Monthly Archives: January 2026

Tribute to Florence Stratton

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Tribute to Florence Stratton

Dear Della,

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…

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

Thoughts and Ramblings: Researching Susie, Willie’s Memorial Book, the 125th Anniversary of the Lucas Gusher, Rice Dryers, and VMSB-931

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Over the last few weeks, I’ve been back to researching Florence Stratton. I’ll get into her life in more detail later this month, but regular readers of this blog know that I’ve been researching her since 2012. My ongoing endeavor—collecting all of her “Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter” articles from February 28, 1926, to January 23, 1938 (the final letter, dated January 30, 1938, was written by someone else)—continues.

I do have most of the letters, but my goal is to obtain legible photocopies of every Weekly Letter, and that has proven to be a challenge. While all of them were scanned at some point, many of those on microfilm—as well as some available online—are barely readable. If you do the math, that’s about 520 letters. It’s not an overwhelming number, but it will still take time. Physical copies exist at the Sam Houston Regional Library and Research Center (the Sam Center) in Liberty, which adds another layer to this already lengthy project. We’ll see how it goes.

The new year also came with a resolution to find new homes for some of my books. Between 2012 and 2016, I acquired many volumes that are difficult—if not impossible—to find unless you’re physically at the Sam Center. Phase one of this effort resulted in a donation to the Jefferson County Historical Commission (JCHC) library. Phase two is still undecided, as I’m not yet sure where the remaining books will go—except for my Florence Stratton books. I know exactly where those are headed.

One of my prized possessions is the Willie Cooper Hobby memorial book, which was never formally published. I assume it was distributed only to a select group of people. I’ve seen only two other copies: one at the Lyndon B. Johnson Library (which holds Willie Cooper’s papers) and another at the Tyler County Historical Commission in Woodville. Willie Cooper Hobby was the first wife of William P. Hobby, Governor of Texas from 1917 to 1921; the daughter of Sam Cooper, who was instrumental in securing Beaumont’s deepwater port; and the best friend of Florence Stratton. I’ll leave a link here for those interested in Willie’s story:

Willie Chapman Cooper Hobby

In other news, last week I attended a ribbon-cutting ceremony at Spindletop Park on Port Arthur Road. The event showcased new interpretive panels commemorating the 125th anniversary of the Lucas Gusher and the beginning of the Spindletop oil boom. The park has been in disrepair for some time, but the Beaumont Heritage Society (BHS) applied for and received a grant from the McFaddin-Ward Foundation to fund the panels, which are designed to last at least 25 years. A big shout-out to Shelby Brannan, director of BHS, for making this happen.

Judith Linsley was the main speaker that day. Along with her sister Ellen Rienstra and Jo Ann Stiles, she co-authored Giant Under the Hill: A History of the Spindletop Oil Discovery at Beaumont, Texas in 1901, an excellent and highly recommended book. Also in attendance were descendants of August Nelson of the Nelson & White surveying firm, who brought along a 1913 map of Jefferson County and a 1902 map of the Spindletop oil field. I’ve added photos of these items.

This was one of the first events I’ve attended in quite a while, and I truly enjoyed it. I also dusted off my camera and photographed the event—doing a respectable job, considering how long it’s been. Here’s a link to the photo set:

IMG_3782

On Wednesday, I played hooky from work because I was invited to tour a rice dryer. Most people probably wouldn’t find that exciting, but I have a long-standing obsession with these structures and have wanted to see the inside of one for years. Thanks to the owners, I finally got my chance—and I wasn’t disappointed. I’ll share a few photos here, but I will say this: riding the elevator is an experience. Now I know what a torpedo feels like when it’s fired in slow motion.

I hope to dive deeper into this subject later in the year, but lately I’ve felt the urge to cross more items off my bucket list. On that note—does anyone happen to have a B-17, B-24, or T-6 Texan with an extra seat? I feel a strong need to expand my list.

Thursday morning found me back at work, but that wasn’t so bad because I was working at the tower at Jack Brooks Regional Airport—always a treat, especially when you can watch takeoffs and landings. Being there also reminded me of the history of Marine Scout Bomber Squadrons VMSB-931 and VMSB-932, which were based here briefly in 1944 for dive-bomber training. Below is a recap of research I conducted in 2019.

It was fall 1944, and the war was still raging on both fronts. Like most periodicals across our nation, local SETX newspapers centered on the liberation of Belgium and the European theatre. The heavy fighting on Peleliu and throughout the Pacific were occasionally mentioned, but these events seemed to take a back seat to the success in Europe. It would be at this theatre that Marine Aircraft Group 93 (MAG-93) would train its pilots for battle. MAG-93 began in April 1944 at Cherry Point, North Carolina. Its first squadron was commissioned on April 15th under the command of Major John L. Dexter and was known as Marine Scout Bomber Squadron 931. Other squadrons, such as VMSB-932, would also be commissioned into MAG-93 and would spend countless hours (round the clock, for a brief time) in training centered at Jefferson County Airport. However, the Marine Scout Bombing Squadron (VMSB-931) will be our main focus in this article.

Jefferson County Airport 1945

In May, VMSB-931 was transferred to Eagle Mountain Lake, Texas (near Ft. Worth) to begin their operational training. It also became attached to Marine Aircraft Group 33 (MAG-33). The squadron consisted of 18 SBD-5 (Dauntless)-type aircraft with 37 commissioned officers and 160 enlisted men. Records show that only one operational accident occurred during this period, which resulted in the damage and loss of an SBD-5. Fortunately, there was no loss of life, and the squadron continued their training through July, attaining a 43.1% readiness for combat rating by their superior.

By August, it was time for the squadron to begin the second phase of their training; thus, the VMSB-931 were temporarily detached to the U.S. Naval Section Base in Sabine Pass, Texas “for duty in connection with the basing of tactical squadrons of Marine Aircraft Group 33 at Jefferson County Airport, Beaumont, Texas. This duty includes gunnery, dive-bombing, and overwater navigation training,” wrote Commander John L. Dexter in the squadron’s war diary on the first of August. The next week would consist of setting up operations at their new location and finally beginning their overwater flight training on August 8th.

As most of us know, the Gulf can be very unpredictable in September, and 1944 was no exception. On September 9th, a tropical storm formed about 170 miles southeast of Matamoros, Mexico, and began to move north. All planes were evacuated out of the area to where I would assume was back to Eagle Mountain Lake. Their absence would not last long, however, because Tropical Storm Six would move northeast and make landfall at the Mississippi River Delta on the 10th with top winds of 65 mph. Needless to say, all planes were back on September 11th. Training resumed the next day, and here is where our story takes a deadly turn.

During overwater flight training off the coast of the Sabine Pass, 2nd Lieutenant Marion M. Puliz attempted to rendezvous from below the lead plane flown by 2nd Lieutenant Richard L. Savoie, resulting in a mid-air collision. Both planes crashed into the Gulf and sank in 35 feet of water. Both pilots and the two gunners, Corporal Richard R. Stoddard and Private First Class William C. Bathurst, were killed. 2nd Lieutenant Puliz’s body was the only one recovered out of the four.

More tragedy hit 931 eight days later when 2nd Lieutenant William G. Duvall “attempted a slow roll at low altitude. He lost control and went into a progressive stall, hitting the water on the left wing. Plane was observed to explode and sink immediately upon striking the water,” wrote Commander Dexter. Both the pilot and the gunner, Private First Class Albert W. Bitner, perished in the crash, and neither body was recovered.

Amazingly, there are a few newspaper accounts of these tragedies; however, with few of them offer details of the actual crashes. For instance, the Port Arthur News reports consisted of the identities of the victims and, oddly enough, a few mentions of sightings of a body a few weeks later off the coast of High Island. A search for the bodies after each accident occurred was conducted by the Coast Guard, but no remains were found.

An article dated September 27 reported that a swimmer informed the Coast Guard that he had brushed against a body while swimming just off the coast of High Island. A search ensued that lasted until 2 a.m. but was deemed “fruitless” by Coast Guard officials who, in their statement, said that the swimmer “had been mistaken.”

The following day, the Port Arthur News reported, “Louis Welch of Sabine Pass, county commissioner of Precinct 3, also reported seeing the body to Coast Guard officials. According to Welch, he sighted the body floating in the Gulf water about one mile east of the Chambers and Jefferson Counties boundary line.” Welch tried to “tow it ashore,” but a wave swept the body away. The search for the body was resumed, but it was never recovered.

Operational training ended September 21st for the VMSB-931, and the squadron returned to Eagle Mountain Lake a few days later. But this was not the end of the Marine Aircraft Group’s training facilities here in Jefferson County, as the 932 (VMSB-932) would arrive at Jefferson County Airport on September 26th to begin their operational training as well. I am unsure where these brave young men ended up after their training, but I can only guess that a few would have participated in ending this long, drawn-out war. I researched further, but there are thousands upon thousands of war diary documents to sift through and many more rabbit holes that I find myself not capable of going down in a relatively short amount of time. One day, if time permits, I would like to continue on the trail of the 931, but plenty more tales are coming soon.

Sources:

Jefferson County Historical Commission archives

Fold 3

Until next week!

A look back: Blood of the Innocent

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I wrote a novel and published it in April of 2013. Before that, back in my teens, I wrote a bit—but it never amounted to much. I also wrote lyrics and music in a band that was basically a garage band that never went anywhere. That’s usually how it goes: you go from teen to adult, and jobs—especially girlfriends—get in the way. (Just ask the Beatles. Shout-out to Yoko!)

Musicians weren’t paid much back then, and they still aren’t now, so bills had to be paid. Still, I miss my Japanese black-and-white Fender Strat that I sold in the ’90s when I decided I was “done” with music. Of course, I had a Strat because Ritchie Blackmore (Deep Purple) and Dave Murray (Iron Maiden) had one.

In the mid-2000s, I found myself with an idea for a story I wanted to write. Like my earliest attempts, the characters and setting were European—Great Britain, specifically. That goes all the way back to my first real effort at fiction in my early teens, a story called Tales of the White Witch, inspired by Elisabeth Goudge’s novel The White Witch.

That story, written when I was 13, was set forty years after the English Civil War (1642–1651). It followed a young healer named Sarah Ann Taylor, living alone with a cat and a pet raven, ostracized by her village unless someone needed healing. Her only friend was the local reverend, a genuine believer who had lost his wife and son in the war decades earlier. In the end, Sarah survives after being tied to a stake to be burned by the townspeople.

Heavy stuff for a 13-year-old—but I doubt that story will ever see the light of day.

When I began Blood of the Innocent, the story could easily have been told in England. But I’m a stickler for knowing exactly what’s happening in a place at a given time, so I brought the story home. I wanted to tell this area’s history while the characters moved through it.

I used a few real landowner names but didn’t go any further than that—so no, none of the McFaddins or Frenchs were running around with hatchets in an 1875 murder novel. I did use the Menard House in Galveston as a meeting place, where the main character hopes to buy land and start a new life. I also leaned into the very real—and very idiotic—notion of why Galveston was believed to be safe from hurricanes while Indianola was not.

If you’re interested, I wrote about that here:
https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/07/12/the-destructive-side-of-history/

Many of the characters were inspired by people I knew or am related to. Etienne Broussard, for example, was based on A.C. Hebert of Vinton, Louisiana. I first met him at his store and later got to know him better when he opened Giorgio’s nightclub. He got me hooked on Quarter Horse racing, and I remember driving through the back area of Delta Downs—past the stables—to watch one of his horses run. His horse, Bobareba, won a race it wasn’t supposed to, and A.C. had some very colorful things to say to the unhappy spectators afterward. He was a real character, and a real inspiration—though the version in the novel is a bit milder.

One character who was supposed to die early ended up surviving. That character was based on a family member I have no ill feelings toward, but they fit the role perfectly—and I had a wonderful time torturing them all the way to the end. When you’re writing, you’re God, and these things happen.

I made a point of referencing real locations so readers could follow where the characters were in each chapter and understand what existed at the time. Many readers recognize the mention of the Indian mounds in Port Neches at Grigsby’s Bluff, but there’s no mention of Port Arthur—because in 1875, Arthur Stilwell hadn’t yet been told by the ‘Brownies’ to build his railroad to the Gulf. The next town south was Sabine.

(Shout-out to Sam Houston for Sabine and Sabine Pass even existing.)

Aurora’s homestead was located north of Lake Sabine until the 1886 hurricane convinced everyone that higher ground was a better idea. The Sparks family, who left Aurora had a cemetery located on what is now the DuPont refinery site. That cemetery was removed in the 1950s and relocated to Forest Lawn Cemetery in Beaumont. This removal was legitimate—unlike many Beaumont cemeteries, which were simply paved over.

If you’re curious:

I also wanted to describe what the landscape looked like in 1875—because it was nothing like what we see today. You wouldn’t have seen trees until you were deep into Beaumont. I once had a then-and-now photo from the Beaumont Enterprise: a shot taken in the 1920s where South Twin City Highway crosses 32nd Street in Port Arthur, looking as bare as the road to Sabine Pass. The 1950s photo—probably around 1959—showed the new high school buildings clearly from the south. Today, you can’t see them at all.

About 90% of the vegetation here isn’t native. Bermuda grass came from Africa. St. Augustine grass was developed in a laboratory—which is why it doesn’t grow from seed. Chinese tallow trees (or, as my uncle called them, “Port Arthur trees”) were introduced because someone wanted to see leaves change colors. Shout-out to my yearly “Hangin’ with Aggies” continuing education at Doggett Park.

Several people helped along the way with this project. I contacted Texas Parks and Wildlife in Angelina County to confirm whether alligators were present in the area in 1875—since one character mentions seeing them. I also relied on a W.T. Block article noting that 20-foot alligators were recorded at Sabine Pass during that period.

The French translations were done by Thomas Boissy, a French singer I met through Sellaband in the early 2000s. Kristen Tabor was a major influence and encouraged me to publish the novel. She’s an excellent writer and an even better person.

Kristen Tabor’s books:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B00852FF1O

Thomas Boissy:
https://youtu.be/oHM1dTv1jlY

Blood of the Innocent was intended as the first book in a three-part series. I haven’t finished the second book yet, though seven chapters are done. Time will tell. As my old neighbor Roy used to say, “If I finished all the projects I’ve got now, I’d be 140 before I started anything new.”

If you’d like to explore my work, Blood of the Innocent is available on Amazon. Prime members can read it for free, and it’s also available at the Port Arthur, Nederland, and Port Neches libraries.

Amazon link:
https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Innocent-P-C-Prosperie-ebook/dp/B00CA9IOIE/

Until next week.

Down Memory Lane

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Last Saturday, I decided to take a drive down Memory Lane. While poking around on the MarineTraffic app—which is pretty cool if you want to know where a certain non-military ship is—I was reminded how much I used to rely on it. Back when I was big into photography, I’d use it to see what was coming down the waterways. These days, I mostly use it when I’m put on taxi duty for family members arriving on cruise ships. Tracking a ship’s progress beats sitting around for hours wondering where I can pay to park in that part of Galveston. Weekday struggles near the Strand are real!

I noticed a couple of tankers heading up the Neches River toward Beaumont, so I parked at the boat ramp at Port Neches Park for a bit to watch them pass. Then it occurred to me it would be better to catch up with them at the Sarah Jane Bridge. So off I went, driving past Grigsby’s Bluff (the old asphalt docks), a place I knew very well in the 1990s.

If you’ve read my most-read blog post about the Legend of Sarah Jane Road, then you already know about my friend Bryan. During the first Gulf War, we were taking a line boat to tie up a tanker at the then-called Texaco docks, and it was cold. Bryan—being the lovable degenerate he was—was wearing a ski mask. As we rounded the corner toward the ship, he let out his version of a Rebel Yell… or maybe I should call it the la-la-la yell. Either way, it scared the hell out of the security guard. No aggressive moves, no weapons—just someone who clearly wasn’t ready for that kind of nonsense. (At least it woke security up and got them doing their job.)

I digress.

We worked for Harbor Marine at the base of the Sarah Jane Bridge, and there are plenty of stories I could tell, but I have no idea where most of those people are today. For those interested, here’s a link to my original post about the legend:

Legend of Sarah Jane Road

Skipping a drive down Procter Street (or is it Proctor Street?) past Eddingston Court, we instead went down Woodworth Boulevard. I couldn’t help but wonder if Port Arthur is trying to match TxDOT in the number of road projects. Woodworth south of Procter is completely torn up, cutting off access to the road in front of Rose Hill Manor. I’m not in the loop on Port Arthur street maintenance, but it looks expensive. Meanwhile, the side streets still seem like they could use a little love—but that’s been a taxpayer issue for as long as I’ve been driving.

Since Lakeshore Drive was unavailable, we headed through downtown via Procter to Houston Avenue. It’s interesting that the train depot demolished in the 1960s was later rebuilt exactly the same, and now houses  the Port Arthur International Seafarers’ Center. I guess Sydalise Fredeman couldn’t save everything back then—but she did save the Pompeiian Villa.

Here are a couple of related links:
https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/06/19/pompeiian-villa/
https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2022/08/21/thoughts-and-ramblings-don-larson-the-babe-sydalise-fredeman-bob-hope-park-plaza-cinema-joyeux-noel-johnny-janot-felix-the-cat-gets-the-shaft/

If you clicked on the second link, you’d learn that Babe Zaharias was born in Port Arthur, not Beaumont. A little education never hurt anyone. There’s a Texas Historical Commission marker on 7th Street in Port Arthur, in the lot where her home once stood.

The photo taken that day was shot by Dwight Larson, who worked for the Port Arthur News. I bought several of his photos at an estate sale, but somehow I keep getting his first name wrong. In later posts I called him Don, which is incorrect. If I do it again, feel free to call me out—I’m not thin-skinned and have no problem calling out others either.

R.I.P., Dwight.

https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/name/dwight-larson-obituary?pid=179123816

Our next stop was over the bridge to Pleasure Island. If you pull over and sit there for a minute, the flying avengers will welcome you—hopping around your windows, waiting for you to open the door. (Don’t.) Mosquitoes, like TxDOT, are the devil. Sabine Pass is even worse, thanks to horse flies attacking from the rear and the flank. Deep Woods Off is mandatory. I would also suggest a flamethrower!

Back in the day, Pleasure Island was the place to go. Many people I’ve talked to over the years remember the Pleasure Pier Ballroom and the youthful shenanigans that went on there. One of them was A.C. Hebert, who owned Abear’s Grocery off Interstate 10, Exit 4, in Louisiana. I spent a lot of time at that first exit in Louisiana between the ages of 18 and 20. I’m not sure what drew me there—maybe the boudin balls. I do remember Rattlesnake wine coolers being pretty good. So was Louisiana’s age-limit loophole for alcohol.

I digress… again.

I also remember someone telling me she drove to Pleasure Island as a teenager, then drove backwards all the way home so the odometer wouldn’t show she’d left the house. These damn Boomer kids! To be clear, she did not drive backwards over the GulfGate/Martin Luther King Bridge (built in 1970). It was the other bridge—the one that kept getting hit by ships.

Which brings me to older history.

If you want a good book on Port Arthur history, visit the Museum of the Gulf Coast. They used to carry—and hopefully still do—Port Arthur Centennial History 1898–1998. The photos are wonderful, and Yvonne Sutherlin’s fingerprints are all over the research. She’s someone else I deeply respect and thank for her contributions to our local history.

Originally, Arthur Stilwell built a boardwalk out into Sabine Lake for visitors and residents to enjoy. From 1910 to 1913, a ferry brought people to the pier. From 1913 to 1927, a drawbridge took its place. My friend Jerry Burnett, a train enthusiast, once told me about the trolley known as the Stringbean, which in 1914 ran from Procter Street to the Pier for a nickel. Judging from the photo (courtesy of Port Arthur Centennial History 1898–1998), it looks like a lawyer’s dream—lawsuit heaven.

All versions of the drawbridge had problems. Ships hit them regularly, among other issues. Finally, in 1968, the GulfGate/Martin Luther King Bridge was built.

And yes—it still gets hit by ships.

One last personal note about Pleasure Island: while I wasn’t around for the Pier era, crabbing in the 1970s was outstanding. We’d fish and crab on the steps of Sabine Lake in line with Woodrow Wilson School and pull in 13 dozen blue crabs in an hour. Fresh crab is hard to beat—and I don’t want to hear about your BBQ seasoning method. Plain boiled is the way to go.

Just a warning on my culinary arts!

My gumbo recipe came from an Italian in New Orleans, so yes—I make shrimp, chicken, and crab gumbo. (Shout out to Emeril!) Surf and poultry, my way. Shout-out to Mrs. Douget for the roux, because I don’t have time for all that stirring. And has anyone priced out a gumbo lately? Over $100 these days.

https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emerils-country-file-gumbo-3644244

Happy New Year to all. I hope you’re healthy and well.

Until next week…