The road begins at NE 23 Street between Bryant and Sooner Road and runs north, skipping a couple of section lines, nearly to Guthrie.

However, the street wasn’t originally named for the Oklahoma pioneer. It was named State Street.

According to an Oct. 5, 1944, story in The Oklahoman, the name change occurred because of a complication.

It seems there were two State streets in Oklahoma City — the northeast location and one in far northwest Oklahoma City, four blocks east of MacArthur Boulevard.

“It’s the folks along the west-side State Street who are raising the fuss. Their visitors go to the wrong street first, then have a long drive going to the right State Street.

“Besides,” says Mike Donnelly, County Commissioner District 2, site of the “west” State Street, “that other State Street never did rightfully exist. Originally it was named ‘Grant.’”

Mrs. Carl W. Skinner, one of several residents along the street and a niece of John Coltrane, said: “I was born about a mile from here and the street never has been called anything else (State Street) since it was opened several years ago.”

John J. Coltrane “originally owned three quarters of a section in that neighborhood. When the state capital was moved here from Guthrie, Coltrane offered land for the site.”

On July 5, 1911, The Oklahoman listed real estate transactions, and J.J. Coltrane transferred land to the State Capitol Building Co. for the sum of $1. In other early advertisements, Coltrane offered cattle for sale, and in the U.S. Census he is listed as a farmer.

The northwest corner of NE 36 and Coltrane was part of the land offered for the Capitol. The southeast corner was once the summer home of Gov. Robert S. Kerr and later the monks of the Holy Protection Orthodox Monastery of Forest Park. It is now privately owned.

R.L. Peebly (Peebly Road), county commissioner for the district, said he would entertain any suggestions for a new name, and Mrs. Skinner said she “would like for the name ‘Coltrane’ to be considered, honoring her uncle.”

While I found no official announcement, apparently there was no objection, and the east State Street became Coltrane Road.

Newspapers used to have the luxury of space and often would publish poetry written by its readers.

This poem by Hazel Fletcher was published in The Oklahoman on Dec. 28, 1970.

She titled it “The Aftermath,” and it seems appropriate for the holidays.

“‘Twas the day after Christmas and you’d never guess / Where once there was order, there’s now such a mess.

“The pieces are scattered throughout the house, / There’s not even room for a little bitty mouse.

“Boxes and ribbons and much colorful paper, / The poor Christmas tree and the burned out taper.

“A hammer has hammered the lesser of toys, / The walking doll’s crippled by the rougher of boys.

“The truce is now over — children fight as before, / There’s a let-down feeling — can’t take any more.

“But regardless of the trouble, anxieties and din / We’d open our hearts and do it again.

“So memories are stored with memories from the past, / And love for them all will ever last.”

Hazel Fletcher of Purcell, now Hazel Nicholas of Marietta, had her poems published in The Oklahoman at least 12 times.

My memory of Christmas 2011 will be of the “wonky” Christmas tree.

My aunt Grace Helms, 88 years young, decided to decorate her 7-foot tree a row at a time, adding lights and decorations as she went.

It had 12 rows, but somehow rows 10, 11 and 12 were left on the back porch. When the top was added to the unstable wobbling tree, now only about 5 feet tall, it made for a “wonky tree.”

A new pre-lit tree was acquired, decorated and stands beautifully in the corner while the old one, with lights, decorations and tinsel, was delivered to a new family who had no tree, just in time for Christmas.

I hope this Christmas has given you wonderful memories to add to ones already made.

Eighty one years ago, Oklahoma City enjoyed a Christmas parade that was attended by between 65,000 and 100,000 people.

The 1930 federal U.S. Census estimated the city’s population at 185,389.

This description, from the Oklahoma City Times, Dec. 5, 1930, sets the scene:

“Santa Claus was in town, and so was everybody else Friday afternoon to watch the gorgeous spectacle move south on Broadway. Cheers and shouts went up from the throngs on the sidewalks, and many a tiny child in the custody of his mother, waved a happy ‘Hello Santa’ as the parade passed.”

And from The Oklahoman, Dec. 6, 1930, it was reported: “Lindbergh day, Al Smith day, (Gov.) Walton inaugural day, all were eclipsed by the throng, which gathered to attest that Old Santa is Oklahoma City’s greatest hero.”

“What he had to offer in the way of a spectacle was by no mean’s disappointing.”

School was let out so the children could attend, and work came to nearly a standstill as state employees came from the Capitol, office workers watched from windows and even the federal court recessed so the jury could watch.

At a mile and a half long and starting at 10th and Broadway and winding through the downtown shopping district, the parade took more than an hour to pass.

WKY Radio was stationed atop The Oklahoman building at Fourth and Broadway describing the passing displays.

The parade numbered nearly 60 units, including floats, seven bands, three calliopes, city officials and, of course, Santa Claus.

Santa had come to town and brought with him his sleigh and 10 live reindeer.

As we all know, Santa usually travels with eight tiny reindeer, except when Rudolph joins the team.

In 1930, it was still nine years away before he would need Rudolph and his shiny nose, so Santa must have brought the two extra reindeer to help pull the sleigh along the streets.

Times have changed, but Oklahoma Citians now flock to the Holiday River Parade and enjoy the events of Downtown in December.

The Christmas lights are on at Automobile Alley, a part of Broadway that hosted the parade in 1930.

While downtown is nearly impassable with all the street closings because of reconstruction and repair, the Bricktown area offers the city Christmas tree, lights along the canal and snow tubing at the RedHawks Field at Bricktown. And, the newly renovated Myriad Gardens is decked out in style with lots of lights, ice skating and Santa, too.

So, visit downtown if you can. If not, close your eyes and picture the sight of Santa and his reindeer making their way downtown with excited children and delighted adults crowded along the streets.

Merry Christmas!

The three-story brick building at 215 NW 10 provided apartments for city visitors who wanted something homier than a hotel.

A new sign on the building recognizes Hadden Hall’s inclusion in the National Register of Historic Places and notes it is a circa 1910 building.

The circa 1910 was used probably because the applicants had no better luck than I did finding an exact date for when construction got started on the building.

The earliest listing I found was in The Oklahoman’s classified advertisements on Dec. 6, 1911:

“FOR RENT — Nicely furnished rooms with private bath, at Hadden Hall.”

Further research found notices from newlyweds in the newspaper’s society columns that they would be “at home” at Hadden Hall.

The research also introduced me to a remarkable woman who may have been the building’s longest resident, Miss Helen Ferris of Apartment 106.

Ferris, an English teacher from Illinois, joined the faculty of Central High School when it opened in 1910 and probably moved into Hadden Hall in 1912. The city directory for 1911-12 lists Ferris at 215 W 10th.

She was the first woman to be named vice principal of the high school in 1918, but continued to teach a fine literature class.

Ferris was respected and loved by the thousands of students she taught — her former students nominated her for Oklahoma City’s Most Useful Citizen of 1936, and she was selected for the honor.

In 1937, Edith Johnson, columnist for The Oklahoman, wrote of her: “Miss Ferris is not only one of the greatest women of Oklahoma City but one of the greatest women of this state. Nor does her greatness as a woman, as a teacher, as a friend and as a counselor depend upon either an era or an event. At any time or in any circumstance the contribution of Miss Ferris has made to the people of this city and state would be a priceless gift to humanity. Inspired teaching is the need of every generation, and inspired guidance likewise.

“She will live in the lives of her pupils who are what they are in no small measure because of what Miss Ferris taught them, because of the influence she had on their minds and their hearts, the direction she gave to their ambitions, the principles which they have followed in all accomplishment.

“Although Miss Ferris, together with so many women of her profession, has no children of her own body and blood, she is a mother to unnumbered sons and daughters.”

Ferris retired as vice principal in 1940, and in 1941 retired as an English teacher.

From 1941 until her death in 1951, she rarely left her apartment because of a medical condition, but with nearly 3,000 former students a year visiting her, and with her books, needlework, telephone and letters, she was never lonely.

She had another first — her funeral was the first one held in Central’s auditorium.

If you should pass Central High School or Hadden Hall, remember Helen Ferris and the teachers who have meant much to you.

“Hundreds of thousands of years ago Oklahoma had a semitropical climate. Back in those gladsome old days there were no men nor women; the inhabitants of what is now one of the greatest states in the union belonged to the reptilian family. Probably where the Colcord building now stands was the abiding place of Mr. and Mrs. Dinosaur and their interesting brood.

“Interest in the state’s earliest residents was aroused the other day when the leg bone of a prehistoric animal was dug up at the new waterworks site.”

The bone was found “imbedded in solid rock 25 feet under the river bed.”

L. Howell Lewis, a local scientist, upon examining the bone, determined it was 17 inches long, and the vertebra where it was attached was 4 inches wide. His conclusion: “These fossils once belonged to the bony structure of a great carnivorous dinosaur known as the allisoraus.”

He also concluded that this particular “allisoraus,” which is now spelled allosaurus, weighed about 20,000 pounds and was 30 feet long.

While searching for more evidence of dinosaurs in the city, an earlier item from The Oklahoman on March 7, 1917, reported these finds:

“While the contributions to science brought to light in the work at the new waterworks project have so far not startled the world, the foundation for a small museum has been laid.

“In a test hole 19 feet deep in the sand, workmen last week unearthed the sacrum bone of a buffalo. Trees which were uprooted above the spot were estimated to be over 100 years old, so the bone must have been buried under the sand layers for several centuries.

“The skull of a man was found at another spot buried several feet deep in red shale. The type was that of a primitive species. At another place a knife three feet long of crude workmanship was dug up. All the finds are being kept by John R. Boardman.”

What happened to the bones and knife, I do not know, but the waterworks plant, now known as Lake Overholser Dam, is nearing its century mark and is still a part of Oklahoma City’s water supply.

The Army Air Corps’ precision flying team began in late 1927, composed of Lt. J.J. Williams of Utah, Lt. William Lewers Cornelius of Antlers, and Lt. Irvin A. “Bert” Woodring of Enid. The three young aviators were at the top of their game, performing stunts and battle formations for the national air races.

On Sept. 11, 1928, Williams crashed while performing an inverted formation.

The races were to continue through Sept. 16. Famed aviator Col. Charles A. Lindbergh, who flew across the Atlantic Ocean in 1927 and had flown with the pilots of the Musketeers, filled in, so as not to disappoint the crowds.

On Sept. 25, 1928, while flying in a battle formation known as the Lufbery Circle with a new member, pilot Lt. Roger Williams, Cornelius, known as “Wick,” crashed when their planes collided. Both planes fell to the ground.

As Woodring was accompanying Cornelius’ remains to his hometown of Antlers and then on to the Fort Smith National Cemetery, he was interviewed by The Oklahoman.

He described the crash for the Sept. 26, 1927, edition:

“The planes dropped together like bullets, and Wick didn’t have a chance to jump from the wreckage. We found him lying the length of his parachute strings from his ship. The other end of the parachute was caught in the plane.

“Roger Williams escaped death by a narrow margin. We thought he was gone, too. He fell and his parachute didn’t open. They were 1,200 feet up. Just before Williams’ feet touched the ground his parachute opened: another second and it would have been too late. As it was he was deeply bruised and received a number of deep cuts.”

This was the end of The Three Musketeers, but Woodring continued to fly as an early-day test pilot.

On Saturday, Jan. 21, 1933, The Oklahoman reported:

“Dayton, Ohio — Death reached into the air lanes Friday for Lieut. Irvin A. Woodring — and thus passed the last of the army’s ‘three musketeers of aviation.’

“Like his fellow musketeers, Lieutenant Woodring died in harness trying to advance the standards of army aviation. He fell 2,000 feet from the sky near Wright field.

“The daring flier’s experimental attack-type ship flew to bits and his body was thrown clear. Apparently he had no chance to use his parachute, the device that twice before had saved his life, as it was found unopened.”

Enid, hometown of Woodring, on May 30, 1933, would name its airport for the pilot.

The Sept. 26 story ended with this paragraph:

“Flights by the “three musketeers” and by the “three sea hawks” naval aviators, were the points of highest interest at the aviation maneuvers. These trios vied with each other in bring gasps of admiration and wonderment from the thousands who gathered at the flying fields to witness their hazardous performances.”

While the Three Musketeers were no more, the Army Air Corps and then its successor the U.S. Air Force, continued to fly precision teams. So, when you look up in the air to see the Air Force’s Thunderbirds or the Navy’s Blue Angels fly in their amazing formations, think of the Three Musketeers and the two Oklahoma pilots who were there at the beginning.

That pink granite has a colorful history of its own.

On Dec. 26, 1915, The Oklahoman published a story written by a special correspondent who gave some surprising details about where the granite originated.

“Granite for the Oklahoma Capitol is being taken from a boulder having 10 acres of surface above ground. This small hill of solid granite was known to the cowmen and outlaws of the early days as the Ten-Acre Rock and was a landmark and rendezvous known throughout the Chickasaw nation.

“The Ten-Acre Rock is about 12 miles northwest of Tishomingo near the town of Troy on the Frisco Railroad. It was included in an allotment to Gov. R.M. Harris of the Chickasaw nation, 14 years ago. J.A. Shannon, a pioneer of this section, opened the quarry and in a small way got out the splendid building material for years.

“From the Ten-Acre Rock came the material for the Chickasaw national capitol, now the Johnson County Courthouse, and the Harris building in Tishomingo, one of the most beautiful buildings in southern Oklahoma.

“Before statehood and the quarrymen’s arrival, the Ten-Acre Rock provided a safe haven for outlaws. Thick woods hid and protected the cabins of the few residents.

“Indian renegades, white outlaws, train robbers and horse thieves were safe here. The few men living in the widely separated log cabins asked no questions of hard-faced visitors but they scowled at officers of the law. Hospitality was extended to those most in need of it but outsiders seeking information were not encouraged.

“It was considered dangerous enough that U.S. marshal deputies thought twice about entering this area.

“But, as law-abiding citizens moved in, the train robbers, horse thieves and bad men found themselves unwelcome.

“Cotton, lumber, corn and cattle replaced the outlaw industry, and the Ten-Acre Rock became a quarry.”

The special correspondent went on to describe the quarry:

“A quick turn of the road opens up the woods for the first view of the most remarkable quarry in the state. The Ten-Acre Rock bulks high against the skyline and towers above the trees. It is one huge solid boulder of finest granite.

“Forty men blasted and shaped a train carload of granite a day to be shipped to Oklahoma City for the Capitol. It was estimated 50,000 cubic feet of Tishomingo granite would be used for the building, and still there would remain an almost unlimited supply of the finest quality granite for building and decoration.”

Our unknown writer concluded his story with this statement:

“So the stone that will house the lawmakers of Oklahoma is the same granite that in the Ten-Acre Rock sheltered camps of outlaws in the days before statehood. Beside the rock the refugees from the law built their fires and discussed plans of robbery and murder.

“Behind the granite now new laws will be made. The Ten-Acre Rock will shelter lawmakers instead of lawbreakers.”

Now when I pass the Capitol I think of the Ten-Acre Rock and the solid pink granite foundation it provides Oklahoma government now and for the future.

It was written by Ray Parr, The Oklahoman’s well-known political writer and columnist.

It exhibits the humor Parr could bring to a mundane political story.

Fifty years ago, Jay Lee, the director of the Public Welfare Board also known as the emergency relief board, predecessor of the Department of Human Services, found himself in hot water.

He had been appointed by Gov. Roy Turner in 1947 and in 1951, new governor, Johnston Murray, suspended Lee, citing the need for an investigation for “loose handling of funds.”

I’m not sure the actions described below got Lee suspended, but it appeared the day after the announcement of his suspension.

“Cats Eat Rats! Then It’s Up to Bureaucrats!”

“Jay Lee, under suspension as administrator of the state emergency relief board, Wednesday defended the purchase of cat food with department funds.

The food, he said, was purchased for two cats who are working full-time for the state — and doing a fine job of it, too.

The two cats are employed at the surplus commodity warehouse in the 100 block of E Washington. Their duties are to catch rats. They were employed on a merit basis and have no legislative sponsors, Lee said.

Lee said that rats were doing so much damage at the warehouse that the federal government threatened to disqualify the warehouse for storage of the commodities.

Rats were having a field day in the warehouse with sort of a free lunch program of their own.

Lee said they had destroyed large quantities of cheese, raisins and other commodities.

They had never been certified for the free lunch program and the federal government did not approve of the idea of passing out nibbled commodities in the school lunch program. A considerable amount had to be destroyed because of the nibbles.

Lee said lowest estimates of rat exterminators to keep the building free of rats ran from $13 to $20 a month.

The cats didn’t cost anything.

As a matter of fact, they worked for nothing for awhile, under a state and federal agreement that they could eat the captured rats.

But they did such an efficient job, Lee continued, they got rid of the rats. Those that didn’t get on the menu ran away.

Then the cats got hungry. The emergency relief board faced an emergency. if the cats left, the rats would come back.

They would eat the commodities. The federal government would get cross with the state agency. Things would be in a mess.

Lee huddled with his top assistants. A decision was reached.

“We bought a case of cat food.” Lee said Wednesday. “These cats have paid their way 100 times over. It was a good investment.”

Lee got his job back, and four months later resigned. His 1980 obituary noted a 37-year career as a state employee and gave him credit for starting the Hot School Lunch program.

“Nesting in the miniature valley that extends from Twentieth and Twenty-second streets, and along the line of North Broadway, a pretty little plat of ground that has come into the ownership of Oklahoma City …”

“It was on this ground that the ‘eighty-niners’ had their first picnic. In its rough state, with the streets yet projected, the grove (of oak trees) that is about to be transformed into a city park was the scene of an old fashioned picnic. A well of pure water was an attraction that would be even more appreciated in these days, if it had not dried up. That well was dug by the early boomers.”

This description was in The Oklahoman Feb. 19, 1911.

Today that “pretty little plat of ground” is an island of grass, a few trees and a fire station.

Capt. John F. Winans homesteaded, farmed, developed and donated the land for the park that carries his name.

From his obituary published in The Oklahoman Jan. 31, 1935, we get a colorful picture of Winans, who was 93 at the time of his death.

“Death ended a career which, in Oklahoma, began with Winans plowing and harvesting crops from a frontier farm located in what is now an exclusive residential district — Winans addition. The addition extends from Northwest Sixteenth to Twenty-Third street and from Santa Fe to Walker Avenue.

“The neighbors of Capt. John F. Winans, 115 Northwest Seventeenth Street, never got used to seeing the 93-year-old man run around the block every morning. He attributed his long life … to regular exercise. That and two vegetarian meals a day and abstinence from coffee, tea, milk, liquor and tobacco.”

“The lawn he mowed was once part of his farm — a frontier farm that he tilled at the same time George H. Harn was plowing an adjoining one in what is now the Harn tract, on the other side of the Santa Fe tracks.”

Winans’ plan was to plant a fruit farm on his property, but Oklahoma City was growing northward fast, and houses were taking the place of farmland.

He donated the park land in 1911 and was said to enjoy watching the children at play.

Since the 1920s and ’30s, there had been lighted tennis courts, a playground with swings and a wading pool with bathhouse.

There is a sign that proclaims the land as Winans Park to the river of traffic on Broadway flowing mindlessly around it.

The wading pool and the tennis courts have all disappeared and the city rounded the corners, taking some of the land, to make the street a little less treacherous for speeding automobiles.

The first fire station was built in the park in 1951, and in 1993, it was demolished and a new station was built on the same site.

There is nothing in the way of recreation, but if you venture across busy Broadway or speed around it, the little park still remains, a silent tribute to a generous Oklahoma pioneer and the rich history of Oklahoma City.

This observation appeared 75 years ago Sunday, Aug. 16, 1936, on Page 1 of The Oklahoman. It recaps the week of heat that included the record-setting 113.1 degree high temperature.

Fear is the papa and mama of invention. We have been very scared the last two weeks because the human body is 90 percent water and we have been evaporating at a rapid rate.

Harry Wahlgren, with the two hottest weeks on record, until a few days ago had us believing he was drying us like peaches on a smoke house roof. He had us wondering how long it would be until we dried up completely and blew into Arkansas, just so many irritants to hay fever victims.

It’s got to be admitted that Harry’s first few blows brought out our creative impulses. The humblest became scientific. We reasoned that if we were drying up at twice our weight a day we would have to drink three times our weight in water to hold our own.

That was elemental, but as soon as we were waterlogged it became clear that other modern means would have to adopted to cut down the evaporation. We quit all work to apply ourselves to this problem.

Primitive souls hauled in tubs of ice and sat opposite electric fans. Stone age men hung wet towels in the windows. Reactionaries tried gin highballs. The best minds among us evaporated a lot of rigging up air coolers. They sought boxes of wet excelsior, ran water through them and fanned the air on their heaving bosoms.

Some made gadgets out of fishing reels, bicycle pumps, flannel underwear and electric fans. Some lay under water sprinklers. Others floundered in tepid swimming pools.

It looked like it would all be in vain. We were losing ground. Wahlgren was pouring it on.

The worse day was the day we broke the record. Panting from inventing we learned that on August 10 we had been hotter than ever an Oklahoma Cityan had been before. That made us kinda proud. It set us out as hardy people.

Sleeping through that night under the cool off a mere 81 degrees that was long in coming we found we could take it for certain.

The next day we weren’t even impressed when Harry raised the ante to 113 degrees. Then when the temperature began to fall a two and three degrees at a clip we gave Wahlgren the horse laugh. We drove out Classen in the heat of the day to mock him.

We even went back to work. We forgot about our gadgets to keep cool. We forgot even to remember we were hot. We have proved that hearty Oklahomans can sweat and live. Not only sweat and live, but sweat and get the job done, sweat and even have fun. We have proved we’re tougher even than rag weeds.

Hang in there! In 1936 the rains and cooler temperatures finally came in September.

Note: Harry Walgren was the head of the U.S. Weather Bureau branch on Classen Boulevard in what are now law offices