Hot Pops in the Summertime

American boys love horses, cars, and the great outdoors.   It must be one of those XY chromosome things.  They all want to run and play and they dream of riding the best horse, catching the biggest fish, and driving the fastest car.  Mankind has had thousands of years to develop their love for nature.  But, when the first automobiles came into being shortly after 1900, it was an instant hit with boys all around the country.  Of course, it took Henry Ford making an “affordable” car before many were seen in Newton County.  When a vehicle came down the road, it was a big deal.  The noisy motor and the rocks rattling made it easy to hear an approaching car.  Barefoot kids would come running out of the hills and woods to marvel at the passing car and wave to those fortunate enough to be riding in the car.  I suppose, if you ask, each of the James kids can recall the first time they ever rode in a car.  Hard to imagine isn’t it? 

The boys got to where they could identify a vehicle by its sound long before it came in sight.  Often times, they could even tell whose car or truck it was.  So, the game was to tell as much information as possible about the approaching motor coach before it came in sight.  The game still goes on today.  We could hear a car coming loud and fast up the road.  It was somewhere between Herbert Carter’s house and the turn off to Ben Vanderpool’s.  I heard someone say, “I’ll bet that’s Fast Eddie!”  “Who?”  “Eddie Vanderpool.  He must go up and down this road ten times a day and he has the muffler knocked loose on that car again.”  That conversation took place just last year.

Yes, by the late 30s and early 40s things were getting modern in Newton County.  There was a well right outside the kitchen and electric lights in the house.  There was a movie house, The Buffalo Theater, in town.  There were gas stations and even some sales route delivery trucks.  Small stores located in towns like Jasper, Parthenon, Deer, and Judy (Mount Judea to some) made it feasible for a truck to be loaded with store goods in Harrison and then travel a route to all those small stores replenishing their stock.

The boys along Gum Springs Road were especially fond of the Soda Pop delivery truck.   It was loaded down with NEHI strawberry and orange, RC cola and Grapette soda.  In those days there were no plastic two liter bottles or throw away aluminum cans.  Soda was bottled in heavy glass bottles that were refillable.  The driver would start out in Harrison with a load of full bottles.  At each store along his route, the driver would stock the shelves with full bottles and pick up all the empty bottles to be returned to the bottling plant.  The truck was specially manufactured to help the driver perform his job efficiently.  Along both sides of the truck, shelves sloped down toward the center of the bed.  That way the driver did not have to worry about doors or the load sliding around in the truck or even outside the truck.  Twenty-four bottles would fit in wooden cases and then be loaded into the sloping shelves of the truck.  The driver could then easily slide a case in or out of the slots when he loaded or off-loaded the truck.  About once a week, the truck made a delivery in Jasper and then Parthenon.  From Parthenon, the truck came up Gum Springs to number seven, continuing on the route toward Deer and other stores along his route.

“You hear that?”  “I sure do! That’s the soda pop truck!” “Let’s go!”  Sure enough, every Thursday, the truck came lumbering up old Gum Springs Road with glass bottles rattling and the old truck moaning and struggling with the grade and roughness of the road.

Remember the specially designed truck to keep pop bottles from sliding or falling out or breaking?  The design engineers had not been to Newton County.  Certain parts of the road were so steep, rocky, or wet and muddy that every bottle in the truck could be dislodged or broken at any speed above a crawl.  The driver would have to down shift and slowly ease over these difficult spots if he wanted his load to survive.  Somehow, he always managed to lose a few bottles along that stretch of road though.  No matter how slow or how careful he was, there were often bottles missing when he got to the next stop.

“Get back in the brush. He’s gonna see you.”  “Oh he can’t see me, but he may hear your big mouth!”  “Shisssssss! Both of you, shut up, here he comes, get down!”  The boys crouched quietly in the roadside brush, right beside one of those harsh nearly impassable spots in the road.  Then, as the truck came almost to a complete halt, they ran along the offside of the truck and each of them pulled one of the wooden cases out from the sloping shelf.  They pulled it just far enough so that a bottle of pop could be removed.  They each took a bottle and back into the woods they ran.

Why didn’t the driver see the soda pop bandits?  It was another engineering blooper.  Until the 1950s most trucks only had a mirror on the driver’s side and many did not have any at all.  You could stand on the passenger side of the truck behind the cab and the driver never knew you were there.

The boys ran a safe distance down a hollow and sat down to enjoy their bounty.  “What kind did you get?”  “I got a NEHI Orange, how bout you?”  “Oh, I got a Royal Crown Cola… RC is the best!”  “No boys, I got the best…I got a Grapette!  You know “THIRSTY OR NOT, GRAPETTE HITS THE SPOT” (that was an advertising slogan for Grapette soda).”  Grapette was the favorite flavor for most of these young highwaymen for a couple of reasons.  Grape was good any time but it was especially better than the others if you were going to have to drink it hot.  Another and more relevant reason in this situation was that the Grapette bottle was about an inch or so shorter than the other brands.  That made those bottles a little easier to pull from the wooden cases as they passed by on the truck.  These heavy glass bottles did not have screw off lids either.  I doubt that any of them had a bottle opener.  But, that did not present a real problem for these boys.  A pocket knife can be used for just about anything.  The soda was hot.  But, it was wet and sweet.  It also had some special mystery flavor because of how they got it.

Lex says he is pretty sure that if we looked in a certain hollow today that we might find some old empty Grapette bottles.  It seems that they were not bold enough to turn the empties back in to be refilled.  I wonder if the bottling company did not collect and redeem deposits.  Many bottling companies used to charge a deposit on bottles.  When you returned the empty bottles, you got your deposit back.  It may be that the boys did not turn in the empties because they did not want to raise suspicion about how they came to possess those bottles.  After all, it was very few bottles of soda pop that were ever bought by the James household.

Remember, just because Lex told this story does not automatically mean that he or his brothers were the ones who liberated the NEHI, RC, and Grapette sodas along Gum Springs Road.  I also know for a fact, that this story is not how Lex came to be known as Jessie James.

And that’s the way I heard it on the mountain,

Tony Peoples

Rock and Roll on Gum Springs Road

It is nearly impossible to imagine a world without all the technology and electronic gizmos that surround us today.  What if they were all gone, even television and telephones?  What would you possibly do for entertainment?  The James kids found plenty to entertain themselves.  Some of them say that is what the family farm was all about.  Grandpa and Grandma knew that the farm was not big enough to provide food and income for the large family.  They also knew that it would provide plenty of hard work to keep all those children out of trouble.  Well, most of the time anyway.

When these kids went for a road,trip it meant walking down the road.  One of the most common and eventful road trips was down to Parthenon.  They walked down to Parthenon at least once a week to attend church.  Some of the boys have said they didn’t care that much about going to church, but it was about the only entertainment around.   They walked, ran, and played all the way down to town and all the way home, throwing rocks, talking and laughing as they went.  Sometimes, a rock was just too big to throw.  So, they would give it a roll.

Uncle Lex describes rock rolling as finding a large round rock on top of a hill or ridge and sending it down the hill.  He and his brothers, Lytle and Gerald, would pry and dig around on a large rock until it was dislodged.  Then, with just a little persuasion, gravity and inertia would take over and away she went; crashing trees, brush and anything else between the rolling boulder and the bottom of the hill.

Gum Springs Road is the main thoroughfare to Parthenon.  But, in those days, all of the hills were covered with trails and smaller pathways.  So, when one took off down to Parthenon, he might not just go down the big main road.  One path is out “the Narrows” (pronounced more like narras).  It is a nearly flat road out a long extremely narrow ridge.  It is a much easier walk until the last quarter-mile.  Then, you descend almost vertically into the Parthenon area.  It requires a billy goat or a James boy to make it up or down that near cliff- like slope.

One Sunday afternoon, Lex, Gerald and Lytle were playing along the Narrows on the way back from Parthenon when somebody spotted a huge rock and said, “Let’s roll that sucker!”  “You gotta be kiddin’, that thing must weigh a ton!” “Awh come on you big babies, we can do it!”  It was huge, maybe three or four foot across and eight to fourteen inches thick.  It would take a lot of work and it did probably weigh four or five hundred pounds. But, if they could get it up on its edge and pointed down hill?  Wow, look out below!  For the next half- hour or so, they clawed, pried, and dug around the monster rock until finally it stood upright on the edge of the ridge ready to make rock rolling history.

The boys stood back and admired their work for a minute and then with all the strength they could muster they sent the mighty destroyer down the mountain.   Small trees were swatted to the ground by the rolling thunder.  Limbs cracked and snapped as the massive stone picked up speed.  Soon it was out of sight but still in hearing range.  “Man, I never dreamed it would go that far!”  “Wow. It’s still a goin.’”  “You think it’s ever gonna stop?”  “What’s down there?”  “The road.” …………“The road?”………… “THE ROAD!!!”  “Good Lord! What if someone is on the road?”  They could still hear timber crashing in the distance but somehow it was not as funny as it had been just seconds ago.  “Hey boys, it’s not just the road.  I think we are right above Ole man Casey’s place.”   Sure enough, they had started the boulder down from directly above Mr. Casey’s house.  Finally, they could no longer hear it.  One looked at the others and ask, “Do you think she stopped or has she gone so far down the mountain that we just cain’t hear it anymore?”  “I don’t know about that, but one thing I do know is that we better skedaddle.”  And they did.

As usual, they could not stay away and returned to the scene of the crime to survey the damages.  It looked as though a two to three foot wide tornado had come straight down the hill over a quarter of a mile to the grader ditch.  When the rock hit that ditch it went airborne and landed right in the middle of Gum Springs Road.  It then skidded across Casey’s small yard and right up to the back door of the house.  They tell me old man Casey used that slab as the back step for as long as he lived there. 

Fortunately, no one was hurt and Mr. Casey got a new back step. They were just that close to rolling a rock through the old man’s house.  Some days you are lucky to be a James and others you are just James lucky!

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

WHY IS EVERYONE PICKING ON ME?????

(Sequel to the Turkey Story)       By Sue Nell

As all of you may know, Mother always ordered at least 100 baby chicks every spring so we could have meat for the summer.  She usually ordered mixed, boys and girls for those who don't know what mixed is, so that she could have some hens and roosters.

 

Well, she received a very nasty and mean rooster one spring.  As he grew he thought he owned the place.  Every time that I went to the outhouse or garden or the well or just outside - he felt like I was invading his territory.  So he proceeded to let me know about it.  He would cluck and pretend he was surrounding his harem for their protection with his head toward the ground, and as soon as your back got turned to him, he would attack with his feet and scratch etc.  Hurt pretty bad.

Several times it happened.  I told mother each time, but I guess she felt like maybe I was aggravating him so she let it go, thinking that she could not do without one rooster.  Until one day she had her bonnet on, her dishpan   and hoe in hand to gather some things from the garden.  Mr. Rooster decided he would attack her also, since he never had before.  He probably didn't recognize her in her bonnet.  Well, Mr. Rooster did not survive that attack. He was met with mother's hoe and found himself in the pot to make some broth for dumplings.  I sure did enjoy that pot of dumplings.  You know it wasn't enough that I had 3 brothers (Tom, George, and Lex) picking on me with tearing up my playhouse -throwing corn cobs at me every time I went outside - scaring me and a lot of other things - I had to have an enemy in this rooster.  But God says that “vengeance is mine” - I am still around to tell the story of the rooster and the rooster has long since been deposited in the outhouse. That old rooster picked on me but he got picked in the end - oops I mean his feathers picked.

Bad Day at Minnow Creek Cemetery

Decoration Day is a Sunday set aside to pay homage to those who have gone before us and decorate their graves.  This old tradition predates Memorial Day. When friends and relatives are not all buried in the same cemetery it is impossible to be in two places at one time.  So, different cemeteries have Decoration Day on different Sundays.  You can visit a different cemetery almost every Sunday in April and May.  Sometimes in this part of the country, people bring a picnic dinner and even have some sort of community church service on the grounds.  This custom may seem a little odd to people who have never been to a decoration.  But, it is a great time for family and friends to visit and for the children to learn about their relatives who passed on before they got to meet them.  Another good thing about Decoration Day is that younger children get to learn about death and cemeteries under lighter emotional circumstances than those surrounding the death of a loved one. 

 Minnow Creek Cemetery is located a few miles east of Ludwig, Arkansas.  It is where Grandpa Dewey and Grandma Velma James are buried along with many of our relatives.  When you think of cemeteries, you may think of the sadness and sorrow associated with funerals, but every trip to the cemetery is not sad.  In fact, the mood around Decoration Day is usually pretty light-hearted and fun.  Recalling good times and stories about those buried here helps some to remember and others to learn about our heritage. 

Minnow Creek even has a shelter house pavilion. This pavilion is a relatively new (after 1960) thing.  I am sure back in the old days they built a brush arbor and probably held not just one service but rather a series of revival meetings.  After all, you wouldn’t want a good brush arbor to be used only once.

Truthfully, many of the children are not all that excided about learning.  They are more interested in playing and finding adventure.  There is no telling how many little ones have run and played completely oblivious to what the day is supposed to be about.  That is good; children ought to be able to enjoy being children, right?  Back in the 50’s Mothers did not always see it that way.  Some how, they confused Decoration Day with Easter.

They would dress up their little doll children to look as if they were going to pose for the Sears and Roebuck catalog and they fully expected us to stay looking like that all day long.  This seriously conflicted with the principles of fun and adventure.  The mothers would try to keep the children in check by telling them to stay close so that they would not get hurt.  There are many who have fallen and twisted ankles or had their heads bumped on tombstones.  Accidents do happened…but come on… those kids ran all over the woods and neighborhoods everyday of the week all the rest of the time.  So, mom who were you tying to fool?  It was all about the clean new clothes and you showing us off to the family.  It was Mother’s Day and you wanted to show what a great job you were doing.  I mean, we are talking suits and ties for boys and frilly dresses and white dress shoes for girls.  Most of the time children complied not because they were obedient as much as they feared the switch, belt, or hand swatting wielded by those moms.

Now, there were certain ones among the 1950’s children who not give up adventure easily and they were tempted to venture out in spite of the threats.  One Decoration Day, Donnie and Tony were standing with their parents in their pretty little suits when temptation came a calling.  It was Jimmy.  “Psssst! You guys ain’t gonna believe what I found over there!”  He pointed toward the fence dividing the cemetery from a neighboring pasture across the road.  It did not take much temptation and at first opportunity Donnie and Tony sneaked away to find the great thing Jimmy was talking about and pointing toward.  Oh my, a brand new pond! This thing could not have been finished more than a few weeks and rains all this week had filled it about halfway.  There is no telling how many wonderful Indian artifacts had been loosened by that bulldozer or if not that, at least a ton of good throwing rocks.

We knew we shouldn’t be there. But, how could we walk away from a brand new pond?  Sure, the dirt that had been stirred by the bulldozer had been turned into a sea of bright red mud.  But, maybe we could get close enough to throw a few rocks without getting mud on our pretty suits or the white dress shoes.  Then again, maybe not; soon the rocks were flying and the fun and adventure were in full swing.  It seemed like only a moment and then that piercing sound of some parent’s voice, “You boys get back over here and I mean right now!”  That is when we looked at each other and realized that the bright red mud was completely over our brand new shoe tops and our suits, shirts and ties were all spattered by the mud in tiny red spots.  Normally, we would have found that hilarious, but that parent’s voice had taken all the fun out of this adventure.  We were in for a whipping and a big one.

All of the boys got spanked and they were made to clean the mud off their shoes or at least try.  But, for Tony it did not stop with one spanking.  Hazel would spank him several more times throughout the day.  She would try to clean the shoes and then spank Tony.  She would try to get red spots off the jacket and then spank Tony.  Just ask anyone who was there.  They will tell you that Tony had a bad day at Minnow Creek Cemetery that day.  Better yet, go to Decoration Day this coming Mother’s Day and you will hear this whole story.  I know you will because I have heard it there every Decoration Day for the last fifty years.  I asked Mother how many times she spanked me that day.  She couldn’t remember, but, she said she thought about giving me another when she got that suit out to go to the cleaners.

The pond is still there and I look over there each year and say, Heck yeah!  It was worth it!

Epilogue: Nearly thirty years later, Elaine and Tony were blessed with their first child, James.  On Easter morning, when he was about two years old his mother had dressed him up in the most adorable outfit.  He even had brand new high top white shoes.  As we were locking the door to the house, James ran off the porch and into the front yard.  The day before, Tony had brought in a truckload of topsoil.  It was spread, grass seed was scattered and watering was complete.  You guessed it, James headed right to the middle of the yard leaving deep tracks and accumulating a large amount of mud on his pretty outfit.  Tony ran after him and carried him to the car where he sat James on the hood and began to remove James shoes to clean off mud.  Mother was already sitting in the car and I asked, “Didn’t you see him going toward that mud?”  “Yes” she replied, “I saw him,” Grandma Hazel had sat in the car laughing through the whole show.  I wonder what she was thinking?
And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

The Great Turkey Challenge

The poultry business is a major Industry in northwest Arkansas.  Tyson plants for feed and poultry processing are scattered throughout the landscape.  Sometimes you don’t just see them, you smell them, and that can open some interesting conversations with people unfamiliar with the intense aroma.   Another part of that industry is the transporting of feed and poultry.  When following a load of chickens down the road, you could think it is snowing  or that there is some sort of road show pillow fight going on in front of you.  These feathery passengers occasionally escape their plight.  Some mechanical malfunction, like a door comes open or a truck has a mishap, and the birds run for it.

One time when Lytle was on the road, just such an event happened.  The road was littered with turkey feathers and broken cages.  Lytle got out of the vehicle to help clean up the mess when he spotted a survivor.   Bruised and dazed by the tumble from the truck, the turkey had stayed around the scene.    We were all raised not to let anything go to waste and an escaped turkey was fair game.  The turkey was taken to Grandma’s house and put in with the chickens.

Chickens were always around Grandma’s house.  They were allowed to roam around the place everywhere except the house and the garden.   Today, they would be called “free range” chickens.  They would pick, scratch, eat and fertilize the yard and everyplace else within a couple hundred yards of their chicken yard and chicken house.  They would be locked in the chicken house at night to keep them safe from predators.   I learned many things from watching those chickens and memories of them have caused me to consider other more serious aspects of life.  Like how is it that chickens instinctively know to go to the chicken house for protection yet we “smart” people often do not allow our family or our God to protect and shelter us?  Guess we need to be a little more like chickens. 

I recall, as a small boy, eating crackers or bread on the high front porch and allowing the crumbs and small pieces to fall in the yard below.  First one chicken, then a few, and soon all the chickens in the yard would be gathered beneath me eagerly snapping up even the smallest morsel of food.  That picture comes to my mind when I read in Mathew and Mark about the dogs eating crumbs that fall from the master or child’s table.  Then, I think there are still people today starving to hear the gospel.  Yes, I learned a lot from chickens.  So, the next time you see a child doing something that seems totally ridiculous, like sharing his bread and crackers with chickens, just wait.  It could be a teachable moment…for the child and maybe even you.

The turkey, on the other hand, gave me more immediate and hard lessons.  He thought that he was the ruler of the yard and had no tolerance for trespassers.  Just about every grandchild around that time has been chased, kicked, or flogged by that turkey.  After he sent one crying to the house, he would pace back and forth in the yard gobbling occasionally as if challenging the child to come back out.  Honestly, I do not know if the turkey started this war or if Jimmy, Donnie, and Tony started it.  I can’t remember if all the BB guns, bean flips, corn cobs and other hurled projectiles sent in the turkey’s direction were retaliation or intimidation.  All I know is that for a few seasons we did not leave the house or enter the yard without making note of where the turkey was located and what he was doing.

The big bad turkey eventually met his Waterloo because not only did he dislike children; he disliked Gerald.  The turkey thought he could challenge Gerald and he did… for a while.  The old Tom seemed to know better than to take Gerald head on.  He would wait in hiding and ambush Gerald on the way back from milking at the barn or working in the garden.   When Gerald walked by with his hands full of tools, vegetables or buckets of milk, the ole turkey would attack from behind kicking and flogging Gerald.  Lytle though it was funny.  But, Gerald did not share in the humor.  Of course, Gerald was and still is quiet and patient.  When Gerald finally gets pushed too far, however, his reaction is swift and accurate.  

The attacks went on for several weeks or months.  From a child’s perspective, it seemed that it went on for years.  One day, the turkey spotted Gerald going to the house with his hands full.  The turkey charged Gerald to give him his usual flogging.  Unfortunately for the turkey, Gerald’s hands were full alright.  They were full of a baseball bat.  Gerald hit a home run and the turkey went home to Turkey Heaven, if there is such a place.   

Gerald delivered the turkey to Grandma.  She and Gerald dressed out the turkey and it became the main course in the next big event dinner.

I do not remember hearing how good or how tough the meat was from the bird.  But, I know the grandkids all felt a lot better about going out in the yard to play.  Thank you, Gerald!  That’s just one more time you were our hero.

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

Grandpa was a Car Thief ?

When people learn that our family name is James, a common question is, “are you related to Jessie James?”  As a little cowboy, watching Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, and the Lone Ranger and idolizing John Wayne, it seemed not only plausible but certain.  Later in life I discovered two truths about my assumption.  One thing I learned is that other people don’t care or value that you might be related to the infamous folk hero and train robber.  The second and harder truth to learn was that no matter how much genealogical research was done, Jessie is nowhere to be found in the branches of our family tree.   Now, that isn’t to say there were no horse thieves, bank robbers or other bandits in our history.  It just means that Frank and Jessie James are not related to us.  One such bandit was my grandpa, the car thief, well, sort of.

The family farm did not provide all of the income or food for the James family and most of the time Grandpa worked away from home to help provide for the family.   One spring he was working in a sawmill seven miles down the mountain at Jasper.  Dewey did not drive to work.  He would ride to town with someone else and after work he would catch a ride with whoever was going back out on the mountain.  One day, a friend dropped by the saw mill to visit.  “Hey Dewey, that was some storm that came off your mountain this morning!  Everybody alright out at your place?”   “What are you talking about?” Grandpa queried.  “Why I thought you knew, there was a big ole tornado came across the top of your mountain scattering barns and trees all the way down to Brasel creek.  I was just wondering if you had any damage up at your place.”  After the man left, Dewey spoke with the saw mill owner and told him he needed to go up and check on the farm and family.  That would be fine except the saw mill truck was not there.  So, Dewey set out to find someone to take him back up the hill. 

He walked in to town and around the square knowing he would find someone or some vehicle for the emergency run.  After a quick walk around the square, he spotted one possibility; the Sherriff’s car.  After all, this was an emergency.  No, it was not the official lights and siren equipped emergency vehicle, it was the sheriff’s own personal car. After a quick check in the court house and a few businesses, it was pretty obvious that the sheriff was not around.  But, the car and the car keys were.  A key being left in the car was probably more common than keys being taken out of the car back then and after all it was an emergency.  So, Dewey jumped in the car and took off up the mountain to check on things at home.  Fortunately, things were not as bad as he had feared and aside from a few limbs being blown down there was no damage to the place.  The car was returned and work at the sawmill resumed.

Saturdays were always special and festive around the Jasper square.  Not only was Jasper the county seat, it was the social and shopping center for the whole county.  People came to town on Saturday to buy, sell and trade and even if you didn’t have commercial business to do, everyone had social business to take care of.  Most of the county came out to socialize and catch up on news and make plans for the coming events.  Dewey and several of his friends were sitting and whittling on the court house lawn when the sheriff walked up.  “Hello boys, how you doin’?”  There was the usual round of muffled greetings.  Then Dewey looked up and said, “Oh Sheriff, thanks for the use of your car the other day.” “What do you mean?” came his response.  “Oh yeah, guess you didn’t exactly know I borrowed it, did you?”  “Dewey James, what in the world are you talking about?”  “When that storm came through last Tuesday, that’s what, I needed to go out and check on the farm.  I couldn’t find you.  So, I took your car and went out to check on things.  So, thanks Sheriff.”  “Dewey, you didn’t borrow my car!”  “Well, I sure did.  It was parked on the square, the key was in it and I took it!”  “Now, I did hear about the storm last Tuesday.  But as for my car and me, we were both in Fort Smith on Tuesday! So, you could not have borrowed my car with or without my permission.”  The boys around them were really enjoying the argument.  After a long pause and in typical Dewey James humor he finally said, “Well, in that case, Sheriff, has anyone reported a missing or stolen car this week?”  Till this day, no one has ever figured out who owned the car that Grandpa took and no one ever reported it missing.  We may not be related to the infamous Jessie James but Grandpa Dewey James was a car thief.  Well, sort of.

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

Being the Son of Bruce James

I Asked Tony to share these thoughts and quips with you. I would like to do it myself but I’m not sure I could get all the way through it.  Tony, I apologize ahead of time because as you will be able to see, I am not a writer.

I am the oldest of three sons.  I grew up having an identity crisis.  When I introduced myself to anyone as Tommy James, the response was always…”Oh, you’re Bruce’s boy.”  Most of my life I have been known as “Bruce’s boy.”

I guess, all little boys have heroes in their life and he was mine.  He was a tall strong guy.  As a little boy, I can remember him swimming with me on his back and my arms around his neck.  It seemed that his back and shoulders were enormous.  He could swim like I wasn’t even back there.

In Bruce’s house you always kind of knew what to expect.  When Sunday came, you didn’t have to wonder what you were going to do that day.  You were going to church that morning and that evening.  After church, we were going home and eat together as a family.  Occasionally, he would take us on special occasions out to eat after church to the Streamliner Café, but that was rare.

I never had to wonder how I was supposed to act.  He had a big belt and he knew how to use it but didn’t have to a lot.  By far, my greatest fear was the possibility of disappointing him.  He expected a lot out of you and you knew it.  Sitting in church, if my dad got up during the service and came back and sat down on the pew with me and my friends, I knew it was not going to be a good outcome.

He had a great love for all sports.  Living in Texas, in a junior college town that had basketball and football, there was some event going on several times a week that he would seldom miss and I usually went with him.  Every time we got in the car, he would search on the radio until he found  a ballgame that had so much static you could hardly even hear it.  If the Razorbacks were playing, the rest of the world stopped.  Many times he would take a transistor radio to his deer stand and listen to games while he hunted.  It was nothing for him to drive a hundred miles or more to see a high school game.

He taught me to honor my country by serving admirably in World War II.

He established a lifelong bond with many of the guys he served with and they remained friends throughout their lives.

He had a great appreciation for the outdoors and taught me to love it as well.  I remember the first Shakespeare rod and real and first Remington single shot 22 he gave me.  Hunting and fishing together all those years are cherished memories for me.

I know he displayed a great amount of tolerance or he certainly would have killed my younger brother, David.  One occasion, and there were many to choose from, my brother wrecked his 66 mustang that Dad had bought him.  He actually crashed into a freight train one night.  No, he wasn’t trying to beat the train to the crossing because he hit the 4^th railcar back.  That was a mystery to Dad too.  I won’t even go into  the weekend when Dad was gone out of town and David took Dad’s Halliburton Company car on a date to the local drive-in theater (like no one was going to see him).  Dad must have mellowed some later because Steve came along and he could get away with anything.

He always made sure we did some kind of family vacation when I was growing up.  You better be ready to ride when you got in the car because we weren’t stopping until the car was out of gas.  And, yes, we listened to staticy ballgames the whole trip.  If we stopped at a café, you pretty much knew you better not order anything more expensive than a burger.  I’ll never forget a statement he once made after we ate breakfast in a café and had just gotten back in the car.,,” That is ridiculous for a family of four to have to pay almost $4.00 to eat breakfast.”  He always made sure we had a good time and did things we wanted to do.  Besides those summer trips, there were those special times during the year when he would come home and announce we were going to Arkansas for the weekend.  We couldn’t wait for the weekend to get here,

My dad served his God, his Country, raised his children, provided for his family, worked hard for his employer and took an active role in the community,  I am sure he had flaws.  I’m just glad I never was able to see them.

I know, I speak for my brothers as well as myself when I say, I am proud of who he was.”

My Dad was everything I could want a father to be.  I can also say, “It is good to be Bruce’s Boy.”\

Tommy James

Thank you, Tommy, for sharing.  It could not have been any better.  While we miss Bruce every day, we see his legacy and enjoy his memory through you and his influence on everyone who had the privilege of knowing Bruce Lavern James.

Bruce L. James (July 13, 1920 - February 21, 2011)

Funeral services for Bruce L James are set for Saturday February 26, 2011 at 10 am at the Coffman Funeral Home Chapel in Jasper, Ark with the Pastor Vernon Fowler officiating. Burial will follow in Jasper Cemetery under the direction of Coffman Funeral Home. Bruce L. James, 90, was born July 13, 1920 in Newton County, Arkansas. He was the oldest boy of twelve children born to Dewey and Velma James. He married Ella Mae Hayes July, 1947 in Marshall, Texas. Bruce entered active service on August 29, 1942 and received training as a Medical Non Commissioned Officer. He was assigned to the 67th Evacuation Hospital, 3rd U. S. Army. His unit landed on Utah Beach, Normandy on June 17, 1944. The Hospital was set up throughout France and Germany before being setup at Malmedy, Belgium in support of the Battle of the Bulge. He was discharged from the service on November 25, 1945 at the rank of Staff Sergeant. Bruce started a career with Halliburton Services after returning from World War II. He was District Superintendent with Halliburton and worked in several cities in Texas. He retired after 27 years of service and he and Ella Mae moved to Marshall, Texas. During his time in Gainesville, he was active in the community, serving in his church, Rotary Club and as President of the Leopard Booster Club. He loved sports including Leopard football and was a staunch Arkansas Razorback fan. As an avid golfer, his regular group of Gainesville golfers was named the “Thundering Herd”. He enjoyed doing everything with family including hunting, fishing and get-togethers. He was a 32nd degree Mason and was a member of the local chapter of American Petroleum Institute. He is survived by his wife, Ella Mae of Gainesville, Texas; son, Tommy James and wife, Kay of Gainesville; son, David James and fiancé, Deborah Vaughan of Chandler, Texas and son, Steve James of Gainesville; grandchildren, Lori Prestage and husband, Randy of Gainesville; Lindsay Dodson and husband, Colby of Gainesville; Jason James and wife, Libby of Krum, Texas; Ashton James of Pilot Point, Texas and Nikki James of Tyler, Texas. Great Grandchildren include Landon Prestage, Kennedy Dodson, Jaxon James, Madison James, Hudson James, Aaron Swindle and Hunter Swindle; brothers, Lytle James ,Gerald James; Lex James and sisters, Hazel Peoples, Goldie Knotts , Sue Nell Morris and Jean Hudson . He was preceded in death by his parents, sister, Vala Butts and brothers Tom James, George James and Harold James.

Visitation will be at George J. Carroll and Son Funeral Home in Gainesville, TX on Wednesday from 6:30 to 8:00. You may sign the on-line registry at www.geojcarroll.com.

Visitation at Coffman Funeral Home in Jasper will be from 6 to 8 p.m. Friday, February 25, 2011.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Cooke County Home Hospice

Gun Safety According to Bruce Lavern

It is said that we do not inherit the earth from our parents; we actually borrow it from our children.  That is why it is important that each generation teach the next generation the values, traditions, and skills that they have learned.  That way, the next generation will be ready to manage the earth that we have been holding in trust for them.  The James family is rich in traditions passed from one generation to the next over the years.  One of my favorites is the tradition of hunting.  It is wonderful to see young children at deer camp running and playing.  Of course, the little ones are not out in the woods hunting, but they are part of “deer camp” and they start learning the camp culture early.  When they get a little older, they go on short ventures squirrel hunting with Dad and the other adults.  Eventually they are allowed to go with an adult to a deer stand and finally after many years they are allowed to venture out on their own. 

Deer hunting is an annual event like Christmas and, like Christmas; it does not come often enough or last long enough to satisfy those who love it.  Squirrel hunting, on the other hand, can be learned early and enjoyed for a much longer season.  Most of the younger boys hunted year round with a bean flip or sling shot as some call it.  They followed the squirrel dog through the timber all over the mountain until the dog chased a squirrel up a tree.  Then, the hunters surrounded the tree and flung rocks with their bean flips until they knocked the squirrel out of the tree.  Sometimes they got the squirrel and sometimes the squirrel got away. 

As the kids got bigger and the times got better, they got to use a .22 rifle.  Grandpa had a small single shot rifle.  It is so small that it resembles a toy.  But, when shells were available and the dog was doing his job, you could count on a mess of squirrels for dinner.  Many of the young boys were introduced to the mechanics of hunting by tagging along. When the dog treed, they would go with their father or uncle to where the dog was barking.  Often, the hunter would send the young boys around to the other side of the tree.  As the clumsy kids clattered around the tree, the squirrel would move to the opposite side of the tree providing a clear shot for the real hunter.  Occasionally, the adult would allow one of the kids to actually make the shot.  After that happened a few times, the boy knew it would not be much longer before he would be allowed to carry a gun into the woods.

Donnie and I loved to be in the woods.  If any adult even mentioned going hunting or fishing, we begged to go along.  Occasionally, we would hide the squirrel dog and tell one of the uncles that we would go find the “lost” dog if we could go with them hunting.  His dad, my dad, uncle, friend, whoever was going, we wanted to go, too.  Now, that was just part of the begging routine.  The other part was to ask if we could carry guns.  It was a ritual sort of like Charlie Brown and the football.  He tried to kick it every time and Lucy moved it every time.  We asked and begged to carry a gun every time and we were told no every time.  Every time, that is, until one day Bruce Laverne and David were home for a visit and Bruce decided to go squirrel hunting.  He may have decided to go squirrel hunting because we had asked him to take us about a hundred times since daylight.  But, he decided to go anyway.

We ran to the back bedroom and got down the rifles and shells.  Yes, rifles with an “S”.  By this time, Gerald and Lytle both had several guns on their bedroom wall and we younger boys knew all about each one.   We got one for each of us and went back out to the front porch.  “Wait a minute.  What are you doing with all those guns?” Bruce asked.  “Well, if we are all going hunting, we all need guns,” came our reply.  To our amazement, he did not tell us to get those guns back in the house.  Instead, he told us to gather ‘round because we needed to understand some things before we went to the woods.  In those days, late 1950s or early 1960s, there were no hunter safety classes.  There was only what the older generation taught the younger generation.  Bruce told us about how to carry and handle the guns.  He also told us there would be no loaded guns.  We were to carry the guns empty and when we arrived at the spot where Bob (the squirrel dog) treed, then and only then would we load the guns.  After a few more minutes of instruction, we turned loose Bob and he headed over the hill toward Brasel Creek with all of us following behind.

As we wandered the hills, once in a while one of the boys would catch the eye of another and pointing to his rifle mouth the words “we have guns.”  The squirrels evidently had heard that the new hunters were on the prowl and that they had GUNS not just bean flips because they were few and far between.   As usual, competition and rivalry got us in trouble.  We were thinking ahead to how fast we could shoot when and if we ever found a squirrel because one by one we each slipped a cartridge into our rifle preparing for the big event.  The big event turned out a little different from what we had imagined.

Bruce came to a large downed log and sat down.  “Boys, gather ‘round here, I need to talk to you.”  We sat on the log beside him and waited for our next instructions.  “Remember, I told you safety is the number one rule when you have a gun in the woods.  One of the rules I told you for today was not to load your gun until we got to where Bob was treed.  Now, open those bolts and let me see those empty chambers.”  Oh my goodness.  One by one, we each slowly pulled back the bolt of our rifle to reveal a cartridge in the chamber.  Game over!  “You all are not ready to go hunting with me.  Give me all your shells.” 

Bruce did not get angry.  He did not yell and tell us how bad we were.  We already knew.  After he gathered up all the ammo, he simply said, “Let’s go to the house.”  With that, he stood up and began walking up that long hill back to the house with three heartbroken little boys following him.  David, Donnie and Tony had blown an early opportunity to show maturity.  However the lesson of that early failed hunt would last a lifetime.  I do not remember that hill ever being tougher to climb than it was that day.  

Insult was added to injury when we got back to the house.  We laid the one or two squirrels that we had killed on the step and went in the house for a minute.  When we came back out our bounty was gone!  A quick survey of the area revealed dogs out in the pasture pulling and fighting over a squirrel carcus.  Not only had we go busted by Bruce on our first real squirrel hunt, we did not even get to keep the squirrels.  I guess, Bob and that other stupid hound had a much better day than we did.  I never had an opportunity to hunt with Bruce again.  But, I never take gun safety for granted and I never check the chamber on any gun without thinking of Uncle Bruce. 

Years later, I think about Bruce’s decision to immediately end the hunt and go home.  I bet he learned that from his Dad at the card table.  Remember, if there was any cheating at the table, everyone went home.  Thank you, Uncle Bruce, for teaching us that lesson.

And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

Tony Needs Spell Check

Before there was spell check there were mothers and grandmas. Tony’s forte is not and never has been spelling.  He and Donnie both struggled with penmanship to say the least, but spelling, Tony was the worst hands down.  It was that way from the beginning. In first grade I had one of my first spelling tests.  Grandma was in Kansas City for a visit and being a school teacher she was always eager to tutor her grandchildren.  She asked to see my test and I reluctantly handed it over.  She began to scan down the page. I could tell she was disappointed.  At one point she could no longer contain her displeasure, “Why? Tony, you missed Hen!”  I was nearly in tears and responded, “No, grandma, I only missed nine.”  Grandma enjoyed telling that story for many years afterwards.


And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples

If it were not for a keyboard and spell check, I can promise there would not be any “Heard it on the Mountain” from me.  I thank God for spell check and I thank God for my Grandma who assured me after that disastrous spelling test, “Just because you can’t do it now, that doesn’t mean you can never, do it.  Don’t give up.”

Sue Nell Fell in the Well…

We take water for granted.  Just walk over to the faucet, turn the handle and get a drink, Right?  In the beginning, on our mountain farm there was no faucet. In fact, there was no running water in the house at all.  The water was carried from a spring located about three hundred yards down the hill.  Walk across the road past the mailbox, follow that fence down the hill a couple of hundred yards, and you will find a spring.  They carried water to the house from that spring several times a day.  The spring was not only the family’s water source, it was the closest thing they had to refrigeration.  So, milk and butter had to be carried to and from the spring as well.  Can you imagine the stories and adventures that took place on those treks up and down that hill?

There were two other sources of water available.  They were Moss Spring and an old well in the field below the road.  Moss is the family name of the people who originally owned the farm.  There is a spring behind Gerald and Betty’s house that carries the name Moss Spring.  If you walk through the field below the road, you may still find a certain rock pile.  That rock pile is a result of filling in an old well that used to be there.  That well was used for years to water livestock and to supply an annual cane sorghum grinding operation that will be written about later.  These other two sources, however, were not always reliable or as good as the one they used.  That one was so good, in fact, that Gerald and Betty used it for their water source until 1983 when Mockingbird Hill Water Association water was brought to both homes.  It would probably still be a good water source today, but it is still a long, long way from the house.  That is probably why just a few years after moving in, Grandpa and Grandma decided to dig a well closer to the house.

Now, just how could one decide where to start digging and if there might even be water down there?  The science of the 30s was a little different than now. An old man by the name of Jim Carter, a water witch, came out to the house with a Willow tree branch that was called a divining rod.  It looked a little like a large wishbone from a turkey.  With one side of the fork in each hand and the tip pointed skyward, through channeled energy, spiritual guidance, or some other mystery, he was led throughout the yard and grounds. Finally, with a downward thrust, the empowered rod dove into the turf.  “There you go, that’s where the water is!”  Based on that divine insight, that is where the well is today, just on the south side of the house.

The well was dug by hand.  They would dig down with pick and shovels and then lay stone and concrete to keep the earth walls from caving in. The James boys, mostly Bruce, did the digging and Glen Brasel probably helped laying the stone.  It took several days to complete a job like this.  Any new construction project brought curious children to watch and worried mothers to watch out for them.  Sue Nell was one of the children watching and Grandma was watching her.  There is no telling how many times someone told her, “Sue Nell, stay back, you will fall in the well.”  She should have been told a few more times I guess.  One day when the crew quit for lunch, they threw a couple of sheets of roofing tin over the hole and went in the house to eat.  We know that curiosity killed the cat.  Sue thought curiosity had killed her.  Sure enough, Sue Nell fell in the well and I expect her screams could be heard clear over to Scenic Point.  Everyone rushed out and Bruce Laverne reached down and pulled his baby sister out of the well.  Fortunately for Sue, it was only around six foot deep at the time.

Sue says that she was so young that she actually does not remember the incident.  The teasing, on the other hand, has gone on for over seventy years.  Grandpa had a nickname for everyone and “Sue Nell fell in the well” was here to stay.  Others added to it making, “Sue Nell fell in the well, thought for sure she’d gone to hell.”  You thought your little nickname was tough?  How would you like that one?  Today, Sue is real quick to add, “but she didn’t go to hell because she met Jesus.”

Sometime later, one of the neighbors was digging a well.  He wanted Sue to come over and fall in to his well.  He said that the one here was the best he had ever seen and he wanted his to be just like it, complete with Sue Nell falling in the well for good luck.

The well has been spectacular.  It was the only water source until 1983 when rural water came to the house.  There is so much more to be written about this well and water on the mountain, and we will share more stories another time.  What can you remember about the well?
And that's the way I heard it on the mountain,
Tony Peoples