Your father, John Milton, son of Robert Hamilton Stell and Malissa Johnson Stell, was born at Concrete, DeWitt County, Texas. To them were born four daughters - Georgia Rebecka, Bessie Myrtle, Norma, and Julia Stell. One son - John Thomas Stell. On the first sight of little John Milton in the cradle, one noticed the glint of red in his golden curls, straight-forward look from his twinkling blue eyes, square built body, chubby legs and arms, hands that were inclined to curl into fists - all striking evidence of the blood of Erin coursing his veins, of which he proudly boasted, and which no doubt trickled down through preceeding ancestors from his paternal great, great grandfather, Colonel William Malone. In due time, Johnny kicked out of his swaddling clothes and went forth to conquer - he never was conquered. Subdued by parents' control, yes - but not conquered. At the age two years he contracted measles. The treatment then consisted of keeping the patient in bed and dosing them with hot teas. The small amount of tea they forced him to swallow had no effect, and on every occasion he'd quit the bed and make for the door opening outside. At length his mother's patience snapped, so she gave him a genuine spanking which instantly popped out the measles. After the slaves had been freed a number of them remained on the farm, and little John, like most southern children, spent a good part of his time in their quarters. To be sure he made the little picanninnies step lively, but in spite of his over-lording, they all adored him. We all loved him; there was never a kinder brother to his little sisters. He had a pet sheep that he had trained just when to butt, so he would take Billy (the sheep) and hide in the cane patch nearby the cotton pickers, and when the blacks lifted their baskets of cotton to their heads and started to the weighing scales, out would dash billy, knocking negroes right and left and scattering cotton in all directions. They would threaten Johnny with dire punishment when they told "Mossa Robert" on him, but he would take to the nearest thicket and hide in the mossiest tree he could find till all blew over. His Uncle Ben Stell's chief amusement was in "egging" him on to a fisticuff with a relative boy older and larger than he, in which little John always came out the victor. But he was no bully - didn't pick fights, tho' he never backed down from a dare, regardless of the other fellow's size. As a small boy he could swim the swirling Guadalupe River, and ride or attempt to ride anything he could manage to mount, from a bucking horse to a longhorn steer. His brother Tom said of him, "John is not afraid of the devil". Left fatherless when a mere lad, he was thrown largely on his own in growing up. Being both industrious and honest he made the grade. His love for fun and pranks made him the life of the crowd who were sure to call on him for a song, usually beginning with Sam Bass, Cole Younger, and Fare-you-well, Old Elam, he'd end with some popular ballad, Nellie Gray, being his favorite. Farming was his occupation, fishing and hunting his recreation, his gun and dogs his most treasured possessions. Always kept a pack of hunting dogs - at times had for sale both pups and trained hunters. On the death of his wife he faithfully filled the place of both father and mother to his five children. His friends were his legion - his word his bond. A member in good standing of the Baptist church, he according to his light, kept the faith in which he passed on his reward, leaving a record his children may well be proud of.