In late summer of that fateful year, my mother and father
separated. Our lives would never be the same again. Our family
was split and would never again be whole. My mother and father
never really got along with each other and, in 1932, it all
came apart.
On the morning of the day my mother took us kids and left, my
father and I had been down by the river, gathering corn for
winter storage. I was seven years old, but I was expected to do
almost a man's job. On that day, he had me driving a wagon
pulled by a very young, skittish team of mules -- they were
barely broken to the harness.
I was having all sorts of trouble with those mules, and the more
trouble I had, the more my father yelled at me. I was trying my
best to make that young team behave, but not having much luck.
Finally, my father came back and warned me that, the next time he
had to get after me, he was going to beat my backside with a
leather strap -- and I knew he would do just that, because he
had done it many times before.
My main problem with the mules was getting them go at the right
time and stop exactly where my father wanted them to stop. I
was supposed to keep the wagon alongside him so that, as he
pulled the ears of corn from the stalks, he could toss them over
the side and into the wagon bed. I knew he was getting more and
more angry, so I was determined to make those mules move the
next time he yelled at me.
I stepped outside and to the front of the wagon, and stood on
what was called the double-tree that the mules were hitched to.
I picked up an ear of corn and, when my father yelled for me to
get that wagon up there, I hit the mule directly in front of me
with the ear of corn. That proved to be an almost fatal
mistake.
The mule suddenly jumped straight up in the air, and kicked with
her hind legs. Had I been two or three inches to either side of
where I was standing, I would no doubt have been killed.
At that point, they started to run away, so I jumped back into
the wagon and did my best to stop them. I soon found out I
simply wasn't strong enough to control that young team. I was
frightened, but I knew what I had to do. I sat down in the
bottom of the wagon bed and pulled on the left guide line as
hard as I could. This caused the run-away team to go left and
run in a circle. I had no choice but to hold onto that line for
dear life and let them run until they finally tired out and
stopped. My idea worked -- they finally did run themselves
down, but I had destroyed about ten acres of corn, and I knew I
was in DEEP trouble.
My father came over, took the big leather strap that he said he
would use, and proceeded to give me a beating. I have to call
it that, because he broke the skin in several places on my back,
and I was bleeding through my shirt.
When he finished with me, it was time to go to the house for
lunch, so we unhitched the team of mules and went up to the
house to eat. When we arrived, I got the biggest surprise of my
life. A Model-T Ford was parked in our yard with my uncle in
the driver's seat. Inside were my grandmother, my mother, my
sister, and my baby brother....
I was still hurting from the beating I had gotten, and totally
confused. They were all telling me to get in the car. But I
was afraid to, because I was fearful that my father would use
the strap again. They insisted. I couldn't figure out what was
going on and, when I asked what was happening, they told me to
never mind -- just get in the car. I finally did, without even
going into the house for my things. I noticed that everyone
except my uncle was crying. I don't know why, but I also
started to cry -- perhaps because it had been only a few minutes
since I had stopped crying from my beating, so this just set me
off again.
When we left, I was seven, my sister was nine, my brother was
two, and my mother was only twenty-six years old. It was a few
days later that I learned we were going to live with our
grandparents from then on, and would not be living with our
father ever again. I found out that my beating had been the
last straw for my mother in what had been an unhappy marriage
from the beginning.
My mother and father had done a lot of fighting -- not with
words, but with hands and fists in a knock-down, drag-out. I
hated it, and by the time I was six, I would try my best to stop
them. There was one time I will never forget. I was six, my
sister was eight, and our little brother was about one. I don't
know what started the fight between my parents, but it got very
serious very fast.
Suddenly, I saw my father with a butcher knife, and he was
making threats to harm my mother. At six years of age, I
believed him, and I remember being frightened out of reason.
All I could see was that big knife and I knew I had to get it
away from him.
I ran as fast as I could, and jumped right in the middle of the
altercation. Somehow, I succeeded in getting the weapon away
from him. I don't know why I did what I did next, but I ran
over and handed the knife to my mother. That was one time I
managed to stop the fight and I think my father came out
second-best. My mother was one tough lady, and she could handle
herself very well.
I think this is a good place to talk about the women of my
family, because they were a very important part. My maternal
grandmother was born in Searcy, White County, Arkansas, on
August 29, 1888. In 1895, when she was seven, the family
migrated to Texas in a covered wagon.
I remember her telling stories about camping along the trail at
night and watching the Indians on the ridges around them. She
described them as lined up along the ridges on their ponies with
lances in hand. The Indians never bothered the wagons; they
were hungry and only wanted food.
For a while, the family settled in the Mt. Joy community where I
grew up, but moved to Corpus Christi sometime later. Corpus
Christi is where my grandmother met and married my grandfather.
She was a very independent, strong-willed woman, especially for the
times she lived in. She would get upset with people who wrote
her a letter addressed to Mrs. M. C. Cooper. She would quickly
tell you that M.C. was her husband and if you were writing to
her, her name was Essie K Cooper. (Just the letter "K" was her
middle name.)
My mother was the oldest child of my grandparents and was even
more independent and strong-willed than her mother! Her
independence and strong spirit was no doubt a factor in the
problems between my parents. I think, however, that my father's
jealousy was the main problem. He was jealous of everyone --
even family.
My two uncles were very strong of mind and independent also, but
I think the daughters were more so. My Mother's three sisters
were of the same temperament; all of them had problems with
their mates except one. She stayed married until her death.
Life with Mama and Papa Cooper
After the fateful beating, when my mother left my father for
good, we settled in with Mama and Papa Cooper, my grandparents.
They really didn't have room for us, but we were welcomed
anyway. My mother was their oldest child, and all of her
brothers and sisters were still living at home. Besides my
grandparents, there were their five other children and, after
we moved in, there were four more mouths to feed, all living in
one small farmhouse.
I remember we had one large living room (part of which was used
for a sleeping area by my grandparents), an all-in-one kitchen
and eating area, and one bedroom which later was divided into
two. The house had an upstairs which was unfinished, but it
did have a large area which was used as a sleeping room for my
two uncles and me. Everyone else found a place to sleep
downstairs.
This was a new adventure for my sister, brother and me, and we
had no idea what to expect. It was not long until the school
year started, however, and we had to prepare for that. There
would be all new teachers and all new students. Now I was back,
living in the house where I was born (my grandparents' home) and
it was time to start back to school.
I loved school and was really looking forward to the second
grade. I wanted to learn everything -- but, unbeknownst to me,
my life was about to take a very drastic turn. The year was
1932.
TOUGH LADIES
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