My Story by Hazel Gay (Veasey/Veazey) Casey

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NOTE: Hazel Veasey Casey wrote this, her short biography, about 1945 - 1965. It was distributed among family members decades ago and is much loved for its simple tale of small town life and love in early twentieth century East Texas.
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I was born July 8, 1914, in Mount Vernon, Franklin County, Texas. The first of five children born to Jessie Eugene Veasey and Nellie Temperance Scott Veasey.

My father was a tall, handsome man with a nice smile, a friendly manner and a wonderful sense of humor. He could see the funny or amusing side of any situation. He really believed that every cloud had a silver lining.

My mother was a beautiful, stately woman, with a lovely smile and a beautiful head of dark hair that had never been cut. She wore no makeup, nor needed any. She died at the age of twenty-six years, when I was ten years old.

Jessie Eugene and Nellie Temperance (Scott) Veazey circa 1914

My earliest memories are of my mother being afraid at night. If my father was after dark getting home from having a bale of cotton ginned or anything he might have had to go to town for, Mother would take us and a quilt and go down the road to a nice level place (she felt safer out in the open) and we would all sit on the quilt and look at the sky or try to count the stars until we would hear a wagon with the unmistakable sound of horses hooves pounding on the road. We all sat up and knew the thrill of the day; Papa was home!

As soon as he got near enough, we could hear him whistling and all was well again. We would ride on back home with him. Then after he had unhitched and put the horses in the barn for the night, we went in the house for him to eat while we all sat around the table and watched. He would tell us everything he and done that day and if he had eaten, he would tell us what he'd had. My mother enjoyed it just as much or more than we did, but we had a special treat; he would always bring us a sack of candy, usually peppermint sticks. So even the waiting was a happy time.

My mother told me many times how, when, I was born my father was so proud of me. He would take me everywhere just to show me off. She said I had very white skin, big blue eyes, and curls all over my head. His sister had a son my age who was very dark. My father would lay me beside him and laughing, ask my aunt which she thought was prettier! My aunt still tells me about this. It was a family joke.

My mother was so young and loved my father so much. She would not think of doing anything he had said not to do. But one time, I remember, Papa had told all of us that we must not eat any watermelons. It was late in the season and they were sunburned and he was afraid they would make us sick. He had hauled a big load up close to the house for the hogs. We wanted to eat them so much but didn't until one evening when he was gone. We were all sitting outside talking with mother. Suddenly she said, "Children, let's just eat all the watermelons we want, then vomit them up! They can't hurt us then!" So we ate and ate. Then she and my oldest brother, Coy, just bent over and out came the melons, but my younger brother J.E. and I had an awful time. It wasn't at all easy for us. Before it was over I am sure we had decided it hadn't been worth it.

Another of my earliest memories is of going to church. We never missed going Saturday night, Sunday, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. My mother played the organ and it was as much a part of our lives as was eating and sleeping. One summer there was a revival, and of course, we never missed a night. We would have to go to bed soon after lunch and sleep for a time so no one would get sleepy before church was over. Then we would get up and dress for church. One evening as my mother dressed all of us, we couldn't find one of my shoes, we hunted and hunted every place. My father looked around the house and in the yard, but on shoe. Of course, I had only one pair. I was about nine years old and could not go barefoot, so my mother gave up finding the shoe, but said, "Well, if the devil thinks this will keep us from church, he's mistaken." So she got an extra sock and said to me, " Honey, if you had a sore foot, you'd have to wear this on it, so we will just pretend you have a sore foot." And I did, throughout the revival-two or three weeks. After a time, we found the shoe out in the orchard where, we supposed, our puppy had taken it.

In writing about my mother, so many things come to my mind, although she died while I was still very young. We moved to a place we all thought we would hate to live and she was so disappointed and upset about it, but as we were moving and before we got there, she said to us children, "Now, we are going and there is no more to be said and I don't want anyone of you to tell anybody that you don't like it. When they ask, just say, "we like it alright."

I had a very dear friend when I was about nine years old. Her name was Addie Davis. She lived real close and we were together all the time. One day she and I slipped into her sister's room and used her powder and rouge. We were in trouble as soon as her sister saw us and our mothers were told. They really got on to us about it. Later my father was told but instead of the scolding I was expecting, he said to me, "Honey, did you want powder and rouge enough to use some that belonged to someone else?" I told him, yes. It was near Christmas and we had a Christmas tree at church. When my gift was handed to me I opened it and was very surprised to find a box of face powder and rouge. Well, this just floored my mother and my aunt! They didn't believe in makeup and the idea of getting it for a small girl was too much! So the next day, after my father had gone to work, my aunt came and she and my mother started talking to me. I don't remember much of the conversation, only how wrong the makeup was and would I please just throw it away. They would not have dared to make me because that would have displeased my father very much-but, if they could talk me into it, then they could tell him they told me how wrong it was and that I had thrown it away on my own. Well, I held it in my hand so tight, thinking, "I'll never do it!" But after a time I must have gotten upset because I threw it in the fireplace. It broke my heart for a while to give it up. I have lived many years and have had much makeup of all kinds but none ever gave me the thrill of that first box that my father gave me against the wishes of my mother and his sisters...and of all things, to put it on the Christmas tree at church!

There was a mulberry tree between our house and the Davis' house. Addie and I used to hurry with our morning work then meet at the tree, climb up, sit in it, and talk. We told each other our most treasured secrets and thoughts. We were about thirteen and fourteen years old at this time. We were friends for many years and made many plans. Some turned out the way we had hoped and some did not.

Many people have told me about my parents' wedding; how lovely my mother looked in her beautiful white dress, how handsome my father looked The whole neighborhood had attended and the house and yard were full of people. After the ceremony, they left in the buggy. When they were out of sight my father kissed my mother for the first time. I have heard my mother and my aunts say that nice girls didn't let any boy kiss them. Only after marriage did they permit such familiarities.

The church that my mother's and my father's sisters belonged to was very strict in their beliefs. My father believed in the church, I am sure, but was not nearly as religious as they, and often laughed about things that were very serious to the women folk. For instance, my mother wanted me to let my hair grow long, but Papa cut my hair every time it needed it and when the style changed so did my haircut. He would shingle it in the back very short, much to the horror of my sweet mother. She not only had to contend with me begging to do things she disapproved of, but also with my father, who wanted me to have whatever I wanted and saw no harm in it.

My father's father died when he was twelve years old, leaving my grandmother and six children; my father and his twin sister, Bessie, being the oldest. So he was raised with five sisters who adored him. They have all told me how he was a father to them and how he worked at any job to help support them. He would work for a month then get paid and give the money to Grandmother to buy the necessities of life. If they had some to spare, he would keep twenty-five cents for himself and buy shotgun shells. He loved to go hunting and that was his greatest pleasure while he was growing up-his one great luxury.

My mother was a very devoted Christian. I have seen her work all day doing the many things a mother of young children in her day would do and work in the fields, too. Then, when night came, go to church in a wagon four or five miles. Of course, Papa went too, most of the time, but when he didn't, we went anyway, and often a neighbor would go along.

My Grandmother Scott had died when my mother was twelve years old. The only grandmother we had was my Grandmother Veasey. She was the most wonderful person. It would be impossible to write all about her! She had six children, twenty-three grandchildren and later many great-grandchildren. Everyone adored her. She was always begged to go visit each and every one, but she never gave up her own home, although she lived with us for a time after my mother died.

My mother's family were quite different from my father's. They were sweet to us and loved us I am sure, but they were reserved people. I remember my Grandfather Scott, but only as just a man we visited sometimes. I don't remember him ever touching me or talking to me. Of course, I never saw him after I was eight or nine years old.

Mother had two sisters. They were very sweet to us when we saw them, but we only saw them three or four times after my mother died. One of the aunts wrote us and sent us things for a long time, but all considered we were not around the Scott side of the family.

I was twenty-one months older than my brother Coy, born April 18, 1916. One morning we were woke up and brought to my mother's room. She was in bed and there on my grandmother's lap was a fat, pretty, baby boy 7. We were told to come see our new brother. We were so happy and excited. He was precious and we always had plenty of love for another baby.

This was 1918, the first world war was raging and flour was rationed. Papa didn't like cornmeal at all but we had to eat quite a bit; so the family have told this and laughed at Papa may times. The day this baby came, Papa went to the store and got a ration of flour for him. The storekeeper and neighbors said to him, "Jessie, that baby sure started eating bread young!" I think Papa was hoping for twins, thus two rations! Papa loved children so much and each new baby was as welcome and the day as exciting as the first. This baby was my second brother, J.E. He was a very pretty child and I remember how mother would dress him up in the afternoon, curl his hair on her finger and let him walk out where Papa was plowing, close to the house, and give Papa a kiss. Of course, she would watch until he was safe back in the yard.

One Christmas, my Aunt Iva and her children came to spend the holidays with us. Just being together was so much fun. Aunt Iva's oldest son, Lewis, and my brothers, Coy and J.E. and I were the only children old enough to be looking for Santa, and oh, how exciting! We couldn't get to sleep no matter how we tried, but we made it. Then next thing we knew, Papa was at our bed saying, "Wake up and come see where Santa came through the window!" We jumped up and ran to look. The world was white; a big snow had fallen while we were asleep, and there at our bedroom window were large tracks about eighteen inches long! Papa had made the tracks, then made them larger by putting his foot in the soft snow several times.

I don't believe we knew what the word "jealous" meant. We loved each other and everything that gave one of us happiness, made us all happy.

One night Coy and I were told we could spend the night with a neighbor across the road from us. That was very unusual as we were not allowed to spend the night away from home often, and then, only at our aunts' houses.

The next morning, the lady, whom we called, Aunt Kate, told us we could go home and that I did not have to go to school that day. Whatever was going on!? This was an unusual day!

As we got home, one of Papa's sisters, Aunt Mattie, was sweeping the front porch. She smiled and told us to go in and see what our mother had. We ran in, and there, laying beside Mother, was a real live doll! The prettiest baby girl I had ever seen. I was so excited that I could hardly talk. A sister! This was the biggest thrill of my seven years. I must tell Papa the news! I ran to find him. He was watering the horses at the well. I was almost out of breath, but I said, "Do you know what Mother has in the house?" He smiled his quick, sweet smile and told me, yes, he had seen her, and wasn't she pretty? We talked of how beautiful she was, how good it would be to have a little sister for me and how lucky we were-how pretty her curls were!

She really was a beautiful child and is now a beautiful woman who looks a lot like our mother. Every place we took Eddie Mae, people spoke of how pretty she was. I felt quite plain beside her, but I loved her so and she love me. I felt nothing but happiness and pride in her looks. We all petted her. She was such a sweet child.

My mother's fifth child was born when she was twenty-six. Newell Ennis only lived to be six months old, for he died one month after Mother died. I remember very little about my little brother's life or death. Experiencing the shock of losing my mother at the age of ten and then losing Newell Ennis so soon caused a numbness to my memory of those painful months. But I'll always remember that adorable baby and how we all loved him so and I'll never forget how Papa grieved over his great loss.

My brother Coy was a very serious, sturdy, little boy and at an early age was very dependable. Papa would tell him what he wanted done and Coy would try to see that it was done, although it meant bossing us around a bit.

J.E. was much more easy going and very good natured, where Coy was rather high-tempered. The rest of us were quite even-tempered. We were a lone quite a bit after Mother died and got along together very well indeed for four children.

One fall we had not made a good crop and needed money very badly, so Father and Mother decided we would go to the real cotton country and pick cotton. They figured we could make enough to see us though the winter and spring. So we packed up what we could get by with; bedding, clothes, pots and pans, and off we went in the wagon. It was really a lark for us children and Mother, and of course, for Papa, who always made everything an adventure.

Mother was the one with the push. Papa was so easy going and fun-loving. He could sit and tell stories and watch our eyes sparkle when there were other things that needed doing. I can hear my mother saying, "Jessie, that needs seeing about." He would answer, "In a minute." Papa hated to be in a hurry, in fact, I don't recall any hurrying about, but later in life, when people got to rushing around, he would go for a walk in the woods and whistle and think.

Our trip was perhaps fifty miles where we picked cotton that fall, but to us it was a long trip. We camped out on the way and it was so much fun for us. I can still see our little campfire and remember the food. How wonderful it tasted and how happy Mother was! She was like a child. Everything that was different, was fun for her, and going on this trip was very different from our lives up until then.

My parents, Coy, and I picked cotton. J.E. stayed at the house and kept the two very small children; Eddie Mae, a little past two years old, and the baby, a few months old.

Back of photo reads: Nellie & Jessie Veasey with children at Cye Davis' Place. Eddie Mae, Judson Eugene, Hazel Gay, Coy Jefferson. Baby Newell Ennis at about 3 months old.

After we had made enough money to live on for a time, it was decided that we would go on to Paris to my Aunt Iva's. She was Papa's youngest sister; she and her twin, Aunt Eva.

We arrived at our destination late one evening. The two families had a happy visit. The next day while the women washed clothes, cooked and talked, we children played. The men, my Uncle Leslie and Papa, went to town. The came back late that day with exciting new. They had rented a house together and we were to all move the next day. That night I don't know who was more excited and happy. We just talked and laughed and planned. The men would get a job and work there. The talked of what they could do, what they would ask about first, but they would find something-of that, they were sure. Their faith was great, their hopes high.

The two women loved each other very much and were thrilled to be together again. We had all lived together before so they already knew how happy they could be going to town together, talking , raising their children, and working. There was never even a misunderstanding between the two families.

When I think of those days, I am amazed at all the things we did not have. We were very poor, as for material possessions, but we were so rich in love and happiness. I wish it were possible for me to tell this in such a manner that the reader would feel some of the excitement we felt about moving to town and living together.

Together with two wagons, we moved into town the next day. Paris was a small town, approximately twenty-thousand, however, to us it was a city of metropolitan size. After we were settled, Papa and Uncle Leslie went to look for work. Uncle Leslie got a job right away and Papa was to go to work in one week. This gave him time to go back to Mt. Vernon and move the remaining furniture.

After Uncle Leslie went to work the first day, Papa walked around town and noticed some bananas that were being unloaded, and he took a tote sack and filled it with the ones that fell to the ground. We were just tickled to death and more thrilled with those bananas than any gift a child could receive in that day and time. To add to the excitement was the eagerness we all felt looking forward to each day and the few more bananas that had ripened through the night. Papa then left to move the balance of our things.

Not being accustomed to running water in the house, J.E., Coy, and Lewis had a hilarious incident playing with the faucets. Turning all of them on, drenching the walls, the floor, and any victim in spurting range. When the landlord received his first water bill after we had moved in, he came breathlessly over and anxiously inquired whether we had noticed a leak in the water pipes, for the bill was twice as much as ever before. Of course, silence prevailed and for a gratifying change even the boys were peacefully quiet.

People that are able to buy most anything they want miss some of the richest experiences of life. My mother had saved a little money from picking cotton and now she was at last going on a big shopping spree with my aunt. She could hardly wait to surprise Papa with the gray suit she had bought at a rummage sale. Although it was second hand, it was a very precious gift for her beloved husband. She also bought me a blue silk taffeta dress, a winter coat for herself and something for each child.

All second hand, and of little value to most people, but not to us. For us there was no way to estimate the extent of its value, yet these articles only proved to be grim reminders of our mother's death, for three days after her purchases were made, she died.

Mother was so excited and eager to show Papa the suit, but she never got to. That same night she picked a pimple on her face and it began to swell and the next day she was taken to the hospital. There she lay suffering with blood poisoning and without the benefit of any of the wonder drugs we have today. Papa was on his second day of the three day trip back to us. He stopped to spend the night with friends and had a horrible feeling that something was wrong. He tried to think of ways to go on that night, but since the horses were tired and he didn't have the money to hire a car, he unwillingly stayed the night. Leaving at dawn, he arrived in Paris that evening.

As he approached the house, we children ran out and told him that Mama was in the hospital. He climbed down immediately and left the wagon and horses for the boys to unhitch and take care of. Then he walked directly to the hospital. He sat by her side all night talking with her. She was so comforted to have him with her. It was the first time she had been in the hospital although she had given birth to five children. She was so afraid to be in a strange hospital alone and Papa knew this, so he did not want to leave her even for a moment unnecessarily. However, the next morning he came to tell Aunt Iva how serious her condition was and to dress the children and bring us to the hospital as quickly as possible before Mama died.

We went, and I am sure we were a sad sight. Five little children, the oldest; ten, circled around her bed taking their last look at their mother while she was alive. She did not move at all but I am sure she recognized us because when Papa held the baby close to her she lifted both arms towards him but didn't quite reach him as both arms fell. She died about noon that day.

The only reason Mama had finally agreed to go to the hospital was due to the fact that Aunt Iva was feeding the baby. She had a child also about the same age. She nursed both babies during that time until after the funeral.

That day I'll never forget. Many people told me then and later that every person there, truly wept, even those who were not real close to mama. Part of the reason could have been the five children left and part of it was probably stirred by Eddie Mae's screams.

Only three years old, yet she seemed to understand. As Papa passed the casket she screamed, "I want my Mama, I want my Mama!" And as they lowered the casket into the ground she screamed again and again, "Don't put that dirt on my Mama!"

It was such an eagerly anticipated move to an exciting and strange town to have ended in such horrible tragedy. Papa said he could not stand to stay in Paris, so we prepared to go back to Mt. Vernon the next morning. Since we had no way to take care of the baby in a wagon, Papa's twin sister took him in their car. As we passed the places where we had previously camped on the way to Paris, Papa pointed them out to us, mentioning Mama frequently.

We arrived about ten o'clock that night and even though I had two aunts that lived real close, Papa said, "We'll stay in our home." So he made beds for us and put us in them. God only knows the horror he must have gone through that night. He always executed his belief in facing troubles and conquering them as soon as possible. One reason this impressed me so, being a child of ten, was that as we were nearing our house we had to pass my Aunt Blanche's home and there in pitch dark was a welcoming lamp in her window. We begged Papa to stop and spend the night there, but he so kindly and softly said, "No, we'll go on home, you'll be alright." So we kept right on going to the dark house that had sweet memories for him.

My aunt begged Papa to let her keep the baby, but he said that he couldn't give him up. Both families loved the baby so much. One month after Mama died, the baby died. He had been changed from the breast to cow's milk, had lost his mother, and may have been poisoned by Mama's milk, but we never knew for sure what caused his death. I remember Papa sitting in the room and saying, "Why does the Lord put more on you than you can bear?" but my aunt said, "Jessie, honey, don't say that. The Lord doesn't put more on us than we can bear."

The school turned out the day of the funeral. I remember thinking that my school friends would wonder why I didn't cry more than I did (not realizing that I was still numb from my mother's death). Then we went back home where less than two months before a mother and all her children were playing and laughing happily.

In a few days my grandmother moved in to take care of us. I cannot say there was a great change in our lives. We had always been close to Grandmother and loved her. She was very affectionate with us. Now she took our mother's place as near as was possible. She cooked, washed, mended our clothes, took us places put us to bed, kissed us goodnight and loved us. Papa had always told us wonderful stories at night and then when we got sleepy, kissed us goodnight. I missed my mother and often ran in from play, calling, "Mama, I want to tell you something!" before realizing she was not there. Still there was no great change in the routine of our young lives.

Lillian Idella Malone Veasey, my grandmother, was my father's mother. She had been widowed at about thirty-two or thirty-four years of age and had raised six children, my father and my Aunt Bessie being the oldest.

Lillian Idella Malone Veazey, daughter of Marion James Malone and Elizabeth Pullin Malone

Grandmother never married again, or ever even entertained the idea. She told me when I asked her why, that she never saw another perfect man and that her husband had been perfect. She had loved him very much. His memory was very dear to her.

Grandmother had been raised a real Southern lady and instilled in us those things which she considered as important as food and clothing-or more so.

The things ladies did not do was a list longer than the things a lady must do. This will be quite amusing to people who read it in this day and age. A few of the things we must never do was: A lady did not laugh to loud. She never slumps down in her chair. Never uses foul language, not even a by-word. She must never be spending the night away from home. She never sits on a bed if the is a man in the room. She never smokes or does anything "unladylike". The do's were: A lady must keep busy, never waste time. She must always be good to her husband. She must sit up very straight in her chair. (Grandmother preferred a small, straight chair to sit in, even when she was past eighty years old.) A lady spoke softly, learned to do "fancy work" (needlework) of all kinds and learned to cook well. Grandmother spent so many hours talking to us, always with her work in her lap. Many times she and I sat up late at night talking. I feel that every hour she talked with me is a golden treasure she gave me that will be with me as long as I live.

My father worked very hard to see that we had the necessities of life. He would do any kind of honest work to make extra money. I can remember how afraid I was when he would clean out wells for people. He would laugh at me and say, "Honey, it's alright. I don't go into dangerous wells." They were all very dangerous to my way of thinking. When a neighbor had a cow to die or we did, Papa would go at once and skin it for the hide. It would sell for several dollars and we needed the money badly. I never remember him saying one word about anything he did being hard work. He only told about the funny things that would happen while he worked.

Once he went to a house to clean out a well and a big dog ran out. He was very much afraid of dogs so he jumped up in a tree in the front yard. The lady of the house came out and seeing him there, she said, "Jessie, that god doesn't have a tooth in his head!" Papa said, "Well, I don't want him gumming me!"

Things were always calm at our house; no yelling as I have seen at other places, neither Papa nor Grandmother believed in it. Papa just took things and life as it came and did the best he could. Once my brother, J.E., broke his arm. Papa took him to town to a doctor. The doctor asked for cash before he would touch the child. My father did not have the money. He did not beg or explain. He just took his son home. He made splints, trim and smooth, set my brother's arm and wrapped it the very best he could. It healed and was as straight and well as ever, very soon. Papa had never done this before and only knew what he had learned and read or just what he had learned as a fatherless boy on a farm.

To my knowledge, the only two things Papa was ever afraid of were dogs and storms. A cloud could come up and he was just miserable. We often spent the night in the storm cellar and when we were small he kept a bed and lamp and an ax and water-anything we might need down there. Grandmother always made us dress fully. She would say, "I don't want you to get blown away in your night clothes!" If something bad had to happen to us we must be properly attired for it. I was always much more afraid of what might be in the storm cellar, like bugs or scorpions, or lizards, maybe snakes than anything the weather might be doing outside. I never told Papa though, as it would have made him feel bad to know we didn't all want to go and he really felt we were not safe anyplace else in stormy weather.

My father spent many lonely hours I am sure and after my mother had been dead a little over a year, he met a lady through one of his sisters and he saw her a few times. After this he went out a few times with different ladies. Grandmother disapproved of this. She thought he should be content to raise his children, as she had done, and not think of marrying again.

I remember once he brought a lady to church and my sister and I felt a little left out with him sitting across the church from us-and with a strange lady. So we kept looking over and when he saw us, he motioned for us to come sit with them. We did, and felt really important. Even a lady friend could not take his attention from us.

About two years after my mother's death, my father met and married a young woman who was a relative of a close friend of his. She was in her eighteenth year. My father, twice that, was a young thirty-six, and quite handsome. She had had a hard life, worked very hard and looked older than her years. The difference in age was not very obvious.

Oma had lived on a farm. Her mother and father had not lived together since she was a child. She had done a man's work; plowed, chopped wood, and anything else that was up to a man to do on a farm. She didn't know or respect anything except brute strength. She had been raised with no show of love, only the strongest had respect. She liked working in the fields and always went with Papa when possible.

After they were married, Grandmother accepted the marriage and Oma. Grandmother stayed on with us for a time. As I look back now, I know both women faced a big problem-and my father also. Oma was my stepmother's name. At her request, we never called her anything but Oma. I am quite sure Grandmother would have highly disapproved of anything else. She and Grandmother got a long fine. I never knew of them having a cross word. But Grandmother disapproved in silence. Oma had a lot of respect for Grandmother as we all did.

So here was a young girl with four stepchildren and she knew nothing about raising us. She had been brought up much differently from us. I think she realized this at once and wanted Grandmother to stay on. She learned much from Grandmother and they were friends as long as she was in the family. And here was my Grandmother with four children she loved as her own, and feeling she just couldn't trust our raising to a young person with no experience or knowledge of children and from a completely different background.

And here was my father; now his loyalties and attention had to be divided between his wife, children and mother. Of course, you could say divided in two ways, because Grandmother was with us children all the way. She would stand between us and Papa if he thought we needed a spanking or correcting. Now there was a big change in our lives.

Oma's family were alright in their own way, but not the kind of people Grandmother would have ever associated with. She was very polite and kind to them when they cam but she never did accept them or let us. She had good reason for some of her disapproval. Oma had been ill treated and had told us about it. Oma's family talked in a manner so completely ungracious that Grandmother could hardly bear to be around them, and what was far worse, she did not want us around them either. Papa and Oma went to visit a few times and we were allowed to go only two or three times, and then, against Grandmother's wishes.

All things considered we got along very well and things ran pretty smoothly for a time.

Grandmother moved out to her own home again. She got Papa to let her take my sister, Eddie Mae, with her. She, being only three years old when our mother died, had known no other mother, so Papa had consented to this arrangement. Of course, we saw them often and through the years she was with us a part of the time.

No comes a time when there were happy days and sad days.

I was in my twelfth year when Papa and Oma married. I had known only love from my father, my mother, my grandmother and my aunts.

There were those days when we went fishing in our pasture, Oma, the boys and I. We had fun. We went berry picking or muskadine hunting. We talked, laughed and had good times. Or we would clean house, scrub everything. We would work together and even that was fun if Oma was in a good mood.

Now I come to the part I dislike to write about, but it is my life so I must put it down on paper, although, I would prefer to leave it out.

Oma had an uncontrollable temper. I have seen her tear her own clothes off of her body and into strings. Years later she told me she would have beaten her own child to death had it not been for my father. She broke the door down and took the child (a daughter, about eight years old) away from her. Later, after Oma was calm, she cried and thanked Papa for stopping her.

Once she got mad because Eddie Mae came to their bed, lay down for a minute, then kissed them goodnight and went back to Grandmother's bed. Oma left, and we had no idea where she could have gone. My father worried all night, as we lived out in the country. The next morning she came in. She had walked three miles through woods and fields, to my aunt's house. They were not home, so she walked back and had slept in the wagon of cotton that was ready to be ginned.

Another time, after I had married, Aunt Eva and her children were at our house. She, Papa, and the children spent a terrifying night with Oma threatening to kill them. They finally got into one room and locked it. Oma didn't stop all night, even though she couldn't get to them.

Oma would have these mad fits, sometimes for days. When she got over these spells, we never said a word. Everybody just acted as if nothing had happened.

I loved my father very much and felt so sorry for him. He could not hardly stand any kind of fussing. I am sure he had his faults. I just didn't see them, so I cannot write about something I didn't see or know about.

The year I was thirteen years old I was rather large for my age, tall, as are all of our family. I began to feel grown up, and my friends and I talked about boys every time we were alone.

Addie Davis and I were the closest of friends. She had a big crush on my cousin. He was a handsome boy, a little older than we were. His name was Bruce Hunt, my Aunt Blanche's son. He was a wonderful person, and always looked after me. Once we were at a party and a boy put his arm around me. Bruce told him at once to take his arm away, and to leave me alone. As Bruce was big and not afraid of anything, most any boy would do as he said, and without a word.

I was always asked to let this or that boy walk me home from church, but I was never interested in anyone who asked. So I walked with my girlfriends or family.

About this time, a young man came to visit his brother, Byrd Casey. He lived in the next house down the road-about one block distance. I had known Taylor Casey all my life, but he was just a man in the community. We knew nothing more. We had heard about a year before that he had gone into the army, and was in the Panama Canal Zone. He had been in the army before, when he was seventeen years old, for three years. So it had meant nothing to us when we heard he was in the army again. Now he had returned home, and suddenly, I was very much interested.

He was twenty-five year old. A world traveler to me, as he had been in a number of foreign countries. Now he was on furlough from Panama. My girlfriends and I talked and talked about how good looking he was, and how we would love to talk to him. But he was out of our reach. We were just kids in school. Still, we would see him at our ball games or other things, and then I would see him at church.

One day I was on my way to school. One of my friends said, "Oh have I got something to tell you!" So when we were alone she couldn't wait any longer. She whispered, "He helped me across a mud hole yesterday!" Well, we were excited all day as to whether he might possibly be at this mud hole again-but he wasn't.

Another day my Grandmother and I picked cotton in a field nearby. Taylor and his sister-in-law were there. He didn't pick much, only came with her. But at one time that day, he and I and a girl I knew were picking a row of cotton that went on. Suddenly, we were alone, and out of hearing distance from the others. We girls were quite excited. We laughed and talked only a few minutes before grandmother noticed I was not near her. She saw where I was and called to me to come to her. I went without a word, but I was so disappointed. I asked her why I could not talk to him. She answered that I was not allowed because he was a grown man who had been married, and was in the army. I was a child, and was not to speak to him, except to say, "Good morning" or "Good evening."

I knew these things as well as she, but had not really given it a thought, being much too young for such serious matters.

As far as Grandmother was concerned, each of the reasons she had given me was enough to keep me away from THAT man, still she watched carefully. However, neither she, Papa, nor Oma could keep me from seeing him pass the house, or at church.

One day Grandmother needed some crackers. She had company and was fixing dinner. She called for me to run down to Byrd's store and get some. When I got there no one was around. I called out and Taylor came to the door. He told me that no one was home, but that he would get for me whatever I needed. So he came out, unlocked the store, and got the crackers. We talked for a minute and then he said, "Your grandmother sure does not intend for me to talk to you." I told him that none of my family would allow it for a minute. He said, " I don't blame them, you are a child now. Just don't fall in love with anybody while I'm gone. I'll be back in two years, and you'll be grown up by then." I smiled, but said not a word. I was much to shy to speak after hearing that.

A morning came when I knew Taylor was leaving and would have to pass our house on his way to town. I stayed out in the front yard with my Uncle who there to stop Byrd to see him about something. I felt I would have the chance to a least say goodbye.

As Uncle Raymond and Byrd talked on one side of the car, I went to the other side where Taylor was. He reached out his hand and put something into it, and said, "Keep this until I get back." Timidly, I smiled and said, "Okay." I didn't look until he was gone. I opened my hand and nearly fainted. It was a beautiful little ring with five sets in it. I was so excited I didn't know what to do! I simply could not let anyone know and yet, I wanted to wear it so much. But knowing my family as I did, I knew they would just explode. Still, as I had never done anything against their wishes I decided to tell them.

I have always been a person to face any problem at once. I believe in seeing everything through. So I called my grandmother and Oma, and I told them. I said, holding it out in my hand, "See what Taylor gave me as he was leaving." They acted as if he had cut off one of my arms and began questioning me. "What did he say to you?" Then I told my first lie to them that I can remember. I answered, "Nothing." I didn't think they could stand the shock of knowing that his words had implied he would be coming back for me. It is hard, in this day and time, to believe how they saw things. What Grandmother thought was proper would be laughed at now.

At once, my Aunt Eva, who was visiting us and Papa's twin sister, Aunt Bessie, were called and the four of them had a conference. The ring would be put up until my father came home. He was away and would not be back until night. It would be up to him to decide what to do.

I could see no reason for all of this-no harm in me having the ring. I had done nothing but smile and say a few words to the man. Still, they were the authority until my father got home and I did not question them.

About dusky dark we saw Papa come around the corner in the road. Oma went out to meet him. They sat on a bale of cotton while she told him what had happened. I was dreading his return to the house, but was not afraid. I knew my father would not be mad at me as I had done nothing wrong. He was always fair. He did have funny ideas about his daughters. They must be protected from everything. Papa and Grandmother thought a lady should not accept any gift from a man, and a man must not be very nice to give one to a young girl. They felt I had been insulted.

When Papa came in he said, "Hazel, have you done or said anything that would cause him to think you would accept a gift from him?" I told him that I had not. He said, "Alright, come on and we'll see that he gets it back."

So we went to Byrd's house, they were close friends of Papa's. We all sat down and Papa told them the whole story. He added, "Hazel has done nothing that would make him think she'd accept this. Here it is. Send it back to him at once and tell him what I have said and how I feel about it." They said they were sorry and would do just as he had asked. That was the last I saw of my little ring that had been mine for a few short minutes.

Soon after this incident, our family moved near Sulphur Springs, Texas, in Hopkins County. My father had rented a dairy farm close to a small community called Union. It was about six or seven miles south of Sulphur Springs. We had been living on a place that belonged to Grandmother up until this time. On this farm there were about fifty or sixty cows, calves, a bull, some riding horses, hogs, chickens and our dog, "Ball". We liked this new home very much and as my father had kin folks near, we got acquainted in the community right away.

Lee and Una Tally lived about a mile from us. Una and Papa were first cousins. Faye and Irene were their daughters who lived at home. Irene was a few months older and Faye about two years older than I. We became very close at once. We visited, spent the night with each other often, told our secrets to each other, worked together, played together and in general just grew up together. For the following two years I spent my happy times with these girls.

Oma would get mad and go back to her mother's home regularly. Sometimes she would stay a week and sometimes, two or three months. We never knew what to expect during this period of our life.

I remember a day when we four children were home alone. Papa was working in town. We had finished our work and were sitting on the porch talking. We suddenly decided we were quite hungry. "What would we fix?" After a discussion, we agreed that a pot of vegetable soup would be very good.

Now, if I have vegetable soup, I just open a can, but in those days people on the farm made soup with fresh vegetables. My two brothers went to the fields furthest away. They got fresh corn, peas, potatoes. My sister and I went to the garden that was closer. We got onions, tomatoes, okra, cabbage, carrots. After everything was washed, cut up, and in the pot boiling, we sat and waited. Smelling the delicious aroma of fresh vegetables cooking, were getting hungrier by the minute. Finally, the moment arrived. It was done. We started setting the table which was close to a window. Suddenly, a truck came into sight. We looked, feeling all the gladness and happiness slipping away and a depressed ache coming into our hears. The truck belonged to some of Oma's family. Her father, uncles, some women (I don't recall their names) came in, sat down and ate all of our wonderful soup and everything else around. Oma cooked more food and after they had finished we ate at the last table as children often had to do.

But not one taste of our soup did we get. Later in the day, Papa came home. The men were out at the truck drinking. Papa walked up to them and told them to leave at once, that his children had never seen drinking and were no going to as long as he could help it. He told them to never come back and as far as I know, they never did. I'm sure he had been as mad to find them there when he returned home from work as we children had been unhappy to see them coming. They had ruined a lovely day for . We had also planned to have plenty of our soup left for Papa's supper.

This was the routine of our days during school when Oma was away. I woke about 4:30 a.m. I broke the ice on top of the water in the bucket, dipped out enough to was my hands. This was outside the kitchen, on the porch, where the water bucket sat. I made enough biscuits for breakfast and lunches for five people. I then fried meat and fixed the rest of breakfast while the bread cooked. Papa would have gotten a fire going before he called me. He and the boys went to the barn, milked about fifteen cows by hand, fed the hogs, horses and attended to all the stock. They ran the milk through a separator while I finished fixing the five lunches. Then we all sat down to breakfast. Papa would hurry off to work about seven miles to town. I left everything except the milk containers and buckets and the separator. Those had to be washed and rinsed with boiling water and hung in the sun all day.

By this time it would almost be daylight and we would have to hurry. We walked two miles to school. Even with all the chores and the rush, I don't ever remember being late. I do remember many times looking at some other girl's shoes and thinking how shiny they looked, but I just didn't have time to polish mine, although even if there had been time it was not often that we could afford the luxury of shoe polish. I also remember after I had gotten to school and sat down, looking at my hands I would sometimes see a little dough that I had failed to get from around my finger nails as I had washed them before it was daylight. I was so embarrassed and prayed no one else would see m y hands.

At four o'clock we would get out of school for the day. We hurried home along with other children talking and laughing, but knowing we must not waste time. The boys would get the milk buckets and go to the barn to milk, feed and tend to everything again. I put something on for supper. Then, as it cooked, my sister, who was seven or eight years old, and I would clean the house, make beds, wash dishes, make bread and finished our supper.

The boys separated the milk. Papa came in and we all ate. Then the dishes and milk things were cleaned up. After we did our lessons, we all sat together and talked. Papa told us anything funny that had happened that day or told us stories about his boyhood. Sometimes we just talked about what we would do if we had a lot of money and dreamed about finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

I will now describe a day when we were out of the school for summer. We got up at 4 o'clock or 4:30 a.m. We had the same chores, only now we had time to do everything. We cleaned up the house then sat on the porch and waited until it was light enough to go to the field. We chopped or any of the other things that needed doing to make a crop. We would sit under a tree and eat our lunch. About sundown, we went home to do all of the chores again. After cooking and eating supper, we cleaned up again, and then sat and talked until we were sleepy. I was terrified of the dark when I was a child and after my mother died I would wake many times in the middle of the night so afraid I could hardly call out to Papa. He was never too tired to come to our room, light the lamp and tell me everything was all right. Sometimes he would sit a minute until I felt calm. He was mother and father both to us always.

I remember once, my aunt and uncle and their children were helping us chop cotton. My brother J.E. was standing and leaning on his hoe. My uncle said, "J.E., you will never get rich that way." J.E. was about ten or eleven years old, but already he was dreaming. He answered, "The only way I'll ever get rich in a cotton field is to dig up a pot of money; so why work so hard?" J.E. was always dreaming of money and made many of those dreams come true, and, as he always told us, "not in a cotton field!"

I have told about our life when were in school and working in the fields-when we were alone with neither Oma nor Grandmother there. There were times of course when Oma was home and things were smooth. She worked hard at anything she started. When she was home, I had much less to do and I was free to go visit my friends. As we grew up, we went to school plays, singings and parties.

In summer, after the crops were all finished until time to gather them, we were free all day. We went swimming often, horseback riding, picnicking and fishing. Of course, all but the horseback riding were done in our big pasture and at the creek in the pasture. We rode the horses anywhere we wanted to and often we went to a community about eight miles away where my cousins, Faye, Irene, and a boy I new lived.

He was a nice, friendly boy. Faye was the one who liked him as a boyfriend. He had a friend whom I went with a few times. John was very nice to me, but I only went because Faye wanted me too, as John was the one with the car. He liked me and he was the only boy we knew with a new car. I might have liked him more but I never stopped thinking about the man who had given me the ring. He was in my thoughts all my waking hours. Sometimes I would think how surprised my family would be if they knew my thoughts or how serious I was about the man. I talked to my friends and cousins only a tiny bit about him. I was smart enough to know that my cousins and their parents loved me and would have told my father. Then I would have been in trouble-hurting my father, aunts and my grandmother. So I kept my thoughts to myself for over two long years.

One day we got a letter from my Aunt Eva. I read it to the family. In it she said that Taylor Casey was home from Panama visiting his brother, Byrd. I didn't bat an eye or slow up reading, but my heart almost stopped. He was home! That was all I could think of! Now I had to plan how to see him without my father or family knowing. It would not be easy, but my heart knew it had to be.

I finally worked out a solution. If I could to town, maybe he would be there. I knew his brother came to town on Saturdays to buy groceries and such for his country store.

When we went to town my father stopped and let us out of the car before he parked it. That Saturday, the first person I saw was Taylor with his brother. My stepmother and the small children went on walking. I stopped to speak. Byrd, his brother, went on, knowing we wanted to be together and talk. We did, right there on the street. I was fifteen years and nine months old, but I was madly in love. I could hardly breathe for the excitement of being with him. Seeing him so close-all my dreams had come true. He was there talking to me!

I saw a woman cousin coming toward us. We parted, and I walked into a store. She saw me, said a few things and went on. He reappeared and put a note in my hand. I saw my uncle, so we parted again. It wasn't possible to talk. I knew too many people and had family all over town!

The note that Taylor gave me said, "I love you very much and think of you all the time. I have for two years." He said if possible to meet him next Saturday.

The next week I did my work. I helped in the field, helped at home, about each minute was filled with one thought. I had to get back to town to see him. Some way I had to. About Friday, my father said, "I'll run into town alone in the morning and get what we have to have. I'll be back soon. Then we will go to Mount Vernon." Our whole family had planned this trip, twenty-three miles for a church convention. I had to think fast. I had to get to town, and do it sweetly and softly. I asked if I could go with him, but he said there was no need. I told him I wanted to see Grandmother, that she had promised me she would take me to a beauty shop, so I could get my hair fixed for the trip. Dear, sweet man that my father was, he gave in. I went with him, and I did call Grandmother, who lived a few blocks away from town. She came and took me to get my hair done. That over, we walked down the street and met her old friend. Grandmother went with her to the store and to visit. I went alone, and met Taylor at once. We went separately into the movie house, where a Tarzan movie was showing.

We saw no movie that day, however. We talked, and decided it was impossible to see each other normally. We would just go that night and get married. He said, "Honey, I am a man, and I know I love you. I have known it since I gave you the ring. But you are so young. Are you sure you love me? Do you want to leave your folks? You have all your family that love you, and you must think about it carefully." I had been thinking about it for over two years. I told him, "I am sure that I can't live without you. I am sure that I love you and want to marry you." He told me he would never let me be sorry, and then he kissed me. It was my first kiss, as I had never let anyone kiss me. I always knew he would come for me someday. I knew even as a very young girl that I wanted only his touch.

After church that night, I went home with a girl friend. Within the hour, the man that I adored came for me. We rode the rest of the night, and were married about 10:30 Sunday morning in Magnolia, Arkansas.

As soon as we were married, we sent my father a telegram. We told him the news and that we would be home Monday night.

Tuesday morning, very early, my father came to Byrd's house. He was there when we woke up. He talked to me alone out in his car and begged me to go home with him. He said I should stay a year, and then if I still felt the same way about Taylor, he would let me go to him. It went on for an hour-him telling me I was a child, I didn't know what I was doing. I convinced him that I loved my husband. We talked so quietly, so calmly, and kind, yet we were both firm. Finally, he said, "Although I could have this marriage annulled, I do believe you love him. I will do nothing. I hope and pray you haven't made a bad mistake.

We went back to the house. My father told Taylor what he had said to me, and asked if he would be willing to let me go back home. Taylor said, "No, Jessie. I can't do that. I love her." Finally, my father was convinced.

Papa stayed the rest of the day just visiting. All was calm and friendly. He went home before the night. Taylor and I visited with my family later in the week. We drove up to Sulphur Springs where my home had been, and stayed several days. My family were all very nice to us. There was never an unpleasant word said. That was the kind of man my father was. We were taught to act proper at all times. So, although I had run off, married, and hurt all of my family, it was never mentioned again. We all got along fine for the rest of my married life.

Taylor and I went to Lawton, Oklahoma to live, as he was in the army. I was in a sort of heaven when I was with him. He was on duty twenty-four hours and off forty-eight. He was a Mess Sergeant.

When we had been married one year and nine days, our daughter was born. Barbara Joan, what a doll she was. I was sixteen years and nine months of age. She was a beautiful baby. We adored her. She was the only baby in the world as far as her father was concerned.

Twenty-one months and one day later, our first son, Wesley Eugene, was born. He was a darling. A fine beautiful baby boy. He was always content. Such a dear, kind little child always. He was born January 16, 1933.

June 2, 1938 our second son was born. He was so welcome. A beautiful baby. The doctor said, "He's too pretty for a boy!" I named him Jan Taylor. To me, Jan was a special name, sort of elegant, refined, artistic. He turned out to be all of those things. He is such a dear. The older children were so happy to have this new arrival. Taylor was so proud of him.

July 18, 1939 our last son was born. He was a beautiful dark haired baby boy. Our family was complete. We were so proud of him. Now the older children each felt they had a baby. Barbara called Coy her baby. I named him Coy Ray. I thought it was a pretty name. He was the cutest child-so sharp, so aware of things. Always loving and dear, and trying so hard to please his sister.

Gene, as we called our first son, called Jan his baby. The four children were very close.

Left to Right: Barbara, Coy, Jan, Gene

Our lives were filled with consideration and love for each other. We had wonderful times together. I always felt that I grew up with the children. I really did. I read everything, learned all I could. I learned about art, poetry, literature of all kinds. A new world was opened up to me. I taught the children to appreciate those things. I was almost in another world reading poetry or looking at art. Thus I planted a seed in my children. Barbara is now a fine artist. Gene and Jan write beautiful music and Coy appreciates it all very much.

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Note:

All of Hazel's children are deceased. Two are linked to this memorial.

Wesley Eugene "Gene" Casey b. 16 Jan 1933, d. 28 Sep 2003 in California. Burial unknown. Gene's death was noted in entertainment industry publications and additional information can be located on the Internet.

Barbara Joan Casey, b. 15 Apr 1931, d. 5 Mar 2011 in Marshall, Harrison County, Texas. Resident of Grand Prairie, Texas, her entire adult life. Married Claude Barlow in 1950. This union produced two children, a girl and a boy (both living). After Claude's death in 1978, Barbara married Joe Carpenter in 1983. He passed away 29 Jan 2011. Barbara was a prolific oil painter, a columnist for the Grand Prairie newspaper, and author of several books. Her remains were cremated, physical internment unknown.

Notes by Danny Grizzle, grandson of Iva Veazey Grizzle mentioned in this biography.
26 Mar 2012.

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