The Youngest of the Rainey Clan

Eugene Robert Rainey’s 117^th birthday was on September 20. He entered the world two years before Oklahoma’s statehood at Sacred Heart (near Asher, Oklahoma) as the final child born to Rosa Jarrell Rainey and William Marion Rainey.

Early Photo of Gene

Gene, as he came to be known, was the third of the Rainey children born at Sacred Heart. This town originally started as Sacred Heart Mission in 1879, but the name of the community/town changed to Sacred Heart when the arrival of non-Indian settlers was anticipated. The Land Run of 1891 in the fall opened the land of the Potawatomi people to outsiders. The Rainey family had settled in this area by 1902.

Jovial and fun-loving described Gene. I never personally observed the prankster in him but an account by my grandma, Gladys Rainey Smith, of her younger brother's practical joking can be read in the blog post at: https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2013/10/william-marion-rainey.html  

Many characterized Uncle Gene as sensitive and generous. His sensitive side is chronicled in a blog post at: https://bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2016/07/long-ago-friendships-in-bend.html Sometimes his family disagreed sharply with his generosity. Mother relates how her Aunt Alice, though legally blind, was a terrific cook.  One family story associated with her scrumptious cream pies involved her younger brother Gene. Alice had made a couple of cream pies anticipating “company” coming for Sunday dinner. To her chagrin, she set them out to cool, went for a visit, and returned to find her generous brother had taken them and shared with neighbors. Spunky Alice had a few choice words for him.

                Rosemary Goad Dilbeck recalled in her childhood, Gene, her great-uncle, showed incredible generosity to a needy family. Rosie’s grandma, Daisy Rainey Rice, was one of Gene’s sisters.

Rosie attended Belford Grade School and had a friend whose family was hungry. Gene provided sustenance of garden vegetables, milk, other food and probably some of Alice’s home-baked desserts. His consistent generosity for a prolonged time to her friend’s family impacted Rosie even to this day.

This generous, jovial man received a diagnosis of manic depression, now referred to as bipolar disorder, in the early 1940s. His wife and the love of his life, Raucie Snow Rainey, went to work in the airplane factories in Tulsa. He missed Raucie and his dearly-loved daughters, Billie Jean and Marilyn. Soon Raucie became ill and died. Even though he had many productive times, he never fully recovered.

Gene and Raucie Rainey
 Billie Jean and Marilyn Rainey

Mother marveled at how he cared for a herd of dairy cows on a small area known as the “triangle” just west of the site of the Belford Grade School. Gene’s productive cows provided milk that he sold to milk companies much to the surprise of his fastidiously clean sisters and mother!

My father contracted mumps as an adult just at the time he needed to plant cotton. Uncle Gene came and put in the entire cotton crop enabling Dad to concentrate on following his doctor’s orders and recovering totally.

One of his greatest delights occurred each time his three grandchildren, Suzan, Craig, and Lisa arrived for a visit. He dearly loved them. Many of his nieces and nephews reaped the joy of his doting on them.
     I was only five years of age when Uncle Gene died, but I recalled a time when Suzan, Craig, and Lisa, with their mother, came to our house in the Bend. Uncle Gene stayed in the backyard where we kids played in the dirt and on the homemade tree swing that Dad had hung for me. Fun and happiness abounded in that simple setting with Uncle Gene being the happiest I had ever seen him.

Uncle Gene died March 27, 1962, after contracting pneumonia while receiving treatment at Vinita. Even though I was young, I remembered my grandmother, Gladys Smith Rainey, the nurse in the family, being concerned about her younger brother. Sometimes I wondered if the advancements in medication and treatment in our day might have made his life different. I knew Grandma would have felt the same way.

In her keepsakes, Grandma had a New Testament that belonged to Gene. Inside the back cover, in pencil was written, “Jesus I love. Jesus I love.” Grandma had recorded in her family record book that Gene was “converted” in 1948, following the preaching of Jack Wright.

Each of us have our own struggles in life. Giving to others and bringing happiness to his family and neighbors remained the main goal in Uncle Gene’s life, despite his periods of debilitating depression. What a legacy worth emulating!

Finally, as I reread his penciled words in the small New Testament, a precious verse from I John 4:19 articulating a beautiful, life-giving truth came to mind. As you read this verse, may you realize Uncle Gene’s theology of loving Jesus because He first loved him, provides a credo by which to live and die.

We love Him because He first loved us.

Julia Irene Gates Celebrates Her Last Year as an Octogenarian

 My mother often comments that Julia, the next to the youngest of the children born to my Grandpa and Grandma Gates, is the only one of the twelve still living. I celebrate her commitment to her family, her strong work ethic, and her enduring faith in the Lord.

Julia Irene Gates Newland

Julia Irene Gates was born on September 22 on the Gates farm west of Ralston. Her three older sisters and five older brothers welcomed her into the family of Edmund Gates, Sr. and Mamie Irene Tripp Gates. Baby Julia received the same middle name as her mother – Irene.

My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., was the oldest brother that Julia knew. He was fourteen years old when she arrived. Dad enlisted in the Army Air Corps just twelve days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Little Julia, at the age of eight, missed her big brother terribly since he had been living on the farm helping their father as the family tried to recover from the Great Depression.

Julia with her baby sister, Mamie Marie modeling the pretty pink dresses made
by their mother, Mamie Irene Tripp Gates.

Julia vividly recalled one time when my father came home on leave. The little two-room house bulged with excited family members, vibrating with the never-hushed voices of the talkative Gates clan. Even though Julia’s anticipation of her big brother’s return had pervaded her thoughts, at that moment one of her teeth pained her unbearably to the point of tears! Remembering how sensitive he had always been to her, she approached her brother. He learned of her aching tooth. My father located immediately a topical pain reliever, put it on a piece of cotton, and applied it to the decayed tooth. To her relief, Dad’s remedy alleviated her pain, allowing a joyful celebration with her favorite big brother.

As her other siblings, Julia attended Woodland Grade School, graduating from eighth grade. Then she rode the bus to Burbank to receive her high school education. Upon graduation, she worked at the Southwestern Bell Telephone Company office in Blackwell, Oklahoma.

Julia with Mr. Lowell Welker and Clayton Hicks with their 8th grade diplomas
from Woodland Grade School in the west Big Bend.

She later completed college courses in the early childhood field. Soon after that, she taught little ones in some of the locations where she lived after her marriage. She enjoyed teaching music in two nursery schools in Dallas.

I recalled the day Grandma Gates called to say Aunt Julia had a fourth baby boy. At around eight years of age, I was “all ears” at family news. As Dad relayed to Mother the name of Julia’s new son, I overheard “Daniel Edmund.” I interjected, “The baby is named after Daddy!”

Mother corrected me, saying the new baby cousin was probably named after Grandpa, Edmund Gates, Sr. Her statement appeared logical to me so I never questioned further. Over fifty years later, as I informed Dan of my father’s death so he could convey the sad news to his mother, he explained that he was indeed named after Dad since he was her favorite. Since Dad’s death, I sometimes refer to Dan as “Daniel Edmund” since I like to hear Dad’s name, and it reminds me of a cherished family story illustrating Dad’s sensitivity to his sweet little sister.

How appropriate that Daniel Edmund Newland, Dad’s namesake, worked his magic as a graphic designer/publisher on my father’s military experiences entitled Okie Over Europe! As an independent publisher, he published the books out of his own studio. Dad lived long enough to see and hold in his hand the book in its final form. He would have been pleased to see how much people have enjoyed his recounting of those years that so scripted his life.

I have much admiration for Aunt Julia as she raised her four boys with the principles she had been taught by her parents. Using her diligence and talent, she did monogramming for schools and companies to personalize the specific items for these entities in the Dallas/Fort Worth metro area. With the frugality she had learned in her home from her parents in the west Bend, she provided support for her sons coupled with an abundance of love.

Julia was a member of the Writers’ Workshop group at the Garland Senior Activity Center near her home in Garland, Texas. When her group proposed a publication focusing on veterans, she thought of her oldest brother.  Her contribution of a brief account of Dad’s World War II exploits was printed in a collaborative effort published by her group entitled Veterans and Patriots of Freedom. Dad kept the copy that Judy (the name he usually used for her) gave him.

Only Julia would be the one of my father's siblings to connect with a Rainey while living deep in the heart of Texas. Julia's boys were playing in the neighborhood in Garland soon after moving there. Rory, her second from the youngest, appeared at Marilyn Rainey Firestone Brager's door with her son, Craig. Marilyn said to Rory, "I knew someone with eyes just like yours but they were from Oklahoma." Rory, never at a loss for words, immediately responded, "My grandma lives in Oklahoma." Soon Marilyn and Julia were renewing their friendship that had begun decades earlier in the Big Bend. Of course, Marilyn, my mother's cousin, had lived for sometime with my mother's family. Dad's response was "It's a small world" when Grandma Gates called and told him of the connection that Rory made.

Aunt Julia stands out in my mind as a woman of faith. Her trust in the Lord, through difficulties as she reared her sons and as she experienced illness in later life, has sustained her year after year.

Happy, Happy Birthday, Aunt Julia!

                                Julia with her four boys - Rory, Mike*, Daniel Edmund, and Pat**

*I wrote some remembrances of Mike, Julia's eldest son, who died in 2014, in a blog posting entitled, Singing on Grandpa's Birthday.  To access the above mentioned blog go to:bernadeanjgates.blogspot.com/2015/06/singing-on-grandpas-birthday.html 

**Patrick, a cousin of mine, made a point to connect with me after lunch at a past reunion. After exchanging the pertinent yearly personal updates, he said, “Your dad is my hero.” He continued to reiterate the steadfastness in my father that he had observed for all the years he had known him. The well-defined consistency in his character and faith had been an inspiration to my cousin as he was on his own journey through life. Then he said, “He is the most compassionate man I know.”
I reflected on the infrequency of hearing a man’s name connected with compassion. Then I recalled a phrase from the New Testament repeatedly used in Matthew 9:36, Matthew 14:14, and Mark 6:34 to describe Jesus. The scripture says that Jesus “was moved with compassion.” Jesus, the Son of God, just by seeing the hurts and needs of others was motivated to take action on their behalf. I think that is what my cousin saw in my father – someone sensitive to those around him. (I wrote this in an article from 2010 after visiting with Patrick, Julia’s second son, who is only one day older than I am. Patrick’s reunion musings seemed so appropriate for this posting.)

Twenty-one Years Ago When America Was Changed

 21 years ago today, as Americans, our lives changed, altered by events entirely out of our control, perpetrated by a commitment to unconscionable, deliberate acts birthed in hatred. The memory of that time drove me to retrieve from the storage container my journal written in that era. I lifted sections from it, exactly as I wrote them twenty-one years ago.

September 11, 2001

Today began as any other day. I found myself feverishly trying to be ready to attend Dad’s 305^th Bomb Group Reunion in Tulsa this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday….However, today, at around 10:25 a.m., I was going to pick up some copies from the computer room printer when Lisa Wills and Kelley Brumley, my teaching colleagues, were discussing a catastrophe. I learned from them that the World Trade Center in New York City had been a target as well as the Pentagon. Since I was unsure how to approach the subject without inciting fear in my students, I had to plod on with my teaching. Finally, the teaching day was over, but the concepts taught and the behavior of the third graders dimmed in light of the deadly attack on the U.S. government (the Pentagon) and the U.S. economy (the World Trade Center). Those I loved seemed ever dearer to me. I felt the need to be with loved ones and Mom was delighted to invite me to their house to see the special reports of today’s devastation….As we learned more of the attacks and the sorrow and death surrounding them, I realized how fragile life and peace are. Earlier today Kelley (Brumley) and I were talking and she said, “It just shows we must be prepared to die.” I replied, “If our trust is in Jesus, we know we are ready to go.”…Ironically, as we were watching, Dad said, “September 11, 1945, was the day I arrived home from World War II for good.” (His generation had thought they had fought the war to end all wars. Yet that very morning as he watched the latest news, he witnessed the second plane fly into the World Trade Center Tower.)

The third graders that I was teaching on that ill-fated September 11, 2001.
Photograph by Blunck Studios, Inc.

September 12, 2001

Today is “the morning after” the worst attack in U.S. history. I left my radio on all night to KOSU to hear NPR reports. It was interesting because after 11 p.m., they began airing the BBC news report. (In London, the time was 5 a.m. – as Dad would say “The Limeys are six hours ahead of us.”) Nevertheless, I was ready to get up. I shut off the radio so I could read my Bible and pray. After I got around and ready, I went to Bigheart Grocery to buy The Daily Oklahoman and the Tulsa World. I also took a children’s encyclopedia with a lovely panoramic shot showing the World Trade Center. ...I had my students write in their guided journals their feelings or facts about the suicide hijackings. Later in the day the students were able to illustrate their journal entries. Near the end of the day, I allowed those who wanted to, to read aloud their journal entries. If they wanted me to read the entry, they could put their journals on the round table. Curtis Edens and Laryn Rice did this. I tried to listen to the students and allow them to look at the newspaper. Steven Ben said his dad said there was a hero on the flight that crashed in Pennsylvania….That night was Wednesday night Bible study at the church. …The song chosen was “In Times Like These” … one godly woman mentioned that God was trying to get America to repent. I almost immediately recalled the many times as young boys, Brendon Lowe and Joshua Corley had prayed for America to turn back to God. Even though we were very small in number, it seemed good to be with our church family. Dad taught that night from Joshua 1:1-18 (We are without a pastor at the time.). I must “be strong and of a good courage.”

September 13, 2001

Today is the 2^nd day after the attack on America. About 1-2 a.m. I finally turned off NPR radio because I was falling asleep and there wasn’t a lot of news. I was packing this morning since we are leaving at 1:30 p.m. for Dad’s 305^th Bombing Group Reunion* in Tulsa. I ran by Formby’s today (I should say Bigheart Grocery) to pick up the The Daily Oklahoman and the Tulsa World. …We had Woodland Wake Up. As always we pledged Allegiance to the flags. We also sang the National Anthem and “God Bless America.” Bobby (Simma) reminded the students to be grateful for each day we have because nothing is guaranteed. He had told the Red Cross we would make cards for the rescue workers in Washington, D.C. and New York City. I told my students I would be gone this afternoon and all day tomorrow….When we unloaded and checked in, we then headed down to get Dad registered. We learned neither of the fellow members of his original crew were coming. Many of the other 305^th members that had planned cannot or have not arrived due to the total flight shutdown in the USA….Each night the TV is full of news reports even well after 11 p.m. The country is so shaken by the attacks. Our country never believed we would be attacked on our own soil, but we have been. It is my moment-by-moment prayer that we turn back to God and realize our need for Him on a daily basis.

Until I reread these entries, I had forgotten the uncertainty and fear that seeped into conversations with the third graders twenty-one years ago. Not only did worry and concern affect the usually happy, carefree children but also their parents, grandparents, teachers, and adult neighbors. That morning did change the outlook of many Americans. The security of being in the strongest nation in history vanished. I didn’t fathom twenty-one years ago, other smaller attacks on unsuspecting citizens on American soil would occur, but we all know they have.

During these following years of insecurity, apprehension, and trepidation, those bright-eyed third graders have grown into responsible adults of whom I take pride each time I hear of their accomplishments. Most importantly, I rejoice when I am told and see the thoughtful, kind, caring, and dependable young people they have matured into being. In reality, no terrorist can destroy that inner commitment to follow the values and principles taught by their families and teachers. In light of that, the chapter from the Bible that I shared with many in September of 2001, still resounds with relevancy today. It is our only strength and hope.

The Lord is my light and my salvation: Whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the strength of my life; Of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked come against me to eat up my flesh,

My enemies and foes, they stumbled and fell.

Though an army may encamp against me, my heart shall not fear;

Though war may rise against me, in this I will be confident.

One thing I have desired of the Lord that will I seek:

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

 To behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple…

 When You said, “Seek My face,”

My heart said to You, “Your face, Lord, I will seek.”…

…portions from Psalm 27

*This was the last 305^th Bomb Group reunion that was close enough for Dad to try to attend. The 2001 Reunion had been bittersweet since his dear friend and pilot, Fred Rabo had died the previous year. Incidentally, Dad was the final member of the original group and lived longer than any of the other nine men.

A Labor Day Terrapin Race at the 101 Ranch and Family Connections

            In my lifetime, Labor Day has always been associated with the Ralston Labor Day Celebration. The three-day event transforms Ralston, Oklahoma, annually into a bustling metropolis for the first weekend in September.

             As I have listened and investigated some family stories, I discovered, in the late 1920s and into the early 1930s, the must-attend Labor Day soiree took place near Marland, Oklahoma. The 101 Ranch, owned by the Miller family, during this time in Noble (at its zenith, the ranch stretched into Kay, Osage, and Pawnee Counties, too) County history, hosted the ranch round-up beginning in 1904. Then the Miller family initiated the renowned Terrapin Derby in 1924.

Two uncles of my mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, were Uncle Ernest and Uncle Lewis. Her uncles only referred to each other by the last name. Rice was married to her mother’s sister, Daisy Dean Rainey Rice. Rainey was the older brother of her mother, Gladys Vivian Rainey Smith. These men had an interesting link to that colorful 101 Ranch era.

Virgil Rice told his son, Rick, of how his father, Ernest E. Rice, and his uncle, Lewis R. Rainey, forded the Arkansas River on the northwest side of the Big Bend to get to 101 Ranch located near Marland, Oklahoma. Crossing the Arkansas River this way reduced the travel time by half. Rick, in his own words, related his father’s recollection of fording the Arkansas River in the west Bend:

It's hard to believe that Grandpa and others would cross the river and go places like it was no big deal.

Dad always told of Grandpa taking his Case steam engine and threshing machine and crossing back in the Bend and threshing wheat for people on the Noble County side. They would lay timbers down where they needed and build up a head of steam and go across.

Rick Rice enjoying a local history book.

            Rick’s dad remembered lamenting, when as a little boy, when being told he was too little to go with his father and his uncle that Labor Day. The men went to the 101 Ranch to enter the terrapin derby. Even the lower place winners afforded people more money than a man could earn in a year during this Great Depression Era. Ernest Rice, taking one of the lower place wins, created a buzz in the whole family living in the Bend. His purse of over $100 would be about $1700 in 2022 (https://www.dollartimes.com/inflation/inflation.php?amount=100&year=1931).

Ron Bledsoe, the oldest grandchild of my paternal grandparents, shared that Old Mix was one of his favorite horses owned by our grandpa, Edmund Gates, Sr. Ron related that Old Mix had been acquired when devastating financial events required the liquidation of the 101 Ranch livestock at an auction. Valuable animals were acquired for a fraction of their true worth.

Old Mix with Mary Beth Bledsoe,
Ron Bledsoe, Mamie Marie Gates,
Marilyn Roberts. Ron and his wife,
Stella, still operate a cattle 
operation. My Aunt Mamie and 
cousins, Mary Beth and Marilyn
are deceased.

Here in his own words, as he viewed the photograph to the left, Ron reminisces about Old Mix:

The horse (in the photograph) is probably old Mix who was really a jewel.

He had been a 101 Ranch horse and was very gentle.

Grandpa sold him and bought “Bingo” who was flat out crazy.

He would run off with Jim and Herb.

Once he ran off and dumped Marion on some rocks by the old windmill.

Mom was always mad at Grandpa for selling Mix.

The final connection with the 101 Ranch involved the occupants of the small house located just south of the Rainey home in the Bend on the farm owned by Rosa Rainey. Alice and Gene Rainey, her daughter and son, lived with her. Alice, my mother’s aunt, was visually impaired but never allowed it to interfere with her cooking and farm work. Gene, my mother’s uncle, battled depression the latter part of his life, yet maintained a successful herd of milking cows much of the time. The matriarch of the Rainey family, Rosa Rainey, my mother's beloved maternal grandma, seemed to rise to the challenges of life with an indomitable spirit.

                During the 1950s, Almerine and Bertie (Research revealed her given name being spelled five different ways.) Hamilton lived in the small house south of Rosa Rainey’s house. Gene, Raucie, Billie Jean, and Marilyn Rainey had been its last occupants.

                Almerine and Bertie met when both were employed by the Miller family. Almerine served as a butler to the family. Bertie cared for Little Zack Miller and his sister in the role of a nanny. The 101 Ranch in Louisiana was situated in Catahoula Parish which bordered Tensas Parish where Bertie had been born. The divorce of the parents of the Miller children was granted when the children were around the age of ten and nine, respectively, with their father, Zack Miller, Sr., getting custody of them. School records seem to indicate the children moved with their father to Kay County, Oklahoma.

                One day when visiting her grandma, Rosa Rainey, my mother recalled a fancy car pulling up to Almerine and Bertie’s tiny house. Mother peeked through the window curtains after she was told Little Zack Miller had come to see Bertie. Even after these many years, Mother still remembered what affection Bertie Hamilton and Young Zack Miller had for one another.

                Bertie, a woman of great faith, yet with physical limitations, created a stunning quilt to illustrate truths from the Bible. Mother recounted how she vividly depicted hell as the scripture described it.

                Sadly, I never met Bertie but did meet Mr. Hamilton, as I was taught to refer to him. He was a trusted overseer in the field during cotton picking season. Even as a preschooler, I knew my parents and grandparents valued Mr. Hamilton’s integrity, diligence, and work ethic. Ironically, in my recent research, I discovered his mother had been a slave.

                After Bertie’s death due to a gas range explosion, Mr. Hamilton remarried and moved to Pawnee, Oklahoma. Finally, he conquered the alcohol addiction that had dogged him in earlier years. He and his new wife centered their life together on their faith and service in their church.

                Sometimes I would return from school to find the Hamiltons engaged in lively conversation with my grandparents before they went fishing in one of the farm ponds. The stately gentleman whom I had known all my life and his wife always expressed genuine interest in the latest happenings with my sister, Angie, and me.

                Many people we have never met make up portions of the mosaic of our lives. For Rick Rice, the stories of his grandfather, Ernest, who died prior to his birth, impact his drive to work the land. Rick’s commitment to care for its natural resources emulate the standards of stewardship modeled by a revered ancestor he never got to meet.

                Bertie Hamilton, a strong woman who faced hardships, solidly had her faith in Jesus, the One who never failed her. Her persistency to pray for her husband even though she never saw her prayer answered in her lifetime encourages me to model that same perseverance.

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that 

they should always pray and not give up. Luke 18:1 NIV

(The entire parable is in Luke 18:1-8)

Additional Notes: Rick Rice sent a video from the Oklahoma Historical Society of the 1931 event. The link is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NryPq9v7fQ8

My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, attended an event at the 101 Ranch as a child. The only thing that impressed her was the bear that drank pop!