Memories of Jimmy Gayle McKinney
April 1999
I was lucky to have spent my youth with Asbury Brazier and Katie Ida Burt.
We lived about six blocks apart, from 416 N. Beard to 611 W. 10th in
Shawnee, from the time I was 5, 1952 or 3. Asbury passed away when I was
10 or 11. Katie departed much later after I was grown.
After selling her ownership in the House of Flowers in Shawnee, my mother,
Laura, owned and operated Ideal Beauty Shop for many years along with
having a rooming house with 15 beds for men only. As Laura would work
late, I spent many pre-grade school days and grade school afternoons and
evenings at Asbury and Katie's (Grandpa and Grandmas) house. The house was
by the railroad depot and we played around the station a lot.
Asbury had a sense of humor which enlightened all those around him. He
could spin the best yarn or tease in the most humorous way and always had a
gleam in his eye. He rolled his own cigarettes from Prince Albert cans and
smoked really neat pipes with awful tobacco in them. He sometimes smoked
some dark twisted tobacco leaves which could have been grown locally. It
wasn't store bought either way. The leaf was cured somehow and had the
kick of a mule. He spent much of the time I knew him at the spit and
whittle club which met across from the bank at Main and Bell street or on
the bench down at the court house. He was an avid follower of politics and
a staunch Democrat. He had served as Sergeant-at-Arms with the State
Legislature at one time as I remember the badge and certificate he was
given tucked away in a cigar box. Debaters on politics with Grandpa were
given no quarter and spared no embarrassment.
When the young cousins would play close and do something silly, Asbury
would tap us "for the simples" with his fingers. It was good natured and
he would smile when we teased with him.
Grandpa Asbury was a believer in God and a Christian. A farmer of those
days would be hard placed not to be. Although not much for formalized
church going, I recall him praying. Laura told me of memory she had as a
young girl (8 or 9) of her father, hands folded together, on his knees,
deep in prayer in a thicket out by a cotton patch that was about to parch.
Katie Ida Burt was kind in spirit, with a smiling twinkle down deep in
those beautiful eyes. Her eyes were covered by brows parched by toil in
the field and worn with grace from birthing 6 babies in a dugout dirt floor
house in Seminole County. The old place was on the West side of the creek
just West of Little cemetery on the North side. Grandpa Asbury had
shares on crops at that time struggling through the 1900s. They also lived
in Little, Oklahoma which was two miles East of the Little Cemetery and
back South. Some of the original buildings, and a few foundations of the
old town are still visible.
Katie Ida inspired and challenged. She had a deep respect for nature and
talked softly of angels and Jesus. I would sneak up on her in her garden
and hear her humming hymns. She grew the most beautiful flowers. The
aroma was delightful in the spring. Stooped by age, and what, I think is
called Osteoporosis from calcium deficiency, she was always
weeding and turning the soil in the spring and into the summer. My
favorite smell at Grandmas though, was the huge Honeysuckle by the front
porch which would fill with bees and humming birds when it bloomed.
There were chickens in a pen behind the garage at Grandmas house. One of
my chores was to gather eggs. They put ceramic or glass eggs in the nests
to get the chickens to sit. I only had one spiteful chicken to fight with
me for stealing her eggs in many many trips to the shed. I also remember
Katie selecting, catching and preparing chickens for Saturday or Sunday
diner. I got to help pluck sometimes, but was not crazy about that chore
and tried to disappear when it came up. Her cooking was what far from home
dreams are made of. The biscuits and sausages were prepared on Saturday
and would last under a cheese cloth and covered in lard in a can for about
a week. It was a treat to scrape the lard off the sausage (no nuke
machines then) and cover it with Grandma's homemade grape jam...mmmmMMMmmm.
Katie always had pop in the fridge and we were always welcome to have one
if we asked.
Joy, I think what you have on Uncle Buddy is excellent. He would not mind
and I certainly feel that the story bears telling.
Buddy was, to me, a kind and gentle man. He had a somewhat sordid and
violent youth but was friendly and always courteous to me. He would tease
me on occasion and smile as I rebuffed. I remember how sad he was after
June left.
I remember going fishing with Buddy and Lloyd at the river as a teenager.
We caught lots of fish and I got to fetch and carry "everything". It was
a fun thing to go fishing on a Sunday afternoon with Lloyd and Buddy in
Lloyds old black 54 Chevy pickup truck with the starter on the floor and
the racks on the back. Claude was in the river running lines with Lloyd
when he had the stroke which he eventually died from. Uncle Buddy was laid
to rest in Little Cemetery next to his father in '64 or '65 (I'll check
next time I'm at Little).
Claude got crosswise and fought with Asbury (over work, plowing or feeding
or picking or something un-pleasurable for a teenager) at, I think, 16 or
17 (that would be 1915, 16 or 17) and left home to make his way. Katie
fretted over him constantly, for the family did not hear a word from him in
over two years. He had settled in Lubbock, Texas and had contracted a
fever which Laura said lasted almost a year. An old woman which he boarded
with had fed him and nursed him back to health over this extended almost
fatal illness. Grandma told me that she had prayed for him every day that
he was gone and that she had sent an angel to watch over him when he left.
According to her, the old landlady had done divine work by saving her
oldest son.
A World War II veteran of Europe, uncle Buddy was pretty stolid most of the
time. Very stout and muscular. It was reported that men would come from
Seminole and Pottawatomie County to have bare fist fights with him for
sport. There was some money won in those bouts, according to Lloyd. The
"meetings" would take place behind the old Public Market, down on the
creek, on E Highland in Shawnee (am unclear as to the years). Lloyd said
Claude's hands were like large hams and his arms were so strong and quick
that one powerful punch would sometimes result in an unconscious opponent.
I could never tell if stories told by Lloyd, or anyone else for that
matter, about Claude were just good stories or what. However, I could
always tell when Lloyd was exaggerating or yarn telling by the twinkle he
got in his eye. Laura couldn't spin a tail if her life depended on it and
a lot of the stories I heard about Buddy were verified when I asked her
about them. Either way, there is always some fact present in a good yarn.
There are some tales that are real duzies and would curl your toes.
The days of Claude Burt were in the early 1900s through the oil booms and
wars of the 30s and 40s. Claude owned and operated a small cafe in
Earlsboro during the boom. Oil had been discovered and a huge lawless tent
city immerged overnight. Oil field hands, grease, grime, mud, gambling,
prostitution, murder and the lot fell upon the little burg of Earlsboro in
a matter of days.
There are very many interesting stories of the boom at Earlsboro. However,
the one I remember most is that of the man who came into the cafe and
pulled a gun to rob uncle Buddy. He stuck the gun in Buddies stomach and
demanded his till. Buddy allowed that he had earned the money and would be
damned if he'd give it up to some low life who was out to steal it. He
grabbed the gun and took it away from the man. I understand that some
"powerful misery" (quote Laura) was dealt after that. Lloyd used the word
"bludgeoned". Don't really know if this is too spicy a story or not, but
it is told as it was related to me.