Doc Gamblin died the year I married his granddaughter, Phyllis Owens. Her inheritance was a brown paper bag which contained the pieces of what had been Doc's fiddle, broken in two, and tied together with the strings. Phyllis happened to came across it 35 years later. She planned to glue the pieces on a needlepoint poem in a wall box to decorate the den. We mentioned the old fiddle to Joe Dan Boyd at reunion of my high school class. He suggested we show it to a luthier he knew who lived in Slaton, Texas. Phyllis took it down to Slaton and met Stinson Behlen. When he said he could put it back together, she left it with him.

Several months passed. One Saturday afternoon I was catching up on some paperwork at the office when Phyllis called and said Mr. Behlen had the fiddle ready. Did I want to drive down with her to pick it up? I was about ready to quit, so I said "sure".

I was amazed at what he had done with the old fiddle. It was all back together, strung, and tuned. After demonstrating it, he told us the fascinating story he could deduce from the old violin. It had been originally purchased by mail order about 1920. Itwas a popular model with country fiddlers because it was sturdy and inexpensive. It had been played hard for about 50 years.

The marks on the f-hole revealed where Doc had used a screw driver to break out the internal bridge to improve the resonance. The split in the top indicated he had been a little too rough in doing so. The rattlesnake rattle inside it was thought to make it sing and keep the dirt daubers out. One odd tuning peg was ebony, inlaid with ivory, very rare, worth about $450.00. Where Doc got that one peg is a mystery.

Doc's old fiddle is now displayed on a brass stand in our living room. I delight in telling this story to kinfolks and friends who visit, and sawing out simple tunes to keep the memory on the old country fiddler alive. Mr. Behlen's tiny workshop was like something out of the pages of musical history. Finished dulcimers hung on the wall, no two alike. Harmonicas made in Europe, including a couple I knew had not been made in years, were in a rack off to the side. Strange accordions lay in his only display case, covered with a flannel cloth. Three violin cases rested on top of the case, each containing an instrument fashioned cunningly by hand.

There is a story to go with every instrument. One of the violins, a ruddy 1710 "Amati" pattern, was particularly interesting. Mr. Behlen had made the violin in 1983. A rancher from the lonely prairie of New Mexico bought it while passing through town. He paid half with hundred dollar bills and promised to send the remainder by mail. The debt was forgotten until Mr. Behlen happened to remember it returning from his daughter's wedding in Lovington. It wasn't much out of the way, so he drove over to the man's ranch house. The old woman who answered the door told him the man had been dead for eight years, but she knew where the violin was. Having no use for it herself, she simply gave it back to him.

I turned the instrument slowly in my hands, my eyes drinking in every delicious detail, as he told this story. It was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. The original price tag was still on it, marked down by the amount the rancher had paid. The cash was in my pocket. Incredibly, I closed the case and handed it back to him. I was halfway home before it sunk in that I could own that violin. Mr. Behlen had closed his shop and left for the weekend by the time I got home. Monday morning, Jack Roberts and I were back in Slaton.

The workshop was only large enough for two chairs. In the corner was a small desk with a drawer where the sales ticket book was kept. Along the north wall was a small workbench. Tiny parts in match boxes, secured with rubber bands were stacked in pigeon holes. Partly finished components were randomly lying around. All the tools were hand tools, old, and well worn: Clamps, a glue pot, a hand drill, a coping saw, a tack hammer, carving tools; stuff from another time.

I realized that this was not an ordinary place, and Mr. Behlen was not an ordinary man. It occurred to me that here was something worth learning about, and this was a man worth knowing. He invited us to set in with a group of folks he met with on Sunday afternoons, and bring my harmonica. Over these past months, we have gotten to know Stinson very well. He has taken us into his confidence, and shared his life with us. We visit with him from time to time, and the experience is always memorable. Recently, he mentioned that he had written down some of his experiences. I asked to read them and Phyllis promised to make him a copy. This paper is a collections of these notes, reorganized somewhat. I have tried to keep Stinson's original notes as pure as possible in editing this story. Some liberty has been taken with tense and grammatical construction, but I hope the essence of the man comes through.

We are proud to own 3 of Stinson's instruments, the violin and a dulcimer apiece. How often in life does one have the chance to own an original work of art and personally know it's author? It is a privilege to know Stinson Behlen, a unique and authentic example of a way of life that is passing. Besides that, he is a lot of fun to be around. His funny, true to life stories are endless. His philosophy is plain, but far from simplistic. His output is prolific, in instruments he makes, performances he gives, articles and letters he writes, and stories he tells. He believes he has so awful much to give to his fellow men and women of Texas and our nation. I hope you enjoy reading his story.

Norris Fanning

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I was born near Wilson, in Lynn County, Texas. I was born at high noon on October 13, 1917 during the Great War and during the great flu epidemic. I was born the son of William and Martha Jula Behlen. My grandfathers and Grandmothers from both sides of the family came to America in 1880 from Europe: Sweden, Holland, Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia and Hungary. My stock is from hard working family folks, all being very musical dating back to the early 1390's. One was even a German court violinist for a German King centuries ago. Some were musical instrument makers.

In the early 1880's, the Behlen-Maeker family settled around Victoria in the Shiner, Texas area. They were cotton farmers and paint manufacturers and in the steel building manufacturing business. Frederick Von Behlen acquired 9 farms in his lifetime, he could speak very little English; he only could talk Dutch, German, and Austrian. He would get mad if you did not understand him.

My father and mother, William and Martha married at Victoria, Texas in l914. Martha and William headed for West Texas for greener pastures. Martha worked for Mrs. Stokes boarding house and served meals while William worked on Lumsden-Green Ranch and helped build the Wilson Mercantile in Wilson. Later, William took his new bride to break out land on a farm, part of the Lumsden-Green estate. William built a new home and a barn on this farm.

Growing up in West Texas in a "sociable" family, a boy hears a lot of tales told about him and told on him. I have tried to remember some of mine, and I'll include them here for flavor. They have been smoothed over the years by telling and retelling, so I'll just repeat 'em like I remember them. At age 6 weeks, Stinson took double pneumonia. With the aid of Dr. Adams and quinine and 1/4 aspirins, baby cough medicine, sugar and turpentine, Stinson recovered in three weeks. While Martha rocked her son while William slept and when William awoke, Martha slept and William rocked for 8 to 9 hours. At a time, remember in 1917, there was no radio or TV but maybe one newspaper a week. Farming was done with the aid of four strong horses. William broke out 160 acres of land.

While Stinson grew day by day, on this open prairie home, rattlesnakes and coyotes and wolves were plentiful. It was only six months later after the bad bout with the pneumonia that (there was no air conditioners) the mother Martha placed her young son on a double quilt on the front porch of the home. She kept check while looking through the window going into the front porch. After a few minutes she went to check her young son, there coiled up on the front porch about six feet from her young son was a large rattlesnake. Martha was horrified; she called husband from the barn, who came running. But all his shot gun shells he had used up shooting coyotes and wolves that had been eating the chickens. So they thought what should they do? They came up with a scheme. Martha took pullet chicken eggs and rolled them down to the rattlesnake, the first egg rolled past the snake, the second egg the snake swallowed half way while William was standing behind the porch post. He grabbed the rattlesnake wearing leather work gloves. He choked the snake to death with his hands, taking about thirty minutes to do so. He then stomped even more with his cowboy boots. The rattlesnake had thirteen rattles. "No greater love hast a man than to lay his life down for his son."

On one winter day the sun was shining nicely, William decided to take the horse and buggy and run to Slaton, seven miles away. His young son: three and one half years of age cried to go along, so he put a light coat on his son and off they went to Slaton. The father was warmly dressed; they got all the groceries and went to the livery stable to get the buggy and go home.

There were no roads across the open prairie. Missing prairie dog holes, just barely out of Slaton a blue blizzard struck. Seeing his young son shivering, the father who had large overalls and a big coat on, tucked his young son down into his warm overalls and wrapped the big coat around him. As they went rolling along, dodging the prairie dog holes, the young son fell asleep. But the father felt something unusual was happening, a warm sensation in his lap. Yes little Stinson "do-ited" in his fathers overalls. He had no choice but to keep rolling faster back home. When they got home, he rushed his son to the tub of water for his mother to clean him up, while the father changed overalls and brought all the groceries in the house. The blizzard turned out to be the great blizzard of the century.

My father played his fiddle for his family. Even then, at age three, they say I was very interested in music. My father also played the button accordion. It was from the accordion my musical career started. It was in 1920 my mother had to go to Tahoka to the Doctor. I was only 3 years old, but I remember getting on the train, at the crossing running up to our farm. The train was flagged down by my father. Mother and I got on the train. That was my first train ride. The benches on the train were only made of wood; no cushions. The Blue Weed Special train ran from Slaton to Lamesa and back. My mother had been sick in her stomach so the doctor said that stork was going to come again in 8 months or so. I remember Daddy paying the conductor 40 cents for the train ride of about 16 miles.

We returned home later that afternoon. Mother bought me my first candy sucker, while in Tahoka Mother went to see Mrs. Stokes whom my mother had worked for. It was there that I saw my first little guitar. It charmed me. It turned out to be a ukulele. They were most popular in those days with lots of ladies playing them and singing. My grandpa used to take the cattle horns and hoofs and boil them for hours and make powerful strong glue, that will bond any wood. It's the same as what is known today as "hideglue" used by fiddle and guitar and dulcimer makers, for centuries. I remember my father taking rabbit bladders and boiling them in small amount of water and making fine violin glue like the french violin makers did 100 years ago.

I remember my Daddy running into two Klux Klans between Slaton and Wilson during the 1920's when he was riding his buggy to Slaton. They threatened him and told him German people weren't allowed in West Texas. The Klu Klux Klan had no guns, so my father took his buggy whip and beat the living hell out of both of them. In seconds until the Klu Klux Klan's men rode off screaming and bloody. He never saw them ever again. My father was a mean son of a gun. He wasn't scared off by anyone or anything. He never carried a gun, only a double wide buggy whip. That would draw blood on the first strike and would leave a blood blister as big as an orange each time. It was also the same year, in 1920 when the Klu Klux Klan tarred and feathered Father Keller, a Catholic German priest in Slaton. They said the priest had flirted with some ones wife. He never was heard from after that. In 1919 a Negro was dragged around the Slaton square, by Klu Klux Klan. Nobody knows what happened to the Negro. Slaton was sort of "Dodge City" in 1916 - 1920, because of the Klu Klux Klans. But the election of Governor Ferguson outlawed the Klu Klux Klan entirely in West Texas and stopped burning "crosses" on front lawns of Catholic, Lutherans, Jews and German and Negroes.

They tell me that when I was about 6 or 7 years of age, I always asked dad, "Daddy, when comes Tuesday?". No one could figure out what I meant by that statement, except it is now suspected that was the day the semi-weekly newspaper came out on Tuesdays. Where the funny papers were attached in, from the same semi-weekly news I gathered together all the cowboy songs, that I so loved. By the age of 14 I had acquired some 200 of them , but only to have them stolen by a former friend who was too lazy to get them together himself. I never got the book of 200 cowboy songs back, although I have retained some of them by memory and others by accumulation in various ways. Some of my favorites are "Streets of Laredo", "The Dying Cowboy", and "There's a Cot Empty in the Bunkhouse Tonight". While growing up, I listened to cowboy songs by Gene Autry, Cowboy Copas, Hank the Cowhand, and others.

All the farming was dry land at that time, that is, no irrigation. Crop failures were expected and farmers could survive 1, 2, or maybe 3. 1920 was the 4th drouth; no crop year.

The family moved back to LaVaca County in South Texas to raise cattle and cotton. We moved everything back to South Texas on the train. All household goods and simple furniture and cows and horses. All were put on the train. The total cost was $65.00 for the 500 mile trip back South. I remember getting back to South Texas in February of 1921. Daddy went into farming on the old "sand hill place". He did quite well there for four years then he offered a larger farm in 1925. We moved across the road. I remember looking out across the horizon, I couldn't see nothing out there over 2 miles. I asked my mother, mama what's over on the other side I can't see anything. Is that the end of the world over there. She said no the world is round that's why you can't see past those 2 miles.

I think Mrs. Ma Ferguson was governor of Texas at that time. All the old men would talk about was Ma Ferguson, how tough and rough she was. That year at Christmas I received my first musical spin top.

1923

It was the next year (1923), I was 6 years old. All of sudden out of nowhere came the first aeroplane, with twin wings. I became very scared, I had never seen such a big fast bird before. Before I could turn around, it was gone. Airplanes then were sort of sport flying for fun. There was no air mail or passenger air service even thought of at that time. There were very few cars; I remember I was 7 years of age, a couple of dressed-up men drove into our back yard. They represented the New Texas Automobile Co. with a big fine touring 4 door black car. They were selling shares in the car company. My father and all his brothers invested all their savings of over $2000 each.

It turned out to be a big fake, a big fraud. Everybody lost all of their money. The car was a revamped "Pierce Arrow" automobile. There was no such thing as Texas Automobile Company. My father sat and cried that he lost all his money. Over two million dollars were lost in that fraud. The men, six of them, were tried in court and all had to serve 15 years at hard labor in the Texas Prison. Many of them died in prison.

It wasn't until 1925 that Dad bought a Ford touring car for $340 cash, new, without at starter on it. It had canvas curtain to keep the wind out. It was the same car we came back to West Texas in 1929. To our new home farm at Wilson, Texas.

I started to a country 3-room school in South Texas but when we came back to West Texas, I had to go back one grade. I was nearly 8 years old before I could go to school. I had the scarlet fever at age 7. I almost died but with lots of quinine I got well again and started to school at age 7-1/2. I had to walk to school, I was scared all the time, along country roads, there were blood weeds 8 feet tall. It was a scary time for me but I finally outgrew it at age 10.

For two years I went to school without any shoes to wear, winter and summer. The great depression had started. Things were very bad, until 1940, it got better. The good "ole days were not so good. Believe me, there were times when there was hardly any food. Eating clabber 3 times a day isn't funny or hog lard on bread 3 times a day isn't healthy. It was a way to survive. Not having any shoes to wear, we had to make some shoes out of discarded canvas cotton picking sacks and lining them with rabbit skin furs. It was bad hearing your poor mother cry at night because she and daddy didn't know where the morning meal was coming from Because the great depression days were most terrible. Because there were no jobs or money coming in, you made your own job or jobs to create a little income in various ways.

I'm glad I was born and lived through those conditions, it made me deeply appreciate life and help others by giving my life away to make it better for others through compassion, love, and kindness. That is why I have been a generous giver and supporter for the Salvation Army. Like I have always said, what you give to the less fortunate will come back to you one hundred fold. No greater love hast a man than to lay his life down for his friend.

William Behlen did quite well in LaVaca County until 1928, when the great depression was starting. He was forced to sell out and move back to West Texas, back to Wilson, in 1929. He worked on a ranch while his young son went to Wilson school, having to walk four miles to school each day, rain or shine, very cold or very hot.

I remember one time, my Uncle Frank Maeker lived with our family upstairs in large home that was about 1926. My uncle came home drunk. It woke us all up, he started up the stairway, step by step. Reciting a nursery rhyme, "Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse ran up the clock, the clock struck one...", he came tumbling down the flight of stairs, then all was quiet. My father took his flash light to check on uncle Frank. He was passed out, so they just let him lay there all night till morning.

He awoke the worse for wear, skinned, bruised, blood on his shirt. Mamma offered him breakfast, he swore he would never drink again. But two nights later he came home drunk again, in the buggy and horse. How he got back to our house is totally unknown. The horse must have had more sense than my uncle. Daddy tied the horse to a tree and my uncle stayed in the buggy all night. It came a storm, he got soaking wet, that sobered him up. But it didn't last. He was a soldier of World War I, he claimed he drank to forget about the war. We will ne'er know. He lies buried in Slaton Englewood Cemetery under a big cedar tree, with American Flag on his grave. His trade was a fine barber for 60 years.

What does it mean to be hungry and poor? I remember one time during the early 1930's mother stood looking out the back door crying softly. I said Mama are you sick or hurt? no, she replied. We have no food to eat and nothing to cook. The cupboard is bare. I said "well, vodka is made out of maize and corn". So we went to the barn and gathered loose kernels of corn and maize off the barn floor, we took them to house and washed them very good, then put them in a pot with water. The corn and maize swelled during boiling. Then Mother mashed it all together and added some honey and milk. I think that was the best I ever ate. We did not have to cry anymore.

Learning from great adversity is the best education one can get. There were days when there was no flour, then Mother would take maize and wash it and then dry it in the sun. Then grind it up and make "maize bread" like the American Plains Indians did. Maize bread isn't bad at all with wild honey. It sure sticks to you ribs and won't let you starve. If you never have known great adversity, then how can you appreciate life. Great adversity or being poor has never hurt anyone. It only made them stronger and appreciate life more.

When good times return, it don't hurt to reflect back to where we came from in our course of life. Yes, I remember Mama picking cactus flower fruit off ripe cactus and cleaning it and making some of the best cactus jelly I ever ate. Prairie cactus was plentiful. So making cactus jelly every summer was an annual thing.

I fell out of a cottonwood tree one time, gathering wild honey out of the bees honey combs. I don't know why I wasn't never stung, I guess the bees knew we were hungry. At the house, you don't fool mother nature, they know things we don't know. 1

In 1930, old man "Tooter" walked into Dr. Adams doctors office and shot him dead because he claimed Dr. Adams let his son die; the fact is that Dr. Adams did not let his son die. His own son was found with the Model T Ford turned over on him. Dr. Adams was no where around, but old man "Tooter" wanted an excuse anyway. Old "Tooter" was tried in court and got 3 months in jail and a $30.00 fine. Courts then were rotten. But later old man "Tooter" went crazy and shot himself because he was a former Klu Klux Klan man.

During those years, old man Orr was president of the Slaton City Bank, and was quite well off. Old man Orr's wife had surgery; the doctor let her come early because old man Orr said it wasn't right to charge him $4.00 a day for a hospital room. She went home but she needed a bed pan. So old man Orr came to the Slaton Hardware, where one of my aunts was working. He asked my aunt if they had a "used" second hand bed pan. She said no but a new one was only 60 cents. He left madder than hell. He used to go to the bakery and buy a half loaf of bread. When he went to the meat market he wanted half meat ground up with half oatmeal, to make it go further. Old man Orr died a millionaire and left his wife $300 for her casket because he said he loved her so much. His son got the money and gave his mother half of it anyway.

I learned how to play the button accordion in the early 1930's and then learned to play the piano and piano accordion in 1940. Then I learned how to play the mandolin and harmonica. My first harmonica was bought at Wilson Mercantile for twenty cents, which I kept for several years. Much like the harmonicas now selling for $9.00.

In 1932, I picked cotton after school to help buy school clothes and I really wanted to buy myself a Beaver Brand accordion for $5.45. Before that I learned to play on my father's accordion while he was in the field plowing. Each time I would get dad's accordion back into the pie safe before he came in. One time I didn't make it back to the pie safe, ole Stinson got a whipping, then I decided it was time for me to make my own money and buy my own accordion. That Christmas I received my first accordion from Santa Claus.

If I do say so, I learned to play quite well with the aid of instruction books and watching my cousin W. O. play the accordion. W. O. Maeker was the son of R. J. Maeker who was Martha's brother. So being kinfolks, I learned a lot about playing the accordion at house parties and house dances. That music still rings in his ears today, beautiful memories remain.

Then in 1933 William decided it was time to make a better move. The W. H. Behlen family moved to Posey community in Lubbock County about 18 miles Southeast of the town of Lubbock. For over thirty years the Behlen's farmed and lived there and raised another son and two daughters. Most of them including myself were educated at Posey Community School. It was then a High School. I finished school there in 1938.

It was in the Posey School that my musical career began. At age 15, the teacher asked me to play the accordion at the semesters end graduation. Then after school was out in the summer, I would walk 1-1/2 miles to school and raise the big window and crawl through the school window, only to go in to practice his music on the schools piano. The principal of the school was gone for the summer, so I practiced and practiced over and over until I learned to play all the chords; but I got caught.

The school principal came home one day while I was practicing. The principal stuck his head in the big window and remarked: "Stinson, I didn't know you played that well. Why that's wonderful, so you practice two more weeks, then school starts again."

It was in 1933, in the spring, a warm sunny day. I was cleaning the green moss out of my grandfathers swimming pool. All of a sudden I heard a splash, only to see my young 6 year old brother fall into that swimming pool. I tried to grab him but missed on the second attempt. I thought sure that my brother would drown. I jumped into the pool and dragged him out and mashed on his little chest. They say that saved his life. I knew nothing about people drowning, only what I had read in the text book in the health class at school. But I guess it paid off. Many years later I got the chance to save an army buddy from drowning.

I remember from time to time some of the funny things that can happened to a boy growing up. I remember one time we got a hold of three bottles of home brew beer and fed it to the ducks and roosters. Then we got the hell beat out of us by our Pa. That took all the fun away. The memory lasts too long. Oh sure it's O.K. to be "ornery" and mischievous and full of pranks and tricks. That is what makes life interesting. Everyone should steal watermelons once in a lifetime, and getting shot at leaves an impression of wet britches and you run like hell.

Now I'll tell it all: I'm the one who set up the whole watermelon stealing deal for 22 Catholic girls on a Sunday night and having one of their own brothers shoot the shotgun. No wonder those Catholic girls never did speak to me again. I thought it was real funny but they said it wasn't a damn bit funny and as they said it was scary as heck.

Have you ever sent your less liked friend on a snipe hunting trip? One time that snipe hunting trip back fired on me. The snipe hunter went out into the dark night and left me sitting in that darn field by myself. I didn't think that was funny at all.

Did you ever set up a "wombat" trap. It's fun and exciting. Did you ever paint the toilet seats with mustard on an outdoor toilet in the dark night? Or paint the cowboys saddle with mustard when they were wearing white pants in a wedding that night? Of course he couldn't see the mustard in the dark of night. Or tie a wire to someone's screen when they weren't home? Then laying the cotton patch 'til they got home and went to bed. Then start rubbing the wire with a piece of chalk. It sounds like a haunted house, or a ghost. They turn the lights back on, check all the windows and door and find nothing. Then you let them go back to bed and a dark house, you wait 5 minutes, then you start it all up again. It makes folks go bananas. But you don't want to do that again the second time at the same house.

We didn't know about or use marijuana. We thought that was some kind of voodoo thing. Did you ever ride a billy goat in your Sunday go to meeting clothes? And the darn goat dumps you in the pig pen. I thought it was real ugly of the goat to do me that way. I've hated goats ever since.

I remember making my valedictorian speech, standing before the entire school with my fly wide open. The girls in the front row gave me a big applause, and then later in life I dated one of them. Don't ever do that, they will never let you forget it. And why is it, that all "ornery" boys like us always marry the prettiest and sweet women. When we were growing up from 14 to 18, we thought sex was something old people did to scare the mosquitoes away. Were we ever surprised to find out different.

I remember going to old man Fred Schroeders house to make music on a Saturday night. Fiddle, guitar or guitar and harmonica and a button accordion, and pretty little toe-headed girl sticking her nose around the corner to see what going on. Fred is now in Heaven playing for the angels.

I remember having walked and roamed all over the Slaton, Wilson and Posey communities carrying my accordion under my arm, looking for places to play on weekends. I always found someone wanting to make music. In the course of time I've walked up on some of the darndest things: yes, a cock fight, fighting chickens and betting which one would win with razor blades tied to the roosters feet. It got gruesome.

Another time I walked up on a man running off a batch of moonshine whiskey. He threatened me if I ever told anybody. I dared not to. Then another time, I was a car parked along the road, looking in like a curious boy does, a man making love to another man's wife. I never told anybody but the old man avoided me the rest of his life. I guess he thought I would blackmail him. I laughed about it for years. Another time my uncle was making home brew beer. I went out to his wood shed where he was making the beer and found a cat had drowned in the brew. My uncle got mad, he had to pour out all the beer and start over.

Being a cowboy was a big relief for me to learn and work on my own, get away from my overly strict father who used not whip me, he beat me with a board. I learned through my loving mother that my father was taking his frustrations of life out on me. Because I was the oldest of 4 and that I could play the accordion better than he could. He couldn't compete, he was mad and jealous.

There was a time when the beatings got so bad, I couldn't tolerate it any more that I told my Mother that I would be better off to take my life. But my mother convinced me that she couldn't live without me. That her love was grater than my father's love. Right there I changed, I went to work as a cowboy working on ranches. All the ranch men I worked for are now in eternity. Ranch life has changed tremendously since the 1900's.

Besides working on the farm, at the same time I accepted ranch jobs as a cowboy on L-7 Ranches and S. E. Cone ranch during the year. Cowboy life was rough and tough: eating beans and biscuits and black coffee three times a day, I fared quite well. I made lots of lifelong friends with music and funny stories.

1938

I was in the great cattle drives across the plains, moving huge herds of cattle to green pastures to Elida and Dora and Pep, New Mexico in 1937-38 to keep the cattle from starving to death, because of the drouth years in West Texas. Cattle feed was very short in supply.

I remember seeing a cowboy on his horse galloping along, when his horse stepping in a large prairie dog hole, the horse breaking legs and the cowboy sliding over the horse's neck and the cowboy breaking his neck. The cowboy is buried on ranch East of Slaton some 15 miles, which was part of the L-7 Ranch or Wheeler Ranch in the 1930's.

I remember also being on the range, rounding cattle when a big summer rain storm came in. Me and two fellow cowboys came together under a big cottonwood tree and were forced to stay there over 10 hours when rained some 10 inches. Hungry and tired and soaking wet, but alive and well we made our way back to the ranch bunkhouse some 8 miles away for the usual beans coffee and sour dough biscuits, butter and raw honey. That was a big treat.

Our average wage was 75 cents to $1.00 a day and a bunkhouse to sleep and two large meals a day. There was no entertainment except a guitar and a French harp and by accident a fiddler would show up on Saturday Nights and listen to music and swap yarns of days past.

Basically most cowboys were first class gentlemen, in morals, tough and dependable. At cattle branding time or on big cattle drives, the chuckwagon would follow behind. Then an hour before meal time, everything would stop and contain the cattle, some cowboys would wash up to cool off if there was a water creek or stream near by. In West Texas and New Mexico, a creek, river, or stream of water was not always available, except after a rain.

In winter it was very dangerous to be on the open range, so in winter most cattle were barned under groves of trees or canyons near the ranch headquarters and bunkhouses. Our bunkhouses were heated by dry "cow chips" or junk wood or coal secured beforehand. The only lights we had were the kerosene lamps. There was no electricity to be had. Kerosene lamps provided light for playing dominoes or cards or black jack. There were very few brawls or fights because everyone depended on each other for support and moral guidance. Religion was scarce, except when each one went home for a few days or a week to visit our families and sweethearts back home.

Mail also was scarce, we had mail only when we returned our ranch headquarters. Our greatest fear was of lighting, rattlesnakes, coyotes and wolves. We could kill but with lighting we had no defense. Sometime when lighting was the worst, we would stop our horse and tie it down and we would get under the horse for lighting very seldom ever struck a horse. Trees were the worst place. On the open prairie range you learn how to survive natures way.

Automobiles or pickup trucks were unknown. Everything moved by horses, wagons, surries, or buggies. A feather bed comforter was a luxury. Also a pillow. Most beds in the bunkhouse was single bed cots with single springs and a cotton mattress and 3 or 4 wool blankets in winter. Some of the boys slept with their boots on. I couldn't rest 'til I pulled mine off and washed my feet in a pan. We had little or no soap. Only to shave with. We washed our clothes by hand with a rub board and lye soap. Then hung them out to dry. One time, I remember, we washed our clothes out about dark, hung them out to dry over night. During the night a blue blizzard struck. All our clothes were frozen stiff for 5 weeks, we had to wear what we had on. We didn't exactly smell like "Channel #5". We smelled like a sewer pipe. What a relief it was when we got our clean clothes back. It was time for singing.

I remember one time a cowboy got to seeing things: ghosts and blue geese and angels, until he convinced the "boss" it was time to send him home to stay. Found out later the man was homesick for his little wife and young son. I believe that kind of life is plenty hard for anybody.

You haven't lived until you have eaten "Son of a Gun" real cowboy stew. When I asked what it was made out of, I couldn't think to eat it. But if you get hungry enough, you eat it and love it. It's made in a big cast iron wash pot made of peeled potatoes, onions, garlic, chili peppers, tomatoes, cleaned intestines (cut up in pieces), the tongue, the ears, the tail, "the squeal" salt, water, cooked til all is done, served with sour dough biscuits. Darn, it's good stuff. It's the thought that throws you off balance. Sorta like eating mountain oysters. In branding, cutting time, the "balls" are saved from the cattle cutting. Cooked or roasted, they are real good. If you can't stand the thought of eating mountain oysters, but it's all from cattle and it's all fresh meat. It won't make you sexy, but if fills the stomach when you're hungry.

I played all the community parties and house dances until 1939. A talent scout heard me play at the Slide Grocery Store opening. The scout seemed to be impressed and he asked me if I had a band. I told one was forth coming called The Texas Plowboys Band. The scout then asked me to play on radio KFYO for a tire company and a flour company every Saturday from 12:00 noon to 12:30. We played our hearts out answering all requests of the tunes people wanted to hear.

The year of 1939, I remember going to college, having to thumb my way up to Lubbock and back every day. I guess I was lucky, rain or shine I made it. My books cost me $28.00 and my yearly tuition cost me $54.00. I only got to go one year. I took Music Education and Engineering. It sure has helped whenever I became a dulcimer and accordion and other stringed instruments craftsman.

All my personal friends thought I was off balance for going to college. But I proved them wrong. I went to college from 8:30 A.M. to noon; played on KFYO radio with my banjo and my accordion from 12 noon to 12:30. AT l:00 P.M. I'd go back to college till about 2:45 P.M. From there I'd go to work at "Kress" a variety store till 6:00 P.M. Then thumb my way back home to do the chores around the farm, eat supper, then by kerosene light I'd study my lessons and be to bed by 9:00 P.M. I made an average grade of 90. Then up again next morning at 5:00 A.M. to do the chores and get ready for college again. I'd be out on the highway by 6:30 or 6:45 to thumb my way back to Lubbock.

Lubbock wasn't but about 10,000 population then. I'd catch rides with other so called "wealthy" students going up each day. They had cars and I didn't. The only thing I had was a horse and saddle from when I worked as a cowboy on the ranches. Later on that fall I bought my first deluxe Model A, four door Ford Car, a beautiful black sedan, for $110 from Benton Patterson of Posey. It ran like new. I kept it until I went into the army.

In the meantime, Dad was working at Buffalo Springs Lake. He forgot to put the brake on. All of a sudden the car rolled off the hill into 30 feet of water. The car stayed there until a road grader pulled it out. It took 10 days for the water to drain out of it. The car never was worth anything again.

College lasted until 1940 when I got a job selling cars for Van Stokes Motor Company. You probably never heard of a car called a "Moon". Well, I bought one for $35.00. It would run but there weren't any parts for it. I sold it for $35 to a black boy and bought a Model A Ford from Benton Patterson. I was working at Van Stokes in 1941 when I got my call for service in the U.S. Army Artillery. Having never been far away, I took my accordion along. That made me more friends. Soon I became communication chief at rank of a sergeant. During the same time I organized a USO Camp Band with 12 members. They were very popular every week. That lasted 9 months at which time the large regiment as sent to protect New York City with anti-aircraft guns and communications with the 601st and 602nd regiments. We stayed in New York one year, then the two regiments were ordered to be sent to Europe to fight in World War II.

My Dad wrote me a letter while I was in the army asking me if he could buy my car, because he needed one. I said Yes. He paid me $110 for it and put the money in the bank in my name.

We shipped out to Europe in '42. I got sea-sick on the USS Alexander. Took 19 days for the crossing because they changed course every seven minutes to avoid the German U-boats. There were 17,800 soldiers on that ship going over. We landed at Liverpool, England and stayed there about 5 days and were sent to Dover, England. You've heard of the white cliffs of Dover. Old White rocks is all they were.

In March of 1943 were sent to Iceland. The Germans were flying reconnaissance and they needed our anti-aircraft guns to protect the airfields. We shot down some of the German aircraft, Messerschmitts, I think. In July, I enrolled in the University of Iceland in Reykjavik. I attended one semester. My tour in Iceland lasted for the duration. While in Iceland I became friends with Barrnnsson Phordsson. He was in intelligence for the Icelandic government. He was learning to speak English and we sort of grew together. He played the accordion and we still correspond.

In 1945, I was shipped home and discharged in 1945. Dad didn't take very good care of the car and when I got home from the army, the car was worn out so he traded it for a Chevy 6 - 4 door sedan. I got home and had no car.

I was in the army 5 years and came home with an honorable discharge and many highest awards from service in the war. I made a lot of friends in the army, with whom I still correspond today. I felt I was a tough but compassionate sergeant, more like a co-worker. I also trained other army troops for the Battles of Europe and at one time was reassigned to Scottish Royal Grenadiers Bagpipe Band and Mr. Stewart Forbes. Mr. Forbes and I became lifelong friends and still are today. Mr. Forbes and I have been on many profitable business deals over the years. Both of us are accordionists.

I courted my first wife in her brother's Model T Ford. After we married we had no car until 1948. I bought a nice red Willys 4 cylinder car. In 1946, I married a Slaton girl to which two beautiful sons and a daughter were born. We bought a new small 4 room and bath home in Slaton for a grand sum of $3500. We paid $500 down and paid it out at $35.00 to $50.00 a month. In 5 1/2 years it was paid for.

I went to work for Southwestern Public Service Electric Company, and worked there until middle of winter; ice was all over the poles. I had to climb a pole in the Negro flats that bad icy day, but my climbing hooks didn't hold and I fell 20 feet down the pole. I hurt my back real bad and was laid up for 4 months. Then the Electric Company let me go after 4 months so I was forced to go to work for Home Furniture Company, where I worked for 12 years. I also worked part time for Davis Oldsmobile Dealership. From them I bought A 1958 Henry J Car.

I've always been quite experienced with saws and hammers and carpentry tools to rebuild most anything into a nice place. Right after World War II, I went into building and remodeling homes and doing carpet and linoleum work, all over West Texas, in homes and doctor's offices. In 1948, I was formally trained by the Armstrong Floor Covering Co. in Houston, Texas, which I finished in flying colors. A lot of the vinyl floor covering I put down in 1950 to l970 is still being used ( in good shape) and walked on everyday. I did expert first class work.

It was in 1953 that I came down with spinal meningitis from some kind of fungus acquired during the war. It took eight years to break out in his system. I almost died. I was in 3 big hospitals, finally it was in a big US Army Veterans Hospital that I started getting well after eight months. In all it was 11 months before I finally got well. Weakened, I came home and made a promise to God that if God would heal me, I would give my life to helping others.

After about a year in l954-55 I heard of the large Mexican-American men, women, and children were starving to death, freezing. I wrote articles in the newspaper about it, with the aid of a few other people we raised tons of food, clothing medicine and heating fuel to last through the very bad winter of 1954. We received nothing out of it all, only I was glad for the chance to repay God for regaining my health. I have never sought to be great, only sought to be good. I live by modest means. A person is God's only temple. Preserve it as along as you can. It's worthwhile.

At age 14 I knew my only livelihood would be music and musical instruments. It grew very slowly for me. I knew where my roots came from. All was painful but strong over the 20 years at the large Kerrville Festival each year. It is estimated that I performed and entertained for over two million and a half folks. That is was perhaps the first time they had ever heard my fine dulcimer and other instruments played, and maybe the only time ever. I am grateful that I was able to do that, for that I am being remembered by those 2.5 million folks in Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico.

Then in November, 1959, my wife wanted a divorce. She didn't like taking care of kids and doing house work. She wanted to go home to her mother. It crushed my soul but I gave her a divorce. Then for 11 years, I lived alone in a small one room house behind my mother and Fathers place. It was plain hell.

Then I was elected president of Parent's without Partners of Lubbock County in 1964. I served three years then was elected Vice President in 1966. As the years passed, the pain eased and my first wife and I remain good friends today.

In 1967, I bought the old "Mock" estate for $1000.00 I rebuilt the old place in three years time and made into a nice home, where my wife and I lived for 15 years. Then in 1990 I sold it for a nice hefty sum, where I now live rent free for as long as I live or remarry and move away, which ever comes first.

After being alone for 11 years, in 1969 I met Norene Hatter. She was a beautiful blonde with four children, she being widowed. We courted for 10 months, then decided to marry at First Methodist Church, in Woodrow on March 8, 1970. We did well for 15 years, had a rewarding marriage until incurable cancer struck my lovely wife. We went everywhere for cancer treatments for my wife for 5 long years using all our savings and insurance.

Norene passed away Sept. 3, l985 Her death almost did me in; the grief was long and hard. But being of a tough nature, I came through to get back on my feet.

Then in 1990 I was asked to perform on the West Texas Opry in Lubbock. What a great honor, I hope and pray I can continue to play for the people of West Texas for years to come. But I will play on the New Texas Opry in Slaton, Texas beginning in the fall of 1992. I will also be playing with the Charley Henzlers West Texas Cowboy's Band.

Many of my greatest loves are also the Texas Tech Ranching Heritage Center where I perform for the Golden Spurs Awards Day at the Annual Christmas Pageant. I am also proud of being a life member of the National and Texas Music Federations of Texas and our nation. And a life member of the Veterans of Foreign wars. Also president and former vice president of Lubbock Chapter of Parents Without Partners of West Texas and to "Theoes" and "Singles Alive" where I have played many times.

I got a lot of satisfaction for the over 700 wedding dances I've played for at Slaton, with my former band "The Texas Plowboys Band" for over 40 years. And to all the TV stations and radio stations around Lubbock and San Antonio and Kerrville and Dallas, Texas. And as quarterly correspondent and news article I've written for the USA National Publication, "The Concertina & Accordion News" entitled "The Bailin' Wire News".

I get phone calls and letter correspondence from all over the United States, Canada and rest of the world. It is said that Stinson Behlen is known in 56 foreign countries. Recently a man from Lubbock and his lovely wife went to Melbourne, Australia. In a restaurant in Melbourne, a couple setting across the table from them asked where they were from.

The Lubbock man said "Oh, it's Lubbock, Texas".

The other couple asked "Is that near Slaton, Texas?"

He replied "Yes, it was."

The Melbourne couple said "Oh! we have a friend in Slaton, Texas, who makes Irish and Cajun accordions".

"Oh you mean Stinson Behlen of Slaton. Oh yes he is a friend of ours too. Small world!"

Have I got enemies? Oh sure, two at Fredricksburg, Texas and 6 or 8 in Lubbock. Mostly cause jealousy, because they can't or have been unable to do what I have. There is nobody that important that I have to hate them or be jealous of them.

Today, I build 4 string dulcimers. I started making full time in 1964. I also build Cajun accordions and mandolins and violins and banjo's as time permits. I also do expert repair and rebuilding work in my music shop: SOUTHERN HIGHLANDS DULCIMERS and ACCORDIONS, in Slaton, Texas.

I have earned many awards for this work at the Texas foundation in Kerrville, Texas for 20 years. To this date I have made over 5,000 dulcimers and other instruments. It has been very rewarding to became known worldwide for expert work, a German tradition of my family.

You may have seen me playing my musical instruments on the Texas Country Reporter on NBC and CBS and ABC, Channel 5, many times. Through my musical instruments I have touched lives of millions of people, a number still growing today. I still play regularly for programs of all kinds for the Texas Tech Ranching Heritage Center. This is what I love because it brings me to my open prairie cowboy days and all his many friends.

Fifty years ago tonight I won my first accordion contest at Texas Tech University. Accordion competition with 28 accordionists. I won a silver cup award second place, playing the "12th Street Rag" and "Isle of Capri". Bundy Bracther of Plainview and Vernon Hartman of Post Texas beat me by one point each. Piano and diatonic accordions were very popular in those years. At one time, there were over 600 accordion players in Lubbock County. There were numerous accordion teachers. One day the accordion will make a big comeback.

I believe one ought to practice religion in various ways. Support of the Salvation Army is one way of helping those who are in deepest need of food and warmth. The homeless are street people because of no fault of their own. Having known what it's like to be very poor, my heart cries for those who are.

I learned at an early age that work was the only answer to having the basic needs and small comforts of home. Without work, one becomes nothing. Yet there is a certain amount of flak one must put up with in order to succeed. Sometimes when the odds seem the greatest, then that is when one becomes successful. The will power and knowledge to overcome odds is the greatest teacher.

We make a living by how we work, but we make loving by how much we give of ourself. If you do not love yourself, you can never love others.

There must have been a large supply of determination to walk to school bare footed for four miles each way hot or cold. Yes eight miles to learn? What would you call that? If someone curses you, then God in turn blesses you one hundred fold. In one thing always be honest with yourself, then in turn you will be honest with all other. Honesty is next to cleanliness.

Making others happy with the music I play always had been my goal. Now more so than ever before. My appearances on the West Texas Opry and Texas Tech Ranching Heritage Center and T.V. fills my cherished dreams. It makes my adrenaline rise to great heights. I never had sought to do great things, but only to do good things for others and myself.

In the dark lonely night a forgotten lonely man cries for help from his own creator, only to find his creator had never left him, but to find the answer to puzzle of life by looking deeply into his own side. As the western cowboy song, goes

I am a recovering alcoholic. I had a drinking problem. After several years of heartaches, I wanted no more of that "snake juice" so on a dark quiet night, I got down on his knees and asked God to please remove that "thorn in the flesh" from me, being alcohol. God answered my prayer.

It's been nearly 29 years since I took my last drink of beer or liquor. I feel like a 24 year old man. No hang-overs or hung downers. No hot checks. No car wrecks or divorces or loss of jobs or loss of friends. You'll even gain scores of beautiful friends. No more having to lie about where I'd been or who I'd hurt. But the rewards are unending. It's too beautiful to explain. We pay for progress, no matter how small or large, or how painful, there is always a price to pay. It's sort of like if you dance, then there is a chance you have to pay the fiddler.

Now, 29 years later, I never drank again. Being very grateful, I become a leader of AA in Lubbock County. They gave me a highest award plaque to that effect. I have been able to help many men and few women get off alcohol, telling them how God took the compulsion and desire of alcohol away from me. I tell it just like it is. No sugar coated words, but pure tough love for my fellowman. I make some pretty long talks trying to keep many from going back to alcohol or drugs for the rest of their lives.

I have developed a certain way that makes it easier to live with, yet stay happy, loving and sober. If you ask me if I am religious, I say: "Oh, I'm more spiritual". With high moral standards and living by the laws of nature and God. Like I always say "Oh, you can't have my God, He's the only one who understands Stinson. You have to find you own God."

Basically, I am a Methodist. But like I have said many times. "I find my God on the open prairie: looking across the horizon, I see the great beyond."

This story might never win an award, but it might serve as a warning to some other cow poke, or interesting reading for a few tears and laughs as life was and is. There is such high placed learning as having smoked cigarettes made of dried cotton leaves or grapevines, that leaves you swearing you'll never smoke again and cough your head off, till it turns blue.

I remember the first real store bought cigarette I smoked a "Chesterfield". I said, man this is heaven sure enough. It made braver, more handsome and above all in style with the other "elite folks" only to find out in later life, these darn things are habit forming and drive you batty and destroy your lungs and life. And die long before you time. They make your car or your home or body smell like you died nine days ago. I'm not going to tell you to quit, that's your business, but I learned from old hard experience. I finally acquired some sense, after all. I don't hurt anymore: mentally, physically or spiritually and all guilt is gone.

It's sort of like drinking; it's your business. I learned from old hard experience that I can't do that either. If you want to die from lung or liver cancer; go ahead, it's your life. But if you want to stop one day at a time, I'll be there to help you to a better life than you ever knew.

I wonder if the song writers of yesterday knew that man would walk on the moon when they wrote "Home on the Range". One line says "If the glory exceeds that of ours".

My greatest love is working with children. It gives me time to regress back to when I was a child. Some of us are still children after we grow up. That don't hurt a thing: it touches our hearts and soul. Give me a funny hat, and sit with the kids in a circle, I can make them laugh. There are so many wonderful things we can do to make people smile and be happy. Over the past 40 years, I have played Santa Claus to hundreds of children. Yet, I've never lost a dime, doing so. It all comes back to you in many ways.

I have tried to help friends in need, at a time when they need it most. Do I believe in Santa Claus? I sure do. Without Santa Claus at any age, we would have nothing to look forward to each Christmas time. The wise men brought gifts so why shouldn't we do so.

One has not lived, until he plays and entertains orphans, and tell stories 'bout life on the open prairie and funny things that make them smile. Oh yes, I am a bit of a poet, too. More like a cowboy poet with things that rhyme for any reason. Did you ever twist a rabbit out of a prairie dog hole and bring out a lousy rattlesnake. Or lay a penny on the railroad tract and let the freight train run over it. It becomes the size of a dollar. Did you every lay your ear on the railroad track? You can hear the rails sing with a continuous hum. Or did you ever ride a steer and be thrown in a big cow patty? Man, that don't smell like a lily. No wonder that I couldn't get any dates with girls.

Life has handed me some tough choices over which I had no control. Now look at your own "hole card" and see how lucky you are. There are those who cannot stand criticism. In turn they either couldn't make life so miserable for others. It is because they themselves are not tolerable of other's opinions. Tolerance is a virtue that is often covered up by false pride. The person that does not live by laws of nature or the principles of a spiritual life is living in a vacuum. They think they don't need God or a power greater than themselves. Sooner or later they find themselves at a crossroads in life over which they have no control.

I found over 60 years ago, that I must have a basis of spiritual life in order to survive. Now that is how I have lived and survived. I have no time to feel sorry for myself. I once complained that I had no shoes then I met a man who was born with no feet. Then I felt gratitude in my heart. I pray this old cowboy never forgets where he came from or his roots.

I have no time to criticize until I have walked in the other persons shoes. I want not riches; for the only riches I need is the wisdom of love in my heart and the gratitude in my soul for every one of you. For surely all of you are my trusted friends on whom I can depend.

This is the life and loves of one of your trusted friends: Stinson R. Behlen. This is not complete, but only a recollectible part or parts of my life as they actually happened and experienced over the past 84 to 85 years of my life. I'm grateful to each and everyone of you including my dead wife and my charming, kind daughter (Melissa Behlen Sleeker) who is the finest loving friend I'll ever have, and to my son wherever he may be.

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