One Man's Texas: From the Cotton Patch to the Oil Patch

CHAPTER ONE    V00_1425970915_TEXT-5.jpg

LEANING ON HIS HOE FOR SUPPORT, Jack Moore stared down at the red clay soil. It was a mystery to him how johnsongrass could stay so green and lush when everything else was burning up. If someone could come up with a plant that would grow and survive like johnsongrass but produce cotton, they would get rich.

Standing six foot two inches and weighing only one hundred sixty pounds, he appeared taller than he really was. His deep-set eyes and sunburned face gave silent testimony to years of hard labor in an unforgiving land.

He found himself more and more wondering about things that didn’t matter. Maybe it was his way of escaping reality, even if it was only for a little while.

Shaking his head, he thought, Got to get something going to be able to stock up for the coming winter…somehow hoped 1919 was going to be a better year, but it looks like it’s going to be the same as last, maybe even worse…if that’s possible.

Removing his shapeless, sweat-stained, straw hat, Jack wiped his forehead with a grimy, sweaty shirtsleeve. He unbuttoned one strap of his black-striped overalls and slung it over his shoulder; that would allow a little circulation. His tattered shirtsleeve was wetter than his forehead, and about all he managed to do was smear red-tinged beads of sweat over his face and into his eyes causing his eyes to burn even more. He blinked his eyes in rapid succession in an attempt to cleanse the burning, stinging sweat from his eyes, but he was dehydrated to the point that it took several minutes for his body to produce enough moisture to even tear.

Damn…

The more Jack stared at that clump of johnsongrass, the madder he got. It represented everything that was wrong with his life. It wasn’t supposed to be there. You couldn’t eat it; you couldn’t make anything from it; all it did was take much-needed moisture and nutrients from the small cotton plants.

The more Jack thought about it, the angrier it made him. With all the strength he could muster, he brought the sharp hoe blade crashing down. It was like it happened in slow motion; powder-dry dirt scattered in all directions. Tiny particles sprinkled his face, stinging his eyes. All he managed to do was dig away a portion of the clump and expose roots that seemed to reach forever. He slammed the hoe down repeatedly like his very life depended on destroying it. Winded and nearly exhausted, he finally uprooted it, and with a certain amount of satisfaction, pushed it aside with his foot and returned to leaning on his hoe. It seemed that fits of anger, which only added to his frustration, were beginning to be normal behavior.

Got two ol’ mules with the best of the two goin’ lame. Harness is plumb worn out…plow’s worn thin and won’t make another year, well water level is so low, can’t get it primed, got six dollars to my name with no way to make more in the near future…Forty years old and don’t have squat to show for it. Got a worthless farm, four half-grown kids, a good wife, and very little else to show for a lifetime of hard work, he thought.

Jack glanced once more across the endless rows of red-stained soil before him and quickly bowed his head, staring down at his worn out, dust-covered field boots. It was time to do something. Things had to change. On the bright side, they almost have to get better, ‘cause, they’re about as bad as they can get.

Suppose the best thing for me to do is go over to Fort Worth next week and see if I can find work. At least I can get us through the winter and buy the kids’ shoes and school clothes. The boys will have to help out in the fields early in the school year. They can start a little late and catch up.

Sis is a lot of help to her mother, even though she’s only seven years old. More and more she looks and acts like her mother. Buddy’s turning seventeen; and being the oldest, he’s goin’ to have to start working somewhere and bring in some money if we’re to survive. Both Buddy and Jim are quiet, but there are times I believe it’s the calm before the storm. Buddy seems to get more and more restless as the days go by causing us some concern. Jim, at fifteen, likes to wander around the countryside with that ol’ dog and his battered, single shot, 22 rifle. At least he brings home a few squirrels and a rabbit every once in awhile, so his rambling ain’t a complete loss. He seems to shy away from people the older he gets and spends most of his time by himself.

Jack Junior is still the rowdy one of the bunch at ten and never seems to think about anything except what he’s doing right then. Just thinking about Jack Junior and his mop of red hair and freckle-covered face made him smile. That boy is always happy, and every day is a new adventure…but that’ll change in time just like everything else does.

The constant inner feeling of bitterness resurfaced, and a frown replaced his smile; he felt guilty for even smiling. As he stood motionless, staring at the ground, his mind swirled with tangled thoughts. He thought about Liz. At thirty-eight, still the prettiest girl in the county, but the hard times are starting to show in her face, and that makes me sadder than anything. She could always light up a room just by walking into it, and even to this day, just thinkin’ about her can make me smile.

Well…all this ain’t gettin’ nothin’ done…reckon I’d better get on back towards the house and get out of this sun for awhile before it bakes what little brains I’ve got left. It’s already got me talking to myself…and what’s worse, I’m even starting to answer…

Licking his lips, he slung the hoe over his shoulder and started down the cotton row towards the house pondering his dismal situation as he trudged doggedly through the ankle-deep soil. It took about all the energy he could muster just to pick up his feet.

Soon as the weather cools down some, I’ve got to heat up some tar and try to fix the leaks in the roof, he thought, just trying to keep his mind off the heat and things he didn’t seem to be able to solve. The kids need more room for sleeping, and it would be nice if Liz and me could have a little privacy, too. Those walls are so thin you can hear someone whisperin’ in the next room.

His mind went back to when they had married eighteen years before. Didn’t think things would be like this…had big plans for what all we were going to do, the fine life we were going to live, and what we were going to do together. I don’t know what went wrong, but it’s up to me to get us out of this mess. My brothers, T.J. and John, are in Fort Worth working on the railroad. Maybe that’s what I should do. The only thing wrong with that, he reasoned, is they’re gone from home a lot, and their families just have to do without ‘em. I don’t think I could go off and leave my family for weeks at a time. Besides that, he rationalized, they need me around.

Worry about Liz, ‘cause she gets so tired. She’s losing more weight and just don’t look healthy. We can’t afford for her to see a doctor, but she’s goin’ to have to. Maybe this sorry-looking cotton will bring enough to get a few things we’ve got to have, and if we have some left over, Liz can go to a proper doctor in Fort Worth. Jack’s thoughts were interrupted when he stumbled over a clod of dirt. Damn, hope there’s enough ice left in the icebox to at least have a cold drink of water…that’s if the danged ol’ well isn’t completely dry, he thought, looking towards the house to see how far he had yet to walk. The farther he walked the angrier he got.

I’d like to throw this damned hoe as far as I can, go to the house, get the family, and just leave this hot, dusty country for good. But, where would we go, and what would we use for money? he argued out loud to himself. It always comes down to money…that’s the key to it all, money! He kicked at a clod of dirt.

People say that money can’t buy happiness…those people must never have been broke and poor, he fumed. Glancing down the rows of cotton, he saw Junior coming at a run. Hey, it’s too danged hot to run like that, he shouted, his voice hoarse and raspy.

Daddy, that Stepp bunch beat up on Buddy again. This time he looks hurt real bad, he yelled, just as he tripped and tumbled headlong into the dusty, plowed ground. Dust hung in the air like red smoke as the sweaty youngster jumped back up still hollering at the top of his lungs. Jack’s insides quivered at the thought of Buddy being hurt, but he had to try to keep calm.

Well, let’s go find out what happened and how bad he’s hurt, he said managing a smile while he reached out and tousled Junior’s red hair. As they walked, he peered down at him trying to keep up by matching his own stride step for step. He reached down, and with one motion that came from years of lifting heavy loads, swept Junior up onto his shoulders. It had been a long time since he had gotten a ride on his daddy’s shoulders. Jack shook his head knowing the times were hard on children as well. God it’s hot! I don’t know why the good Lord lets it get so hot and dry, and now we’ve got to contend with that no-good Stepp bunch. I don’t know why the sheriff don’t run ‘em out of the county. They’re nothing but trouble, he ranted to himself, as they neared their weatherworn shack.

Placing the hoe beside the porch and easing Junior down from his shoulders, he stepped up on the porch. The boards creaked under his weight. Liz and Buddy stood on the other end of the porch. Buddy was hanging his head over the edge while Liz poured water over his bloody head from an old pewter pitcher.

What happened to Buddy?

Well, it’s not as awful as he looks, but they beat him up pretty bad, she replied as she continued to tend gently to her first-born. I don’t think there’s anything broken or anything that won’t heal in time, she called back over her shoulder as she shook her head in disbelief. Even as bad as things sometimes got, Liz always tried to sound optimistic.

Buddy, what was this all about? he questioned, attempting to separate his matted hair to see the extent of damage.

Daddy, it was them Stepp boys, Tim and Jake, and the old man, but the old man was too drunk to know what was going on, even if he’d cared. They ran me into an alley and got me cornered and just beat the devil out of me for no good reason. I never got much of a chance to even fight back, he explained as the blood-colored water ran off his shaggy, blond hair making it look longer than it really was.

Buddy was slim and suntanned. People said he had inherited a lot of his looks and temperament from Jack, but he had his mother’s smile.

Damn, that makes me mad! Those boys have to be eighteen or nineteen years old and outweigh you at least fifty pounds. I think it’s about time something is done about the whole bunch; it sure don’t seem like the law is going to do anything.

Liz looked directly into Jack’s eyes and spoke quietly, I’ll go ahead and tear some soft rags to make bandages for Buddy’s head, and you do what you feel you need to do. Her delicate fingers flew as she tore neat strips of cloth.

I’m going to have a heart-to-heart talk with that old man and his sorry boys in a language they can understand, he hollered as he stepped with long strides off the porch and headed towards town.

Just don’t do something you’ll regret later, Liz urged as he disappeared from sight. Jack had too much anger inside him to even consider what she’d said. He marched off without answering. As he continued towards town, flaming anger and frustration replaced his earlier bitterness and fatigue.

Rola wasn’t much of a town as far as towns go, but it was the only town they had ever known. He was born in the old farmhouse they lived in now just like their four children were. Liz was born not two miles from Rola, and neither of them had ever been farther from home than Forth Worth since they’d married. As he strode towards the dirt road leading to Rola, he stopped at the woodpile and grabbed a two-by-four and started whittling a good handle-hold on it as he walked.

This was about the third time this had happened with Buddy, not counting the times they’d run the other kids home. It was time to put a little fear into those overgrown bullies and stop this nonsense, he determined.

His anger hadn’t subsided during the hot walk to town, and by the time he rounded the corner by the general store, he was huffing and puffing. He figured the old man’d be beside the store in the shade, either drinking his moonshine or sleeping it off. He decided to approach ol’ man Stepp first and then to deal with those two no good boys. As he rounded the store corner, he spotted him drinking as always.

Stepp, I’ve had a bellyful of you and your sorry boys, and I want it stopped now! Jack shouted as he approached.

Stepp never looked up. He just continued to stare down at the quart jar of moonshine he held tightly between two gnarled, grimy hands. You ol’ drunkard, you’re a fine example of manhood, Jack snarled.

Shaking his head in disgust, he wheeled around and quickly walked back to the street. Those two boys are the real troublemakers, and they’re the ones that need the fear put in ‘em, he thought, as he crossed the street towards the bank. Then, he noticed Jake walking slowly up the street with his head down. Jake glanced up and saw him coming and hurried to cross the street away from him.

Jake, he called loudly, I’m damn tired of you beating up my kids! This is going to be the end of it.

Jake stopped in the middle of the dusty street with his fist drawn back. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Jack kept on walking, and when he got close enough, he gave him a good lick with that two-by-four down over his collarbone. That got his attention. He was hollering like a stuck pig, dropped the knife, and started backwards in a falling, staggering run. Jack got close enough to catch him one more time across the legs. Jake went down in the dust trying to hold his shoulder and leg at the same time and hollering at the top of his lungs. By now, a crowd of people had gathered, and some were cheering him on, but he didn’t want to hurt the boy more. He wanted him to understand that he just wanted them to leave his family alone. Jack looked down at Jake as he rolled around in the dusty street in obvious pain.

Jake, pay attention now, he commanded through clinched teeth. Do you understand--I want my family left alone? Jake muttered something no one could understand, so Jack just kinda nudged him with the splintered two-by-four.

Yeah, I understand, he managed to gasp. Jack left him lying in the dusty street still holding his leg. Then he started off at a quick pace looking for Tim. He asked a couple of folks along the way if they knew where he was. They told Jack he was probably down by the livery stables with that bunch of toughs he hung out with most of the time.

Jack realized he needed another whipping stick before he got messed up with that bunch, so he walked over to the lumberyard and asked Mr. Walsh if he could have a piece of scrap two-by-four. Mr. Walsh already knew what had happened with Jake and readily told him he could do better than that.

Those boys have had this coming for a long time. He went to the new handle bin, handed him an ax handle, grinned from ear to ear, and said with a wave, It’s on the house!

Jack walked in the shade of the storefronts as far as he could and tried to get his breath as he went. He had to keep going or he would’ve called it off. He reasoned, it’s not my nature to be violent, but this has to stop. This is meant not only for our family, but for the rest of the folks as well.

He saw Tim and a couple of the other ne’er-do-wells leaning against the wall of the stables and smoking. He walked up to them with the ax handle in his right hand, holding it next to his leg.

Tim, I’ve told you boys to leave my kids alone. I’ve had enough of you and your whole sorry family. Now I’m goin’ to make you wish you’d never laid eyes on us.

Both Tim and his two buddies straightened up and flipped their cigarettes to the ground. One of them laughed.

You talk tough for an old man, especially when you’re talking to three men.

You’re not men; you’re nothin’ but cowardly punks, he replied as he came around with the ax handle and caught the biggest loudmouth across the side and hip. He was afraid to hit anyone across the head with anything as solid as an ax handle; you could cave a head in.

Tim and the other boy jumped back, and Tim quickly pulled out a knife and half-heartedly threw it at Jack, but it just sailed off into the dust. Then, Jack charged them like a bull on the prod. They both turned tail and started running, but he caught Tim with a solid blow right around the knees, and he went down in the dust hollering and thrashing around. He sounded like a dog that had been run over by a wagon wheel. Jack stood over him with the ax handle drawn back like he was getting ready to brain him.

Tim, don’t ever bother my family again or I’ll split your head open…Do you understand? he yelled, feeling his face turning redder and redder.

I think you broke my knee, he whimpered.

Well, let me take a look, Jack replied as he bent over. His hands shook hard as he checked. It looks all right to me, but every time it hurts, I want you to remember how it happened, and maybe you won’t get in this kind of shape again.

He left Tim where he was and looked around for the other two tough guys, but they were nowhere to be seen. There was a sizeable crowd around for this time of day. A couple of men were patting him on the back, and ol’ man Black was saying Amen over and over and grinning from ear to ear. Jack, puffing like a steam engine, sat down on the bench in front of the livery stable in an attempt to get his breath back. He thought to himself, a forty-year-old man ought to have more sense than to do things like this.

He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would beat right out of his chest, and he felt sick at his stomach. He could hear his own heavy breathing, but it was like he was hearing someone else. Now that it was over, he began to have regrets. Why had he done this? Was it because they’d beat up on Buddy, or was it because he’d needed someone to take out his frustrations on? Lord, things’ve got to get better. I don’t know what’s to become of us, he muttered.

Jack was jolted from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and the familiar voice of Mr. Black telling him, Go on home to your family, boy, you’ve done what needed doin’.

He glanced up at the age-worn face of Mr. Black looking down at him with approval in his eyes. Mr. Black had lived in Rola ever since Jack could remember, and he had to be at least ninety years old. Over the years he’d told him and the other boys stories about faraway places and other times they could only imagine.

Thank you, sir, Jack said. Standing up, he placed his hand on Mr. Black’s frail shoulder. Then he turned and headed back up the street towards the lumberyard. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked down that dusty, Rola street. Mr. Black, still standing in the same spot, looked so small and fragile.

Jack started to turn back; he should say or do more for a man who had been so much of his childhood. But what was there to say? Maybe someday he could do something for him, but he could never repay his caring and the wondrous stories he’d told him, he thought, as he continued his trek away from him.

Jack remembered the many warm summer evenings he’d spent spinning yarns in the shade of the big oak tree next to the livery stable. Those were good times. They were nothin’ but kids with most of their lives ahead of them, and the stories Mr. Black told them seemed so real. They could see themselves riding away on gleaming, slick horses carrying pearl-handled pistols to far-off places. Things have a way of not turning out like you wanted them to when you were a kid, but you just have to make do and make your own way the best you can given the circumstances.

He stopped back by the lumberyard to give Mr. Walsh back his ax handle.

It might be best if you kept it, you might have use for it again, he said, with a wide grin.

After a long, hot walk back home, he was drained. He dragged up to the porch. It was a huge effort just to lift his foot up to step onto the porch. Liz sat in a rickety old cane-bottomed chair fanning herself with a floppy, worn out church fan. He smiled sheepishly, thinking how beautiful she was. When a man had a woman like that to come home to, how could he ever give up on things?

How’s Buddy? he asked as he squatted down on the porch next to her and leaned the ax handle against the wall.

Other than a bloody nose and one eye swollen shut, he’s all right, thank goodness, she answered softly. And he knew she meant it. Often, what she said sounded much like a prayer.

She turned her full attention to him as she lay down the fan, dropped the tin dipper into the water bucket, and held out a dipperful of cool water for him to drink. After pouring the next dipperful over the back of his neck and head, she handed him a towel and asked, What happened in town?

Liz disappeared into the quiet house, and he spoke to her through the screen door that barely hung on its hinges. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen.

"I had a talk with the Stepps, or I should say me and my two-by-four and this ol’ ax handle had a talk with ‘em. I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble from them. He chuckled as he called to her, hoping she’d believe it, because he didn’t. He was afraid it truly was a long way from being over.

Well, I sure hope that’s the end of it, she sighed, as she slipped back out onto the porch, picked up her floppy fan, and began fanning furiously.

I believe it is, he soothed. They’re just bullies and won’t stand up to anyone to their face.

Well…time will tell…time will tell. Then, in her own way, she faced him, and he knew at that moment he had all of her attention, and everything else in the world had been closed out, Are you all right?

Jack’s heart caught in his throat as she turned her head toward him, because again the realization struck him that every day the hard times seemed to show more and more in her eyes. He remembered how her eyes used to sparkle like stars at night, and now seeing those beautiful eyes just become duller and duller saddened him beyond belief.

I’m fine. He had to turn away so she couldn’t see the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Without speaking, she stood, walked towards the door, and gently patted his shoulder as she brushed by. He stood up, and everything inside him said to reach out and hold her…hold her with all the strength he had…but he didn’t. The screen door creaked open; Liz silently hesitated, then walked inside. He stopped for a minute to glance at the rusty hinges and rotten wood, shook his head in disgust, and let the door slam shut behind him. Inside the dimly lit kitchen, he opened the icebox door, prayed that at least a few chunks of ice still remained, and rejoiced when his prayer was answered.

Finally, he got that ice-cold drink he’d longed for since early morning out in the field. It wasn’t until then that he realized how extremely tired he was. Slowly he walked back outside to the porch and sat down on the step, trying to find a cooler spot.

He’d just gotten sat down when he noticed a cloud of dust coming up the road. It was moving way too fast for a wagon and team, so he assumed it was one of the few automobiles around, and more than likely it was that worthless sheriff or his deputy, Claude. After what seemed like an hour, Claude pulled up and stepped out of the Model T automobile, the dust still swirling around him.

What brings you way out here so far from the county seat and your uptown sheriff’s office? Jack asked, making sure he understood that he and his automobile did not impress him a whole lot.

There was some trouble in town today, and it seems you were in on it, he announced, looking straight at Jack and trying his best to look tough.

If you’re talking about me whoopin’ those Stepp boys, they were long overdue and sure had it comin’, he replied, never getting up from the porch.

Look, we’re the ones that keep the peace in this county, and not you, he bragged, raising his voice to make sure Jack understood he was the law.

Where were you when those boys beat the hell out of my kid? Jack snarled sarcastically.

If you’d called us and sworn out a complaint, the sheriff would’ve taken care of it, he fumed.

Claude, we don’t have a telephone, and you know damn well there ain’t but two or three telephones around here…and even if I did call, y’all wouldn’t have gotten over here for two or three days, and I’m tired of that whole damn family bullying everyone around. Now don’t try to tell me you didn’t know they give everyone a hard time. Lord only knows, you and the sheriff have been told enough.

Well, Moore, all I’m trying to tell you is you can’t go beating up people. And if they complain, I’ll have to lock you up, and you’ll have to explain it to the judge.

All right Claude, you made your point. So why don’t you go on back to Eastland where it’s cool and leave us poor ol’ farmers to sweat out a living.

Jack Moore, you’re headed for trouble if you don’t change your smart alec attitude, and me and the sheriff are just the ones to do it.

Good-bye Claude, he replied, as flatly as possible. Claude stood staring at him for a minute, then climbed back into his dusty automobile, backed across part of the garden, and swerved off down the road in a cloud of dust.

Boy, if that’s what we’ve got around here to keep the peace, we’re in serious trouble, Jack mused.