Can you imagine the times they’ve seen?

1st of 2 part feature by T.L. Huffman

Gallatin residents Helen Graham and Louvina Whitton, both 102 years old, have lived through three centuries — that’s six wars, 17 presidents, one great depression, one trip to the moon, and one new millennium.

Helen Graham was born on the wagon trail between Mercer and Lineville on May 31, 1898.

The federal government had begun to open what is now western Oklahoma for officially sanctioned settlement, and in poured thousands of homesteaders – Helen’s family among them.

We came from Missouri. My folks owned a good farm and half of it was in Iowa and the other half was down here in Missouri. When I was between nine or ten, my folks loaded up the covered wagon and headed out for Indian Territory.

They was giving all that land away in Oklahoma. You’d sign up. You’d go into a courthouse and say I’m gonna stake this out here and draw a picture and they’d put your name down on that and they gave it to you. It was called Indian leases. There was big stories all the time of how soon you’d get rich in the big cotton fields in Oklahoma.

You followed a wagon trail. They were called Indian trails. There was just covered wagon after covered wagon. Not real close, about 25 miles apart.

I came from Indian territory. I grew up with Indians. I didn’t know there was any difference.

All the land was Indian reservations. All the Indians had to do was go set up a tent and build a little fence.

The Indians would go out and shoot a cow and hang it up on a wire fence and cut it open and let its entrails fall down. There were never any flies around. They didn’t know what a fly meant. And they used lots of salt. They’d keep salting that. They had more dried beef than you could ever imagine. All they had to do was take a knife and go out and cut off the dried part and sprinkle a little salt where they took it off and let that dry over.

We had an extra pony that followed along. You couldn’t ride it. It was an Indian pony. Oh, he was the most beautiful pony. All colors. Stripes. Spots. They took it away from a herd of ponies and they had to lead it for a good while until it lost its way. Then it wanted to stay with us after that. It seemed to like us. And when we got ready to leave, Dad said, “No, we can’t take him!” And we all got to crying. Dad let it follow us. It followed the wagon, followed the team. It knew it was pretty special.

Of a night, Dad would put hobbles on the horse’s feet so they couldn’t run away. It worried me awful. I was always afraid they’d get someplace and couldn’t get back and we’d be out in the middle of nowhere.

We always kept somewhere close to a real nice farm. People along the road were good to us. And they was glad to see us. They’d want to know where we was from and everything they could find out about us.

And Dad would go up there and buy grease, milk, and meat, if they had any extra meat on hand. When Dad went up to buy milk for us, they’d say, ‘I don’t suppose you need any butter.’ Everybody had butter they’d want to give you. It was hard for them to get into town with their stuff. Most wouldn’t take any money. Most of them said, “We were just going to throw that away.”

They’d say, “Eat and then come up in the yard and talk.” Us kids would go up to their farm and look around at everything. Everything was new. I didn’t know about anything nice. Didn’t care about anything nice. Didn’t know there was anything nice.

And that would do us until we got to the next stopping place. We always had a bountiful supply of food all the way through.

We had a pretty good supply of stuff in the covered wagon. All kinds of canned stuff.

Mom and Dad would get up first. Dad would dig a big hole and he had a big iron skillet and he’d let that down and while he was doing that my Mom would be making a pan of biscuits and drop them down in there.

Oh, you can’t imagine what they tasted like after you’d been a rockin’ in an old covered wagon forever and ever. Dad would buy butter and we’d eat those hot biscuits.

We were having the best, and if that’s what you think….

I’d get out and cut flowers and fix a vase. We had a trunk on the back of the wagon. I found some beautiful rocks.

Us kids, I expect we walked most of the way. Pit pat pit pat.

Dad had some kind of job with the government and he got to be a mail carrier, too. He had a hack. They called it a carriage. My mother would load up every morning with a big basket of food and he had her carry the mail with all of us kids. The next thing we knew he had a big plantation. Then he managed this great big cotton plantation out there.

After living in Oklahoma for awhile, Helen’s family moved to New Mexico.

New Mexico back then was just being developed and that’s where grandmother lived. We came from Oklahoma on a covered wagon to New Mexico.

Father got a good job as an engineer. He didn’t know anything about it. But he wanted to learn and they had to have someone. He did engineer work for a great big motor company there.

We lived in Tucumcari. It was a little community down at the foot of a great big mountain. Indians and Mexicans lived in part of the town.

We walked about a mile to get to school in town. We took our dinner in a gallon bucket, usually a chicken leg or two. I was about the oldest American that went to that school. They treated me royally.

There was no fruit anyplace around, no fruit trees, no nothing. In New Mexico nothing like that grows. We depended entirely on a big covered wagon that came through with stuff to sell. It would come in the early spring with baskets of apples.

We didn’t have any money much. An apple was 25 cents – and we were poor people! My mother would buy as much as she could and put it in the cupboard. She’d cut one of them up in four pieces. Oh, that was a big deal. We thought we really had something that was wonderful.

If you don’t know any better, the best you have is good….

We had a garden and an old cow for milk and cream. We’d walk into town with the bucket of cream and buy something. That was a big deal. It would take us half a day to look around at all the stuff. The candy was on a shelf under a glass covering. No one could touch it. Just look in and wish. Oh, Lord. We’d run back and forth and look in at the candies. We usually got some candy before we left for home.

In the summertime, people from Missouri that we knew before we left would come and visit us. They wanted to go to that great big mountain and climb up on it and see what was on it. They wanted to see the little town and the school.

Helen’s folks decided it was time to head back to Missouri. The neighbors they had left behind were eager to hear about their travels.

My folks said we’ve got to cut this traveling out. We’ve got to get that kid in school so they left and came back up to Mercer county.

The neighbors just worshiped us. People who had farms and had been established for a while. They’d say, “After you’ve had your supper, come up in the yard and let’s talk.” We were in demand all the time.

Mercer was a railroad town and the passenger trains would go through. If I didn’t get everything done I was supposed to and go see who was on that train – I was in trouble. If I didn’t get down there to see all those people wave, and wonder where they were going.

The railroad depot was right next to a grocery store there. My mother would say, “Now get around and eat and clean up and take off those good clothes and put on something else and go and meet the train with the rest of the kids.”

I had to get to that depot and meet the gang that was going to be there. I was one of them.

When we first came back, I didn’t know any of the kids.

The Indians liked me. They got paid the first of each month. They’d give me loads of money. They’d say, “So what? We’ll get some more next month.’ So I came back with money. We’d go to the depot. All the kids would gather round me. “Is your name Traveler?”

I came back with a whole suitcase full of rings, diamonds, any kind of jewelry. When the Indians got paid at the first of each month they’d spend every dime to make Indian bracelets and beads and all that sort of thing. They’d just give me all that. Didn’t mean anything to me. The kids would gather round and they’d say “Where’d ya get that?” And if the kids at the depot was good to me….

They’d say, “Listen, we’re going to play over here. Come and play with us. Let me wear that string of beads for awhile.”

I’d never see it again. Tickled me to death. Big honor. Boy, they recognized me. I give ‘em everything I had.

Helen went through high school at Mercer. She married Lester “Stub” Graham shortly after he returned from World War One.

My dad and his brother built a house in Mercer and we lived there.

After he got out of the army, my husband worked on the Railroad track digging dirt around the rails. He didn’t like that. He worked there two days and the next day he came in, and said, “Dang this place! We’re not living here. I wasn’t meant to do this kind of stuff. Get your bonnet on and get little Les and the first train that comes along that has a caboose on it we’re getting on it. We’re going someplace else.”

We got off the train at Gallatin and walked and walked. We knew there was a new garage being built called Tates. My husband said, “We just want to talk to somebody.” Mr. Tate said, “The Lord has blessed us. He’s sent this boy here to work. We need good help.”

The Good Lord was just with us. They took him in with open arms. Gave him the best job there was. Started him as a salesman.

We didn’t have any place to stay. Didn’t have any money. It was right after the war. Our little boy was about six.

Mr. Tate, he was a good man. He had a lot of faults but he was good. He said, “Take your wife and that little boy and the second house down, I live there. We’re gonna let you live in one room, if you want to work for me. And then we’ll make some arrangements. We’ll get you a home.”

Frankie Etters mother ran a little eating place. Mr. Tate said, “Give them one good meal a day and the rest of it they can snack along and get along.”

So we did that for a little while. She’d cook one good meal a day. Mrs. Etters worked so hard. There was one great big long table. You’d eat all you wanted every day once a day. Of a night, we’d get a big sack of popcorn for a nickel to snack on.

Dr. Dulan, he’d eat just one meal a day, too. He always ate at the same table. Dr. Dulan and his wife, Rhoada Kay, were always fussing at one another. She was a big shot. They lived up over Daviess. Had rooms up above. A suite of rooms.

One day Stub was working on a car. Somebody told him about some people wanting to sell their house. Mr. Tate got his ears all perked up. “They’re gonna sell! Come on, Stub, you’re gonna buy that place. Anything you want. You’re working for me, I’ll see ya.”

So we moved right in here. I’ve lived in the same house all these years.

Helen worked for over 25 years as a clerk at the Daviess County Courthouse.

Don Swofford came into the garage. He said, “Take that little boy and put him away some place. They want her over at the courthouse. They need somebody that’s a good typist and has a good memory.”

They locked me up in a room in the courthouse for more than half a day. Brought in a lot of things I had to study. They’d come back in and ask me to report on what I’d done. Oh, it was just awful.

I worked at the courthouse for about 25 years. All kinds of marriage licenses and divorces, deeds, mortgages. I worked hard in the courthouse all my life. I retired about 15 years ago.

During the war – I hate to tell you – it was the worse thing I ever did.

We had to call every young man of a certain age to be at the steps of the courthouse at a certain time. We’d take their names and dates, the wives and kids names and dates and everything. We’d keep a record of that. We worked at that until the war started and then we had to pick out the ones we had to send to war.

We’d call them in. Old Doc Smith and a doctor from Pattonsburg we there to check their health and all. Then we’d give them a week to kind of get their things straightened out. And then they had to go to war.

I worked through all of that. You don’t know how sad. I was the secretary. Everything was recorded. And you better not tell some of the things that was said: “So and so is no better than anybody else, let’s take him.”

Every Wednesday the government car would go up front there at the courthouse door. The ones that we had ready, that had already been issued, they got to go to war in a day.

There’d be their wives and their little kids all standing out there waiting. They’d march them down and load them in this car that was going to take them to Kansas City to go on to nowhere.

Single men, married men with two or three little kids. Their mothers, wives, kids, all were crying. “By daddy. We’ll never see you again, will we? Momma said we wouldn’t.”

I’ll never forget Don Swofford. The old hack would drive up and load ‘em in. Don would say, “Heck, we’ll be back in a day or two!” He’d say, “Don’t worry, don’t worry! We’ve got ‘em whipped and we’ll be back and whip you pretty soon!”

They were all out on the street crying. Don was trying to cheer them up.

Those were hard times, sad times.

Louvina Whitton turned 102 on Dec. 10th, 1999

I’m getting awful close to a hundred and three. Almost spitting distance. I don’t want to think about it. When you get up to my age you have to do the best you can.

Clean living, that’s how I’ve lived so long. I don’t smoke and I don’t drink. So I call that clean living. On the farm you learn to live. And how to live.

I was born and raised on a farm. Best place in the world. I was born and raised on a farm around McFall, up around Albany. McFall was my home town. We’d have to go to Albany because McFall was a little town and didn’t have much stuff.

We had horses, cows, sheep, you name it, we had everything on the farm. We was pretty good farmers.

I worked in the field. If they got short of help, Dad would say, “Get your bonnet on, you’re gonna have to help us today.” And I did. If dad needed help and the boys had to do other things.

I went to Lone Rock school. Down across the orchard and there was a school there. I never had to get out and walk in the cold and everything. Some of the kids had to ride horse back for miles. They come from up around Whitten-Switch. They’d bring corn or oats or something and every day at noon they’d go out and water their horses and feed them.

I brought my own dinner to school. Whatever we had at home that we could fix for sandwiches. When you live on a farm you can always figure out a lot of different things to eat. We had good meals.

I had two brothers and one sister. There was Ross and Raymond and Inez and myself. Inez died before she was too awful old. She got sick and died. And Ross and Raymond lived a good long time.

I’m a Presbyterian. Yes, God knows. I’m a dyed in the wool Presbyterian. Always have been. I played the organ in our church. We didn’t have a piano.

There wasn’t anything else in the country. No place else to go. Sunday School and church and that was it. Every Sunday morning, get the kids up, all scrubbed and cleaned and away we went to church. We didn’t have a minister all the time. Part of the time we shared with Albany.

During the early years of their marriage, Louvina and her husband, Gilbert, lived on a farm between McFall and Albany. They moved to Kansas City and lived there during World War Two. When the war ended they bought the Gallatin Locker and ran the business until a few years ago.

Not any better place in the world than to live in the country. Let me tell you, I’ll take the country.

You can’t beat it. I don’t give a durn what they say.

We have four children, two boys and two girls, Marshall, Mitchell (deceased), Helen and Jean. I think I’ve done my share in raising kids. All good kids. Oh, there’d be little things. But that’s just kids. Didn’t amount to nothing.

We had eight milk cows when we lived on the farm. Even the kids had to help milk. They had their little buckets. Just like I had my big bucket. And Mama seen that they used it. We sold milk and cream. That was part of our living.

I expect I had 150-200 chickens. In the springtime, we had fried chicken. We ate ‘em. Had to have something to eat when you’re living on a farm and working hard. Nothing better than chicken. We had other meat. Hog meat. Bacon, ham, stuff like that, but chicken was our favorite. We liked chicken better than we did the hog meat.

Gardened all my life. Wouldn’t know what to do with out it. Set out radishes, onion. Later on tomatoes. Always been a gardener. I freeze quite a bit. Canned. I liked to can. When the weather gets bad in the winter time you’ve got to have stuff canned. You gotta eat.

I did the washing on a board. Before we bought a machine. Didn’t have the money to buy a machine. Cooked on an old wood stove. Bring wood in every night. Didn’t burn oil, burned wood. Bring it every night so we could keep it dry.

Did my own sewing. Never thought about going to town and buying anything. Buy the yarn goods, buy a pattern, cut it out, and make it.

The world’s a little different today. There’s been changes. We often wonder how we ever managed.