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Medium 9781574412239

13. The Trials and Tribulations of a Dirt Road Country Doctor

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF



OF A DIRT ROAD COUNTRY DOCTOR by Mildred Boren Sentell

Dr. J. D. Davis, an early Fisher County doctor, wrote for his family and friends a recollection of his experiences in the early part of the century. He finished his narrative in August of 1935, when he was seventy-four, and it has been passed through the generations to his great-grandson, Gaza Seabolt, who has kindly allowed me to use it as a basis for this paper. His family were unreconstructed Confederates, and they carried on the traditions and views of those in the region of Georgia from which they drew their heritage.

Dr. Davis’ parents immigrated to Texas from Georgia in 1857, making the move with an ox wagon and team. “The day they landed in Winnsboro, Father had the total sum of $20 in money and a family of twenty.” Mr. Davis and the older boys worked in a saw-mill, hunted for meat and farmed for a living, and built a home on 269 acres of timbered land. On August 14, 1861 (the opening year of the War Between the States), J. D. Davis was born. He was named for Jefferson Davis.

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Medium 9781574412444

2. Preschool Memories

Peggy Heinkel-Wolfe University of North Texas Press PDF

cooing or coaxing helped him to sleep. Finally, exhausted, I stood up. Sam was crying. So was I.

“Today is gone. Today was fun,” I said with tears rolling down my cheeks. His face relaxed. His eyes looked straight into mine. Although I was almost overwhelmed by the unfamiliar feeling of his full gaze, I continued, wiping my cheeks with my shirt. “Tomorrow is another one.”

He smiled as I straightened out his comforter around him and let my voice decrescendo. “Every day, from here to there, . . .”

“. . . funny things are everywhere,” he finished.

Preschool Memories

Sam’s third birthday loomed, which meant we had to say goodbye to Nancy and her home visits. The county ran the infant development programs, but once children turned three years old,

Sacramento City Unified School District assumed responsibility.

Their special education staff insisted that Sam be evaluated again, even though the county had evaluated him only six months earlier. They wouldn’t test Sam in the comfort of our living room, either. Instead, we were sequestered in a small room at an old elementary school near Goethe Park. I was grateful for winter sunshine coming through the short, wide window at the far end of the room. Was this once someone’s office, and had they enjoyed looking up from their desk at the leaves on the trees outside? In Sacramento, leaves clung to trees through fall and winter. In Wisconsin, maple, oak, and elm trees turned blazing red and orange before the leaves piled high on the ground and left tree skeletons behind.

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Medium 9781574412383

“Safe in the Arms of Trainmen”

Kenneth L. Untiedt, editor University of North Texas Press PDF


She was Lana Turner and I was Hedy Lamarr when the train went by. The rest of the time, we splashed about, with hopes of getting properly wet in her twelve-inch-deep concrete swimming pool, née watering trough. The pool was at the foot of her long sloping backyard, a kind distance from her mother’s ears but not out of sight of a watchful eye from the kitchen window.

We were seven and eight years old, my friend Priscilla and I, both very white dishwater blondes growing up in that small North

Texas town. Our suits were not Barbie bikinis, no spandex, no DayGlo colors. They were one-piece, colored burnt orange or royal blue, held up by a tie around our necks sometimes defaulting to allow an innocuous nipple to ride over the rim of the décolletage.

But already we were trying out our skills as “glamour pusses.”

When that first woof-woof came drifting down the tracks, we stopped what we were doing and prepared for the passage of the

Katy some few yards away. We dipped our hair in the water and slicked it back, stood up and patted our soggy suits, clamored out of the water and perched, one on each of the back corners of the pool, like a couple of Acropolis porch maidens. Though we didn’t know to suck in our bellies, the rest of us was ready—bony little feet angled, one knee provocatively bent, one hand on a hip, the other couching a head tossed back wantonly.

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Medium 9781574414493

Part One

Edited by Kenneth W. Howell University of North Texas Press PDF
Medium 9781574413205

Hunting the Elusive Lost Mines and Buried Treasures of Texas

Edited by Kenneth L. Untiedt University of North Texas Press PDF



8:16 AM

Page 267




The current and growing fascination with lost mines and buried treasures has been manifested in movies, television specials and reality shows, and has triggered the dramatic increase in the sales of metal detectors and expedition gear. In addition, books about lost mines and buried treasures have reached best-seller status and are in demand more than ever.

Though never more popular than today, “hunting” for lost mines and buried treasures has long occupied the thoughts and actions of adventurers and explorers. This kind of quest has oft been represented in tales such as King Solomon’s Mines, Treasure Island, and Treasure of the Sierra Madre, as well as the numerous books and movies treating the search for the Golden Fleece by Jason and the Argonauts.

Many would argue that the notion such treasures might be attainable by the common man can be attributed to J. Frank Dobie and two of his books, Apache Gold and Yaqui Silver (1928) and

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