Open Writing

The attraction was mutual and Bee was especially drawn to Hollan's tough direct approach. She admired a man who could stand up for himself and she would later boast of his fighting prowess. Her heart was not entirely mended from her first romantic encounter and her innocent trust had been permanently replaced with a wariness of men. Hollan's acceptance of Willie and the fact he refused to judge Bee's past was of utmost importance to her. After a brief courtship, she accepted his proposal of marriage.

Hollan was not a bully but he did enjoy participating in local prize fights and he had a reputation as "the one to beat." Word came one day that somebody in Estancia wanted to challenge him to a fight.

"Hollan," Bee said, when he walked in from work, "your dad came by to say there was a man down at the Busy Bee waitin' to fight you."

"Well," Hollan shrugged, "soon as I eat some supper, we'll go down and see what it's all about."

After their dinner of beans and cornbread, Hollan and Bee went into town. They found the challenger, a man in his early twenties, sitting at the saloon bar, his hands taped and ready for a bout. Hollan tried to discourage him.

"Why don't we just have a beer instead?"

The young man nodded toward an older fellow sitting beside him. "No, my dad thinks I can whip you. Besides he has a lot of money ridin' on this fight."

The old man nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we traveled over two hundred miles to see if what we heard about you is true."

It was obvious who had covered one of the bets as Hollan's dad, Jack Tracy, sat at the other end of the bar squinting over a Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Seeing there was no way to talk the man out of fighting, Hollan punched him with his deadly left hook, and sent him flying backwards across the floor.

"Out cold as a wedge," one observer noted.

When the young man came to he struggled to his feet and on wobbly legs shuffled toward the bar. "They sure as hell weren't kidding, Tracy," he said as he rubbed his jaw. "You are one tough son of a bitch. I'll have that beer now."

Bee was proud of Hollan and she loved the excitement of the fight. She described it many times. It was as close as she ever came to bragging on him. This event may have been the beginning of her propensity to settle matters with her fists instead of with words.

My parents had been married about a year and Bee was eighteen and due with their first child. At that time Daddy made a living as a ranch hand breaking horses for Jim Albritton, a rancher, whose wife Thelma Ruth, became fast friends with Mama. Mama and Daddy lived in a small house on Jim's ranch, which made it convenient for Thelma to stop by and visit.

That July 17, 1937, Jessie was born prematurely. It was a difficult birth followed by bad news from Dr. Wiggins. "Bee," he said sadly, "I'm afraid this baby probably won't make it." He shook his head as he held Jessie in one hand emphasizing his tiny size.

Grandma Counts, who had assisted Dr. Wiggins with the delivery, hesitantly agreed. "Beatrice, he might be right. Just look how fragile this little thing is. Why, even his skin looks raw."

"Just tell me what I need to do to help him stay alive." Bee pleaded tearfully, "I'll do anything, just tell me."

Before he left, Dr. Wiggins told Bee how to care for Jessie but also warned her not to get her hopes up, that the odds were against him. He told her to keep Jessie very warm, which was no problem because it was the middle of a very hot July. He told her not to allow sick people near him, which also was not a problem as they were so isolated and rarely had company. He told her to keep everything around him very clean, which she would do even without having been told. Grandma could stay only a few days. This left Mama alone to care for Jessie and Willie, who was now a two year old toddler. Daddy had to work long hours and could offer little help.

Those first weeks were torture for her. She spent many sleepless nights following the doctor's instructions. She watched Jessie constantly. He was so tiny she had to place him on a pillow to hold him while he nursed. The times he seemed to stop breathing she would pat his back and rub his tiny feet until his breathing became regular again.

Because he was premature, Jessie developed a heart condition that lasted the first few years of his life. He also had poor hearing. But in spite of all this, the tiny bald wrinkled Jessie grew into a cute little blond'haired boy with pale blue eyes. Hollan loved Willie, but he was very partial to Jessie. Willie was not bothered by this and seemed to understand that Jessie needed extra love and care.

Mama loved Daddy and considered herself an equal partner in their relationship. She didn't hesitate when he asked her to help move a herd of horses from Moriarty to Estancia in the dead of winter. She left Willie and Jessie with Grandma and saddled up to help Hollan and her brother Dick, herd the horses. Unfortunately, a winter storm rolled slowly into the valley, turning into a blizzard. After hours of struggling through the blowing snow, the horses began to slow to a near stop. Knowing they had to press onward or freeze, Hollan and Dick dismounted and led the horses on foot.

It was getting dark and just when they thought they would not survive the storm, the wind died down just enough for them to see a flicker of light in the distance. They forged onward. The light turned out to be a lamp in the window of a ranch house. The rancher let them pen the horses in his corral. Bee was too cold to dismount so Hollan had to lift her out of the saddle and carry her into the welcomed warmth of the ranch house. The blizzard lasted through the night leaving mountainous snowdrifts in its wake. It took three days before people were able to get through the snow drifts. While digging out, they found two people frozen to death. One was a man who had gotten lost after leaving his stranded car and another was a sheepherder who died along with some of his heard only about two-hundred yards from shelter. In spite of knowing they could have frozen to death, Bee did not blame Hollan for putting her in danger. She would follow him anywhere, and liked showing she could be as tough as any man.

In the summer of 1939 my folks moved from the ranch to a house on the outskirts of Estancia. Their new home had two small rooms, no electricity, and no indoor plumbing. There was even a chicken coop on the property where Mama planned to raise chickens. But first she had to shoot and kill a coyote that was living under an old abandoned car hood so it wouldn't eat the eggs and kill the chickens. Using Hollan's 30-30 rifle, mama stuck the barrel under the car hood and blasted that coyote.

The exterior of this house was badly weathered. Inside, the walls were covered with old wallpaper stamped with a floral pattern that had long since faded into the gray background. But as usual, Mama cleaned it up, kept it that way, and generally made it feel like home.

She was glad to live closer to town because any day she would give birth to her third child. At least this time it would be a full term baby. At 2:30 in the morning, when labor began, she was grateful that Daddy was by her side and not at work.

She touched his shoulder, "Wake up, Hollan, I believe it's time. Go get my mama and the doctor."

My brothers were still groggy with sleep when Daddy loaded them into the old car to take them to their grandparent's house. There Mama's younger sister, Virginia, would care for them while I made my entrance into the world.

Willie and Jessie enjoyed their brief stay at Grandma's house. Virginia kept frail, two-year-old Jessie inside, while Willie and Mama's baby brother, Murrel, both four, were allowed to play outside. They spent most of that day on the bed of an old flatbed truck, playing games and trying out some cuss words they had previously overheard.

They were laughing and rolling out the words like a foreign language when Virginia approached on their blind side.

"What do you youngin's think you're doin'?" she demanded.

"We're talkin' Mexican," Murrel responded proudly. Virginia thought otherwise and scolded them with the threat of a spankin'.

That same afternoon on October 30, 1939, I arrived after twelve hours of hard labor. To my mother's relief, a smiling Dr. Wiggins said, "Bee, you have a healthy nine-pound girl."

Grandma Counts immediately laid claim to me. "Oh, Beachie," she purred, using her pet name for Mama. "Can we please name her "Bertie" ... for me?"

For months before my birth, Grandma had campaigned for a namesake.

She strongly discouraged Mama from naming me after her best friend, Thelma Ruth, saying through tight lips, "Beatrice, that woman is nothin' but a strumpet. I don't know why you think so much of her."

When Bee remained loyal to Thelma Ruth, Grandma harshly elaborated, "She's a cheat and a woman of easy virtue. Anybody can see she knows her way around men. You mark my word, one of these days she's gonna show you what stripe a dog she is." That was Grandma's way of inferring that Thelma was a no good scoundrel.

Mama had already decided the path of least resistance was to grant Grandma's wish, and she gave her the gift she would always treasure; a namesake: Bertie Ruth.

Not surprisingly I was Grandma's favorite grandchild. Grandpa Counts, however, was not impressed that Grandma had a namesake. He had wanted my brother Jessie to be named "Andrew Jackson" after him but had been ignored. When Grandma returned home and proudly announced, "Well, Jackson, they named the baby girl Bertie," Grandpa sharply responded, "I don't care if they named her Chicken Shit. They haven't named anyone after me yet."

In spite of his first colorful reaction, he seemed to adore me, never once referring to me as Chicken Shit.