Don quit high school near the end of his junior year and joined the Army a few months before World War II officially ended. He was inducted at Camp Chaffee, Arkansas. A week later he was sent by troop-train to Accotink, Virginia, for basic training at Fort Belvoir.
The troop train made up at Camp Chaffee. It was late afternoon before we left. We had no idea where we were going. Bunks on a troop train left a lot to be desired. There was no air conditioning. Only open windows with smoke and flying soot.
The train stopped and started several times during the night. The next morning when we awoke the train was traversing a large bluff on the left side and a large river on the right side. We assumed it was the Mississippi River.
We traveled the next several days through the countryside and small towns. The train stopped a number of times and cars were added. Every time the train stopped we would shout at anyone within ear-shot, “Where are we?” They usually looked at us like we were nuts, but sometimes they would yell back the name of the town. We had a great time with the name Ashtabula, Ohio. It sounded like “Ass to Beulah” to us.
The troop train made its way in a laboriously circumventing route across Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio adding a car here and a car there, dropping off a car here and there. We wound through the Allegheny Mountains in Western Pennsylvania 332 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 333 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
and finally after five days arrived at Accotink, Virginia, where we disembarked.
Don took basic training at AFSTC, 3rd Battalion, Company C, 4th Platoon, Fort Belvoir, Virginia. He was a private and was paid twenty-one dollars a month. Most of the trainees were in their late teens and had never been very far from home until now. They were quarantined to the barracks area the first three weeks except when training.
Two weeks into basic training the company commander, a captain, accompanied by the lieutenant platoon leader and the platoon sergeant conducted a standby inspection in the barracks. Everything was ‘spit ’n polish’ as the privates all stood at attention beside their open foot lockers for inspection. They had to have their personal dog tag serial number memorized as well as the serial number for the M-1 Garand rifle they were issued.
I turned the serial numbers over and over in my head as I waited for the inspection team to come to my bunk. I didn’t want to blow that. The captain had asked several and some stumbled on their numbers. Little did I know what was about to happen to me.
The captain did a snappy left-face directly in front of me. He looked me straight in the eye. Without saying a word he glanced down at the tray in my foot locker. He did a snappy right-face and took two steps toward the next bunk.
He suddenly stopped losing all military precision, turned quickly back toward me, stepped in front of my foot-locked and peered down into my tray. He sputtered demandingly, “Soldier, where did you get that?”
“What, Sir?”
“That straight edge razor.”
“My father gave it to me, sir.”
“What do you use it for?”
“Shave, sir.”
He leaned menacingly forward stared me squarely in the eye and demanded, “Is that true?”
I replied, “Yes, sir.”
He apparently detected that I was so scared that I surely must be telling the truth. He turned to the sergeant and ordered, “Sergeant, see that this soldier boxes that thing up and mails it home. Then take him to the PX and make sure he buys a safety razor and blades.”
I didn’t have to stand the rest of the inspection.
During free time the trainees were restricted to the Company Area the first six weeks. Finally, Friday evening of the sixth weekend they were permitted to go outside the Company Area, but had to remain on base. They could go to the PX, the movie theater, the EM Club, etc. Most went to the EM Club where beer was served. Don and a few others elected to go to the PX and then the movie.
We got back to the barracks about ten o’clock and went to bed. Taps was at eleven. Everyone was supposed to be back to the barracks no later than taps, but they weren’t. Starting about eleven here they came staggering back from the EM Club in a drunken stupor, vomiting all over the place, and passing out on their bunks.
The platoon sergeant, Sergeant Cohen, was quartered in a private room at the front of the barracks. He came in about midnight. When he saw all the mess he rousted me and the others that were sober out of our bunks and made us clean up the mess while the jerks that caused it all lay passed-out on their bunks. We were not very happy.
Basic training was long, hard and arduous. It was a lot of physical conditioning, manual of arms, close order drill, obstacle courses, weapons familiarization, etc. Hour on hour was spent with the M-1 Garand Rifle practicing the proper way to hold it, the proper sight picture, the trigger squeeze, etc. with hours of dry runs.334 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 335 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Don found this all very boring. He already knew how to shoot a rifle. He learned that as a youth roaming the reaches of Panther Creek and The Table Hills hunting game. One day Don told Sergeant Cohen he already knew how to shoot a rifle. The proper word was to “fire” a rifle. Sergeant Cohen told Don to just get busy and learn how to do it the right way.
But, Don didn’t take that for a satisfactory answer and could hardly wait to get on the firing range to fire live bullets at a target. Several times he suggested to Sergeant Cohen he knew how to fire his rifle. Sergeant Cohen was from New York City and didn’t believe anyone knew how to fire a rifle if they hadn’t been in the army.
It was the first day on the range. It had seventy-five targets at one hundred yards distance. My partner and I were assigned to target number seventy-two. Our platoon spent the morning under the watchful eye of Sergeant Cohen firing live ammunition for familiarization.
Finally, that afternoon we fired for record. I was to fire first while my partner stood by. The targets came up. I hit the ground from a standing position to a prone position, fired one round, reloaded with a clip of nine rounds, and fired all ten rounds in the allotted time of one minute.
The targets went down for scoring. Then the command “Targets up” was given. All the targets came up at the same time. The ranger officer droned over the public address system, “Looks like a possible on target seventy-two.” Possible means all ten shots were in the bull’s eye.
Sergeant Cohen’s platoon was assigned target numbers sixty to seventy-five. He knew when he heard the range officer that one of his trainees had fired a perfect score. He was standing near target sixty, but he came hustling toward number seventy-two to see who had fired the perfect score. He saw me standing there holding my rifle like a defender of The Alamo with a big smile on my face. He said, “Oh, damn, not you.”
He got even with me though. Two guys in our platoon were so scared of their rifles they closed their eyes and jerked the trigger not only missing the target but hitting the dirt a few yards in front of them. Since I had fired a perfect score and didn’t need any further training Sergeant Cohen assigned me to teach these two guys how to fire a rifle.
I tried and tried but with no success. I began to think they actually did not want to learn how. Sergeant Cohen came by several times asking if I had them qualified yet. Of course, I hadn’t.
Finally, the day was ending and Sergeant Cohen demanded that I get them qualified. I got the message. I took each of their rifles and hit the bull’s eye with five shots and scattered the other five around on the target. That was sufficient to get them qualified. It also could have got me court-martialed, but I didn’t know it.
We later had to fire at two hundred yards, three hundred yards and six hundred yards to be fully qualified. I fired a score of 208 out of a possible 210. I qualified as an EXPERT rifleman much to Sergeant Cohen’s dismay, though I think he was a little pleased that one of his trainees fired such an impressive score.
After eight weeks in basic training the trainees were permitted to get weekend passes. Don used his passes to go to Washington, D.C., and visit the Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln Monuments. He went to the National Museum of Art and Smithsonian Institute where he saw the Winne Mae, Wiley Post’s airplane. He also went to some of the Washington Senators baseball games. He saw Joe DiMaggio when the Yankees played the Senators. He saw Bob Feller make a 100-mph pitch before a game with the Cleveland Indians. He also went once to Glen Echo, the local amusement park.
After hours barracks talk was mostly about girl friends, sex, drinking, and eating. A number of the trainees were from New Jersey and New York City. They talked a lot and mostly about how much they missed pizza pie and that on their first pass they were going to town and get some.336 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 337 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
The first weekend pass Don and several of his buddies went to Washington, D.C. They wanted to go get a pizza pie. Don had never heard of a pizza pie much less taste one.
I heard so much about pizza pie that I could hardly wait to sink my teeth into one. It sounded so good the way the guys talked about it.
Soon as we got off the bus in downtown Washington, D.C. we sought out the first pizza parlor we could. We ordered a pizza pie for four. In a few minutes they brought out this big round flat piece of baked dough that had some red tomato sauce smeared around on top. I thought, “That’s a strange looking pie.” I took a piece and cautiously took a bite. I said, “That’s not pie!”
Pizza had not yet found its way from the Northeastern states to the rest of the country. Pizzas then were nothing compared to the variety of toppings that come with pizzas today. Also, they are no longer called “pizza pie.”
Another weekend pass Don hitchhiked to Langley Field, Virginia, for a weekend with his older brother, Bob, who was in the Army Air Corps. Friday afternoon after retreat Don and a number of other soldiers stood by the highway south from Fort Belvoir hitchhiking.
There were about fifteen of us with our thumbs out hoping someone would stop and pick us up. A few did, but most of us were still “thumbing it” when a passenger bus stopped. At first we didn’t get on. We thought he was picking up passengers for pay. The driver finally convinced us it was a free ride and we got on. He was just discharged from the army and was ferrying a bus from Detroit to somewhere in Florida. He was picking up any and every soldier in uniform hitchhiking. I got a free ride all the way.
At Langly I met Bob. He and some of his buddies were going to the NCO club for the evening. I was a private. No problem. I just sewed corporal stripes on my shirtsleeve. Again, something for which I could have been court-martialed, but I didn’t know it.
They all had dates, but me. Bob arranged a blind date for me with a WAC. He was still in rare form taunting me. She was a date from hell. This ‘female’ was about six feet tall and built like a matchstick. I’m only five feet six inches tall. She had a face that would stop an eight-day clock. She had the personality of a rock.
We had a few drinks and the others were dancing with their dates. Mine ‘moozed’ all over me. She kept trying to pour liquor down me. I guess to get me ‘boozed up,’ too. I kept pouring them into paper cups on the floor under the table. I didn’t want to get drunk. I had already visited that scene back at my barracks.
Later Don was assigned to desert warfare testing with the Corps of Engineers, Yuma Test Branch in the desert north of Yuma, Arizona. He completed his basic training at Fort Belvoir. He and seven soldiers were transferred to the Yuma Test Branch. Don was a private. An old sergeant was in charge of their little contingent.
We were transported to Union Station in Washington, D.C. where we caught the B&O RR overnight train to Chicago. This was the first time I ever rode Pullman class on a train. We arrived early the next morning. We had to lay over in Chicago all day to catch the Rock Island late that evening for Yuma, Arizona. That gave me an opportunity to look around downtown Chicago.
We caught the night train and again we traveled Pullman class. We had meal ‘chits’ which entitled us to meals in the dinning car. This was the first time I had ever eaten meals in a railroad dinning car. Our Pullman car was airconditioned as was the dining car. The trip was most enjoyable.
At Tucumcari, New Mexico, we switched over to the Southern Pacific RR which went the rest of the way to Yuma. We arrived at Yuma early morning before daylight in late July. The heat was suffocating when we stepped out of our airconditioned Pullman car onto the depot platform.338 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 339 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
We were met by an army vehicle and transported about twenty miles north of Yuma alongside the Colorado River on the California side. It was daylight when we reached the camp which was situated on a large man-made island immediately below the Imperial Dam.
Our living quarters were low one story masonry block buildings with evaporative cooling fans as were all the buildings except the special purpose buildings. We had one latrine and shower building for the troops and one mess hall. There were about two hundred personnel assigned at the time I was there. There were about ten officers permanently assigned. They lived somewhere off the island. We often had visiting officers depending on what was being tested.
I was a clerk typist in the headquarters office. My main job was to type memograph masters to ‘cut’ orders and directives, place the masters on the reproducing machine, print however many copies were needed and make the proper distribution thereof. Because of the ‘critical’ nature of my job I didn’t have to pull KP. I did have to pull guard duty one time. I occasionally participated in some tests of equipment if they were shorthanded for testing personnel.
They tested all kinds of army vehicles and tanks and accessories. They also tested pontoon bridges and had something called a Bailey bridge built across one of the waterways which they were testing.
We had an air conditioned theater which showed first run movies after hours in the evenings. I learned that the guy who was the projectionist was leaving and they needed a replacement. I jumped at the chance and had a week of on-the-job training under his supervision. Then I was on my own. I was paid fifty cents an hour and got to see all the movies free.
During free time we would swim in the Colorado River or go hiking in the surrounding mountains exploring old abandoned gold mines. I thought I could make some extra money panning for gold in the sands of the river. I did this for an entire weekend, only to learn that most of what I thought was gold was actually ‘fools gold.’ I had only about a dollar’s worth of real gold flakes. So much for my gold panning venture.
We went to Yuma on pass. I didn’t drink, but a few times I made the bars with the other guys. I found that boring. So, one Saturday I went to a matinee movie in town. I struck up a conversation with a nice young lady who was an usher at the theater. When she got off work she invited me to walk her home. Her family was very nice and invited me to stay for dinner. They were Mormans. I had never heard of Mormans. I had one other movie date with her. I wish I could remember her name.
In October Don applied for a three-day pass. It was approved. He wanted to go see Betty Hill and her folks in Phoenix. He had dated Betty a few times when they lived in Oklahoma City. Don liked Betty, but she didn’t much care for him though her parents liked him. Betty went out with Don only because her parents insisted.
I was particularly interested in Betty Hill who was my age. She had lived two blocks from our house. She was a friend of Pat Paschall who I also would go out with on occasion, but had no real romantic interest. Betty did not particularly like me.
Mr. Hill was gone a lot working in the war effort. I had often cut their grass, trimmed the hedges, made minor repairs, etc. for Mrs. Hill. She thought I was such a nice boy, but Betty did not share her sentiments. Betty dated me only because of pressure from her mother. Not a way to win a girl’s heart I learned.
Betty’s family had moved to Phoenix. After a few weeks at Yuma Test Branch I got a three-day pass. I had corresponded with Betty via her mother in Phoenix. She (the mother) invited me to Phoenix for a weekend. On a Friday afternoon after retreat I got ready as quickly as I could.
I rode the camp bus to Yuma. I was soon on the highway hitchhiking to Phoenix. I caught a ride right away to Gila Bend. It was dark when we got there. Gila Bend was nothing but a junction in the highway. The right leg went to Tucson. The left leg went to Phoenix. I stood beside the road in the night desert for hours trying to hitch a ride. Very few cars came by. Most went toward Tucson.340 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 341 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Finally, about midnight a guy in a Ford coupe stopped and gave me a ride. He was a homosexual. I had never been around such a person. I had heard the guys talk around the barracks about ‘queers,’ but I discounted it as just so much barracks talk. I didn’t think anyone would really be like that.
He talked and talked. He talked about women and sex. Then he talked about sex and women. Then he talked about just sex. I got a little uneasy. Soon he put his right hand on my left thigh. I pressed as close to the car door as I could to put as much distance between us as I could.
It was a long, long ride through the night far out in the desert. This guy came at me with what seemed to be six pairs of hands. I kept pushing his hands away. I hugged the car door as tightly as I could. I had heard there were men who liked to have sex with other men, but I didn’t believe it. Now I knew better. Now I knew how a girl felt to be out with a guy that had six pairs of roaming hands.
I began to get desperate. I wanted to jump from the car but he was traveling about sixty miles an hour. And, when we did pass through a couple of small towns I begged him to stop and let me out. But he kept going and managed to hit the only stop lights in each town on green without slowing down.
After awhile I could tell we were coming into a larger town. I prayed that he would have to stop at a red light. We went through a couple on green, but he finally had to slow down for a red light. I was afraid the light would turn green so when he slowed down to about ten miles an hour I opened the door and bailed out.
I hit the ground rolling. Sure enough the light stayed red and he came to a full stop. I thought, “Oh, my God. He’ll come back and try to get me.” I jumped up and ran the other way as fast as I could. I looked back. The light had turned green. He was going on—without me, thankfully. Now, where was I? I had no idea.
It was early morning but still dark. I knew I was on the outskirts of a larger town. As it turned out I was on the outskirts of Phoenix though I didn’t know it at the time. I walked about a block on a chat pathway. I came to some shrubs in someone’s yard growing next to the pathway. I decided to set down next to the shrubs and wait for daylight.
In a few minutes I was asleep only to be suddenly startled awake at the break of day by a loud crunching noise. I suddenly jumped to my feet not knowing what it was.
I scared the wits out of a paperboy on his bicycle delivering the morning paper. The poor kid fell off his bicycle. He scrambled to his feet while I tried to reassure him I intended him no harm. He didn’t believe me. Without uttering a word he quickly picked up his bicycle and ran away pushing it. He jumped on his bike only when he was a safe distance from me—the bad guy.
I thought, “I’d better get the hell out of here before I find myself in serious trouble.” I went in the opposite direction from the paperboy putting as much distance between him and me as quickly as I could.
It was getting daylight. I dusted myself off, straightened up my clothes, and put on my most pleasant demeanor. Now to find out where I was and what to do next.
As it turned out I was only about two miles from where the Hills lived. Mrs. Hill was glad to see me. Betty wasn’t very happy. She already had a sailor boy friend. Mrs. Hill let her take the family car so she could go on a couple of dates with me, once to a movie and once just out driving around.
The war was over and testing was less of a priority. The army was cutting back on testing activities and personnel. Since Don was working in the office typing orders he could see that the Yuma Test Branch was being phased out. He had been promoted to Private First Class and was making fifty dollars a month.
In December Don applied for military leave which was approved. He ‘cut’ his own orders to Oklahoma City for ten days leave with instructions to report to Camp Stoneman, California, afterwards for assignment to Occupation Duty in Japan.
He rode the train chair class from Yuma to Oklahoma City. Uncle Sam wasn’t paying his fare this time. No one met him at Union Station where the Rock Island came in. He saw a man in 342 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 343 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
uniform catching the train. It was Billy Dale Jones, a friend from Moore. They visited a brief few minutes. Don took a taxi home. No one was there when he arrived.
Don spent the next several days relaxing and visiting with friends and relatives. He had a chance meeting with Pat Paschall on the sidewalk in front of Jenkins Music Store on West Main in downtown Oklahoma City. They visited a few minutes. He told her he was soon to ship overseas.
The day after Christmas Don took the train from Oklahoma City to Los Angles. He spent the day there looking around the area nearby the train depot. He was impressed with Los Angeles and thought it was an interesting place. That evening he caught the Southern Pacific Golden State Limited from Los Angles to San Francisco, thence to Antioch, California, and Camp Stoneman, an overseas replacement depot for the Army Far East Command.
He was there three weeks. He got one weekend pass and went to San Francisco. He had never seen the trolley cars and rode one up the hill and back down. He helped push it around at the bottom of the hill. He also had another weekend pass and visited some of his mother’s family at Stockton, but can’t remember who they were.
Somewhere, somehow while in California Don met Patsy Fry, a second cousin to his mother. He doesn’t remember when, where, or why. She was about the same age as Don. He carried her photo all the rest of the time he was in the army. He still has the photo and has since met Patsy in recent years at the Jones Family Reunions in Oklahoma. She recognized the photo but doesn’t recall their meeting either. Maybe they just corresponded.
The second day of February Don along with hundreds of other soldiers was trucked from Camp Stoneman to the Pittsburg landing on Honker Bay. There they boarded an army ferry boat and were ferried to the army docks at San Francisco. There they boarded the Army Troop Transport USS Bundy.
I had never seen a boat that big. I was one of the first into our assigned compartment. It had bunk beds made of steel frames with stretched canvas looped to the frames with a small sisal rope. They were stacked five high with about eighteen inches between. I chose a bottom bunk. That turned out to be a mistake.
I was topside along with hundreds of other soldiers as the army band on the dock played patriotic music. A tugboat nudged the boat from its mooring. We glided smoothly out into the Bay, past Alcatraz Island and approached the Golden Gate Bridge. I thought, “This isn’t bad.” I had heard all kinds of tales about guys getting seasick. Little did I know.
We sailed under the Golden Gate and into the open Pacific Ocean. The swells were huge. The boat lunged up and crashed down listing from side to side. Before we were out of sight from land we were all heaving over the rail feeding the fish.
I was miserable the next four days. Guys puked everywhere. The guys in the bunks above me puked down on me and my bunk. I refused to eat until I thought I could keep something down. Thus, I had the dry heaves. When they stopped I tried eating a little and it stayed down.
The rest of the ocean trip was enlightening. Of course, we had to clean up all the mess, but after that things were fairly smooth and uneventful except for two days about midway when we ran into a storm. It rained and the wind howled. The boat pitched up high and crashed down with a boom. It creaked and groaned. It was all we could do just to hold on. Some of the guys got seasick again, but I didn’t.
We had periods of smooth sailing and nice days, especially when we were in the tropical ocean stream. I saw flying fish I had never seen. I saw schools of porpoise leaping from the water. Sometimes they were very near the bow and seemed to be playfully going along with us. Then it turned cold.
We landed at Yokohama mid-February. It was bitterly cold. They trucked us to a place called Zuma. It used to be the old Japanese equivalent of our West Point, but was used as a processing center for replacements. We slept in tents with no heat. We had folding canvas cots. At night I wrapped myself fully clothed in my OD blanket and pancho to keep warm.344 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 345 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
They were recruiting volunteers for replacements in the 11th Airborne Division on Northern Honshu. I signed up. Mostly to get the heck out of that hell hole at Zuma. I wanted a warm place to sleep. Besides, I would get an extra fifty dollars a month for jump pay. Little did I know.
General MacArthur’s Far East Command Headquarters were in the Dia Ichi Building in the heart of Tokyo. The Russians entered the war in the very latest stages only after Stalin learned the Americans planned to drop the atom bomb on Japan. The Russian troops invaded Korea from the north. The Americans invaded from the south. The 38th Parallel was created because that is where the Americans and Russians met.
MacArthur in his wisdom permitted the Russians to have only a minimum military attache in Tokyo under his watchful eye. The Russians began to make political and military overtures that indicated they were going to extend the 38th Parallel across the Sea of Japan and across Northern Honshu in Japan proper.
MacArthur was not about to allow that to happen, contrary to the political ‘winds’ from Washington, D.C., and President Truman in particular. This was the beginning of their differing views of political and military perspective that led to their bitter conflicts such that ultimately Truman fired MacArthur.
MacArthur dispatched a large part of his command to the western shores of Northern Japan in combat readiness, including elements of the 11th Airborne Division. As a new replacement in the 11th Airborne Don in very short order found his self with an M-1 rifle in hand hunched down on the beaches of western Japan wondering why it was we were preparing to fight the Russians. Weren’t they our allies?
This lasted only a few weeks. The Russians backed down and stopped the diplomatic rhetoric and military sabre rattling to extend the 38th Parallel. Don was sent to Camp Schimmelphennig near Sendai. He was there only a few days.
He was sent to the Airborne Training Center at Matsushima. There the trainees were quartered in Quonset huts with heat. The airborne units got a ration and a half allotment for each soldier. They ate better than the other units. Don liked that.
The parachute training was divided into four stages. The first stage was strictly physical conditioning and hazing. Many of the volunteers quit during this phase because they couldn’t take the demanding exercises, running and hazing. The second stage was learning about the parachute, how to hook up and jump from the airplane door. Hours were spent jumping from mock-ups and making PLFs (parachute landing falls). The third stage was jumping from the towers and landing. Also, learning to pack a parachute. All the time there was constant physical conditioning and running. The fourth stage was the actual jumping from an airplane. Five jumps and you were a qualified paratrooper and awarded parachute wings.
The first time Don went up in an airplane he jumped out. He went up fourteen more times and jumped out before he ever landed. The landing was no ordinary event.
It was a normal day, early morning shortly after daylight. The weather was perfect. We strapped on our parachutes and waited for the C-46 airplanes to come down the tarmac where we were.
We were to jump in two fifteen-man ‘sticks’ from each airplane. One ‘stick’ from the left side and the other from the right side. There was to be a three-airplane flight.
The C-46’s rolled up in a line with engines roaring. I was the first jumper from the left side in the first airplane. We lined up and sounded off our position numbers. Then climbed aboard in reverse order, sat in the jump seats and fastened our seat belts.
The airplane rolled off the tarmac and onto the runway. The pilot ‘revved up’ the engines. We began to roll. We were airborne. Everyone shouted, “Airborne!” (a tradition) as we took off and began to climb. The landing gear did not retract.346 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 347 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
The pilot cut back the engines and began a gradual descent in a wide circle back around toward the airfield. I thought, “Hey, what’s going on? This isn’t normal.” The jumpmaster shouted that we were returning to land at the airfield. The airplane was losing hydraulic power. We were not high enough to jump safely. We buckled up and got ready for a rough landing.
The pilot carefully brought the airplane around on a very short final approach. In a few seconds we touched down with a hard thump and a bounce. Then began a normal roll out. Everyone cheered and unbuckled. Then it felt very rough. The pilot by landing quickly had over shot the runway. He had very little braking power, if any. We rolled off the end of the runway.
Suddenly the airplane dropped about six feet off the end of the dirt ramp and nosed over into a rice paddy. Most of the guys fell forward sliding toward the front of the airplane. The guys in the back ended up on top of the guys in the front. Some were hanging onto their seats. We scrambled out. No one was seriously hurt.
That was my first time to land in an airplane.
After parachute training Don’s first assignment was personnel clerk in battalion headquarters. He didn’t particularly like the ‘cush’ job and soon began to find ways to do other more interesting things. He quickly learned that guys who participated in sports got special duty and special privileges. His first attempt for special duty as an athlete didn’t turn out very well.
I walked past the gym where the division boxing team trained. I stopped and watched. I thought, “That looks easy. I think I’ll try it.” I went over to the old Master Sergeant that was the trainer. I told him I wanted to get on the boxing team. He sized me up and down with a jaundiced eye. He gruffly asked, “You ever been in a ring?”
“No.”
“What makes you think you can box?”
“I’m a good fighter.”
“Yeah. Come back tomorrow with shorts and tennis shoes.”
I was there the next day at the appointed time. A skinny Mexican kid was in the ring shadow boxing. The sergeant put gloves on me and told me to get in the ring with the kid. He said, “Spar around a little with him and warm up.” The kid and I sparred around about two minutes just jabbing at one another. No serious blows were landed.
The sergeant said, “Okay. Let’s see you box.” I made two hard right jabs at the kid. He took the blows on his gloves. I hadn’t even touched him. Then, lightning struck. I didn’t even see it coming. I woke up on the canvas with the sergeant bending over peering into my eyes asking, “Are you okay?”
Boy, was I ever set up. That ended my career as a boxer.
Football season rolled around and Don tried out for the Battalion and Special Services team. He played football in high school and had better success at football than boxing. He made the second team and played guard and center.
After football season he had to go back to a training unit. They made tactical training jumps in simulated combat situations. One such mission was to simulate taking an airfield. It had been used by the Japanese in the war, but was abandoned.
The jump was uneventful until I looked down and saw we had jumped about a minute too soon, or else the wind was blowing more than we thought. Anyhow, instead of landing at the far edge of the air strip as planned it was obvious we would land in the middle of the base itself among hangers and buildings.
I hurriedly looked around to find a place to land. I saw a paved road with a small canal ditch beside it. Next to the ditch was a tall barbed-wire security fence. There were several buildings on the other side of the fence. I saw an opening across the fence and guided toward it. I sure didn’t want to hit that fence. Just as I was about to safely clear the fence I saw a lone flagpole without a flag sticking straight up in the spot I had picked to land.348 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 349 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Good grief! I sure didn’t want to end up hanging from that flagpole. I tugged hard on my right front riser to guide me away from the pole only to see too late I was going to land on a small concrete pad several feet square. I landed with a thud smack in the middle. I think the Japanese used the pad for a small cannon to fire during flag ceremonies. Thank God! I missed that pole.
During the tactical training maneuvers Don managed to jump and land in trees and on the roof of a Japanese house. He once landed in a rice paddy in the dead of winter. It had been plowed wet. Huge clods of mud were frozen solid and were as hard as rocks. The wind was blowing harder than usual. His chute drug him about twenty yards across the frozen clods before he was able to collapse it. He got more scrapes and bruises from that jump than any of the others.
Don’s friend, Buford joined the navy about the same time Don went into the army. They corresponded a few times.
I’m vague on how it was I came to have Buford’s navy address. It seems when I was home on furlough it was a chance meeting with a mutual acquaintance that gave me his address.
I have a small photograph which Buford sent me of him when he was about seventeen years old standing kind of jauntily next to a jazzed up Model-A Ford with big balloon whitewall tires. He inscribed the back: “Me & my car. That’s where my trouble started.” I’m almost certain Buford sent this photo to me while I was in the army, because years later I found it in a group of photos I had among my old army possessions. I don’t know why we quit corresponding. I guess we just drifted off in different directions.
Don was assigned to the Airborne Training Center as a drill instructor. This came about from his participation in sports. They wanted cadre with physical endurance and tenacity. He was a drill instructor in the first stage of airborne training. That consisted entirely of strenuous physical exercise, running, and hazing, though it was never admitted there was any hazing. The first stage was a process designed to ‘weed’ out the weak ones that didn’t have ‘it.’
He would start the week with a platoon of thirty-two trainees. Two weeks later at the end of the first stage he would have only ten or twelve trainees left. The airborne units were strictly made up of volunteers. They could quit any time by simply reporting to the orderly room and signing a ‘Quit Slip.’ They were held until they could be reassigned to a non-airborne unit. Don had an unpleasant experience with one of his trainees that quit.
The cadre had to be in top physical shape. We had to run more and exercise more than usual. We did lots of push-ups. We did lots of running in formation. We were tough no nonsense guys with the trainees. We could get in their faces but we could not touch them. We could not use profanity and could not say anything that reflected on their ancestry. Everything else was game. Many simply could not take it and quit.
I had a guy that quit. He thought I had been “too tough” on him. He was waiting to be reassigned to another unit. I had finished my first stage training the Friday before and did not have an incoming group of new trainees for Monday. It was Sunday night. Some other instructors and I were due to jump early Monday morning with trainees making their first jump. We went to bed early to rise early.
The guy that quit spent Sunday evening at the EM club getting ‘beered-up.’ Somehow he learned which Quonset the cadre were quartered in. About midnight he burst through the door, turned on the lights, and shouted, “Where’s that Sergeant Davidson?”
I was in the third cot from the door. Like a dunderhead I got out of my cot and said, “I’m Sergeant Davidson.” I should have hid my head under my pillow and let someone else say, “He’s not here.”
The guy flew at me in a rage. I decked him with a right fist. One of the guys and I picked him up and threw him out the door. Someone outside must have thrown him back in. He came flying back through the door and tackled me from 350 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 351 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
behind. We went down knocking over a cot and popping the wooden brace from the end of another cot.
I got up and decked him again. Like a fool I stood there and let him get up. I must’ve thought the Queensbury Rules applied. He came up on his knees holding onto the loose brace in the end of the cot. He came up on his feet and at the same time pulled the brace from the cot. It made a nice club.
I barely had time to throw up my hands to protect my head as he struck a blow at my head. Again, like a fool I didn’t go down. He swung back the other way again at my head. My hands took the brunt of the blow. This time I got smart. I went down. This all happened in a matter of a few seconds. Some of the guys jumped in and subdued him. They drug him off to the orderly room.
My right wrist was badly swollen. My left hand was badly bruised across the knuckles. I hurt, and I had to make a jump in about six hours. No way could I pull my emergency chute handle if need be. I decided I could pull it by hooking my left thumb in the handle and push it out instead of pull it. I made the jump okay.
I learned a few good lessons that night. Most importantly, when you have a guy down don’t let him up.
After his assignment at the Airborne Training Center Don was assigned for a short time to Special Duty at Sugamo Prison near Tokyo as a minimum security guard for low level Japanese war crime criminals. He was there while they tried Tojo. It was plush duty, on 24 hours and off 48. This gave him time to look around Tokyo. Later he was reassigned to the 127th Airborne Engineer Battalion as Athletic and Recreation NCO. This was a great assignment.
My job was to handle all the athletic and recreation activities for the entire battalion. I had to make sure all the company ‘day rooms’ were properly equipped and maintained. Each day room had a pool table with accessories and a ping-pong table with balls and paddles. They also had lounging chairs, card tables, playing cards, checkers, etc., as well as reading and writing tables. I was also responsible for all the athletic equipment such as footballs, basketballs, softballs, bats, etc. to check them in and out, maintain them, and order replacements when broken or damaged beyond repair.
It was an army requirement that every headquarters building have a CQ (charge of quarters) on site during off duty hours. By special arrangement I was permitted to be permanently quartered in the battalion headquarters building as a permanent CQ. That meant I had my own private room. I did not have to get up and stand reveille every morning. I did have to be up and about each workday before duty hours.
A kind of funny thing happened to Don while he was in Japan. He saw all these Japanese people running around with little rectangle frames with beads. They used them to add, subtract, multiply and divide. He thought, “How clever. I’ll learn how to do that and impress all the folks when I get back home.” Little did he know.
A Japanese lady hired by the Army as timekeeper for Japanese laborers had a small office in Battalion headquarters. She spoke a little English. She undertook to teach me to use an abacus.
She manipulated the beads–one, two, three, four, and carry. That never made sense to me. She tried to explain, but I was hung up on the decimal system. What I didn’t know nor understand was the Japanese used the base-5 system. I had no idea what it was until years later after I got into computers and had to understand binary, hexidecimal, base-5, etc.
Don’s younger brother, Sam, was in the navy. He served on several destroyers, including the USS Gerke and USS Hollister. They corresponded several times. On one such occasion Sam informed Don his ship would dock at Yokohama for several weeks. Don secured authorization from his commanding officer to provide quarters and meals for Sam. Sam applied to his ship commander and was granted a ten-day leave.352 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 353 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Sam spent his leave visiting with Don at Camp Schimmelpfennig near Sendai. It caused quite a lot of curiosity and interest with the paratroopers to have a sailor living amongst them. Several of them plotted with Don to figure out how they could “fake it” so Sam and Don could make a parachute jump together. But, cooler heads prevailed and it was decided it would be too “chancy.”
The 11th Airborne Division was reassigned from Japan back to the United States. They traveled by train to Yokohama where they boarded an army troopship. The trip was uneventful as they sailed toward Honolulu, Hawaii. Don’s father’s cousin, Lorene Davidson, lived in Honolulu. Sam had given her address to Don.
When we were several days out from Hawaii I learned I could send a radiogram from the ship. I sent one to Lorene telling her the name of the ship and the day of arrival. I had no idea what to expect, if any thing. I had never met Lorene. I didn’t even know what she looked like.
The ship docked in Honolulu about noontime. Everyone except those with critical duties or demerits were given shore leave. An army band played at dockside as we all crowded the railing to watch the final berthing of the ship.
After a short time the gangway was lowered and we were permitted to leave the ship. I was one of a steady flow of many soldiers going down the gangway and stepping off onto the dock. As I neared the end of the gangway I saw a tall willowy good-looking blonde woman standing nearby. She held a small sign that read “Sergeant Davidson.” I was flabbergasted. It was Lorene. She whisked me away in her yellow convertible as many of my buddies watched even more flabbergasted than I was. I had a very pleasant three days and two nights with Lorene.
She was no ordinary person. She came to Hawaii in the 1930’s looking for her sailor husband. She never found him. What she did find was success. She went to work as a seamstress in an exclusive upscale boutique catering to the tourist trade. Several years later she opened her own boutique with a clientele of wealthy tourists. She was very successful. She invested some of her money in Hawaii real estate which skyrocketed during and after the war. She owned retail property and several four-plex apartments. She lived in one of them.
She took me in like a long lost cousin and treated me royally. She had been dating an army general but recently broke up with him so she was footloose and fancy-free. She took me sightseeing, dining at the exclusive Outrigger Club on Waikiki Beach, and dinner and dancing at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel Club.
This was a real ego booster for me. Only officers were allowed in the Royal Hawaiian Club. Enlisted personnel were allowed only if they were the invited guest of a club member. Lorene was a club member. There were a number of army and naval officers in the club with lady escorts. Several officers from my outfit were sitting at a table in the club when Lorene and I came in from the dining room. They did not have lady escorts. The maitre d’ knew Lorene. With a flair of showmanship he seated us at table next to the dance floor.
We were there about an hour or so. We had a few drinks and though I was not a skilled dancer we danced. Lorene was an excellent dancer and she made it look like I could dance. All the while I could see the officers from my outfit looking me and my ‘date’ over. I could tell they were wondering, “Where in the hell did Davidson find that woman?” I reveled in it.
I stayed two nights with Lorene. The third night she had some kind of previous engagement she had to keep. Early that evening she dropped me off at a local ‘watering hole’ for enlisted men. Some guys from my outfit were there. I stayed with then until about eleven o’clock. We had to be back on board the ship no later than midnight to sail the next morning.
I never saw Lorene again. I’ve often wondered whatever happened to her. Thanks, Lorene, for showing me a great time.
The ship sailed from Honolulu and a few days later docked early one morning in Panama to wait its turn to make passage through the canal. Most of the guys, including Don, were permit354 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 355 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
ted to leave the ship and spend the day touring Panama City. They had to be back on board early that evening.
Don got to see the ship go through the locks from the Pacific side. Passage through the canal was during the night. Thus, he didn’t get to see much of the canal or the locks on the Atlantic side.
The ship docked in New Orleans. Most of guys had accumulated leave and were furloughed directly from the ship with orders to report back to Camp Campbell, Kentucky. Don’s enlistment had actually expired when they were somewhere in the Pacific Ocean between Honolulu and Panama. He went by troop train directly to Camp Campbell and was discharged in a few days.
He took the train from Clarksville, Kentucky, to Memphis. He took the Rock Island from Memphis to Oklahoma City. He came home to live with his parents. No one met him at the Union Station Depot. He took a taxi home to 3608 NW 13th Street.
What to do? Don was kind of at loose ends. When he tried to call some of his old girl friends the reply (if there was one) usually went something like, “Oh, she is engaged. Oh, she is married and has two of the cutest kids. Oh, she moved to California.” Etc., etc.
Don had a chance meeting with Margaret Jean Knight on Main Street in downtown Oklahoma City. She was a classmate when Don went to Moore. The Knight’s were neighbors on an adjacent farm when Don’s family lived on the Turk Place. They had three daughters and a son. The girls were good looking, especially Margaret Jean.
Margaret Jean and I were about the same age. We were in the same class at school. She was the youngest of the three daughters. Jim, the son, was the youngest. The Knights were in about the same economic class as we were—poor.
I had been home from the Army only a few days when I had a chance meeting with Margaret Jean on Main Street in front of Katz Drugstore. I invited her to go into Katz and have lunch with me. She accepted.
We had a nice friendly chat about our childhood days at Moore and an enjoyable lunch. However, when I got around to ask for a date she informed me she would not date the likes of me. She said she had intentions for bigger and better things than I would ever be able to provide.
A lot of guys would have taken that as an insulting put down. I didn’t because I understood where she was coming from. She had been poor. She wanted more from life than that. I fully understood. I never saw Margaret Jean again. I understand that a few years later she married an older man of considerable wealth.
Don joined the ‘52-40 Club’ (forty dollars a week for fifty-two weeks unemployment pay for returning servicemen). He signed up for the Army Ready Reserves. He decided to finish high school. He enrolled at Central High School for the summer semester in the Veterans’ Accelerated Course under the tutelage of Mrs. LeBron. He intended to complete his high school requirements that summer so he could enroll in college that fall.
In the meantime, Don become re-acquainted with Pat Paschall. He had been home about two months from the military. None of the girls he dated before entering the military were around anymore. Betty Hill, Joy Mae, Ruby, Jane Harding, and Esther Reno were nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t even seen Pat Paschall around.
He dated Carlene Thorne a few times. She was a neighborhood girl and only fifteen years old. Don was twenty and not seriously interested in a fifteen-year old girl. However, she was the only girl he had dated since coming home.
One day Don went to the Veterans Administration office at 10th and North Broadway to take care of some of his veteran affairs. Afterwards, he caught a bus to downtown Oklahoma City to transfer to the Linwood bus and go home.
The bus stopped at Sixth and Broadway. Two nice looking ‘chicks’ got on. They came to the rear of the bus near where I I noticed one kept looking at me. I thought, “Gee, maybe she likes me.” Then she blurted out, “I know you! You’re Gene Davidson.”
I was dumbstruck. I had no idea who she was. She called me “Gene.” She had to be someone from my distant past. She chatted all about my family and me. She obviously knew me.
She told me she and her friend, Jeanne, were seniors at Central High School, and they had jobs through the Distributed Education Program. She wrote her phone number on a scrap of paper, gave it to me, and told me to call her. She said good-bye as they got off the bus in downtown to go to work.
I sat there dumbfounded. I had no idea who this nice looking girl was. I puzzled over the number all the way home. It was not a number I recognized. It was a CEntral exchange number which was for the downtown and nearby area. I didn’t know anyone there.
My sister, Ann, was also a senior at Central High School. She was living at home but worked. When she got home from work I showed her the phone number, told her how I got it, and asked if she recognized it. She thought I was a little off my ‘rocker’ to think she would recognize a phone number some girl gave to me on a bus. I pleaded with Ann the next several days to call the number and find out who that girl was. She wouldn’t do it. She told me to call myself if I wanted to know.
I didn’t want to call because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself some way. I pestered Ann so much the next several days that she finally called the number. She laughed and hooted at me. She tantalized me unmercifully. She wouldn’t tell me and she said over and over, ‘You’ll never guess who she is.” This went on for several days. I was very anxious to find out who she was but I didn’t want to call until I knew for sure.
Finally, I twisted Ann’s arm until she blurted out, “It’s Patsy Paschall.” I said, “No way. She didn’t look anything like Patsy Paschall.” The last time I saw Pat she was fourteen and this girl was no kid, she was a nice looking young lady. After a couple more days Ann finally convinced me it really was Pat.
I finally got up my courage and made the phone call. Sure enough. It was Pat Paschall. I was flabbergasted, but elated. We made a date and the rest is history.
It wasn’t long before Pat and Don were romantically involved. Pat lived with her grandparents at 817 NW 6th Street while she finished high school and worked part-time. Don was enrolled at the school for veterans at Central. They dated steadily. Late one night after a date Don had an unfortunate experience with the police. Pat’s grandparents had a large house. Pat had her own room with a private entrance near the back. Pat and Don were standing on the steps kissing and saying goodnight after a date.
We saw a police car go down the alley behind the house flashing a spotlight around. Someone apparently had called in a prowler complaint.
We said our final goodnight. Pat went in and I went down the driveway between the houses. Like any young man full of love I ran down the incline of the driveway and across the street to where my father’s car was parked. I jumped in and drove half a block to Shartel and turned left to go home.
Before I went another block my rear view mirror was full of bright red flashing lights. The cops pulled me over. They knew they had their prowler. They made me get out of the car. They shoved me onto the hood and cuffed me. They asked for my driver’s license. I had none. They asked whose car. I told them it was my father’s. They asked where I had been. I told them at my girl friend’s house. I was telling her goodnight. They asked if she would vouch for me.
They took me onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. Pat’s grandfather answered in his night robe. There I stood with two cops. God only knows what he thought. Pat’s grandfather rousted her out of bed. She came and vouched for me. The cops apologized for the intrusion, but I was not out of trouble. They wrote me up for no driver’s license.
The next day I appeared in Traffic Court at the Police Station. I explained I was recently discharged from the Army. The judge said that if I would get a license in the next few days he would dismiss the ticket.
Pat had a driver’s license. She borrowed her grandparents’ car. She drove around explaining to me what to expect on the driving test. I then used her grandparents’ car to take my driving test. Very generous of them. I passed.
Pat graduated from Central in May 1949 and worked for The Oklahoma Credit Bureau. Don continued his courses at Central with the intent to finish in time to start college that fall.
Pat’s parents had sold their house in Oklahoma City several years before and moved to a resort area near Lake Murray. Pat and Don visited her folks at Lake Murray several times during the summer. They owned and operated a country grocery store, filling station, and motel. They sold all kinds of picnic items, fishing gear, bait, boating and water skiing equipment, etc.
One time Don’s sister, Ann, and her new husband, Fred, drove his Mercury convertible to Lake Murray with Pat and Don for an outing. In August Don went to Lake Murray and proposed to Pat. She accepted.
Earlier that summer Don had a chance meeting on the street in downtown Oklahoma City with his former high school football coach, Leo Higbie, that changed his direction. Coach Higbie was now the Athletic Director for the entire Oklahoma City School System. After they exchanged a few pleasantries Coach Higbie sprung a surprise.
Coach asked me how old I was. I told him I was twenty. He asked when would I turn twenty-one. I told him in December. He asked if I knew I was still eligible to play high school football until the day I turned twenty-one. I didn’t know that. He suggested that if I wanted to I could enroll at Classen that fall and play football.
That appealed to Don. He finished all his courses at Central that summer except one required course for English. In September he enrolled at Classen and went out for football. That fall Pat went to all of Don’s home games at Taft Stadium. Afterwards they would go to Nicolosi’s, their favorite restaurant at NW 10th and May Avenue, for a late dinner date.
Coach Higbie was no longer the coach. The new coach was Mr. Conger. He was an older man. He had accepted the coaching position for two years to attain his teachers’ retirement.
Coach Conger and Coach Higbie were nothing alike. Coach Higbie was a disciplined taskmaster that wanted his teams to win, but he was fair with all the players. Coach Conger had little interest in the players or in winning. He just wanted to get his time in and retire.
Don was always competitive. He wanted to win regardless of whatever it was he was doing. Thus, his objectives were at odds with Coach Conger’s.
I had no idea at first what the situation was with Coach Conger. I had not only played two seasons of high school football under Coach Higbie, but also played two seasons in the military service under some good coaches. I had quite a lot of experience and knowledge of the game.
I was puzzled at the coach’s actions. He never came on the practice field during calisthenics and warm-ups. He didn’t take a personal interest in the individual players to instruct them in the techniques of their positions. The plays in his playbook were convoluted. The practices were short, never going more than an hour and a half. He was not a taskmaster. I didn’t understand.
It was a new environment for me. I didn’t know any of the players. I recognized from the ‘git-go’ this wasn’t the way to coach a team. I didn’t want to be overt about my displeasure. I thought maybe things would work out.
I was twenty with a little over three years in the military. Most of the other guys were sixteen and seventeen. Two players, Haskell Graves and Earl Warr, had red-shirted and were nineteen. It was no great feat to pretty well knock the others around at will on the practice field.
The Daily Oklahoma high school sports reporter, Wally Wallis, wrote extensively about Oklahoma City high school 360 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 361 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
sports. His pre-season prediction was that Classen would be lucky to win two games that season.
We traveled to Little Rock to play our first game. It was a night game. I thought it unusual to have a white football. The only score of the game came on a play where the Little Rock quarterback handled the ball and then ran down field to receive a pass for a touchdown. I was almost ejected from the game for protesting.
I protested to the referee that once the quarterback handled the ball he was ineligible to receive a forward pass. The referee informed me in no uncertain terms that was true under NCAA rules (which we played under in Oklahoma) but in Arkansas the high schools played under the Southern Association of High Schools set of rules. Coach Conger hadn’t bothered to tell us the rules were different and explain the differences so we could be prepared. The final score was Little Rock 6 and Classen 0.
The next Friday we played Capitol Hill, a conference team, in Taft Stadium. The final score was Capitol Hill 18 and Classen 0. Three times we were inside the opponent’s ten-yard line. Three times we lost the ball on downs because Coach Conger sent in plays from the bench causing delay of game penalties. This was incredible. I was beside myself with frustration.
By then I was somewhat acquainted with most of the players and had made my determination of who were leaders and who were not. I got with Haskell and Earl. We decided the team had to turn around. We covertly took over.
Haskell, Earl and I lead pre-practice calisthenics and warm-ups. We had weekly after hours team meetings. We urged the others to take the game more seriously, and to practice harder and longer. We discussed what we did right and what we did wrong. We talked about how to make adjustments. We coached the others on the techniques of the game.
The rest of the games Haskell, Earl, and I were in charge on the field. If the coach sent in a substitution we knew would cause a delay of game penalty, or was the wrong player for the given situation, we waved him off. He knew to get off the field quick else feel the results of our ire later.
We won all the rest of our games. The only two games we lost were to state championship teams. Little Rock won in Arkansas. Capitol Hill won our conference and went on to win the Oklahoma State Championship.
Wally Wallis had to eat his words. He couldn’t believe the turn-around in our team.
Some of my other teammates were Bill “Beaky” Bryan, Ernie Wyatt, Bernie Thompson, Ronnie Spencer, Mike Harding, Buddy Krogstad, Tom Murphy, and Dick Pulliam. Years later Bill Bryan told me he learned more about how to play football from me than from the coach.
Don graduated from Classen in January 1950. He enrolled at Oklahoma A&M that same month taking premed courses. He also went out for spring practice football as a walk-on under another new coach, J. B. Whitworth. They would not give athletic scholarships to athletes that had the G.I. Bill. Don and a roommate lived in the basement of an off campus boarding house.
Playing football left little time for serious studying. A boarding house with about twenty young men was not the best study environment. Most of the guys in the boarding house were freshmen and away from home on their own for the first time. Some were not serious students. They were often up to some kind of hi-jinks. One evening Don was studying for an exam.
I lived in the basement. Fortunately, I had a roommate that was a serious student and a good guy to live with. But some of the others in the house were a constant pain in the neck.
I was studying for an exam the next day. One of the idiots upstairs sneaked down the hallway to the circuit breaker box in a broom closet and turned off the main switch throwing the entire house into darkness. I stomped up the stairs, turned them back on and stomped back downstairs. This happened several times over the next hour and was very disruptive.
It happened again. I stomped up the stairs, turned the lights back on and stomped down the stairs. Only this time I quietly tippy-toed back up the stairs, got in the closet, closed the door and waited. Sure enough, in a few minutes here he came. When he opened the door I threw a hard right fist squarely in his nose. Blood splattered everywhere. He ran away crying. What a baby! The lights were on the rest of the semester. Problem solved.
Several days later another idiot had too much to drink. For some strange reason he wanted in my room. He stood outside the door and beat on it. I kept trying to get him to go away. He wouldn’t. I locked the door and tried to ignore the pounding.
It grew conspicuously quiet. I looked up from my study desk and his long hair shaggy head was through the transom over the door. He was trying to climb into the room. I jumped up, ran to the door, grabbed him by the hair and jerked him into the room. He hit the floor face first. I didn’t give him a chance to get up. I opened the door, drug him out by his hair, jumped in the middle of him and gave him about six good punches to the head.
I went back in my room, slammed the door and locked it. I never heard another peep from him. The idiots learned I wasn’t to be messed with and the rest of the time there was uneventful.
On a few weekends Don hitchhiked to Oklahoma City to see Pat and visit family. One such visit was to see his Grandma and Grandpa Roller who were visiting his Mom and Dad.
Shortly after I arrived Grandma said she had never seen me in my army uniform and asked me to put it on for her which I did. As I unbuttoned my Ike jacket to take it off she suggested I might check the pockets. I ran my hand into the inside breast pocket. I pulled out a fifty- dollar bill. I couldn’t believe I had left a fifty-dollar bill in my jacket. Grandma proclaimed innocence. It was certainly money I could use. I’m sure Grandma put it there for me to find though she never admitted it.
On a few occasions Pat came to Stillwater to see Don. She worked at the Credit Bureau in Oklahoma City. One occasion in April Pat got her grandparents to let her drive their car to see Don. Her grandparents came with her.
However, as it turned out it was a short visit. It soon became obvious a big storm was brewing and they left early to avoid it. Not soon enough. Between Stillwater and Perkins Corner they were caught in a hailstorm that knocked out the windshield and did considerable damage to their car. The hail damage in Stillwater was significant. Many of the hailstones were baseball size. The campus suffered millions of dollars in damage.
May 1950 Don completed his first semester at Oklahoma A&M. He and Pat went to Fretwell Motor Company at NW 4th and Shartel and Don used some of his savings from the military to buy a used 1947 Dodge sedan.
Pat and Don planned to get married June 1st. They drove to Marietta a week or so before their marriage. They got their marriage license at the Carter County Courthouse in Ardmore. Pat and her mother planned the wedding. They were married at ten o’clock the morning of the first day of June in 1950 at the First Baptist Church in Ardmore. They left right after the reception. They stayed their first night at a motel in Waco, Texas.
They drove to San Antonio and stayed a few days with Pat’s great uncle Ledford Patrick and great aunt Gertrude. They lived near the intersection where South Saint Mary Street crossed South Alamo Street at right angles. Don never quite understood how that could be.
They drove to Houston where they rented a garage apartment. The lady landlord had twenty Pekinese dogs. This lasted two weeks.
Pat had been promised a job at the Houston Credit Bureau. The man who made the promise to her boss, Mr. J. J. Bamburger, in Oklahoma City was “gone” on vacation. No job for Pat. Don could not find temporary work. All the summer jobs had already been filled. No prospects for a much needed job in Houston. Besides, it rained every morning at ten o’clock.364 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 365 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Don and Pat decided to go back to Oklahoma City. They lived at Pat’s grandparent’s house. Pat went back to work at the Credit Bureau. Don went to work on a pipeline construction project. In a few weeks he got a job with Kerr’s Department store as a vacation relief delivery driver.
The fall in 1950 they went back to Stillwater. Don returned to school at Oklahoma A&M. Pat got a job working for Stillwater Typewriter Company that had a contract to maintain all the typewriters on the A&M campus. They lived in Veterans Village at #8 Cheyenne. The ‘hut’ was sixteen by sixteen feet. It had a kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom.
The hut was made of plywood nailed on two by two studs. It had sixteen small casement turnout type windows. The roof came to a pyramid with a vent at the peak. There was no insulation. It was furnished with a cookstove, small table, space heater, couch, and bed.
We bought a refrigerator. Pat brought what few household goods she had. That included a small round table and lamp, a console radio, a few kitchen appliances and utensils, linens, bedding, and towels. She made curtains for the windows. She tried very hard to make it a cozy homey place. It cost thirty dollars a month with all utilities paid.
I could sit on the couch in the living room and prop my feet on the turned down oven door in the kitchen. A regular size bed barely fit in the bedroom with a tiny closet. Taking a shower was like taking one in a shoebox.
War broke out in Korea in June 1950. The same month Don and Pat were married. It did not go well for the South Koreans. By fall the North Koreans had pushed so far into South Korea that only a small area remained under their control. The United Nations stepped in and the United States responded with troops.
In October Don was recalled to active duty and ordered to report for duty at Tinker Air Force Base near Oklahoma City. Pat’s employer fired her because he thought she would leave and go with Don. She was unemployed in Stillwater and could not find another job because all the jobs had been taken for the school year. Don was in a barracks at Tinker. He had been there three days.
The fourth morning at reveille the First Sergeant called for Sergeant Davidson to fallout for the Orderly Room. That usually meant you were in some kind of trouble. I couldn’t imagine what.
I reported and the Company Commander told me to report to the Adjutant General office. That usually meant you were in real serious trouble. I could not imagine what. I hadn’t been there long enough to do anything wrong.
I reported to a Captain Black in the Adjutant General Office. He immediately turned to a credenza behind his desk and picked up a copy of Army Regulations. He had a place marked by a piece of white paper sticking up. I thought, “My God, he is going to throw the book at me.”
He opened the book at the marked place and read to me. It was something to the effect that: “If a reservist with prior military service is called to active duty while enrolled at a college that offers a Reserve Officer Training Corps program then the reservist may at his request be discharged from the Army providing the reservist signs up for the Reserve Officer Training Corps program at the college.” I gulped. I was dumbfounded. The captain sensed that. He asked, “Sergeant, did you understand that?”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“Would you like me to read it again?”
“Yes, sir.”
He read it again.
“Do you understand, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Would you like a three-day pass?”
“YES, SIR!”
A week later I was discharged and back in school at A&M committed to enroll in the Army Signal Corps ROTC program starting the next semester.366 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 367 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Don’s discharge at the convenience of the government solved only one problem. He was soon back in school, but Pat was unemployed. The G.I. Bill monthly check of only seventy-five dollars was not enough to pay the rent, make the car payment, make the refrigerator payment, and buy groceries and gasoline.
Don and Pat decided to tough it out to the end of the semester hoping Pat could get a job at the change of semesters. It didn’t happen. In February Pat’s Mom, Mable, came to visit. She brought groceries and a little money. It was very cold.
A north wind was howling outside. We had the space heater going full force to keep the place warm. When bedtime came we made down the couch for Mable. She asked if I was going to turn off the space heater. I told her, “No.”
“But won’t we get asphyxiated?”
“Not a chance. See those curtains standing out from the windows. See the linoleum bowing up. There’s plenty of air flowing through here.”
“What if the place catches fire?”
“Not to worry. See that wall. I’ll run right through it and you and Pat can follow me out.”
We got a good night’s sleep. Snow the next morning.
Now the only solution was for Pat to go to Oklahoma City to live with her grandparents and work at the Credit Bureau. Don lived in the hut in Veterans Village the rest of the semester. He visited Pat on occasional weekends and Pat sometimes took the bus to Stillwater to visit him.
At the end of the Spring Semester of 1951 Don and Pat moved to Oklahoma City. They lived at Pat’s grandparents’ house while they spent most of the summer at their cottage near Lake Murray. Pat worked at the Credit Bureau and Don drove a delivery truck for Kerr’s Department Store.
While in the army Don had expanded his interest in photography. His interest continued after he returned to civilian life. He had a 35mm Argus C-3, a Lecia 35mm, and an old 6cm x 9cm German Dresdan view camera with a roll film adapter for the back. He made a lot of good photos with it.
One day an upcoming Junior Miss fashion designer, Ann Fogarty, had a style showing at Kerr’s. As a new struggling designer she was operating on a shoe string budget. At the last moment the Kerr’s Junior Fashion coordinator wanted photos made of the show.
Don had the tenacity to tell her he could take the photos for a bargain price. The coordinator agreed. He bought a new Century Graphic press type camera, an enlarger, and darkroom accessories. He took the photos, developed the film in the kitchen, and printed the photos on the dining room table. He didn’t make much money, but did make enough to cover the cost of all his new equipment. Thus, he launched a part-time mini-career as a photographer.
Don and Pat returned to Stillwater in the Fall of 1951. At Veterans Village they moved up to a double hut at #9 Cheyenne which provided twice the space. It had two bedrooms. Don used one for a study. They also had accumulated a few more household items to make it a more homey and comfortable place to live.
Before classes started that fall they both worked a short time for the Veterans’ Administration to process G.I. Bill veterans’ applications. Don dropped premed and enrolled in the School of Commerce. He decided he didn’t have the financial wherewithal to see him all the way through medical school.
Pat got a job at the college infirmary. She took care of the paper work to admit students for treatment by the medical staff. Don pursued his interest in photography. He worked part-time evenings for Doc Pruitt taking hundreds of pictures each weekend of fraternity and sorority parties and dances. He later got a part-time job at the Vocational Agricultural Department as a photo lab technician. He was paid the minimum wage of seventy-five cents an hour.368 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 369 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Don became acquainted with Carl Wood, an outstanding wrestler on the school team. Pat and Don began to run around with Carl and his wife, Susie. Carl was also interested in photography.
One evening we were out running around with Carl and Susie. Carl and I saw something we thought would be interesting to photograph, but didn’t have our cameras.
We ran by Carl and Susie’s apartment to get Carl’s camera. He wanted me to come up and see his new electronic flash unit. We left the girls in the car parked on the other side of a hedge about six feet high.
When Carl and I came back we heard three guys on the other side of the hedge trying to pick up the girls. We heard one of them ask, “What’s your name, Babe?” Carl stepped around the hedge and said, “What’s it to you?” The guy replied,”Yeah, you want to make something of it?”
“No, just go on and leave us alone.”
“Hey, Buster. I ain’t going nowhere.”
“Look. These’re our wives. We don’t want any trouble. Just gone on.”
“Yeah. Let’s see ya make me go on,” as he put up his fists to fight. Carl threw a hard right fist hitting him squarely in the nose. Blood splattered. The guy and friends ran away. Carl shouted, “Hey, come back. I thought you wanted to fight.” The guy shouted back over his shoulder, “If you want my ass you’ll have to catch it.”
The first thing next morning Pat checked the guy in at the infirmary with a broken nose. She quietly snickered a little.
In the meantime Don quit football. It had ceased to be fun. He didn’t like the coach and the coach didn’t like him. Not a good situation. An incident on the practice field finally made Don give up football.
I loved to play football. I was a good player in high school. I was small as football players go, especially for a guard. However, I was quick, fast, had stamina, and played smarter than most. Nothing I loved better than to knock a bigger guy on his butt or make a hard hitting tackle.
We played without some of the protective gear used today. We did not have facemasks. We also had to be able to play offense and defense because substitutions could be made only two players at a time and only during an official time-out. We also had to know how to play several different positions. If we were on defense and recovered a fumble we often would not have a regular offense player on the field for a certain position. Someone, maybe a guard, would have to fill in as a tackle or an end until an official time-out and a substitution made to get the regular player in the game.
I went out for football at Oklahoma A&M College as a walk-on. I now was up against players who were bigger than I was, especially the linemen. I did okay in freshman football because I was going against guys just out of high school. Most of them were on athletic scholarships. The freshman coach was an okay guy. I still played guard. I would say I was at least an average or better player as a freshman.
However, my sophomore year many of the freshmen players had dropped out. Only the more promising ones were out their sophomore year. I now was under the tutorship of the head coach, J.B. Whitworth, and the line coach, Bob Johnson. I learned very quickly I not only had to go against the bigger players, but now had to go against the coaches. Whitworth had a ‘win at all cost’ attitude. He had a strange distorted concept of what made a good football player. His line coach reflected that same attitude. One of his strange ideas was that a walk-on player could never be good enough to make his team. That put me and the several other walk-ons at an immediate untenable disadvantage. It was several weeks before that realization sank in.
The coach constantly belittled us at every opportunity. If we made a mistake or didn’t perform up to par he singled us out for severe and harsh criticism before the entire squad. If we made an exceptionally good play in scrimmage and knocked one of the scholarship boys on his butt the coach would not speak favorably of our performance. Instead, he berated the 370 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 371 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
scholarship guy because he let a lowly walk-on outplay him. This occurred several times every practice session. It was disheartening but made me want even more to outplay the scholarship boys. But, a single occurrence made me change my mind and give up football for good.
In practice when a lineman missed a blocking assignment and as a result the ball carrier was tackled for a loss the coach made the offending lineman line up behind the center without blockers. He then would pick four linemen to line up on defense. When the ball was snapped to the offending lineman he had to run forward like a fullback with no blockers to protect him. Supposedly this was to teach the offending lineman what it was like to a fullback when a blocking assignment was missed. The four defensive linemen had to hit and tackle the lineman ball carrier as hard as they could else they would be put in the same ball carrying position.
Whitworth loved to pick at least one or two of the walk-on guys to be the defensive linemen to make the hard tackle. I think it was his hope to be able to make the game so dangerous and unpleasant to the walk-ons that they would quit. Well, he succeeded. I quit never to play football again.
I was one of the four defensive lineman to hit and tackle Charles, a scholarship lineman who had missed a blocking assignment on a scrimmage play. When the center snapped the ball the four of us charged Charles as hard as we could. All four hit him at the same time. I heard a loud sickening snap like a breaking broom handle.
We broke the large bone between his knee and hip. Whitworth dismissed it as an indication Charles was not tough enough to play football on his team. While the trainers worked with Charles and the ambulance was called to take him to the hospital Whitworth moved us over to another part of the practice field and continued the scrimmage. He showed absolutely no compassion, concern or sorrow for Charles.
I felt terrible. Charles was my friend. At the end of practice I checked in all my equipment, showered, and walked out the door to never return. I wanted no part of that kind of football.
The “Johnny Bright Incident” occurred the next football season after Don quit. It brought national attention to Oklahoma A&M College. Not the kind to be desired. Nevertheless, it occurred and was indicative of Coach Whitworth and his coaching style.
Prior to 1952 there were no black football players at any of the major colleges or universities. There had been Indian players but no black players. In fact Oklahoma A&M College had a Pawnee Indian, Bill Bredde, who played fullback.
Oklahoma A&M was in the Missouri Valley Conference during the 1950’s which included Tulsa, Wichita, St. Louis, Detroit, and Drake University in Iowa. Johnny Bright, a Negro, was the tailback on the Drake team. He was heralded as the first black man to play football at any major college or university. The national press was giving him ample coverage.
On a Saturday afternoon in the Fall of 1953 Johnny Bright came to Stillwater, Oklahoma, with the Drake University team to play Oklahoma A&M at Lewis Field. RKO Pathe Newsreel was there to record the event as were numerous reporters and photographers. Prior to the game during the team warm ups RKO and a gaggle of reporters and photographers followed Johnny Bright around everywhere he went on the playing field.
Drake ran from the old single-wing formation. Johnny Bright was the tailback which in today’s football vocabulary is the running-back. He was a good athlete and tailback with impressive statistics.
J. B. Whitworth, the head coach at Oklahoma A&M, was what I would characterize as a Georgia ‘red-neck cracker’ with a win at all cost attitude. Since I went out for football at Oklahoma A&M in 1950 and 1951 as a walk-on I knew Whitworth pretty well. In 1953 I still had some good friends on the A&M team. My friends told me that Whitworth in a suggestive manner put out the word “to get that nigger.”372 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 373 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Oklahoma A&M kicked off to Drake. Johnny Bright handled the ball several times and made some impressive gains. All this time the RKO newsreel cameras were rolling focused on Johnny Bright.
The Drake team lined up single-wing strong to the right. The ball was snapped directly back to Bright. He ran to his right and handed the ball off to the wing-back who then reversed and ran to the left. After Johnny handed off the ball he violated one of the cardinal rules of football. He came to a stop, stood erect, and looked back over his left shoulder to see how the play went.
This was the obvious opening No. 78, Willbanks Smith, left tackle for A&M, was looking for. As Bright looked back over his left shoulder Smith laid into him with a stiff right elbow upper-cut to his right jaw. Players in those days did not wear facemasks. Bright was about six feet tall and weighed about 185 pounds. Smith was six feet four inches and weighed about 220 pounds. The blow lifted Bright completely off his feet and laid him out. Bright struggled to his feet and ran two more plays then left the field of play under his own power. It was later determined he had a broken jaw and did not return to the game.
RKO Newsreel caught all this on movie film in slow motion. It was played over and over in movie theaters all over the United States. The Des Moines Press sequence camera caught the action frame by frame. The entire sequence was published nationwide. Smith was ostracized by the national press. He got hate mail from everywhere, some just addressed to “Number 78.”
Poor Willbanks. He was about as dumb as Whitworth. He lost his scholarship and Whitworth lost his job.
Whitworth was at Oklahoma A&M the four years I was there. The team under his tutelage never won more than a few games, except one season when they won more than they lost. He was fired and never held another head coaching job at any college or university I know of.
A few years later I saw him on television on the sideline as an assistant of some kind for the University of Georgia football team. I had absolutely no respect for the man. I learned a few years later he died of a heart attack. I felt no remorse or sorrow.
Years later when Johnny Bright died after an impressive career in Canadian Professional football, I learned that Willlbanks Smith sent flowers to his funeral.
Don had a good relationship with his in-laws, Bert and Mable Paschall. Over the years he and Bert did a lot of things together. They went fishing in Lake Murray and Lake Texoma. They hunted ducks along Hickory Creek and along the shores of Lake Texoma. They hunted quail all over the southeastern part of Love County. Bert kept a small kennel and trained bird dogs for other people. He had a championship bird dog named Popeye.
It was a pleasure to hunt with Popeye. The only problem was he would hunt only when Bert was along. There were times Bert couldn’t go hunting but would insist we take Popeye. I would tell him that Popeye wouldn’t hunt for us, but to pacify Bert we would take him and two other dogs.
Popeye would jump out of the back of the truck and go right to hunting. In about two minutes he would look around and not see Bert. He would hunt another two or three minutes and not see Bert. He then would beat it back to the truck and lay there until we were ready to go home.
Once Bert and I had been hunting all day. We were returning home. There was a misty rain and it was cold. We saw a large covey of quail cross the road ahead of us. We had to get out and work that covey. Bert let only Popeye out. He kept the other dogs in the truck. Popeye pointed the covey in an open field. When the covey broke we each got a shot. The quail flew to the closest cover which was waist high grass on the other side of a barbed-wire fence.
Popeye immediately started working the singles. He had his eye on a quail that went into the tall grass. He didn’t want to get in all that wet grass. He ran on the side of the fence in the short grass to point the single he saw go into the tall grass. I was about fifteen yards from Popeye looking straight at him. 374 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 375 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Suddenly in the middle of a leap he saw another quail a few feet away in the tall grass. So help me, I saw that dog come to point in mid-stride in mid-air. He hit the ground on point. Incredible.
Don also helped Bert with various tasks around the farm. One day they went to cut firewood. It was early morning after a heavy overnight rain.
Bert and I decided to go cut firewood since it was too wet to do anything else. We crossed Pumpkin Creek running hubcap deep. We drove up a muddy slope and down the other side to a wire gap gate near a small creek tributary to Pumpkin Creek.
I got out of the truck and opened the gate. All of a sudden I saw Bert leap out of the truck and go to his knees with his nose almost touching the ground. I thought he had gone berserk. What he saw in the early morning sunlight was a reflection from a gold coin resting on a little pedestal of mud. We surmised it must have washed downstream during the rainstorm that night from a gold stash somewhere up the creek.
We spent the rest of the day intently looking up and down the full length of that little creek several times. We found a lot of things, but no gold. We didn’t cut any firewood that day.
The next twenty some years for the rest of Bert’s life, he and I on any occasion we could spent hours looking up and down that little creek trying to find that stash of gold. We never found it.
One of the unusual places of social diversion in and around Marietta was a beer joint known as Hole-in-the-Wall. Don was not particularly fond of frequenting beer joints. However, on a few occasions after some amount of cajoling he went with his erstwhile erratic brother-in-law, Ralph Collom. Hole-in-the-Wall was located a few miles north of Marietta and east of old Highway 77 down in the Hickory Creek breaks.
I was there only a few times in the 1950’s. I have no idea who owned the place. It was always after dark when I was there so I can’t really give a good description of the place. But, it was a small wood frame building with outside vertical wall planking. I’m not sure but I think it was supported on stacked flat rocks at the corners. It may have been an old early 1900’s farm house converted to a beer joint.
It had wood plank floors, a few tables and chairs, and a stand-up bar. No electricity. Kerosene lamps. There was a bullet hole through the wall behind the bar, thus the name Hole-in-the-Wall. I was never there when it was raining, but I’d bet a dollar to a hole in a donut the roof leaked. There were no steps. You just stepped up about fifteen inches through the front door and into the bar.
I don’t know if it was a daily practice or not, but the few times I was there someone always had cooked a big black pot of beans over a wood fire out in the yard. If you wanted some beans you went out and ladled them up for yourself.
There was an old good size dog always laying around. One time when I went there the dog had a nasty ugly bloody wound in the top of his skull. You could faintly see a small part of his brain exposed. I asked what happened. Someone said, “He got shot.” I thought, “Good grief! That poor dog must have a terrible headache.”
There was a lot of beer drinking, B.S. talk, and an occassional fight. Never any gun play when I was there, thank God. Pat went with me one time. That was the last time I ever went there. I have no idea what happened to Hole-in-the-Wall.
Don’s younger brother, Sam, was discharged from the Navy and married Rowena Vance in January 1952. They were living in a small garage apartment on NW 10th Street in Oklahoma City. One evening Don and Pat went to visit them. Sam’s friend was also visiting. He had recently been discharged from the Navy and was on his way home.
Sam, his friend, and Pat got to playing poker. Rowena and Don watched. The game went into the wee hours of the morning. Pat 376 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 377 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
was the big winner. She was always good at cards. She won a goodly sum from Sam’s friend. As Don and Pat were leaving she gave her winnings back to Sam and his friend. Don chastised her for it. He said, “If you would have lost they would have kept your money.” Pat insisted it was all in good fun. Besides she didn’t have the heart to take all that young man’s money. Don finally agreed. Pat was not only good at cards but also a good sport.
Back at Stillwater for the fall semester Pat got a very good job as secretary for Walter S. Burn, an Englishman. He was the Director of the Oklahoma Power and Propulsion Laboratory on the Oklahoma A&M campus. Pat’s good job eased their financial situation somewhat.
That Fall Don cast his first vote for a presidential candidate. In 1952 you had to be twenty-one years of age to vote. Don turned twenty-one in December, 1949. It was 1952 when Eisenhower was nominated by the Republican Party and Don was almost twenty-four when he first voted.
The government raised the monthly G.I. checks for all the veterans. Don now received one hundred and five dollars a month. With that and Pat’s increase in salary they moved from Veterans Village to a two-unit apartment in the back at 707 Hester Street. Pat and Don lived downstairs. The apartment was owned by Mrs. Jarvis, a nice looking widow lady with a fourteen year old daughter that was ‘crazy’ to go with college age boys, especially if they played football.
I had quit football but was still friends with some of the guys on the team. Bill LeClair was one such friend. He was a tall handsome guy. He sometimes came by the apartment. Judy, the landlady’s fourteen-year old daughter, had seen him several times.
Bill had a girl friend. She lived in St. Louis. She stayed one week with Pat and I while she and Bill went out on dates. They were very much in love and were married after Bill graduated.
One day Judy approached me to get her a date with Bill for one of her high school dances. I told her Bill already had a girl friend. She said she didn’t care. She just wanted one date with him for this particular dance. Though I tried to dissuade her she persisted. She said, “I’ll do anything if you will get me a date with him.”
I said, “Judy, that covers a lot of things.”
“I don’t care. I’ll do anything.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to Bill.”
The next day I saw Bill. He thought it was preposterous. He and I discussed it. I approached Judy the next day with his answer. I said, “Judy, you said you would do anything if Bill will go as your date to the dance, right?” Judy said, “Yes.”
I said, “Bill said he will go to the dance with you on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you fix him up with your mother.”
That was the last we heard from Judy about dates with any of my college football friends.
Another event while Don and Pat lived at 707 Hester Street concerned a stray dog. They went to an evening movie at a theater in downtown Stillwater. When they came out it was dark and raining.
We ran across the street, opened the car doors and jumped in. Only thing is a rain drenched half-grown bird dog jumped into the car with us before we could shut the door. I couldn’t bring myself to shove him out into the pouring rain. He was shivering pitifully, so we took him home with us. We tried to find his owner but without success. By then we were fond of him and called him Bozo.
He soon grew into a full size dog. We didn’t have a place for him outside so he lived inside with us. I let him out first thing each morning. He would run for about twenty minutes and come back to the door and I’d let him in.
One morning he was back in about five minutes wanting in. He was whining pitifully. I let him in. Then I saw. A car 378 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 379 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
apparently hit him. Not hard enough to do serious damage, but it caused him to scoot on the pavement. It rubbed a hole in his scrotum and one testicle was hanging out several inches.
I drove him to the college veterinary clinic with him standing in the seat next to me. I drove with one hand and held his testicle up with the other hand. You never saw a dog stand so still. They fixed him up and Pat wrote a twenty-dollar check. Bozo recovered only to run away. Never found him.
Weeks went by and the veterinary clinic had not deposited the check. Pat was short on money one week and wrote a check over draft on the veterinary check. Wouldn’t you know it. That was the very week they cleared the check and Pat’s check bounced. That was the only ‘hot’ check Pat ever wrote.
Pat got a pay raise. Don made extra money as a free-lance photographer and as a photo lab technician for the Oklahoma State Vocational Agricultural Department on campus. They moved to a nicer upstairs apartment at 910 McElroy Street. It had a living room, kitchen with dining area, two bedrooms and a full bath. Don used one bedroom for a study.
Don took photographs of anything to make a little money. He sometimes took photographs just on speculation. One such occasion was when Cities Service opened a new super service station on Main Street in Stillwater. Don stopped and took two photographs on the day of the grand opening.
He took the photos by a few days later and the marketing manager was there. He purchased the two photos. A few days later Don got more orders for the two photos. Over the next several months he got more orders. Don made a nice sum on those two photos. Years later Don was looking in a book on Oklahoma Architecture. He saw one of his photos of the Cities Service station.
Don also worked on the school newspaper, The Daily O’Collegian, as Chief Photographer. He was Staff Photographer for the yearbook, Redskin. He took the feature photo of the new library building in the 1953 Redskin.
He also was Photographer for the monthly campus magazine, Aggievator. Don’s good friend, James Thomas from Classen, was the editor. With James’ cartoons and Don’s photos of campus co-eds the magazine sold out every issue. It was one of the few times the magazine actually made money. Pat was sometimes a little irritated to come home from work and find Don with some lovely co-ed posing for photos in their living room or bedroom. But she was a good sport about it.
One hot spring day Don had been working outside. He came in hot and sweaty for lunch. Pat had made a full pitcher of ice tea. Don sat at the table and downed a full glass.
I pushed the glass across the table at Pat and demanded, “Tea!” She said, “Ask for it right.”
“Give me some damn tea.”
“Not till you ask for it right.”
I threw the ice in the glass in Pat’s face and demanded, “Give me some damn tea.” Pat responded, “You want some damn tea,” as she threw the entire pitcher in my face. Our marriage was about to hit the rocks, but was saved by the bell.
An instant after she threw the tea the doorbell went ding-dong. I ran and looked out the window. There was my old maid Aunt Hazel on the porch. She had never been to visit before.
Talk about teamwork. Pat and I turned to and quickly cleaned up the mess
We greeted Aunt Hazel at the door with our best congenial smiles. She never knew she probably saved our marriage. We’ve laughed a lot about it since.
Don was in the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC). By virtue of his previous military service he was Battalion Executive Officer. The summer of 1952 he had to go to Camp Gordon, Georgia, for summer camp. He drove the ’47 Dodge and took several bud380 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 381 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
dies to help pay for the gas. The Fourth of July weekend they got passes. Don and some buddies went to Jacksonville Beach, Florida.
It was hot. We had just arrived in Jacksonville from Camp Gordon. There was a lot of holiday weekend traffic. My car didn’t have air conditioning and the windows were down. I smelled something like an over-heated engine. I said, “Someone’s car sure is hot.” I very soon realized it was my car.
I pulled into the first service station. The guys got out and headed for the beach. The service station guy inspected the engine and said I had a pinhole leak in the bottom tray of the radiator. It would cost forty dollars to fix. I didn’t have forty dollars. I was beside myself.
I went across the street to a diner and got something cold to drink. I sat there dejected. The waitress sensed it. She asked me what was the matter. I told her. She picked up a small hot sauce bottle and shook out a round toothpick. She said, “Here, put this in the hole. It will swell up and seal it.” I took the toothpick and her advice. I owe that waitress. I don’t think I even left her a tip.
I drove that car another two years. Sold it to a guy who drove it to Oregon and back pulling a trailer. Last I knew it was still going with the toothpick intact.
The eight weeks training at Camp Gordon were fairly intensive. They had to learn about various weapons, communications equipment, and tactics. They spent a lot of time on bivouac in the pine forests of Georgia. It was hot and dusty. They had been on bivouac all week living in pup tents, eating at field kitchens, and using hand dug latrines. No shower facilities.
One evening the cadre announced they were going to run some shuttle trucks down to a shower facility. All the guys but me and another guy, Joe Stoppy, who also had prior military service, piled into the several open army trucks stripped to their shorts. They roared away down a red dirt road in a massive swirl of red dust.
They rushed all those guys through the shower and loaded them up still wet to return to the bivouac area. They arrived with wet red dust plastered to their bodies. Joe and I had a good laugh on them.
Next day we went on tactical maneuvers to simulate a combat situation. We were divided into combat teams. Each team had a tactical objective to achieve by taking it from the ‘aggressor force’ made up of the cadre wearing different distinctive helmets. We studied our maps and plotted our tactics. Then we deployed over a wide area to advance on the ‘aggressors.’
The ‘aggressors’ tactic was to let individual teams get into an isolated area. Then a single ‘aggressor’ would step out in front and announce, “You are surrounded by a large force. You are our prisoners. Come with me.” He then took them to a compound and retained them.
When an ‘aggressor’ stepped out in front of my team. I said, “Yeah. Let’s see your large force.” He said, “You are surrounded. You have to come with me.” I said, “You got it wrong, Jack. You are our prisoner and you’re coming with us.” He persisted, “No. You come with me.” I slapped the side of his helmet right sharply with the butt of my rifle and said, “Come with us.” He did.
At the group critique when the tactical maneuvers were over it was noted by the observing officers that only two teams took an ‘aggressor’ prisoner–Joe’s and mine.
Before Don went to summer camp he and Pat got a little blonde half Cocker puppy. She was a lovable little dog. She was so small she couldn’t negotiate the stairs to the apartment. She learned to scoot down. Thus, they named her ‘Scooter.’
We took Scooter everywhere we went in the car. Like all dogs she loved to ride with her head hanging out the window.
We often went to the Zesto soft ice cream place similar to Dairy Queen. We always bought a small cup for Scooter. She loved her Zesto treats. She learned to recognize the Zesto sign and as we got close she would jump with excitement and put her paws on the back of the front seat panting with anticipation.382 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 383 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Sometimes just to tease her I would drive past the Zesto shop. Scooter would whine and jump up with her paws on top of the back seat watching out the back window as the Zesto sign faded away. She would whine pitifully with disappointment. I would turn around and start back toward the Zesto and she would get all excited again. She always got her cup of Zesto. I just had to tease her a little.
We had Scooter several years. She was a sweet loving little dog. When I graduated and we moved to Fort Worth we took her to stay with Pat’s folks. She stayed with them several years until the day she died from a rattlesnake bite.
Pat’s grandfather swears Scooter saved his life. He was cleaning out the back of an old building full of junk. Scooter was routing out the mice. She was under his feet when suddenly a rattlesnake struck her in the face.
The rest of the summer after ROTC summer camp Don worked for the Horticultural Department landscaping parts of the A&M campus. He and several other young men did all the landscape work on the mall area from the front of the new library building to University Street passing in front of the Student Union Building, an area of about five acres.
During the fall of 1952 and spring of 1953 things were pretty much uneventful. Pat continued with her job at Oklahoma Power and Propulsion Laboratory. Don continued in school pursuing a degree in industrial management with a minor in economics. Don also completed his ROTC course requirements and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the Army Signal Corps. Since he had not graduated when commissioned he was granted an automatic deferment until he graduated. In the meantime he was assigned to a local army reserve unit.
The curriculum at Oklahoma A&M was not much different than most colleges and universities. Students had to take three hours credit in American History and three hours credit in American Government to graduate. Consequently, the classes were large with two hundred or more students.
Not unlike others Don had to take American History. He did not like the professor, not personally, but rather his methods. He lectured so fast it was difficult to make meaningful notes. He made frequent nuances making it difficult to understand what he meant. His exams were convoluted questions that required the ability to condense several significant historical events into a few short paragraphs.
It was the final exam. It had five, yes only five, essay questions. Each was worth twenty percent of the total. Miss one question and the final exam score was an eighty. Not the best of situations.
The history classes were all lecture with no interaction between the professor and the students. We just listened, took notes, read the textbook assignments, took the ‘pop quizzes,’ and the exams. On the quizzes and exams this professor had the peculiar habit of asking, “Tell all you know. . . .” about some particular event or events in American history.
First of all, I didn’t particularly like Dr. Fischer. I thought he was arrogant, annoying, and overbearing. The final exam (two hours) was a five-question essay exam. That meant my final exam grade would be based on how well I answered each question worth twenty percent of my total grade.
I breezed through the first four questions with no problem and felt confident I would get at least ninety percent credit for each question worth twenty percent of my final grade. But, question five had me stumped. It was one of those “Tell all you know. . . .” questions which I hated. The question was: “Tell all you know about the causes and effects of the Cuban revolutions of the 1870’s on American foreign policy?”
I sat there forty minutes trying my best to think of something relevant to write to get at least a few points credit. I racked my brain. I couldn’t come up with anything. Finally, in dire desperation I wrote in large letters: “NOTHING” and turned in my exam book.
My logic was that when the grades were posted and he graded me off twenty percent on that one question I would meet with him and insist he give me a little credit because I 384 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 385 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
answered the question truthfully—that I knew NOTHING about the Cuban revolutions of the 1870’s.
Much to my surprise, when the grades were posted he gave me full credit for the question. My final grade was ninety-five. I was astounded. I couldn’t believe it. I thought surely he must have made a mistake. I was not going to go tell him he made a mistake.
I went to my textbook and looked up the Cuban Revolutions. There were no Cuban revolutions in the 1870’s. They were in the 1890’s. It was a trick question. Therefore, NOTHING was the correct answer. A lot of my classmates tried to fake their way through the question and got twenty percent taken from their final grade. Boy, did I ever luck out!
I was a little disappointed though. I was prepared and psyched up to go have it out with him arguing that he asked to “tell all you know” and I told him all I knew which was “nothing,” therefore he should give me some credit for my answer. It was for naught, but for the best.
All of Don’s professors were not the ilk of Dr. Fischer. In fact, Don even liked some of his professors. In particular he liked Professor Baugh, his economics professor. Don had several classes with him. He also liked Professor Locke. She taught elements of speech and public speaking. He admired Professor Leftwich more than he liked him. He was a tough teacher.
My minor was economics. I enrolled in an economics class, Pricing Theory. Typically, I would always get the book list for the courses I was taking for the semester and buy the textbooks ahead of time. I would read the Preface, Introduction, Table of Contents, and the CHAPTER summaries, if any, before the first day of class. This was so I would be familiar with what the course was to be about and give me a heads up on class content and study.
I purchased the required textbook for the class, Pricing Theory, and reviewed it. The first day in class the professor, Richard Leftwich, announced we would not be using the required textbook. He would teach strictly from his notes. I thought, “Oh, hell.”
He had this massive notebook from which he taught the class. He made copious written material and graphs of all kinds on the blackboard. I worked very hard making a good set of notes because I did not have a textbook of any kind for study.
Professor Leftwich was a tough taskmaster. He went through the material rather rapidly, because there was a lot to cover, and I furiously took notes for study.
I worked harder for that three hours of ‘B’ than I ever did for any six hours of ‘A.’ In every class situation Professor Leftwich would say at least two or three times, and sometimes more often, that when he published his book he would do this or that, or say something or another. I always sat near the back of the classroom and when he would say that I often thought, “Yeah, and I’ll jump over the Empire State Building some day.”
Well, I graduated and went out into the business world. I worked for an oil company most of my career. I never gave much thought to Professor Leftwich during all those years–just a casual remembrance when occasionally talking about my college days.
In 1980 I worked in Dallas. I would often go across the street during the lunch hour to the Sanger-Harris Department Store. I would browse through the merchandise and occasionally buy something. They sometimes had a special sale on books. They would bring in a large number of assorted books of all kinds scattered all over the racks. I often browsed through these books and occasionally bought one if it struck my fancy. One day I saw this book, “The Price System and Resource Allocation.” What really caught my attention was not the title, but the author’s name, “Richard H. Leftwich.”
I quickly looked inside. Sure enough it was my old professor, Richard Leftwich. He really did publish his book. I noted the first edition was published in 1955, a year after I graduated. I immediately purchased the book. It was on sale at a reduced price.
The next time I went recruiting at Oklahoma State (A&M) I took the book with me. I made it a point to see if Professor 386 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 387 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
Leftwich was still there. Sure enough he was. It was his last year before retirement. I made it a point to go see him taking the book with me. I explained to him about my experience in his class and my doubt about him ever publishing a book. He told me he made enough from the book royalties to buy an airplane and take flying lessons.
I told him I would probably never read the book, but I asked if he would autograph it for me which he graciously did: “To Don, My very best regards to a good former student. Richard H. Leftwich 10/7/80.” I laid the book aside to keep just as a memento of my college days.
Twenty years later, after I retired and had the time I started reading the book. I began to know how much I really learned from Professor Leftwich and how much I agreed with his theories and teachings. I was especially impressed with the very first paragraph in the Introduction. They were not the words which often characterize the usual liberal minded professor of economics at many of our universities. They were the words of a person who truly believed in individual freedom and the free enterprise system.
Near the end of the semester in the spring of 1953 Don interviewed with the Rock Island Railroad for a summer job. Pat stayed in Stillwater and worked at the Oklahoma Power and Propulsion Lab. Don went to Oklahoma City and lived with Pat’s grandparents so he could work for the Rock Island. He had to work the ‘extra board’ and drive to El Reno to go to work. In the summer months the railroads were very busy, especially the Rock Island because it served many of the rural small town grain elevators in the wheat belt of mid-America. Also, many of the regular employees took their vacations during the summer, so there was a lot of work for temporaries such as Don.
During the summer of 1953 I worked out of El Reno on the old Rock Island Railroad. El Reno was a railhead (main junction point) for the Rock Island in Oklahoma for its north-south (Wichita to Ft. Worth) and east-west (Memphis to Tucumcari) lines. I was a brakeman and worked short-turn runs to the small town elevators in Northwest Oklahoma. I also worked some of the red-ball (express) freights between El Reno and Wichita and between El Reno and Amarillo.
Typically, a train consisted of three diesel units, about thirty-five to forty boxcars per diesel unit, and the caboose at the back. In those days a train crew consisted of five men–engineer, fireman, two brakemen, and the conductor. One brakeman rode up front in the diesel engine with the engineer and fireman. The other brakeman rode at the back in the caboose with the conductor. The conductor was the man in charge of the crew and took care of the paperwork.
In the ‘real old’ days the brakemen had to run along the tops of the boxcars hand setting the brakes on each one to stop the train. With the invention of the pneumatic air brake by Westinghouse that became unnecessary. The engineer could apply the brakes from the engine to slow or stop the train.
Afterwards the brakeman’s function was to check the train in the trainyard to be sure all the hoses were connected between all the boxcars from the engine to the caboose. His job was also to pump up the brake system and test it to be sure it was functional. The ‘head’ (front) brakeman was responsible to throw the right switches and guide the engineer taking the train from the trainyard onto the main line. The back brakeman reset the switches as the caboose cleared them. All brakeman instructions were conveyed to the engineer by hand signals, or if night-time, by lantern signals.
While the train was enroute it was the responsibility of both brakemen to constantly observe the train on curves checking for ‘hot boxes’ (over heated wheel bearings) on the boxcars and the general good condition of the rolling stock. Tank cars containing flammable or hazardous materials were embedded in the middle of the train for safety reasons.
Should it become necessary to set off one or several box cars on a siding the brakeman acted as switchmen to disconnect the cars and air hoses, guide the engineer to set out the cars, and remake the air hose hook ups.
Cabooses came in all sizes and shapes depending on the individual railroads. The cupola on top with the windows had 388 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 389 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
seats where the brakeman sat to watch out the windows to observe the train. On the Rock Island we called the caboose a “crummy.” It had rough bunk beds for the five crewmen, a small desk area for the conductor, a potbellied stove for heat in the winter, a small coal bin, some storage, and a wood plank floor. It was our home away from home such as it was.
Pat’s grandmother always packed a large lunch pail with enough food for two days. When we reached our turnaround point the caboose was set off on the caboose track. We would sleep eight hours and then be ready to reverse the process to return to El Reno.
The caboose and brakeman became the victims of modern technology with Timken bearings, heat scanners which detect over heated wheel bearings, scanners to scan the boxcar identifications, two-way radio communications with the engineer, and computers to do the paperwork.
It would have been great fun to ride up front on a big diesel engine when I was a kid, but now it was just a job.
The engineer, fireman and I often sweated out motorists trying to beat the train to grade crossings. A car or pickup can stop on a dime. It takes over a mile to stop a freight train with a hundred boxcars. We sounded the whistle full blast and hoped the drivers would stop.
Early one morning just after daybreak we were the eastbound red ball freight from Amarillo to El Reno running with three diesel units and about a hundred and twenty boxcars. We had just cleared Weatherford, Oklahoma, and were headed down grade for Hydro running about forty-five miles per hour.
About half a mile down track to our right we saw a pickup loaded with something headed toward the next grade crossing. We anticipated we would arrive about the same time as the pickup if the driver did not slow down. As we got closer we speculated whether he would slow or stop in time. We set down on the whistle blasting sound ahead to get his attention. We saw it was a three-quarter ton flat bed truck loaded with crates of live chickens.
A few seconds later we realized he was trying to beat us across the railroad crossing. We set full emergency air on the brakes. Moments later we impacted the truck at the left rear wheel. Crates, chickens, and feathers flew everywhere. It was little over a mile when we came to a complete stop. We had every grade crossing in Hydro blocked. We could not move the train until the law officers completed their investigation. That took almost two hours. It blocked all traffic in Hydro and stopped all train traffic on the line. The poor guy driving the truck was dead at the scene. Dead, crippled, and a few live chickens were scattered everywhere.
A few weeks later I was riding the Rock Island Rocket passenger train from El Reno to Kansas City to work in the Armourdale Yards in Kansas City. We went through Wichita. Just hours before a Rock Island freight train had hit a gasoline truck at a grade crossing at the south edge of Wichita. It caused a horrendous fire killing the three crewmen in the front diesel engine. My stomach became queasy when I saw it. I thought, “My God! I could have been in that engine.”
In April of 1953 the family learned that Grandpa Davidson (Mord) had throat and lung cancer. He was eighty years old. It was devastating for Grandma (Meta) and Jim and Mary who they lived with in Kansas City, Kansas. Jim and Mary both worked and Grandma was alone during the days to care for Grandpa. She needed help. Jim worked for the Rock Island for years in the Armourdale Yards in Kansas City, Kansas. Through his connections it was arranged for Don to transfer from El Reno to Kansas City to work as a switchman.
I lived with Uncle Jim and Aunt Mary. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a small apartment in the basement. When I arrived in early July Grandpa looked like a healthy husky eighty year old man. I didn’t realize at first how sick he was. I soon learned.
I worked the midnight to seven o’clock in the morning shift so I could be at home with Grandma during the day to help with Grandpa. Mary got home about five o’clock in the afternoon. I went to bed and slept until eleven when I got up and went to work to be on the job at midnight.
I got home about eight o’clock in the morning after Jim and Mary had gone to work. I helped Grandpa get up and get 390 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 391 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
dressed. I helped lift him so he could sit in a chair or on a couch. Grandma fixed his meals and fed him. He had great difficulty swallowing.
I took him to his doctor appointments, and sat with him while he took his treatments. I always took something to read to him. He was a baseball fan and I always had to read the morning sports page to him. He knew by memory the batting and pitching records of certain players.
He talked a lot and I listened a lot, but not enough. After he died I wished I had listened more closely and made written notes about things he told me. It was this that first peaked my interest in family history and genealogy.
Don worked in Kansas City most of the summer. Pat drove up for one weekend and brought Scooter, their little half Cocker Spaniel. Don’s Mom and Dad came for a few days to visit with Grandma and Grandpa. Don’s cousin, Beau (James), was in the Navy. He came home on leave. Pat brought Don’s camera and he took photos of Grandma and Grandpa, and Beau. Beau died a few years later in a tragic auto accident in Arkansas.
Working on the railroad was a new experience for Don. Many different and unusual situations and events occurred. One in particular occurred while he worked at Armourdale in Kansas City which was a classification yard on the Rock Island system. It had what was called a ‘hump’ and a ‘bowl.’ Trains came from points west such as California, Texas, and Colorado. The boxcars in these trains were redistributed to various eastern destinations such as Chicago, St. Louis, Memphis, etc. They were pushed over the ‘hump’ at a slow constant speed. A man in a tower had a ‘switch list.’ He called out over a loud speaker to a ‘pin puller’ a number that represented the number of cars to release over the ‘hump.’
I sometimes worked as a ‘pin puller.’ Thats a guy that runs along side the train and pulls the keeper pins at the precise moment the slack goes out between the boxcars to release the correct number over the ‘hump.’ Gravity rolls the boxcars down the ‘hump’ slope toward the ‘bowl.’ Another man in the tower actuates the proper switches to make the boxcars roll onto the right track down into the ‘bowl.’
The ‘bowl’ had twenty long tracks to redistribute the boxcars. Each of the twenty tracks terminated at a switch onto a ‘lead track.’ When one of the twenty tracks was clear (empty) a ‘skateman’ placed a pair of heavy devices called ‘skates’ onto the tracks. The ‘skates’ weigh about forty pounds each. As the first boxcar comes down an empty track the leading wheels run up onto the ‘skate’ and it skids to a stop. The remaining cars bump into that car and that stops them, though the ‘skate’ skids a little each time.
Some of the boxcars are transfers. This means they are to be pulled out the end of the ‘bowl’ onto the lead track and taken to another railroad such as Santa Fe, Missouri Pacific, MKT, etc.
I was working transfers one night. Mr. Hook was the switch engine engineer. He was sixty-five and due to retire in a few weeks. We were to make two transfers–one to Santa Fe and one to Missouri Pacific.
I rode the front of the engine and used my lantern to guide Mr. Hook up the lead track to the Santa Fe track. I connected the engine to the first boxcar and signaled Mr. Hook to pull out. There were about twenty boxcars. When the last boxcar cleared the switch I threw it, climbed up on top of the boxcar and gave the signal to stop. That was the only way Mr. Hook could see my lantern light. I then gave the signal to come forward to go up the lead track to the Missouri Pacific track. As we passed I looked up the Santa Fe track we had just pulled out of.
There are several strategically placed tall light towers in the ‘bowl’ area. At night all you can see is the light reflection off the rails. A short break in the reflection indicates the ‘skates’ are in place. A bigger longer break in the reflection indicates a boxcar or boxcars are rolling toward you.
I looked. I did not see ‘skates’ on the tracks. I saw a distant dark break in the reflection moving down the tracks toward me. I thought, ‘My, God! It’s going to hit us broadside!” I quickly gave a ‘wash-out’ (emergency stop) signal and jumped from the 392 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 393 DONALD GENE DAVIDSON
top of the boxcar to the ground. Poor Mr. Hook saw my lantern light fly over the side and out of sight. He thought I fell off and he was running over me.
I ran as fast as I could up the Santa Fe track toward the oncoming boxcar. I grabbed it on the fly and climbed up the side to the top. My lantern was hooked in the crook of my arm and as I went up the side of the boxcar Mr. Hook could see it. On top I frantically began setting the hand brakes on the boxcar. My lantern was still on my arm and making all kinds of wild motions. Poor Mr. Hook couldn’t figure out what kind of signals I was giving him.
When I set the brakes as tight as I could I jumped off the boxcar. I didn’t want to be on it when it plowed into the side of Mr. Hook’s boxcars. Mr. Hook again saw the light of my lantern fly over the side and out of sight. He was about to have a heart attack.
The wild boxcar came to a stop about eight feet from the side of Mr. Hook’s train of boxcars when it fouled the switch. I climbed on top of one of his boxcars and gave him a ‘hold fast’ signal. He still didn’t know what was going on.
I climbed down and went to a call box. I told the supervisor at the ‘hump’ tower what happened. A work crew was there in a few minutes to handle the situation. The rest of the night was uneventful. Mr. Hook later told me I scared him “half to death” with all those wild gyrations of my lantern light. I learned the next night that the ‘skateman’ was fired.
During the summer Don’s grandfather grew progressively worse. It was obvious he was rapidly failing. He became more and more feeble and it became more and more difficult for Don to help. His grandfather was almost totally helpless.
Late August Pat came to Kansas City to get Don so he could return to Stillwater and his final year in college. Pat and Don bid his grandfather goodbye for the last time. He died August 29, 1953, five days after Pat and Don left. There was a funeral for him in Kansas City for the family there, and a funeral in Oklahoma City for the rest of the family. He was buried August 31, 1953, in Memorial Park Cemetery, Edmond, Oklahoma.
The fall of 1953 Don started his senior year. Don’s younger brother, Sam, also enrolled at Oklahoma A&M that fall as a freshman. He lived with Don and Pat in their apartment on McElroy Street. He studied in the second bedroom with Don and slept on a bunk bed in the study room.
It was a little cramped with the two of us using the same study desk. Sam or I often went to the living room to study. I was carrying a full load plus two graduate courses in economics. Sam was trying to get adjusted to the routine of studying, but with some difficulty. He just couldn’t settle in and study. I didn’t have the time to help him.
Pat spent hours upon hours helping and drilling Sam on his course work. If it hadn’t been for Pat I don’t think Sam would have made the adjustment that first year. I lectured him several times about the necessity of settling down and studying, especially at exam time. One evening I told him to use the study desk to study for an exam and I would study in the living room. Pat went to bed. She had to work the next day.
After about an hour I tiptoed to the door and peeked in. Sam was all bent over the desk busily working. I checked twice more. It was getting late and Sam was still studying, so I thought. I tiptoed into the room and peeked over Sam’s shoulder to see what he was so intent on. “Sam!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?” He replied, “Designing furniture.”
Several sheets of paper were strewn around on the desk with hand drawn pictures of various pieces of furniture. I about had apoplexy. I read him the ‘riot act’ on the necessity of disciplined study habits if he ever expected to finish college. I guess it worked. He finally settled in and finished.
During January of the last semester Don got official word from the Army that he did not have to serve the obligatory two years active duty. The war in Korea was winding down. They no longer needed Second Lieutenants. He was assigned to a reserve unit.
That semester Don interviewed with numerous companies on campus. One such company, Signal Oil and Gas Company, invited 394 William E. “Bill” Davidson Family 395
him to be further interviewed at their offices. He and Pat went to Fort Worth for the interview. They offered Don a job and he accepted.
While in Fort Worth Don and Pat rented a duplex apartment on Canberra Court in southeast Fort Worth. It now was just a matter of going back to Stillwater to graduate and then move to Fort Worth and start the new job.
Don’s grandmother Davidson was visiting in Oklahoma City. Pat and Don brought her back to Stillwater with them. She was there on her seventy-seventh birthday. Don took a color photo of her in a nice blue dress with a red rose in her lapel.