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Starting when I was five, Dad would often take me to
work with him, roofing houses. As he trimmed shingles and dropped the scraps to
the ground, I kept them, and the wires and cardboard from the bundles, gathered
up in a pile. He paid me a nickel
an hour. At the end of the week he
would take me to the grocery store so I could spend my earnings. I soon learned
that time and work meant money, and money would buy candy,
etc.
People used iceboxes in east Nevada in the 1940's, not refrigerators. In hot weather, the iceman would bring ice in a horse and wagon. We would see him coming and run down the street to meet him. Then we would climb up into the wagon and help ourselves to the small slivers of ice that had fallen into the straw when he had chipped off a block for someone.
When we were very young, John and
Margaret (Baker) Chadd would often take Skeet, Donnie and me to the farm for a
few days in the summertime.
John would stop at a gas station in Milo and
fill up, then go inside and pay. He would come out with a box of 24 ice cream
bars and tell us to eat all we wanted. Ice cream was expensive and we seldom had
it. He would eat 3 or 4 himself. He often sang Hank Williams songs as he
drove and we all joined in. In those days, John farmed, worked for the railroad,
often hunted wolves all night with a pack of hounds, and played semi-pro
baseball on weekends. I thought he looked like Ernest Tubb.
When I was about 6, we still lived at 1313 East Cherry in Nevada and had an outside toilet. Dad hunted all over the house one day and Mom asked him what he was looking for. He had to go outdoors to the outhouse and couldn't find his cap.......
Most Bakers know or have heard of Jesse Ray's hunting and fishing skills. When he was in his late teens, we were hunting rabbits in a large open field when one jumped up and ran, quite far away. Jess said, "Watch this". He fired 4 shots and put four bullets in the rabbit before it stopped rolling, with a 22 pump rifle. I never saw anyone to match him with a rifle.
Dad was often called on to repair roofs. We went out one day to an old Skelly gas station. It was the kind built during the 1920's with a small building and a very tall, very steep roof. A shingle had blown off near the top on the back side of the building. He pulled the truck up close to the front and tied a rope to the front bumper. He then threw the rope over the building. We went around to the back and he put on his nail apron, shoved his hammer into his belt and put one shingle over his shoulder. Holding onto the rope, he walked up the wall of the building, then the roof, until he reached the right spot. He tied the rope around his waist and replaced the shingle, then worked his way back down the rope.
On a hot summer day, when I was
about four, Dad took me with him to the ice plant. He had friends who worked
there. While he talked to some friends, some others took me on a tour of the
plant. Then they helped me to fill my pockets with ice to take home with
me.............
Times were hard for most of the
families in east Nevada during the 1940's and early 1950's, especially during
the winter months. My uncle, Jess Baker, was the hunter and fisherman of the
family. He was an excellent
marksman with a twenty-two rifle. If he only had five bullets, you could count
on him to bring home five rabbits. As a teenager, he kept most of the Baker
families and much of the neighborhood supplied with wild rabbits for meat. With
a foot of snow on the ground, I often saw him bring home a sled piled high with
rabbits and distribute them around the
neighborhood
My grandfather Baker owned a large
lot, with his house on one end of it. When my dad married, he split the ground
and gave my dad half. They built a house on that property and that's where I was
born. I lived there during much of my childhood. There were only three houses on
the block. Our house was the only house on the block with an address on that
street. The two on the corners faced the cross streets. Naturally,
Dad put 1313 E. Cherry St. on his house. My Dad and Grandad built the house, out
of mostly scrap materials, and dug the well for water, by
hand.
My dad's
youngest brother Jack Allen (Skeet), was only eleven months older than I was, so
we grew up more like brothers than as uncle and nephew. I remember my mother
making "Indian outfits" with fringe, for both of us when we were about six and
seven.
I remember my dad's sisters dancing
the dances of the 1940's in their living room, while their dad told them to "act
like they had some sense".
During the depression, Dad ran coal
trucks in Nevada. They would shovel coal out of railroad cars and into the
trucks, then haul it to a factory or hospital, and dump it, or shovel it out. He
said he paid his drivers nine dollars a week, and after expenses, usually
cleared twelve himself. Since the truck beds were too wide
to see arm signals and turn signals weren’t invented yet, they painted a large
white arrow on the inside of each door. When they wanted to turn they just
kicked open the proper door. If a truck engine blew, they pulled
it out, took it to the Ford dealer, and traded it for a rebuilt one for seven
dollars, exchange. That was a Sunday
job.
Dad was proud of the fact that he
was never on “Relief”, during the depression, as many in the family
were.
Christmas was near, times were hard, and we were
walking around the square on Saturday night, window shopping. I was about six.
We stopped in front of the Western Auto store and I saw a large metal, toy
trailer truck. It was red and white and looked like a real one. The door on the
back of the trailer even opened. This was before plastic toys and it was
expensive. Dad said, "He needs that for Christmas." Mom answered, "You know we
can't afford something like that." He said, "I don't give a d----, I'm going to
buy it anyway." He did, and it was under the tree for me at Christmas. It was my
favorite toy for years.
An old man who lived down the street
drove a horse and wagon. He worked all week, but went to a “beer joint” every
Saturday night and eventually passed out drunk. They would put him in the wagon
and turn the horse loose. The horse would take him home. His wife would get him
into the house, and then put the horse
away.
When I was about thirteen, Dad had a
contract to shovel sand from railroad cars. That meant a crew of about six men
were in the car, shoveling sand over the top onto the dock, until it was empty.
I worked side by side with him (Maybe that's why I have a bad
back).
He had one man who insisted on getting paid every
night. Dad obliged him. When Dad said it was time for a break we took a break.
One night a new man kept on working. Dad repeated, "I said it's time for a
break!" Still shoveling, the big
muscled giant said, "I don't like to stop, my muscles tighten up." Dad said,
"You're fired then, when I stop, everybody
stops."
Mom was a great cook, considering
what she had to work with. She made great “salmon” patties, better than any I’ve
eaten in a restaurant, but she used mackerel with fillers, because it was much
cheaper. Brown (pinto) beans and butter (large lima) beans were the staples,
along with potatoes and homemade bread or rolls. Meat was often rabbit or
squirrel. She made great meat loaf, but told me after I was grown that it
contained more spices and fillers, like cracker crumbs, than hamburger. Meat was
very expensive. She usually had a garden for fresh vegetables.
One time I saw Dad really angry, and there was
nothing he could do. We roofed a house for an old lady. When we were done, she
said, "I'll pay you when it rains." About three weeks later it rained and she
called him the next morning. She told him to come over and pick up his check,
and commended him on doing a good job on the roof.
I remember Dad telling me about my
great uncle Elmer Love buying a mule and cart to use to take the kids for rides. The mule balked and refused to
move. He became angry and built a fire under the mule. The mule moved forward
just far enough to put the fire under the cart. He had to unhitch the mule
quickly and move the cart before it burned
up.
Dad and I were on a four-lane street in downtown
Kansas City, Missouri in a two-ton flatbed truck loaded with roofing shingles,
when I was about eleven. Dad was driving somewhere around the speed limit, but
he was weaving from lane to lane, passing cars. I said, "Aren't you afraid some
one will hit you?" He grinned and said, "They're not gonna' hit this truck.
They're gonna' do everything they can, not to hit this
truck!"
We once poured and finished a new concrete
sidewalk for a man while he was gone. When he came home, he was angry and
refused to pay for it. The sidewalk was level with the street, as required by
city code, instead of sloped as his yard was. Dad tried to explain but he
refused to listen. The next morning we arrived at his house with a jackhammer
and dump truck. Dad told him we were going to jackhammer out the sidewalk and
haul it away. He paid.
During the latter part of World War
Two, Dad was draft exempt for three reasons, he was over the age limit, had too
many kids, and worked in a defense plant. He quit and joined the Navy, serving
in the SeaBees in the Pacific as a twenty-millimeter anti-aircraft gunner on a
merchant ship.
Dad once drove an old pickup for quite some time with no brakes. When he had to stop, he would gear it down, then pull the emergency brake. Later, when work was low and he had time, he fixed it.
Dad had one new vehicle in his life, a 1939 Ford 1 1/2 ton straight truck with a flatbed.
Dad had a Ford station wagon that had a wheel well
for a spare tire under the carpet in the back. I came home from Navy Boot Camp
for two weeks, and he said it wouldn't start. We pulled it around the block and
the engine refused to fire. He went on to work in the pickup. I checked under
the hood and found that the glass bowl on the fuel pump filled with water. I
checked farther and found out why. He had washed out the inside of the wagon
with a garden hose. The wheel well had filled up with water. He had then used a
screwdriver and hammer to punch a hole in the bottom to drain the water
out.....right into the gas
tank.
I went home to visit once and found Dad with
shoulder length white hair, a handlebar mustache, and wearing western clothes.
He was driving a beautiful, black, 1963 Impala, with red wheels and baby moon
hubcaps. I bought him a new Stetson cowboy
hat.
Dad and I were walking around the square when I was a
preteen. We passed a hippie, wearing sandals, beads and a wide, bright colored
headband. Dad said, “Hey, Chief, you lost your feather!” A little farther down,
we passed a young couple, walking hand in hand. He said, “What’s the matter,
boy, is she blind?” He was in rare form that day. I wondered if we would make it
home alive. They just ignored
him.
Another time when we were walking on the square, we
passed a very old man. Dad spoke, but the man looked at him and glared, then
looked away. I asked, “What was that all about?” Dad said, “ When I was a kid, I
had a souped up Model T and I outran him in his new Model A. He’s still mad. Of
course, I used to rub it in once in a
while.”
My younger brother, Donnie, would get angry easily.
When he did, his face and large “Baker ears” would turn red. Dad loved to tease
him, just to see the reaction. One time, when we were in grade school, Donnie
mentioned the holiday, George Washington’s Birthday. Dad: “Me and George
went to different schools together.” Donnie: “George Washington is
dead!” Dad: “I didn’t even know he was sick!” Donnie gave up in
frustration. Dad usually called it “George Birthington’s
Washday”.
Dad understood hotrods, but not
custom cars. When I went into the Navy I left at home a 1940 ford, lowered,
dechromed, teardrop skirts, etc. Later, since I would be in the service for four
years, I wrote and asked him to sell it for me. He did, to a junkyard for
twenty-five dollars. When I complained, he said he figured nobody would want an
old “junker” like that.
Dad was deathly afraid of snakes. I usually had one
that I had caught, for a pet. We went to a job out in the country one day and I
had a garter snake in a tobacco can in my shirt pocket. I checked on it on the
drive home and it was gone. I started looking around and he asked what I was
looking for. I made the mistake of telling him. He pulled to the side of the
road and almost dismantled the car. He even pulled out the seats! I said,
“Snakes won’t hurt you.” To that he replied, “They don’t have to. They’ll make
you hurt yourself!” We never found the
snake.
Thinking that my parents might need
money while I was in the service, I had an allotment sent to them. They received
a small check every month. When I went home, four years later, the money was
waiting for me. They wouldn’t cash the checks, whether they needed the money or
not.
Dad had little artistic talent but
taught me to draw stick figures of people and animals when I was very little.
Seeing that I had some talent, he and Mom encouraged
me. By the time I was ten, I was lettering trucks for people for money. Dad had
an old black 1939 Dodge pickup that he drove for years. When I came home on
leave from Navy Boot Camp, I waited until he was gone to work, and then painted
flames on the front of it. They were red and orange flames, with yellow pin
striping. When he came home, he hit the ceiling. Then he found out that it
attracted attention and his attitude changed. He called it his “Striped Jenny”
(a female mule), and had me paint his company name on the
doors.
From the age of four, I would lie on the living room
floor on Saturday nights and listen to the Grand Old Opry. Dad got me hooked on
his favorite, Jimmie Rodgers, The Singing Brakeman, at an early age. I still
love the old “hillbilly music” from the 1930’s and 1940’s. When Bill
Monroe came to town and set up a tent show, Dad took me to see
him.
One of Dad’s early heroes was Tom Mix. One of his
proudest accomplishments was in being able to roll a cigarette with one hand
(his left), starting with the Bull Durham sack and papers in his shirt pocket.
Of course, Tom Mix would have been using his right hand to hold his horses’
reins. For those who didn’t know, Tom Mix was a movie cowboy star, but he was
also a real cowboy.
On a trip to Coffeyville Kansas,
Granddad Baker told us about living in Coffeyville and being on the street, a
schoolboy, when the Dalton Gang was wiped out. He said he hid behind a
horse-watering trough. When we got there, he described the shootout and pointed
out where different men were shot. We went to look and found plaques confirming
what he had said. I later verified by the Kansas State Census that the family
did live in Coffeyville at the time of the Dalton
raid.
Dad didn’t like it when a house faced northeast, southwest, etc. He thought that all buildings should face north, south, east or west. Otherwise they weren’t “square with the world”.
Dad was quick witted, usually winning a battle of wits, and always winning a friendly battle of insults. He said many interesting things, but it was sometimes difficult to determine if he was joking, philosophizing, or just making a point. He was frank and honest, and really didn’t care what other people’s opinions of him were.
Some Quotes from my
Dad:
"Sure he's tough, you got to be
tough when you're stupid!"
"If you walk down the street and
pass ten people, you can figure that nine of them are first class
S.O.B.'s."
He visited me once when I was in West Virginia.
His comment on the curved West Virginia roads: "I ran my battery down honking my horn
at my own taillight."
"Don't ever live in a one horse
town, unless you own the
horse."
His reply, when offered a job at very low pay: "If
I'm going to starve to death, it will be at home sitting on the front porch, not
out working for some S.O.B."
When a visitor arrived unexpectedly
at mealtime, he would turn toward the kitchen and yell; "We've got company, put
some more water in the
beans!"
Mom: "The motor on my car is making a
noise." Dad: "Turn up the
radio."
“You know the gal, she’s the one
that’s about two and a half axe handles across the
rear.”
“I always figured if you can’t say something
bad about somebody you might as well just keep your mouth
shut.”
“My Mom put a necktie on me once and
I stood there for three days. I thought I was tied
up.”
Commenting on an ugly new shirt a friend was
wearing: I had a shirt like that once when I was a kid, then my Dad got a
job……………..
"If I had the money, I'd open a
restaurant right across the street from that high school and sell nothing but
cornbread and pinto beans. I'd make
a fortune. Anybody would rather
have cornbread and beans than hamburgers and junk like
that."