I was named Helen Rose by my mother -- later the name Helen was changed to Helene. I was born in south Taylor County, Texas October 4, 1909 -- the last child of Henry Barton Cook and Sallie Gustavia Wells Cole Cook.
My parents were married October 8, 1899 in the Southside Baptist Church of Abilene, Texas. In 1902, with their one-year-old daughter, Catherine Constance, they moved to their ranch in south Taylor County. My sister, Constance, called Ky by her little brother, Paul, has been stuck with that nickname ever since, although our mother always called her Constance as did her girlhood friends. My father's name for me was Blazes. My brothers, Paul and Bond, and my sister, Ruth, were known by their proper names. Papa, all his life, carried the name Rough -- sometimes spelled Ruff or Ruf. At one time his cattle brand was RUF -- later it was changed to the letter Z.
I have been told that my grandfather, John Henry Cook, gave him the pet name because he was a little boy full of much energy -- "a real boy" as the expression goes, and at that time many people in the South were taken with General Zachery Taylor who was being called "Old Rough-and-Ready". I have a feeling that grandfather called Papa "Little Rough-and-Ready", and the family took it up and there was always someone to carry it on. In his latter years he was more generally known as H. B. Cook. General Taylor was a Virginian, who after years of Indian fighting and routine frontier duty, took command of the Army in Texas in 1845 and defeated Santa Anna in an uprising at Buena Vista, Mexico in February, 1847. He became the twelfth president of the United States in 1849. He died after only one year and four months in office.
Papa owned a home in Abilene at the time of his marriage to Mama. He had married at an early age, raised a large family, and had been a widower for a number of years. He was much older than my mother. Mama first married Mr. Tom M. Cole who had three young sons -- a few years later he died with tuberculosis. These children of various ages from both families -- most of them adults by now -- visited the ranch but never lived there on a permanent basis. So actually, this life of ours in the country was, for me, of one family only. Though the other members are a part of our early experiences and are, of course, part of our family history. There was respect always and good will all around.
I'm not certain how long it was from the purchase of the ranch to the moving in of my parents. Papa bought two and one half sections of land; and Mama, as an investment, bought one half section adjoining his acreage. The two oldest boys in the family, Jack Cook and Dee Cole, lived in a partially completed house and took care of the livestock until things could be made ready for a permanent move.
The major part of this property was prarieland -- grass pastures suitable for grazing. The trees were larger then, and there were not all the mesquite thickets that one sees today. Some land had been cleared and the ground broken for cultivation. Over a period of time Papa converted more acres into fields. Cotton, wheat, oats, corn, and maize were, I believe, the main craps at that time. Thousands of farmers came to Texas after the Civil War; and by 1900 the ranchmen, though first to make use of this area, had to retreat steadily before advancing farmers and give place to fields of cotton (and also wheat where the climate was suitable). The period of open grass and free range was no more. Barbed wire enclosed the ranches.
We lived in a rambling, seven-room house on the east side of the ranch. It was painted white with a red roof -- had two porches and two fireplaces. The yard was fenced in with a heavy type wire, sort of woven, which was strong enough to swing on as one would swing on a gate. The term ranch came by way of Mexico. In earlier days a settler was allowed free grazing rights on public lands for his cattle and ponies. When he acquired his own land, that property became his ranch. Later, sheep ranches sprang up in parts of the state causing friction between the sheep owners and the cattlemen. Our house was located on a slight hill by the side of the road -- a road beginning from a small mountain range to the south of us and extending many miles north. This road led to the Santa Fe railroad and eventually, with winding turns, reached Abilene, the county seat of Taylor County -- about thirty miles away.
When my thoughts turn backward to my earliest age I see that certain happenings, though incomplete to my then tender mind, caused strong impressions to form, and they have been lodged in memory ever since -- only fleeting moments from the whole life experience, yet they are tiny pieces of the picture I am attempting to put together in jigsaw puzzle fashion.
I must have been three or four years old. I am standing by my mother as she plays the piano in church. Solemn and unselfconscious I look directly into smiling faces of ladies. The flowers on their hats are pretty, but nothing moves me to smile -- being with my mother makes me complete.
Again at four or five, with my mother, I am entering a neighbor's house where a woman has died. I smell a strong scent of camphor and see a woman without color in her face "laid out". I turn, run out the door, and race down the hill toward home as fast as I can go.
A wisp of memory has me in a pretty, white dress standing in the yard waiting for Mama to come out of the house, take my hand, and get into the surrey. I pick a small tomato from a stray bush and take a bite, and there is a splash of red on the front of my dress.
I'm hearing unfamiliar sounds, seeing unfamiliar motions of people and things, and smelling unfamiliar smells, all coming to me in the buggy with Papa. We're riding down Main Street in Lawn.
Walking barefoot in loose, soft, black earth where Mama and her children drop beans in little open hills, pull soil about young plants, and from a bucket pour water over each little mound.
In the dark of night I'm standing quietly by a familiar bed waiting to be tucked in between a mother and a father.
Papa, with leading men in the area, helped develop the new townsite called Lawn -- five miles north of our place. The land for the town had been a part of the Will Stith ranch. A grassy spot with large trees was selected -- thus the name Lawn. Ky remembers the selling of town lots and says the postmaster's wife was the winner of a lot given free through a public drawing. A home was built and for a time one room was given over for use as the Lawn post office.
A cotton gin and a blacksmith shop were among the first buildings put up. Early on the Santa Fe Railroad had a lake made to supply water for the train and town. And before the railroad came through in 1909, a standpipe was built -- the depot came later. The train took on water from the dull gray reservoir. The name was well chosen for that is just what it looked like -- an enormous pipe set upright on the ground. To me it made a forbidding picture -- just thinking of all that water contained in this large, round, tall, dark tower with steps fastened to the side gave me a creepy feeling. There is a story, and I suppose it is true, that one night a man, who was a stranger to the town, climbed the ladder to the top, jumped in, and was drowned. Years later the standpipe was moved away. The Santa Fe Railroad Company continues to send the trains through, but freight only is carried, and the old caboose is being discarded after 75 years of service. Computers now signal malfunctions to the engineer; and the crew operates on the system the airlines use, so a bunk house car is no longer needed.
I made two trips on the Santa Fe passenger train during my lifetime in Taylor County. While in grade school a friend and I went on a special excursion for the day to Brownwood. In 1925 Ruth and I, aged 15 and 17, told Mama and Papa good-bye and boarded the train for Belton, Texas to attend Baylor College Academy. Last week I rode Amtrak from Miami to Winter Haven, Florida wondering, as we sped along in comfort and looking out at the countryside, if the major passenger lines in our country would soon be joining the caboose in retirement.
Papa had always taken a prominent part in the political and civic matters of Abilene and Taylor County. He held many places of prominence. Beginning with the election of Governor Hogg, he had been a delegate to almost all State Conventions and had attended most. He was very active as a Knight-Templar Mason and had served as Worshipful Master of both Waco and Abilene lodges. He organized most of the masonic lodges in Taylor County and many in Runnels County. The position of Worthy Patron in the Eastern Star claimed his time also. He was very active in the campaign for the location of the Texas Technological College and made the nomination speech for Buffalo Gap. He was on the board of directors of the Abilene State Hospital when it was first established; and, as first alderman of the town, he put over the deal for acquisition of the old fire station at First and Cedar Streets, which is said to have been dedicated to him. He served one term as Sheriff of Taylor County -- the county whose people he cared about and served in so many ways for over thirty-five years.
Papa continued many of these activities from the ranch during my childhood. He led a very busy life with a lot of traveling involved. Although later, when I grew up and looked back, I realized he was, at that early time, well past the middle years. He looked younger than his age and seemed to be in robust health. A memory looms out of the long ago, and I'm seeing him sitting erect on his horse riding in home from the pastures. Often my brothers and neighbor boys rode with him. Ruth and I had our special safe horses, but the boys, with friends, liked to ride broncs in the horse lot. Kids sat on the high-plank fence to watch -- just like we see it done in the cowboy movies.
My mother worked tirelessly, looking out for everyone. From time to time a young woman would be brought in to live with us and help with the care of the children. Mama had also been involved in activities in Abilene. She taught school for a while and gave piano lessons in her home. Church work and the Eastern Star, where she served as Worthy Matron, took part of her time. She had a year in Baylor University before her marriage. It must have been hard for her to leave her friends and go to the country. She never complained -- just took up her work in the Dewey Baptist Church and the public school. (Our community was called Dewey -- named after Admiral Geo. Dewey of the Spanish-American War.)
The two-room school house was two miles from our home. Sunday school classes were held there each Sunday and church services twice a month when a Baptist preacher came by horse and buggy from Abilene to give the sermon. He came a day early and returned on Monday -- usually staying at our house. Brother Dillard served the Church for many years and was beloved by the community. Unfortunately, on one of his trips his horse ran away, overturning the buggy and injuring him, causing the loss of a leg. He used crutches afterward and continued his ministry for a long time.
Mr. Asa McMillan, Sr., a Primative Baptist preacher, and Mr. Bigham, a Nazarene preacher, held services in the building the other Sundays in the month. They were respected family men living in the community and performed many duties for the membership. My mother told us there was once a mix-up of the dates, and a little friendly argument ensued.
Mama played the old-type organ for the singing of hymns and often led the singing. She taught a Sunday school class just about all of her adult life, led prayer meetings, prayed in church services when called on, organized missionary societies, and took visiting evangelists (and sometimes their wives and children) home to Sunday dinner. It was not unusual for these guests to spend a week in our home. She held a Sunday school class Sunday afternoons for boys whose families did not attend church. (These families, as a rule, moved from place to place.) After Sunday school, the boys played baseball. Mama said that was how she got them to come regularly. Years later, on more than one occasion, she was warmly thanked for her efforts on behalf of these boys. One man, back on a visit, went to see her to express his appreciation and to tell her the only Bible lessons he had in his boyhood were in her Sunday afternoon classes.
At home, Mama made our clothes, grew flowers in the yard, and raised a garden when a draught did not dry everything up. She read to us when we were little, taught me the first grade at home, and helped neighbors in times of sickness or troubles. These are just some of the things she did.
Papa made regular trips to Abilene to transact business and buy supplies. Ky, then a little girl, sometimes went along. Once they had gone as far as Buffalo Gap before noticing the sky in the north was beginning to look very blue. Papa, explaining that a "blue norther" was coming their way, took a black handkerchief from his coat pocket, put it over Ky's brown sailor hat, and tied it securely under her chin. They had, I'm sure, a lap robe in the buggy. On these trips they stayed overnight with Papa's oldest daughter, Mrs. Jenny Harris, and family.
The Cook ranch extends into Runnels County, making it necessary to travel to Ballinger, the county seat, to pay property taxes. This town is forty miles to the south and evidently was on a mail route out of Abilene because our mail went there and then by horseback or horse and buggy to Content, a settlement at the foot of the small mountain range that I mentioned earlier. In my time, the Bright family managed a combined general store and post office -- the only public building there.
An incident happened at the ranch, during this particular period, that I like to tell. At the end of a long, summer day a tired and dusty traveler rode in leading a string of horses. He asked to spend the night. My parents took him in, gave him a meal, and fed and watered his horses. Just before daylight a knock at the door awakened the family who saw the Sheriff from Ballinger and his posse surrounding the house. The visitor inside was a horse thief. The story goes that the man went to every window in the house and, on seeing a member of the posse stationed there, gave himself up. The Sheriff and his men had been tracking the fellow all night. Mama made coffee and breakfast for them. I don't know what happened to the horse thief, but I'm sure he was not hung for his crime.
Six small houses built for renters were scattered across the Cook ranch. A family or a young couple starting out would move in and raise a crop. Equipment, seed, livestock, feed, and even groceries were supplied by the landowner. The profit, at the end of the season, was divided into halves. This was called "renting on the halves". Another way it worked was on the "third and fourths". The renter took care of his needs, more or less, and kept three fourths of what he produced. Bartis Knight, a lifetime resident in the community, was barn in one of these houses. His own farm, where he lives today, is a part of the original Cook ranch. His parents, Sam and Lilly Knight, from pioneer families in the area, moved on the land right after marriage and later bought a part of the property, built a home, and raised children. Our families have been friends through the years.
I see, in memory, the Brown family living in the rent house nearest us. Many afternoons were spent playing with May and Minnie, the youngest girls. Ky married early and lived in one of the houses. Her babies came along, and what a joy it was to have sweet, little ones in the family. Opal and Addie were cute as could be and were carried around by Ruth and me and by our friends, Ruby and Lee Watson. The special doll for us at that time was the made-in-Japan, tiny, celluloid baby doll with arms and legs attached by the use of elastic; it could be put in a sitting position. We owned several and so did Ruby and Lee. Woe was me! or one of the other girls, if the babies found our dolls and we were too late! The doll's head had gone into the mouth and come out squashed. I remember so clearly many pleasant days playing with the babies.
The Watson boys, Carroll and Odis, were friends of Paul and Bond. The family lived a short distance north of us on their own place. The youth of these two families shared many experiences, and there was much fun and laughter -- no cases of depression, no fear of what the future might hold. This is not to say there were never hard times, but no young person we knew ever seemed overwhelmed by that.
Mr. Will Henderson was our rural mail carrier. After the Santa Fe train came through, Lawn acquired a post office, a postmaster, and soon afterwards, a rural mail carrier. It was a great day for all of us living in the country. Large, metal mailboxes were put on posts for each household and placed at the side of the road, as near as possible to the house. Everybody liked Mr. Henderson, and some of the children thought their packages were gifts from him. They were always eager to wait for him at the mailbox. Many items, large and small, were ordered from catalogs and delivered by the mail carrier. We looked forward to "the order" coming in. Papa enjoyed his daily newspaper, and the funny paper, arriving on Monday or later, was a big deal.
A two-wheeled cart pulled by one horse was the transportation first used; then came a mail vehicle designed especially for mail delivery in rural areas. This sort of coach-like affair is seen today in museums. Mr. Henderson was known to give help to those in need on his route by delivering items from town, even groceries on occasion. When roads improved, the automobile took over, and Mr. Henderson continued his job for over thirty years. He and Mrs. Henderson were prominent citizens of Lawn, raised a family, and took a leading part in the Baptist Church.
One day Paul drove up to the front gate in a snappy, little rig pulled by a brown Shetland pony -- a gift from Papa. yellow wheels. The seat was comfortable with proper room for legs and feet, and two could ride standing behind the seat holding to the back for support. There was no top. This was our transportation to school. Mama sometimes drove with Ruth and me, and she took us to school on my first day. I sat at a double desk with a pretty, little girl named Ruby. She wore a new dress and her blond hair was in a pigtail braid -- she was crying. I saw Mama and the little buggy disappearing down the road and I wanted to cry, but I remembered that Ruth was in the other room. In all my years in school she was never far away.
We chose at times to ride Dot to school -- usually bareback because it was trouble to saddle up, take the saddle off when we reached the school ground, and do it over again when time to go home. The school boys were very nice to do this for us, especially when school was out in the afternoon.
If a rabbit jumped out of the roadside brush or a scrap of paper fluttered across the road, our sensitive, little pony jumped sideways spilling us on the rough, hard road. We had many a fall but no injuries. After having been tied to a tree all day on the school ground, Dot was as eager as we were to get home. We got there on the double unless we had the misfortune to fall off. It was not so bad to fall if the breath was not knocked out of us. That occasionally happened when we tumbled off of a larger horse.
We became older and transferred to the school in Lawn, going by car, with Papa doing the driving. A few years passed, we went to Baylor College Academy, we became interested in things away from home, and we sort of lost touch with our little horse. Dot grew old and was in the pasture most of the time with other horses. The family discovered we had an odd couple. An old, tall, black horse named Plenty was a retired loner. Dot and Plenty became friends. Thereafter the two were always seen together, roaming the pasture at a distance from the other horses. I believe they must have enjoyed their retirement years. When Dot died, our brothers buried him in the little pasture -- the only pasture he knew.
My father's activities took him away from home much of the time, and not wanting to leave Mama and the children alone, he, at all times, kept two hired men on the place. Neighbors were so distant that from our front porch at night not a single light from a house could be seen.
Before long, houses were built and families moved in. The Montgomery place was just across the road and down the hill aways. Uncle John and Aunt Fanny lived there. When quite small -- not old enough to go to school -- I was allowed to walk alone to go to visit them.
I set out in a starched and ironed cotton dress that was called an apron. It was made to button down the back, had one pocket and a Peter Pan collar, and was usually made from tiny-checked blue or pink material. This popular style was comfortable, easy to make and launder -- ideal for children's everyday wear. Barefooted and hair in a thick braid swinging down my back, I took the path to the mailbox, crawled under the barbed wire fences lining the road (I couldn't open the heavy gates), and walked or skipped down the hill through the pasture. Old Dobbin, Mr. Montgomery's saddle horse, was sometimes grazing near the road, jack rabbits were leaping across the hillside, and little turtles were about, inching through the grass or laboring over clods in the road; so I did not really feel alone.
I was at ease with the Montgomery's, feeling that it was alright to be there. I just sat for a while, not saying much. They smiled and never asked many questions. Not long afterward, they built a nice house in Lawn and moved. Another Montgomery, Uncle Billy, and his wife, Aunt Hannah, settled in. In their parlor, where shades were always drawn, stood an organ and an Edison phonograph. On the walls were darkish, enlarged photographs of people who looked old; the other things in the room are of undefined shapes and colors in my memory. Aunt Hannah would wind up the phonograph and start the music -- the sound was recorded in grooves around a cylinder. "Red Wing" and "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon" were played most often and became my favorites. To this day nostalgia takes over when I hear these songs.
Recently I was at a garden club meeting at a friend's home. The guest speeker was a garden expert on exotic trees, shrubs, and plants. When his talk was over, he took a harmonica from his pocket and played a few pieces. The last number was an old favorite of his, "Red Wing"; I became teary- eyed.
Mama ordered a Silvertone, cabinet-type phonograph with a good selection of records from Sears and Roebuck. We were so excited when it came that we took it from the crate on the front porch and played all the records before moving it in the house. Among the records were: "The Star Spangled Banner", the hymns "Rock of Ages" and "I Need Thee Every Hour", "The Missouri Waltz", and a couple o Uncle dash records -- a comedian telling funny stories.
Mr. John Montgomery and Aunt Fanny were good friends of my parents; after Papa got an automobile, he regularly invited Uncle John to ride with him to the voting place in Lawn. Women were not permitted to vote and neither were men unless they had paid a poll tax. Redbank Creek had to be crossed -- the narrow, wooden bridge looked a bit unsturdy; and also, the dirt road led down a short, curving slope directly onto the bridge. Mr. Montgomery miffed Papa by opening the car door enough for one foot to dangle outside as they passed over the bridge. But what bothered Papa most was that Mr. Montgomery almost always voted the Republican ticket -- that was hard to swallow for a very political man who was a Democrat. Ruth, around the age of seven, had feelings similar to Uncle John's abou crossing the bridge in the car; as we approached the bridge she would get on the floor and, when on the other side, jump up and say, -Amen!"
Papa bought the Maxwell touring car in 1915. I was six years old. Before the purchase he built a garage and had a tank with a hundred gallons of gasoline stored by the side of the building. There were many funny happenings with that first car; my brothers must have known a lot about that. Once Papa was trying to start the car, and while working on the motor a fire blazed up. Bond came running with a bucket of water and dashed it on without consulting Papa. With a stern face and a few strong words my father showed his displeasure; but he turned once more to try to start the dern thing -- and behold! -- it started!
Another time Papa, the mechanic, tinkering with the motor, left a few parts lying on the ground. Blackie, the pet crow, snapped up a part in his beak and flew away. Poor Bond, running and looking up to see where Blackie was going, ran across the opening to the cellar and fell inside. Luckily he was not hurt, and, lucky too, Blackie had a special place under a mesquite bush to store his bright treasures -- we once found one of our good spoons there.
When a small item came up missing, we went to Blackie's hideaway to look over his collection of keepsakes. He had a fondness for brigh objects and anything with the look of silver or brass. Today, in my mind's eye, I see small pieces of light blue glass in a sort of pile under the mesquite bush just a short distance from the house. The family enjoyed this funny bird as he seemed to like being near us when we were outdoors. He sat on the roof a lot and would fly off for a while with a flock of crows. Bond kept a red ribbon tied around Blackie's neck so no one would shoot him, but once he failed to return. We never knew what happened.
Ky and Paul were out of their childhood years before I was old enough to remember much, or even remember hearing much, about their young playmates and activities. I was, however, always aware of a large, gold-framed picture on the wall at the ranch -- a delicatel tinted photograph of two beautiful children. Ky has the picture in her home today. The two were always very close. Jenny Cook Harris had children the ages of Ky, Paul, and Bond. In the summer, when they came for a visit, all the kids hurried to go swimming in the tank at the bottom of the hill near the windmill. There was ample shade from large mesquite trees -- a makeshift tent for changing swimming clothes was put up around the branches of a tree. They roamed over the little pasture, played on the straw stack, rode the gentle horses, and probably climbed the windmill. Ky recalls these carefree days as special times of complete freedom in a twenty acr playground.
My parents, on occasion, when in Abilene, left the children with Jenny on Peach Street while they shopped or attended to business matters. On one such visit, Bond, a little tot, unnoticed by the older children playing in the yard, followed a passing couple and walked quite a distance. The couple brought him back saying that he looked so much like H. B. Cook, Jr., our half brother, that he must surely belong at the Harris home.
Walking to Tate's Dry Goods Store was an adventure for Ky and Paul. Mr. Tate, a Jewish friend of Papa, stocked durable merchandise suitable for ranch wear. Papa bought for hired hands as well as for the family. The shoes were those sturdy, long-wearing, heavy, leather ones that usually had to be broken in before becoming comfortable. (Mama ordered a lot of our clothes from mail order catalogs.)
I don't know when the Harris family left Abilene, but the children were together less and less as the years passed, and after our father died we lost touch. Once, after Paul retired and was in El Paso visiting his son, he was able to locate Edward Harris. They got together and reminisced about the days of their youth, met each other's families, and had a great time. Paul was given a handsome painting of our father -- today a treasured possession of Paul Jr. Edward died of a heart attack not long after this meeting.
Aunt Addie was the one relative we were with all those years of growing up and into adulthood. When Mama was eight years old, the Wells family began a trek from Arkansas to Waxahachie, Texas, traveling by covered wagon with several other families. Aunt Addie was six weeks old. A number of years went by before moving to Abilene and later to Young County. There were four boys: Mort, Dick, Hawes, and Bob; there were also two sisters and two half sisters. In 1853, in Clark County, Arkansas, the father, Geo. W. Wells, had been ordained to preach. He organized many Baptist churches in West Texas. Mama went with him to play the small organ that he carried with him in the back of the buggy. Mama, many years later, was an honored guest at the fiftieth anniversary of one of these churches.
In the summer Aunt Addie often visited at the ranch for a time. Earlier she had attended the new Simmons College -- now Hardin- Simmons University. She was a slender, pretty, young woman. I loved the late afternoon walks down a tree-lined lane with her and Ruth. I also liked brushing and arranging her hair. After her marriage to Mr. Sid Ross of nearby Ovalo, we visited regularly and talked by telephone. It meant a lot to Mama to have one of her family living so close to us. Uncle Sid bought a Franklin automobile, a car without a radiator and the first of its kind in the vicinity. He was well known in south Taylor as owner and manager of two cotton gins. Cotton was king. He enjoyed a prosperous business and the couple was highly respected in their community.
The house stands out most clearly when I'm writing about Aunt Betty Gorham. Grandfather Wells had two daughters, Elizabeth and Alice, by a previous marriage.
Aunt Betty lived on Sycamore Street in Abilene with Uncle Arthur and their daughter, Anna Mae. I later learned there had been a son and one or two other children who had died. I liked the house the minute we drove up in the Maxwell and tumbled out and onto the porch where Aunt Betty and Uncle Arthur were waiting. There were fig trees and flowers, lots of flowers; a rose garden; vines; and a swing and hanging plants on the low porch of this old, cottage-like house. It had a sort of storybook look. Inside was pleasantly comfortable with pretty curtains at the windows and, I believe, there were more plants. I was very young, and it was so long ago that my description may be part imagination -- perhaps more of a feeling for this house than an exact picture.
Continue with Helene's Autobiography ...
Family Tree or 
Home Page