Thoughts and Ramblings: TPC and the Turkey Farm

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:

12 News Now:

https://www.12newsnow.com/video/news/local/mid-county-residents-express-frustration-over-tpc-reaching-30-million-bankruptcy-settlement/502-2cbaec27-fb4d-496c-bd91-73585e53b85b

Southeast Texas Alerting Network:

Tropical Storm Imelda:

Thoughts and Ramblings: Rediscovering Florence Switch; Brisket Room; Texas Rising; Whitford St. Holmes Band; Did We Call It A Mixed Tape?

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”?

Texas Rising:  https://youtu.be/tUVRoQYHVAo

Aunt Megs Gravy:  https://youtube.com/clip/Ugkx1iNOUuVPlnXUFL0qZYT3YfZu0DQQlOgp

Whitford St. Holmes Band:  https://youtu.be/v0f_F9ZeW5k

Thoughts and Ramblings: The 49th Galveston Historic Homes Tour!

Saturday was the day, and we were ready for the lineups, requirements to wear booties, and technology fails along the way – those who have taken the tour or volunteered for it know the struggles. After an early arrival by ferry, I was giddy in the knowledge that this year I wouldn’t have to take the ferry home only to drive back on Sunday, thanks to a friend’s Airbnb. I was impressed not just by the home’s 600 square feet of greatness, but by its driveway and location just two blocks from the seawall. Driveways are worth big money in Galveston County, but I digress.

Our first stop was my volunteer house for the day, the 1901 James and Mary Prindiville House. James Prindiville was a New Orleans native and plaster contractor. The Prindiville’s original home built on this site in 1898 was destroyed by the storm of 1900, and this home was built to replace it. While small, it is quite beautiful. Its open concept and easy access certainly make it a must-see.

Our next stop was meant to be the house pictured on the cover, the 1890 McKinney-McDonald House, but oh, the lines! We decided to put this jewel off until after lunch. So, it was onto the 1905 Edmund and Lorena Toebelman House. While it also had a line, the docents did a good job of moving visitors through quickly. Some features of note were the home’s gas lamps at the doorway (not original), the interior light fixtures, and the many original windows. Wavy glass is always a plus.

The 1920 City National Bank Building was to be our grand finale, but we decided to visit it early since we were in the area. When it was put on the tour in 2017 it was one of the ongoing restorations. There were few lines because who wants to see a work in progress? Well I do, and I took some photos – see the link below. They did an excellent job of restoring the bank and I was anxious to find out what it would be used for. After hearing it would become a rental residence, I had many questions. Who? What? Why? Okay, to each his own. Stay in my Airbnb! It’s a bank! It has a table long enough to have Vlad Putin meet with his enemies! Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful property, but there are some things you just don’t do. However, I digress. I’ll move on.

And move on we did, to the 1890 Julius Lobenstein Tenant Cottage. If there was ever a property to rent on this tour, this is it! It’s known as a speakeasy because of the tiny door inserted on the front door to peek out and ask, mob fashion, what’s the password? If you visit this house and they ask you for the password, just say Jabberwalky. It is actually a rental, and the shiplap boards on the walls are many different colors. At this point on the tour, this was my favorite. See the link below for its rental information.

The 1899 Charles and Estelle Miller House and the 1905 Joseph and Frances Gengler House were also must-sees, along with the 1906 Nathan and Mary Spence House. The restorations are superb, and the lineups were not that bad because of the docents moving us through. But we still had three houses left, and I knew the lineups at the cover house would be long.

After lunch at Shrimp and Stuff, we set out to the 1892 George Bendixen Corner Store and Residence – or, as I call it, the Wednesday Adams winter home, because of its black exterior. This was my favorite of the tour and a must-see. It’s for sale – I’ll have to look through my change drawer, but I doubt I have enough to purchase this jewel for $1.1 million. However, one can dream.

This was the first tour I’ve been on, and I had not yet had to wear booties, but the ninth and tenth houses ended my winning streak. The 1928 Joseph and Edith Eiband House was a treat to tour, even with booties on, and so was the 1890 McKinney-McDonald House, but it had really long lines, and booties were also required. At the time I went through it, it was understaffed, but this was not the docents’ fault. If you volunteer at one of these properties then you need to show up! This is not the first time I’ve seen this problem and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Hopefully, the rest of the tours of this beautiful gem will be better. I first toured it in 2012 when it was a restoration in progress. I am glad to see that it has been returned to its true beauty.

If you are out and about today, I hope to see you at the 1901 James and Mary Prindiville House. I may have a clipboard, and I am not afraid to use it, but I’m pretty lenient when it comes to fellow shiplap lovers.

Until next week!

1890 Julius Lobenstein Tenant Cottage.

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/39031320?source_impression_id=p3_1683430391_y4ZdZBnAwhzQkh7N

1920 City National Bank Building: Restoration in Progress
https://www.flickr.com/photos/25032584@N05/albums/72157683834011025

Galveston Historic Homes Tour:

Thoughts and Ramblings: The Rocket; Both the Alamo and Emily Morgan are Haunted; International Womens Day

A Houston Park 1965

Sometimes, you encounter unexpected gems while eating a popsicle and surfing the internet. I have written about the rocket located at Rose Hill Park in Port Arthur. I have many fond memories of climbing inside and outside the three-tier structure. As a kid, that rocket took us to many strange new worlds, but it tended to freaked out our parents when they found us near the top outside the bars.

I have always wanted to find a photo of the rocket slide, but I fear that one doesn’t exist. Yesterday, a social media site posted a picture that was similar to the Rose Hill Park rocket, and I did what all of you do on social media—I nicked it. The photo was taken in a Houston park around 1965. I assume that many kids there did the same thing we did and hope that they survived. I miss a few things from my childhood, and the rocket is number one on the list. If anyone remembers this three-tier gem, I hope that you enjoy the photo from the Texas Chronicles: History, Mystery and Adventure Facebook page. I’ll leave a link at the bottom so that you can praise them for their content . . . or nick their photos. But I digress.

While listening to an audiobook called Haunted in America, the author mentioned both the Alamo and the Emily Morgan Hotel, which stand next to each other. I have visited both, and no, nothing out of the ordinary happened, except for one time. After checking into our room at the Emily Morgan, we opened the door to discover the remnants of some sort of party held the night before. I assumed that this was not paranormal, as garbage and wine glasses were in the room. Possibly, housekeeping missed it. I’m not Wanda, so I understand both the pluses and minuses of service work. We quickly got another room on the eleventh floor, from which we could peer into the back part of the Alamo. I should add that someone who’s not a ghost greeted us at 6:30 a.m. by using a blower eleven stories below to get the grounds ready for the day’s tours. I never realized that gas blowers could be heard eleven stories up in a hotel room. I guess I’ll take this into account at work because people in the Oaks District might be a little unhappy with this scenario.

Yes, both the Alamo and the Emily Morgan are supposedly haunted, but back in the 2000s, I didn’t get into the ghostly history of San Antonio. Actually, I’m not a fan of the 300-year-old city, but a friend, Charles Irwin, was from there, and he pointed out what I should see when I visit, and the Spanish Missions were on the list. They were interesting, and the history was somewhat fascinating, but I’lwondered why there was no gas station within 10 miles of the Alamo. Just saying. I also uncovered something at the Emily Morgan that I couldn’t explain. When checking the room service menu, I noticed a dog bowl, which was $35 in 2007. Sorry, Snoopy, but no!

This past week featured International Women’s Day, and I want to mention a few names in this blog that I’ve brought up during my eleven-year run. These SETX residents, while not internationally known, deserve praise for lives well lived and making our world a better place.

Blanche Morgan is a name that most will not recognize, but she was inspiring all the same. Her story was sent to me by a reader. Imagine that you’re married with three children (and another one on the way) and that your husband gets killed. This was Blanche Morgan’s fate, and after her husband’s death in 1917, she spent 35 years working at the Gulf refinery. Not to bad-mouth Gulf refinery workers, but a widow with four children would not have been treated like a delicate flower at the time—or any time since. Please keep this in mind.

After her retirement in 1952, she enrolled at Lamar Tech to study religious education and earned a degree. Her story can be read at the link below.

Ida Luvonia Graham, along with her husband Charles Frank Luckett Nordman Graham, Ida spent her life aiding people in the African-American community. Ida (and her husband) played huge roles in, for example, helping the needy through the Christmas Tree project (1920), organizing the first black YMCA (1930), helping plan a YWCA (1931), and improving race relations in Beaumont.

I’ll have more names for you next week but will leave you with some that are controversial—yep, Rita, Grace, and Nelda.

Rita Ainsworth

Well, anyone who knows the history of Beaumont knows this name. Rita was the owner of the Dixie Hotel, and she was quite a businesswoman. The Dixie was different from other hotels in Beaumont because patrons rarely slept there. You see, Rita was actually a madam and did very well through the years before the James Commission shut the bordello down in the 1960s.

Two things always noted about Rita Ainsworth are her philanthropy and charity. Some say she had a heart of gold. Among the recipients of her wealth were churches and Little League baseball teams, and legend has it that she sponsored a priest through seminary training. She also reserved the third floor of her establishment for older men with no other place to go. While most other hotels charged a dollar a day for rent , Rita’s monthly bill of seven dollars included meals. 

Grace Woodyard

Speaking of bordellos, I could not pass over this Port Arthur entrepreneur. Like Rita, Grace ran a very successful business; however, unlike Rita, Mrs. Woodyard’s clientele tended to be the multitudes of seaman entering the port of Port Arthur. As the story goes, the City of Port Arthur could not pay its electricity bill, so being a good citizen (along with the ability to look the other way), she paid it in full. Her reign ended when the James Commission moved in.

For good reads and more on the histories of both Rita and Grace, please check out the book Betting, Booze, and Brothels by local authors Wanda A. Landry and Laura C. O’Toole.

Nelda Stark

Whatever side of the history fence you are on, you cannot make a list like this and not include Nelda Stark. She had an interesting life. There is a bit of controversy about how history should perceive her, so to represent both sides, I will provide two links:

http://starkfoundation.org/about-the-foundation/founders/nelda-childers-stark/

http://www.ifthedevilhadawife.com/

Good luck and God Speed!

Thoughts and Ramblings: Captain William Sanders Invite, Port Arthur Houses, Origins of RediscoveringSETX.com, Port Arthur Memorial’s NJROTC, Time to Visit the Old Hoodoo

On Tuesday, I had the privilege of speaking to the Captain William Sanders chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution at the Port Arthur Library. I enjoyed the event, especially the interactions with those who were familiar with some of the people and history I brought up. Since most of the audience grew up in Port Arthur, we connected well. The interurban, Vuylsteke House, Rose Hill Manor, and the Pompeiian Villa were some of the Port Arthur portions of my talk. This is actually the reason why I began my website RediscoveringSETX.com.

In 2012, I started my adventure exploring regional history because I couldn’t find any information to tour local historic homes in Port Arthur. Hell, I didn’t even know about the Vuylsteke House or how to tour the Pompeiian Villa. Luckily, I knew someone who volunteered at the Museum of the Gulf Coast, and they provided me with a phone number to talk to someone with the keys to these houses—there was no information online back then. Update: I still don’t think there is information on these houses. If I’m wrong, reach out to the Museum of the Gulf Coast and Lamar Port Arthur because they hold the keys. Good luck and Godspeed if you’re interested in Rose Hill Manor, but if you want to see photos of it, I have many (follow the link below).

My interests branched out to other places in Jefferson County and eventually to all of SETX history. Truth be told, my favorite house to tour in SETX is the Chambers House Museum in Beaumont because the story of the Chambers family and their two daughters is priceless. Also, the place looks like some of your grandmother could afford to live there. If you haven’t toured this gem, you’re missing out.

Other unknown gems to visit in SETX would be the Lutcher Memorial Building in Orange, the Museum of Hardin County, and the T. J. Chambers House in Anahuac. There are many more, and I have photos and information about them on my Flickr account. Sorry, but you have to click on the link to see them. I think you might like what you see, but I’m biased—I love SETX history.

February is when I usually get my regular agenda in order, and that agenda would be the places I volunteer at or intend to visit. My volunteering schedule includes the first weekend of May at the Galveston Historic Homes Tour, but I may be at the Tall Ships Galveston Festival on April 13–16. I love tall ships, but I also love the battleship that’s currently in dry dock. I’ll get into that in a little bit.

My main focus is the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour in October. We will have some of our regulars on tour, but we will also have some new faces and new stories. One thing about the tour that some people don’t realize is that it’s a self-guided tour. We have presenters at stations ready to talk about their subject. Most of the time, it is either a descendant or someone who has researched the person and is waiting to tell you their history. I’m still amazed that we had ten presenters last year. This is because of our great people who love history and offer that of their families on our tours.

At my talk on Tuesday, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the young men and women of the Port Arthur Memorial High School’s Navy Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps (NJROTC), who did a great job presenting the colors for the meeting. I was even more impressed when I heard that they came eighth out of 1,578 teams in the National Academic Exam. I’ll add that the sandwiches at our meeting were excellent, and the red velvet cake was scrumptious. One cadet noted that the cookies from Market Basket were divine and even mentioned who made them. So, kudos to you, Market Basket!

While doing my scheduled events, I have been seeing people touring the USS Texas at the dry dock in Galveston for several weeks. I found out that the tours will end in late April, so if you read this on Sunday morning, you will undoubtedly see a few photos of me with the old girl. More photos will follow.

Until next time, I love the Old Hoodoo.

Rose Hill Manor:

https://flic.kr/s/aHsjLDk5Vn

Lutcher Memorial Building:

https://flic.kr/s/aHsjSofXFv

Hardin County Museum:

https://flic.kr/s/aHsjHq1MLe

Thoughts and Ramblings: Florence Stratton, New Headers, Derrick Riggs, the Big O, the Grey Ghost, and Fold3

Last week was the eighty-fifth anniversary of Florence Stratton’s death, and I gave a brief account of her life on Saturday. Unfortunately, I could never tell an accurate story like those around her would have been able to. So, on Sunday’s Thoughts and Ramblings, I published a tribute to the Beaumont Journal/ Beaumont Enterprise journalist. I added no content because I wanted to use actual sources who knew her and worked with her. One thing that was mentioned in a few accounts was that her coworkers used the 30 as a tribute to their fallen comrade. As far as I can tell, the 30 was used to indicate the end of the story or say goodbye. However, as a researcher, I could never use the 30 because in 2012 I began my journey to learn more about Florence and keep her story alive.

After eleven years of research, I am still learning. Yes, Florence’s life ended in January of 1938, but her legacy should be treasured and live on as an inspiration to those who may want to follow in her footsteps. Whether it’s journalism, charity, or just caring about people and trying to make a difference, we need this. Florence cared about everyone and did her best to make things right.

Here at RediscoveringSETX, we have some new headers, and I for one am ecstatic about it. To me, it’s almost like looking at one of those Iron Maiden album covers minus the little devils with pitchforks. You can find all kinds of SETX things in them. Sorry if you don’t know who Derrick Riggs and Iron Maiden are. Actually, I’m sure Steve Harris, the founder of Iron Maiden, probably forgot who Derrick was because he went with someone else, but the fans didn’t forget—I digress. Up the Irons, Eddie! And no, I’m not a West Ham fan. Queen’s Park Rangers all the way!

Speaking of Iron Maiden, a few months ago, I was digging through my box of old Kodak moments for some pictures of airshows from the 1990s and found a few photos from their 1983 visit to Beaumont, with the Scorpions. I had no idea who the Scorpions were, but at the time, they played their hit “Blackout” on the radio every hour. Unlike most people, I hear lyrics differently, and all I heard Klaus Meine singing about was that he had a really big nose, or that’s how I understood the lyrics. I’ve seen the photos, and I agree. I also witnessed him swinging the mic and tossing it into the air, nearly hitting the rafters of the Beaumont Civic Center, or was it the Montagne Center? I’m going to have to ask Mikey Mayhem, a fellow connoisseur of local history who was also there. If you subscribe to any of Facebook’s local history pages, you may know him. I’m going to say that he’s into all sorts of shenanigans. Mikey is researching some forgotten family histories that should probably be turned into a movie. Stay tuned!

In the same box, I found some photos of an aircraft carrier being towed through the intercoastal canal in 2006. To give a bit of background, back then I was working on Lakeshore Drive and had no idea that there was a small carrier in the mothball fleet at McFaddin Bend in the Neches River. The USS Oriskany, or the “Big O” as some called it, was put there to be scrapped. The ship was a veteran of both the Korean and Vietnam wars. It was decommissioned in 1976, sold for scrap in 1995, and then repossessed in 1997. Its fate was finally sealed when, in 2006, the 880-foot carrier was sunk off the Florida coast to create an artificial reef. To my knowledge, it was the largest vessel ever sunk to make a reef, but if you had seen it, you might have wondered how anyone could land a plane on it. Knowing nothing of what I know now, I looked up and saw an aircraft carrier being towed down the intercoastal canal! Yes, this was a wow moment.

The USS Oriskany had a rich history, and its burial at sea was a fitting tribute. I wish they’d done something similar to the Grey Ghost. The USS Enterprise was scrapped with no regard for its history. It’s disgusting that a ship with so much importance was thrown away. A watery grave would have been better, if not a museum! I won’t get into a Yukari Akiyama 秋山 優花里-type rant about ships instead of tanks, but I know that she would back me up on this. I would have loved to see the Grey Ghost docked anywhere instead of becoming a pile of garbage. It was the only carrier that lasted the war, and after the Battle of Midway, it was even, at one time, the only carrier in the Pacific. Admiral Nimitz knew this; fortunately, the Imperial Japanese Navy didn’t. Yes, the Battle of Midway was a great victory, but you can lose your advantage when you’re in the Pacific theater and your commander in chief is not thinking about you and is too busy sending everything to the European theater. Yes, that was a thing.

My Yukari rant is finished for now. Changing the subject a bit, we all know that the USS Texas should be in Beaumont, so if you’re in the know, let’s bring her here. She’s self-sufficient.

A friend of mine has been looking into his father’s history. I’ve known this for a few years. Recently, he asked me if Fold3, a military history website owned by Ancestry.com, would be worth the money. I told him that it was worth it for me because I do significant research on multiple people but that if he just wanted to look at his family history, I could do it for him. Fold3 is a great site for researchers interested in finding someone’s military background. It’s also a great place to find war diaries from WWII, which I use. In 2012, a lot of information was released by the government from this time, which is why I found it on Fold3.

Well, that’s about it for now. Until next week, we don’t #uptheirons or support #WestHam. #WeRQPR #ForeverRs

Scorpions Blackout:

Derrick Riggs: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derek_Riggs

U.S.S. Oriskany:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Oriskany_(CV-34)

U.S.S. Enterprise: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Enterprise_(CV-6)

Fold3: 

https://www.fold3.com/

U.S.S. Texas: 

Qpr:

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.

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

“Thoughts and Ramblings: England Always Bottles It; Witches, Not Messi, Are Why Argentina Won the World Cup; Selena, Emilio, and Jay Perez Got Me through Houston Traffic; Snow Miser Sucks; There Are Consequences to Having a White Christmas; Susie Spindletop Gives You the Rub on Xmas”

Well, the World Cup is over, and we can all go back to work and be productive again, at least until Euro 2024 begins. As a Three Lions supporter of forty years, I assumed England would bottle it. I must say, though, that I expected more from #Cymru. Wales’s heart is strong, but the team has no depth. El Tri looked horrible going in, but Memo Ochoa will always be remembered as the heart of this team because he cares about being there. Japan were also not on their game going in, but the Samurai Blue showed up! Pride, fair play, and victory! The US looked a lot better than they have in a while, but I hate Pulisic and half the team, so here we are.

Apparently, Argentina won not thanks to Lionel Messi, but because of thousands of Argentinian witches doing their thing. I find this ridiculous as everyone knows that Strega witches are always on their game, and yet Italy didn’t even qualify for the World Cup. I guess Mount Etna was still inactive and enjoying England’s loss to Italy in Euro 2020. See, I told you England always bottles it. It’s never coming home.

Beaumont Enterprise 12.25.1903

Last week on “Thoughts and Ramblings,” I acknowledged my love of Tejano music. Back in the 1990s, I enjoyed a few artists—Selena, of course, followed by Emilio and Jay Perez. We’ve lost both Selena and Emilio, but Jay is still the voice! These three got me through Houston traffic in the ‘90s while I was driving a truck, usually to Julian’s Machine Shop in Sugarland. The radio would stay on 108 Super Tejano until I got back to the shop, and then it was probably pop country from my Caney Head coworkers. No, it wasn’t! There was one guy, who every damn time the song “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion came on (which was about six times a shift), would turn it up. This is why I always volunteered to drive to Houston for a pickup or delivery. To this day, I will not listen to that song, and dare anyone to play it in my presence. I still blame this on my anger management issues. Or is it my current problem with libraries taking my signage before a cemetery tour? I guess I need to delve back into some Jay Perez music to find the answer. To quote one of his songs: “Eres Tú.”

December 2008

Okay, I’m just going to say that Mr. Snow Miser sucks, and I don’t want him in my area. I was always in favor of Heat Miser. Maybe it goes back to some of my DNA from Mount Etna. I want to remind everyone who wished for a “white Christmas” that the last time we had one of those we also had Hurricane Rita, in 2005. The next time it snowed was in 2008, after Hurricane Ike. It snowed three times after Harvey in 2017. Hurricanes Laura and Delta in 2020? That ice thing that happened in February 2021? Is it all related? Ancient astronaut theorists from the History Channel may agree that something is going on, but I have no idea. Do you really want it to snow? Sorry if I’m channeling the Witch of Endor, but you can’t have yin without yang. So, Saul, if you want snow, go to Sonic and buy that terrific bag of ice they sell and use in their slushies, then post videos of your dog with antler ears on Facebook. That way, we will all live Hurricane- and snow-free like we did for thirty years before Rita.

#Cymru #QPR

Wow, that’s a lot of football, witches, Tejano, and hurricanes/snow. Sorry, but I tend to ramble on with what I know. But it’s Christmas Day, so I guess I should mention something about SETX’s origins. Nope, I’ll let Susie Spindletop do it because she’s not as brash as me and had fewer anger management issues. Seriously now, I hope all of you and your families have a safe and happy Christmas. We’ll get into your merry New Year’s Day next week. Until then, here’s Susie getting into your family’s gossip.

Dear Della,

It is no scoop to tell you this is Christmas morning and allegedly the happiest time of year. Sometime during the night Santa paid us a visit, and left me a wealth of stuff, among it, four sets of pipe cleaners, a pair of boxing gloves, a tire tool and a trick doojigger used for shining shoes. I am not one, Della, to take the old fellow to task, for goodness knows he would pay a little more attention to his addresses he would avoid no end confusion.

I am writing him a letter with a few suggestions for next year, hoping to get in an order well ahead of time. I propose to him that he give Mr. Duff and artificial flower for his boutonniere as soon as possible, for Miss Clint’s stock of fresh flowers is sorely being sorely taxed. I propose that he give Dr. Williams a new philosophy of women, the Santa Fe switch engine that hangs around Calder a new whistle, Cecil Easley something to talk about besides golf, and the city of Beaumont more sidewalks for Willie Kinsloe to exercise on. Of course, I am mentioning a few things for myself, Della, figuring on the law of averages to produce results.

Incoming Christmas card have wished me, by actual count:

Merry Christmas, 42 times.

Happy Christmas, 24 times.

Joyous New Year, 35 times.

Prosperous New Year, 27 times.

Season’s blessings, 14 times.

An early remittance, one time.

Enjoy myself and then come around and buy some Blank insurance, two times.

A check on the First National bank, only one(I regret to say) time.

My records show that last year I was Merry Christmas-ed and prosperous New Year-ed only about two-thirds this amount, so I am sure that 1928 will bring an improvement. N’est-ce-pas? As tourists from Waxahatchie say.

Reports have it that the mistletoe crop in Texas is a dud this year and that little of the famous kiss foliage is on the market. One wonders, Della, of course, if the absence of mistletoe nowadays will slow up a party of the young-uns any.

And how long is it since you saw mistletoe hanging from a ceiling?

Had you ever stopped to think, Della, that each stage in our progress from cradle to the grave has it’s different Christmas? Old age forgets itself, the ghosts which haunt us memories, and enters into the young creatures happiness with a relish second only to the childs. The grandmother no longer wishes sleds or hoops or gingerbread monkeys for herself, but she looks with love and wonder upon little beings who respond so radiantly to these objects of domestic manufacture. Between these generations stand the parents, with their own lives of bustle and responsibility and desire, their own games and gewgaws to pursue, but yet with a beginning of the change, from living for themselves, to living in their young.

It’s a very happy Christmas and all that for me, Della, but I can’t be perfectly so until a measure has been enacted providing capital punishment for all those who still persist in writing Xmas.

Before saying good-bye, must tell you somebody gave me a subscription to “Time.”  That’s what’s worrying me now, Della.

And also in conclusion I regret to announce that there ain’t no Santa Claus.

Yours for bigger and redder cranberries. Susie

“Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” Beaumont Enterprise December 25, 1927

2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour

Join us for the 2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour.

Thursday, October 20th, 4:30 – 6:30

Saturday, October 22nd, 10:00 – 2:00

The purpose of this tour is to promote the rich history of our area through the lived experiences of our past residents. There are many stories, mostly forgotten over time, that we feel need to be told and remembered. We hope you will enjoy this opportunity to look back on our SETX history and will share some of the stories about the people you will learn about on the tour.

Thoughts and Ramblings: When the Levee Breaks; The Dutch Come to Paradise and Blanche Morgan’s Journey

I heard last week that the LNVA canal in Beaumont sprung a leak and flooded some homes. That would have never happened in Nederland because Dutch heritage runs deep in the families’ blood there. It’s summer, and the kids are out of school, and I know one of them would have plugged that hole in the levee without an afterthought, or maybe not.

Dutch Windmill Museum

Speaking of the Dutch, I brought up Arthur Stilwell and his antics last week and, well, the reason many Dutch came to SETX was to “Come to Paradise.” Let’s face it, this area is paradise only to fishermen and mosquitos, especially in 1895, but they came and stayed anyway. In 1895, the Port Arthur Land Company was formed by Dutch bankers/investors who initially financed the construction of the Kansas City Railroad (Arthur’s baby before John Bet-a-million Gates did a hostile takeover and kicked him to the curb). Those bankers advertised a good game, but their palm trees, beaches, and paradise approach were inaccurate. The families that came here endured many hardships. Still, with hard work, they prospered.

This reminds me of another story a blog reader sent me. Blanche Morgan’s journey to this area was sparked by Mr. Stilwell. I’ll put a link to the original article below, but I do want to add her own words here.

It was the first of October, before father had sold all his rent property and our lovely home.  Finally, the day came for he and brother to leave. He kissed us good bye and held mother close to him and said, “Now don’t you worry, I am going to find a place where the sun shines all the time.”

We were lonely without father and brother. Grace and I went to school and finally one day mother received a letter from father which said, “I am on my way south to Port Arthur, Texas. While I was in the depot in Kansas City, Missouri on my way to sell the apple orchard I met a man named Gates and another named Stillwell. I got to talking to them, and what do you know – right across the ticket room hung a canvas which said, “Port Arthur, Texas – the Flower of the South.”  Mr. Gates said the town was close to the sea and was built on Lake Sabine, that it was sunshiny and warm.  He was taking several other men with him to Port Arthur. He bought my father and brother a ticket and said to come on this excursion with him to Port Arthur.  My father gladly accepted the offer and traveled with them.  Port Arthur was not much of a place to live in.

The Journey:

I took along a note book to write down events and things which I saw out of the train car window. Laura, my oldest sister had her pet canary in his cage to take care of. Mother sat back in the car with her eyes closed, and I noticed tears rolling down her cheeks. My youngest sister, Grace, saw them too, and she said, “What are you crying about, we are going to see Daddy.”  I kept up with the stations we stopped at, and watched the people get off and on the train. We reached Albia, Iowa, and changed cars to the Wabash. It was so dark now you could not see anything out of the windows.

Time passed and everyone was sleeping, or lying quiet. I just couldn’t sleep but somewhere between midnight and 8 a.m. in the morning of the next day mother was shaking me and saying, “Gather up your things, we are in Kansas City, Missouri.”  We climbed on a bus drawn by horses and sat up on top, and it was awful cold. The bus took us to the Kansas City Southern Railway station.  We went inside, and there was people from everywhere. We were pretty hungry and mother opened her basket of food and spread out a tablecloth on the bench, and she gave thanks for the food, and for getting this far safely. We were about halfway now, on the road to our new home, a place of excitement, awe and disappointment. If mother had of just known what kind of place we were coming to, she never would have come.

At 12 noon we boarded the Kansas City Southern train for Port Arthur, Texas. We were 2 days and nights on this train, all of us growing tireder all the time. After we left Kansas City, Mo. the snow left and finally the last day, all we could see was farms, hill sides all green, flowers blooming, the sun shining, and it was unbelievable to us, at this time of the year to not see snow and see green trees and flowers blooming.  When the conductor would come through, we would ask him, what kind of place was Port Arthur, Texas. He just grinned, and said, “Oh, I can’t tell you anything, just let it be a surprise.” And believe me, it was a surprise.

On the third night we arrived in Port Arthur, Texas. It was dark and hot for we had on our winter woolens for Iowa weather. The Kansas City station still stands and looks like it did when we first came here. Father and my brother came and helped us off of the train.

Entering of Port Arthur, Texas

As I stepped off the train into the darkness, I was afraid for in those days there was very few electric lights. My brother walked with me, we was going to a hotel to stay all night.  In the dim light I could see one story wood frame buildings, dim lights shining out of the doors and windows. One block away from the station, on Proctor Street on each corner was a saloon.  I heard my mother say, “What kind of place is this, for you to bring your family to.”

In those days there was saloons on every corner. Procter Street was the main street, it ended at Greensport. The streets was shelled and nothing but board sidewalks, with most of the board being loose or gone. As we walked along father warned to watch our step, and not fall on a loose board.  We arrived at the hotel – a one story framed building, were given our rooms. We three girls together, father and mother, a room and brother one by his self.  The air was filled with the odor of the refineries, and we could hardly stand it. We girls finally got bathed and into bed, for we had not slept in a bed for three nights. It felt good and I am sure we never turned over, for all three of us were worn out.

We were awakened by our father who rapped on the door and said, “Come to breakfast.” That is one thing our family always did was have breakfast, and supper together. If one was late from school, the supper was held up until all could sit down together. You talk about a surprise, we were used to creamery butter on our toast and what we had was so rancid we could not eat it. The bacon was all right, but the milk was canned, and nobody in Iowa ever used canned milk. Well, our meal was not eaten. We found out later, that everything had to be shipped in and by the time it arrived here it was too old. As you know there was no refrigeration in those days. You got your ice from the icehouse and had those old ice boxes, that by night fall, the ice had already melted.

The drinking water was tanks of rain water. Every home had a large galvanized cistern attached to pipes from the roof of the house where it was caught and ran into the cistern. All drinking water had to be boiled and all milk had to be brought to a boil.  There was very little sewage. All toilets had a galvanized container in them, that was emptied by negroes who pulled a large tank on a wagon drawn by two horses, down the alley and emptied them into the tank. The odor was sickening, when this was being done.

After we ate breakfast we went for a walk out to the peer. The sun was shining on those white shell streets and it was beautiful. I never saw so many yellow roses as was blooming here then. The peer was a wooden frame buildings, dance floors, band stands, restaurant, but on piling. We walked out there and looked at the lake, which was beautiful, a white sandy beach was all along Lake Shore. This was before the canal was cut through and ruined our beautiful bathing resort.

There were excursions every Sunday who came in to visit our peer, and bathing resort.  Gates and Stillwell had did a good job of advertising of Port Arthur. Boats came in from Lake Charles, Orange, and Port Neches – all tied up at the peer, loaded with men and women in their Sunday best to eat or sit and listen to the Mexican Band who played all Sunday and way into the night.

On our way back from the peer I gathered up some of the shells and put them in a box and sent them to my school teacher I had left in Iowa. Oh – I thought to have streets covered with shells was the most wonderful  thing I had ever seen. As you know people who live away inland never see boats and sea shells in large quantities, like they do when living near the Gulf or Sea.

Sunday finally arrived and we had always went to church. So father, mother, and all of us children went to the Methodist church. It was a 1 story framed building on fifth street. We had left a large brick building with pipe organs, plush seats, and when we entered this church it was quite a contrast. We sang the same hymns and the preaching sounded the same, he was reading God’s word from the same bible I knew, and it made no difference to father, when I heard him say to mother, “God is everywhere, Bless his Holy name.”

I love oral histories and I was thankful to receive this one. Well, that’s it for this week. Any family history stories would be appreciated!
Afscheid!

Blanche’s Journey: An Early Look at Life in Port Arthur https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2014/04/16/blanches-journey-an-early-look-at-life-in-port-arthur/

Tulip Transplants to East Texas by W.T. Block

http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/tulip.htm