The Galveston Historic Homes Tour is an annual event that celebrates the rich architectural and cultural heritage of Galveston, Texas. Established in 1974 by the Galveston Historical Foundation, the tour was created to raise awareness of the city’s extensive collection of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century homes and to support historic preservation efforts. Each May, the event opens the doors to privately owned historic homes, many of which are not normally open to the public. The tour showcases a variety of architectural styles—including Victorian, Greek Revival, and Queen Anne—and offers a glimpse into Galveston’s prosperous past as a major port city. Over the decades, it has become one of the largest and most anticipated heritage events in the country, attracting thousands of visitors eager to admire the craftsmanship and history preserved in these iconic structures.
Our trip to Galveston on Friday was delightfully uneventful! It was nothing like last year when we lost power under the oaks on Ye Olde Block Farm on Thursday, followed by driving along the beach road during a lightning storm on Friday. Fortunately, this year’s storms stayed north of the Interstate 10 corridor until we settled into the Airbnb and made a trip to Old City Cemetery.
The wildflowers at the cemetery were as beautiful as ever, but the photos I posted didn’t do them justice because it was cloudy. I am currently at the cemetery this Sunday morning, taking a few photos before my shift at the 1896 James and Pauline Foster House (3523 Avenue P). Morning shots are fantastic! One note I will add is that I was pleasantly surprised by the spontaneous airshow that ensued when two biplanes began their maneuvers over the island, complete with smoke trails. I know they had fun, and I thank them for the show.
The rain moved offshore Saturday morning, leaving the atmosphere cloudy, cool, and breezy—a perfect setup as we made our way to our first home, the 1886 Richard and Eliza Walker House at 1705 Ball. We arrived twenty minutes before the start of the tour, so there was no wait, and we were the first to tour the house. In fact, I found that there was little wait for most of the tours, except for two, which I will get to later.
I thought that Richard and Eliza Walker House was outstanding, with a beautiful interior and staircase. It is well worth a visit, although you would have to “love thy neighbor” to live there, as you can almost shake hands from window to window in both homes. I will also add that seven of the eight houses require you to wear booties for the tour.
Next on the list was the 1886 Jacob and Martha Bernheim House at 1814 Sealy. There was no wait, and I really loved the original floors and wonderful porches. Note that as I write this, I’m sitting on a porch enjoying the constant breeze here in Galveston. The porch is not as attractive as the ones on the tour, but I think we can all agree that sitting on a porch in May, working or vegging out and enjoying the breeze, is almost spiritual—I digress.
1890 Clarke and Courts Building (fifth-floor loft) at 2400 Mechanic, New Jersey, designed by Clayton and Company, is accessible via stairs only—there is no elevator access. And boy, did I pay to climb this mountain. It’s a beautiful loft, but when you have a sciatic nerve problem, it’s like climbing Mount Everest. I made it—yay!
Our next adventure took us to the 1886 Mollie Walters House (Preservation in Progress) at 2528 Post Office. I will say that this was the second longest line of the day, behind only the Cover House, which I find odd. Normally, a restoration in progress doesn’t have any docents or lines of people waiting to visit, but as the last remaining bordello in the Red Light District, I hope to visit this treasure when the restoration is complete—during the Historic Homes Tour, of course! Note: This was the only house where booties were not required! I’ll stop now.
The 1896 Charles and Louisa Flake Cottage at 1901 25th Street is another treat worth visiting. I thought the lines were stagnant when we arrived, but fortunately, the crew (docents) kept the line moving. All homes on the tour did a great job of maintaining the flow!
After the usual lunch stop at Shrimp N Stuff, it was time for a visit to the 1896 James and Pauline Foster House at 3523 Avenue P, designed by Charles Bulger. If you’re reading this blog on Sunday, May 4, come by for a visit! I’ll be there from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. to sign you in. I love this house and hope to see you there!
The last two homes I want to explore next week, but the cover house, the 1899 Felix and Eva Mistrot House at 1804 35th Street (designed by George B. Stowe), was my second favorite wrapped porch after only the McFaddin-Ward House in Beaumont. The 1889 Joseph and Elizabeth Treaccar House at 2928 Avenue K has an interesting story, but I’ll leave those details to the docents on houses, as my intention here is not to tell you the whole story but to encourage you to do the tour and visit these lovely homes, where you can hear the fascinating stories firsthand while in the houses yourself.
Again, another great tour with a bunch of awesome crews. I really enjoyed this tour, sciatic nerve and all. The City Cemetery is also a stop not to be missed, especially if you are a photographer.
The 51st Annual Galveston Historic Homes Tours is here, and the Galveston Historical Foundation, along with its many volunteers, will be there to guide you, inform you, and hopefully educate you on these precious structures, but please note that there will be delays, long lines, and booties at some of the homes. Which ones, I have no idea, but I’ll definitely get into that on Sunday.
People tend to take this tour in different ways, and I want to help you as much as possible so you can have a wonderful experience visiting these treasures. First off, buy your tickets online. Keep them on your phone and/or print them. This should make it easy for you to pick up your tour book/ticket when you are at your first house. It shouldn’t be a secret that credit card machines, and the many gremlins inside their wires, like to screw with this technology. Most of the time it works, but I’ve volunteered for 11 years, so… Also, cash for tickets will be taken, but I haven’t heard if there will be cash boxes. There wasn’t last year, so we couldn’t give change. Keep this in mind. This was a new arrangement last year, so any disgruntled persons should contact the Galveston Historical Foundation. As a volunteer, I will quote Sgt. Oddball on this: “Don’t hit me with them negative waves.” My animal spirit, Yukari Akiyama (秋山 優花里), backs me up on this.
When taking the Historic Homes Tour, you should have a plan.
1. Each ticket is valid for one visit to every house on either weekend. If you can go both weekends, taking the tour with family and friends is a great experience. However, if you only have one weekend or even only one day, then it is better to take the tour with no more than three people. Long lines can be an obstacle. One year, I took the opening-day tour solo, and there was a point when I passed in front of 14 people because they only had enough room for one more person in the group.
2. Some of the houses are in the same neighborhood, so have a plan to park centrally. You will be able to walk to multiple places without wasting time looking for a parking spot for the various destinations.
3. NO HEELS! I should have put this up top. This is the one thing I’ve never understood. Why would someone wear heels on a home tour that involves walking upstairs and on lovely restored floors? If you do wear heels, you’ll end up walking through some stranger’s house shoeless. There was an instance when a homeowner had their beautiful restored floor damaged by someone who chose not to wear comfortable shoes. The money raised by the tour paid for the floor to be restored again.
4. Booties! Speaking of shoes, it is always inevitable to have one house on the tour that doesn’t want you prancing around in heels or people walking on their newly restored floors. I get it, restoration is expensive! But then why have your home on the tour? Anyway, I digress. This will undoubtedly slow down the people taking the tour. So, you may have to wait some time.
5. It may be better to visit popular homes, such as the cover house, at the beginning of the day, during lunchtime, or close to the last tour (six in the afternoon). I’ve found that these times have fewer lines.
6. Volunteers. Most of the people who check your ticket, sell you the excellent wares that the Galveston Historical Foundation offers, and are stationed throughout the properties are volunteers. This means they are not getting paid. The white shirt–black pants army is there to keep the tour rolling and help you visit these beautiful homes. I say this because when you find yourself in a line, know that most of these people are doing the best they can to give you a great experience.
7. Visit the Old City Cemetery! The wildflowers are lovely and a great photo opportunity for photographers.
8. Make sure to look for the cemetery tours hosted by Kathleen Maca. They sell out fast! The reason is that she is a great storyteller and has written several books on Broadway’s prominent cemetery.
The Battleship Texas Foundation had a bit of a reality check this week when the Galveston Wharves Board ended the negotiations for USS Texas to moor at Pier 19. I know the foundation’s goal was to keep the ship in Galveston, and they possibly will, but not near the Elissa. The restaurants along the pier complained that it would prevent customers from seeing the waterfront. You know, the wharf that overlooks Gulf Copper shipyard. To me, this is hilarious, but who am I to comment on what some subpar elite person thinks? Charles Barkley was right! It is “dirty ass water,” and you shouldn’t get too excited about it.
If I’m going to throw out quotes here, then I have to mention this one from the movie Blazing Saddles. Yes, I’m going there! When Jim, the gunslinger (Gene Wilder), is consoling Bart, the new sheriff (Cleavon Little), he says, “What did you expect? ‘Welcome, sonny?’ ‘Make yourself at home?’ ‘Marry my daughter?’ You’ve got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know… Morons.”
This quote is dedicated to those weekend Galvestonians from Houston who support USS Texas but who made it clear to me that Beaumont is worse than sad and just a drive-through city on their way to New Orleans. When they told me this, I was just a fly on the wall, and I didn’t have my Bring It to Beaumont pin, which was given to me by a friend in support of mooring the ship on the Neches River in Beaumont. But I still have the audio file of my drydock tour! Now, it looks like we are one and the same degenerates. I can live with that. You, not so much.
Although I am not a member of the Galveston Historical Foundation, I volunteer every year at the Historic Homes Tour. I will continue to do this every year as long as Bev, “the Candy Lady,” keeps asking me. I love the tour and the houses, but there is nothing else in Galveston that I really care to see apart from Kathleen Maca’s tours.
If it wasn’t for the Historic Homes Tour, I wouldn’t even go to Galveston. Well, maybe for Mama Theresa’s pizza, and Shrimp and Stuff. As for the Strand, that’s really not my thing. I will now end this episode of Where USS Texas Will End Up. It can’t stay at Gulf Copper forever, and since they threw Beaumont and Baytown under the bus, they definitely need to find another home for it. I’m sure that the $35 million that were given to the foundation by the state of Texas to make it “go away” are running out. To be continued!
The Wings Over Houston airshow was this week, and unfortunately, I could not attend. I had a problem. My wings were good to go, but my landing gear had an ongoing issue. Getting old sucks, but it is better than the alternative! Rather than walking through Ellington Field’s many mazes to get to the show, I attended Eserbet’s birthday party. For those not in the know, Eserbet is my three-year-old granddaughter. She is pretty good with a plastic knife, and she has been developing her skills with the new pew-pew gun. I feel I won’t survive her wrath in the next couple of years, but I hope she can learn the ways of the katanas in my office. Kids grow up fast!
Photo Credit: Jackson Guitars
Lately, I rediscovered Eddie Trunk on SiriusXM. For those who don’t know, Eddie has been the face of rock and metal radio shows for over 40 years. I’ve written about my musical interests before, and it is good to listen to someone who shares some of them and has seen earlier bands before they were famous. Eddie brought up the rock-n-roll Hall of Fame, and this year’s inductees, including Ozzy Osbourne, were mentioned. I will say that I’m a fan of the musicians and songwriters around Ozzy, and I’m glad that he mentioned Randy Rhoads as the springboard that launched his solo career. He was, and after Randy’s untimely death, Jake E. Lee took over as Ozzy’s guitarist. For all the fact-checkers out there, Brad Gillis was only on a live album of Black Sabbath songs Ozzy released before Bark at the Moon. And that album was all Jake’s! I will die defending this hill!
Photo Credit: Ironmaiden.com
Another band I gladly think I introduced to many people in the early 1980s was Iron Maiden. I first saw them at the Beaumont Civic Center opening for the Scorpions. I’ll have to ask Mikey Mayhem if the band Girlschool opened for Maiden. Mikey remembers all this stuff better than I do because I was too busy trying to develop the standing-on-the-back-of-two-chairs technique. Ninety minutes of switching legs to stay up on those chairs to see the stage. I’m sure Richard Simmons would have been proud, but I wasn’t dancing, and this wasn’t the oldies! (It is now!)
I want to mention Iron Maiden’s early years because the tour I attended was the one for The Number of the Beast. That was their third album and the first with singer Bruce Dickinson. The two previous albums, Iron Maiden and Killers, had a different singer named Paul Di’Anno. My interest in this band was fed by my favorite record store in the Jefferson City Shopping Center—Ted’s Record Store—which sent me down many musical paths. On a side note, we all remember the jingle: “At Jeff, Jeff, Jefferson City where there’s everything under the sun!” I digress.
Photo Credit: Ironmaiden.com
I learned a couple of days ago Paul Di’Anno passed. After Maiden, he had been performing and making records for forty years. He had a lot of health problems, and this year, he performed in a wheelchair because of his ailing legs. He was a trooper and performed because he had to because of a lack of funds. Rest in Peace, Paul.
Photo Credit Ego Trip Media
It’s turnip carving time, and I particularly like this season because we usually receive no visitors. Unfortunately, no one appreciates the smell of turnips! One might ask why we carve turnips around Halloween. The tradition goes back to the old countries of Ireland and England and Ye Olde Stingy Jack. Jack was not a good man; he screw up his life and afterlife. After hearing the story of Stingy Jack and his worthless life, I’d put him in either the Senate or Congress. It’s pretty bad when even the devil feels for you. I’ll leave a link to his story.
Until next time, “Up the Irons! For Paul!” He was a West Ham United fan. That is an even greater loss…
Before I get into this week’s blog, I want to give much credit to my good friend Mr. Don Smart. I’m sure his wife, Darlene (another awesome person in our historical-preservation crew), would agree with me that he goes above and beyond in his research and that he is constantly there if an organization needs a volunteer. Actually, both Don and Darlene are two treasures when it comes to preserving and teaching history!
Last week, during our Lincoln Rest Cemetery cleanup day, Don handed me a DVD of the Texas Historical Commission marker dedication at the World War II prisoner of war (POW) camp in China, Texas, that he filmed in 2000. A while back, he told me that he had footage of the dedication and the person I wanted to see. The person was Hans Keiling, a German tank commander who immigrated to Port Arthur. I posted his story back in 2022, and I will add it to this blog, but there was more information about his journey to Southeast Texas in the video. The footage also mentions letters written by relatives a some who were incarcerated at the China camp and even those who were young when the camp was established and who got to know the prisoners. This was a great video, and I thank Mr. Smart for always bringing these things to light; without his journey into history, a lot would be lost to time. For example, there would have been no video of the marker dedication. I will add that we also wouldn’t know the story of Wong Shu, who we believe is the person who lies under the Chinese stone on the tree line near the bayou at Magnolia Cemetery. It was Mr. Smart’s research on the Beaumont Enterprise that gave us Wong Shu’s story. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of this blog.
Getting back to Hans Keiling and the POW camp dedication, there were three camps in this area—one in Orange County, one in China, and one in Tyrrell Park in Beaumont.
By 1943, the war and its effects had been felt by people throughout the world. This was also true for our brave men and women here in Southeast Texas. Without hesitation, they answered the call of duty on three levels, doing their part in both the Pacific and European theaters as well as on the manufacturing front. Sacrifice and effort were given freely in support of the cause. Because of the need for wartime laborers, other sectors, such as timber and agriculture, suffered.
At the time, the number of German and Italian POWs was increasing, especially in North Africa. The surrender of 150,000 soldiers of General Rommel’s Afrika Korps resulted in their transfer to the United States where they remained incarcerated until the end of the war.
The Geneva Convention of 1929 required that POWs be located in a similar climate to that in which they were captured. This made Texas the ideal place for the Afrika Korps prisoners. At the time, Texas had twice as many POW camps than any other US state. In August 1943, there were 12 main camps, but by June 1944, there were 33. The need to house, feed, and care for these POWs was enormous, but Texas embraced the challenge.
In Southeast and East Texas, the arrival of (mostly German) POWs couldn’t have come at a better time. Smaller camps were erected throughout the region to aid timber and rice farmers. As I stated earlier, three sites—China, Tyrrell Park in Beaumont, and Orange County (off Womack Road)—housed prisoners who worked on the rice farms under the Texas Extension Service of the Texas Agriculture and Mechanical University.
During the camps’ existence, there were escape attempts. This was a significant problem for the sites near the Mexican border, but for the most part, the prisoners spent their time incarcerated without incident. And now for Mr. Keiling’s story.
Hans Max Keiling immigrated from Germany in 1956. His story should be a movie, as he is one of those immigrants who loved this country for its freedom.
Hans was from Frankfurt an der Oder, a German town on the Oder River, near the Polish border. He was drafted into the German army and became a master sergeant and a tank commander at 23. In a few newspaper articles, he stated he only fought the Russians (the Soviets) and never faced the Americans. From what I know of the Russian front, it was a logistic nightmare during which everyone waited for Der Failüre to see how many soldiers would die in order to hold at all costs some land they shouldn’t have taken in the first place. Keiling did his duty, but when the Germans surrendered, he didn’t want to surrender to the Soviet Army because he would have been executed. He stayed in an American camp for two days. However, he was turned over to the Soviets because of an agreement the Americans had with them to transfer prisoners who fought against either army. So, Keiling was handed to the Soviets, but without his uniform that showed he was an SS tank commander. He was put in a labor camp near Stalingrad, where he spent three and a half years working in a coal mine 14 hours a day.
In 1948, some of the POWs who had special training were sent to East Germany to train “police forces.” Keiling said he had to choose between staying in the coal mine, where he could perish any day, and going to East Germany. He chose the latter, signing an agreement under pressure from the KGB.
Keiling became a special-weapons training officer at the “police academy,” but he soon “found out that this training had nothing to do with police work.” Germany was secretly working to establish a new army, although prohibited from doing so under its terms of surrender.
Still, Keiling said he had no choice in the matter. One night in 1950, while walking to the post office, he was kidnapped by two KGB officers and was jailed for six months, during which he received monthly “hearings.” He was then sentenced to 10 years in a slave-labor camp. He was sent to a coal mine in Vorkuta, Siberia, 80 miles above the Arctic Circle. Each day, he marched three miles from the barracks to the coal mine, with the temperature usually around 45 degrees below zero. He was released when Stalin died in March 1953, but he remained in custody in the USSR. While being transported back to East Germany, he escaped to West Berlin.
In 1954, he settled in West Germany, where he met the niece of Bruno Shulz, the man who founded Gulfport Shipyard in Port Arthur. Keiling was finally able to emigrate from Germany in 1956. He moved to Texas and worked for Shulz, managing a trailer park he owned in Kerrville and working on his ranch in Comfort. It was in Texas that Keiling learned to speak English, in part from television. Keiling worked for Schulz until the latter’s death in 1981. Then, he moved to Port Arthur, where he worked as a security guard until 1984. Afterward, he moved to Temple and back to Port Arthur.
Hans passed in 2008, and he currently rests in Magnolia Cemetery in Beaumont, near fallen Beaumont police officer Paul Hulsey, who ended his watch in March 1988. This is another tale from that hallowed ground I may get into someday.
Last weekend, I went down a few rabbit holes linked to a couple of newspaper archives and Fold3, which is a military database offered by the website Ancestry. This is where I initially discovered the war diaries of the Marine Scout Bombing Squadron 931 (VSMB-931) dive-bomber squadron that trained in Jefferson County. My goal was to find a bit more information on Hugo DeBretagne, a Port Arthur marine who died in Tarawa in 1943. Since this week is the anniversary of Operation Detachment (the invasion of Iwo Jima), I wanted to search through what war diaries were available, if any. What I ended up finding were the diaries of the Second Marines concerning their part in Operation Galvanic (the siege of Betio Island in Tarawa), as well as a few more questions and scenarios.
In the pages of the Beaumont Journal and the Port Arthur News, I did find a few mentions of Hugo DeBretagne’s death and the fate of his brother, James, later in the war in Iwo Jima. I believe James was also in Tarawa, but I don’t know what unit he served in. The information regarding Hugo was inscribed on his memorial stone at Greenlawn Cemetery in Groves, Texas, so I could follow a bit of a paper trail for him, but not in James’s case. One thing I did find out in the newspaper archives was that James was wounded in Iwo Jima, but without knowing who he served with, I can’t find any answers.
Luckily, James DeBretagne survived the war. He spent time recovering in a Corpus Christi hospital from the wounds he suffered in Iwo Jima, for which he received the Purple Heart. That’s where the military history ends. I won’t get into other aspects of the family, but I will say that he lived a long life, and he passed in 1993 in Hardin County.
Before reading through the war diaries of the Second Marines, I had assumed that Hugo DeBretagne died on D-day 3—the third and last day of fighting on Betio. However, since there was little resistance that day, and given that he was buried at sea, I am beginning to think that he was wounded in the initial battle or on D-day 2. I doubt this question will ever be answered, but if I manage to do so, I will let you know. That’s the problem with research—when you think you have the right scenario, something changes it. But if the result is correcting our historical knowledge, that’s okay.
The last thing I will say about these brothers is that they were also on Guadalcanal, which would make a whole other major story. SETX gave a lot for the war, and it doesn’t matter what county you reside in; there are heroes in every hallowed ground of our area.
I’ve finally cut the cord, so to speak. Seven years ago, I was so fed up with the cable provider Spectrum that I switched to Dish (Latino). Oh, those World Cup memories! You could watch TV after a hurricane as long as you had a generator bringing the power to the TV and all the hookups. Now, the only thing you can watch on Dish that you can’t get anywhere else is the Dishscapes. Although nice, I will not pay $173 a month to see Bigfoot either boating or mowing the grass in his dapper Smokey Bear hat.
I remember that, back in the day, we had four channels: KJAC, KFDM, KBMT, and the Public Broadcasting Network (PBS) out of Houston (sponsored by the Getty Oil Company or the DuPont Foundation, of course). PBS had a big influence on me because of—yes—Sesame Street and The Electric Company. Later, in the ’80s, Soccer Made in Germany would put me on the weirdly inevitable path of becoming an English-football supporter and, even worse, a fan of Queens Park Rangers (QPR). The main reason was PBS’s coverage of the 1982 World Cup and the dreaded Football Association Cup final between QPR and Tottenham Hotspur. Probably the worst mistake I’ve made in my life, but “We R QPR,” and the pain continues.
R.I.P. Stan Bowles (24 December 1948 – 24 February 2024)
Around that time, we also discovered that we could cross wires and antennae to actually broadcast over the air—so to speak. A walky-talky may have been used, and the Federal Communications Commission had no idea we did this, but in 1982, we started our own radio station. Truth be told, we could only broadcast over a couple of blocks in our neighborhood, but you could listen to it on any radio in that area. Ninety-nine point something was the frequency. Regarding content, Rush, AC/DC, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Ozzy Osbourne were played to no one. My cohost was worried that his mother may be listening because his house was a block away, but he was the one doing the things we shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, so there you go. It was fun, and I did see Ozzy Osbourne in Beaumont and lived to tell about it. I saw him a couple of times, but the one with Randy Rhoades at Fair Park was the best!
When we weren’t hacking into the airwaves, our radios would be tuned in to 104½ FM or 101 KLOL. I think I still have some cassette tapes of Linda Silk’s show on Saturday nights. Of course, Sunday mornings were strictly for KLVI 560’s show Cajun Bandstand, hosted by Johnny Janot. After Johnny passed, A. J. Judice stepped in front of the microphone for a couple of years. I miss Johnny. I know his dog gave him a hard time, but when you name your dog Sex, things usually don’t go smoothly in everyday life. (Story below!)
You know, everyone that has a dog either calls him Rover, or Boy, or Fido, or something.
Well, I call mine Sex. Sex is a very embarrassing name.
One day, I took Sex for a walk, and he ran away from me. I spent hours looking for that dog, and a cop came along and asked me what I was doing in this alley at four o’clock in the morning. I said I was looking for Sex. My case comes up next Thursday.
One day I went to city hall for a dog license for Sex, and the clerk asked me what I wanted, and I told him I wanted a license for Sex. And he said, “I’d like to have one too! “
But I said this is a dog, and he said, “ I don’t care how she looks.”
Then I said you don’t understand. I’ve had Sex since I was two years old.
And he said, “Boy, you must have been a strong boy.”
Well, I decided to get married and told the minister I wanted to have Sex at the wedding. He told me to wait until after the wedding. I told him but Sex has played a big part in my life, and my whole lifestyle revolves around Sex. He said he didn’t want to hear about my personal life and would not marry us in his church. I told him that everyone coming to the wedding would enjoy having Sex there. The next day, we were married by the Justice of the Peace, and my family are all barred from the church.
My wife and I took the dog along with us on our honeymoon, and when I checked into the motel I told the clerk I wanted a room for my wife and I, and a special room for Sex. The clerk said every room in the motel is for sex. Then I said, you don’t understand, Sex keeps me awake at night, and the clerk said, “Me too!”
One day I told my friend I had Sex on TV, and he said, “You show off.” I told him it was a contest. He said, “You should’ve sold tickets.”
Well, my wife and I separated and went to court to fight for custody of the dog, and I said your Honor, I’ve had Sex before I was married, and the judge said, “Me too!”
Now I’ve been thrown in jail, I’ve been married, I’ve been divorced, and had more damn trouble with that dog than I ever gambled for.
Why, just the other day, when I went for my first session with my psychiatrist, and she asked me what the problem was, I said, hell, Sex has died and left my life. It’s like losing a best friend, and it’s so lonely.
The doctor said, “Look, mister, you and I both know that sex isn’t man’s best friend.”
Many thanks to the Captain William Sanders chapter of the National Society of the Daughters of the American Revolution (NSDAR). I was again honored to be a speaker at their February meeting this week. More people showed up this year, but they weren’t there to listen to my ramblings. This chapter reaches out to the local high schools and asks the faculty who the outstanding students are, and the faculty and counselors give their shout-outs. The students receive one hundred dollars in cash, a certificate, and information on obtaining a scholarship through the NSDAR. I think this is an outstanding idea for local organizations, and they deserve to be mentioned whenever possible.
The talk went well, but the refreshments were better. I only had one heckler this year. My two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter Ezerbet was in the audience and greeted everyone, repeatedly (“Hi!”). Thanks to the person who sent a bag of Fritos her way. She enjoyed them, along with anything that caught her eye and her stomach after the meeting. By the way, her name isn’t Ezerbet, but when I mention her in future blogs, I will refer to her like that just to irritate one of her parents.
One of the advantages of being part of the Jefferson County Historical Commission is being around people who know a lot more than you do about a subject or how to do certain things, such as presentations. Shout-out to Dr. Steven Lewis, who is a wiz at creating PowerPoint files and Excel spreadsheets. He is the only reason I can produce some of these things. I’m pretty savvy when it comes to technology, but not this type of stuff. I think that, deep down, I just hate Mister Softy (MSFT), a.k.a. Bill Gates.
Speaking of another Mr. Gates, part of my talk was about some of the old houses in Port Arthur, especially the few ones standing on Lakeshore Drive—the Vuylsteke House, the Pompeiian Villa, and Rose Hill Manor. One that is no longer there is the John W. Gates House. It was located one house down from the Pompeiian Villa. The John Gates House burned down in the 1960s, but the carriage house is still there, as is the Texas Historical Commission (THC) marker placed in 2001.
Here is the story of the original plan by a few millionaires who wanted to build some pretty nice homes in a swamp.
The Pompeiian Villa is a replica of a Pompeiian home from AD 79; it was built by Isaac Ellwood, the “Barbed Wire King,” in 1900. It was one of three structures to be built on the eight-acre stretch of lakefront property in Port Arthur. The second home was John Warner “Bet-a-Million” Gates’ twenty-room Georgian Revival mansion, a pre–Civil War Gone with the Wind-style home with a carriage house at the back. A third home was planned by an investor, Mr. James Hopkins (president of the Diamond Match Company, St. Louis, Missouri); sadly, Mr. Hopkins could not come up with an idea for a suitable structure, so the land between the two aforementioned homes was never built upon.
After the Pompeiian Villa was completed, Mr. Ellwood lived there for a year. In 1901, he sold it to Mr. Hopkins, who loved the house dearly, so much so that he sent for his wife in St. Louis to live with him in this great abode during the winter months. Mrs. Hopkins took the train down from St. Louis, expecting to see paradise. After the train ride, she boarded a carriage and was taken to her new winter home. When she arrived, she saw the great villa in all its glory—built in muddy marshlands next to a lake. She was not impressed. Without hesitation, she returned to the train station and traveled back to St. Louis without setting foot inside the villa.
I also mentioned the Vuylsteke House, which was built in 1905 by J. E. Alexander in the space of seventy-five days for Adrianus Jacobus Maria Vuylsteke. Mr. Vuylsteke immigrated to the US in 1893 and moved to Texas in 1894. After his marriage to Nettie Minerva White in 1898, they settled in Jefferson County. Mr. Vuylsteke was appointed to the Dutch consulate for Port Arthur in 1906.
In 1908, the Vuylsteke family sold the house to John Tryon, a manager at the Gulf refinery who would eventually become Port Arthur’s mayor between 1917 and 1921. After having multiple owners, the house was moved to its current location on Lakeshore Drive, renovated, and used as a rental property. Finally, after years of deterioration, it was bought by the Port Arthur College Foundation and restored in 1986.
I also showed a couple of pictures taken by Port Arthur News photographer Don Larson, which I purchased at an estate sale. To me, they are iconic because of who is in them. The first one is from the Babe Zaharias THC marker dedication in 1979. (Yes, Beaumont, the Babe was born in Port Arthur!) It shows Sydalise Fredeman holding her hat while Bum Phillips takes the cover off the marker and Bob Hope looks on. The second photo shows Bob Hope looking on again (I think he did that a lot) while a lady with a shovel breaks ground for the new Bob Hope School. And yes, that is Wayne Newton in the background! If anyone knows who the lady with the shovel is, please let me know.
Well, I’ll end this blog the same way I ended my PowerPoint—with a photo of my fat cats and a link to my website. By the way, Ezerbet says, “Hi!”
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
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.
The U.S. Chemical Safety and Hazard Investigation Board (CSB) released a new safety video on the investigation into the TPC plant explosions. Usually I’ll let the vultures feed on this, but I do have some history with this “Turkey Farm,” as some called it in the Texaco Chemical era, known now as the TPC Group Chemical Plant.
Back in the early nineties, when I was pondering a career (no, I was just a slacker, and I ended up at C. H. Heist Corp., hydro blasting filters at Neches Butane), I saw many things in this refinery. The first observance was that half of the refinery was clean but the rest was in disrepair. I was told that the clean units hadn’t been used in 40 years. I don’t know if this was true, but it would fit. Also, back then I was usually in the betamethaoxyprofil nitrile unit (I don’t even know if I spelled it right, but my editor has been told to skip this word because I was tired of looking at it, and I’m not going to spend time on it now). I’m not a chemist, but betamethaoxyprofil nitrile is something I wouldn’t put in my cauldron. This “additive?” is not made today. We’d been called there to clean a drain, but some jackleg college graduate thought it good to try to take over the situation because we couldn’t get the water to flow. Being a jackleg myself, I just watched as he stuck his bare hand in the hole to try to clear it. This was after he was yacking about his love of female companionship. We all knew he was an idiot, and luckily another Neches Butane employee was there to tell him that sticking your hand in a drain full of Benzine causes cancer. His face turned white; I guess that education of his taught him nothing. True story. I was taught if your glove can’t reach it then use your rubber boot. I didn’t go to college to learn the correct etiquette for being a boilermaker, or whatever the hell the jackleg was, but I have drunk Texaco water, so I’m pretty much doomed—I digress.
The “Turkey Farm” nickname for Neches Butane was directly administered by the folks at the old Jefferson Chemical when Texaco owned them both, as far as I have heard. I know someone who was in accounting at Jefferson Chemical at the time, and they stated that Jefferson Chemical made the money while Neches Butane lost it. I have no horse in the race, but I can believe it because of Neches Butane’s history. As for as my history in refineries, that ended sitting in a smoke shack at 2:30 in the morning (when they had a smoke shack). “What the hell am I doing here, and why!” At this point I was done with refineries.
Cut to February 2019. As I drove south on Magnolia Street in Port Neches, I noticed that the flare at TPC had a problem. It was shooting a hundred feet in the air! Then, as the wind took it to the ground, it was moving like one of those inflatable air dancers the car dealerships use to get your attention. And no one said anything other than we were having problems with a unit. Fun times in Port Neches. It almost sounds like the daily observance at Flint Hills. Shout out to the El Vista residents in Port Arthur. Keep safe.
The night that TPC had their mishap, I was asleep but was awakened by texts from nurses in my family because they work the night shift out of town and had no knowledge of the situation. Luckily there was no damage here, but a ring camera fell in the blast. I did not seek reimbursement, but Wednesday morning’s air traffic over Jack Brooks Regional Airport looked similar to the signing of the Japanese surrender in Tokyo Bay. Every lawyer from Houston to Dallas was flying in. I did my usual work that Wednesday, but I kept getting updates from Judge Jeff on the phone (because I subscribe to STAN, the Southeast Texas Alerting Network) on the evacuation status of residents. I like Judge Jeff a lot, and I usually love to hear his voice, but if you remember, 2019 Tropical Storm Imelda did her thing, and the Judge gave updates after updates. We were fine here, but I understand some people don’t realize that you DON’T RUN YOUR GENERATOR IN YOUR HOUSE!
That afternoon, I was in Beaumont at an office and thought I heard the garbage truck outside. No, the notification on a camera at my house said otherwise. That was the moment the “rocket” lifted off and scared the hell out of everyone in charge. (It was actually a unit tower that caught on fire and shot into the air like a firecracker.) I left and picked up what I needed at HEB. Remember, this was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I went home and began to cook Thanksgiving dinner the night before the holiday, like I have done for years. (We just heat it up on Thursday.) As the turkey was cooking, we did a walk-about in the neighborhood and watched the smoke from TCP move to the Fannett area of Jefferson County. Despite the calls for evacuation, I chose to cook Thanksgiving dinner that night and watch movies. The first movie was Dunkirk! (What else would be suitable?) The next was 1917.
I woke up to changing winds, and the smoke, but those who were worried about hell on earth—of us needing to evacuate—drove in and had Thanksgiving dinner in the afternoon. We are all good, under the Oakes on Ye Olde Block’s Formosan Farm, but we will endure whatever bullshit is handed to us.
I don’t care about Neches Butane, Jefferson Chemical, Texaco Chemical, or any other shite company in my past, but I hope those in charge will have to answer for this. They won’t. Even the Vultures who flew in are not your friends. It’s a game that no one ever wins. But I do find it fitting that the end of TPC came the day before Thanksgiving. It kind of puts the “Turkey Farm” reference in context. Gobble, gobble.
To quote 西住 みほ, Nishizumi Miho, Panzer Vor! We all move forward. And I hope we can leave this business, and it’s history, behind.
U.S. Chemical Safety and Hazard Investigation Board (CSB) Report:
A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned the ongoing search for the location of what was a train stop or a “township” in Hardin County named after journalist Florence Stratton. I received some excellent historical details from a couple of folks at the Museum of Hardin County on the article that a friend and fellow researcher found on the completion of the Beaumont, Sour Lake, and Western Railway in 1907. It was assumed that the train stop was most likely in Liberty County, so our next plan was to reach out to a few friends there to see if they knew anything about the history of the railroad and its stops in the area.
Last Sunday, I was about to veg out from my recliner on yet another session of YouTube videos on the Battle of Midway when a ping on my phone alerted me that I had an email with the subject line “Florence Stratton.” It was my friend. While doing research on another subject, she saw a mention of a camp located on the Frisco Railroad near Florence Switch. The term “switch” is railroad speak, so we both began doing a search for railroad maps of Hardin County. Come to think of it, I had already searched for this before but had found nothing. This time it was different. When you type in “Texas railroad maps from 1908,” you get a lot of stuff that isn’t from that period. Some are close, but it doesn’t do me any good if the map is from 20 years before the township was founded or after it went kaput. Luckily, this time there was a link to a 1912 map for sale on some website. I’m sure it is a fine map and worth every penny of the price, but I noticed that you could enlarge the image and move to the region you wanted. Screenshot, send to paint, and voilà, we can see that the train stop along the Beaumont, Sour Lake, and Western Railway was on the border between Hardin and Liberty Counties.
Mystery solved, thanks to multiple people working together. And I appreciate every one of them! I guess I’ll have to eat crow and give kudos to Eunice, but that is all right with me. For those that don’t know, Eunice Stephens was Florence’s niece; she passed in January 1982. In her later years, she was interviewed and stated that Florence had a town named after her. According to my research, Florence in Williamson County, north of Austin, Texas, was founded in 1858, so this wasn’t it. I thought that Eunice was misinformed, but reading the article from 1907, I learned that R. C. Duff, the president of the railroad, definitely named this stop/township/switch after Florence. It wasn’t there for long, nor did it have a post office, but it was a thing. In the end, Eunice and I want the same thing. We want Florence’s history to live on.
One thing I’ve come to appreciate is the contribution of different groups of people, whether in the Jefferson County Historical Commission, Hardin County Historical Commission, Liberty County Historical Commission, Chambers County Historical Commission, or any other commission, as well as the role of independent researchers. This is the era of helping out regular people trying to find information about their history. No one has all the answers, but some of us may have a grain of knowledge to help you out in your search. I’m truly thankful for those who have helped me during my journey, and I am ready to reciprocate if possible.
I passed the Brisket Room this week, as I usually do every other week. The Brisket Room was our go-to place for chipped beef sandwiches. For those not in the know, the restaurant is gone nowadays, but the building is still there and has the sign out. I think it is a rental for parties and such. Unlike the loss of Monceaux’s, Hartman’s, and Pie Face from my Port Arthur foodie history, I still have Billy Joe’s Bar-B-Q in Port Neches to bring an epic chipped beef sandwich. Truth be told, I’ve also been enjoying the sausage links for over 40 years. It’s almost the 50th anniversary of Billy Joe’s existence, and I will say that the sauce should be labeled as a food group, just like Aunt Meg’s gravy! And if you don’t know this reference, you might want to watch that epic movie called Twister. I still miss Bill Paxton’s weather reports. He was the Extreme! He was also related to Sam Houston “somehow” and played him in the miniseries Texas Rising in 2015. Not to nitpick, but there were definitely a lot of mountain paths in what was meant to be Baytown, Texas, in that film.
This is an odd question, but I will bring it up all the same: Did we ever use the term “mixed tape” in the ‘80s? I think not, but my better half was watching Stranger Things, and someone mentioned that they made a mixed tape. I have many recordings on cassette from that time, and most were filled with music from the radio, but we never called them “mixed tapes.” What we did in 1982–83 was find a way to manipulate a walky-talky and a radio to broadcast like a radio station. The signal was weak but could be heard within a five-block radius. Of course, the music you would have heard was Rush, ACDC, or Iron Maiden, although I did have a double promotional record from Warner Brothers that I bought for two dollars at Ted’s Record Shop in Jefferson City. The only group I remember was the Whitford St. Holmes Band, and I can’t recall a single song it made. But kids do what they do, and we broadcast for mostly no one to hear our shenanigans. Well, there were a few followers and one adult, but she dug the music. Looking back, “Whiskey Woman” was a damn good song! There you go. Whitford St. Holmes Band. Rock on!
But I digress.
Until next week, you can “Exit Stage Left,” “Ride On,” or “Run to the Hills,” but think back and ask yourselves: Did we say “mixed tape”?
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