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

Stormy

Stormy Weather on the horizon.

My little sister, Jonya Lee (Stormy) Stapp, says that I have a storm magnet inside of me.  Wherever, we go it seems that storms are attracted to me. 

She is entirely wrong and I have spent decades trying to convince her that she is the storm magnet. After all, Mr. Jack Horner, manager of Woolworth's Five and Dime Store in Miami, Ok. in the 1950's would not have named my sweet darling blue eyed-brunette-haired little sister "STORMY" if she hadn't caused such temper tantrums and crying fits on the floor of the dime store when she didn't get what she wanted.  She is the reason that storms appear so often when we are together.

The End of story #1, she wrote with a smirk. 

The second Stormy in my life began the decades of reading horse and dog stories that broke my heart. Stormy, Misty's Foal;  Misty of Chincoteague; Black Gold, and all books by Marguerite Henry opened the floodgates of emotions that I discovered were real, even though they were caused by stories in a book, on pages, on paper, not in my backyard. That story never ends.

Imagine to my surprise to meet a real life Stormy, on the prairie in 2015. Stormy, the bison bull was born during an ice storm in 2013 and abandoned by his mother. Luckily, the herd's owners realized the situation and rescued the newborn bison. In the beginning he drank eight quarts of goat's milk a day.  

Stormy loved the warm sunny porch of his new home. 

Hearing of my friend's new family member, a group of retired teachers made our way to visit James and Sandy Stepp at their farm, Sandy Springs Farm.

By then Stormy ruled the ranch and all of its surroundings. He made his home wherever he went and he was no longer small. 

Stormy in the banquet barn, 2015

Six years have passed and there is a bigger "Stormy" on the horizon, who roams his own prairie. 

Stormy, front left and his herd.

In early June our grandchildren Ruth Ann and A.J. Walenz and mother, Katy and I drove out to Sandy Springs Farms to see up close real live bison. Stormy had grown into a  massive full adult bison (James said that people just want to call them buffalo, so they gave up and went along with the popular name.**) James explained that at  2,200 pounds Stormy was considered small by standard bull bison. 

Stormy still is comfortable with James walking beside him and scratching his head, but James no longer attempts to ride on Stormy's back, as he did the first four years. Stormy still likes to have his giant head scratched as the kids found out.  Ruth Ann stuck her hand into his forehead and coarse thick warm hair covered her hand all the way to where a watch band might be on her wrist before she touched his forehead. Tempted to pull out some of his hair for a souvenir, James offered to pick up bison hair off the trail, so the kids could take on his hair. 

Ruth Ann reaching through Stormy's hair to touch his forehead. 

A.J. wanted to go under the fence like James....

There is a new bison in the family. Her name is Daisy. She currently lives beside the house in her very own garden of red clay, flowers, a porch for shade, and an open gate to the back pasture so she can roam as she pleases. 

Daisy

Abandoned at birth like Stormy, she was sent to live with James and Sandy by another person who raises bison. Daisy is still skittish of people, but not dogs and cats.  She will walk up to James when he arrives with the 8 quart jug of goat's milk, and drink from the bottle he holds.

James holding 8qrt of goat's milk. 

Like all days and stories we must come to an end.  With a full belly Daisy and James can relax. As for us, with two young children we continued on to picnic at Red Rock Canyon and found even more adventures. 

James and Daisy napping after a hard day's work. 

The two weeks of downpours and stormy weather seem to have faded away, and the sun and clouds are clear today. In Oklahoma stormy weather is never far from the horizon, just like our stories.  

*On a side note my mother often sang the old songs, the songs my ears still enjoys, like Stormy Weather by Lena Horne

** The difference between bison and buffalo: Generally, the buffalo has a larger body than the bison. The buffalo also has bigger horns. The bison has a larger head used to forage for feed during the winter months. The buffalo also has a smooth coat while the bison has a shaggy winter coat. The bison has stocky legs, and a hump on its back which helps hold the musculature of their large head.Bison information

For more stories like this one click on these links below:

Out Standing in the Field  

Pioneer Courage  

I really did this.

I climbed on Stormy's back.

and didn't have time to hold on

before he took off. Thank you

James Stepp for saving my butt.

The fall was hard but it could have

hurt more than my pride 

Windows on Faith

Feeling my heart pump and tears filling my eyes, as I watched the spire fall into the flames at Notre Dame this week, I could only go inward and send prayers for the world of faith.  For each of us may see the same thing and interpret it quite differently, while in our hearts we experience the moment personally. 

As a young child of five I attended a Catholic school and services regularly during that one year. My only feeling of recall of that experience is that I continually had to look up.  I looked up at the nuns, the buildings, the adults, the alter, the trees, the sky, and the colorful stained glass windows. Then I was told to look down when praying. This made no sense to a child of tiny stature. I began to question religion quite early in life. Why not look up to the heavens when talking to God or Jesus or Mary? 

As long as no one watched me in church, I looked up to and through the stained glass windows sending my short prayers to heaven. I knew as a child that needed all the help I could get. 


Decades later and a life filled with sorrow, loss, bliss and love I still need help from above. In our sanctuary, at First Christian Church, I found peace and radiant colors of life and love in these traditional stained glass windows, and I discovered a new way of looking at faith through another set of windows to be found in our chapel. 







Our chapel glows with the colors from these windows on faith.  The six panels share a perspective on faith beginning with the first Window of the Beginning (not shown below)  Window of the Nativity, Window of Christ the King, Window of the Disciples, Window of the Trinity, and Window of Christ in the World (not shown below). Often I sat in Sunday school lost in the visuals surrounding me. 

Window of Nativity, of Christ the Kind, of the Disciples, of the Trinity 

The ribbons running through of blues and purple became my path for connecting the symbols. At last I asked a church member how the windows came to be and what some of the symbols represented. She explained that it was the church's intent that the windows be read and understood from any perspective (top to bottom, bottom to top, side to side in either direction) and singly or in any combination.  

Window of Beginning 

With the information in hand, I told myself to jump into the deeper meanings. Journeys take us in so many directions but always my eyes search for colors first. The blues in the panels represent water, sky, hope, truth, spiritual love, or God the Father. The purple ribbons that flow across the panels tell the story of endurance, sorrow, royalty, penitence, Advent, Lent, and God the Father. Green, the color of spring, represents nature, hope, faith, triumph of life over death, growth, victory, and the Trinity Season. A rainbow in the heavens can say so much.

In the first window, the Window of the Beginning the symbols are the Star of David, Alpha Omega, the Rainbow and the Ark, the Tablets of the Ten Commandments. The text words are; Covenant, Prophecy, Logos, Truth, and Lord.

The various crosses then came to life for me. They are: Celtic, the early Christian symbol taken from Ireland to Iona by Columba in the 6th C. The circle through the cross symbolizes eternity;  Tau, the first letter of the Greek word for God, theos, OT cross and Cross of prophecy;  Anchor, used by early Christians in the catacombs, less obvious than the Latin or Greek shapes stands for the Christians' hope in Christ as a sure anchor;  Greek, one of the two traditional forms of all arms equal or the vertical arm longer. It is also the ancient symbol of the four directions and four winds;  Crux Ansate, hieroglyphic symbol of life and regeneration, later adapted by Christians as symbol of eternal life. These are still picture stories to be seen, felt, and pulled into. 

In the last panel I felt our heritage expand and grow, but I have many windows to go to learn about faith. This is not intended to be a story of labels, instead I think it is another way to look at our world through the lenses of these symbols and the history of our faith world.

Window of Christ in the World (6) 

Here is where I found the keeping of the love of God in my heart as the Dove, the symbol of peace and the Holy Spirit descends upon us

  

and sits outside my writing window to open my heart and mind, reminding me to look upward and say, "Thank You."





*Thank you Lynne Levy for sharing history and meaning of these Stained Glass Windows. 

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.  

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....

Miami Memories: MHS the Substitute

The phone rang early this morning jarring my cozy dream state.  Staying in my warm bed and ignoring the loud ring came to mind, but instead I crawled out of bed, politely answered in a most upbeat tone, and listened as the voice pleaded, "Letty, we need a sub today.  Could you please take this job?"

"No, I'm sorry," I replied, "but my calendar is full."  After hanging up, my guilt gene kicked in for a few moments.

The morning was still dark outside and the house was chilly.  My husband was eating breakfast and the dog was faithfully begging and drooling by his side, waiting on a tasty morsel to drop.   Before I had a chance to settle into the still warm sheets of bed, my brain buzzed with a flashback to my first substitute teaching job at Nichols Elementary in Miami, Oklahoma.

A picture would have read circa December 1967,  showing a bright eyed nineteen year old college student dressing for her first teaching job.  I was home from LSU on semester break and had plunged into the adult world immediately by filling out forms to be a substitute teacher.   I don't remember much about that day other than the fear in my eyes when I meet those fourth graders, and the pounding in my heart when I saw the teacher's lesson plans.   With the schedule seemingly changing every 20 or 40 minutes, I never really caught up with that first day.  Recess was a great relief to me, and the end of the day bell convinced me that I had chosen the right path, teaching high school English or History would be a breeze compared to elementary.

Spring Break 1968 I remained dedicated to making money by substituting at Miami High School, where I knew my way around, having just graduated from that stately red brick building in 1965.  I proudly accepted the job to sub for Mr. Lingo in French class, especially since I had taken two years of French from him and had continued on in college with French classes.  The morning was glorious:  my little sister Jonya, a sophomore, came by the room to see me; I drank a coke and set it on the desk as I had seen Mrs. Enderland and Mrs. Thompson do when they substituted;  other teachers recognized me and asked if I needed  help.  "No thank you, but I'm doing just fine," I replied. I spent time in the library at noon with Mrs. Watson chatting about books we had both been reading. The Confessions of Nat Turner was my favorite read that year.

The calming spirit of Miami High.

Springtime weather warmed the classroom and the janitor helped me open some of the stuck windows, leading to my first encounter with rowdy boys.  Shortly after taking role in the last class of the day, I looked up to see a boy leaping out of the window and two more on his heels.  I rushed to the window to stop them, and then I broke into a short jab of laughter followed by embarrassed anger.  The remaining students and I watched as the boys ran between two houses and on across main street to "E. C's" Drive-Inn.  A deep breath was in order, but then what to do?   Calming myself and my students came first, and when at last they were on task for the moment, I quietly stepped out and walked down the hallway to the principal's office.  Mr. Kelton looked up smiling,  "It's nice to have you in the building today.  How has your day gone?"  Humbly, I explained that I had lost control with the group of boys and described what had happened.  With no sympathy and a sheepish grin on his face he responded rather sarcastically   "Now skipping out of class isn't anything new to you, is it Letty?"  If I could have disappeared in a puff of smoke at that moment I would have, but instead I smiled, dropped my head and said, "I never jumped out the window!"

I don't remember what the course of action might have been that day.  My guess is that Mr. Kelton calmly walked over to E.C's and invited the boys back into the building.  I survived.  I never finished that degree to be a high school teacher, but I did stay in education, and am most grateful to every child who entered my life.  Forty-five years have passed since that first phone call.  Today, and perhaps for years to follow,  rather than substitute I have chosen to write, to exercise, to read, to relax and let someone else take charge.