Pioneers of Ellis County
William Coates Morrison (1881-1971)
Contributed by his granddaughter,
Betty Clingman
About the author: William Coates Morrison, the fifth child of Abram Mitchell
Morrison and Lucie Ella Coates, was born December 13, 1881 in the family
home at the corner of Knox and Clay Streets, Ennis, Ellis County, Texas.
He spent his formative years in Ennis. In 1903, he married Reita Ruth Fisher,
daughter of Kennan Snyder Fisher and Alice Elizabeth King, who also grew
up in Ennis. William moved his family to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma in 1919
where he remained until his death in 1971 and where many of his
descendants still are residing. Both of William's parents, Abram M. and Lucie
Ella (Coates) Morrison are buried in Myrtle Cemetery, Ennis, as are three
of his siblings, Sue Morrison, Gertrude (Morrison) VanDelden and Walter Stuart
Morrison, and William's grandmother, Amanda (Suggett) Coates.
Texas in Review
Written in 1946 by William Coates Morrison
Early Days in Ennis, Ellis County, Texas
Sixty years ago, life was primitive in the little Central Texas town of
Ennis, the place of my birth. Indeed the changes that have taken place in
those sixty years are many. Our town of about two thousand souls was in the
midst of the prairie country. Look as far as the eyes could see in any direction
and only an occasional mesquite tree or perhaps a prairie fire burning in
the distance broke your view. Now that was an especially fantastic sight
if it was burning after dark.
Most of the houses had been built as pioneer homes, starting with two
or three rooms with additional rooms being added as the family grew. They
were mostly one-story, rambling affairs built high on bois d'arc blocks or
brick piers. The streets were wide and the lots were spacious and all were
enclosed with high picket fences, and for good reason---to keep the children
in and the cattle out.
The majority of the cattle in those days were driven to market, where
now they are shipped by rail. It was a common occurrence for our mother to
call us to come quickly and then carefully check to see that none of us were
outside the fence, for here came a herd of cattle. We always stood on the
front porch to watch, for, though it happened often, it was always a spectacular
sight. A herd frequently consisted of several thousand bawling cattle packed
like sardines from fence to fence. Two cowboys would be stationed at each
street intersection. They would be on their cow ponies, popping their long
whips and yelling as only a cowboy could yell. If a steer broke from the
herd, there was a hot race to bring it back.
No, people never tried to beautify the sidewalks or plant trees along
the streets for that would surely have been energy lost. After a herd of
cattle had passed, hardly a weed or a blade of grass remained in the entire
street. Nothing remained but pulverized earth with thousands of hoof prints
showing.
Everything was primitive in those days. We had no water system, sewerage
system, electric lights or telephones. Even the music was primitive. Alas,
it seemed to me that there were only two kinds of music, one that was lowly
and the other sublime. In the evenings, the people sat on their porches to
visit and rest. Across the street and a bit to the rear of our house, a family
lived in a cabin. Soon after dusk, the man of the family would get out his
accordion and play the most doleful tunes. His music gave me the creeps,
for it would seem to me like the world was actually coming to an end.
The darkies lived on the outskirts of our town and would pass our house
going to and from town. On summer nights, our windows would be raised and
children in bed, when faintly and far away, we would hear the notes of a
French harp being played by one of the darkie on his way home. The notes
would gradually grow louder and louder until he passed our house and then
they would as gradually fade away. I remember now how I used to try to strain
my ears to catch the last dying notes. That was music from the soul, as truly
as the songs of the birds, and to our young ears, it was like the beautiful
tones of a mother's lullaby.
Horses and ponies, as well as feed, were cheap in those days. Most of
the men had saddle horses and the boys naturally learned to ride early, first
behind their father or older brother, and soon to ride alone. Where the boys
now have bicycles, then they had their own ponies and saddles. Nearly every
family had a milk cow and one way the boys had of making money was to drive
their neighbors' cows to the pasture. A farmer usually would charge one dollar
and fifty cents a month for a cow to graze on his pasture and the boys usually
were paid a dollar a month per cow to take them to the pasture. An enterprising
young fellow would often have ten or twelve cows to drive. We would go to
our farthest customer and get his cow and continue on toward the pasture
until we had our herd complete, and then late in the evening, we would go
to the pasture and get them and deliver them back home to our customers.
One of our main feats was to open and close all the gates without getting
off our pony. In fact, we thought we were cowboys ourselves.
Folks were very strict in observing Sunday in those days. We could not
sew on a button or use the scissors for any purpose. You could take a sharp
pocketknife and plenty of soft white pine and whittle until you were covered
up with shavings, and it was all right, but to use the scissors was a
sinwhile going to a show or a ball game on Sunday was unheard of.
I imagine some of the biggest changes have taken place in the way groceries
are handled. Then, the grocery stores were unscreened and most everything
came in bulk, molasses in barrels of about fifty gallons and vinegar and
coal oil were in barrels, too. The barrels of molasses would be put on a
wooden rack with a spigot in the ends. Most people bought it by the gallon
and would carry a jug to put it in. The grocer would tear off several pieces
of brown wrapping paper, turn the spigot and let a little molasses run onto
the paper for the customer to taste to see which kind he wanted. Everybody
was supposed to carry his own jug, but in case you failed to have one, the
groceryman always had some extra ones. There was a good chance its last contents
had been something besides molasses though, so the wise course was to always
have your own jug.
It took time to sack and jug all the grocery orders, which left little
time for cleaning. The groceryman would spill a little sugar on the floor,
then drop a cracker, a few raisins, a little molasses and coal oil, all to
be walked on. It soon made an accumulation of a half-inch or so on the floor,
still to be added to, and it was there to stay. There was no such thing as
a sanitary or health inspector. If a man had come into the store and told
the merchant he was a sanitary inspector, the merchant wouldn't have known
what he was talking about. In fact, everyone was pretty much on his own to
live or die.
Children didn't start to school so early then, but it was now time for
me to begin. It seemed school had a special horror for me. Our superintendent
was a tall, rawboned man with a long red beard and wore a long frock coat.
At recess, he roamed around the school grounds, usually on the boys' side.
He always carried in his hand an elm switch, five or six feet long. I never
once saw the man smile; in fact I wouldn't have been that close to him unless
he had accidentally slipped up on me. He was always a lonely figure on the
school grounds. Certainly no pupils ever hovered around him. It seemed even
the teachers were uneasy in his presence and always gave him a wide berth.
To me, an education was all right in its place, but I didn't want to go
to school to get one. My idea of a perfect seat in school was the last desk
on the outside row next to the window. From there I could get a good view
of the landscape outside, watch the mocking birds and scissortails flitting
amongst the mesquite trees, and from there I could dream of freedom. My father,
in his work, used to often pass our school building on horseback and how
I used to envy him and wished I, too, was a man out of school and free from
all the cares and responsibilities. However my father did have one little
responsibility that I overlooked then but realize nowthere were seven
of us at home that he was doing his mightiest to make a living for.
About this time, our aunt came to live with us. She was a schoolteacher and a good and kind aunt. The only objection I had to her, she was
a literary type and wanted me to go to school and actually study; while I
wanted to be on my pony, riding over the prairie. I remember as if it were
yesterday how earnestly she talked to me and how she stressed the importance
of getting an education. She said without an education I could neither read
nor write and could not even talk except to the most simple-minded people.
In fact, she told me I wouldn't even be able to make change. She told me
how everybody would take advantage of me. For instance, I would go to work
for a man for a dollar a day, an amount she seemed to consider a generous
estimate of my earning capacity, then in the evening he would pay me only
ninety cents, or I would buy something in a store for ten cents and give
the merchant a fifty-cent piece and he would give me only thirty cents back
and I would never know the difference. She really painted a bleak picture
of my days to come. I was to be extremely poor from being shortchanged, but
I would never know how I got that way. Indeed, without an education, my future
seemed anything but promising.
By 1893, our little town had grown to about three thousand people and
we were beginning to take on city refinements. The city council had passed
an ordinance that no cattle could run loose in the streets, and the city
bought a street sprinkler. By now, more cattle were being shipped by rail
and the few herds coming through our town were routed more through the suburbs.
Now we also had a little volunteer fire department. In case anyone saw a
fire there was one, and only one, proper thing to do. That was to begin
hollering, "Fire! Fire! Fire!" as loudly as you could and, at the same time,
start running.
It seemed like my oldest sister was always the first one around our house
to sense fire. On the night I have in mind, she came running down the hall
screaming "Fire! Fire! Fire! William, why don't you holler," Fire! Fire!
Fire!'?" I was twelve years old by this time and a boy that age doesn't any
too much like to have his sleep disturbed, but when I finally got my eyes
open, senses collected, and realized what was on fire, my efforts to wake
up were fully repaid. It was our school building! The whole town turned out.
Our little volunteer fire department fought valiantly to save the building,
but their effort were all in vain for it burned clear to the ground, leaving
only the brick piers standing. I will never forget what anxiety I felt as
I looked on. I knew the firemen didn't have a chance in the world of saving
that building, I just feared some trick of nature might play into
their hands and parts of it might tragically be saved.
Over a half century has passed since that old school building burned down,
but it has remained in my mind as being one of the happiest days of my life.
I well remember how I strolled around amongst the grown folks and tried to
have a sad and serious look on my face like they did, but with such joy in
my heart, I doubt if I fooled anybody but myself. I, childlike, thought my
school days were over and that I would never have to go so much as one more
day. However those sweet dreams were of short duration.
This was a big event in our town, in fact business almost stopped. The
grownups had a big meeting and the churches came forward and offered their
buildings for classrooms. My recollection now is that we were back in classes
the second morning after the fire. This seemed to me like a rather short
grieving time after we had suffered such a terrible loss.
My grade was sent to an old church building that had recently been moved
and was about three feet off the ground on bois d'arc blocks. It was now
getting late in the fall and how the wind did whistle around and through
that old frame building! In fact, we never did get warm all winter.
But even in those darkest hours, there was one bright spot. That old church
was right next to our little city hall. The city had recently installed a
calaboose and had also bought a fire wagon along with two horses to pull
it. Once in awhile, we would see the firemen make a run to a fire or see
somebody put into the calaboose, which actually was a cubbyhole on a level
with the sidewalk. At recess we would visit with the old darkie the city
had hired to drive the fire wagon and maybe visit through the bars with the
poor guy in the calaboose.
About that time, an old man who lived in our town opened a dancing school.
The folks said the old man used to be a ship's captain. Anyway, I guess our
father must have been given a wholesale rate for he subscribed for all five
of us children to take lessons, my older brother, two older sister, my younger
brother and myself. The dance hall was an old abandoned grocery store and
the lighting consisted of about twelve candles placed around the building
at strategic points. I felt about taking dancing lessons much like I did
about school I had no serious objection to having grace and poise, but I
didn't want to go to dancing school to acquire them.
The town now had a little local evening newspaper and I carried one of
the routes on my pony. On dancing lesson evenings, I would be just as late
getting home as safety permitted, hoping I would be too late to go, but our
father and mother would hurry me off so I wouldn't miss anything. My younger
brother, Walter, and I were the two youngest in the class and the old professor
always paired us off together. My brother was ten and short for his age and
I was thirteen and tall for my age. I have often thought what a stately couple
we must have made gliding over that grocery store floor.
These times, like other dark times, also had a bright spot. I kept a sack
full of cracked pecans at home and just before going to dancing lessons I
would always fill my pocket. Just as soon as the occasion presented itself,
I would ease my way out of the dancing picture and find a dark cornerthere
to eat pecans until the lesson was over.
By the end of 1895, our town had grown to about four thousand people.
We had been made a division point on the railroad and a machine shop and
roundhouse had been built. In those days, each engineer was assigned his
own engine. Usually when a train was coming in or going out, as soon as we
heard the whistle, we knew what engine and engineer was pulling the train.
Where now the boy's stories are woven around airplanes and every boy wants
to be an airplane pilot, then the stories were about railroads and trains
and all young boys dreamed of becoming engineers or conductors. Every pretty
Sunday afternoon, we felt kind of duty bound to walk up to the roundhouse
to see what was going on and to talk to anybody who would talk to us. But
there was one thing ever more urgent that this and that was to be down at
the passenger depot to see the five o'clock train come in. On Sunday afternoons,
if you were looking for someone, you need look but one place and that was
down at the depot for that was where everybody congregatedold and young,
rich and poor, all dressed in their best Sunday clothesto watch
the train come in. There they would stay until the engines were changed and
the train had left on its northward journey.
I was about fourteen years old by now and our father had been made Postmaster
at our little town. This naturally placed our family in the midst, or maybe
I should say in the forefront, of news happenings. Whenever anything of special
interest came to town, we were among the first to know of its arrival. The
special event this time was the arrival of an old man who claimed to be a
phrenologist. Our parents talked it over and, in order to be prepared to
meet life's battles, it was deemed advisable that the male children, at least,
should have their heads gone over to find their strong points. The old man's
regular rate was fifty cents per head, but he gave our father a group rate
and took us three boys for one dollar. He came in the back of the post office
and had us sit on a box, first my older brother, then myself and then our
younger brother. While Father looked on with admiration and wonderment, the
old man went over our heads minutely. He assured Father we all had unusually
fine heads and that we were destined to go far in this world. According the
phrenologist, we would all be of at least Congressional or Senatorial caliber
and, with a little extra effort on our part and with maybe a bit of good
fortune, then one of us might well become Chief Justice or even President
of these United States. Poor Mother and Dad! Maybe it's best they can't see
us now.
The old man told us many things, but the thing he told us that made the
most vivid impression on my mind was the statement that we all had unusually
fine reasoning power and that we could reason from cause to effect. I did
not know then, nor do I know to this day, what he was talking about; however,
that was only fifty-one years ago so maybe, if I only give it time, it will
yet come clear to my mind.
During those years everything moved forward. Even this writer made steady
progress for I had advanced from my cow-herding position to the ranks of
a newspaperman. However I still rode my pony in order to cover my three routes.
I delivered the "Dallas Morning News" from the six o'clock morning freight
train and the "St. Louis Globe Democrat" from the eleven o'clock passenger
train and I delivered our small local paper in the evening.
For several years, my older brother, Val, had worked for a large company
and had finally worked his way up to where he was making forty dollars a
month. And I, too, soon advanced one more rung on the ladder of success and
had a position in a grocery store making thirty dollars a month. My brother
and I were now "made men" and our parents could devote all their energies
to helping our younger brother along the road to his success.
Today, in the year 1946, Ennis has grown to be a beautiful little city
with a population of eight thousand people. It has all the modern conveniences
and all the fences along the main street have been taken down. It has pretty
lawns and shade trees with broad and level paved streets, and I am indeed
proud to claim it as the place of my birth. At the present time, we are living
in a rather large city that has a beautiful Union Station where the fine
streamliners come and go. Our station is modern, though not so modern as
to have restraints that keep all visitors away from the trains except those
with tickets. If our station ever takes on ideas like that, I hope we can
move again, for still, after all these sixty-plus years, one of my favorite
Sunday afternoon diversions is to get some of my little grandchildren and
go down and watch the trains come in.
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