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CHAPTER ONE

The Early Years

"If I had known then what I know now..." How many times I heard my father say those words; and I made up my mind right there that they would never come out of my mouth. I don't know about Dad, but I have had to eat those same words a number of times, especially since I started working on this book.

What I didn't know then (and do know now) about my family would have made a great difference in my life, and in my opinion of myself. As far as I knew, we were relatively poor (fact), came from farming families (fact), and had nothing worth writing about. I don't think I am one to brag, but it won't hurt to put a few things on record.

Our family did not talk about genealogy, background, where we came from or any such thing. Anytime I brought up the subject, I was more or less told to "forget it!" Such little things in my family's background as having several Bybees who fought in the Revolutionary War; one who landed in the Colonies before the Pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock on the Mayflower; and my maternal great grandfather dying in a Confederate prisoner-of-war camp, among other things, are of considerable interest, at least to me. Not to mention that there are three towns in the USA which carry the family name.

These and a few other things I have learned along the way probably will not make a best-selling book, but that was never my intention. Let me start at the beginning.

I was born on a farm in Davis County, south-central Iowa, near Orleans. The farm was owned by my grandparents, Thomas Henry Bybee and Sarah Elizabeth Smith Bybee. My father, Pearl, occupied it as a sharecropper, along with my mother, Cecil, and three other children.

The Bybee Place was graced on May 28, 1920 by my arrival. My brother, James Robert (Bob), seven years older than I, filled me in on the details.

It seems that he and my sister, Pearl Hope (age 13), and my other brother, Clint Edward (age 10) all knew something was about to happen. Perhaps the two older ones knew what it was, but didn't tell Bob. He said he had no idea what the big secret was. He and the others were at school in the nearby, country, one-room schoolhouse that day; and he kept seeing the family doctor, J. G. Stone, of Bloomfield, going back and forth between our home and his other house calls. Bob said it all seemed very strange to him, but he never knew until he came home from school that afternoon that he was having a new baby brother. Imagine that today!

Our family stayed on the farm until I was just over two years old, at which time we moved to Moulton, about three miles south and one mile west of my birthplace. Because we moved away when I was only two, my recollections of the farm are few, but very clear in my mind. As young as I was, I have at least three very real memories.

My first memory probably will be unbelievable, I know. I have read of people who can remember their actual birth, and even claim to remember from the moment of their conception. I don't know about the latter one, but hear this:

My first memory is of myself in a crib, basket, bed or whatever across the room from my mother who was in a bed. I was screaming my lungs out and my mother, Cecil, was in her bed across the room, crying. My father, Pearl, was in the room bending over me with a very angry expression on his face.

I have always--even from my early years--thought that this event took place on the day I was born. What the problem was, which caused two of us to be crying, I don't know. I have always had a suspicion that I was the problem. I know it doesn't make much sense, except in the light of a remark I heard Dad make when I was in my teens. I overheard him telling a friend that I was an accident, and if he had it to do over, it wouldn't happen again.

The second thing that I remember from my two years on the farm took place one night, after dark. My mother was outside the house, perhaps on a porch. There was a kerosene lantern hanging overhead and she was cleaning a chicken. (Cleaning, then, is called "dressing," now.) Dad's first cousin, Frank Bybee (son of John Bybee and Laura Button), was with her and they were carrying on a conversation while she worked.

I don't have any idea what it was all about. There did not seem to be any agitation on either's part. They weren't arguing, but something makes this stick in my memory. Years later I asked Mom about it. She couldn't even remember the incident.

The third early memory is of the day we moved from the farm to Moulton, about five months after I turned two. I remember the ride into town. Dad had hired a man named Francy Beggs to drive us in his "touring car." For those who don't remember, they were two-seaters similar to the early single-seat "roadsters," forerunners of the modern-day convertible. The only thing I remember about the trip is that there was something round on the windshield of the car, similar to a modern-day decal--although in those days it was probably just a round piece of paper, stuck on the glass. Why I remember this, I have no idea; but it is vivid, even to this day. No doubt it was a traumatic moving day, and I must have spent the entire ride staring at the windshield.

Moulton, in 1922, was probably what could be called a typical small, working-man's, midwestern town. It was clean; the houses were freshly painted and well kept. There was very little adolescent frivolity, except on Hallowe'en when the outdoor plumbing was usually tipped over. It was a railroad town and the center of a large farming community.

Moulton is located just a few miles north of the Missouri border and since Iowa's various taxes were considered by many to be too high at the time (at what time wouldn't they be?), Missouri was easily accessible for the purchase of certain items.

Cigarettes sold for twenty cents a pack in Iowa; they were about ten cents in Coatsville, just a few miles south. Iowa had a high tax on any oleomargerine which had been colored to look like butter. The butter-like oleo was available across the border for less than the plain white kind in Iowa, although the latter could be colored with a lot of effort on the part of the housewife. People drove from as far as Ottumwa, about thirty five miles away, just to purchase these two items in Missouri. I think there was a certain thrill in "running" the items into our state, which added to the attraction.

Although, as you will see later, I couldn't wait to get out of town after I was grown, it was a good place for families--quiet, reserved and had a church-going population of something less than two thousand.

Our new home was located at 506 West 5th Street, and was purchased for $2,000. The money was borrowed from my grandparents Thomas and Sarah Bybee. The house was consisted of a kitchen, living room and two bedrooms--and a path.

One of the first needs was for a separate bedroom for my sister, Hope. My father Pearl and his father Thomas Henry built an addition on the west side of the house for Hope's personal use. During the construction I gained my one and only memory of my grandfather Bybee, and even that was of him nailing up a wall with his back to me.

Thomas Henry died in 1924, and I have a vague memory of that only because of a snapshot taken of all his grandchildren on the day of his funeral.

We had moved into Moulton because Pearl had accepted a job as a car repairman with the Wabash Railroad there. In those days all farmers had to be mechanics as well, so I suppose this is what qualified him for his new job. The Wabash tracks ran just west of our new home and we were always well aware when trains were going out to the north or coming in toward the south. A number of freight trains and at least two passenger trains went by the house daily: Number 11 going north at midnight, and Number 14 going south at 2 a.m. The depot was just to the south of us about a mile and a half away.

Moulton was fortunate in being about half way between Des Moines and Moberly, Missouri--so it was a major maintenance point in those days. Trains (steam) had to take on water there, and any needed repairs were performed in the roundhouse. The Wabash had a large number of "section hands" or gandydancers, who kept the tracks in good condition. I recall even from our early days in Moulton, what a major event was a train wreck! The repair crews, including Pearl, scrambled like a modern-day bombing crew being called out.

The Chicago, Burlington and Quincy railroad (CB&Q) also ran through Moulton--east to west--from Ottumwa to Centerville.

The "Q" spur to Ottumwa, known as the "Ottumwa Branch," carried fresh meat daily from the Morrell packing plant in Ottumwa to Moulton to be placed on one of the Wabash trains going north or south.

The two railroads, but especially the Wabash, were Moulton's main sources of income--and good ones they were! Moulton really bustled on the 14th and 29th of each month, when the Wabash paychecks were distributed.

Pearl's new job came about because of a railroad strike and by taking it (thus bettering our family's finances considerably) he became a strike breaker, otherwise known as a "scab." Because of this, we were not readily accepted in this railroad town. Feelings ran high, and even twenty years later, there were families in town who would not speak to us if we met on the street! I was very pleased when, at my high school class' 50th-year reunion in 1988, the son of one of the hold-out families made a point of greeting me very cordially at the school's Alumni Banquet.

Back to Introduction

On to Chapter 2

1914 - Hope, Bob and Clint



Our Moulton Home



Bybee place near Orleans, IA



Pearl J. Bybee



Cecil Zellers



1924 - Thomas and Sarah's grandchildren at his funeral.



Bert, Daisy, Blanche and Pearl Bybee (Cecil at left)