In July I went to my first Jefferson County Historical Commission meeting. Having no knowledge of what to expect, I soon became enthralled by the topics that were presented. I believe that being in the presence of people who are more knowledgeable than me can only be a positive in my quest to rediscover SETX history, and this day offered many roads on which I had not yet travelled. One such road that I was not expecting was presented to me through the mention of a blues singer/songwriter, who lived in Beaumont, named Blind Willie Johnson.

I will admit that my knowledge of music and musicians is pretty good for the most part. My first love is music, of all kinds, and when I heard the name I immediately thought “Crossroads”! Then I got to thinking that it was in fact Robert Johnson who sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads in Mississippi. So who was this Blind Willie? And how did he end up in Beaumont? With some research, I found out a lot more of his life and the music he wrote. There were no crossroads for this blind Willie, just hardships that would impact both his music and his difficult tragic life.

Willie Johnson was born on January 22, 1897 near Brenham, Texas. His mother died when he was four years old, and his father quickly remarried. At the age of five, he told his father that he wanted to be a preacher. This was to become a reality in his adult years. Willie was a self-proclaimed preacher and even had a church called the “House of Prayer,” which he ran from his home.

Records are uncertain as to when he became blind, but according to an account by Angeline Johnson (Willie’s second wife), when Willie was seven, his father began beating his stepmother after discovering that she was seeing another man. In the midst of the conflict, the woman picked up a handful of lye and threw it at young Willie instead of his father.

In his early years, Blind Willie preached and sang on the streets of a few Texas cities. His time for fame came in the years 1929–30 when Columbia Records recorded and released 30 of his gospel–blues mix songs. Hits such as “Trouble,” “Dark Was the Night—Cold Was the Ground,” “John the Revelator,” and probably his biggest hit, “Nobody’s Fault But Mine,” which would place him as one of the major contributors to the sound of the blues. Many artists such as Tom Jones, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and Led Zeppelin would later record his songs many years after his death.

Blind Willie surely had success as a writer/musician but hadn’t much to show for it. He lived the life of a pauper, preaching and singing on the streets of Beaumont. It was there that he operated the House of Prayer (1440 Forrest Street).

In 1945 his home burned down, which left him with nowhere to go, so Willie continued to stay in what was left of the house. He slept on a wet bed in the elements, which contributed to him contracting malarial fever. Angeline stated in a later interview that she had tried to take him to hospital, but he was refused because he was blind. Other accounts say that the hospital denied him care because he was black. Whichever account, Blind Willie Johnson died on the 18^th of September, 1945. It is determined that he is buried in Blanchette Cemetery, but the exact gravesite is unknown.

On August 20^th, 1977, the space probe Voyager 2 was launched. It contained many of Earth’s cultural treasures, which were to be shared openly with whom or whatever would find them in the heavens. On this celestial flight, many recordings were cataloged and packed for something else to discover. I find it fascinating that a dirt-poor self-proclaimed preacher/bluesman, who lived his later years in Beaumont, Texas, has his song cued up for the universe to hear, along with the likes of Beethoven, Bach, and Stravinsky.

On July the 10^th, I attended a workshop about preserving oral history. The workshop focused specifically on interviewing World War 2 veterans. I found this workshop both fascinating and helpful in respect of historical data gathering. I love history, and have spoken to some people in my life, who are no longer here, and from whom I believe we all could have learned a thing or two from. Their thoughts and comments are still recorded in my memory, but alas, I wish I would have been more apt to record their views, history, and ways of life.

One person, who was a major influence in my life, was a Louisiana-born resident (Leesville, La) named Roy. He was my neighbor when I lived in Port Arthur, Texas. Roy was a product of the Depression and lived his life accordingly. He also lived the way Roy wanted; doing what Roy 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. (And 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 had told me that he had dropped out of school for a short time, but a teacher convinced him to go back and thus changed his life. Roy was no scholar, but he learned early in life that hard work and an education (in whatever field you were working) could only help you succeed. And he did; working in numerous fields in his 90-odd year lifespan.

One thing that I remember from our numerous talks was his involvement at the New Orleans shipyard during WWII. Roy helped build many a ship to the particular 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 Roy telling of ships that had headed out the Mississippi delta and out to sea, only to end up at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico courtesy of a German U-boat torpedo.

In 1950, Roy and his wife moved to Port Arthur where he worked as a carpenter for many years. He was a member of the local union, but as I stated earlier, Roy did what Roy wanted, and that did not always sit well with others.

During a strike by the carpenters’ union, Roy decided to build his brother-in-law’s home across the street. To certain union members, this was somehow a violation of strike rules. Roy, defiantly, built the house anyway, with a gun on his hip just in case the union made good on their threats. Fortunately, those individuals never followed through, and left Roy alone to finish the house. (If I remember correctly, the total cost of the house was $750. No wonder the union was perturbed.)

Roy went on to work for a prominent home builder in the area, but then started his own business building homes. Many trusted Roy and knew that they were getting their money’s worth for his services.

Like I said earlier, he was a child of the Depression, and he threw nothing away. He had numerous tools, tractors, and other artifacts that would entice any picker. I can remember a Jefferson County extension agent one day arriving at Roy’s house and noticing the 60-plus-year-old Farmall tractor, still in use. It was as if the early memories of his childhood came flooding back to him. I knew he wanted that tractor, and even asked to buy it, but that was Roy’s pride and joy. He would never sell it.

Roy had many “play prettys” as he called them. The Farmall tractor, a Ford tractor, two forklifts, and a backhoe, all of which he used constantly. I remember I had bought a chainsaw that extended 15 feet out. It was great for standing on the ground and trimming branches 15 feet up, but Roy had a better idea. Since there were webworms in his pecan trees, he thought it would be a good idea to hoist me up on a forklift 23 feet in the air with saw in hand. This would be the only time. My tree-trimming days were over before they started.

Roy was an avid farmer; he grew corn, tomatoes, butter beans, squash, potatoes, etc. In the later years in which I knew him, this was his life. There was never a day gone by without seeing him on that red Farmall tractor, tilling up new ground for planting.

Roy also had a healthy obsession with bees. He taught me that, without bees, there would be no agriculture. Something had to pollinate all the crops, and with no bees, it would be impossible to maintain production. Whether it’s your own little plot or a commercially grown one, these little critters hold the key to our existence.

I knew Roy for a little under 20 years, and as I said before, he was a big influence in my life. He taught me much, and I will always remember those times. He wasn’t a scholar, he wasn’t a professor, but in his own way, he was my teacher. He taught me the old ways, and how things should be. I will never forget him.

Certainly the  little town of Port Neches has seen its fair share of history: from being the habitat of two Indian tribes, to becoming the home of one of the founding pioneers in Southeast Texas history—all within a 1,500 year time span. The latter individual, Joseph Grigsby, who is the subject of this post, played a major role in the early development of Jefferson County.

Joseph was born in Loudoun County, Virginia, on September 24^th, 1771, to Nathaniel and Elizabeth Grigsby. At the age of 15, his family moved onto a 1,000 acre land grant in Nelson County, Kentucky. It was there that he met Sarah (Sally) Mitchell Graham whom he married in June of 1798 in Bardstown, Kentucky. And it was in Bardstown that they started their family, which eventually included 13 children.

In 1817, the Grigsby family moved to Daviess County, Kentucky, where Joseph obtained 1,000 acres on the Green River from which he made a prosperous living growing cotton. In 1828, the family moved again. This time into the Mexican province of Texas, to Lorenzo de Zavala’s colony in Jasper County.

After the Texas Revolution, which ended in April 1836, Grigsby built a large cotton plantation together with a boat landing for trade on the Neches River in Jefferson County. This became a popular trading stop for flatboats. The community, which grew from this enterprise, became known as Grigsby’s Bluff (now Port Neches, Texas).

Grigsby’s prosperity continued. After acquiring 10,000 acres spanning from Mesquite Point, in Sabine Pass, to where modern-day Port Neches lies, he became the wealthiest man in Jefferson County. In 1837, he and three other prominent citizens gave a total of 200 acres of land to the state of Texas, which laid out the town site for Beaumont, Texas.

Grigsby was elected Land-Office Commissioner for Jefferson County, and was a representative in the Second, Third, and Fifth congresses of the Republic of Texas. He died in September of 1841, and was buried on his plantation at Grigsby’s Bluff.

Joseph Grigsby adds yet another piece to the vast puzzle of our heritage as we continue Rediscovering Southeast Texas.

Many interesting people have graced our Southeast Texas history, but few could ever match the fearlessness and sheer determination of a four-foot ten-inch Irishwoman named Kate Magill Dorman

Kate arrived in Southeast Texas in the year 1851. Although most historians believe her to have lived in Sabine as early as 1847, census records in her home state of Georgia show both Kate and her husband, Arthur Magill, were still living there as late as 1850.

In 1852, Kate and her husband built the Catfish hotel. It was a two-story dwelling located about three hundred yards from Fort Griffin. The hotel housed around two dozen permanent residents, along with the standard passing trade comprising merchants and seamen.

The hotel had a wharf where steamers would dock regularly to indulge in the fare at the Catfish hotel’s well-known and popular eatery. During the civil war, one patron, a certain William Berry Duncan (Confederate Officer, Liberty County Sheriff, and cattleman) wrote that he made frequent visits to the hotel, sometimes leaving his post at Grigsby’s Bluff, to dine and enjoy what he called “some tolerable good music.”

On November 2, 1859 tragedy struck. Arthur Magill, by then the chief engineer on the T.J. Smith, a Neches River mail packet, was killed when its boiler exploded. This left Kate alone to care for their two young daughters. Kate would later sue the Captain H.C. Smith, the owner of the T.J.Smith, for her deceased husband’s wages. This would be one of many legal confrontations between the two.

H.C. Smith wasn’t the only thorn in Kate’s side. One day a woman nicknamed “Dutch Margaret” entered the Catfish Hotel while Kate was serving meals. Dutch Margaret proceeded to vilify and yell obscenities at Kate in front of all the diners. Kate immediately retaliated with her own set of obscenities before resuming her duties. Unbeknownst to Kate, three of her friends met Dutch Margaret on the street, and caned her with a parasol(Umbrella).

Dutch Margaret filed a lawsuit on the grounds she had suffered a miscarriage from the caning. The plantiff’s attorney H.C. Pedigo, questioned the legality of a juror named Will J. Collins, and the claim that he had actually lived in Jefferson County. This resulted in the first survey of West Jefferson County line. The case was postponed until Mr. Collins’ legitimacy as a county resident was verified, but it was eventually thrown out. Dutch Margaret gave birth to a son three months later.

In 1860 Kate married a widowed friend of her deceased husband. His name was Captain John Dorman, and he was the master of the Neches River cotton steamer Doctor Massie.

In July of 1862, the yellow fever epidemic hit Sabine thanks to a vessel which ran the blockade put in place by the Federals. At least one thousand people deserted the area afraid of what was known as the “Yellow Jack”. The fever killed a hundred people in Sabine and Beaumont combined forty of which were Confederate soldiers.

With the tenants of the Catfish Hotel fleeing and nearly everyone else in Sabine escaping the dreaded disease, Kate stood strong. With no regard for her own health, Kate, along with her two friends, Sarah Vosburg and Sarah Ann King, made the hotel into a makeshift hospital to care for the sick and dying.

In October of the same year, 50 Federal troops came ashore in Sabine with a howitzer. They were on their way to burn the Confederate cavalry barracks. While marching through Sabine, they confiscated Capt. Dorman’s horse and cart in order to mount the howitzer on it.

While witnessing this, Kate’s Irish temper boiled. Again, without regard for the consequences, she began shaking her fist in the air and scolding the Federal invaders, telling them she hoped the Confederate boys would kill every last one of them before they got back and, if she had 25 men, she could take out Federals and their cannon herself.

After the Federals had burned down the Confederate barracks and stable, they marched through Sabine again, this time however, returning Capt. Dorman’s horse and cart with a word of warning, that if he did not keep his “damn wife’s mouth shut,” they would hang him. Futhermore, if she did not apologize to them, they would burn the hotel. Kate declared she would see them in Hell first, and they could set fire to it if they so chose.

A week later, the Federals sent another patrol ashore. This time, they burned a quarter of the town, including a sawmill, and some residences, but left the Catfish Hotel untouched.

On September 8^th, 1863, the Federals attempted another invasion of Sabine. The town and 47 Irish defenders station at Fort Griffin came under heavy shelling from the 18-gun armada. However, Kate and friend Sarah Vosburg, who had been preparing hot meals of meat, doughnuts, and coffee, braved the gunnery shells and loaded the same horse and cart that only a year before had been confiscated by the Federals and used against the Confederate troops. Kate and Sarah rode to the fort then unloaded their food, together with a gallon of whiskey to the Irish defenders.

Eventually, under the direction of  26 year-old Lt. Dick Dowling, the invasion was squashed courtesy of the cannoneers’ deadly accuracy. Three hundred prisoners were taken along with two gunboats. The casualties at Fort Griffin? Zero.

Not much is known about the feisty lady after her participation in the Battle of Sabine Pass. However, we do know that Kate and John Dorman lived out their lives in Sabine. The Captain died in 1886, three months before a major hurricane hit on October 12 and destroyed the whole town. Unsurprisingly, Kate survived the hurricane and lived until December 24, 1897. Both she and her captain are buried side by side in the Sabine Pass cemetery. A plaque was erected in her honor, at the head of her grave, acknowledging her part in our rich Southeast Texas history.