Page 7 - Ninety Miles From Nowhere

The Wrong Century -Chapter 1
The Wild Persimmon Grove
I have always thought of myself as having been born in the wrong century. Unlike the old cartoons entitled “Born Thirty Years Too Soon”, I thought of myself as having been born thirty years too late.
The time in our history which appeals to me most is the pioneer period. Then one had to rely solely on one’s own ingenuity and resourcefulness in order to stay alive, and attributes such as courage, fortitude, and strength of character were at a premium.
I think I must have come by this adventurous spirit honestly — from a long line of pioneering forbears. My ancestors migrated to North America from England in the 1700’s, and several generations had moved as far wet as Missouri by the 1800’s. My grandfather Howell was born in St. Louis in 1846 and my father was born in Nevada, Missouri, in 1880. When my father was four years old, my grandfather moved his family of wife and five children to
north central Texas, just south of Red River which separates Texas and Oklahoma. They were the second family to arrive in this settlement, later given the name of Nocona after an Indian Chief.
Petah Nocona was the husband of Cynthia Ann Parker, a name well known in Texas history. She was a young white child who was stolen from her parents’ home by the Indians, and brought up by them until she was grown. For many years her family made unsuccessful attempts to rescue her, but when they finally succeeded, she ran away from home and rejoined the Indians. She married Petah Nocona when he was the son of the chief, and later became chief himself. Cynthia bore him a son, Quanah Parker, given his mother’s surname as in other matriarchal societies. The town of Quanah, Texas was named for him.
My grandmother gave birth to twins, the first white children born in the entire area. My aunt was named Nocona, but was always called Cona, and my uncle was named Macona, called Coe, and later Jack.
The name Nocona may be familiar to people in the West on account of the boots manufactured there — H.J. Justin and Nocona. H.J. Justin had come to Nocona in the early days “with two bits in his pockets” and had succeeded in building up an empire in the hand made boot business. His youngest daughter, Myrl, was just my age and we were best chums all through grade school and into high school until my family moved to Oklahoma in 1921 when I was