The Life Story of Rose Ellen Hopson Baldridge, daughter of Littleton W. and Delilia Musick Hopson from My Life in a Nutshell: The Memoirs of Dolly Gagne

Note: In August 1994, at the age of 87, Dolly Baldridge Gagne wrote her autobiography. She is the oldest child of Rose Ellen Hopson and Millard Fillmore Baldridge who were married June 29, 1902, in Floyd County, Kentucky. The following are excerpts from her story which tell about her mother, the only one of Littleton and Delilia Hopson's children to travel so far from home, never to return. First they moved to a homestead in Oklahoma, then on to Washington state.

Home was a makeshift cabin of one room, with absolutely no conveniences. My father had brought us from Kentucky to a homestead in Oklahoma, in Washita County. We came there in about 1908, so he had been trying to make a living on the property but it was impossible, for the land was so rocky and dry. We had to give it up and move to a farm which we rented shortly before my sister was born (January 6, 1911).

I was born in Dewey, Kentucky, April 8, 1906, and I was the only one of their six children born there. Dad was 20 years old when he met and married my mother who was only 16. Things were slow in Kentucky at the time, wages so low a dollar a day meant big wages. When I was born they decided it was no place to raise a child and moved on to Oklahoma. I don't know why they chose Oklahoma but at any rate we left there amid many tears all around. Mother and Dad never went back, only corresponding with their loved ones occasionally. It was so hard on Mother. She cried often for her family left behind. It was hard on the family too, because I was the first grandchild [on her father's side] and they loved me so. I have always felt cheated by not having relatives to visit and grandmothers to make me goodies and family get-togethers to attend like other folks. However, it was the best my parents could do at the time, when a dollar was so hard to come by.

My parents were married July 29, 1902 (we celebrated their 50th anniversary in 1952, and both lived 10 years longer, to almost 60). When they married they moved in with Dad's mother, and by that time he had a step-dad, and several other siblings, so it wasn't the happiest of arrangements. This might have been a contributing factor in their decision to move to Oklahoma.

Dad said that when my coming was eminent, he got in touch with the local midwife, who came riding on a mule. Mother had a difficult birth, I weighed around 9 pounds, and Mom so little they gave her up for dead once at least during the birth. "Aunt Polly," the midwife, stayed ten days, taking care of Mother and me, and when she got ready to go, she asked my father if $2.50 was too much. Imagine that, 25 cents a day. You must realize that my father had to work maybe a week for that amount. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I didn't come into this world "cheap."

My father had a rough life, for his father died when he was eight years old and he was left to shift for himself, as best he could. My mother also had a hard life, as did they all in those times and in that particular part of the country. Mother was from a large family (four brothers and four sisters). Her sister Dollie (for whom I was named) was about three years older than Mother.

Mother had suffered a sunstroke when she was twelve or so and nearly died. It left her with a problem all her life. She could not sweat on one side of her body, so she could not stand the heat, and paid dearly in misery for it. She could not attend school after that and did not get much education. Dad also did not go beyond the third grade. Mother told me she played around the Big Sandy River bank.

When Mother was 16 she met my dad. She was working at a place that had day laborers and my dad was one of them. When she got through with her work, the lady of the house told her she could go and pick some roses to take home with her. Father said he followed her out, for he had never seen such a pretty little woman, and fell in love with her. They were married a short time later, and now they both lie buried side by side in the Fernhill Cemetery, as do my four brothers, in Aberdeen, Washington.

I cannot understand how my poor mother survived that episode in Oklahoma, for as I recall, there was no working stove, just a fireplace in one end of the room for warmth and for cooking. Only a bed, a few chairs and a table made up the rest of the furnishings. With two daughters to take care of, it must have been so hard to wash, having to get water from a spring nearby. Dad was gone so much of the time either working for one of the neighbors as a farm hand, or off hunting and fishing so we could have more to eat. He had given up trying to "improve" this land, and he had to resort to other means to make a living for us. My parents were both pioneers in every sense of the word, as were many others during that period. I do recall that we got milk, eggs, and butter from the neighbors, who were better off than we were.

When my sister was a few months old, we gave up the homestead, and rented a farm nearby, where we could live more comfortably. Mother must have felt like she was going to a palace, for there were three whole rooms, an "outhouse," and a barn. We started to live like others around us. We planted a garden, bought tools, and went to work improving the place. For some reason unknown to me, we got an opportunity for an even better place with more acreage, and moved again. We were there for the duration of our time in Oklahoma, before moving on out west.

About 1913 my brother Fred was born. I do not recall it making much of an impression on me, for I didn't even know that my mother was expecting. One never talked about such things with their children in those days. I am sure Mother did not have a doctor for there were mid-wives in the area, but I cannot remember the details.

In addition to helping with the younger children, I had other duties, such as helping with the washing, for it was an all day chore. Water had to be drawn from the well, brought in and heated on the stove, then set up in tubs, then washed on a washboard with our homemade soap, rinsed a couple of times, then boiled, and lastly in a bluing rinse. Winter time was especially hard for things froze on the line, even while hanging them. I think of those days with distaste and wonder how my mother went through it.

The weather was harsh, no matter what time of year. Summers were especially hard on Mother, and she spent as much time as she could in the storm cellar. Every one had such a place, dug out under the house to go when a storm was imminent, and cyclones especially. Cyclones did a lot of damage, destroying homes, cattle, and people. We were so afraid of them, and I actually saw one in the distance, but it veered away before it came to our place. We were all in the cellar by then. I was so afraid that the house would fall down, and we could be trapped…. High winds were another thing to be afraid of, "northers" they are called. I can remember my mother wishing for one when the heat was unbearable for her, but it did cool things off, but did lots of damage too, for it stirred up the dust, and we never could be sure when it would turn into a dust storm which did lots of damage to the soil. I can remember when it even got into the house and caused breathing problems.

While living there, several "firsts" came into my life. The telephone we had installed was of little use, for about twelve other families were on the same line. Hanging on the wall, you called by turning a little crank on the right side to signal what you wanted to get through. When your signal would come through, everyone in the line picked up the receiver and listened in. We did the same thing, so there were no secrets, for immediately our conversation was relayed to anyone interested.

Also, my first automobile, owned by the town doctor, was the first one of those wonders I had seen. We could see the dust a mile away and when he came flying by at 15 or 20 miles an hour, we all got out to the road to watch him go by. My father told us of his opportunity to buy Ford stock when he was in Louisiana in his youth. He could have gotten it for fifty dollars. He did not have that much or anywhere near it. In fact, he said he thought nothing would come of that contraption. Well, he couldn't see anything replacing the horse and buggy.

Of course, our lighting was by kerosene lamps, so it was nearly impossible to study by unless one could have a lamp to themselves. I remember the "new" mantle lamps which hung in the middle of the room. We thought they were so brilliant. Of course, electricity was not in use yet. I do know that Oklahoma had an oil strike, and many people got rich later on. It could have happened in our homestead if we could have held out a little longer. We often talked about that possibility in later years, but so be it.

Mother had an old treadle machine on which she made all our underthings slips and nightwear. We never knew anything else. She had no patterns, only what she could cut from newspapers, so they were not elaborate, but at least they were wonderful to us. I don't know how my mother found the time, but somehow she did. She was up first in the morning, starting the fires, and getting us all ready for the day. We had hot biscuits every morning, and also for our lunch. Many nights we only had cornbread and milk, but we had plenty of that.

A relative was visiting from the state of Washington and he got Dad interested in moving West. He told of the great hunting and fishing, the climate, and the apples big as grapefruit, and other great things about this wonderful state. Mother's health was the big concern, for she was so miserable in the summer.

The reason we chose Sedro Wooley, Washington, as our destination was that Dad had a couple of cousins there and there was a coal mine nearby, for Dad had worked in the mines in his youth. Mother wasn't too impressed, as I remember, for she was only getting farther and farther away from her dear beloved Kentucky.

They found a house for rent, quite a nice house as I remember, being larger than we were accustomed to, and lots more comforts, such as an indoor bathroom, and more bedrooms. We bought a cow right away (how could one have milk and butter without a cow?). We planted a garden in the large plot adjoining the property, and Dad went off to the mine, which was a bicycle ride away, and Mother took care of things at home. He worked twelve hours a day back then and came home weekends.

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Note: Dolly wrote about growing up in the state of Washington, about the births and untimely deaths of her brothers, about her own marriage to Walter Gagne and the births of her daughters Barbara and Julaine, their marriages and children, and about her own career and activities after she had raised her family. It is an interesting and entertaining autobiography. Finally, she writes about the end of the lives of her parents:

On September 30, 1961, a stormy night, the phone rang, and my sister Edna was calling, telling me that our Dad was in the Bremerton Hospital, suffering terribly from his hernia which was strangulated. The hernia had happened such a long time ago when he had jumped from a loaded wagon of cotton. He had a couple of operations for it, but they didn't hold, and he had worn a cumbersome truss for all these years. Just before daylight my sister called to say they had performed emergency surgery and he had not survived. I got there as soon as I could get ready to make the drive. My brother Clyde was there with my mother and she was inconsolable. It tore us apart to see her grief.

I felt so sorry for Mother, left alone all of a sudden, having lost her "sweetheart" of 60 years. Fortunately, she lived next door to Edna, having bought the cute little house a couple of years earlier. It looked out over the bay, and Dad loved the water so. He was 79 years old, and had worked under the house nearly all day, repairing something or other.

Our dad was a most respected man, kind and loving to his family and Mother, fair in his dealings with his fellow men, especially those he worked with. He was a safety inspector for the State of Washington his last several years, and had such a good reputation in the lumber industry as a man with a heart, especially in going to bat for widows and children.

I lost my beloved father, and my life would never be the same again. I was his firstborn, and thankfully I was there to walk the last mile with him.

Ten months later … Another early morning call from my sister Edna telling me that Mother was so sick and must to go the hospital. Of course, I made hasty arrangements to be gone from work and drove as fast as I could. . . . She remained there about a week, and she was in such pain. The doctor said we should make arrangements for a nursing home as she could not take care of herself at home anymore. Both my sister and I had promised that we would never put her in a nursing home, but that was before she became so helpless. We both felt pretty guilty, so remorseful, but under the circumstances, we both had jobs, and in my case, I had Walter to care for.

She died on August 4, 1962, just about two weeks after the admission. I think she died primarily of a broken heart. She was so lonely without Dad, she just couldn't cope with it. It was exactly eleven months after Dad left us.

As I sat there beside her bed the day before she died, I think that was my first glimpse into what has become my belief in reincarnation. With such a smile on her face she told me that Dad was right there, helping her across, and I believed her with all my heart. I asked her to tell him of all our love when she got there and she promised she would.

Mother was 76, she had married at age 16, in far away Kentucky, when they fell in love while she was picking roses. There had been a pretty rocky road much of the time, but Dad said many times "she was the prettiest little thing" he ever saw, so now they are together once more for eternity.

Under a photograph of her parents, Dolly Gagne wrote: "All that I am, or ever hope to be, I owe to these my wonderful parents, Millard Fillmore Baldridge 1882-1961 and Rose Ellen Baldridge 1886-1962. I dedicate this book to their memory."

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