Mom and Dad, the early years
Dad met my Mom on a June afternoon in 1936. Elsie Geneva Teegarden was walking home from the post office with her best friend Elnora Ford. While at the corner of Second and Main in downtown Bristow, the two of ‘em stopped to talk to Faris Hayter and Elmer Stevens. Not a normal name among ‘em.
Mom knew nothing about Dad at the time, other than he went to Bristow High where all high school-aged Bristowans went. This was way before home-schooling had been invented. I’m not sure Oklahoma has heard of it yet. A bigger mystery is why Mom and Elnora stopped to talk to two boys they didn’t really know. Brazen is what it was. And, there’s a good chance seven Hayter kids wouldn’t be around had it not been for that brazenness.
You see, Faris and Elmer were headed to a birthday party when Elsie and Elnora stopped ‘em. That’s three El’s and Faris on one street corner. What are the chances? Mom said that when asked where they were headed, she told ‘em they were just going home. That’s when Faris (the good-looking one, Mom said) asked if they cared to go to the party with them. Mom and Elnora reluctantly agreed. I’m assuming Elnora teamed with Elmer, ‘cause Elsie apparently had the hots for the goodlooking one. I’m sorry. Elsie was enamored. Girls didn’t get the hots back then. Mom’s never did. I don’t care to talk about it beyond that.
The party was for Jewell Mayfield, Dad’s girlfriend. I doubt Dad mentioned that to Elsie at the time. All during the party Dad had eyes only for Elsie. When the party was near-over, Faris asked Elsie if he could take her home. Insisted, more or less. When Faris returned to the Mayfield house, Jewell threw his hat out the door. Faris and Elsie went together from then on. I have no idea what was going on with Enora and Elmer. There may well be five middle-aged to elderly people walking around who owe their existence to that encounter on Main and Second.
Immediately after high school, Dad went to Dickinson, Texas, where he worked in the oilfield with his step-dad Shorty Mosier. The way people were being named back then, I assume Shorty’s real name was Elwood. Dad worked there just short of a month before Elsie took money he had sent her, bought a train ticket and rode to Houston. First train trip she ever took. I’m thinking her last. When Dad met her at the train station, she was bawling. She was scared; she was happy to see to Faris; she was completely out of her element. Did I mention she’d just ridden from Bristow to Houston?
Faris and Elsie were married at the house of one of Grandma Pearl’s friends on June 24, 1937. Church of Christ preacher Burton Coffman performed the service. Burton was a well-known preacher for many years. I attribute that not only to his godliness, but also to the fact he was apparently one of the few people back then who had a decent name.
Though Dad made good money in the oilfields, ($7.50 an hour. During the Great Depression!) they returned to Bristow. The decision was in reaction to Grandma Pearl’s attitude toward Mom. Grandma didn’t like Elsie, not even a little. I imagine she wanted her son to marry someone from an influential family. When you told someone back then that you were from the Oklahoma Teegarden stock, it just didn’t resonate. Nowadays it resonates like gangbusters.
This was the time that Grandma forged some letters supposed to be from a guy Mom was having an affair with. Apparently, Dad trusted his new wife more than his mom. When Oliver Windell Teegarden, Mom’s dad, got word of what Pearl had done, he said he would kill her if he ever got his hands on her. This peaceful, Godly, elder and song leader of the church, was somewhat miffed. Grandma could have that effect on you. Fortunately, Pearl didn’t die a violent death, or else the chief suspect would’ve been living in Bristow, Oklahoma.
Pearl: Does this look like a woman who would try to break up a marriage?
When they returned to Bristow, Dad did carpentry work with Oliver. It didn’t pay like the oilfields, but I doubt anything did. I have trouble believing Dad made $7.50 an hour in the oilfields during The Depression. I got the info from Mom. I think she had been hitting the juice pretty hard. That’s a joke. Elsie didn’t drink. If Dad ever did it was unbeknownst to us.
One of the earlier pictures of Mom. Her younger sister Paulene is on her right.
I know Grandpa Teegarden didn’t hit the sauce, either. He didn’t drink, cuss or carouse. That was a big plus for Faris getting work with him. In the oilfield guys did a lot of cussing and drinking and carousing. All except for Faris Edward Hayter. Hey, I’ve seen the movies.
Fourteen months after they’d been married, Mom and Dad had their first daughter. I led with the 14 months for obvious reasons. Lynda Lea Hayter became my oldest sister. Actually she didn’t become that till a little over a decade later. That’s when Mark was born. More on that scoundrel later.
Lynda, during one of the brief baby moments when she wasn't crying.
Shortly after Lynda was born, Dad went back to work in the oilfields. He apparently missed the drinking and carousing. Badumbump. He and Mom moved to Kellyville where the oil lease was. They brought Lynda along with them. They may have had to think on that, ‘cause Lynda was a colicky baby. I’ve never had a colicky baby, but I understand they’re supposed to cry a lot. It’s written somewhere. Mom said they used to put Lynda in the car and drive her around till she went to sleep. I just can’t imagine there being a smooth enough road in Oklahoma back then that would ‘cause anyone to fall asleep. Again, Mom may have been hittin’ the hootch.
Where was I? Kellyville. All right, for those of you wondering, Kellyville is a little dot along Route 66 midway between Bristow and Sapulpa. We can now put that mystery to rest. If you’ve ever been to Kellyville, you know that the place is really hopping. Life was so exciting back in 1940 that when Mom got pregnant with Larry Edward, my oldest brother, she decided to go to Bristow to have the child at the home of her parents. Mostly so Kellyville wouldn’t be on the birth certificate. I don’t know that for a fact.
Dad didn’t make it to the house before Larry was born on that snowy January day. A Dr. King and his nurse Elmira made it in time, but not Dad. The streets were icy and he was in the oilfields. Or, one oilfield. Mom and Dad were proud of Larry right off the bat, largely because he didn’t have colic; he didn’t get his first tooth till after he was weaned; and he loved to vacuum. I made up a couple of those. As I did the nurse’s name. I think it a pretty good guess, though.
Shortly after Larry was born, the family moved to Abbeville, Louisiana. Something about the gumbo. I mean the oil. Dad worked in the Louisiana oilfields… and ate gumbo. It was while in Louisiana that the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Instantly, Dad moved the family back to Bristow. It was apparently less of a target than Abbeville.
Dad never served during the war. He first got a deferment because he worked in the oilfields. Believe I mentioned that. But, it wasn’t long before he moved the family to California where he got a job in the shipyard building Liberty Ships. That was his second deferment.
I never learned much about the family’s stay in California other than the fact that they lived near San Diego in the side of a cliff. It was actually a house that butted right up to a cliff. In fact, the back wall was actually sandstone. Living inside a California cliff was so much safer back then. Someone in the family has a photo of the place, but has yet to come forward. I think they’re waiting to see if this thing gets published. Maybe extort some money from me. Mom and Dad aren’t around anymore to keep stuff like that from happening.
Dad once told a sad happening that took place on one of the ships he was working on. He was up on one of the higher decks welding on something. For an one instant he looked down and saw a guy staring at a huge electrical outlet. The man was holding the end of a heavily insulated wire, while studying the outlet. Dad said he knew exactly what the guy was thinking and what he was going to do, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. With his free hand, the man touched the outlet to see if it was hot. You know, one of those quick touches that you imagine to be faster than light? Dad said the man was knocked off his feet and died on the spot. I can’t imagine an outlet big enough to stick your finger in, or a guy being foolish enough to touch such a thing. I’m thinking intense training was waved for many of the shipbuilding jobs.
Other than that tragedy, I don’t remember Dad saying much about the family’s brief stay in California. Stories were sparse, but he did tell about the time the family went to San Francisco to visit a church whose guest preacher was a friend of theirs. Might’ve been that Burton Coffman guy. Let’s say it was. Regardless, Dad was driving some old heap across the Golden Gate at night, and unbeknownst to him there was a blackout in affect. The military was apparently leery of a Japanese assault on the West Coast. I would’ve thought that Dad might’ve recognized that there was a blackout, it being dark and all. But, he drove across the bridge with his lights on and was summarily stopped by a cop just as he exited the bridge. I’m not sure how a cop pulls you over during a blackout, but this guy managed it. Probably threw rocks at the car.
On his way to the driver’s side window, the California cop took a quick glance at the license plate on the Hayter vehicle. He then studied the occupants of the car. Don’t know if he turned his flashlight on or not. Seems like that would be against the law during a blackout. He took a few moments to study the family. Even before I was born, the Hayter family looked suspicious as all get out. Mom and Dad were in the front and Lynda and Larry were huddled in the back. The officer asked for Dad’s driver's license. He inspected the thing and then asked Dad what he was doing driving with his lights on. Dad tactfully told him that he was unaware of the blackout. Dad said that the cop just tossed him back his license and said, “Keep your lights off.” While walking away, the cop said, loud enough for all to hear, “Damn Okies.”
I think Dad would’ve rather gotten a citation than have the cop call him and his family “Damn Okies.” I’m glad I wasn’t there to see that display. The Dad I knew would not handled an insult well at all. He would’ve come out of the car and showed that cop who ate the cabbage. I have no idea what that means, but it was a Farisism. Showing someone who ate cabbage was supposed to be a pretty big deal. Try to figure. But, Dad just drove on to church. I doubt he was in a worshiping mood all that much.
I never saw Dad fight anybody, but I did see him lose his temper a few times. Several times. I’m fairly sure he wouldn’t have assaulted a police officer. It’s just that when I was a kid I couldn’t see him handling rude behavior well at all. Couldn’t see him being able to control himself. It was later that I realized that Dad was seldom out of control as much as I thought he was. Someone would have likely died had he been completely out of control. Like I said at the start of this thing, the man was 50 feet tall.
Shortly before the war ended, the family returned to Oklahoma where Dad got a job at an airplane factory in Tulsa. Shortly after the move, my sister Susan was born. Mom said Susan was her best kid. Didn’t cry much at all; didn’t care if you held her or not; changed her own diaper at four months. If you neglected the thumb-sucking thing, she was the perfect baby. Grew into the meanest babysitter you’ve ever seen. “Mom, please don’t leave us with Susan. Pleeeease!” Oh, well, that’s the stuff of another book. Perhaps Susan will might pay me to paint her early years with a more kinder stroke.
Soon the war was over and Dad had managed to stay out of the military. At the time, I don’t think he minded so much missing out on the fighting, but, later in life, I could tell that he wished he had been a part of it all. He seemed almost apologetic about his life during the war. I imagine that’s normal. All you can be sure of is that a few million lives were changed because that horrible encounter. People were born who would not have been without the influence of the war, and millions more would not be born because of the mayhem. It’s the stuff of wonderment.
About a year after the war my brother Dennis was born at the house on 8th Street. I never saw the house on 8th Street, but Mom and Dad talked about it like all of us were well familiar with it. Sometimes parents lose sight of stuff. Especially parents who end up with seven kids.
Lynda, Larry, Susan and Dennis holding Easter chicks. Obviously, someone else is holding Dennis' chick. He preferred ducks.
Dennis was Mom’s easiest birth. Might’ve been because the doctor who delivered him was a chiropractor. When my Grandpa Teegarden first saw Dennis, he said he was the prettiest baby he ever saw. There’s a picture or so here that might bear that out. But, nothing recent. You can be a pretty baby just so long.
From left: Dennis, Grandma Pearl, Lynda, Susan, Larry and Dad.
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