Vern’s Stories: My Working Years - Part Two
Well, I am home from Uncle John's in Orange County where I have been working on the farm. It is a beautiful fall day on the desert and it never looked better. I am thinking about what needs to be done around the place and wondering about getting a job at the borax mine. Many men in the desert work there. Later Mama and I will drive over there and talk to Mr. Ross, the master mechanic at the mine. Mama is always trying to help her kids and I think she feels a woman's touch will help get me a job. Mr. Norman Ross explains that you have to be 18 years old to work for the Pacific Coast Borax Company, so I will have to wait while before I can work there.
As I do a few chores around the place, my mind begins to wander and I start to reminisce about our four years on the desert: how we drove into the sleepy little town of Muroc, crossed this huge dry lake and drove up to our little homestead cabin on the desert.
Moving here from Santa Monica, California, the contrasts were enormous, especially for Mother. For us kids, it was exciting, a new adventure. All three of us boys had a 22 rifle and we were hunting rabbits, exploring the desert and having a great time. Rabbit was on the dinner menu quite often.
Think of our dear Mama in Santa Monica. We had a nice 3-bedroom home, bathroom, large kitchen, dining room, large parlor with a fireplace, hardwood floors, electricity, gas, hot and cold running water, laundry room and front and back porch, lawn and sidewalks and paved streets. Here on the desert Mama with five kids and a husband to take care of, had a one-room cabin about 18x20 feet. It was wood-frame construction, clapboard siding on the outside, unfinished on the inside, no plumbing, no electricity, no gas, no running water, (a little pitcher pump in front yard). Us kids were young and having fun in our new environment and probably never gave a thought as to what our dear Mother was going through. Now that I am older, I wonder how she could do it. We ate regularly, were washed and clean, had clean clothes for school and didn't lack for anything as I remember. She had to wash clothes on a wash board for a family of seven; the hours she put in must have been long and hard, but I never remember her complaining about her lot in life. Mama was born in South Dakota of hearty pioneer stock and she inherited that pioneer spirit.
The little town of Muroc was located on the main line of the Santa Fe railroad between Mojave on the west and Barstow on the east. In the town proper lived about 15 families . Out in the desert in all directions from Muroc lived many more families. On the north side of the railroad track, starting on the west end and moving east was the Dave Thomas Garage. Dave's standard treatment if you had a generator that wasn't working on your car, he would take the cover off of the generator and pick up his fire extinguisher and shoot the generator full of carbon tet. It didn't always work but sometimes it did. Next along the track was the section-gang foreman's home. Next was a huge water tank, perhaps holding three or four hundred thousand gaIlons of water for the locomotives that traveled the railroad. Next along the tracks was the section house where the men and their families lived who worked on the section gang. The children of these Mexican families attended Muroc School; they were very nice kids. The water-loading facilities were next along the tracks, where they filled the railroad tank cars with water to ship all along the rail line through the desert. Anderson's General Store and the Anderson's boarding house, where most of the crews stayed who were testing cars and planes on the lake, was next on the north side of the tracks, across the road from the depot. Next to the depot was the pumping plant that housed two large Fairbank Morse diesel engines and two wells and pumps. Farther back from the tracks the Pauleys owned a place that was later sold to the Varys.
The south side of the tracks, starting on the west to the south on the road that went to Lancaster was the Mertz's home. Down this road toward the railroad on the west side of the road was the Muroc School and next to it the teacher's home, part of the school property. A little farther on was a Shell filling station that carried some groceries. From there the road split, crossed the tracks, went down both sides of the tracks and also north to Highway 466, now Highway 58, 5 miles north of Muroc. Traveling east along the tracks on the south side from the Shell station were the houses of the railroad personnel. First the Jones family, next the Williams family and next was a large loading ramp that sloped up high enough that trucks could back up with their loads from near-by mines and dump their loads into railroad gondola cars below. Across from the depot and road to the south was the large Pauley residence. Mr. Pauley was the station master. Mr. Williams was the second trick operator and Mr. Jones was the signal maintenance man.
The Muroc School had one large room and all eight grades were in one room with one teacher. In Muroc the school year was over early in May because of the hot weather. In Santa Monica, as I remember, school was out in late June. I remember that just Daddy and I came to Muroc in the early part of May 1929 as Daddy had a job working for Mr. Britton on the lake. We drove up to the school and I got out, saw a door, opened it and walked in. I said to the teacher, “I’m in the eighth grade and wondered which room I belong in." All the kids started laughing. The teacher smiled and said, "This school only has one room. All eight grades are in this one room." I was red-faced and so embarrassed that I wished I could fall through the floor. Then the teacher added, "This is the last day of school, until next fall."
Well, Daddy worked for Mr. Britton for a short time doing assessment work when word came through that Daddy got the contract to take out all the trees on Ocean Park Blvd. in Santa Monica. So for a short period during the summer we moved back to Santa Monica. By the fall of 1929, all us kids were back in Muroc ready to start to school.
Our first teacher that year was an older lady that apparently was in poor health. She was just filling in, I guess, until another teacher could get there, and get there she did and what a teacher to behold. The older teacher stayed a week or so to break the new teacher into the job. Our new teacher's name was Miss Campbell. My first encounter with Miss Campbell went like this: the older classes were marching up to the piano for our music lesson where we stood in line as the rest marched by. As this boy came by me, there was a big bandana handkerchief sticking out of his back pocket. I reached over and pulled it out of his back pocket and waved it. Something hit me. Miss Campbell grabbed me by the hair and gave me a couple of good smacks with her ruler. Said she, "If you are going to be in my school, you are going to have to behave yourself" We got acquainted real quick.
Miss Gladys Campbell was a beautiful young lady, 24 years old. She had dark curly bobbed hair that was just short of shoulder length. She wore expensive-looking clothes and wore silk hose on her beautifully-shaped legs. She wore mini-skirts that came down to about four inches above her knees, which was stylish in those days. Her face was smooth and beautiful and when she smiled, her fine white teeth shone. With all the glamor and sparkle that exuded from her personality, she was also a very caring person and tried her very best to be a good teacher and to help her young students improve their learning skills. She had her hands full with eight grades but she kept things in order and moving along. When one of the younger boys, Raymond Williams, got out of line in some way, she grabbed him by the hair and gave him a good whack. The next day he came to school with his hair all clipped off to about a half inch long. She would take one class at a time in the back of the room for recitation while the other grades were doing assignments.
She liked to do other fun things with the classes, too. She started a school newspaper. It was called "The Coyotes Howl." We had a marching drill team, all dressed as sailors. Somewhere she found sailor hats for all of us. We performed at Mojave at the school field day when all the desert schools came together for a time of competition and fun. We had parties on special days, like Valentine's Day, Halloween, etc.
Miss Campbell liked to put on plays with the kids, sometimes kids bringing costumes from home for their part in the play. I remember one play (a little anyway). It was about a woman that wanted to go to a town called Marrow on the passenger train. The station agent can't figure out why she is there today when she says "I want to go to Marrow." He is all confused. Then she gets all confused when he tries to explain that the upper berths are lower because they are higher. I can't remember much more about it, but it was a real fun thing and the kids really enjoyed putting it on.
I think Miss Campbell worked real hard to have some fun things beside their serious studies. I liked Miss Campbell a whole lot and I think she kinda liked me. I tried to be helpful, like bringing in coal for the furnace in winter and other things she needed help with.
About six or eight students lived at the borax mines and were transported about 20 miles to Muroc by Mr. Gephart, who was an old-timer on the desert. They rode in his Reo Speedwagon which was like a large pickup with a canopy over the bed of the truck He was so well thought of in the mining community that when they had enough children at the mines to start a school, they named it "Gephart School."
We had three breaks during the school day, a recess mid-morning, an hour lunch break at noon and a recess mid-afternoon. Genevieve remembers that our favorite game at these times was "Dare Base." There are two lines drawn about 30 feet apart and about 30 feet long. There are two teams, each behind a line. You are only safe when you are behind either line. Anyone who leaves either base after you do, if they can tag you, you are their prisoner. The side wins that has the most prisoners when the bell rings to go back to class.
My year at Muroc School was an enjoyable one. I had a teacher I was fond of and I had covered most of the studies the year before in Santa Monica in junior high so I coasted through the year enjoying myself and having fun. The year ended all too soon. Miss Campbell married a gentleman from one of the mines and they moved to Imperial Valley, never to be seen again. Glenn and I would be riding the bus thirty miles to high school in Lancaster when the fall term started in September 1930.
Genevieve, Ralph and Nelliemay will all return to school at Muroc to Miss Campbell's replacement, a mean old biddy named Mrs. Chance. She was mean and ornery and had a big strap. After sending Ralph home on a hot day, to walk five miles across the Rodgers Dry Lake, she was forbidden to ever teach in Kern County again. The next year, 1931, Mrs. Work came to teach at Muroc School. She was an experienced teacher and though not as glamorous as Miss Campbell, Genevieve says she was a very good teacher. It is interesting that when Genevieve and I were both married and had children of our own, Mrs. Work was still teaching at Gephart School in Boron, and taught our children in the seventh grade.
It is winter, January 1930 now and Daddy had finished the tree job on Ocean Park Blvd. Looking to the future, he has bought a big pile of used lumber or more likely had bought a big old building and wrecked it for our future building needs on the desert. He reasoned that it would be too costly to hire a big rig to haul his lumber and load it a piece at a time by hand, so he piled it all on timbers up high enough so a truck could back under the whole load. Then he further reasoned that there were many hay trucks hauling hay out of Antelope Valley that would be going back empty, so they would give him a good price to have a load both ways. And so it came about, we had a big pile of lumber for future building needs.
When Daddy came home from the tree job to stay (for five months he had just been coming home on weekends), he got there in the middle of the night. He had four Holstein heifers and a brown milk cow on his GMC truck. It was so cold the cows all had icicles hanging from their faces where they had slobbered. Well, now that Daddy is home things begin to move-literally. The southeast part of the 160-acre homestead was higher ground, a nice sandy loam soil and level. There was a large shapely Joshua tree there. This is where Daddy will move the house to, with this tree in the front yard. Daddy still has his house-moving equipment from Santa Monica days so the job of moving the house to the new location is done pronto.
Well, the next thing we need is a water well. Money is scarce so why not dig it ourselves. We have one manpower and three boy powers and all the fuel we need is a few beans and potatoes. And so it came to pass, we went to the high ground south and east of the house and started digging. Daddy decided on a round hole. We are not going to timber it up so he felt it was the safer design because there were no long straight unsupported sides to cave off. The diameter of the hole was between four and five feet. We dug down the first six feet or so, we could throw the dirt over the side. After that we needed a windlass, a rope and bucket. Daddy had the answer. He had a pile of poles given to him by the phone company, that he was going to make fence posts out of. He took one of them, cut it about seven feet long, took a 2 x 12 plank out of his lumber pile, cut two of them 4 feet long, cut a circular slot on the top side of each. He grooved the round pole on either end to fit the slots in the 2 x 12's. To this was added a crank made out of pipe on the end of the round pole. With a few braces at the bottom on each side we had our windlass. We added 40 feet of rope and a bucket and we were ready to go on down to water. We took turns digging in the well and running the windlass and dumping the dirt. We were now hitting some harder ground. A pick and mattock are now needed to get through the hard clay strata. Daddy figures this is good; it will make the sides strong. We are making good progress day by day and at 30 feet we hit gravel and some water. We go down another five feet and hit a nice flow of water. Hooray, hallelujah, we have done it! Like Abraham and Jacob of old we have dug deep and have found cool streams of water under the hot desert sand. A windmill, pump, tank and pipe and we soon have running water to the house.
I think it must be time for a little celebration. We used to collect all the bottles we could find and then we would get a Hires dry root beer mix. I forgot the recipe but I remember water and yeast. There may have been some other things, probably sugar. Anyway, we would mix up a big batch and fill all the bottles, cap all the bottles and store them in a dark place. I can't remember for how long, maybe 12-14 days.
Well, we have made the root beer quite sometime ago, so it is ready. We will run over to the Anderson store and get a big block of ice. The ice cream freezer is ready and Old Star, our big Holstein cow gives the best milk so we have lots of cream on hand. So let's celebrate our new water system! Hi-de-ho, we did have fun! Jumping jack rabbits, there isn't any better ice cream than this, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Our next project will be building two bedrooms on the back of the house. Now Daddy’s big load of lumber is going to save us a lot of money and be a lot handier than running into Lancaster every time we need some little thing. We also have all the doors and windows we need. The work went well and we soon had about doubled our living area. We are all fired up now and we are going to go right ahead and build the dining room, kitchen, bathroom and a front and back porch.
Today a crisis has developed. Glenn has a cute little white rat called Homer Lightfoot. Glenn named him after a friend at school that was a good ball player. Homer had the run of the house and also the yard. Now this morning a hen was found dead under the roost in the chicken house. Daddy has examined the hen and decided some small animal has sucked the blood out of the chicken's neck. Homer is the prime suspect as Daddy thinks he must have developed a taste for chicken blood. The next morning there were two dead hens under the roost. Daddy decided Homer had to go; our chickens were too valuable. We depended on them for eggs and meat.
So you probably guessed it, poor little Homer Lightfoot was put to sleep and the chickens kept right on dying. Come to find out, they had the croup and had to be medicated to get over it.
The kitchen and bathroom are now in use and we found the roof was high enough for an upstairs. We put in dormer windows and made another large bedroom.
Fall has come and Vernon and Glenn are riding the bus from Muroc to Lancaster to high school. Ralph, Genevieve and Nelliemay will be returning to Muroc School. During the summer vacation, the girls had been visiting in Orange County where they contracted the seven-year itch. When they got home, they gave it to Ralph also. Daddy who has a home remedy for most problems, hot diggity dog, has one for this one, too. It is sheep dip which is made with creosote. He made up a solution of sheep dip which they applied to the skin for several days and "Viola" the itch is gone, caput, vanished. Ralph has this pretty little girl at school he likes and it is mutual. She likes him and she is always having trouble with her arithmetic, real or imagined? Ralph is good in math so he is always glad to help. They are working away on this math problem when our little lady begins to sniff and looking all around says, "What is it around here that smells like a telephone pole?" To put it mildly Ralph was mortified and probably wished he could drop through the floor.
At high school, Glenn and I are enrolled in the agricultural program. We both have home projects. He is raising White Giant rabbits and I am raising Bard Rock chickens. The homestead has chickens, turkeys, pigeons, rabbits and cattle. I think our vegetables are doing very fine also. We have come a long way since we first came to the desert and l ived down on the "Alkali Flats."
The county sent a nurse to Muroc school during the year to check the children to see if they are all healthy. They said Nelliemay had chronic appendicitis, which would be alright if it didn't flair up. They thought Genevieve needed to put on some weight or she might get T.B. So Mama and Daddy decided to let her go to the Preventorium at Keene, in the Tehachapi Mountains, as they recommended, for a period of time. That was the summer of 1931.
Mama, Glenn, Ralph and I decided to drive to Keene in my 1927 Model T Ford. We drove through Mojave and through Tehachapi and started down the first small grade that leveled off at the bottom, flat for a ways before we came to the really steep grades that were on the edge of the mountain. We stopped on this flat place to fill the radiator. When we went to go, it wouldn't move. We had broken a rear wheel hub. Now a Model T has only one brake on the drive shaft. If anything breaks between there and the rear wheels, you have no brakes at all. So there we sat on the level, no brakes, and the motor couldn't pull us. Of course the first thing we thought of was that if we had been on that steep hill overlooking the canyon and we had no brakes, we might have all been killed. We sent some praise and thanks to Jesus heavenward at that moment. Well, to make a long story short, some nice people came along and took Mama to Keene to see Genevieve and we hitch-hiked to Tehachapi to the Ford garage and got a new hub. When the nice people brought Mama back, we had just finished putting the new hub on and were ready to head home. On the way home we stopped at the post office in Muroc, got our mail, met a few people to talk to and then drove on to the lake. I was thinking life seems a little slower and leisurely around Muroc and the dry lake seems to provide fun and recreation for so many.
The dry lake is our super highway into Muroc for families from the north, the south and the east. You see so many things when you travel the lake. You may see a man hitting a golf ball, then chasing it down in his car. You may see some one in a small plane, sitting there having a snack and resting before flying on to his destination. Sometimes as you crossed the lake, you might see someone in a sail-mobile, sailing along silently or someone pulling a glider around the lake in a car. On the north side of the lake near Muroc, there were from time to time, automobile testing and record-breaking events. Auburn over the years broke records and held about every conceivable stock car record in the books. They once ran a stock Auburn for 24 hours on the 10-mile track and averaged over 100 miles an hour for the whole 24 hours. There were also roadster races and motorcycle races from time to time.
There were things that were fun to do on the lake when conditions were right, sometimes only once in quite a few years. One of these was in a very cold winter it would rain during the day, leaving a thin layer of water an inch or less on the surface of the lake. That night it, say, got down to 10 degrees, the water would be frozen solid down to the lake bed. Being frozen solid, it would easily hold up the weight of an automobile. There were miles of ice in all directions and no obstacles. Just don't try any funny stuff too close to land. The ice of course was slippery so it took a little bit but you could finally get up to fifty or better miles per hour. You would tum the wheel and tap the brakes and you will start a slow roll. All the time you are going forward with very little loss of speed and your car is slowly changing ends. Sometimes we would be able to make two revolutions of the body while the line of travel is straight ahead. What fun with an open car full of hollering, squealing kids.
There were other things that happened on the lake that weren't so much fun, especially at night. People have stepped out of their cars at night when their car was moving and were hurt. In the early days before sealed-beam headlights, cars had very poor head lights. On the lake at night, there was a little spot of light in front of you and nothing to reference by to tell you that you were moving. Daddy said this almost happened to him one night. We had a black dog that loved to run and he would follow the car many times. Daddy was driving on the lake this night. All at once, it didn't seem like they were moving. The motor was humming but the car seemed to be standing still. He was about to get out to see what was wrong. As he took his foot off of the gas and the car slowed down a little, he started to open the car door and here came old Blackie running along side the car, giving it everything he's got to keep up. Daddy closed the door and went on his way, thankful for old Blackie. Maybe he saved his life.
I had a bad night experience on the lake along with Mama, Glenn and Ralph. It was just before Christmas and we had been to Lancaster shopping and were coming home across the lake from the south end. I was driving our old open-air 1923 Buick. The headlights were so dim, I think a couple of candles would have given as much light. The two-wheel brakes were making a mockery of the name brakes. Our entrance off the lake was behind a peninsula that jutted out into the lake. About a mile in front of this peninsula was several little islands. Mama was in the front seat beside me, Glenn and Ralph were in the back seat. Someone said, "Do you know where you are?" I said, "I think so." Just then this island showed up right in front of our gleaming headlights. I hit the brakes, nothing. I swung the wheel hard to the right. We ran up
a little hill and over and slammed into a deep gulley on the other side. The wooden spokes broke out of the left rear wheel and we came to a sudden stop. Ralph flew out of the car. Glenn was holding a big buck rabbit he had just paid five bucks for in town, for his rabbit project. It flew out of his hands and was headed out over the windshield when Mama reached up and grabbed it. Five bucks was a lot of money in those days. We got out and surveyed the damage. Ralph didn't seem to be hurt too bad, bruised some. We helped him back in the car and laid him in the back seat. There were groceries and Christmas presents scattered all over the ground.
We knew where we were, right on course, but should have been between the islands. There was a neighbor who lived about three-fourths of a mile from where we were. Glenn and I walked down to their house and he drove his car out and picked us up and took us all home. Ralph was sore for a few days, but recovered well. We went out the next morning, put another wheel on the Buick and picked up all our things. Glenn had his rabbit and it was no worse for the wear and tear and was able to take care of his duties, so all is well that ends well.
The people in Muroc seemed to be less stressed than their city cousins, what with no apparent crime, no cops, no city ordinances, no traffic lights, and no jangling telephones. If you wanted to let off a little steam you could go out on the lake, drive a hundred miles an hour and blow all the carbon out of the old bus and nobody cared. Some might be getting gas at the Shell station, someone might be picking up their mail at the post office, pass the time of day, or shopping at Anderson's store. Charlie Anderson was a jolly old soul and usually had a story to tell when there was a group lounging around the store. As you filled your car with Union gas at Anderson's, you might see someone walk over to the depot to see a train go by or pick up some freight or send a telegram. If you wanted to communicate with the outside world, the telegram was the way you did it in Muroc. There was a special price for ten words or less so you usually held your message to ten words or less going or corning. If you knew the mind of the person sending the message, you could usually figure it out.
One day when Glenn was over at the Shell station there was a lady there in a Model A Ford that had picked up her kids from school and she had a flat tire and no spare. Glenn was always ready to help anybody in trouble so he volunteered to fix the tire. We kids were used to split-rim wheel and did not have experience with the new drop-center wheel like the Model A had. He got the tube patched and the tire and tube put back on the wheel but he didn't get the bead on the tire all the way out on the rim. Part of the bead was still partly down in the center groove. When the lady took off down the road, she was bouncing up and down like a trick car in a circus show. Well, live and learn. Glenn had his first lesson on drop-center wheels. Now all passenger cars have that type of wheel.
Well, now Daddy has gone down below and had all his teeth pulled out. Seems kind of bad that the dentist told him he would have to wait six months before he can fit him with new false teeth. He says it takes that long for the gums to settle in so he can get a good fit. Wow, it looks like Daddy will be gumming it for awhile.
I have just received word that Emmett Henson needs my help in a round-up and branding and cattle drive. Emmett is the local cattle rancher on our side of the lake. Emmett is a typical desert cowboy, bronzed and leathery. His face looks like a dried prune but beneath his rugged exterior beats a kindly heart. Emmett knows cattle handling and management from years of experience. I have learned a lot about cowboying from Mr. Henson and enjoy working with him. Emmett had a hundred head of white-faced cows (Hereford). He derives his income from selling his calf crop each year as baby beef when they reach about 500-600 pounds. Emmett always saves several of his best heifers for replacement of the older cows that are no longer able to produce. The plan is to round up all the cows with heifers that he is going to save. The calves he sells, he doesn't bother to brand them. Quite a few strays have drifted into our range. We will round them up with their calves. The cowboys from the other ranges will come over to help with the branding. They will brand their own calves. The branding took place at the Trenary ranch where there are cutting corrals and loading chutes. This ranch is the famous Seven Wells Springs of covered wagon days. The trail is still visible from Helendale. The wagons left the Mojave River and headed across the desert, then north to the gold fields in the mother lode. This was a watering stop on their way to Mojave.
Well, to get back to the branding, most of these cowboys use what is called a running iron. It is just a round rod bent on the end into a half circle. It is heated in the fire until it is red hot, then they just run the letters or design on the hog-tied calfs hide. When these calves are untied and they get up, they are standing wide-legged with fire in their eyes. They are 500 pounds of very mad cow flesh. The other cowboys just stood around when a calf was released as did I. Later when a calf was released near me, he got up and there we are, me and the calf, just a foot or so apart, staring at each other eyeball to eyeball. This calf has fire shooting out of his eyes. He is so mad with his new brand, he looks like he is ready to explode. He is breathing hard and I decide it is time to vacate the premises. I take off running, the calf right after me. Five hundred pounds of calf hits me right on my rear end. I hit the dirt end over end and the calf keeps right on going. I get up, dust myself off and the only thing that seems to be damaged is my ego. These cowboys are all going into hysterics. One of the cowboys told me later to never run from a calf when he gets up. He is so mad, he will chase anything that runs from him. If you stand your ground or give him a kick, he will run off.
We have most of the strays rounded up. Later we will drive the cows to Buckhorn Springs, about 16 or 17 miles west of here where the other cowboys will pick them up and take them on home. Meanwhile I am here watching this little herd of cattle with some calves, probably about ten cows, while Emmitt is looking around the range to see if there's any we missed. I think our part of the Mojave desert is the most beautiful part of the whole desert. The greasewood bushes are real green, also the sage brush. There are more Joshua trees and they are bigger than in most places. I am sitting in the saddle watching the cattle graze along. They look so contented. The calves are playing "kick up their heels." A coyote trots though sniffing in several holes, then trots on. A couple o f chipmonks are playing in some bushes. A jackrabbit bounces off across the desert as one of the cows scares him out of a bush. I'm sitting there in the saddle taking it all in. I am thinking: This is the life. It is so peaceful and serene. I would like to have my own head of cattle and be a cowboy the rest of my life.
Well, dreaming is nice but now time is rolling along and it is mid-1933. I am now 18 and it is time to think of a steady job. I will be going up to the Pacific Coast Borax Company to rustle for a job soon. That will be a story in itself, so stay tuned.
My love to all.
VERN
Written by Vernon M. Harris - July 2003 - 88 1⁄2 years old
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