Jackson Co., OK - History: Hazel Chism Woods
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           MEMORIES OF HAZEL CHISM WOODS,
      grand-daughter of David Hardin Chism Jr.,
            buried in the Aaron Cemetery

By the 1870's the Prairie Plains country was teeming with people looking for
free land. The cattle trails were ending with the building of the railroads.
Land leased by cattlemen from the Indians was being surveyed by the U.S.
Government into six-mile squares, then quartered into sections. The virgin
land had passed from the Indians to cattlemen; cattlemen to farmers.

The state of Oklahoma was gradually being formed as it is today. Since all the
land of the state had been given to the Five Civilized Tribes for their homes,
the government was gradually making treaties with the Indians for sums of
money, then giving them reservations for their permanent homes. The land was
surveyed and opened for settlement.

At the time David Hardin Chism Jr. came to the territory, only the Cherokee
Strip and an area in the southwest area, known as Greer County, remained.
Greer County was originally an area south of the North Fork of the Red River
stretching southward to the Big Red and westward to the one-hundredth
meridian. Texas claimed the area when they settled their war with Mexico, as
did the U.S. In 1860 the Texas legislature created the county and gave it a
post office, with Mangum as the county seat. Finally, March 16, 1896, the U.S.
Supreme Court judged the area a part of Indian Territory and soon after
attached it to Oklahoma Territory, organized it as a county and opened it for
settlement. When the Oklahoma constitutional convention met, the area was
divided into Greer County with Mangum as the county seat, Jackson County with
Altus as the seat, and Harmon County.

From here my story, or memories of David Hardin Chism, my grandfather, begins.

David Hardin Chism Jr. was born January 8, 1847 in Versailles, Morgan County,
Missouri to David Sr. and Teletha Hix Chism. He grew into young manhood in his
home state. In 1865 he and two brothers probably buckled on their six-shooters
and got into some strong walking boots and started on a long trek afoot to
Fort Worth, Texas. They probably followed the Shawnee cattle trail to the Red
River. They probably had free land in mind too, for by that time Texas was
being fairly well populated and Oklahoma was almost gone. I would think that
the slogan, "Go west, young man," was rather enticing for his age group. Maybe
he didn't find a satisfactory place and moved on southwest of Fort Worth a few
paces and found Mexia, where he also found something more enticing than sandy
land. For there he met and married Mary M. Turner in 1875. He would have been
27 and she was nineteen.

From here are memories of my father's tales of his boyhood in Mexia.

There was five years difference in the ages of John and William -  since two
infant daughters were deceased - between them and according to John. His
father was very fond of Uncle Will. He thought he was a very bright child, but
on this warm autumn afternoon John was helping with the picking. Grandfather
and young Will came to the field for something and went by to check on John.
Uncle Will was not feeling well on account of a big boil on his neck. The two
soon left for the house, walking down the cotton row my dad was working. He
watched them as they went leisurely along. Disgruntled, he pulled a green
cotton boll from the sack and threw at them, hitting exactly on Uncle Will's
boil! He, of course, jumped into the air screaming, but it cured the boil...

Other tales were of chores any child on a farm does, such as watering stock
and helping with the daily chores. As for discipline problems, Grandfather
seemed rather severe to me, but in those days, "spare the rod and spoil the
child," was the philosophy.

This Turner family that David Hardin Sr. married into tells something of his
personality, for they were a lively group to be a preacher's family! They were
very musical, fun-loving and were a real 'jet-set' group. Grandpa Turner was a
Methodist preacher. At the time of his preaching, his church was very new and
a very emotional one. There was always a lot of shouting at the close of each
service. Grandfather Turner was a smart looking person. He always wore a black
suit, white shirt and black tie. He never used notes when he preached. He read
his text and went off on his "blood of the lamb" and hell-damnation until
everyone in the congregation was shouting! The sermon was two hours too long.
I have wondered whether David Hardin Jr. was a preacher before he was married,
or whether Grandpa Turner got him started in the profession.

My dad loved music and dancing, too. Once, I asked how he learned. He said, at
the church he had to sit on the front pew. (I imagine where his dad could keep
an eye on him.) When all the shouting would begin, the dust from the straw on
the dirt floor would almost strangle him, so, watching for an opportune time,
he would slip outside the tent where a group of little black boys were. When
the music got going good, they would dance on the old "red ant beds." So, he
learned from them... Maybe he practiced dancing in the cotton patch, instead
of picking, the reason for being checked-up on. For when he was 87, he danced
at The Half Century Club in Altus, while two pioneer women played their French
harps. He made the front page of the Times Democrat newspaper the next day!

So, David Hardin Jr. farmed and preached. According to my father, he left
Mexia on a church assignment, but didn't remember to where. Recently, in the
historical Atlas of Oklahoma, I saw a Methodist Academy in the Comanche Indian
country, north and east of where they lived in Greer County. The counties were
not set-up then as they are now, so I couldn't tell the exact location. Now
I'm up to leaving Mexia.

David Hardin Jr., married to Mary M. Turner in 1875 and to them were born, in
Mexia, Limestone County, Texas: John Wesley, July 21, 1876; Priscilla
Cornelia, June 24, 1878: an infant daughter, January 13, 1880; George William,
May 13, 1881; Sarah, May 29, 1883; Ruth C., May 24, 1885; Linus Parker, July
8, 1887; and Carrie Teletha, August 25, 1890, Greer County, Texas.

On an early November morning in 1889, he loaded his five children and
household goods into the covered wagon. The cattle and horses to follow, with
John Wesley, age 12, riding and keeping heard on the livestock. Their route
brought them through Vernon, Texas; crossing the Red River at Doan's Crossing
into Greer County. They reached a settlement called "Prairie Home," where a
group of families had settled. They unloaded, built a large half-dugout. where
Carie Teletha was born in August, 1890. Prairie Home was a good name for the
place. Looking northeast of south, only flat grassy land. No hills or trees in
sight. Supplies came from Vernon, about 25 miles southward. The settlement
grew. Families made large gardens. In the spring of 1892, June 17, while
working in the garden, a spring storm came in from the southwest. As he left
the garden, he put his hoe over his shoulder. Halfway to the house, lightning
struck and killed him. There poor grandmother was left with six small
children. No funeral homes, nor lumber yards. The rains continued for three
days. Enough material was found in the community to build a box for burial. He
was placed in the dugout with the family. The rain made digging a grave
difficult, but finally they had to lay him in a watery grave in the Aaron
cemetery, which at present is in the center of a huge wheat field southwest of
Altus.

John was then fifteen, became Grandmother's helper and together they reared
the family, and very well.

The next year Grandmother sent John to Mangum, the county seat, to pay their
taxes. Now he would have been around sixteen. He saddled his horse and went
cross-country. Upon arriving he stabled his horse and paid the fifty-cents
tax. That night he visited his first saloon. The tales he told about the
experience were wild!

Prairie Home had a small school house, but the school term was only three
months each year and the Blue Backed Speller was their only book for study.
Those of you who have seen one know what they are like. Their method of
learning to read and spell must have been unique. No time was wasted on
learning; short, long, slim, or round, but seemed to be better spellers than
our present system produces. Money for the school was raised by "passing the
hat" in the community, until there was enough to pay the teacher.

Communication being a problem, they seemed to have lost all contact with the
Chism family and my father often mentioned his desire to know about them. The
Turners, and aunt and cousins, used to come to visit us. I was small, but
their pretty clothes and music impressed me. The last cousin who came was
about Uncle Linus' age and I was high school age then, in 1915. Some of the
cousins were from Mexia and some from Fort Worth.

In 1896 Prairie Home got a post office. The first post mistress was Mrs.
Arthur Fuqua. Her husband was a doctor. She knew my father and told him the
post office was opening the next day and for him to write the first letter to
be mailed. He did and his letter was to my mother, Ida Maude Stewart. Her
family had moved into the community from Atasco County, Texas and they had met
at school. That was the John Bolton Stewart family. Spelling bees were one
form of social life at that time, and Ida Maude and T., her brother, could
outspell all the others. I think that caught my father's eye! She also was
musical and a great fiddler. I told her once that she never got to dance,
because she had to play, but she said that she did.

Uncle T and Uncle Will were great friends and were the horrors when they had
their camp meetings in the summer, after all the crops were laid-by. The women
would take tubs-full of food and while preaching went on, they would slip out
and get into the tubs to eat the good cakes and goodies. My dad said there
were others who did likewise, but folks always suspected the two of them.

Another family also came to Prairie Home - George R. Rogers, a brother- in-law
of Grandmother's. He had come from Mississippi to Mexia and had married
Grandmother's sister, Elizabeth Turner. They had four daughters and had lost
an infant son. He had heard of the Supreme Court's decision on Greer County.
So, he decided to take some land. By this time, John was of age, so Uncle
George, Grandmother and John all filed on land in the same area; except John
paid fourteen dollars for the section a man had filed on and decided he didn't
want to stay. It had a two-room house, a barn and a good well on it. So
Grandmother and Uncle George married and put their families together. He built
a nice house and barn and a huge half-dugout for the girls - or he probably
built that to live in while the new house and barn were being built.

Now we are all moved from Prairie Home to our own homes five miles east of
Altus. The girls are all in their half-dugout and Linus and Will are in the
big house with Grandmother and Uncle George.

John Wesley Chism and Ida Maude Stewart were married September 18, 1898 and
moved into their two-room house. They had seven children, all born there:
Alice Millicent, September 18, 1899; Hazel Ellen, February 25, 1901; Lois
Mozelle, February 18, 1903; Johnnie Katharine, January 19, 1907; Ermine
Clotilda, March 14, 1909; David Bolton, January 10, 1911, and John Wesley Jr.,
September 24, 1918.

Things are moving rapidly now. The Frisco railroad is gradually moving west.
When we went to see Grandmother we went horseback. One day we were going over
to spend the day. They had only Alice and me. Mama rode side-saddle and when
Papa handed me up to her, I can remember feeling frightened at the height and
I looked sown the horse's shoulder to the ground. We went one-half mile east,
then turned south for one mile to Grandmother's home. We had to pass the
railroad crews. There were rows of khaki tents a mile long and a big lot full
of mules and supplies for the building of the tracks. My Mother said I
couldn't remember it, but when she heard me tell it, she agreed that was the
way it was. She named Mozelle for a friend she met while the crew passed
throughout the country. When the railroad was completed and the first train
came through, everyone went to the depot in Altus to see it come in. It scared
the horses to death , as well as some of the older ladies. Papa told a tale
about one that was disgusted with anyone who could believe that anything could
move across country without some mules of horses to pull it. The train was
about an hour late in arriving, but no one left, they kept their eyes on the
track, finally it could be seen in the distance. The old lady's eyes popped
out when she saw that it was really moving. She drew a deep breath and said,
"Well, it will never stop!"

We are still in Oklahoma Territory and trees and wood are scarce and many of
the farmers had very little money. All of the country east was Comanche
country and full of jack oak trees and the Wichita Mountains. Farmers who had
nerve enough would go over and steal wood for posts. The country was patrolled
by U.S. Marshals and if you were caught stealing wood you were taken to
Anadarko, fined and jailed for a few days. Papa started going when they were
at Prairie Home. He was never caught and I think he enjoyed tricking the
Indians, who at that time were better educated than the farmers were.
Grandmother always was nervous until he returned. He wasn't scared of anybody
or anything. When I married, I thought all men were that way and was surprised
that so few were. Nearly all of my friends husband's covered up their heads if
a robber got into the house. When our family was grown and only one daughter
left at home, a man came in the house by the kitchen door. as he passed the
master bedroom Mama heard him and said, "John, there's a man came in our house
by the kitchen door." Papa jumped out of bed, the man ran to the kitchen door
with Papa close behind. As Papa went out the door the man turned a flashlight
in his face. That made him mad and he ran faster. He chased him a way down the
road, then came back. One day I asked him what he was going to do when he
caught him? He laughed and said, "Darned if I know!"

On every Saturday afternoon, everyone had a washtub bath and all clean clothes
and ribbons on the plaits; then you could walk to Grandmother's and spend the
night. There were not any churches in the country then. We didn't go to
church, but after a big Sunday dinner, all the girls had dates. Alice and I
would go into the half-dugout and watch them get dressed. All the north end
was one long dressing table with mirrors; all their curling irons, big bottles
of "whitening," I guess it was. They put it on their faces (I spilled some
once messing around in their things). All the kidding and teasing that went on
as they pinned their freshly starched ruffles on their bosoms. Upstairs were
boxes full of beautiful roses, ribbons and trimmings from those hats they wore
then. We would play for hours trimming hats and then they wouldn't wear them!
We were terribly disappointed. We thought they were beautiful! Uncle George's
house was set far from the road, so there was a yard fence and gate. The rigs,
we called them, were all hitched at the fence. Some were well kept and pretty
horses and some were not. It was a sight to see!

I don't know where they went to school, but some of the older ones went and
Uncle George's oldest daughter married a pharmacist. The second one, a well
to-do farmer and always lived in the community. One never married. Aunt Sallie
married a man from Indiana, who was in the real estate business. They had a
nice home in town, but for some reason he decided to farm. He was a German and
a very devout Nazarene. Farming wasn't his talent, so they went back to town
where he died from an infected tooth. They had one son. Aunt Ruth liked
"elocution" and was a more studious type. She was always off somewhere at
school. She always taught. One year at Clarendon college in the panhandle
country; and then sometimes just private lessons. She married late in life and
had no children. I remember the day she left for Boston for a year there.
Uncle George put her trunk in the wagon, she sat in the spring seat beside him
and as they rode off for town we watched, hoping some day we would see her
again! When she got home from some of her places she always came and spent a
day or two talking to Papa and telling him all the news. One time she came
home showing us how to do the Irish Fling.

Uncle Will I never knew very well. He would have been a teenager about
seventeen when Grandmother and Uncle George married. He seemed to be always
out somewhere. I do remember once when he came home. I was a small child and
saw him as he came through our gate with a fiddle in his hand. I said, "Oh
Mama, here comes Will" and she corrected me that I must say Uncle Will. He did
have charisma. Everyone liked him. He and aunt Sallie decided to go to New
Mexico and file on some land. That was where he met and married Pearl Hart,
daughter of a rancher there. They had one son, Kenneth and she died when he
was about nine months old. Uncle Will brought him home for Grandmother to
keep. Grandmother died then, about two years later with a brain tumor. Kenneth
then went on living with Alma, the maiden daughter, and Uncle George, until
Uncle Will remarried. By then Kenneth was eight years old and didn't want to
leave. He hardly knew his father and was never happy. Uncle Will died in New
Mexico of pneumonia and was buried in Portales. He farmed.

Uncle Linus was a different personality. He stayed with us half the time,
helping with the work. In the early 1900's the University of Oklahoma took
pupils who had not attended high school and prepared them for higher
education. He went there a while and got started in the barbering trade and
sometime cleaning business. He liked gourmet food and making people pretty,
and standing around the organ, singing. He married Aunt Katharine, a German
girl from Norman. They had five children. They were the only couple in
Grandmother's brood who had a wedding veil and satin wedding dress. She was a
Catholic and came from Germany as a six year-old. I think they were married by
a Protestant minister, for she left the Catholic church.

From my Mother's love letters, which were tied with a blue satin ribbon,
pioneer weddings were pretty secretive. There were two written invitations in
the group and both were very similar: "On Friday, at such a time, bring your
apron to work on. Don't say anything to anyone. This is for Mary and John." My
Mother and Father's wedding was hush-hush, too. They were married by Reverend
Terry. They seemed to be very dear friends. They often came by for dinner with
us when we were still in part of the little two room house. The Terry's later
lived in Lawton and my parents were invited to their 50th wedding anniversary.
It was a week-long affair. Both of them bought new clothes and were really
"diked-up" for the affair. they went to Lawton in hose and buggy, which was
fifty miles east of our home near Altus..

Carrie Teletha, the youngest daughter, was also a different person from the
others. She had a tragic childhood, I imagine. When you think of the days at
Prairie Home, her father's death and the toils and troubles Grandmother must
have lived through. Carrie lived to herself more, was artistic. Sewing and
having pretty clothes and a nice family was more her nature. Uncle George
seemed to have money for all the girl's needs. When I see scraps of their
dresses in the "crazy quilt" that I have, the materials were beautiful. Some
were made into clothes for Alice and me, sometimes. She was a 'neat' lady. We
were nearer the same age than the older sisters and cousins.

She married Irby R. Eikner in Quanah, Texas in 1910. That was secret, too. At
that time I was nine years old and was over at Grandmother's when she told me,
"I think Carrie is going to get married. She is making a pretty white satin
blouse." When Grandmother's curiosity was up, she usually didn't quit until
she had it satisfied (my Dad was the same way). She was trying to find a
letter of Carrie's; she was really going through every 'crack and cranny.' I
remember, I didn't think that was quite right. My Mother had taught us that
one didn't read other people's mail. That wasn't any of our business, but
Grandma had me help her hunt - and she found it!

Irby's family had come from Mississippi to Oklahoma and lived in Headrick. At
the time he was carrying the mail. That lasted only a few years, when he got a
dealership for Buick automobiles in Altus. He was a very successful
businessman until his death in a car accident. They had three children; a son,
deceased and two daughters. Carrie lived to be 90 years old and died a natural
death of old age. Her children were Margaret and Helen.

Thus ends the Mexia, Texas group of David Hardin Junior's family. Their
medical history is great - it seems to me. I had never thought of it, until
now. My father, John Wesley lived to be 91 and senile. He was a problem.
Nursing homes were just coming on the scene. He wanted to meet his buddies at
the corner filling station and visit. He wasn't a hospital patient - he
wouldn't stay home. One of our cousins, still living in the community, said
when asked his advice, "I don't know what you can do with him. Build a cage in
the back yard and put him in it!" We were sorry because he often wondered what
he would have been had he not always had the responsibility of raising two
families. I wonder, too. He read lots, had an open mind on any subject;
although not as religious as some of the others. Farming wasn't his calling.
He hated hypocrites, insincerity and warned us about being fanatics in our
thinking. He never used "the rod" in discipline. He consented, when asked
permission, when he thought you could handle the situation. If he thought you
couldn't, it was no; but usually it was yes, because he trusted you. Two of
his grandsons, when they were freshmen in college and in English I, when
writing their theme on character description of a person, chose his for their
subject. He was a character. Everyone knew him and "hello, John'd" him always.
My Mother was more formal and didn't think that was proper respect! To sum it
all up, he was pretty much like Mr. Iacocca's philosophy, "life is not handed
to you on a platter - integrity and manners will take you a long way."

William died in his fifties, from pneumonia. Sarah, in her seventies from a
goiter. Ruth was in her eighties when she had to go to a nursing home and died
a natural death. Linus had a heart attack during the Korean War, but recovered
and worked until the last few years of his life. He became childlike and dies
at 89. Carrie was ninety - she had glaucoma, but got it before it was in the
incurable stage. I am now 85 and am in the 'watching' stage, but able to run
my own business.

Now, for the family. The John Wesley's: July 26, 1876 - Ida Maude Stewart,
July 14, 1880. Wouldn't that have been fun to saddle up your horse, take off
through the tall grass to the preacher Terry's home and get married and take
your new bride into your two-room house a wood cook stove, a small side table
affair at the side for the making of biscuits, a table with two benches, a bed
and two tin tubs and a rub board, and a water bucket and dipper? That was a
nice fall day on September 18, 1898. Then on the very next September 18th,
wake up and find a baby of your own in the bed with you? I wonder if they knew
where it came from It was a girl named Alice. She was walking before one year,
for she was in a hurry to get into everything available. She was first to find
the first ripe watermelon, the ripe peaches, and one morning came around the
corner of the house with her arms full of roasting ears, to Mama's delight!
She could take two wheels, put a wood box on it, tack on a tongue and take the
crying babies for a ride. One day when she was about three years old, she
wanted to ride on a sled Papa was using for hauling water to the stock. A mule
was hitched to it and a big barrel of water. All the time, as he was filling
it, she stayed right under his feet, saying, "Papa, I want to ride." He kept
putting her off, but just as he was putting the last bucket of water in the
barrel, and right behind the mule's heels, she seated herself, pulled her
knees up under chin, with her arms around them, making a bill of kid about hat
size. Papa took the lines and said, "Get up!" The mule, being half asleep,
started with a quick jerk which sent a big wave of cold water sloshing
completely over her. She gave one jump and a scream that brought Mama flying
to the door to see what had happened, only to see a 'drowned rat" looking
child, screaming for dear life and Papa with his hat in one hand, his head
reared back, laughing as loud as Alice screamed. He had no more trouble with
sled riding and she grew up to pick the cleanest rows of cotton, more pounds
in a day than any of the others; and by time to go to town for fall shopping,
she had more money than anyone else and you never found her broke!

About two and a half years later, on February 25th, 1901, another baby came on
a terrible snow storm night. Another girl named Hazel Ellen. The doctor had
been called in the afternoon. By sundown the snow came down harder. Two cows
at the barn were also in labor. Mr. John ran from the house to the barn, from
the barn to the house, with his eyes on the road from Altus for the doctor.
When morning arrived, he had a girl only. The little calves froze to death.
For many years afterward I would receive a card from him saying, "Do you
remember what happened on the night of February 25th, 1901?" When I sit here
with my cozy room, with the heat in the floor, my bed with a warm electric
blanket. Why folks didn't freeze to death in those pioneer homes is a puzzle.
If you got sick, it was usually pneumonia and you died, so there was no need
for nursing homes.

When I finished high school I wanted to go to Oklahoma University, so my Aunt
Ruth gave me the money for the first semester. That was 1917-1918. World War I
came on and in the summer I would go to the Normal Schools, as they were
called, so I could teach. Then when the war was over and the boys were
returning, I married Louis Edgar Woods, who had been assigned to a medical
unit and was in Evacuation Hospital #9 near the front, near Virdun, where they
rendered service in the Muesse-Argonne and the St. Miheil Operations. He was
then ready for his senior year in the university, so he went back to OU and
started his study of medicine. I finished my degree then and graduated in
1924, he in 1926. In high school at Altus and at OU, he was a big track man
and held the record in high jump for ten years, before it was broken at OU by
an Indian boy. We went to Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit for intern and
residency work. Our son George Wesley was born there and we brought him home
to Oklahoma in one of the first Model A Fords. After being in Detroit for
nearly three years, I'll never forget how good the warm Oklahoma air felt.
When we stopped for some reason and got out and breathed it a while. In
January of 1929 we came to Chickasha, just in time to start working in the
Depression. Ed died, after practicing medicine here for 42 years - just old
and worn out.

By the time we were school age, Mr. Plew, a neighbor down the road, had given
land for a school house, which was built and ready for us to begin learning.
Alice was never too studious, she had rather run and play "Blackman", but we
went there until we finished eighth grade. We walked a mile and a half,
through winter storms, rain and all and never had a doctor in the house,
except when a baby was on its way. The only thing we were warned about was the
tramps, who often slept in the tall growth on the roadside. Before we could go
to high school, we had to go to Altus to the county superintendent's office
and take an examination. We passed, so started the next year, 1913, to high
school.

The Plew Valley School had two teachers and one nearly always stayed with us.
For two years, Mr. Pelley stayed with us. Papa had bought a colt from Uncle
George. I imagine he had in mind for us to use when we started high school.
Mr. Pelly was studying law and decided he would run for an office the next
year. He made a deal with Papa, that he would break the colt for driving if he
could use him that summer, while campaigning. And that was what he did. When
we began school, we couldn't speak to anyone passing or he would stop
suddenly. We had to keep quiet for about a year before he stopped that habit,
but by the time we were graduated, we could put the lines over the dashboard,
then study or memorize Shakespeare, or whatever, and he would go straight to
school. That was five miles east of Altus, three to the main street. After
that he was of no use in any other job. If he was hitched with another horse
to use for field work, he would never walk. He trotted. He lived with us
though, a long time. It was like one of the family.

After high school, Alice took a business course and worked in Clinton, where
she met and married Harry Calmes, who was the Buick dealer there. They had one
daughter, Joanne. She was an outstanding student, a member of the National
Honor Society. She received her B.A. degree from Oklahoma and M.A. from S.M.U
in Dallas. She became a teacher and met and married Wallace Heaner, who was
working on his Ph.D. in Dallas. He was a teacher and counselor in Lee
University in Baytown, Texas. They are both retired now and are enjoying
traveling. The have no children. Alice went out one morning to finish a small
plot of grass mowing, had a stroke and died a few days later. All the Kiwanis
Club were at her funeral, as she had played the piano for them for 46 years.
She also played at the Baptist Church and sometimes substituted for a friend
at an Indian church.
---