Helene Rose Cook Tyree
Autobiography, Part I of III (section 2 of 3)

My uncles and aunts in Young County were lovingly spoken of by Mama and Aunt Addie. "The boys", was the way they spoke of their brothers. I thought that was a funny way to speak of men who had children who were as old as I was.

From my store of earliest memories come dim memories of a train ride with family about me; a railway station; and a strange house with someone leading me to an open door to see a frail, gentle grandmother in bed leaning against pillows -- the only grandparentI was ever to see. I was five years old.

When I was older, we made the trip back to the same house to visit Mama's brother and sister. This time we went in the Maxwell. Bond had put air holes in a heavy, cardboard box and had secured it to the running board as a place for Blackie to ride. Blackie fared fine and never squawked once. We stopped in the shade of trees on the banks of the Brazos River to rest a bit. All got out to stretch, Bond opened the box to see his pet, and out flew Blackie off into the trees! After quite a wait, Papa began getting anxious to leave. Bond began getting more and more frantic. Then we heard a flap of wings, and here was Blackie sailing in with a perfect landing -- looking perky as if ready to be on the way. He had his freedom in the trees near the house while we visited. Again in the box for the trip back, we believed that he, like us, was glad to b home.

Mama had a close and loving family. After everyone owned an automobile, they were able to have reunions and to visit more often. Ky lives in the Young County area now and sees those cousins who still live there. Aunt Faye Wells is the only member left of the older family.

Our grandparents were never in our home, nor we in theirs, for their lives ended before we came along, with the exception of Mama's mother, Georgiana Wells. The only relatives of Papa that we knew well, other than his children by a previous marriage, were the middle-aged cousins and their families: Alfred Cook, Florence Cook Gentry, and Berry Williams. During our days in Baylor College Academy, Ruth and I visited in the Gentry home and became lifelong friends of our cousins, Rayma and Vera (girls of our age). Cousin Alfred, with his family, came to the ranch quite often; and there are memories of his son, Austin, joining in our activities at the ranch. Austin's wife, Vermelle, is with us in special times of travel and visits. There is a feeling of kinship and friendship. Cousin Berry Williams once brought his family out west to our place for a time. We keep in touch -- Ruth more than I because I am special feeling of family.

The events of the Dewey Baptist Church, with its move to Lawn, have been recorded and are a part of the Lawn Baptist Church history.

The Dewey School was moved a short distance to the west -- in a sense this ended the Dewey community as we had known it. Before closing the chapter on this school of my time, I want to recount a special happening that took place there. A super play was presented by the older students. A stage was built on the side of the school house and, after much preparation, the performance took place. Benches had been placed on the ground out front for parents and friends. I don't recall the part Paul played -- perhaps he was the cowboy. The play was "The Arizona Cowboy". Bond was a big hit in his role as a Chinaman. Mama made a super wig from a black, cotton, lisle stocking. The top part fit over his head, and the long leg was cut into strips and plaited for a pigtail. Estes Hefley was a beautiful Indian princess dressed in a colorful costume with a red band over her dark hair. They were all good, we thought, in their parts; and the performance, to me, seemed flawless. I have never forgotten the pleasure and excitement of that play. it was talked about in the school community for a long time.

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.

Aunt Betty was soft-spoken, plump, sweet, and grandmotherly; Uncle Arthur -- a cheerful, friendly man -- was slender and rather short They made us feel very welcome; everyone was smiling and giving hugs. Papa was charming. He was fond of them and had once given Anna Mae a residential lot in the new town of Lawn. She kept it for many years, but never built a home on it. We continued to see her and her family after the parents were gone. This is all I remember of Aunt Betty Gorham. She died when I was still a small child.

My uncles and aunts in Young County were lovingly spoken of by Mama and Aunt Addie. "The boys", was the way they spoke of their brothers. I thought that was a funny way to speak of men who had children who were as old as I was.

From my store of earliest memories come dim memories of a train ride with family about me; a railway station; and a strange house with someone leading me to an open door to see a frail, gentle grandmother in bed leaning against pillows -- the only grandparentI was ever to see. I was five years old.

When I was older, we made the trip back to the same house to visit Mama's brother and sister. This time we went in the Maxwell. Bond had put air holes in a heavy, cardboard box and had secured it to the running board as a place for Blackie to ride. Blackie fared fine and never squawked once. We stopped in the shade of trees on the banks of the Brazos River to rest a bit. All got out to stretch, Bond opened the box to see his pet, and out flew Blackie off into the trees! After quite a wait, Papa began getting anxious to leave. Bond began getting more and more frantic. Then we heard a flap of wings, and here was Blackie sailing in with a perfect landing -- looking perky as if ready to be on the way. He had his freedom in the trees near the house while we visited. Again in the box for the trip back, we believed that he, like us, was glad to b home.

Mama had a close and loving family. After everyone owned an automobile, they were able to have reunions and to visit more often. Ky lives in the Young County area now and sees those cousins who still live there. Aunt Faye Wells is the only member left of the older family.

Our grandparents were never in our home, nor we in theirs, for their lives ended before we came along, with the exception of Mama's mother, Georgiana Wells. The only relatives of Papa that we knew well, other than his children by a previous marriage, were the middle-aged cousins and their families: Alfred Cook, Florence Cook Gentry, and Berry Williams. During our days in Baylor College Academy, Ruth and I visited in the Gentry home and became lifelong friends of our cousins, Rayma and Vera (girls of our age). Cousin Alfred, with his family, came to the ranch quite often; and there are memories of his son, Austin, joining in our activities at the ranch. Austin's wife, Vermelle, is with us in special times of travel and visits. There is a feeling of kinship and friendship. Cousin Berry Williams once brought his family out west to our place for a time. We keep in touch -- Ruth more than I because I am special feeling of family.

The events of the Dewey Baptist Church, with its move to Lawn, have been recorded and are a part of the Lawn Baptist Church history.

The Dewey School was moved a short distance to the west -- in a sense this ended the Dewey community as we had known it. Before closing the chapter on this school of my time, I want to recount a special happening that took place there. A super play was presented by the older students. A stage was built on the side of the school house and, after much preparation, the performance took place. Benches had been placed on the ground out front for parents and friends. I don't recall the part Paul played -- perhaps he was the cowboy. The play was "The Arizona Cowboy". Bond was a big hit in his role as a Chinaman. Mama made a super wig from a black, cotton, lisle stocking. The top part fit over his head, and the long leg was cut into strips and plaited for a pigtail. Estes Hefley was a beautiful Indian princess dressed in a colorful costume with a red band over her dark hair. They were all good, we thought, in their parts; and the performance, to me, seemed flawless. I have never forgotten the pleasure and excitement of that play. it was talked about in the school community for a long time.

Continue with Helene's Autobiography ...

Family Tree

Home Page