Dad – The Early Years

My Dad, Frank Sharp, was not an ordinary man in fact I know that I am safe to describe him as a man for all seasons. He was born almost 110 years ago in Independence, Kansas to a couple who would be known as Grandpa and Grandma Sharp. He had three brothers John, Victor and Vernon. Vernon passed at an early age due to an enlarged spleen. Listening to Dad talk about the loss of his brother, I know this influenced some of his life decisions. After Vernon’s passing the family moved from Independence to a home site in Apache Valley just north of Clayton, New Mexico and on the south side of the Rabbit Ear Mountains. Initially the family lived in a dug out, but actual structures were soon constructed. Decades later Dad would stand at the crest of the mesa on the Clayton Lake road and look at the valley and mountains. Lost in his own world, he could have been riding the pure white horses through the tall grass or watching in wonder as his father negotiated the path to the house in their Model T. Grandpa Sharp or Ralph C. Sharp never mastered the braking system on the Model T so they had put a log in the barn, so the car could coast in and let Mother Nature stop it. He supported the family with his real estate business that extended from New Mexico down into Texas. Vowing “Good Dirt, Dirt Cheap”, I remember Dad pointing out various properties that his father had been involved in when we would travel from Clayton to Amarillo, Texas.

He loved to play tennis. Through years of practice, he developed a serve that was almost impossible to return. Likewise, his defense strategy concentrated on control of the ball. Everything was a lesson for him to convey. When I would play him, he would emphasize that if you could control the ball, you could control the game. It could have been a lecture in Machiavellian political philosophy. He would never let me win but in the few times that I did, the praise lasted a lifetime.     

He was ethical to a fault. I think he had an inner gauge of right and wrong. He would sacrifice for both what he believed was the right thing to do and to correct the littlest wrong. His word was his bond. The greatest example that I can think of was the fact that his mother was completely anti-alcohol and she pleaded with each of her three sons to sign a temperance pledge in the family Bible. Two signed and my father refused simply because he didn’t feel that he could absolutely honor that pledge. As it turned out, my two uncles did have problems with alcohol, my Dad did not.

He graduated from Clayton High School and headed to Norman, Oklahoma where he enrolled in the School of Medicine and joined the OU football team. The future seemed bright, but the forces of nature would re-chart the best laid plans. Due to the depression and the Dust Bowl, the money promised for tuition dried up and Dad was forced to return home. One day the pure white horses died in a dust storm and their blackened carcasses were buried near the home site. Soon the family moved into a house in Clayton that was furnished with projects that Dad built in high school. Grandpa Sharp’s real estate business continued, and Dad found work through the WPA that included sidewalks and the Clayton High School complex.

In the late thirties two major events occurred. Dad leased a gas station on Main Street and met a charming waitress at the NuWay Café. Ada Bell had moved into Clayton at the age of 16 from Sofia, NM. She worked at the café to support herself while she pursued her high school diploma. Upon graduation she continued working there as a waitress. I can only assume that his charm and wit impressed her because they were married on November 11^th of 1939 when he was 31 and she was 22. They worked together in their business until the day that changed the world forever, December 7, 1941.