An Ole Bachelor- Cottonwoods & a Squirrel- The Folks Place-Wellington National Guard-Fort Carson-Good Afternoon Mame

            AN OLE  BACHELOR---About the time Alan started college Dad and Mom bought what was known as the 'Mercer Place', Ralph and Mary Mercer had lived there for many years.  I became what was referred to 'The Folks Place'.  It was two miles back east of the dairy farm and a half-mile north.  Mom and Dad moved there and I became a bachelor on the Dairy Farm, which lasted for several years.  Alan had a driver’s license by then and would drive over and help with the milking if he didn't have to much homework or school activities.  On some nights dad would come over and help milk, but then I milked all the morning and most evenings by myself.  It was during those years that we thought Dad was having light strokes or heart attacks.  [After a year or two the doctor discovered that when dad worked to hard the muscles would relax around the heart allowing the heart to tilt and the arteries would pinch and reduce the flow of blood.]  It took years before Dad learned there was a point he had to stop and just let someone else do the work.  Especially during the summer when it was wheat harvest & plowing. 

   

A snake found in the old wash house
Arlene, Alan, Joyce

  SNAKES---Three things happened involving snakes on the dairy farm. They probably happened when I was in my 20’s. One was a hot August day and I had gone to the garage.  There were trees surrounding the garage and branches touched the doors.  I opened the door of the garage, which moved the branches.  Something fell down the back of my loose and unbuttoned shirt.   I thought it was a dead tree branch, but when I looked down the tree branch was slithering away.  It was not a tree branch but a snake.  I immediately jumped about 3 feet  but the snake was already far away.  Another incident was when we had laying hens in a chicken house.  We had a row of box nests made of wood.    One summer a big ole bull snake got in one of the nests and ate an egg  and then started through a knothole into another nest where he ate more eggs.  When I came out to gather eggs in the evening the snake was stuck unable to move forward or backwards because of the eggs on each side of the knothole had not digested, so I went to the house, got the rifle and some shells and went out and shot him.  Another time out by the old wooden barn by the milk barn I discovered a small rattlesnake.  I was concerned about it biting a person or animal.  So I looked for a board to kill it with, I found one & made several whacks but none were fatal.  So I began to look for something else and found a pitchfork leaning against the barn,  I went and got it but I couldn't find the snake.  After poking around with the pitchfork, moving some boards on the ground, I again found the snake.   After several unsuccessful jabs trying to get the snakes head I got it several inches back of the head,  the body was pinned to the ground but it had ample room to swing it’s head around.  So now what? I decided the snake wasn't going anywhere so I went to house to try and find the rifle and some shells to shoot the snake.  After I found the rifle and shells I returned to the snake.  At about this time a traveling salesman pulled into the place and drove down to the barn.  In those days we still got a few salesman selling dairy supplies.  He got out of the car and inquired about what I was doing.   I explained I had pinned a rattlesnake with a pitchfork and I was now going to try and shoot it. He pretty much forgot about trying to sell me anything and it didn't take him long for him to get back in the car and leave.  It took several shots to get the snake in the head and kill him.

     
 COTTONWOODS & A SQUIRREL--Before I start the story.  I'm gonna tell about the Cottonwood Lane on the Dairy Farm.  When we first moved there the driveway  was about a quarter mile long & went down between two rows of Cottonwood trees.  After a while we counted them, there was 195.    
       When we first moved to the Dairy Farm the School Bus came down the lane to get us but after seeing several of those huge old Cottonwoods fall across the drive Dad decided the drive wasn't safe so we put a driveway out in the open field.    The lane just became a part of a pasture. That's what the lane was like when this story happened.  It was after I had accepted Christ as a personal Savior.  God had accepted me for what I was but I hadn’t.  I wasn't really happy with my personal looks.  And I was disappointed in some of my personality traits.  So if I got in a restless stage I would get the gun and go hunting.  On this particular day I started looking for the rifle.  It took awhile but I found it but then I couldn't find any rifle shells.  So I searched for the shotgun & then some shells.  As you can see I didn't do much hunting.  Well I found the shotgun and a couple shells and started up the old Cottonwood Lane.  I had gone up the old drive most of the way when I spotted a squirrel pretty high up in the tree. So I took a shot at it.  I must have just hit it with a few buckshot or just practically scared it to death, as it fell from the tree.  I picked it up and could feel it's heart pounding.  About this time a thought crossed my mind.  I thought,  " I have just shot this helpless little creature and he is going to die, just because I can't stand to be alone by myself."  So I did a really crazy thing.  I took the end of my t-shirt, covered its mouth & nose and tried to give it artificial respiration.  It stayed dead anyway, but I never went hunting again.   I killed a couple of skunks in the chicken house after that, but I never went hunting.  I have told this story at several Father-Son Retreats I coordinated and shared it a time or two on a Mexico Trip on a long drive when the group needed a good laugh.
    
RED & TAFFY--I had two dogs while living alone on the  Dairy Farm.  The first was 'Red', an Irish Setter.  I'd heard they were high  sturng but I liked their looks so I got one.  He would chase anything and everything;  buterfly's, grashoppers, anything that moved or flew or whatever was blowing in the wind!  He was alway chasing something and barking.  But his downfall was when he started chasing the milk cows especially jsut before milking time when their udders were full of milk.  He wouldn't just chase them a little ways and stop, he just kept chasing.  I figured the cows runninng and running with a full udder would cause problems so I gave him away to someone, don't remember who now.
     Taffy was a Golden Lab.  The color of homemade taffy, hence his name.  The thing I remember most about him he was over 2 years old before he ever barked.  One night I had left the milking parlor and went to the milk tank room when I head a strange noise outside the door.  It was a low sound that only lasted a couple seconds.  I went to the door and Taffy was sitting outside.  I thought. ''Did Tuffy make that sound'', so I stood awhile, I'd taken of all the milkers so didn't need to check the cows.  He'd sat there awhile when he did something that was so funny.  He let out this little low, short 'woof' and then looked both ways 2-3 times like, ''Where did that sound come from?''  I watched him do this abut 4-5 times & then noticed he was looking down the hill to a field of new wheat after each woof.  There was 15-16 deer grazing on the wheat.  There had been deer there often but he'd never barkled at them.  After that he started barking now & then but always a couple of short Woof, Woof's and that was it, not a constant yapping that some dogs do no matter how much you try and get them to quit.
    We had  old trucks that the starters  had gave out and we'd always park them on the hill by the dairy barn.  To start them we'd turn the key on, clutch them, put it in gear, let them start rolling, let out on the clutch and let the momentum start the truck.  One hot summer day a truck was parked there.  Taffy was laying in the shade of a rear tire.  Dad got into the truck to start it, since there was no sound of the starter to wake him the tires of the truck rolled over him.  I took him to the vet but there were internal injuries the vet didn't think would heal so I ask  him put Taffy to sleep.  I guess the vet thought he was an older dog.  In a little while he came out and commented he didn't know he was that young and did I want to go ahead.  I said yes.  I didn't want to take him home, have him live for awhile and then die.  Taffy was the last dog I had till after Mary & I moved to the farm at Mayfield.

   

Alan & Jason at weiner roast

  THE FOLKS PLACE---  There are a lot of memories of that place.  Dad always got chicks in the spring, when they got fryer size dad’s sisters, Juanita & Lela would come down.  I’m sure Sandy Littchum was helping mom in those days, it was a full day of pulling off heads, or wringing necks, scalding them in hot water to remove the feathers, then gutting them, cutting them up and putting them in freezer bags.  It seemed like I always got the removing heads job.  I plucked a few feathers but hated that job too, the feathers stunk to high heaven from being soaked in hot water to make the feathers come out easier..  Cutting them open was no fun.  I think that is one reason I never liked fried chicken.  It seemed like we ate fried chicken all winter long.  Dad always had a big garden & there was lots of canning to do.  There were lots of wiener roasts, horseshoe pitching, softball games & homemade ice cream with Paxson relatives.  Cheryl's folks, Lee & Betty Hensley came out a lot.  Cheryl's brothers and their families, Pat & Mike would sometime come out too for picnic or weiner roast.  Seemed like everyone liked getting out on the farm. After the Doctor figured out Dad's heart problem there was alway a lot of help come out for Harvest.  Alan & Cheryl were there and Arlene.  Mary and I come over from Mayfield when we weren't busy with harvest.  Alan & I would do a lot of ploughing.  Dad would want Arlene to plough but she didn't like it.  Dad would never let Mary plough, who loved to and would ask Dad to let her, but nothing doing, never could figure out why,  I tried to convince him to let her but no go.  So when Dad would go back the house to rest I'd let Mary plough.  We'd always have to watch for Dad's old pickup to come back to the field so we could make a switch real quick & I'd  be ploughing when Dad got back.  Must have been something about not making a daughter-in-law work in the fields.  While living there the folks hosted Suresh Juneja from India on the IFYE Exchange Program

      
WELLINGTON NATIONAL GUARD--About the time I became draft age a lot of men were retiring after serving 20 years because of W.W. II.  Everyone had said I would not pass the physical because of my bad leg.  But with all the fellows retiring the only physical requirement seemed to be that you were breathing.  Several Argonia boys and I took the bus from Wellington to Kansas City for our Army physicals.   One guy drank a whole lot of Coffee.  We had heard caffeine would raise the blood pressure and you might flunk the physical.  Well he passed and joined the Navy only later to be discharged months later because of low blood pressure.  All the coffee had raised his blood pressure enough to pass. I passed with flying colors, bum leg and all.

     So I returned home wondering what I would do because of the Quaker beliefs about serving in the military. A lot were Conscious Objectors because they thought there were better methods of settling difference than going to war.   But I still felt a strong patriotic call to serve. I talked to an Army Recruiter about enlisting for 3 year as a Military Policeman {MP}, thinking this would allow me to serve my country but not be in combat situations where I might be confronted with taking another persons life.  About this time  Dad started having what we thought was heart attacks.  I've mentioned this earlier.  Not wanting to be gone for 3 years and not have Dad be able to take care of the farm I contacted the National Guard to see if I could still join the Guard.  They said yes so I joined the Guard,  I was assigned to a mortar section of an Infantry Unit.   I began to seriously pray that God would honor my Quaker beliefs about war and keep me out of a combat situation.  Which over the years he did do just that.

     I took Basic Training at Fort Jackson, S.C.  I rode the train from Winfield, Ks. to South Carolina.  I went into Columbia, S.C. a few times.  It had beautiful trees,  lots of statues & water fountains, before I left flowers were in bloom so it was a beautiful city.  The only problem was the people weren't  friendly towards Yankees in the Army.  Unfortunately my haircut and accent were a dead give away.    I went to Fort Polk, Louisiana for AIT, advanced individual training,  I was sent to the North Fort, there was a North & South Fort.  The North Fort was open range.  It was an every morning occurrence to find cow patties all over the sidewalks.  Some were quite fresh.  

       I returned to the farm and attended Guard meeting monthly and two week summer training for several years.  I must have gone to only a drill or two before I was transferred to the Rifle Platoon.  I was given acting stripes and made a Squad Leader, as soon as I could be promoted I made Corporal.  The Wellington Unit  really took it seriously.  Every field training was done like it was real combat. Doing everything the way you would to survive.   Going to weekend drills  & 2 weeks summer training worked fine until 1968 when the U.S. was getting deeply involved in Viet Nam.  Then several U.S. National Guard Units  were called to active duty.  In the 4 years before our activation the National Guard was always bugging us about keeping them with a current address and phone number,  IN CASE WE WERE ACTIVATED.  When it happened the National Guard never officially notified us.  We heard it on TV and just went from having meetings two weekends a month to having meetings every day.  Some of us had been asking for promotions, we had enough time & grade, but they kept stalling.  

     FORT CARSON COLORADO-- One day at the everyday Guard Meetings we were told we would be going to Fort Carson, Colorado, just outside Colorado Springs, Colo.  Getting rank in the National Guard had been very difficult, but just before going to Fort Carson they started  promoting everyone so I went from a ‘’Buck Sgt’’.  I had attended an NCO school to get promoted to Sgt., to Staff Sergeant in  two weeks.    Sgt., Harlan Walton, from north of Wellington, shared a room with me that had one window which looked out at Pikes Peak, which I enjoyed as each morning it, looked different according to weather conditions.  We started training at Fort Carson and two things happened.  They started shipping people to Viet Nam individually and the Army came asking Noncommissioned officers [Sergeant's] to volunteer for Drill Sergeant School.  
       In days immediately after activation I applied for a hardship discharge because dad could not continue to operate the dairy farm at the level we had been. I  contacted a Kansas Congressman asking him to just make sure my application went through the proper Channels as I knew otherwise they would never be submitted.  My company never sent it and the congressman called them several times.  They kept calling me in wanting to know why the Congressman was calling.  I kept asking if they had sent in my application for discharge.  They said, ‘’ No’’, I said,  ‘’Send them in and he will quit calling’’. But they didn’t listen.  Then they got on a grudge and tried to get me busted.  Had I still been a Buck Sgt they could just have walked an janked off my stripes off, but being a SSG the had to go through Battalion and prove I wasn't doing my job, which they couldn't do, but they were jacking me around and making things miserable.  To make a long story short my hardship discharge was denied.  Mostly because of the lies my Company officers and high-ranking Sergeants had written about me and sent in with the application.  Of course they made all kinds of attempts to get my  stripes but failed.  At the call for Drill Sergeants I felt God was opening the door for me to avoid being put in a combat situation.  So I applied.  Not long after other Sgts.  were being told they had been selected & were given orders to process out & report to  DI school.  Several told me they  had seen orders for me to attend but my Officers & First Sergeant weren't telling me.  I waited until the last few days and then went to the office and ask for the papers.   I questioned the Company First Sgt.,  he said he had orders for me to report to Vietnam in two weeks.  I told him I knew there were orders for me to report to D.I. School in 4 days and that I wanted them.  He looked through his file cabinets & pretended to be totally surprised to find them.  I knew, he knew, they had been there all the time.  I wanted the orders for two reasons. One it was a way out of being assigned to a combat unit because of my Quaker beliefs & I thought they needed better Drill Sergeant than the ones I had going through basic training.   So I demanded them,  I figured if they really wanted me to go to Viet Nam they could come get me out of Drill Sgt. School.  But that never happened.

   

      RIDE UM COWBOY--While stationed at Fort Carson. I went out to a riding stable.  They ask if I wanted to ride alone or with a trail ride.  I told them I'd like to ride alone and ask for  a horse with a little ‘spirit’ I didn't want one of those slow poke, trail ride type.  They must have been smiling inside when they brought out the horse, a beautiful Palomino.  I crossed a street to get out into some sagebrush land.  I thought I'd get him into a lope or gallop, but before I knew what had happened he jumped about 6 feet and I was sitting on the ground.  I got back on.  He stood still with no fuss while I remounted.  I rode him a little and he seem fine so I thought, ''I'll try again''.  This time he reared over backwards and by the time I got my right foot swung over, it was only about 6 inches above the ground.  I still had hold of the reins.  He got on his feet and I talked to him to sooth him.  So I decided something is going on here,  I just have to figure out what.  I got back on, he was fine so I started experimenting with suttle movements to try and figure it out.  One time I kinda wiggled the reins, I had always flicked Lady and Ghetta lightly on the rump with the reins when I wanted them to gallop. Well he jumped about 5' again but this time I stayed with him because I was ready.  So I figured someone who had owned him had beat him with the reins.  After that I kept the reins curled up and when I wanted him to lope or gallop I just touched him with my heels and made a little clicking sound and he would take off.  He turned out to be a great horse and I enjoyed the ride.  When I got back to the stable they ask. ''How was the ride?''  I said. ''Great! He’s a nice horse.''  I suspected they knew if I had tried to use the reins on him what the results had been, but I wasn't going to tell them.

       
GOOD AFTERNOON MAME—I loved to go into Colorado Springs or Manitou Springs on weekends to look around & relax. The most embarrassing thing that happened to me happened in the Park along the creek in Manitou.  I often dressed in cowboy attire,  pants, shirt, cowboy boots & hat.    I went to the restrooms at the Park and glanced up at the door that said men.  I went in and used the toilet.  Just as I was walking out & just as I started to push the door open, it opened & there stood a lady ahold of the door handle.  She just kind of stared at me, I walked out, tipped my Cowboy Hat & said, ‘’Good Afternoon Mame’’, about 30 minutes later I went back & looked at the restroom I had gone into, & there were the letters ‘WOMEN’.  I don’t know, how but when I had gone in I had sure missed the ‘WOah’ part.