Seasoning of a Life

By Peter Dawson

In this autobiography the author chronicles events in his parents lives in a rural Missouri river town in the 1900s. Their experiences seasoned his character during his childhood in the 60s that is described in the later half of the book.

This memoir was written for the authors children as a way for them to know their heritage. The experiences in the authors life shaped his character and were vastly different from his childrens lives as times changed. The book is dedicated to the authors wife who was instrumental in its completion.

These events and escapades are presented in a light-hearted, story telling format.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469161839

Peter Dawson

Peter Dawson is the pen name of author Jonathan Hurff Glidden, an American author born in Kewanee, Illinois. In his career as a Western author, he has published over a dozen Western novels and over 120 shorter works for the magazine market. His first novel, The Crimson Horseshow, won the 1941 Dodd, Mead Prize for Best Western of the Year.

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Cover Photograph

Image on cover is of an oak tree in a snow-covered meadow in Yosemite National Park, California.

Titled: Lone Oak Tree © 1990 by Peter J. Dawson

Copyright © 2012 by Peter Dawson. 111131-DAWS

Library of Congress Control Number 2012902046

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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1-888-795-4274

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CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PURPOSE

CHAPTER 1     INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 2     DADDY’S FAMILY

CHAPTER 3     THE NAMING OF HAROLD ALOYSIUS

CHAPTER 4     THE GREAT INHERITANCE

CHAPTER 5     MAMA’S FAMILY

CHAPTER 6     A CLOWN NAMED PETE

CHAPTER 7     A MIDNIGHT RIDE

CHAPTER 8     AIRPLANES AND SCHOOL BOYS DO NOT MIX

CHAPTER 9     VISITING A BLUE JAY’S NEST

CHAPTER 10     RABIES, A TOUGH LESSON AT A YOUNG AGE

CHAPTER 11     STOPPING A RABID DOG

CHAPTER 12     TRAINING HORSES

CHAPTER 13     THE ORIGIN OF THE MISSOURI BOOTHEEL

CHAPTER 14     HORSE RACE DOWN MAIN STREET

CHAPTER 15     BOOTLEGGING IN SOUTHEASTERN MISSOURI

CHAPTER 16     THE BOB DAWSON GANG

CHAPTER 17     THE INTRUDER

CHAPTER 18     THE DOG ATTACK—ONE OF LIFE’S LESSONS

CHAPTER 19     UNCLE BABE’S COON DOG

CHAPTER 20     HOUND DOGS IN THE CHICKEN COOP

CHAPTER 21     THE WINTER RABBIT HUNT

CHAPTER 22     MY MAMA CAN OUTSHOOT YOUR MAMA

CHAPTER 23     DAWSON’S GROCERY

CHAPTER 24     DAWSON’S BABY FACTORY

CHAPTER 25     GROWING UP IN THE DAWSON HOUSEHOLD

CHAPTER 26     DAWSON’S GARDEN

CHAPTER 27     THE FLOWER LADY

CHAPTER 28     LIFE GOES TO THE DOGS

CHAPTER 29     THE LOAN

CHAPTER 30     BELIEF IN COUNTRY

CHAPTER 31     HOW MANY NAILS CAN YOU DRIVE IN A STUMP?

CHAPTER 32     JUMPING ON TRAINS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA

CHAPTER 33     RABBIT HUNTING WITH MY DAD AND UNCLES

CHAPTER 34     THE RIDING STABLE

CHAPTER 35     THE NIGHT THE POSSE WAS FORMED

CHAPTER 36     MY FIRST RIFLE AND THE GUNSMITH

CHAPTER 37     THE UNLOCKED DESK

CHAPTER 38     FATHER CRAIG

CHAPTER 39     OUR FIRST AND LAST VACATION

CHAPTER 40     DADDY’S FIRST HEART ATTACK - JUNE 1957

CHAPTER 41     MY FIRST CAMPOUT & THE NIGHTTIME RAID ON OLD MAN KINDER

CHAPTER 42     WHEN A WATERMELON MAKES A MEAL

CHAPTER 43     THE LOCKER ROOM FIGHT

CHAPTER 44     A FRIEND WITH A KNIFE

CHAPTER 45     A FRIEND AT THE MORGUE

CHAPTER 46     STARSKY AND HUTCH

CHAPTER 47     SPEAKEASIES IN NEW MADRID

CHAPTER 48     PETER’S LAWN SERVICE

CHAPTER 49     WORKING FOR A SURVEYOR

CHAPTER 50     WORKING FOR A RICH MAN

CHAPTER 51     THE MONTH OF SILENCE

CHAPTER 52     IMPASSE ON CAREERS

CHAPTER 53     THE DAY DADDY DIED - APRIL 4, 1967

CHAPTER 54     RAYMOND SIDES MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP

CHAPTER 55     PETER’S HIGHWAY DEPARTMENT JOB

CHAPTER 56     WORKING AT NORANDA ALUMINUM

CHAPTER 57     A SLOOP VISITS NEW MADRID

CHAPTER 58     TRAGEDY AT 20

CHAPTER 59     COLLEGE LIFE

CHAPTER 60     EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 61     COACHING BASKETBALL

CHAPTER 62     BELIEFS THAT SHAPE MY BEHAVIOR

CHAPTER 63     THE LOSS OF MY MOTHER – MARCH 31, 2005

CHAPTER 64     MEMORIES FOR THE NEXT GENERATION

CHAPTER 65     THE GOLD RUSH PROJECT

CHAPTER 66     WHERE WERE YOU WHEN?

CHAPTER 67     REFLECTIONS

CHAPTER 68     CAN YOU SPEAK COUNTRY?

APPENDICES

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my wife Terri.

Without her patience, love, continuous support and input, this publication would have never developed into the collection of stories on the following pages.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would not have become a reality without the encouragement and support of my wife Terri. Writing a novel seemed to be self-serving to some degree, which was not my intent. Therefore, this concern of mine became a deterrent. Terri believed it would be good for our children to have some idea of their heritage and her motivation was instrumental in the completion of this manuscript.

My son Matthew’s curiosity about my dad was the genesis for the book, so I owe the idea to him. My hope is that this book will provide my children an understanding of their grandparents and how events I experienced growing up seasoned my life and influenced me.

Matthew’s questions about my dad helped me understand just how different my childhood had been from that of my children. His inquisitiveness also underscored how vastly different were the experiences of my parents compared to my generation much less my children’s generation. Laura and Christian’s anxiousness to read my book provided more motivation for me. Questions from each of my brood brought to mind various stories that are chronicled herein. The input provided by each of my children in editing this manuscript is much appreciated.

Sarah lives in town with Terri and I, so her frequent visits to our home offered many opportunities for her to encourage me to complete the book. Some of the chapters would not have been written had it not been for her suggestions. Her insights showed a level of thoughtfulness beyond her years.

So, this collection of stories was written for my four children, Matthew, Sarah, Christian and Laura, as well as my grandchildren so they will have an understanding of their heritage and what their ancestors’ lives were like. The changes that the future will bring are as unimaginable as these stories of the past will be to my grandchildren.

I owe deep gratitude to two people in particular who edited my book and made it more enjoyable to read. Both Terri and my long-time friend, Bob Dickson, spent many hours editing and providing insights into what the finished product should be. They often made suggestions that seemed glaringly obvious once made, but were not in my field of view of what to include. I am indebted to both of them because my writing is much improved as a result of their time and toils.

PURPOSE

I think it is important for a person to understand their family history because I believe events in your life shape your personality and character in ways you do not realize. So, I will attempt to capture some of my experiences growing up for my children. The idea for this book evolved out of a simple question from a youngster as explained below.

My father died in 1967 when I was a senior in high school, so neither my wife nor my children ever met my dad. When my youngest son, Matthew, was about 10-years old he asked me to describe what his grandfather was like. Matthew posed his question while he and my other son, Christian, and I were building a retaining wall in our yard. We stopped working and I offered a few things about my dad that quickly came to mind. However, that brief conversation seemed woefully inadequate. The significance of his question and those subsequently added by Christian really struck me because they really wanted to know about their grandfather.

I do not know if I can adequately describe a person whom you have never met, whose life was spent almost a century ago (Daddy was born in 1907), and during an era that was vastly different than what my children experienced. The purpose of this book is to provide insights into my dad as well as myself by providing this collection of stories describing experiences that influenced me. I think a person’s life is somewhat like a good pot of soup; there are a few strong influences, but there are many seasonings that blend together to complete the recipe; hence, the graphic placed on the title page. As I get older and reflect on my life, I realize that events that did not seem significant at the time they occurred had more influence on me than I thought. I hope you enjoy these stories and that they give some insight into the things that seasoned my life.

I do not remember many stories from my mother. She was the epitome of nurturing, teaching, and discipline when necessary, while my father was more of the storyteller. Daddy was not one to embellish a tale; honesty was of paramount importance to him; so I accept the accuracy of his stories.

My mother was an English teacher so I need to acknowledge that the writing style I have used is less formal and more like story telling so she will approve of it as she looks down from heaven. It does not follow all of the rules of proper writing, either by intent or due to my forgetfulness on the rules of grammar and writing.

The family crest is shown in Photo 1. I am not sure of its age, but understand that it has been evolving since about 1700 as indicated by the data in Appendix 1. I think the plow and doctor’s symbol were added in the 1800’s based on the professions of some of the family. Some were farmers and my grandfather (George Dawson) and my great-grandfather (Robert Dawson) were doctors. The motto shown under the shield is Virtue is a way of life. I could not confirm the meaning of the cat or the implication of a rat in the mouth of the cat. It may represent hunting.

The data in Appendices 1 and 2 present inconsistent explanations about the origin of the Dawson name, so read each and choose your preference. One explanation of our family name was that it is of Celtic origin and was created when an Englishman named ‘Davidson’ married a ‘D’Ossone’ from Normandy France and combined their names. See Appendix 1. Appendix 2 lists the earliest record of the Dawson surname as 1066 A.D. regarding the Battle of Hastings in England. The Vikings controlled the Normandy region of France after 911, so my ancestors were Vikings and not French; that was a pleasant discovery when writing this book. We have been pruning the family tree for the last 300 years to eradicate any of the residual French influence with much success.

I agree with Mark Twain who said, France has neither winter nor summer nor morals. Apart from these drawbacks, it is a fine country. France has usually been governed by prostitutes. It has also been said, France is a beautiful country; it is a shame to waste it on the French. (Anonymous) Also, Alan Kent said, It is important to remember that the French have always been there when they needed us.

I dislike the French so much that when I have travelled to Europe on business, I have inconvenienced my schedule to avoid stopping in Paris because the airport is famous for delays and incompetence. While in Brussels on business one time, a friend offered to take me to Paris and show me around for the weekend; instead, I chose to stay in my hotel and work. One reason for my strong dislike of the French is because of how they have treated the U.S. after we liberated their country in two wars. They also never stand up to do the right thing in world affairs. In my lifetime they have consistently traded any principles, moral conviction, and leadership a country should demonstrate, for political expediency, weakness, and monetary gains. When French President De Gaulle demanded the U.S. military be removed as soon as possible in the 60’s, U.S. Secretary of State Dean Rusk asked him if that included the ones that were buried in France.

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Photo 1. Dawson Family Crest

(©Peter Dawson)

CHAPTER 1     INTRODUCTION

To put the ‘seasoning’ of my life in perspective I thought it would be useful to begin by painting a brief picture of my background and my dad’s.

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Photo 2. Steamboat on River

(© Wikipedia)

I was born in 1949 in the ‘baby boomer’ generation and grew up in a very small, rural town in Missouri, New Madrid (pronounced mad –rid; not like the city in Spain). It is located immediately adjacent to the Mississippi River and was a town of some prominence in the 1800’s when steamboats were the main mode of transportation.

New Madrid is best known for the earthquakes of 1812, which were the biggest in American history. They were felt as far away as New York City, Boston, and Montreal. Church bells rang in Boston. From December 16, 1811 to March of 1812 there were between 6,000 and 10,000 earthquakes in the Bootheel of Missouri where New Madrid is located. In the known history of the world no other earthquakes have lasted so long or produced so much evidence of damage as the New Madrid earthquake. Three of the earthquakes are on the list of America’s top earthquakes: the first one on December 16, 1811, a magnitude of 8.1 on the Richter scale; the second on January 23, 1812, at 7.8; and the third on February 7, 1812, at 8.8. After the February earthquake, the Mississippi River actually ran backwards for several hours. The force of the land upheaval 15 miles south of New Madrid created Reelfoot Lake and caused the river to flow backwards. (http://www.new-madrid.mo.us/index.aspx?nid=132)

When I was growing up, New Madrid was the largest town in the county with a staggering population of 2,800 and the region was almost totally dependent on agricultural economy. If the farmers had a bad year, everyone had a bad year, so weather forecasts and rainfall amounts were a frequent topic of conversation. The main crops were cotton, corn, and soybeans with a reasonable number of cattle herds in the mix.

I was one of eight children and was number seven in the pecking order. I had one brother, seven years older, and six, yes, count ’em, six sisters — a terrible curse for a boy to be saddled with growing up! A photograph of my siblings is given in Appendix 4. My high school enrollment was a whopping 258 and my senior class was 71. Everybody knew everyone else and if you misbehaved, another mother would tell your mother before you reached home. New Madrid was a town of hard working folks who believed in being self-reliant and a very patriotic community where baseball games and barbeques were the center of summertime entertainment.

Photographs of Main Street from the river levee and a sunset view of the Mississippi River are shown on the next two pages.

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Photo 3. Main Street, New Madrid from Mississippi River Levee

(© Source: Wikipedia.org)

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Photo 4. Scenic View of Mississippi River

(Used by permission © John Gilbert)

A regional map showing where New Madrid is located is given in Map 1 and a street map is given in Map 2. Note that Kings Highway runs north and south through New Madrid. This is one of the oldest roads in Missouri and was originally built by the Spanish in 1789 to run from New Madrid to St. Louis. A brief description of Kings Highway is given in the Appendix 3.

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Map 1. Regional Map of New Madrid, Missouri

(© Peter Dawson)

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Map 2. New Madrid Street Map

(Used by permission © new-madrid.mo.us)

As shown in Map 2, I grew up on Mitchell Ave and my grandfather’s house, where my dad grew up, is on the corner of Davis and Church Streets. My grandfather’s house is shown in the next chapter. Dawson’s Grocery Store described in Chapter 23 was on the east side of Main Street about a block north of Mill Street. The rail tracks discussed in Chapter 32 crossed Mitchell at the south end. The grade school I attended, Immaculate Conception School, is discussed in Chapter 37 and is at the corner of Scott and Church Streets. The Community Building mentioned in Chapter 46 is on the west end of Mill Street near Highway 61. For the youngsters reading this book this will be a lesson in learning how to read a map without the aid of a computer, Garmin, GPS or your cell phone. No batteries or downloading required. North is at the top of any map. If you are successful, your parents will give you a treat. You can choose between Brussels sprouts or cookies.

Daddy was born in 1907 and my grandfather in 1851; both in New Madrid. The significance of these dates is that they span about 100 years between my grandfather’s birth and mine in 1949. The enormous changes in our country and in our social and moral values over this time span had a marked influence on my upbringing and the values instilled in me by my parents. The stories Daddy told me seem a bit surreal when I pass them on to my children. They included stories in the life of an old-time country doctor in a horse-drawn buggy, horse races down Main Street, men racing Model T Fords across the frozen Mississippi River, the Stock Market Crash and Bank Closings in 1929, and the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. However, it is just these events that shaped the views of my mother and father, which in turn influenced me.

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Photo 5. Horse Drawn Buggy

(© istockphotos.com; printed by permission)

It was in cars similar to the one shown in the following photo that two or three men in New Madrid raced across the frozen Mississippi River one winter. I don’t know who won or how much money was bet, but all returned safely.

Daddy also told me about a time when he and some other young men took a Model T apart, snuck into the County Courthouse at night, and reassembled the car on the third floor of the Courthouse. That left quite a surprise for the Courthouse workers when they arrived the next morning.

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Photo 6. Model T Ford

(© Source: Google)

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Photo 7. Frozen Mississippi River

(Source: Unknown)

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Photo 8. Pearl Harbor Attack Headlines, Dec 8, 1941

(© Source: stltoday.com; printed by permission)

CHAPTER 2     DADDY’S FAMILY

To help understand Daddy it is useful to get a glimpse of his home life and what life in a rural town in the early 1900’s was like. Of course, life was simpler, harder, and required more self-reliance than today. For younger readers life did not include an indoor toilet, indoor running water, telephone or electricity in most homes, cars, radios, televisions, talking picture shows, electric or gas stoves, washing machines, clothes dryers, microwaves, breakfast cereals, prepared foods, freezers, gym shoes, showers, paper towels, air conditioning, credit cards, or instant news from across the globe. Yes, people lived and thrived without all of these conveniences; they just made do with what they had. Some people had no education, many people did not finish high school and attending college was rare. At some point my dad’s home added an indoor hand pump with which to draw water. I do not know when that occurred, but it was a major improvement in everyone’s daily lives. My dad’s home had a telephone and electricity when it became available in town, so they were better off than many. (My limited research suggests that electricity became generally available in small towns between 1900 and 1920.)

A recent photograph of my grandfather’s house is shown on the next page. Originally, there was a balcony in the front on the second floor. My grandfather liked to stand on the balcony and watch the sky during stormy weather. There was also a wrought iron fence on top of the concrete wall, but it was removed some years ago. My grandfather built the fence on top of the wall to prevent trash and dead animals from floating onto the property when the Mississippi River would flood, which was a common occurrence in the early 1900’s. The river flooded in 1912, 1917, 1927, 1937, and 1947. Levees were built in the 30’s and that substantially reduced the flooding inside New Madrid. I don’t know how far the original wall went beyond its current length. A photograph of my grandfather’s house during the flood in 1912 is shown in Appendix 23.

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Photo 9. Grandpa Dawson’s House

(©Peter Dawson)

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Photo 10. Dr. George Dawson and Harold Pete Dawson (~ 1915)

(©Peter Dawson)

Daddy was the 13th and youngest child of George William and Mary Dixie Dawson and was born on October 24, 1907 in New Madrid. Two of their sons died in infancy and eleven children grew to adulthood. Surprisingly, Daddy did not seem to have an accurate count of how many children his mother birthed; how many grew to adulthood seemed to be the only thing that really counted. I guess there is some logic to that, but I always found that odd. A photograph of Grandma Dawson and her children as of 1902 is given in Appendix 23.

A list of Daddy’s siblings, their date of birth, when they died and if they were married, is given in Appendix 4. Daddy’s birth and death certificates are given in Appendices 5 and 6.

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Photo 11. My Uncles and Grandfather

From the left: Sonny, Ralph, Pete, Papa, Paul and Happy. Uncle Doyne was not present. (~1919)

(©Peter Dawson)

My dad’s parents died before I was born; Grandpa Dawson died in 1921 and Grandma Dawson in 1946. I vaguely recall being at my grandparent’s home in the late 1950’s after my cousin Bud Dawson’s funeral when friends and relatives came to pay their respects. Aunt Laura, my dad’s sister, was living in the Dawson home at that time. I was only about 8, but remember there were a lot of people and being told to behave and mind my manners. The house was a two-story and I thought the staircase and extra rooms on top were fascinating. There was also a cellar with a narrow set of steps into the dimly lit room, which I thought was intriguing, mysterious, and certainly full of ghosts. A photograph of my grandmother is shown on the next page. An interesting story about Grandma being involved in a train wreck in 1911 is given in Appendix 10.

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Photo 12. Mary Dixie Dawson

(©Peter Dawson)

My grandfather was a medical doctor. In those days such a profession carried more recognition than today and possibly even some degree of fame. In that era many did not pursue a simple high school education because they had to help put food on the table and pay the family bills. To become a doctor was very rare and veterinary doctors were even more uncommon. One did not exist in New Madrid County, so my grandfather doubled as the M.D. and the veterinarian.

My grandfather rode through the countryside to see his patients in his horse-drawn buggy similar to the one in Photo 5. After attending to the family members, he might deliver a calf or check on the recovery of a horse with a lame leg. Below is an excerpt from a book on the history of southeastern Missouri in the late 1880’s describing my grandfather (Goodspeed’s History of Southeast Missouri by Goodspeed Publishing Company, 1888). A photograph of Dr. George Dawson is given in Appendix 23.

A biographical sketch of my great-grandfather, Thomas Dawson, and my great-great grandfather, Dr. Robert Dawson, is given in Appendix 7. Dr. Robert Dawson was instrumental in drafting the first state constitution in the early 1800’s and influencing the boundaries of Missouri as discussed further in Chapter 13. The obituary of my great-great-grandmother, Harriet LaForge, is given in Appendix 19. It is included because she and her husband, Peter LaForge, as well as their children were of prominence in the 1800’s.

George Dawson, M.D., a physician and surgeon of New Madrid, Mo., was born in New Madrid County on March 12, 1852 and is a son of Thomas Dawson. Dr. George Dawson grew to manhood in his native county and secured a good education at the Christian Brothers’ College, St. Louis. He did not, however, complete the course in that institution, but returned home and began studying medicine under Dr. Waters, now deceased, one of the leading physicians of Southeast Missouri. After reading one year, he entered the Louisville Medical College in the fall of 1873 and graduated from that institution in the spring of 1876. After completing the course, he returned to New Madrid and commenced the practice of his profession, which he has continued and now has a large and increasing practice. He is a young man, of good habits and character, and keeps himself well informed in the advanced ideas of his profession by reading carefully the medical journals and literature of the day. Dr. Dawson married in New Madrid, in the spring of 1882, Mary D. Howard, a native of the county and a daughter of Judge Howard. Mrs. Dawson is a member of the Catholic Church. He is a member of the A.O.U.W. (see Appendix 7) and is one of the examining physicians of his lodge. To the Doctor and Mrs. Dawson have been born three: Agate, Thomas, and J. Doyne.

The year of birth for Dr. George Dawson given above, 1852, differs from his death certificate, 1851, in the Appendix 8. Grandma Dawson’s death certificate is given in Appendix 9.

Life has a way of repeating itself. My daughter, Sarah, began her residency in 2011 while I was drafting this book about my grandfather and great-great-grandfather who were both doctors.

Daddy occasionally accompanied my grandfather when he was a youngster. He told me stories about delivering babies, calves, and ponies as well as how to save the life of a horse who had eaten too much wet clover on a spring morning. (Excessive wet clover ferments in the horse’s stomach and will kill the horse if the gas pressure is not relieved. Bet you did not know that!)

My grandfather took my dad along with him to teach him some things about life, how to interact with people and to be more self-reliant. My grandfather was constantly trying to learn more and he treated every day as another opportunity to learn something; he instilled that into my dad at a young age in their travels in his horse-drawn buggy.

Daddy’s family was not wealthy. My grandfather’s services were often paid for with food rather than cash and the amount paid seemed to be at the discretion of the patient. For those who could not pay anything, my grandfather volunteered his services plus he gave them some vegetables or meat to help the family. From the stories I heard, I surmised that my grandfather did not keep close tabs on who paid and who did not. He was a man of strong principle and he trusted people until proven otherwise. Likewise, he had little use for those who were dishonest or who took advantage of the less fortunate. My grandfather’s standards by which to judge people carried through to my dad and to his children.

An often-heard phrase around the house when I was growing up was that ‘a man is only as good as his word’; the unspoken corollary to that was that if your word was not any good, you weren’t any good. That was a strong statement for the times and it carried a lot weight with it. To be called no good quickly raised emotions, challenged a person’s honor (back when honor counted for something) and sometimes led to a fight among men or a long-standing dislike between women. Such a statement was only made after due consideration of the person.

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Photo 13. Mary Carolyn Fields (~1929)

(© Peter Dawson)

All of