Memories of Pyote, Texas Send in your memories of this West Texas town and I will post them here.
________________________ I was so thrilled to
find this site.We lived in Pyote in the late 30's. My mother worked in a place
called Toms Place. She was killed on main st. there. Her & another girl we riding dbl.
That girl was not hurt very bad. My mother was dead by the time they rached monhans,.Her
name was Annie D Luxton-looney. My 2 aunts went to school in Pyote. ____________________________________________________
My name is Gregory
Trotter. I lived in Pyote during the 1962-63 school year, when I was 12-13 years old. It
was just ten months out of my life, but it made a lasting impression on me. My
step-mother’s parents, Sid and …… Essary (I can contact my step-sister to
get her grandmother’s name—I think I should remember it, but I can’t just
now—I am not even sure of the spelling of their last name), lived there, and my dad
and step-mom sent me from San Dimas (a Los Angeles, California suburb) to stay with them,
hoping it might straighten me out, given my propensity for getting in trouble, etc. (The
success of their intent remains questionable.) Those are most of the highlights of my memories of Pyote from
1962-63. All told, it was a memorable ten months. At the time, I more or less hated being
in that God-forsaken place. But it remains one of the most important years of my life. Gregory Trotter I just discovered the cemetery pictures. And I
found a photo of my step-grandparents’ headstone. The caption gives the following
information: ESSARY I truly had lost touch and didn’t know the dates of their
deaths…and couldn’t recall her name. All the kids called her “Nanny,”
but now I recall her name as “Donnah,” although I had thought it was spelled
“Donna.” He was an ornery old cuss, with his gimp leg—he wore a brace for
years…polio, I think. He used to make me do his bidding, because he wasn’t
exactly “mobile.” She once told me a story about her mother or grandmother
sitting on Billy-The-Kid’s lap. Gregory Trotter NOTE: You may add the following (if you like), which I have just remembered: Coming from the great metropolis of Los
Angeles, where no one knows anyone, to live in a really small town, where everyone
knows everyone, I learned quickly to value the honesty, sincerity, and
“what-you-see-is-what-you-get” attitude of real down home folk. I think it
awakened something inside me that had lain dormant. I think it had always been in me
because of how easy it was to adopt that way of thinking and behaving. And I have
consciously valued those qualities ever since. But the thing that brought it home was
the 1963 World Series. I would never in two million years imagine any school in the Los
Angeles area gathering en masse in a big room to watch the final game on television. But
that’s what we did in Pyote. And not only that, but because everyone knew I was from
Los Angeles, they all were rooting for the Dodgers over the Yankees! I felt very special
that day, and it endeared me to the town and people of Pyote, Texas. I felt the spirit of
true Texans. _____________________________________________________ Ms. Alanis, I would like to commend you on your Ward County web site. It stands out among the best of the many sites I have visited. I really have roots in Ward county. I was born in Barstow in 1925 and spent my summers, as a youth, staying with my grandmother, Annie E. Davis, in Barstow. On the other side my Grandfather was Albert D. Pigman, the first postmaster of Pyote. I have much information about the Davis, Pigman, Adams, Amburgey, Beckham families in and around Ward County. I am writing for my 95 year old aunt, Lola Lee Beckham, in relation to the picture, from the Pyote cemetery of her mothers grave stone. The death date in picture is not clear due to the lighting, but the legend on the picture gives the death date as "Jan 4, 1913." There has been confusion about Lola's actual birth data, but it was assumed to be Jan 7, 1913. Since is sure that her mother died about a week after she was born, there is, now, doubt about which of the dates is correct. She thinks that the death date should be Jan 14, 1913 and would appreciate it if someone could check. I would be happy to help anyone seeking information about these families, with what I know. I actually grew up in Odessa. Calvin D Pigman E-mail: [email protected] _________________________________________________________
A Christmas Storyby: Lloyd E. Lawrence Sr. On Christmas Eve 1959, I was in my old pick-up truck traveling to Monahans from Pyote Air Force Station Texas. I was dressed as Santa for the LDS Church Branch Christmas celebration to come. It was snowing and blowing with a significant wind-chill factor at work. About five-miles down the road, I happened upon a figure in the night. It was a derelict old man in skimpy dress. He was huddled beside the road in a pathetically small mass of shivering flesh. I pulled along side of him and flung open the passenger-side door. The waft of heat from the trucks blowing heater made it very easy for him to gratefully accept the offer of a ride. At first, he couldn't see me because ice had shrouded his eyes. As the ice melted and he was able to see again his expression of gratitude was cut short as he viewed Santa behind the wheel of the old truck. "Oh my gosh! I stopped believing in Santa about fifty-years ago, he exclaimed. "I'll never doubt you again Santa" he said as he smiled. Later, I gave him my military overcoat and twenty-dollars as I dropped him off in Monahans, Texas. "Merry Christmas & God Bless You!" Were the sounds I heard as Santa went to the Branch Christmas party with a warm feeling that had little to do with the heater of that old truck. MERRY CHRISTMAS & HO! HO! HO! LOVE, SANTA of MONAHANS_________________________________ I am Thomas F. Rew and I was stationed at Rattlesnake Army Air Base during the period from December 1943 to November 1945. By accident, I came across your web site and I would like to share with you a few thoughts I had after reading the section about Working at the Bomber Base. I was interested in Mozelle Gray Tonne telling of her experience at Pyote. It so happened that some of her story touched my life while I was stationed there. In her recounting about the young officer who was killed on the flight line. The night the accident happened I was the staff duty officer and I was the first one on the scene. The young officer was a maintenance specialist who was responding to a problem the aircrew was having with the aircraft. It was a very dark night, with limited visibility. Unfortunately, he walked directly from his staff car towards the lower front entrance hatch but forgot that the engines were running. Mozelle Tonne was telling of her life a s a civilian employee and talked about her two girlfriends(A Jackie and Marie). Her comment that Jackie loved to dance had a special interest to me, as I used to date that young lady. Her maiden name was Jackie Melton and her mother was Mrs. Nobie Nance who worked at the Pyote Officers Club. Stranger than that, I have kept in touch with Jackie all these yeas. Yesterday I told her of your publication and she remembers Mozelle very well. She wanted to know if I had her e-mail address and I said no. Do you have her e-mail address or her phone number? I don't know if you remember the NCO club fire sometime in the 1944-1945 time frame. It so happens that Jackie and I were driving past the club that evening when I noticed a small fire in the rear of the main building. I rushed in and told everyone to leave and attempted to put out the fire. There was a pair of locked French doors that separated the dance floor from the main building. So like a good little boy scout with fire extinguisher in hand, I broke down the door. The minute the glass broke the entire dance hall went up in flames. I was unaware that the door had just been painted and when the fumes hit the fire that was all it took. My so called heroic action did nothing but make the problem so much greater. After I made a small problem into a much larger one, I joined the firemen manning a lose on the top of the roof. These are just a few of my fond memories of years gone past. I had a wonderful experience at Pyote and have made some lasting friendships. Here I was a 22 year old kid from Brooklyn, NY turned loose on the great West Texas plains. It was an exciting time of my life and I thank the Lord daily for it. My life had been made richer for the many months I spent at Rattlesnake Army Air Base, Pyote, Texas. Thanks for the wonderful memories. God bless you. Thomas F. Rew ___________________________ Christmas on a West Texas Ranch Everyone has their
favorite Christmas story, so here is mine. I was born on the Rodgers cattle ranch near
Pyote in west Texas. This is the story of the first Christmas that I remember. When I awoke on Christmas morning, I saw a beautiful Christmas tree with a
small wind-up train circling the tree.That may not sound unusual.The unusual thing was the
CHRISTMAS TREE! There were very few trees and of course no Christmas type trees within
many miles of the ranch.My mother had constructed this Christmas tree by tying many small
pieces of greasewood on a mesquite bush.What west Texas ranchers called greasewood is now
usually referred to as creosote. It has a
pleasant smell and over 80 years later, when I smell greasewood, I remember a wonderful
Christmas and a beautiful Christmas tree.
Bill
Rodgers Christmas, 2003 Contributed by Barbara Rodgers Christopher (Bill is her father) ________________________________________
Luan, Nov. 27, 2004 _____________________________________________ Is this a picture of the old Pyote Post Office or the Base Post Office? The former coordinator of Ward Co. identified this photo as the old Rattlesnake Bomber Base post office. Since then, two people have identified it as the old Pyote post office.
I have just visited the Ward County Web site…Pyote page. I was born there in my grandmother’s house in 1944. My grandfather and uncle are buried at the cemetery there. My grandfather worked construction for the railroad as it was built through Pyote. He built houses for the workers. I think one of your captions
on the post office picture in the museum is incorrect.
I’m almost sure that post office is our town post office and not the base post
office. I remember when Lenora Price was care
taker of the museum and she told us it was our post office because I was so excited to see
my old post office box there. I could be
wrong, but I think you should check out the info on it.
The site is great and I appreciate all the work you and the other lady have done to
keep our little part of Texas alive. Did you attend our Pyote School Reunion two years ago. We are having
another one this July 17th..you should come and talk
to some of the older ones..you
could probably get lots of info from them. I
left Pyote when I graduated in 1963 but try to come back for our reunions. Sometimes it makes me sad to see it fading
away…kinda like me getting older(smile)
Thank you for your work on the site. Ann (Wiley) Dowty Howdy! _______________________________________
Does anyone know if this photo was taken at the Rattlesnake Bomber Base?
80 Depot Repair Squadron May, 15, 2004 Luan, My original question was "is it a photo of the air base at Peyote". My father, Melvin Hudson Lipham, served as a civilian on a crash recovery crew at the base during the war. I am scanning family photos and came across the photo. My father passed away and no one in my family can tell me if it is indeed the base where he served. Thank you ___________________________________________________ Our ranch was part of the Pyote base. Do you know the locations of the bomb and 50 cal targets around Coyanosa area? Are there any pictures or condenses ? My Mother said the targets were north of their home on sec 26 Twp 8, Blk. 48. Coincidentally the home was burned down by a tracer 50 cal that went in thru the eve of the house and was found in the nursery. Lucky my parents were outside working horses, and my Mother picked up my brother from the nursery just before the house exploded. I would like to find the locations of these targets, and the area of the bombing practice area. Thanks, ________________________ From:Ronnie Doggett" 8-14-2003 We lived on the base when I was 2-3 yeas old so I don't remember anything
there at that age, my older brother went to school on the base, my Dad (W.C. Doggett)
was a bomber inspector, he had to ok the bombers for flight before they could be
flown. He told me that I would wave at the German prisoners on the way to taking him
to the flight line each morning. He told me of bombers that left the ground that
blew up in the air because of sabotage. He said there was a sign on the landing
strip that said "Pyote to Tokyo". My Mom and Dad talked of the hardships
of living on the base the blackouts, many restrictions and also how close all of us were
that lived on the base. When I was 3 in 1947 we moved to Pecos at the base housing
there, Daddy still worked at Pyote, I remember when I was in the Cub Scouts
we went on a field trip to Pyote AFB (Rattlesnake AFB) and got to look at the
bombers one being the Anola Gay, my Dad signed the last flight for this historic
plane to go to the Smithsonian. We saw the Swoosh and the Ruptured Duck, two other famous
bombers, they were decorated with Swastikas and bombs telling their combat stories, their
were many bullet holes, it made quite an impression on those young cub scouts, then I
finally remember seeing all the B-29s and B-17s resting on that air field that were cut up
for scrap, and Daddy told me of the damaged shot up bombers that they took on to Arizona
and the graveyard there. My Dad passed away a little over a year ago and with him many
secrets and memories, many he shared of that Rattlesnake AFB. That was an amazing base
that not many know about. All I have is pictures of our childhood on the base which are
few. Many memories, I enjoy this web page thank you for your dedication to it. ___________________________ Thanks so much for your work on this site. I came in search of Fred C. McCue, pharmacist, from the days of "Rattlesnake AAB, AFB". I attended business school with his daughter, Banena McCue, in the early 1950s. But my memories of Pyote and Rattlesnake AFB began much earlier; in the 1940s; when, as a very young man, I traveled with my father, W. S. Birdwell, who hauled farm produce from most anywhere it grew, to Big Spring, Howard Co., Texas. We would travel the Bankhead highway, along side the big steam locomotives. Dad was in a great deal of pain, and to distract his mind, and because I loved it, we tried to out-run the trains on the Texas and Pacific railroad, along side the highway.Our old trucks were seldom fast enough, but having the engineer or fireman wave or blow the whistle always helped. When WW2 ended, the war planes seemed static; not flying, and I wondered why. Then one day we came over the horizon from the west, and for as far as I could see to the east or south, B-29s were parked wing-tip to wing-tip; with only room for a truck to pass between the tail of a row and the front of the other. Being young, and taught so much about this aircraft, it broke my heart to see the planes being destroyed. Some said they were blowing them up, then shipping the material off to one day become today's new aircraft. Again, I thank you, William S. Birdwell, Jr. Wm. S. Birdwell, Jr ._________________________ My memories of Rattlesnake Base are those of a 4-year old girl, whose Dad, Calvin Armstrong, was a mechanic there. My Dad is 88 and in good health. Still does some mechanic work in Elmo, Texas. My brother and I played in the searing heat with what seemed like only other little boys. They rolled tires around a lot. They must have taught me some language my Mother did not like my using, because she washed out my mouth with soap. My mom worked a short time at the commissary dining hall as a waitress, but Dad wasn't happy that she was attracting too much attention from the lonely men who didn't have wives there, so she quit. I remember Christmas in one of the hangers. Santa came and handed out toys to us kids. I also faintly remember some pretty well-known comedian, (Joey Brown?) giving a performance. There were movies in the hanger too. Our next barrack neighbor was very nervous about rattlesnakes, but in all those months playing outside, we never saw any. Thanks for this opportunity to see pictures of Peyote. Jenelle Armstrong Byrd __________________________________
Can you identify this picture for us (B-29 super fortress group).
It appears to be Pyote but there are enough differences to make us wonder and at our age,
we can't be sure of anything<G> Ford Tolbert ______________________
Click to enlarge My name is Clifford Reid I truly enjoyed the memories stirred by your presentation of Pyote, Texas. I was surprised when I found my name had been included with servicemen from Pyote. In 1942 my family moved from Roswell, New Mexico to Pyote My step-father C.B. "Pop" Bennett and mother Ruby owned and operated a grocery store, dairy, ice house and ice cream parlor. My older step-brother Bill Bennett, my younger brother LeRoy[Lee] Reid and myself worked for Pop when he moved the theatre from Ft. Stockton to Pyote. Bill operated the projector for a time. Bill and I worked for P.G. Sorenson construction when the air base was constructed. Lee attended grade school and I attended high school 1943 & 1944 before entering the US Army Air Corps. I was inducted at Ft. Bliss, Texas, basic training at Amarillo, Texas. I attended Armament and RCT tech school at Lowry Field, Denver, Colorado. In 1945 I completed gunnery school at Las Vegas, Nevada {Picture attached...I am located extreme right, top row}. We were assigned to an air crew on B-29's at Grand Island, Nebraska. I was a left blister armament gunner, we did transition flying and gunnery training at Mountain Home Idaho, Smoky Hill AAB Salina, Kansas and from June 1945 to December 1945 we were assigned to Rattlesnake Bomber Base at Pyote. January until June1946 I was assigned to Carswell AFB at Ft. Worth, Texas which by that time had been converted to a SAC Base. The war had ended and I had no desire to further my military career as a crew member on the new B-36, I was discharged at Ft. Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas. Thank you again for a journey into the past. I enjoyed the acquaintance of many people during my short stay, I must say I have not found any friendlier than those I met in Pyote. _________________________________________ I am sending below one of my memories of my Grandmother, Caroline Sitton, who came to Pyote with her husband, Cicero, and children in 1907. I enjoy the Ward County Website very much and view it with nostalgia, my heart is still in West Texas. Jewell Scott
GRANDMA SITTON DOES IT ONE LAST TIMEThe view from the second and top floor of the square, red brick school was a panorama of my world, the town of Pyote -- the town where I was born and lived until I was thirteen years old, the town my grandparents helped found in 1907 Behind the school was the lonesome black highway, running off to Wink, through the mesquite, red sand and greasewood.The same common black highway led into “town” -- the sparse business section at the intersection with the Bankhead Highway. It did not touch me that this colorful highway ran from the Atlantic to California; my world was in view. In 1936, I knew every struggling family left adrift in Pyote and could locate their simple houses from my perch. Only a few houses were located on the broad, graded, dirt streets, laid out in perfect squares by some long ago ambitious politician. Most houses were at the end of trailing ruts of roads. I could see my house and the well-worn trail leading to it from the school. Across the way from my house was Aunt Pink and Uncle Rance’s house with its tangle of barbed wire fences and wooden gates. Beyond it, and through their pasture, was the neat home of my friend, Almira Lewis. At another angle from my house, down a rutted road, there is Aunt Aurie and Uncle Fitz’s large square house built on two-foot posts, with a neat crawl space hide-away underneath. Grandma’s new house is beside them, built so she could be close to Uncle Fitz, now that she is alone and 82 years old. My friend Betty Elsner and her family live in grandma’s old home, one of the first built in the town and located just off the highway, on one of the wide, graded bare streets. The sky is clear, blue and clean; the air is fresh and scented with greasewood. Immediately across the wide, graded bare street from the school is a row of two room houses, built sparsely, close, and painted green in a town of unpainted wood. The oil field workers line up to squash their growing families into these two room houses. My classmate, Nell Lakey, lives in one of these refuges with her brother, father and pregnant mother. He is a driller; consequently, he drives a large shiny, new car. As is the practice at noon, we students wait for class to recommence standing, staring out the open windows in the study hall. We see Nell’s father get in his shiny, new car, throwing rocks as he tears off. We watch the car sling toward town, but then it makes a sharp left turn going toward my house, then a right that leads nowhere but to Uncle Fitz’s and Grandma’s houses. He abandons the car at an odd angle, climbs through the barbed wire fence and runs to Grandma’s house. In just a few minutes, he hurries Grandma out, in her bonnet, but still tying on her clean, white apron. He opens the gate, puts her in the car, and retraces his route to his two-room home in our close view. Grandma climbs out of the car and scurries into Nell’s house. The reason for the unfurling drama dawns on us. Nell gets excited. “Mother is having her baby! Mother is having her baby." The bell interrupts our drama and we drag off to class. At the end of the school day, we wait at the one-rail school boundary fence while Nell runs across the wide, graded dirt road and comes back immediately to tell us she has a new sister and Grandma Sitton delivered her because she could’t wait for the doctor from Pecos. Copyright 1995 Jewell Scott ________________________
I was an enlisted man stationed at Pyote in 1950. At the time, acres and acres of the surrounding land was occupied by W.W.II aircraft destined for the junk heap. A few more airplanes arrived every month. I recall that a man named Al ran the one small restaurant on the main street. The sheriff's name was Tom (a tough old guy). After doing a little drinking one evening, I got in a fight with a local man because I thought he had insulted a girl (I don't know if he actually did or not). I became the town hero. Just like in the movies, I suddenly found myself with a reputation as a tough guy. Truth be known, I lived in fear that I would be forced to fight someone else and reveal myself to be a fraud. I was transferred to El Paso a few months later, fortunately, so I never had to do any High Noon type showdowns. I have fond memories of Pyote; the place had a unique flavor, and I would like to revisit it someday. Regards, ______________________________ Hello, you did an excellent job on the Pyote, Texas
web site. I am a descendant of the Sitton family, and want to thank you for this site.
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Updated July 22, 2011 |
