Boyhood memories of the

John Thomas Stamps family

by Raymond E. Stamps - Son

John Thomas Stamps was born in Arkansas, March 12, 1869. Records indicate he had a twin brother, Lewis. I was not aware of this and never heard my father speak of it. The 1880 census of Madison Co., Arkansas, Marble Township, lists John as age 10. There are no further records of Lewis, so, we must assume he died at an early age. In the same 1880 census, where John was 10 years old, it showed Sanford as age 8. This would be in age between John and Nancy Elizabeth. In the 1900 census he was listed Isaac. Although records are not exact, I take these to be the same person, Isaac Sanford Stamps.

John was not at home in the 1900 census, but, he would have been about 30 or 31 years old. We don't know when he left Arkansas, but, we do know he went to Indian Territory, and, I remember his stories of having worked as a cowboy.

Our next record is a marriage license for John Stamps and Viola Farmer of Canadian, Indian Territory, October 1, 1905. Here again our records are conflicting as he gave his age as 28 and hers as 19. John, having been born in 1869, would have been 35 or 36 years old. We believe Mother was born Viola Clark and adopted Farmer.

In reading of the settling of the West, it was not unusual for a man 25 or 26 to still be at home, helping the family make a living. It took sometime on his own to accumulate enough to support a wife and family.

We believe their first child died at birth or very young.

Oklahoma became a state in 1907, and Canadian was now in Pittsburg County, State of Oklahoma. Their following three children were probably born in this area. William Edgar born 1908, Myrtle Mae 1910, Murlin Floyd 1911.

In about 1912 the family moved to Pryor Creek, now called Pryor, Mayes County, Oklahoma, and Raymond Ernest was born there in 1913.

Dad had or acquired a span of mules and a wagon running a delivery or drayage business, perhaps hauling coal.

My earliest memories are in Pryor. I followed Myrtle and Ed to school. They let me in and I sat by Myrtle.

Again, I went with Mother and Myrtle to a neighbor's house. I don't remember going inside because they had a deer in a long pen outside. That caught all my attention, and, I suppose they knew I wouldn't leave that pen.

Another memory of Mother was when she was ill. They tethered me with a string to her bedpost, so she could watch me.

Then Mother died July 17, 1917, I was 4 years old the last day of June. I remember a casket placed on two kitchen chairs, facing each other. They lifted me up to see her the last time. A coin was on each eye. I remember standing with the others at the door as they took her away in a horse drawn hearse. She was buried in Pryor, Oklahoma, in Fairview Cemetery. (On left side going East).

I don't know when we left Pryor, but, it was still hot. We were on our way to the train depot, and the sand was hot on my bare feet. Dad said, "Come on Ernie, we don't want "Old Granny" to get us." Perhaps someone felt a man left along with four children was not capable of caring for them. Dad felt differ- ently and so did we. We headed for Arkansas!

I don't remember exactly all the places we lived, but, we moved a lot. One of the first was to Fayettville. Here dad found work with a section crew repairing track, putting in new ties, driving spikes, lifting rails. even the hand cars travelling to and from the work area was by manpower. There were no gasoline engines or covered cabs as now. You can't get much more work than that.

Later Dad got a job in the cannery, and, I was going to walk down to visit him I suppose, but, I went to town by myself. Id didn't find the cannery, but, I found a lot more interesting things as a 5 year old might. Soon I got tired, sat down on the curb, leaned up against a power line pole and went to sleep. Later I was awakened by someone shaking my arm and asked if I was lost. I opened my eyes, looking right into the face of a kindly old negro man. I got home in a hurry.

We lived on the edge of town with no houses across the road, only on one side that backed up to the railroad track. The neighbors had some big boys and an old buggy, but, no horse. So, with the help of all the smaller kids, we pushed and pulled the buggy to the top of the grade towards the railroad, then all the little ones got on, with a big boy between the shafts and down the hill we went. This was great fun at least for the riders until on one trip the buggy hit a "chughole" and some of the kids bounced off. One was Murlin or Merle we called him. He hit on his shoulder and cracked a collar bone. I remember the neighbor cutting up the sleeve so he wouldn't have to more his arm to remove his shirt.

Cannery work was seasonal, wages cheap, and, there was no unemployment compen- sation. We moved again.

We lived for a while out in the woods in a one room log cabin with an open loft built out on one end of the cabin. There was a ladder to climb up. Ed, and I think Merle (Murlin), slept up there. Before we moved in Dad and Ed mixed up mud to fill the cracks between the logs.

We had a pot bellied wood stove that stood in the center of the room. I still have a scar on my knee where I got too close.

We lived in another place very close to the White River. The people walked down to the river for the baptizing on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I don't remember the inside of the house, but, there was a small yard with a hog wire fence along the road. Dad had tobacco plants in the yard. We came home one afternoon and all that tobacco had been pulled up and hanging across the fence. I was mad enough to help my daddy whip the guys responsible. I learned later they had done him a favor. It was pulled and hung up to cure.

The White River was crystal clear water flowing in a bed of small rock and gravel, a great place to go swimming, but, Dad was always along. We had no bathing suits. We went in our clothes, taking off only shoes and shirt. I remember this day we were swimming with Dad sitting on the gravel watching, Myrtle stepped backwards into deeper water and was losing her balance. Dad saw her and called out for Ed to help her.

Dad knew the river and was a good boatsman. There was no bridge, so people generally crossed in a boat. Dad went one day to bring some people across in

boat as we watched. The river was high, covering the gravel bars and dad had a flat bottomed river boat using a single paddle. He sat on the rear seat and paddled toward the other bank. When the swift current in the center of the river caught the bow of the boat, it turned a complete circle, then a second and a third getting closer to the other bank all the time. After about the third turn Dad layed that boat against the far bank right in front of the waiting passengers. I marveled at his skill.

That was not our only experience with the white River as Aunt Belle and Uncle Henry lived on the other side, but, it was still a long walk to their house. their house was rectangular frame house with no paint. It sat on a foundation of rock piers, not solid, and a foot or more off the ground. I remember the hound dogs and the chickens had easy access underneath.

There was a wooden rain barrel standing in the yard with three "possums" in it that they had caught the night before. I don't believe there were any partitions downstairs, just one big room. there may have been one bedroom. The attic was floored in and a ladder ran up the wall. The kids slept up there and played there in wet weather.

Aunt Belle made me a pair of pants from Uncle Henry's overalls, using only the seat. The knees and front were worn out, but, not the seat. Uncle Henry was farming and there wasn't much time to sit around.

We must have stayed a few days because I went with them to the field and saw him sowing oats or wheat. He had a bag with a shoulder strap that he would fill with grain and take it one handful at a time to cast evenly over the field.

I believe all the kids were home, but, I remember mostly Jay and Elsie. this was the last time I remember going to their house. They moved later to Thayer, Kansas.

We walked back home and had to cross the river again when it was running full. Dad had his boat tied up in the willows. He got in first and sat on the rear seat with his single paddle and me next to sit between his legs, then Myrtle and Murlin. Ed was to untie the boat and shove us off. I guess I was excited and Dad had given me more than my share of the seat, but, all of a sudden, he went out backwards `kersplash' in the river. Dad got hold of the boat but the paddle got away downstream. Ed went down the riverbank and soon returned with the paddle, having retrieved it from the willows. Dad got back in the boat, took his seat again saying not one cross word to scold me or warn me to sit still. He was a gentle and kind man. We reached the other bank with no further incident.

Our next home was to be in Eagle Rock, Missouri. I don't know how far or how many days it took us, but, we moved in a wagon. The incident I remember, we stopped at a farmhouse along the road. They invited us to stay for supper and spend the night. There were no motels and people were hospitable and enjoyed having a little company. I don't remember their names but they had a grown son, and, I remember him next morning, before breakfast, combing and brushing his hair. It was coal black, cut short, combed back and parted in the middle. I don't know what he put on it, but it shined like a new pair of shoes.

Dad and our host visited and finally began to talk trading. We had a little dog the man liked and Dad wanted a .22 rifle. The man said he would trade if her would include the smallest boy. That was me. I thought for a bit they were serious. They finally settled on a larger rifle and made a deal.

After we were settled in our next home, one night Dad pulled that old rifle out from under the bed and went outside to fire it. He aimed up in a tree and pulled the trigger. There was a terrific explosion and fire shot out the barrel a foot. Dad said, "too much gun". He put it back under the bed. I never remember it again.

We finally arrived at Eagle Rock, Missouri, still along the White River. We had a real good house, with separate rooms, a fireplace and a telephone. It set back a ways off the road and had a wire fence. This was an ornamental wire fence, not hog wire. There was a big shade tree in the front yard and a well pump at the backdoor that entered off the side of the house. There was a windmill to power the pump if needed. Near that was a post with a big bell, perhaps to call the field hands to dinner. We were never to ring that bell only in an emergency to call Dad.

There was a barn a short distance from the house with good corral fences. The farmland was along the river bottom. Murlin and I sometimes went to meet Dad at the end of the day. He would put me up on the horses back. I would hold onto the reigns and ride home like a young prince.

Myrtle was doing most of the cooking and housework. Ed cut the wood and did chores as milking and caring for the stock. Murlin helped Ed, but, I was privileged, I was the baby. I carried in a few chips from the woodpile and helped Myrtle if Dad wasn't there, but, when he was home I was with him. We were out front one evening near dark and something hit our fence with a bang. Dad sent me to see what happened. I came back with a big bobwhite quail that had come sailing too low to the ground and hit the fence. That quail was on my plate next morning fried all nice and brown.

Murlin and I climbed that shade tree and lay back on the limbs, felt the cool breeze and he said "I sure wish I had me a `French harp', I said, "Me, too". When he finally realized that wish, I never knew him to be without one.

There was another plot of ground Dad farmed up away from the river. Here they raised grain, wheat or oats. I followed him around the field when he was plowing, one single bottom plow drawn by horses with the lines over one shoulder and under the other arm. Once he let me in front of him to hold the plow handles. I remember when it was seeded and then harvested and tied into bundles. These were stacked several upright and one across the top as a cap. The grain would dry in the shocks until threshing time.

We had neighbors across the pasture in front of our house. They called Dad and wanted him to come to destroy their sick dog. They didn't have the heart, so they left home. I went over with Dad and he shot the dog and buried it.

These people had a good spring of water near their house. The water ran through a small house they had built just below it. It had concrete floors and a concrete flume to carry the water into and through the house. This was where the milk and butter was kept. It was known as a springhouse.

In front of our house between the road and fence was our woodpile. Ed went out one night to bring in wood and a big dog chased him back in the house. Dad warned us to watch out for him. The dog persisted and Dad sent me down the road to friends to borrow his gun. I brought back a double barrel 12 gauge. Dad and Ed pulled the wagon with side boards on, out by the woodpile and climbed in. They watched through the cracks, when the god showed up, Dad shot him. I returned the gun next day and the man said, "I heard the shot, it was either a dead shot or clear miss. Old Betsy don't wing `em'. I don't know who these people were, possibly some of Uncle Henry's folks.Memories, continued

We were invited to dinner there once, all I remember was all the food and the table. It was big and round with the plates and silverware on the lower table and another table in the center loaded with food and it turned. I remember all that food go by, and you just helped yourself, didn't have to pass anything.

Our neighbors, the Stublefields, lived over past where Dad farmed wheat. Their kids sure had a beautiful wagon, made of wood, with side boards and was varnished, just like a real one. We didn't go there much and I don't remember them in school, but they must have been there. We walked to school. It was a short way towards town, then down a road to the left. The schoolhouse sat on the right- hand side of the road. It was painted white, with one room and one teacher, teaching several grades. It was hard to do your schoolwork with her talking to another class. We often didn't finish a school year until we moved. We would be put back and have to start over. At lunchtime most of the kids, like us, would gather in families, and open up one big lunch packed in a one gallon lard pail, no bologna or wiener sandwiches, but generally food from leftovers with cornbread or biscuits. There was no lunch program, no snack bar, no vending machines, no money.

We had some other neighbors, across through the woods. We were going over there one day, afoot, and barefooted as usual, we had to cross a stream. I had a banged up toe and was losing the nail. It was loose on one side and as I walked into that fast moving water, it lifted the nail, and tried to take it down- stream. That really hurt, so I couldn't cross, the others were going on down the trail. It finally occurred to me what was happening, so I just backed into the stream and went across in reverse. The water just smoothed that nail down and didn't hurt a bit.

When the corn was harvested and the grain threshed, Dad loaded up a few sacks and I went with him to the old flour mill on White River near Eagle Rock. This mill was powered by water diverted through a flume from White River. I watched the huge power wheel turn as it ground our winter supply of flour and corn meal.

Mary and I with our family were through eagle Rock in 1946. Our old house was still there, but, the flour mill was gone.

Our next move was to Golden, Missouri, on a farm rented from a Mr. Eden. This too was a real nice house. It was painted white and built almost square with front room and dining room, a fireplace in each, back to back, a big kitchen with wood stove and bedrooms up-stairs, no ladder but a beautiful stairway. The house was sealed and papered in all rooms. I remember it had a lightning rod on the roof that ran down one corner into the ground and veranda over the front porch.

The barn was big and warm with stalls on two sides and machinery and wagon shed in the center. There was a big hay mow. We had horses, several cows, pigs, a big garden, a beautiful house and barn. We seemed to be doing fine.

We went to town school, to church across from the school. Got haircuts in town, traded at the grocery store and post office owned by Mr. Goodwin. Mary and I saw him also in 1946.

The man who owned the hardware store was Mr. Weddington with a boy named Odem.

Mr. Eden and his family lived about two miles from us. We were at his house several times, once, when a threat of a cyclone, we went down in their basement.

They had a beautiful home with big shade trees in the yard and a rope swing. Looked much like an old southern plantation.

The crops were planted and when harvest time came Dad and Ed were helping all the other farmers and then our time came.

They moved in a big threshing machine, a huge steam engine with great wide iron wheels and a cab. It looked much like a train engine, not quite so big. They located the engine down wind of the thresher, maybe one hundred feet. They took a huge 10" wife endless leather belt, put it on the thresher pulley, then unrolled it, put the other end on the steam engine with a huge fly wheel along side the belt pulley. They then backed up the steam engine for just the right tension and she was ready to go.

The wagons picked up the shocks of wheat and hauled it to the thresher, whee the bundles were cut and pitched into the thresher. the great steam engine huffed and puffed, the thresher whired, the grain came out, was sacked and the straw blown in a huge stack.

Aunt Belle and Uncle Henry had moved to Thayer, Kansas. He was working in the railroad shop. At one time, he poured bearings of molten babbit for the rail- road wheels. I have an old pocket knife of Dad's, a broken handle was repaired with babbit. I suspect Uncle Henry may have done it.

It had been sometime since we had seen them. As the harvest was in, it seemed the right time. We went by train, I don't know from where, but, I remember the train ride. Out in the middle of nowhere, the train came to a stop, blew the whistle loudly and long. I was all eyes, but, Dad said we were crossing another rail line.

Aunt Belle lived in town in a nice house. It seems it was fair time, some went with Uncle Henry and Dad, but, I stayed home with Aunt Belle. I can't describe the house, but, on the back porch was something that fascinated me. It was an endless belt with dippers riveted to it and a crank to rotate the dippers down under the house to a cistern filled with rainwater and bring up soft rainwater for washing. This was the highlight of my trip, I don't even remember the train ride home.

That winter was cold and the big house was hard to heat with only a fireplace. We all got sick and Dad moved us into the front room downstairs. The foot of his bed was against the head of our bed, Murlin and I slept together. This night I suppose I was feeling better and didn't go to sleep, but, kept talking and giggling. Dad reached down with his foot and took my ear between his toes, pulled, but, didn't scold me, but, I knew it meant to hush up and go to sleep.

The winter soon was gone and spring had come. The corn was planted and was up. Weeds needed to be chopped or pulled. We were all in the field. Dad told Myrtle it was time to go start dinner and for me to go help (carry in wood probably). I don't remember where we got our water. Myrtle built a fire in the kitchen stove and was preparing dinner when Dad came in. He said the huse was on fire. He ran upstairs and pulled out an old steamer trunk. That and what we had on our back was all we had left. The fireplace chimney was all that was left standing.

I don't remember where the rest of them stayed, but, Mr. & Mrs. Goodwin took me for a few days. They gave me clean clothes and tucked me in bed between beautiful snow white sheets. They had an older daughter that had a pretty little pony. She let me ride it. They lived in town, back of the store and his neighbor had one of `them' Model T Fords. He was having trouble starting it. He had one rear wheel jacked up and let the emergency brake forward, this put it in high gear. With the other wheel blocked, he began to crank the engine by hand. The one wheel acted as a fly wheel to help start the engine. All this was exciting, but, I was sure glad when Dad found another house. I don't know if Mr. Eden and Dad built the house or rented it, but, we were back to one room. I don't remember harvesting the crops that year, but, we surely did.

It was probably in the fall, Dad and Mr. Eden decided farming just wasn't paying enough and decided both families would move. Mrs. Eden didn't go, but one of her girls did. We loaded all we had in the wagon, then met the Edens and with a few head of stock, we started out.

I don't remember where we bought wagon bows and covers, but we were heading north, and soon arrived in Neosho, Missouri. There was a fair in progress, and, we took it in. All I remember was lots of people, I saw an airplane with two wings, my first. This was about the fall of 1921 or 1922. Our wagons were back in town backed under a shed type roof along side a huge livery barn. First class accommodations for the horses and for us a bale of straw was spread out under the wagon. We were warm and dry.

They sold the cattle in Neosho and we were on our way. The next town I remember was Joplin. We were rumbling down the Main street and a streetcar passed going the other way. I was startled when I saw the tracks made a sharp turn to my right, that long car wouldn't make it. I was amazed when the trucks under both ends pivoted and the car rounded the curve without bending.

I have said nothing about our stops along the way for camping or eating. I am sure we did, but, I have no memory of it.

My next memory is in Hockersville, Oklahoma, a lead and zinc mining town. Houses were hard to come by, but, we found an empty store building on Main Street across from the theatre. It had the typical high square front and was unpainted, just one big room. We cooked and heated with wood or coal and had a kerosene lamp for light. Dad sent me to the store with a gallon can for `coal oil'. The store was up off the ground with two steps going up to the porch. There was a big barrel laying down on blocks. The man filled my can from this, grabbed a potato to stick over the spout. I gave him a nickel as payment.

I remember the Edens at our house only briefly. I don't know if they lived with us or not, but, then they were gone. They went back to Missouri and later moved to Oklahoma. Myrtle visited them after she was married. They lived at Rocky, Oklahoma.

Hockersville was a mining town and everything was dependent upon it. The lead and zinc ore was deep underground and in vertical veins. They followed these veins by drilling and blasting it free, of course, they got some waste rock with it. It was all brought to the surface at field shafts, separated and the ore rock trammed to the mill on narrow gauge rail cars drawn by a mule. They were sinking a new shaft almost behind the theatre from where we lived, maybe one- half block, with blasting every day. One day something went wrong and a terrific blast like a whole box of dynamite went off. It broke out windows all over town except ours. The theatre protected us from the concussion.

Ed was 14 then and got a job driving a team. Dad was working, too.

We moved to another house at the north end of town. It was a smaller building made of concrete, walls and floor. The crossroad on the north side was the Kansas line. There was a mill on the Kansas side and across the road in front of our house was a shallow pond and then another mill. This mill had large bins along our side where the ore was stored for shipping. Murlin and I visited these bins and helped ourselves to pockets full of lead. This we stored in an old abandoned wood heating stove in our back yard. Rubber innertubes were easily obtainable. With Myrtle's scissors we cut two strips one-half inch wife by 12 inches long, now a piece of soft leather like a tongue of an old shoe and a Y branch stock from a willow tree and we had the makings of a sling shot. There were mountains of chat piles, but, it was broken too small, but, lead broke apart in small cubes made an excellent load.

Dad was working in a smelter across town. Murlin and I started that way one morning across the field looking for a rabbit or most anything for a target. We got to the smelter at lunchtime and Dad shared his lunch with us. When lunch- time was over we started back along a gravel road. I had my sling shot ready for anything as a Model T Ford coupe passed us. I drew back, let go a lead missile that struck with a bang above and to the right of the rear window. It left a silver colored spot the size of a quarter on that black paint. I threw the sling shot to Murlin, he threw it back just as the man looked back. He threw that Ford in reverse. He jumped out of the car, and came towards us mad as a hornet. He surely was laying the law down to Murlin, who was saying he didn't do it. "Oh, yes, you did", the man said. "I saw you throw that sling shot over to this little boy". l Murlin finally explained what happened and that man just turned, stared at me and I didn't say a work, and, he didn't either, just whirled around, got in his car and drove off. I suppose he just used up all the things he had to say on Murlin.

We moved again to a larger house back down the same street almost in the center of town on the opposite side of the street. The house sat back to the rear of the store building, but, no store was in front of us. This was not a store building, but, a tar papered house with a rounded tar paper roof, along side the railroad track. This was the same inter-urban streetcar track we saw in Joplin. It ran through Hockersville, crossing at a bit of an angle across town to Picher, and on to Miami.

Across the track was a big millpond over 100 feet square. This was some of the work Ed was doing with a team. They would scoop up the dirt from the bottom and build levees around the edge. This was clear water for mill use. We were never permitted to go in it, but, men often did. Working underground was dirty work. They would stop at the pond to wash off some of the worst of the dirt before going home.

Dad had a better job now, and right in town. We had moved to a better house at the edge of town on the west side. There was a little pond on the back of the place. Dad had a few hogs. We were at the edge of town, no houses on our side of the road, but, near by was an old abandoned mill. We spent a lot of time playing there.

Dad's job was up in the tower of a big hopper on four legs which stood fifty feet high. This was a field shaft like the one behind the theatre where ore was hoisted up by a steam driven hoist, about one-fourth ton at a time and dumped on a screen of heavy steel rails. The small rock went through into an ore bin. Dad had to break up the large pieces of ore with a sledge hammer so they would go through the screen and lad and haul the waste rock in an ore car on rails to dump it. This track was built on legs and was extended as needed. This boulder pile was maybe forty feet high and extended out 75 feet. eventually the track would have to be extended as more waste rock was dumped.

I knew quite a bit about the job for a nine year old kid, as they let me climb up in the tower and watch. The hoist was over the shaft that went deep into the ground, perhaps, three or four hundred feet. The hoist operator would lower the can to the bottom. When it was filled, the miner would shake the cable, that was the signal to hoist the loaded ore can to be dumped on the screen.

When things were slow the operator would lean back, close his eyes, and have me watch for the signal. This tower stood on huge legs like telephone poles. To the side of the shaft, it was boxed in about 12 feet square to hold the ore coming through the screen. The bottom was slanted at an angle to force the ore to one side, with a sliding door and chute to fill the little mule drawn rail cars to be taken to the mill.

One day Murlin and I discovered a long piece of blasting fuse that came up with the ore. We discovered that by placing this under the wheel of the moving ore car, it exploded like a firecracker. That only used up an inch or so of our fuse. It must have had a core of black powder. the mule didn't get scared and the driver paid no attention to us.

That fall Dad was able to buy our school books and pay for us to go to school, at least for Murlin and I. We were starting over again in the first grade. It seems we could never get in a full term or we couldn't afford to pay to go to school.

Dad was home now unable to work. He had injured himself while extending that tram rail out over the boulder pile. A boulder turned, he lost his footing and fell back on the rock pile, bruising his hip severely. Dad got worse, was now running a temperature. They called a doctor to come down from Baxter Springs, Kansas. We apparently had no doctor in town. We were all home when the doctor came except Ed, who was working. The doctor examined Dad in bed. He took out a knife with a blade one inch long or more, positioned the knife with his left hand, hit down with the palm of his right and jerked the blade forward. In- fection poured from the incision. It didn't make me sick. I knew the infection was serious.

The doctor cleaned and dressed the would, perhaps prescribing some medicine, but, there was no sulfa, penicillin or antibiotic to fight infection. Dad got worse and finally an ambulance came to take him to Picher to the hospital. We visited Dad later, i believe Mr. Cantrell took us. They lived up the street a ways.

Murlin and I had started to school, a car came by, it was the local police. He said, "Your Dad died last night". This was September 9, 1923. We would move again, but, never as a family.

This is Anne Stamps, Mary E. Stamps, Raymond E. Stamps,

Carole Louise Stamps Turner and Cheryl STAMPS Flores when

we went to visit them at there home in Stockton,Ca. In May,1999

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