Monthly Archives: December 2025

Dick Dowling Day 2013 Revisited

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Between 2011 and 2015, the Civil War Sesquicentennial (150th Anniversary) took place.
(Yes, I know—some of you have about 25 different names for this era. I’ll say what I tell the reenactors: my grandfather came to this country in 1868, after y’all got your *^%$ straight. They tell me they still haven’t, but they’re working on it.)

Those years were reenactments galore. Every major battle of the war had its dates set, and reenactors—at least the ones I had the opportunity to know—were ecstatic. Reenactors are a different breed, and it didn’t matter whether they represented the North or the South; they had the correct clothing, weapons, and mindset. Which brings up an important point about historical research: if you want to know what happened at a battle, ask a historian; if you want the details, ask a reenactor.

One reenactor in particular, Ron Strybos, stood out as truly one of a kind. Ron portrayed Colonel Crocker during the latter annual Dick Dowling Days events, which originally began in 1963—the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Sabine Pass, a battle the United States lost.

I’ll get into that shortly, but there was another scrap before the famous battle.

In October of 1862, fifty Federal troops came ashore in Sabine with a howitzer. Their objective was to burn the Confederate cavalry barracks. While marching through town, they confiscated Captain Dorman’s horse and cart to transport the cannon—though not without resistance.

Captain Dorman’s wife, Kate, witnessed this, and her Irish temper boiled over. Without regard for the consequences, she shook her fist in the air and scolded the Federal troops, declaring that she hoped Confederate boys would kill every last one of them before they returned—and that if she had twenty-five men, she could take out the Federals and their cannon herself.

After burning the Confederate barracks and stable, the Federals marched back through Sabine. This time, they returned Captain Dorman’s horse and cart, along with a warning: if he didn’t keep his “damn wife’s mouth shut,” they would hang him. Furthermore, if Kate didn’t apologize, they would burn the hotel.

Kate’s response was that she would see them in the Nether Regions first—and they could set fire to it if they wished.

A week later, another Federal patrol came ashore. This time they burned roughly a quarter of the town, including a sawmill and several residences, but notably left the Catfish Hotel untouched.

This was the lore of Kate Dorman, who at Dick Dowling Days was portrayed by Darlene Mott. I need to say this: Darlene was Ron’s equal when it came to reenacting. She made other reenactors visibly grimace because they never quite knew whether she was serious—especially when she pointed that knife at them.

I have video. Here are the links:
2013 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cVA8KLX5tvU
2012 – https://youtu.be/8L-xvblGqSc

In 2013, the Jefferson County Historical Commission, along with other organizations, planned an ambitious historical reenactment complete with artillery, gallantry, and meticulous detail. Around 300 reenactors participated, along with a naval presence under the command of “Colonel Crocker” for the attack. I don’t think participation had been this high since the event’s early days—something many veteran participants reminisced about all weekend.

I volunteered more than 36 hours that weekend, starting with a foggy Friday morning drive to Sabine Pass to handle participant sign-ins at 6 a.m. If you remember that weekend, there was a constant marsh fire burning on the Louisiana side, giving the entire area an ominous, foreboding look—especially with an approaching flotilla.

Note: In the actual battle, the U.S. plan was to surprise Fort Griffin at the mouth of the Sabine River. Unfortunately for them, their 5,000-plus flotilla was spotted early. That was a problem, because they came up against Richard W. Dowling—a poor Irish immigrant who arrived in New Orleans at the age of four and clawed his way into prosperity, owning three bars and other ventures. You can learn more about Dowling by reading the excellent books of historian Edward T. Cotham Jr.
https://www.edcotham.com/

I’m not a historian—I’m a researcher—so my brain works differently. I see Dick Dowling as Eli Manning and the New York Giants, and the U.S. forces as Tom Brady and the Patriots. Dowling served as a lieutenant at both the Battle of Galveston and the Battle of Sabine Pass. The U.S. lost both battles when, on paper, they should have dominated.

The Giants beat the Patriots twice in the Super Bowl with Eli Manning. Was Dowling a great leader? I don’t know. But he had street sense, and his opponent was a government that has often underestimated its adversaries—and paid for it. (I won’t mention Pearl Harbor, but…) Sun Tzu wrote about this kind of thing around 500 B.C. in The Art of War, so the concept has been around a while. It’s worth a read.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun_Tzu

Friday went smoothly as the sign-in person. I checked in many participants, including Jed Marum—a musician I greatly admire—along with several friends. Outside, the smoke still hung in the air, reinforcing the feeling that something ominous was brewing.

Some of my photographs were entered into a contest that weekend, which I honestly didn’t care much about. Not to brag, but I won five ribbons from a small field—maybe ten entrants. They critiqued my photos as “non-professional.” No kidding. I wasn’t a professional photographer in 2013—and neither were they. I’m still not in 2025. Nor are they. But I digress.

Saturday was battle day, along with all the stories and shenanigans that come with it. Everything went well until my so-called expert camera knowledge failed me while filming video. I didn’t understand the difference between photo and video memory requirements on my card. (Yep—how are those expert photo ribbons helping now?) I spent the evening at Best Buy buying a better memory card while the reenactors danced and ate Billie Joe’s BBQ.

Sunday morning’s foggy, smoky drive went fine, though fatigue was catching up with me. At least I didn’t have to camp in Sabine Pass with the mosquitoes—or the rogue alligator that wandered into the Northern camp.

At the time, I was recovering from shingles. I now understand what JFK must have felt in the back of the head in Dallas—pain I experienced again in 2020 and never want to revisit.

The days were hot. I also remember meeting a dehydrated Sarah Bellian for the first time. She was the new curator at the Museum of the Gulf Coast and loved to cosplay. She arrived dressed in a Vietnam-era uniform—clearly new to the area and unaware of the theme—but that was fine by me. She’s awesome in my book. Throughout her career here, she did outstanding work for the museum and the JCHC, and even thought of me and my obsession with Tora! Tora! Tora! when she later found related letters while working at the Pacific Fleet Submarine Museum.
https://www.bowfin.org/

That weekend, I met people who likely never would have visited Sabine Pass if not for the 150th anniversary. I met descendants of Colonel Crocker and Dick Dowling (the latter from Ireland). My most meaningful meeting was with historian Tim Collins, who researched Dowling’s life in Ireland and wrote a book about it—I have a signed copy. He pushed me to dig deeper into Kate Dorman’s story, which I’ve done, though researching 19th-century women leaves very few wormholes to crawl through.

To wrap it up: this was a weekend I’ll never forget. Many participants we will never see reenact again have since passed.

Rest in peace, Ron. Whether portraying Colonel Crocker, a Mexican Army officer, or any of the countless roles you played in bringing history to life, you were the best.

Tim Collins—you are an inspiration to me, just like Bill Quick, whom I never met but deeply respect for his research.

Until next week.

Cemeteries 1

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Ever since I can remember, I’ve been around cemeteries in one way or another. I suppose I can add that to my résumé, right alongside working around cows and waterways. Since 2014, I’ve managed to juggle all three. I’ll save the cows and maritime shenanigans for another day.

At my first meeting of the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC) in December 2012, the Cemetery Chair spoke about an abandoned, overgrown cemetery off Labelle Road. She described trying to access it from the north, on an adjacent property, but being thwarted by what she delicately called “mad cows.”

Later, I decided to give it a try myself—but I took the direct approach, entering from the front and leaving the heifers safely behind a barbed-wire fence. I parked along the road and stepped onto hallowed ground armed with a line trimmer and a hedge trimmer. Two hours later, I reached the first broken crypt.

That was my introduction to what we initially called the Broussard Cemetery. Here’s the article I wrote at the time:
https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/11/29/215/

Lincoln Rest Cemetery

For me, Lincoln Rest (Burial Park) has been an on-again, off-again project for more than thirteen years, though its history stretches back to 1930. I want to provide some context for those who may never have heard of it.

That first day, I noticed several broken crypts. I later learned they were vandalized in 1967 by a group of teenagers from Beaumont. As research progressed, the JCHC determined the cemetery’s proper name was Lincoln Rest Cemetery, a burial ground used between 1930 and 1950 for low-income individuals. It has been abandoned ever since.

While the county has cleaned it up sporadically over the decades, there has never been a permanent overseer—so the cycle of neglect continues.

Over the years, multiple JCHC members sent letters expressing concern. Mildred Wright—arguably the greatest Cemetery Chair Jefferson County ever had—was especially vocal about the county’s lapse in responsibility. The most recent letter I’ve seen dates to 2008, though she and others raised concerns well before that.

The last major cleanup occurred in 2015. Credit where it’s due: three acres were cleared beautifully. But Lincoln Rest spans eleven acres, and the work stopped there.

At one point, Precinct 4 considered using the site for indigent burials to save money. After the initial cleanup, that idea quietly disappeared. Emails went unanswered. COVID became the excuse—until communication stopped altogether. This isn’t political; it’s observational. Call it what you want.

What frustrates me most is this: in 2015, Cleveland Dyer, then 97 years old, tried to access the cemetery with his 77-year-old son. His father, who died in 1932, is buried there. We recorded an oral history with Mr. Dyer. All he wanted was for the grounds to be maintained and for his father to have a headstone.

Nothing ever came of it.

In April 2024, a small group of rebels—led by yours truly—entered Lincoln Rest and mowed around the twelve crypts within the three acres cleared back in 2015. Every bit of it was volunteer labor. It was the first mowing there in nine years. Here’s a link to the photos.

20240420_084801

I’m thinking about going back in 2026 to do it again. If you’re interested, contact me at rediscoveringsext@gmail.com.

In 2013, I became Cemetery Chair. What does that mean? I’m the person you contact when you have questions about a cemetery—or when you find a headstone on your newly purchased property. (Nine times out of ten, it’s a discarded marker. No, you do not have a body buried in your backyard.)

The role also involves working with the Texas Historical Commission. They’re understaffed and underfunded, so local commissions do much of the legwork. I don’t mind. This is my county.

And I should say this plainly: Mildred Wright was the GOAT. Her work documenting Jefferson County cemeteries remains invaluable. Her books are free and available here:
https://jeffersoncountytx.gov/Historical_Commission/Jeffco_History_Cemeteries.html

Also in 2013, the Liberty County Historical Commission launched a fundraiser called Whispers from the Past. It ran for two years and inspired me, along with Judy Linsley, to create the Magnolia Cemetery Tour—minus the cosplay. Liberty County did a phenomenal job.

Photos from both years:
2013: https://flic.kr/s/aHsjLufFaP
2014: https://flic.kr/s/aHsk5BkJk1

The Magnolia Cemetery Tour began in October 2014 as a docent-only history tour for the McFaddin-Ward House, the Beaumont Heritage Society, and JCHC members. In 2015 and 2016, it expanded to public tours—complete with a happy hour in the cemetery. Shockingly, that went very well.

The 2017 tour was canceled due to Hurricane Harvey, and the program remained on hiatus until 2021. More on that soon.

As Cemetery Chair, I visit cemeteries when time allows. I’m especially fond of visiting Kate Dorman in Sabine Pass. I leave her pink bows and streamers yearly—I have no interest in getting on her bad side.

W.T. Block called her a firecracker, and rightly so. She once tried to take on the U.S. Navy with 25 men. The men didn’t show up. Kate did anyway.

She also stayed during Yellow Fever outbreaks to care for the sick, alongside Sarah Ann King Courts and Sarah Vosburg. More on them next week.

Sabine Pass includes several cemeteries, including McGaffey Cemetery, which volunteers and I helped survey. It’s more than 150 years old and has endured hurricanes, flooding, mosquitoes, and horse flies—you are never alone out there.

One unresolved mystery remains: the mass grave of Yellow Fever victims. Ground-penetrating radar hasn’t helped—heavy clay soil, roots, and fill material all interfere. If we ever bring in Gary Drayton and that other guy from Curse of Oak Island, I’ll let you know.

Another haunt I frequent is Greenlawn Cemetery in Groves, where most of my family—and some friends—are buried. One friend in particular was Jerry Burnett. He was my insurance agent, but we rarely talked insurance. Instead, we spent hours discussing the Interurban and his love of trains. I’ll get into the Interurban, the Stringbean, and the last train out of Sabine Pass in the coming weeks.

Jerry is buried not far from the Veterans of Foreign Wars section, where Rudolph Lambert, the second person from this area to die in France during the Great War, is interred. The first was George Smart of Beaumont, who lies in Magnolia Cemetery.

This same section is where I discovered Gene Rowley, Rex Rowley, and a small memorial stone to Hugo DeBretagne, who gave his life at Tarawa in 1943 and was buried at sea. Like Magnolia Cemetery, Greenlawn holds thousands of stories. Unfortunately, it’s not very history-friendly. As Laurence from Twister (1996) would say, they’re “corporate kiss-butts,” doing as little as possible to help with research.

It looks like I’ll be writing multiple cemetery blogs in 2026, because I’ve only scratched the surface.

And finally—

Respect for the dead matters. So does respect for the living—especially a 97-year-old man who just wanted his father’s grave kept up.

I understand counties are busy. Manpower is limited. But accountability still matters.

And before I close: thank you to whoever handles maintenance in Sabine Pass. The cemeteries are always mowed.

Until next week.

A Look Back II

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Joining the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC) in 2012 opened up many interesting opportunities for me to delve into different histories and meet others from adjoining counties with their own stories to share. It was the perfect chance to broaden my knowledge of the region and extend my interests beyond county lines.

Growing up, I was always interested in history (though I’m sure my high school history teacher, Mr. G., would disagree—his class was right after lunch, and my teenage self was committed to daily naps). Don’t get me wrong; Mr. G. was an excellent teacher—passionate, dedicated, and determined to bring history to life. My brain just doesn’t perform well in a classroom setting, or in a Zoom meeting at noon. (Yes, I’m calling you out, Texas Historical Commission! Happy hour is at six; evening meetings would be lovely.) It probably goes back to those early years when I was dropped off at school hours before the day started because I had a single parent who had to work. (Single fathers work, too!)

Looking back, my earliest historical interests were World War II—no surprise, given the flood of movies from that era—weather, and the paranormal. When you grow up in a house with three older sisters, ghost stories are inevitable. And hilarity ensues when Tiger, our cat, leaps onto the air conditioner to stare inside because he wants someone to let him in, scaring the bejeebus out of everyone. Fun times.

I never had a true historical mentor growing up—unless you count the television. Watching World War II movies beside my bedridden grandfather, who stayed in a hospital bed at home, is one of my clearest memories. Another is from when I was ten and my father told me the story of how my other grandfather was bitten by a tarantula in his garden in the 1930s in Beauxart Gardens. Even at ten, I knew enough about spider habitats to realize that tale was… geographically challenged.

In my teens, music became another form of historical inspiration. (And yes, all you leftover satanic-panic jacklegs from the ’80s may exit now—or I’ll send the evil eye back at you threefold! I might even throw in Carmen’s “The Champion” while I’m at it.) Carmen—note for the uninitiated—was a Christian musician with some genuinely good songs. Unfortunately, my friend’s aunt, who presented herself as a pious ^%$@, called us out for listening to a song about a boxing match between the devil and Jesus. She didn’t realize Jesus let the devil knock him down. The devil wanted him to get up because of what would happen next. The song ends with Jesus victorious, of course. At the time, I thought it was hilarious—she couldn’t tell her own religious lore from a set of lyrics; she just wanted to display her “look at me!” devotion. Technically, judging is a sin, so she’d be right there in hell with us. Probably neighbors. And unfortunately for her, I mow the lawn at 5:30 a.m. It’s hell—there’s no sleeping in.

(I’ll leave a link to the song. Carmen was talented, even if he was sometimes more full of himself than the Spirit. RIP, Carmen.)
https://youtu.be/WfHfTKdYwvY?si=bpWQRgDX8MSDppqd

Eventually, my interest in history shifted toward England and Wales after reading Elizabeth Goudge’s The White Witch (1958). That book heavily influenced my first attempts at writing. I published a historical fiction novel in 2013, and I have many people to thank—but more on that in the coming weeks.

In the early 2000s, I had a client named Charles Irwin, whom I will readily acknowledge as a legitimate Texas historian. Born and bred in San Antonio, he moved to Southeast Texas in 1957—just in time for Hurricane Audrey. He was a chemical engineer (and I emphasize engineer), and while he was incredible when it came to history, the engineer in him sometimes made communication… interesting. One recurring debate involved Hurricane Humberto’s path. He always insisted that Humberto strengthened over land. Trying to explain that it was actually off the coast near Corpus Christi and that an incoming cold front whipped it up along the coastline—well, explaining that to an engineer is a special challenge. I even had radar images! When it made landfall at High Island, someone I knew was working on a beach house at Crystal Beach, and the storm scared the hell out of him at two in the morning. (Eighty-mile-per-hour winds will do that.)

You know what’s scarier? Being woken at three a.m. by Larry Beaulieu’s backside on the TV screen as he tries to fix a camera while KFDM’s radar is down. I was watching my phone radar—which showed Humberto’s eye over Port Neches—while the TV was saying the eye was in Vidor. Meanwhile, my cat was wandering the neighborhood, confused about the whole situation. That morning was chaotic, but hilarious in retrospect. I even have a link for that, too.

Thoughts and Ramblings: Hurricanes Ike, Humberto, and Fern; researching history.

One road trip Mr. Irwin and I took was to Anahuac, where we visited the Chambers House and the museum. I had done some work in Anahuac before, but I’d never known about the Chambers House until I took a wrong turn and suddenly—there it was. The window alone was stunning. My mind went immediately to Aleister Crowley’s winter home rather than Texas (me being a heretic in the eyes of my friend’s aunt, you know).

DSC03896

We had a great visit to the museum, and seeing the house interior was an added bonus.

Engineer quirks and all, I genuinely miss my friend. I loved our talks about Texas history, even if I could never quite get him to acknowledge Southeast Texas history with the enthusiasm it deserves—he was a true San Antonio loyalist. If you’re interested in Texas history, I believe his books may still be available at the Museum of the Gulf Coast.

Next week, since I’m the Cemetery Chair of the Jefferson County Historical Commission, I plan to focus exclusively on my 13 years in cemeteries and give a recap of what’s going on with the Cemetery Inventory Project.

Sayonara for now.
\m/-_-\m/ Rock in peace—everyone except my friend’s aunt.

Rediscoveringsetx: A Look Back Part 1

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Curse of the Colonel

I’ve been away for a while, and the break has been a needed rest. I make no money from this blog, but I still think it’s important to present an accurate history of our region, to share news about what the Texas Historical Commission is doing, and to occasionally indulge in things that have nothing to do with SETX—like Sensha-dō (戦車道) and Yukari Akiyama (秋山 優花里).

When I started Rediscoveringsetx.com in 2012, my goal was to support every museum in Southeast Texas. But over the last 13 years, some museums have closed, and others—usually the ones with money—hired social media experts and are now fully capable of promoting themselves. They don’t need me to shill their history anymore, and honestly, that’s a good thing. Still, you can find photos of the ones that closed on my Flickr page:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/25032584@N05/albums

After that era, my focus shifted to researching specific topics from regional history. Some of these stories will show up later. I will say this: historical research is not a 1970s crime-solving TV show where everything wraps up in an hour. Proper research takes time. You can make up answers—as some historians do—but most people prefer the truth. And the truth doesn’t show up on a weekly schedule.

In more recent years, this blog has mostly been my thoughts and ramblings about our history and whatever else I care about. Again, I’m not making money, but at least the history is good. Maybe not as good as the “experts” on Facebook who insist there were slave quarters inside the Phelan Mansion constructed in 1928—but hey, that’s Beaumont and Facebook. Knock yourself out. Yes, you can even find it on Ancestry. As the Russians say: доверяй, но проверяй — doveryay, no proveryay — Trust but verify.

So, what have I been doing during my time away? Besides vegging out on Japanese baseball—my personal delicacy ever since I learned about the Curse of the Colonel—I’ve been doing what I hope my kids will do when I die: going through all my research files and digitizing everything.

Every file cabinet is being checked. Every paper copy is being digitized and sent to the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC). The physical papers will then be passed along to whoever wants them—or thrown away. I have no hope that anyone else would come along and preserve this stuff. I’m doing them a favor. You’re welcome!

The first drawer alone took 38 hours to complete. I’ve now finished the first file cabinet and am moving on to my Florence Stratton files. Most of that research is already digitized and shared with people who can take it further than I can. My regional history books will be an own ongoing project as well. It’s amazing how valuable some of these books have become—and even more amazing how often people throw them away.

For example, I found my copy of Sapphire City of the Neches by W.T. Block on the floor of a house in Port Neches that had been auctioned. It was lying next to Down Trails of Victory: The Story of Port Neches-Groves High School Football and a Fats Domino record. The house had already been cleaned out, but somehow these survived. The last time I checked (a few years ago), an autographed copy of W.T. Block’s book was going for around $400. The other book? I didn’t check—everyone who cares about PNG football already owns it. Kudos to W.T. Block’s son, who saw the collector prices and wisely reissued the books on Amazon at reasonable prices.

Working through these files has brought me back to moments of discovery, and to histories people shared with me over the years—or that I uncovered myself. I’ve been rediscovering favorites from the blog, RediscoveringSETX.com, and it’s been fun.

The Rowley Family

One reason the first drawer took so long is the Rowley family. I spent countless hours on their history after a chance moment at Greenlawn Cemetery, where I saw Virginia (“Gene”) Rowley’s headstone with its poem and photograph. It was a somber moment—and I learned someone had created a 12-minute film taking “creative liberties” with the family’s story. That didn’t sit well with me. I care about facts, not someone’s L.A. dream script. Gene deserved to have her story told correctly.

A family member later reached out to me about my post on Gene, her father’s suicide in 1934, and her accidental death in 1942 in San Antonio. Gene died in an auto accident while working at Kelly Field as a radio operator. They confirmed much of my research and shared new details about her siblings, Vera and Jerry. That cracked open an entirely new story.

Vera (known as “Dido”), Jerry, and Jerry’s wife Evelyn formed The Rowley Trio, performing with the likes of Johnnie Horton and even George Jones. Despite their family’s tragedies, both Dido and Jerry built successful careers. Dido went even further by joining Don Mahoney’s children’s TV show in Houston—Don Mahoney and Jeanna Clare with their Kiddie Troupers. It was like a local Roy Rogers and Dale Evans show.

I never would have uncovered all of this without help from a family member. Thank you, Ben Rowley.

Evelyn Keyes

One of my favorite exhibits at the Museum of the Gulf Coast is the display on Evelyn Keyes. She left Port Arthur at age three but never forgot her connections here. Her display is beautiful—and if you look closely, you’ll notice the Genie lamp from A Thousand and One Nights (1945) is hollowed out. When she died in 2008, she requested that some of her ashes be placed inside it.

Years ago, when Sarah Bellian was Coordinator, I visited the museum looking for information on Bessie Reid, a birder and author of The Legend of Kisselpoo. While Sarah printed the info, I asked how Evelyn liked being moved from the first floor to the second. Right then, the printer froze. I said, “Well, I guess she doesn’t!”

Blanche Morgan

People have shared many histories with me over the years, but Blanche Morgan’s story needed to be front and center. Imagine this: your mother is sickly in Iowa, the doctor says she needs a warmer climate, and your dad sees a sign in Kansas City that the Kansas City Southern Railroad (KCS) will take you to paradise. What could go wrong?

(Answer: quite a lot.)

I’ll post the link below, but I’ve never been a fan of Arthur Stilwell. The only reason Port Arthur exists is because of John Warne Gates. Stilwell, in my view, was all hat and no cattle. He also lost investors a fortune trying to build a railroad to the Pacific through Mexico.

For the record, I did accidentally acquire an autographed copy of Stilwell’s Confidence or National Suicide? This is why you don’t leave things in your online cart if you don’t want to buy them. But I digress.

Til next week, I’ll leave you with the Hanshin Tigers Curse (呪い / のろい) — The Curse of the Colonel

The Hanshin Tigers Curse was a long-running superstition blamed for the team’s decades of struggles after their 1985 Japan Series championship. The curse centered around an unusual event involving a statue of Colonel Sanders, the mascot of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

How the Curse Started (1985)

After the Tigers won the Japan Series in 1985—led by star slugger Randy Bass—ecstatic fans in Osaka celebrated along the Dōtonbori Canal. Tigers fans are famously intense, and the city basically exploded with joy.

During the celebration, fans began pulling people into the street who resembled players to jump into the canal in their honor. But no one resembled Randy Bass, the team’s bearded American MVP.

So what did they do?

They grabbed a full-sized Colonel Sanders statue from a nearby KFC, declared it their Randy Bass “look-alike,” and threw it into the canal.

That’s the moment the curse supposedly began.

After 1985, the Tigers went through:

  • 18 consecutive losing seasons (1986–2003)
  • Multiple last-place finishes
  • A long list of near wins that collapsed at the final moment
  • A reputation for heartbreak comparable to the Chicago Cubs pre-2016

Fans believed the team would never win another championship until the Colonel was recovered.

People searched the Dōtonbori Canal for years, with no luck. The statue was considered lost forever. But in 2009, construction workers dredging the canal recovered the upper body of the statue, later the right hand, and eventually most of the remaining parts. It was reassembled and returned—with ceremony—to a local KFC.

Even after recovery, the Tigers did not immediately win a championship.

However, things did improve. They made the Japan Series again in 2014, and claimed their first Central League pennant in 18 years in 2023, and finally winning the Japan Series, ending the curse in most fans’ minds

For Tigers fans, the 2023 win was a massive cultural moment—some said it felt like “Osaka was released from a 38-year spell.”

Blanche Morgan : https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2014/04/16/blanches-journey-an-early-look-at-life-in-port-arthur/

Evelyn Keyes:

Tales From Hallowed Ground: Evelyn Keyes

Gene Rowley:

Tales from Hallowed Ground: Virginia Lee Rowley

The History of the Curse of the Colonel: