WE MOVE TO THE FARM

In January 1933 Franklin Roosevelt became President of the United States. The country was deep in a depression. In March 1933 FDR closed all the banks to reorganize them, fend off a run on the banks and establish the Federal Depositors Insurance Commission.

My brother Jimmy was born March 3, 1933 and FDR closed the banks the next day. My brother was born at home and my parents couldn’t get to their money in the bank to pay the doctor. Mother said the doctor was drunk when he delivered Jimmy and was supposed to come back later and finish the job. He never came back, Jimmy never became Jewish and I don’t know if the doctor ever got his delivery fee or not.

Many people were out of work. My father had lost his job (probably delivering beer) and jobs were hard to come by. He got up one morning and went out to find a job. It got later and later in the day and my mother got worried about what might have happened to him. Many men in that day were robbed and left for dead, walked away from their families out of frustration and hopelessness or even committed suicide not being able to face their failure and inability to provide even the basic needs of their families.

Mother was distraught and called her father, my grandfather “Gaga” asking if he could help find my dad. Gaga checked around to see where they were hiring and found my father at the bottom of a hole deeper than he was tall digging footings for the buildings at the state fair grounds. My father said you can always find a job if you are willing to work.

Daddy was always willing and rarely went more than a day or two without work.

NOTICE : CORRECTION - WE LIVED ON MENTOR ST. NOT MARSALIS.

came along. By this time the economy had improved and the family was financially stable. In another three years I came along and by the time I was two three years old we had settled in to our life on Mentor Street.

The Second World War was raging and Daddy was a Neighborhood Air Raid Warden. He had a white metal helmet with an emblem on it designating him as an o-fishul Air Raid Warden. When there was an air raid, Daddy and his fellow wardens would patrol the neighborhood at night to see that everyone’s shades were pulled tight so that no light could be seen and that no subversives were signaling the Axis powers to drop bombs on Mentor Street.

Around 1942 my parents, the son of a sharecropper and daughter of a small businessman, decided that they should go “back to the land”. After an undetermined time of searching, they found a farm in eastern Denton County about 40 miles north of Dallas and 6 miles east of Denton. Two miles north of State Highway 76 (Now US 35E) and near the small community of Corinth.

I remember the cold winter day when we drove to the farm from our home in Dallas to show Gaga and Momma Wright the farm. It was a gray dreary and we came to the farm from the east. My first sight of the house was from a break in the trees that lined the sandy road .

The farm was described legally as “80 acres, more or less” no matter what Gene Brown says. It had a 60 year old farm house (6 rooms and a path) with a hand dug 20 foot deep well at the edge of the back porch that had never gone dry in over 60 years. About 10 yards from the back of the house was an outhouse with a honeysuckle trellis in front. Helped kill the odor in the summer. The privy drew flies and the honeysuckle drew wasps and yellow jackets.

Mother couldn’t resist swatting at the wasps and yellow jackets and once when she went to use the facilities a wasp got in to the privy and Mother began to swat at it. The wasp got mad and Mother decided to retreat. As she pulled up her slacks the wasp dropped into the opening and stung her on the hip. The result was a football sized swelling, very painful and lingered for many days.

West of the privy and just east of the lane that went from the driveway to the barn was a semi-submerged, sand stone root cellar. The cellar stood at the base of a large mulberry tree. I once built a tree house in the arms of the mulberry and lived many an exciting adventure in my mind.

At the entry to the driveway stood an ancient oak tree. Sherrill says she saw it recently and it is not as large as we remember it. I know it was to big for me to get my arms around and once Daddy hung a block and tackle from one of it’s lower branches and pulled the engine out of a ‘30 something Pontiac to work on it.

The farm also had a barn with hay loft, corn crib and milk shed. There were 2 small ponds and about 1/3 to ½ of the acreage was in black jack and post oak.

When we moved to the farm there was a crop of peanuts in the field which belonged to the previous owner. That was probably the last successful crop ever planted on the land. My dad, at various times tried to raise peanuts, corn and chickens with little success.

After two or three years Daddy went back to work in Dallas selling beer. He would get up early in the morning, drive to Corinth and catch a Continental Trailways bus to get to Dallas and bus back to home after dark and a full day of humping cases of beer.

I think we lived on the farm from the time I was 4 to my freshman year in college.