Memories of an Oklahoma Farm Boy

From my earliest remembrance, I always wanted to be a cowboy and Uncle John probably more nearly filled that dream than anyone else. Saddle horses and work horses are not the same. My dad, Leon Chappell, could never afford a horse which couldn't pay his own way so I always had to ride a work horse which he worked in the field, that is, when dad didn't need him. There was a time when Dad had only four mules and if I rode anything it had to be a mule--a very degrading experience for a cowboy. Uncle John always had a saddle horse or two which had never felt the pressure of a work harness on their necks. When I was with him I was able to ride a truly saddle horse.

One of Uncle John's saddle horses I rode was a pony he called Woonsey. She was a very intelligent horse and had been well trained. She was a small "paint" horse with coloring of red and white. Uncle John was a large man of perhaps 225 pounds or more, and it was amazing to watch him cut cattle on Woonsey. The little pony could cut so fast even with the heavy load on her back, you would think she must fall. Still, when she knew what calf or cow John wanted, she would soon have that animal separated from the rest.

One summer when I stayed with Aunt Bertha (Getz) while John was away I was to help her with chores around the farm. This responsibility was mainly milking and caring for the cows in the mornings and evenings. That left me all day to play and do as I wished. Some neighbor boys came over and I saddled Woonsey to play cowboy. She was a safe pony for a child to ride, but when mounting her, one had to be careful or she would turn her head and nip them with her teeth when they had one foot in the stirrup. I had learned this lesson and would always keep the outside rein tight so she couldn't turn her head toward me.

We were playing in some Cottonwood trees a short distance from the house. While pursuing an "outlaw" at a fast gallop, I didn't notice the low hanging limb on the tree ahead but I'll always believe Woonsey did. Needless to say, in a few seconds I found myself on my back with the wind knocked out of me and Woonsey grazing nearby.

Though Uncle John did farm and his father was a farmer, he always had cattle that were not milk cows (another cowboy thing). Soon after he and Bertha married he bought land across the road from his father and set up his own operation. Times were hard then and Bertha had no conveniences in her new home, but it was a beginning. He held onto his own land when later he became the manager of the Stuart ranch across the state line in Texas. When grandpa Hamilton died, John was able to buy the old home place and later moved there. The old house in which I was born was torn down and the materials used in the construction of a new house which was completely modern. The house has since been moved to Shattuck, OK where Aunt Bertha now lives and when going there I'm still reminded of the old house where my life began.

I'm not sure of the extent of my Uncle's education as a child. My mother, Merl Hamilton, attended school through the seventh grade but I doubt Uncle John was as fortunate. He was the youngest boy and my grandfather was getting up in years, so I'm sure he felt the need to remain at home and do the farm work. In spite of any possible shortcoming in formal education, John was probably the most successful, at least financially, of any of his siblings. At the end of his life he had accumulated more than a thousand acres of land to leave to his wife and children. Much of his education must have come from the close association with his father through the entire span of Uncle John's early life.

To many, Uncle John may have seemed to be a hard man but as a small child and now as an adult advanced in years, I know him to have been a man of compassion and with a tender heart. I remember him as always being in control of each situation in which he may have been involved. He was outspoken for the "right" way to do things and this trait was perhaps misunderstood by some. He would "cut no slack" for anyone who was out of line, including family members. He loved to joke and kid with others.

There was a man and his widowed mother who more or less adopted the Hamilton clan as their own. They were often at some home of family members. The man cared for his mother and never married, even after her death. He died before John and was buried in Shattuck cemetery. Because there was no family he was placed in an unmarked grave. One day Uncle John visited his gravesite and was moved that Earl Alerson had had no one to care at his passing. Memories of the past ran through his mind as he made plans to purchase a nice stone marker to mark the burial spot of a dear friend.

One lesson I learned from Uncle John, the hard way, was one day he and I and a cousin, Claudie were out building fence. They had each taken their turn digging post holes in the hard dry soil. I was 5 years younger than Claudie and smaller, but it was decided it was my turn to dig a post hole. It was a very hot summer day and I was not much in the mood for anything requiring that much work, but the diggers were handed to me. It seemed every time I tried to loosen enough dirt to raise it from the hole, there was nothing there. Finally, I would let the diggers drop from their own weight and it seemed to me I was accomplishing just as much. I soon felt Uncle John's boot on the seat of my pants, as he emphasized to me it was necessary to put as much effort as possible in the downward thrust when digging post holes. Though I had spent many hours with my uncle, this is the only time I remember him disciplining me, and this time it was more an emphasis rather than discipline. I have often thought later how this was a principle of Uncle John's life. If you begin a task, it may not be to your liking, nor may it be an easy task, but the important thing is to take the handles in your hands, exert whatever effort is necessary, and complete the task. Nothing is really accomplished by just "letting things fall".

After nearly 40 years of little or no contact, Uncle John called one day and said they would be in Oklahoma City and would come by. As it turned out, there were several business trips made to Oklahoma City when he and Aunt Bertha would spend a few days with us. They were always enjoyable times and very much like "going home" for me. To add emphasis to our relationship with each other, while on one of these visits, Uncle John handed me an old key ring. He reminded me I had given it to him when I was a child. I have no recollection of the occasion, but I probably found the ring as a child and wanted to give him something from me. The very touching thing for me was him keeping an old key ring for nearly 50 years, one given to him by a child.

Children usually have heroes they do not know and who would not know them from anyone else in the world, but my "hero" was a true living man, who knew and cared for me.

Virgle L. Chappell