The Great Baby Swap

“Mom, why do I have red hair?” “Could a childhood prank change local history?”

It was just after the turn of the last century -- the late summer of 1901. The place was a small community in East Texas, populated mainly by farmers, ranchers and a few misplaced Easterners who tried their hand at business. The event was the biggest of the year, the county fair. It was a week-long event for celebrating the bountiful harvest of the area. Contests from pie baking to calf roping ran constantly. Local pride was established as contests were scheduled and judged every day. The rodeo went on until dark. Some people traveled for three or four days in wagons and horse drawn carriages to attend. Local people would bring their entire families and any animals or produce they thought might have a chance to win a ribbon.

Last year, Mom won a red ribbon for her peach preserves. This year, she had a dozen jars of her newest recipe rattling around in the back of the wagon. We loved the ride to the fair; it was the only time of the year when chores were set aside and the family would spend time together. Although Lee and I were spending more time away from the folks as we got older, we still loved the trip. It took us two full days to get there from our farm in Southern Texas.

At fifteen, I was more than full of my share of mischief. When we arrived at the fairgrounds, I quickly found some friends from the small school I attended. We also met a few boys from up around the fairgrounds that we didn’t know. Though some of the faces were familiar, the first couple days were always uncomfortable as we got reacquainted. Mostly, we passed the time chasing girls and attending the rodeo.

This year I was trying my luck with the horse race. Lee, three years older than me, tried to ride a big old gray Brahman bull. It threw him so fast that if it wasn’t for the rodeo clown, I am sure he would have been trampled or gored. Mom was furious with him for trying such a stunt. But, when he shook off the dust and pulled a big glob of cow dung out of his hair, Mom started laughing so hard she was crying. Lee had the biggest grin on his face. I was so proud of him for even giving it a try. Mom was still laughing at him when he came over to where we were seated and said, “Mom, next year I think I will stick with racing horses. That hurt.”

My horse Rowdy and I spent the last two years running and racing through our local countryside. This was the first time I brought him to the fair. He was smaller than a lot of the other horses but had the heart and spirit of a warrior. We won most of the races back home and I was sure we would do well at the rodeo. He was an Indian pony white spotted with brown and tan. People were always surprised when we came in first at the local races. The race started and we were ahead of the pack. Rowdy faltered and started to limp badly on the second lap. I had to stop and pull out of the race. I was heartbroken but was relieved to find a rock wedged in between his shoe and hoof. When I pulled out the stone and he walked around normally, I wasn’t a bit disappointed to have lost the race. I was just so happy that my good ol’ buddy, Rowdy was going to be able to get me around on the farm and to and from school when we got back home!

The food at the fair was more than a growing boy could eat, but Lee and I gave it our best shot. We got in line twice for the pie eating contest. Mom was upset at me for spilling blackberry juice down the front of the shirt that she had finished sewing for me just before we left for the fair. The contest was won by a big old boy from Tyler who seemed to eat pie with his whole face. But, Lee and I didn’t much care. We got our fill of pie that day. At home we only get seconds on Sunday.

The week went by pretty much without incident, except for my friend Paul. Paul was caught by one of the girl’s fathers while he was trying to sneak a peak into the back of the wagon where she was changing clothes. Poor Paul! We all did it; he was the only one that got caught. The girl’s father, yelling and screaming, chased Paul into the woods. We didn’t see much of Paul the rest of the week.

The contests were over and the rodeo finished early on Sunday afternoon. I guess after a week of idleness people were ready to get back to work and sleep in their own beds. Sleeping in a wagon and on the ground around the wagon can get old in a hurry when you have a comfortable bed at home. Lee and I loved camping out. We had big fires at night where we sat around and listened to the older folk tell stories. Some of the stories we knew were made up. It didn’t matter -- it was great entertainment for everyone!

Dad always told the story of when he worked on the train. Steaming through a small canyon in West Texas, they would shoot rattlesnakes. The stench of the rotting animals would make you sick. I always got a little sick just thinking about it.

The week ended with a big finale -- the dance. Sunday night they lit up a huge old barn with gas lamps and candles and had musicians up on the stage. Invariably, there was a lot of homemade beer, wine and liquor available for everyone – probably too much.

Before the dance started, people packed up their wagons. After the dance, it was time to leave and they were ready to come out of the dance and start the trip home. Children were carefully tucked into the beds made for them in the back of the wagons. Everything was lashed on ready to go. The horses were harnessed and the leads passed through the loop on the seat so they could just get in the seat and head for home. The winners of the contests would pin their ribbons on the side of the wagon for the ride home. This year Mom had won the blue ribbon and Dad had pinned it on her side of the wagon, she was so proud.

Traditionally, the young people would build the biggest campfire of the week on Sunday night. This year was no exception. We all got together for the “last hurrah” of the summer. We hadn’t seen Paul for two days, but he showed up after dark for this. The girl he had been sneaking a peek at noticed him and blushed as red as a Texas sunset. Paul made sure he stayed on the opposite side of the fire from her.

The girls were chattering away like young girls tend to do. Paul, on the other hand, had gotten into his Dad’s supply of white lightning and had a half gallon jar filled almost to the top with this forbidden stuff. He sipped some and, making a terrible face, passed the bottle to Lee. Lee took a big swig trying to act manly. He swallowed hard then it was my turn. We passed the bottle all around and back and forth until all the boys had more than enough white lightning. The music in the barn was playing loud and the square dance caller was yelling over it. We knew the older folks wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Most of the girls and the younger boys had returned to their wagons to get some sleep.

Five of us older kids were still awake and finishing off what was left in the bottom of that glass jug. That’s when a brilliant idea crossed my mind. Well it seemed brilliant to a drunk 15 year old. I talked to the other guys and we pulled off the prank of the century (being as it was a new century after all)! We snuck quietly from wagon to wagon, listening carefully for the sound of babies sleeping. When we found a sleeping baby, we took it very carefully from one wagon and deposited the sleeping infant into another wagon from which we had already removed the baby that was there. This “baby swapping” went on for about two hours until we were mixed up as to which baby came from or went where.

We went back to the campfire laughing like a bunch of hyenas. We said our goodbyes to our friends, knowing we wouldn’t see some of them again until next year. Then Lee and I went back to our wagon for the night, crawled in and went to sleep. Sometime around midnight the dance broke up and a whole community of tired and inebriated people came out, crawled in their wagons and prodded their horses on towards home.

Around midday on Monday, we saw a rider coming up on us from behind. He was whipping his horse into a frenzy. Dust was trailing behind him as far as you could see. Lee and I watched, not thinking much about what we had done the night before. Neither of us was feeling very good. Having thrown up twice during the night, I was not enjoying the rocking of the wagon at all. I could feel that clear liquid rolling around in my throbbing head. Lee made some excuse to Mom about something we ate the night before. Dad must have “eaten” the same thing -- he was looking a little pale, too.

When the rider arrived, Dad reigned in the horses and listened intently as the rider spewed out his story. He was talking so fast that he was hard to understand. Sometime after daybreak, two of our neighbors discovered the mischief we had been up to. Lee and I stayed tight lipped and feigned sleep as the fantastic tale unrolled. It seems kids were swapped from one wagon to another. Parents all over the county were waking their children only to find someone else’s children asleep in their wagon

Looking back, this little stunt of ours may have changed history in the local area. I can just imagine a father looking back at the baby waking up in his wagon and saying, “Honey, it looks healthy, let’s just head on home.” Or, “Martha I know we had a daughter, but think of how much more useful a boy will be minding the crops in the fall.”

So, if you hail from East Texas and wonder why you have red hair and no one else in your family does, it could possibly be because a few young boys engaged in what they thought was simple mischief. Nobody could say for sure that the mess we caused was ever straightened out. But, the next year there was an adult watching the wagons during the dance.