As more was learned about the oil field's dimensions, geologists added
Haskell and Creekola to Boynton's name to better describe the field." Of its
demise, Waits said, "All oil fields reach a point where wells are no longer
producing sufficient oil to justify running the pumps. Boynton Field was a
smaller field and that point came early. Today, Boynton Field is little more
than a footnote in history."
Although during the past one hundred years the little oil field settlement
into which she was born has long since passed; but for my Mom, she
flourished for just a few days under ninety years. During that time our
world was blessed with the presence of a lady of strength who was full of
love for her family and friends. She had come from a large family where she
learned the give and take of family life. Her early decades were filled with
being in a family who was essentially "company owned" by the Oil Company
that drilled the fields around Muskogee.
Barely getting her breath from the teenage years of the "roaring twenties",
she plunged head-long into what was called the "Great Depression" which
resulted with the Market crash in 1929. Struggling through those years by
living on a shoestring, she had married and already had my two older sisters
and older brother by the time the Japanese Imperial Navy and Air Force
bombed Pearl Harbor in December 1941.
With the United States' entry into the World War that was already in
progress in Europe, she was again struggling with a family as she waved
goodbye to my Dad as he was shipped off to the Army. Those were days of
hardship for those left behind, especially the Moms who had children to care
for. Making every penny count, and the ration cards for most essentials, she
cared for the family while Dad was eventually shipped to Europe to help
fight the war. Before he left, however, the twinkle in his eye became a
reality for me.
The bomb blasted its way through the bunker. Sandbags twisted their way
through the air, landing askew on the bunker's floor. Sand oozed from the
bags mixing with the already muddy muck on the floor. Men scrambled to plug
the hole, trying to shield themselves against the onslaught of enemy fire.
The sounds of war made their way to the ears of those men in the bunker.
They were there defending the American way of life. On that, and many other
calamitous days, perhaps for one of those men, posterity was unfolding in
another scene ten thousand miles away.
The room was sterile and the lights were bright. As my Mom lay panting in
the throes of yet another contraction, the doctor sat in the ready position
in front of the stirrups urging her to push harder. With as much adrenalin
flowing through her veins as was perhaps flowing through my Dad's in the
bunker, her final push resulted in my being ushered into that sterile,
brightly lit, and starkly cold hospital delivery room. At that moment,
though they were miles apart, I had become the living essence of my parentís
union, and somehow perhaps, even in their separation by miles, they were
From the point Dad left for his army duties Mom was the head of the
household. After his training and before he shipped out for Germany, Dad
started the events that led to my Mother's October 1944 birthday presenting
her with a gift of yet another son. It was later that I learned I had been
labeled as a "war baby". Now with four children and a husband embroiled in
the war effort ten thousand miles away, Mom had to use her strength and
savvy to provide for herself and her family.
[to top of second column]
People in those days endured trials and grief that as a child
growing up after the war and during the next two or three decades
was seldom endured. Making dollars stretch, finding the best
bargains in food and clothes and teaching respect for each other
fell to Mom. She always made the best of it always giving her family
the very best she could.
Looking back I can see where Mom was the doctor, teacher, lawyer,
preacher, mender, disciplinarian, arbitrator of arguments, provider,
soother of hurts, but always Mom. She cooked all the meals, washed
all the clothes, shopped for all the clothes, took us to church and
Sunday School, kept us all on course and made it fun to be in "our
Mom was always there for us. After the War, and the return of my
Dad, being what today we call a "homemaker" since she did not work
outside the home, she was there when we needed her the most. I
remember one specific time I really needed her, and as always, she
came through with flying colors.
One day I remember I played hide-and-seek with my little Sister. It
was mid-morning and my Mother was inside the house. My Sister was
not too much older than a toddler. When it was my turn to hide I
knew that I could find the best place where my Sister could not find
me. I did.
The old icebox was in the garage, sitting toward the back, with some
lumber stacked around it. This was not a modern refrigerator, mind
you, it was an old ice box constructed to be air-tight when the door
was closed so as to keep the compartment inside colder by the block
of ice placed in the chamber above it. Climbing over to the front
door, I opened it, climbed inside and shut the door to the sound of
a definite "click." Almost from the moment I heard that sound I
realized it was a mistake. I was taken with the realization that it
was very quiet inside; it was also so dark that I could not see my
hand in front of my face. With all my might I began kicking and
pushing on the door trying with all my strength to open it.
My Sister had long since abandoned her search for me, and had
already turned her interest somewhere else. My Mother, of course
knew nothing of the game we were playing. Time passed and I
continued to try to break free. All my efforts failed; with each try
my strength ebbed, until I felt I was going to collapse. Somewhere
in the distance I could hear my Mother calling my name.
With all the strength I could call upon, I once again began
screaming for help. One last cry for help and then I was silent. It
seemed only a moment when the door to the icebox opened fully. The
light poured in, even from that dingy garage. My Mother grabbed me
up from my would-be tomb and ran into the house to nurse me back to
health. It was only by the grace of God and the fact that she had
completed lunch that she called for me, and found me. On that very
day, my Mom literally saved my life!
Mom was special because she spent her life "raising" her kids,
caring for them, counseling them, advising them and most of all,
loving them. The Bible says that the length of a human life is but a
"vapor" that is here today and gone tomorrow. As one generation
comes and goes another takes its place. Mom is gone now, but she
left her mark on each of her children and their children as well.
We miss you Mom and love you very much!
[By JIM KILLEBREW]
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