Autobiography “Memoirs” of

Paris Clark Martin

b. 1857 d. 1944

| Paris Clark Martin part one | Wiliam Lawrence Martin part two |

NARRATIVE OF WILLIAM LAWRENCE MARTIN,
son of Paris Clark Martin

 Submitted by Carole Martin Ring
with permission of Steve Jung, great grandson of Paris Clark Martin. Cringdance@cox.net and sjung@homeinternet.net

While information about my grandparents is meager, I will set down here the facts told me by my own father.

I may have seen my grandparents when I was very small. I do not remember seeing them. They passed away around the turn of the century. I was only two years old at the time. I was born April 22nd, 1898.

Each of my grandparents had been married before. Each had children of their own. They had lost their mates by death and were now to form a union themselves. Their children were nearly grown. The youngest being around twenty. (Note by CR. They merged their families in 1854-7 and the oldest child was almost 20) It was quite a family when united, but for the most part, it seems they got along quite well. Later a step sister and a step brother were wed. They settle in the area and raised a family of their own.

They were a farm family, and while some settled on farms nearby, others migrated west. Some settled in California, some in Oregon and Washington, while some came to Colorado. I have had the pleasure or meeting some of the later generation. I still visit with some. Two of the boys became doctors, and practiced medicine. (Note by CR They probably apprenticed and were probably homeopathic type doctors)

Now, after the children had left home my grandparents settled in to raise another family. The first, a son, later to become my father, they named Paris Clark. The second a girl, they named Jocie. A very lovely person. As a youngster, I used to love to visit my Aunt Jocie and Uncle George James. They lived in a log house with a spring of water nearby. They were a farm family. Raised a small field of tobacco for their own use and both smoked it. That wasn’t uncommon then.

My grandfather, a farmer by rights was a restless sort. He traded farms frequently and moved around seeking better land and living quarters. At one time in a trade he acquired a grist mill. It was known as Howe’s Mill, situated on route 32, East of Salem, Missouri, in Dent County. Around it there was a small settlement called Hows mill also. As for now the name is still on the Missouri map. In 1936, my wife and I took my father to see the old mill. The huge three story building was still standing, but long abandoned as a grist mill. IT was a joy to let my father stroll about the area and recall his childhood days playing there.

The mill was water driven. The water running over the big wheel gave the power to turn the burrs which ground the grain. I visited the site some years later. The building was now removed, giving way for a fish hatchery. With the fresh cool water previously used by the mill, now used to produce fish, it was ideal for the purpose.

It might be interesting to know why my grandfather disposed of the mill. Renegades from the army would raid this area, it being near the dividing line between Slave and Free States. These men were vicious, and would do murder to obtain anything of substance, such as food for themselves and their horses. My grandfather felt for the safety of his family, he had better clear out.

He moved back to southern Missouri and settled on a small farm. It was here that my father grew to manhood, married and later settled nearby building a small house on his land into which he moved he moved my grandfather and my grandmother into retirement. They passed away there around 1900 and were buried in the local cemetery, known as the Viney Graveyard- still in use. (Note by CR. In 1900, Elizabeth Martin was living with her son, James Kitching in Aurora and is buried in Pierce Cemetery in Aurora and William Nelson Martin was living with his daughter Jocie.. I have not been able to find his grave in Viney yet)

I should like to write some about my mother’s parents. I never knew them of course. I have a vague idea that I may have seen them but I’m not at all sure. As to them, I can only tell you what my parents imparted to me. They were farmers of course, gaining their living from the use of the soil. They raised grain for their bread. Both wheat and corn. They grew the regular farm animals for their meat. They also supplemented their food with small game which they hunted. My grandfather had a way with wood, and in the winter would produce handles for various farm tools which he would trade or sell. Grandfather was a kindly man, always looking out for his children, four in number. All girls, they were perhaps not too much help on the farm. Although in those days the women often did the milking of cows.

The names of their girls in order was Molly, Margaret, Amanda and Ellen. They all grew to maturity, married and raised families of their own. My records show my mother to have been born February 4, 1866. Her parents died around 1900, and were duly buried in the Viney graveyard, only a few miles away from where they lived.

The way of life in those days in that area was entirely different to what we know now. It was sort of a backwood country. About all a family expected to do in life, was to just live and raise a family. They were usually non progressive. Travel was difficult and communication it’s equal. They visited among themselves. but with little projection of new ideas.

I might mention here, that alcohol, while well known, was seldom found in the home of either of my grandparents. Some brewed their own, but none here. Tobacco though was grown and used by most people—women as well as men. Sometimes the men folks would treat themselves to a plug of store chewing tobacco. Horshoe, Star , or Picnic and likely others. Anyway, that was a real treat. Pipes for smoking were usually made of corn cobs with a cane stem. Some used a clay pipe for smoking.

My mother’s family name was “Street”. My grandfather’s name was William. My grandmother’s, Sarah. I believe her maiden name was Sarah Gray.. Their nationality, mostly English, likely had a mixture of blood of the British Isles. My mother thought they might have had a little German blood also. She wasn’t shure, and I don’t know.

I heard from somewhere, that my grandmother never quite accepted my father as a full fledged son in law. I don’t know why unless it may have been the differential in their age, or that dad was a “widower”, having been previously married. The parting of this marriage, I will explain later.

My grandparents lived near the trading post of Golden, about 20 long, long miles over rough roads from the county seat of Cassville. They lived near now famous “White” river. My mother says they lived at the town of Seneca, in the southern part6 of the state when she was born. They were never far removed from Golden during my Mothers lifetime. Travel was very difficult, and the roads often impossible- rivers were too high to “Ford” during wet season. They drove their live stock to market, and often carried a “turn” of grain to mill, on horseback. Time was unimportant only results counted. But in spite of all, they seemed to accomplish their purpose-to live and perpetuate their race.

That is about all I can write with certainty of my grandparents on my mothers side.

On this page, I should like to set down a few incidents in the life of my parents as I know them in most part, also as told to me by my Father and my Mother during the time I personally spent with them during their lifetime.

My father was born October 11th, 1857, somewhere in western Tennessee and was given the name of Paris Clark. His family soon moved to western Kentucky when he was there on a farm. As previously mentioned, his father, tho a farmer, was always trying to improve his situation. He sold out his small holding in Tennessee and went west, via covered wagon and an Oxe team (two Steers) settling in southern Missouri. (Notes CR. This is the only mention anywhere of a western part of TN or Kentucky. All other Martin descendants mention De Kalb or Nashville TN which is Middle TN. I believe in the retelling of an old story, there has started to be some discrepancies from the original. ) The exact location is unknown to me, but perhaps in Barry county. (Note:CR. Crawford and Dent). My father grew up there, mostly the son of a farmer and did what needed to be done on a small farm, some of the duties I will describe in the next paragraph.

The land was new- that is, most of it was covered with timber. Trees of all sorts, sometimes just brush. It has to be cleared to plant a crop. This meant the cutting of trees, the grubbing of brush
 And in many instances the removal of rocks. Farming wasn’t easy in a new, rough country, but it was rewarding in a way. Land had to be plowed, and since the soil contained roots and rocks, plowing of the land was done with a “Bull tongue” plow. This was not a “ turning moldboard” plow as we use today. It was a single tongue blade some 3” to four inches wide, and would bite into the soil readily, turning roots and rocks and whatever came into contact with it to the right or left at will.  After this operation, the roots and rocks that were loose would be picked up and hauled. The roots would be used a fire wood –the rocks often for building rock fences. Next the operation would be to cross plough the field, loosening up the remaining roots and rocks, which again gathered up and removed. Following these operations, the land had to be “harrowed” and leveled up a bit. T
his was often done with a home med “A-frame” harrow, the teeth often being made of wood. Later on they used iron teeth. These implements were drawn across the field with Oxen as draft animals. They were slow, but ideal for this sort of work. The crop was then planted, usually corn, then cultivated, often with hoe and mattox (a heavy tool which also would cut sprouts) using the same “Bull tongue” tool for plowing between rows. The above explanation is given, not to burden the reader with detail, but to explain briefly the life of an early day farmer. Come harvest time the grain would be hand gathered, some of it taken to a grist mill for grinding into meal, the rest would be stored in a building for the purpose, to be used as needed both for the family, and as feed for the live stock. Such conditions as I have described were those under which my father and all other farmers were reared to manhood of that time.

During my father’s childhood, he was moved from place to place, but always to a farm, except on the one condition described on a previous page, where his father traded for the grist mill at the location in Dent County.   For reasons given, this venture was short lived. Back to farm life in southern Missouri now, the family was settled, doing what they knew best.

My father grew to manhood in this area, Barry county. When he was grown, for a short time, in seeking a better life, he went to Joplin, the center of the Zinc producing area, and tried his hand in mining. HE didn’t care too much for public work. Long working hours then prevailed. His associations were not satisfactory. His life habits were too controlled to suit, so he soon left the mines and went back to doing what he knew best. He managed getting a fair education however, and for a while became a school teacher. This he cold do in conjunction with the operation of a small farm. . Along about this time he met and married. Perhaps this union might have continued, had it not been for the fact he discovered his new wife was an epileptic. This fact he knew nothing of until a son was born. His wife had been able to conceal, her sickness, as all epileptics usually do. The son was an epileptic also. They were both heartbroken with little left to do but to dissolve their marriage. This they soon did.

Since my fathers unfortunate selection in marriage, was now dissolved, I will write a few words about the union as told me by my mother and older sisters. I cannot say how long this union lasted. But at the most only a few years, or even less. The son, named Harvey, was taken to the county center set up for the treatment of such conditions. He was given the best attention available at the time, but he never recovered. He became a permanent resident of the institution. Permanent until his death in his early teens. I saw him only once. I was around seven. I knew very little of the circumstances at the time, nor did I have much interest in the situation, then. My father never spoke to me of his early marriage. What I learned later in life was told me by my mother and sisters as mentioned before. What I learned from them was more of a hushed subject. I did not pursue the matter for that reason.

Now my father was alone again. HE may have read in Genesis, the statement that “Man should not live alone”. At least my father believed that. He wanted a family. In his quest for a wife, he met, courted and married the lady who was to become my mother. But not yet. Many incidents and more children came before me. My father was twenty six and my to be mother was eighteen when this union occurred. The difference in age seemed negligible then, as it would today under similar circumstances, and so they were wed. My mother being the third child of William Street and Sarah Street. I will speak of her again.

They set up housekeeping in a small house on a small farm in Barry County Missouri. They were accustomed to the area. Their folks and friends lived near. The situation seemed normal enough. However, my father aspired to doing more than being a farmer in a small way. He looked for a better way of life. HE had a regular education of the time and he taught school for a while. That occupation was not particularly to his liking. School terms were short and the pay very low, although he could do this in conjunction of operating his small farm. He looked ahead.. He had started his family again and was now the father of two girls. It was at this time that some thing extra happened. I will tell you about it.

In the state of Washington, away to the northwest, free land was being offered by the Government. All one needed to acquire 160 acres of good land, was to get to it, file a homestead lien on it. Within three years, the land was his. Filing on the land was not quite all. HE had to improve it, with a place to live, fences, he was to break out a few acres of native sod each year and in effect be a settler. This procedure was quite standard, and he knew the rules. However, the first thing to do was to get there. The agreement was made between my mother and my father, to go to this promised land. They booked passage on an emigrant train for the new country. With some preparations, they embarked. A “grub” box was prepared into which they placed their food for the trip. The food consisted mostly of cured pork, fruit and biscuits. There was no refrigeration, so the grub box, placed between the seats on the train, became their restaurant for the next several days. Traveling was slow, and accommodations were almost nil. However they had two seats assigned to them, with the eat backs moved apart, with two seats facing each other, they rode, slept and ate, and perhaps enjoyed the journey. Their train ran in between schedules of other trains, and they were often sidet4acked for some time. My mother told me her biggest thrill on the trip was when she saw electric lights for the first time. That was in Cheyenne Wyoming. But this was not their destination. They were only half way there. Eventually they got to Waterville, Washington, which was and still is the county seat. There they located their land and filed. Fortunately, because some other ambitious pioneer had filed on this quarter, lived for a time and gave it up, he was accomadated by finding a one room sod house and small sod barn already on the premises. This was his first break. They moved in. Try and picture this situation. It was far less comfortable than what they had left in Missouri. Their nearest trading post was four miles across the prarie. The nearest store was Douglas, for Douglas County. The county seat, Waterville, was eight miles away. There were better stores there –still a country town, but they had a doctor there. I will later explain why a doctor was so important to them.

Somewhere previous I told you that my parents started west with two little girls. Around the ages of three and five. Much to their sorrow, during period of residence on the homestead, due mostly for need of a doctor nearer than eight miles away, with no communication, one of their little girls passed away. They think it was pneumonia. The Doctor was reached too late to save her. The little girl named Margaret was duly buried in a country graveyard, long since abandoned as to suitable care. Fortunately, soon after my Mother gave birth to another girl baby to take the place of the one lost. The grave site was never visited by either parent again owing to far away removal.

I should like to inject a personal note at this point, relative to the graveyard on the prarie of western Washington. My Mother overtaken with grief at times would relate the circumstances of the loss and burial of her little girl. She well informed me of the location of the cemetery, and how to locate the grave, should I ever be privileged to visit the area. Many years later when I was a grown married man, I went with my wife Rose on tour of the West.  We located the farm, the graveyard, and are certain with all the information we had, we stood by the grave of my unknown to me, sister. We photographed the grave and all the surrounding area. On showing these pictures to my mother on return, she thoroughly agreed, we had indeed found the site of her little girl, where her remains would rest thru eternity. My efforts were well appreciated, you can be sure.
Back now, to life on the homestead—You can imagine how my parents struggled on this new found land. How they endured privation. How homesickness overtook them so many times. However, they didn’t do all this to fail in their venture. IN due time, a title was acquired to the land, and their mission apparently accomplished. They were not to remain much longer however, for of course they wanted to be back with their friends and relatives, and perhaps the quiet life which they had left. Physical and financially they had won their battle.  Not mentally. Their minds were back in the Missouri Ozarks. By this time, the choice pieces of land were taken, making a market for the improved pieces. A purchaser was found and a deal was made to sell theirs. They were soon on their way to those beautiful hills of southern Missouri. –
--A personal note—My father often spoke of his homestead in Washington. I asked for his personal reasons for leaving it. Naturally, he placed the blame on my Mother, which may have been justified. He said she became so homesick for her home land in Missouri, together for her parents, her sisters and other friends and loved ones that it became no longer pl4easurable to endure the life they had sought in Washington on their homestead. I rather believed his story, for it was entirely feasible knowing my Mother as I did. I rather felt sorry for him- he was more of a pioneer than was my mother. Like all good husbands, he acceded to her wishes.
After arriving back in Missouri, the act of accession began as to what their next move should be. They knew the area quite well, and to find a suitable farm they could purchase as a home was first consideration. They had a family, two little girls, and they were to add more later on. Needless to say, they located a small farm of 140 acres some two miles NE of the small town of Golden, and purchased it. What the consideration was in dollars, I never thought to ask. They took possession of the place and began the process of building a home and raising a family all over again. ON the following pages, I will describe the location, and dwellings as best I can.

Continuing with my narrative, I promised to describe the farm and location of my parents choice after returning from Washington, and their homestead. As to location, I may have stated previously, the farm of 140 acres was situated on the north bank of Kings river, in Barry county, Missouri, some 1 and ½ to two miles NE of a very small town. The town was Golden.. Not to be confused with Golden City. Our Golden, consisted of a Post office, a Drug Sundry store, a Blacksmith shop and a General Merchandise store. There were two churches and a grade school house. OF course a few houses dotted the area, where some noted souls of the land resided. It wasn’t much. It was a trading center for the community, and there you have it. The town site sat on high ground, with one Main Street leading in and out, also one street taking off to the west, toward Cotter ford of White river.  A Ford is a shallow place in the river where a team can pull a wagon across. Wagons were the chief means of t4ransportation in those early days. You could ride a horse, or you could walk. Those were the choices one had for travel... It was slow, but there was time, then.

About 1 ½ miles to the north, the great White river flowed to the east. It was only about one mile to the confluence of the two great rivers—White and Kings. Our farm lay between. It was a beautiful location. IT still is beautiful. At that time there was timber almost surrounding the location. Wood was for the taking. Water was free from a spring near by. Most standard foods could be raised on the land. Wool, for knitting into sweaters, mittens and stocking caps also socks, was sheared from our flock of sheep. Chickens provided eggs, Cow gave us milk for milk and butter, while pork was raised and butchered on the farm. There was an orchard of assorted fruit, as well as berries on the place. Money hadn’t come into style as we now know it, but very little was needed. It was as pioneer set up indeed. What little cash that was needed, came from the sale of hogs and cattle each year, and there was a market for chickens and eggs which added to the cash income.

The house was of logs. Not large, but large enough for the family thus far5. Later, my father was to build on to the house, which doubled its capacity. The problem then almost, was finding use for the extra rooms.

I will leave this short description of the property and the way of life where they resettled in Missouri, after returning from the state of Washington. I shall now try and inject some description of my own life and family after I graced the world.

But before I launch into my own trials of life, a few words more about my father. I have stated at some point in this narrative, that my father had been a school teacher. I mention this only to indicate, that my father perhaps had fortified himself with a little better education than most. He held the small office of Justice of the Peace for some time. With no court within twenty miles, with a poor way to reach a court, my father tried most cases of the area. He was versed in law, and was known to use good judgment where the law was vague. Had he so desired, he might have been selected for County Judge. HE had no further desire toward law enforcement. He eventually removed himself as JP. Thus ended the career of School teaching, and law practice for my father. The pay for school teaching was negligible. The adverse notoriety of law enforcement was not to his liking. Dad was knowledgeable in politics all his life but never pursued them beyond his own pleasure.

It is my belief that my father possessed excellent judgment in life when a decision was needed between right and wrong. Both he and my mother were very well versed on the teachings of the Bible. That wasn’t bad. Still isn’t.

(A word about the town of Golden. Now we left that part of the country in October 1906. The following year, the business district of Golden was blown away by a tornado. One stone store building remained. I do not believe any lives were lost but many hearts were broken. The town was partially rebuilt, but it was never like the old one. Later, a new golden was built on the highway, one mile south.) There is still a Post Office in old Golden, but no stores. Several houses remain.. Some built after the tragedy. The new location has a large general store and service station.

It would seem too formal to name what I am about to write an autobiography. My memory would not serve me to start from the very beginning, and since I am still living, I could not quite complete the story.

Form previous writing, you would know I was born in a log house. That alone should qualify me for something big. It didn’t. My birth date is April 22, 1898. This would indicate I crossed the border of two centuries. That’s some distinction, for everyone doesn’t do that. They gave me the name, William Lawrence, naming me after both grandfathers. The birth of six other children preceded me. Only five survived to maturity. There were five, and that would do.

I am now, past 82. The first incident in my life that I can remember was at age two. I have mentioned that my father built an addition to our house. This was in the year 1900. I was two. The logs for the addition were drawn into the yard and hewn and notched at 4each end. I can recall sitting on a log, watching my father and some neighbors, hewing the logs and placing them. The incident is vague in my memory but I do recall it.

The next few years of my life were likely very routine. Kid troubles such as falling into the wood box was standard. I only lost two teeth on that one, but back the came—eventually. We had a little dog named Nigger. They said it was mine, so I looked after her. Not too well, tho, for she soon brought us some more little Niggers. I loved them all of course, but some had to go. It was along about this time I concluded my first business transaction. One of our neighbor ladies was visiting us one day, a Mrs. Hill, and she asked me what I would take for one of the pups. I think I was about four. Of course money had never crossed my path by then, and I simply said I would take one gallon of sorghum molasses. That was a staple, and certainly, something to eat, and that was important. She agreed, and the deal was closed. She delivered the sorghum the ext day, and picked up one of the pups. The rest of the litter was given away.

West of our house we had a plum thicket. Under these threes was a beautiful place to play. IT was shady, and in the springtime it was sweet smelling from the blossoms. We had to look out for the Bees. They were numerous and not too friendly. Occasionally I would get too adventuresome, and get a sting. I would run to my mother, who would mix some soda and salt with water and apply to the sting. Soon it was forgotten, so back to play... My sister Nellie is 1 ½ years older than me and we were almost constant companions. We built play houses, climbed the smaller trees and we walked in the nearby woods. We had most kinds of fruit trees, and those we climbed most. as there was always a reward waiting. Apples, peaches or plum. We also had a berry patch but for bare feet it wasn’t too inviting. We had cats. Lots of cats, some large enough to hunt in the woods. One of them would catch rabbits and drag them to the house for her kittens and other cats. One day while walking in the wood with my sister, my little Nigger dog jumped a rabbit which ran into the hollow of a fallen log. The tree trunk had lain there likely for years and was rather rotten and soft. After sizing up the situation, I decided to try and cut a hole in the log with my pocket knife. I manage to do that and extracted the rabbit. We would run home and show my mother now clever I was. My sister said she had better carry the rabbit, as I was too small. She took the rabbit and together we started for home. The rabbit gave a quick lunge, and away he went. I never quite got over that misplacing of confidence. I learned a lesson. Do it yourself.

I know kids are a chore, but on the farm, they got some good out of us. We carried water from the spring and we carried wood from the wood lot. I soon learned to cut wood for the stove. About this time, my uncle Murphy who rather liked children bought a medium sized Ax and presented it to me. I became rather adept at using an ax and been beneficial thru life. I never forgot where I got the Ax.

On our farm we had what I suppose every farmer had- fields and trees and rail fences. We had bird houses set up on top of long poles set in the ground. We had rather tame Marten birds that nested in the bird houses. We had many colored birds. The most attractive little birds were the Wrens. They were not very wild, and would nest in hollow rails of the fence. They were so little and cute, I loved to watch them tend their little ones. We also had “snow birds” that would come in the winter. They, smaller than a dove, but were a game bird, and my mother used to trap them.  When she would get a dozen or so, she would dress them out and make a pot pie of them. With gravy, they made very fine eating, and comprised a good meal for the family.

In the timber we had o’possum. They would make raids on our hen house tho, so we sought to eliminate them. My father liked to eat them. My mother would fix them for him, but didn’t enjoy it too much.  I think we had other varmints too, as sometimes we would smell a skunk around.

We kept what you would call a family flock of sheep. WE would shear them, and have fleeces carded into rolls, from which my mother would spin yarn. From this yarn she made mittens, socks, etc. She also wove the yarn into blankets which we used for covering the bed. These blankets, together with feather beds made for warm sleeping in the winter. We also raised cotton. We would pick the cotton and gin it (remove the seeds) and my mother would card it for quilt filling. We also raised tobacco. My father would cure it and chew it. All these facts aren’t so thrilling, they do show one how we lived in the early part of this century on the farm in the Ozarks. It was primitive, but wholesome, whatever that means.

When I became seven in April, I started to school the following Sept. I was late, but walking to school thru the woods was a chore, especially in bad weather. So they waited a little to send me. Each fall, someone would say they saw some wolves in the neighbor hood, and that frightened the mothers. Our neighbor a mile from us, slew a big grey wolf one fall. I sailed right thru the first grade and was designated for second grade for the next year. I started my second term, but I was not to finish it at that school. I hated to leave my nice teacher – a lady about twenty, but my parents were to move in October to Jasper County. Near Carthage, I entered school again. My teacher using my age as a guide instead of my ability, to enter me into class, made a grave mistake and put me too far I advance, it proved a disadvantage to the rest of my school attendance. I lost interest in school, and had much rather have dropped out and gone to work on the farm- young as I was at the time. However, when my classmates graduated from the eight grade, I realized I had better do something, or forever do nothing. I perked up, went back to school and eventually graduated from High School, late of course, but graduate I did.

High School was an interesting experience. I’m so glad I did it. I will dwell on some of these experiences later.

I want at this time to go back to my childhood before I was school age and relate a few occurrences and information of my younger life and that of my father as I was growing up. My father, to supplement his income, or just to earn a little cash, would hack ties for the railroad. He would cut the trees down, saw them into the proper length for the RR ties, and hew them on all four sides. When he had twelve done, about two days work, he would load them onto a farm wagon and haul them to Grand View Arkansas, about twelve miles south. At that time, the railroad company had a spur, (short line) coming in to Grandview. They bought RR ties there. If the ties were perfect, he would receive 25 cents for them, however, if they had a flaw in them, the price was 15 cents each. Dad was a good woodsman and usually received 25 cents each. That made his three days efforts bring in $3.00. He could do two loads a week in good w4eather. The sum total for his work was small, but gratifying. It gave cash where cash was needed, as it sometimes was, even most business transactions were in commodities. After all, some Christmas must be provided.

Both Mom and Dad were dedicated workers, and they managed. Life went on in spite of poor circumstances, such as meager earnings, poor crops at times, due to poor seasons. IN spite of everything, a farmers life and hard work goes on to the end—or nearly to the end. Life spans were shorter then, indeed people just “wore” out in the later years, and often retired into the home of one of their children.

Now, how did all this struggle and strife affect me? There was some discouragement of course, not only for the children, but for themselves. My parents were aware of this and decided to leave the Ozarks for a better farming country. IN October 19806 they sold out. They loaded their family, together with most of their household belongings into two covered wagons, and headed West. Their destination was predetermined, owing to some relations living around Carthage, Missouri. I personally think my parents didn’t want my two older sisters, dating age, to marry and settle in the area. They felt better opportunity was ahead, father west. NO one told me this, but in retrospect, I assumed it. They moved into Jasper County. Fields were larger, land was smoother, and in general opportunity looked greater. We settled in a small four room house for the winter. Dad had a job with a dairy farmer earning $20.00 a month. They also gave him a large bucket of skimmed milk each night to bring home for the family. But the trip was interesting. My Uncle George James drove one of the wagons, and we led, drove and hauled furniture, live stock and provisions for the trip in the wagons. Each night we would build a camp fire, and cook our supper. Some how we managed bunks of some kind and slept the night. The distance wasn’t great, but our speed was slow. We spent about one week on the road, and for children it was fun. It was pioneering travel you can be sure. I think the older folks had fun also.

Now, we were in another promised land. The RR tracks were near, and it was a thrill for us kids, every time a train passed. The engines looked so big and powerful and noisy. They would blow the whistle for the crossing, and sometimes just for our thrill I think. Now, near out little house in the country, there was a church house. We attended that church. My brother, then fourteen procured the position of janitor for the church. He was paid 35 cents a month.  I helped him clean up the building, for I often found pennies, or even a nickel dropped by accident by some one fumbling in their pockets for an offering.

In a small field, adjacent to our place, some one had grown a field of pumpkins. They didn’t harvest them, but let us have what we wanted. My mother made pumpkin butter from some of them, also pumpkin pies. It was a help. That winter we butchered a beef. We had driven it from Barry County. We sold some, but kept considerable for our own use. WE had chickens and eggs of our own. We made out. It wasn’t easy, but we all came through the winter in good shape. We children entered the “High Point” school nearby. Now, I had only been thru the first grade thus far, but the teacher judging my position by my age instead of my past accomplishments, started me out too far in advance. It was a handicap. I was behind, and never caught up. Still haven’t, but I keep trying. Those days a young lady with a grade school education could obtain a liscense to teach in country schools. I ran into several of such teachers as I tried to make it thru each day. These girls, you; might call them were totally inexperienced. I’m sure they did the best they could, and many of them were wonderful people. Eventually, I presume they became ok. AT this first school in our new country, we attended only one term, as to improve our position in life, my father saw fit to remove us from that district to still another. This move was not for the benefit of we children so far as school was concerned, but to get a better and a larger farm. Our school district was known as “Lone Star” and here is where I completed my education.

On this first farm to which we moved and made one crop, I was introduced for the first time to a vegetable called, “celery”. We didn’t raise it, but the people who preceeded us did, and left considerable of the “stuff” on the place. I learned to like it. I can also recall a fruit to which I met for the first time= “bananas“. I had never seen one before, and again, I didn’t like them. I liked them later on, and do still. I spent my entire summer with my sister in a strawberry patch. Not the kind you pick berries from, but a new field of them, too young to bear. They required our time constantly, hoeing and weeding. We left the next year, and I never reaped a single berry as reward for all my love and attention. The farm was equipped for chicken raising. Lots of chicken houses, and brooder houses. We went for it. My mother mostly attended the brooders and hatchers. The hatching of eggs was done by the heat of oil lamps made for the purpose. They were dangerous, for the wicks would creep somehow and had to be turned down. One night between circuits of attendance, on over heated. W lost a few hundred eggs and chicks on that occasion and the profit for the year, chicken wise went up to heaven – or somewhere.

The next spring we moved away. We were now in the “Lone Star” school district, where I remained thru grade school. Again the teachers were young and inexperienced. I was learning nothing, and didn’t care too much. However, my dad, having been a school teacher in his younger days decided something was wrong. I wasn’t p4rogressing well at all, and he thought I had better be removed from Lone Star. He sent me to school in town that winter, to the Carthage public school system. It was there that I learned for sure that my education had been neglected. IT could have just been me, but really it wasn’t and I learned that, and my dad learned that. From then on things were better. Our school at Lone Star acquired the services of a man teacher. He had taught school all of his life, and was around 50 years old. R. J. Knight was his name, and he knew the score. I like him, and he appeared to take special interest in all the children. From Mr. Knight we learned. He knew what we needed, and he knew how to impart it to us. I spent two terms with him. I should have entered H. S. after my first year with him but chose to go back another term. IT was a good move for me. However time did not stand still and I was getting older. I was sixteen when I left Lone Star. To say I was considerable behind is putting it mildly. Some children are thru H.S. then. My age however, did something for me at last. I had the edge on the other kids in athletics. I made the football team the first year, only to be removed by my dad to help on the farm. They next year I made the basketball team, and since that sport was played at night, I was allowed to participate. I played the next three years and captained the team my senior year. Basketball was the only thing in which I excelled. I was selected on the “all-star” team of SW Missouri, but never was able to sell a drop of it towards earning a living. Basketball wasn’t big then. NO commercial teams but was confined strictly to school pleasure. That was that.

Two years after leaving the “chicken farm” we moved to a 160 acre farm, known as the Pleasant Valley Farm. We raised corn, oats, wheat and hay, ad diversified the crops. Dad was a good farmer and worked hard. So did the kids. However, beside the work on the farm, we had something else. In one corner of the farm, was an abandoned zinc mine. There had been no restoration of the mine fields, so it grew up in underbrush, weeds and trees. There were three big cave-ins filled with water. They were of considerable size, of fifty to 100 yards across. Two of these small lakes had an abundance of perch and catfish. The larger cave-in was a chrystal clear lake in which we swam. The water was deep, and the banks straight down, but we installed ladders to get out when we had finished swimming. Of course, it was no place for one who could not swim. This area was a play ground for myself and our neighbors. It was also a good hunting ground. We had quail, rabbits and wild ducks galore. It was on this place that my dad bought me a Winchester 12 gauge, repeating shotgun. I literally wore the gun out by the time I was about 60. It was the pride of all my possessions. NO one else in my crowd had one. I had the pleasure of lending it to friends who were less fortunate.

I wish to inject at this time, a little something of my mother’s life, thus far not related in my manuscript. This should start, no one knows when, but I will use the summer of 1918. I had been in the Kansas harvest fields that summer. When I returned home, and just before entering High School for my senior year, I noted all was not well at home. There was plainly a situation about which I felt I could do nothing. It was off and beyond my ability to change at that stage of my life and theirs. With more wisdom and experience in life which I have later acquired, things might have been different.

The personalities of my parents differed greatly. The quiet independent life of a farmer suited my Father. It didn’t suit my Mother. Not anymore at least. She aspired to some outside activity. She wanted to mix with people. You might call her a “Social climber” in the embryo state. She had asked my Father several times to quit the farm and move into town. She suggested trying to procure a job in the Post Office. Dad was well acquainted with the Postmasters at the time. Dad would have none of it.  My mother felt she had served her time in the country. She left, never to return to farm life. The rest is history to the family.

Some time later, my Mother met up with an old lifetime acquaintance, a Mr. Witt. I can’t say who promoted the idea, but they alter married, and my Mother went to Cassville, MO., to begin a new life with her new husband. For a short while things seemed to go alright. Not long tho, for Mr. Witt had retired, was settled into his surroundings, which again displeased my Mother. The union dissolved later, leaving my Mother free again.

My mother sought to support herself by getting some work. Her age and inexperience was against her. She moved about but had no anchor. My sister Nellie and her husband Clarence came to her rescue. A great deal of her later life was spent there. She tried to relieve the situation somewhat by moving to one or the other of her children. However, her best home seemed to be with her daughter Nellie. She eventually realized this was doing her daughters family an injustice. Thru the help of her son Waldo, a home was found for her with a private family, on a boarding basis. She retained her pride to the end. However, her incompatibility with life, her ambition for independence, her inability to cope with the very life she sought—to be with people on an equal basis told on her health. She passed away, but not until she had attained the age of 92. She was my Mother. I loved her but did little to show it. I am sorry. It takes too long for some of us to find out what life is all about. I’m sure things would be different again.

Now I should like to write a few remakes additional about my Father. He has been described as somewhat in the body of my manuscript, but something more personal will be written here.

Now, after my Mother left the nest, departing forever her home on the farm, Dad was very much alone. He had a crop in the field, and his heart in the soil... He did what was most natural- he continued on with what he knew best, and what he liked most. IT was on this farm where I helped him harvest, before my own final departure for the west. Dad continued on the farm for I believe either two or three more years. He mostly raised wheat which was a fair price at that time, and he accumulated a little money. He was alone. The family was gone. Presumably at his own discretion, he “sold out” his possessions and retired? Not exactly, he lived here and there, and worked some. He was a fair carpenter and followed that trade some. Then he moved in with his other son, Waldo, SE of Carthage. IT was at this time when I contacted him by letter about going into farming again. He agreed and my wife Rose and I returned to Carthage to join him. We also stayed on the farm at my brothers until we located a suitable farm on which to move. Most of our time there has been described before, and for the reasons given, Rose and I moved out, while my sister and her husband moved in. IT was not exactly a partnership, but an arrangement, which existed I think one year. My sister and family moved out to themselves and again Dad was destined to be a batchelor again. Not exactly a desirable situation, but one in which he found himself for a second time.

It must have been sort of a lonely existence. HE advertised for a housekeeper. He found one in a kindly old lady named Cordelia Heathcock. She had lived a hard life in Oklahoma, having reared a family there, and had become widowed there owing to the demise of her husband. She was looking for work and found it as housekeeper for Dad. She was a very good woman- homely to be sure, but a good cook, a hard worker and the love of God in her heart. I suppose the inevitable happened. A match was made and they were married. This was Dad’s third attempt to finding comfort with a woman. The match turned out not too bad for either. Both needed a home and companionship. They found it together. God Bless Them.

Shortly thereafter, Dad visited my wife Rose and myself in Denver. He brought “Suzie” as he named her, and we had an excellent visit for a few days. Dad drove his 1922 model Ford on the trip. I think they enjoyed the trip together, as well as his visit with Ida, my sister who was also living in Denver. While visiting me, he revealed certain things he had planned. He told me his children had about all left Missouri, and he was about to do so. I think my brother Waldo, living near Lyons (Kansas) had located a place for him to buy and settle. At least he did this, settling on a ten acre tract, in Nickerson, Kansas. His daughter Bertha (Mrs. Hilton, was also living near there. This seemed a suitable arrangement to me so I rather encouraged it. He bought the place and moved there. I believe he spent some pleasant years there, raising some crops such as watermelons, sweet potatoes, --they seemed adapted to the climate. Mother Sue passed away later and not too many years later Dad passed away April 28th, 1944, and was buried in the Nickerson Cemetary.. May peace be with him. He was a good and wise man. I loved him sincerely. As with my Mother, I wish I had been with him more. He was almost 87 when he passed away. My Mother made it to 92.

Paris Clark Martin