My Life With O.D.Mills - My Father

This is the last of my series of articles on my early life on the farm near CV and in CV. It was the most difficult of all of the articles for me to write. Thanks for reading and sharing. Jay D. Mills, Volcan, Panama April 12, 2008.

Otis Daniel Mills, my dad, was born in Claremore, Oklahoma Territory, on October 6, 1897, the son of Orville and Emma Hawkins Mills. He lived most of his life in the Cedar Vale area.

When I was born, my father was 43 years old, and my mother was 40. We lived on a farm / ranch on Otter Creek northwest of Cedar Vale. In 1948 we moved into town, where I graduated from high school in 1959.

O.D. Mills didn’t like either of his given names, Otis or Daniel. He was an honest man and from all evidence he was respected and liked by most who knew him. As a young man, he worked for a time in the oil fields in Oklahoma and then returned to the family farm in Cowley County, near Cedar Vale. He was married to Nellie B. McGill and they had 2 sons, Carl H. now living in Arkansas City and Jay D. now living in Volcan, Chiriqui, Panama.

During the last 10 years of his life he was a "partner" with my brother in the farm and ranch operations. But mainly, he was a full-time tireless worker and promoter of the Cedar Vale Livestock Auction “Sale Barn”. He would spend several days each week traveling many miles in every direction from Cedar Vale persuading farmers and ranchers to bring their cattle to CV instead of sending them to other markets. His partners in the auction business were T. Fred Archer, auctioneer, and Ralph Snyder. The business grew from a small start into a thriving business in just a few years..

My brother Carl ran the scales used to stamp the official weight of the animals on the auction ticket after the sale. In the summers, during my high school years, I worked in the catch pens on the outgoing side of the auction ring. Someone would shout or announce the pen number, and I would have to run to open the correct gate, then close it quickly to be ready for the next animal(s) to come off of the scales.

My early memories are of my father working with the hired hands on the farm and listening to Walter Winchell on the radio on Sunday nights. Dad would sometimes take me with him in a wagon or on a tractor. He would also let me ride along when he was going a short distance on horseback and sometimes on longer rides.

One incident on horseback, when I was 4 or 5 years old, just about did me in. I was riding a big, gentle red-roan horse named Peanuts; not my own small pony. We were up in the hills in one of the pastures coming back from rounding up and moving cattle. For some reason, probably because I was lagging behind the group, I took a “short cut”. It took me out onto “Hogback Ridge”, a high and pointed hill with steep sides. Despite shouts of the men below, I urged the horse down the side of the hill. Under the grass were giant slabs of sloping, smooth stone. Peanuts was a wise old horse so when he slipped a little, he stopped. Then one of the men rode around and up the hill to save me. Luckily the horse was not hurt either.

Later, when I was 6 or 7 years old, dad was traveling around the local area and he would take me with him in the car. I was always happy to go, but often had to wait long periods of time for him to finish his business and return. At some point, when I was a little older and stronger, he would put me on his lap and let me steer the car down the gravel country roads.

My dad took me fishing and hunting with him from early childhood up through the last teenage years while he was alive. He came to my basketball, baseball and football games when he could, and supported by interest in sports, -- to the point of conspiracy with the football coach -- see my article on “Why I Couldn’t Wait to Leave Cedar Vale” in the 2007, November archive of this blog. He was naturally disappointed, to say the least, that I was not interested in farming or ranching, but in the end seemed to accept that I would make my living in some other way.

I remember my dad as a stern disciplinarian who was always ready to back up his words with a firm swat to the backside. I don’t believe that he was unfair, but it sometimes seemed that way – especially to a teenager. I had little opportunity to change that opinion in person, as he succumbed to a cancerous brain tumor just after I graduated from high school. In later years I had to come to terms with some guilt that I felt about our relationship. Now, I would not trade him for any other dad, although some good candidates have surfaced on the blog and elsewhere.

Let the dead past bury its dead and regrets, for today is the only day that I can live in!