PLOWER WILLIE BECAME DOCTOR IN OZARK TOWN 91 Year Old Medic Does Not Think of Retirement From Practice ROGERS, Ark., April 25 (Wide World) Two brothers plowing a corn field on a farm near Mattoon, Ill., stopped at the fence row one hot spring day in 1868. Along the turnpike rolled a shiny new buggy drawn by a pair of matched greys. The village doctor, a neatly dressed, purposeful man, was making a country call. Seventeen year old Willie watched the equipment out of sight. Then, picking up the plow reins, he ejaculated: Doggone if Im gonna stay on a farm and be eaten up by fleas and work like a horse! Im gonna be a doctor like him. The tavern keeper at Pierce City, Mo., gave up trying to shake the stage driver out of a drunken stupor. Say, stranger, he asked the lone passenger, can you handle a team? Looks like this stage wont move unless you take her over. This driver wont be sober enough to hit the ground with his hat for a couple more hours. I can drive anything in harness, came the confident reply and a few moments later the quiet of that spring morning in 1877 was broken by the crack of a whip as the stage rolled south. When it stopped the next morning at Cross Hollows, Ark., the recovered driver dropped his accommodating passenger who, in turn, gathered up his bag, fingered 5 in his pocket, and set out to make his fortune. Cross Hollows newest citizen was Willie, the farm boy, now William Jasper, M. D. The plowshare had been exchanged for a scalpel. Sixty five years later and spring again. Spring, 1942. Along the streets of Rogers walks a familiar figure carrying a small black bag. About 5 feet 10, weighing 180 pounds, with keen brown eyes in a ruddy face, he exchanges pleasantries with all he meets. Dr. W. J. Curry Old Doc to many is reporting for duty at his office where regular hours have been kept in the same rooms for 45 years. His 90 years sit lightly on his broad shoulders, so lightly he has never given a thought to retirement. He is in constant demand among his colleagues,; who regard him as an able consultant and their foremost anaesthetist. Born January 30, 1851, Willie Curry was the fourth of eight children. After he made his plowside resolution to be a doctor, it was two years before his father farmer could send him to a school at Mattoon and more years before he finished his medical studies at St. Louis. He had just finished his training when he came to the now almost forgotten village of Cross Hollows, then a stop on the stage line between St. Louis and Roswell, N. M. It consisted of a lime kiln, tavern, postoffice, eating house and a few unimposing residences. A few years later, the railroad passed four miles west of Cross Hollows and Dr. Curry with the rest of the population, moved to the new community of Rogers. In the ensuing decades he has practiced throughout this Ozark mountain region. At first he traveled by horseback, then in a two- wheeled cart, later he wore out five or six buggies and at least that many automobiles. Now he confines his practice largely to office patients, treating five to eight a day and making one or two afternoon calls on families who have known no other doctor. The rest of the time, as befits a small town sage, he sits back with his feet cocked on his worn old desk, smokes big black cigars and reminisces with his cronies. Or he putters around the flower beds in the spacious yard of his old-fashioned home. Or just dozes. The good life he wanted has been his, and money never has been one of his worries. The largest fee he ever charged was 100 and many patients settled with farm produce, sorghum molasses, chickens or what have you. With gusty humor, Dr. Gurry pokes fun at his own longevity. I was always the black sheep in our family. My mother told me one time, Willie, its too bad you didnt die of the croup when you were a baby. Youll always be a disgrace to the family. I was the only son who ever smoked, chewed or dared to take a drink. All the others toed the line. And Im the only one whos still alive. He has given up drinking, however, declaring whisky is not good any more, they dont make it like it used to be made. Eating, on the other hand remains one of his chief pleasures. His favorite foods are fried chicken and strawberry shortcake. At a recent party given by one of his sons he put away his share of a meal of baked ham, fried chicken, string beans, candied sweet potatoes, light bread and johnnycake, pickles, birthday cake, apple pie and coffee. Then after smoking his habitual black cigar, he excused himself at two p. m. to return to his office duties. Dr. Curry says he has no idea how many patients he has treated nor how many babies he has ushered into the world. The babies, though, are numbered in the hundreds, among them Dr. Clyde McNeil, now Dr. Currys chief assistant. Because Arkansas did not keep vital statistics records prior to 1914, Dr. Currys remarkable memory has been getting a good workout as result of the current demand for birth certificates. Letters, telegrams and long distance calls from many parts of the country come constantly. So far, he has been able to furnish all the desired information, usually adding some amusing family anecdote to the statistical data. Twice married and the father of seven children, six of whom are living, Dr. Curry thinks much of the future. We are in a devil of a fix, he says, those who live after me will have a much harder time than I have. Im not sorry my life is about spent. ELLEN McKAY BARNES Ellen McKay Barnes, 74, wife of Edward A. Barnes, died at seven p. m. Tuesday at the family home, 641 Twenty seventh, after a three day illness, of a stroke. Mrs. Barnes was born in Huntsville, Oct. 28, 1867, a daughter of Angus and Williamena McKay. Her early life was spent in Huntsville, where she attended public schools and later taught school for a number of years. She was married to Mr, Barnes in the Logan L.D.S. temple, Oct. 21, 1891. Shortly after the marriage they moved to West Weber, where they lived until 1919, when they came to Ogden. Mrs. Barnes had been active in L. D. S. church work. She had served for many years on the North Weber stake Relief society board and was in the stake presidency for several years. She was the first president of the Womens Farm bureau and was a vice president of the State Farm bureau, preceding her coming to Ogden. She was a charter member of the Daughters of the Valley. While living in Ogden she attended the Fifth and Eighteenth wards and was a member of the Mt. Ogden stake geneological board until illness interfered. In her early life she was associated with the Y. M. M. I. A. Surviving are her husband of Ogden; the following sons and daughters, James E. Barnes, Angus William, Albert W., Hugh L., Donald M. Barnes, all of Ogden; Alfred Emery and Mrs. Ella Braithwaite, Arco, Idaho; Carol and Ena Barnes, Ogden; Mark I. Barnes, Salt Lake City; 40 grandchildren, one great grandchild, and the following brothers and sisters: Mrs. John McFarland, Mrs. Isabella Emley and Angus W. McKay, Ogden; Donald D. McKay, Salt Lake City; Ernest R. McKay, Huntsville; Mrs. John Christensen, San Diego. Calif.