December 2015 Star
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North Texas Star
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Last Edition
December 2015
ALSO INSIDE:
H Billy Diamond and the second battle of Adobe Walls
H Outdoors Along the Brazos
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
H Old Man Depression
Harvey Smith
from Jack County to the Arkansas
Sports Hall of Fame
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 2
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North Texas Star
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 3
4
OUTDOORS ALONG THE BRAZOS
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
6
11
13
By Don Price
GENERAL MANAGER/EDITOR
David May
[email protected]
BILLY DIXON
LAYOUT & DESIGN
Lindsay Burge
[email protected]
ADVERTISING
Mary Gray
[email protected]
Kailie Trigg
[email protected]
CALL
940-325-4465
ONLINE
www.mineralwellsindex.com
and the second battle of Adobe Walls
By Jim Dillard
HARVEY SMITH–
from Jack County to the Arkansas Sports
Hall of Fame
By Wynelle Catlin
OLD MAN DEPRESSION
By Wynelle Catlin
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 4
OUTDOORS
along the
BRAZOS
By DON PRICE
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
My uncle and I yearned for the primitive, the outAs far as redears were concerned, he didn't do
and Uncle Happy, bless his heart, offered to do the
back. We wanted to cast for bass that had never seen anything but scratch his head. But when we showed
driving back to Mineral Wells. But we didn't have
a plug.
him a photograph, he lit up with another big grin and sense enough to get away from Lake Iatt just yet.
And so after plugging ancient Caddo Lake on the
said these were called chinquapins or shellcrackers
We had already discovered its greatest secret...
Tex/La. State line for several days, we decided to
in the only lake, I guess, he really knew, as he
please read on:
pull stakes, to head for the outback swamps beginseemed to know Lake Iatt like the back of his hand.
My uncle and I soon found the mother lode among
ning to dot Central
the dense cypress, yes, thanks to the guide. Lake Iatt
Louisiana, real bayou
was working alive with largemouth black bass, actcountry.
ing as if they'd never seen a lure, but the lingo of our
An old fishing
guide was disturbing if you weren't up to snuff...
guide lived in a
The “trout” we were catching looked exactly like
shack on the bank of
the same species, our Texas largemouth black bass!
cypress-choked Lake
Those trout of Louisiana already knew a Heddon
Iatt in Central
Crazy Crawler or a Creek Chub Ding Bat was nothLouisiana, just east,
ing but a juicy jambalaya tidbit, for they tackled it
off old Highway 71.
with “gumbo” I mean gusto.
Yes, it was primitive,
Caught from pirogues and bateaux, these bayou
all right.
bass had black backs, dark green sides and goldenThat morning,
colored bellies, coming from a hue of rust/copper, a
Many years ago a largemouth black bass was called a trout,
perhaps we'll not be
sort of dark tea coloration probably caused by an
according to a fishing guide in Central Louisiana, Lake Iatt.
stretching the truth
abundance of very lush vegetation.
one bit by saying
That old fishing guide who lived contentedly in
this same scenario
his ramshackle shack on the bald cypress/Spanish
has been going on for decades? Well, the guide
The black crappie was known as calico bass, also
moss bank of Lake Iatt didn't use a Texas-style
was drinking coffee so thick his spoon almost
known as strawberry bass and speckled perch in the
rod and reel–something like a Shakespeare reel/
stood straight up in the syrupy liquid. He said it
Old South, sometimes just plain perch, and it is deli- Heddon rod combo–to cast a plug like my uncle
was “chicory.”
cious, as we later found out.
and I were doing.
The fishing guide owned a homemade cypress
If you have your mind already made up, and you
No sir-ee! He used a stiff 10-or 12-foot Calcutta
bateau, which he rented out to fishermen. To rent out want campbellites, lamplighters, or papermouths,
cane pole, with an 18-inch braided green line of very
his bateau for the entire day, you had to fork over 50 common names for white
cents to cement the deal, as the guide made his livperch, you've come to the
ing this way, believe it or not. This was sixty-four
hot spot of Central
years ago, around 1951.
Louisiana, Lake Iatt, the
While we were loading the bateau with our tackle, old guide told us.
my uncle inquired about the bass fishing in Lake
My uncle and I were
Iatt; he asked the guy about crappie fishing and if
confused by now, and one
the bream were really as big as we'd heard about, big more nutty name of a fish
as dinner plates?
didn't help a bit. Wait,
“No bass,” the guy replied in a heady patois, “But
there's more: purely by
plenty big trout in lake!”
accident we found that
He didn't know anything about crappies either,
our fresh water drum in
until my uncle showed him a snapshot of one. The
West Texas is a gasperwhite crappie in Louisiana is commonly called sacgou in Louisiana. I recall
Along about 64 years ago the black crappie was called calico
a-lait. “Plenty sac-a-lait in this lake,” he said, along
this is about the time I
bass, according to an old fishing guide on Lake Iatt.
with another big grin.
had a slight breakdown
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 5
heavy test (it looked like that from my boat's seat)
tied to the end of it.
And the guy's choice was a Herb's Dilly, one of
the great classics of the past.
He'd even painted his long and heavy Calcutta
fishing pole with dark green paint, the color of the
surface of Lake Iatt, a perfect
camouflage.
Out of respect for the fishing
guide, my uncle and I laid
down in the bottom of the boat
our Texas rods and reels, our
Shakespeare and Pflueger,
South Bend and Heddon tackle.
We paused to watch him
work his art, oh yes, he knew
how, truly a virtuoso, a master
of technique, the maestro and
his wand.
Without making a single
wave, he would scull his bateau
toward the bank ever so gingerly, to deftly sway his Herb's
In 1951 a
Dilly over the water hyacinths and
crisscrossed huge logs and cypress
knees, plopping the lure with that long Calcutta
pole into a basketball-sized pocket, sputtering the
lure's big single spinner, vigorously swishing it
back-and-forth.
I'll never forget it, the way he conducted the symphony. The green trout just about had nervous
breakdowns, I mean the black bass. The largemouth
black bass. I don't know what I mean. But I do
think they went stark-raving mad, the way the trout
smashed the classic lure, his Herb's Dilly.
You should have seen the old guide's heavy cord
fishing stringer. I thought it was going to break, for
sure, because it held so many
big trout, er, bass.
He lifted the heavy stringer
as high as he could for all to
see; he truly held the perfection of the moment in the
palm of his hand. Almost sixty-five years ago, yet only
yesterday, it seems. And from
the looks of things, the guide
definitely had the winning
hand.
NOTE: This fishing narrative last appeared in the June
27th, 1999 issue of the
Mineral Wells INDEX. It has
guide on Central Louisiana’s Lake Iatt told us the redder
been paraphrased.
sunfish was called chinquapin or shell cracker.
N
O
ALLIS
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 6
BILLY
DIXON
and the second Battle of Adobe Walls
by: JIM DILLARD
On June 30, 1874, 15 Indians sat horseback contemplating their next move from the safety of a small
hill overlooking the site of the old Adobe Walls
Trading Post, located just north of the Canadian River
in the Texas Panhandle.
They were part of a group of an estimated 700
Comanche, Kiowa, Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians
that, for the last three days, had surrounded and
attacked 28 buffalo hunters and businessmen and one
woman, now barricaded in the cluster of small buildings below. The merchants set up headquarters there
to buy buffalo hides and sell merchandise to the many
buffalo hunters then in the Texas Panhandle. The
great buffalo slaughter, which had begun in Kansas
and Nebraska, had shifted southward, much to the
chagrin of the southern plains Indians. Conflict was
inevitable between the buffalo hunters and the plains
Indians, whose livelihood depended on the massive
herds of buffalo roaming the southern Great Plains.
During a Sun Dance preformed prior to the attack,
Comanche medicine man Esa-tai (aka Wolf Prophet)
had promised victory and protection against the bullets of the buffalo hunters. However, the fight did not
go well for the Indians, as the buffalo hunter's Sharps
rifles began to take their toll. From a building below
the hill, one of the buffalo hunters fired a shot in their
direction. Although the Indians likely saw the puff of
smoke from the gunshot, they did not expect what
happened next. A split second later, one of the Indians
slumped from his horse and fell dead to the ground.
Government surveyors would later measure the distance of the gunshot at 1,538 yards.
Billy Dixon had just fired a shot heard throughout
the Southern Plains that would ultimately lead to the
end of the free-ranging Indian era in Texas. It was
also an event that would cement the name Billy
Dixon into the legends and folklore of Texas, and elevate him to icon status.
William (Billy) Dixon was born in Ohio County,
West Virginia, on Sept. 25, 1850, and was the oldest
of three children. When he was 10 years old, his
mother died when her third child was born and two
years later his father also died. He and his sister were
sent to live with their uncle Thomas Dixon, who lived
in Ray County, Missouri. After just a few months, his
sister died of typhoid fever. Billy stayed with his
uncle for a year and, along with another young man
he had befriended, left his uncle's home unannounced
to seek his own way.
They made their way up the Missouri River and
worked in woodcutter camps that were supplying fuel
for steamboats plying up and down the river. On Oct.
3, 1864, they arrived at Westport, Missouri, near the
site of present Kansas City, just as a civil war battle
was raging there between the armies of Union
General Alfred S. Pleasanton and Confederate
General Sterling Price.
They moved further up
the Missouri River into
Kansas and were hired by
a farmer near Wyandotte
for a couple of months.
Traveling further northwest to Leavenworth,
Kansas, they made
acquaintance with Tom
Hare, a driver for a government wagon train, who
enamored them with tales
of his trips through the
wild country of the frontier. Knowing new hands
were needed for an
upcoming trip in the
spring, he introduced
Billy and his friend to the
wagon train "boss" who
reluctantly hired them on
the spot for a wage of $50
a month and all necessary
provisions, including guns
and ammunition. Billy
Dixon's adventures on the
Plains was about to begin.
The train was to leave
Fort Scott, then a frontier
town located at the site of
a former fort abandoned by the military in 1853,
located 88 miles southwest of Kansas City. The caravan of wagons departed during May 1864 for
Leavenworth, Kansas, where the ox-drawn wagons
were loaded with government supplies bound for Fort
Collins, Colorado. During that trip, 14-year-old Billy
Dixon was exposed to the hardships associated with
travel across the plains but was also became enamored by the majestic beauty and vastness of the land.
During the winter of 1864, Billy was hired for $45
a month to help move 150 head of mules from a farm
located on Soldier's Creek about 60 miles west of
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to the corral-master in
Leavenworth. He worked at the farm with the mules
during that winter and helped moved them to
Leavenworth around the first of March 1865. After
delivering the mules, Billy was persuaded to go to
work for the McCall family where he had spent the
winter working with the mules. They had taken a liking to young Billy and
treated him as their son.
He would remain with
them until the fall of
1866, and at the insistence
of the McCalls, attend
school for a short time
during that winter in
Leavenworth.
During 1867 Billy continued to hire on with
government wagon trains
hauling supplies to frontier outposts. In October,
Billy was with a train of
60 wagons that traveled
from Fort Harker, Kansas,
to Medicine Lodge Creek
to escort peace commissioners to negotiate a treaty with several tribes of
plains Indians. There he
witnessed the arrival of
large numbers of
Cheyenne, Arapahoe,
Kiowa, Apache and
Comanche Indians (he
estimated 15,000.) The
Medicine Lodge Treaty
was eventually signed,
which stipulated the
Indians would stay south of the Arkansas River. This
treaty, like many others, was soon broken by the
Indians and buffalo hunters that within a few years
ventured south of the Arkansas River following the
vast herds of buffalo in the Texas Panhandle. Indians
also continued to raid in western Kansas, western
Oklahoma, eastern Colorado and the Texas
Panhandle.
Billy's next job while in Kansas was with a government wagon train hauling cannons, that had been
taken to Fort Harker for campaigns against Indians,
back to Fort Leavenworth. The heavy cannons had
proved unsuitable for use in pursuing Indians across
Billy Dixon
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 7
the Plains. He spent the winter in Leavenworth and
went out with hunting groups promoted by the railroad
company to kill buffalo and other game. Throughout
his journeys on the plains, Billy Dixon honed his talent
as a marksman, a skill that would prove invaluable
throughout much of his life.
In 1868, 18-year-old Billy Dixon began work for a
merchant hauling lumber and supplies between
Leavenworth, Kansas City and Baxter Springs,
Kansas. Still wanting to go further west, he hired on
with a mule train headed for Fort Hayes, Kansas. The
600 mules and their drivers were loaded on a Kansas
Pacific train at Leavenworth destined for Fort Hayes
and arrived there on October 15. From there, the halfwild mules were hitched to one hundred loaded wagons for a twelve-day trip to Camp Supply in northwestern Oklahoma to support George Custer for an
upcoming campaign against Cheyenne Chief Black
Kettle and the subsequent Battle of Washita (located
near present Cheyenne, Oklahoma.) A second trip was
also made to Camp Supply to complete movement of
all the supplies.
Having their fill of working on government wagon
trains, Billy and two of his friends went into the hunting and trapping business during the winter of 1868.
Good money could be made selling furs and meat from
deer, elk and other wild game. When the high demand
for buffalo hides began in earnest during the spring of
1870, they switched to buffalo hunting. They lived in
dugouts they built along streams as they followed the
herds of buffalo. In the beginning, buffalo cow hides
brought $1 each and bull hides $2. By the fall of 1872
buyers were paying $4 for buffalo bull hides. With
Billy's marksmanship skills, he was able to keep two
experienced skinners busy at all times.
After his partners quit him, Billy hired two other
men to work for him and moved his operation south of
Hays City, Kansas, nearer the buffalo range. There he
established a small store in partnership with Billy
Reynolds along a well-traveled road leading to Hays
City to sell provisions to other buffalo hunters in the
area. The store proved to be a lucrative operation, until
Reynolds sold out all the goods while Dixon was away
and left with all the money, never to be seen again.
Billy continued buffalo hunting and formed another
partnership to keep the store in operation until 1872.
During the fall of 1872, Dixon moved south to the
fledgling town of Dodge City, Kansas, and witnessed
some of its first buildings being constructed. It was at
that time the terminus of the Santa Fe Railroad and
was growing rapidly to accommodate settlers and the
advancing tide of society, both good and bad. When
construction of the railroad westward stalled, hundreds
of out-of-work men turned to buffalo hunting and the
great slaughter began. Dixon estimated that 75,000
buffalo were killed that year within a 50-75 mile radius of Dodge City. As buffalo became scarce, hunters
began drifting south of the Arkansas River, contrary to
Shop
Historic
Granbury
provisions of the Medicine Lodge Treaty, to tap the
vast reservoir of buffalo that covered the Southern
Plains.
Like many other buffalo hunters, Dixon moved
south of the Arkansas and Cimarron rivers during 1873
in pursuit of buffalo in southwestern Kansas and the
Oklahoma and the Texas panhandles. Buffalo hunters
were literally risking their lives, as the threat of being
killed by Indians increased. Blizzards and prairie wildfires on the plains were also constant dangers for buffalo hunters caught out in the open. That winter, Dixon
and his hunting party decided to make a reconnaissance of the Texas Panhandle and explore the buffalo
range in hope of locating new hunting areas. They
traveled to Buffalo Springs northeast of present
Texline, Texas, and made a circuitous trip south across
the Canadian River to Palo Duro Canyon, and then
east to Mulberry Creek. From there they went northeast crossing both the Salt and North Fork of the Red
River until they reached the Canadian River. Traveling
upstream for some distance, they crossed the river near
the site of the old Adobe Walls Trading Post, but did
not see it and traveled north to Palo Duro Creek,
where they found several buffalo hunters camped.
During the entire trip, they saw very few buffalo, but
were sure they would return during their spring migration north. No Indians were encountered as they traveled less during the winter, preferring to stay in their
winter camps until spring. Dixon and his party
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 8
returned to Dodge City during February 1874 to make
preparations for a return trip to the Texas Panhandle.
While in Dodge City, they met A.C. Myers, who was
planning to move his merchandising business south to
the Canadian River in the Texas Panhandle where buffalo were more plentiful and buffalo hunters were eager
to begin hunting. Within a few days a group of buffalo
hunters, including 24-year-old Billy Dixon and Bat
Masterson, joined together and decided to accompany
Meyers to establish a base camp 150 miles south of
Dodge City along the Canadian
River.
The caravan of buffalo hunters
and merchants finally located a suitable location to set up their operations on Adobe (or Bent's) Creek,
about one mile from the ruins of the
old Adobe Walls Trading Post. It
had been established there by the
firm of Bent and St. Vrain in 1846
to trade with Indians. When the
business was abandoned in 1849 the
buildings were blown up. In 1864,
it was the site of a battle between a
large group of Comanche, Kiowa,
Cheyenne and Apache Indians and
United States military forces from
Fort Bascom in New Mexico, led
by Kit Carson. The site was ideal
with a plentiful water supply and
timber for building.
Soon a 20-by-60 picket-house
(constructed with upright logs
anchored in a trench) was constructed by Meyers and Leonard to serve
as a store for general merchandise,
James Hanrahan built a 25-by-60
foot sod house for a saloon, and
Thomas O'Keefe built a 15-foot
square picket blacksmith shop. The
company of Wrath & Wright who
bought buffalo hides and sold general merchandise arrived and built a
16-by-20 sod house for their business. Corals were also constructed to
accommodate their horses and livestock.
Billy Dixon and his hide skinners moved south across
the Canadian River along White Deer Creek and west
to Dixon Creek (present Carson County), where they
set up a camp. Within a few days he heard the familiar
deep rumbling sound of buffalo moving north. When he
rode five miles south of his camp onto the open plains,
he described what he saw: "As far as the eye could
reach, south, east and west of me, there was a solid
mass of buffaloes – thousands upon thousands of them
– slowly moving toward the north."
Hunting began in earnest for Dixon and his skinners
until news spread of several buffalo hunters being killed
by Indians in the area. Fearing for their safety, they
retreated to Adobe Walls and remained there for a
week. After retrieving the buffalo hides from their camp
on Dixon Creek, Dixon and his skinners moved back to
the relative safety of Adobe Walls and made preparations to begin hunting north of the Canadian with other
groups of buffalo hunters.
During the night of June 27, 1874, as everyone at the
Adobe Walls camp slept, the loud noise similar to a
gunshot broke the stillness of the night. It was soon discovered that a cottonwood beam used as the
ridgepole of Hanrahan's
saloon had cracked,
threatening to collapse
the building. Fifteen men
that had been awakened
set about making repairs
and decided to stay up the
rest of the night to get an
early start to their buffalo
hunt in the morning. As
Dixon began loading gear
on a wagon, he was
shocked to see hundreds
of Indians in full war
regalia advancing from
east of the buildings. As
the men retreated into the
safety of the buildings,
the Indians surrounded
them and the battle
ensued. The Indian force
was led by Comanche
Chief Quanah Parker and
other chiefs of the Kiowa,
Cheyenne and Arapahoe.
The buffalo hunters
were well armed and
were able to hold out
against overwhelming
odds. The Sadler brothers, who had slept in a
wagon outside the buildings, were killed by the
Indians when the attack began ,and Billy Tyler was
killed as he ran for the safety of the buildings. William
Olds accidentally discharged his rifle while descending
a ladder in the saloon and was killed. In all, at least fifteen Indians were kill during the three day siege. It was
Billy Dixon's lucky shot with a "Big-Fifty Sharps"
(probably a .50 Sharps with a 2-1/2 inch case loaded to
50-110 specifications) he had borrowed from Hanrahan
that killed the Indian on horseback at 1,538 yards and
discouraged further attacks. This fight would lead to the
Red River Indian War (1874-1875) that resulted in the
relocation of the Southern Plains Indians onto reservations in Oklahoma.
Billy Dixon
Following the Second Battle at Adobe Walls, most of
the buffalo hunters abandoned their headquarters on the
Canadian River and moved back north. Billy Dixon
also ended his buffalo hunting adventures and returned
to Dodge City where 10 days later he was hired as a
scout by Gen. Nelson A. Miles. In early August 1875,
Dixon was sent with a small force under the command
of Lt. Frank D. Baldwin to the site of Adobe Walls to
ascertain the Indian situation in that region. A dozen or
more men still held out at the small cluster of buildings
despite the danger of Indians that remained in the area.
After they arrived, they witnessed George Huffman,
who had been out picking plums, being pursued by a
group of 10 or 15 Indians about a mile from the camp.
As he vainly rode toward the safety of Adobe Walls, the
Indians caught up with him and lanced him to death
from his horse. The following year when Dixon visited
the site of Adobe Walls with Gen. Miles, they found
that Indians had burned all the buildings to the ground.
All the men from Adobe Walls and the force led by
Lt. Baldwin abandoned the camp and moved southeast
to Cantonment Creek (present northeastern Gray
County), where they joined Gen. Miles' main command,
consisting of eight companies of the Sixth Cavalry, four
companies of the Fifth Infantry, scouts and Delaware
Indian trackers. Artillery consisted of two 10-barreled
Gatling guns and one Parrott 10-pounder. By
September, Miles had moved south to McClellan Creek
(southeastern Gray County) for operations against renegade Indians, who had refused to report to their agencies in Oklahoma.
On Sept. 10, 1874, when the supply train escorted by
Captain Wyllys Lyman and 105 men from Camp
Supply, located in northwestern Oklahoma, carrying
needed equipment and rations for Gen. Miles' operations failed to arrive on schedule, he sent Dixon and
five other men to locate it. Unknown to Miles, Lyman
and the supply train were under attack by an estimated
400 Indians on the upper Washita River in present
Hemphill County. After a five-day siege, the Indians
broke off the fight and Lyman was able to make his
way to Miles with the supplies.
The following day, as Dixon and the small group of
men neared the Washita River 22 miles southeast of
present Canadian, Texas, and only a few miles from
Lyman and the supply train which was under attack,
they were surrounded by 125 Comanche and Kiowa
warriors. George Smith was critically wounded as he
tried to hold the horses, and Amos Chapman was also
struck by bullets. Dixon and the three other men
crawled into a shallow buffalo wallow, about 10 feet in
diameter, where they would fight for their lives. All
were wounded, except for Dixon, but they continued to
fight and kept the Indians at bay until a thunderstorm
forced the Indians to leave. That afternoon, Dixon was
able to drag Chapman and Smith to the safety of the
wallow but Smith died from his wounds. Chapman survived but would later have a leg amputated.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 9
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 10
The following morning Dixon left the wounded
men in the buffalo wallow to look for help.
Fortunately, he soon ran into a detachment of troops
under Maj. Price, who had helped rescue Lyman's
supply train and was escorting it to Gen. Miles'
encampment. A surgeon examined their wounds and
they were given a few provisions but no troops were
left to assist them further. A second group of soldiers
arrived the following day and helped carry them to
Camp Supply. George Smith, who had died during
the fight, was buried in the buffalo wallow.
Dixon and the other five men who fought in the
Buffalo Wallow Fight were awarded the Medal of
Honor by Congress. Several years later, the medals of
Dixon and Chapman were revoked, since they had
only served with the army as civilian scouts. Dixon
kept his medal which is now on display at the
Panhandle-Plains Historical Museum in Canyon. In
1875 he helped locate the site for the building of Fort
Elliott in Wheeler County and would continue to
scout for the military until 1883.
Dixon homesteaded on two sections of land along
Bent Creek and built a house near the site of Adobe
Walls. He worked on the large Turkey Track Ranch
which was established nearby and was appointed
postmaster, a position he would hold for twenty years.
At some point the post office was moved to the small
log house he had built on his land where he opened a
small store to sell merchandise to local landowners
and cowboys. In 1894 he married Olivia King from
Virginia who had come to Texas to visit her brother
and taught at a small school on the south side of the
Canadian River. For three years she was the only
women in Hutchinson County. They would have
seven children.
In 1902, he sold his ranch and moved to the small
nearby town of Plemons, which was at that time the
county seat of newly organized Hutchinson County,
so their children could attend school. He was elected
as the first sheriff of the county, but after just two
years Dixon moved his family to Cimarron County in
the Oklahoma panhandle where he died of pneumonia
on March 9, 1913. Dixon was buried in the cemetery
at Texline, Texas, but his remains moved to the site of
Adobe Walls in 1929, where a marker was placed at
his gravesite. Dixon Creek in southern Hutchinson
Adobe Walls
County and the Billy Dixon Masonic Lodge in Fritch,
Texas, are named in his honor.
Only a few historical markers now mark the location of Adobe Walls, which is on private land in
Hutchinson County and not accessible to the public.
The events that took place there will forever be
etched on the pages of our history and give testament
to the trials and tribulations faced by men such as
Billy Dixon who, against all odds, survived the turbulent times of early day Texas.
Sources: Life and Adventures of "Billy Dixon" of
Adobe Walls, Texas panhandle by Billy Dixon; Texas
State Historical Association Online (Lyman's
Wagontrain, Buffalo Wallow Fight, Red River War,
Adobe Walls First Battle, Adobe Walls Second Battle,
William Dixon; Wikipedia (Billy Dixon, First Battle of
Adobe Walls, Second Battle of Adobe Walls, Adobe
Walls); and other internet sources.
Jim Dillard is a retired wildlife biologist and freelance writer from Mineral Wells. Question/comments
to [email protected].
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 11
Harvey Smith –
from Jack County to the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame
By WYNELLE CAITLIN
I was 9 years old when Harvey Smith came into my life
as a 12-pound baby brother. He's been a red-haired bundle
of zeal, enthusiasm and determination ever since.
A lot of other adjectives apply to him, too. Our niece,
Denise Patterson, in Austin, says, “Uncle Harvey is passionate about life, exuberant, curious about everything,
has a great sense of humor and has the ability to make
complex information into common sense so all of us can
understand it. He also has a wide-open heart, loves life
and squeezes it to the last drop!”
He has other characteristics, such as honesty, trustworthiness and loyalty. I was pleased, but not surprised, when
he was selected to be honored in the Arkansas Sports Hall
of Fame.
When he was born, we lived in Jermyn in Jack County
with parents, George and Dovie Powell Smith, and siblings Alta, Wayne, John R. and Fearl. Shirley was born
after we moved to Jacksboro.
After he graduated from Jacksboro High School, he
went on the University of Arkansas. He was the only one
of us to attend college, and we were proud of him.
Getting through was a struggle. None of us could offer
a lot of monetary assistance, though we all helped some.
He and Della got married and proceeded to have two
babies.
Harvey always loved football. During his high school
years, he played on the Jacksboro team under coach
Woody Henderson. One of Harvey's first jobs as a football
coach was at Brewer Middle School, under Henderson's
auspices.
Harvey coached at a couple of Texas schools, then went
on to Arkansas schools, ending his 20-year career in
Della's hometown of Hope.
He taught his teams to play to win, but more important
than winning was playing with honesty and integrity. And
losing with good sportsmanship. The well-being of the
members of his football teams was important to him, both
on and off the field.
Once a player was missing the ball when it was thrown
to him. Harvey took him aside one day and questioned
him. The player replied, “Coach, I can't ever decide
which ball to catch.” Harvey took the lad to an eye doctor,
then saw that he had eye surgery so he could see one ball,
instead of two.
Our family members were all fans of Harvey's teams,
rooting for them and him. I never got to go to one of his
games, but brother Fearl would fly his little two-seater
plane to Arkansas for games. Our 70-year-old mother
went several times. Once they got caught in a torrential
rainstorm, but she didn't even complain. In fact, she probably enjoyed the excitement.
Hope, where Harvey and Della settled to be near her
parents in their later years, is also the birthplace of
President Bill Clinton. Harvey said he met him when a
TV crew came to Hope with Clinton to do a documentary.
Harvey and a young helper saw all the activity outside
the Clinton Museum, established in the old railroad depot.
They parked to watch. When filming was over, Secret
Service personnel began getting Clinton into the waiting
limo. He stopped, waved them aside and came over,
shook hands with Harvey and his helper. He had several
encouraging words for the youngster.
Later, Harvey and Della, along with other Hope residents, were invited to attend Clinton's inaugural celebration in Washington, D.C. They went and Harvey wore his
overalls. His shaking hands with Clinton, while clad in his
overalls, made the national news.
Harvey dressed very nicely in a suit with a tie when he
was inducted into the Hall of Fame. His nephew wore a
pair of overalls for him.
Hope, Arkansas, and Jacksboro, Texas, are many miles
and a day's journey apart, but we always stayed in close
touch with them. When our mother had her 65th birthday
– and she might not be with us for many more—Harvey
said, “Mother's birthday is always around Thanksgiving
Day, so let's make that our special family day.”
For 31 years, we siblings, our spouses, children, grandchildren, great-grands (and a few extra people) gathered
in Jacksboro to celebrate. Sometimes at the Community
Center, sometimes at Fort Richardson, and once at Jack
County Museum, at the log cabin in which mother was
born on the grounds. Once we all met at Fearl's house for
barbecue, served by Butch Fenter from the tailgate of his
chuckwagon.
With zest and zeal Harvey also helped plot and plan
yearly family camping vacations to the forests of
Colorado. After months of going over maps, with numerous phone calls, a forest was selected. Fearl bought an old
school bus and outfitted it as a camper. Others had, or got,
campers and motor homes – some had tents.
There were family, in-laws, friends of family, friends of
in-laws, just friends – 20 to 30 of us. All met at a designated spot and our caravan began the long trek to
Colorado. There were some interesting stops along the
way, like the time the brakes went out on Harvey's motor
home as he was going down a hill. The caravan halted
until repairs were made.
Mother went several times and climbed the mountains
with everyone. Norman Tankersley, from Mineral Wells,
joined us once.
At the selected forest, campsites were chosen, adjoining
if possible, camp set up, and the real fun began. Everyone
helped with food preparation, cooking over the open fire.
The cook got instructions from all the onlookers. But food
got cooked and eaten – food always tastes better eaten in
mountain air.
Singing and telling tales around the campfire at night.
In the daytime, sightseeing, visiting historic sites, fishing,
panning for gold.
Harvey was no stranger to Mineral Wells. When our
mother was a resident at Lakewell House, he brought a
huge watermelon from Hope – the Watermelon Capital of
the World. The melon was so large a cart was used to
wheel it inside. All the residents enjoyed eating the watermelon, then participating in a seed-spitting contest.
With the same enthusiasm that he exuded about democracy and the political system of this country when teaching his American History classes, Harvey has been a popular speaker at civic groups. He came to Mineral Wells
and spoke at a Democratic gathering.
When Harvey accepted the coaching-teaching position
in Hope, part of the decision was made so they would be
close to Della's parents. They moved into a home next
door, which was surrounded by several acres.
Harvey spent several years clearing and making a
nature trail through the nearby woods. It passed by a
pond, where Della could go and call up the turtles, which
would eat from her hand.
The two of them also made a hummingbird haven, with
dozens of feeders providing nectar for hundreds of the
tiny birds. Harvey erected a special trellis with a sprinkler
in the middle. The birds could fly though to take a shower.
“Remembrance trees” surround their home, each one
planted in memory of a loved one.
Inside their home is “Cat Heaven,” with an entire wall
providing a cat hotel. A cat who lived with them for years
was named Boots. Boots, with Harvey's help, provided
information about many topics via email and many times
gave advice – many times not asked for.
Harvey also wrote books. He had the ability to make
history come alive for his American History students. He
wrote several books for younger readers using some historical facts. And he wrote a fictional book for adults
using the infamous Mountain Meadows Massacre in Utah
Territory in 1857 as the setting.
After retirement, he and Della purchased a motor home
and have traveled to nearly every state in the union. He is
a great poker fan, entering many tournaments.
He and Della live quietly now in their home in Hope.
Grandson Ross Gaudet is following in his footsteps,
attending the University of Arkansas. Daughter Carole
Ann is a computer genius who lives in Carrollton. Lynn
and husband Michael live next door.
Harvey's first coaching job in Arkansas was in
Mountain View. They lived next door to a nursing
home, where 10-year-old Lynn volunteered every day.
She is now a nurse, working in a clinic and center for
migrant workers.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 12
Harvey Smith
Harvey Smith, former Jacksboro resident, now residing
in Hope, Ark., was recently inducted into the Arkansas
Sports Hall of Fame honoring him for his successful
years in coaching high school football in Arkansas. He
was presented a diamond ring, a plaque and a medallion.
Attending the prestigious ceremony in Hot Springs
were family members wife, Della, daughter Carole Ann
Gaudet and grandson Ross of Dallas, daughter Lynn
Terral and husband, Michael of Hope, sister-in-law Flo
Smith and family of Fort Smith, nephew James Catlin of
Huntsville, and friends, neighbors and former football
players.
Inductees for the Hall of Fame are selected for their
outstanding achievement and accomplishments in sports
who brought honor, prestige and fame to the state of
Arkansas, performance in their chosen sports field as well
as exemplary standing in the community, honesty and
integrity in their sports career as well as in following
years.
Smith graduated from Jacksboro High School in 1958,
then went on to the University of Arkansas where he
majored in physical education and minored in American
History. While attending school he met and married
Della Barwick of Hope, Ark. They had two little girls
before 1963 when he received his degree.
He coached and taught history in Texas schools for
five years, then accepted a position in Mountain View,
Ark. And spent the rest of his 20-year coaching-teaching
career in Arkansas schools in Waldron, Fayetteville,
Fouke, then Hope, where he retired in 1994.
In 1988, Smith was selected as Arkansas Athletic
Director of the Year. And received a comparable honor
from the National Interscholastic Athletic Administration
Association.
The Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame Museum in downtown Little Rock displays a photo of Smith along with a
biography of his professional career.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 13
OLD MAN DEPRESSION
(Editor’s note: We are reprinting this timely and timeless story that appeared in the December 2012 edition of the North Texas STAR.)
By WYNELLE CAITLIN
All the time everyone talked about Depression.
Papa and my uncles and my big brother when they
sat on our big front porch in the cool of the evenings.
They'd have on their blue and white striped overalls
and high topped work shoes and they'd be tired and
sweaty from working in the fields and they'd talk
about Depression and how he was starving people.
Mama and my aunts and my big sister when they
worked in the big old kitchen of the log house
Grandpa built when he came to this part of Texas in
the 1880s. They talked about how Depression kept
people from having clothes.
I sure felt sorry for kids that didn't have food or
clothing. Depression didn't get our chickens and hogs
and cows. Nor our fruits and vegetables. Papa took
some to town and traded them for clothes. He said
people sure were hungry.
But I hated Depression because of the doll – a real
doll with real hair. I wanted it for Christmas but I
mustn't ask because of Depression.
My older brother and sister could remember getting
toys for Christmas but my little brother, Bud, and I
never had gotten one, just candy and fruit and nuts.
The nearer Christmas got, the more I wanted a doll
with real hair. In the daytime I played with Bud in our
favorite place under the chinaberry tree beside the big
old round dug well where we drew water with a rope
and wooden bucket. And I wrapped tiny scraps of
cloth around sticks and wished I had a doll with real
hair.
Bud wanted a truck, a real metal one with wheels.
"Time to get a Christmas tree," Papa announced one
day.
Bud and I jumped up and down with joy. We raced
for our jackets and ran through the door and scrambled
up into the wagon that Papa had hitched the team to.
Papa came out with an axe and put it in and he got
in and gathered up the reins. He stood up in the wagon
bed and said, "Giddap" to the mules and guided them
slowly down the path, through the gate and to the far
side of the pasture where he had a good cedar picked
out.
"Will it do?" he asked, eyeing it thoughtfully.
"It's wonderful," I said.
"I like it, too," Bud said.
It was big and tall, a perfect Christmas tree.
Chop, chop. the tree was on the ground. Papa
picked it up and swung it into the wagon bed. We
jumped up beside it, being careful to stay away from
the scratchy limbs.
On the way home we asked Papa if he could see
signs of snow. He looked up, studied the sky carefully
before shaking his head doubtfully.
"Doesn't look like snow," he declared.
We looked at the sky, studied it thoughtfully. It
looked like sky to us.
Every winter we wanted it to snow. Most winters it
did, at least once. One time there was even ice and the
stock watering tank froze over and we skated on it.
But every Christmas we wanted it to snow. It hardly
ever did. We just wished it would.
When we got to the house, Papa made a wooden
stand for the tree. He carried it in the house and put it
in the corner of the front room by the fireplace where
a fire burned all winter and that tree nearly touched the
ceiling.
Mama brought out a box filled with all sorts of
things she'd been saving all year. Tinfoil, colored
paper and bright scraps of cloth. We made paper
chains, cut out stars and made lots of pretty things for
the tree.
Mama helped us make a star to go on the top. And
we pasted an angel in the middle. I found it in a magazine she let us cut out of because it was torn anyway.
When nighttime came, everyone came in the house,
and we lit the lamp. Mama popped popcorn we'd
raised, and we were going to string it for the tree. Only
we ate so much there wasn't any left. Mama had to
pop some more. She complained she got as hot as the
corn as she held the big old long handled popper over
the coals in the fireplace. Then we decided it would be
fun to make popcorn balls.
The tree was pretty enough without popcorn chains.
Now that it was ready, Christmas was really coming.
I kept hoping. Bud did, too. But we felt guilty.
Depression must be very big to need so much food and
clothing. And he took all the money, too, Papa said.
Christmas Eve we hung our stockings on the mantel,
and warmed outselves good and ran as fast as we
could and jumped in our beds, trying to carry some of
the warm with us.
Next morning our stockings were filled with candy
and fruit and nuts.
Since we lived on The Old Homeplace, where Papa
and his eight brothers and sisters grew up, they all
came to our house Christmas Day.
Soon the house was full of aunts and uncles and
cousins and the yard was full, too. We were excited
and we ran in and out of the house, the men sat outside while the women got the food ready.
They had to put boards across and spread cloths on
them to make some more tables there was so much
food. Everyone brought some. Pies and cakes and
puddings, plus turkey and dressing and giblet gravy.
And bread and butter and other good things. I ate
and ate and wanted to eat some more. I kept trying
but there just wasn't any more room.
The grown-ups laughed at us kids because our eyes
were bigger than our stomachs.
After the tables were cleared and the dishes washed,
everyone gathered in the front room around the fireplace. The grown-ups sat around and laughed and
talked. How they loved to laugh and talk. They made
me feel good listening.
Everyone got to singing I couldn't even sing with
them, I was so full. I just sat in the floor with the rest
of the kids and I was leaning back about half asleep
when someone said, "Listen!"
"I do believe it's Santa Claus," someone else said.
I sat up even though I knew they were joking. They
always joked and teased. Every Christmas we kids
tried to see Santa Claus but we never could.
But it was Santa Claus, big and fat with his red suit
on and the bushiest white whiskers. And he came in
saying, "Ho, ho, ho," and laughing because the chimney was too small and besides there was a fire in it.
I couldn't breathe, my heart did funny flip-flops and
I wished I hadn't eaten so much.
I was really seeing Santa Claus. My eyes didn't
believe me. The rest of me didn't either.
He had a bag with him and said some more “ho, ho,
hos,” then he asked if all the boys and girls had been
good all year. Lot of the kids said yes, but I couldn't
say anything. Some of the grown ups said he'd better
ask them if the kids had been good, and they laughed.
And Santa Claus said he'd see if he had something
for good boys and girls. And he opened that bag and
started taking out toys – real toys!
Each toy had a name on it. Each cousin got a toy.
And he called each name loud and clear. He picked up
a truck, a real metal truck, and called Bud's name.
Then he called my name. I just sat there and someone else had to hand my toy to me. They laughed and
said I was scared but I didn't care.
I just held out my arms and took that doll with real
hair. It fit in my arms just right.
I rocked it back and forth, holding it tight. I was
never going to turn loose.
That old Depression must have gone away and I
sure was glad!
(Published in The Farmer Stockman, 1970).
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 14
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December 2015
ALSO INSIDE:
H Billy Diamond and the second battle of Adobe Walls
H Outdoors Along the Brazos
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
H Old Man Depression
Harvey Smith
from Jack County to the Arkansas
Sports Hall of Fame
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 2
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North Texas Star
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 3
4
OUTDOORS ALONG THE BRAZOS
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
6
11
13
By Don Price
GENERAL MANAGER/EDITOR
David May
[email protected]
BILLY DIXON
LAYOUT & DESIGN
Lindsay Burge
[email protected]
ADVERTISING
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[email protected]
Kailie Trigg
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CALL
940-325-4465
ONLINE
www.mineralwellsindex.com
and the second battle of Adobe Walls
By Jim Dillard
HARVEY SMITH–
from Jack County to the Arkansas Sports
Hall of Fame
By Wynelle Catlin
OLD MAN DEPRESSION
By Wynelle Catlin
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 4
OUTDOORS
along the
BRAZOS
By DON PRICE
You said, “It’s a trout,” but back in Texas...
My uncle and I yearned for the primitive, the outAs far as redears were concerned, he didn't do
and Uncle Happy, bless his heart, offered to do the
back. We wanted to cast for bass that had never seen anything but scratch his head. But when we showed
driving back to Mineral Wells. But we didn't have
a plug.
him a photograph, he lit up with another big grin and sense enough to get away from Lake Iatt just yet.
And so after plugging ancient Caddo Lake on the
said these were called chinquapins or shellcrackers
We had already discovered its greatest secret...
Tex/La. State line for several days, we decided to
in the only lake, I guess, he really knew, as he
please read on:
pull stakes, to head for the outback swamps beginseemed to know Lake Iatt like the back of his hand.
My uncle and I soon found the mother lode among
ning to dot Central
the dense cypress, yes, thanks to the guide. Lake Iatt
Louisiana, real bayou
was working alive with largemouth black bass, actcountry.
ing as if they'd never seen a lure, but the lingo of our
An old fishing
guide was disturbing if you weren't up to snuff...
guide lived in a
The “trout” we were catching looked exactly like
shack on the bank of
the same species, our Texas largemouth black bass!
cypress-choked Lake
Those trout of Louisiana already knew a Heddon
Iatt in Central
Crazy Crawler or a Creek Chub Ding Bat was nothLouisiana, just east,
ing but a juicy jambalaya tidbit, for they tackled it
off old Highway 71.
with “gumbo” I mean gusto.
Yes, it was primitive,
Caught from pirogues and bateaux, these bayou
all right.
bass had black backs, dark green sides and goldenThat morning,
colored bellies, coming from a hue of rust/copper, a
Many years ago a largemouth black bass was called a trout,
perhaps we'll not be
sort of dark tea coloration probably caused by an
according to a fishing guide in Central Louisiana, Lake Iatt.
stretching the truth
abundance of very lush vegetation.
one bit by saying
That old fishing guide who lived contentedly in
this same scenario
his ramshackle shack on the bald cypress/Spanish
has been going on for decades? Well, the guide
The black crappie was known as calico bass, also
moss bank of Lake Iatt didn't use a Texas-style
was drinking coffee so thick his spoon almost
known as strawberry bass and speckled perch in the
rod and reel–something like a Shakespeare reel/
stood straight up in the syrupy liquid. He said it
Old South, sometimes just plain perch, and it is deli- Heddon rod combo–to cast a plug like my uncle
was “chicory.”
cious, as we later found out.
and I were doing.
The fishing guide owned a homemade cypress
If you have your mind already made up, and you
No sir-ee! He used a stiff 10-or 12-foot Calcutta
bateau, which he rented out to fishermen. To rent out want campbellites, lamplighters, or papermouths,
cane pole, with an 18-inch braided green line of very
his bateau for the entire day, you had to fork over 50 common names for white
cents to cement the deal, as the guide made his livperch, you've come to the
ing this way, believe it or not. This was sixty-four
hot spot of Central
years ago, around 1951.
Louisiana, Lake Iatt, the
While we were loading the bateau with our tackle, old guide told us.
my uncle inquired about the bass fishing in Lake
My uncle and I were
Iatt; he asked the guy about crappie fishing and if
confused by now, and one
the bream were really as big as we'd heard about, big more nutty name of a fish
as dinner plates?
didn't help a bit. Wait,
“No bass,” the guy replied in a heady patois, “But
there's more: purely by
plenty big trout in lake!”
accident we found that
He didn't know anything about crappies either,
our fresh water drum in
until my uncle showed him a snapshot of one. The
West Texas is a gasperwhite crappie in Louisiana is commonly called sacgou in Louisiana. I recall
Along about 64 years ago the black crappie was called calico
a-lait. “Plenty sac-a-lait in this lake,” he said, along
this is about the time I
bass, according to an old fishing guide on Lake Iatt.
with another big grin.
had a slight breakdown
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 5
heavy test (it looked like that from my boat's seat)
tied to the end of it.
And the guy's choice was a Herb's Dilly, one of
the great classics of the past.
He'd even painted his long and heavy Calcutta
fishing pole with dark green paint, the color of the
surface of Lake Iatt, a perfect
camouflage.
Out of respect for the fishing
guide, my uncle and I laid
down in the bottom of the boat
our Texas rods and reels, our
Shakespeare and Pflueger,
South Bend and Heddon tackle.
We paused to watch him
work his art, oh yes, he knew
how, truly a virtuoso, a master
of technique, the maestro and
his wand.
Without making a single
wave, he would scull his bateau
toward the bank ever so gingerly, to deftly sway his Herb's
In 1951 a
Dilly over the water hyacinths and
crisscrossed huge logs and cypress
knees, plopping the lure with that long Calcutta
pole into a basketball-sized pocket, sputtering the
lure's big single spinner, vigorously swishing it
back-and-forth.
I'll never forget it, the way he conducted the symphony. The green trout just about had nervous
breakdowns, I mean the black bass. The largemouth
black bass. I don't know what I mean. But I do
think they went stark-raving mad, the way the trout
smashed the classic lure, his Herb's Dilly.
You should have seen the old guide's heavy cord
fishing stringer. I thought it was going to break, for
sure, because it held so many
big trout, er, bass.
He lifted the heavy stringer
as high as he could for all to
see; he truly held the perfection of the moment in the
palm of his hand. Almost sixty-five years ago, yet only
yesterday, it seems. And from
the looks of things, the guide
definitely had the winning
hand.
NOTE: This fishing narrative last appeared in the June
27th, 1999 issue of the
Mineral Wells INDEX. It has
guide on Central Louisiana’s Lake Iatt told us the redder
been paraphrased.
sunfish was called chinquapin or shell cracker.
N
O
ALLIS
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 6
BILLY
DIXON
and the second Battle of Adobe Walls
by: JIM DILLARD
On June 30, 1874, 15 Indians sat horseback contemplating their next move from the safety of a small
hill overlooking the site of the old Adobe Walls
Trading Post, located just north of the Canadian River
in the Texas Panhandle.
They were part of a group of an estimated 700
Comanche, Kiowa, Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians
that, for the last three days, had surrounded and
attacked 28 buffalo hunters and businessmen and one
woman, now barricaded in the cluster of small buildings below. The merchants set up headquarters there
to buy buffalo hides and sell merchandise to the many
buffalo hunters then in the Texas Panhandle. The
great buffalo slaughter, which had begun in Kansas
and Nebraska, had shifted southward, much to the
chagrin of the southern plains Indians. Conflict was
inevitable between the buffalo hunters and the plains
Indians, whose livelihood depended on the massive
herds of buffalo roaming the southern Great Plains.
During a Sun Dance preformed prior to the attack,
Comanche medicine man Esa-tai (aka Wolf Prophet)
had promised victory and protection against the bullets of the buffalo hunters. However, the fight did not
go well for the Indians, as the buffalo hunter's Sharps
rifles began to take their toll. From a building below
the hill, one of the buffalo hunters fired a shot in their
direction. Although the Indians likely saw the puff of
smoke from the gunshot, they did not expect what
happened next. A split second later, one of the Indians
slumped from his horse and fell dead to the ground.
Government surveyors would later measure the distance of the gunshot at 1,538 yards.
Billy Dixon had just fired a shot heard throughout
the Southern Plains that would ultimately lead to the
end of the free-ranging Indian era in Texas. It was
also an event that would cement the name Billy
Dixon into the legends and folklore of Texas, and elevate him to icon status.
William (Billy) Dixon was born in Ohio County,
West Virginia, on Sept. 25, 1850, and was the oldest
of three children. When he was 10 years old, his
mother died when her third child was born and two
years later his father also died. He and his sister were
sent to live with their uncle Thomas Dixon, who lived
in Ray County, Missouri. After just a few months, his
sister died of typhoid fever. Billy stayed with his
uncle for a year and, along with another young man
he had befriended, left his uncle's home unannounced
to seek his own way.
They made their way up the Missouri River and
worked in woodcutter camps that were supplying fuel
for steamboats plying up and down the river. On Oct.
3, 1864, they arrived at Westport, Missouri, near the
site of present Kansas City, just as a civil war battle
was raging there between the armies of Union
General Alfred S. Pleasanton and Confederate
General Sterling Price.
They moved further up
the Missouri River into
Kansas and were hired by
a farmer near Wyandotte
for a couple of months.
Traveling further northwest to Leavenworth,
Kansas, they made
acquaintance with Tom
Hare, a driver for a government wagon train, who
enamored them with tales
of his trips through the
wild country of the frontier. Knowing new hands
were needed for an
upcoming trip in the
spring, he introduced
Billy and his friend to the
wagon train "boss" who
reluctantly hired them on
the spot for a wage of $50
a month and all necessary
provisions, including guns
and ammunition. Billy
Dixon's adventures on the
Plains was about to begin.
The train was to leave
Fort Scott, then a frontier
town located at the site of
a former fort abandoned by the military in 1853,
located 88 miles southwest of Kansas City. The caravan of wagons departed during May 1864 for
Leavenworth, Kansas, where the ox-drawn wagons
were loaded with government supplies bound for Fort
Collins, Colorado. During that trip, 14-year-old Billy
Dixon was exposed to the hardships associated with
travel across the plains but was also became enamored by the majestic beauty and vastness of the land.
During the winter of 1864, Billy was hired for $45
a month to help move 150 head of mules from a farm
located on Soldier's Creek about 60 miles west of
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to the corral-master in
Leavenworth. He worked at the farm with the mules
during that winter and helped moved them to
Leavenworth around the first of March 1865. After
delivering the mules, Billy was persuaded to go to
work for the McCall family where he had spent the
winter working with the mules. They had taken a liking to young Billy and
treated him as their son.
He would remain with
them until the fall of
1866, and at the insistence
of the McCalls, attend
school for a short time
during that winter in
Leavenworth.
During 1867 Billy continued to hire on with
government wagon trains
hauling supplies to frontier outposts. In October,
Billy was with a train of
60 wagons that traveled
from Fort Harker, Kansas,
to Medicine Lodge Creek
to escort peace commissioners to negotiate a treaty with several tribes of
plains Indians. There he
witnessed the arrival of
large numbers of
Cheyenne, Arapahoe,
Kiowa, Apache and
Comanche Indians (he
estimated 15,000.) The
Medicine Lodge Treaty
was eventually signed,
which stipulated the
Indians would stay south of the Arkansas River. This
treaty, like many others, was soon broken by the
Indians and buffalo hunters that within a few years
ventured south of the Arkansas River following the
vast herds of buffalo in the Texas Panhandle. Indians
also continued to raid in western Kansas, western
Oklahoma, eastern Colorado and the Texas
Panhandle.
Billy's next job while in Kansas was with a government wagon train hauling cannons, that had been
taken to Fort Harker for campaigns against Indians,
back to Fort Leavenworth. The heavy cannons had
proved unsuitable for use in pursuing Indians across
Billy Dixon
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 7
the Plains. He spent the winter in Leavenworth and
went out with hunting groups promoted by the railroad
company to kill buffalo and other game. Throughout
his journeys on the plains, Billy Dixon honed his talent
as a marksman, a skill that would prove invaluable
throughout much of his life.
In 1868, 18-year-old Billy Dixon began work for a
merchant hauling lumber and supplies between
Leavenworth, Kansas City and Baxter Springs,
Kansas. Still wanting to go further west, he hired on
with a mule train headed for Fort Hayes, Kansas. The
600 mules and their drivers were loaded on a Kansas
Pacific train at Leavenworth destined for Fort Hayes
and arrived there on October 15. From there, the halfwild mules were hitched to one hundred loaded wagons for a twelve-day trip to Camp Supply in northwestern Oklahoma to support George Custer for an
upcoming campaign against Cheyenne Chief Black
Kettle and the subsequent Battle of Washita (located
near present Cheyenne, Oklahoma.) A second trip was
also made to Camp Supply to complete movement of
all the supplies.
Having their fill of working on government wagon
trains, Billy and two of his friends went into the hunting and trapping business during the winter of 1868.
Good money could be made selling furs and meat from
deer, elk and other wild game. When the high demand
for buffalo hides began in earnest during the spring of
1870, they switched to buffalo hunting. They lived in
dugouts they built along streams as they followed the
herds of buffalo. In the beginning, buffalo cow hides
brought $1 each and bull hides $2. By the fall of 1872
buyers were paying $4 for buffalo bull hides. With
Billy's marksmanship skills, he was able to keep two
experienced skinners busy at all times.
After his partners quit him, Billy hired two other
men to work for him and moved his operation south of
Hays City, Kansas, nearer the buffalo range. There he
established a small store in partnership with Billy
Reynolds along a well-traveled road leading to Hays
City to sell provisions to other buffalo hunters in the
area. The store proved to be a lucrative operation, until
Reynolds sold out all the goods while Dixon was away
and left with all the money, never to be seen again.
Billy continued buffalo hunting and formed another
partnership to keep the store in operation until 1872.
During the fall of 1872, Dixon moved south to the
fledgling town of Dodge City, Kansas, and witnessed
some of its first buildings being constructed. It was at
that time the terminus of the Santa Fe Railroad and
was growing rapidly to accommodate settlers and the
advancing tide of society, both good and bad. When
construction of the railroad westward stalled, hundreds
of out-of-work men turned to buffalo hunting and the
great slaughter began. Dixon estimated that 75,000
buffalo were killed that year within a 50-75 mile radius of Dodge City. As buffalo became scarce, hunters
began drifting south of the Arkansas River, contrary to
Shop
Historic
Granbury
provisions of the Medicine Lodge Treaty, to tap the
vast reservoir of buffalo that covered the Southern
Plains.
Like many other buffalo hunters, Dixon moved
south of the Arkansas and Cimarron rivers during 1873
in pursuit of buffalo in southwestern Kansas and the
Oklahoma and the Texas panhandles. Buffalo hunters
were literally risking their lives, as the threat of being
killed by Indians increased. Blizzards and prairie wildfires on the plains were also constant dangers for buffalo hunters caught out in the open. That winter, Dixon
and his hunting party decided to make a reconnaissance of the Texas Panhandle and explore the buffalo
range in hope of locating new hunting areas. They
traveled to Buffalo Springs northeast of present
Texline, Texas, and made a circuitous trip south across
the Canadian River to Palo Duro Canyon, and then
east to Mulberry Creek. From there they went northeast crossing both the Salt and North Fork of the Red
River until they reached the Canadian River. Traveling
upstream for some distance, they crossed the river near
the site of the old Adobe Walls Trading Post, but did
not see it and traveled north to Palo Duro Creek,
where they found several buffalo hunters camped.
During the entire trip, they saw very few buffalo, but
were sure they would return during their spring migration north. No Indians were encountered as they traveled less during the winter, preferring to stay in their
winter camps until spring. Dixon and his party
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 8
returned to Dodge City during February 1874 to make
preparations for a return trip to the Texas Panhandle.
While in Dodge City, they met A.C. Myers, who was
planning to move his merchandising business south to
the Canadian River in the Texas Panhandle where buffalo were more plentiful and buffalo hunters were eager
to begin hunting. Within a few days a group of buffalo
hunters, including 24-year-old Billy Dixon and Bat
Masterson, joined together and decided to accompany
Meyers to establish a base camp 150 miles south of
Dodge City along the Canadian
River.
The caravan of buffalo hunters
and merchants finally located a suitable location to set up their operations on Adobe (or Bent's) Creek,
about one mile from the ruins of the
old Adobe Walls Trading Post. It
had been established there by the
firm of Bent and St. Vrain in 1846
to trade with Indians. When the
business was abandoned in 1849 the
buildings were blown up. In 1864,
it was the site of a battle between a
large group of Comanche, Kiowa,
Cheyenne and Apache Indians and
United States military forces from
Fort Bascom in New Mexico, led
by Kit Carson. The site was ideal
with a plentiful water supply and
timber for building.
Soon a 20-by-60 picket-house
(constructed with upright logs
anchored in a trench) was constructed by Meyers and Leonard to serve
as a store for general merchandise,
James Hanrahan built a 25-by-60
foot sod house for a saloon, and
Thomas O'Keefe built a 15-foot
square picket blacksmith shop. The
company of Wrath & Wright who
bought buffalo hides and sold general merchandise arrived and built a
16-by-20 sod house for their business. Corals were also constructed to
accommodate their horses and livestock.
Billy Dixon and his hide skinners moved south across
the Canadian River along White Deer Creek and west
to Dixon Creek (present Carson County), where they
set up a camp. Within a few days he heard the familiar
deep rumbling sound of buffalo moving north. When he
rode five miles south of his camp onto the open plains,
he described what he saw: "As far as the eye could
reach, south, east and west of me, there was a solid
mass of buffaloes – thousands upon thousands of them
– slowly moving toward the north."
Hunting began in earnest for Dixon and his skinners
until news spread of several buffalo hunters being killed
by Indians in the area. Fearing for their safety, they
retreated to Adobe Walls and remained there for a
week. After retrieving the buffalo hides from their camp
on Dixon Creek, Dixon and his skinners moved back to
the relative safety of Adobe Walls and made preparations to begin hunting north of the Canadian with other
groups of buffalo hunters.
During the night of June 27, 1874, as everyone at the
Adobe Walls camp slept, the loud noise similar to a
gunshot broke the stillness of the night. It was soon discovered that a cottonwood beam used as the
ridgepole of Hanrahan's
saloon had cracked,
threatening to collapse
the building. Fifteen men
that had been awakened
set about making repairs
and decided to stay up the
rest of the night to get an
early start to their buffalo
hunt in the morning. As
Dixon began loading gear
on a wagon, he was
shocked to see hundreds
of Indians in full war
regalia advancing from
east of the buildings. As
the men retreated into the
safety of the buildings,
the Indians surrounded
them and the battle
ensued. The Indian force
was led by Comanche
Chief Quanah Parker and
other chiefs of the Kiowa,
Cheyenne and Arapahoe.
The buffalo hunters
were well armed and
were able to hold out
against overwhelming
odds. The Sadler brothers, who had slept in a
wagon outside the buildings, were killed by the
Indians when the attack began ,and Billy Tyler was
killed as he ran for the safety of the buildings. William
Olds accidentally discharged his rifle while descending
a ladder in the saloon and was killed. In all, at least fifteen Indians were kill during the three day siege. It was
Billy Dixon's lucky shot with a "Big-Fifty Sharps"
(probably a .50 Sharps with a 2-1/2 inch case loaded to
50-110 specifications) he had borrowed from Hanrahan
that killed the Indian on horseback at 1,538 yards and
discouraged further attacks. This fight would lead to the
Red River Indian War (1874-1875) that resulted in the
relocation of the Southern Plains Indians onto reservations in Oklahoma.
Billy Dixon
Following the Second Battle at Adobe Walls, most of
the buffalo hunters abandoned their headquarters on the
Canadian River and moved back north. Billy Dixon
also ended his buffalo hunting adventures and returned
to Dodge City where 10 days later he was hired as a
scout by Gen. Nelson A. Miles. In early August 1875,
Dixon was sent with a small force under the command
of Lt. Frank D. Baldwin to the site of Adobe Walls to
ascertain the Indian situation in that region. A dozen or
more men still held out at the small cluster of buildings
despite the danger of Indians that remained in the area.
After they arrived, they witnessed George Huffman,
who had been out picking plums, being pursued by a
group of 10 or 15 Indians about a mile from the camp.
As he vainly rode toward the safety of Adobe Walls, the
Indians caught up with him and lanced him to death
from his horse. The following year when Dixon visited
the site of Adobe Walls with Gen. Miles, they found
that Indians had burned all the buildings to the ground.
All the men from Adobe Walls and the force led by
Lt. Baldwin abandoned the camp and moved southeast
to Cantonment Creek (present northeastern Gray
County), where they joined Gen. Miles' main command,
consisting of eight companies of the Sixth Cavalry, four
companies of the Fifth Infantry, scouts and Delaware
Indian trackers. Artillery consisted of two 10-barreled
Gatling guns and one Parrott 10-pounder. By
September, Miles had moved south to McClellan Creek
(southeastern Gray County) for operations against renegade Indians, who had refused to report to their agencies in Oklahoma.
On Sept. 10, 1874, when the supply train escorted by
Captain Wyllys Lyman and 105 men from Camp
Supply, located in northwestern Oklahoma, carrying
needed equipment and rations for Gen. Miles' operations failed to arrive on schedule, he sent Dixon and
five other men to locate it. Unknown to Miles, Lyman
and the supply train were under attack by an estimated
400 Indians on the upper Washita River in present
Hemphill County. After a five-day siege, the Indians
broke off the fight and Lyman was able to make his
way to Miles with the supplies.
The following day, as Dixon and the small group of
men neared the Washita River 22 miles southeast of
present Canadian, Texas, and only a few miles from
Lyman and the supply train which was under attack,
they were surrounded by 125 Comanche and Kiowa
warriors. George Smith was critically wounded as he
tried to hold the horses, and Amos Chapman was also
struck by bullets. Dixon and the three other men
crawled into a shallow buffalo wallow, about 10 feet in
diameter, where they would fight for their lives. All
were wounded, except for Dixon, but they continued to
fight and kept the Indians at bay until a thunderstorm
forced the Indians to leave. That afternoon, Dixon was
able to drag Chapman and Smith to the safety of the
wallow but Smith died from his wounds. Chapman survived but would later have a leg amputated.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 9
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 10
The following morning Dixon left the wounded
men in the buffalo wallow to look for help.
Fortunately, he soon ran into a detachment of troops
under Maj. Price, who had helped rescue Lyman's
supply train and was escorting it to Gen. Miles'
encampment. A surgeon examined their wounds and
they were given a few provisions but no troops were
left to assist them further. A second group of soldiers
arrived the following day and helped carry them to
Camp Supply. George Smith, who had died during
the fight, was buried in the buffalo wallow.
Dixon and the other five men who fought in the
Buffalo Wallow Fight were awarded the Medal of
Honor by Congress. Several years later, the medals of
Dixon and Chapman were revoked, since they had
only served with the army as civilian scouts. Dixon
kept his medal which is now on display at the
Panhandle-Plains Historical Museum in Canyon. In
1875 he helped locate the site for the building of Fort
Elliott in Wheeler County and would continue to
scout for the military until 1883.
Dixon homesteaded on two sections of land along
Bent Creek and built a house near the site of Adobe
Walls. He worked on the large Turkey Track Ranch
which was established nearby and was appointed
postmaster, a position he would hold for twenty years.
At some point the post office was moved to the small
log house he had built on his land where he opened a
small store to sell merchandise to local landowners
and cowboys. In 1894 he married Olivia King from
Virginia who had come to Texas to visit her brother
and taught at a small school on the south side of the
Canadian River. For three years she was the only
women in Hutchinson County. They would have
seven children.
In 1902, he sold his ranch and moved to the small
nearby town of Plemons, which was at that time the
county seat of newly organized Hutchinson County,
so their children could attend school. He was elected
as the first sheriff of the county, but after just two
years Dixon moved his family to Cimarron County in
the Oklahoma panhandle where he died of pneumonia
on March 9, 1913. Dixon was buried in the cemetery
at Texline, Texas, but his remains moved to the site of
Adobe Walls in 1929, where a marker was placed at
his gravesite. Dixon Creek in southern Hutchinson
Adobe Walls
County and the Billy Dixon Masonic Lodge in Fritch,
Texas, are named in his honor.
Only a few historical markers now mark the location of Adobe Walls, which is on private land in
Hutchinson County and not accessible to the public.
The events that took place there will forever be
etched on the pages of our history and give testament
to the trials and tribulations faced by men such as
Billy Dixon who, against all odds, survived the turbulent times of early day Texas.
Sources: Life and Adventures of "Billy Dixon" of
Adobe Walls, Texas panhandle by Billy Dixon; Texas
State Historical Association Online (Lyman's
Wagontrain, Buffalo Wallow Fight, Red River War,
Adobe Walls First Battle, Adobe Walls Second Battle,
William Dixon; Wikipedia (Billy Dixon, First Battle of
Adobe Walls, Second Battle of Adobe Walls, Adobe
Walls); and other internet sources.
Jim Dillard is a retired wildlife biologist and freelance writer from Mineral Wells. Question/comments
to [email protected].
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 11
Harvey Smith –
from Jack County to the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame
By WYNELLE CAITLIN
I was 9 years old when Harvey Smith came into my life
as a 12-pound baby brother. He's been a red-haired bundle
of zeal, enthusiasm and determination ever since.
A lot of other adjectives apply to him, too. Our niece,
Denise Patterson, in Austin, says, “Uncle Harvey is passionate about life, exuberant, curious about everything,
has a great sense of humor and has the ability to make
complex information into common sense so all of us can
understand it. He also has a wide-open heart, loves life
and squeezes it to the last drop!”
He has other characteristics, such as honesty, trustworthiness and loyalty. I was pleased, but not surprised, when
he was selected to be honored in the Arkansas Sports Hall
of Fame.
When he was born, we lived in Jermyn in Jack County
with parents, George and Dovie Powell Smith, and siblings Alta, Wayne, John R. and Fearl. Shirley was born
after we moved to Jacksboro.
After he graduated from Jacksboro High School, he
went on the University of Arkansas. He was the only one
of us to attend college, and we were proud of him.
Getting through was a struggle. None of us could offer
a lot of monetary assistance, though we all helped some.
He and Della got married and proceeded to have two
babies.
Harvey always loved football. During his high school
years, he played on the Jacksboro team under coach
Woody Henderson. One of Harvey's first jobs as a football
coach was at Brewer Middle School, under Henderson's
auspices.
Harvey coached at a couple of Texas schools, then went
on to Arkansas schools, ending his 20-year career in
Della's hometown of Hope.
He taught his teams to play to win, but more important
than winning was playing with honesty and integrity. And
losing with good sportsmanship. The well-being of the
members of his football teams was important to him, both
on and off the field.
Once a player was missing the ball when it was thrown
to him. Harvey took him aside one day and questioned
him. The player replied, “Coach, I can't ever decide
which ball to catch.” Harvey took the lad to an eye doctor,
then saw that he had eye surgery so he could see one ball,
instead of two.
Our family members were all fans of Harvey's teams,
rooting for them and him. I never got to go to one of his
games, but brother Fearl would fly his little two-seater
plane to Arkansas for games. Our 70-year-old mother
went several times. Once they got caught in a torrential
rainstorm, but she didn't even complain. In fact, she probably enjoyed the excitement.
Hope, where Harvey and Della settled to be near her
parents in their later years, is also the birthplace of
President Bill Clinton. Harvey said he met him when a
TV crew came to Hope with Clinton to do a documentary.
Harvey and a young helper saw all the activity outside
the Clinton Museum, established in the old railroad depot.
They parked to watch. When filming was over, Secret
Service personnel began getting Clinton into the waiting
limo. He stopped, waved them aside and came over,
shook hands with Harvey and his helper. He had several
encouraging words for the youngster.
Later, Harvey and Della, along with other Hope residents, were invited to attend Clinton's inaugural celebration in Washington, D.C. They went and Harvey wore his
overalls. His shaking hands with Clinton, while clad in his
overalls, made the national news.
Harvey dressed very nicely in a suit with a tie when he
was inducted into the Hall of Fame. His nephew wore a
pair of overalls for him.
Hope, Arkansas, and Jacksboro, Texas, are many miles
and a day's journey apart, but we always stayed in close
touch with them. When our mother had her 65th birthday
– and she might not be with us for many more—Harvey
said, “Mother's birthday is always around Thanksgiving
Day, so let's make that our special family day.”
For 31 years, we siblings, our spouses, children, grandchildren, great-grands (and a few extra people) gathered
in Jacksboro to celebrate. Sometimes at the Community
Center, sometimes at Fort Richardson, and once at Jack
County Museum, at the log cabin in which mother was
born on the grounds. Once we all met at Fearl's house for
barbecue, served by Butch Fenter from the tailgate of his
chuckwagon.
With zest and zeal Harvey also helped plot and plan
yearly family camping vacations to the forests of
Colorado. After months of going over maps, with numerous phone calls, a forest was selected. Fearl bought an old
school bus and outfitted it as a camper. Others had, or got,
campers and motor homes – some had tents.
There were family, in-laws, friends of family, friends of
in-laws, just friends – 20 to 30 of us. All met at a designated spot and our caravan began the long trek to
Colorado. There were some interesting stops along the
way, like the time the brakes went out on Harvey's motor
home as he was going down a hill. The caravan halted
until repairs were made.
Mother went several times and climbed the mountains
with everyone. Norman Tankersley, from Mineral Wells,
joined us once.
At the selected forest, campsites were chosen, adjoining
if possible, camp set up, and the real fun began. Everyone
helped with food preparation, cooking over the open fire.
The cook got instructions from all the onlookers. But food
got cooked and eaten – food always tastes better eaten in
mountain air.
Singing and telling tales around the campfire at night.
In the daytime, sightseeing, visiting historic sites, fishing,
panning for gold.
Harvey was no stranger to Mineral Wells. When our
mother was a resident at Lakewell House, he brought a
huge watermelon from Hope – the Watermelon Capital of
the World. The melon was so large a cart was used to
wheel it inside. All the residents enjoyed eating the watermelon, then participating in a seed-spitting contest.
With the same enthusiasm that he exuded about democracy and the political system of this country when teaching his American History classes, Harvey has been a popular speaker at civic groups. He came to Mineral Wells
and spoke at a Democratic gathering.
When Harvey accepted the coaching-teaching position
in Hope, part of the decision was made so they would be
close to Della's parents. They moved into a home next
door, which was surrounded by several acres.
Harvey spent several years clearing and making a
nature trail through the nearby woods. It passed by a
pond, where Della could go and call up the turtles, which
would eat from her hand.
The two of them also made a hummingbird haven, with
dozens of feeders providing nectar for hundreds of the
tiny birds. Harvey erected a special trellis with a sprinkler
in the middle. The birds could fly though to take a shower.
“Remembrance trees” surround their home, each one
planted in memory of a loved one.
Inside their home is “Cat Heaven,” with an entire wall
providing a cat hotel. A cat who lived with them for years
was named Boots. Boots, with Harvey's help, provided
information about many topics via email and many times
gave advice – many times not asked for.
Harvey also wrote books. He had the ability to make
history come alive for his American History students. He
wrote several books for younger readers using some historical facts. And he wrote a fictional book for adults
using the infamous Mountain Meadows Massacre in Utah
Territory in 1857 as the setting.
After retirement, he and Della purchased a motor home
and have traveled to nearly every state in the union. He is
a great poker fan, entering many tournaments.
He and Della live quietly now in their home in Hope.
Grandson Ross Gaudet is following in his footsteps,
attending the University of Arkansas. Daughter Carole
Ann is a computer genius who lives in Carrollton. Lynn
and husband Michael live next door.
Harvey's first coaching job in Arkansas was in
Mountain View. They lived next door to a nursing
home, where 10-year-old Lynn volunteered every day.
She is now a nurse, working in a clinic and center for
migrant workers.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 12
Harvey Smith
Harvey Smith, former Jacksboro resident, now residing
in Hope, Ark., was recently inducted into the Arkansas
Sports Hall of Fame honoring him for his successful
years in coaching high school football in Arkansas. He
was presented a diamond ring, a plaque and a medallion.
Attending the prestigious ceremony in Hot Springs
were family members wife, Della, daughter Carole Ann
Gaudet and grandson Ross of Dallas, daughter Lynn
Terral and husband, Michael of Hope, sister-in-law Flo
Smith and family of Fort Smith, nephew James Catlin of
Huntsville, and friends, neighbors and former football
players.
Inductees for the Hall of Fame are selected for their
outstanding achievement and accomplishments in sports
who brought honor, prestige and fame to the state of
Arkansas, performance in their chosen sports field as well
as exemplary standing in the community, honesty and
integrity in their sports career as well as in following
years.
Smith graduated from Jacksboro High School in 1958,
then went on to the University of Arkansas where he
majored in physical education and minored in American
History. While attending school he met and married
Della Barwick of Hope, Ark. They had two little girls
before 1963 when he received his degree.
He coached and taught history in Texas schools for
five years, then accepted a position in Mountain View,
Ark. And spent the rest of his 20-year coaching-teaching
career in Arkansas schools in Waldron, Fayetteville,
Fouke, then Hope, where he retired in 1994.
In 1988, Smith was selected as Arkansas Athletic
Director of the Year. And received a comparable honor
from the National Interscholastic Athletic Administration
Association.
The Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame Museum in downtown Little Rock displays a photo of Smith along with a
biography of his professional career.
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 13
OLD MAN DEPRESSION
(Editor’s note: We are reprinting this timely and timeless story that appeared in the December 2012 edition of the North Texas STAR.)
By WYNELLE CAITLIN
All the time everyone talked about Depression.
Papa and my uncles and my big brother when they
sat on our big front porch in the cool of the evenings.
They'd have on their blue and white striped overalls
and high topped work shoes and they'd be tired and
sweaty from working in the fields and they'd talk
about Depression and how he was starving people.
Mama and my aunts and my big sister when they
worked in the big old kitchen of the log house
Grandpa built when he came to this part of Texas in
the 1880s. They talked about how Depression kept
people from having clothes.
I sure felt sorry for kids that didn't have food or
clothing. Depression didn't get our chickens and hogs
and cows. Nor our fruits and vegetables. Papa took
some to town and traded them for clothes. He said
people sure were hungry.
But I hated Depression because of the doll – a real
doll with real hair. I wanted it for Christmas but I
mustn't ask because of Depression.
My older brother and sister could remember getting
toys for Christmas but my little brother, Bud, and I
never had gotten one, just candy and fruit and nuts.
The nearer Christmas got, the more I wanted a doll
with real hair. In the daytime I played with Bud in our
favorite place under the chinaberry tree beside the big
old round dug well where we drew water with a rope
and wooden bucket. And I wrapped tiny scraps of
cloth around sticks and wished I had a doll with real
hair.
Bud wanted a truck, a real metal one with wheels.
"Time to get a Christmas tree," Papa announced one
day.
Bud and I jumped up and down with joy. We raced
for our jackets and ran through the door and scrambled
up into the wagon that Papa had hitched the team to.
Papa came out with an axe and put it in and he got
in and gathered up the reins. He stood up in the wagon
bed and said, "Giddap" to the mules and guided them
slowly down the path, through the gate and to the far
side of the pasture where he had a good cedar picked
out.
"Will it do?" he asked, eyeing it thoughtfully.
"It's wonderful," I said.
"I like it, too," Bud said.
It was big and tall, a perfect Christmas tree.
Chop, chop. the tree was on the ground. Papa
picked it up and swung it into the wagon bed. We
jumped up beside it, being careful to stay away from
the scratchy limbs.
On the way home we asked Papa if he could see
signs of snow. He looked up, studied the sky carefully
before shaking his head doubtfully.
"Doesn't look like snow," he declared.
We looked at the sky, studied it thoughtfully. It
looked like sky to us.
Every winter we wanted it to snow. Most winters it
did, at least once. One time there was even ice and the
stock watering tank froze over and we skated on it.
But every Christmas we wanted it to snow. It hardly
ever did. We just wished it would.
When we got to the house, Papa made a wooden
stand for the tree. He carried it in the house and put it
in the corner of the front room by the fireplace where
a fire burned all winter and that tree nearly touched the
ceiling.
Mama brought out a box filled with all sorts of
things she'd been saving all year. Tinfoil, colored
paper and bright scraps of cloth. We made paper
chains, cut out stars and made lots of pretty things for
the tree.
Mama helped us make a star to go on the top. And
we pasted an angel in the middle. I found it in a magazine she let us cut out of because it was torn anyway.
When nighttime came, everyone came in the house,
and we lit the lamp. Mama popped popcorn we'd
raised, and we were going to string it for the tree. Only
we ate so much there wasn't any left. Mama had to
pop some more. She complained she got as hot as the
corn as she held the big old long handled popper over
the coals in the fireplace. Then we decided it would be
fun to make popcorn balls.
The tree was pretty enough without popcorn chains.
Now that it was ready, Christmas was really coming.
I kept hoping. Bud did, too. But we felt guilty.
Depression must be very big to need so much food and
clothing. And he took all the money, too, Papa said.
Christmas Eve we hung our stockings on the mantel,
and warmed outselves good and ran as fast as we
could and jumped in our beds, trying to carry some of
the warm with us.
Next morning our stockings were filled with candy
and fruit and nuts.
Since we lived on The Old Homeplace, where Papa
and his eight brothers and sisters grew up, they all
came to our house Christmas Day.
Soon the house was full of aunts and uncles and
cousins and the yard was full, too. We were excited
and we ran in and out of the house, the men sat outside while the women got the food ready.
They had to put boards across and spread cloths on
them to make some more tables there was so much
food. Everyone brought some. Pies and cakes and
puddings, plus turkey and dressing and giblet gravy.
And bread and butter and other good things. I ate
and ate and wanted to eat some more. I kept trying
but there just wasn't any more room.
The grown-ups laughed at us kids because our eyes
were bigger than our stomachs.
After the tables were cleared and the dishes washed,
everyone gathered in the front room around the fireplace. The grown-ups sat around and laughed and
talked. How they loved to laugh and talk. They made
me feel good listening.
Everyone got to singing I couldn't even sing with
them, I was so full. I just sat in the floor with the rest
of the kids and I was leaning back about half asleep
when someone said, "Listen!"
"I do believe it's Santa Claus," someone else said.
I sat up even though I knew they were joking. They
always joked and teased. Every Christmas we kids
tried to see Santa Claus but we never could.
But it was Santa Claus, big and fat with his red suit
on and the bushiest white whiskers. And he came in
saying, "Ho, ho, ho," and laughing because the chimney was too small and besides there was a fire in it.
I couldn't breathe, my heart did funny flip-flops and
I wished I hadn't eaten so much.
I was really seeing Santa Claus. My eyes didn't
believe me. The rest of me didn't either.
He had a bag with him and said some more “ho, ho,
hos,” then he asked if all the boys and girls had been
good all year. Lot of the kids said yes, but I couldn't
say anything. Some of the grown ups said he'd better
ask them if the kids had been good, and they laughed.
And Santa Claus said he'd see if he had something
for good boys and girls. And he opened that bag and
started taking out toys – real toys!
Each toy had a name on it. Each cousin got a toy.
And he called each name loud and clear. He picked up
a truck, a real metal truck, and called Bud's name.
Then he called my name. I just sat there and someone else had to hand my toy to me. They laughed and
said I was scared but I didn't care.
I just held out my arms and took that doll with real
hair. It fit in my arms just right.
I rocked it back and forth, holding it tight. I was
never going to turn loose.
That old Depression must have gone away and I
sure was glad!
(Published in The Farmer Stockman, 1970).
December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 14
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December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 15
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December 2015 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 16
