Daughter Shares Fond Memories of WWI Vet

By Michael Bromka

Veterans Day honors those who return—fortuitously intact or woefully wounded—from serving in our Armed Forces. On the eleventh minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, Armistice was called in what then was The Great War.

Later, the War to End All Wars was numbered and eclipsed by the horrors of WWII. Boomers who served in Vietnam had parents who survived World War II. Still among the residents of Carlsbad—still thriving—is one whose father, Bill High, served in WWI.

Stentorian contralto fitness coach Margaret McClure teaches aerobics thrice weekly at North Mesa Senior Center. Her vigor belies her age, 89. The youngest of four siblings, she was born to her mom, 35, and veteran dad, then 47.

Bill grew up in Moody, TX. In June 1917, he enlisted in the U.S. Army and served in France in Battery E of the 131st Field Artillery. Their motto was “First in spite of hell.”

Returning to Texas, Bill met and married Alberta Stephens, who had attended Mary Harden Baylor College with insurance funds of an uncle who himself died in The Great War. The couple moved to Loving, thence to Carlsbad. Bill worked with growing responsibility, ever rising in rank.

Margaret was born in 1936 and recalls living on North Canal Street, two doors north of what’s now Yellow Brix.

“Life was safer then for a child rounding her own block. Unsupervised, I walked, ran, skated, biked Stevens, Halagueno, Mermod back to Canal Street. Traded waves with Mr. Henrdicks.”

Bill was elected and served as Probate Judge, then served as deputy Sheriff, then was elected Eddy County Treasurer (1945-1948) and served two two-year terms as Sheriff (1951-1954). His duty as sheriff coincided with Margaret’s teenage years in high school.

Of limited means, Bill and Alberta had always rented till then. Sheriff’s lodging at the Eddy County Courthouse (plus salary as the highest-paid employee) allowed Bill to save enough to buy his first home after he left office.

Bill and family lived on the first floor in the northwest corner of the courthouse, with the second-floor jail directly above them. Margaret’s mother earned $1 per prisoner per day to cook all meals, assisted by selected trustees. They loaded big pots onto a dumbwaiter. Margaret and family ate the same fare, “a lot of beans and cornbread.” Margaret’s piano teacher urged that she “practice for the masters of music.” Mostly, it was jail inmates who heard her daily efforts.

On occasional Friday nights, Margaret’s girlfriends could sleep over, “a night in jail,” at least sharing the same roof. Since the jail was securely locked, the girls were allowed to wander empty hallways and staircases, as long as they kept mum near the rare, sequestered jury. Girls enjoyed summer sunsets on the Mermod Street balcony, watching young men on motorcycles cruise by. Sheriff High would make pancakes for breakfast the next morning.

Margaret recalls rare Saturday nights with her mother sitting in their lights-out residence, hall door open as deputies brought in men arrested for public drunkenness. “Their language was colorful!”

One day, Sheriff High discreetly brought Margaret to his evidence room and unlocked a safe to glimpse leafy stuff in a small brown bag.

“Marijuana,” he whispered.

“Who knew that 70 years later, there’d be shops all around town?”

Bill, as deputy and sheriff, owned a $100 sidearm, but rarely wore it. Respect for his uniform, authority, and reputation went a long way in office.

“My father’s handshake was his word. He was a neat, nice man with a lot of friends.”

One long car trip fetched a prisoner back from Port Arthur, TX. Why not bring along wife and daughter? Women in the back seat, with the prisoner sitting shotgun, the foursome rode home.

Sheriff High’s nine-year-old grandson, Jimmy Carpenter, had a beautiful singing voice. He would visit and sing while Margaret played piano. Thereafter, Bill took the lad upstairs so the prisoners could hear him sing “It’s No Secret What God Can Do.”

Canal Street was lined with beautiful cottonwood trees, which, in bloom, caused severe breathing difficulties for some. Allergic Sheriff High sometimes took Pierce Street out of town (where CMC is) just to breathe easily for a spell.

Nonetheless, he sang in a barbershop quartet with a tenor, Mr. Low. Bill was a bass. Low sang high, and High sang low. Bill High was also a founding member of Carlsbad’s American Legion chapter.

Sheriff High had confiscated illegal gambling machines from the Elks. He lost a third election as Sheriff but later was elected Municipal Judge.

In retirement, Bill lived to age 79. His younger wife lived 25 years thereafter. Together, they had finally saved money to buy a home on Vine Street.

When Bill, the WWI veteran, died, a neighbor wrote to the Carlsbad Current-Argus. Army veteran, then 41-year-old schoolteacher, Bob Scholl, stated, “In this confused world, Bill High stood calmly, ready to help if you were in need. He was the most gentle, delightful, inspiring man I’ve ever known. He showed us life was worth living… Here was a man! Thank God we had the chance to know him!”

Those wishing to honor the veterans the community has lost can volunteer for Vet’s Transport, which has an urgent need for new volunteer drivers. Retired (or younger) individuals with clean records can call Norbert Rempe at 575 361-0175 to learn about driving Vets in need.