The memories that stick with me of Denton include walking to the town square to watch movies on Saturday afternoon. I was six but my parents felt secure in sending me off on my own. The movie was always preceded by a newsreel, fighting in Europe and Japan and some sports, then a cartoon, then a sing along, a bouncing ball hopping on the words we were supposed to sing. Everyone joined in, then we sat back for the show. I really enjoyed the westerns. My favorite was Hoot Gibson, a former trick rider who kept his six shooter in his boot. Mom bought me cowboy boots, and I always kept my cap gun in my boot to honor old Hoot.
I also remember the silver thaw. One early spring morning I awoke to find all the trees covered with a sheet of ice. A cold wind had blown in from the north as it was raining in the night and frozen the whole town. It was beautiful.
As it got warmer the fireflies came out at night and the landlady's two kids and I and others would run around the front lawn barefoot with a jar to capture a firefly. The parents sat on the front porch. One evening we were playing "mumbly de peg" with our hunting knives. This involved seeing how accurately you could throw your knife in the ground. The landlady's daughter thought to give it a try, and on her second throw the knife went through her foot. She started squalling. On the porch the landlady spit in her can and said, "daughter, stop that yelling and pull that knife out and come up and let me look at your foot." I checked a quick glance at my mom, certain that she would have rushed to my aid if it were me.
In April, before my seventh birthday, dad got some leave and we drove up to Oklahoma to see moms relatives. We had a 39 Plymouth coupe with jumpseats in the back. First we visited aunt Neva, who lived on a farm outside Enid, Oklahoma. We parked in the town square so mom could call Neva to come and show us the way to her farm. This was the first time I saw cars double parked as a general practice, farmers and ranchers pulling their pickups alongside a parked car and strolling into the store or barbershop.
Aunt Neva owned a burro, which she urged me to ride. I got on, cowboy boots kicking the burro's ribs as I had seen in the movies. The burrow stopped and lowered his head, and I slid off over his neck onto the dusty corral floor.
There were two sets of relatives, the Pricketts, Grandma Abercrombie's family, and Grandad's family, the Abercrombies. The Pricketts claimed to come French royalty, according to mom, who laughed explaining about the "D'Bonfoy Finger" which was a slight bend in her little finger and a sign of her royal background. Grandma was the oldest of about fourteen children, her youngest sister being the same age as my mom. Mom said they were great enemies as children because that aunt wanted mom to do as she said, being the aunt.
The Abercrombies had come over from Scotland early in the eighteenth century and settled in Georgia, where they had land. By the mid eighteen sixties they had a prosperous distillery that was situated between Atlanta and Savannah, which a few years later became part of the wasteland left by General Sherman when he subdued the South. The remnants of the family made it to Kansas but did not prosper so when the Cherokee Strip, the last of the land in Oklahoma promised to the eastern Indian tribes for settlement, was taken back by the US Government and opened to homesteaders, they drove their wagons south and found free land, where they spread out and began raising wheat.
After visiting a few more of the Prickett side we drove to Great Grandad Abercrombie's farm. I was amazed to see so many cats on the barn roof that they were pushing each other off.
Great Grandad Newt taught me to milk a cow, showing me how to squirt a shot into the mouth of one of the cats mewing around us. He sent me and his hound dog exploring the rolling hills, where we jumped a large animal that bounded away. I ran back shouting that we had seen a deer, but they all laughed as said it was only a jack rabbit.
On the eighth of May, 1943, the Germans finally surrendered to the Allied Forces, and the war in Europe was over. Shortly thereafter, the Army told Dad that he could extend his stay and become regular Army rather than a reservist, or he could be separated from the Army. He wanted to go home, so he chose separation. At the end of the school year we headed back to Oregon. We stopped at Carlsbad Caverns, the Grand Canyon, and spent a night in Santa Barbara. In San Francisco we stayed with Dad's sister Lela and her family. They owned an apartment house on Hayes Street.
Her children were Jack, a couple of years younger than I, Judy, two years younger, and a baby, Rick.
Finally we were back in Wendling. I was excited to see GD and hear all the news. On the morning of the 15th of August we were playing in Grandma's yard when the mill whistle began blowing. We looked at each other, startled at this uncommon occurrence. The George, the older boy who lived behind Grandma, came running out with a bugle, which he blew loudly, then shouted: "The Japanese have surrendered! The war is over! The war is over!" We hugged and danced and shouted to Grandma.
This was the first time I stayed up till midnight, as the adults partied and sang songs and planned what they would do when the boys came home from the war.
