Ringing in the New Year With Remembrances of Aunt Emma Rainey Buckley

Whenever I write about my grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith, or any of her siblings, I recall what Velma Bowen Rainey said about them. She commented, "Grandma Rainey raised those kids on tiger's milk!"  Velma referred to characteristics such as an unchangeable determination, an indomitable spirit, an ability to succinctly convey an opinion,  and unwavering tenacity. The incredibly talented Rainey children's commitment to hard work coupled with their giftedness in many areas has enhanced and impacted our family for several generations.
Remembering Aunt Emma Rainey Buckley

The youngest daughter of Rosa Jarrell Rainey and William Marion Rainey was born on December 31, 1903 at Sacred Heart, Indian Territory. My maternal grandmother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, at age three, welcomed her into the family. They named the New Year’s Eve baby Emma Maryann.  Her father selected her middle name after his own mother, Mary.

According to my grandma, Aunt Emma quickly became a favorite of her father. Grandmother related how Aunt Emma, as a sick little one, needed to take medicine. Her father, in his effort to entice Emma to take her medicine, illustrated how easy it was to swallow and ended up taking her medicine himself! That suited little Emma just fine.

As an older sister, my grandmother and AIice, another sister, thrived on teasing Aunt Emma. Aunt Emma always had many suitors. Alice and my grandmother teased her when they attended Woodland School in the Bend and Emma received a love note. The boy who didn't excel in spelling wrote a note to Emma referring to her as his “Humey” instead of "Honey." Even in her 70s, this same man enjoyed meeting her and visiting about days long gone as well as his agri-business.

Aunt Emma formed strong friendships when she stayed with the McInroy family in Fairfax to attend high school. She found employment at Big Hill Trading Company. She met and married Bill Buckley in 1929. More about their relationship can be read at the blog post link: http://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-theater-manager-who-married-rainey.html

The death of her beloved husband forced my great-aunt to begin carving a new path for herself. Following her recovery from an emotional collapse, she and her niece, Hazel Rice Goad Guthrie, enrolled in Hills Business College in Oklahoma City. Coincidentally, my paternal aunt, Ella Gates Bledsoe, was studying at the same time at the same college.

Upon completing her coursework, she accepted a job with the United States Government Printing Office in Washington, D.C. Her new employment adventure propelled her into an entirely new venue and atmosphere. She attended worship services at the National Cathedral. Aunt Emma, with her newfound friends, toured each historical site in their leisure time. The couple of decades in social circles in the nation’s capital afforded her opportunities to enjoy the festivities of  presidential inaugural balls.

Aunt Emma Rainey Buckley with her friend, Elsie in Washington, D.C. Every

 photograph of Aunt Emma reveals her ramrod straight posture. She retained 

her elegant posture well into  her 90s. Even as children eating at her table, her

posture alone caused my sister and me to check our posture. When we stayed

with her as children, we always had a water glass and stemware for our drink 

with our lunch and dinner meal!

Two of the more memorable experiences I recalled from her reminiscences of her years in Washington, D.C. was Marion Anderson’s historic concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on Easter Sunday in 1939. Anderson had been denied permission to perform in Constitution Hall. Later in her career, this contralto extraordinaire overwhelmed an audience when she participated in a benefit concert in Constitution Hall in 1943. Aunt Emma was privileged to be a part of the momentous event!  

Aunt Emma Buckley worked at what is now the United States Government Publishing Office until her retirement. She had been buying the farm on which her mother, Rosa Jarrell Rainey lived. Her mother (my great-grandmother) died in 1953, and soon Aunt Emma retired to begin farming with her brother, Eugene Robert Rainey. After his death in 1961, she lived the remainder of her life by herself on the farm.

Aunt Emma transitioned from a urban life style with a full social calendar to raising chickens, planting a garden, and canning the garden produce she harvested. Her nephew, Virgil Rice, farmed her tillable ground for her. As she aged, he checked faithfully on her daily.

Aunt Emma was generous with her time and money. She gave of herself to help her sister-in-law, Pearl Rainey, care for her older brother, Lewis, the last few months of his life. She spent many nights with her oldest sister, Daisy Rainey Rice. Calvin and Gladys Smith, my grandparents, enjoyed shopping outings with her to Ponca City on a regular basis.

My love of music prompted Aunt Emma to underwrite my first piano lessons. She always expected a mini concert from my sister, Angie, and me when she was at our house. She and my mother fostered my love of classical music.

In her later years, many times I traveled the quarter-mile to her house from my parents’ farm or stopped by after school on Friday. We discussed current affairs, family news, fashion trends, our personal Bible study, and family stories from the past. That strong relationship led me to what no one else had the courage to do. Return a photograph. Let me explain.

Bill Buckley’s World War I photograph retained a prominent place in our home all during my early days. My inquisitive nature caused me to inquire why we had his photo in our home and Aunt Emma had no pictures of him in sight at all. A brief explanation of her difficulty with his death was told to me. I knew names of men smitten with her were bantered about for many years.  An engineer who remained a bachelor until his death – I discovered that in my research! A banker, a train conductor, and a successful farmer were just a few who were quite taken with her, but with each one, she countered with a respectful, polite response that indicated no interest on her part. 

Prior to my grandma’s death, when cleaning, I proposed a novel idea – give Bill Buckley’s photo back to Aunt Emma. Initially, every family member supported me from afar in that effort to return the heretofore unwanted portrait. To everyone’s astonishment, Aunt Emma accepted and displayed prominently the photograph she rejected over sixty years earlier. Evidently, this sophisticated lady with a brilliant business mind had come to accept her dear Bill’s death and embraced their brief marriage as a relationship that could never be matched even though she lived into her 90s. Years of heartache and loss had finally been replaced with fond memories of the love they shared.

Aunt Emma with me in February of 1957. I always admired her keen
                 business savvy and understated sense of style and have tried to emulate it.

Ralston's Tie With the Founding of Oklahoma Agriculture and Mechanical College

As I discussed the photo below with Wanda Rice Nix, at the Ralston Senior Citizens building where a copy of it hangs, she shared that James L. Mathews, an ancestor of Maxine Hines Rice* who is the mother of Wanda Rice Nix, Bob Rice, and Revae Rice Baugh, served on the search committee to select the site for the new college in Stillwater. I'm always amazed at how much I learn when writing a blog post! There is a book about James Langford Mathews that I hope to soon read. Here is a link to his obituary which includes a portrait of him: 

http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=11736825 
A Surprising Connection Between My Mother and Oklahoma State University’s 125^th Birthday

                My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, reminisced recently about her family’s friendship with the Bob Jarrell family. Bob Jarrell, a banker at the Bank of Commerce in Ralston in the 1920s, developed a close relationship with my mother’s parents. Bob and his wife, Bina, enjoyed spending time in the country with my grandparents.

Photo of the Ralston Bank of Commerce with J.O. Cales, A. D. Krow (possibly), Robert
 Jarrell, and Elizabeth_________(unsure of her last name.). The photo was in my grandmother's
 personal photograph collection.

                Occasionally, my grandparents, Calvin Callcayah and Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith, and my mother socialized with the Jarrell family in Ralston. One evening Bina Jarrell was going to serve my preschool-aged mother tiny sausage patties. My grandmother spoke up, “Oh she won’t eat any.” Predictably, Mother proceeded to eat most of the sausages to the horrified astonishment of my grandmother! (87 years later, Mother now recalls not really liking the taste that much but the miniature size certainly appealed to her!)

                The Jarrells’ older children were Ford and Virginia, both teenagers at that time. Billy, the youngest living child, often played with my mother since he was only three years older than her. True to form, my spunky mother sent the blood flying by whacking Billy in the head when he did something she didn’t like as they played together at the little house. (See the blog posting entitled Miracles at the Little House that published on July 20, 2014.) After tending to Billy’s cut, my grandmother corrected my mother’s behavior toward guests. It is mystifying that a banker and his wife would socialize with farmers who lived in such a tiny house.

                Bob Jarrell liked my mother’s maternal grandma, Rosa Jarrell Rainey, immensely. He swore they were related. Great-grandma Rainey insisted they were not. None of my research has found a connection between the two Jarrell families.

                One of Mother’s most memorable times with the Jarrells was a trip to Tulsa. Bob and Bina had invited them to spend time with them in a hunting lodge near Tulsa. On the trip to the hunting lodge, my grandparents' Model T Ford lost one of its tires. Mother recalled drivers they met pointed vigorously to indicate the location of the missing tire. Sure enough, the Model T's wayward tire had lodged between two sapling trees that were practically growing one on top of each other! This hardly seemed the transport of a family in the Roaring 20s that was “hobnobbing” with their banker friend and his family. Once they arrived at the hunting lodge, Mother was mesmerized by the heads adorning the walls and the enormous bearskin rug prominent on the floor.

                Before the stock market crash of 1929, Bob Jarrell took a position with a bank in the Tulsa area and the family moved. Coincidentally, Great-grandma Rainey lost all of her "nest egg" at one of the other banks in Ralston during the Great Depression.

                As I perused the Fall 2015 issue of STATE – The Official Magazine of Oklahoma State University, an article by David C. Peters entitled “Finding a Prairie Home" piqued my interest. The focus of the article centered on the series of events leading to the acquisition of land for Oklahoma  Agricultural and Mechanical College following its birth on December 25, 1890.

What a surprise to see the southwest corner of Oklahoma State University began originally as a portion of Alfred Jarrell’s homestead acquired in the 1889 land run! According to the article by Peters, the Jarrells received $50 for the 40 acres sold for the early day college. Alfred Edwin Jarrell, an older brother of my grandparents’ friend, Robert “Bob” Sanford Jarrell, graduated in the first class from Oklahoma A & M College. Both Bob and Alfred Edwin were sons of Alfred Jarrell who willingly sold part of his homestead to make the land grant college a reality for the young state of Oklahoma.
            What a neat connection between Mother's cherished memories of the Jarrell family and the Brightest Orange! 

Happy 125^th Birthday to my alma mater, Oklahoma State University! 

*To learn more about Maxine Hines Rice, access the blog posting about her at:
http://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/09/green-stamps-free-washing-machine-and.html

The Gift That Forever Changed My Perspective

                I carefully peeled the tape from each end of the package. In those days, especially pretty wrapping paper was preserved to be reused. That explained the care in unwrapping. As I opened the box, I experienced a first in my life.

                In front of me, in the sturdy, recycled box, a beautiful evening gown for my Barbie doll was nestled in the tissue paper. A beautiful creation of white lace with a gold-edged lace rose accentuating the bodice stunned me. The gown was styled with the empire bodice that was the rage during that era of the 1960s. As I fingered the small creation, I could tell the underlay for the gown was of white muslin. Immediately, I knew this entire doll gown was handcrafted of scraps from the lace box and extra muslin from Grandma’s scraps of fabric. Even though the gift tag indicated it was from Grandpa and Grandma Smith, I knew she had made this gorgeous gift.

The doll dress that my grandmother, Gladys Rainey Smith
created for my sister's doll for Christmas.

                Grandma’s overwhelming success at surprising my sister and me astounded me. We were around the house most of the time other than our daily attendance in school. We never tried to snoop into our presents, but the two of us were perceptive to a fault about what the adults in our home were doing. Angie and I had not seen a pattern for doll clothing. Little did we know that Grandma had designed those dresses without a pattern, relying only on her uncanny designing talent and stitching wizardry.

                How had she managed time to sew these breath-taking creations for her two granddaughters’ dolls? December was a busy time for Grandma who seemed to delight in custom making our own Christmas dresses. She wanted us to have festive dresses for the Christmas program at church as well as the program at our school in Ralston. She stayed busy with Christmas baking, decorating around the house, and the everyday responsibilities on the farm. How baffling that she carved out time to fashion two miniature evening gowns for dolls that rivaled any doll outfits that we had longingly gazed at and wished for in the Christmas toy catalogs that year!

The vintage handcrafted evening ensemble for my doll.

                As I investigated further in the gift box from my grandparents, imagine the wide-eyed joyful response when I spotted a tiny red velvet jacket trimmed with glittery golden sequins. I recognized the red velvet as coming from the scraps of a Christmas dress she had sewn for my mother a previous year. Instantly, I knew Grandma had designed it to complete the evening gown ensemble. At that moment, no royal princesses living in opulent wealth could have been as happy as Angie and I were that Christmas Eve.

                That Christmas Eve marked the first time I vividly realized the time, effort, and love that was invested in gifts we received. From that Christmas forward, my gratefulness increased for each gift I received  - whether large or small. More importantly, after that gift created by Grandma, my focus shifted to recognize the thought that had been put into the gifts I received.

                In this era, when regifting is debated yearly, and over $44,000,000,000 of gift cards went unused in the United States from 2008 through 2013 (according to giftcardgranny.com), has gift giving lost its luster? Maybe every gift that is given this year will not rival the exquisite doll clothes made by our grandmother, but every gift recipient can take just a moment to contemplate the effort by the giver to give a welcomed gift. 

                My thoughts turned to the first and ultimate giver, God. His gift was planned from before the dawn of time according to I Peter 1:19-20. The costliness of the gift of His Son exceeded any Christmas gift ever given. When we receive the extravagant gift of His perfect Son, who came specifically to take our punishment, in exchange we are given a new beginning, even  though we are undeserving recipients of the life-changing gift of Jesus Himself. What a reason to celebrate! 

The Metamorphosis

    I wrote this following Dad's death but felt the grief, especially for my mother, was too raw and painful for her to read. She overheard my sister and me discussing it and wanted to read it.Several times she has mentioned how it captured the reality of Dad's passing. Then she asked when I was posting it. So I decided to post it this week.

The Unwanted Tissue Box

As my father’s health deteriorated, changes occurred. His eating time, with my assistance, increased from 45 minutes to 90 minutes as I urged him to swallow by massaging his throat. Dad tried with all his might to take in nourishment three times a day.

                His coughing and choking worsened and became more frequent, much to my despair. Each night I prayed for Dad to be strengthened. This prayer seemed to be going unanswered. 

The magnitude of this reality forced a tear from my eye. For uncanny, practical purposes, I managed to handle my inner emotional upheaval without tears. As I have aged, tears have led to excruciating headaches for me. Bottom line - I try to avoid tears.

I couldn't allow more than a tear or two to trickle from my eyes since I had to feed Dad that morning. Silently, I breathed a prayer for health, strength, and stamina so I could care for him in the best way possible.

I reached instinctively for a tissue from the box on the end table closest to Dad’s bed. With my back turned to his bed, I looked out the living room’s large window as I made a comment about the beautiful sunshine warming the autumn morning, hoping to hide any tears from him. Just at that point, I realized I had pulled the last tissue from the box. I spoke loudly so his impaired ears could hear me, since my back remained turned to conceal my emotions, “Dad, we’re out of tissue. I need to go get a new box in the north room so I can blow my nose. Ok?”

I scuttled to retrieve a new box of tissue and grabbed for one with blue water pools and droplets pictured on each side. Unsuccessfully, I tugged, finally, deciding to get the most available box. It had a beige background – far too mundane a color for an already depressing day.

As I carried the gloomy-hued box into the living room, I pressed out the opening, drew out the first tissue, and blew my nose, precariously holding the box under my arm. As I placed the new tissue box on the end table, the pattern on the box leaped off the dull background. Butterflies were scattered over each visible side of the tissue box.

A Butterfly from the Dull Tissue Box

My heart sank. The butterfly reminded me of change. Those butterflies all started as larvae or caterpillars. Then my mind rolled to a video I showed third graders to help them understand the metamorphosis of an egg into a caterpillar into a cocoon and finally transformed into a stunning butterfly. I recalled the narrator of the teaching video mentioning the pupa (cocoon) appeared to have no life in it as it remained perfectly still just before its transformation.

I consciously shook my head. That "metamorphic" thought resounded too closely to Dad’s present reality. Dysphasia, shallow breathing, and increased hours of sleeping by Dad mimicked in my mind the later life of the pupa.

The scripture verse came to mind from 2 Corinthians 4:16 – So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

It was obvious that my father’s body was weakening. I continued to pray for him but added the prayer for his inner self to be strengthened. Since Dad had his faith in Jesus, he had an inner self indwelt by the spirit of God Himself. (The Bible repeatedly indicates a person who has not committed to follow Jesus is dead in sins. There's nothing to be strengthened.) I realized the new way to pray. My prayer became an expression of Ephesians 3:16  I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His spirit in your inner being.

 As difficult as it was to admit, just as the butterfly in the cocoon was strengthened until it developed to a point to emerge as a gorgeous butterfly, so God was strengthening Dad’s inner being. He could not express verbally to us of his renewed inner strength, but by faith, we could trust that God was accomplishing this for him.

The moment he took his final breath, his inner being strengthened with power through His spirit left behind the empty cocoon, his weakened body. The metamorphosis had been completed.

Each of us who has trusted Jesus has His power within us. May we pray to be strengthened in our inner beings with our greatest desire to have His power at work in us to live for Him. Scripture bears out the end result is peace, that inner calmness even in trials. Then when our time to “emerge from the cocoon” comes, we will welcome the metamorphosis.

Butterfly on the Unwanted Tissue Box