The Life of Me: An Autobiography

by Clarence Edgar Johnson

Now, I never did enjoy holding back when there was something to be done. I had always been a "go-getter." But now I was being held back by an invisible force 40 miles away, Earl. And I was beginning to feel about as useless as a knot on a stick, and I was being treated as such by big freight men who were beginning to wonder why W. F. Johnson didn't get a driver with the ability to solicit and haul freight. Competition was the name of the game and I wasn't competing.

Anyhow, in this case, if I hauled the windows, I wouldn't be competing with Rountree, it would be with the railroad. I reasoned that Earl shouldn't be opposed to that. But my Stamford freight had to go by way of Hamlin, and Earl would have to take it from Hamlin to Stamford the following morning.

I made my decision, loaded the windows, and took them to Hamlin. But Earl was very unhappy with me. He was never one to calmly ask, "Why?"—and then listen to reason. He had one uncompromising attitude, "I told you what to do. You must do it."

Naturally, Earl was upset toward his little brother. He even refused to haul the windows, and went to Stamford without them. Finally, after two or three phone calls from the consignee to Wm. Cameron Company and then to Papa, Earl delivered the windows, reluctantly and under protest, and only at Papa's order. And Papa told me to get all the Stamford freight I could, and he told Earl to deliver whatever I brought to him.

Although Papa was owner of the truck lines and was supposed to be in full command, Earl had ways of making life miserable for both Papa and me. And as time went by, our relationship didn't improve.

Remember now, this is my version. If Earl were writing this, I'm sure it would read differently. And actually, it wasn't all that bad. Earl was a good boy, and he still is. He's my brother. I loved him then, and I still love him. That was a long time ago. I don't hold any of this against him. I'd do anything I could for him. And I don't think he holds anything against me, except maybe my writing about it like this. But then, we are big boys now and we probably don't have more than forty years left to enjoy living and reminiscing. Why not enjoy it while we can?

I was a Jonah to Earl and perhaps to Papa also. At any rate, Papa found a way to throw me overboard. In 1931 he asked me if I would like to farm. He said he would invest money in a farm for me like he had invested in a truck for each of the other boys and I could pay him rent from the farm.

I agreed and he made a down payment on a farm nine miles southwest of Roscoe, Texas. That is where Ima and I lived during the year of 1932, and that is where we lived when Dennis, our first born, came to live with us.

But the national economy was such that many farmers lost their farms to mortgage holders. By the end of 1932 the Federal Land Bank had repossessed more farms than they knew what to do with. I was told that they were begging farmers to hold onto their farms without making their annual payments—pay only the interest and let the principal wait until they were able to pay. By this time Papa could buy better farms for less money than he still owed on this one. So he let it go back to the mortgage holder.

At the beginning of 1933 we moved onto Uncle Jim Johnson's farm at Royston, 14 miles west of Hamlin. He offered to sell me the place for five thousand dollars, with nothing down and nothing per year except the interest until I was able to pay some on the principal. I turned it down. During the depression of the 1930s there were a good many years that the farm didn't make enough to feed our family and pay the interest.