MEMORIES

MEMORIES OF AN OKLAHOMA TEACHER

By Pat A Tankersley

(As transcribed from The Oklahoma Chronicles by Charles H. Tankersley May 26, 2001)

The 89er:

At the time of my birth in Geuda Springs, Kansas, in 1887, Father was caring for the springs, selling milk from three cows, and teaching school. When Oklahoma was opened to settlement in 1889, he homesteaded a claim southwest of Stillwater in Payne County. Our postoffice was Marena.

The farmers who had homesteaded in Oklahoma Territory were dependent on their land for their living Because of the lateness of the season when the territory was opened, very little could be raised during the first spring. The crops planted on sod the next spring, 1890, were ruined by drought and hot winds. When the fall rains started, there was one crop that could still be planted turnips. They grew as well as young Longfellow’s turnip, and everybody was eating turnips and feeding them to the livestock.

In the fall of 1890, Father was teaching the local school. It was the custom to invite the teacher to take a meal at the home of the children. Father had accepted such an invitation from the Hatchers. After grace they passed a attractive dish that looked like fried potatoes. He took a generous helping, but to his disappointment they were fried turnips.

There was an organization called the Farmers Alliance that helped the new settlers by furnishing seed, feed, cloths, and shoes. Father was an organizer for the Farmers Alliance and helped in the distribution of the needed articles. As a token of appreciation for his work, he received a sack of flour. WE had been eating cornbread made with meal and water. Light bread was a rare treat. When one of our horses dies, father bought a yoke of oxen to use in breaking the sod.

The Cherokee Strip was about to open by run in the fall of 1893. Father's brother, Uncle Rush, had come from Nebraska to make the run for a claim. The location where he hoped to find his claim was near the present town of Jennings. Uncle Rush was riding a horse known as Indian Pony. Indian ponies are rather small, rough looking, but tough and capable of great endurance. Father was to follow in the race at a slower pace to insure fair play. To mark the way, Uncle Rush tore strips from his red bandana handkerchief and strung them on tree limbs and brush. Uncle Rush had staked his claim when Father overtook him. A man riding a fine race horse was there accusing Uncle Rush of being a "sooner." To prove his point, the man said he had passed Father about four mils back, that Father and Uncle Rush's horses were plug horses, while his own horse was of racing breed. Father remarked that he remembered the man's passing him but this other man (Uncle Rush, Father's brother) had passed him first.

Mother's father, Michael Bixler, was living with us at the time of the opening of the Cherokee Strip. He and Mother wanted to see the start of the race but the only remaining transportation was the oxen. Grandfather yoked them up and hitched them to the wagon. The nearest point for seeing the was Northwest of Stillwater, now covered by Lake Carl Blackwell. Because of the slowness of the oxen, we had to start at six o'clock to get there by noon. We arrived about eleven-thirty. After watering the oxen from the water barrel on the wagon, Grandfather turned the oxen loose to graze. The line of people waiting for the starting signal extended over the hill out of sight. There were people on horseback, in buggies, carts, surreys, and wagons. Some of the wagons were fully loaded, including the whole family. There were generally at least two people in each vehicle as a matter of precaution and protection.

Mother set out lunch and the race started before we had eaten. The people were soon out of sight. As a six-year-old boy, I did not know what it was all about until it was explained to me.

Father taught rural schools, kept the farm, broke new land, cared for the livestock and other regular farm duties. His experience with the Farmers Alliance made him aware of the needs of the farmers and the working man. The new People's Party seemed to have the answers to remedying the conditions. A paragraph is quoted here from one of Father's speeches that reveals what some of the historians have overlooked about the beginning of the Populist Party:

"In consequence of the depressed conditions of the country there was a convention of representative farmers and laborers in the city of St. Louis in December, 1889. Never since the convention that gave us our National Constitution has there been a body of men in this country who were actuated by purer motives or more patriotic purposes. After a careful, calm, and deliberate consideration of causes that have produced a wide spread depression of the laboring people, the outlined what they believe to be a means of relief. Hence, the birth of the Populist Party."

Representatives of the Farmers Alliance were leaders in the Party movement. Party names were Alliance Party, People's Party, and Populist Party. Father was active in the politics of early Oklahoma. He was elected as a Populist to the Senate in the Third Territorial Legislature, at the time called the Council. A Republican, Robert A Lowery, of Stillwater as elected to the House of Representatives. They worked in harmony in retaining the A&M College at Stillwater. The town of Perkins and El Reno were contenders for the college. Father refused a bribe of $1,000 and a corner lot in a contending town for his vote to move the college. A. C. Scott of Oklahoma City, a fellow Senator, cooperated in keeping the A&M College at Stillwater. He was later made its president.

The Populist Party advocated free enterprise based on fair play. Its members were against favoring special interest groups if such favoritism was at the expense of the general public. Father worked for the Initiative and Referendum for that was too advanced for the time. After the Territory legislature adjourned, the business and professional men of Stillwater help a banquet honoring the returning legislators. Father was presented a silver Waltham watch, and Mr. Lowery a gold-headed cane. Mr. Lowery liked to dress in fashion. As a boy, I remember seeing him at a political meeting wearing a plug hat.

In the fall of 1896, James Y. Callahan was running of Representative to Congress from Oklahoma Territory against Dennis Flynn. He ran on a fusion ticket, Democrat and Populist. At a political rally at Stillwater, my sister, Lola, and I sang a song in his behalf that Father had composed. It was to the tune of "Wait for the Wagon." I hesitate to say our song was the deciding factor in Mr. Callahan's election. He gave us a bag of peanuts after the rally.

Father's health was failing so he could not do heavy farm work. He left the farm and ran country general stores. In 1901, he moved the family to Stillwater so that the children could have the advantage of a college education. There were five children in the B. R. Tankersley family. My brother Benjamin Arlyn and I are the only ones of the family living today. Father passed away in 1905 on his forty-sixth birthday. Mother taught school after father's death. Sister Lola and I made teaching our career. My teaching included two years in rural schools: superintendent a Tryon and Ralston; summer school and North Fork; principal in grade schools in Enid and Muskogee; superintendent of Putnam City Schools; high school principal at Lamar, Oklahoma; and instructor of apprentice trainees at Tinker Field.

Getting My First School:

When I was looking for my first school to teach I encountered an area fifteen miles east and south from Stillwater, Oklahoma, in Payne County where the roads did not follow the sections lines.

Before Oklahoma Territory was opened to settlement the land was surveyed and laid our in sections one mile square with four farms of one hundred sixty acres each to the section. The roads followed the section lines, north and south, and east and west. However, in the early years the roads often cut across farms to avoid steep hills or to go around curves in creeks. Sometimes it saves distance. A friend who was also looking for a school was with me, and we were traveling by horse and buggy. Not being sure of our road we decided to make inquiry. We saw a man operating a mowing machine near the road and asked him directions. The directions he gave were unique, such as: "Follow this road to the fork, about a mile. Take the right fork to a crossroad, about a half mile. Turn left on this road to a large walnut tree and right one mile and you are there." With these directions we could not miss it. We thanked him and started on when he called to us. We stopped and he gave us some valuable advice. He said "Young fellers, the next time you come down here you'd better bring your dogs along so when you get lost you can whip them and follow them out." We located the people we were looking for, but they had already employed their teacher, so we went home to Stillwater.

The next day I started out alone. There were two prospective schools. One was about six miles east of Perkins on the north side of the Cimarron River, the other on the south side. The one on the north side did not need a teacher so it was necessary to cross the river to see about the other one.

I could have driven back to Perkins and crossed on the bridge, but it was closer to ford the stream. I was told by a family near the river that fording it was safe. A team and wagon had crossed during the day, from the other direction. The river was up and very wide with steep back on the other side. A road was cut in this bank as the only exit from the water.

I crossed about fifty feet of water to a sand bar the same width. On leaving the sand bar my pony struck quicksand. When a leg went down into the quicksand she lunged forward, pulling it out and another leg went down. She made it across the quicksand. Then the buggy wheels were in the sand. They jolted as iv going over rocks. They sank into the sand and the pony lunged forward to pull them loose. Again they sank and again were pulled out. We made it across the quicksand but the water kept getting deeper. When the water came into t he buggy bed I sat on the back of the seat with my feet on the cushion. When the water covered the seat I stood up in the buggy and the cushion floated off.

Just then my pony struck the deep main current and went clear under. She came up swimming. The water was up to my chest. By that time we were below the only road where we could get out. I let my pony head downstream hoping we could turn around and head back. She reared up on her hind legs, made a quick turn and we were out of the deep water.

It was fortunate that the buggy had no top, as the current would have turned it over. My next worry was crossing the quicksand again. The sun was just going down when we got out of the river.

Father's uncle lived twelve miles away, six miles west of Perkins, at old Cimerron City. I drove there to spend the night. Losing the cushion in the river made it necessary to sit on the narrow front edge of the seat. I was almost dry when I arrived in town.

The next day I drove to a school in the southwest corner of Payne County. The school board had a called meeting to consider me. To prove my qualifications as a teacher I presented my county teacher's certificate. It was folded in a long envelope and in the inside coat pocket when I was in the river. The lower part showed the muddy water marks. I was instructed to sit in the buggy while the board members sat on the wood pile to discuss me. In due time, the spokesman came over to the buggy and told me they approved of me on one conditions -- that I promise to leave the girls alone.

On the first day of school, I was there early when a little boy cam in. He looked around for a while and then asked why the teacher was not there. He thought I was (just) one of the big(ger) boys (in the class).

Just After Statehood at North Fork School:

The North Fork store and school were on the Missouri, Oklahoma, and Gulf (now Kansas, Oklahoma and Gulf) railroad in Okfuskee County about halfway between Henryetta and Dustin, Oklahoma. I made application to teach this summer school. I met with the school board, helped them make their annual report, and signed the contract to teach. We were through by noon and went to the store where we ate our sardines and crackers. The train was due about three o'clock. The crowd was gathering to buy groceries and supplies and get their mail.

While waiting in the store, I listened to the talk. A man had been accused by a husband of molesting his wife. The husband had threatened to kill him and he left the country. A white man had been injured during the "clean up" at Hickory Stomp Grounds and was in critical condition. An Indian at Dustin got drunk and was causing trouble. The deputy sheriff had slashed his head with the butt of his gun. They even discussed a lynching and a killing. I was wondering if I had made a mistake in coming to North Fork to teach. About that time I was introduced as the new teacher. One man "allowed" that I was pretty slim to teach their school. They had run off the last two teachers.

The crowd discussed a boarding place for me. At last the decided that "Jerry" might board me. He was hauling logs to the saw mill and would be along soon. I was to tell him I planned to board at his place, not ask him. When Jerry came by with his mule team and log, he stopped to talk a while. When he was ready to leave, I said: "Wait a minute. I am the new teacher and I am going to board with you." He looked at me, the spat a rainbow through his teeth, cleared his throat, and said: "Well, guess I'll be there."

The Fork School was near the Hickory Stomp Grounds were the "Crazy Snake Uprising" had occurred the March before. I arrived on Sunday, July 4, by the way of the Fort Smith and Western Railroad, getting off at the whistle stop crossing of the M.O.&G. Railroad. I walked the tracks across the North Canadian River to the North Fork Store, about four miles. There I inquired the way to the home of a school board member, Mr. Hall, four miles father, where I stayed all night. I signed my contract the next day, got a place to board, and started teaching on Tuesday.

The schoolhouse was one in the Creek Nation before statehood. There were no desks and the seats were board benches. In spite of the warning I had received that this was a tough school, I found the children eager to learn, the Indian children as dependable as the whites, and the parents of both very friendly.

I was invited by some friends to go to the Hickory Stomp Grounds to an Indian Green Corn dance. The Indian men danced around the circle for a while, the sat on the ground to talk, until one stood up and made a speech, of course in his own language. They continues this until eleven o'clock when the women were permitted to dance. This was a beautiful sight because of the grace and ease with which they glided around the circle. At midnight, the white people were allowed to dance. At the urging of my fiends I danced with them. I heard someone on the sidelines say: "Look, there is the teacher dancing."

There was not a large enrollment in the school but the children ware anxious to learn. Since there were no desks, the children held books on their knees to write on. One day, I was hearing a class with a book in my hands when one of the boys called out for me to look around, there was a centipede crawling across the blackboard. I slapped my book on it to hold it until one of the boys brought me his knife. I cut it in two and it went both ways.

The school district was a large one with a schoolhouse in the north part, one in the south, and mine in the center. I saw the advantage of consolidation, and talked it over with the board members. They liked the idea and called a meeting of the patrons to have it explained. I addressed the meeting, telling them of the educational advantages of consolidation. When a banker in Weleetka heard about the movement he opposed it because it would increase the taxes. He owned several farms in the districts. He would instruct his tenants to oppose the movement. Another meeting was called at which the banker spoke. The community was divided on the issue.

One of my chief supporters was one of the board members, Mr. Dohrer. One day while Mr. Dohrer was in Dustin he saw one of the Weleetka banker's tenants. The tenant started to berate me, saying my motive in advocationg consolidation was not for the betterment of the school but to create a better job for myself. I presume he called me some ugly names. Mr. Dohrer tome me it made him so mad htat he pulled his knife on the man and threatened to cut him open if he didn't "shut up." The man did.

The consolidated movement must have taken root because in later years the three schools in the district did consolidate. The Graham Consolidated School in old North Fork Community is reported to be an outstanding school.

While teaching in Muskogee, I took my meals at the cafeteria operated by Miss Alice Robinson, the daughter of missionaries to the Creek Indians. Miss Alice had assisted her parents and had taught public school. After World War I, she was elected representative to Congress. She is responsible for the beautification of Honor Heights, the old Agency Hill. The experience at the Muskogee school has always been of interest to me.