|
Nally, Jim F.,
Post Office: Sulphur, Okla.
Interview #4022,
Interviewer, John F. Daugherty,
Date: May 11, 1937
My father was James E. Nally, born in Glasgow, Scotland, June 10,
1844.
He was a contractor and builder, and farmed some.
Mother was Lucretia Howe Nally, She was born in Glasgow,
Scotland, September 14, 1846.
They came to Jackson County, Ohio, in 1876. Father was a Union
Soldier during the Civil War.
There were sixteen children in our family. Eight of these were boys.
Five of
these children were born in Ohio.
I was born January 10, 1871 in Ohio.
We moved to Massey, Indian Territory, in 1876. We leased land
from Grandma Griffith. The grasshoppers ate our crop in 1878 and we
moved to San Bois Bottom. We lived here for two years and moved back
to Massey. We lived here until I married Clara E. Phillips.
We were the parents of two boys, who both became medical doctors and one
girl who is a movie star and play writer. She took her mother's name
for her stage name and is known as Dorothy Phillips. She
wrote the play, "The World is a Stage."
My wife died when Dorothy was eight weeks old and an aunt in Illinois
reared the three children.
I married my second wife, Laura Nally, in 1902 and we have six
children. I am farming now, but I was a contractor and builder when
I was young.
I built the first eight-story building in Oklahoma, which was the First
National
Bank building in Muskogee. I also helped to build E.W. Marland's
refinery at
Marland.
I came to Murray County January 6, 1899.
My brother, George Nally, drove the stage from Davis to Sulphur.
This stage
brought the mail each day from Davis. There were no highways nor
good roads
when I first came here. There were just trails over which a wagon
passed with difficulty. In those days most everybody rode horseback,
with a Winchester laid across the lap. If one met a man who turned
off the trail rode around him he knew better than to speak to him.
If he spoke, the shots might fly thick and fast.
There were many men who were refugees from justice in the Territory and
one
dared not speak to them of their past. I very well remember a young
man rode up to father's gate one day and asked for work. Father told
him there were plenty of boys there to do his work. The young
man insisted, saying he was tired and wanted to rest for a few days.
Father told him he might stay and asked him his name. He said
"Just call me Blackie." He stayed there two years
and his pockets were full of gold all the time. He wouldn't accept a
penny for the work he did. He worked well for five days a week, but
every Saturday he disappeared and returned on Sunday or Monday. We
always felt that he was fleeing from the law, somewhere, but we knew
better than to question him. When he left, he disappeared as
suddenly as he came, and we never heard of him again.
There were very few doctors in those days. I remember a Dr.
Patterson, who lived near Krebs. He kept an old mare in a
pasture near his . She wore a bell so he could find her quickly.
When he got a call, he would hurry to the pasture, catch his
mare, put a bunch of grass in the bell to keep it from ringing and mount
her without saddle or bridle. Away he would gallop with his long
whiskers flying over his shoulders. He wouldn't go far until the
grass would come out of the bell and it would ring noisily as he galloped
down the trail toward his patient's . He gave the same kind of
brown powder for every disease.
A popular medicine at our house was yellow Paconne. Wawu (wawn?),
slippery elm, Pennyroyal, horehound and wild cherry bark were mixed and
put into a gallon of whiskey. This was allowed to stand for
about a week. Then we must take a glass about half full every
morning before we could have any breakfast. We had very little
sickness in our family.
Our underwear was all made of red flannel which we bought in Denison,
Texas, by the bolt and our pants were made of spun jeans.
Father and mother carded and spun the yarn and wove this cloth.
Our shoes were made. The soles and uppers were made of
tanned cow hide. The soles were fastened on with wooden shoe pegs, which
we made. Father would cut white oak timber into small blocks.
Then plane it and burnish one side. Each night before we went to bed
we must cut these blocks into small pegs. Father would then sharpen
the other two sides of the peg and it made a four pointed peg. They
certainly did wear. It didn't take more than a pair a year for each
of us.
Mother kept sugar, salt, and soft soap, which she had made, hanging on the
wall
in gourds. We used this soft soap for bathing, washing clothes and
dishes.
It was the only kind of soap we had. We bought only sugar salt and
green coffee at the store. I have parched coffee many times in a Dutch
oven over a few coals of fire in the yard. I had a wooden paddle
with which I kept it stirred to keep it from burning. We had a
coffee mill which hung on the wall, and when we would start to grind
coffee it made as much noise as a T Model ford. The walls creaked
and groaned as we ground.
We had plenty of honey. There were numerous hives of wild bees and
each summer we would gather honey for winter use. We raised our own
buckwheat and had it ground at the mill at Krebs for buckwheat cakes.
Mother put up wild berries and grapes and we had May apples and nuts to
eat in the raw state.
One day when I was just a boy, Father started me to Krebs with about
eighty-five bushels of onions. I was driving an ox team. It
was a warm day in September and when we got near Coal Creek they smelled
the water and started running toward it. I didn't know what to say
to stop them, for we had no reins. They were guided only by a long
whip. They ran into a deep hole of water. The wagon went down
and all the onions were dumped into the water. The oxen swam out
with the wagon and I had to swim for my life. When I got I told
Father I wasn't going to drive those cattle any more and not long after
this we traded for a good team of horses.
I used to attend camp meetings. The Indians were more worshipful and
respectful than the white men. The Indians always took their places
toward the front of the arbor, and there was often a bunch of white men
sitting in the rear of the arbor, playing poker while the preacher
delivered his message. I found in the early days that the Indian was
the gentleman and the white man was the outlaw. These white men went
barefoot and wore spurs on their bare feet. Occasionally they would
ride into the arbor and shoot into the air.
I was helping in the hay field on the J.J. Forsythe Ranch, sixteen
miles west of
Muskogee, when Tulsa was laid out. We all went. I could have
bought the lot on
which the Telephone Exchange building now stands for twelve dollars and
fifty cents.
Mother used to make our straw hats. She took cut straw and braided
it into long braids, then whipped or sewed these braids together and
shaped it into a hat.
I must tell you about our made ice box. We took poles and set
them in the ground. There were four of them and to these we fastened
shelves. Then we took pieces of flannel and tore them into strips
about two inches wide. These we placed in a pan of water which set
on top and let the ends hang to the ground. The evaporation of the
water kept the milk and butter cool. This had to be put in a shady
spot of course.
I have only two sisters living. One is eighty and the other is
eighty-three.
My father is buried at Mangum. He has a large G.A.R. monument
at his grave. Mother is buried at Stonewall.
Transcribed by Brenda Choate
and Dennis Muncrief, November, 2000.
|
|