Richard Eldred Blalock, part 1

My father, Richard Eldred Blalock, was named for his grandfathers but was called “Dred”, by all and sundry even as his grandfather was. I am the older of his two children, and the nearest they could get to “Dred” for a girl was “Mildred”, my younger brother later being called “Arden”. I had a lot of fun when I was a kid when asked by other youngsters what my father’s real name was. I always answered “Mildred” of course”. Since his initials of R.E. refuted that statement, it should not have carried any weight but kids don’t think very far and I had my laugh.

Among the things about our life with Daddy which impressed me as a child were the trips we made to visit his parents who lived some eight or ten miles away down in the Sulphur River area. He loved to hitch up the two horses to a light wagon and take off with a flourish. We two kids were placed on a pallet in the back and thought it was a lot of fun. Before reaching Grandpa Billy’s place, the road, such as it was, wound down a long steep hill. My mother was always terrified of going down that hill behind those frisky horses, and so, the wagon was stopped and all got out to walk down the hill while Daddy recklessly drove. Sometimes I thought that all would pile up in a mess of horses, wagon and man, but he always managed to control things. I think he really enjoyed it. I always had to be called because I would wander about picking up pretty little rocks and flowers. Grandmother Nancy always had some little things special for us. Sometimes it was a plate of rock candy, as she dried out the cane syrup they grew and made, pounding and crushing the sugar crystals into sugar.

But my pride and joy knew no bounds when I was allowed to hold the little slick stick and tap the spinning wheel to keep it in motion, (no doubt many times when it didn’t need it) as she spun the thread which she knitted into socks and other things. This memory has lasted thru the years. Due to my father’s love for his mother and his persistence in searching for it after her death, the old spinning wheel was finally located in a neighbor’s attic, where she had placed it, having borrowed it before grandmother became so ill. She had heard that my father had been out to the old place searching for a piece of it to keep for a souvenir. So the good woman, bless her, sent him word that she had it and for him to come and get it.

He really did not have room in his house to keep the relic properly anyway, so I got the spinning wheel with a promise to always keep it in the family. I happened to be visiting there at the time and begged my father for it. It was a wedding present for his parents from Grandmother’s father, who made it for them himself. At present it sits high in the niche built especially for it, where it may be seen but not touched.

It is rather fragile after all these years I hasten to add that Grandmother also had another smaller, prettier one, later, and we do not know what became of it. It was a ‘store bought one1 and the one I have is the one I would have much preferred - the old hand made crude one. It occupies a place of honor in a large room, the walls are white but the drapery behind it is light blue. I now have five great grandchildren, and I think one of them will wish to take the responsibility for it, but I am “feeling” around trying to decide who will appreciate it most and take care of it, best. If I decide none of them deserve it, then I shall start “feeling” around among my cousins’ families. It must stay in the family. Another thing which comes with my memories of Daddy during my childhood days was the time when the snow and sleet was so deep they decided I must not walk the two miles to the little one room school at Antioch where I began my education. Daddy saddled up the gentlest old horse and I was to ride her while he rode another. I had never ridden before, so I kicked up quite a fuss about it. I yelled and stuck both legs straight out so as not to touch the horse. Well instead of giving me the spanking I needed; he patiently walked and led the poor horse while I cried.

We were a poor farm family, and my father always went out during the winter to make extra cash by working at various jobs, usually at a sawmill or as a teamster. Most of the time he was away except for the week ends. When Christmas came he was home with buckets of candy, oranges, apples, and nuts and we did not have them all during the year as children do now. They had taught us about Christmas, and it was a great time. Mother usually baked a big white frilly coconut cake. Daddy would get up in the wee small hours and build a roaring fire for us kids to wake up to — and look for what Santa had brought us. There was always money saved to buy us a few inexpensive toys and the finest doll on the market today would not bring any more joy than the one that was awaiting for me.

Then came the time when Daddy went to work as Deputy Sheriff under his cousin, Cooper Blalock, for Cass county. We were not too happy about the work as it kept him away from home too much, also it was sometimes dangerous. My father became fascinated by this work and continued it in some capacity throughout the rest of his life He was elected Constable of “Precinct #4” for many, many years. I remember that he once worked with the “Texas Rangers” which resulted in an offer for a good paying job in the western part of the state. But Cass County, he knew like the back of his hand and he was at home there, so he stayed. Money did not seem to matter to him as much as “getting his man.”

He was a friendly sort of person and I have heard it said that he just laughed and talked the prisoners into coming with him. He could get tough, but he never liked to. Many a time I can remember his bringing a prisoner - sometimes a murderer - home with him, sitting him down at the table and sharing the food courteously. We learned to expect most anything.

There has been much discussion about the family before our time, and some disagreements. I only knew the bits I picked up from others, but I did know some of the family. I knew Cooper and John and Nora and some of their family as well as most of my own cousins. I heard about “Uncle George” - great uncle to me - who went to Mexico. In later years I happened to become acquainted in New Mexico, with some people who knew them well in old Mexico. Seems the boys went to school together.