DUANE
Duane's take
Here's my telling of what the official marker for Dr. James Henry Wayland has to say — and friend, this one's worth every mile. Now, some men find their calling in a quiet moment of inspiration.
James H. Wayland found his in a moment of terror. Born in Missouri, he was sixteen years old when an accident nearly took his foot clean off.
Most folks would spend the rest of their days being careful. Wayland spent the rest of his days becoming a physician. You could say that near-disaster set the whole thing in motion — but I'll let you draw your own conclusions on that.
He studied at the Kentucky School of Medicine, then made his way to Texas, which is where all the best stories eventually end up. He practiced in Fort Worth, then Azle, and then, in 1891, he pulled up and moved to the new town of Plainview. New town.
Flat, open, wide-as-forever Plains. And James Wayland looked around and thought — yes, this is the place. Within that one hundred miles surrounding Plainview, he became one of the most active doctors the region had ever seen.
Now think about what that means out on the Plains. No landmarks. No easy roads.
So what did Wayland do? He used a compass. He navigated by instrument the way a ship's captain navigates open water, except his sea was grass and wind and West Texas sky.
And when a patient was lingering — too sick to wait, too far for a quick turnaround — Wayland left homing pigeons. Left them behind so that a rancher or a family could call him back when he was needed. Homing pigeons.
On the Texas Plains. You cannot make that up, and I did not. Often, when his own horse was too tired to go another step, a rancher would offer a fresh one, and Wayland would take it without a second thought and ride on.
The man was not stopping. Here's the detail that gets me, though. The Plains, as you may have noticed if you've driven through, are not exactly flush with landmarks.
Trees are a rare and precious thing out here. So Wayland had trees planted — for landmarks. So he could find his way back to his patients.
And then, because that wasn't enough, he grew trees and gave them out to the people of Plainview for beautifying the city. The same man navigating by compass and pigeon was also, quietly, planting shade. He and his wife Sarah — Sarah Tucker Wayland — raised a family of nine children in Plainview.
He erected several buildings, operated a drugstore, and became a religious and civic leader. When the town needed better public facilities, Wayland joined his fellow townsmen in offering bonuses to secure them. The man was in it, fully and completely.
And then came the act that may have defined his legacy more than anything else. He and Sarah gave ten thousand dollars and twenty-five acres of land for Wayland College, which opened in 1910. Ten thousand dollars.
Twenty-five acres. From a country doctor on the West Texas Plains. Then 1918 arrived, and with it, the influenza epidemic that killed millions throughout the world.
James Wayland worked. And worked. And worked.
And when it was over, his health was gone — lost to overwork, the marker says, plain and quiet as a headstone. He and Sarah afterward operated a hotel together. He died at age eighty-five, having been honored many times for the good works he had performed for Plainview and the West Texas area.
A foot nearly lost at sixteen. A compass, some pigeons, a borrowed horse, ten thousand dollars, twenty-five acres, and a city full of trees he planted himself. That's the accounting of one life on the Plains.
Not a bad ledger, Dr. Wayland. Not bad at all.
What the marker says
James H. Wayland, born in Missouri, decided to be a physician after he almost lost a foot at 16 in an accident. He studied at Kentucky School of Medicine, then came to Texas. After practicing in Fort Worth and Azle, he moved to the new town of Plainview in 1891. Here he became one of the most active doctors within a 100-mile radius. He used a compass, and at times left homing pigeons to call him to lingering patients. Often he left his own tired horse and took one offered by a rancher. He had trees planted for landmarks on the Plains, and also grew and gave out trees for beautifying this city where he and his wife Sarah (Tucker) reared a family of nine children. He erected several buildings, operated a drugstore, and became a religious and civic leader, joining his fellow townsmen in giving bonuses to secure better public facilities. He and his wife gave $10,000 and 25 acres of land for Wayland College, which opened in 1910. In the 1918 influenza epidemic that killed millions throughout the world, he lost his health from overwork. Afterward he and his wife operated a hotel. He died at age 85, after being honored many times for the good works he had performed for Plainview and the West Texas area. 1976