Why Is Austin a Party Town?

Because it always has been, as this blurb from several decades later explains, about the quality of life here in the Fall of 1840-Spring of 1841:

Times were too pregnant with excitement for grave pleasures such as stern sermons and political debates to take strong hold of the minds of the people, so the dancing master found favor instead of the philosopher. How could people sit often to listen to grave discourses when at every random shot of a gun their ears were on the alert for the cry of Indians. To be so situated as to have these quick vibrations of sound operate nervously on the brain predisposes the mind to seek relief in softer emotions of pleasures, but still one of excitement, consequently the dancing master found favor with the majority instead of the philosopher. Minds always on the alert will hardly calm themselves to a psychological condition suited to the solution of grave problems. So if a man deserved honor at the hands of the public, instead of dinners with a few invited guests, given with toasts and responses, filled with flashings of wit, or often heavy for the want of it, or gathering together to present a gold headed cane or a sword with ornamental hilt, given sometimes with speeches, filled with fulsome encomiums or grave with eruditions, the people – young and old – met and decorated the senate chamber and tendered him the honor of a ball.

“Poker, Pot Hooks, and Tongs: Did You Ever See Such A Damned Old Fool?

The Blunderbuss has a new follower, so we’re going to celebrate with a story I’ve held back for a long time, mostly because I thought I could fit it into another book on life in Austin’s underside. But life being what it is …

 Whenever someone gets misty eyed about the “good old days,” I retort with a touch of disdain, “Oh, yeah? Let me tell you about how really good the good old days were … “

But the “good old days” were truly grand, when it comes to juvenile delinquency in Austin, which boasted an Oscar-winning cast of really bad, really young boys in the 1880s.

This is the first of an as-yet-to-be determined number of installments.

Austin was barely six months old when delinquency first came calling.

A company of unknown evil doers assembled after dark on Capitol Hill on Saturday night, June 20, 1840, and after amusing themselves throwing stones at the Capitol, filled one of the cannon with stone. A company of regular infantry occupied the fort that surrounded the capitol to protect public property like the cannon, and if the gates should ever be closed against the citizens in time of need, the perps would have the satisfaction of knowing that they were to blame. This was the first act of delinquency that disgraced the city of Austin, and despite hopes it might be the last, it was the harbinger of far worse things to come.

Modern juvenile delinquency hit full stride in the 1950s, as evidenced by cult movies like Rebel Without a Cause. Juvenile delinquency first hit its stride in Austin in the 1850s.

On Sunday, May 15, 1853, a gang of riotous boys from six to twelve years of age was stoning the house of a deranged and helpless woman. Her pitiful cries and the yelling of the boys was a disturbance to all the families in the neighborhood. Meanwhile, on Congress Avenue, there was a crowd of boys of all ages, from five to fifteen, two of whom were engaged in a fierce fight, while the others were gathered around, each encouraging their favorite with hurrahs and the usual exclamations.

By October 1856, a local paper despaired, “This place can furnish as many bad boys, according to population, as any in the United States. Several months since a distinguished divine delivered a lecture to the juveniles of the city. A goodly number were in attendance and they seemingly were affected by the words of the reverend minister. Among other things, he dwelt with much force upon the sinfulness of swearing. He insisted they should say “poker,” “pot hooks” and “tongs” instead of taking the name of the Lord in vain.

A gentleman overheard the following comment fall in whispered accents, from two of the young scape-graces.

“Poker, pot hooks, and tongs, did you ever see such a damned old fool? I wonder if he thinks any body is going to throw himself off in any such a way when he is mad?”

Parental neglect was blamed for juvenile crime as much – if not more – than it is now, as evidenced by this newspaper editorial from May 22, 1857.

Bad Boys.

The boys of this city are the most consistent young gents in the world. They start out bad and grow worse with a persistent perseverance truly admirable to one having a penchant to admire the thing. There is no place where Young American does not pertinaciously show his face and his manners. Go to a concert, and he is there to introduce his treble notes and produce a discord. Attend a theatre, and the words of the actors are drowned by the vociferated original remarks of juvenile Forests. Make one at a public dinner, and you are elbowed from the table by a younger but more voracious eater than yourself. Speak kindly to him and he will curse you — try to remove him out of your way and you stand a good chance to make the acquaintance of a “cheese knife.” Let him alone, and he will run over you “rough shod”  — interfere with him, and you get in a row. He is a dangerous chap any way you fix him, and is in many respects very like the “cat named Pole”: good looking, but badly adored, and not to be trifled with by weak-nerved people who prefer cologne to asafoetida.

The question to be answered is, upon whom does the blame rest? Upon the parents most assuredly. If these boys received proper instructions and training at home they would hardly behave rudely and disgracefully abroad. There are many who should feel ashamed of the conduct of their children, and yet they look upon their mis-doings as complacently as if they really thought them creditable and something to be laughed at. It is a pity the City Council has not passed an ordinance making it a finable offense for a boy to disturb a public or private assemblage, by improper, indecent, or immoral behavior. Should the marshall be authorized to arrest them, and carry them before the mayor for trial, and when found guilty should the parent or guardian have to pay a fine and costs, it is more than probable a curb would be placed on many young republicans who now make it a point to disturb every gathering they can squeeze their way into.

The first juvenile delinquent we know of by name grew up to become Austin’s City Marshal, Ben Thompson.

October 13, 1858. On Saturday evening the 14-year-old Thompson and James Smith got into a quarrel, and the latter called Thompson hard names and insulted his father, whereat Ben raised his gun, which was loaded with small shot, and fired; the whole charge took effect in Smith’s back, except two shot, which struck his head. Thompson was taken before Justice Calhoun, examined and discharged.

It was a common thing to see boys from 10 to 14 years of age carrying about their persons, Bowie knives and pistols.

“Tagging” is the most common form of juvenile delinquency today, but graffiti is nothing new; it lines the walls of prehistoric caves. By the summer of 1856, “tagging” the state capitol building was a favorite pastime, to the point that the legislature passed “An Act to punish persons for writing upon, defacing or disfiguring the walls of the public buildings of the State,” a misdemeanor punishable by fine of $5-$50.

But then as now, the law did little to halt the practice.

“The walls of the Capitol have become a register for the names of aspiring gentlemen,” one paper complained in May 1857. “Not content with scrawling their patronymics upon the building, some have bestowed snatches of their genius upon the public, free of charge. Many of these productions are vulgar, betraying both a want of sense and a want of manners in the writer.

“Were it not that these persons are, generally, not worth contempt, it would be a good plan to collect their names, and give them publicity in the newspapers, and let those impudent searchers after notoriety enjoy it to their heart’s content. It is a very good indication of a want of respect for the rules of politeness, and a disregard of rectitude in the man whose name is found scratched upon the wall of a building; and it is not one of the best evidences of good breeding. It is to be hoped the gentleman in charge of the Capitol will endeavor to arrest the inroads of these scribbling vandals.”

Things just kept getting worse: October 12, 1859: “We would advise the ladies who may visit the Capitol, not to scrutinize the hieroglyphics on the walls. From what we have seen, and there are some striking characters, it is evident there are boys among us, who have not been “trained in the way they should go.” The defacing of public buildings is common, they are public property, and those who are so disposed, in our midst, seem to have exerted their powers, not only on the Capitol, but all of the public buildings; in drawing the most obscene characters imaginable.”

During the Civil War, delinquency appears to have taken a vacation, judging from the newspapers and handful of surviving court records.

 End, Part 1

Music of the Night: Today in Austin History

Back in the 1880s, all the most prominent men (and sometimes the infamous) in Austin were firefighters. If Michael Dell had been alive then, he would have been a firefighter. Companies were all volunteer and independent then, and competition among them was healthy.

Austin had been plagued by crime in the 1870s, and Ben Thompson, Austin’s most notorious gambler and pistolero, had been elected City Marshal in December 1880 on the voters’ theory that “I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends.”

The voters had chosen wisely. Once on the right side of the law, Thompson rapidly bulldozed the town into order. On August 9, 1881, Thompson, of Hope Hook & Ladder Company No. 2, took the train to Sherman to attend the state firemen’s convention.

And like an episode of Andy Griffith with Barney Fife as acting sheriff, the wheels were soon off the cart.

Whitt Burdett, John Dalley and Tom Morgan, along about 12 o’clock that night, were making things lively down in Guy Town and were having an intensely interesting time. They visited several places, and along about the bewitching hour took drinks in the famous Gem saloon. This had a decidedly exhilarating effect on the trio, and one of them after leaving the saloon drew a musical little pistol and fired it off. This attracted Policeman Evans, who at once set out and overhauled the young men and conducted them to the lock-up. Morgan threw his pistol out of the window while being searched, but the officer saw him and went down and got it. Burdett and Dalley pled guilty to the charge of disturbing the peace the next day and were fined $5 and costs each. Morgan, for carrying deadly weapons, was fined $15 (more than $300 in today’s money) and costs.

Elsewhere that night down in Guy Town, Henry Martin, riding a horse, dismounted in front of Mahogany Hall, and unloosing a 40 foot rope from the pommel of the saddle, retained one end in his hand and entered the house to have a quiet chat with the inmates for a few moments. When he entered, rope in hand, his horse was securely fastened to the other end, but on coming out he discovered that some fellow had approached, and untying the rope, had mounted Martin’s horse and rode off. He was seen some 40 or 50 yards off riding away at a rapid gait. Martin was now minus a horse, and vowed the next time he visited the damsels of the first ward he would take horse, saddle, bridle, rope and all into the parlor and stake ‘em to the piano legs.

The “Curse of Familiarity,” or “The Feminine Mystaque”

On January 10, the San Antonio Express News reported the rate of babies born with syphilis in Bexar County was skyrocketing. From 2005 to through 2011, Bexar County’s rates of congenital syphilis, which is transmitted from the infected mother to the baby in the womb, were five times the national average. In 2012, the rate doubled.

“We’re so far off the chart, we probably need a new chart,” said Dr. Thomas Schlenker, director of health for the San Antonio Metropolitan Health District. Last year, the Metro Health STD Clinic received reports of 18 babies born with congenital syphilis, five of whom were stillborn.

The rise of the disease (which had nearly disappeared from the population in the 1980s) among infants corresponds to its rise among adults. Syphilis cases have reached unprecedented levels in Bexar County. San Antonio has the highest rates of syphilis of any metropolitan area in Texas.

Schlenker said there likely are many causes for the rise in syphilis. One of his biggest concerns is women who are trading sex for money or drugs and who may not have legal status here, so they are wary of seeking medical attention. He also wants to know why syphilis has been spreading among teenage girls.

In some respects it is like San Antonio has stepped back in time 100 years ago, when prostitutes sold their most intimate favors for money and the drugs (mostly morphine and cocaine) many of them were addicted to, were social outcasts (not unlike lacking legal status) and if they ever sought medical attention, it was ineffectual.

In August 1918, the Council of National Defense estimated, on a conservative basis, that more than 500,000 adult Texans had some flavor of VD. Texas’ State Health Officer was of the opinion that at least one million Texans were then infected. Keep in mind that according to the 1920 U.S. Census, Texas had 4.663 million citizens of all races, ages, and sexual preferences, which means that about half of the adults in Texas had VD, if you wish to believe worst-case estimates. There was nothing new about these staggering numbers; they had persisted for decades and thousands of babies were born blind or still-born every year, infected in the womb from syphilis or gonorrhea. While some of the mothers of these unfortunate little creatures were prostitutes who had picked up their affliction(s) from the plying of their trade, many more of them were innocent housewives infected by their loving husbands who had visited said prostitutes. Although condoms had been invented, they were seldom used.

Mercury was the most widely used “cure” for syphilis among men, leading to the popular phrase, “A night with Venus, a lifetime with Mercury.” Newspapers from the end of the Civil War until the 1920s were filled with ads for doctors who specialized in treating venereal diseases. The sad irony was that mercury does not cure syphilis, it merely holds the outward symptoms at bay, while extracting other terrible physical tolls, like the loss of all one’s teeth.

At the same time, newspapers and magazines were filled with ads for products meant to alleviate female “nervousness” and such. Many of these aids were basically the vibrators we know and enjoy today, and the real problem they treated was sexual frustration. Female orgasms were even rarer than marital intercourse, whose frequency was usually measured by number of times per year as opposed to number of times per week. Marital intercourse was chiefly reserved for baby making. Sex was not meant to be fun for women; it was a necessary evil meant to keep the human race alive. Women were meant to be kept on a pedestal for worship from a respectful distance. Men, on the other hand, were acknowledged to have prurient interests and needs that had to be satisfied, and that is what whores were for.

Married and unmarried men alike supped at Boys’ Town rather than dine at home and soil the holiness of their wives and sweethearts, a mentality expressed by a couple of editorial items picked at random below, in this instance picked from the March 2, 1899, edition of the Schulenburg Sticker. Hundreds of thousands of similar pieces littered the newspapers and magazines of America for the better part of 100 years, until Betty Friedan began tearing down the grand myth of the woman on pedestal in 1963 with The Feminine Mystique.

“In their strife for mental equality with men, women have unintentionally broken down a fine reserve of manner which previously lent them an air of mystery, of superiority, in the best sense, than which no element is more successful in holding a man’s interest, love and respect. The young woman who greets a man friend with ‘Hello, old man!’ or its equivalent in modern slang, might in return be called ‘a peach,’ but she would be a peach with the bloom rubbed off.

“Every day I become more convinced that at the root of the increasing evidences of widespread marital unhappiness would be the familiarity that breeds contempt. When a boy climbs a tree for green apples or cherries, whichever he prefers, he constantly sees a better one higher up beyond his reach, until he nearly breaks his neck to get the one out of his stretch, partly hidden by foliage. And so man’s ideal woman hangs at the tip-top of the tree of knowledge. If the ideal drops into his hands he throws it to the ground as worthless and begins to climb again. Would it be reasonable to think, after working so hard for cherries, that he would value them long if he ate a surfeit of them. – Louisa Knapp, Ladies Home Journal.”

“The Terrell Times contains the following prediction: ‘The girl who gives away a desire to gad about the streets and cultivate the acquaintance of young men, and acting the simpering simpleton, is laying the foundation for a useless after life. Ten to one after she is married she will develop into a slatternly gossip, if no greater misfortune befalls her. It is the girl of good sound sense, the girl who loves home and helps her mother, that wins the model husband and becomes an ornament to womanhood. The girl that does this and devotes some of her time to reading, tries to win the esteem of everybody, while the gadding street ornament wins only the admiration of those whose admiration is not worth having.’”

Even Sigmund Freud wrote, “I believe that all reforming action in law and education would break down in front of the fact that, long before the age at which a man can earn a position in society, Nature has determined woman’s destiny through beauty, charm, and sweetness. Law and custom have much to give women that has been withheld from them, but the position of women will surely be what it is: in youth an adored darling and in mature years a loved wife.”

Ironically, this worship of women amounted to prayer before a false idol. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” is another hoary saying that well describes all the physical misery and heartache incurred by this misguided cult of female worship.

How much more diametrically opposed can today’s “My wife is my best friend” mentality be to 1899’s “The root of marital unhappiness is the familiarity that breeds contempt. No other element is more successful in holding a man’s interest, love and respect than a woman’s fine reserve of manner, an air of mystery, of superiority.”?

Here’s some final food for thought: Divorce rates these days are staggeringly higher than they were “back in the day,” while intra-marital syphilis (and other VDs) rates are just the reverse. We have drugs that can cure VDs; what do we have to cure our 50 percent-plus divorce rate?

Only a Fool Would Say (Do) That, Part One

“A boy with a plan

A natural man

Wearing a white stetson hat.

Unhand that gun, be gone

There’s no one to fire upon.

If he’s holding it high

He’s telling a lie.

I heard it was you

Talkin’ ’bout a world

Where all is free

It just couldn’t be

And only a fool would say that.” – Steely Dan

Now that the “Empire of Dunces” (I use the word “Empire” in deference to those “honorable” [as in “For Brutus is a honorable man”] secessionists who would return us back to the vainglorious days of the Empire of Texas.) is in session again and making a joke of itself, and playing the rest of us for fools, it’s time for me (“us” for the handful of my honorable readers) to have a little fun at the lege’s expense, old school.

November 5, 1866

A number of Tonkaway Indians were on the streets this week in a salubrious condition. We suggest that they now take possession of the Capitol Square and give one of their war dances as an appropriate finale to the closed session of the Eleventh Legislature.

September 25, 1877

Mr. A. Dorris, he of the Twelfth Legislature, was in the city yesterday, and while here he “lit into” a crowd of blacks with a knife and wounded one in the arm. Dorris, it is said, had a little benzine on board and the blacks exasperated the old man by plaguing him. Immediately after he slashed into them with a knife, some one started after an officer to have him arrested, but Dorris got into his wagon and left the city post haste.

June 1882

The Angry Gazette.

The following is what the New York Police Gazette has to say of the Texas legislature: “The small potato legislators of Texas have put a tax of $500 on the vendors of the Police Gazette. If we wished, we could buy out the moral faction of the state, but we would hold them dear at any price, and don’t propose to either purchase them or be blackmailed by the canting crew of political deacons. Such yellow curs may as bay the moon as snarl at us. Both curs and the Gazette will roll on in spite of their howls.”

February 24, 1883

No Extra Charge.

A very loudly dressed female, very much painted up, of the class that is always very numerous in Austin when the Legislature is in session, put in her appearance at the photographic arena of a local artist. She was accompanied by a young puppy, a genuine one, however, with four legs. She stated she wanted a picture of the dog and was told it would cost $2.

“How much will you charge extra, if I can take in the picture?” she asked.

“There will be no extra charge whatever, I don’t charge any more for one dog than I do for the both of you.”

April 15, 1883

Friday morning, the mayor, for the first time in four or five years, had no cases of any kind before him. By the way, the legislature adjourned Friday morning.

May 29, 1883

It is definitely known to the Evening News that indictments have been returned against many members of the legislature for poker playing. We do not believe these gentlemen are guilty of any violation of the spirit of the law against gaming, and we will have some plain talk on this subject soon.

January 9, 1884

At legislator’s headquarters today at 12, chili con carne.

The pressure on the gas tank needs screwing down, or something to make lights stronger. If the works are inadequate to the demand, attach a pipe to the legislature. [Editor’s note: Austin was then lighted by coal gas, which was known and derided for putting out but little light.]

(More legislative fun to come … )

I Say Me for a Parabola

I Say Me for a Parable is the title of Mance Lipscomb’s autobiography; Mance Lipscomb, of course, being the great Texas bluesman from Navasota.

In mathematics, a parabola (which shares the same Greek root, parabellein, as parable) is a “conic section.” For all of us non-mathematicians, the easiest way to understand a parabola is to apply it to the human head, which is most recognizable in the “Coneheads” of Saturday Night Live fame, and the “Pinheads” of Freaks (the movie) and Zippy the Pinhead (the comic strip) fame.

As usual, the freshly minted (freshly demented, if you prefer) Texas legislature has already put me into parabolic paroxysms with their various agendas (Their collective parabola, my resultant paroxysms).

All of which leads me to the telling of a parable. Now, I’m no Jesus, as anyone who knows me will attest, and this is my first attempt at parabling, but hopefully I will be able to get my parabolic point across in the following ramble.

I own a couple of houses in the picturesque but dying little town of Sanderson, at the edge of the fabled Big Bend of West Texas. Sanderson began its downward spiral in 1995 when the Southern Pacific Railroad pulled up stakes and left town. Its population has since dwindled from nearly 3000 to about 900. And among the handful of things the SP left behind, besides of dozens of vacated employee houses and memories, was the original 1883 depot, a sprawling building that was considered one of the top ten historic depots in the United States. “Was” is the operative word; the Union Pacific Railroad (which subsumed the Southern Pacific some years ago) demolished the depot, with the complicity of all but a few Sandersonians, in October 2012, citing the dangers caused by its deteriorating condition.

At a time when dozens of railroad towns across Texas are celebrating their rail heritage by restoring their much humbler depots and promoting railroad tourism, Sanderson simply said, “Cram it with nuts” to its rich railroad heritage, beginning with its depot. More visionary people in Marfa (some of them ex-Sandersonians) looked into moving the depot there, but the difficulties of getting it through Alpine proved to be a show-stopper.

At one point, a decade ago, Sanderson had a half-million dollar state grant in hand to restore the depot. But the newly elected county judge (Sanderson is unincorporated, meaning that it is run by Terrell County authorities) rejected the grant, basically saying that there were too many strings attached and citing the potential future costs the county might incur, despite the county’s budget surplus of about $1 million (Is this beginning to sound familiar?)

More than a dozen significant railroad buildings dating from the late 1880s, such as the old crew bunkhouse, remain scattered across Sanderson but are rotting away like the depot did, because no one gives a damn about them (Except for me and perhaps one or two more folks; I have lovingly preserved an old railroad section house from the early 1890s that I bought for about $4000 in 1999).

Sanderson is also one of the best spots for train watching in Texas. Being located in a twisting canyon, viewers from atop the canyon walls can see a variety of freight and passenger trains winding their way for miles through the canyon in either direction, and hear the train whistles echo up to seven times off the canyon walls. Yet, does Sanderson do anything to promote its rich railroad tourism possibilities? Nada. Zip (as in pinhead). It has preferred to wallow in willful, isolated mediocrity, with a handful of mostly minimum wage jobs, substandard healthcare, and a history of high teenage pregnancy rates (kids have little else to do than slip into the hills and drink and fornicate) rather than spend a few dollars to turn it back into a thriving, showcase town with employment opportunities that extend beyond working for shitty pay and few benefits at the town’s one 24-hour truck stop.

Except for a short-lived residency by a small, custom silver jewelry manufacturing shop, Sanderson has pulled in not a single new industrial concern or other meaningfully sized outside business since the SP pulled out.

Other than for some nearby sheep and angora ranching, Sanderson was always a railroad town, a place where train crews switched, meaning that many railroad employees lived in Sanderson, all of whom pulled pretty handsome wages, among them the engineers.

The other Sanderson property I own is an extremely humble, undersized, stucco-over wood frame house on the edge of town that everyone calls the Hank House, after its final owner/occupant, whose last name will go unmentioned to protect the eccentric. In a town and region filled with eccentrics, Hank stood head and shoulders above the rest. An SP engineer, Hank was textbook obsessive/compulsive, which manifested itself in hoarding and world-class stinginess. Hank stories are as numerous as fleas on a yaller dog in Sanderson. He never met a plastic shopping bag he didn’t like, and he had a similar fondness for empty match covers, especially ones with locomotives on them. Not that he particularly cared for locomotives; everyone in town says that he drove the hell out of his engines, with none of the loving care that engineers are legendary for.

He evidently did his shopping, save for breakfast, lunch and dinner, at the county dump. He owned two cars; a 1974 Honda Civic that he had painted by brush with bright orange house paint, and a 1963 Volkswagen, which seems to have been his primary mechanized form of transportation. To save on gas, he drove the occasional 60 hilly, twisting miles to Fort Stockton at 30 miles per hour. Whenever he drove to the post office to get his mail, he rolled to a stop by bumping into the metal-pipe parking-lot guard rail, to save wear and tear on the brakes. He washed his clothes with rainwater he collected from roof runoff in 55-gallon oil drums and dried those wet clothes, Mexican style, atop a pile of limestone rocks in the back yard.

One day he tripped and fell on his face, resulting in several bloody scrapes. In a manner reminiscent of Mickey Rourke’s character in the movie, Barfly, Hank went about town several days with the dried blood decorating his face like warpaint. “Hank, why don’t you wash that blood off your face?” people asked. Hank replied that he didn’t want to waste the water.

His one extravagance was a TV satellite dish, not for himself, but for his common-law wife, Connie, who in a rich twist of fate, owned my other property, the railroad house. Hank, evidently, was of the “Why buy a cow when you can buy milk by the gallon” school. Their relationship was evidently a tumultuous one; at the time of his death in 1994, they had been separated for some period of time, although she remained named as his beneficiary on his railroad life insurance policy. That fact was sufficient ammunition for her survivors to battle Hank’s niece and nephew for his estate.

Hank did not die a poor man. Among other assets, he had almost $200,000 in un-cashed pay and retirement checks squirreled away in the little house. Dozens of his neighbors have told me of the buried treasure that they are sure he had buried in the back yard and that I really should buy or borrow a metal detector and find it.

Given the usually low relative humidity in Sanderson and the rest of West Texas, air conditioners really aren’t necessary; “swamp coolers” work very nicely on all but the most rainy of days and cost but a couple of pennies an hour to operate. They use about as much electricity as a small electric fan and about as much water as you might drink on a summer day. Hank didn’t have an air conditioner or any fans, but he had a swamp cooler; I still use it. But for Hank, a penny saved was a penny earned.

Hank died one day in early June 1994, probably of heatstroke, although no one knows the date or cause of his death for sure. He was barely of retirement age and had no known health problems. The first 10 days that June had been extraordinarily hot; 100 degrees-plus every day. After townfolk hadn’t seen Hank for a week or so (he walked everywhere most of the time), it occurred to someone to check in on him. What they found was little more than a greasy puddle on the floor of the closed up little house. The swamp cooler was in the turned off position. Despite the heat, Hank had been too cheap to turn on the swamp cooler. Connie’s family claimed what was left of his body and buried it in the Mexican section of the local cemetery, not far from the graves of the last train robbers in Texas, who had tried and died just east of town. Hank and Connie were ultimately reunited in death, and thus they lie side by side for eternity.

Hank was rich by anyone but the “one percent’s” standards, but he died trying to save a lousy handful of pennies. Was he saving for that proverbial “rainy day”? Call it whatever you want. Dead is dead.

Texas’ Rainy Day Fund is back to well over $8 billion, and sales tax revenues are up 10 percent from the same time last year (an estimated $2.17 billion for December 2012). The taxable value of oil produced in Texas surged to $39.1 billion in 2011 from $18.4 billion in 2009 and is still on the rise. Yet in the face of this robust economic rebound, our esteemed governor and a majority of our all-wise (guy) legislators are calling for continued budget cuts in the face of continued public education devastation, the highest number of people without health insurance in the nation, a crumbling public infrastructure, crippling drought, ad nauseam. And calling for tax cuts (mostly for businesses) as well, even though Texans are already relatively lightly taxed compared with the citizens of many other states, and despite the regressive nature of the sales and property taxes that favor the rich and penalize the poor (If the period of time since the last time Texas’ pump gas tax was raised were a living person, he/she could legally drink a beer.).

The governor and most of the lege recite a litany of reasons to justify their budgetary decisions in the face of brutal reality. I’m sure Hank had his litany of reasons for the decisions he made. I wish I could have been around to listen to them. Unfortunately for him and for me, Hank died, at least in the corporeal sense, in the process of justifying them. But I do take heart in the knowledge that a bit of Hank lives on, at least in spirit and in new digs, imbuing our state’s leaders with his peculiar wisdom.

What’s Goin’ Down in Georgetown

Being in the fire service, I am a fan of fire department museums, so it’s sad for me to report that the Georgetown Fire Department Museum (Williamson County chapter) has made its final run, the victim of space needs at its former location downtown.

I have never known Georgetown to be blessed with decent barbecue in my 41 years in central Texas, and it’s sad that some things never change. My fellow fire service colleague from Georgetown, Don Jenson, newly elected president of the Texas Fire Marshal’s Association, tells me that when he needs barbecue, he drives down to City Market in Luling. But while he mourns this obvious Georgetown short(rib)coming, he’s quick to praise the Georgetown Winery (715 S. Main, georgetownwinery.com). They have already won a slew of awards in their short existence, and if you’ve always wanted your own wine without the trouble of making it, they do custom labels.

A Resolution Was Passed by the Unanimous Voice of the County, Forever Forbidding any Mexican from Coming Within the Limits of the County

This is the last installment of our snapshot looks at the treatment of Mexicans in Texas during the latter part of the 19th century. Today, we look at Columbus and Colorado County.

Columbus is one of the most picturesque towns in Texas, with its dozens of ancient, spreading live oaks and victorian homes. It has also been one if Texas most violent towns, with one famous feud that lasted more than decade, beginning with the gunning down of Bob Stafford, Columbus’ wealthiest citizen, and his younger brother John, on the evening of the present courthouse’s cornerstone laying celebration, July 7, 1890, by City Marshal Larkin Hope and brother Marion. The feud then hopped across family lines to continue until at least 1907. Columbus can also boast of hosting the last lynching in Texas, in 1935, from one of the town’s most massive live oaks, which still stands at the outskirts of town. Killing at least one of your fellow man was once almost considered a rite of passage here. To be fair, Columbus has since seen the light and is now as law-abiding a town as you can find in Texas. Ironically, given its past, Columbus boasts the State’s only Santa Claus museum.

And now to our story.

Despite the intense hatred of Mexicans engendered amongst most Texians by Santa Anna, the people of Columbus seemed to be an extraordinarily hospitable bunch of people in the months after the Texas revolution.

In the early days of June 1837, a “Citizen of Ohio” visited Columbus, which he described for a series of articles that ran in an Ohio monthly called the Hesperian:

“Columbus, a small town consisting of two public houses, two small stores and a half-dozen shanties, stands upon the west side of the Colorado River about one hundred miles from its mouth. Since the expulsion of the Mexicans, quite a settlement has been made in the vicinity of Columbus, consisting of twenty or thirty families who in their collected strength, aided by the citizens of the town, think themselves able to resist any predatory or general attack of the Indians. The people in this settlement had more the appearance of industry than any I had yet seen, and with the exception of gambling, the besetting sin here as everywhere else in Texas, there would be little to complain of more than is common among men anywhere.”

The anonymous author remained in Columbus for several days, preparing for a journey to San Antonio. It would be no casual lark, as the author related:

“All began to prepare for war. Rifles and pistols were put in order, bullets run, and powder distributed. Our wallets were filled with dodgers, and everything attended to necessary for a regular Indian campaign. A course was laid down to regulate our conduct so as to avoid danger to ourselves and especially to our horses during the night, the time when there was the greatest reason for fear. The plan was the same that is most in practice by those who are in the frequent habit of traveling from the coast to the interior. It is to stop about dark, build up a fire and prepare something to eat, to remain in this situation until ten o’clock, then after replenishing the fire, to depart with great secrecy and travel eight or ten miles on the course. To make assurance doubly sure, it is then customary to ride three or four miles either to the right or left and go quickly to sleep. But it is common, after all this precaution, for the party to take turns in watching during the night.

“A number of discharged Mexican prisoners had been collecting for some days from every part of the country until they amounted to near forty, and these were making similar preparations with ourselves to meet the dangers of the unsettled country. A prospect of once more seeing their native land made their hearts glad with joy. The kindness of the citizens had furnished the company which was now preparing to proceed to Mexico a number of muskets to kill game and defend themselves in case of attack, as well as many other things that would be required along the way.”

Attitudes toward Mexicans were very different 19 years later, as both Mexicans and the county’s slave population earned the ire of Colorado County’s Anglo supremacists.

According to several contemporary newspaper accounts, Colorado County was very nearly laid to waste in September 1856. On Sept. 9, 1856, the Vigilance Committee of Colorado County wrote the following report for the Galveston News.

“The object of this communication is to state to you all the facts of any importance connected with a recent intended insurrection. Our suspicions were aroused about two weeks ago, when a meeting of the citizens of the county was called, and a committee of investigation appointed to ferret out the whole matter, and lay the facts before the people of the county for their consideration. The committee entered upon their duties, and, in a short time, they were in full possession of the facts of a well-organized and systematized plan for the murder of our entire white population, with the exception of the young ladies, who were to be taken captives, and made the wives of the diabolical murderers of their parents and friends. The committee found in their possession a number of pistols, bowie-knives, guns, and ammunition. Their passwords of organization were adopted, and their motto, “Leave not a shadow behind.”

“Last Saturday, the 6th inst., was the time agreed upon for the execution of their damning designs. At a late hour at night, all were to make one simultaneous, desperate effort, with from two to ten apportioned to nearly every house in the county, kill all the whites, save the above exception, plunder their homes, take their horses and arms, and fight their way on to a “free State” (Mexico).

“Notwithstanding the intense excitement which moved every member of our community, and the desperate measures to which men are liable to be led on by such impending danger to which we have been exposed by our indulgence and lenity to our slaves, we must say the people acted with more caution and deliberation than ever before characterized the action of any people under similar circumstances.

“More than two hundred negroes had violated the law, the penalty of which is death. But, by unanimous consent, the law was withheld, and their lives spared, with the exception of three of the ringleaders, who were, on last Friday, the 5th inst., at 2 o’clock P. M., hung, in compliance with the unanimous voice of the citizens of the county.

“Without exception, every Mexican in the county was implicated. They were arrested, and ordered to leave the county within five days, and never again to return, under the penalty of death. There is one, however, by the name of Frank, who is proven to be one of the prime movers of the affair, that was not arrested; but we hope that he may yet be, and have meted out to him sue reward as his black deed demands.

“We are satisfied that the lower class of the Mexican population are incendiaries in any country where slaves are held, and should be dealt with accordingly. And, for the benefit of the Mexican population, we would here state, that a resolution was passed by the unanimous voice of the county, forever forbidding any Mexican from coming within the limits of the county.

“Peace, quiet, and good order are again restored, and, by the watchful care of our Vigilance Committee, a well-organized patrol, and good discipline among our planters, we are persuaded that there will never again occur the necessity of a communication of the character of this.”

The September 11 issue of the Galveston News contained the following update: “We learn, from the Columbian Planter, of the 9th, that two of the negroes engaged in the insurrection at Columbus were whipped to death; three more were hung last Friday, and the Mexicans who were implicated were ordered to leave the country. There was no proof against these last beyond surmises. The band had a deposit of arms and ammunition in the bottom. They had quite a number of guns, and a large lot of knives, manufactured by one of their number. It was their intention to fight their way to Mexico.”

The September 5 issue of the La Grange True Issue reported, “We noticed last week the rumor that a large number of slaves, of Colorado county, had combined and armed themselves for the purpose of fighting their way into Mexico. Developments have since been made of a much more serious nature than our information then indicated. It is ascertained that a secret combination had been formed, embracing most of the negroes of the county, for the purpose of not fleeing to Mexico, but of murdering the inhabitants — men, women, and children promiscuously. To carry out their hellish purposes, they had organized into companies of various sizes, had adopted secret signs and passwords, sworn never to divulge the plot under the penalty of death, and had elected captains and subordinate officers to command the respective companies. They had provided themselves with some fire-arms and home-made bowie knives, and had appointed the time for a simultaneous movement. Some two hundred, we learn have been severely punished under the lash, and several are now in jail awaiting the more serious punishment of death, which is to be inflicted today. One of the principal instigators of the movement is a free negro, or one who had been permitted to control his own time as a free man.”

So the Mexicans Are Coming Here to Steal Our Jobs, Part 2

This is from the Galveston Daily News, August 25, 1885.

MEXICANS TO PICK COTTON

THE NEWS stated some time ago that the cotton crop promises to be large and it is learned that from 5000 to 6000 Mexicans can be obtained at Laredo, provided that responsible and known planters go for them, such as can guarantee, the bankers and others that the Mexicans will be well treated and paid the price agreed upon. To enable planters on the Missouri Pacific lines to gather the immense crop this year, that company has arranged to furnish planters the facilities to bring this labor from Mexico at very low rates to points on and reached by their lines. It will be advisable for planters who desire labor of this kind to send responsible agents to make contracts with the Mexicans and also be prepared to pay transportation for them from Laredo to points they are needed at. When through in the earlier cotton districts in the state, these laborers could be engaged in other and more backward sections, and thus the cotton yield in Texas be made greater than ever before. In closing this paragraph, the United States district attorney for the western District of Texas writes:

Austin, August 17, 1885

My attention has been called to a clipping from your paper hereto attached. The course advised hereto to secure foreign labor is in violation of the act of Congress, February 24, 1883, 48^th Congress, second session. Presuming it is not your desire to see citizens of Texas suffer, and that your attention has not been called to the above act, I am most respectfully, A.J. Evans.

THE NEWS is aware that there is a recent law of Congress against the importation of foreign laborers under contract to labor In the United States. But The NEWS has not advised that any planter should go or send outside the United States. Some ten days ago, THE NEWS noticed an item in a New York paper on this subject and in reply to the assumption of illegality THE NEWS suggested, in substance, that if Mexicans should come across the border under no contract, but of their own volition, and be found in Laredo Tex, it could not reasonably be held that a planter who had no hand in bringing them over would be violating any law by hiring them in Laredo Tex., and thence bringing them to his plantation. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding on the vague impression that planters were asked to pay for bringing laborers from Mexico but THE NEWS has said nothing to that effect and has seen nothing to intimate that any railroad company had proposed to bring laborers on contract from any point outside the United States. Laredo is a populous place in Texas and if Mexicans at Nuevo Laredo, opposite, see fit to cross the ferry of their own accord and enter the labor market, it is their own business, we presume. Nor does that designation, Mexican, as commonly used in Texas, invariably mean a citizen of Mexico The race peculiarities are thus indicated, many of those persons being natives of Texas and citizens of the United States. A certain number work at times across the river in Mexico and so far as they are concerned there would not be the slightest presumption of conspiracy were they in a busy season to return to the land of their nativity – Texas – they not being aliens. And as for Mexican citizens, their immigration, if they come, must be their own free act without any contract to labor. THE NEWS still understands that once lawfully in the United States they are free to hire, and planters are then free to pay their traveling expenses thereafter for a journey within the United States.

On Earth as It Is in Purgatory

Today was my quarterly doctor’s visit in San Marcos, and as is my custom, I did some sightseeing along the way, precisely, an hour’s exploration of the 463-acre Purgatory Creek Natural Area. There are three access points; I chose the southwest or “Wonder World Extension” Entrance, which is probably the easiest to get to and certainly for the readers of Central Texas, since is it located on Hunter Rd., just a few feet south of the intersection with RR 12/Wonder World Drive.

The access point here includes parking, a kiosk and the trailhead to a 1 mile-long, crushed stone and dirt hike and bike trail. Where the trail’s bike ramps merge onto the roadway, the trail splits south (connecting to the lower Purgatory/Prospect Park trails) and north (connecting to the more challenging upper Purgatory trail). There are several miles in all of hiking and mountain biking trails. The kiosk has a map of the rather complicated trail system. Just a few yards north of the kiosk is a fenced in Native American campsite where the only known metal arrowhead was found several years ago, by accident. The metal was probably obtained from early Spanish settlers or explorers, whether through peaceful trade or more hostile encounters is not known.

The Area is within the Edwards Aquifer recharge zone, is home to Purgatory Creek, and includes upland meadows, canyon bluffs of 40 feet or more, dense juniper thickets, an champion oaks. Several areas within this natural area are habitat for golden-cheeked warblers and black-capped vireos, meaning that parts of the area are closed during the spring mating season.

Portions of Purgatory Creek Natural Area are generally referred to as lower and upper Purgatory. Lower Purgatory, also known as Prospect Park, is about 9 acres of passive-recreation parkland with about 3 miles of trails, including a 1-mile accessible, crushed limestone trail. Lower Purgatory sits on a rather porous section of the Edwards Aquifer with juniper groves, meadows, ephemeral wetlands, and oak mottes. This in-town location makes a perfect destination when you need a quick nature fix. Benches are located at various points along the accessible portion of the trail.

In upper Purgatory, visitors can travel along the mostly natural “Dante’s Trail.” Work is underway to improve and add trails throughout the Purgatory natural area, with the goal of eventually leading all the way to the San Marcos River.

I’ll be bringing the mountain bike with me in October; you can bet on that. Given the congestion of Austin’ few remaining bike-friendly/legal trails, I am counting on this being a singular pleasure. (Don’t get me started on how many trails we have lost since I started mountain biking in 1981, and trail riding on an old 3-speed in 1973.)

Download Wonder World Extension trail map

Warning: There are no restrooms or drinking water in Purgatory Creek Natural Area.