James Franklin Gates and His First Trip With the Big Boys to the Arkansas River

James Franklin Gates, a Memory in Honor of His 83rd Birthday

    Edmund Gates, Sr. and Mamie Irene Tripp Gates lived most of their 54 years of marriage on the Arkansas River on the west side of the Big Bend Community west of Ralston. Their children, especially their sons learned to love the river, primarily by hiking to the riverbank of their 95-acre farm located in Osage County in Oklahoma. Edmund Gates, Sr. taught his children from an early age to respect the river. He helped them learn the river was always more powerful than they were, and they must think any time they were near it or in it. When the boys became responsible enough to be trusted to go to the river unaccompanied by a parent, my grandmother, Mamie said she always began counting heads as soon as she could see them emerging from the river bottom. In my opinion, Grandma preferred the ponds that were later built on their place far more than the Arkansas River, but that’s a story for another day.
   One of the favorite stories of my father connected with the Arkansas River is about his brother, James Franklin Gates who was born on January 28, 1931. My father, Edmund Gates, Jr. turned 12 years old the following June of that year James Franklin was born.

William Herbert and James Franklin Gates- from the
collection of Lou Dixon Gates and Jeannie Spurgeon Gates

   Two years later in the summer of 1933, Dad age 14, and his brothers - Fredrick age 12 , Jess age 10, and Herbert age 5 were headed out on one of the most exciting outings possible on the farm in the summer – a trek to the Arkansas River for wading, swimming, and just on all-out good time. Little Jimmy, as they referred to their baby brother, began begging his mother to go with the big boys. Grandma, who feared the river more than respected it, was adamant that Little Jimmy was far too young to go to the river, but my father intervened for his baby brother, “Mom, let Little Jimmy go. I’ll look after him.” Evidently, Dad, the oldest living son, had shouldered much responsibility at a young age, having by this time four younger brothers, two older sisters, and a younger sister. He must have proven his trustworthiness to his mother over the years because she surprisingly agreed to let Little Jimmy go with the big boys.

   It is important to know my father looked little two-year-old Jimmy in the eye and with an tone exuding seriousness and sincerity, said, “Jimmy, you better do what I say, or you’ll never get to go to the river again with us.” Edmund grabbed his hand, and Jimmy walked with his big brothers to the river bottom.
   Once they arrived at the river, Dad found a safe, little pool for Jimmy to splash and play in the water. My father reiterated again, “Jimmy, stay right here and play. If you move, you’ll never come to the river with us again.” Little Jimmy obeyed perfectly. That was one of many fun-filled trips made by the brothers to the river bottom.

Jim and Edmund, Jr. in their childhood home in 1990

   One of the principals under whom I taught thought my father would have only needed a couple of weeks to shape up some of the students’ behavior. Based on this family story, Dad learned to be an effective disciplinarian early in his life. Uncle Jim learned early what he needed to do to spend time having fun with his brothers.
  I am still astounded that a 14-year-old would be willing to take on the responsibility for a little one as well as successfully get the two-year-old safely home. Even as a teen-ager, he worked seven days a week rarely getting time off to do activities like going to the river, yet was so unselfish and thoughtful of the wishes of his baby brother. How amazing that a little two-year-old was already so well trained that he could comprehend what was being expected of him by his mother and oldest brother and then even more unbelievable that he had the self-control to do it! I'm not sure that they make them like these two anymore!

Hens, Humming, and Having Enough

This  old, well-worn photograph of Great-grandma Rosa Jarrell Rainey brings to mind several attributes that this hearty woman possessed and exhibited in her daily life. I never knew her, but my mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, who spent much time with her as a child has shared her memories.

Raising chickens was a means of support, not a hobby. She raised her chickens in order to sell their eggs to local grocery stores primarily in Fairfax. Her egg money bought groceries as well as the mash she bought for the chicken feed.

She might butcher an old rooster for chicken and dumplings but tried never to use one of her good laying hens for this main dish on their dinner table. She had a fenced chicken yard to protect her flock from losing even one to a opossum, skunk, or stray dog. One of her last outdoor chores of each evening was making sure her chickens were safely secure in the hen house.

Mother recalls her grandmother doing the chicken house repairs herself, humming as she worked. I frequently hum as I do tasks and have been told the tougher the task becomes the more consistently I hum! She seemingly never complained or asked others to help her but just hummed as she did it herself. What a stellar example to emulate!

Her son-in-law and my maternal grandfather was Calvin Callcayah Smith who just happened to be half-Cherokee. I understand there was a stigma attached to interracial marriage in the 1920s when my grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey married my grandpa in spite of her parents' reservations. However, my grandpa by his humor and helpfulness endeared himself to the woman he referred to as “Granny.” He and his mother-in-law would load around four cases of eggs in the back of her Model A two-seater Ford that had belonged to her deceased husband. According to my mother, her grandmother never learned to drive but thoroughly enjoyed going to town, usually on Saturday, as my grandfather drove her car with her riding in the front seat with him and the back seat filled with their eggs to sell. The two of them would chuckle about filling the back of the little car with as many cases of eggs as possible! Incidentally, one case held 30 dozen or 360 eggs so they were transporting 1,440 eggs each week! Grandpa was known for his fast driving. Coupled with the roads from the Big Bend to Fairfax, one wonders how he held the speed down to keep from having scrambled eggs!

It is important to know Great-grandma Rainey never received one Social Security Check. She became a widow at the age of 65. Grandpa Rainey left her with no life insurance policy. No annuity payments, no retirement checks, or any other source of income came her way. In fact, she did have a small savings that was lost when the bank in Ralston where she had invested it, folded as a result of the Crash of 1929 precipitating the Great Depression.

As a widow, she lived for another 20 years before her own death. Her youngest daughter Emma Maryann Rainey Buckley purchased the home and land where they lived from Catherine Mosier but never charged her mother to live there. Her younger son Eugene R. Rainey farmed the tillable ground, and she received a modest portion of the money earned from the sale of the crop harvested. As a result, her lifestyle of frugalness must have served her well in her later years ensuring that she "stayed out of the poorhouse," which was her way of saying she wanted to never be in financial distress. And fortunately, she never was--thanks to her hens, humming, and having just enough. 

Did This Really Happen on His First Day of School?

Edmund Gates, Sr.’s First Day of School

   John Fredrick Gates probably thought and hoped the two years with his brother’s "hearing" family would prepare his oldest son for school. One can only imagine his consternation when Edmund returned from his first day of school and began signing that he had gotten in a fight that very day. As Little Edmund had approached the schoolyard, he was met with taunts of “deafie” from another student. This first grader could not ignore this derogatory remark leveled against him because of his hearing-impaired parents. He swiftly lifted his lunch bucket and with precision struck the schoolyard bully across the head creating a deep gash causing blood to gush everywhere. The teacher emerged from the door of the school exasperatedly saying, “Goodness, a fight the first day of school!” Seemingly since little Edmund used his lunch bucket as a weapon, he sacrificed his lunch for his family’s honor and was forced to go hungry the rest of the school day.
   
   As a teacher, my heart aches for a little guy coming to school eager to learn and instead enduring ridicule aimed at the two people he loved most. However, as the great-granddaughter of Elizabeth Studebaker Gates, the first student of the Kansas School for the Deaf and mother of this little first grader, I am disgusted at the ignorance since she was quite likely the most educated mother of any student attending that school!

A bully met him before he even got to the door of this rural Kansas school in the early 1880s. Grandpa handled the bully the only way a young child could. However, as long as he lived, he always had a very clear sense of right and wrong--a man of principles--and family meant everything to him. In addition, Grandpa was always a strong proponent of education for all of his children. Only God could have taken such a initially devastating experience and insulated him against bitterness toward learning and going to school.

Edmund Gates, Sr. as a child

Some additional facts:      Edmund Gates, Jr., my father, can still sign and understand the sign for “eat” even at age 94 following his stroke. He and I use this sign for fun quite a bit.    Dad has often mentioned how diligently Grandpa tried to teach his children sign language but to no avail.    I recall whenever Great-aunt Ella Gates-Meyer or Great-uncle John Gates came to visit, we would make the trip over to my grandparents’ farm home to see the relatives from Kansas. I would sit perfectly still and wide-eyed, as Grandpa communicated with one or both of these siblings using sign language as well as spoken language. My intrigue with Grandpa’s first language caused me to take American Sign Language “for fun” while I was at Oklahoma State University.

The Scariest New Year's Day

Fire, Family, and Friends

   Two years ago on New Year’s Day, as Mother and I returned from morning church services, we were discussing a terrible tragedy that had struck a dear friend’s family on New Year’s Eve. Suddenly, to our horror as we topped the hill of my parents’ farm, dark smoke billowed in front of us. We had left my 91-year-old father at home in his recliner because he was dizzy. I gasped with a guarded panic in my voice, “Oh Mom,  there’s a fire!” Almost immediately, my words punctuated with alarm and fear, I exclaimed, “It’s the barn!” Thankfully, hardly before those words had left my mouth, we glimpsed my father in the pasture about halfway between the house and where the barn once stood, staring at the smoldering pile of charred tin that less than an hour earlier had been the fifty-year-old structure that he had built himself.

   As devastating as that fated day was when Dad’s vintage pickup had sparked a blaze inside the barn, it was just as miraculous that my 91-year-old father had quickly driven the vehicle from the flames, instantly realizing there was no action that he could take to assuage the inferno and save the hay that was stored for the winter. 
   Yet just as destructive as the morning fire was, the outpouring of generosity overwhelmed the feeling of desolation even as the air remained filled with the acrid, pungent odor from the burnt, smoldering barn ruins. Within two hours of the fire, Rick Rice and Richard Fesler pulled in their tractors transporting bales of hay to replace the ones Dad had lost. 
   This was only the beginning. Carl Goad, Dave Goad, Joe Day, and Forrest Goad each brought bales with no fanfare - just hearts motivated by compassion and concern for one of the older cattlemen in the Big Bend community.
    Mother vividly recalled one day following the fire, she, with her arthritic knees, and Dad, slowed by his 91 years, were trying to drive the entire herd of cattle away from the lovingly donated bales with absolutely no success. Mother whispered a prayer asking God to help them. Almost immediately, Rick Rice drove in and helped Dad herd the cattle out of the much needed hay.
    On March 3 of the same year, Dad suffered a major stroke affecting his left side, his speech, and his ability to walk without assistance.  During the months of March and April, Rick cared for the cattle, repairing some of the timeworn fencing on my parents’ place as well as gates. He reported with pride when the spring calves began being born. One day in March, he made a trip to the rehab center in Stillwater to check on Dad and give him an account of his stock – some of the best medicine Dad could receive.
    When a family finds itself in a tough situation, God uses people to meet their needs--from Josh Harris and Caleb Rice who first glimpsed the smoke, to Joe and Mike Hightower, who arrived quickly on the scene with the Big Bend Volunteer fire truck, to the Indian Electric Cooperative crew and Kyle Welch who assisted with the electricity, to Connie and Carl Goad, who were overjoyed to pull up to the fire and see Dad unscathed, as well as the men who donated hay--these were people God used to encourage my parents. Dad never spoke lamentably about his enormous loss but it might have been unbearable if he had not had these individuals, through their actions, not words, say, “Ed, we care about you and want you to carry on.”

Within a couple of hours of Dad's barn burning, these two tractors pulled in
with hay bales to replace those destroyed in the morning barn blaze.

Richard Fesler and his tractor, Rick Rice and his tractor and Ben Bradley,
my brother-in-law, visiting with them both.