TX BIOS:  Richard C. Phillps
   Selected and converted.American Memory, Library of Congress.
   
   Washington, 1994.
   
   Preceding element provides place and date of transcription only.
   
   This transcription intended to be 99.95% accurate.
   
   For more information about this text and this American Memory
   collection, refer to accompanying matter.
   
   U.S. Work Projects Administration, Federal Writers' Project (Folklore
   Project, Life Histories, 1936-39); Manuscript Division, Library of
   Congress.Copyright status not determined.
   
   00011
   
   [Life history?]
   
   Phipps, Woody
   
   Rangelore
   
   [Tarrant?] Co., Dist. #7 [98?]
   
   Page #1
   
   FC
   
   Richard C. Phillips, 63, was born on his father's ranch near Banders,
   Tex. His father taught him to ride a horse, then died a few mouths
   before Phillips was five Yrs. of age. His mother's death when he was
   12, left him an orphan. He was still 12 Yrs old when he was employed
   as a cowboy on the Western Union Beef Co. Ranch, which owned a large
   no. of sections of land, and a large No. of cattle. After eight Yrs,
   the W.U. Beef Co. sold their holdings to John T. McElroy, a Pecos city
   financier who immediately resold the cattle to Segal Saunders, a
   Kansas City Comm. Co. Segal Saunders shipped a train load of beef to
   Terre [?], Ind., and Phillips went with the load. When he returned to
   Texas, he quit the range and now resides in Springtown, Texas. His
   story:
   
   "Well, now to begin with, my name's Richard C. Phillips, and I was
   born on my dad's XX Ranch near Bandera, Texas, on Dec. 17, 1864.
   Reckon as how that'd make me 63, wouldn't it? You asked if I ever
   worked on the range, and I'll answer by saying that I rode hosses when
   I wasn't but four yours old. You see, my dad's spread wasn't much
   shakes, and he couldn't hire much help because he didn't have so much
   money, and so he started me out to learning to ride just as soon's he
   figured I was able to sit a hull.
   
   "And, the tough part about it was, he died just after I'd learnt to
   ride pretty good, and could climb up by myself. After he died, that
   left nobody but me and my mother, so I had to learn to tend to the 100
   odd head of stuff we had. She'd talk to me, and try to make me feel my
   responsibility so's I'd go out there and do my dead level best to take
   my dad's place. I'd never have made it, though, if it [hadn't?] have
   been for the good neighbors we all had around there. They done a
   marvelous lot for us, and took the load in the roundups. I went on the
   roundups, alright, and slept out away from home during them roundups.
   
     NOTE: [C12 - 2/11/[?] - Texas?]
     
   00022Come branding time, and I was right in the big middle of it,
   tending to the irons, and everything else a stripling could shake. One
   thing about it, though, and that was there wasn't a lazy bone in my
   body, and I learnt to rope and brand on my own [account?]. I reckon I
   could pull it all off by the time I was eight years old. [That's?]
   pretty-young, but in them days, a kid wasn't always hanging out in
   some ice cream parlor. Instead, he went about his business and tried
   to be some account in the world. Another thing, people weren't always
   yapping baby talk at him, but gave him jobs to do, and if he didn't,
   he wanted to the next time he was given something to do.
   
   "I was left a dogie when my mother died, and I wasn't but 12 at the
   time. You know, even though we had tried to get along, we didn't have
   much stuff when she died, and I sold out for [$?]100.00 and lit out
   for the West. I wanted to get away from the place where I'd had so
   much trouble.
   
   "A couple of months later, I lit in Fort Stockton, and met Tom Bailey.
   He was ram rodding for the Western Union Beef Co., and was in town
   right then, a-looking for cow punchers. [I?] told him I could ride and
   rope, and he gave me a chance. I was told to beat it out to the ranch,
   and when he came out, he'd see what I could do.
   
   "When he got out there, he put me through my paces, and hired me. I
   got $15.00 a month and chuck. Now the Western Union Beef outfit [was?]
   a big spread, going from Fort Stockton to the mouth of the Pecos
   River. It was a big outfit, and had ranches from below Uvalde to clean
   up in Montana. A couple of bankers, R.T. and N.T. Wilson were the ones
   that owned the Co. They ran the Alamo National bank in San Antonio,
   and that's where all our checks come 00033from.
   
   "Now, naturally, since the ranch was such a big one, and even ran two
   brands at the same time right on the same range, there was a lot of
   cow punchers working the spread. There were a number of niggers, too,
   and dont you ever believe them niggers couldn't ride and rope to beat
   the band. There was old [Geo.?] Adams, and he could ride and rope with
   the best. Then too, there was Tom Gannig, a younger nigger that was
   good. Niggers weren't allowed a gun on that spread. I said Ganning was
   young, well, old Geo was an ex-slave. He'd been a slave down near San
   Antonion on a plantation that had been in the Wilson family for years
   and years. There was one more nigger that I recall, and his name was '
   Snow Ball.' That was because he was the blackest nigger anybody ever
   saw. And yet, he was sure a mighty good cow hand.
   
   "About the best rider on the spread was Henry Salmone. He was in
   charge of the hoss ranch, and I reckon he had charge of 500 saddle
   hosses at least. Besides having that many, they had to keep busting
   more wild hosses in to take the place of those that got killed or too
   old to work any more. Believe, me, that's many a hoss and a sight to
   see for sure.
   
   "Then, there was Button Clark, the trail boss. He was always in charge
   of the trail drives, because he'd been up the trail so many times, and
   knowed the country like a book. He was called ' Button,' because there
   was another top hand on the spread whose name was Buck Clark.
   
   "About the cattle, well have you seen any longhorn critters? That's
   what the Western Union Beef Co. run. Whole herds of them. Whys they
   branded 10,000 dogies a year when the spread was going 00044great
   guns. The two irons they run was the [?] and the Double Half Moon. You
   make the [?] like this: and the Double Half Moon like this: . Of
   course, the critters carried the irons shoulder, side and hip.
   
   "Oh, yes. Jim Watts was the wagon boss when I first got on, but he was
   fired a couple of years/ later for staying drunk all the time, and Doc
   Coleman took his place. I don't recall at this time just how long he
   did work as wagon boss, but Hugh Boles took his place end stayed right
   on through, working for John T. McElroy of [Pecos?] City, who bought
   the ranch, look, stock, and barrel, along in '94. I had word of the
   ranch in '98, and Hugh Boles still had the wagon boss job.
   
   "Now I've told you about the men on the spread, I'll [spin?] a couple
   of yarns about some of the work. They might sound to you like they was
   yarns, but when you're on the spot at one of these things, 'taint so
   funny. Not by a darn sight! Now, you take a stampede, and they're one
   of the most dangerous things ever was, and yet, they happen all the
   time on any ranch where a bunch of cow critters are rounded up into a
   herd. Anything'll cause them, too.
   
   "There was once when I went North with about [1,000?] head of
   four-year-olds, steers they was, and we was trying to hold them at
   [Canyon?] City. [Them?] ornery raseals'd stampede every night, and one
   time they run plum to Amarillo! Button Clark, who was in charge of the
   herd. trailed them there hisself. After we rounded the critters all up
   again, the tally showed 23 steers gone.
   
   "Then another night, they run to'ards Amarillo again, and veered a
   little East just enough to run right smack into Joe 00055Nation's
   herd, which put the whole kit and [b'iling?] to running. Now that was
   the worst mess ever I got into, because after stopping the run, we had
   to cut the whole herd to get the two of them separated. Work, work,
   work. That's about all thai trip amounted to.
   
   "The reason the 7D put that herd up there in the first place was
   because there was so much dry weather, and we had to get the critters
   to water. In one year, the 7ds had three herds around Amarillo, and
   Joe Nation had six!
   
   "Another reason the 7ds put so many cattle at Amarillo was because
   Amarillo was our shipping point to the Montana ranges. [We?] shipped
   on the Ft. Worth & Denver road to Brush Wyoming, where they were
   unloaded and drove to the range the Western Union Beef Co. had in
   mind. [That's?] the way they done business. Then conditions in Texas
   were unfavorable for cattle, they tried to put their beef into a
   country that was favorable, and they owned ranches everwhere like I
   showed you before.
   
   "Now, I've always been considered one of the best shots in the
   country, bit I'm not going to tell anything about it. Instead, I'll
   tell you about some of the boys on the spread there that could really
   shoot as well as ever I could myself. Now, there's Bob Wilson. Just a
   cow hand, but a darn sight better than any I've seen since I left the
   7ds. Old Bob was a noted pistol shot, and the quickest on the drew
   ever I seen. One day, the boys decided to prank him, and one of them
   that was a good roper, waited up a draw for him to come to the chuck
   wagon that was spotted right on top. Well, old Bob finally came along
   in a lope, whistling some sort of a tune, and this roped zizzed his
   lasso out, trying to trip the hoss. The rope made the hoss's front
   foot alright, but 0006old Bob shot trust lasso in two before any
   pressure could be put on it. He'd have shot the cow hand hisself, if
   he hadn't have ducked behind a rock the minute he made his [cast?].
   That sure was funny to everybody but the zany that tried to throw old
   Bob, because if he hadn't have gone to hollering, " Don't shoot! Don't
   shoot!, I'm one of the boys!', old Bob'd have rode up into them rocks
   and made a sieve out of him.
   
   Now, I never done much hoss busting. They had men on the hoss ranch
   that took care of the busting, but I did do a lot of [bronc?] riding
   because them ornery rescals was half Spanish and Mustang, and the
   Mustang hoss was as mean a critter as ever walked. They pitched every
   morning when you went out and roped [the?] one you were to ride,
   [and?], they'd pitch for fully five minutes 'til they got what we
   called, ' warmed up'. In other words, pitched 'til they got the
   laziness out of their bones.
   
   "Some way or other, I sure wish I could make you realize just how hard
   they pitched. They pitched every bit as hard and fast as these
   critters you see now in the rodeos, so we had a real rodeo every
   morning. There'd be some funny [sight s?] take place sometimes, too. I
   recall very plain how one of the [niggers?] was pitcher plum over the
   [corral?] walls, and they were eight foot high. When that nigger come
   down on the other side, he let out a big grunt that could almost be
   heard to Fort Stockton. [Then?] too, I've seen the boys pitched into
   mesquite trees, and every other way you can think of.
   
   [What?] I'm trying to picture to you is; that in then days a man had
   to be a man every day without no layoffs. Every day! You take in a
   stampede now, and I've seen a 100 or more. 0007The boys that are out
   with a herd must be real good riders willing to take chances with
   their live. When a herd starts to running, it goes
   hell-bent-for-election and will run over anything it can unless its
   too big, then the herd'll ran 'til they run up against something they
   can't run over, then they'll split and go around but keep a-running.
   [That's?] the way them ornery critters'll do every time. Well, when a
   herd gets to running, it'll run 'til it runs down, or gets so tired it
   can't run anymore. [The?] thing a cowhand has to do, is to get that
   herd to milling, and then they'll run in a circle 'til they get run
   down. If they're not put into a mill, they'll run over some bank of a
   crick, or a cut, or even a canyon if there's one in the way. [Then?]
   there'll be a lot of beef killed and lost, which can run up into the
   thousands of dollars.
   
   "Now then, I want you to picture a herd on the stomp, and realize that
   any human or hoss that gets in the way, that the herd'll run over them
   and stomp them into the very ground if it possibly can. Get that
   picture, then realize that the only possible way to turn a herd into a
   mill is to get right out in front and beat the lead steer 'til he
   starts turning and trying to get away from you. That away, the rest of
   the herd'll follow him, and the herd'll then go into a mill. When you
   get that picture, then you'll see and understand why men had to be he
   men in them days. Not now, because these fine cattle are hard to put
   into a stomp, and when they are, they don't run long because they're
   not grown for strength, but for fat. They didn't grow them in the old
   days for strength, but them old long horns just naturally growed like
   a hoss, without any help from man.
   
   They'd hide out in the brakes, and when we were on the 00088roundup,
   they'd come a-busting out and try their [dead?] level best to kill the
   cowhand. [That?] was the old mossy horns, of course, that got so testy
   and there were mighty few so mean, thanks be. Others were real wild
   and flighty, and would run away from the cowhand as hard as they could
   go. [That?] was the expected, though, and the cowhand'd rope him and
   then drive him to what they'd rounded up, where another'd stay with
   them and keep them corraled. After a little persuasion, most of them
   critters'd stay together in a herd.
   
   "Now, what I'm telling is what actually happened to me and not
   something I've read. Truth of the [matter?] is that I can't read nor
   write. Reason being because I was raised a dogie, and had to hustle
   for my bread and meat all my life. I just want to tell about one of
   them stomps we had on one of the last trail drives to Amarillo with
   7ds, while it was still owned by the W.U.H. Co. I'm standing night
   herd, and Its been raining pretty hard. Whenever it goes to raining, a
   herd'll stand Up and go to shifting around, trying to got their tails
   and backs to the wind and rain. [That's?] their nature, but they're
   also ready to run in case anything makes the [least?] little old
   bobble. Well, sir. Instead of the rain getting harder, it began to
   lighten, and the night itself got lighter. [We?] could see a heap
   better'n when it was raining, and all of a sudden, we heard a shot
   from the camp where the rest of the boys'd gone to sleep.
   
   The herd heard it too, and were off like a shot, running right towards
   me and the other night rider. We'd stopped for a but of talk and a
   cigarette, but was in the wrong spot at the right time. If it hadn't
   have been that the night was pretty light, and we were able to see the
   leaders, we'd have been stomped right into the 00099ground. Instead,
   we could see the leaders, and he and me turned [that?] herd into a
   mill in less then five minutes after it got started. Five minutes!
   [I'll?] bet that'd have made some kind of a record if records had been
   kept, became five minutes is a wonderful time.
   
   [We?] had a lot of good times, there on the 7D, what with our contests
   we had every time we weren't pushed with the work and all, but along
   came the thing that spoilt it all when John T. McElroy of Pecos City
   made a deal with the W.U. Beef Co., and bought the ranch. I don't know
   just what kind of a deal was made, but I do know that the cowhands
   were given the order to roundup every head on the ranch, and bring it
   to the chutes at the headquarters for a tally. Well, on the day we
   were to have the herd there, there was a stranger there with
   [McElroy?], nobody paid no attention to him, because we were all busy
   with the herd.
   
   "Finally came the order to [shoot?] [the?] chutes, and we started the
   cattle through. Hugh Boles made the count for the W.U. Beef Co., and
   John T. made his own count in the middle of the chutes as the critters
   passed him by. The stranger made the count at the end of the chutes as
   the critters all passed out and into the new herd. 28,000 head passed
   through the chutes in that one day, and, this stranger was Segal
   Saunders, of the Kansas City Saunders Cattle Commission Co. He bought
   every head that came through, and paid John T. $4.00 a head for every
   one of them 28,000 critters. Figure it yourself.
   
   "Then the real work started. Segal Sounders gave the order to have the
   critters road branded, and I myself put a seven on 13,000 of them
   critters. 13,000! You see, all I had to do was put the iron as the
   other boys downed them, and there were three [crew?] 001010working
   with me. It certainly kept us all busy. After the cattle were all
   branded, then they roaded to Amarillo, and shipped to different
   points. I myself left Amarill with a train load for [Terre?] [Hante?],
   Ind., to be fed out.
   
   "When I returned from working with that herd, I quit the range for
   good and never went back. [?] man could really save his money and be
   healthy in it, but it just didn't appeal to me no more after I got
   back from that year in Indianna, so I quit. I'm now living on my farm
   out near Springtown, Texas. Just doing nothing all [Summer?] but wait
   for winter, then when winter gets here, I wait for the good old summer
   time.

************************************************************************
USGENWEB ARCHIVES NOTICE:  These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced 
in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or
persons.  Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must
obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative
of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of
this consent. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives
to store the file permanently for free access.

http://www.usgwarchives.net/

Thanks to the Library of Congress
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/wpaintro/txcat.html
***********************************************************************