Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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Grandpap, the Professor

My grandfather, Pleasant Thomas McDonnold, was a professor who had taught Latin. His sons fondly called him "the Professor." His daughters called him "Pap." As I remember, he was a tall, portly man with a heavy shock of white hair and a matching handlebar mustache. He helped to teach his children and grandchildren their language skills, and tried to interest them in Latin. They were quite sure that they would never need to know Latin to manage a farm, so they were not receptive to his efforts.

Our mother, Orianna, was the youngest of his children who survived the rigors of being born in the late 1890s and early 1900s. He had spoiled her quite a bit. His nickname for her was "Bunny." She and the other children had bedrooms in the second story of their home. Pap, being rather old at the time Mom was about ten years old, did not climb the stairs. One morning, he had called to Mom several times, telling her to come down to breakfast. Finally, exasperated, he walked to the foot of the stairs and said, "Bunny, I've called you several times, and I'm not going to call you again." She replied, "Well, thank goodness! Now maybe I can get some sleep!" But when she considered what she had said, and thought about the possible consequences, she hastened to dress and go to breakfast.

Grandpap seemed to have a special fondness for Mom's kids. Or maybe it was that we lived nearby and visited often, so he had the opportunity to get to know us a little better than the grandkids living farther away. Anyway, he decided to teach us Latin. He worked with Gwen, my little red-haired sister, teaching her to say, "Oh, Regina, Rex fel tat," which meant, "Oh, Queen, the King is dancing." Gwen still remembers that phrase, as well as her comment to him, "Well, I guess that is all right, but I just can't imagine how I will be able to put that into a conversation somewhere." That upset him, and he quit trying to teach her Latin.

His work with me was even more discouraging. He taught me to say, "Ego amo tu," which meant "I love you." He was very pleased with my learning those words, and insisted that I tell my teacher, Miss Morris at Yowell School, that I was learning Latin, then repeat that phrase to her. I did so. She WAS pleased, so much so that she sent me to the high school teacher's room at the other end of Yowell School, asking me to repeat that phrase to him for her. Again, I did so. His face turned red, and I could tell that he was a little nervous about it. I learned years later that Floyce Presley, the high school teacher, and my Miss Morris were dating at that time. They married later. Grandpap felt that she should not have sent a young student to her beau with such a message. So he quit teaching me Latin.

Grandpap loved to play checkers. Dominoes were not his game! He felt that checkers required much more thought. It was one person's strategy against another's. He always whistled some hymn softly under his breath while he played. My dad was his opponent often. He remembered that Grandpap would occasionally say, "It's a funny thing to me. Just a minute ago, I had seven [or whatever number he chose] men on that board, I turned my head for a minute and now there are only five!" He never accused anyone of cheating, but he certainly implied that some sort of skullduggery had occurred.

His peach orchard was the envy of the neighborhood. It always produced a bumper crop of large juicy peaches. As they began to ripen, the fruit was picked and eaten fresh. When the majority of the crop was ready, it was picked and canned for winter use. Lela, my grandmother, and her helpers worked from early in the morning to late afternoon, gathering, peeling, and slicing the freestone peaches and putting them into jars for processing. The cling-seed peaches were put into jars with pickling spices for pickled peaches. One memorable year, it was decided that the peaches were ready, and they would begin the canning process early the next morning. However, when daylight came, the peach trees were bare. The peaches had been stolen during the night. The conclusion was reached that some one, or some group, had pulled a wagon close to the orchard, gathered baskets of peaches, loaded them on the wagon, and left in the dark of night.

Grandpap raised racehorses. He was as gentle with them as he had always been with his children. When he called them by name, they went to him. My Mom loved to ride them. He would caution her about running them, telling her they had to be held back so they would not over-exert themselves. But Mom had other ideas. She loved their speed, and the feel of the wind blowing her hair back from her face. She would let them run until she got close to home, then slow them down so they could cool off before Grandpap saw them. He scolded her once about one of the mares showing signs of running too long. She said, "But, Pap, she WANTED to run, so I just let her. I didn't MAKE her run!"

They had three small one-room houses where their helpers lived. These people farmed the land and helped with the horses, cooking, canning, and cleaning. There were always characters coming through the area looking for trouble, as they do even today. Lela and Grandpap were both crack shots. They had shooting matches in front of the helpers to see who was better. Word of these matches spread, and this kept a lot of the mischief-makers from their farm.

Some couple, my maternal grandparents!

Lowell McCormack
Gainesville, Texas
Published: November 14, 2005