Young Harold Mayo and the Witch Woman
My father, Harold Mayo (former council member) was born in Fort Gibson , Oklahoma in 1927; just before the Wall Street collapse of 1929. When he was four, his grandmother, Ader Ann Robertson-Cooper put 2 eggs in his little hands and sent him across town to the old Witch Woman's house. Harold was to bring back a remedy to cure her son, Clell from his insistence on drinking hard cider (liquor). Ader instructed Harold to give the 2 eggs to the woman and she would give him something to bring back to his grandmother.
Remember this was in 1931 when people, especially in small towns, did not worry about their children walking or playing out in their yards or streets. Back then, everyone looked out for each other and their children. Also, a man who was a heavy drinker back in prohibition days had to get his hard cider by illegal means which looked bad on the family. (Bottled liquor was illegal in Oklahoma until 1959!)
When Harold got to the designated house he stopped! The Witch Woman lived in a 3 story Victorian home that was built when the Cherokees first came to Indian Territory and it had seen better days. The formerly white Pickett fence had long since turned grey with the gate half off of the hinges. The yard was full of weeds taller than he was and the shutters on the windows banged back and forth with the wind. As Harold slowly crept up to the dilapidated porch he noticed the boards on the stairs were bowed in several different directions and the hand rails were hanging on by sheer will power.
Just as he got to the bottom of the steps, the Witch Woman hobbled out with a cane. Her appearance must have scared him half to death. He told me that she had wild grey and white hair down to her waist, worn braided loosely, several missing teeth and wearing something resembling a long dirty dress with an almost as long filthy apron. But, the scariest part was her long fingernails that looked like the claws in the old Cherokee story of Spear finger.
“You Ader’s boy?” the Witch Woman asked him. All my father could do was shake his head no. The Witch Woman hobbled closer. “You be her grandson then.” more an accusation than a question. My father told me he shook his head yes because he was afraid to say anything. “You got something for me?” As the Witch Woman reached out with one long clawed hand; she said, “Give them here” and snatched the eggs from his trembling hands. “You want to come in for a cookie?” she asked. But she turned and went across the creaking porch before he could answer. I am sure she knew he would not dare and he was already standing ready to bolt.
Shortly, the Witch Woman came back and put a small, corked bottle into his hands full of something that looked like tar and admonished him not to drop it. By the time those words were out of her mouth, my dad was already half way home!
by Starr Mayo Ernst
Remember this was in 1931 when people, especially in small towns, did not worry about their children walking or playing out in their yards or streets. Back then, everyone looked out for each other and their children. Also, a man who was a heavy drinker back in prohibition days had to get his hard cider by illegal means which looked bad on the family. (Bottled liquor was illegal in Oklahoma until 1959!)
When Harold got to the designated house he stopped! The Witch Woman lived in a 3 story Victorian home that was built when the Cherokees first came to Indian Territory and it had seen better days. The formerly white Pickett fence had long since turned grey with the gate half off of the hinges. The yard was full of weeds taller than he was and the shutters on the windows banged back and forth with the wind. As Harold slowly crept up to the dilapidated porch he noticed the boards on the stairs were bowed in several different directions and the hand rails were hanging on by sheer will power.
Just as he got to the bottom of the steps, the Witch Woman hobbled out with a cane. Her appearance must have scared him half to death. He told me that she had wild grey and white hair down to her waist, worn braided loosely, several missing teeth and wearing something resembling a long dirty dress with an almost as long filthy apron. But, the scariest part was her long fingernails that looked like the claws in the old Cherokee story of Spear finger.
“You Ader’s boy?” the Witch Woman asked him. All my father could do was shake his head no. The Witch Woman hobbled closer. “You be her grandson then.” more an accusation than a question. My father told me he shook his head yes because he was afraid to say anything. “You got something for me?” As the Witch Woman reached out with one long clawed hand; she said, “Give them here” and snatched the eggs from his trembling hands. “You want to come in for a cookie?” she asked. But she turned and went across the creaking porch before he could answer. I am sure she knew he would not dare and he was already standing ready to bolt.
Shortly, the Witch Woman came back and put a small, corked bottle into his hands full of something that looked like tar and admonished him not to drop it. By the time those words were out of her mouth, my dad was already half way home!
by Starr Mayo Ernst
