Oklahoma's Delayed Birth Records

The Oklahoma Department of Health is realizing that after death, a person's vital records become "historic" according to Kelly Baker, Director.

The word "vital," in this context, means something relating to the facts of life for statistical purposes. Here, it is used to mean birth, marriage and death data.

The word "vital" was first used in 1450 to mean supporting or maintaining life. Its first use in a statistical reference to births, marriages and death occurred almost four hundred years later in 1837.

The Oklahoma Department of Health began in 1908 as the State Board of Health. The legislature gave it the responsibility for establishing "rules and regulations for the keeping and reporting of all vital statistics, births, deaths, marriages and divorces." The filings for the last two categories remained the responsibility of the separate counties.

The law required all physicians to report within thirty days to the county superintendent of public health, "all births and deaths, and the disease with which said person died, and his age and sex." The county paid each physician ten cents per report.

The Board of Health began with one clerk who recorded births and deaths. Initially, they recorded only contemporary births and deaths. Only a few newly minted Oklahomans possessed birth certificates because they were issued by other states.

The purpose of birth records is for proving the birth of an individual. Later in life, that person uses that certificate for establishing their identity. The state also used the data for health statistics.

The board accepted the first state issued birth record in October, 1908 to Charles Manning Davis. The thirteenth child in a large family, he was the first in his family to have a birth certificate.

Sometime after statehood, the state board began accepting "delayed" birth applications from Oklahomans. These were for residents with births occurring more than a year earlier.

In order to obtain a delayed birth certificate, the state required two forms of proof. This stronger standard was better than, say, Arkansas that at a slightly later date required the filing of only one form of proof.

The WPA conducted an inventory of state records in 1939. Their survey showed that over 48,000 delayed birth certificates were on file with the state. Then came the buildup for war.

Many Oklahomans sought employment in the nation's expanding defense industry. Upon applying for a defense job, many applicants received the news that they were ineligible because they could not prove they were an American citizen.

That news began a stampede at the health department in Oklahoma City. The explosion also occurred in many homes in Muskogee County. Local residents hoped to obtain jobs as they became available at Hatbox Field, Camp Gruber and the new Muskogee Army Air Field. They searched for Bible records, school census records and the records of former mid-wives and doctors.

Today, there are over 800,000 delayed birth certificates on file at the Department of Health. Of these, over 211,000 are for births occurring before statehood. That means nearly a quarter of a million birth records housed by the state are for Oklahomans born more than 100 years ago.

An index sorting of the delayed birth records in the custody of the Oklahoma Department of Health turned up this interesting detail. The two oldest records are for births occurring in 1865. Maybe it is time that these records are seen for what they truly are: historical.

Airship Alice Roosevelt Excites Muskogeeans

The Airship Alice Roosevelt arrived in Muskogee on July 15th in a special boxcar. James C. Mars sent the dirigible and crew to Muskogee in an agreement with city promoters in 1908.

The Alice Roosevelt was lighter-than-air craft named for the mischievously charming daughter of President Theodore Roosevelt. Mars, who went by the nickname of "Bud," found controlling the airship required great patience and discipline just like the controlling president's daughter.

Bud arrived a day or two later. He found his crew over at Pioneer Park completing the unpacking. The canvas bag, when inflated, looked much like a giant sweet potato. In comparison with the Zeppelins of two decades later, the Alice Roosevelt was tiny.

The airship, possibly the first to fly in the new state, needed to be only large enough to lift one passenger and a small gasoline engine suspended underneath. Balanced precariously was a seat for the pilot and a long shaft from the engine that turned an unguarded propeller blade on the back end of the balloon.

Bud agreed to make two flights a day during the Removal of Restrictions July Jubilee. There will be more about the celebration later in another article. The Commercial Club, the forerunner of today's Chamber of Commerce, paid the fee of ten thousand dollars for the balloon's appearance. Club members had seen balloon flights in St. Louis while attending the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition.

The initial efforts to inflate the balloon failed, disappointing many out-of-town visitors who were just dying to see a man flying in the air. Unfortunately, the gas making machinery used to fill the balloon failed to function properly.

On July 20th, Aeronaut Mars waved for the crew to release the tethering ropes, freeing the Alice Roosevelt of its earthly bonds. Only the chugging noise of the unmuffled engine could be heard as the dirigible lifted away. A giant "hurrah" rang out in celebration when the viewers realized they could breathe again.

With rapt attention, everyone watched Bud slowly head for the center of downtown Muskogee. As the airship neared the Hinton Theatre, the rudder locked up. Then, the small engine died. Now at the mercy of the elements, Mars pulled the plug to slowly release gas out of the balloon. The Alice Roosevelt came to earth softly behind the Vendome Hotel, located in the 200 block of Court Street.

During the rest of the week, Bud Mars made one or two ascensions a day. He never travelled far or went over a couple of hundred feet high. Yet, his flights inspired and excited many in eastern Oklahoma.

The following year, the Airship Alice Roosevelt made its appearance in Seattle where it was a featured attraction at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition. While there, its flights inspired a certain young man named William Boeing, who made a name for himself in aircraft manufacturing.

Bud Mars abandoned ballooning shortly thereafter. Called the "Curtiss Daredevil," Bud next was a partner of Glenn Curtiss. The two made many demonstration flights around the country together. He received the eleventh pilot's license issued in the United States after being trained by Curtiss in flying "heavier-than-air" planes.

Piloting Curtiss "pusher" biplanes, Bud Mars toured the country, often becoming the first to fly in western states. Then, he pushed across the Pacific Ocean to become the first to fly in Hawaii, the Philippine Islands, Japan and China.

Always careful to never perform stunts during his flying, Bud Mars outlived many of his peers. He died in California of heart complications in 1944. His brother later gave his papers to the Henry Ford Museum.

Jack Randolph, Muskogee Songwriter

"Mother, I Am Thinking of You" was the first hit song written by Jack Randolph pictured here. Writing a lonesome poem about one's mother always brought grief from fellow ranch hands on the prairie near Pawhuska.

The night Jack wrote his first song, he went to bed that night, but tossed and turned. The harder he tried to get some shuteye, the less restful he was. Finally, about two o'clock in the morning, he woke and penned his longings for his mother. The next morning, though, he put his poem in his trunk to avoid some good-natured ribbing from his co-workers. Then he wrote a regular letter that he shortly mailed to his mother.

The poem that became "Mother, I am Thinking of You" remained in his trunk until a passing saddle salesman prompted Jack to publish his poem as a song. Royalty money soon ended Jack's cow herding days. He next took a disillusioning sojourn in eastern states where he found that he strongly disliked jazz.

Early in 1920, now back in Oklahoma, Jack published a ragtime piece called "The Oklahoma Oil Field Blues." It is about a strayed singer longing to return to the oilfields to get rich. He next co-wrote "The Jamaica Ginger Blues" with John F. Carroll. H. M. Keifer Music Publishing Company of Pawhuska printed both songs.

During the fall of 1920, Jack migrated to Muskogee. Gone was all of his cowboy gear except for his Stetson. It was in Muskogee that he teamed up with Eli Bunch while both roomed in the Huber Hotel.

Bunch was a full blood Cherokee who attended the Chilocco Indian School for seven years. Afterwards, he spent two years in the US Navy during World War One. Upon returning home after the war's end, he filed suit over land he leased between 1916 and 1919. He won the suit in the lower court, but lost upon appeal. Shortly thereafter, Bunch and Randolph went into partnership to publish Jack's songs.

The Randolph and Bunch partnership published only one song. "I Never Had A Pal Like You" came out in late 1920. The song, with both music and lyrics composed by Jack, was a moderato ballad. It begins "I am longing for you tonight, love."

The partnership dissolves shortly thereafter. Perhaps Jack Randolph decided he could promote his music without any help.

Jack wrote another song after teaming up with John F. Carroll again in 1922. Carroll wrote the music while Jack and R. R. Lence collaborated on the lyrics. The song was the "Soldier Bonus Blues." The Randolph Music Publishing Co. of Wichita, Kansas, published the song.

The cover of the sheet music contains the following message that tells you about the song. "In 1917 Uncle Sam said I Need You, But Nobody Seems To Need Us in 1922."

The photograph of Jack Randolph above appears on the cover of the "I Never Had A Pal Like You" sheet music. He likely had it taken in Muskogee.