sedan.

  Drove up to our little house, got out,

  went around to the back of the trailer,

  and came back around, leading something, for us.

  It was a...

  cow.

"Pop"s house today.....

 ------30------

By Mil

4/27/12