Dear Wallaces:

Over the years, many stories have been told about dad and our upbringing which cast him in a bad light. And while those stories are true, they focus only on his negative characteristics.
 
Most of you knew and remember dad and might know that he wasn’t such a bad guy. But my daughter-in-law, Lynn, married Dan after dad died, so she never knew him.
 
I realized from something Lynn said that she thought he was a terrible man. Of course she did. From the stories she has heard, what else could she think? When we get together and talk about the family, we don’t ordinarily speak of attributes. What’s the fun in that?
 
So I decided to try to set the record straight by setting forth the way I remember him and what I learned about him. And while I was at it, I decided to start with biographical information about him and his early home life, in hopes that it might explain, perhaps even excuse, his shortcomings.
 
And I decided to send this to not only Lynn, but all family members, in hopes that it will give you all a clearer picture of the man.
 
We all see things through a different set of eyes and ears. I encourage Ken, Dale, Mary, and Bill to supplement, contradict, or expound upon my memory and understanding. Be sure to click “Reply All”.
 
I contacted our cousin Howard Wallace, who is eight years older than I. Howard is a son of Harry Wallace, who was the second to the oldest of the eight “boys”. We are the offspring of Richard, who was the second to the youngest. So Howard had a somewhat different “pipeline” of information about our fathers’ upbringing. I appreciate his help. Interestingly, Howard and his wife Betty first met in school, and her dad was a friend of our Uncle John, and the attached picture of the two men in military uniforms is of her dad Earl Thomas and Uncle John. John’s middle name was Rosco, and many people knew him as Rosco.
 
The group picture was taken of the surviving seven brothers gathered at the funeral of the youngest, George. They’re lined up in order of age, from left to right: Ernest, Harry, Charles, John (Rosco), Neal, Ben, and Dick (dad).
 
George’s death was ruled a suicide. The suicide note said, “Vinita, I love you and Martha Kay (their baby daughter) very much, but I just can’t face it.” Huh? Face what? Hmm. George seemed happy to me. We had just visited in their home the previous weekend. What could have driven him to suicide? As far as we knew, none of the common reasons were in evidence. Dad surmised that, like he, George worked hard, was ambitious, and wanted to “get ahead”, but the more money he earned, the more his wife Vinita found  things to spend money on. That never made sense to me. That shouldn’t drive a person to suicide. Homicide maybe, but not suicide.
 
The small pictures are of Grandmother Wallace, and we think, Grandfather Wallace. I didn’t know her at that age, and never saw him.
 
The picture of the woman sitting is of Grandmother Wallace the way I remember her, in her older age. I thought she was an intelligent, sensible, pleasant, and calm lady who thought things through.
 
The labeled one of a woman standing at the bottom of the steps is Grandmother Wallace.
 
The one labeled Bob & Kate (Rector) Wallace is of Grandfather and Grandmother Wallace.
 
The one of the woman surrounded by eight boys is of Grandmother Wallace with her eight sons. Interestingly, but probably coincidentally, our dad Richard Rector Wallace, is standing directly in front of his mother Mary Catherine (Rector) Wallace. Hmm. Maybe he was her favorite.
 
In the picture of the two men not in uniform, I think the one on the right is Grandfather Wallace. The one on the left could be Great Grandfather Wallace. Do any of you know for sure?
 
In the last picture, the one of a woman flanked by two men, is of Grandmother Wallace, and dad on our right. The one on our left has to be either Neal or George. Who knows?
 
Dad could be critical, but I don’t remember him ever criticizing any of his brothers. He seemed to have nothing but affection, admiration, and respect for all of them. And he was a loving son to his mother. He didn’t remember much about his father. I think he was very young, maybe 5-8, when his older brothers staged the “uprising” against their father over their punishment with the buggy whip, resulting in his eventual departure from the home, which he built himself.
 
PLEASE PRINT THIS AND ALL ATTACHMENTS. YOU MIGHT WANT TO REFER TO IT LATER.
 
Jack Wallace 

 

 

 
December 1, 2009

 
Richard Rector Wallace

 
Richard (Dick) Wallace was born on 9/10/03, on an 80 acre farm near Cassville , MO , and died on 8/13/86 in Tulsa , OK . He was the 9th child of 10. 2 of the 10, one female and one male, died young, one at birth, I believe, and the other in infancy. The remaining 8, all survived to adulthood. Of the 8, our dad, Dick, was 7th, or next to the youngest.
 
I think Ernest lived and farmed near Monett or some other town in the Ozarks of southwestern Missouri .
 
Harry was the Cassville, MO village blacksmith for much of his adult life. Eventually, when automobiles replaced horses, he worked as a blacksmith for the Missouri Highway Department. In his latter days, he farmed near Cassville. I once saw him whack one of his mules hard on the rump with a 2X4. I thought it was cruel, but I’ve been told since that you have to treat mules that way to get them to do your bidding. Otherwise, they’ll do what they want to do and be of no use to you. Harry told many “tall tales” with a straight face.
 
The last I remember, Charles owned a nursery (plants and flowers) in Springfield , MO. He was a great kidder, and had quite a talent for caricature. He once owned and operated a used car lot. He financed the loans himself, and sometimes repossessed the vehicles for non-payment. He delighted in telling the story about the same car he sold to, I believe, five different buyers, as a result of intervening repossessions.
 
John (Rosco) fought in World War I. Later, he attended night school as a young adult and with his “relatively” advanced education, got a good job with Kellogg Construction Co., and worked for them in Canada , and, I believe, Australia . Harry’s son Howard was in the construction business. He was once offered a job with Kellogg, apparently largely because of Rosco’s record and reputation. Rosco retired rather wealthy in Florida . He and his wife were avid and accomplished bridge players. He gained considerable notoriety and fame for his development of new strains of hibiscus plants.
 
 Neal was a letter carrier for the U.S. Post Office. He lived in Sapulpa , OK . In his younger days, he was a wrestler in a circus. His wife called him “Shorty”. During a visit once, Grandmother Wallace, his mother, told Mollie, “Mollie, if I’d wanted Neal called “Shorty”, I would have named him “Shorty”.
 
Ben also fought in World War I. I don’t know what he did for much of his life, but I remember him climbing up into trees on his pecan farm and hitting branches with a mallet to cause pecans to fall to the ground. He lived in Tulsa .
 
George, the youngest, committed suicide on 9/19/47 in Tulsa . I don’t know what he did professionally after his and dad’s grocery business. We visited him and his wife and baby daughter. He always seemed to be happy. He was quite a kidder. He addressed Mary as “Mrs. Vanderbilt”.
 
I admired and had great respect for all these guys. They were all very interesting, fascinating, and intelligent. I think they all took life very seriously, perhaps because of their hardscrabble upbringing. They were all temperate and of good character.
 
Their father was a carpenter and was on construction jobs away from home, sometimes for weeks at a time. Before leaving, he gave his 8 sons their chore assignments, and was sometimes disappointed with the results upon his return home. On those occasions, he whipped them with his buggy whip. When any of them misbehaved, they all got whipped. Ultimately, though, the boys had had enough, and the next time he prepared for the whipping, with 2X4’s and clubs in hand, they told him that no, he was not going to whip them any more. He backed down, and not long afterward, he departed, never to return. Their dad was apparently a good man, of good character, but just too rough on the boys. They didn’t despise him, but took their stand because of his unjust physical treatment.
 
The boys’ mother eventually attracted a gentleman caller, who the boys didn’t like. During one of his visits, they backed two horses or mules to either side of the gate, and as the suitor departed, walking through the gate, they poked the animals with sticks, causing them both to kick the man. He didn’t come back.
 
Are you getting a picture here?
 
Dad said he had the “equivalent” of a third grade education. In those days, around there, children only went to school half of the year because they were busy working in the fields the other half, so they had to attend 2 years for each grade level.
 
He said his childhood was nothing but drudgery and he was constantly overworked from the time he got up in the morning until he went to bed at night, and that once, lying in a field, he almost ended it all by plunging his knife into his chest.
 
He remembered that, one by one, his older brothers married and moved away from the farm, until it was only he and George with their mother. They finally sold the farm and moved to Tulsa .
 
He worked in construction for an oil company beside the Arkansas River for a while. That’s when he won what he claimed was the only bet he ever made. He didn’t believe in gambling, but knew this wasn’t a gamble. One of his fellow workers, knowing about dad’s strength, bet dad that he couldn’t stand a 100 lb. bag of cement on it’s end, and by forcing enough of the cement up into the corner so that he could get a “bite” on it, lift it off the ground, while at the same time, lifting a 100 lb. bag under his left arm, and another 100 lb. bag under his right arm, and walking a certain distance. He won.
 
Try it sometime. Remembering that story, when I was about 30, I tried to lift a 50 bag of sand off the ground, getting enough up in the corner so I could get a “bite”, and without anything under my arms. I couldn’t get it off the ground, and it felt as if my jaw muscles and the muscles in the back of my neck were about to pop.
 
He attended barber school, but quickly decided that barbering wasn’t for him. But he kept his barber tools and cut our hair when we were young. He had an electric clipper, and a manual one. The manual one pinched, and he jerked our heads around when they started to drift back. It was an ordeal. Haircut day was not a happy day. Dad was not a patience or indulgent man.
 
Dad and George went to work for a grocer, and eventually bought the store from him. Dad, George, and their mother lived above the store. They eventually bought a second store, so George had one and dad had one. Dad was in the grocery business for 19 ½  years (I always wondered why he didn’t say 20, or almost 20). He was his own butcher. During this time, he bought his first house, and by making double and triple payments, paid it off within a year and a half, during the Great Depression. That was the only loan he ever made. Maybe grocery stores were recession and depression proof.
 
He worked for Douglas Aircraft Company during World War II.
 
Then, he operated the Wallace Swap Shop. The sign above the door said, “Buy, Sell, and Trade”. He was always a good bargainer. He bought and sold many items including guns, power tools, bicycles, tricycles, typewriters, and other office equipment. I remember that he once took in a second hand motor scooter in trade.
 
Later, he went to work for a plumbing company, and learned the sewer root cutting business, and operated Wallace Sewer Service, and later added the septic tank pumping business.
 
Can you imagine the kidding we kids endured?
 
For a while, before going on his plumbing jobs, he arose early, and wheeled out the many tricycles and bicycles he had assembled to his vacant lot next door, and had Dale, at age 10, there in charge of the lot. A newspaper reporter and photographer came by once and wrote an article with a picture for the newspaper identifying Dale as the “Tricycle Tycoon”.
 
Dad constructed and repaired his own two sewer root cutting machines. He had his own arc welding machine, and a miniature blacksmith setup. Maybe he learned blacksmithing from Uncle Harry.
 
He always checked the “want ads” early in the morning looking for bargains.
 
Dad retired in his 50’s, but continued buying and selling shotguns, rifles, pistols, power tools, motors, bicycles, tricycles, typewriters, and various other items.
 
We lived in five different houses before I left home. At each of those, dad built swing sets out of 2 ½ inch diameter pipe set in concrete deep in the ground. The sets included two swings, a trapeze, rings, a teeter-totter or see-saw, and sometimes a slide. Everything dad built was substantial. He always painted them the color of aluminum.
 
And he built fences for our properties. Same 2 ½ inch diameter pipe. Same set deep in concrete. Same aluminum paint.
 
He built and sold trailers in his spare time.
 
He was very enterprising, always looking for a way to earn more money.
 
When I was 9, Dale 11, and Ken 14, we helped dad build a 3 car garage that summer, to house our car and his two trucks.
 
Ken remembers a few years previously dad having a basement built underneath the house we were living in, with the aid of teams of mules.
 
Ken also remembers that while living in that house, mom and dad hiring a baby sitter for we three while they went dancing at Cain’s Ballroom. Huh? I never knew they danced. I thought that was against our religion.
 
Physically, dad was incredibly, almost unbelievably strong. He rang the bell at carnivals. He volunteered to help wreck the funeral home next to our church to make way for the construction of the new educational building. He started at the top of a flight of concrete steps with his sledge hammer, knocking off a huge chunk with each stroke, stepping down as he worked, and didn’t stop until the entire flight was demolished. As you can imagine, quite a crowd gathered, amazed at him continuing without stopping. I remember sweat drip, drip, dripping off the tip of his nose.
 
Before dad gripped a baseball bat, sledge hammer, axe, or pick handle, as you’ve seen in old time movies, he spit on his hands, and rubbed them together. Huh? What’s that about?
 
Dad owned five small commercial rental properties east of Pittsburg Avenue on Admiral Place . Tire shops, used car lots, and the like.
 
He was intelligent, wise, shrewd, and had a disciplined mind. He had a great vocabulary, especially considering his meager formal education. He must have really worked at it. He thought before he spoke, and expressed himself very well. I think that with sufficient schooling, dad would have been a great engineer, accountant, scientist, or practitioner of any of several other professional disciplines.
 
Dad was very hard working. And at the end of his regular work day, he was often in the garage in the evening, working on one project or another. He seemed tireless. Maybe he tried to make up for a lack of education by working harder and more hours than others.
 
He came a long way and was probably proud of it. He should have been.
 
Dad was truthful, honest, righteous, just, religious, and resolved. He was discerning, and could not easily be fooled.
 
He was a Christian and practiced his religion. We grew up in the Baptist church, and had a religious influence.
 
He was absolutely fearless. Nothing and nobody scared him. Yet, he was never a bully, and was a gentleman with everybody. He was a good neighbor, always ready with a helping hand. And he would never accept payment for his help.
 
He was never boastful, and told stories about his accomplishments only when asked.
 
He was a good provider. His family of 7 always had decent clothes and nourishing food .
 
Dad loved flowers, and always had a flower garden. With what little spare time he had, he planted, fertilized, nurtured, sprayed, and watered his flowers.
 
Dad was very frugal. We had other words for it sometimes. Yet, we had a piano in the house, and Ken and Mary were provided with piano lessons.
 
Dad said, “It’s not how much you make, but how much you keep that counts.”
 
Dad made Dale and I quit baseball when Dale was 14 and I was 12. Dale had just won his “Most Valuable Player of the League” trophy, and I had made the All-Star team as the starting pitcher. Dad liked baseball, and must have played somewhere along the way because at church picnics, he could hit the ball a long way. But he reasoned that Little League was foolishness, and our time could be better spent in part-time jobs.
 
Dad was a tough taskmaster. He had quite a scary temper and there was much tension in the home. We “walked on eggshells”, fearing incurring his wrath. I think we kids were mostly an annoyance to him. Maybe he came by his type of discipline “honestly”, from his dad. Of course, we deserved some punishment, some of us more than others, but he went too far, and the name calling and humiliation, damaging our senses of self worth were probably worse than the physical punishment. None of we five children had a warm, wholesome relationship with dad. Yet his treatment of us was probably what he thought was right and proper, and in our best interest.
 
I think that aside from his treatment of his family, dad was a very good man.
 
Neither mother nor dad used profanity.
 
All the stories you’ve heard about our upbringing are true, subject to a reasonable amount of embellishment, mostly unintentional.

Jack Wallace