While still feeling the effects of Dick Dowling Day, I thought this week’s blog post would be a no-brainer. Many locals have heard of the great battle that took place in Sabine Pass on September 8th, 1863, but few know of the man behind the legend. And even fewer still know what happened to Lt. Richard William Dowling after the war. So let us delve a bit into the life of this major player in our SETX history.
Born in 1838 near Tuam, Galway County, Ireland, Dick Dowling and his family emigrated from their homeland to New Orleans in the late 1840s when he was still a boy. After the death of his parents, he worked his way to Texas and settled in Houston. It was there that he married Elizabeth Ann Odlum and awakened his entrepreneurial spirit by opening, in October 1857, the Shades saloon—the first of what would eventually grow to be a chain of three such establishments. By 1860 he had sold the Shades and purchased the Bank of Bacchus, which was located near the Harris County Courthouse. He also owned the Hudgpeth Bathing Saloon as well as a liquor-importing firm located in Galveston.
As soon as the Civil War started to become a reality, Dowling joined the Davis Guards as a lieutenant where he participated in raids at U.S. Army outposts on the Texas-Mexico border in 1861. Then, in January of 1863, Dowling fought in the recapture of Galveston’s port. Within three weeks, his company was transferred to Sabine Pass where nine months later he would achieve hero status.

On September 8th, 1863, a Union flotilla of 5,000 (some say 6,000) men, transports, and four ships attempted to enter the Pass and the rest, as they say, is history. Note: After hearing author Edward T. Cotham Jr.’s version of what happened that fateful day, I felt he brought out more of the story than is often told (or at least than I have heard). I’m sure his book Sabine Pass: The Confederacy’s Thermopylae is filled with the same passion that he displayed in researching an accurate account of what happened that day. Interestingly enough, I had purchased the book a week before Dick Dowling Day. Not knowing of this or the author’s involvement in DDD, I was—and am—anxious to begin reading his book. And from talking to others at the event who had read his book (some had even read it twice), I feel even more enthused.
After the Battle of Sabine Pass, Dowling served as a recruiting officer until his discharge as a major in 1865. He returned to civilian life in Houston, managing the businesses he had left before the war. He also acquired new types of businesses: some in real estate, others in oil and gas leases. He even had an interest in a steamboat.
Richard William Dowling seemed to be on his way to a prosperous life. Given his history, along with his past military experience, he was undoubtedly a great businessman. Sadly, neither would help him in the fall of 1867 when Dowling became ill and was stricken with the Yellow Jack (yellow fever). He died on September 23rd. He left behind his wife, a daughter, and a son, and was buried in St. Vincent’s Cemetery in Houston.
Given his lifespan of only 28 or 29 years (historical records are not clear on the exact year of his birth), I find it simply amazing for someone to have achieved what he did. Forget for a moment his military accomplishments. He started out as a U.S. immigrant and, through his own hard work, prospered to the extent that he had multiple successful businesses by the time he died. This is indeed a life to be celebrated. Yes, he will be remembered as Lt. Richard William Dowling, victorious commander of 40+ Irish dockhands on a hot day in September, but his life, as I have discovered, was more than a battle, and he himself was more than victorious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One person, who was a major influence in my life, was a Louisiana-born resident (Leesville, La) named Roy. He was my neighbor when I lived in Port Arthur, Texas. Roy was a product of the Depression and lived his life accordingly. He also lived the way Roy wanted; doing what Roy wanted to do, and not bothering about anyone else.

Roy may have come across as mean and ornery at times, but under that gruff demeanor, he had a heart of gold. Roy would help anyone who showed up on his doorstep. And there were many who showed up.

Roy was a carpenter by trade, and a farmer by habit. He grew up in the 1920s and worked on his parents’ farm from a young age. He spent countless hours tending the fields and learning the art of agriculture. (And there is an art to it as he explained to me one day.)

He also attended school, learning the basics—even some Latin. Later in life, he had told me that he had dropped out of school for a short time, but a teacher convinced him to go back and thus changed his life. Roy was no scholar, but he learned early in life that hard work and an education (in whatever field you were working) could only help you succeed. And he did; working in numerous fields in his 90-odd year lifespan.

One thing that I remember from our numerous talks was his involvement at the New Orleans shipyard during WWII. Roy helped build many a ship to the particular specifications of the naval fleet.

“Everything had to be perfect or they would make you do it again and again,” I remember him saying. I also remember Roy telling of ships that had headed out the Mississippi delta and out to sea, only to end up at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico courtesy of a German U-boat torpedo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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