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By Billie Snyder Thornburg |
| Bertie and I were, and still are, just two years apart in age. As I am writing this story in 2001, Bertie is eighty-seven and I am eighty-nine. Bertie was born on the ranch, May 2, 1914. When she made it known that it was time, word was sent to Dr. Sadler in Hershey, thirty miles south of the ranch. In 1914 one could not call a doctor-no telephones up in the sandhills yet. Word was sent to the doctor via the neighbors between our place and Hershey. The message was: "Mrs. Bert Snyder, on the Snyder Ranch thirty miles north, is in labor and wants Dr. Sadler." The neighbors who carried the message down would direct the doctor back to the Snyder place. In the eleven years the family had been on the ranch no doctor had ever been up to the ranch. As soon as they realized the baby was sure enough coming, Dad got on his fastest, strongest horse and hightailed it to the neighbor south of our ranch. Dad gave the message to Mr. Whoever He Was. That man readied his best horse and rode the four miles on to the next ranch. The rancher at the next ranch rode to the next until the word reached some one near Hershey who had a telephone and could ring Hershey and Dr. Sadler from their place. There was no doubt but the thirty miles of ranchers would have Doc Sadler on his way to the Snyder ranch as soon as possible. The neighbors looked out for each other up there. The pony express method lived on in the sandhills long after it was used to carry the mail coast to coast. It would take at least four hours for Doc to reach the ranch after he received the hurry-up call. He traveled by team and buggy. There would be at least twenty-five barbed-wire gates to go through. The doctors always drove fast, gentle horses. When coming to a gate the driver would stop the team, wrap the reins around the buggy whip holder, get out of the buggy, open the gate, pull it back to the side of the road and say "get up to the horses." The horses walked slowly through the gate until they heard the driver holler "whoa." The team stopped and waited for the doctor to close the gate, get back in the buggy, unwind the reins, slap the horses on the rump with the reins and then they were off on a fast trot. After all he was on a house call and was in a hurry. Meanwhile back at the ranch, Bertie wanted to get the birth over with and she has done things her way ever since. A neighbor lady, Mrs. Loveall, was with Mama. She was capable of handling a birth. When they realized the baby was not going to wait for the doctor, Dad got back on another good horse and started south to head the doctor off. In those days it was common practice for a doctor to charge a dollar a mile to make country house calls. There was no extra charge for the service, just a dollar a mile for the distance traveled. In cases like this when the need for the doctor was over before he arrived, he was stopped as soon as they could reach him. The bill was one dollar a mile for as far as the doctor had traveled. He didn't charge for the trip back to town. The doctors in those days were rugged characters, the same as the rest of the population. We don't know how far Dr. Sadler traveled that day, but Bertie did save her dad several dollars and she is a very conservative person to this day. As I was writing this story, I kept thinking, "Boy, in cases of this kind the folks could have surely used one of those storks they were always telling Bertie and me about." Bertie still thinks she was special to have been the only one of us four kids born at the ranch, born with no doctor present and named after our dad. The folks had been wanting and expecting a boy, but they still named her after Dad, Alberta for Albert, thus the nickname Bertie. I must admit that I still envy her just a little for all of this. Bertie didn't know what time she was born and I knew the exact time I was born. I was born April 12, 1912 at five twenty-five A.M. I asked Mama what time I was born and she said, "It was early in the morning. You got here in time for breakfast and haven't missed a meal since." Mama always put a funny twist to something if she could. My birth was at Grandpa McCance's in a sod house a few miles north of Cozad. Everything was ready and planned, nothing dramatic there. There is no record of what either of us weighed at birth or how tall we were. They may not have weighed babies in those days. At least I'm sure the doctor did not carry a scale of any kind with him on house calls. The news of a new baby was always exciting whether it was a relative or a neighbor. All I remember on hearing of a new baby was it being a boy or a girl, what the baby was named, how much and what color the hair. Grandma McCance named me Beulah. As far back as I remember I hated that name. I liked the name on other people. I just hated it for myself. Somewhere along the line the family started calling me Billie. I held on to the name of Billie and Beulah just faded away. Sibling rivalry was very strong between Bertie and me. It must have started with her birth and it got stronger as we grew older. It seems we spent our kid years each trying to out do the other. As I look back I wish so much we could change that part of our kidhood. It would have certainly made it easier for our mama. Bertie and I desperately wanted a baby brother. We knew that Mama was the only one in the family who had direct contact with the stork. We both pestered her with, "Will you please get us a baby brother?" Her answer was always; "I'll get you a baby brother if you'll quit fussing for a year." We would swear off fussing, but it would only be a few hours until we were at it again. Mama didn't intend to have any more babies and she knew Bertie and I would never quit trying to outdo the other one. At ages 87 and 89 we try to hold it down, but now and then it pops up. We now know to get off the subject, back up and talk around it, and we do see each other often. We enjoy getting together and we always wind up talking over "Old Times". We can talk of our old squabbles and laugh at them. We don't always remember things the same though, and we may argue as to which one of us is right. © Billie Snyder Thornburg 2001 |
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