Two weekends ago, I took a drive through Port Arthur with a friend who hadn’t been here in many years. Many landmarks are gone, especially the hospitals. Park Place has been gone for years, and St. Mary’s has recently become a grassy field, but at least they left the flagpole. One thing that is left in this area, between Pioneer Park and the water tower, is a concrete circle that I assume was built to walk on. I don’t know why this circular cement path was constructed, but I remember the nuns from St. Mary’s walking on it. My friend Millie told me that there used to be a building in the center of it; I cannot confirm this.
During the drive, we argued playfully about where the restaurants used to be and whether the spirits burned down the nice house on Sixteenth Street (Gulfway Drive) because Madam Dora lived there. On a side note, I wonder if Madam Dora (Port Arthur) and Madam Pearl (Bridge City) knew each other. I guess it’s all in the cards.
Every once in a blue moon, I read through my DNA report, which seems to change yearly. What’s up with that Ancestry website? Am I not still 24 percent Spaniard? The whole world is 24 percent Spaniard, by the way. The dirty little—I digress. In my family history, years ago, someone wrote that my great-great-grandfather Etienne was from an island that doesn’t exist—Lil Decout in Italy. He was from Corsica, a French island that thinks it’s Italian, and that’s ok with me. His mother was Latvian, which may explain my obsession with the weather. Latvia, I believe, is the home of the European hurricane forecast-model group. I will add that Etienne came to this country in 1868, after you guys got your crap together! (This statement never goes down well when I talk to some groups, but the usual reply is “We still haven’t.”)
I’ve looked into family history, and it is about as messed up as my database, so that fits. I have a family member who is in the census 20 years after he passed. Of course, I’m going to mention some sort of vampire link, or even better, an “I’m from a long line of serial killers; I have no proof because they were good serial killers.” This is why I usually go down the rabbit holes of other families and research everyone else on Ancestry! Maybe this is why my account is so screwed up.
According to Ancestry, I’m related to everyone! I say this in jest, but two of my friends are really related to everyone, at least in Magnolia Cemetery. One, one half of the cemetery; the other, the other half. However, I don’t think they are related to each other. It’s true, but it is a pain being from older families in this area. I guess that’s the difference between knowing something about your history and having it laid out in front of you for everyone to see.
I remember that one of my uncles basically harassed Jack Brooks—a politician—because he was mad at the Veterans Administration (VA). I will ask the veterans reading this, “Who isn’t mad at the VA?” Yep, he went to Mr. Brooks’s office in Washington. Jack didn’t see him, though. I’m glad that my family wasn’t remarkable; this was the only time I felt sorry for a politician. I do have something that my uncle wrote about this event. I may put it out at some point.
My uncle also spoke of his time on the firing range. He frequently spoke of “Maggie’s drawers.” I guess this was because he kept missing his target. That’s all right, though, because he ended up on permanent KP duty. This is the reason he introduced us to SOS. His recipe was ground meat in cream gravy. During the Great War, this was called Save Our Souls or Same Old Slop; in the ’40s, though, they just called it what it was—S**t on a Shingle. I was told that the only people who knew about this delicacy were those in the military or in prison. Regardless of whether this is, I still think it is comfort food, and at my age, I’m thankful that I’m in neither of those sectors.
Well, the emails have started rolling in. Galveston’s 50th Annual Historic Homes Tour is currently looking for volunteers, and I’m already lined up with Bev, “the candy lady,” for Sunday on the first weekend. The house list hasn’t been released yet, but there is a rumor that something special is scheduled for this year. Stay tuned! If you are interested in volunteering for this event or want to learn about all things Galveston, you can click on this link: https://www.galvestonhistory.org/support/volunteer-opportunities.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been going down many rabbit holes. I want to put out most of this research in March, for Women’s History Month, but darn, if we hadn’t had to endure a Port Arthur/Hee Haw moment in a county school-superintendent election in 1930. I’ll add the newspaper clipping to the blog. The journey was a somewhat positive ride until politics showed its ugly head. Sorry Jack—at least you wore a cowboy hat!
Until next week. RIP Toby Keith. You know that your friend Wayman (Tisdale) has the stage set, and Barry (White) is in the audience. Time to sing it again. Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up. By the way, we’re not crying for you, we’re crying for us who liked your songs. See you on the other side, Superstar!
Never, Never Gonna Give Ya Up:
Toby Keith – Cryin’ For Me (Wayman’s Song) ft. Arthur Thompson, Marcus Miller, Dave Koz
This week, I listened to a few oral histories I collected back in the day. I’m not a good interviewer, but these oral histories did bring out many insights into how people thought and acted in the 1930s and ’40s. The five people I interviewed have since passed, and I will say that they all positively influenced me during my life. The first two, for sure.
I mentioned Roy Temple and his impact on my life a few weeks ago. Roy was a product of the Depression and lived his life accordingly. He also lived the way he wanted—doing what he wanted to do and not bothering about anyone else. Roy may have come across as mean and ornery at times, but under that gruff demeanor, he had a heart of gold. Roy would help anyone who showed up on his doorstep, and there were many who showed up.
Roy was a carpenter by trade and a farmer by habit. He grew up in the 1920s and worked on his parents’ farm from a young age. He spent countless hours tending the fields and learning the art of agriculture (there is an art to it, as he explained to me one day). He also attended school, learning the basics—even some Latin. Later in life, he dropped out of school for a short time, but a teacher convinced him to go back, thus changing his life. Roy was no scholar, but he learned early in life that hard work and an education (in any field) could only help you succeed. And he did succeed—he worked in many fields during the more than 90 years he lived.
One thing I remember from our numerous talks was his involvement in the New Orleans shipyard during WWII. Roy helped build many a ship to the specifications of the naval fleet. “Everything had to be perfect, or they would make you do it again and again,” I remember him saying. I also remember him telling me of ships that had headed out to the Mississippi delta and to sea only to end up at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico courtesy of a German U-boat torpedo.
I’ve left a link to Roy’s story at the bottom of this blog.
Charles Irwin was a client-turned-friend of mine for 19 years. A true Texas historian, he was born in San Antonio and moved to this area in 1957. There was nothing about Texas history that he didn’t know, and he wrote three books about it: The Creed Taylor Story, Alamo Courier Benjamin Franklin Highsmith 1836, and Peerless Texas Empresarios. He even introduced me to the Republic of Texas Navy—I had no idea. (My second-grade teacher failed to mention this detail about Texas history, but we did look at the moon through a telescope on Woodrow Avenue in Port Arthur.) Yes, Texas had a navy, but it didn’t have any money. I’m sure hilarity ensued when the New Orleans shipyard needed payment to release one of their ships.
I remember our 2012 trip to the Chambers County Historical Commission in Anahuac, when we toured the T. J. Chambers House. In my files, I have many historic entries that Charles fed me. Sometimes I have to recheck who these people are and if they pertain to Texas history or SETX history.
We had other similar interests, including World War II aviation. Charles grew up in San Antonio, and he saw many planes from the war fly daily. He even attended the 50th D-day anniversary in Normandy, France. We were also both interested in English history. I will add that I believe this doesn’t connect to my Welshiness because Welsh history is different. Just ask a Welsh person—they’ll answer in Welsh and not care if you don’t understand. Because they’re Welsh!
Archie Wallace was a client of mine, but we would end up reminiscing about Port Arthur, the interurban, those rich people in Griffing Park, our mutual friend Roy Temple, and Port Arthur Mayor Bernis Sadler’s annexing quests. When asked how the city would pick up the offshore rig’s garbage, Bernis said, “Just leave it on the curb; we’ll pick it up.”
Archie was one of the few people I asked about their life during World War II. He was a child then, and the main thing he remembered was the sugar rationing; also, he had no idea where Pearl Harbor was. I’m sure those rich folks in Griffing Park had encyclopedias, but I digress. In his younger years, Archie worked on the streets in Griffing Park, so he knew the answer to my question of another road leading into Griffing Park. Back in 2015, I found a photo in the Beaumont Enterprise, taken where it is now, at the intersection between Thirty-Second Street and Twin City Highway. It was a then-and-now photo. The first one was taken in 1929, while the second was from 1959. It was nothing special, but it did show that looking south in 1929, you saw nothing, and the road curved to the right instead of making a 90-degree turn like it does today. In 1959, you could see the newly constructed auditorium and gymnasium in the background. There were no trees, and the road still curved to the right. If you stand at the traffic lights on Thirty-Second today, you don’t see the school, but if you glance to your right, you notice a street leading into Griffing Park that was blocked off by a barrier long ago. Since Thirty-Second Street runs west to east, and Twin City Highway runs north to south, you really couldn’t have a fifth road there. Hell, most drivers in Port Arthur can’t figure out a four-way stop.
Millie Rougeau was another person from my past who gave me the real deal when it came to stories of growing up in the ’40s during World War II. She even gave me her uncle’s ration book. I will leave a link about her at the bottom of this blog.
Another link I will add is for the interview I did with my uncle Roy to find out what life was like in Beauxart Gardens. I love these interviews for the history they contain, but the best thing in the cases of Charles Irwin, Millie Rougeau, and my uncle Roy is that I can still hear their voices. I have other interviews that I cherish, and I hope to bring them here fully in the future.
Until next week, reach out to a family member or friend to talk, and you may rediscover some good stories and history that you had forgotten. Do it!
Susie died last night. That’s why her letter won’t be in its usual place in the Enterprise tomorrow morning. We thought you ought to know. Here at the office we’re all rather stunned. Susie belonged to both papers, you know. She gave about 35 years of her life to these papers, Susie did, and from the editor who read her copy to the boys upstairs who set it there’s a strange, hard reluctance to accept the fact that her desk over there in the corner is closed for good.
Susie was … well, call it a tradition. She had more sheer newspaper sense up in her little finger than we brash younger fry have in our collective brain. We used to ride her a lot. Kidding Susie was good fun—because she was “old school.” Hers were standards of that first brave sortie of women into curt, intense business of journalism. And she clung to them to the last in spite of us. Underneath, we loved her for it. She knew that, thank goodness. Good old trail-blazer.
Della, just to look at Susie you’d never have guessed the enchanting glamour of her life, Quiet and self-effacing, Susie was, with a funny little habit of tidying her hair all the time. But she’d met presidents, interviewed princesses, attended the highest functions of Washington. Long-distance calls came to her from Harper’s Publishing company, from the New York Times, from senators. I never knew a woman could have so many contacts—important ones. I never knew a woman who could, even by virtue of long service to a specialized profession like journalism, find somebody she knew in every city of importance in the nation. I never went to Susie with a question and came away without an answer.
M.M.
Beaumont Journal January 29, 1938
Farewell To A Valued Friend:
THE DEATH of Miss Florence Stratton brings genuine sorrow to a numerous company. It is with a feeling of the greatest personal loss that those of us who had been closely associated with her through the years in newspaper work mourn her passing. And all of us who knew her well feel quite certain that when she entered that corridor of eternal darkness she did so unafraid, her head held high and her spirit uncowed.
First as a public school teacher and then as a newspaper woman, her whole life from youth to death was busy and useful. She loved her work, found no diversion that equaled it in pleasure and satisfaction,and to it devoted her talents and energy to the full. On her last assignment when she suffered a slight stroke she stood by her guns until her chore was completed, then left the office never to return. Into her work she put the sympathy and sentiment that marked her character. She was always a womanly woman, concerned primarily with the interests of women, and always a gentlewoman in the broad and best sense of the word. In the course of her long and honorable service she made and kept innumerable friends, by all of whom she will be tenderly remembered, and the still larger circle who knew her through her work will not soo forget…
Bill Beaumont
Beaumont Journal January 29, 1938
Beaumont Enterprise January 31, 1938
Friends of Low and High Estate pay final respects to Miss Florence Stratton
-One, Only ‘Susie Spindletop’ Called Rare and Gracious Influence, Versatile Genius
Several hundred people, her friends in life, paid the last tribute yesterday afternoon to Susie Spindletop. Miss Florence Stratton, for more than 35 years a Beaumont newspaper woman, and one of the most beloved figures in the newspaper world of her Texas, was buried on a hillside in Magnolia cemetery following impressive services at her home on McFaddin avenue. Her grave was covered with flowers, great sprays of blossoms she dearly loved, and smaller offerings from friends representing every walk of life in her city.
Rev. George E. Cameron, rector of St. Mark’s Episcopal church, who conducted the rites at the residence and at the graveside, said of her that there was but one Susie Spindletop– one Florence Stratton, and that she was the exception to the rule that everyone’s place could be filled satisfactorily by someone else.
While he spoke there was hardly a dry eye. Every room on the lower floor was filled, while scores stood outside. Every old family of Beaumont was represented. In the throng were many of Beaumont’s most prominent figures in the world of business, its courts, and professions.
Associates Attended
Scattered among those attending, often in little groups with saddened, downcast faces, was almost every newspaper man and woman in the city, with many of the Fourth estate who had worked with her in years gone by.
During the services several red camellias lay on her stilled typewriter in the editorial room of the Enterprise, place there by some member of the staff.
Miss Stratton’s body lay in a gray casket in the quaint dining room of her home beneath the portrait of her beloved grandfather, the late Asa E. Stratton, Sr. The casket was covered with a gorgeous blanket of white carnations, the offering of The Enterprise company, to which Miss Stratton had been attached for about 18 years. Upon her breast was a small spray of lilies of the valley and violets, which were perhaps her favorite flowers.
Floral Memorials
The entire house –the one spot on earth she loved best –was filled with blossoms. They came from every section of Texas –Houston, San Antonio, Dallas –from New Orleans, Lake Charles and other cities of Louisiana, from Tulsa, from her beloved Brazoria County, her birthplace, and from as far away as Virginia. The floral offerings from distant points, however, were limited only by the fact that distant friends did not know of her sudden passing in New Orleans Friday night.
Near the casket stood an appealing floral piece made of Japanese magnolias, sent by Miss Stratton’s fellow workers of the Enterprise staff. There was another from the editorial staff of The Beaumont Journal and other employees of the newspaper, on which she was employed prior to that paper’s being taken over by The Enterprise in 1920.
There were also flowers from the typographical chapels of The Enterprise and Journal –the men who for years “set” the Sunday column known as “Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” and her garden features and others. Among the offerings were those from Mrs. Ruth Sergent of San Antonio, her close friend; Miss Matilda Gray of Lake Charles, and her nephew, Lieut. Ernest Stevens of the United States navy, stationed at Portsmouth, VA.
From Out of Town
Among relatives and friends from out of the city were Mrs. Tom Stratton of Angleton, Mrs. Jessie Stratton of Angleton, Bryan Stratton of Houston, Mr. and Mrs. J. E. Burkhart, Jr., of Houston, Mrs. W. V. Ezell, her aunt, of Houston, and Miss Mary Masterson, Mrs. Edna Saunders, Underwood Nazro, Martin Miller and Jimmy Bonner of Houston.
There were several long-distance calls of condolence, as well as telegrams of those of her friends –and she numbered them from New York to San Francisco –in every part of the country.
Rev. Mr. Cameron opened the Episcopal service with a part of the 14th chapter of St. John –“Let not your heart be troubled.”
Then he spoke tenderly of Miss Stratton, telling of the unusual place she held in Beaumont and in Texas. He called special attention to her charities, all of which were little known to any save those who accidently found them out. He said that her spirit was as exquisite as old lace, and that “like old lace, she fitted into any environment.” He said that her heart had a tremendous capacity for affection.
“A Gracious Influence”
His remarks follow:
“This hour is one of deepest bereavement. Standing here among these books, the old family heirlooms, these beautiful flowers and loyal friends, and in this little humble cottage, surrounded by green trees and shrubs each planted by their mistress with a yearning and searching heart we feel the gentle impact of the spirit of her who only a few hours ago, was such a lively gracious influence in our lives.
She was a genius as rare as she was versatile. She is an exception to the rule that everyone’s place can be filled satisfactorily by some other person. There was only one ‘Susie Spindletop.’ Our beloved was an extremely keen intellect that brought meaning out of every phase of human activity. Nothing escaped her notice, and with her imagination awakened her literary paragraphs ran on endlessly and interestingly because they were as broad and as deep as life, itself.
We wonder if these treasured symbols can speak to our hearts as they spoke to our beloved. Among these books there walked a veritable host of literary minds that provided a congenial fellowship; these fragrant blossoms were messengers of peace and refreshment that called to mind the shady lanes and quiet places of childhood and youth; this humble cottage was a friendly home where acquaintances could meet and exchange ideas, without fear of misunderstanding and without criticism, and every bush that bloomed and every bird that sang around this home brought messages from the mysterious spaces of life.”
Her Charities
“Her heart had a tremendous capacity for affection. Not only was she at home with and an inspiration to every accomplished scholar she met, but she loved without stint the poorest, lowest creature on earth. Suffering and injustices aroused her deepest emotions, and upon the helpless she spent herself in affection, bringing help, and relief to untold numbers among the poor of the city.
Her spirit was as exquisite as old lace, and like old lace she was adaptable and fitted pleasantly into any environment. Hence she never complained, and often we marveled at her patience. She was the embodiment of gentility and had absorbed into her personality the nectar of fragrance from the roses of her own garden.
Yet there was a wistful element in her nature. She saw so much to do, so many distressed people to be helped, so many important events still unwritten, so many books yet unborn, one was immediately impressed with her yearning to work and help. We commend her to our heavenly father the source of all intellect, the prime mover of every human impulse, the inspiration of every noble deed, with the belief that in his hand, under his guidance, her yearning for completeness and goodness will be fulfilled. May the Lord bless her and keep her, and make his face to shine upon her and be gracious unto her.”
Miss Kent Plays
At the close of his talk, which brought tears to many, he offered a prayer, and Miss Alice Kent, a friend of Miss Stratton, played the violin.
Tenderly her body was taken from the home she loved by a group of her friends. Acting as pallbearers were Ashley Weaver, Alfred Jones, Terry Duff, Sam Lipscomb, Norval McKee, Bernard Deufser and Frank Godsey, of Beaumont and her friend Watson Neyland, of Liberty. Employees of The Enterprise and Journal were honorary pallbearers.
The procession of cars from the home to Magnolia cemetery, escorted by motorcycle police, was more than a mile long. Silently as they left her under the blankets of flowers her newspaper people wrote “30,” their farewell.
Florence Stratton March 21, 1881- January 28, 1938
Last week, a couple of people asked me about books written on Texaco, and I immediately thought of Elton Gish. Elton authored Texaco’s Port Arthur Works: A Legacy of Spindletop and Sour Lake. Elton worked for Texaco for decades, and he became interested in its history early when he noticed old photos hanging on the walls of its offices. One day, he asked if he could have an aerial photo of the refinery; eventually, he was given an 8 x 10 photo and was hooked on the company’s history ever since. I have an hour of audio of him speaking at one of the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC)/Certified Local Government meetings in 2016. I’ll get into that briefly, but first I want to go down the Texaco books road.
I forgot the year, but I found another book on Texaco at an estate sale (another shout-out to Heather at Ready, Set, Sale). I found both the paperback and hardback versions. The book was The Texaco Story: The First Fifty Years 1902–1952 by Marquis James. The hardcover version had a letter attached to it, signed by the chairman of the board and the president of the Texas Company. I don’t translate scribble, and the names are not significant to me, so I will skip the who’s who of Texaco’s grand pooh-bahs. However, I do believe that the letter was important to both the receiver and the company at the time.
Both books have some great photos from long ago, and I will also throw in an awesome box set of postcards I have from 2001 from the Texaco Inc. historical collection (again, Heather rocks!). I could, and did, spend hours looking at these photos and postcards.
The Elton Gish audio file from 2016 brought back many memories. I had forgotten about his journey at Texaco, and the other speakers at the meeting were also fabulous. Sarah Bellian, a JCHC member and the then curator at the Museum of the Gulf Coast, definitely added some color to the history at the meeting. Sarah is currently the curator at the Pacific Fleet Submarine Museum in Honolulu, Hawaii (more on this later). Elton’s presentation at the meeting in question was nothing less than superb. He brought many Texaco product containers, cans, and boxes from throughout the company’s history. He even donned a Texaco uniform and hat! My only regret is that I didn’t make a video of the meeting because he had a PowerPoint presentation with his talk. I do have a few photos of it, which I will post.
I ran into a good friend at H-E-B this week. I won’t go all in—like Toodlum, a.k.a. Martha Ferguson, did in the ’90s about Adam Troy Rodriguez—but I will state that there is no one else I will stand next to in the cheese section in front of the meat aisle for over 30 minutes talking about Port Arthur history. The fajita potato at his restaurant, Mi Ranchito in Groves, Texas, was all I needed back then. (Pie Face’s jambalaya was also pretty good at the time.) I got to know his family, and I loved all of them. So, I guess I’m having a Toodlum moment. It may be controversial, but I will go ahead and say that Troy’s dirty rice is the best. I don’t care what your grandmother cooks (unless her name was Mrs. Domec and she made crab cakes when I was five years old—heaven!).
Last week, I asked if anyone would be interested in volunteering for a cleanup project. Thanks to those who responded. This project is in the works, so it may take some time to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, but I will keep you informed. When the ball gets rolling, we will do a piece on it here.
I have a few audio files from the past that I want to revisit next week. One includes my uncle. I did an oral history about when he lived in Beauxart Gardens in the ’30s. I also want to listen to my friend Millie’s oral history of when she lived in Port Arthur during World War II. I have many things to do, but not the time to do them, but I’ll try.
I mentioned earlier that Sarah is now in Hawaii, at the Pacific Fleet Submarine Museum. In April of 2020, while everyone was locked down and masked up, I received a message and two photos of a letter printed with the letterhead of the Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation. The second page contained a plethora of events that happened during the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. I will say that Sarah knew of my excessive interest in the movie Tora! Tora! Tora!, and that day she threw this old mediocre dog the most significant bone from his childhood. Courtesy of the Pacific Fleet Submarine Museum at Pearl Harbor (USS Bowfin)! Everyone knows I’m obsessed with this movie and World War II history. To have a crumb of insight into what was going on at the time and the film’s preparations was gold for me. There will be a day that I will go all Yukari Akiyama 秋山 優花里 in on a blog about this movie, along with the original Midway. Heck, Les Nessman (Richard Sanders) was in it before he made history by reporting on the infamous turkey drop on WKRP in Cincinnati. I will do a whole blog on this stuff and publish it as a Sunday Extra Edition, and no one will read it because it doesn’t mention Beaumont or Port Arthur, but I will not care because it’s Tora! Tora! Tora!.
Eighty-six years ago tonight, SETX lost a friend—Florence Stratton died at Touro Infirmary in New Orleans. I’ll post the tribute to her at 6:30 this evening, but I did want to get into a few things first. I’ve been doing this blog since May 2012. Along the way, I’ve learned many things and researched many people, but Florence is the one person I’ve continuously investigated. I’ve spent an enormous amount of time and money trying to bring her story to light. Yes, there are articles written about her, and their authors did a good job with what information they had at the time. In my work, I wanted to uncover her story, which is hard to find because she was always in the background. Despite all the Susie Spindletop Weekly Letters, she offered little insight into her life. The letters mostly promoted her friends and readers, as she knew people would be interested in them. This is why there were 200 people inside her small house at 1929 McFaddin Avenue for her funeral. It is also why the funeral procession to Magnolia Cemetery was a mile long.
Thirteen years of digging into her family’s and friends’ history has been a treat, and I will continue to dig. I’ve noticed that more people, especially women, are becoming interested in her story, and I’m glad to see this because she was there in 1918, in the background, doing her part to try to get women the right to vote. They succeeded, but to my knowledge, she never wrote about her role in this struggle in her weekly letters. (Her weekly letters began on February 28, 1926, so eight years later, but it was still a special achievement.) I just hope that I have allies so that when I’m gone, someone will continue digging into the life of Florence Stratton (a.k.a. Susie Spindletop). And I think I do. I hope I’ve given them a good starting point. Florence Vor! Full speed ahead!
Until next week, I hope we can put the life preservers away while driving to H-E-B. I’m about ready for a hot drought.
Farewell To A Valued Friend:
THE DEATH of Miss Florence Stratton brings genuine sorrow to a numerous company. It is with a feeling of the greatest personal loss that those of us who had been closely associated with her through the years in newspaper work mourn her passing. And all of us who knew her well feel quite certain that when she entered that corridor of eternal darkness she did so unafraid, her head held high and her spirit uncowed.
First as a public school teacher and then as a newspaper woman, her whole life from youth to death was busy and useful. She loved her work, found no diversion that equaled it in pleasure and satisfaction,and to it devoted her talents and energy to the full. On her last assignment when she suffered a slight stroke she stood by her guns until her chore was completed, then left the office never to return. Into her work she put the sympathy and sentiment that marked her character. She was always a womanly woman, concerned primarily with the interests of women, and always a gentlewoman in the broad and best sense of the word. In the course of her long and honorable service she made and kept innumerable friends, by all of whom she will be tenderly remembered, and the still larger circle who knew her through her work will not soon forget…
Good morning to everyone except Mr. Snow Miser. Here he comes now, the big ham. His icy crap and low temps suck. I prefer Mr. Heat Miser because he’s Mr. Green Christmas. He’s Mr. Sun. He’s Mr. Heat Blister and Mr. One Hundred and One. They call him Heat Miser because whatever he touches starts to melt in his clutch. He’s too much!
I hope you all survived this icy nonsense called mid-January. I blame all the folk participating in dry January. January is never dry, just frozen for the weekend, then we deal with rain and the Canadian thistle weeds, clover, and other growing stuff that appears in spring. Not to brag, but I am certified in afterlife heat-tolerance training. This does not matter in January, though. It basically means that I have a jacket on when the temperatures fall below 67 degrees.
This week, I have been focusing on the Port Arthur High School yearbooks that I acquired from a friend who texts me whenever he finds something from Port Arthur. Although I can’t take everything he suggests, he somehow finds a lot of interesting stuff at estate sales. I have five editions of The Seagull, the yearbook of the first years of Port Arthur High School. I have the ones from 1918, 1922, 1923, 1925, and 1927 thanks to Mr. Don Smart. All the years are digitized and can be viewed at the Portal to Texas History. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of the blog.
I’ve also been looking at my maps, and the city of Ronald stands out because it was, I believe, a place where the train stopped. I have a map of the city from a Texas and New Orleans Railroad Survey. I did find a “Ronald, Texas” stop on the Houston and Sabine Pass Railroad. It was just south of Fannett and northeast of Big Hill on an 1898 map that I purchased from the Spindletop Boomtown Museum over ten years ago. I will state that this map keeps on giving, whether it’s finding Catherina Stengele’s rice farm and land or Ronald McDonald touting that he and N. A. Gallagher founded a city (yep, that’s his name, and now I really want to look into the story). I will also give kudos to the Spindletop Boomtown Museum for selling this treasure.
On Friday, I attended the “Preserving the Legacy of W. T. Block Jr.” lecture. Bill Block, W. T.’s son, did a fantastic job of explaining why we need to preserve history and how to do it. His journey of reclaiming some of W. T.’s files and learning the ropes of self-publishing to bring his books back to print for a decent price is commendable because some of these online stores are ridiculous. In the end, though, will you pay for what they offer? Luckily, the reprints of his father’s books are accessible at a decent price. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of the blog.
This event really had a good turnout, and I hope to attend more of these gatherings at the Tyrrell Historical Library. My only regret was not knowing that the Listen Closely podcast hostess/“Old News” Facebook page creator was in the audience. If you haven’t checked out the podcast and the Facebook page, I have the links! If that’s okay with you, Mrs. Marble! I love your work.
A few weeks ago, a reader sent me down memory lane. I found out that someone in her family lived basically across the street from the house I lived in during the 1990s. Also, we had a mutual interest in one of our neighbors. I have many spirit animals that have influenced me (isn’t that what the kids say? Or is that the new-aging community?). Margaret Hamilton (Wizard of Oz), Bunny Rabbit (from Captain Kangaroo), Oscar the Grouch (from Sesame Street), and Yukari Akiyama 秋山 優花里 (Tank Enthusiast from Girls Und Panzer) have all had an influence on my life, but not as much as Roy Temple. My neighbor, who was a living being, had a major impact on me on many levels. He taught me a lot and told me stories of coming to Port Arthur from Leesville, Louisiana, in 1957. I did a tribute for him in 2012. I’ll leave a link.
I don’t know if I ever told this story here before (I could go back and look for it, but it’s cold and my search engine is sketchy). A friend—we’ll call him Doug—saved a few treasures from a garbage pile. Unfortunately, someone passed, and the nieces and nephews threw out many boxes of gems. (This happens all the time, so if you have something to pass on, you should know that your family members are the worst people to trust to pass it on. Make a plan.) These boxes contained oil stock certificates, abstracts, lawyer stuff, a map of Hardin County, and a World War I Red Cross armband. The stock certificates were never given to me. Although worthless, they were cool, so the finder decided to keep them. They gave me the other stuff. I contacted the Hardin County Historical Commission and agreed to give them the map and all the papers. I decided to keep the armband. Everything was good to go the day before. That evening, as I was photographing and digitizing as many papers as I could, I became ill—ill enough to recognize the sign that a treasure needs to be in a certain place. The next afternoon, I dropped off all the papers, along with the armband, because that is where I suspect Mr. Cruse wanted it to be—I digress.
Today, if you visit the Hardin County Museum, you will see the Red Cross armband in the case, among other historical relics. I don’t go there often, but I love this museum, and I hope it continues to grow.
Would you be interested if there was a volunteer day to help clean up an abandoned cemetery in Jefferson County in late January? If you think you might want to help, reach out to me so I can give you the details. I will definitely be talking about this in future posts; for now, we need to get the details in order.
Until next week, make sure your bananas are secure in your kitchen because Ratatouille paid the ultimate price for sneaking in under the oaks on Block’s Formosan Farm and trying to eat my bananas at 3:30 a.m. The bananas are safe now, but my Tanto short sword is chipped.
The New Year is a time when some people try to change their lives for the better. Some try to get fit, while others focus on getting their life in order. Here, under the oaks on Ye Olde Block Formosan Farm, we think it’s time to revisit some of what we collected over the past twelve years. We also think that some of our treasures need a good home, so those items will be sent to a better place as we see fit. Stay tuned.
Last week, we sent a few Beaumont directories (1978–1984) to the Tyrrell Historical Library for safekeeping. This was a no-brainer, but I do have some small collections that may not fit on a larger scale. A few years back, I did a few estate sales. Shout-out to Ready, Set, Sell Estate Sales (thanks Heather!). We found a lot of interesting things that should be preserved in SETX history. One in particular was the Norma Davis World War II scrapbook. This is where I found out about Taro Kishi penning an article in the Beaumont Enterprise about wanting to serve his country. As he was Japanese American in the 1940s, there was definitely a problem with this for the powers that be, and he was denied the chance to serve. Eventually, the 442nd Regimental Combat Team was formed with Japanese Americans, but unfortunately without Taro, and it fought in the Italian campaign. They fought proud and true. Their motto was Go for Broke!, and they did!
I also learned about Kichimatsu Kishi, whom I put on the pedestal of those who had many successes and failures in life; he was the one with the most common sense. Kichimatsu and his family lived as American citizens, but after Pearl Harbor, he knew that anti-Japanese sentiment would peak. So, that Monday, he turned himself in to the FBI in Port Arthur. I guess that’s what you do when you have no idea what just happened, but you know how people will react. He spent two months in an internment camp but was released after his hearing because, according to his son Taro, he answered all the questions correctly.
One of the questions the authorities asked Kichimatsu was the following: “If the Emperor ordered you to bomb the oil refinery in Port Arthur, would you do it?”
Kichimatsu replied thus: “First, I am a farmer and businessman and know nothing about explosives. Suppose I was adopted into another family and my biological parent ordered me to harm my adopted family. I could not do so.”
He was a better man than me—I hate politicians at all levels—but he had no choice except to participate in their dog and pony show. It backfired, though, and it made way for the family to return to normality.
Another treasure I found at an estate sale was an almost complete collection of World War II Time Life Books. I have twenty-seven of the thirty-nine that were published. I think that was the total of the series.
Speaking of books, we have acquired many regional SETX history books over the years. I really don’t want to add up how much we spent on purchasing these treasures, but some of the money went to local museums. A few favorites we purchased locally were the Centennial History books from Port Arthur and Nederland, a few pictorial-history books from Hardin County, and some from Chambers County. There are many others that need to be cataloged and listed for their preservation.
Of course, we took the eBay route on a couple of occasions and visited a few bookstores. Some of these were local. All five Florence Stratton books were purchased online, along with the great find of the original edition of The White Plume in the Bunker’s Monthly magazine, published in 1928. I will also admit that an autographed Arthur Stilwell book was purchased by accident. You know the scenario. You were shopping online, and it was left in the cart, but then a month later you wanted to purchase Willie Cooper Hobby’s memorial book, which you had only seen at the LBJ library and in Woodville. Yes, the Arthur Stilwell book is autographed, but as most of you know, I’m not a fan of Mr. All Hat and No Cattle. Truth be told, I have a few other books written by him, and they are of little use to me in researching history.
My Beaumont books are many—the Walker sisters (Judy and Ellen), their father (John H. Walker), and a copy of the 1939 American Guide Series book for Beaumont. Thanks to a friend, I also have an American Guide Series book for Port Arthur from 1940. All these volumes offer a wealth of information, and they are an inspiration for me.
A couple of prized possessions from 1946 and 1947 are two phone books from Port Arthur, which were given to me by my late friend Jerry Burnett. Last week, on our Facebook page, there were many people who wanted to prank call their ancestors. Before you dial, just remember Yukon!
As I dig deeper into my collection, I see the Betty Maggio Port Arthur Collection (1979). It states “fine art for correspondence” on the stationary, and I believe this is magnificent art! I have a couple of buttons from the Amalgamated Association of Street and Electrical Railway Employees, Division 241 May 1918 and Division 1031 February 1936. I also have a Beaumont City bus token that was given to me by Beaumont History Bits. I’ll have to ask the mayor, Roy West, whether it is still valid.
I could go on and on about these treasures, and I will throughout the year. Today, though, I will end with one that was given to me by a family friend, Millie Rougeau, a few years back. She was the oral-history source for my article “Life in Jefferson County during World War II,” which was published in May 2013. Millie gave me her family’s World War II ration book, with stamps. I’ve posted a few photos of it through the years. She passed in 2023, and I thank her for trusting me with this treasure. I will find it a home.
Audio and video recordings of family and friends (oral histories) are a hell of a lot better than photos because you can still hear people’s voices.
Well, I was going to begin with a totally different subject, but things kind of got a little wonky this week, and a bit of hilarity ensued. With that said, I wear many hats, both for business purposes and to cover my balding head. Without getting into the business part, I will focus strictly on what I put on my balding head.
For years, I wore a Lamar Cardinals hat at work. I stopped wearing a Houston Texans hat because people kept asking me how the Texans were doing. I will say that I’m not a fan of professional American football and have no idea how the Texans are doing because I don’t pay attention. I was once a fan of football, but after Jimmy Johnson left the Dallas Cowboys, I was done. Nevertheless, no one asked me how the Cardinals were doing back then. Shout-out to the Lamar University women’s soccer team (it’s called football everywhere else)! #Peckem
When not working, I would wear my Lehman Brothers 2008 Risk Management hat. If anyone got the reference, I would just say that working at Lehman was a heck of a lot more interesting than my accounting job at Arthur Anderson back in the early 2000s, but I digress.
In February, I bought a USS Texas hat when I visited the ship at the drydock in Galveston. In fact, I bought two to do my part in making sure the Texas will survive as a museum ship (along with paying $150 to tour the drydock). The problem is that I don’t feel right wearing it because it is a navy hat, and many veterans who served rock their ships’ hats. I think this is a good thing, but I don’t want to take credit for someone else’s service. I do wear my NOAA ship USS Thomas Jefferson hat. NOAA is a branch of the military, but they also have civilians working on their vessels.
This morning, I set off to visit the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC) office, drop off a donation to the Tyrrell Historical Library, and take a few copies of a calendar to a friend. It’s not just any calendar, but a JCHC calendar. Our commission has been producing one for four years now, I think. If you want to see it, follow the Friends of the Jefferson County Historical Commission on Facebook! I’ll leave a link.
Old Hoodoo U.S.S.Texas 1895-1911
While entering the courthouse, someone saw the hat and immediately thanked me for serving on the USS Texas. I do have a spiel about how I may or may not have served on Old Hoodoo in a past life, but I wouldn’t go into it with someone who is sincere, as this person was. To clarify, Old Hoodoo was the first USS Texas, which was in service from 1895 to 1911. The actual museum ship that we love was decommissioned in 1946. I was also thanked at a friend’s house, and I had to repeat the explanation “It’s a museum ship, and I’m not that damn old.” As I said, these people did this to sincerely thank veterans. I think this is a good thing, so I will no longer rock my USS Texas hat. I will stick to my NOAA ship hat. For some reason, people read “NOAA” and think I have ties to the Weather Channel, and we never thank those dastardly people. In fact, the NOAA ship USS Thomas Jefferson offers a great service, especially after hurricanes, when it makes sure the shipping lanes are clear of debris. Those guys and gals rock. I will always put them on a pedestal of greatness!
It’s 2024, and I’ve been away for a while, so I’m looking to venture out and about. I guess I could call Albert, but I’d rather ask y’all. Spam away if you have an event going on this month! The only public event on my agenda is on January 19 at the Tyrrell Historical Library. I will be attending the lecture “Preserving the Legacy of William T. Block Jr.” with William T. Block III. I’m definitely looking forward to it. Hope to see you there.
While I was absent from this blog in December, I did nothing except hang out with the Mari Lwyd and eat tamales in Tomball, Texas. Two different cultures clash here, but I believe the Mari Lwyd could get used to tamales since Welsh food and English food don’t use spices. While I was away, I did a little research for a friend who had some blueprints from a minesweeper that was decommissioned in the 1960s and sent to the Orange/Beaumont reserve fleet. My friend wanted to donate the blueprints to either the National World War II Museum in New Orleans or the National Museum of the Pacific War in Fredericksburg. The problem was that these institutions wanted a little more history to accept the documents, and we didn’t know the ship’s name, so we had to research World War II minesweepers built in 1942. Easy, right?
Initially, I thought it had to be an Auk-class ship because that was the main class I was seeing. Nope. In the blueprints, the ship was around 184 feet long, which was shorter than the 221 feet of Auk-class vessels. Based on length, the Admirable class (around 181 feet) seemed an option. After searching for ships in this class, we found a link. Actually, 250 links. At the time, minesweepers were sent to Soviet Russia and China through the Lend-Lease Act. In the 1960s, some were sent to Taiwan or sold to Mexico. I did find maybe two candidates that fit the timeframe of our ship, but this search made me realize that the navy was scrapping most of these vessels. This search also made me look at the Orange shipyards and the reserve fleet, as all the navy’s paperwork usually states that the ships were sent to Orange, Texas. Kudos to the navy for leaving a paper trail. I doubt future generations will have a trail to follow, except their Facebook feed, and that’s a bit speculative.
I have said earlier that I will attend the lecture “Preserving the Legacy of William T. Block Jr.” with William T. Block III. The one thing the latter Block has said that I agree with is that the former Block’s books are too expensive to purchase online. William T. Block III is making the books available to those who want to buy them at a more affordable price.
William T. Block Jr. was a very good writer, and he inspired me to start researching Southeast Texas. Awhile back, I acquired one of his books, Sapphire City of the Neches and a book by Jon Buck Ford, Down Trails of Victory: The Story of Port Neches-Groves Football that someone abandoned. I will be keeping Mr. Block’s book on Port Neches, but I’m not into this NDN football, even though I live in Grigsby’s Bluff. So, I’ve decided to donate it. I guess that the libraries of Port Arthur High School and Nederland High School probably wouldn’t take it, so next time I’m in Dallas, I’ll drop it off at South Oak Cliff. I’m sure they will be giddy. Until next week.
It has been a most intriguing year for me, to say the least. We found the “Elks Love Nest,” which was given away in a raffle in December 1926. The house still stands in 2023.
We also found Beaumont’s “daredevil,” Louis Sacker, eating horseshoes and nails in 1926 while doing other strongman stuff. Grrr! (These are the types of stories that appear when you search in old newspapers.)
Eunice Stephens, Florence Stratton’s niece, was proven right about the discovery of a town called Florence. Yes, I ate crow at dismissing this because Florence, Texas, was established in 1857 in Williamson County, but a fellow researcher (thanks Kate) found an article referring to a train stop called Florence Switch in Hardin County. The depot/stop had no post office but lasted until at least 1912. I nicked a 1912 train stop map from the internet as proof. Sometimes we can be a bit dodgy, but it was the original map and I just wanted proof of the location of Florence Switch. I’ll pay $150 for a signed book by Florence Stratton and $150 to walk around the U.S.S. Texas in drydock, but I do have my limits.
I was honored to speak to the Daughters of the American Revolution, Captain William Sanders Chapter, in Port Arthur in February. And, heads up, I will be doing the same this February.
In February, I also visited the U.S.S. Texas at Gulf Copper in Galveston. I was five minutes late but managed to drive from the ferry to the shipyard parking lot in those five minutes (you do the math and the wind speeds—sorry/not sorry). On my visit, I noticed that most people there were not from Beaumont, but they opined about Beaumont being a drive-thru city and that they would hate to see the ship moored there. I had assumed it would be moored in Galveston, but for some reason, they didn’t mention it after Beaumont and Baytown were taken off the list. However, it will be moored near the Elissa.
In March and April, I participated in a ground-penetrating radar (GPR) survey at the Sabine Pass Cemeteries. Our goal was to find the mass grave of yellow fever victims from the mid-1860s, but due to the clay soil and lack of permission to access the known site, our efforts didn’t yield much. This investigation is ongoing!
In April, I visited the Tallship Festival in Galveston. Touring the four ships, plus one modern ship, was fantastic, and I managed to do it in an hour and a half. My main love at this festival was the U.S.S. Thomas Jefferson. This modern National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) ship is a federally operated hydrographic vessel out of Norfolk, Virginia. It does ocean mapping and is a vital tool for scanning shipping areas after a hurricane or any other problem that could endanger the maritime sector. The ship is here to scan the waters and make sure they are clear of debris and hazards. It was here for Hurricane Delta in 2020, and it did its thing for Hurricane Maria in 2017.
This year was Port Arthur’s 125th anniversary, and there were many efforts to tell the story. My favorite was the online map of historical markers. Les McMahen did an excellent job on this!
The 49th Galveston Historic Homes Tour was one to remember for me, at least for me. As some of you know, I take the tour on the first day and then volunteer with the candy lady Bev from Liberty County on Sunday. I stayed at a friend’s Airbnb this year, so I didn’t have to drive from Jefferson County to Galveston via Winnie. Between waiting for the ferry and that drive, it usually drives you insane. Whatever the insanity, Mama Theresa’s Pizza is there, and this is my dinner waiting on the ferry! Hope to see you at the 50th in May. I hear there’s something exciting planned!
The drought hit us hard this year. It was worse than in 2011. If you remember, that was the year that many forest fires threatened Plantersville. There was a lot of damage between Houston and Austin that you can still see today. Well, this year was more of a look at how low the river has become “and is that a ship?” While we heard about a few incidents from the news media, many boats have sunk along the Neches. If you take the Ivy Bill Tour along the Neches, they’ll point them out to you! That crew is impressive!
In May, two veterans interred at Evergreen Cemetery received headstones. The new headstones were for Sergeant George Shaw, who died in France during the Great War (WWI), and Jerry Lloyd, a Buffalo soldier who fought in the Indian wars. The replacement headstone for George Shaw was necessary because the original one erroneously stated that he was a private. Thanks to the research conducted by a member of our Jefferson County Historical Commission, a headstone with the correct information was sent, as Sergeant Shaw deserves. The situation with Jerry Lloyd’s headstone was a bit different; as far as we know, he never received one. If there was a regular one marking his grave, it had disappeared. Research confirms that he was buried in Evergreen Cemetery, but we’re unaware of his specific location.
In September, fallen Deputy John E. Hutcheson received a headstone in a ceremony at Magnolia Cemetery. Thanks to Operation Blue Remembrance (OBR) for making this happen and paying for it. OBR is a nonprofit organization from Baytown, approved by the state and the IRS as a 501(c)(3) organization on June 2, 2020. Its primary focus is “assisting the law enforcement community in any way” they can and visiting the graves of fallen officers in Texas and a few other states. OBR’s motto is Nemo Oblitus, which is Latin for “No One Forgotten.” The organization stepped in because neither the family nor the county had purchased a headstone for Deputy Hutcheson when he was buried in Magnolia Cemetery.
The 3rd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour was well received, with record attendance this year. The Texas Historical Commission even included us in its Project Spotlight publication. This is basically their way of giving county historical commissions throughout the state a shout-out for what they are doing to preserve history. This is excellent because a lot of people involved in the tour work tirelessly to preserve various aspects of our county’s history. The stories from the tour usually stem from their own research, and they do a wonderful job. See you next year for the fourth annual tour!
So, what’s in store for 2024? I have no idea, but I’m sure it will be full of shenanigans, history, and anime references that no one gets, but that’s okay. I do know that no one here will be participating in “dry January.” Cheers!
Thanks to Florence for stepping in last week. I may have to post some Yule tidings and New Year shenanigans of hers because she did talk smack about Della’s husband in 1931. I have no idea what was going on in her life at the time, but she really brought it in her weekly letter.
This will probably be the final “Thoughts and Ramblings” blog of 2023 because I’m tired. Yep, Madeline Kahn tired. Also, there are a few things I need to tend to in December. Entertaining the Mari Lwyd and Krampus is not on the list, but you never know. They are both determined.
During the rain, a few meetings and my yearly AggieFest day, which this year I call “zooming with aggies,” because AgriLife Jefferson County offered an online version of their CEU recertification training. Gig ’em, if they let us do this every year. Hook ’em if they don’t. And no, I didn’t play checkers and solitaire with a computer all day! Maybe half a day. Shout-out to Don Renchie, professor and extension specialist at the Texas A&M AgriLife Extension Service. He does make things entertaining. I always enjoy his sarcasm about certain Texas and Louisiana universities.
Tuesday marks the 80th anniversary of the Battle of Tarawa, and we remember Port Arthur boy Hugo DeBretagne, who lost his life on D-day 3 of Operation Galvanic. I couldn’t find any specific information on his death in the war diaries released in 2012. I know that nine marines were killed that day, compared to the 1,000 that perished in the first two days of fighting. This wasn’t the first battle Hugo had been in. I assume he was in the Guadalcanal Campaign with the Second Marines. I do know that his brother was. Thankfully, James DeBretagne made it out of WWII alive, and he received the Purple Heart for Iwo Jima. Hugo DeBretagne was buried at sea. A memorial stone is located in Greenlawn Cemetery.
We also remember Beaumont resident Murray Anderson, who did survive and lived to write a book about his experiences during the conflict. Murray Anderson was born in Whitney, Texas, and grew up on his family’s farm in Deport, near Paris (also Texas). On the Tyler Knows Everything podcast, Murray said that he “was doing a man’s work at the farm at age six.” Whether cutting or picking cotton, milking the cows each morning, or picking corn, it was a rough life during the Depression. In the spring of 1942, when he was 17, his father died, and the farm became financially unviable. So, he moved with his mother and his sisters to Dallas. He had six sisters (four got married and lived in Dallas).
Murray’s dream was to fly planes for the US Navy, but he didn’t pass the examination. So, he joined the Marine Corps, hoping to fly with them. The day he was to depart for boot camp, he got a telegram from Washington stating that there had been a mistake in the grading of the exam and that he had passed. He was to report to Hensley Field Naval Air Station in Dallas for flight training. He contacted the Marine Corps about the mistake and was told, “Sorry, but you are in the Marine Corps.” I guess this is why their slogan is The Few, the Proud.
Murray Anderson moved to Beaumont in 1958 and wrote a book about his time in the Marine Corps. The Unrelenting Test of War is an excellent account of what he and his fellow marines faced.
Those of you who attended the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour in October were treated to Mr. Donald Smart’s talk on Ras Landry. Don is passionate about getting things right in his research, and that’s why having him on the tour (or in any events he volunteers at) is a plus. I would put him on a pedestal, but he gets mad at me for singing his praises—he may be right, because I can’t really sing, at least that’s what my kids say, but they’re not into WWII marching songs.
Don is the real deal when it comes to research because he is determined to find the truth. And I’m happy to share with you Ras’s story thanks to Don’s research.
Ras Landry was born in Newton County and moved to Rosedale, Jefferson County, as a child with his aunt. He was educated in public schools and worked as a young man in the cattle and lumber businesses. Eventually, he became a public servant, came up through the ranks, and served as sheriff of Jefferson County from 1900 to 1908. He was also a prominent oil operator in 1901, owning property at Spindletop, Sour Lake, and Humble. He served in the 32nd legislature of the State of Texas from 1911 to 1913.
Don found articles stating that Ras Landry was the town’s most colorful western character. He was fearless, yet as a moderate, he didn’t set himself up as a dictator. And he did care about his prisoners as sheriff. One time, a group called the White Capers, who were basically the Ku Klux Clan, took a prisoner from his jail. After Ras found out about this, nobody heard from this “organization” again on his watch.
In 1902, there was a riot in what was then called Little Africa, south of Glady’s City. Some roughnecks thought that Black workers were taking their jobs because Blacks were paid less. When they showed up drunk and ready to shoot, they found Ras Landry in front of them. They shot and missed, then they were arrested—Ras didn’t take crap from anyone. This episode is hilarious because Ras Landry said that he didn’t shoot back because they were drunk and “couldn’t shoot straight anyway.” This a great story, and he deserves an historical marker! Time will tell.
It’s been a busy week here, Under the Oakes on Ye Olde Block Farm. So I’ll be back next week with more nonsense and shenanigans. In the meantime, Susie is here to guide you through some SETX life in 1931.
Right at the start I want to express my appreciation for your being present at the opening of the fair. Your husband wasn’t much to look at but he counted as one and that’s something.
Your children were very attractive at the beginning but with lolly pops, taffy candy and the results of a bad cold all mixed in one they would hardly have added anything to the art exhibition an hour later. Be that as it may, you started right by coming early so you can decide on where to spend your time looking things over during the remaining days of the fair. I’ve heard that the old bachelors will be quartered in what was formerly the livestock pens.
* * *
Della: I’ve got a camel’s hair coat.
Della’s husband: Where’d you kill the camel?
* * *
Good thing Thanksgiving is coming soon for the yallerlegged chickens have disappeared from this section. The Methodists have been here a few days in conference about what I was not informed.
And as usual, I had to make a break. Our former resident Dr. Mills, was here, and I congratulated him on becoming a circuit rider.
“Excuse me, sister,” said he, “I’m presiding elder.”
“Pardon me, elder,” said I,”I didn’t know you were that old.”
He hasn’t seen me since because I always see him first.
November 8, 1931
Just because I’m fondly anticipating the day when I will be 21, the stork left his perch with the first blast of winter and made me wrong again.
Last week, I told you Mr. and Mrs. Joe Broussard had 21 grandchildren. I’ll admit that I was a little careless in not counting them myself, but some women forget to even powder their nose.
Honestly, I have never done anything to excite the enmity of Ruth and I.D. Polk, but they are responsible for my predicament. A son was born to them October 29, making a grand total of 22. That’s where I get out. I said total of 21 and not grand total, which, of course, would be 22
November 1, 1931
Believe it or not, Della, but I helped to organize the Col. George Moffett chapter, Daughters of the American Revolution, here 25 years ago. Or rather, I was present when it happened.
About all I can remember about it is that it happened at the home of Mrs. Rush Norvell, located where the Woodhead place now is. The chapter’ll be celebrating its silver jubilee this week at Mrs. Norvell’s. I do remember something was the matter with Mrs. Norvell’s fireplace, so the meeting was held in the dining room. The Manse at Staunton, Virginia, where Woodrow Wilson lived in the museum known as the little White House. Here is a sideboard that belonged to Col. George Moffett. “Tis a replica of the one at Mount Vernon.”
* * *
In trouble again. Mr. E.D. Leach writes from Ceres, New York, to say, “You are all wrong, LaSalle’s bones are reposing in Forest Lawn Memorial Park. That can be easily established. Why would anybody want to be found dead at the Country club? That isn’t what it’s for?”
I don’t like to get into an argument but when I had the explorer buried at the Country club don’t feel like digging up his bones and interring them somewhere else.
I’m now notifying Mr. Leach that La Salle was never in New York. He has in mind Peter Stuyvesant, the fella who bought Manhattan Island for $25
October 4, 1931
Della:
I’m convinced that Joe Lederer is a hayseed pure and simple. Last year he was in Chicago, went out to the stock yards when they were feeding the cattle, and immediately took to his bed with hay fever.
This season, he remained in Beaumont but somehow got a waft of new mown hay and immediately began to sneeze. Joe says hay fever is nothing to sneeze at but he just can’t help it.
* * *
Then I know a milliner who says the handling of feathers gives her the hay fever. It seems to me that this would be feather fever.
* * *
That may be the reason the judge pined so much when he saw Maude Miller raking the new mown hay. He had hay fever and didn’t know it. It might have been!
September 27, 1931
“Maud Muller” is a poem from 1856 written by John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)
Dear Della:
Now, I’m in trouble over a little mesquite steer which caused my friend, Mr. Patterson of Junction, the creator of mesquite animals, to get into a trinity of trouble. He, armed with a trusty Colts, the dog armed with a vicious growl and the steer armed with vicious horns clashed in the stillness of that delightfull west Texas atmosphere. Now I feel I can realize the cautious creep of a man who thinks his home has been invaded, is still being invaded, and powder liable to be burned at any time. But let him tell the story.
My Dear Susie:
I am returning you, under separate cover, the mesquite steer with the wide, white horns, which you so kindly presented to me some weeks ago, and which rested with my choicer curios beside a rosewood musicbox. I thank you for it most sincerely, my friend.
It would today still be in its place, save for an incident fraught with terror for me and mine. Say what you want, my friend, the black details of this incident shall remain with us, to haunt us through the night, for many a month. I hasten first, however, to say that you were innocent of any thought that the facts I am about to transcribe here would occur. How could you possibly know… So, of course, I hold you blameless, but nevertheless these things did occur.
My wife and I, she upon the divan and I in my great grandfather’s comfy chair, had been listening to late night offerings on the radio. The music was soft charming. The living room was darkened save for a low brass lamp reminiscent of our old homes in the kerosene days. Outside, in the utter darkness of the avenue, a cricket chirped, not unpleasingly, in the damp depths of the old ligustrum. The last not of a song faded and the light was switched off.
The first peculiar thing I noticed was a strange sharp bark, and a low trouble growl from my little dog, followed by a terrifying yelp, and then, strangest to us of all, a complete stillness on her part. Our room, you know lies removed by the den, hallway, and the dining room from the living room… I had been thinking of Jacob’s supernatural story of , “The Monkey’s Paw,” a terrifying tale. Suddenly without a wisp of warning, came the sound of a furious commotion from the living room. I set down the fact, unabashed, that I was frozen paralyzed. I make no attempt to fictionize these facts. More after the fashion of a steel robot than a man my hand found my Colts and, guided. I think now, more by instinct, than by my own faculties, I made my way—I hardly know how—to the front of the house. Or, rather, I got part way. In a strange, sort of orange, red light, I saw the little mesquite animal grown to enormous size. The red nostrils were aflame with wrath. The horns were lowered, though they rose above the tops of my chairs…And then, and, then he came at me…and I felt something grasp me tightly…Then in a shudder I saw it all. The rest of the night I refrained from sleeping on my back.
Foolish am I , perhaps, but a thing like this is deep seated, and I ask you kindly to take back your steer. J.P.W.
* * *
I can appreciate his feelings for once upon a time I had an alley cat take possession of the house, the roof,the yard and all streets, and alleys leading thereto. But I had to fire a scream instead of a bullet from a trusted revolver.
* * *
Now I think just for that I’ll give Mr. Patterson another job. The city zoo has adopted two lion cubs or the cubs have adopted the city, only time will tell. Anyway I’m sending him a picture of them and see if there’re any mesquite branches that look like them, after the said mesquite branch has passed through his artistic fingers.
* * *
The trouble is he may make a lion so realistic that it will roar in the early morning hours and the trusty Colts revolver will be brought into play.
* * *
And I have another job for him which cannot be executed until I take a long vacation. I will send him a picture of your husband for reproduction and let some one say that he got the inspiration from Noah’s Ark. Must arrange it so things will blow over somewhat I return.
September 20, 1931
Della, you often hear people say they have gotten to the end of the road. Well that’s m Good-bye
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