It was a wide open range country, featured by boundless rolling hills carpeted by green grass and acres of many hued wild flowers in the springtime, canopied by blue skies and inhabited by ranchers, whose cattle dotted the prairies. Truly a thrilling and inspiring picture to a young man from the older settled communities.
In the month of May, 1899, I left Galveston, Texas, for Washita County, Oklahoma, at the solicitation of two friends, who were practicing medicine there, and who seemed so impressed with the possibilities of the new country that I decided to come up and look it over.
My friends were Dr. J. C. Baker and Dr. DeWitt Stone, both of whom later practiced at Sayre. Dr. Baker was located at Wood, afterward named Port, a then flourishing community in Washita County.
Before leaving Galveston, I sent a telegram to my friends stating the date of my expected arrival. The message was received by mail ten days later from Chickasha. I mention this fact to stress the lack of modern communication facilities that then existed in a large part of Western Oklahoma.
On our journey up from Texas on the train, we could see heavy clouds north of us and upon arriving in Chickasha about midnight, found a town of about two thousand people; mud, knee-deep in the streets, several houses blown off their foundations, freight cars turned over, and other evidences of a severe windstorm; which I had been informed was a characteristic feature of the Oklahoma climate, so I was not taken by surprise.
After spending the night in Chickasha, I took the Rock Island branch westward to Mountain View, then the terminus. I met Dr. Al Nicholson of El Reno on the train, who seeing my traveling outfit, introduced himself. He was with a party of men, who were booming the new town of Mountain View, and had city lots for sale. As we crossed the Washita river on a temporary bridge, we all stood on the back platform of the coach for fear the bridge would give away, and let us down into the swollen stream, which was on a big rise. Arriving at Mountain View, and finding no one to meet me at the new city of tents, I sought out a tent marked “Restaurant,” had some lunch, and then noticed another tent marked “Livery Stable,” where I hired a lumber wagon and team with a cow-puncher for a driver and started on my journey westward to Wood, where my medical friends had located.
I was surprised to find no established roads, but the driver informed me that he knew where Wood was, and we struck out over the prairie trails and through the big ranch pastures forty-five miles north and west. Occasionally we would pass a pile of fresh dirt and upon asking what it meant, the driver would inform me that it was a dugout, where a new citizen had established his home on a claim, to battle with the vicissitudes of a new country and help to establish the commonwealth that we live in today with all the modern conveniences which we enjoy.
After passing the Indian Agency buildings at Anadarko, I doubt if I saw but two or three frame houses from Chickasha to Wood, a distance of about a hundred miles. And they belonged to ranch men, who were not pleased with the influx of nesters with their dugouts, who were gradually encroaching on the big pastures.
During the afternoon we came to a little rock store and post office, called Rocky, where the town of Rocky now stands. Upon asking how a store could exist without any town to support it and no human being in sight for miles around, I was informed that the little store often sold several hundred dollars worth of supplies to ranch men and travelers in a single day. After driving all the afternoon and not seeing a soul until we met the store keeper at Rocky, I was beginning to wonder where I should find the people who could support a new dentist and where I should find a place to work, if they should need my services.
I remained at Wood all that summer and until the following spring. I kept my office rent paid in Galveston until the fall of 1899 but finally yielding to the lure of the wide open spaces, the green grass, the blue sky, the democracy and hospitality of the West, and the continued interest of a rapidly growing country, decided to stay in Oklahoma.
A year later, in September 1900, the Galveston flood drowned some 600 people. This tragic event caused me to reflect upon the observation of a great philosopher, who said, “There is a providence that shapes our end; rough hew them how we will.”
Appeared in This Land: Spring 2015. Portions of this essay were originally published in Chronicles of Oklahoma in 1957.