Pop And The Clearing

Pop and the Clearing Pop was always in the process of clearing more ground to farm. He would man one end of a long cross-cut saw while one or two of the older boys worked the other. After the tree was toppled, they would come in with axes and shovels and start chopping the roots of the tree so the stump could be removed. Pop would hitch the big pair of horses, Barney and Dick, to a large chain secured to the stump in the best way possible to allow it to be pulled. Pop was working on a 10-acre patch in the spring of 1939 and had pulled most of the stumps from the field. There was one dead tree still standing that had been hit by lightning. Pop decided it was time to bring that tree down. “Gonna bring down that old tree down in the new field today, Flora.” He told his wife. “Shouldn’t you wait until some of the boys are here to help you, Papa?” she asked him. “All I’m gonna do is hook the chain to it and cut a few roots and let old Barney and Dick do the rest of the work.” He explained. “I should be home in time for lunch.” He hitched the big team to his wagon, loaded his tools, and drove to the field. Once there, he took his double-bladed axe from the bed of the wagon. Pop believed in using a sharp axe. He knew that trying to drop this tree with a dull axe would take much longer than being patient and sharpening his axe properly before he started. He worked on the blades of the axe for almost thirty minutes using a stone. As he was sharpening, he eyed the tree to determine where he wanted to place the

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chain to make it easiest for the horses to pull it over. There was a fork in the branches about 8 feet above ground. He determined he could wrap his chain there and connect it to the a long wooden bar that hung between the horses called an “evener.” Pop unhitched the team from the wagon and led them to the edge of Little Hominy Creek “Barney, you and Dick drink up,” Pop said, patting Barney on the rump as the big animals dropped their heads to the flowing water “This is gonna be a pretty hard pull for you two.” When the two had drunk their fill, Pop led them back to the tree. He wrapped the heavy chain around his waist, twisted his wrist around the lead line of Barney’s harness and flipped himself up onto the horse’s back. From there, he threw the chain into the fork in the tree where he wanted to attach it. With the chain placed, he hopped down from Barney’s back and picked up his shovel and began digging around the roots on the back of the tree to expose it so he could chop it in two. “This old fellow’s so dead and dry, it may not pull the way we’re used to.” He continued to cut roots and survey the tree to determine how it was going to fall. It was hard, back-breaking work, but Pop had been doing this kind of work all his life. At 69 years old, he could still out-work most of his five sons. “That should just about do it, fellers,” Pop said to the horses as he put the shovel and axe back into the wagon. This reminds me a little of when I got started farming on the homestead ground in Beaver County ’Course, we didn’t have many trees out in Beaver County.” As a young man, Pop had run in the Cherokee Strip race for land the U.S. government opened to homesteaders in western Oklahoma, a part of the state now known 2

around the country as the “Dust Bowl.” Years of poor farming practices and drought caused terrible erosion in the 1930’s. Hot dry winds blew the powdery soil thousands of feet into the air, making clouds of dust that covered entire communities in thick layers. Harvests were so small during those years that many farmers lost their farms and moved to other parts of the country looking for work. In eastern Oklahoma the effects of the Dust Bowl were not as devastating, as there was usually ample rain to keep vegetation growing Pop made a circle of the chain by attaching two links to a clevis, a piece of cast iron formed in an open circle with holes drilled in the two ends. Pop put a bolt through one hole and ran it through the links of the chain, forming a tight necklace of large metal links around the tree. He finished by putting the bolt through the hole in the other side of the clevis. He tightened the clevis bolt with two wrenches. The other end of the chain was connected to the beam hanging between the two horses. “You boys ready to earn your oats?” Pop called to the pair. He held the two long leather lead lines in his hands to give direction to the horses. “Git up there, Dick; git up, Barney.” With a flip of his wrists, the lead lines formed a wave over the back of the horses, and as they did, Pop snapped the lines smartly on the horse’s rumps. They jumped into the harness and began pulling with all their might to bring down the tree. The chain lifted off the ground and became tight. Loud pops and cracks came from the tree as it began to have force applied to it. Pop worked from one side of the tree to the other, chopping roots to make the pulling easier for the horses. He had just cut through a root on the south side of the tree and had moved to the

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north side, when one of the main roots still holding the tree gave way to the pressure from the horses and the whole trunk spun 90 degrees and caught the axe in Pop’s hands, yanking him to the ground. The horses continued to pull, and the entire tree broke loose and came crashing down. Pop’s right shoulder was pinned under the tree, crushing the bones. “Whoa, Barney. Whoa, Dick,” he called to the horses through gritted teeth. The well-trained pair stopped pulling and stood in place swishing flies with their tails awaiting further instruction from their master. “Help! Help!” he screamed to the clear blue sky hopeful someone would hear him. As the pain became intense, Pop realized his situation was perilous. With all the strength he could muster, he began to dig out the dirt under his trapped arm with his left hand. He dug for about several minutes and determined he could pull free. He managed to get his knees up to brace them against the trunk of the tree and pushed with all his might. The pain that shot through his arm right arm and shoulder was unbearable and Pop passed out. He came to a few minutes later, relieved that he had freed himself from the tree. The skin of his arm and shoulder was split and bleeding on his shirt. “Boys, I’m gonna need a little help with all this,” he called to the team of horses standing patiently nearby. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the team. With his left hand, he removed the chain from the beam. Taking the lead lines in his left hand, he shouted instructions to the pair. “Git up, boys,” he ordered and smacked the lines on their rumps. Pop trained his horses to respond to verbal commands in addition to using the lead lines. “Gee” meant

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turn right, while “haw” meant turn left. He needed to get the horses hitched to the wagon to get back to the house as quickly as possible. With his damaged right arm dangling, Pop managed to direct the team to a spot in front of the wagon. “Back up there, Dick; back up, Barney,” he commanded while tugging on the lead lines with his left hand. They slowly backed into position on either side of the tongue of the wagon. Pop managed to hitch the wagon using just his left hand. He wrapped the lead lines around the buckboard seat so they would not fall as he staggered to the back of the wagon and lifted out the tailgate. He then lay down on the bed of the wagon and began to pull himself in. Once in the bed, he turned and rolled his legs up beneath him so he could get to his knees. He walked on his knees to the front of the wagon where he took the reins in his hand. He stayed behind the buckboard seat on his knees for stability as the wagon rambled along back toward the house. He realized when he reached the lane to the house that the iron gate Fred had constructed was closed and latched. He got out of the wagon, walked to the gate, and opened it, then walked the rest of the way up the hill to the house. Through agonizing pain, he managed to get to the house and alert Flora. “Mama, I think you need to send for Doc Rumsey,” he said as calmly as possible. “Hugh! What has happened? How badly are you hurt?” the little woman asked as soon as she saw him standing there, blood seeping through his shirt. “Elsie, run in and get Doc Rumsey! Tell him it’s real serious. He’ll give you a ride back, so run as fast as you can,” Flora barked to her youngest daughter, who was the only one of her children home with her that afternoon.

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“Yes, ma’am,” Elsie said, running out the door. The run to town was two miles if she followed the road, but she could cut through the pastures and fields and cut the distance to one mile. Elsie was quick and strong and in good condition like most of her siblings. She ran on bare feet as most children did at that time. The soles of her feet were heavily callused, protecting her from the many small pebbles and sand burrs she stepped on along the way. She also hopped the many jerk lines in the fields that operated oil pump jacks. (The jerk lines were steel rods connected to the central power unit for a field of wells. They moved back and forth to make the pump jacks go up and down to bring the black liquid to the surface where it would be collected by pipes that drained into collecting tanks.) Elsie ran as fast as she could. She had seen the blood on Pop’s shirt too, and she wanted to make sure Doc Rumsey got there to get Pop fixed. Doc Rumsey was the town physician in Sperry. A licensed doctor was needed only in extreme situations, but Doc Rumsey had delivered almost everyone who was born in the area.. Most households had a family member who did the bulk of the “doctoring” for the family. Flora was the Hardies’ family doctor. She made sure everyone stayed healthy by using well-known home remedies for various ailments. She regularly lined up everyone in the home for doses of cod liver oil to keep their digestive tracts operating properly. Throughout her life, Flora had seen many people die with digestive problems. Diarrhea claimed the lives of many babies when she lived in western Oklahoma. She firmly believed constipation was the cause of most “emotional problems” especially in children.

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“Have you done your business in the outhouse yet today?” was her typical query of a child acting a bit grumpy or cross. If the answer was “no,” a good dose of cod liver oil, castor oil, or mineral oil was usually administered. The laxative effect of these three were well known at that time and they were used frequently. ”Doctor” Flora knew when she saw Hugh that his injuries were beyond her abilities to treat cuts, scrapes, and common illnesses. “There now, Papa,” she said soothingly as she pulled his nightshirt over his head. She helped him put his left arm in the garment and let it hang over the damaged right shoulder and arm. Each movement brought a little wince of pain as she turned him and got him into bed. Most of Pop’s hair had fallen out by the time he was twenty-five years old, leaving him with a bald head that got cold in the winter. His five sons would all have the same happen to them, though Fred was the last to actually lose most of his hair. “Getting together with you boys (his brothers) is like going to a cue ball convention,” he teased at family gatherings when they were grown. Now, Pop was already starting to chill from the effects of shock by the time Flora got him to bed. He had a cap he wore at night, and Flora placed that on his bald head. It helped some, but he still shivered. “DOC RUMSEY! DOC RUMSEY! Come quick. Papa’s been hurt real bad and Mama sent me to get you!” Elsie shouted, rushing into the doctor’s office. The large waiting room and two small examination rooms took up the first floor of his house; he and his wife lived upstairs. There were a few people waiting to see the doctor, but when Elsie burst in, he called out from an examining room where he was checking a patient’s

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ears. “Who are you and how bad is it?” “I’m Elsie Hardie, and there’s blood all over his shirt, Doc. I don’t know what happened, but if Mama said for you to come right now, it must be bad. I’m supposed to get a ride back with you.” The doctor came from the examining room leading a woman. He was scribbling a prescription on a pad as he walked. “Here you are. Mrs. Page. These powders should help with your headaches. Let me know if this doesn’t take care of the problem.” He removed his white lab coat and reached for his leather jacket that hung in a closet by the door. “Come on, Elsie. Let’s go check on your father. Folks, I’m sorry, but I’ve got an emergency to tend to,” he told the patients remaining in his waiting room. They rushed to his big black Buick to ride back to the hill. Flora was watching for them from the window and ran out to meet them when they pulled into the lane. “Doc, hurry! I think he’s hurt real bad! There was some blood on his shirt, but when I got that off, his whole shoulder was black. It’s bleeding inside,” the tiny woman explained as fast as she could. “OK, Mrs. Hardie. Let’s go have a look,” the doctor replied. “Do you know what happened?” “As I was getting him into bed, he muttered something about a tree falling on him. He was going this morning to pull down a tree in the field he is clearing down by the river. His left hand is covered with dirt and the nails have it caked under them.”

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“All right, Mrs. Hardie. Give me a few minutes alone with Mr. Hardie to examine him. I’ll be right out.” Flora left the room and waited anxiously just outside the door. Her eyes brimmed with tears, as she feared for her mate of over forty years. “Mr. Hardie, can you tell me what happened?” Doc Rumsey asked the injured man. “Tree … fell … trapped me … shoulder crushed.” Pop tried to relate the incident for the doctor through gritted teeth. He cried out in pain when the doctor lifted his arm to determine the extent of the damage. Flora burst into the room at the sound. “What did you do?” she screamed at the doctor. “Mrs. Hardie, there’s a lot of damage here. I can’t determine what to do without looking at it carefully and that’s going to cause some pain. Now, would you please give me a few minutes? I’ll come get you when I know something definite.” A few minutes later, Doc Rumsey came from the room with a somber look on his face. “Mrs. Hardie, it appears his right shoulder has been crushed and there is severe damage to the bones and tissue in that area. My recommendation is to take him to the hospital in Tulsa. We’ll be better able to evaluate him and start treatment there.” That afternoon Cotton, Fred, Hughie, Elsie, and Flora loaded Pop into Cotton’s car. Cotton, Fred, and Flora took him to St John’s Hospital in Tulsa. Hughie and Elsie stayed home because Hughie would need to do the afternoon milking and Elsie would give him a hand with the rest of the chores. Several doctors were prepared to work on

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him. Shortly after he was admitted, one of the doctors came to the waiting room to talk to Flora and the boys about his findings. “Damage to the shoulder and arm are so extensive he will never regain use of them,” he told Hugh’s family. “The concern we have now is infection. We really need to remove the shoulder and arm to try to stop the spread of gangrene to his heart. If that happens, I don’t think there is any way we can save him.” “Oh … Papa,” Flora moaned. “What are we going to do?” “Mrs. Hardie ,we need to remove the shoulder and arm right away to have any chance of saving his life,” the doctor urged. “Do you want us to proceed?” “Mom, I think we’re going to have to tell them to go ahead,” Cotton said soberly. She nodded at Cotton and turned to Fred. “What do you think, son?” “It sounds like the decision has been made. We have to do everything possible to save Pop’s life,” Fred said. Flora nodded again, the tears finally brimming over and running down her cheeks. Cotton put his arm around his mother, and she burst into sobs and clutched his neck. “Why did he have to go pull that tree today?” she wailed. “Why didn’t I keep him around the house?” “You couldn’t have stopped him, Mom,” Fred told her quietly. “He was going to take that old dead tree down sometime anyway.” She turned to the doctor. “Doctor, do what you need to do to keep my husband alive. We don’t have much money, but we’ll find a way to pay the bills.”

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“Mrs. Hardie, the important thing to do is concentrate on getting your husband through the next few days. We can worry about bills later. I’ll go schedule the surgery now.” A few hours later, the doctor came to the waiting room and spoke with the family. “This is going to be real ‘touch and go’ for the next few hours and days,” he said. “We need to see how he recovers from the surgery to determine if we have all the infected tissue. I think you should plan for him to be here at least two weeks.” “Mom, why don’t you let me take you home so you can get some rest?” Cotton asked his mother. “I have to stay here with Papa,” she said to the boys. A cot was brought to Pop’s room for Flora, And Fred decided to stay with the two of them. Cotton went home with plans to bring Hughie and Elsie to the hospital first thing in the morning after chores were finished. Pop rallied some the next day and the doctor expressed guarded optimism when Fred or Flora asked how he was doing. “He’s not out of danger yet, but he is showing signs of improvement. We won’t really know anything about infection for a couple of days,” the doctor explained. “What can you do about the infection?” Fred asked. “We have sulfa drugs that have proved to be helpful, but we really don’t have anything that completely eliminates it,” the doctor explained. (Penicillin was still five years from being patented.) “If the infection comes, what do we do?” Fred asked quietly so Flora would not

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hear. “I’m afraid my suggestion would be to take him home and make him as comfortable as possible. We do have morphine, which can suppress his pain, but it will make him delirious. That would still be better than the excruciating pain he would feel without it.” “So if the shoulder gets infected, he is going to die?” Fred asked in a choking whisper. “Young man, the hardest part of being a doctor is having to tell folks someone in their family may not live,” the doctor told Fred quietly. “But, as a professional, I have to be honest with you. I would be very surprised if your father comes out of this. The damage to his arm and shoulder was extensive and we just don’t have any good way of combating gangrene.” Fred’s eyes began to water, and his nose began to run. He was a grown man capable of providing for himself and his mother on their farm, but the possibility of losing Pop was overwhelming. “We’ll know a lot more in the morning. Don’t give up just yet. I have seen some amazing things happen around here. I would suggest you do a little praying,” the doctor said as he left the room. The next morning Fred and Flora were awakened by the sound of Pop moaning. He was drenched in sweat and appeared to be burning up with fever. Fred rushed to get the nurse. “I need to get the doctor in here,” she said when she saw Pop.

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Fred noticed a look of concern on her face as she hurried from the room. Soon she returned leading the doctor. “It seems his fever has come up over night,” she was telling the physician as they entered the room. “Would you folks mind stepping out for a minute while I examine Mr. Hardie’s shoulder? Nurse ,would you clean that wound and change the bandage, please?” he instructed the young woman.

When the doctor and nurse emerged from Pop’s room, Flora asked, “When will he be ready to go home?” “Mrs. Hardie, the fever your husband developed overnight was the thing I was most concerned about. It means the shoulder is infected and gangrene has set in. I don’t think Mr. Hardie is going to survive this accident.” “No!” Flora wailed and rushed into the room. “There has to be something you can do!” In one of the last moments of clarity Hugh Hardie would ever have, his eyes focused on his wife. “It’s OK, Mama. I reckon that old tree has got the better of me. Don’t worry, Flora, you’ve got a good place to live and the boys to look after you. Take me home to my own bed.” “Papa, surely these doctors can do something to help. Let’s don’t give up yet,” Flora pleaded with Hugh.

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“Sweetheart, take me home,” Pop begged. “Mom, I’ve been talking to the doctor out in the hall,” Fred said as he entered the room. “He says the infection is too strong to stop and there is really nothing else they can do, except dope Pop up on morphine to keep him from feeling the pain. If they do that, Pop won’t know any of us. He won’t even know where he is. They have some pills that will help with the pain. Mom, I think it’s best for us to take Pop home and try to spend as much time together as a family as we can the next few days. “Cotton should be here soon, and we can get the nurses to help us get Pop in the car to take him home,” Fred continued. Cotton and the others arrived later that morning and were stunned at Pop’s condition. “What are they going to do for Papa?” Elsie asked. “There’s not much they can do,” Fred told his younger sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hughie asked Fred, stunned. “It means the shoulder was too damaged and the surgery didn’t work well enough for him to mend,” Fred explained to his brothers and sisters. “The doctor told us to take Papa home, so that’s what we’re gonna do,” she said with determination. I’ve been doctorin’ sick kids, cows, pigs, and chickens for forty years. I reckon now it’s time for me to see what I can do for a stubborn old mule.” She turned to Cotton. “Bring your car around and we’ll meet you at the front door.” “Yes, Mom,” Cotton said rushing out of the room toward the parking lot.

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The hospital staff helped Flora, Fred, and Hughie get Pop into a wheelchair. The nurse gave Flora a bottle of pills to help with his pain. They then wheeled him out to Cotton’s car and gently lifted him into the back seat. Flora climbed in from the other side of the car and put Pop’s head in her lap. The remaining four squeezed into the front seat. Hughie had grown enough in the past years that he was not forced to sit on Fred’s lap. Elsie was now the smallest of the group, and she sat on Hughie during the long quiet ride back to Sperry. Every time Cotton hit a bump in the road, Pop let out a moan of pain. “There, there, Papa, we’ll have you home in a few minutes where I can take care of you,” Flora told him lovingly, gently stroking his bald head. “Mom, what are you going to do to make Pop better?” Hughie asked naively. “My grandmother taught me how to make a poultice that draws the fever out of a wound,” Flora told her children. “I may need you kids to gather some ingredients for me when we get home.” At home, they were greeted by several of the older children who lived in the area and had heard of the accident. Though they didn’t know Pop was coming home that day, they had come to offer support to their mother while he was “laid up.” June and Jim Howard were there along with Iva and Ben Brown and Dolly and Pete Godfrey. Ralph married a young woman from Sperry named Beulah. They lived in Turley, Oklahoma, a few miles north of Sperry. They were there with their two children when Cotton’s car drove up the lane. Flora climbed out of the back seat of the car on the driver’s side while the young men gathered on the passenger side to lift Pop out and carry him to the house. June had instructed Jim and Pete to move the bed from the bedroom to the living

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room so Pop could see out the window while he was mending. Pop was laid on the bed, and Flora started moving around her kitchen preparing a medicine she hoped would “pull” the infection out of the area where his shoulder and arm had been. “Elsie, go get some of that lamb’s-quarter that’s growing on the back side of the horse barn, and Hughie, bring me some of the big sour dock leaves growing by the well. Iva, get a pot of water on to boil. We’re going to need to doctor and redress that wound as soon as possible.” As the younger children scurried off to gather ingredients for Flora’s medicine, the older boys brought chairs and sat around Pop’s bed. Pop was conscious but not lucid enough to join the conversation. They could tell he was hearing and understanding them even though he was in terrible pain. “Cotton, how many more days before we plant the corn in the bottoms?” Fred asked. “I reckon we better wait for one more flood, don’t you think? Sure would hate to get everything planted and have to go back and do it again,” Cotton replied. They could tell by the slight grin on Pop’s face that he agreed with Cotton’s suggestion. Nothing bothered him more than to have a crop washed away because he got in a hurry to get it in the ground. The boys sat around Pop’s bed for several hours talking about all kinds of subjects. Though Pop never said a word they could tell he was listening and enjoying the conversation. His eyes twinkled with pride as he looked at each one of the five young Hardie men he had sired and helped raise?. He and Hughie had talked a few times about the

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youngest son going to college when he finished high school. Hughie was a good student and would do well. Pop’s eyes watered when he realized that dream was dashed. Hughie would now be responsible for the farm and looking after his mother. He was fourteen and quickly becoming the kind of young man Pop had hoped he would be. “You boys scat on out of here,” Flora ordered the young men. “I’ve got some doctorin’ to do.” The boys left the room and Flora began to remove the bandages covering the incision the doctors stitched up when they removed the arm and shoulder. She almost fainted at the gruesome sight and realized the horrid smell of his flesh meant she was probably wasting her time. But she would not give up on the man she had loved most of her life. She carefully cleaned the wound with warm water. She would have liked to use alcohol, but knew the pain it would cause would be unbearable. When she finished cleaning the damaged area, she applied her “poultice,” a green paste-like substance made from boiling plants that were known to have medicinal power. A little flour was added to the mix at the end to give it the proper consistency. Pop winced when she dabbed the thick salve on his stitches but was unable to say anything. “There,” Flora said as she finished applying the medicine. “Let’s see if we can get the infection out of that shoulder.” Flora was being optimistic and knew the chances of her home remedy doing much good were slim, but she felt compelled to try. Before leaving the room she got down on her knees and prayed that her husband be healed.

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“Lord God, “We’re just simple farm folk, but we’ve tried to live the way you told us to by treating others as we would like to be treated. This man and I have been together forty years, and you have blessed us with many fine children and plenty of food to eat and shelter and clothing. We don’t need much to get by. But we do need each other. “Lord, I pray today that you will heal my husband so we may spend our final years together and see our grandchildren grow up. As in all things, God, I know your will is for the best. “In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.” “How long will it take your poultice to work?” Hughie asked his mother as she came into the kitchen where many of her children were gathered. “I don’t know, son. If his fever gets bad again, I don’t know that I can do anything,” she said to Hughie grimly. Pop’s fever did return later that day, and he writhed in pain on the bed. Iva ground the pain pills into powder and mixed them with milk. They were able to get him to take some of the medicine, but it had little effect. They summoned Doc Rumsey to the house. When he arrived, he spent a few minutes examining the wound and taking Pop’s temperature. “He has a fever of 102,” the doctor said walking into the kitchen with the family. “I’m sorry, folks, but I’ll be surprised if he makes it through the night.” “Oh, no!” Dolly, June, and Elsie said in unison. Dolly added, “There must be something more we can do.”

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“Cotton, I want you to go to the telegraph office and send telegrams to Auntie Levi and Clarence telling them Papa is gravely wounded and may not make it. Tell them to make preparations to come for a funeral,” Flora told her son. “Aw, Mom, don’t talk like that!” Cotton protested. “Listen, all of you, your father and I have spent forty years together and one thing we have learned about life is that death is always nearby. We lost two babies when we lived in Beaver County, and your father was an orphan when he was twelve years old. I don’t like it, but it’s not my decision. Papa is in God’s hands now.” A few hours later, God made His decision and took Pop. He was buried in the Sperry cemetery located on a hill within sight of the Hardie home. At the funeral Clarence, their second son, noted that from his grave, Pop could see what was happening on their hill and would enjoy watching the grandbabies grow up and play there.

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