1908--1994 Their Friendship Endured

Boys will be boys whether it is 1909 or 2025. In this photo the arrow is drawn to a young boy named Roscoe Thompson. Whether he was a close neighbor, a friend who teased the girls (my guess), or an ornery kid, we will never know. What we do know is that in the two photos donated by Nellie Beavers Childs in 1993, either she or Roscoe drew an arrow pointing to him, not to Nellie and not to her lifelong best friend, Metaline. What does this tell you?

I had the opportunity to interview Nellie in 1993 at her apartment on Hal Muldrow Dr. in Norman. Her is a portion of her story.

In second grade class we had Miss Callie Webster who was a beautiful 18-year-old teacher. We loved her.  One day it was snowing and we were standing by Miss Webster's desk when she asked the girl next to me how she kept her hair in curls all day. The girl answered, "My mother puts something sweet on it every day." The teacher felt her curls and sure enough they were stiff. 

1908 Eastside School (Jefferson). Look for arrow in the top right hand corner and then see the photo of a young boy named Roscoe Thompson. Roscoe was a friend of Nellie Beavers Childs, the lady who donated this picture to Jefferson for our 1994 for our Centennial. 

1909-1910 2^nd grade JEFFERSON SCHOOL (Nellie Beavers Child) Pictures

Teacher: Callie Webster

Row 1: boy,  Metaline Cathey, lived on N.E. corner of Finley and Gray. They had a store in one room selling tablets, pencils, etc. boy, girl, girl, Agnes Wolf (McComb)  and Thelma Walker.

Row 2: (did not identify which one) Chester Capshaw, son of one of our first doctors. 7^th person Marion Moffett. Her father ran a bicycle shop in 200 block of Main on North Finley street. Next Robert Durkie; next Otis Sullivant.

Row 3: 1^st girl Martha Lee McComb, 2nd girl Nellie Beavers, 7^th person Aubrey Davis, 12^th Roscoe Thompson, ___, 13^th head of Addie Wilson. 

I enrolled in first grade in 1908 even though I was only five years old. I could already read. The neighbors said I couldn't go because I wasn't six years old. My brother said, "I'll put the number 5 in your shoe and if your teacher asks you, you can say you're over 5 years old." My teacher never did ask. I think Miss Cook knew because she was a friend of our family.

Every morning, at noon and during recess our janitor sat at the top of the stairs, and he would hand sharpen our pencils using his knife. One pencil at a time. We didn't have pencil sharpeners.  In the morning he stood at the top of the stairs to see if any students were still running to school. If he saw any children he waited to ring the tardy bell till the last students were in the room. 

*Look closely at the photo. Roscoe drew an arrow from the chalkboard to the third row of boys. He is looking at the camera and has his elbow on the desk behind on top of books. 

We didn't have programs in the school like we do now. The only thing I remember is the Maypole dance in the school yard. Some students were selected from each class to wind the Maypole on May Day. 

Out of our first-grade class there were at least ten who graduated with me in 1920. I know five of them taught school.  In second grade we had seatmates, but I guess we talked too much, and the teacher moved one of us out of the seat and put a boy in our place. I had to move and sit with a different boy. I thought it was great because the boy she put me with I knew from church, but he didn't like it (I wonder if this was Roscoe?). None of the boys liked having a girl for a seatmate. 

I lived on the corner of Findley and Apache, about four blocks south of Main Street. The house is still there. My mother lived there when she was a widow with two little children. She married again and that's when I was born. 

In second grade I still had the same seatmate, but I guess we talked too much, and the teacher moved one of us out of the seat with a boy and put that boys seat mate with Marie. I thought that was great because the boy she put me with I knew from church, but he didn’t like it. The boys didn’t like having a girl for a seatmate. 

I grew up when Norman just had dirt streets. Then later they paved Main Street and University Street. I can remember my brother putting us both on a bicycle and going over to University street to ride on the paved road. I mostly played boys games because of my brother. He taught me how to play Mumble Peg, a game where you learn to throw a knife. I also played marbles and spin the tops.

When I was in the 4^th grade they commenced a basketball team. I think it was the 8^th grade girls. I never did see the boys play. Of course, the only people they played against was Washington. Washington and Jefferson, well they didn’t get along.

“Now these are girls?” I inquired.

Yes, on a girls team. They had to play outdoors. This would have been seventh and eighth grade girls.

I remember that they played against Washington school. It was terrible the rival between the two schools. It continued in high school so that they hardly mixed in high school. 

My last two years of high school a new course was put in called "teachers training." We had to teach all of the 8th grade teaching and many hours of observation. We had to take notes and come back to our teacher and tell her. If they needed a teacher in Eastside (Jefferson) they would send one of us. Six out of twenty of us went on to teach the next year after we graduated. 

They gave us a fake teaching certificate to begin with. If we taught for three years and went to summer school we earned a LIFE certificate. 

*Note: this is the new Norman High School opened in 1909 when Eastside school had outgrown the classrooms. It is the picture in the background of Nellie Beavers graduation picture. 

*The Moore-Lindsay House Museum has pictures from early year books online and I discovered that Roscoe, Metaline, and Nellie each graduated from Norman High School in 1920.

My first teaching job was to finish out a term in a sixth grade class in Muskogee. I discovered I didn't like that at all. Then I moved to Paden and taught high school English and Spanish. My principal said I had to teach Economics. I told him No and said, "Can't you teach it?"  His reply was a headshaking negative stare. So I had to teach Economics and study the night before each class to stay ahead of them. 

I taught several years before moving to Pittsburg, another coal mining town where I met my husband. We moved around with his job in the mines and I taught at Shawnee, Seminole, Wewoka, and Sayre.

At last we moved back to Norman and I taught at Norman High School where I retired in 1965.  

As with retirement, our story does not end here. No more mention of Roscoe in

her interview, nor does she talk about Metaline.

However, in the spring of 1994 Nellie Beavers Childs was accompanied by her

daughter and attended our 100 year celebration of Jefferson school. During that time she brought an oil painting done by her lifelong friend, Metaline Cathey Lee.

Ten years ago the librarian gave me this picture and said, "I think you know this lady and her story."

**Metaline writes in her own handwriting on the back of this canvas: This painting was done for my friend since first grade, Nellie Beavers Childs. The painting shows hibiscus blooming in Mrs. Cathy's yard in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. Mrs. Childs spent winters in the Valley after she retired as a Norman High School teacher in 1965. 

And so, it has taken me from 1994 to 2025 to put all of these pieces together. Rest in peace Nellie, Metaline, and Roscoe. You made our world and better place to live, especially for the children in Norman, Ok. 

4/6/2025 The following stories come from my Facebook post about Nellie Childs:

I had Nellie Childs at Norman High School in the 1960's and loved here. Jane Ash Yearout

My sophomore English teacher at NHS and she was quite a lady! Vaughn Clark

I was a student of Mrs. Childs, also.  Judy Matlock

I had her for Sophomore English in 1960. As for Roscoe Thompson he was a former mayor and Bob Thompson's (Midway Deli) grandfather. He was also an uncle to my lifetime friends Patti and Jerry Nolan and Jim and Barbara Sellers. The Thompson's are a huge family and some of Norman's finest.  David Fries. 

We are the Jefferson Dragons. We symbolize "Power, Wisdom, and Chaos." Right now, we are sorting through the chaos and laughing...laughing and loving every moment of the research expedition into our history. 

Mrs. Watt, Librarian and author

Tide Pool, a Nearly True Love Story

Ooey gooey blue liquid

Early that Sunday morning in the darkness of the laundry room, a bold orange jug of detergent, left carelessly on top of the washer, slowly inched its way toward the edge of the vibrating washer. The crash and splattering of gooey blue liquid went unnoticed, as Lilith backed out of the driveway.

Lilith left the house that morning eager to be playing golf with friends. Nearly two years now since her husband’s death, she felt the cobwebs and heartache receding. Earlier in the summer she and Tom were matched up in a weekend couples event. She looked forward to seeing him again.  Even though he’d suggested several times that they go out for dinner, Lilith excused herself saying she had family plans.

On the golf course, she felt the summer sun, penetrating her pale

white skin, restoring color to her life.  Chuckling from time to time at errant golf shots, the day ended in laugher.  “Any chance you might want to continue this day with dinner at Charleston’s? We could relax and get better acquainted.” Tom asked.

“That sounds great,” she replied looking at his smile.  “Give me an hour to get home and clean up.”

Looking at his watch, he smiled, “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Pulling into the garage feeling rushed, Lilith berated herself. One hour. What was I thinking? I need more time.  Out of habit, she dropped her purse on top of the craft table as she walked down the hallway to the master bathroom. 

After the warm shower Lilith began to relax slightly, but now standing naked before the mirrors she stared at her aging body. Pulling at her face and chin, she pretended to give herself a face lift. With a little shake of confidence she thought, He’s seen me hot and sweaty on the golf course.  What could be worse than that?

Throwing the towel around her body she stepped into her closet and pulled out her Capri’s, then remembered the clean blouses hanging in the laundry room. Without turning on the light, she stepped into the laundry room and felt something cold on her feet. No longer in control of her balance she slipped, one foot kicking the nearly empty bottle of Tide, one arm grabbing then sliding down the rounded edge of the dryer.  She felt her hip bounce, her elbows and head bang the floor, but her eyes saw nothing.

The chill of her naked body soaking in a layer of gooey blue Tide woke her from a foggy blur. Her fingers clawed searching for the towel that was slowly soaking up the liquid goo.  What on earth happened? She wondered shaking her head. Wiggling and counting body parts Lilith was relieved to know that nothing felt broken.

Now in a scramble to get up, her hands, her knees, and her feet slipped one way then another. “Damn it,” she screamed. In the flopping motions of a frantic swimmer Lilith pulled her slippery blue coated body and towel toward the dry wooden floor in the hallway when suddenly the doorbell rang. Oh, dear God, Tom is here.

Shaking with a chill, she began to giggle at the absurdity of the moment. Seeing her purse on the nearby table she crawled to reach it and pulled it down.  Grabbing her cell phone, fingers sliding across the screen, she texted Tom, “help garage code *2016 careful! dragon from the blue lagoon lying in wait.”  The tears brought on by the giggles gently rolled down her cheeks.  

**Thank you Story Circle Network for selecting my story of  Tide Pool for the 2nd place winner in the Hot Flash Contest.  

Readings and Greetings: One Hundred Years of Marriage

NOTE TO THE READER
What was your father thinking the night he proposed to your mother? Why did she say yes? 

By the time we ask, all of the compelling details have cooled into whatever myths they've chosen to tell us.  Our grandparents' stories are even more frozen, and the truths of our great-grandparents' unions have perished in the airless memories of the dead.


After reading this note in One Hundred Years of Marriage, I stopped reading the book that evening and pondered all of these questions about my own family. These are the questions that intrigue genealogy storytellers.  

Louise Farmer Smith, who grew up in Norman, Oklahoma explores these questions through the lives of four generations of 'long suffering women' whose marriages produce children, depression, resilience, secrets, betrayal, and memories.  The story is balanced with insights to each couple. No marriage is one-sided, nor is this story. 

Nineteen year old Patty, becomes the caretaker of her mother, Alice, when her mother descends into the darkness of the 'change.' In order to help her little brother better understand what is happening to his mother she walks him through the wooded area out back, with the intention of explaining why their mother

married their father. The story winds back to the weekend her mother drove with her fiance, Cecil Brady, to meet his family in McAlister. Through this retelling Patty begins to understand her mother's darkness, but it is only a fragment of her parent's marriage. 

Story by story the reader discovers the path that each woman chose and why. How did Patty's great-grandmother, a beautiful young woman, become an orphan and fall into such want and desolation. The men, too, have their stories. Young Danny Hale's heart is broken when his mother, once a strong educated woman falls into depression, leaving his father no choice but to take her to the Lincoln Asylum. The Civil War, a generation of families who moved west from Virginia to Nebraska and Oklahoma Territory, to the return of veterans from World War II, are pieces of history that fill this story with love, heartache, angry men, and children who learn to stand on their own.

These are the generations who kept secrets, who kept skeletons in the closet. Louise Farmer Smith imagines what these secrets might have been, and creates one hundred years of family stories that keep the reader inthralled. 

Golf Gypsy: the Secret to Staying Young

Lois Cowles' 80th birthday w/ Carol. 

To this day, I can hear Lois's light pitched voice, her giggle, and stories of life. She was the consummate teacher. Lois knew about life, love, lose, and the Secret to Staying Young.

Lois Cowles, who raised three curious energetic and productive daughters from Miami, Ok, also, taught Kindergarten at Jefferson Elementary in Norman, Ok, for two decades.  She lived by the belief, that the

Jefferson puppeteers.

secret to staying young was to surround yourself with young people. Every spring break she would take a trip to Florida to meet friends from Ohio, and come back talking about how old they seemed to her.  I've never forgotten Lois, nor her words.  Any coach or teacher will agree that children and young people are the secret to living and laughing with glee.  

In my attempt to stay young at heart, I recently played in the 100th celebration of WOGA, and on day two I met and lost to a determined "Flat Belly" (our term of endearment for youthful women golfers.) 

The look of youth.

  
Kennedy Hudson, who just completed her first year of college at Northeastern State University and will be playing on the women's golf team, impressed me with her focus and ability to pull herself together after this old

Letty and Kennedy

woman had her down at the turn (in other words I could have won the match, but for focus, youth, determination,  and ability).  She went on to win our flight the next day.  She delighted me with her skills and attitude about golf, so I asked her how she came to be a golfer.  This is her story. 

I started playing golf because my mother forced me into the sport, and our deal was if I went a full year of golf and didn't like it then I could quit.  On the first day of golf practice that January my coach, Ken Morrow, told me to grab my 7 iron, and I was totally confused.  He could see my confusion and told me that it was the club with the upside down L on it. After I took my first swing, I fell in love with the game and realized that I could be someone in this sport.  My first tournament was in March of that year, and I shot a 122.  I was crying by the third hole.  That year I was consistent in the 120's, and by my sophomore year I was consistent in the 90's.  By my Junior and Senior year I was consistently playing in the 80's. My skills were strong enough to be recruited by Northeastern State University where I redshirted my freshman year of college, so I could continue to improve on my course management and shot making. 

What I enjoy most about golf happens when I step on the course and my stress completely melts away.  All I have to do is focus on my swing.  I never realized that golf could teach life lessons, but it has taught me to leave behind whatever is in the past, and focus on what is going on right then and there. If I continue to think about a bad hole or bad shot then I'm not giving my full effort to the shot I'm about it hit.  It has taken me many years to learn that lesson, but I feel like its the most important one.  I love the feeling of competing against myself and the golf course. Sometimes when playing against someone it can bring out the bitterness in me to try a beat another person, that's why it's important to focus on the shot, the course, and the moment. 

Thank heavens for mother's who push their children into life, and for children who keep the adults young at heart.  

Painting a Canvas of New Memories

I wonder why we become so attached to our old homes?  We are leaving a 1962 ranch style home with a most unique layout.  It flows from room to room with open doors and halls connecting like a figure eight.  The double sided large red burned brick fireplace with the dining room on one side and living room on the other stole my heart when we first saw the home.  The cream colored mantle
lines both sides and is deep enough for

Christmas decor or seasonal vases filled with fresh flowers.  That was all I liked about the house when our choices came down to only three houses in town.  I looked at the lacy window trimmings and the blue flowered wall paper and felt old and sad.  Jack couldn't see past those old faded colors, so we walked on through the house, stepped down to the sun room, then our eyes were captured by the deep green yard, and it was October.  How could there be a green yard?  Fescue, a grass new to us, added beauty to our lives for eighteen years.  A fireplace and a yard gave the house the character we needed.

Slowly, over the years the home became ours.  Long gone are the lace trimmings and baby blue wallpaper in the kitchen, dining room, and living room;  long gone are the poodles dressed in bright yellow green and pink circus tutus riding unicycles that adorned the bathroom walls.  So many more walls changed to create our home.  I loved my blogger room in muted pink with one last remaining window trimming of lace, faded lace, that pleased my soul to know that I kept someone's memory alive.  Last month a professional painter came in to repair two walls in my blogger room, making it ready "For Sale".  My muted faded pink walls that made me feel happy and vibrant dissolved and were covered by a neutral beige.  Suddenly, my creative mind felt betrayed, where had our space gone?  I began that day to separate myself from my home.

Tonight as we experimented with a new paint color on the entry hallway of our Norman home, I felt like I was still intruding on someone else's home.  I could see and feel in the burnt yellow tones of the walls how  much the previous owners loved this spacious open aired home with tall wide windows facing East and West.  We were captivated with this home because our eyes saw right through the open spaces and large windows to the backyard.  We both saw the familiar brown toned yard of an Oklahoma winter that wouldn't turn green till the heat of late spring and summer. Ha, I thought, good old bermuda.  It doesn't waste energy or water trying to stay green. Then we saw the fireplace, not our beloved red brick but a new look of fresh sand colors--yellow, brown, and rosy pink.  Our eyes followed the fireplace up to the small mantle that

seemed to support a massive wall hanging of golden oak. Then we noticed the wood trim and crown molding in every room of the home.  We were beginning to feel comfortable and knew we could make the change. When we turned to leave we realized that the home was filled with sunlight and that anytime during the day we would have abundant light keeping us warm and smiling.  Sold.

We're merely camping out this week making a few changes and looking for colors, for furniture, for counter tops that define us.  The furniture comes on a heavy truck in a few weeks.  I've found space to write in a blue room.  The twin bed coverlet of faded pinks, blues, and greens turned pale and lifeless against the bold ocean blue room, so I covered my bed with one quilt after another looking for something to fit.  Nothing yet, but months and years from now this room will change as I change.  My old desk now sits in front of a large window facing the rising sun and a large two story house.  When the barren tree in the front yard opens it's new leaves, my eyes will once again feast on green.

 As we change the appearance of our new home I wonder what changes our old home will see when a new family buys it and calls it home.  Will they appreciate that basement as much as I have during the season of sirens?  When I moved to Hutchinson I cried all the way, and now as I move back to Norman I sense I will cry all the way.  Someone once told me that your house is where your furniture is, but I believe your home is where you frame your memories.  A toast to our new canvas....

Moving On

One fall while teaching in Norman many of us were struggling with changes in curriculum and administration and Dr. Judy Ford, principal at Eisenhower elementary, reminded me that every fall was chaotic with new things to learn and that change was the only constant thing in life. I've never forgotten the smile or enthusiasm she shared when she said that.  I always felt change was a good thing in life, IF I were in charge of that change in my life, but perhaps that is a universal feeling or frustration as we all grow and face the changes through the years.

After eighteen years of living in Hutchinson and many changes in those years, some that we chose and major ones that others chose for us, Jack and I have decided to move back to our Oklahoma home and family in Norman.  Once we decided our hearts were lifted and we were happy until we sat down to reflect on our years in Hutch and the friends we've met around the state.  Now it's been tears of sadness and heartbreak when talking with friends, followed by tears of joy when I chat with my sister and daughter.  Our hearts pound with emotions.  Change is difficult even when it's our choice.

After Jack retired we traveled south and southeast looking for future homes and warm moist sunshine.  Marana and Tucson, Arizona also beckoned us to enjoy it's warm dry desert sun and the lizard inside of me said, "Yes.  Please let's sit on a rock next winter and be warm."  

Imagine the warmth.

But the heart of my family quivered and spoke, "Let's go home first, while we are healthy enough to start a new life and be part of our families lives once again."

Our secret search began before Thanksgiving as we drove around Norman reacquainting ourselves with a home we'd left.  By Christmas we were house shopping and in mid January we found a house with windows, sunshine, extra bedrooms, and a big backyard. Still we kept our secret and that hurt most of all.  We had our reasons for keeping it a secret, but now I realize it might have been easier to have started the dialogue earlier.  I wrote about our tree in the field growing old and dying and cried to myself inside as I knew when writing it that this would be our last winter to experience the life of that field.  I haven't been able to write since then on my blog, but I did send a story to "One Woman's Day" about Keeping A Secret....<http://onewomansday.wordpress.com/>  It helped me to tell my story, just as this story does.

Mike, Isaac, Ann, Jack, Letty, Jonya.

Yes, we are moving on, but not so far that we can't return for celebrations of friendships, rounds of golf, or just because we miss this home.  Sometime in March we will begin the moving process with hopes of being settled by Easter so our sons will have a home to come home to for Easter and other holidays; so our daughter and my sister's family will be near; so we can help Jack's mother who is moving slowly now in her 90th year of life; so we can gather with Jack's family and share stories and be there to help each other; and, so we don't have to travel far for those OU home football games!

It will be an adventure, and one that will create a few stories to share.  For those of you who follow my blog, I want to thank you and to say, I will continue to write.  It just feels good, and even better now that I have shared what's really happening in our lives.