The family had been traveling hard all day, each bumpity,
bumpity, bumpity of the wagon making their teeth chatter as the
road rattled them clear down to the marrow.
The family had been traveling hard all day, each bumpity, bumpity, bumpity of the wagon making their teeth chatter as the road rattled them clear down to the marrow. They were feeling bone tired by the time they set up camp. But not too tired to get out their new Victrola, wind up the crank, and put a record on to play while they sat around the campfire, relaxing.
Gradually though, they could feel the little hairs on the backs of their necks begin to stand on end as they got the feeling that they were no longer alone around the campfire. Although LaRhee, her parents, and her sisters had noticed no particular sounds, they began to sense that there were others out there in the darkness, listening to the same talking voice on the 78 rpm record that they were listening to.
As their eyes searched the darkness, they began to discover eyes peering back at them, and it was then that they were startled to realize that their campsite was completely surrounded by Indians.
It was 1907 and while Arizona would one day become the state with the highest population of Native Americans, at this time it was not yet a state; it was still officially “Indian Territory.” LaRhee Nichols and her family had caught the interest of the local Indians, who silently crept closer and closer to the campfire in their amazement to hear a human voice emanating from a box.
When the record finished, they all vanished as quietly as they had come. “I will never forget the feeling I had the moment I looked up,” says LaRhee, “And realized we were completely surrounded by these mysterious and unexpected visitors.”
Those of us born before the advent of music CDs will remember our old LPs with fondness in the days of an antique device called a “record player.” Sometimes a record album would develop a scratch, or become so worn that a few notes of a song would play over and over again.
That’s what it’s like with some of our older relatives; it’s as if they get stuck in a groove and repeat the same things over and over again. LaRhee Nichols is no exception. Although I wrote about her life and the recent celebration of her 102nd birthday in my most recent Take Two column, I ran out of room to include everything I wanted to, especially one of these stories that LaRhee has entertained Gilroyans with for so many years.
“Growing old is not for sissies,” as the popular saying goes. “You outlive your friends and neighbors and sometimes your own children,” LaRhee points out. You live in a world in which change comes more and more rapidly, and people are too young to remember a lot of the things that made up the best part of your life. The days can be lonely and the nights tend to be long. You are often forgotten by those who are busy with their own lives.
But the oldest of LaRhee’s memories have been stored in long-term memory, and if she tends to repeat herself to those who stop by to see her, the good thing about it is that it’s enabled people like myself to learn her stories by heart. The repetition ensures that her stories will not be forgotten, and they are wonderful snapshots of a bygone time, an era of covered wagon, the Old West and Indian territory. She is a part of Gilroy’s history, a part of our nation’s history and a treasure to us all at 102 years old.
