Donald
By his sister, Helen
Opening paragraphs copied from “House by RR Tracks”
By his sister, Helen
Opening paragraphs copied from “House by RR Tracks”
Donald Boyd Turner
Born May 5, 1931, in the Deaconess Hospital at Sidney, Montana.
His first home was our “house by the railroad tracks” two miles west of Poplar, Montana.
I was six and a half years old and an only child.* Children then weren’t too involved in pending births of siblings. So when Mama and Dad took me to stay at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s farm near Richey, I wasn’t aware of any special significance except that it was an opportunity for another wonderful visit there. They left me there with Grandpa Goss and aunts and uncles. Mama, Dad, Grandma and, I think, Uncle Don, drove on to Sidney, about fifty miles away. When they’d been gone for some time, Uncle Don (I think, or Grandma?) came in the door and announced, “Well Helen Mae, you have a brand new baby brother and his name is Donald”! I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but later this little pink bundle arrived first at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s, then later became a permanent fixture in our home.
*Re “only child” – Two younger brothers died when I was too young to remember – Arthur at 15 months when I was 2-1/2,
and Stanley at birth nine months later.
Donald was named after our Uncle Don Goss, who was named after his Uncle Don Hulings who in turn was named after his Uncle (and our Great Grandpa) Adonijah Hulings; and Boyd after Great Grandmother Ella Boyd Goss, who was married to Henry Alvis Goss, father of our Grandpa Goss.
Donald was a dear little blue-eyed, round pink baby boy. Like his siblings, he began life bald. Later, white hair covered his pink skull. When he was awake, he was a very busy, independent little guy. He was our little explorer and adventurer,
which sometimes tended to get him into some close calls.
Most people leave their mark later in life, but Donald left his early. In fact, he left a trail of marks, or tracks. His little feet ended up in just about anything he got near. This was before seat belts and child car seats, and children often rode standing up in the front seat. That was also where food was often placed. We arrived at one family picnic and discovered a tiny footprint in the middle of a plate of deviled eggs. Another time the footprint was in the icing on a sheet cake. After a nap,
he slid off the bed and those little feet landed in the tin tub of bath water Mama bathed him in before dressing him and putting him down for his nap. (See "Hanes House"). In Burke, he climbed up on a stool in the pantry, then back down a different side of the stool into a tub of pears on the floor. We caught him walking through the tray used for processing cane into sorghum. (See "House by the RR Tracks"). He gave it a good test. I don’t remember if Dad washed it out before reusing it,
or if there was sorghum in the tray when Donald went for a hike in it, but I’m sure the tray was good and sticky.
He made tracks on the ladder that ran up the side of that big windmill. We held our breath while Dad retrieved him.
Then Dad removed the bottom steps so Donald couldn’t reach them.
One day, those little feet carried our young explorer down the road toward Poplar. He was out of sight before anyone missed him. We went on a search and found him with an Indian family who lived on the river bank. They demanded money because they claimed they had saved him from drowning in the river, and pointed out the moisture on his overalls.
However, the pattern of that moisture indicated the river was not involved. No nonsense Grandma Goss was with us.
She marched up to the man holding Donald and said, “Give me that baby!” And that was that! They also said they fed him and we speculated later whether they served him dog or snake.
Another time, those little feet got it upside down. He and I were by the windmill. The noisy gasoline engine on the pump was running so I couldn’t hear anything else. I didn’t see Donald climb up and try to perch on the edge of the rain barrel. When I did look, what I saw were two tiny feet sticking up out of the water in the barrel. I pulled out a dripping, choking, sputtering little boy. Thank goodness I saw him in time!
Donald had his own way of doing things. A neighbor boy, Herbert Witt, from across the tracks came to play. Mama made and served us lemonade. Herbert stretched out on his stomach on the kitchen floor and leaned on his elbows while sipping the lemonade. Donald stood holding his cup of lemonade and watching Herbert. You could almost see the wheels going around in his little brain. He decided he too would lie down on the floor to enjoy his drink. Not to be a copy cat, he stretched out not on his tummy but on his back, put the cup to his lips and almost drowned (again!) in the lemonade that dumped on his face.
Not only did Donald leave his marks early, he showed signs of doing things in a big way. I climbed up that windmill, looked down and saw him on the ground and said, “Donald, you look like a little bug down there.” He responded, “No! Big Bug!”
Bug was OK, as long as it was BIG!
Much of the information about Donald so far I’ve hinted might have been early indications of his career as a successful businessman and engineer. (See "House by the RR Tracks, Singer"). At the Kapinos House in Poplar, there was an incident that indicated he might consider surgery. Remember my wonderful doll, Doris Rosemary? Well Donald “operated” on her with Mama’s serrated bread knife, right across her middle. Thank goodness, he didn’t pursue that career.
As noted above, this was before seat belts and child car seats. Donald provided a good argument for them. Mama drove her kids to Poplar one day to shop for groceries. Our parents weren’t in the habit of treating us with “store bought” candy, but one rare purchase this trip was bag of candy corn for Donald who was riding in the back seat. Mama drove around a corner on Poplar’s dirt streets, the back car door flew open, and Donald flew out. After the panic subsided and it was determined that Donald’s scratches and bruises were not serious, we got back in the car shaken but relieved. But Donald’s sack of candy had suffered fatal injuries. It had ripped open and all the candy spilled out. He was still grasping the empty torn sack in his little hand. He’d stop crying, then look down at that torn, empty sack and start crying again. The loss was worse than his injuries. When we got home, Mama made a batch of divinity which we all enjoyed and Donald was
happy again.
As far as I know, none of my siblings ever smoked or had a drinking problem. They did imbibe as adults, but not to excess. Mama cured me by commenting on what beer looked like to her. And some of our Gem neighbors had a definite effect on my view of liquor. I believe Donald can thank Dad’s rather unique approach. At times guests or farm hands would gather around the kitchen table. At one gathering, some of the men were smoking, and Dad took a cigarette too. Little Donald stood there eyeing the situation, curiosity written across his little face. Dad asked him if he wanted to try it. Little head nodded. Dad placed the cigarette in Donald’s mouth and said, “Suck hard.” Donald did, then choked, sputtered, and grabbed both ears with his hands. The latter was his usual response when something really bothered him.
Another time one of those gathered around the table brought some home brew or moonshine. Dad did not drink as a rule, but he poured a little in a tin cup and joined in. Again, little Mr. Curiosity was taking all this in with a “Me too” look on his face. Dad asked the same question, “Want to try it?” Little head nodded in anticipation. Dad passed him the tin cup and said, “Take a big drink.” Donald did. Above reaction repeated: choked, sputtered, grabbed ears.
If you wanted to hug or hold one of those two cute little brothers, that was no problem with David. He would sit on your lap and stay awhile. Donald, on the other hand, was perfectly willing to come to you if you held out your arms. But, usually, it was up one side of your lap and right down the other. No time to waste!
The Builder: As an adult, Donald built or had built three beautiful homes for his family. But his first attempt at building a house took place in our kitchen at Burke. This house was more dollhouse size. He built the roof first. I don’t know where the lumber scattered on the kitchen floor came from, but it included four equal-length 2x4s about 2’ long, for supports at each corner of the house. He’d stand one support up with one hand, pull one corner of the roof over it, then struggle to get a second support up under another corner. He might actually get two supports in place before attempting to position the third corner support. That would usually cause the first two supports to collapse. The little guy struggled and struggled, over and over, determined to get all four corner supports standing under the roof. David was taking all this in but didn’t join in the labor. I don’t recall beyond the support struggle but think Dad came home and rescued the little builder.
As he grew older, Donald walked in his sleep (See Appendix, “Portland”), and SNORED! In our house on San Rafael Street, Donald and David slept in the bedroom adjacent to mine. Every night, Donald would wake me up with his loud snoring.
I’d go in his room, turn him over to stop the racket, he’d mumble, “What?” I’d say, “Stop snoring.” He’d mumble back,
“I’m not snoring” followed immediately by more loud snoring.
As for his sleep walking, I was a little concerned that one night he might try to walk out the second story window next to his bed. One time I just happened to be downstairs when Donald came down in his sleep. He walked into the kitchen and took a position facing the kitchen stool. Immediately I realized he thought he was standing in front of the toilet. They say you shouldn’t suddenly wake a sleep walker. I don’t know if I actually woke him up, but he got yanked away from that stool and into the bathroom fast! And just in time!
He got concerned enough about his sleep walking that he decided it was time to do something about it. One night at bedtime I found him lying in bed with a belt fastened around one ankle. Tied to the belt was a long “rope” made from of series of neckties, belts, string, etc. fastened end to end. The other end was tied to the pull chain on the bedroom light hanging from the ceiling. When I asked him about it, he explained that if he got up to walk in his sleep, the pieced together “rope” would turn on the light and wake him up. Later I woke and saw that the light was on in the boys’ room. There lay Donald, with the foot he’d tied to his “rope”, hanging over the edge of the bed. It turned the light on but didn’t turn him on.