Quentin Bomgardner shown in a park, holding his first son, Kenny.
Quentin started working as a substitute mail carrier and later (about 1949) started working as clerk in the Post Office at Tuttle so we started having a little more money to spend. In February, 1956, he got a rural mail route at Amber, Oklahoma. He carried the mail until November 15th, 1956 when he died of a brain hemorrhage; age 36, he lacked two weeks being 37. This was a sad day for Kenny, Terry and me. I didn’t know what I could do to make a living. I didn’t know how to do anything but clean house. I carried mail for 3 months at Amber, in Quentin’s place, until they appointed a carrier. We got $125.00 per month annuity, $4,000 insurance from the Post Office, and $1,500 from Universal Life Insurance. Since the place we lived in belonged to Grandmother Porter, we bought a house in town for $3,800. And spent $700 on it before we moved in. Uncle Gail and Uncle Dwight helped use fix it up. We were very comfortably situated.
Kevin (prounced kee-vun) Kraft sits down with our dinner group to tell stories about the Vintage House restaurant development after he and wife, Lori, serenaded the dining room. Kevin runs "the smokehouse," cooks the steaks, and owns the restaurant with his wife.
Julie’s view:
After leaving Dan McGuinness in Edmond, Kelly and I knew we were heading north, but we didn’t really have a set plan. She suggested that I call Nancy at Cordero Farms. An answering machine greeted me, so we decided to just head north on I-35. Our other option was Alva, OK. By this time, it was getting dark, so we decided we needed to find a place to spend the night. Earlier in the day when Kelly mentioned we might go to Alva, I decided to call a sorority sister who lived there. I only mentioned that we might be going that direction and that I would call her if we decided to take that route. I added that I didn’t want her to hear that I’d been there and her be upset with me if I hadn’t called. I laughed; she simply said that she’d know if I showed up. Hmmm. It turns out she was not kidding. Kelly called the bed and breakfast that she’d heard so much about, and got us a room. One room…the only one available. After she made sure it was okay with me that we had to share a room AND a bed after only meeting a few hours earlier we committed to the reservation. I mean, we were in the middle of nowhere by this time. I could also tell from Kelly’s end of the conversation that we were being invited to the local restaurant for a late dinner.
Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter is one of our RDC contributors who also drives around the state. A lot. He’s a geotechnical engineer and does soil and sub-surface testing for various projects that invariably lead him across the creeks and rivers of Oklahoma. And, underneath the bridges to take photos. A few weeks back, some of our readers were having a conversation about the funky creek names in Oklahoma. Here are a few of their comments:
Dog Thrasher Creek. I don’t remember exactly where it was but around Pawhuska to Drumright-Pawnee area of Oklahoma..
@Mike – somewhere (I think close to Woodward?) I drove by Skunk Creek.
One of my friends, (name omitted), told me that on road trips with her grand-kids they played a “game” of sorts where they would try to decide why a creek got its name. I’ll try to send you a pic of Hog Shooter Creek soon. We have some great names in NE Okla.
There’s “Suck Creek” but that’s down around Chattanooga.
Anyway, you get the picture…then Mark chimed in and said he had photos of several creeks in Oklahoma…and, well, there’s our Silent Sunday “trip” for you today. He wrote about these photos he loaded for you, “The great old bridges of Oklahoma display a lot of different designs but they are being replaced. Enjoy these pictures, but be grateful you won’t have to drive across them anymore.”
When you grow up in the country, you’re socialized to do things a little differently than in the city. First of all, locked doors are not the number one concern on your mind. Second, if you want to commence an activity on someone’s property such as fishing or picking up “those Bodark apples for a craft you’re doing with the Girl Scouts,” you just go knock on their door and ask. They can say no, but usually don’t. And, if you need to quickly cross or gain access to someone’s property then get right off again…well, it’s usually going to be fine unless there is a NO TRESPASSING sign hanging on their fence. You’ve seen them, right? Old tires, painted with white letters, some of them dripping so much the message is slightly illegible by the time they dry. Sometimes they read, “NO HUNTING.” That’s a different message. It means – “I might be okay with you walking across, but don’t shoot anything.”
Sam and Traveler at the Sooner Cowboy Church, dedicating their flag pole.
Editor’s Note: What we’ve found as our readership has expanded is that the RDC Community is full of humans with interesting lives. As our dear Earth turns on her axis, these folks are managing skyscrapers, scraping animal droppings, and dropping mail in everyone’s mailbox on their route. One of our readers, who gave me permission to share a few photos on a past Silent Sunday post, is a sheriff. He rides in the mounted patrol and his horse has an interesting story. While recovering from recent shoulder surgery, he sent “Traveler’s Story” along for my perusal and I asked his permission to share it with you. Have a story YOU feel needs to be shared? We’ll read it and work with you if it fits with our mission. ~ [kelly]
Traveler’s Story, by Sam Chestnut
edited by Kelly Roberts
The date was March of 2005. I was still recovering from a Prostatectomy due to Prostate Cancer. I heard from a friend that a man not far from us had a good looking Tennessee Walker gelding for sale. So Jean, our daughter Darla, and I went to check it out.
When we walked into the barn I saw a horse standing against the back wall of a stall with all four feet spread out, his nostrils flared, with his eyes fearful and widely open. I thought to myself, “Boy, something has just gone on here.” It was clear the horse was terrified and near panic. All of his hair had been shaved off with hair clippers and it was still early March; the weather still very cold. He was in an unheated barn with no blanket or method of keeping himself warm. He was somewhat skinny and not well kept. There were no physical scars other than his shaved mane, but it was clear the horse had been ‘through it.’
Grandmother at 15 years old, the age when she began doing all the chores and taking care of children for Dr. and Mrs. Cooper in Oklahoma City.
Editor’s Note: If you are just beginning to read these entries, you may wish to start with the first, then the second before you begin this particular work. Thanks, Red Dirt Kelly
During the summer of 1937, at the age of fifteen, I took a job in Oklahoma City caring for three children of Dr. and Mrs. Cooper. I would take the train from Tuttle to Oklahoma City, then ride the interurban to within a few blocks of Dr. Cooper’s. When I’d hear the train blow the whistle down the track [when in Tuttle] I’d start to cry because I was already getting homesick. The first summer I didn’t come home very often. I had Dr. Cooper save up my money until I went home to start to school. I started out making $3.00 a week plus room and board. After Mrs. Cooper went to the hospital to have a baby they raised my salary to $4.00 [per day].
The Coopers had two girls and two boys. I’d cook breakfast, wash, iron, clean house and watch the children. I worked for them three summers and one Christmas vacation. I always bought clothes for school with my earnings. The first year I bought a rust colored coat, black dress with a lace yolk and black shoes. I thought I was really dressed up. I made $36.00 that summer; my coat cost $16.00.
Thank you to Jeanie Eaton and her Rural Expressions concept by Onetulsa.com for selecting some of her work to share with us this morning. Her venues consist of, Lazy E Arena, Feather Creek Farm, Tulsa Expo , Claremore Expo and various Breeding Farms across the state. The events consists of : Hunter Jumper, Dressage, Barrel Racing, Rodeo, Eventing, and Breed Shows. Jeanie is the webmaster for Oklahoma Dressage Society and Co-Organizer for Tulsa Digital Photography Group. ~ Enjoy your Silent Sunday.
Dan McGuinness - Opening Night, Edmond, OK. Photo from their FB site, taken about 3 months ago.
(Julie’s view) If there’s one thing I’ve learned about being a part of the Red Dirt Chronicles for this short time, it’s that there is no topic or interviewee off limits. So when Kelly mentioned wanting to investigate some of the local music talent, I knew I had the perfect person to interview: Jim Fields. Jim is part owner of the Dan McGuinness Pub franchise in the Moore and Edmond areas and my ex-husband. Don’t freak out.
Jim is originally from Bethany but connected with Lee Adams, owner of Adams Restaurants, while he was living in Memphis, TN. Jim worked for T.J. Mulligan’s at an entry-level position and gradually worked his way into management. All the while he was missing his home state of Oklahoma. It took some convincing, but Jim talked Lee into bypassing Arkansas all together, and they opened the Moore location in November 2006 and the Edmond location in September 2010.
We met up with Jim at the at the Edmond store. He was in a meeting so we took a seat at one of the tall pub tables near the bar. The sweetest waitress took good care of us while I tried to give Kelly a little bit of background information on the restaurants. Jim joined us and he and Kelly talked for a while about some of the local music talent.
But here’s the best part: Jim told me he had something that used to belong to me and he wanted to know if I recognized it. We walked to another section of the restaurant and I spotted what he was talking about immediately.
The first building raised in Waukomis. The Railroad section chief lived and worked out of it in 1889.
Editor’s Note: This series began on Monday of last week. It most likely will run for five weeks. Please refer to this link for the introductory information and “Entry One” of “My Grandmother’s Memoirs.” Thank you. ~ RDK
“One Spring I was at a widow woman’s house picking up apricots. She was in the tree and hung a bucket on a limb. It broke and the bucket of apricots fell on my head. Did I ever have a big gash! She told me to run home to my mama. By the time I got there my clothes were soaked with blood. I remember all the children of the neighborhood lining up across the screened-in back porch watching Mom clean me up. I had to go to the doctor at Enid for him to dress and care for it every other day.
I had the small pox vaccination at Waukomis by a Dr. Wolfe. I always imagined he looked like a wolf, but he was pretty nice. He gave me a stick of gum and a penny because I didn’t cry.
I had chicken pox in the Spring of 1930; it was near Easter. Our class at school was having an egg hunt, so Papa took me to the principal’s office to see if I was over them enough to go to the event. I was so happy because he said I could go!
One winter we had a big snow. Papa walked ahead of us to school to make tracks so we wouldn’t have as difficult a time getting to school. We were always thrilled when the weather was bad and didn’t have to go home for lunch! Mom would call the grocery store and the owner would prepare a good lunch for us. One of us would go pick it up; he would make pressed ham sandwiches with buns – that was really good!
We children of the neighborhood would gather in the evening by the street light, choose sides and play a game called “Trail.” One side would hide, the other hunt. We would make arrows with chalk marking the direction we were going. Then at the point we decided to hide, we would draw a circle with arrows going all directions making it more difficult to find us.
Another time I remember was my sister Catherine and brother Charles and I went to a Methodist revival. When coming home we had to go past an opera house. We were told a little man lived under it; we were always frightened to go by. We watched the building closely! As we were walking along Catherine slipped on the ice and I fell over her, breaking my collar bone. I was crying so loudly Catherine said, “Be quiet! That little man will hear you!” My parents were at the door to meet us when we got there. It was so painful and difficult to wear a coat that I missed several days of school after that incident.
(Kelly’s perspective) It’s 10:00 a.m.,Tuesday, December 28, 2010. Julie and I are headed south on I-35. Our destination? The Gray Owl Coffee house in the heart of Norman. She and I have spent less than thirty minutes together at this point, yet I’m comfortable and can already tell traveling with her would be just fine. In fact, I’m thinking it might even be better than traveling by myself for this particular journey…and I’m a highly expressed introvert; traveling by myself is one of the greatest rewards I give myself. Julie is sitting in the passenger seat with an ink pen and a half-sized legal pad, trying to write down – in chronological order – all the “Bomgardner sons” our common great-grandmother had. Stumped with some of the missing facts, we call my dad to ask for help filling in the gaps. As he provides the details, I become sobered when he recalls a story that was, until this point, only a brief shred of substance in the back of my head. He tells us that one of the boys had died during a move to a new home. They were either building or taking down a cellar and it caved in on him. For a few minutes my mind begins thinking about the safety cellars in Oklahoma provided from tornadoes and inclement weather, and could – at the same time – be dangerous as exemplified in his story.
We overshoot our exit because I am busy talking to Julie about something. We double back and began to make use of her iPhone GPS device; those things are handier than a pocket on a shirt. We park and walk into the Gray Owl at the exact time for our appointment. As I enter the “best coffee place in Norman,” I begin scanning the room for any sense of recognition. I know Kathy Moore only from her photo on the internet and have no idea when it had been taken.
I find her sitting in the middle table right across from the cash register; I know it’s her because there is enough familiarity with her website to be certain. Julie and I head over to her table, say hello, order our drinks and settle in for what would be a two-hour narrative by Kathy of her life, her farm, her hopes that still exist, and her dreams that have been told “goodbye.” A short version of what we gleaned from this meeting follows:
I’ve known Boe Parrish since he was the Children’s Minister at MetroChurch back in the early 90s. I first saw him providing a chapel service for the Oklahoma Christians Schools (OCS) elementary group. The students were sitting on the floor in an auditorium, and he was standing on the stage sharing an object lesson with them in what I can only describe as a loving and regulated voice. As I leaned against the back wall waiting for chapel to be over so I could take my daughter to the dentist, I asked someone his name. Later, I began teaching at the OCS high school and saw him from time to time on campus. A few years later I recall that he wrote a book. Then I think I saw him on and off at Panera Bread in Edmond for several years, either having breakfast by himself or with a friend – sometimes praying, sometimes studying, sometimes listening. Later he was helpful in facilitating information about a former student who got hit by an SUV while out of state, then again…facilitating information about a dear friend who recently died. Boe has been in the periphery of my life for a good long time now.
As I was preparing this post I kept thinking back to my memories of interactions with Boe. My predominant thought is to recall him looking up, meeting my eyes, and smiling. His smile hasn’t changed and is almost an institution in the City of Edmond. It genuinely warms my spirit each time I meet the glance of his face. Which leads me to the reason I’m sharing his narrative with you today…
Boe has been posting snapped photos of early morning sunrises in Oklahoma on Facebook for quite some time. His folder now has over 40 of them. He’ll post one about every week or so…sometimes a few at a time. I always enjoyed them but never knew the context for which he was gathering these brief moments of outdoor beauty or why he shares them. Now I do. It seems that he’s somewhat of a transportation service provider to a couple of his family members…but I’ll let you read the story in his own words. Then I’ll share with you a few of his “Simply Glorious” (his title for the photo folder in which he stores them) sunrises he’s enjoyed over the past year or so. Okay, I’m sharing nineteen of them. So, for your “Almost Silent Sunday” moment with the RDC, here are Bo’s Sunrise Stories, provided in his words and with his cell phone or camera:
Editor’s Note: Our sports writer and editor, Rob Loeber, is – as you read this – moving from Tennessee back to Oklahoma. In order to manage the move, he’s taking the day off. In his place, Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter, has stepped up and shared his ongoing struggle…or perhaps resolution…about Brett Farve, the Vikings, and – um, – Sheb Wooley. Enjoy~ RDK
***
*Disclaimer: All facts reported in this article may only be facts to me and could have nothing at all to do with actual history.
Wow. I could probably just stop right there since the Vikings season of drama has been so well-documented.
We can always count on the Dallas Cowboys for an annual football soap opera but the Vikings have stolen the mantel of all football drama queens this year. And remember, I’m a Vikings fan! Well, okay…you’ll have to go back and read the first article I wrote on the inner workings of Brett Favre’s mind to understand my team allegiances.
Which reminds me – it’s probably time to explain how an Oklahoma boy became a Vikings fan. Previously I blamed Sheb Wooley; a cowboy actor from the 40’s, 50’s, 60’s, (somewhere along that time period). He also was known to be a singer. And he is in my family tree, according to my Father. So we’re 10th cousins twice removed or something like that. Whatever that means.
A family tree headstone of Sheb Wooley. Notice the different spellings? A common occurrence during that era.
He’s professional without being uncomfortable. He’s nice. He’s creative and has a keen interest in helping reveal the beauty of life within his subjects. In an attempt to reduce a personality and business of positive complexities into a cohesive concept, his website reads:
“There are two things you need to know about me. I enjoy life and I believe in creating images that make you feel something.”
Carl Zoch went into full-time photography business only a few short years ago. He and his wife had to talk about it. And think about it. And part of those discussions were about Carl’s desire to learn more and more about the subject of photography until he had exhausted his capacity to learn. He is still not done. However, his business and business model is beginning to take shape.
He only books 25 weddings per year. He’s become well connected and referred within the photographer community of Oklahoma. He is linked occasionally to other creative ventures or people such as Dusty Gilpin at Tree and Leaf (who, by the way, just designed our RDC T-Shirts).
And, his work is very good. I invite you to spend some time reviewing his website at your leisure. I like the background music he’s chosen for his slides, and I like his open and willing communication style when I e-mail him, asking to publish an image for our “Silent Sunday” features. But I think more than anything today, I like him because he just sent the proofs of my daughter’s engagement photos to her in a slideshow…and because they made me cry.
Face-painted child digs in to a slice of pumpkin pie - image from NewsOk
Dear RDC community:
When I began thinking about a short little shout out for Christmas Eve morning, I didn’t have to work too long before I settled in on the Red Andrews Christmas Dinner (RACD). I think the event needs an entry in Wikipedia if anyone is interested in beginning that task.
I first became aware of the RACD in 1984, while employed at William E. Davis and Sons – a local institutional food distributor named by the founder who deserves his own Friday morning shout out. I first worked the 3-11 shift as a computer operator, but was soon moved to customer service where there was a great amount of logistical action. We helped the coordinator prepare and receive their order for the RACD every year. If you can imagine what it takes to feed, every single Christmas, between 5-10 thousand guests when you have no idea how much money will come in or really how many to expect, or how many volunteers might show up, etc. etc. Well, it’s interesting!
This morning our Silent Sunday post is completely focused on Tulsa. Because quite a few of our contributors live in central Oklahoma, we want to make sure and let Tulsa know they are in our hearts as well. All images have been provided by Vlad Railian, an amateur photographer from the Tulsa area. We’re certainly glad you’re living in Tulsa Town, Vlad…and for showing us some of what your city has to offer. One final note, the LED photos aren’t necessarily “Tulsa,” per se – I just liked them and thought they might be appreciated as Christmas lights with a twist. ~ RDK
My husband and I got our first puppy approximately six months after we were married. It wasn’t until years later that I learned getting a puppy at that particular point in a married life was a typical thing.
Get married, get settled, then…get puppy. “Futz” Roberts (so named by Mick after a tame wolf who used to hang out at a bar in Stillwater) was half Australian Shepherd and half Samoyed. He was the first dog of our hearts, and we loved him dearly. There are stories I could tell. Oh, there are definitely stories. But even now, I’m not ready to write them. I still miss him and he’s been gone for over ten years.
Our second dog was adopted a few months after Futzie died. I named him Bojangles because that week I happened to be in a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band mood. He was billed as “half Husky and Half shepherd” by the shelter, but he looked a little like a golden retriever. Except that he was brown. And, he had a spotted tongue like a Chow. Bojangles was a really sweet soul and he died too young. The urban legend we’ve created in our family is that Bo saved us from a poisonous snake he battled in our back yard at night that might otherwise have hurt us. It’s true that he was a great guard dog. And he would take on whatever animal happened to venture beyond the borders of our fence into his territory. And it’s true that we’ve discovered more than our share of poisonous snakes since we’ve lived here. However, we’re just not sure what really happened to our dog. One day Mick walked out into the back yard and thought Bo had been sleeping a little too long. He had. That was another sad, sad day.
“You should enter some of your peppers in the fair.”
Julie with her bike at the Chickasha county fair
The county fair.
When I was in fifth grade I performed a baton routine at the Grady County Fair in Chickasha,Oklahoma. That same night I won a ten-speed bike that I really wasn’t able to ride comfortably for about five more years. It didn’t matter that my mom bought all of the tickets that she was supposed to sell. I had won. It was a fabulous night.
The memory of that fabulous night was all it took to peak my interest and begin a perpetual thinking cycle this past week. Here’s what happened…
Our local extension agent and his wife were attending a party at my house, and we were touring my garden. He innocently suggested that I participate in the local county fair. My mind started spinning like a Ferris wheel.
I spent eight years of my professional life on staff at the Oklahoma Christian Schools (OCS) High School and administrative offices. A good part of my energy went into building a drama department from scratch, but part of that time was also spent as the lead Freshman sponsor and the Freshman Bible Teacher.
The Bible Department, from an outside view, represented quite a diversity of theological perspectives: I was raised in an independent Christian church context, our Sophomore Bible teacher (David Thomas) was more of the charismatic persuasion having attended ORU for his education, our Junior Bible Teacher (Dan Anthony) was a Church of Christ cowboy, and our Senior Bible Teacher and Department Head (Ted Hough) had his master’s degrees both in Literature and in Divinity. Sometimes it seemed to me that Ted’s perspective was to teach the Word of God with the finesse of only that which a liberal arts major could do. His devotions were pure art.
But today I want to talk about David Thomas, our Sophomore Bible teacher. David went to meet his Maker on the evening of December 4th, 2010 after a decade-long battle with a brain tumor. I loved his spirit and his heart and am dedicating this post to he and his family. I’m going to write only briefly about his personality, his preaching and his prayer. However, I promise you – volumes could be written…along the lines of how John honored Jesus when he said,
25 Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.
One of the things Red Dirt Kelly LOVES is finding talent, photos, literature, or other media with anything in their name related to Oklahoma. Above is the OK Chorale (sometimes performing as a single quartet) from New Zealand. She’s never heard the “12 Days of Christmas” like this, and guesses you may not have either. Enjoy!
About one week before Thanksgiving, I spent some time with Oklahoma City University President Robert H. Henry. The Henry family has deep roots in Oklahoma and his résumé in particular is as long as the Chisolm Trail. That interview will be shared later in the weeks to come, but today we have an appetizer of sorts. I noticed when we were talking that he had a love for gardening and cooking, and wondered out loud what he might “cook up” if he were to go home that evening and find a perfect made (or grown) in Oklahoma meal on his dinner table. Here is his answer but I’m providing it with a caveat – do not read ahead if you are hungry. You might be left with no choice but to leave what you are doing and seek out sustenance:
“If I could have anything I wanted, I would have tomatoes from my garden with smoked salt…Chardonnay Oak smoked salt, on a bed of fresh basil leaves with some sliced avocado and some vermouth or late harvest Riesling wine vinegar, and a little fresh ground pepper. And olive oil…that would be the salad.
If I wanted to have a soup, I would have Ratatouille made from eggplant, zucchini, peppers…and again, some basil and really good olive oil. [And] some grated Parmesan cheese.
For the main course I would have new potatoes, oven roasted with rosemary from the garden…and garlic. Then I would have, probably a brined bone-in chicken breast that was charcoal-grilled. And, for dessert I would have…I would have it be June, so I could have Oklahoma strawberries with either crème glacée, or a real homemade shortcake that looks like a biscuit; warm, with butter, piled high with strawberries and real whipped cream.
That would be it. In a younger day, I would have substituted really great fried chicken…maybe from Juniors, or from my own kitchen cooked in a real frying pan and, and double fried. Once ‘till it’s slightly golden, then cooled and then fried again. Real French frying is frying twice…[and I would add] some pan gravy with that. My age and my lowered metabolism causes me to go with the grilled chicken.”
