Sag-Ashus – Memoirs of Sag Senior
Sag Senior, our father, was born 110 years ago, on Feb. 10, 1905, at Orange, in the Territory of New Mexico. We have written extensively of his experiences and achievements over the years, and this week we would like to share some excerpts from his written memoirs. He begins:
“I was born and raised on Crow Flat. Dad had filed on eight sections of land under a Texas law which required a very small payment and had to be occupied for a certain number of years. (Ole Sag’s note: A portion of those sections were smack dab in the center of where the town of Dell City now stands.) I remember watching Granddad, Dr. Holmsley, mixing medicine by the light from a kerosene lamp. He used a small knife blade to take portions from large containers and put them on a small sheet of paper. The package was then carefully wrapped and directions written on each to take one or two each day, or every so many hours. The method of consuming the dose was to pour the powder into a teaspoon, add a few drops of water, hold the spoon in one hand and stir with the little finger of the other hand until dissolved, then swallow.
Another memory of Granddad Holmsley was when he took me with him in the buggy to see a patient. He only took us kids when there was no danger of a contagious disease. One of the horses was very slow, and we had to tap him with the whip occasionally. We had stopped at a gate, and after I closed it, Granddad said that if the lazy horse had taken one step forward while we were stopped and then continued at the same pace, he would not have gotten hit with the whip.
Dad bought Arbuckle coffee in a 100-pound box. This brand of coffee had a signature on the side of each package, and with a certain number of signatures you could order trinkets, mousetraps, etc. Dad and Mother gave us kids the signatures, and we would plan a month or so in advance what we would like to order. One day, Dad and Mother went to Orange to get the mail, but we kids could not go because someone up there had the mumps. While Brother Joe and I were alone, we came up with an idea to get the two signatures we still needed to order something we wanted. The big coffee box was still three-fourths full, so we carefully removed most of the coffee and took two packages from the bottom and removed the signatures. Of course, that left a large hole in each package, so we decided to pack them on the bottom and cover them with all the other packages. This would postpone the agony of being caught for two or three months, but when the time came, it was unpleasant for a while. It seemed that the lectures would never cease.
Dad built a small room for a schoolhouse and hired a teacher. Our first teacher was Ethel Davis, and my brother Joe and I were in school from 8 to 4 every school day, just the two of us. Our next and last teacher was Zema Chandler.
In 1915, Dad sold his holdings on Crow Flat, and we went on a trip Arizona. Evidently he didn’t find anything he liked so he returned to West Texas and went to work for John Helms. The next year, 1916, he moved Mother, my brother Joe and me into El Paso so that we could attend high school. Since we had never attended a public school, they were reluctant to take us. But after a great deal of controversy, we were allowed to enter El Paso High School. Moving to El Paso and attending a big public school was quite a culture shock for a green little kid in a big new world. The bookwork was easy. We already knew most of what was taught in the first two years of high school, but it did take time to adjust to living around a lot of people.
When the influenza epidemic hit, Dad was working for Mr. Helms on his ranch east of El Paso. It was decided that he would go to the ranch and not come back to town until the epidemic was over, so that he could stay well and provide for the family. It didn’t work. They brought him home in two weeks with the flu. He was the only one in the family to have it. Schools were closed, movies were closed, and restaurants were closed. I was sent over to a neighbor’s house to avoid exposure after Dad was brought home. I would ride my bike downtown and see coffins stacked four high around the old Peak Hagedon funeral home.
In 1920, a prolonged drought in southern New Mexico and West Texas forced ranchers to move their cattle. Mr. Helms bought the old Hester place on the Rio Grande south of Sierra Blanca to move his livestock to, and when the drought broke and he moved his cattle back to the Sierra Alto, my Dad, Joe H. Neely, bought the place, and it has been known as the Neely Ranch ever since.
When the Great Depression hit we never suffered for food because we raised all kinds of meat animals and had our own milk cows and raised vegetables – but we had no money. Nothing would sell. I will always remember the extreme honesty of my father. We had two years (four clippings) of mohair that we could not sell. The railroad would not take it without our pre-paying the freight, which we could not do. One day, a young man came by and told Dad, ‘The mohair market is opening up, and I will give you 18 cents per pound if you will haul it to the railroad and ship it to Del Rio.’ This being the first chance to sell something for money, Dad said yes, shook the young man’s hand and he left. Two days later, another man who was also in the goat business came by and told Dad that the mohair market was opening up fast. He said that General Motors was buying it for automobile upholstery and that he would pay 23 cents per pound. When Dad told him that it was already sold, the man said, ‘Joe, you need money badly. You didn’t sign a contract or anything binding. You only dealt with a handshake.’ Dad answered, ‘as bad as we need that extra money, the answer is no. My handshake deal still stands.’”
Ole Sag sez: What an awesome example to try to live up to.
SAG