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Indian Girl

May 20, 2004

Continuing from last week. As the census taker continued down narrow Union Street, there was a small frame house that was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Logan Mann.

As Mrs. Allen, the census taker, made her way to the home of the Logan Mann family, she recorded that Logan was the head of the household. He owned his own property which was valued at $600, but did not possess one of the 21 radios in the town. Mr. Logan’s wife was named Mary M. ( I always remembered Mrs. Mann referred to as Zelda). Logan was 50 years old and she was 43. His parents were born in Virginia and Georgia. He was listed as a filling station salesman and was not a veteran of a war.

With this couple lived their son named Wylie M. And his wife, Nellie L. Nellie’s parents were born in Missouri and Texas. She was identified as the Mann’s daughter-in-law and Wylie’s wife. They had a daughter, Nina M, that was adopted and was six years old, and another daughter, Alice M., who was 20 years old. All of the children and in-law were born in Texas. Wylie was a laborer and performed odd jobs.

The Manns lived on the street behind my grandparents and Mrs. Zelda Mann was a professional wallpaper hanger. She kept the latest in designs in my grandmother’s house. Every year, Mrs. Mann would hang wallpaper in a different room in my grandmother’s house. She did all of the work by herself, and the walls were twelve feet tall. It amazes me that she was able to hang these long sheets all by herself.

Mrs. Mann also taught the Beginner Sunday School Class at the Methodist Church. There weren’t any kids in Aubrey that didn’t enjoy Mrs. Mann’s Bible teaching methods. If my memory serves me right, she taught the Beginner Class for more than forty years.

One of the highlights in my life was how this righteous, loyal friend of the church would take us young Beginners around the church a couple of times a year and tell us the story about each of the stained glass windows in the sanctuary. She would take her Bible around and read the story from the Bible and then explain the story to us. As young children, we could see the life from the Bible unfolding as we watched the windows during her storytelling.

Mrs. Mann outlived Mr. Mann by several years. In my eyes she was one of the most righteous women of our time. I know that her rewards are many; she lived her life totally by the teachings in the Bible and her church.

I was on a trip to Colorado when I received word of her passing. I made my journey back home for this good woman’s final service.

After leaving the Mary D. Starling residence on her way to the Mann’s home, the census taker traveled on the newly constructed highway which was made of a gravel base, and went north down the narrow street that was traveled very little by walking and Model T’s; the only method for travel down this road was the one horse buggy or a wagon that was pulled by two horses. This was about the only method of travel when the fifteenth annual census was taken during April 1930.

I remember these streets were made of sandy soil, and the buggies made deep ruts in the streets. The Model T Fords were high on the wheel axles and were very tall. When cars met other cars driving in the old overly used ruts, both cars would have to jump up on the side of the rut and make room for the oncoming car. The ruts were a good six to eight inches deep. You can just imagine what a catastrophic effort it took to pass without a passing lane. Many times this was a scene within itself, and required a special driver handling the steering wheel just to get out of the way so that the oncoming car could get by freely. Passing was not heard of. The cars were not able to maneuver at high speeds which would have been required to pass another car.

I remember that all of the city streets had a patch of Bermuda grass growing on each side of the ruts. The grass was tall enough to drag the oil pan. The oil on the grass made the business better for Mr. Logan Mann since he was the salesman at the Tom Mountain Filling Station that was located where the current City Hall is located.

If we were able to spend a few hours or an afternoon sitting on the coke case at the filling station, we were lucky enough to hear stories about the latest happenings.

Since last week, I have had a couple of local historians come in with information. They told of some acts of vandalism that occurred when Bob McNatt was night watchman. The story is about a couple of local teens that were learning to drive. The hooked their Daddy’s long tongued wagon that normally required two horses to pull to the back of an old car and went down the road at full speed (which was probably 15 miles per hour). As they gained full speed, they would turn the steering wheel so that it would give a big swirl and clip a few mail boxes down as they were going to the Cross Roads store.

A few days later as everyone was out standing under the shade of the filling station, a well-dressed man with a clip board drove into the driveway. The conversationalist had already passed on that no one in the crowd was supposed to know anything. But the end result was that someone in the crowd had been watching when the mail boxes were clipped. It just so happened that it was this person’s mail box who was destroyed.

The same historians told me that Bob and Lee McNatt built the old large two story house that was originally built for Sam Wilcox. I also learned that the house burned to the ground during the 1940's. Other stories were about Lee McNatt when he went fishing. He had a loud voice that carried all over the creek, lake and bottom lands. The loud voice was his trademark. His loud voice was the very first thing that I remember about Lee. I remember he lived near the new Lake Dallas – we were always welcome to fish near his small house that he built on the lake.

So far, no one has shared a photo of the large Wilcox house, but I think with a little help, someone will find a photo of this house that was built back in the 1880's.

If you can catch M.L. Milton, Buddy Goin and O.D. Milton together, then you really learn about history as their conversations unfold.

 

 

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