No place like home I always say and for sure Allen is my home. I think mom felt that real strong for Allen on one “bad” day in 1938. The day we moved to Centrahoma. The old house dad had rented was in horrible shape. Our new landlord had stored hay in it and now he had rented it to my broke and, as mom put it, “gullible” dad. I remember the giant red-ant bed in the front yard. No drinking water. Had to haul it. The outdoor toilet was hiding out in a dangerous looking sticker patch. No respectable snake would venture out there. For a bit of respectability and as an odor chaser, Mom repapered both rooms (of the house) with Daily Oklahomans using flour and water for paste. After Gerald wept over it, she tore the news print off the walls and repapered with comic strips— cheering my unhappy brother up.

Preacher Clyde Nickell over in Allen was “kin” to Edra

Moore, my dad’s boss’ wife. And it was Clyde who hustled us an unbelievable old truck and driver to move us over. He helped dad get a job. The new job presented plenty of work and featured even lower pay than he had received in Allen. The 60-hour week paid 10 cents/ hour. But as I said, times were really bad. People were starving in 1938 Oklahoma. But new boss Bill Moore was good to us and was a life saver. Sort of like in the old Confederacy. I don’t know how old Clyde’s truck was, but I saw it had wooden wheel spokes. It’s a wonder we made it.

Oh, the red ant bed? Mom didn’t mess around with ants. After I had decided to launch a scientific study by sitting on the hill, the ants paid with their lives. I paid it in pain. I don’t know what she did, but the next day there was just a flat spot there.

For our daily entertainment, The Oklahoma City/Atoka Railroad track had a railroad track through town. Almost through our front yard. Yes, they too had a “Dinky” that ran once a day East and then back that afternoon to Oklahoma City. It was an East/ West train while the Dinky in Allen was a North/South affair. Their tracks crossed at Tupelo. This was handy since mom’s younger sister was postmaster at Lula. And we quickly noted Lula was about as close to Centrahoma as it was to Allen. The Dinky turned out to be the best way to Lula for us and an almost never-ending source of enjoyment and ponder.

Riding the little diesel powered trolley across the hills and dales of Oklahoma to Lula was as thrilling as a carnival ride—not that we had any experience with those either. It had a toilet aboard. You looked down in it and you could see the railroad track. A sign warned against using this convenience while the train stood in the station. But the town of Allen was, for all practical purposes; a million miles away for us. We didn’t even have a car. The man who Dad worked for in Allen had joined the rest of his customers and moved to far away California. So did lots of others. We kept track of the Vinson’s— sometimes even visiting. The tragic death of their son Ozell was one of many tragic occurrences in Allen. On our visits to the Vinson’s, I remember playing on the boulevard with Johnny and JoAnn. But our visits were infrequent.

In 1954, an accumulation of natural gas at the Allen school exploded injuring many of Allen’s school kids including notables such as Wayne Sanders and Jerry Tucker. Many survivors of that dark day still live around here, and the effects of the disaster had lasting effects. I had entered that school building once in 1947 looking for my cousins, Corky and Tiny Ray. They too moved to California in 1948. It was an impressive building to me, a student over at Stonewall. I was in the Navy when the school blew up.

Some other friends of Jerry Tucker still live here such as Beverly Burkett Wilmoth who sits next to our friend McDonald Twin Joy on Sunday mornings at the Baptist Church. June lives over at Sulphur. Local notables such as H C Spain also attend church with me. They all have their stories. And so, do I.

Have a good week and be sure and go to your church Sunday. And remember, I enjoy hearing from my readers.

Wayne Bullard, DPh cwaynebullard@ gmail.com

Heard from Jerry Tucker. Jerry is a class of ’57 graduate of Allen. I enjoyed his memories of his classmates, Jerry Peay, Ron and Roger Jarrett and of his piano teacher, Mrs. Ashlock. Jerry’s memories of the big explosion up at the school in 1954 were vivid and I could almost smell the leaking gas hear the thuds of the falling kids and the pain that went with the long hospitalizations. A lot if time has passed but no one forgets that explosion.