Luther D. Layne WWII

 I had a discussion with my younger brother Boyd about my father Luther D. Laynes military service and the death of President Roosevelt was brought up. With his help I can recall part of the story dad told. He was stationed at Laughlin Field, Del Rio, Texas when the president died. He told of standing in rank for several hours waiting on some dignitary to show up for a speech that lasted only a few minutes. Dad had two kinds of war stories, those told in the presents of women and children and the good ones.

This got me to wondering about another story he used to tell. His next assignment was at Hammer Field, Fresno, California and all airmen of able body were recruited to fight forest fires in the near by Sierra National Forest. I was watching a program on The History Channel about World War Two and the Japanese launching balloons with incendiary devices and bombs into the jet stream, aimed at the west coast of the USA These devices were intended to cause panic in the population and destruction to the forest in a large enough scale to use up man power. Could this have been the fires they were fighting? Maybe he had a more direct role in the war than he thought.

 Dad was 33 years old when the war started, so he was not front line material. Laughlin Field, Del Rio, Texas was the site of the famous pilots school and his job was Sergeant in charge of 40 to 50 civilian workers who kept the personal equipment, uniforms, shoes ect., of the fly boys repaired
and in military order. The civilians were all women, so the story goes.

The Good Old Days?

My father, Luther Layne told of working for the WPA on the St. Francis River Levee system near Lake City, Arkansas. My mother had been recovering from Typhoid Fever and was not able to get out of bed. There were three small children and a small farm take care of, along with the long hours working on the levee. The day started long before the rooster awoke. First he had to take care of the household chores, making sure mother and the children had something to eat, water from the pump and enough wood chopped and stacked near the stove to last the day. Then it was out to the barn to milk the cows and take care of the hogs and chickens. I think the chickens took care of themselves, free range, before it got expensive.

 Mothers brother, Vaughn Collier worked with dad on the levee and lived down the road a mile or so. With times so hard in the Layne house, Aunt Lee had been making dinner for both of them and packing it in a 5 lb. lard bucket. You can almost see this one coming. After a very long morning, doing all the work at home, walking 3 or 4 miles to get to work and then working all morning on the levee, the dinner whistle finally sounded. When they set down to the much anticipated and justly earned meal, they opened the bucket and you guessed, it was lard. God bless them, they are defiantly a hard act to follow.

Mom's Biscuits

 Mom’s Biscuits
One thing about growing up in a large family during the 40s and 50s that is very different from what most kids experience today is food.  Simply said Mom cooked the meals and we ate, and in a family of 6 boys and 2 adults leftovers were very rare. There was no eating in front of the TV or going to McBurger, if you chose to be late for a meal you simply waited on the next one. If you late because you were working she would feed you regardless of the time. For the most part the food we ate was predictable but some of it was very good, home made biscuits comes to mind when I think of every day food. I have tried to imitate Mom's biscuits but so far I have come up short.

Willyne's Biscuits


Ingredience:
* 2 cups plain flour
* 2 teaspoons baking powder
* 1/4 teaspoon baking soda
* 1 teaspoon salt
* 6 tablespoons lard or shortening
? 2/3 cup buttermilk (approx)

Preparation:
Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Cut in shortening until mixture is the consistency of meal. Stir in buttermilk until dough follows fork around the bowl.. Form mixture into a ball, turn out on floured surface and knead a few times.

Roll or pat out to about 1/4-inch thick. Cut with a biscuit cutter or rim of glass dipped in flour to keep from sticking. Place on greased baking sheet and bake at 450° for 8 to 10 minutes. Cut open and spread with a little butter and sorghum. Enjoy.

Lots of love, practice and those old battered black bread pans were the secret.

"Them Boys think I am made out of biscuits" is one of Debbie's fond memories of Mom in the kitchen.

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Just for Fun

CHOCOLATE FRIED PIE
One of the good memories of childhood is Mom's fried pies. She made them from scratch and fired them in lard.
I found this recipe somewhere and like it's simplicity. I wonder how that would work with Splenda?

1 can flaky biscuits
1/2 c. cocoa
Oil
1 c. sugar
1 stick butter

Combine sugar and cocoa; mix well. Roll out individual biscuits flat. Add 1 part butter and 1 or 2 tablespoons cocoa mixture. Fold over and seal edges. Brown in hot oil.

Mom's Story Telling

Mom's Story Telling
 My Mother had a way of sharing her memories that was simple but mesmerizing, at least it was to me. Don't get me wrong she did not sit around all day telling stories. She had 6 boys to raise and she did in in a hands on way. It was those good and easy times when she would take a few moments and reminisce about her family that captured my attention and still holds a special place in my heart today. Mom lost her mother when she was only 15 years old and being the oldest girl the bulk of the house keeping and child rearing became her responsibility. This was exaggerated by the fact that her father was near blind and she had 3 younger siblings.

 1929 was a very bad year for Mom and  the Collier family, the oldest son Charles Odell died January 02 and her mother Addie died on August 12, 1929. Of course we all know what about the stock market crashing that same year. I am sure the  crash of the stock market was of little interest at the time but as the next few years unfolded it became increasingly hard to find work of any kind in Izard County and like many other families they resorted to working the cotton crops in the 'east bottoms' as they were referred to by many. There was a lot of cotton in Jackson County and I think they moved back and forth between Jackson County and Izard County a few times.

 It was in these trying times that Mom grew into womanhood. Please remember I am paraphrasing when I try to retell her stories. I am also working with the handicap of not being the storyteller she was. I do remember her talking about spending a Sunday afternoon with her teenage friends just exploring the area where they lived. She told of going up on one of the highest hills just to see the beautiful country side. She told of building a fire and when it was time to go home some of the boys places large sandstone rocks on the fire and when they were about half way home the rocks would explode, they didn't have TV for entertainment in those days.

 She told of being in a school play and waiting for her father to come home from his job hauling freight by wagon and a team of horses. He sometimes spent the night on the road between Melbourne and the river port at Guion in Izard County, Arkansas. That evening she waited until it was almost too late to make the trip into town before the play started. It was very cold and one of the neighbors came by and gave her a lift. She made it just in time for the play but was worried about her father Joseph. It was just not like him to be late any time but this time was special and he had promised her he would be home in time to take her in to town. The play had already started when they heard the familiar sound of a heavily loaded freight wagon coming down the street. The play was halted while the men folks carried her father off the frozen wagon seat and took him in to thaw him out. The had to break the ice off the horses muzzle in order to feed and water them.

 Mom talked about her mother Addie ‘Dobbs’ Collier and her love for playing the organ. I would have loved to hear Grandma Addie play, I can imagine a waltz or a good old gospel song from the Presbyterian Hymnal but sadly it was not to be.  While I was researching our family genealogy my 2nd cousin Diane Dobbs Wilson found me through my Lane-Collier Web Page and said she had a copy of a daily Journal written by Elizabeth J. Rudolph McSpadden. Elizabeth was aunt to my  Grandmother Addie who’s brother William was Diane’s Grandfather. This wonderful lady wrote mundane facts of daily life that may not have seemed that important at the time but when I read it 100 years later I was mesmerized and didn’t want to put it down even to eat or sleep. I was reading along sometimes laughing sometimes with tears in my eye when right there on February 3, 1900 it simply said “Mack Dobbs got them an organ”. This was the organ Mother told all those years later.

 Mom also talked about her Grandfather John Ira McMillon Dobbs who was a Civil War Veteran. The Civil War was always interesting to me and actually listening to someone tell true stories about actual events was always a treat. I later found out that John was in Company E, Freeman's Regiment of  Cavalry, Confederate States Of America. According to the story he told Mom and she passed on to me was that he was wounded quite severely in the head and was left along with some others to recover near a spring of water. His wound was very serious and somehow word got back to his family and they slipped through Union lines and brought him back home to recover.

 When I started researching my family genealogy I was living in Loveland, Colorado and trying to dig up as much as my limited resources would let me. I visited the Arkansas History Center in Little Rock as often as I could get back in the area. There  Confederate military records showed where John received a Confederate pension of $25.00 month starting Aug 21, 1901 and increased to $100.00 month Aug, 8, 1910 until his death in 1932. It stated that he had been severely wounded in the head. There was also records that show where Freeman established a headquarters near Mammoth Spring, Arkansas and the Spring River Mill and his area of activity ranged over Northern Arkansas and as far north as Salem and Houston in Southern Missouri. The number of troops in his command ranged from 200 to 1500 men.  This was the wound he told Mother about and Mammoth Springs was probably where he was left to recuperate. He did recovered from his wounds at home and returned to his unit to finish out the war.
 When Mom talked about her young womanhood it was like she was relating something to you that happen yesterday.

Picking Cotton

                                                                Thurman Dwight Lane

                                                                     The Author 1950


 We had a split term school at Hoxie, Arkansas where I spent all my 1st through 12th education. This means we were out of school in the spring for planting and chopping cotton and after a mid-summer term we were out in the fall for picking cotton. With all the misery of chopping cotton and going to school during the hot and humid Arkansas summer then out to break your back picking cotton it should have been called misery-term school. All and all it did give us a chance to add some much needed cash to the household coffers. With 6 growing boys and 2 adults to feed I really don’t know how my parents would have fed us without the extra income.

Some folks could pack 70 or 80 pounds in one of those 9-foot sacks but mine usually had less than that. They also made 12 footers but with my limited skills I had no use for one that big. The last pick sack I saw was at my cousins antique store and it had a metal ring sewn into the bottom corner. Most of us poor folks just put a large green cotton bole in the corner and wrapped a few strands of bailing wire around the outside of the sack to form a ring of sorts. When you weighed the cotton you placed the ring over the hook on the scales and doubled the sack up and wrapped the shoulder strap around the hook. We also found polk salad that had mature red berries and used the them to write our name on the sack.

We were usually in the fields just after sun up so we could get some work done before the hot part of the day. If we were picking a large field they would park the wagon in the middle of the field and we would go to the other end of the row and pick back to the wagon. In the early morning the dew was still on the cotton and we would put our sack in front of us and walk through the thick cotton plants to the other end so we could keep as dry as possible. The cotton in those days was very different than what you see today. Today's cotton has been genetically altered to produce very small stalks but the old cotton would sometimes be shoulder high or in the rich bottom, land over your head. Thus the expression ------- in tall cotton. Speaking of that one of the first things you learned was never pick up a pile of cotton lying in the middle of the row.

When you wore the bottom of your sack out you just cut the strap part off and turned it over and patched the hole. I don't remember what a 9 foot sack cost but we were paid about 3 dollars for picking a hundred lb. of cotton and believe me you knew the value of a dollar. Picking cotton was a very serious thing for most families. A large part of the families cash money for the year was produced in just a just few weeks.

 One of my early experiences with picking cotton was the most memorable. I must have been about 6 or 7, I do know it was after we moved into the town of Hoxie. My big brothers, Donald, Bobby and Del and several of our neighbors were picked up by a farmers truck early in the morning and transported to who knows where, at least I didn’t know where we were. I remember later someone talking about Old Walnut Ridge but to me it could have been anywhere, heck I didn’t  know much about new Walnut Ridge., only that they sold pop corn on the street and my big brother got to go to the movie there a few times.

 I do remember the field and the trip back home quite well. The field was very large there was slight rise to the land and the cotton was tall enough that I couldn’t see too far ahead of me. This was just fine during the day, I could keep a low profile and spend my day checking out bugs and watching for airplanes, we were near the Walnut Ridge military air base. The first time I noticed something might be out of the ordinary was I suddenly noticed that it was getting much cooler and there was no one in sight, I am not sure but I may have gone to sleep, anyway I picked up my cotton sack containing about 4 or 5 lb. of hard work and started for the wagon which was supposed to be just over the rise and in the middle of the field. When I got there I could see the worn places where people had been weighing their hard days work and tire tracks but no wagon, no cotton pickers and no brothers.

 I headed for the road and started walking. I would like to say that being a country boy I noted the sun going down in the west and the moss on the trees and deduced that I should head south but the truth is I just started walking and later realized it was the right direction. It seemed like I had been on the road a long time, I still had my sack of cotton when I heard a tractor heading my way. I don’t know who the guy driving the tractor was but he said he was headed to the Rainwater Cotton Gin in Walnut Ridge and being very shy and scared shitless I hitched a ride but I don’t remember talking to him very much. I was perched on top of a very large load of cotton and for some reason I started to feel silly for carrying my  little sack of cotton so I donated it to the kind man who gave me a ride. Who knows it may have been just the amount he needed to make out a bale.  The ride on the cotton wagon was long and I had plenty of time to worry, I worried about finding my way home but most of all for some reason I thought I would be in big trouble when and if I ever got home.

 We were coming into a town but it was nothing I had ever seen or recognized. We finally got to the gin and stopped in a long line of wagons waiting their turn and this was even more scary. The gin was big and the noise  almost overwhelming  but my tractor driver told me to get down and matter of fact like told me how to get to Hoxie, the town where I lived. It must have been good directions because after walking several blocks I started to see a part of Walnut Ridge that I vaguely recognized. I headed south and  about half way between the two towns I saw the old Cotton Compress building, a very big  complex of red buildings covering acres and something that was easily recognized. It was about dark, the street lights were on and I saw my Father’s car barreling down the highway looking like he was on a mission. When he saw me he tried to make a u-turn and didn’t quite make it and landed in the ditch in front of me. He jumped out of the car and grabbed me and it was a minute or two before I realized I was not in trouble.


   

My friends Billie Williams and Bobby Craig

My friends Billie Williams and Bobby Craig

It was about 1963 or 64 and after working a 12 hour day at Craig’s Grocery store on Front Street in Walnut Ridge we took a short break to go home for a bite to eat and then back to the store to paint the floors. I along with my friends Billie Williams and Bobby Craig, the boss’ son were trying to make a little extra money so we had volunteered for the all nighter painting job.

I can think of a lot of excuses for having the sillies at 3 o’clock at night , the long hours, the paint fumes but I suspect it was the bottle of Tequila I had found under the seat of my dads car. None of us were drinkers of any consequence but we had seen movies where they had salt, a slice of lime and a bottle of the good stuff. We were in a grocery store so the ingredients were handy so why not. I really don’t remember how the floor turned out but I do remember Billie saying that we missed a spot and when he tried to go back down the aisle he slipped in the wet paint and the whole bucket landed in his lap, after that all I remember is hurting from laughing so much. They did tell some stories about me that night but they were not true.

We were young, we were eager and very much alive, I wish it was still so. We lost Pfc Billie Joe Williams, United States Marine Corp on March 21, 1966 in what the Marine Corp called 'Operation Texas' near the village of Phuong Dinh , Quang Ngai Province, South Vietnam.

Bobby Craig died Sept. 22, 2007, a husband, a father and a grand father several times over.