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. 

69 Years Ago – “Orange and Black Forever!”

The Cotton Bowl in 1945

   My father, Edmund Gates, Jr., spent his first New Year’s Day back in the United States at the historic Cotton Bowl Stadium in Dallas, Texas. Dad had returned from serving eighteen months in England earning the Distinguished Flying Cross after flying 25 combat missions as the flight engineer and upper turret gunner with his B-17 Flying Fortress crew over German occupied territory. He departed the United States in Oct. 1942 and arrived back in April 1944.
   His oldest sister, Ella lived in Oklahoma City with her husband and their little son, Ronnie. Ella’s husband, Harry used Oklahoma A & M’s first appearance in the Cotton Bowl as an opportunity to show his appreciation to Edmund for his sacrificial service in Europe. Oklahoma A & M had been named Missouri Valley Conference Champions in 1944, suffering only one defeat that season.
   With Ella’s blessing, Harry treated Dad to a memorable New Year’s Day. According to Dad, Harry was an avid Oklahoma A & M fan, a true Aggie.  He treated Edmund to this bowl game since Oklahoma A & M was playing Texas Christian University in the Cotton Bowl at Dallas.  Harry drove from his home in Oklahoma City stopping to pick up Edmund at Ardmore, Oklahoma, on the way to Dallas.  Dad was stationed at Ardmore upon returning from his tour of duty. Harry thoroughly enjoyed the trouncing of TCU by the Oklahoma A & M Aggies, whooping and hollaring, jumping up and down, and cheering the entire game.  Dad and Harry saw Bob Fenimore who would later in his collegiate career at Oklahoma A & M be named an All-American. Mack Creager who became a legendary television sportscaster in Tulsa at KOTV also played on that team. The final score was 34 to 0 obviously in favor of Oklahoma A & M.
   One can't help but draw the stark contrast between 1945 and 2014. Perhaps, if Uncle Harry and Dad were going to Jerry's World (as my cousin Ron refers to the site of the 2014 Cotton Bowl), they would be tweeting, posting selfies, purchasing a program, and commemorative t-shirt. I wonder if they would have been distracted by all those things, which sometimes can take away from visiting, people watching, and enjoying the moment. However, not one photo was taken or program saved or any other shred of evidence that they attended the 1945 Cotton Bowl - only the vivid memory that they both treasured and enjoyed recalling together until Uncle Harry's death. Memories remembered and shared are priceless! 

Below are links to vintage footage in two parts of the 1945 Cotton Bowl:

http://youtu.be/DqV6M0IpzhY

http://youtu.be/bxy_kGPrpSE



Uncle Harry and Aunt Ella Gates Bledsoe with
Ron, an Ole Miss grad and avid Sooner fan, and
Mary Beth, born in 1947, an OSU grad and
Orange and Black Forever. We miss Beth greatly 
since her death in 2007.



Go Pokes! My sister and I both earned
our degrees from Oklahoma State University. Dad was
always ready to take in a home football game like this
one with Angie, my sister, on November 9, 1991. 



The Christmas Tree - The Wish Never Granted

It Is More Blessed to Give Than to Receive

   Wishing, wishing, wishing, with all her heart but to no avail. That phrase described my mother’s yearly experience at the annual Christmas Tree at Belford School.

   My mother, Bernyce Smith Gates, attended first through eighth grade at Belford School. Belford, located on the east side of the Big Bend, was always considered the smaller school since Woodland in the west part of the Bend had a three-room building and a larger student population. How hard to believe that little two-room Belford School in the Great Depression had over seventy students!

   In rural schools like Belford, the Christmas Tree was an annual event in the first half of the twentieth century. The performance of the Christmas program by the students from first through eighth grades kicked off the evening. The Christmas tree was beautifully decorated with presents the parents had brought for their children, and the children could hardly wait for their individual names to be called so they could receive their present from the "tree."

    As a little girl, Bernyce wished and hoped to hear her name called and see a hand taking one of the beautiful dolls from the tree and handing it to her. This wish was never granted first of all because Mother never told her parents of her secret wish. Secondly, her mother, Gladys Rainey Smith, was far too practical and cautious for my mother to receive a doll from the Christmas Tree. My grandmother feared little Bernyce’s gift would be stolen or lost. In the 1930s, all things (including food and clothing) were precious and hard to come by--not to mention something so extraordinary as a doll for Christmas. She and Grandpa Calvin just couldn’t take that chance of having an extravagant gift stolen or lost since they knew it would spoil their little girl’s Christmas, and they could not afford to replace it.

    My grandparents had gotten her a doll when she was four or five. It had real brown hair and its eyes would open and then close when she laid it down to sleep. Mother’s excitement peaked when she realized this 18-inch doll could walk when she held its hands. She treasured this doll for many years. Children of the Great Depression learned quickly to vigilantly care for anything they called their own.
   Even as she got older this doll held a special place in her heart and in her small collection of keepsakes; her doll was a precious possession until one day she looked north from their home on the Jefferson lease and was horrified to see the home of the Peters family (incidently located on what is now my parents’ home place) engulfed in flames. Her heart ached with empathy for the little girl in the family named Bethelea. Little Bethelea was younger than my mother. Almost immediately my mother knew what she wanted to do. She pulled her treasured doll from her small collection of keepsakes and at the first opportunity, gave her doll to the little girl who had lost everything.   

Bernyce Smith Gates (top) and
 Bethelea Peters Myers (bottom)
taken from the 1934 Belford
School Group Photograph

   Isn’t that what Christmas is about? God gave to us His very best because of our dire need for a Savior. Mother saw how desperately a little girl needed a doll to help provide security and comfort since her family had lost everything. Mother never got her wish to receive a doll from the Belford School Christmas tree, but her compassion and generosity prompted her to give freely to little Bethelea who must have so wanted a doll to cuddle. Mother didn’t receive a doll the way she wished, but did receive a life-long memory of the blessing of giving. After all, Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” At Christmas, many of us give to others less fortunate or with needs out of our abundance or give what we have no attachment to and are wanting to discard and never experience sacrificial giving. When I think of the phrase "give until it hurts" I am reminded of this story and the generosity and sacrifice of a little girl--my mother.