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Memories of Golde Dicks Markham (1996) Golde Markham Dicks 73/125

In addition to them, I expect my great-granddaughters to read this—Benny, do you
read me? And Bonnie, I expect you and your beloved to raise the sweetest little boy and girl

whoever walked the face of this earth. I’m writing especially for all of my grandchildren, my
great-grandchildren, of course, my nieces and nephews, and all others who are interested.
It wasn’t long before others began to buy new Fords. Great Uncle Joe Dicks was the
next to buy one. I think Pa followed Uncle Joe. It wasn’t very long before nearly all of the

neighbors had cars.

J

The old Mount Tabor three-room schoolhouse came to a screeching halt. The school
trustee was appointed to administer the school affairs. I don’t know if he had any assistants,

but this man was about the most despicable, ignorant, destitute of knowledge person in the
world to be a school adviser.
When he visited the school and asked us first, second, and third graders to read for
him—I got the idea he couldn’t read himself.

Eventually school policies changed. When J.W. Bums was elected school superinten­
dent, he came to listen to a few of us read. Of course, the teacher called on the very best

readers because she wanted to be recognized as a good teacher. After this demonstration,
J.W. Bums examined the teacher’s register. I think the teachers had to turn these registers in
at the superintendent’s office in Lake City to be checked every so often.
When J.W. Bums visited the school, he would ask a boy to water his horse, unharness

it, and feed it so he could make the trip back to Lake City. He left Lake City early that
morning and returned at sundown. The horse was probably more exhausted than Mr. Bums,
I’m sure.

When my older uncles no longer attended school, Roy and I had to walk two and a
half miles to school in the deep sand. Emerald1 and'Trammell later joined us on this long
walk. Some mornings it was so cold that the sandy road would be frozen hard. Our footsteps
sounded just like we were walking on cement.

Soon after Pa bought his Model-T Ford, he told me to get a kettle of boiling water to
pour on the carburetor so the car would crank. The car froze up also. We had to crank the

cars by hand. Many men broke their arms cranking their cars. From the time I was about 11,
I could crank the old Ford as good as any man. Pa snapped on the side cuftains while I was
getting the kettle to boil on those cold mornings when he drove us to school. We were so
happy when he could drive us.

73

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