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I wrote the above words December 27th, planning to write a tale of the things brought to me by the air but, alas! One time, I had a canary, a beautiful golden yellow bird with a heavenly voice. How that bird could sing and he seemed to know when to sing and when to be silent. One morning I missed his song and upon examination found my little bird singer, on his back, down on the floor of the cage, his little feet up in the air. A dead, insensate, thing, to longer the joyous, happy bird giving me melody. No longer did I see his bright eyes peering at me. Dead-insensate.
“The silence and the calm of mute and insensate
things.” And soon after Mary Louise left us we turned to the ---- for music and it too was a dead, insensate thing. The dial lighted up with brilliance but from it there flowed no melody, no words of cheer, instruction, to delight us. Gone dead. When the canary died, us kids fixed up a nice box, lined it with white cloth in which we placed our little bird with some flowers and buried it in the back yard. Now that the ---- is dead, guess we will plan to bury it. I wrote the firm from which it was purchased, but eight days have passed and no reply so guess they were interested only in the sale. Might be well to recall what definition the Supreme Court gave the “Good-will.” The Court said “Good-will is that which causes a satisfied customer to return to the place where he has been well treated.” Well, anyway, the ---- speaks not. Writing about a radio causes me to think of the oil well just SE of town. They say the drill is down about 4000 feet and still running easy. Of course every one hopes that it will result in a huge spouter. Little activity just now in the lease game but a few are flirting, which is a bad idea for the procession will pass sooner or later and then empty bags will be held. When one can take down $25.00 per acre for a lease, common sense dictates “take it.” It is always a good idea to let the other fellow make a bit or who the hell cares if he make two bits so long as the land owner has his share. O. P. M. looks good yet. Mary Louise left Monday at 3 p. m. and as she departed, the daylight seemed to fade. I swept the sky and pulled down a bunch of stars and with them tried to brighten the shade. When she is home the sun shines bright and when she leaves, some way it seems we lost a radiant light. We must with patience wait until April showers brings forth brilliant May time flowers. Here came Mr. and Mrs. Gustave Franzen and Emma. They brought a swell bouquet of turnips, soft as silk in their freshness and the tops, glory be, what a mess of greens they will make, cooked with a chunk of bacon. The Franzens are fine folk and we hope they will return again and not necessary to bring the greens. We enjoy the greens but much more do we enjoy these persons. Clifford and Odessa Franzen gave us two very delightful calls. Two fine young folk and no wonder for Odessa was picked from a peach tree. I always loved peaches. Ruth Mowery Barker desires to take her mother down in the Valley for a two-week rest but mamma Mowery refuses to go because she fears that if Ben is not provided with her nutritious food he will become so feeble that he will not be able to shake up the mail. An example of woman’s devotion to a mere man. If “The Rambling Long Horn” reads this wish he, she or it, would give me name and address. Swell picture sent me. For weeks, wearying of being shut in I dreamed of the day I might be allowed to attend the annual New Year’s Community dinner. The day came and although not quite as pleasant as might be desired. Gustave Franzen, Jr. kindly came for me and in a jiffy or maybe two, I was soon in the midst of the local burghers. It was the twenty-seventh time this affair has been held. Any community able to keep up such a sentimental gathering should be proud. About one hundred folk were present but many of the oldsters were absent. I enjoyed meeting many whom I had not seen for six months which is the time I have been in hock. Tables covered with white linen on which was placed viands to tempt even the Duke of Windsor. Meats of several varieties, salads, vegetables, pies, cakes, etcetera and a tank of coffee brewed by that superlative coffee maker of Carrie Nelson Noodles. Mrs. Liggett seemed to do the main ramrodding and capably aided by Mesdames Guyer, Lashbrook, King, Wright, Jones and others. With Roberta Liggett at the piano those present joined in singing “Nearer My God to Thee,” and thanks was given by Reverend Mr. Harris. Few of the young girls gave aid for they all seemed willing to let mother do the work. Some day they will have to undertake this job for mother will not be there. I hope that next year some of them will put on the old gray bonnet and get busy. The time is here when those who have handled civic affairs are due to lay down the burden and the young folk must prepare to assume the work else there will be no community life. Mopac House, the Library, the Church community progress hangs in the tipping balance and is waiting. Will they come across and carry on? Well filled up on a chicken wing, delightfully whipped potatoes with glorious chicken gravy, and a few other delicacies. I lighted a good cigar and Gustave brought me home very tired and mighty glad to be where I might rest. It was a grand day for me—this second excursion outside the walls. School opens the fourth day and as we used whipped cream on cakes and puddings so the faculty will arrange some basketball contests to keep the kids’ minds from their books. My Narcissus is blooming right along each day telling me of the love those children have for me and the geranium now has five blossoms. That’s the way love grows—just one blossom after another—always bringing perfume to others. What wonderful things flowers are. Nothing dead there but of course like all things God has placed on earth there comes an end. I have experienced what love means during the past six months and am able to testify that it is about the grandest of passions.
Daily? Tribune, January 6, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] We were honored Saturday by a visit from Mr. and Mrs. F. Cornelius, Sr., and son and wife, Foncie Cornelius, of Houston. I fear that in the excitement and happiness experienced by this unexpected call that I neglected to properly give thanks for the beautiful Christmas gifts they brought. One huge bunch of sweet turnips with tops that filled a bushel basket, two jars of preserves, a potted geranium plant in full bloom. It certainly was a sweet thought which prompted such lovely gifts and in this way I express my gratitude for the kindly act. We had one swell visit which was over all too soon. We want them to come again soon and make it an all day affair. Such kindly folk so gentle so lovable. Soon as I am able to make the trip, I shall return the visit so Mrs. Josie better begin getting some of them spareribs ready. Christmas is here for Tuesday came Elliott Curtis with a big Christmas tree for we’uns. It is the tallest and prettiest tree we have ever had. Isn’t Christmas a grand idea? We give thanks to Elliott for the gift and he better come over when it is all dolled up. I know now that Christmas is here for Frances King brought me a potted narcissus in bloom. It is tall and slender and stands about two feet. It is a gift from the first and second grade children and they have been growing it ever since I became ill so they could present it to me for a Christmas gift. Gosh, but I do appreciate such a splendid gift and to think that little children thought of me. No wonder Jesus said, “Suffer little children to come unto me.” “Dear Mr. and Mrs. Clapp: We appreciate the lovely Godly Christmas card from you more than I can express in words. So glad that you are again enjoying good health. We have enjoyed reading ‘Thoughts’ so much.” From Johnny’s Bakery a swell fudge cake at hands of Jack Watkins and I’ll say that Johnny’s cracked wheat bread has all other breads stopped. The Tribune sent me a fine hamper. It was not a cheap basket, but a very handsome hamper fit to be used as a travel companion and what think was in it? A complete assortment of Heinz products all put in cellophane, red ribbons and other right trimmings. Sure was a very beautiful gift. Monday we received Christmas greetings from the Sims of Detroit but no address was given and as I have lost mine I hope S. B. Sims, after reading this, will supply me his address. This from Illinois: “We are grateful to God that He has spared you good folk so that we may enjoy your ‘Thoughts’ and learn to enjoy life and its beauty more abundantly because of you. May God bestow His sweetest and richest blessing on you.” And to these good friends we send our wishes for a swell new year and that God may bless them in their daily life and keep them in His comforting arms. This is our wish for C. W. H. and Junior. Mr. Phillips, Postmaster at Santa Claus, Indiana, says during the holiday rush they handle more than 45,000 pieces of mail each day. That is nothing to what Ben Mowery handles. He has repeatedly asked the Federal department for additional help but it has been refused. Mr. Mowery is worn to a frazzle. I feel sorry for the poor man. If it were not for the good feeds Mrs. Mowery prepares for him, we would be obliged to find a new P. M. 45,000 is a small day’s reception for Collegeport. Cut off three ciphers and a five and Ben may rest. About one hundred and fifty Tribune readers sent me holiday cards and many of them carried personal messages. Wish I had strength to reply to each of them but I’ll say “Thank you, you good folk and may God bless each of you.” Christmas Eve the local Sunday School held their annual tree festivities. A sweet and pretty scene with the beautiful decorated three loaded with gifts. Not one child was forgotten and a big fat Santa Claus took care of the distribution. Santa came by plane, direct from his workshop so we know he did not send a representative, for did we not see the old boy? A splendid program of singing, declaiming and fine stunts appropriate for the occasion. About two hundred were present. During the holiday week more than fifty persons called to see me, each one with cheering messages which brought much joy to me. Reviewing the week it seems that I never had such an enjoyable Christmas. The only disappointment was the absence of “Zadie Z and Sunshine too” for I counted on seeing those two fine sweeties. St. Stephens day came Reverend Paul Engle with the Holy Communion, which I was obliged to accept sitting in my chair. We are rejoicing in the glad news that his mother is making rapid recovery from the serious operation and in a few days will be moved home. Sunday I made my first excursion to the rim of the world where I have been confined for six months. My trip took me to the Liggett home where Mrs. Liggett gave a dinner in honor of Mary Louise Clapp. Any time a fellow is invited to sit at Mrs. Liggett’s table, he is a subject for congratulations and on this occasion I was the lucky pup. The table was lavishly laid with silver, gold and gleaming glasses, and the food, Ye gods and gadzooks! It was a delight to me and I enjoyed it from soup to nuts. For months I have been held down to certain diet, but this day I ran loose and I ate without the eagle eye of the miserable wretch beaming upon me. It was a sumptuous, exquisite, gorgeous, display of gastorial delights and I expanded and at last felt complete satisfaction. Not one after dinner effect so this Monday morn feel fine as a silk pocket book. Mighty fine of Mrs. Liggett to give this friendly gesture. The punkin (not pumpkin) pie was so good that I snitched a second piece, when my hostess was not looking. Smothered in whipped cream! O, well, why write more about such a delectable dish. Go far away “pumpkin pie,” but give me the old reliable “punkin pie” the sort Mrs. Liggett makes. On our return home came Ruth and Naomi Harrison and Dorothy Hood and Mr. McGee from La. but a student at the Texas U. Fine young folk and we had a most happy time with them. Mary Louise with us five nights and now that she had gone, the house is empty for we no longer hear her laughter or see her bright face. Reviewing the week it seems that it was the happiest Christmas of my life. My program is as follows: week end with Dr. and Mrs. Wagner; Rotary Club with George Harrison; a day with Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius at Juanita ranch; the annual New Year’s community dinner. Perhaps I’ll not make all this but It is something to shoot at. I wrote some time ago that while listening to the radio the miserable wretch burned the toast and now the other day she allowed the tea kettle to boil over and one night after I had sneaked into the husks, she forgot to turn off the stove burners so they burned all night. This was not such a bad stunt for it saved me the trouble of starting the fires in the morning. Even with all this, the radio is some comfort. Well, I wish all Tribune readers and others a Happy and Prosperous year and when you do not know where to make purchases just “Go Shopping with Tootsie.” Good bye and great joy with God’s blessing. It’s “30” for 1936.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
January 7, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] Came to this community a few weeks ago a man, his wife and three small children. The man in poor health seeking relief from the climate in this section and much to his delight is experiencing improvement. While not a regularly appointed minister of some sect, he is obsessed with the desire to preach what he defines as from the Bible. Well to make a long story short, he has delivered several sermons in the local church, which at one time was called a community church and assisted in Sunday School work. His compensation was the offering. One night, while he preached, at least five thousand dollars of autos were parked outside the building, about one hundred folk were inside, several of the younger ones were necking in the parked autos, at least fifty of the inhabitants were in Bay City or Palacios [at] shows. At the proper time the Deacon passed around for an offering and this time it yielded the magnificent sum of twenty-seven cents. Poor suffering Jesus! He died on the cross that humanity might live and two thousand years after this humanity gives him twenty-seven cents. Poor suffering Jesus! I wonder what is the matter with us humans. We pay for Jesus twenty-seven cents for autos many thousands of dollars, for shows and amusements, hundreds of dollars. I hope the next offering will be at least thirty cents. Jesus would rejoice. In Saturday’s Chronicle I find liver quoted at 28c per pound. When I was a lad, liver was free. My mother would say, “Harry go down to Mr. Baker’s and get some liver.” Down I went, but being proud and not desiring Mr. Baker to get the idea that my family was so hard up that it was obliged to eat liver, I would say, “Mr. Baker please let me have a small chunk of liver for my kitty.” Mr. Baker, God rest his Dutch soul, knew very well what kitty wanted the liver and would give me a big hunk and then the Clapp family had liver for dinner, but we did not advertise the fact. Kitty went hungry. No butcher ever thought of making a charge for liver, heart, tongue, brains, sweet breads, kidneys. Asking for liver was humiliating, so when I could I would have my sister Lucy visit the shop. She was a cute trick and Mr. Baker would give her an extra large chunk. You see I was about as smart a kid as they had round our parts. About the age of eighteen I had my first shave in a barber shop. Mike Baumgartle, the barber, said I had a very heavy stubborn beard and I should have a private mug. The idea appealed to me and soon my mug was safe in the rack with the mugs of other plutes. It was green with pink roses on the side and in front in gold letters appeared H. A. Clapp. Gosh, but it was a swell day when I rested in the chair and Mike took down my own mug. I have treasured this mug for fifty-six years and have it on the table and use it each day, much to the disgust of my daughter, who thinks a shaving mug should have no place on a dining table. She, poor wretch, or maybe retch, has no sentiment. Mike suggested that I would add to my social position if I had a private razor and so I paid him $3.50 for the one he used on me, for it was an extra swell blade just right for my heavy beard. It is a fine blade and has genuine ivory handles. Mike said the ivory came from a bull elephant. Some bull no doubt. I have it to this day and have used it for more than fifty years. I bet Ack Barnett would gladly buy it if he had a chance. It sure whips the devil around the stump. The ignorance of us humans. I did not know the meaning of service until I looked in the dict., and sure enough I found that service was just another way to spell Taylor and it also spells McCree. Well we were settled down where we are confined and a car drove in and a young man knocked on the knocker and he was loaded up with all sorts of packages. He announced that he came to investigate our radio. He yanked out about seven hundred wires, had the floor covered with tubes and some other things and after looking very smart and wise, found that the original tubes had the jeebees, and the B battery suffered from jingbats and the C battery had some sort of hebucks. No wonder the damned thing stopped working for us. After while he got new stuff in place, fixed the wires where they wanted to be and “There’s music in The Air.” McCree gathered up what was left and beat it with our thanks and we are glad to know what service means. McCree is a strict pro for he refused a glass of wine and a slice of swell cake which makes him a very nice young man. I bet Taylor would have fallen. A radio is not all sweetness, for instance after the resurrection the M. W. placed a tea kettle of water on a stove in which there had been no fire for a day and sitting calmly down to attend to the dinner dishes until 10 p. m. and then found a kettle of cold water. About two years ago a strange cat appeared in the barn. It was fat and slick, with glossy yellow pelt. It was also as wild as any wild beast but by talking to it in a gentle coo, it began to feel less fear and soon it would come up as I milked and I would squirt a stream down its face and neck which it enjoyed. Then it began to drink milk and allowed me to stroke its back, which produced satisfied purrings. Well after while we became great friends which merged into palship, so much so that when she saw me coming she ran to meet me and purring would rub against my leg (presume this should be lower limbs) but I guess you all know what I mean. This kitty besides being a yellow cat, has been honored by science with the name Felix Domestica, by which you will know this is something extra in the cat line. One day some boys placed traps along the hedge in our pasture for the purpose of catching fur bearing animals. Poor kitty, snooping about, sprung a trap ad when released her right front paw was broken clear through so it hangs by shreds of skin. She hobbles about on her three good legs and trys to rub against my leg purring her pleasures. When my pard Nephew Tommy, my nieces Barbara, Jane and Anna Claire were here they went to the barn and found four little one day kittens, little squirming animals. Now the mama is dead and I miss her gentle ways, but the four are now lusty cats. Kitties come and go just as all life ebbs and flows.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
January 14, 1937 |
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This story is not written for grown-ups, but for the children along about four to ten in age. Of course, the old boys and girls have the privilege of reading if they desire. It is the story of a little girl who lived in a small town known as Roseland. In a cute little cottage on the border of Roseland, lived this little girl Doris Welt, with her papa and mamma. I am very much afraid that Doris was not a very careful little girl, or else very unlucky, for she was continually breaking dishes or other articles. If her mamma told her to take a plate of food from kitchen to dining room, she was almost certain to stumble and spill the food over the floor. This was so usual that mamma called her the ‘struction girl, for she spread destruction where ever she went. One day mamma lost patience and she told Doris to go out in the garden and see if she could work with flowers and plants with out destruction. Obeying her mamma, Doris took a pitcher of water so she might water some of the flowers, but ill luck followed her and just as she entered the flower garden she tripped and fell and the pitcher was broken. She fell upon the grass and there remained sobbing her heart out, for she realized that truly she was the ‘struction girl. Flowers nodded on every hand, beautiful blooms and as they bowed and danced in the gentle breeze, they seemed to sympathize with Doris and to tell her that some day she would no longer be known as the ‘struction girl. Presently Doris heard a wee little voice speaking to her. It said, “Doris child, look up and see what you may see. Look up.” In a moment Doris saw, sitting on the edge of a big yellow daisy, a small little fairy figure. It had a cute little hat with a red feather. The dress seemed to be made of gold, but it really was made with spun glass. It was very brilliant. Shoes were white and glistened in the light. The fairy said, “If you want to get away and learn how to do things without destruction, come away with me to the land of Crystalease. There I will show you the most beautiful homes and palaces in the world.” “There,” said the fairy every thing is made of glass. Flowers, houses, autos, planes, carriages—all made of glass.” “But,” said Doris, “how am I to make such a journey as this?” In response the fairy waved her wand, for you know all fairies carry wands. Anyway she waved her wand and at once appeared the swellest, sweetest, most gorgeous little carriage Doris had ever seen. The horses were twenty-four butterflys. On a box sat a driver and footman dressed in green pants, red coats with beautiful diamond buttons. The boots were polished and bright red in color. These little men like the fairy, were diminutive, scare two inches tall. The butterflys were strung out in a row, wings all a flutter and the carriage ready for Doris. Doris wondered how she could find a place in such a small vehicle and with such small little folk, but lo and behold, Doris seemed to shrink or the carriage enlarged, she could not tell which, but soon she was seated with the fairy who waved her magic wand and looking down Doris could see her home place with its garden and the village of Roseland rapidly disappearing from her sight. Way up in the cloudless sky they sailed, as the wings of the butterflys fluttered and beat the air. The fairy told Doris that in Crystalease every thing was of beautiful colored glass and soon she saw way up ahead what appeared to be a crystal like cloud but which on closer approach was the suburbs of Crystalease. Lightly as a feather bloom, the carriage landed on a great park of light green grass of glass and soon Doris was escorted to a seat on the plaza. Well, kiddies, this is about all I can think of this week, so next week we will tell about the adventures of Doris in Crystalease, and she had plenty of them.
“I want to be more like Jesus What a great wonderful world this will be when humanity from day to day tries to be more like the Savior of men. All that is required is to be more like Jesus. Monday at 5 p. m. a Cardinal perched on our gallery rose bush. It saw me when I looked from the window and flew away. First of the new year. A reader asks me what I meant by the term chaser in last week Trib. In the old continuous vaudeville it was necessary to clear the house at the end of each bill, so about the punkish act on the bill was put on and called a chaser. This was presumed to be so rotten that everyone would leave the house. The chaser was poorly paid and about the only thing to be happy about was that he really was on the show. Another reader writes, “I read in the paper that Arthur Brisbane used only thirty minutes to dictate his “Tomorrow” and “Today” copy. I wonder how you write Thoughts. Please tell me.” Well here it is. Mr. Brisbane used only thirty minutes for his dictation but there is no dictation in my house. I am unable to dictate because there is a dictator in my house. Guess you know who she is, so further explanation is not necessary. That’s the difference between Arthur Brisbane and Harry Austin. I mean one difference—for there are other differences. He drew $250,000 per annum while I draw a little less per annum. My sweetie, spending some time way up north where Panhandle breezes make icicles five feet long, writes that she has procured a suit with feet woven in so she may keep her tootsies (not shopping Tootsies) warm. Wish I might see her in this costume, for get she looks like a cute little cupid sitting on the north pole. For more complete particulars, I refer you to the society column of the Daily Tribune. Mary Louise writing about a man who has been very kind to us, writes, “He is entitled to a star of glory in his crown.” We told this to him and in reply he said, “Well that’s fine, but have you ever thought how empty my life would be if I did not have someone for whom I might do something?” That’s another angle. Wonder how many of us ever think of service in this manner? The local BB team went to Port Lavaca Friday night with the ambition to take a few scalps. Instead they were paralyzed, pulverized and purified. Elliott must breed up a tougher bunch of nuts before he again goes that far for complete disintegration. A symphonic drubbing. Sunday mornings at nine o’clock we tune in to Dallas and listen to the service of Emanu-El Temple. The choir singing, as well as the solos just beautiful, loving melody. Prayers which I am sure reach up to the same God Christians worship. A sermon appealing to the soul of those fortunate enough to listen. A beautiful and glorious service. With the last word we turn off and sitting quietly, we feel a comforting sense steal over us—sort of cleanliness and peace. We do not want anything but peaceful quiet. And yet there is something missing. It appears to us like a cart with one wheel. There is no word of the Jesus Christ Christian worship. Without Jesus any religion is without balance. Jesus is the missing wheel. The Jews are great people. For centuries they have suffered persecutions, many of them of extreme cruelty and they have stood unfaltered holding fast to the teachings of their fathers. What wonderful women! Grandmothers, wives, home makers and keepers. I can’t help but hope that the day will come when they will recognize and welcome “The King of Jews.” Next Sunday at nine we will again be in Emanu-El Temple. At night we heard a Priest of the Washington Catholic University talk on “Freedom.” Listening, the thought came to me that Protestants are not all the good Americans in this country. Catholics, Mormons Protestants, Jews. We are all good Americans. We are all glad that we live in a land of religious freedom.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
January 21, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] Let’s see. Where did we leave Doris? Oh, yes, I remember now that we left her waiting on the plaza for someone to take her to the place where she was to be entertained. Toot! Toot! Toot! This warned her that the automobile was approaching and at last it arrived. About six inches long, all built of glass and gold, it certainly was a royal carriage. The midget driver sat before a wheel not larger than a pea and the hubs of the wheels were little disks of pure gold about the size of a gold twenty-five cent coin. I am surprised you did not know that at one time the United States Mint issued twenty-five cent gold coins. I know it is true, for I have one right in our home. But for goodness sake or my sake, don’t let Franklin D. know about it, for if he knew I was hoarding gold, he would pop me into the bastille for fifty years. Seated beside the fairy, Doris started on her journey up the esplanade to the center of the city. Crossing the bridge which arched over the river bordering the city, she was interested in the river which purled its way, gurgling, laughing, nibbling at the flowers which covered its banks. She was interested because the river was red and she soon found out that it was cranberry sauce. Yes, sir, it is the truth, that this river flowed with cranberry sauce. I suspect this made Doris remember the day when her mama gave her a dish of cranberry sauce to carry to the dining table and she fell and scattered the sauce all over the floor. And there was the river of cranberry sauce flowing under the bridge. All along the esplanade, was lighted with tiny electric lights, each one about the size of a grain of wheat, but there were so many that the route was brilliantly illuminated. All along the route, she saw many of the people of Crystalease walking in the parks or playing many games, some of which she had never seen. One peculiar game consisted of throwing delicate glass balls in the air and they were broken by small bats or clubs, and when broken released little balloons which floating away showered the air with brilliant sparklets. Arriving at the castle, at the end of the esplanade, Doris was conducted to the throne room beautifully and extravagantly decorated with spun glass rugs and wall hangings in all colors most of them being of a opalescent figure which reflected with many colors the lights and shades of the room. Here she was greeted by the King of Crystalease and given the freedom of the city, with the admonishment that destruction of any article or decoration or flower or animal would be met with instant banishment from the city. Doris was then taken to the apartment reserved for her, accompanied by a maid for personal service. The maid was about three inches tall, dressed as all others in clothing made of glass. The bed, dressing table, chairs, were all of delicate mold in many colors with pearl effects in control. The mirror of the dressing table was about the size of a silver three cent coin. Guess we will have to hunt up one of those old coins so you many know. On the dresser was found all the beautiful things usually used. The little brush was of real old gold with incrusted diamonds covering the back. The bristles were made from the hair of a gnat. The comb had teeth so fine that they would not allow the passage of a flea’s leg. The back of the comb was resplendent with rubies which seemed to form a crown along the comb top, each ruby glistening in the brilliantly lighted room. The little toilet articles, powder puff, lipstick, perfume bottle, all of many colored glass, were, while delicate and fragile, of possible use, especially to the little folk but for Doris, well she hardly knew how to use them. The bed was sure a delight. Made of orchid glass with covers of spun gold and silver glass. Pillows six in number, were soft as a feather’s down, made from a glass that was very flexible and soft. Each pillow a different color. Pearl, gold, blue, green, yellow, crimson. I dislike to mention it, but I feel that a terrible tragedy is about to occur. I fear that some destruction will take place and that Doris will suffer. Wonder what will happen. This from Michigan, “The story about your stray cat his week impressed me and touched a responsive chord for we have just recently lost our little Major, the Boston Terrier that accompanied us on our last visit to Collegeport and was constant companion for the past nine years. If there is a Dog Heaven (and who can say there is not?) he surely is there now.” Don’t worry my friend, for Major is sure waiting over there. I do not believe that God wastes any thing especially a thing as precious as the soul of a man, a dog or a flower, so believing that I know that Major is sitting on the shore across the river, tail a wag, ear erect, eyes alert, shining with love and ready to bark his welcome to the master’s coming. Do not, therefore, worry about Major. The world marches on and soon you, too, will reach the river shore and you will see Major. I have a little Fox Terrier. He weights about twelve pounds and his registered name is Sunny Jim, but we call him Jimmy. We love Jimmy and he loves us. He speaks our language and when his beautiful brown eyes look into mine, something passes and we both understand. It will be a sad day when Jimmy goes over to “Dog Heaven,” but we will meet him there.
“When Major closed his eyes and passed away This 22nd day of January we are shrunken up with a cold, wet norther and temperature close to freezing. Our sole business is keeping warm. Wednesday, June 16, 1937, I will reach my seventy-fifth birthday celebration, and if Doctor Wagner keeps me alive until then and fixes my wooden leg so I can walk, I plan to have a birthday party. I am giving you readers notice that I shall expect as many of you as possible to be present and if not possible, that you send me a letter or postal card. I expect as many of my friends in Matagorda county and the State of Texas as are able to stagger, to also be present. In as much as it will be impossible for us to feed the large assemblage, I advise each one to bring a sandwich for himself and one for another fellow. I don’t want presents, but I do want presence. Just advance notice. For further details read the Daily Tribune. Across the Colorado at Matagorda they have electric and gas service. Across the bay at Palacios they enjoy the same service. East of this burg a big derrick pierces the sky with a drill down, say, six thousand feet. Across the bay in plain sight another derrick and still Collegeport sits at the end of the road. Perhaps some day this community will be taken over by folk who adore progress and then we shall have passage across the bay and may sit on our gallery and watch the race of men go by. If Palacios business men allow Rotary to die from lack of interest it will be another thrust between the ribs from which recovery will be a long road. The next thing is to allow the Chamber of Commerce to die of a broken heart and Palacios will be on the emergency table. These things must be kept up if a community is to enjoy progress. I hope they will keep Rotary going until I can meet with them.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
January 28, 1937 |
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Doris passed a sleepless night for just before retiring she allowed the hair brush to slip from her hand and it cracked the mirror above the dressing table. Morning broke without discovery and soon she was conducted to the dining room where she breakfasted on food she had never seen before. There was toasted buns about the size of mustard seed. Doris was compelled to scoop them up in her hand to secure a taste. On a plate was broiled leg of humming bird. It was a huge thing for little folk, but Doris ate it eagerly and asked for more. Frizzled fly wings were a real delicacy. Tiny mutton chops from the sheep which were only about two inches tall. Scrambled eggs from eggs half the size of that of a humming bird. Doris used four dozen. After breakfast she was invited to a boat party on the river and as she floated down the river of cranberry sauce, she witnessed some strange sights. The fish were a bright green and each had protruding from the head a little thread on the end of which was a tiny light. This was used by the fish to attract insects on which they fed. Passing an island covered with sweet green grass and many flowers, she saw a log partly submerged in the river water and on it sat twelve bullfrogs. They were green with yellow vests and eyes that bulged out as though they were frightened. They were not at all frightened. They were not at all frightened. They always looked that way when they began their nightly song and this is how it went, the first line sung by the bull frogs and the second by the little fellows:
“Ben Buck! Ben Buck! Ben Buck! (Big Frog) Just here one frog became so excited that he fell from the log and swimming ashore he sat on the bank and sang Ben Buck! Ben Buck! Ben Buck. Going on down the river the boat passed an island which was the amusement park of Crystalease. Here Doris saw all sorts of mechanical devices for pleasure. Slides of death which was thrilling, the Devil’s Cave, The Elephant’s Grunt, The Merry Go Round, about the size of a five-cent coin. But she was most interested in the band of one hundred and fifty musicians. The man who played the tuba was a very fat little man and was a vigorous player. His horn was of transparent glass and the funny thing about it was one could see the notes coming from the horn. Did you ever see musical notes? Well Doris did. Soon as they left the horn they changed into beautiful birds, with long flowing tails and flying to a nearby tree there they rested, each bird singing the note it uttered when leaving the horn. By the time the number was over the tree was covered with birds. It must have been a wonderful sight. Back in the Palace Doris thought she would take a rest but before doing so she (remembered she had broken the mirror) walked out on the little balcony in front of her room. The rail was of translucent glass, very slender and delicate and as Doris leaned on it, it gave way and crash, bang, what a clatter. In a moment the room was filled with soldiers and policemen and Doris was a prisoner bound with a thousand stout cords. She could not even struggle. Poor child. What a mess she was in. Taken before the King, banishment was ordered so she was carried to the edge of the city and literally thrown overboard. Down she went, head down, feet down, arms outstretched seeking support which never came. At last she landed with a thump. Where do she suppose she landed? Right in the home garden and the broken pitcher right in front of her. She cried and sobbed, “O, mamma I’ll never again be the ‘struction girl.” Looking up at hearing a slight noise, she saw a honey bee on the edge of a big yellow daisy. When Mary Louise was a very little girl she used to sit on my lap and say, “Daddy tell about the ‘struction girl.” The story lasts for many episodes, but in this case I have for lack of space eliminated much of the adventures Doris experienced. The other day rummaging through an old trunk I found a collection of toys Mary Louise played with. A set of dishes, a rolling pin, a stove that fired with wood, a kitchen cabinet, bed, in fact a complete kitchen outfit including a washboard. Mirth will probably have use for these toys next Christmas, providing Mary Louise is willing. Thursday my fine friends Mr. and Mrs. Frank Ives of St. Louis drove here to see me but because of the impassable roads were obliged to give up the visit although they came within four blocks of our gate. How keen is my disappointment is beyond words. These people have been close to me for many years. Four blocks of mud and slime prevented this visit. The culvert in front of my gate, destroyed by the road draggers is still a menace to every car that attempts to drive in. I hope our commissioner will soon look it over and issue orders. Hey commissioner? Weather continues gray, gloomy, sticky, nasty and each time Mr. Sun tries to peep through, old man weather gives him a slap in the face and he hides again behind the heavy pall of clouds. Some day, no one knows when, the sun will shine, the flowers bloom, the grass will be waving its fresh and fragrant greenness in the breeze. Some day. Mr. Frank Ives left with Vernon Hurd a Christmas gift to deliver. It came on Vernon’s shoulder. A big hamper filled with quite useful things like flour, corn meal, sugar, crackers, fruit, bacon, canned goods galore. A very useful and thoughtful gift. Such friends are sent by God. A person with an ear—a musical ear—may with some practice acquire the ability to pick out and carry the story round which the [line left out]. The theme is usually a simple thing but it is like the king thread woven in a beautiful fabric. Simple, but always the key note in the elaboration of a classical musical number. This ability may be cultivated. Try it when next you listen to a classical rendition. It is interesting and adds to the pleasure of hearing an exquisite musical theme. Mrs. Leo Duffy spent a happy hour with us Monday. Myrtle brought me some cake—a white cake all covered with snowy coconut shreds. Myrtle knows how to make delicious cake. I doubt if finer, more luscious oysters are taken from the bay than those taken by Mr. Sutton from the bay right here at Collegeport. Many of them run fifteen to the pint. They are about 2 ½ to 3 inches long, fat and excellent flavor and when one buys a quart at forty cents, one receives full value. Mr. Sutton has no difficulty in selling all he takes and this community is congratulated on having such fine service. The day the oyster season closes, I’ll hang crepe on my right arm. Fishing is just not, as reported by John Shoemaker the king fisherman. He reports that the bay contains no fish. John has fished faithfully in the slough, the bay, red bank and all other places, spent several thousand dollars for bait and not a scale has he taken. Still he has courage and some day he will bring me that ten pound red or maybe six small trout. The local Federal building has for a long time needed some new device for heating, not for the comfort of the people but for the postmaster and his corps (corpse might be a better word) of assistants. Our postmaster asked Mr. Farley for this equipment and he putting it up to the President a “must order” for transmission to congress. This body acting in its usual alert, rapid manner, passed the bill and I am informed that a steam heating plant will be installed about the middle of May. This will be comforting to our postmaster, who has shivered through the past winter. The radio is a wonderful thing. Here at Homecroft it brings tears when we listen to a pathetic melody, the miserable wretch dances with dance renditions and laughs at the comics. She runs the scale of human emotions. Last night she came to bed with laughter which prevented my sleep. I gave her a biff behind the ear and had silence. Fine method and very effective to silence a woman. Try it sometimes when friend wife or any fellow’s wife keeps you awake. Funny things happen in a print shop and here is one of them. My copy last week read “what a great wonderful world this would be when humanity from day to day tries to be more like Jesus.” A reader writes “I read in the paper that Arthur Brisbane used only thirty minutes to dictate the “Tomorrow and To-day copy. I wonder how you write Thoughts. Please tell me. Well here it is. Mr. Brisbane used only thirty minutes for his dictation but there was no dictator in his house. I am unable to dictate because there is a dictator in my house. Guess you know who she is, so further explanation is not necessary. That’s the difference between Arthur Brisbane and Harry Austin Clapp—I mean one difference—for there are other differences. He drew $250,000, while I draw a little less per annum.” Here is how it appeared in Monday’s Tribune, “What a great, wonderful world this would be when humanity from day to day tries to be more like was no dictation in his home. I am unable to dictate because there is a dictator in my home. Guess you know who she is, so further explanation is unnecessary. That’s the difference between Arthur Brisbane and Harry Austin, I mean one difference—for there are other differences. He drew $250,000 per annum while I draw the Savior of men. All that is required is to be more like Jesus.” What a mess. No proof was pulled. No proof read. Type just dumped on the slab and getthehell out of here. The new press was in no way to blame. I hope that God pities every fellow who tries to write a column. 99.4 per cent of them are just damnfool nuts. Left hand nuts at that. Just here I’ll add for the benefit of some up north readers that Frank W. Ives is an Executive of The Missouri Structural Steel Works of St. Louis, Mo. and the firm has supplied structural steel for many Houston buildings. I have been his friend and he mine for twenty-five years. I hope I’ll live until next visit to the Sunny Southland. That’s joking but jokes are relished.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
February 4, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] This is the fifth day of the second month. The sun shines in lustrous, scintillating, dazzling brilliance, and the world takes on new and fresh beauty. The earth is in the pains of child birth, for all nature is alive to the coming of new life. New? Nay, the same life returning. The cycle repeats. There is no death. Well, anyway, we who are confined behind the walls welcome the promised release. The thirtieth day of January and we have no fire, the front door is open, the sun shines and flowers and plants seem crazy to begin their annual life. Burr clover is covering the ground with its lovely brilliant green leaves and as they gently sway in the breeze, they say to me “I am the harbinger of Spring.” Like the roots of the plants which go down deep in the earth, so do the roots of folks, go down and fix, thus are our homes built. The love of home, a plot of ground with roots that refuse removal. January has been a long tedious month. Day after day of fogs, rains, winds, chills. Not once have I been outside the walls. Walls? Yes, indeed, for I am strictly confined as if behind walls of brick and steel. The M. W. looks after that. And so I long for the glorious Spring when Nature awakens and puts on her fresh beautiful new garments. I am all ready for the good old summer time, for the good old summer time is good to me. Nancy Sutton brings me two big flounder. No finer fish swims the sea than the flounder. Much fine white tender flesh, few bones and it frys, broils or boils into tender flaky morsels of delectable gastronomic delights. It is Sunday morning and we have just listened to the services of Emanu-El Temple of Dallas. So full of satisfaction that we turn the radio off for we have no wish to be disturbed. Peace, quiet is the theme of the hour. Sausage Day broke with heavy clouds, mist, fine rain and temperature, O, say, round about 36. Of course on such a gloomy Sausage Day Mr. Ground Hog could not see his shadow and hence finer weather ahead. The U. S. weather man says this idea is just twiddle-twaffle and not believed by sane persons. But believe it or not, many folk watch for that day.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
February 11, 2009 |
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During the many months of my confinement, I have often wondered what a prisoner thinks. I have wondered about his thoughts as he considered the end of his sentence or his chance for escape. I wondered how he planned and considered the ways and means. I valuated the first breath of fresh air free from prison and contamination. The first breath of freedom. Thinking these things, I wondered when and how I might escape from the walls behind which I have been held. And the way came. One day some good friend tossed a bunch of keys over the wall and among them was one which unlocked the main gate. As is usual in all successful escapes, a car with engine running was parked just outside. In it was my chief conspirator, Mrs. J. R. Wagner, but much to my delight and surprise along came that faithful priest, Reverend Paul Engle bringing me the Holy Communion for the beginning of Lent. After the service, he joined in with the efforts to take me away from prison walls and give me a breath of freedom. In a jiffy, I was out, staggering about, but closely followed and attended by the miserable wretch (my guard) and away we went. I with Reverend Paul Engle and the angel woman with the wife of the Miracle Man. Gosh, how sweet the air; how beautiful the signs of the coming of the sprig time; how wonderful the evidences of the birth of a new season; how sweet the songs of birds; how their wings glistened and flashed in the sunlight; the waters of the bay rippled in new splendor; fish leaped; porpoises played in the waves; Palacios glittering in its white dress. All these things I saw and soon I was deposited at the beautiful Wagner home where I received a red hot welcome and soon felt as though I owned the place. The Wagners, who used to operate sleeping cars years ago, were novices in their attempts to give real comfort to their guests. These today Wagners know all about hospitality. No sooner had we arrived, than I was taken to a barber shop to be relieved of my long, luxuriant locks, the crop of 1936, then the calling on of old friends, the Dismukes, who allowed me to touch that sacred thing called the “line-o-type” and promised to put me in the Beacon. I told them to put me in a box and sign thirty. My old friend Duncan Ruthven, one of the men I have loved for many, many years. He looked extra well fed, hale and hearty and still ready for his part in all progress endeavors. A grand young man. His wife. Boy you should see that girl. I use the term advisedly. She does not look a day over 27 or maybe 27 ¼. She has grown handsomer with the passing years. Bright, smiling, happy face and Duncan’s right hand and a goodly portion of his left. Mrs. Farwell that sweet, kindly soul, our good friend for more than a fourth of a century. What a delicious hour we spent with this sweet and alert woman. Then came that delightful two in one, the Homer Lewis family, for all call and an invitation to visit them at “The Doll House.” Tuesday night the bridge club met with the Wagner klan. The evening entertainment began very properly with an elaborate dinner, the piece de resistance being a swell roast turkey, with all the usual and some unusual trimmings. Feeling quite at home, I asked as a favor that the left wing be placed on my plate and as ordered so was. Boy, that gravy, made in some mysterious manner of some recondite, occult, mystical product. O, boy, words fail me. To appreciate this delicious gravy, you should have dunked your head in its golden daintiness. I mean it was some gravy as only Luella knows how to prepare. This generous and satisfying dinner was topped with apple tart, smothered in whipped cream. The table where I was placed had for a centerpiece, a mirror for a lake and on it sailed two ships with silver wings. Gorgeous ensemble! How I hated to clean those turkey wing bones and how I longed to get at the right. But enough of this twaddle for let’s get on to the bridge. But here the miserable wretch butts in and informs me that I had forgotten the biscuits and that is not true for I was holding them there rolls tight in my fist fearing they would escape. Rolls so hot that it was necessary to serve them wrapped in napkins. Light as a feather from an angel’s wing; white as the breast of a young virgin; dainty as the first blush of morn; delicious as the offering of a princess; tender and sweet as a baby’s kiss. That’s a simple description of the biscuits that Luella makes. I am asking my Lord to keep me safe until I can toddle across the bay and once more dunk my biscuit in that gravy. Well, anyway, here we are at the bridge and there we met Dr. and Mrs. Wagner, George Harrison, Mr. and Mrs. Gus Sisson (Mrs. Sisson of the beautiful white hair), Mrs. Charles Luther, Mrs. Clark from Des Moines town, Mr. and Mrs. Glen Fabiun, Mr. and Mrs. C. L. de St. Aubin, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Key, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Austin Clapp. Mighty smart party I think. Read the list over again. Of course us farmers could not stay up all night so we made a sneak and sought the clover hay. It was the end of a redolent, balmy, delightful day. But, what ho! Another day is coming with the rising sun. Came Mierceles and a visit to “The Doll House” occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, a cute, beautiful little palace built for two. Nifty refreshments some of it tickled my nose, for it was in tall glasses with cubes of ice floating about. I don’t know now what it was, but it was delicious. We had a swell time with the Lewis family and hope to go back some time and see the live stock which consists of a pony, twenty-four chickens and two pigs. Dr. Wagner being my host and also president of the Rotary Club took me as his boy (it being a man and boy meeting) and so I had a seat near headquarters. Met a lot of fellows, some from Port Lavaca, Vance Porter, Carlton Crawford, George Gillespie and many other which gave me pleasure. What is in life, if one is denied the privilege of mingling with friends? The Pavilion Café is a sweet and dainty place, the service excellent food good quality and quantity. A very delightful place for hearty meals or light lunches. Service by well dressed and dainty maids. This place is entitled to hearty support. The luncheon consisted of a T-bone steak, mashed spuds, peas, salad, punkin pie (not pumpkin) coffee. Listened to several talks, some good, some rather tiresome as to longitude or maybe latitude, anyway too long for such an affair when one hour is the allotted time. All during this time, the MW was begin entertained in a wonderful way at the Sisson home (the one with the silver mop). Any woman who has hair like this woman has may be well proud of its beauty, its soft shimmering silkiness. It looks like my mother’s hair. About a dozen or fifteen ladies were present and a regular dinner was served with chicken pie as the article that tempted Eve to leave her Adam. I dallied in the Wagner sun room drinking soft gulps of tickling stuff which the Doctor said would relieve my difficulty in breathing. It did, so I took a second load. Then to the hay pile and snug sleep inside those soft gentle covers. Thursday came my old friend Duncan Ruthven for a call and we enjoyed a pleasant half hour. One day George Harrison backed by a fellow named Billy went a deer hunting and at last brought down a buck with eight horns or prongs or maybe it was a horn with eight bucks. Anyway here comes George with a big roast of venison for us to carry home. We arrived back behind the walls that afternoon and was Jimmy glad to see me? He jumped and capered and talked, telling me all about it. And I was glad to see Jimmy. We had such a happy time in the Wagner home that it requires time to arrive back at the normal mark. Every moment was an extra drop of joy. Mrs. Vernon Hurd, Gussie Slone, Mrs. Liggett all bringing belated visits and very welcome and enjoyable. Every year since 1909 this community has given honor to George Washington by having a banquet. This year because of certain local conditions, there will be no banquet, but a dinner of chicken pie and certain extra delights and at a cost of just two bits, twenty-five cents. Every one is invited. By the way, do you know that George Washington was not our first president? It is true whether you believe it or not. Maybe some one will answer the question Monday night. Sunday we heard the service of Emanu-El Temple, Dallas. Just as grand as always. John and Lutie Shoemaker, in charge of the celebrated Ramsey Poultry Farm, preparing for another fishing trip. With five derricks surrounding Collegeport hopes leap high. Every one is getting ready to spend the money they expect to receive from oil. Anticipation is a delight and most of us will enjoy anticipation to the fullest extent and then when the blow up occurs, we will be that much in the black.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
February 18, 1937 |
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Twenty-five young berry plants were put out at the home of Maud Lashbrook, farm fruit plot demonstrator, under the direction of Mrs. Leola Cox Sides when she met with the Collegeport 4-H Club girls Tuesday, Feb. 9. The young berries were set about four feet apart and the soil was worked up so as it would be better for the growth of plants. Later the girls met at the home of their sponsor, Mrs. D. Merck, where they enjoyed a style show exhibiting farm fruit plot tags. Those present at this meeting were: Nancy Sutton, Ethel Nelson, Dora M. Emmert, Betty Lashbrook, Otha F. Mize, Mava Nee Harvey, Dorothy Miller, Dolores Guyer, Ella Guyer, Oneida Bullington, Marie Shows, Otha Lee Harvey, Mrs. D. Merck, Mrs. Leola Cox Sides, and Maud Lashbrook, club reporter.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
February 18, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] In the early days of that period of this country, there existed local publications in several communities. The following towns printed very interesting papers: Matagorda, Markham, Blessing, Palacios, Collegeport and Bay City, seven publications in all. Where are they this day? Gone with the wind. Now we have two papers, the Daily Tribune at Bay City and the Beacon at Palacios. These two survive and they have served well and continued week after week to carry to the world the happenings of this imperial land. One time we had banks in Matagorda, Wadsworth, three in Bay City, Markham, Midfield, Blessing, two in Palacios, and Collegeport. Eleven banks to serve less than fifteen thousand people. Total deposits sufficient for one institution. Today we have in the county just two banks, the First National Bank of Bay City and the Bay City Bank and Trust Company, with three and a half millions of deposits. When Mr. Farley was requested to provide a steam heating plant for the local post office he assented but placed delivery the last of May. The unnecessary delay exposed our postmaster to the chills of winter and as a result he has been seriously ill from influenza the past week and confined to his bed. First Assistant General Hattie has been distributing the mails and also the males, during the illness of our P. M. Glad to report that he will soon be on hand shaking out the mail sacks and Mr. Farley may keep his old steam plant. I received a cute little valentine from my “Vice” and from it had the idea that she had at last settled down but lo, to my surprise I find she has gone to New Orleans and taken on a milk route. I could hardly believe it, but I must believe my eyes, for she sent a foto showing the outfit. A two wheel cart, a bay horse, two big milk cans. It is a fine rig, the harness of the best, the cart beautifully painted with a top folded back, whip in socket and believe it or not just as you wish, but there sat my “Vice” all dolled up with a new sunbonnet and dealing out the milk. Dogburn me, I hope she hangs onto this job for a few weeks, for then I’ll know where the cute little rascal is. Our local fisherman, John Shoemaker, wet his line in the slough back of our place and pulled out a fish that was something less than fifteen inches long and weighed less than twelve pounds. Jon was filled with delight and I am sure Lutie was pleased when John brought in this big bundle of meat. Mrs. Hester Hendricks has been accorded a seat on the local school board and I am suspecting that she will make a good board member. She has one of the qualifications. She is the mother of school pupils. Two little girls sent me a Valentine in which they wrote, “Dear Mr. Clapp, I hope you are feeling well. I wish we could see you and Mrs. Clapp. Let us know how you both are and remember that we still love you both worlds and worlds. Your girls.” Pretty sweet and nifty I’ll say. Mirth would give his strong right arm to receive such a letter from two such girls and for that reason I do not publish the names. The usual Valentine party sponsored by the Collegeport Woman’s Club was held Valentine night. Admission requirement was a coin or a book. Result, eight depreciated dollars in coin (silver for gold is not legal) and eighteen books. Light refreshments were served each item calling for another coin. The club is richer in cash and books. Mrs. Hurd was the chief criminal with Mrs. Liggett. Mrs. Nelson and two or three others drawing lighter sentences. This burg would be dead (almost now) and buried several feet deep were it not for a half dozen women. The men? Well they just don’t give a goldarn whether she floats and sinks. Mrs. Patricia Martyn, our county health nurse, here Thursday with the Puppet Show handled by two young folk from the State Board of Health. The object of the show is to teach the importance of clean teeth. Besides the school about fifteen of our interested mothers were present. Coming from the show Wednesday a little Negro girl was instantly killed while they were discharging pupils at the home destination. Had the State law which requires an auto to come to a full stop when school children are being discharged or taken on this would not have happened.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday,
February 25, 1937 |
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No questant requires that both brain lobes function and so in as much as only my right lobe is of use, I am still able to go a questing. Another grand thing is that although my wooden leg greatly handicapped by static, failed to operate as I would desire, still enables me to stagger about. As I stagger about, my right lobe is as active as a bunch of screw worms and I think of many things—I mean I have some wonderful ideas. Many times people seeking a week-end of line wetting or shot gun explosions, come to Collegeport, a place which nature has beautified in many ways, for the purpose of enjoying a week-end or a day of sport and rest. Often they have called on us midnight and finding that the community possessed no place where they might enjoy what they sought, they would return to the place from whence they came. Result was that few returned. I have given this situation much thought and at last I had what I consider a very bright idea. Right on the bay shore where nature offers excellent fishing, bathing, boating, oystering and by the way just think of oysters twenty-two of which fills a quart and taken from in front of Collegeport. Right here in a most desirable location is found a beautiful house known for years as “Torre Vista” is the large and generous Hurd home. It is large enough to care for as many as sixteen people over night. It has ample room for guests to use the four kitchens for the preparation of meals. It is furnished in handsome style and furnishes a charming, graceful beauteous and restful place for short week-end vacations or for dancing parties and for those who desire accommodations for several days or sport or rest. It is suitable, proper, neat, appropriate, graceful. As the result of my questing, I worked up my shattered nerves to a point where I might contact Mrs. Dena Hurd who owns and occupies this swell home. with some fearsomeness I broached the subject and much to my delight, it appealed to her and the result is that from and after Easter, “Torre Vista” will be open for refined, cultured and discriminating guests. People who are decent and seek a day or week or more of clean sport in God’s open, restful hours in clean and sweet surroundings. Mrs. Hurd desires no froth hunters. She only cares to act as hostess to the best class. Those who seek a place where bars are down and all things are overlooked, are not desired and will receive no welcome. Reservations may be made in advance, for a night or a week and if desired games and dancing programs will be arranged. Guests may bring their own sporting equipment, but bait and flounder equipment will be available. If desired, guests may bring their own cook and enjoy the use of the four kitchens. Eventually the plans being made, call for the erection of several cottages along the shore line and within one hundred feet of the sea wall. Guests who avail themselves of this privilege will find at Torre Vista a charming and gracious hostess whose ambition is to see that visitors are happy, contented and depart with a sweet feeling and longing to return to the delights of Torre Vista. Address all communications to Torre Vista, Collegeport, Texas. You readers know from this column that I have been ill for many months and my activities very much circumscribed, but you will be delighted with me to know that the trouble has been diagnosed as “Buerger’s disease” or in plain language “thornboangittis Obliteran.” Isn’t that swell? I bet my last depreciated dollar bill that many of you boys will envy me my good luck. Not ever person is able to take on such a fashionable disease. Well, anyway, February 22nd arrived and the annual banquet, except that this time it was just a supper, but what a supper? Delicious chicken pie with mashed spuds, salads, brilliant, sparkling coffee and a cherry pie, believe it or not, made from cherries which grew on a descendant of the tree George Washington slashed down. If doubted, ask Mrs. Roy Nelson. She is a truthful woman. The affair was handled by Mrs. Liggett and her corp of a few faithful women. About one hundred were present, including Rev. and Mrs. M. A. Travis of Alamo, Mr. and Mrs. John Kirkpatrick of Edinburgh all old timers, Mr. and Mrs. John Cherry of Bay City. Mrs. Cherry knows how to make wonderful apricot-cherry pies. Others from all parts of the county were there and that included Barbara and Tom. The miserable wretch tells me I should write Tom and Barbara, but I think Barbara should have first place, as she is sweeter and much more delicious. The arranged program started with a piano solo by Mrs. Dorothy Corporon and I know of no person who has given more of time and talent than this young woman. Vernon Hurd talked about George Washington and drifted into National defense, a subject we all should study. Short talks by Rev. Travis, Mrs. Travis and Tom Hale. The best thing was the community singing led by that master director, John Kirkpatrick, and it took us back to the time of his first visit to the burg as director of the Red Oak Iowa band. Mrs. Kirkpatrick gave a short talk as did Mrs. Travis, John Cherry. A beautifully rendered vocal number by Mrs. Vernon Hurd delighted the audience. Mrs. Hurd possesses a voice of unusual sweetness and grand carrying power. I am not versed in musical terms or technique, but to me it was just swell. The program closed with a talk by the writer of “Thoughts.” The speaker informed the audience that if they would read Acts III-7-8, they would know why he was present and concluded with “He put down His hand and lifted me up.” The speaker contrasted the birth, life and service of George Washington and Lincoln and stated that in his opinion they were the two greatest characters developed by America. Weakness caused by long illness made it necessary to abruptly terminate the discussion. Thus closed the 27th annual observance of the birth of George Washington. Elliot Curtis, superintendent of schools, trying to start the school truck with some gadget in line, suffered what was almost a broken leg. Elliott, who weighs around 280, sure has a swell leg, and this accident was not required to enhance its beautiful lines. He now navigates on two crutches. February ended with a three-day blast of stout north winds, temperature about 38, much rain, mist, overcast skies. Doggone unpleasant for us thin blooded inhabitants. Sunday bright, sunny, but the cold winds still blast. Some cotton up looking pert, but looks like a second planting. Shells of all loads and gun sizes on hand at Collegeport Supply Company, fish poles, bobs, hooks, sinkers, will be found at Collegeport’s Palatial Pharmacy. Don’t forget that Torre Vista opens about the time for Easter hats. Mr. and Mrs. John Shoemaker spent the week in San Antonio where Mr. Shoemaker was called by an important business wire. Returning Friday, Mister will make another attempt to land a red. Welcome callers on Sunday, Rev. and Mrs. Paul Engle and Mrs. Horn from Bay City. Rev. Engle will visit us Tuesday morning with the Holy Eucharist, our second for the Lenten time.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, March
4, 1937 |
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After writing the above caption, I began to wonder why and how and where a stick, and as usual, I hurried to old man Noah and to my surprise I found columns of fine print, all about some sort of stick. Stick of timber; stick to friends; stick a stamp; stick to this and to that and at last I found what I wanted. The stick that sticks to man and gives him aid and support. When I go out for a small stroll I am obliged to use a stick. The one I have has a family history of many years. It was used by my father-in-law for many years and especially during his final illness, which terminated in death about sixty-two years ago. That alone gives it some history, but I am informed that it has a history of about eighty years. It is a slender, stout stick, well polished by years of use. A very stout, sturdy stick, topped with the carved head of a dog. Around the dog’s neck is a silver band bearing the word “C. Vanness” and the square and compass of a Master Mason. It was a gift as he left the chair in the East. Originally, the dog had two bright black eyes, but by accident one received a K. O. and so some person put in a white bead. Now the dog looks at me with his soft gentle black eye, expressing his love for me, but from his watch eye he sure gives me a fierce stare, so that at times I fear his bite and hope that when he does bite, he will start on my wooden leg. It shows that ten branches were cut off in making it over for a walking stick. Where did it grow and how? Was it the top of a gigantic tree? Did it sprout and grow as a shrub or bush? I doubt that, for it has much evidence of substantial maturity. Who cut it and trimmed it? All lost in the far away past. In my opinion this stick was grown in a semi-tropical region, at least two hundred years ago. Think of what this stick has witnessed. Before the Revolutionary War; before the formation of the Colonial Confederation; before man after hours of labor and thought wrought out our wonderful Constitution; before the surrender of Cornwallis. Perhaps some lucky man was supported by it during the inauguration of George Washington. What a history is written—a concealed history—in this stick. I still sit here in front of my Corona and ponder as I wonder. Did this stick at one time grace the tip of a great tree that sprouted centuries ago? Did this tip swaying and dancing in the breeze, sweep the sky and gather a bloom of stars, filling a crystal glass with foams of sparking flame? I ask this of the passing breeze and the breeze tells me naught. All I know is the late history—that C. Vanness, a man I never saw or knew was the wonderful father of the wonderful girl, who for more than forty years has watched over me and kept me decent. So this stick has performed its mission of giving support and aid and today, as I stagger about on my wooden leg, I lean with confidence and faith on the same stick which supported the last faltering steps of C. Vanness. ‘Tis a wonderful stick. Who will care for this stick after I pass on? Will someone cherish, preserve and use it for support? The winds ask who? A Tribune reader gives this toot-toot “Your Thoughts this week are fine and I read them just as soon as I got the Tribune. That is a wonderful writer-up you gave Torre Vista plan.” Still another, “I think the plan for providing a place where people may take short vacations is grand and your presentation of the plans pleases me so much that I intend to tell my friends about is and urge them to visit Torre Vista.” When one thinks of the “nine old men” on the Supreme Court, why not allow one’s thoughts to wonder to the score or more of tottering old boys hovering around an average of seventy-five, who occupy fat jobs and enjoy seats in the Senate or House. What shall we do about them? Some of them are so fragile that they actually stagger about the chamber. Two plus two is still four. A man whose brain is too weak to sit on the bench, should also be denied a seat in Congress for the same reason, senility and incapacity. It’s a poor taste that will not work both ways. Most farmers are inclined to be grouchy. ‘Tis too wet or ‘tis too dry. Of late they have craved rain and Thursday afternoon and night they had their fondest wish gratified, for at least five inches of rain water fell and as a result, everything is afloat. Fields rows are canals. Our yard is a sea and I plan to turn it into an oyster farm and invite the guests of Torre Vista to come here a oystering. We have all read about the Hitler-LaGuardia insult affair. It just proves that men are after all just children grown up. Here it is in a nut shell. Mama’s little boy, Jimmy, threw a rotton egg at Mr. Hitler’s house which was well spattered. Mr. Hitler rushed over to mama and entered a complaint and demanded that Jimmy should be punished, to which mama agreed. She called Jimmy in and said, “throwing that egg at Mr. Hitler’s house, some spattered on your face, so go at once and wash your face and don’t ever again throw a rotten egg at Mr. Hitler’s house for if you do I shall be obliged to punish.” That is all there is to this episode. Jimmy threw the egg; Mr. Hitler complained; mama punished Jimmy. Gosh, here it is Saturday, and more rain. The atmosphere is too well saturated that if I say it rains I am a liar and if I say it does not rain I am a liar. Take your choice and while you are doing so down comes the rain. Chickens are now using stilts and lay eggs in water glass. Just read of the passing of that good scout, Philip Bucek, of Port Lavaca. Ten days ago, meeting a man from Port Lavaca, I sent Philip my respects. A fine man; a progressive man; a man always ready to aid in any civic work. I knew him for twenty-five years and appreciated his confidence and friendship. I sorrow with his passing and my sympathy goes to those he leaves behind. I am proud of our Junior Senator. He has proven his Americanism. He has proven that the blood of his ancestors still surges through his veins. He has proven his right to wear the mantle of a true American patriot. Every Texan should be proud of this brave and heroic soul. I wish I might write the same story for the Senior Senator. I hope I may write it of our Representative. Judge Mansfield has reached an age beyond the prescribed age of those who occupy the Supreme bench. Who shall say his brain is not active and that he can no longer render proper service to his people? And yet, it is true he has reached and passed the prohibitive age. I pray that he proves his Americanism and his oath to protect and support the Constitution. Sunday morning. The sun burst from the east in resplendent glory. Makes me think of a ship sailing wing and wing, climbing over the rim of the sea, parting the waves and tossing spray from the parting bows. I’ve seen it at sea. ‘Tis a glorious sight. And then suppose that God put out the sun! Suffering, starving humanity, waiting for famine to do its work. In a few days humanity should be cleared from the face of the earth. So I say let us thank God for this merciful sun and for life and our daily happiness and comfort. He puts down His hand and lifts us up.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, March
11, 1937 |
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The Collegeport Girl Reserves gave a tea in honor of their mothers and the Collegeport Woman’s Club Thursday, March 11, at 3:30 o’clock at the Collegeport Community House. A dialogue was presented by Ethel Nelson and Norine Harvey, followed by contests and songs. Refreshments were then served, the color scheme being green, yellow and white. Those present were as follows: Mrs. Burton D. Hurd, Mrs. Lester E. Liggett, Mrs. Frank King, Mrs. Verne Batchelder, Mrs. Roy Nelson, Jr., Mrs. Nelson, Sr., Mrs. Henry Guyer, Mrs. Vernon K. Hurd, Mrs. Fred Law, Mrs. Jerry Lashbrook, Mrs. Anna Crane, Mrs. Dick Corporon and son, Eugene, Mrs. Dean Merck and son, Dean, Miss Margaret Hill, Mrs. Hensley, and the following Girl Reserves, Geneva Blackwell, Norine Harvey, Dorothy Williams, Ethel Nelson, Nancy Sutton, Ella Guyer, Lillian Maddox, Oneida Bullington, Juanita Bullington, Dora Mae Emmert, Betty Lashbrook, Mrs. Frances Burton, formerly Miss Frances King, sponsor, and Maud Lashbrook, reporter.
The Daily Tribune, Tuesday, March 16, 1937 |
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Our club is holding its regular meetings. Miss Sides met with us Tuesday, March 8. She gave us a talk on "Gardening and Garden Tools." There were 8 members present. Refreshments were served after the meeting. Mrs. Roy Nelson, Reporter
Daily Tribune, March 16, 1937 |
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The north wind howls about our home and its fingers seem to try to claw into the warm room and drive us out. I feel the wind and I ponder and wonder from whence it cometh and whither it goeth. Who knows the wind and who can value what it brings. As it beats on my window, I think back many years when Carey Smith, Sr. took over the Tribune. Since that time he has slaved at that desk, in front, a pad of copy paper and in his hand that heavy pencil with which he has written many a practical and sensible editorial. He also has a pencil of blue which he uses at times. Several times my copy has carried a tale I thought rather pert, but the blue pencil, knowing it represented a religious journal, was merciless and so zowie!—out came my funny line. For more than 25 years I have contributed at times once in a while and at times twice and Carey, in his friendly way has carried my slush to his readers. Some have like it, while others denounced it. Well, anyway, Carey slaved on, his ambition being to build, and so he slaved at that desk on the south side with result that today he has an enterprise that has reached success and now that he has reached that point, he enjoys the declined heath that is the punishment for drawing too heavily on nature’s resource. He is in Kerrville under treatment for letting down. It is my earnest wish and prayer that God may aid him to come back and return to the task he has so skillfully carried on. He has been my good friend and I have enjoyed his confidence and I have no desire to lose him and his ability to place before the readers the truth about local, state and national situations. I ask God to “put down His hand and lift him up.” In his absence, the work is being carried on in a remarkable manner by Mirth, sometimes known as Carey Smith, Jr. This young man is a brilliant writer and a sturdy young business man. The Tribune is in good hands and I congratulate the old boy on having such a dependable young boy. The old boy need have no worry for the young boy is doing excellent work and the paper comes out on time sparkling with nutty, spicy, terse statements that are sound and substantial. St. John’s Palacios will be the scene of the confirmation of an old Collegeporter in the near future. This man will not consent to be confirmed except in what at one time was Grace Chapel of St. Mary’s Mission. Further details in a later issue. The Supreme Court squabble has caused me to indulge in deep thinking and I have spent hours of daylight and hours of restless nights trying to devise some plan that would solve this great question and allow people to go back to their jobs. Here is my solution: Just amend the present proposed bill so it will give the president power to remove any Supreme Court justice who votes against any of the president’s plans. The removed justice would forfeit his $20,000 pension as punishment for his failure to observe the desires of the president. The president now owns congress bag and breeches, body and soul except a few brave revolts. My plan provides that he now have placed in his hand complete control of the judiciary and then everything would be just lovely. Wednesday, under the direction of our ubiquitous superintendent, put on an elimination contest in declamation. The judges were Mesdames Agnes Liggett, Valerie Hurd and Louise Van Ness Clapp. The judges were placed in different parts of the room and enjoyed no contact or opportunity for discussion and at the end turned in their several judgments and it was found that all agreed that in the junior, Ethel Nelson easily won and in the senior, Nancy Sutton was winner. These winners will now go to Bay City and enter the county contest and if successful, on to Houston for the district. I hope they will carry on. The marriage craze sure gets my whiskers. The latest is the marriage of Frances King to a young man employed at the oil well, a Mr. Barton. They went over to Palacios and were married by Rev. George Gillespie and returned to receive the blessing of the bride’s parents. Frances is a beautiful girl, refined, intelligent and a teacher in the local school. I wish them much joy and a long happy life. Just to give people up north an idea of the kind of weather we have, will relate that Friday night two of our young married folk desiring a bath, filled the old wash tub on the back gallery and there, out in God’s cozy atmosphere, took a much-needed bath. Good thing they did not wait until Sunday, for that day came a brisk, damp, chilly, clammy, misty norther which sent chills down our family bones. Us Homecrofters do not intend to risk our health by taking any kind of a bath until the weather settles. Much easier to brush it off. We like to be clean, but rather stay filthy and avoid a cold and the buying of aspirin or alka seltzer or B. C. Great big fat luscious oysters continue to come to our table. Saturday Mr. Sutton brought us a quart that ran 23 to the quart. Well, Saturday, much to our desire and happiness, came our good friends the Goodmans from Houston for a week-end. They had just bought a new car, an Oldsmobile, and wanted to try it out, so took the hike. These people lived here in Collegeport’s early day and occupied the house first east of where Carl Boeker lives. Old timers will remember the Goodmans. Well, anyway, whether they do or do not we had 24 hours of delectation, charm, transport and a few other emotions. Friday I got down to about 44.423 which is to say I was below 50 per cent, and so my friend, John Shoemaker took me to Dr. Wagner, the miracle man in Palacios. He gave me the once or three times over, took blood pressure, looked at my tongue, felt of my pulse, looked with a professional eye, punched my tummy, wrote a few scribbles on paper which I had transferred to a bottle of remedia and home I came. Felt better the next day and my score went to about 58.46. During my illness I ran down to 115, but yesterday I almost busted the scales at 132. John Shoemaker, our local fisherman, declares that there are no fish in the bay and yet Friday a boat brought in 3,000 pounds. Friday 12 boats from Palacios were dragging oysters opposite Collegeport. Wish they would fish in other parts of the bay and allow us to preserve the local beds. While in Palacios we called on Louise Sharp and found her in Galveston attending the funeral of a friend who met her death under the wheel of an auto. Louise has a neat place for her store and it is well stocked with standard grocery items. Fish and oysters are on hand at all times. We had a fine visit with her mother, my good friend, Mrs. Stapp. I am glad to report that Terre Vista is now ready to receive guests for a week-end or longer. Everything that is possible to do that guests may be contented, happy and enjoy their stay is done. A visit to Terre Vista on the beautiful bay shore will fascinate one so thoroughly that one will long to return.
The Matagorda County Tribune,
Thursday, March 18, 1937 |
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In my mind, there is no doubt if any place on earth can be found a better place from which to plan than from a rumble seat. Tucked in there, one is out of sight of prying eyes and prying eyes cannot see—out of hearing of ears, where ears cannot hear—out of hearing of meddling voices, where meddling voices may not meddle. Therefore cuddling down in this secure place where ears do not hear, eyes do not see, hands do not touch, I make a few plans for the future. I plan to leave here Tuesday, April 20, and arrive in Houston the same night, where if not punched as I leave the train, I’ll be the guest of the Goodmans, the goodfellows who abide at 519 Colquit. Wednesday I’ll prowl around Houston with C. W., watch the street-cars and traffic, see a few policemen, maybe put my foot on a brass rail and cut some other didoes such as a rube from the country generally tries when in a city. That evening I’ll be the guest of my good friends Jack and Elve Martin. It may be a dinner supper or lunch, for I don’t know just what it is now called, but it may be a snack, but with it will be two cans when Jack has promised he will provide. I don’t know what will be in the cans, but Jack told me that if I emptied one can, I would not have to use aspirin, alka seltzer or B. C. and so I’ll take the chance. Two days will be spent with the Goodman family and I will go out with. C. W. and prowl about and maybe do some yowling, depends on what we drink. Thursday morning I’ll be at the beautiful S. P. station to meet my wonderful daughter, Mary Louise, and that night we will return to the home nest for a three day’s vacation. Planning for this as I sit in the rumble seat is just the same as planning for ‘round the world trip. I have been a rube so long that I fear I will hardly know how to behave when in the city. I shall look at every cop with fear of being pinched for a racketeer, kidnapper or booze runner. I shall make little noise for fear of attracting attention. I hope the miserable wretch will not attempt any funny business that will involve me, for it she does, I’ll just let her go to the bastille along. Well, anyway, it’s nice to sit in the back rumble in the dust making plans for a vacation. I have little love for unions. The nation is fed up on unions, but here in Collegeport is a union of women who meet from time to time and have to sit down strike. This union met Thursday with the Nelsons. I don’t know much about it, but I am sure they had a religious service as usual and a big feed. I was not invited, so know little. I know that always when this union meets with Mesdames Hurd or Liggett, I have a sit-in. I sobbed myself to sleep that night, for I did want some of Mrs. Holsworth’s golden biscuits floating in chicken gravy, Mrs. Liggett’s apple pie and those famous Carrie Nelson Noodles. Soon, between my sobs and breaking heart, I slept and awoke in the morning to fill my tummy with buckwheat cakes. Oh boy! My honey wretch sure can bake ‘em, and so I forgot the trouble of the night before. This union is known as The King’s Daughters, and is a regular sit down union. Sitting down to one of their feeds is a happy event for me. We have so many oil wells surrounding us that they are a doggone nuisance. Oil wells to the north, east, south and west, but none on our place. One is so near its grumble, groaning, growling, grinding, shooting keeps us awake all night and the miserable wretch, unable to get any substantial shut-eye, fixes up a midnight lunch and after eating it gives a few purrs like a contented cat, curls up and sleeps while I listen to the grumble. Leases are being picked up, some at good money. I don’t care for money, for I sold my last cow the other day and am now ready to make the first payment on a Packard or Elite. One more week and the oyster season is over. Thanks to Mr. Sutton, us Homecrofters have enjoyed big, fat, luscious oysters each week during the season. I have just heard that to the Fred Law family there has come a son. A boy to carry on the Law name and fame down another generation. I, therefore, send my warmest congratulations to the new papa and mama and the hope that this boy will grow up to be a pride and comfort. Greetings to you, mama. Greetings to you, papa. No sooner had I written the above than the mail brought me a communication signed Fred Robbins Law, Jr. He knew that I would write about his coming and he wanted me to have the facts. His name is Fred Robbins Law, Jr. He arrived on March 17, 1937, and weighs eight pound and twelve ounces. I sure appreciate your thoughtfulness, Fred, and it enables me to make a complete report. Early morning callers on Saturday at about 7:30, were Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Ash, and we had a pleasant top of the morning visit. I notice that the linotype man, in setting up Torre’ Vista, spells it wrong so that interpreted, it means land view in English, whereas the correct name is Torre’ Vista, spelled T-O-R-R-E’ V-I-S-T-A, accent on the last syllable. This means “Tower View” and is the old time name of the Hurd home. It is now open for the pleasure and entertainment of those who desire surroundings and joyful vacations. Come down any time and visit at Torre’ Vista. Tower View right on the bay shore with excellent flounder ground, fishing, oysters, boating. I am sorry to report that our girls made little impression on the judges at the County Meet and obtained no scalps. Too bad, but we still have the girls and will try again. Everyone shares the grief of the stricken parents at New London. One of the most awful tragedies the continent has ever witnessed. Nearly five hundred innocents stricken with death without a chance for escape. One of the teachers was a young man from the A. & M. graduate school well known by Mary Louise. A fine young man with a brilliant future before him. Why these terrible things come to us no one knows, but it appears to be God’s way to take to His arms many of our innocents. Let us ask God to comfort and care for those who are left on this sad Palm Sunday. I read in the papers that the Humble, Texas and Sinclair Oil Corporations have voted higher wages and shorter hours and that I feel is good until I find my end of the stick. Same day I bought a barrel of kerosene for which I had for several years been paying eight and one-half cents per gallon, but with this delivery it cost me nine cents. A half cent advance means twenty seven cents on a barrel. It is my bet that this half-cent advance will pay all the advanced wages and leave the companies a nice profit. It is just the old, old story that the consumer pays and pays and pays. We look on accounts of the various food, fruit, truck rackets in the big cities, but this labor racket is the biggest, most dangerous thing that confronts the American people this day. When one man can so organize the workers of the land so thoroughly that he may snap his fingers and stop oil industry, it is time for the people to “Stop—Look—Listen.”
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, March
25, 1937 |
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When I landed in Collegeport, I met two remarkable characters. One was Robert Murry. For 25 years we were on ever-increasing friendly terms. I always took my cow troubles to Robert and he always responded and never would accept a penny for his services. He did many kind things for me and it need not be stated that I miss this man. The other was my old friend Jed Prutz. I met him one day down by the slough. He is a great fisherman. Tall, oh, say, about five-ten or eleven. Lanky, skinny, not an ounce of surplus flesh, all sinew and strength. He has a thatch of gray hair which is getting a bit thin now, blue eyes that at times are as soft as a maiden’s prayer words and again burning with stern fire. He wears what is called a walrus mustache, the ends of which turn up like the handle bars of a bicycle and the middle a deep yellow from the juice of the kisses left by Lady Nicotine. Teeth colored by continued use of chewing. His hands would please an artist for they are well shaped, show strength. They are slender and delicate, but my goodness how strong they are. If you don’t believe it, shake hands with Jed and then you will believe that strength rests in slender hands. From time to time I have a hankering to see Jed and listen to his philosophic talk so I hunted him up. Hunting Jed, I first go to the shack where he lives with the old woman. There I found her bending over a wash board earning money with which to buy food for Jed. Alongside, a wash pot filled with clothes bubbled merrily. The old woman has a tooth out in front of [her] upper jaw and through it she can spit fifty feet and hit a nickel. Before she talked, she dug up a stick chewed into a brush, took out a can of snuff and proceeded to swab her gums and then she spat a yellow stream at a fly and did she hit him? Oh, boy, you should have seen that fly. In reply to my enquiry as to Jed’s whereabouts, she said, “how in the hell do I know where that worthless coot is?” And then she said, “hunt along the slough and maybe you will find at least his dirty hide.” Along the slough I went and at last there he was on his back. Two poles stuck in the ground and around each big toe was tied a fish line. All set for fishing. I said, “Jed, my old and valued friend, how does the world treat you?” He sat up, spat a yellow stream in the slough and said, “Cain’t find no kind of fault. I don’t own nuthin’ so I pay none of them taxes, my old woman buys my grub so I kin keep a fishin’.” “What do you think of national affairs?” I enquired. In reply he said “Jest look at me. I am seventy-eight years old and I know more about fish and fishin’ than any of these here young coots and that’s the way with them old men up there in Washington. They know more than the hull passel of brain busters thet the presidunt hez hangin’ aroun’ him.” About two spits and he continued. “I believe we jes’ better leave this here constitushion alone. It’s good fur all of us and so bein’ no tax payer I believe in lettin’ things slide.” He replied over and with many a grunt and groan and sat up, for a fish had hooked onto one of his toe lines and soon he landed a big red. Raising up the looked at me and said, “Now about this penshun bizness. It don’t worry me worth a dam site. I got no taxes to pay an’ I don’t need any penshun so long as the old woman kin git plenty of washin’. So long as she duz, I sit plenty purty and easy, so I’ll say I don’t give a single damn fur any of them penshuns. “Well, so long, kid. I got to git to fishin’ or the old woman will snap hell out uv me.” I walked away and left him there with the fish lines tied to his toes. And yet old Jed Prutz is a likeable old cuss and as often as I can, I go and listen to his talk. Jed has been my friend for many years and although he is sort of a worthless old coot. I enjoy meeting him. Tuesday came Rev. Paul Engle bringing the Holy Eucharist. Great comfort to a soul groping in the darkness, guided by the light that comes from the cross. Also came Dr. and Mrs. W. W. Van Wormer who are looking over the town site making some plans for future development, the nature of which was not revealed. They both look like a plethora of ready cash. Fine looking couple. Mrs. Van has beautiful red hair and I like red headed gals. They take me back to the days when my baby had a glint of red in her bonnie thatch. We enjoyed to the limit the short stay and hope before they leave we may have them again with time enough to say more than “hello! Come again!” Some day this Springfield Doc is going to build the dream of his life. A beautiful sanitarium on the bay shore. We have in this burg a woman who is a very busy soul. I don’t know how she does it all. She has a family of five, does all the house work, feeds them well. She directs and cares for a junior choir, secretary of the woman’s club, librarian, secretary of school board, secretary of Mopac House Foundation, secretary of County Federation of Woman’s Clubs, vice-president of district board of Houston YMCA, active member of woman’s union, King’s Daughters and the Lord only knows what other activities. In every civic effort this woman puts in a willing and able hand. I don’t know how she does it, but she does. Wish we had a few more cut from the same cloth. That good, kind soul, Dena D. Hurd, made us a beautiful angel food cake which we sent to Mary Louise for an Easter remembrance. This has been our custom for many years and we never fail our girl. Some thing binds us three together in bonds of golden cords and we just stand together for good or ill. Whatever comes, we three will be there, ready. Great idea. Well, anyway, the cake was a peach, all glistening in its white frosty dress and inside I know what was there and so I say, “Oh, boy!” Friday is called Good Friday. Why? It commemorates the death of Jesus, so why Good Friday? Because it means the beginning of a new day for the Christian world. It is the day of passion and in Roman and Anglican Catholic Churches the world over is held the three-hour service. The faithful few are there on their knees for three hours listening to the words that came from the cross. To many, three hours once each year is just too much and they either stay away or, rising before the three hours is over turn their backs on the Christ and walk out. Three hours is just too much to spend for Christ and yet they will gladly spend that much time in a show house or the night at a dance. So they turn their back on the Christ. Those who stay go away with a comforted soul—a clean feeling—a joyous, happy glow. Wish we might be at St. Marks’s this Good Friday. And then comes Easter. A few will be out at seven in the morning for the communion service. A few of the faithful, but boy, tell it to me around eleven when everyone will be there doing their annual duty to the church that attends them at birth, during life and delivers the last mass at death. Glad clothes, flowers, spring hats and new suits and shoes, everything aglitter for ‘tis the day of fashion. The alms basin will be well filled, communion will be taken on a tummy filled with undigested breakfast and all will go away feeling that duty has been observed. The few faithful will be there at seven and again at eleven. What would we do without the few faithful? What would Christ have done without the few faithful who waited at the foot of the cross for death to descend? O, la la, the world moves slowly, but it moves and each year we remember the light that shines from the cross and we realize that on this day two thousand years ago the world witnesses its greatest tragedy, the triumphant failure. I am not much impressed by what is called a shower. If intended to be an honor, it at times is a splendid idea, but many times it compels folks to attend who are not very much interested. A chivarie is quite another thing. It is just plain rube in its action and as a rule is organized and carried through by the sort of folk who live across the track or down by the pickle factory. If you understand what I mean, you will understand that I think a chivarie is lacking in refinement. It shows no culture and to make a long tale short, is just the rubiest of rube manifestations. If a chivarie party approached my home I would consider it an insult and treat the participants as a bunch of lawless hoodlums. Perhaps you now know what I think of a chivarie. A chivarie has been pulled off in this community several times and never a creditable affair. March has been going out by giving us about four days of the lion’s roar. That means four days of strong, cold north winds with heavy clouded skies, mist, and at times rain. It has been four or five very nasty days, causing us to go into a huddle about the red hot stove. We sure long for the south sea breeze. The Palacios oil well has blew in or something like that. The gas flares light up the night for a mile around. This well is only two miles from us so maybe we will be able to eat some cake. Leases and royalty bring high prices and the end is not in sight. Easter passed quietly with only one caller, Mr. John Shoemaker, who brought us the latest oil news. Had no chance to wear our new frock or bonnet and no opportunity for the service of our church. So passed the day.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, April
1, 1937 |
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It is the close of a beautiful day. The sun is slowly settling to rest in the west. Streaks of shimmering light comes to my eyes like the radiated light blossoms from the pearly wings of a million butterflies. In the fading light the white buildings over at Palacios lose their identity and appear like the white dress of a young bride, waiting for her lover. The lover is on the way from centuries of resting nine thousand feet underneath the surface and the bride blushes and blooms anew. The sun is down; the sky is painted in delicate shades of pink and from the Corona streaks of jubilant color pierce the sky. Shafts of reds, pinks, greens, blues, orchids, pearl and it requires no elastic imagination to see forming in the delicate semi-transparent filmy clouds, castles in the air. We may see the turrets, the great gates and the drawbridge and from it come pouring hordes of horsemen in glittering armor. I mean one may see this beautiful pageant if one has imagination. Behind the castle are continued streaks of flaming fires like flares of fired arrows shot by some unseen hand, into the heavens, a remonstrance against the dying day. A faint yellow streak across the waters of the bay still discovers the downward path of the retiring sun. In the open, is visible a strip of moonlight from the moon that has followed the sun and it, too, will pass into decadence. I have witnessed sunsets from the top of Pike’s Peak, from the deck of a ship of the western ocean; from a bed by the trail; from the shaft of a mine; from below the sea; but never have I seen more gorgeous sun and moon effects as are see here many times each year. We have many beautiful things in this Southland, if we only know how to recognize them. Flowers, grasses, shrubs, plant life of all kinds and with them the tiny insect and animal life that lives therein. These things are for observant eyes and for folk with imagination. To others the book is closed. Watch the west and the glory of the setting sun. Watch the east as the moon spills its silvery luster over the earth’s rim. You’ll be seein’ things. Saturday I suffered what might be called a backward step and so thanks to John and Lutie Shoemaker, I was taken to Palacios so the miracle man might give me the once or twice over. He did and gave me a pouch of belly ammunition and I returned very tired and ready for my little cot. One must go out of town to hear nearby news and so I met Ray Phillips who informed me that the oil well east of town had blown in with the largest flow in the country. This was news to me for when I left, there was no blowing. I am informed that the operators are installing a Christmas tree and whatever it is I hope Santa Claus will hang on it a big gush of black gold. The well at Palacios, about two miles from where I write, is a well making satisfactory flow and accepted by the State Oil Board. The derrick is being taken down and removed about 900 feet for an offshoot well. I don’t know what that means but it looks good on paper and the readers will think I am well posted. A big house boat and three small motor boats are in Palacios. The house boat for the home of a group of geologists who, using the small boats will test out the bay floor. Sure looks like a great field has been opened. Don’t say ‘nay’ to Palacios folk for the resent such language. Mrs. Dena Hurd, president of the local Woman’s Club, also president of the County Federation, is in Houston this week attending a meeting of the District Texas Woman’s Club Federation. Mrs. Agnes Liggett is also in Houston as a delegate from the local church to the District Presbytery. Needless to state that these two leaders will make a creditable showing. March 31st ended by giving us a slight freeze and a heavy frost which nipped beans, peas, radishes, corn and cotton much to the disgust of farmers and gardeners. Just proves that the gamble is still in the farming game. We have excellent mustard, lettuce and young onions not touched. Mr. William Korn, tearing out a window frame in the house where he lives and at one time occupied by Lytle and Russell Hull, found a tin tobacco box and in it a penny, a foreign coin, and a slip of paper, on which was written March 1912, and signed Lytle Hull. That was twenty-five years ago when Lytle hid that box. Wonder why? Old timers will recall the Hull brothers as they lived here for some time and while they were here everybody knew they were here. Lytle now fishes with President Roosevelt on Vincent Astor’s yacht. There appears to be much interest in the plan to pack the Supreme Court where nine old men loll on their seats and deliver decisions. The plan is to either force them to make proper pleasing decisions or fly off a perch to which they have been appointed for life. So thinking about their sad predicament, my thoughts go to our old man in the northwest corner of the Court House. It must be about time to demand that he retire. Like the nine, he also appears to be appointed for life, therefore, if he refuses to leave his cubicle, the County Judge should have authority to appoint one nurse auditor each year until we have six auditors and then each of them should be compelled to remove themselves at the age of seventy, for that age is now recognized by our highest to be the age of senility, mental decay, old age idiocy. And going farther, it appears that the county clerk and tax collector are both life termers and so they should come under the this seventy year rule, and if they refuse to resign, the County Judge should appoint one clerk and one collector each year for six years. We must get shut of all horse and buggy people who clutter up our offices and refuse to make decision or operate offices as laid down by the highest. The judge, county attorney, superintendent of schools, treasurer, county nurse and county agent are exempt, for they are in jobs so long as they behave. If they fail to do as ordered, why it’s raus mit em. Now this worry is off my mind, I record that Mrs. Agnes Liggett is home from Houston where she fixed up the Presbyterian Church affairs for a few months. Mrs. Hurd, who was there to look over the State Federation Board, is still in Houston, having a swell time. School election Saturday with Mesdames Crane, Murry and Mr. Merck receivers of ballots. No one knows the result thus far. When I read this copy to the miserable wretch, she said, “What about the four old men who form the county commissioners’ court?” In reply I told her that they were just there to take orders from the Judge same as Congress takes orders from Roosevelt and the State Legislature takes orders from the governor. They are so near the retirement age that we may very well allow them to stay until their life term ends. They are four nice old men, harmless and obedient, so let’s not worry about them. My life partner told me Sunday that we’d better take down the stove and in less than fifteen minutes, down swooped a norther and the temperature took a sudden tumble way down the line. “Wimmen is queer critters,” said Josh Billings. My geranium, a gift from Mrs. F. Cornelius, Sr., is still blooming away. Guess I’ll go up to Juanita Ranch and tell her about that fine gift. Boy, it is chilly this morning of the 5th.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, April
8, 1937 |
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The desk on the south side has been vacant and a slight film of dust has collected. On the top rests a tab of yellow copy paper and on it is found a he man’s pencil. It is a big woody pencil, with heavy lead and makes a broad mark. In the hands of the master it has written yards of scorching editorials and possibly will again. The Senior, with lessened health vitality, seeks recovery over in Kerrville, so it is up to I and Mirth to get out the Tribune. This, I and Mirth have done very day except Sunday. Often it came out a six sheeter and sometimes an eighter, but it always came out and with plenty of society news, good two barreled stuff from Mirth and that boy is some writer, let me inform you, if you don’t know it already. The fact is he is almost as good as I. Well the Senior should be a very proud pencil wielder, to know that in Junior he has a person who can assume the burden of a daily and weekly paper, get them both out on time and as good or better that when the old boy is on the job. I am informed that the Senior has returned much improved in health and I presume he will sharpen that pencil and—well the first editorial appeared today and covered the Sit-down Strike in his usual trenchant, incisive, piquant style. I enjoyed it especially because it reflected my own ideas. After you read Mirth, the Senior’s editorial and Thoughts, I advise that you read the editorial in last week’s Collier on last page. After that is digested you will be feeling fine enough to read the story of Mrs. Brennie Moore in Sunday’s Chronicle, as told by Mrs. Louise Hill. A wonderful tale and Mrs. Moore’s slogan is “The Lord Blesses Us.” It might be well if more of us would use the same slogan. It is a tale of one woman’s struggle and shows what determination does for an individual and a family. They have two new shirts, which the Lord sent. If this woman can do what she has done, anyone in this world believing and trusting in God may accomplish as much. Read the story and adopt the slogan “The Lord Blesses Us.” I congratulate the Bay City Chamber of Commerce on the selection of Mr. Henry LeTulle for the president office. This is a wise selection and I am sure that under his direction much progress will be recorded. He enters this work under favorable conditions for Bay City is having growing pains and Henry can grow along with her. Monday I received from Mr. Louis Fabrigel [Fabrygel], Midfield, several copies of Our Sunday Visitor, the national Catholic Action Weekly. As I am very much interested in church history, I have read each issue with much interest. I belong to the Anglican Communion, but I believe many of the articles of the Roman Communion. I thank Mr. Fabrigel [Fabrygel], for his thoughtfulness and I trust I may have the pleasure of meeting him some day. It is a beautiful day. The sun shines brightly and in the blue sky the stars have been wiped from sight by the blueness of the blue. It is a day for added joy to me as a shut-in, for this day came on a special trip to see the writer of Thoughts, Mrs. C. L. Jackson of Bay City and Mrs. G. B. McAlpin of San Antonio and with them the sweet baby daughter of the latter, Miss Patricia Ann. Fine looking women, both, and intelligent and vivacious. Mrs. McAlpin, who is the daughter of Mrs. Jackson, is a mighty sweet young woman and I lost my heart and some of my Thoughts as I watched the play of her face. Well, it added to the day of a shut-in and I thank them for the visit and hope I may see them again. Few can realize what these visits mean to me after a year’s illness. They brighten my oft-times weary hours. The school election resulted in choosing Dean Merck and Mrs. Frank King. The latter is a veteran, well posted on school law and a splendid member. Dean has had no experience, but no doubt will fit in and develop into an active element. The board will consist of Mesdames Liggett and King, J. D. Evans, Vernon Batchelder, Dean Merck and two others who names I have not. It is no small job acting under present laws to handle the many delicate school situations that come up during a year. I feel sure the board will handle all situations as they arise. The season is here for week-end visits to Torre’ Vista, Collegeport, Texas. Luxurious surrounds, refinement, pleasurable activities and for those who desire a dip in the salty waves or to fish for reds, trout or flounder, proper equipment will be supplied. A day or two at Torre’ Vista will send you home vitalized. In my opinion, the fish are wise to John Shoemaker, for knowing he is the busiest, smartest fisherman on the coast, they fear the enticement of his tasty baits and refuse the hook. This is much to the disgust of Fisherman John. Some day he will land a whale of a red, one about six feet long and weighing less than a ton and then and not until then will Fisherman John be a happy boy. It is a tough deal for a fellow who is shut in, writing and anxious to record community events to always get the subject matter unless some thoughtful person brings in the information. For example too late for last week’s string I learned that the King’s Daughters held a shower for Mrs. Albert Barton, nee Frances King, and that about thirty-five were present. From what I have been told, Frances received many useful, beautiful and costly gifts and I congratulate her on her setting forth on a married life and my good wishes go with her. She is a fine girl and worthy of the reception given. If the people of this community would only be a bit thoughtful and send me the information or as I prefer bring it to me, it would enable me to give better service. I am unable to go out. Just sit around the house. Writing is my amusement and I want the product to reflect the community life and be of interest. Well, it looks as though sit-downers have come to their end in Texas, since the Governor has made his pronouncement. I believe in the organization of labor and collective bargaining, but I do not believe any man or group of men have any moral or legal right to take possession of property and prevent its functioning. This is just a step toward lawlessness. Every man has his personal rights to his property and its use and so do corporations. This unlawful sit down business not only prevents production, but is a heavy pay loss to the man who works. It always spells ruin to both parties. The American people are patient but patience has a limit and it has about been reached. All thanks to our Governor, Senator Connally and Senator Holbrook, three brave men. Fred Robbins, Jr. sends word to me that he plans to visit me as soon as he settles some personal business. He is a bit diffident for he says “I am wearing three-cornered pants and want to wait until I get into B.V.D.’s.” I sent word that I liked three-cornered pants and used to wear ‘em myself. I am looking forward to much pleasure to this visit from my friend Fred. Saturday morning came Myrtle Duffy with her little daughter for an hour’s visit, which we enjoyed to the utmost. Same day came Louise Sharp of Palacios and Mrs. Homer P. Clark of Port O’Connor. Mr. Clark is a distributor of all kinds of sea foods and operates to San Antonio, Dallas, Galveston, Houston. Louise still operates her grocery and sea food emporium, but is crazy to leave the confines of four walls and get to the deck of a boat and out where the spray and spume will blow into her face. She is a better sailor than a grocer. Still continues cool weather which is remarkable for this time of the year. All plant life is delayed. My mockingbird came to the chimney top today and gave me a song and I could see him in my imagination flip up in the air never missing a note of his sweet song. I shall be much happier when the weather allows me to be out and gather some of the early prairie buddings and watch the tiny bugs and crawling life that lives in the miniature forest.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, April
15, 1937 |
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[Local information taken from longer article.] Men do many unnecessary things in their desire for peace, contentment, comfort. These things are within the reach of the meanest of us. All that is required is to reach out and take. Just now God has sprinkled the gorgeous green of the prairie pastures with lovely, charming bloom. Pinks, yellows, blues and reds dot the landscape. They are here for our pleasure and to gratify our desire for the beautiful. Just so does God sprinkle all about us His many royal favors. All we require is ability to recognize, appreciate and utilize. These are here for us to pluck to our spiritual enjoyment. These are the things that bring peace, contentment and satisfaction to the old, the young, the rich and the poor. We have traveled in a circle so long a time that we have forgotten to look at the things so close to us. My advice to our local people is to stop idle, vicious gossip and stand close together for the common good and turn-follow-learn-pray-serve-worship-share and the greatest is that we serve and share. Let us as members of a very small, insignificant community, get out from under the influence of alternating psychic waves. Klapp & Korn are growers of DeLuxe Truck—that is Korn grows the stuff and Klapp consumes it. Well, anyway, today Klapp has on his table crisp red radishes, young onions like Orient pearls, turnips looking like base balls, and greenest of mustard. This is what Korn has done while he is also raising Korn. In writing about this I wish to thank Mrs. Jerry Lashbrook for a fine bouquet of Swiss chard and a beautiful spinach as I have seen. A muchly appreciated gift, very thoughtful. I notice, or rather am told, that we are to have a new store built by Mr. Kopecky down on the corner of the Heisey place. The store will be filled with such unnecessary luxuries as bread, spuds, meats, canned goods, but the thing that interest me is that a necessary of life will be provided is canned beer. This is a thing all progressive people need. Beer is a food and a drink and as it sparkles and foams it brings surcease from earthly troubles. We need beer much more than we need bread, so I welcome this innovation. We have a fine drug store with excellent old drinks, but not a drop of booze can be supplied even with a prescription. Isn’t’ that one helluva situation? I’ll say it is. Booze all around us and not a drop to irrigate our internal tubes. Welcome visit from Mrs. Myrtle Duffy and her little daughter, Mrs. L. E. Liggett, Elliott Curtis and then comes my old friend, Seth Corse, with Bion Gill. I have not seen him for years. He is 81 years of age, hale and hearty and still milking cows. Had a fine hour and hope we may repeat. With sorrow I record the passing of James O’Neal, former mayor Portsmouth. For many years the O’Neals ran the hotel south of this place. Patroized by hunters, fisher folk and pleasure parties, always assured of fine meals from Mrs. O’Neal’s kitchen. Mr. O’Neal raised a swell garden and much fine fruit, figs, citrus, peaches, plums, grapes. It was a restful place to spend an hour or a week. I shall miss Jim O’Neal and I ask God to comfort Mrs. O’Neal. I also record the passing of Mrs. Spence, mother of Mrs. Liggett, who passed over the river Friday night after a very long illness. Mrs. Spence will be well remembered by old timers as she used to live here many years ago. Mrs. Liggett left Saturday for Dallas and the funeral will be held Monday morning. We are born, we live, we pass. Where to? Most of us believe into a richer life—such is the hope, faith, belief, that deadens the grief of the passing. It is one of God’s blessing. The other day I read the story of Mrs. Bernice Moore and what that frail hundred pound woman, mother of eleven children, has accomplished and saying “The Lord blesses us.” I think also of what Mr. Green, president of the A. F. of L., says about three million unemployed and that we have thousands of acres of rich unemployed soil, it strikes me that if Mrs. Moore can get by and keep cheerful with her slogan, it seems to me that if some of the unemployed would stop scratching the posterior portion of their anatomies and scratch dirt, things would look up in the U. S. Mrs. Moore’s situation and accomplishment is a lesson to us all. “The Lord blesses us” if we ask and work. She smiles at the world and says “we have two shirts.” I am glad to report, thanks to the kindness of our school superintendent, Elliott Curtis, several girls, including Miss Maude Lashbrook, are privileged to attend the District Meet of the Girl Reserves at Freeport this Saturday. We want all deserving girls to attend this meet. The building occupied by the Collegeport Supply Company has received a well-earned coat of white paint that causes it to glisten in the sunlight. Inside, stock has been arranged on tasty display shelves and new high quality goods place in stock. When you buy good of this outfit, one is guaranteed first quality that pleases the buyer or money back and no back talk. It’s a pleasant place—willing and courteous service. I am also congratulating the community on the possession of what I have long called Collegeport’s Palatial Pharmacy. Here one is served delicious drinks by Hattie, the boss and her assistant, Hugo. If one desires all sorts of remedies from noxious preparations to those which may be taken with delight, this is the place. No nice, homelike, comfortable drug store can be found in the county or sweeter service. The C. W. Goodmans, hunting through some packing boxes, unearthed a panorama photo which they thought might interest me. They ironed it out, put a glass and frame on it and brought it to me. It is about twenty inches long and ten wide. It was taken from the gallery of the LaSalle Hotel, Port O’Connor, and shows about two hundred fifty delegates to the meeting of the Texas Midcoast Industrial Congress there September 17, 1911. In the center front row we see Judge W. S. Holman, president and H. A. Clapp, secretary. Then we see John Land, Allison and Richey, Frank Hardy, Clarence Holland, Faustino Kiber, George Culver, Colonel Hawley, Carey Smith, the former Grace Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Goodman, Duncan Ruthven, Henry Mugge, Mrs. Clapp and many others. This was the group who were doing things twenty-six years ago. Today I read in the Tribune the list of delegates to the Rivers and Harbors Congress and I find a new bunch. September 17, 1911 most of those named were sucking nurse bottles and wearing three cornered pants and now they are the men who are doing things. Who says the world don’t move? Any answer? Tuesday I journeyed to Palacios to see the Miracle man. I am happy to report that I am feeling much better and that Tuesday I expect to trip to Houston and spend two days with the Goodmans. Wednesday night I [will] be the guest of Jack and Elvie Martin and the boys. Will write about this Trip Around the World next week. Jack Martin has sequestered two cans and I’ll have one of them. Several times I have asked Hattie for a glass of beer and she give me her Mona Lisa smile and says: “I advise you to alkalize with alka seltzer.” Fine dope for a thirsty customer.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, April
22, 1937 |
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After a fellow has been a shut-in for a year, each day filled with suffering, one hones for some outlet allowing a new view of people and surroundings, so I planned to accept the most cordial, invitation from my good friends, the Goodman’s, to visit Houston. Leaving home Tuesday the 20th, we passed, with the courtesy of the Shoemakers, through a road lined with sweet pink primrose blooms. When we crossed the Colorado bridge, we saw on either side solid acres of primroses. Solid acres of pink fragrance. I suspect that the seed was brought down by the last high water and deposited in the sift rich silt, germinated, and so brought to our eyesight great pink stretches of beauty. On my arrival in Bay City, my first visit was with James Lewis of the First National and for a very good reason. He met me with his usual kindly smile and said, “What may I do for you?” In reply, I said, “I need a little cash.” He gave me another smile, for he knew that here was offered some good business, and he asked, “How much do you need?” In my most engaging manner—a nonchalant manner, I said, “Oh, twenty grand will be sufficient.” His face changed as he replied, “Mr. Clapp we only have on hand two and a half million, which makes us a bit short. We are glad to do business with you and hope you can get along with a trifle less.” Replying, I said, “Make it twenty dollars,” for after all the sum I required was enough to buy two tickets to Houston. And by golly, he wrote out a note and handed me twenty depreciated dollars. He evidently was relieved and pleased for it was good business. I’ll get the balance of that twenty grand later on. Then I called on my old and valued friend, Carey Smith, Sr., and was pleased to find him much better than I had anticipated and I ask God to give him comfort and relief from his physical troubles. Carey Smith, Jr. has assumed the business burden and carrys on in splendid style, of course with my aid. When I have to give up my column it will be sad day for the Tribune. Tootsie appears to be operating a taxi for she took us to the station, carried our luggage in, gave us a smiling goodbye and pleasant trip and so we waited in the M. P. station while the miserable wretch spent part of that twenty and had a conversation with the courteous ticket man. The choo-choo came and we climbed on. Every one of the coaches ran on wheels as did the big engine. The engine had a whistle, which was sounded about every mile or two. The M .P. has no fault to find with the business of that train for it was filled. We went into the last coach, a sweet, beautiful affair, air conditioned with swell clean chairs offering comfort to the passenger. The little dinette was clean and neat, the chef was courteous, and an excellent meal with ice cold brew, furnished by Mr. Pabst. Maybe some of you have heard of him. We enjoyed an easy, pleasant trip and were especially pleased with the always present, but never annoying service. As I had not seen a rail train for many long months, I am informing you all that when you take a trip, go via the M. P. and have safety, comfort, peace. On such a train you worries are over. On time at Houston, we were met by the Goodmans and soon settled in their beauty of an Oldsmobile, we were whisked to Franklin Court and given a suite consisting of a sitting room, bed room, kitchen, bath and breakfast nook with Frigidaire service, electricity and all other modern gadgets. The Goodmans certainly believe in providing service along with the superlative in generous, willing, kindly hospitality. From the moment of our arrival, something was on the program for our pleasure and interest. Wednesday we saw the two-mile parade, the child welfare movement. Lead by the Regan school band of about one hundred instruments with a real Drum Major at the head wearing the big tall bear skin chapeau. The band members wore red coats and white trousers. Behind streamed several hundred children, even babies in carts, afoot, wheeling baby buggies all dressed in spangles and lace. Very interesting and impressive. With the Goodmans, rode all over Rice Institute grounds with the fine buildings and gorgeous flowers and plant life. A beauty spot. Wednesday night we were entertained in a gorgeous manner in the home of Mr. Jack and Elvie Martin, who live in a cute duplex on Leeland, a busy street. Present were their two sturdy sons who very gently aided me in going from and to the auto and they told me that they prayed and asked God to bring me back to health. The table was spread with a handsome cloth and sparkling glass and china and in the center, on a large glass tray, was assembled the things that make up a Dutch lunch. I don’t know where Jack and Elvie found so many varieties of cheese and sausage but there they were in generous quantities and luscious flavor and as Jack had promised; he not only had two cans, but many, all cold as ice and sparkling with creamy foam. It was a most enjoyable occasion. These two young folk were very kind and gentle in their hospitality and we carried away with us the fragrance of their happy home. Jack explained that he did not have an auto for he said, “I can’t afford an automobile and two sons.” His choice seems to be a wise one. We had such a happy time that we hope we may have a repeat some day. I have known Elvie since she was a small child and then she was Elvie Merck. It is a fine experience to be a guest in such a happy home and I hope God will continue to bless each of them. Back to Franklin Court tired and ready to rest, which we had until morning. Thursday at 7:10 came our beloved Mary Louise and I rested with C. W., for my daughter and her mama “a shoppin’ would go.” Back they came with bundles. Took lunch at one of Houston’s famous places and I never will visit the place again, not because of the food, but of the crowd who stood in line two blocks long, pushing and crowding for a chance at the food tanks. Just too many folks to suit me. That night at 8, Elliott Curtis came for us and we were soon on our way and arrived home, tired but happy, at 11:30 and to bed. Mary Louise remained with us until Sunday P. M., when she started back to Bryan. Four delicious, delirious, joyful days with our beautiful, wonderful girl, and now we are waiting at the gate for her next homecoming. It was a grand week and when “the ball was over” I was very, very tired, but feel no effects from the journey or entertainment. I had no desire to see a picture show. Plenty of pictures wherever I drove. I was astonished seeing the hundreds of new houses being built, the everywhere evidence of money, the well-dressed folk, the crowded stores and hotels, the absence of old autos. Everywhere every person spelled ready cash. Houston gives evidence of her prosperity at every turn. Thus ended a year’s sentence as a shut-in and I am anxious to try another trip. On my return home, I find a nice letter from Mr. M. W. Kopecky, of whose new store I wrote last week. He give me a cordial invitation to visit his place of business and try the contents of a can which he keeps ice cold and as soon as I can catch a ride that way I shall do so. He may keep a large stock of the unessentials, but if he keeps the great necessity, he does us much favor. After I try it, I’ll let you folk know if the place will pay for a visit. We are using from our garden head lettuce, and I mean lettuce that heads, cabbage, radishes, onions, mustard, turnips. Pretty good for Klapp & Korn. One day Will Rogers said, “If all cars that are not paid for are denied road privileges the traffic problem will be solved.” Now comes the new slogan, “If you drink, don’t drive. If you drive, don’t drink.” Obeying this slogan will also solve the problem. Scientists have decided that even one glass of beer will slow up foot, hand and eye action a fraction of a second and this in many cases is the margin between death and life. Therefore, let’s not drive if we drink, and if we do, let’s not drive. If in need of liquid refreshment, drink a cold bottle of milk. Side Lights: A man who having suffered the loss of both legs close to the body runs about on a small platform with wheels. I was told he owned a duplex. A poorly clothed old man selling pencils. A woman selling papers. Some pickets walking in front of closed shop bearing the sign, “Closed because of strike.” The pickets were poorly dressed, one fellow having his shirt out, but they wearily walked their beat with signs, “Unfair to labor.” One picket was asleep in an old Ford with his sign fastened to the car. Good and easy way to picket. A palsied beggar holding out a tin cup. A small girl asking for a penny. A man with shoe strings and chewing gum. Some were proud that they were making good and thus for had no relief. A boy rushing about cleaning shoes and doing a fine job.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, April
29, 1937 |
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From early life I have had an ambition to engage in the junk business. It always held out a promise for romance and possible profit. There is to me a fascination in junk. Junk is something some folk do not want and when collected it assumes the air of big business and just now if one will go down to the Houston ship channel and see large steamers being loaded with junk for many foreign countries, one’s eyes will open to the magnitude of the junk business. Buying and selling junk is swell business and many times a surprise rewards the junk man. I know of a junk man out west, who bought the contents of an abandoned prospector’s cabin. The man having died, the court ordered the sale, and when the junk man looked over his purchase, he found in an old stove gold dust valued at $5,000. Such things have happened more than twice and that is one of the romances of the junk business. Junk, according to my old friend, Noah, is “old iron or other metals, glass, paper, rags bought and sold.” My little sister, Lucy, at one time was in the junk business when she gathered rags and paper and sold to her father and she made big money, that is, big money for a six-year-old. Maybe that is why I always was fond of junk. Hardly had I written the head to this string before a truck stopped in front and a rather poorly dressed man came to the door and said he was a junk man and asked if I had any old iron, copper, brass or other metal, rags, boxes, bottles. Coincidence! One time while at the Windsor Hotel in Troy, N. Y., every morning a wobbly wheeled wagon drawn by a wretched horse with dilapidated harness, passed the hotel. The driver was an Italian and he had a rich, operatic voice, and with it he sang lustily, “any rags, any rags, any rags, bones or bottles today, the same old story in the same old way.” This man was a romantic junk man. He took pride and pleasure in his business and sang as he passed along the road. I wanted to join him in the junk business. Today as one will realize if one visits the Houston ship channel, junk is Big Business. Here great ships load with the harvest from thousands of farms. The nations of the world are hungry for junk. Oh, sure, the junk business is good business. My sister, Lucy, used to be in the junk business when she was about six years old and she made big money, sometimes as much as six cents per day. Big Business! Gathering old scrap is not the only thing in the junk game. We have much human junk. Drift wood, cast up by life’s sea, wash and left on the shore of time. Bums, tramps, hoboes, criminals, down-and-outers who have lost faith in man and God, and they rested along the beach, cast ashore as worthless and there they rested. Here comes the Hope Mission, gatherer of human junk. The junk is taken in, washed, dressed, fed, sorted and much of it is returned to society ready for service. This junk, like the other junk, has many grades. Some are so valuable that with small cost and effort they are turned back and become desirable and valued citizens. Some, like the poorest of cast iron, are of little value, and some of them slip back into the backwash and are lost for always. This business of salvage of human junk is one of the finest movements in our land. Day by day the gatherers of human junk bring in their burdens singing, “any rags, any rags, any rags, bones or bottles today.” I have visited one of these Hope Missions on the east side of lower Broadway and witnessed some of this reconstruction junk business and it is a heart thrilling sight to see the pitiful efforts to come back to respectability. Oh yes, the junk business is a wonder business, a very profitable business whether loading ships or saving the souls of men. As I sit here today, I more than ever wish I was in the junk business. I know my ambition will never be realized for my wooden leg and glass eye forbid such activity as is required in the junk business. Still, I wish the miserable wretch was the wife of the junk man. Elliott Curtis brought us home from Houston and the next day came down with a fine case of mumps. I think he got the mumps from the bumps on that new Wharton-Bay City pavement. This pavement is a series of long waves, each one supplying a bump. I may have a wooden leg and a glass eye, but thanks be I do not have a kid disease. Went on a visit to the new Kopecky store and it is a very clean, sweet place with bright natural wood, oiled finish furniture and looks very nice. He has a swell ice box all enameled in red and filled with ice and three kinds of cans. I had one and it was good and brought two home for my side pardner, so we were both pleased. Had a pint of strawberries, also, and with cream and sugar made a real satisfying meal. So long as Mr. Kopecky keeps the necessary items, he will have good business. One of our local dealers ways he will put in a few cases for personal use. He now gives purchasers lamp shades, cooking vessels as a premium. I suggest that if he will give a can of beer with each dollar sale he will be obliged to put in extra help to care for the heavy extra trade. The oil well east of town is still drilling and hoping to get the juice that brings in the cash money. Mrs. Dena D. Hurd, president of the County Federation of Woman’s Clubs, and Mrs. Liggett, secretary, spent Saturday in Blessing in conference with Mrs. Abel Pierce on Federation business. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Hurd were here Sunday with an invitation to go to Matagorda Christ Church and hear Bishop Quin conduct evening prayer. While grateful for the invitation, we felt much too exhausted to undertake another night trip. I hope they will pass out a rain check. Did you read Friday’s Tribune? An eight pager and a credit to Bay City. And looking it over, I notice that Tootsy has been promoted to the editorial staff, but did not notice that the “Thoughts” Man had been promoted. For years, without a skip, my copy has been in regularly, except when too ill to use my hand, and still no promotion. They know that with my wooden leg and glass eye that writing “Thoughts” is about my limit. They know I am like a wad of last year’s chewing gum. It sticks, but it does not move. Some day I shall just raise hell with that outfit. Well, anyway, if not too late, I wish to congratulate the Bay City Creamery. It looks sweet on the outside and some day I shall go inside. I know it will smell like the perfume of fresh blooming flowers. Many men will remember that when I was with the A. & M. and later as director of Extension Work of the Texas Creamery, I lectured in every school house in Matagorda County, urging farmers to find better cows and depend on the dairy business. I used to tell them to stop keeping cows and let cows keep them. Did they heed the advice? Not as anyone noticed and so the dairy business languished. One man who had sixteen very indifferent cows asked, “What shall I do?” In reply I said, “Do you recall what Jesus said to the rich man?” He replied that he had never heard of it and so I said, “Jesus said sell all thou hast and give to the poor. He was amazed and said, “Do you want me to give my cows away?” I replied “It will be much better for you to get rid of the sixteen and buy two good cows, and the sooner you accept my advice, the nearer will fortune smile.” I am very much pleased that at last we have a new and up-to-date creamery. I congratulate the owners and hope they will have realization of their dreams.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, May 6,
1937| |
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How slender the silken cord that connects birth with death. How delicate it is. The wonder is that its strength lasts for seventy, eighty, ninety years, or even more. One wonders why it snaps early in life, in the mid season. Always from the first breath until the last life’s candle flame flutters until at last God blows the flame out and we know a soul has passed into the unknown but hoped for eternal life. This is the hope God holds out to the human race. It is in the soul of the savage man, as it is in the soul of the highest human development. A hope—a faith that some day will come a realization of a promise. God keeps the faith and watches the candle. Let me review the harvest of the past year from my own circle of friends. Robert Murry, after a long illness passed. Burton D. Hurd, with the candle fluttering at times, glowing brightly, but always a flicker until on November 23rd, God extinguished the flame. A few weeks ago I attended the Rotary Club in Palacios and sent word to my old friend, Philip Bucek, that I planned to visit him. In a few days Philip was found dead in his garden, hoe in hand. Fred Montier of Shell Fish Café fame, whose hospitality I had enjoyed for many years. I planned to visit him and partake of his crab gumbo. He died that week. Will Shuey called on me a few weeks ago and looked fine. Will was called and in a moment his soul had passed. It seemed a queer coincidence, but J. B. McCain and Charles Duller were cashiers in the local bank. Both died suddenly on the same day and about the same hour. Mr. Duller was about his business as usual on Wednesday. The night before he attended a banquet at Bay City. He left his store at about 6:30, closed the door, turned the key, little knowing that his work was finished. To his home and a little garden work. When Mrs. Duller called there was no reply and she found him prone on the ground. Thus Charles Duller passed. Funeral held Friday with many friends from all portions of the county in attendance showing the respect they held for this man. Interment in Old Hawley Cemetery near Tide Haven. Charles Duller lived here for several years and was well and favorably known by old timers. The funeral at the grave was in charge of the local Masonic order and Mr. Duller will be missed in Masonic circles, for he was an authority on Masonic history and practice. Our sympathy and respects go to the wife he leaves to carry on. Here are seven of my old friends, all called during the past year. What will be the harvest this year? No man is able to tell. All we know is that God in His time blows out the candle flame and a soul passes into the eternal life, into a life where we believe great development will be experienced. Faith and hope are the things God holds out for us. Without this how pitiful would be the end of man. Hope with its truth, confidence, reliance. Faith with its belief, assurance, dependence. Two great anchors to windward promising the soul a safe passage to the great beyond. God rest the souls of Robert Murry, Burton Hurd, Philip Bucek, Fred Montier, Will Shuey, J. B. McCain and Charles Duller. God be merciful and comfort those who are left to mourn as the candle’s last guttering, flickering flames goes out. Saturday at 9:00 p. m. a voice at the open door said, “It is Richard and I have two cans of beer sent over by Mr. Kopecky, all ice cold.” We sat there and sipped the brew and in our thoughts we thanked Mr. Kopecky for his thoughtful gift. Fine thing to have so many kind and generous friends. The Kopecky store is a sweet and neat place and no doubt will have its share of local trade. In my opinion, the farmer is the world’s greatest gambler. The money bet on ponies is a white chip compared with the sum farmers bet on crops. If a farmer would buy a ticket for place or show on Golden Dawn instead of placing his money on corn to win, he probably would have an easier life and more cash. The cotton farmer would be ahead if he did his gambling in futures and might sit on the gallery and smoke in peace. Millions are bet on horses and billons on corn, wheat, cotton, rye, oats and fruits. From the moment the farmer sets his plow, he is betting against nature. Against no rain, against winds, storms, against insect pests, against falling markets. All things seem stacked against him. With the ponies, when betting for place or show, he has a chance to win and in any event when the sun sets he knows where he lives. Tuesday must have been callers’ day for I had as visitors, Ethel Nelson, the two Guyer girls and Nancy Sutton. It seems true that at some time in our lives we wish to write poetry. The urge to do this came to Nancy Sutton, in the eighth grade, Collegeport School. Nancy promises to develop into a great poet if she keeps a tryin’. She gave me three poems which I shall use from time to time. The first is entitled “What the People of Yesterday Would Think of the World Today.”
“When Martha and George Washington lived here Pretty good for such a tiny little chick. Friday I was alone for she, whom when in a jocular mood I call the miserable wretch, was in Blessing and why should not a woman tied to a man with a wooden leg and a glass eye be miserable? Well the hours were broken by a nice visit from Mrs. Robert Murry of the Slough Ranch. I’ll be going over there some day on a return. Had a letter from Mr. Yorke, St. Louis. He owns Block 24 in the townsite and wanted to know all about the oil situation and my advice about subscribing to the Tribune. I hope, when, as and if the Tribune receives this man’s one and half dollars, the management will promote me. It is a difficult task to write “Thoughts” and solicit subscriptions. If I had two legs and two eyes, it would be an easy job. Sunday was supposed to be Mother’s Day, but my good friends turned it into Father’s Day. At 8:30 p. m. came a fine big car and soon I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Kilpatrick who married Jessie Merck. He from Dallas. Then there was Elvie Merck Martin, a sweet elfin and very dear to me for the flower that she is and to the top of the cream was my two girls Zadie Z and Sunshine Too, from Hockley. Well the way them there gals swung on me one would think that I was a very important individual. I liked those hugs and kisses. What man would not enjoy the evidence of the love these dear girls have for me, even if I am an old man with a wooden leg and a glass eye. I shall wait with impatience to the return of my two Hockley sweeties. Came Dena D. Hurd and her son, Vernon, with an invitation to attend the luncheon of the Woman’s-Daughter club meeting at Mopac House, Thursday, with the Girl Reserves rendering the service. John Shoemaker still crazy about fishing and promises to bring me a mess of frog legs, a delightful dainty which I shall enjoy with the usual proviso when, as and if. Also came my good old friend of many years, my time tried and fire tested friend, Seth W. Corse, late judge of the Seventh Judicial District. Another happy hour with this old boy. I’ll be lonesome without his daily calls. Came Arthur Liggett with a box which on being opened disclosed an apricot pie. On top of the pie I found a card bearing the name of Mrs. John H. Cherry. This card was not necessary to identify the giver for no one on earth is able to make such a pie as Mrs. Cherry. Many women can make a nice top crust, but the lower is as a rule a bit soggy. This pie had for top and lower the same flaky, crispy delight of a crust. Just as tender as the breast of a baby. Between the two crusts was the filling--a generous filling—the sort any big open-hearted magnanimous soul would provide. Color beautiful as any bloom found in nature’s garden. Mrs. Cherry is the grandest fruit ever plucked from a cherry tree and yet she has developed into a wonderful apricot pie artist. The pie was good looking—beautiful—lovely—graceful—elegant. But back of it was the thought which prompted the gift. It brought me happiness, felicity, enjoyment, contentment, delight. Thank you God for giving me such a wonderful friend as is Mrs. John H. Cherry.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, May
13, 1937 |
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Aunt Abigal Hepplewhite, a handsome old doll, was on our streets today. Aunt Abigal says if they will let her alone she will not only balance the Federal budget but save enough to build the causeway from Palacios to Collegeport. Bud Connors smokes his cigar clear to the butt without losing the ashes, then takes the ashes into his mouth to clean his teeth with. Saves buying paste. Cash McBride was seen on our streets last week. Mr. and Mrs. Seldon Kjones announce the arrival of a boy weighing seven pounds, thirteen and a quarter ounces. They named him Kush Kjones. Our colored brother, Reverend Panorama Sludge, will hold meetings in the Church of the Golden Chair this coming Sunday. Aunt Simper Spreader is still knitting wash rags and now has set up the first of the third thousand. We sent thanks to Aunt Simper for a beautiful rag she sent us on her subscription account. She says, “I just can’t get along without the Tribune and them Thought artickles.” Jasper Perkins says his favorite sow has thirteen pigs. Pretty good, Jas, but thirteen is sure unlucky. Sliver Cassady was in two days ago and brought us a fine gallon jug of white mule. Sliver says if Zed and Genie would keep their nose out of my business I could make more good stuff. Throwin Jenkins called on us Friday. He was very much peeved because we forgot to mention that he fell out of a tree and busted his cubicle. Aunt Prue Perkins was operated on last night at the local hospital and her triform vegeter was removed. We are glad to announce that Aunt is now resting easy. Slim Jippers says that he has a new tobacco pouch equipped with a zipper. He says it works fine and saves lots of valuable time but now he don’t know what inthehell he can do with the time. Slim is just like them auto fellers always saving time and not knowing what to do with it. Jed Prutz came to the office today and paid up his subscription account by handing over a mess of cat fish. Ye editor and family will now revel in cat fish. We asked Jed why he did not fish with John Shoemaker and in reply the old coot said, “John hain’t never done nuthin’ fur me and I don’t never see nuthin’ in doin’ nuthin’ fur them as never done nuthin’ fur me.” We get the cat fish and Jed gets the Tribune. Now Mr. Editor, if you will substitute well known local names for those used, you will have a swell local news column. Monday, much to our surprise and delight, came Miss Frances Mayfield, one time Matagorda County health nurse, but now district manager for the State Board of Health. She works in El Campo this week and for the next two weeks in Brazoria County. This visit started the week off in swell style. She has just completed her new five-room home on Broadview, Woodlawn Hill, San Antonio. She told me where to find the key if I need shelter any time. Pretty nifty. One week from Tuesday comes May 25th, Collegeport’s birthday. It will be the 29th time our folk have gathered for a community dinner. It is to the credit of our people that they have kept the faith for so many years. This year I presume, we will assemble bringing the bounties that God has given us and with them thanks for the gifts. We will meet old friends and renew old thoughts. Let every one take notice and remember the 25th and what happened May 25th, 1909. Bring your hamburger and one for the other fellow. We hope some Bay City and Palacios folk will visit us that day. If they fail us this year they will be around next year just before the primary. That is the time they always call. In the center of the front page of Wednesday’s Chronicle appeared a warning which occupied a space five inches by four columns. This warning was issued by Ambassador Dodd in letters sent to several Senators. Mr. Dodd has been informed, so he states, that plans are under way to establish a dictatorship for these United States by some very wealthy men among them being a billionaire who plans to control, the dictator. It is a mess of foolish, silly stuff and I am surprised that the Chronicle would use such valuable space for such a simple, indiscreet, absurd, imprudent, scare propaganda. Every soul in the country, whether he acknowledges it or not, knows way down in his heart that the dictator is here now. He occupies the Executive chair and I mean he occupies it. He owns Congress and it does his bidding or else! He has a strangle hold on the Supreme Court and plans to tighten that hold until it, too, does his bidding. Even now right here in this small, insignificant community, every soul feels the power of the dictator. Every farmer who signs up is rewarded with a check. The man who does not—well it’s just too bad for him. This power reaches over every mountain, every plain, every sea and covers every American soul. There is no escape—no chance to escape from the shadow of the dictator. Look around men. Study the situation. The dictator is here and probably Mr. Dodd knows it by this time. Maybe the editor will use his blue pencil, but while he uses it he will know what I think about our national hazard. Since I wrote this I read in the papers that certain Senators have started a movement demanding the recall of Ambassador Dodd. Just shows the foolishness of trying to make a diplomat out of a school teacher, especially one already soaked in fascism. The only time a public officer is the servant of the people is when he is seeking election. Soon as he is seated, he very soon assumes the role of master and dictator and readily informs the people what they may have and what they may not have. He often uses his position to pay political debts and personal grudges. When this occurs is the time when he should if a good sport, resign and allow some fair minded man with a desire to serve have the place. The seventh grade was required prepare from their reading a history of Texas. On my desk is one of these histories. It was made by Betty Lashbrook. Her book is 10 inches by 12 inches by 2 inches. From first cover to last it is filled with colored pictures which gives a complete pictorial history of Texas from the first landing by a white man up to the present year. The six flags are there in colors and with descriptive matter describing when and where they were used. Page after page contains written and helpful statements by the author. The book tells a story of months of research—careful collecting—loving preparation. Betty says she has been collecting material for more than a year and the finished book bears out the statement. Betty must have had a plethora of patience. It is a remarkable Texas history and it is not possible for any person to do such work without becoming saturated with the history of Texas. Tuesday I was the guest of the Collegeport Woman’s Club at their annual mother-daughter luncheon. Mrs. Hurd, as president, had charge of the affair and handled her part of the program with her usual perfection. This woman is carrying on—others follow—I hope some will stick. The writer was requested to say the Grace but because of his weakness and nervous condition was forced to give up. Each one present, mother or daughter, was called upon for an expression. Some simply said, “I am glad I have a mother.” Some said, “My mother was a Christian.” Others gave fine, splendid talks which were inspiring. The menu consisted of baby peas, potato salad, meat loaf, sandwiches, many kinds of cake and pies and ice tea. The meeting was held in Mopac House and all had opportunity to inspect the many books some of which being new.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, May
20, 1937 |
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The Collegeport Girl Reserves gave a program Friday night, May 7, at eight o'clock at the Collegeport Community House. Mr. Ausburn of Gulf came to Collegeport and put on this program for the Girl Reserves for the purpose of raising money to send another Girl Reserve besides the other two girls who are going to camp at Casa Del Mar in the summer. Mr. Ausburn gave the service of his free to the Girl Reserve Club. The Girl Reserves took in thirteen dollars and forty cents at this entertainment. The Girl Reserves also had their election of officers for the coming year Monday, May 10, at one-thirty o'clock. The officers elected for the coming year were as follows: Ella Guyer, president; Nancy Sutton, vice-president; Ethel Nelson, secretary; and Oneida Bullington, treasurer. At this meeting the girls decided on the girls who they would send to the Girl Reserve Camp in the summer. They were: Geneva Blackwell, Maud Lashbrook and Dorothy Williams. Maud Elizabeth Lashbrook Reporter.
Daily Tribune, May 20, 1937 |
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For several years I have indulged in an urge to once more visit that wonderful city known as San Antonio and dubbed by those who always try to mutilate good Spanish “Santone.” The opportunity came Friday when Frances Mayfield drove in and invited I and the miserable wretch to go with her so after long discussion we washed our puppies, cut off our whiskers, donned fresh garments, put a sandwich in our pocket, a bag of R. J. R. and away we went. This has been a week of excitement and I hardly am rested from one surprise until another bobs up. I shall have opportunity to attend service at St. Marks Sunday and see my kin folk and visit the new home of Miss Mayfield, who will supply the hay pile for me to snuggle in Friday night. I’ll have plenty to write about on my return so just read this over and wait for the big show with twenty county ‘em. George Harrison brings us back next Tuesday so all seems jake. Oh, yes, I almost forgot the most important. Jimmy goes along and he, being a good traveler and enjoys auto rides, will have a happy time. Just be patient and wait until next week.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, May
27, 1937 |
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The County Federation of Women’s Club enters its 21st year of activity with its meeting at Collegeport, Friday, June 11, with twelve federated clubs in session for the 84th time. In those years there have been no progress for good that has not found its inception or been fostered by this group of women. Schools, churches, philanthropies, politics, social and home life have all received personal and financial benefit bountifully and freely. Every activity that tends to better humanity has found generous support in this organization at home and throughout the entire nation. In honor of this 21st birthday the hostess club, the Collegeport Woman’s Club, which is the oldest federated club in the county, will give an informal reception at the home of the president, Mrs. Burton D. Hurd, and directed by the Fine Arts Committee of the federation. The social will be “Art at home” and will consist of exhibits of handiwork executed at home by club members for the comfort and beautification of home. Each federated club is asked to offer a display as a club and individuals are asked to exhibit groups as individuals, within their clubs. Prizes are to be given to the club and to the individual offering the best (not largest) group. One article from each member is sufficient and credits are to be added to the clubs having 100 per cent members displays. Mrs. Dean D. Hurd, President, Matagorda County Federation of Women’s Clubs.
Palacios Beacon, May 27, 1937 |
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We are back home from a trip abroad. A trip where “The West begins”—“Where the west is best”—“where by test the air is sweeter”—“where folks are more friendly” and lots more boo-boo. Anyway, we are back home and very happy to be here. I fill up my old cob with R. J. R., sit in my easy chair and as the smoke rings rise, I see pictures of our adventures and I look out for miles across the pastures and see the waving grass, the sweet prairie flowers that seem to beckon a welcome home. I hear my mocking bird singing on the chimney top and hunting a nesting place in the rambling rose. I hear the sweet whistle of my blackbirds as they sway on the branches of the “old willow tree” and I am telling you boys that it all looks good to me. Enough of this for the dead line is only forty-five minutes distant. Monday P. M. came a man from Elkhart, Indiana, returning from a trip to the Valley. He was born and raised in my home town, White Pigeon, Michigan. He knew me as a lad, knew my family and now lives in Elkhart and is employed by the same firm as my nephew, Edwin Watson. He sees my sister and the kin folk including my son nearly every week. Fine visit and he had hardly left before a big Buick with colored chauffer drove in with my cousin, Mrs. Norman Morrison (Nellie Clapp) of Corsicana and what Nellie did not bring me is not on the grocery list. Same day we all went to Palacios where we were guests of George Harrison at the Pavilion Café and a fine fish dinner. Next day Nellie left for a short stay at Palacios and then home. She is a very lonely cousin and we were sorry when she left us. Followed three days and then came Frances Mayfield to take us to San Antonio as first guests in her new five-room bungalow at 435 Broadview Drive, Woodlawn Hill. The estate covers two and a half acres and is being set to fruit and ornamentals. A very sweet and beautiful place and being on a hill, five miles from the city plenty of fresh air is freely given. Monday morning we were royally entertained until Tuesday morning when George Harrison came for us for the home bound trip and we certainly were glad to be back in Homecroft. Saturday we had breakfast in a swell little café in Ganado with most excellent coffee, toast, eggs and bacon. Charges so light as to surprise us and service liberal and charming. Victoria, Cuero, Smiley, Nixon and Seguin. The latter is the finest town of them all. Plenty of evidence of good business, plenty of cash, beautiful parks, community houses, play grounds, fine lawns, flowers shrubbery and a general atmosphere of prosperity. Several beautiful roadside inns among them the Red Mill, built of rock and service by a sweet girl dressed in flaming red. The hamburgers and beer were both above par, in fact, way above. Seguin is a swell town and has them all on the side. On return we stopped at LaVernia for early breakfast and again found splendid coffee and service in a tiny roadside inn. Arrive home on the 25th in time to attend the Collegeport Day celebration, but I was physically unable to be present for I landed completely exhausted. It was a great week for us, but poor Jimmy suffered for he would not drink the water and he resented being tied up, but he was a good sport and stood the inconvenience, but gave every evidence of joy at being back where he is the boss dog. The celebration on the 25th was well attended and many old day citizens came in for the occasion. The tables were well spread and covered with a delightful medley of delicious foods. Mrs. Hurd had charge and gave a splendid talk first on the program. In our drive of about 400 miles we saw not one highway officer, so guess they just all the taking a vacation. Mr. Korn brought us a sack of new spuds from the garden. Fine large potatoes, clean, smooth, good color and one weighed six ounces. Just shows that good potatoes may be produced if one knows how. We received an invitation from the Registrar, faculty and board of Texas U to attend the commencement exercises June 4th, at which time Miss Ruth Harrison will receive her degree. The invitation is engraved, is illustrated with pictures of campus scenes and contains twenty-seven pages. We give Ruth our hearty congratulations on her success. She is a fine young lady with charm and poise. I noticed that turkeys are in the discard and the farmers out near Nixon are going into chickens. Saw several plants with, I judge, two hundred growing houses. It suggested that the chicken business means money spent. Crops are good in the San Antonio, Seguin, Nixon section—much better than in our own county. Grass in plenty. For months I have planned to have an all day birthday party on June 16th, my seventy-fifth birthday, but much to my sorrow and disgust, I am forced to give up the idea for am not physically able to undertake the work and nervous strain which it would involve. My health is very much too delicate and it is so easy to disturb the equilibrium. Guess I’ll have to paddle along without my party. Among the first men I met when I can to Matagorda County about thirty years ago, was Doctor Scott and for many years we have enjoyed a fine spirit of friendship. As the years passed, my respect and regard increased and so I grieve as I learn of his passing and add his name to the others who have passed during the last year. Doctor Scott was a good sport and I am certain that where he is now he is also among the good sports who have passed into the great unknown land. Just another word about my birthday. I am not happy in giving up my plans for I feel quite certain that when the year 2012 arrives, I’ll not be here for my second birthday party. You see the world wags on. Sunday night came Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Franzen and she is just one lovely flower that has caught my love and admiration, also Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Wells and Mrs. Gustave Franzen. They informed me that little James Franzen, who has been in Memorial Hospital, Houston, for several weeks, has been returned to his home and this is good news for at one time James was in a very serious condition. Now is the time to visit Torre’ Vista. The water is fine for bathing.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, June
3, 1937 |
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Before the day it has always been my custom to explain what I want in the gift line and as June 16 is my 75th, I am inclined to tell just what I want so here is a list. A sled on which is seated my little sister, Lucy. A pair of warm red mittens, knitted by Grandma Austin and provided with connecting strings slipped through the sleeves of my jacket. A little red express wagon so I may help Lucy gather paper rags. A ride with Grandpa Austin behind a Filly a swell racker. Who has seen a racker these days? A big slice of salt risin’ bread spread generously with Grandma’s sweet cream butter. A chance to sit at breakfast with my grandparents and eat pork sausage and buckwheat cakes. I want to place my face in mother’s lap and tell her how sorry I am that I have been a very naughty boy. I want the chance to go to church with father, mother and my two sisters and sit in my Sunday school class with my teacher, Mrs. Newkirk. I want a pair of skates, the kind that clamp on and then go skating with John Davis on Parker’s pond. I want a big red balloon which will float at the end of a string. I want a pair of boots with copper toes and red tops on which is a picture of George Washington. I want my dogs, Curley, Zack and Prince. I want to go down to the race and try the deep hole. I want a chance to see the big stone wheels grind the wheat at Mr. Hamilton’s mill. I am tired of wearing clothes made from father’s old suits and I want a “hand-me-down.” I want a dog harness with brass trimmings—one that will fit Prince. I want to hear mother say, “Harry it is time for bed so wash your feet.” I want a new fish line so I can catch a string of shiners. I want a new red bobber. I want to go to Lorings for a quart of milk. I want to play “high-low” with Mark Jackson. I want a whistle made from a willow stem. I want a bag of marbles with plenty of glassies and I want them in a leather sack. I want a generous hunk of smoked halibut from father’s store. I want a package of fire crackers. I want the chance to hold the big drum when the minstrels parade the town. I want to have a lemonade stand July Fourth and treat my sister, Lucy, to an ice cold lemo. I want to see great-grandfather May fill and light and smoke his new clay pipe. I want such a pipe with which to blow soap bubbles so as they float in the air my sisters may burst them with a finger thrust. I want to stand in the sink while mother washes my ears and sisters delight in my howls. I want a silver cup with my name on the side. I want a big kite with a long rag tail and a streamer on the end. I want a red hoop with little brass bells on the inside—bells that will jingle as I roll it. These are a few things I want, but most of all I want to hear my mother pray that God will help me to be a good man. Who knows, but June 16 on my 75th day I’ll see and have some of these precious gifts. Friday the Matagorda County Federation of Woman’s Clubs will hold their meeting in this place. Mrs. Dena D. Hurd is not only president of the local club, but of the County Federation. A luncheon will be served at 12 noon to delegates and guests and at 1:30 a swell program will be given, to be followed with a reception at Torre’ Vista. Few women know more about handling such affairs as Mrs. Hurd and therefore those who are fortunate enough to attend will enjoy a delightful afternoon. Oh, sure, if able, I’ll be there in time for the lunch. Jimmy has just recovered from the effects of his trip around the world and is becoming natural again. ‘Twas a tough trip for us humans, but much more so for Jimmy, for he did not enjoy being attached to a chain night and day. Jimmy is a sweet pooch. I am very sorry that because of the strange and unexplained action of the local board, Elliott Curtis has been obliged to seek other fields. He is a fine young man, active in Sunday school, sports of youth, a good teacher and a real addition to the community. Always ready to aid in civic work, he will be missed by many of us who have learned to value this young man. I think the board made a grievous error when they repudiated a contract made by the retiring board. No explanations are given the school patrons but it appears to me that in the execution of this young man political debts have been paid and personal grudges satisfied. I may be wrong, am as a rule, but this is as it appears to me. Who will question my right to think and criticize the action of public officials? Reading the Tribune, it appears that nearly all the men of the county have been honored with Notary Public medals, I mean all men of importance which includes Ben R. Mowery. Impossible to turn a corner without meeting a notary—wish we had a war and could send the notary bunch to the trenches. Friday, June 4, a three-months rain vacation accompanied by stout winds and heavy rain, which was worth thousands of dollars to the farmers of this county. Sunday another rain fell and as result corn is looking quite pert while cotton is all smiles. On our place cotton has been planted twice and much to our regret the last seed spoiled before the rain arrived. Farming is sure a great gamble and now that betting on the ponies will become illegal in ninety days I do not see how farmers can possibly break even for their only bet is corn to win and no chance to put a dollar on anything for show or place. The repeal of the racing law will not keep people from investing. People enjoy taking a shot at the uncertain. Our local sea captain named John put to sea the other day in a ship with one oar. Began drifting so heaved the anchor overboard. Drift still going out to sea so Cap called “all hands and the cook on deck” and as swarthy a band of pirates as ever scuttled a ship, poured from the fo castle but they were unable to “cat and fish the anchor” so the good ship dragged or drugged her anchor until she came to rest in the surf on the Palacios side. A rambling motor boat took off the crew, put a line on the leaky wreck and towed them to the Collegeport dock. Moral is, do not go to sea in a leaking boat with one oar. Went over to Palacios Tuesday and spent two days with my cousin, Mrs. Nellie Clapp Morrison, who had rented for a week a large shack on the bayou with twelve beds and so we were invited to snuggle in two of them. Good eats—good drinks—good shuteye, but glad to be home again and nestle in our own hay pile. Went out to the oil well and saw her spouting 105 barrels per day. Entertained by Dr. and Mrs. Hood with grand ice cream and angelic cake. Saw the Burkes much to our delight. Met the head push of the Beacon and was promised notice in the paper. I like to see my name in print. Guess most folk do. The Beacon is a sparkling sheet—a credit to the burg. Palacios has no bank—no passenger rail service and to lose the Beacon would about break the bank of Monte Carlo. Collegeport has no ban, no train service, no paper and the only thing that saves the burg from the inside of a doughnut is the hot shot school board. If we lose the group of public life savers the community will be only a rubbed out place on the map down at the end of the road. The Palacios oil well number two presents a scene of much activity. The derrick is a graceful structure, so slender, but showing great strength. At night it glows with numerous electric lights and the flaming gas flare lights up the country for a mile about. Men working night and day to bring in another producer. It is thrilling. Several cars of oil shipped and seven on the rack loaded and ready to highball. All things give evidence that we have a big oil field at our door. You see it is only about two miles from Collegeport to the number two well, so let us keep our panties up and be patient. A sweet warehouse and office has been built and painted a brilliant blue. Other buildings in same style. Sure looks good to muh.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, June
10, 1937 |
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It was a sweet day. That eleventh day of June, A. D. 1937. Cotton boll clouds floated across the blue of the sky. Cotton clouds showing shadow and light and often purpled with the rays of the dancing sun. And thus God set the scene in natural beauty and loveliness for the annual quarterly meeting of the County Federation of Woman’s Clubs. It will go down in history as one of the most successful meetings ever held by the Federation. Credit is due Mrs. Dena D. Hurd, president of the local club and president of the Federation, and her able assistant, Mrs. L. E. Liggett, secretary of both organizations. I doubt if there may be found in the county two women more capable of handling an affair of this sort. It’s the knowing how and they know how. I counted twenty-seven autos parked in front of the church house where the business session was held. The registrants numbered sixty-five and the bureau of registration was in charge of that veteran, Mrs. Rena Wright. The business session began at ten a. m. and consisted of hearing reports from the attending clubs, reports from Mrs. Patricia Martyn, county health nurse, and Mrs. Leola Cox Sides, county home demonstration agent. All of these reports were of interest and some brought hearty applause as the work of the particular club was related. Many business items were handed rapidly for Mrs. Hurd is a minute woman. She believes in doing things on time and so when the dead line was reached at 12:30 the business session closed and all adjourned across the way to the Mopac House for the luncheon. Here, thanks to those behind the guns, meaning Mesdames Nelson, Guyer, Crane, Lashbrook and King were found tables spread with fine linen, beautiful glass and many fine flowers, among them the magnolia. The menu consisted of chicken salad, snap beans, potato chips, cucumber pickles, hot buttered rolls, ice tea and angel food cake covered with goo-goo whipped cream. I sat next to Mrs. Wagner and she, fearing to become fat, gave me her goo-goo and I, having no fear of embonpoint, greedily devoured two portions of the whipped delicacy. The table service was always present and never intrusive and rendered by some of the Girl Reserves, Misses Ethel Nelson, Ella Guyer, Maude Lashbrook and Emma Franzen, four very charming young girls who served daintily, always keeping a watchful eye on the guests. Ninety plates were arranged and ninety plates were used. The kitchen was a busy place as the corps of that department were busy with preparation. Thanks to those who worked behind the scenes. Mrs. Clapp was greeting hostess at the business session and Mrs. Jones rendered the same service at Mopac House. In both cases the visitors were met with a smiling face and a cordial invitation to be at home and they were. It was a happy affair for me. I met so many of my women friends and I love them all. So many of them, it is impossible to make an enumeration. I was taken over by that charmer, that very lovely girl, Mrs. Gussie Slone, and on my return she was on hand and all I had to say was “Home James.” After luncheon with its delights was over all adjourned to the church house where Mrs. Calvin Baker gave a demonstration of crayon drawing, a swell stunt, and Mrs. Vernon King Hurd sang a number and an encore with her sweet, beautiful, satisfying voice. Mrs. Dorothy Corporon at the piano. The committee on resolutions reported that some minor business transacted and all went to Torre’ Vista for a reception given by Mrs. Hurd. Here was found an art exhibit that was startling in its numbers, variety and beauty. Two classes of prizes were given, one to the individual with the finest display and one to the club. The exhibits consisted of many kinds of handiwork such as napkins, comforters, towels, paintings, crochet work, knitting, etc. Prizes were awarded by vote of those present and Mrs. Anna D. Crane took first in the individual display and Mrs. George Fanchon of Wadsworth took second and of the club award, Wayside Club of Palacios took first, and the Blessing club second. Seldom have people of the county been favored with the privilege of viewing such a beautiful display of art. It was lovely beyond description. I am a lover of handsome woman and as I viewed the faces of the beautiful women present, saw the swell dresses, my lover’s heart expanded with joy that I had after a year of illness, been allowed to be present and associate with the women who are doing things in Matagorda County. I had a happy day and my heart is filled with pride. I am proud of the president, the secretary, the kitchen aides and I am proud that Collegeport had opportunity to once more demonstrate its hospitality. So I write “Yo Ho! You Feds.” You are going places, doing things. Captain John, local fisherman, down in the river bottoms saw what he thought was a honey bee fly into a knot hole in a tree. Thinking of honey he cut down the tree and split it open and from it issued a dense cloud of Notary Publics (see Tribune for list). Not a drop of honey was found for the notaries had consumed every drop. Notaries have a well developed sense of smell and they all love honey. Cap John estimated that there is one notary for every two men in the county. One of the escaping notaries had “BR” on his back so we all know that our local notary got some honey. Gosh, all fish hooks, how will we be able to feed the horde of notaries? With the death of Clarence Walters of Alice, Texas, the list of old friends who has passed on during the last year reaches nine. One year ago every one walked the earth, making plans for new ideals. Clarence was the manager of Victoria Chamber of Commerce, went to Alice, organized a chamber there and was its manager. Served as postmaster for eight years but when Mr. Farley took charge, Clarence, being a red hot Republican, was cast into the hot pot. Served as mayor several terms. Fine friend of many years. Sometimes I think that when God took a handful of stars and threw them against the turquoise blue, that some dropped to earth and with their dazzling brilliance added to the comfort and joy of human life. Among the nine friends who have been translated during the past year, two were stars of illustrious, star-eyed of the first magnitude and I know they brought comfort and happiness to many and left them with finer ideals of life. It’s a sweet world if one looks with star eyes. The reaper reaps when the grain is ripe. P. S.—The luncheon would have been a complete success had there been served a tank of the Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles and a “Cherry” apricot pie.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, June
17, 1937 |
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Collegeport Woman’s Club Entertains on Twenty-First Anniversary Observing the 21st birthday of the Matagorda County Federation of Women’s Club, was the theme used for the quarterly meeting held last Friday, June 11, in Collegeport with the Woman’s Club of that place, one of the oldest clubs in the county as host. The day was ideal for such a gathering and delegates were there from all the federated clubs except one, Matagorda. Mrs. Dena Hurd, the new president, was in the chair and was ably assisted by Mrs. L. E. Liggett, secretary and treasurer, and Mrs. Claire Pollard, parliamentarian. Reports from standing committees and clubs were given during the morning session as were those of the County Health Nurse, Mrs. Patricia Martyn, and Home Demonstration agent, Mrs. Leola Cox Sides. At 12:30 the business closed and all adjourned to the Mopac House where a delicious lunch was served to the more than 80 guests. After lunch we again assembled in the community house for the remainder of the business session, which was opened with Mrs. Vernon K. Hurd, in her usual sweet way, singing, “I Never Grow Too Old to Dream,” with Mrs. Dorothy Corporon at the piano. After the adoption of the constitution and by-laws as corrected by the committee previously appointed and report of the resolution committee, the meeting adjourned to meet with the Van Vleck P. T. A. in September the invitation having been extended earlier in the day. To the home of Mrs. Hurd was next in order, to view the display of hand work for home decoration, arranged by Mrs. Calvin Baker. Prizes were given for two classes, one to the club having the nicest display and one to the individual, awarded by vote of those present. The Wayside Club took first place and Blessing Library Association second for Club displays, while Mrs. Anna Crane, of Collegeport, was given first for individual and Mrs. George Fanchon of Wadsworth, second. The entire program was one of interest and everyone pronounced the June meeting at Collegeport one of the best the Federation has had for some time, and the 21st birthday celebration a grand success.
Palacios Beacon, June 17, 1937 |
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It was a beautiful day. A blue sky. Fleecy clouds floating as if on the tide of a restful sea. A woman resting from confinement held a new born babe close to her breast her eyes showing a mother’s pride. She was a beautiful woman, young, with blue eyes, light brown hair, arms and shoulders from an angel’s mold, skin as white as snow. The baby also had blue eyes and he snuggled against the breast seeking what he sought. The family was a joyful one for here was the longing for a man child. The babe grew into boyhood, young manhood, matured man and so June 16th, 1937 marked his seventy-fifth birthday. In his optimistic egotism he thought it an event of national, state, county and local interest. No word from Roosevelt, no message from Allred, no wire from Barber, and so his happy egotism flunked. Not one county friend called. He was to be satisfied with near neighbors. He thought that among the hundreds of readers of his column a score at least would send messages but only four came. The S. B. Sims family, Detroit, Janie and Louie Duffy of Beeville. “Sorry our card was late but just want you to know we are thinking about you and hoping you may have many more birthdays, Emma Franzen, Charles W. Hartman, Springfield, Ill., “God bless you for your kindness which you bestow on me. For your every act of friendship and tender sympathy, for all the joy you have scattered along the way have really mattered far more than I can say. Happy Birthday, Mr. Clapp.” From my sister, Lucy, Ethel Nelson, “May you have many more happy birthdays, Love,” Ethel brought me a big dish of them Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles and six big cakes. Mr. Boeker sent cigars. Mr. Kopecky sent two very cold cans and on the side was the word “Pabst.” Not knowing the contents I opened the cans and they were full of fizzy water which tickled my nose and caused me to sneeze but good stuff and I thank Mr. Kopecky for his gift. Mrs. Liggett brought me the handsomest cake I have ever seen. The cake the food of angels, was covered with thick icing and the top held precious stones, scrolls and other ornaments and in the center two long scrolls, one inscribed in pink script, “Happy” and the other “Birthday.” It was a sweet beauty. The Goodmans came from Houston and brought me a blue berry pie, a birthday cake, much needed shaving cream from Mama, a handsome check from my daughter, Mary Louise, and before I could cash it the bank closed its doors. Banks should be compelled to give checkholders ample notice before they bust up. But a letter I wished for never came. It did not come on Father’s Day, either, but one from my wonderful girl said, “Daddy, if all the fathers in the world were stood in a line and I told to pick my choice, I would walk down the line and pick my daddy the finest father any girl ever had.” Oh, well, the birthday went off okeh, but you just wait until 2012, for that year I’ll have a grand birthday. I forgot Mr. Goodman brought me a quart of Angelica, a quart of mixed toddie and a second quart of Port which arrived empty because of a loose cap. Doggone such luck. Went to Bay City Monday with the Shoemaker family. Hair cut at Ack Barnetts. Distressed to learn my old friend, Carey Smith, Sr., was suffering from a relapse and confined to his bed. Hope for a quick rally and another of those editorials. I give congratulations on his having such a son as Junior. Weldon Smith busy putting our show pictures told us that when we wanted to see the show to walk in and if anyone stopped us to tell ‘em we owned the show. Visited Bachman’s store, a beautiful place filled with handsome goods all of high quality. What promised to be a week of great happiness was almost spoiled by a wire from Mary Louise announcing the death of our good old friend, R. W. Persons. It turned the week into one of mourning, tears instead of a week of laughter. Among my callers were: Mrs. J. Morgan Smith of Matagorda, with her son and his wife and her daughter, Mrs. Vernon King Hurd. Mrs. Smith brought me a sack of luscious peaches. Much appreciated gift. I reckon J. Morgan had something to do with the planting and watering. Fine folk and I was happy by their welcome call even if I did have to receive in pajamas, but that is quite recherché or aufair or something very nice. Well although the week was one loaded with grief and disappointment, we had much joy. Then to fill the cup, Jimmy disappeared. I feel sure someone carried him away, but we hope that he will return to us. He is such a sweet, joyful pooch and gave us so much happiness with his loving cute ways and his dog talk. Sunday we drove with the Goodmans to Palacios and called on Doctor Wagner, the miracle man, and his handsome wife, who looked swell, and then to the Harrisons where we were served swell ice cream and had a most happy time with George and Lena and Ruthie. Swell day and I felt fine, but this day I pay. I am writing this copy under compulsion. Every effort is made with pain and I can hardly sit at the Corona. I hope readers will remember this as they read. I am unable to write more so forgive for this week anyway.
The Matagorda County Tribune, June 24, 1937 |
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Jimmy is a registered Fox Terrier. His registered name is Sunny Jim and well named for he was a Sunny Jim. He was six years old last April. Weighed about ten pounds. Black and white with stubby tail; with a few white hairs at end. His face was elaborated with tan around his eyes and forehead and his nose had taken on a frosty appearance due no doubt to increased age. His neck and breast was white. His back near the tail had a strip where he was infected with mange. This strip was about five inches long and about an inch wise and I was treating him for this trouble. He wore a black harness with brass was engraved the word Jimmy, studs and a name plate on which Jimmy left home Friday evening and we expected all night to hear his welcome knock at the door, but no knock was heard. The same all day Saturday and that night and no Jimmy. No trace of him is found and so we are impressed with the idea that some one stole him. The thief stole something besides a little dog. He took some of our heart and some of the joy and happiness from our home. I am an invalid and am unable to hunt for him. He gave me much happiness with his cute ways, his talking to me, his beautiful brown eyes. He loved to lay on my lap and with his head resting on my breast look at me with those brown eyes and give me his affection. I want Jimmy back and I hope that Harris Milner or Frank Carr or some neighbor sheriff will watch and if found take him up for me. Any fellow who wills steal a pet dog like Jimmy will steal a child and he deserves the contempt of all dog lovers. We gave Jimmy a bath each week and he enjoyed the bath. We used Pulvex soap. Jimmy likes his bread with butter, his oatmeal with cream and sugar, and he don’t like to eat from tin dishes. He is a little gentleman dog and quite refined in his tastes. He is a house dog and never commits a nuisance. I hope the one who took him will recall that I am ill and that the taking of Jimmy has brought me sorrow. I want Jimmy back home. Bring him back. Just let him out at our gate. He’ll come home and knock for admission. If you refuse my plea, take good care of Jimmy. He is not strong. Give him food. He loves fudge, but give him very little. No trick to steal him for he loved to ride in an auto and all one had to do is to open the door and in hopped Jimmy ready to enjoy a ride. Please send Jimmy back to me. His loss is almost as if he were a child. I loved him and he was a comfort. I want my Jimmy. Please everyone watch for Jimmy and help me to his return. Remember how sick I am—how Jimmy gave me some happiness and please return my Jimmy. I want my Jimmy.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, June
24, 1937 |
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One of the interesting tales found in the Bible is that of the Prodigal Son. This boy arrived at the smart age and knew much more than his dad so he asked for his share and left home with the usual request. He spent his money. Broken financially, he at last found his food in garbage. Deserted by friends and hungry he turned back to the comforts of the Old Home Place. When dad learned of his coming he had a fat calf dressed out. We know little about fat calves here for all are very lean. This was a fat calf and the boy came home, naked, hungry, thirsty, repentant. Well, Thursday night at nine our Prodigal returned and banged against the door demanding admission. Jimmy came home. He was dirty, hungry, thirsty. He leaped into my arms, put his paws about my neck and in whines, howls, barks, little noises he told me all about it. His joy was so expressive that our thankful hearts overflowed. Jimmy was not really a Prodigal. Jimmy had not been stolen. He was kidnapped and held a prisoner tied up in a barn about two miles up the bay shore. For five days he was detained, all the time trying for release. Jimmy was filthy, hungry, thirsty and thin. He gave evidence of ill treatment. Bathed, fed, watered, Jimmy felt like a new pooch and quickly took his place in the home life. We, meaning I and the miserable wretch, are happy in knowing that Jimmy was released ad able to come home. Many of our friends were interested in Jimmy and tried to aid us in finding him and we thank them. Jimmy means much to me. I am sick. I hardly draw a pleasant, comfortable breath and Jimmy, with his loving ways, aids me in forgetting. I am happy that Jimmy is home. He looks at me with his fine brown eyes and tells me how happy he is to be back in home place. They pass laws forbidding horse racing and pari-mutuel betting, but they allow 100,000 people to pay for seats and to bet thousands of dollars and watch a Negro beat hell out of a white man. I prefer the pari-mutuel. Let the ponies run and let the people gamble in the wide open. They will gamble anyway. No one has ever been able to stop betting. Governor Allred thinks he has stopped betting but the Governor just don’t know what is going on and how determined folk are when any attempt is made to take away the wager privilege. Wonder how a white man feels when becoming conscious he sees a Negro standing ready to belt him again on the button. Nasty sport to my notion. The passing of R. W. Persons made ten of my friends who have gone to the over there and as I cut the tenth notch in my tally stick, I said, “The score is complete.” The reaper has reaped a bountiful harvest and now comes to me the death of Rupert Hendricks [Hendrix]. I shall never forget how during the severe and critical days of my illness Rupert came daily and standing by my bed would say, “Mr. Clapp, any time night or day that you need me or my auto, call me. I want to help you. If you need medicines call me and anytime It will be my joy to make the trip.” He would hold my hand. When I think of this and how willing and anxious he was to give me comfort and aid I am unable to forget. Rupert Hendricks [Hendrix] under his seemingly brusque ways had a heart of gold and during those days of his daily visit I learned a new appreciation for his value. He had a fine wife and a splendid little family of five children. He was a hard working boy, talking little, minding his business of securing a living for his family. His death runs the toll to eleven. One year ago every man was going about his daily tasks full of life and energy, making plans for the future. Eleven have passed and I put away my tally stick. I shall no longer keep a record. The toll has been too heavy for the one who is left behind. I grieved over Rupert’s passing. I send tender love to Hester and her children and ask God, the only comforter, to shield this family and give such peace and comfort as only He is able to give. I shall miss Rupert, his strong hand, his tender heart, his sympathetic ways. The funeral was held from the church house Saturday at 4:00 o’clock and the house was packed with relatives and good friends. Funeral in charge of the Walker-Matchett Company, service read by Rev. Rainer of Bay City, and interment in local cemetery. For the benefit of those interested in oil news, will write that over in Palacios several new derricks are on the ground and oil is still spouting all the law allows while No. 2 has secured the ___ drill and now ready for new work. Many tests are being made around Collegeport and daily we hear the blasts. We hope that results will warrant a test that will demonstrate what we all believe and that is that we have a field. Some evidence of sulphur. We live in hopes, on hopes, with hopes. While we were in Palacios Sunday came the Liggetts and Elliott Curtis and sorry to have missed a very delightful visit. Thanks to Mr. Haley our Zenith is once more articulate and we are enjoying the music. Yesterday we heard a ceremony of the laying of the corner stone of the church house adjoining Westminster Abbey. Queen Mary laid the stone and the King and Queen were present and had their parts. The church service was given and music by the Cold Stream Guards Band. Great stuff, very thrilling. It sure pays to advertise. A man up north reading the story of Jimmy writes of his interest and says, “I shall keep a close watch on all little dogs and let you know if I find Jimmy.” Advertising sells groceries, clothing, autos, refrigerators and it finds Jimmy dogs. Here is a small tale. I was at the PO, could not walk home, waiting to hitch hike. Along came a car—the driver a stranger. I asked if he was going down my way and in reply he said, “I was not going that way but I’ll take you home for my only business is helping the other fellow.” He brought me home. Talking with him he told me that his only idea in life was to find people who need help and give it. In his idle time he preaches and from the fine language he used I bet he is some preacher. Wish we had a few more like him in this burg. They might bring some smiles to sour faces, some joy to joyless lives, some pep to discourage souls and he might tell some of these bobhaired women that they look like hellandgone. When women have their hair cut it must be done by an artist or else. Or else scrawny necks, heads that look as though they had been belted with a base ball bat, so flat do they appear and, Ye gods! Forgive me but some have dirty necks. This is worse than the period when legs were displayed on every side. No escape. Anyway I hope this preacher man who delights in helping the other fellow stays around these parts.
“I wants to lay and watch the clouds float by,
I wants to remember how I learned to love
Ah, how fast the rays have flown away, Thursday came Rev. Paul Engle bringing to us the Holy Eucharist much to our delight and comfort. After confession and absolution one feels clean and decent, a sort of lifting of the soul closer to God. This good man never forgets us. He is now in Wisconsin having his annual vacation attending a church rural conference.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, July
1, 1937 |
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It was a chilly day in the late Winter or early Spring. Many clouds floated in the air with a threat of rain and perhaps wind and along the north horizon banked a black cloud which promised a norther belated as it may be. My friends had been visiting with me for an hour and being ready to leave said, “If you are going to take your daily walk why not go a ways with me?” This required that I put on my heavy jacket and as I was fumbling with the six buttons my friend gave a zip and had his jacket buttoned. The speed of the closing of his coat caused me to remember other zipper arrangements. Everything seemed to be on the zip. My lady opens her hand bag with a zip, takes out her money purse with another zip. Her hair was cut with a zipper. Men can no longer take time to use buttons so the trousers are equipped with zippers. Shirts zip closed. Hats with zipper bands. The other day I bought a package of cheese and believe it or not, I zipped it open. Razor blades. Meats, fish, delicacies of all kinds are protected behind a zip. I asked my friend the object of using zippers on everything and he told me it was to save time. He said that by using zippers on clothing and food supplies many minutes each day may be saved for valuable use and that no one but an old moss back will use buttons. Well, I thought, I may be a moss back but I am in good company for God has no use for zippers. He knows that time will bring everything so He waits with patience and some day He takes the harvest and no zippers are used. Religion is an emotion; a moving of the mind and soul; an exultation of the soul’s belief in God and no zippers are required to develop a belief that is simply taking God at His word. Here on earth men and women to save time, time which is not theirs, use zippers and after their use the troublesome question remains to be solved. Before any person ever heard of zippers our fore parents learned that faith is developed by belief. My mother never used a zipper and yet her faith in God was justified. She knew and she taught it to her children, that justification is divine assurance of our acceptance with God. Believing as she believed and as my fore parents taught me to believe and as I have tried to teach my children to believe the surprise to me it not that in many cases we have all failed but that we have gone so far down life’s highway, walking with God and yet he have found no use for zippers. God has given many gifts to humanity, but no rarer gift was ever placed in man’s reach than Belief. Just to believe! Think what it means what peace and comfort just to believe and have faith in the promises made. I believe. I have faith. I have hope. During my life I have violated all the laws but during these present and coming years I shall believe. Thank you, Mrs. Kopecky, for the gift of a dozen fine tomatoes. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. A visitor the other day referred to the Kopecky store as a liquor store. This is not true, for no liquor is sold or kept on the place. He sells beer and other soft drinks. I much rather give my child a bottle of clean, wholesome beer, than a bottle of koke which, in my opinion, is an abomination to any tummy. And by the way, why keep on pronouncing this man’s name “Kopecky,” “pecky.” The correct pronunciation is Kopesksky, “pesk sky.” It is a Bohemian name with Slavic roots, so why not pronounce it correctly? Another beer, Mr. Kopesksky. The death of Rupert Hendricks [Hendrix] presents an unusual situation. He not only leaves a wife and five small children, but he leaves a rice crop about half made. We have enough men familiar with rice culture to handle this crop and without any charge to the family save “the widow’s mite.” It is a grand chance to demonstrate Christianity. I have only half a brain so am mentally operating on half. I have a glass eye and a wooden leg, so am physically incapacitated. I have a roll that would choke the smallest dog. Morally I have broken all the laws, BUT I hereby offer to pay the wage of a man for a day in this rice field. I’ll supply his lunch also. Men of Collegeport, here is an opportunity to walk with Jesus, show the world that here lives Christian men. This widow’s mite can be saved if our men are Christians. The singing of psalms and the saying of prayers will not grow rice. Until the sacks are in the warehouse this family will be in need. Onward Christian Soldiers Marching As To War With the Cross of Jesus going on before. Come on you men of Collegeport, let’s hold the cross. Wednesday we were treated to a young Gulf storm. Accompanied by heavy rain and electrical disturbances, the gale blew for thirty minutes at a 60-miles rate, and gusts went as high as 70. Quite a lot of light stuff distributed. Thursday came Mrs. Murry and her daughter, Miss Mamie, and a big sack of fine tomatoes. There we found two varieties, one had plenty of juice and seeds while the other was as sound as an apple and could be consumed in same manner. Mrs. Murry reported that from a small patch she had put up 45 quarts. High temperatures the rule so far the last two weeks, but thanks be, we have a fine breeze night and day off the Gulf. Miss Mary Louise Wells came for a call on Saturday and brought her mother, Mrs. Gerald Wells, along as a chaperone. This is my first view of Miss Wells and I find that people have been very truthful for she is indeed a very sweet and beautiful young woman, being just under three years old. I am glad she brought a chaperone for I have no desire to be mixed up in any scandal. Miss Wells evidently did not enjoy my presence for she refused to speak to me. Oh, well, Mary Louise, come again some time and we will get acquainted, for I love little girls and I might love you if given a chance. Heard the United States Marine Band play The Star Spangled Banner and I hesitated to stand at salute as is the custom in our family because the banner looked as though it had lost its brightness. The white in the stripes was tinged with red and two or three were all RED. The banner looked as though our people were not giving it much attention. It has been dragged in the dirt by men of foreign birth whose roots never were tangled with the red, white and blue and a president looks calmly on and insists that no law has been broken. The Star Spangled Banner has lost some of its brilliance and it steps be not taken to wash out the unwanted red we shall see the banner further insulted.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, July
8, 1937 |
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Wonder how many of you have read the tale of “The Forgotten Man.” A pitiful tale. Reading it brings the tears. Prepare to cry. July third I was the forgotten man. It was a holiday and I, feeling the holiday spirit was quite perked up, dressed in my white suit ready for company and so I waited for felt sure someone would think of me and give me a call. I am unable to read, the radio was dead. I had no urge to write, so sat and twiddled my fingers and believe it or not, but not a living soul, not even a dog or bird passed our gate from early morn until dark night. I felt so lonesome. I sure wanted to see some friendly face and hear some voice, but this was denied me and when evening came with its darkening hour I looked at the miserable wretch and said, “Mamma it sure looks as though I am the forgotten man and you his miserable wretch.” Not even did a car honk the horn as it passed. We were forgotten by man, but not by God. He remembered and we read His book to our comfort and joy. Sunday was a bit better for came the ice man with a dripping bundle. Then came Hester Hendricks [Hendrix] with Barbara Hale. Barbara is such a brave sweet child, that just to look at her and hear her say “I feel fine” causes one to be ashamed that one does not smile and say “I feel fine.” This closed the day and we were again forgotten. Monday I suffered a serious relapse and soon as it became known my friends began to flock. They wanted to be in on the end. Tuesday I was taken to Dr. Wagner who gave me one “remedy” and I rested at the Harrison home thanks to their always generous hospitality and home feeling much better. Some of the old timers will remember the Campbell family and the boy, Merwin. Merwin made the photogravure section of the Chronicle last Sunday and he made a column in the American. Why? What for? Simply because he tackled the nearest thing and made a success. Catching rattlesnakes, collecting venom, tanning hides, making curio articles, selling live snakes at Carlsbad, New Mexico. The pictures show Merwin in action handling a big rattler. Maybe he will come here some day and bring a bag of snakes. Might put some action in some of our burghers. Merwin has made a success handling snakes. How many of our young folk made the foto section of a column in the American. Not me. I don’t like snakes. Monday I took a load of empties back to Mrs. Kopecky. Empties? Yes, some old catsup bottles we did not need. Mr. Kopecky was so tickled that he gave me two cans of something or other. The cans had Pabst on the side. I gave ‘em to the miserable wretch and she said “Wonder what this may be. Do you suppose he is trying to alkerize us with a dose of alka seltzer?” I said let’s try one and we did and by George it was nothing but a dose of fine ice cold beer. After this experience, we shall have no fear of being alkerized at the Kopecky store. Guess I’ll take over a few more catsup bottles. Wonder where-in-the-hell they came from. I am a strict pro and that is well known. Say these here bankers are queer fellows. When I went to Houston I needed cash for two tickets and asked my banker for ten grand, but he beat me down to twenty dollars and now he wants this here twenty back. Says good banking demands that they have a chance to see the real cash once in a while. I tried to make him understand that a loan like mine was a safe investment and he ought to feel safe and secure, but he kept on wanting to see the real cash. The best banks are the ones that let people have money when they want it. Banks are to distribute money and not to keep it for their own use. Well, it looks as though I’ll have to dig up twenty dollars. My banker is a swell fellow except when it comes to lending out a few dollars and then he gets a little hard boiled. Thursday 9:00 a. m. just received word that Vern Batchelder’s condition has changed for the other side and that it is quite serious, serious enough so word has been sent to his family. We pray and with faith have hope and belief that the crisis will pass and pray this good boy’s smile will again be seen as he goes about his business of aiding others. “O Lord, save Thy servant. Who putteth his trust in Thee. Send him help from thy high place. And ever more defend him. Let the enemy have no advantage over him. Nor the wicked to hurt him. Be unto him, O Lord, a strong tower; O Lord, hear our prayer, and let our cry come unto Thee.” I wrote these words at 11:30 Thursday morning and even then death was taking from earth this beautiful soul. Vern died as I wrote. It seems impossible that never shall I hear his voice, fell his hand on mine. The community has suffered its great loss. None are left to take his place. No group of six or a dozen can fill the place. Many will miss this man. Long ago Vern forgot the word “No” and never could he refuse an appeal for aid. No one knows the number helped for Vern talked little and did much. He had no need to affiliate with any religious organization. He practiced his religion out in the open, every day doing something Christ would do. If ever a Christian lived, here lived one. If ever a soul was taken into heaven, this soul entered into this rest. Always so gentle kind, tender, helpful, willing, talking little, doing much, he led a quiet, useful life. How good he was to me during my severe illness and one day he sat by my bed and said, “Mr. Clapp the limit of your credit is the top of my stock.” That was Vern. I loved that boy. My tears have been shed freely. I shall miss him daily. A sweet soul has passed. Someone has said that God never gave us a life. He only loaned it. If this be true, God has exacted return. This community will never recover from this loss. Vern was born in Kansas and came here about 1909 with his family. Early in his life he married Grace Shuey, a very sweet, beautiful girl. Grace survived only about two years and died leaving an infant child which passed over soon after the mother. Vern faced the world with an empty heart but a brave soul. He carried on alone for years until he knew Vera Williams and so three years ago they married and for the first time in years, Vern had a home. A delightful, joyous, happy home it was, for Vera only lived to make her man’s life a happy and pleasant one. This is the tragedy. A happy home, the lives of two fine folk sacrificed, a home in ruins, a broken heart, a beautiful flower plucked at its fairest bloom and taken to God’s garden leaving the other sweet flower to bloom alone. I tell you readers of this that this community has been visited by a terrible calamity. God’s hand has fallen heavily. We mourn. We shed tears. We cry out for comfort and it comes only from the cross. I loved this boy, I give my tenderest love to the sweet little wife. A dear, faithful, loving little woman. God be merciful to her. The funeral was held from the Presbyterian Church, Palacios, with Reverend M. A. Travis delivering the sermon. The pallbearers were: M. S. Holsworth, William Korn, Melvin Spoor, Amos Johnson, Vern Bowers and Hugo Kundinger, all close friends. The Walker-Matchett Company were in charge of the arrangements and the final interment in the cemetery was in charge of the Palacios Masonic body, of which he was a member. Friends from all over the county poured into Palacios in countless number all eager to prove their love for this man and to lay upon the altar evidences of affection. I was unable to attend. I write these words with painful effort. My last and loving tribute to the memory of this great and good man. God rest this soul. God comfort the living. A gallant soldier of the cross has passed.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, July
22, 1937 |
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Day comes after day. Night falls. Eventide calls and so we have the lights and the shadows of life. “I am so sorry to hear of Vern Batchelder’s passing. He was such a fine man and I always remember how good he was to all of the little girls when I was a little girl—hauling us around the country, to picture shows, picnics and other attractions and goodness knows it took a very good natured person to put up with us.” “And when the lights are lit Dear Homecrofters: It grieves me that my friend is not well again. I sincerely hope that the next issue of the Tribune will bring me better news and some more wonderful “Thoughts.” The world is so much better for the broad and deep philosophy that permeates each issue of Harry Austin Clapp’s Thoughts. I am very busy in the rush of business but when the hectic days are over and I can relax a few moments my thoughts often turn to the peace and quiet of Homecroft.” Jesus needed help. He walked along the shore of the sea and He found a man dragging shrimp and He said, “Follow me and I’ll show you how to shrimp.” Another was hauling oysters and Jesus said, “Let the oysters go and follow me.” And these men did until Jesus had a group of ignorant, illiterate men, only one with evidence of study and so He went out afishin’ for men. He needed no roof, no pulpit. He preached out in God’s great outdoors and He caught men who no other place could have been caught. Here in Collegeport as I write is a man who believes that he has a message. He holds services each night on the shore of the sea and he is reaching a group of men no other method could reach. Some of our good Christians call this man a hypocrite. Jesus was also called a hypocrite but he reached men and after all isn’t that the idea? Isn’t the church organized to save? In my opinion if the good church folk will stop criticism, stop quarreling among themselves, quit saying bitter words and “let the net down on the other side of the ship, they may catch some fine fish.” All right, I am informed that the Presbyterian Board has sent Reverend Pope here as local pastor for a term of three months. Mr. Pope appears to be a man of education, well read, has traveled extensively, is a good judge of men. He is well versed in Bible lore and can tell about it in an interesting manner. Some of the Junto don’t like him so he is in for one sweet time if he has any success. I am just sitting here on the side listenin’, talkin’ little, but thinkin’ much. Maybe I am all wrong. No man with as feeble a brain as I posses can hope to be right all time. Well Wednesday a day of expectancy for it meant the coming for our forty-second anniversary of our lovely daughter. We journeyed to Bay City with Myrtle Duffy and arrived back home at one a. m., but we had our girl. It was a trying experience for me but thanks to Mrs. Carl Boeker who operates “Mrs. Boeker’s Place” I had a clean, sweet room to rest in with south exposure, refreshing breeze and so I was able to recuperate. Mrs. Boeker is a Collegeport woman and she sure was fine to me in extending the hospitality of her place. She has performed wonders with the old Nuckols Hotel and enjoys a good business. In the evening came Miss Callie Metzger and we spent the waiting hours in a most interesting visit recalling events of Collegeport’s early days. Yes, we had a happy evening sitting in front of Mrs. Boeker’s place. Also came Rev. and Mrs. Paul Engle as participants in our gab fest. About midnight the train arrived and from it we received our girl. Four days of joyous celebration of our marriage, July 24, 1895. That’s a long time for two people to live and always love and give. We have, and this day we are two happy folk. The week has been a hard one. Much excitement—too much for my delicate health. Many calls on my strength. Desire to furnish my usual copy and seldom able to write more than ten minutes but remembering that a little added to what one has makes a little more here in the production. One of my pleasures was seeing Mrs. John Reynolds. She looks like her father, D. P. Moore, a man I was very fond of. I was glad to have the opportunity of a visit with her and to send my respect to her dear mother. Friday came Mrs. Raymond Waters (Louise Walter) with one of her darling babies. Louise is one of Collegeport’s splendid girls. I have seen her grow from babyhood and develop into a very charming young wife. Sunday came Mrs. Vernon Hurd and her daughter, Thelma, and her sweet little niece for a short call on Mary Louise. At 12:30 p. m. she left us to return to her work at the A. & M. College. Four sweet days and now we, meaning I and the miserable wretch, are sitting home waiting for return. I am grieved to learn of the continued illness of my old friend, Carey, Senior, and I pray God to bring him back to health and ability to give further valuable service to our people. You folk will have to be satisfied with this copy. It is all I am able to write. Almost I forgot a little tale. On May, 1912, I bought at the Whitmire Store, Ganado, Texas, a panama hat for which I paid the sum of six dollars. I have worn this hat every year since. I have used it milking cows, picking cotton, doing garden work. I have used it in rain and in sunshine until it was as wilted as a dead wash rag. It has been dirty and unsightly for twenty-five years it has served well and never failed me. Several times I had it cleaned and it came back bright and chippy. This year I brought it out, sent it to the Houston Hat Co. with instructions to block, clean, ribbon and lining and it came back as white and sweet as if direct from the factory box and I am wearing for the twenty-fifth year my panama hat and you believe it or not.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, July
29, 1937 |
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The show must go on. The world must move. The sun must rise and fade at the end of the day. The stars swing in their orbits, night following night. Agriculture, manufacturing, industry of all kinds must go on. Nothing may stop, so when I write “The Show Must Go On” I mean that the presses which carry world news to a news hungry people must not stop and so when I learned of the passing of the man who made the Tribune. I knew that his last wish it heard was that the Presses Never Stop. The Master of the Tribune has passed. The thick pad of yellow copy sheets, with the big pencil, is on the desk, the linotype chatters, the big press gently purrs, but the hand that directed and guided for so many years is stilled in death. Carey Smith made the Tribune out of nothing. I knew him from the day he arrived in Bay City and took charge as a hired manager. I have been an intimate friend. I have been closely associated with his work, for all these years I have been a contributor. When Carey Smith arrived in Bay City and took over the Tribune he was housed in a ramshackle building that weaved with every wind. The floors were littered with old papers and debris of various kinds. It was some time before he could bring the semblance of order but he made progress and the Tribune has never ceased to make progress. Carey Smith chained himself to a desk and for years sat there writing copy—copy that not only stirred local folk into action but overflowed over the Midcoast and a goodly part of Texas. His editorials were written with a trenchant pencil—they had a snap that carried the message. Many of the political, both state and county problems that he sponsored, became laws. Often have I read of something he believed in and sponsored and standing alone he fought the solution out. Time came along and verified his ideas. My contact with this man caused me to become very fond of him. I loved him and a great pleasure was to sit in his presence and listen to him discourse on state, county and community affairs. More than often time demonstrated the truthfulness of his predictions. Well chained to that desk he fought the fight alone for years always making progress. Early in his Matagorda County life he realized the potential value of the paper in his charge and began to accumulate stock of the Tribune Printing Company until at last he was sole owner. Since that day building has been rapid as witness the magnificent building, two stories and 25X150 and filled with the most expensive and latest printing devices. And the grand thing about it is that all extension commitments were arranged for in advance. Payment became a mere matter of form. Carey detested debt. The Tribune stands today a remarkable monument to the ideals, visions and ideas of this man. This man needs no stone. Here stands his monument. Frequently as I talked with him have I been amazed at the wonderful fertile brain and as he elucidated I was struck with wonder and astounded with the facile and easy arguments. I know of no man during the last twenty-five years who has exercised so profound an influence on the lives and the homes of the inhabitants of Matagorda County. He exercised this influence with his active brain transcribing through that pencil of lead. How easy the words ran along that copy paper. He possessed an active brain and one was astonished at the great fund of information he had ready for use. How easily it flowed from that brain to the lead pencil and yellow paper. I loved Carey Smith, Sr. and I shed tears and grieve and mourn for I shall miss his friendly voice of welcome. The Show Must Go On. The Tribune must issue and so it is fortunate that Carey Smith, Jr. has developed an unusual business ability and has assumed the burden putting into effect the teachings and ideas of the father. I have watched the boy from babyhood and he is making good. I am very proud of him—his ability as a writer—his able business activity. Yes, the Tribune is fortunate. Under the conservative judgment of Junior the Tribune marches on, giving greater and finer service to the people it serves.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, July
29, 1937 |
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In my travels about this country in connection with metal mining, I have made contact with several tribes of Indians, for example the Navajos, Papagos, that fierce tribe lead by Geronimo, the Mayos and Yaquios, another fierce tribe, all of these are half civilized but the original savage of this continent is the Seri Indian living on Tiburon Island in the Gulf of California. I have never been on the island. Few white men have and returned. I have seen these savages on the mainland. My interest in this moment is the women. In every case the women are doing what they could to beautify themselves. They all painted faces and bodies. Every one painted and pointed her fingernails, some using brilliant reds, some greens, yellows and the Seri maidens used a glaring white until married and then, quite appropriately, used black. The hair of all was given special care. Some done up in cute little curl balls, others filled with grease and patted into small mounds. Every Indian or savage woman I have met did these things and when I asked they would shrug a shoulder and say, “My man he like.” And the fashion of our own girls and women is to paint faces, horrible disfigured finger nails which God intended should be shown in pearly flesh tints. A mouth becomes a bright red gash in what might be a beautiful face. Many girls either do not wear hose or use hose without toes so that they may exhibit painted toe nails. One girl gilded her toe nails. It was disgusting. All this done just as with the savage, to attract the attention of the other sex. Little care is given to mental decoration, all is a physical attraction. Most men stand for it. They think it silly and foolish and say little but men of refinement and culture look upon these efforts with disgust. They want something besides horribly painted finger and toe nails, gashed lips, plucked brows, brilliantined eyes. The modern girl, like the savage, says, “My man, he like,” and so they go on with their humorous attempts to snare the opposite sex. Girls all this takes you no place. Keep clean and sweet for there is no softer perfume than that of a clean body. Hot water, fine soap, good food, sunlight, exercise, good sleep are the things that puts the bloom in beautiful tints on cheek and lip. Just the ruminations of an old dub who having been around the ring, thinks he knows something. These attempts are called The Froth of Life. It is the same thing found on top of a stein of what comes out a Kopecky can. My man he no like. When I was a lad, to say that a man was an engineer meant that he operated a steam engine on the railroad or a stationary steam engine but today any fellow who can toss a pancake in the air and turn it over is an engineer. I was a liar once, but only once, and here’s the tale. Father’s store was the hand-out place of a bunch of Republicans such as Tom Cooper, John Murry, Hackenberg, Newkirk, and others. I used to hang around to listen in. One day father thinking I had heard enough, gave me five cents so I hiked to Dan Ranks and bought a tall glass of soda water. When I returned father said, “How did you spend your money?” and in reply I said, “I bought some soda water.” He simulating surprise said, “Why did you drink a whole glass of soda?” That struck me as something wrong and I told him I gave half to George Beisel. That was a lie. It bothered me. At home I told mother and she demanded I confess to father. Gosh, that was something terrible. Father came home and went into the wood shed which suggested something perilous. When he found out that I was a criminal he told sister Lucy to get a peach sprout. Lucy always enjoyed cutting peach sprouts. Father took me into the parlor and when he was ready to apply the sprout he burst into tears and laid the sprout on the floor and putting his arms about me shed tears. Boy that was terrible. I have never forgotten the episode. My father never cried again because I lied. Monday I was alone, for my side-kick was in Bay City. I expected a tough day, but along comes Mrs. Murry, then Mrs. Ash, who stayed about an hour and a half and gave me two chickens. When I wanted to pay for them she got real peeved. She is one of my prized friends. Fine heart. Generous soul. Wish God made more like my friend, Mrs. Ash. My miserable wretch came home to my delight and then a car came to the door and I had two beautiful visions. Two handsome guests in the persons of Mrs. John Cherry and Mrs. Everett Bond of Bay City. Mrs. Cherry brought me one of them there gorgeous “Cherry” apricot pies. I feel sorry for these who have not enjoyed one of these grand pies. Filled with a generous filling of apricot cream, beautiful in color and in texture soft as an infant’s kiss. Many cooks can make a swell top crust, but few can make a lower and upper both tender, both crispy, crunchy, flaky and good keepers. Mrs. Cherry knows how and her “Cherry” apricot pies are something to dream about. Gosh, but I was a happy lad to have that delicious pie. It was a sweet pie made by a sweet girl. Two sweet, well groomed, intelligent, refined, cultured women. I was proud and happy that they thought of me in my shut in situation and came to see me. What a wonderful two hours we spent. When God made those girls he used star paint and gave them the glow of health. I love them both. I really do, and don’t write it in hopes of another pie. Gosh, no for I am not a liar. It seems that the grim reaper is striking often in this place. We have known for many months that Mrs. W. H. Boeker was not in good health. Last week she was taken to a Houston hospital where she underwent an operation and died Saturday morning. The funeral was in charge of Taylor Brothers, with services at the Bay City Methodist Church with Rev. Mr. Cornell reading the service. The pallbearers were her four grandsons and two nephews. Interment in the Bay City Cemetery. Mrs. Boeker was a woman of gracious dignity and no doubt as a girl was very beautiful. She was the mother of three children, Carl, Hubert and Lona, but not satisfied with this she took over nine which she clothed, housed, fed and educated and for this she has received her crown of glory. Not all women show much motherhood. She will be missed in this community and all give sympathy to Mr. W. H. Boeker, who is left alone after more than forty years of companionship. Writing about the Boy Scouts, I gave the name of little Joe Paine and mentioned that he was dead. Friday there came to me his brother, Waller, a Tenderfoot Scout, and told me Joe was alive, married, with two twin boys. Joe is a traffic manager for a tank line and has charge of routing tank cars. Waller is a gas inspector for a gas line company. He was here with his wife and two children. This is great news for us for Joe lived with us for several years and we were very fond of him. Two of my Boy Scouts of 25 years ago. This has been tough copy to write, but the week has been a pleasant one with many callers. Friday I had a pleasant call from Fred Law, Jr. Fred told me that his dad was busy at the store so he only brought his mother. He invited me to visit him some day and said, “If you come I’ll see that you have fried chicken.” This makes the trip a sure thing. I guess from what Fred told me that he is one of a very happy family. Fred is four months old and weighs eighteen pounds.
The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, August
12, 1937 |
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BROUGHT FIRST TRAIN OF SETTLERS TO TEXAS; DID MUCH FOR THIS COUNTY Taken from the Writings of J. S. Cullinan and Carey Smith, Sr. The history of the development of Matagorda County would be incomplete without the history of the men whose years of far reaching insight into the future, who fearlessly took risks that would make way for those who came after, who were the pathfinders for advancements. One of the builders in Matagorda County whose activities for twenty years during the height of immigration, when greatly encouraged by the railway companies penetrating the Gulf Coast country from Port Arthur to Point Isabel, was Burton D. Hurd, a man of powerful personality, keen judgement, a discerning mind and a keen sense of values. It has been said of Mr. Hurd that he lived a full quarter of a century ahead of the times. This is clearly evidenced in a resume of his twenty-five years of bringing people to Texas and the manner in which he prepared for the well-being of his people. Burton D. Hurd was born on a stock farm in Hamilton County, Iowa, where his parents, of Scotch-Irish ancestry, settled in 1865, his progenitors having been land owners near Windsor, Connecticut, before 1640. After public school he graduated from Spaulding's Business College in Kansas City, Missouri, working days and going to college at nights. After having been active in the development and organization of reclaimed lands in central and northwestern Iowa, Mr. Hurd attracted the attention of Arthur Stilwell, builder of railroads. In 1897 he furnished young Hurd with an entire train of Pullman cars, free of cost, which he filled with prospective settlers and prominent men and came to Port Arthur, Texas, where a tract of 40,000 acres of land was sold to settlers. It was the special free trip that laid the foundation for the future development that followed of 16 separate ranch properties along the Gulf Coast of Texas, from Port Arthur to old Point Isabel, on the Mexican border aggregating more than a half million acres. Fourteen canal systems were financed and built for irrigation of rice; roads, rice mills, warehouses, drainage ditches, schools and churches went into the improvement plan on a large scale. Included in this was the opening for sale of the first lands at Kingsville on the great King ranch, at Sarita on the Kennedy ranch, and another special train of prominent people with B. F. Yoakum on his railroad to open Mercedes, Texas, another garden spot of the south. Also included in the tremendous acreage of land developed by Mr. Hurd and his associates was 56,000 acres on the west side of the Colorado in Matagorda County and 25,000 acres on the east side; 16,000 acres west of Tres Palacios River south from the M. P. R. R. to the head of the bay in Matagorda County. It has been said of this fine friend, neighbor and home builder that he never cared a cent for any dollar that could not be used for the betterment of the human family. His aim was always to the highest and his fertile mind constantly was active in the behalf of the development of this country. Matagorda County Tribune, Century of Progress Edition, August 26,1937, Section 7, Pages 1 and 7.
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By Dena D. Hurd Collegeport is located on the east side of Tres Palacios Bay and on the site of the headquarters of the Ace of Clubs Ranch, the ancestral ranch of Mr. A. B. Pierce. The history of Collegeport is the history of the development of a 50,000 acre tract of land extending from the Colorado River on the east to the Tres Palacios Bay and River on the West and to Matagorda Bay on the southeast. January 20, 1908 the Burton D. Hurd Land Company purchased the Ace of Clubs Ranch for the purpose of subdivision ad selling in small farms to buyers to the north and east. The site of Collegeport was selected for its location because it was near the center of the development. It was called Collegeport because the first project proposed toward the development was the building of a college for the education of boys and girls in the industrial arts. Later on, the World War caused the abandonment of the college project. Grazing land and farms surround this town noted for its fishing, oyster beds, pure soft artesian water, gardens each month of the year and contented people. There are two general stores, a drug store, a restaurant, a community house and a community church. The Collegeport Woman's Club owns a library of 2,000 volumes of well assorted and selected books, and is housed in its own building, a gift of the Missouri Pacific Railway Company. There are no hotels in Collegeport, but guests are cared for in the homes of residents. The Daily Tribune and Matagorda County Tribune, Centry of Progress Edition August 26,1937 Section 7, Page 4
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MEMORIES
OF AN OLD SCOUT By Harry Austin Clapp The other day the mother of a scout who attended the jam in Washington was visiting me and after I told her my scout tale, she asked me to write it for the special edition. She was a beautiful mother, cultured, refined, intelligent, and I fell in love with her at once. So here is the tale. In 1912 the Scout movement was only two years old in America and as I read about it in the press I had a desire to organize a patrol in Collegeport, so made application. It was granted and in July, 1912, I received my commission as a Scoutmaster. A troop was organized and we had two patrols. Every member was in uniform and fully equipped with such items were required. This was the first Scout organization in Matagorda County and I was the first Scoutmaster. I taught the boys how to make an Indian fire, to make damper bread and stick bread, to make coffee in a tin can, to broil beef on a willow stick, how to pack corn in the shuck, with potatoes and a chicken or fish heavily coated with clay and all packed in a red hot pit. I took them on hikes and taught them how to tie the bowline, braid and splice rope. First aid was given special attention and many other things too numerous for my space. We took long hikes, sometimes twenty to fifty miles, each boy packing half a pup tent with their outfit. No hard roads those days. Most of the hike was cross country and we used the scout pace. We hiked fifteen minutes, rested five, and made good time. At a river we shucked off our duds and had a splash, much to the disgust of certain good home folks who thought it terrible that I should undress and splash around naked with the boys. It was indeed, terrible, but not nearly as terrible as when we would hold a boy down and allow a mud turtle to crawl across his belly. Good folk, that was awful, judging from the yowls of terror which emanated from the river bank. This was a punishment for sneaking a cig. We organized a hike to Bay City and were to camp on the court house lawn by invitation of Judge Holman, but some of the merchants objected so we just hiked cross country. Took a boat to Palacios, but the local hoodlums made so much fuss calling us sissies and baby boys that we were not allowed to land. Some of those bums are in business this day. Our most pretentious hike was a trip to Galveston when the Intracoastal Canal was opened. We hired a boat and the trip was financed by the business men of the burg and easily financed. Today I could not raise enough money to enable me to hoist the anchor. We started early Saturday morning with Mrs. Clapp as hostess. Some of the boys had never been outside the county and were amazed at street cars, elevators, etc. The first night we spent at the mouth of the San Bernard and at noon were at Freeport where we were the guests of the Tarpon Inn with a turkey dinner. That night with other boats of the fleet headed by the U. S. Army engineer's boat, the Colonel, we spent at Mud Island. We made Galveston without any trouble but high sea and took our place in the water parade reviewed by the governor and staff from the deck of an anchored ship. Tied up at dock and marched to the Galvez Hotel where, with the management's permission, we made camp on the lawn close to the hotel. The manager gave us free toilet and bath privileges in the hotel. We were escorted to our camp ground by a detachment of Galveston Scouts and enroute we stopped at the Galveston News and were address by the editor. On our return trip the Galveston Scouts escorted us back to our ship. All during the trip we prepared our own meals and continued to do so when we were camped except when invited out by good folk. Strict discipline was exacted and no boy was allowed to leave camp alone. Always two. Bathing, pictures shows and other entertainments furnished recreation. The Scouts stood at attention and were addressed by Governor Colquitt and C. S. E. Holland, president of the canal association. The night of the grand parade was an exciting evening. The parade was on the sea wall boulevard and from Galvez Hotel to Fort Crockett. First the U. S. Army Band of about 100 pieces--then the Scoutmaster in uniform with Roy Miller at his side leading the Scouts, and then about 2, 000 U. S. soldiers with perhaps two more bands. Say, Boy Scouts, that was a grand parade and we were a proud bunch. When we returned, the Army gave a drill to music and my Scouts gave their staff drill to the strains of "The Trail of the Lonesome Dove." The last night discipline was thrown away and the boys given permission to go where they pleased without restriction, with the proviso that at ten thirty all should have reported and in bed. They were, and not one violation was reported. They kept the Scout faith and honor. The boys were several times invited to dinner by nearby café operators and one day they were the guests of the Galvez Hotel for luncheon. My tent was a balloon silk, 9x9 in size and I occupied it with two scouts. I slept on the ground, as all did, and ate the same food. I had long before taught them how to make a cozy bed on the ground and they slept sound and well. The time arrived for retreat, and, escorted by the Galveston Scouts, we were marched to the boat slip and with our equipment, plenty of food, and other necessities we boarded our ship and started on the home hike. The passage under the bascule bridge leaving the harbor presented a grave danger for the tide was a rip and the waves three to four feet high. I kept the Scouts in the cabin fearing one might be washed over. All down the bay we fought heavy seas, many of them breaking over our little ship and we were to be safe at Mud Island for the night. Starting early in the morning, we passed Freeport and were again entertained by Joe Reynolds, manager of the Inn. Tied up at San Bernard for the night and arrived at our local dock Sunday night about ten o'clock. Oh, yes, we had a dock in those days, in fact two, one in the bay and the other doc in the drug store. Nine days of great fun, never an accident, no illness, great fun at all times. Closing this tale, will add that the World War broke up my troop, for about all the boys joined some branch of federal service. Joe Paine in the Coast Artillery, Louis Powers in the Siberian campaign, one boy became an expert in sub construction, several on transports and I can hardly realize that one of my little Boy Scouts could be brave enough to leap into the Atlantic Ocean from a torpedoed transport to save his pal from drowning. It's true. All served. Cecil Morris served in the National Guard under Captain Richard Lewis, but for oversea service was turned down for physical defect. This nearly broke Cecil's heart. He lives in Houston, a strong hearty man. This is my scout story. When you Boy Scouts read this, remember that the first Matagorda troop was organized twenty-five years ago and that the writer of this column was the first Scoutmaster. I hope some of you boys will be interested. The tale is true and you may believe it or not. Matagorda County Tribune, Century of Progress Edition, August 26, 1937, Section 7, Pages 1 and 7
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I remember that on the 24th of January, 1909, my eyes first saw what I now call the place where the star fell. Leaving Chicago in a snow storm, the warm sunny days in Texas were relished. I was told that it was a land of winter vegetables, fruits, fish, oyster, geese and ducks, but during my stay, never did have opportunity at any vegetables except from cans, fruits were not seen and my appetite for sea food went, well just went without. I was shown the land and told that it was very rich hog wallow land and I could believe that statement for all over the prairie I could see where the hogs had wallowed. Under the hypnotic voice of Burton Hurd I found myself tied up to a debt of $1,600, when the most I expected to bind myself to was about fifty bucks for a tiny place for my shack. Believe me, but that man could sell ice in he-l. He sold me, but I have no regrets. I landed on Lot 50, Block 1, on March 17th and ever since folks have flown the green flag in commemoration. Came the erection of a shack, a sweet shack built by I and the miserable wretch. We were happy when we moved into our house goods and, Lord, Mamma was a proud bird and sitting on the tree branches preening her feathers and sang her song. We were free. Came the day when the town was born, the 25th of May, with two big bands, 1,500 people, speeches by W. S. Holman and Thos. H. Lewis, who spent the moments throwing flowers at each other. Saw Mrs. Holman, sweet, beautiful, dignified aristocratic carrying Andy in her arms. Big dance, heaps of happy faces: Victor Brasfield, G. M. Magill, Judge Jones, H. N. Sholl, and scores of others, each to have a part in the building of a biggity city. It builded to 485 ambitious folk and then subsided. That was terrible. Came plowing, planting, watching the growth, and then a storm and away went hopes. Post office opened and I rented Drawer C at 45 cents per quarter and have paid that sum for 27 years and still pay it each ninety days to that greedy official, Ben Mowery. If I don't pay he threatens to lock me out, the nasty sunuvagun. First bank opened in a hotel room with a tin can for a safe and H. N. Sholl as vice-president and Charles Duller as cashier. Church Sunday school started in the Mott Store with Mrs. Elmer leading in singing, and how she could sing, and Chauncy Brown as super. Both passed over now, God bless their faithful souls. Church organized by M. A. Travis and E. C. Van Ness. First school in a tent right where the Mopac House stands. Gulf Coast known as the G. C. U. with about 50 pupils, called in that day, scholars. Heigh ho! Collegeport Industrial League organized in Mott's store with W. H. Travis as president. Gus Franzen, Louis Walter, Mercks, Welsby, Wrights, Nelson drove in with buggies or wagons hauled by mules, and they came pa, ma, and the kiddies. Pavilion opened with dances, bathing, laughter, sports, fun galore, happy night, banquets, for we were a well fed bunch. Stores numbering about ten, brick bank building, lumber, hardware, dry goods, groceries. Watch us grow. Legg and Paine operating a dray line. John Long and Tom Morris driving the town bus from railroad to hotel. Very proud. Choo-choo with its welcome whistle. Sweet music to our ears. Conductor in uniform. George Duckworth as agent, unloading express and freight and wearing his official cap. Howdy George. To see a fellow picking his teeth on the hotel gallery set him aside as a plutocrat and gave him an air of distinction. Others envied him the wonderful privilege of eating at the hotel. Walter Wilkinson with his rubber tired buggy hitched to two sweet driving mules. Walter snooped around seeing what he might pick up. Rumor says he has been so successful that his family no longer eats grits. Callie Metzger down here for a ride in our only auto, a Maxwell. Many times with Callie 'neath the wheel it was necessary to use a team of mules for a starter. Often the tire busted wide open. Trips on Dena H. to Portsmouth and a fine dinner at the swell hotel operated by Major Jim and Mrs. O'Neal. Mr. Mott sells thread at five per spool. Charley Yeamans clerking for his mother selling calico. Ah there, Charley, some boy! Remember Herbert Adams, postmaster. Genial, kindly, smiling Herbert. The Chronicle with its eagerly read news. Remember Henry and Shelby Harrington? Also Ada Dierlam? Mrs. Dena Hurd organizing a woman's club and free library. She did. Both are living influences to this day. Call at the Mopac House. Oh, well, what the h--l Bill? I might go on and on but this will do for one day. Maybe Mirth will refuse to print such slush. Anyway we, meaning I and the miserable wretch, have enjoyed 42 years of married felicity. A happy life of close companionship and today with 75 and 70 years, we stand close together, unafraid, without fear, at peace with our God and facing the west, waiting. Welcomed last week with a brilliant pyrotechnique display. Two stars fell and while in the air broke into a million glittering fragments which illuminated Homecroft and brought us a joyous week-end. The stars were Mrs. Lena Harrison and Mrs. Colonel Taylor. They brought me a big soup bone and from Arthur Wright about six pounds of fine seedless grapes. You sweet stars, we wait with impatience your coming again. When the school board contracted with Jimmy Murry to drive the school truck two round trips per day, it took advantage of a situation which exists in a reputable family recently deprived of the father, husband and provider. It was a chance to perform a Christian act at small cost to the district. The paying of a living wage. But they failed. No member would take the job for the money named. Robbing the tin cup of a blind man would be preferable. Just my idea and I am most always wrong. No man with as feeble a brain as mine can hope to be right. I don't believe that Jess met with the board. A very commendable thing is the Bible study class, but it takes from the cotton field, children whose families are sadly in need of cotton money. I reckon folks who wish to know where Jesus is need look no farther than the cotton rows where farmers are saving the crop. God delights in the study of His book, but He is also delighted with honest effort to save food, shelter and clothes for the family wants this winter. Plenty of time for Bible study. Each member of the school board is a decent respected member of this community, but as a board, it is a mess whose actions I do not always approve of. I enjoy spinach, oysters, figs, chili concarne, tomatoes, ham, sardines, but if they were mixed up into pancake batter, I don’t think I would enjoy the result. Hey, Bill! Get off my foot. At last I have found my place in life. I am a dish washer. The miserable wretch plays old sol, listens to the radio, reads while I, a common scullery maid, toil in the heat of the kitchen, but up to date I have been virtuous believe it or not. Everyone to his job and I am a fine dishwasher and to date have not indulged in red finger nails. If you ever see a big crowd coming through your gate, it probably is the Merck clan. Get busy, dress and fry fifty chickens. Mr. Merck Senior thinks he is the head man, but those who know understand that Mrs. Sadie Merck is the Grand Sachem and runs the clan. She has raised to maturity eight children. All are married, so that makes sixteen. There are eight grandchildren, making 24, and pa and ma make a total of 26. A splendid family, especially the girl part. I fall easy and hard for girls. Well, anyway to shorten my talk, Thursday I was made very happy by a visit from Mrs. Sadie, Mrs. Viola Merck Legg and "Zadie Z and Sunshine Too" from Hockley. We sure had a merry time for about 60 minutes and after they left life seemed to brighten up. Things looked different...I felt better. Mrs. Merck sent me, via Dorothy Merck, six fine cantaloupes. Grand fruit picked from the Merck Cant tree. I wish that some day the entire clan of 26 would pour in and give a round of joyous glamorous pleasure. Also came the Shoemakers to tell me all about the big lake they are making out at the ranch. The lake will cover about eight acres and will have a depth of about eight feet and fed from a large artesian well. Mr. Shoemaker will stock the lake with gold fish and will sell the grown fish to the Rice Hotel in Houston where they will be served on golden plates at royal banquets. I have never been able to afford a meal of gold fish but hose who have pronounce them most excellent. It would be a grand thing if Mr. Pope would stop hanging around the few Christians we have and begin to associate with us sinners, for after all, it is the sinner that Christ was interested in. He did not give one single dam for the righteous. The fish he was after was just a poor, misguided, miserable sinner. Mr. Pope do you realize that there are only two or three Christians in this burg? Plenty of sinners and they need you. I have been a criminal for many years and I would enjoy being saved, so come over some time and let's have a visit. Boy we sure had a pouring-down rain Sunday. Sheets of water and soon the ground was a small sea. Interferes with cotton picking, but a few days sun will bring the fleecy staple out again. Ask Doc Korn. He knows. The smiling face of Amos Johnson adds to the attraction of Collegeport Supply. It is a glimpse of olden times. Many of us can remember this old day merchant and some should hang their heads in shame because they never paid their bill. Amos is an honest man, he is a genial man, generous, willing to help his neighbors. Yes, we are glad to see Amos once more handing out groceries. Hardly an hour passes free from the roar of planes flying from Camp Hulen, where eight thousand men are being trained. Many times they fly much too close to homes for comfort. Makes the occupants much too nervous for there would be no fun having a plane burst into one's dining room. Not any so far as I can judge.
The Daily Tribune and Matagorda County Tribune, Century of
Progress Edition, August 29, 1937, Section 7, Page 4 |
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Here I am out in the hot kitchen, toiling in hot dish water and from the front room I hear “yanktschi po pokiyi” which is Chinese and means “have you washed the dishes?” I reply, “Yessee, most honorable mamma, most humble servant have do.” Of course I use Japanese but do not desire to show off too much. Well here I am in the rumble grumble seat catching the dust from a sixty mile clip and on my way to Houston where I’ll be the guest of the Goodmans at Franklin Court until, well, say until Monday or somewhere close by. Saturday Mary Louise comes down from A. & M. and we celebrate our double birthday. Saves lots of coin, these double birthdays. If I were to be honored with ten kids I would have them all come on the same day. Might be tough for mamma, but would save papa much time. Hot weather fine for cotton picking. Cotton has a strange fascination and from breaking ground to the last boll it is a slaving job. It keeps people poor, in debt, grubbing slaves, and yet ask any of them to give up their beloved master and notice how far you go. Mr. and Mrs. John Shoemaker have returned from a trip to San Antonio and I am informed that they brought back a papa Goldberg and a mamma Goldberg which will be placed in the big lake and soon they expect a flock of little goldbergs which will soon supply the lake with enough goldbergs to enable them to make regular shipments. This being much too rich a food for local people, a market must be sought elsewhere. Such food is only to be served on golden plates to the members of the plutes. When I think of the condition of our federal building and the dangers which confront our sweet P. M. with the coming of winter’s blasts, I am worried. His quarters are crowded and he is obliged to sit huddled among the threatened wreckage all the time in danger. If something is not done we shall find him some day frozen stiff, encased in ice, his sightless eyes fixed on general delivery and in his frozen hands a three-cent stamp which he hoped to sell so he might buy food for his family. If we have any civic pride, which I doubt, we should put this matter up to General Farley and urge him to build a new and modern building, not exactly for the convenience of patrons, but to give comfort and life saving to as fine a P. M. (which means postmaster) as is serving the public this day. We must not allow Ben to suffer this winter. Well, the Centennial number of the Tribune came to us short of section one and six, but what we saw of it filled us with pride, not only in the Tribune and its wonderful issue, but in the young fellow who guided by the spirit of the Senior, was able to produce such a magnificent thrilling edition. We are waiting for the missing section and we are going to B. C. so we may see the DeLuxe edition. We only wish to see it. We never could dig up the fifty cents demanded for possession. This from “where the setting sun turns the ocean’s blue to gold.” Greetings to our dear friends. Keep up with the Thoughts which we always enjoy fine, better and better. We think and talk of you very often and sending best wishes for your health and happiness.” Here is a plant that for nearly thirty years has been watered with friendly waters, the soil stirred by loving hands and year after year it has bloomed in beautiful colors and throwing over the lives of two families the delicate and lasting perfume that cements lasting friendship. It has grown year after year, increasing in blossoms until it has developed a close kinship. Well the welcome message brought comfort to me and happiness to the house of Homecroft. Many times when I have felt there existed little necessity for “Thoughts” comes a postal or letter telling me of the reader’s pleasure and hoping I would not discontinue writing. So I pick up my Corona and behold the Tribune comes out with a new string of slush. Stop that giggling gal. Wipe that rand yard paint off your fingers. In my day prostitutes wore dresses clear to the shoes, every portion of their body covered. Today girls without shame walk the streets with just a GEE string, bare legs, bare bodies and I might write another bare. If my daughter appeared in such a shameless, disgusting, disgraceful costume, I would use the old hair brush on a tender part of her anatomy. Came my find friend, Mrs. Liggett, a strong woman in her morals. One always knows where she stands on every question. After she leaves I feel better. I have gained patience. Then came Dena D. Hurd and her son, Vernon. Fine boy is Vernon. Enjoyable visit, but they do not come often enough to please me. Splendid old friends. Beloved. I have two bantam roosters and two bantam hens. The roosters come to my sleeping porch mornings much too early and set up lusty crowing. No more sleepeye. I scatter feed for them and while they tell the hens about it my quail come for feed and yesterday about twenty of these lovely birds were picking feed along with the bantams, the little cocks alert for danger and the hens busy gathering in their share of food. Great pleasure to watch these birds. A big crane drops into the slough and out of sight in the brakes. Some day some ruthless killer will shoot my crane and transform him from a beautiful living wide-winged bird into a fess of ruffled feathers and rotten carrion. How terrible. How can anyone commit such a criminal tragedy? Anyone tell? On the ground fighting and snarling over disgusting carrion there is not much beauty in a buzzard, but wait until they spring into the air. Watch their graceful swing into the blue heavens. See them sweep without apparent efforts in wide circles covering miles of territory, every searching with eyes that see far and wide. A majestic bird when in the air. I like to watch them. My mocking bird leaps into the air from the chimney top and bursts into his sweet song. Some ruthless boy will no doubt take a shot at my mocking bird. Cruely! Ignorance! A fiendish desire for the kill. White-winged gulls with discordant notes, but how sweetly they fly and how beautifully they swing their way. Ever see a pelican drop like a shot into the by and rising with his luncheon all prepared? Nature gives us many wonders for our interest and pleasure. Since I have been unable to read, the miserable wretch, “God bless her soul,” reads to me and as she reads about the Chino-Jap war I am amazed at her command of the Chinese and Japanese language. I don’t think either a Jap or a Chink would understand her, but it sounds good and gives one the idea that one is listening to an accomplished linguist. Many of us will lift our eyes to the heavens and thank God that Congress has gone on and went home. Sometimes I wish I lived in King Solomon’s time and could have many wives. If I had at present about eight or ten, I would not have to wash dishes. The Japs or Chinks fire a shell that hits an American vessel and kills a sailor and wounds many people and all we do is name a commission to investigation. Bombs are dropped on the neutral section of the city and that calls for another investigation commission. Guess we are a bunch of silly cowards. We should slap both parties on the wrist. This would teach them a lesson, golburnem. My wooden leg was giving me some trouble, so I took it off and found that a bunch of boll weevils had fixed up a nice little nest and were enjoying life. I cleaned them out, greased the cogs and she works fine. Wish I could fix my glass eye as easily. Maybe Doc Bowden can give me a new eye. He can do some wonderful things with bum optics. While I am in Houston I’ll try and hunt up something bloody and gory to write about.
The Matagorda County Tribune, September, 1937? |
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The first meeting of the year was called to order at 2:45 p. m. Sept. 8, with Nancy Sutton presiding in the chair. At this meeting the following officers for the year were elected: Nancy Sutton, president; Lillian Maddox, vice-president; Betty Lashbrook, secretary; Onieda Bullington, treasurer, and Dorothy Williams, song leader. The girls voted unanimously on Miss Margaret Hill as sponsor and Miss Annette Johnson as assistant sponsor. The club adjourned to meet Friday, Sept. 17. The following girls were present: Nancy Sutton, Betty Lashbrook, Dorothy Williams, Onieda Bullington, Adda Bagley, Otha Floyd Mize, with our sponsor Miss Margaret Hill. Batty Lashbrook, Sec’y.
The Matagorda County Tribune, September 16,
1937 |
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The Collegeport Home Demonstration Club met at the home of Mrs. Dorothy Merck Tuesday, Sept. 14. All members but one were present, and four visitors attended. After the regular order of business, Mrs. Sides took charge and gave a talk on walks and driveways of different kinds, using pictures she had taken to illustrate. She gave a report on the agents’ meeting at A. & M. Refreshments of cake, cookies and iced tea were served. Mrs. Roy Nelson, Reporter.
The Matagorda County Tribune, September 23,
1937 |
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Mr. Franzen accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Goff were Bay City visitors one day last week. At the called business meeting of the Church it was voted to retain the present pastor, Rev. Pope. We are glad to report that Mr. H. A. Clapp, who has been ill for some time, is better at this writing. Mr. and Mrs. Harbison, Mrs. Hensley and Rev. Pope were business visitors in Bay City, Sat. Misses Margaret Hill and Annette Johnson attended the Teacher retirement meeting in Bay City, Sat. The Women’s Demonstration Club met with Mrs. Crane, Tuesday, and finished plans for achievement day which will be Oct. 12. Mr. and Mrs. Homer Goff and family of Houston were Sunday guests of their parents Mr. Boeker and Mr. and Mrs. Goff Sr. Misses George Alice Jones and Roberta Liggett, who are students at A. and I. in Kingsville, were week end visitors with home folk. The Girl Reserves had a weiner roast Friday night on the beach near the Mowery home. About 7 p. m. we all gathered to hunt wood for our fire. We roasted weiners, bacon and marshmallows, having lively conversation and songs for our entertainment. Before our fire died out, we played numerous games and sang more Reserve songs. Our teachers and high school boys were our guests. The Girl Reserves held their regular meeting Thursday afternoon in room four of the High School building. Miss Carter, our counselor from Houston, was with us and talked about our years work, giving some good instruction. She also gave the Cabinet members some books relating to their official duty. Our sponsor, Miss Hill, told Miss Carter of our plan to have a Girl Reserve room for our meetings also to hold our entertainments in as we expect to entertain our mothers and friends. As a group of new girls we are going to do our best. Members present were Nancy Sutton, Dorothy Williams, Betty Lashbrook, Otha Floyd Mize, Oneida Bullington and Florence Clark.
Palacios Beacon, October 7, 1937 |
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Mr. Carl Boeker was in the Valley on business several days. School was dismissed Wednesday so the pupils could go to the circus at Bay City. The school bus took a load. Mr. C. W. Boeker of Bay City was an over night visitor with his grandfather Boeker one night last week. Mrs. Ellis Jensen of Palacios was a Saturday guest at the home of her brother, Mr. Harbison and Mrs. Harbison. Mrs. Fulcher visited her daughter, Mrs. Tom Hale at Yoakum, Wednesday. Mrs. Hale is there under a Doctor’s care. Mrs. Sides, County Demonstrator, was here Monday conferring with the 4-H Club and Women’s Club about their achievement day. She and Miss Ethel Nelson were College Station visitors Tuesday where Ethel had a 4-H Club display. The Women’s Union met with Mrs. Holsworth, Sr., Thursday, at 2:30 p. m. with twelve members and guests attending. After a very interesting lesson on India and Alaska a social hour was enjoyed. The hostess served punch and cake. The King’s Daughters will also meet with Mrs. Holsworth, Oct. 21. The 4-H girls and Women’s Club held their achievement day at the Community House Tuesday afternoon and evening. The display of fancy work, canned goods, cake and bread, made one think they were at a county fair. This work is one to be commended. We hope next year to have a bigger and better display. The boys of the sixth, seventh and high school grades, with their principal, Mr. Harbison, camped on Coon Island, Friday night. Plenty of fish for breakfast was caught and a most enjoyable time was had. May it not be long before we can again hitch a trailer to Mr. Harbison’s car and go on another camping trip.
Palacios Beacon, October 14, 1937 |
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The 4-H Club will meet Tuesday in the Science room. Mr. and Mrs. Harbison were week end visitors in Palacios. Mr. Carl Boeker was in Bay City last week doing jury duty. Mesdames Hurd and Liggett and Rev. Pope were Bay City visitors Monday. Mrs. Fred King accompanied her mother and brother on a trip to Kentucky. They expect to be gone about a month. Miss Charley Mae Carter of Houston met with the Woman’s Club, Thursday. She also had a conference with Miss Hill, sponsor of the Girl Reserves. The school trustees met Thursday night in their regular monthly meeting. Supt. Hale of Bay City was present. A new bus was added to our transportation list. The stunt night program given at the community house Friday night by the school pupils was enjoyed by everyone. After the program a social hour was held. The Girl Reserves served cocoa, coffee and cookies to the guests.
Palacios Beacon, October 21, 1937 |
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Mr. Boeker, Sr., spent several days in Bay City this week. Mrs. Carl Boeker of Bay City, visited in Collegeport, Saturday. Mr. Vernon Hurd of Matagorda was over Sunday guest of his mother. Mr. and Mrs. Carrick were Sunday guests at Mr. and Mrs. Harbison. Mr. and Mrs. Dick Corporon were Sunday dinner guests at Mrs. Cranes. Miss Annette Johnson and Mrs. Hensley, went to Wharton to the fair Saturday. Mr. and Mrs. Franzen and Mr. and Mrs. Dean Merck were Houston visitors Monday. Mrs. Wright and son, Mr. Stanley Wright, were at the Wharton County Fair, Thursday. Mrs. Braden of Blessing attended the King’s Daughters meeting at Mrs. Holsworth, Thursday. Mrs. Frances Barton of Bay City visited at her father’s, Mr. Frank King, the first of the week. The Girl Reserves are working hard on their room and articles they are preparing for the Bazaar. Mr. and Mrs. Bob Thompson are moving into the McCune house. We are glad to welcome these old neighbors back to Collegeport. Mr. and Mrs. Roy Nelson and daughter Ethel went to San Marcos, Saturday to visit Rosalie who is in College there. They returned late Sunday. There will be a Halloween Carnival at the Community House Friday night. The school is putting on a short program. Come and see the Ghosts and Goblins. Miss Nancy Sutton entertained a number of friends and schoolmates Friday night at her home. An enjoyable evening of games and dancing was had. Guests from out of town were Wilburn Miller, J. W. Shows from Manvel and Leonard Hamlin of Bay City. The King’s Daughters met Thursday with Mrs. Holsworth with a good attendance. The luncheon was only one such as the King’s Daughters can prepare with the addition of a delicious platter of trout fresh from the bay that morning. After lunch the usual business meeting was held and the lesson was found in Acts. Mrs. Walters will entertain the November meeting. The deepest sympathy of the neighborhood goes to Dr. Fausset and sons in the death of their wife and mother, also to Mr. and Mrs. Crabill and family, Mrs. Fausset’s parents, brothers and sisters. Dr. and Mrs. Fausset used to live in Collegeport where Mrs. Fausset was known and loved by many. Mrs. Caulk gave an afternoon party Sunday, Oct. 24, for her little daughter, Sadie Ruth, who was 10 years old. The afternoon was spent in playing games after which refreshments of cocoa and cake were served. A very happy time was had and each guest departed wishing her many more happy birthdays. The Home Dem. Club met with Mrs. Anna Crane, Tuesday afternoon, with nine members present. Officers were elected: Mrs. Crane, president; Mrs. Dean Merck, vice-president; Mrs. Percy Corporon, Sec.-Treas.; Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Harbison, Council Delegates. After a social hour the hostess served tasty refreshments of coffee and cake. Girl Reserves The Girl Reserves held their meeting at three p. m., Friday, Oct. 22, 1937 at the Girl Reserve room. The meeting was called to order by the president. The minutes were read and approved. The roll was then called. Old and new business was discussed. A number of songs were sung. Plans for improvement of Girl Reserve Room were discussed. The meeting was then adjourned to meet Oct. 29, 1937—Bettty Lashbrook, Secretary of Collegeport Girl Reserves.
Palacios Beacon, October 28, 1937 |
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Miss Elaine Hendrix has been ill with tonsillitis this week. Prof. Tom Hale of Bay City,, attended the Carnival, Friday night. The Woman’s Union met at Mrs. Lashbrook’s Thursday afternoon. Mrs. Harbison went to Port Lavaca, Tuesday morning for several days visit. Mrs. Roy Nelson called at the Crayble home in Citrus Grove, Sunday afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Hurd of Matagorda were Collegeport visitors several days this week. Miss Jean Lashbrook who has been in Bay City for several months is vacationing at home. Gaines Corporon had the misfortune to get his foot mashed in a hay press, Saturday morning. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Franzen and Miss Emma Franzen, of Houston, visited relatives here Saturday and Sunday. Misses Roberta Liggett and George Alice Jones, students at Kingsville, were Sunday guests with their parents here. Mr. and Mrs. Dick Corporon and son Gene, Mr. and Mrs. John Carrick, and Mrs. Crane drove to Garwood Wednesday to visit Mr. Hubert Travis and family. Gilbert Lebkneckler and William Scheer of Beardstown, Ill., who have been on an extended trip through the West visited with Mr. Scheer’s uncle, Fred Bolhorst and J. Lashbrook and family. Mr. Bolhorst accompanied them to the Rio Grande Valley on a sightseeing trip. They left for their home in Illinois Saturday morning. The school carnival was held at the community house, Friday night with a large crowd in attendance. A short program was given after which the carnival was enjoyed by all. The 4-H Club had the country store, the Girl Reserves served coffee, sandwiches, cakes and cocoa. The fish pond, crazy house and side shows all drew their share of the crowd. The popularity contest resulted in Oneida Bullington, the popular girl and Mr. Harbison the homeliest man. After much merriment and happy conversation, we departed hoping we would have another get-to-gether before long. Mrs. Hurd, Mrs. Hensley, Miss Hill and Miss Johnson were hostesses to a Hallowe’en frolic at the Hurd home Saturday night for the Girl Reserves and little pals. As the guests arrived, they were seated in the dark on the porch and when all had arrived a ghost called each by name and invited inside for questioning. When finding their future mate the girls had an agreeable surprise as a real man’s face looked over her shoulder into the mirror she held. The boys had been invited secretly. Games and ghost stories were told much to the terror of the guests. Hot dog sandwiches were served and the guests departed declaring they had had a most delightful time.
Palacios Beacon, November 4, 1937 |
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Mr. Boeker, Sr., spent last week in Bay City and Houston. Mr. Jack Holsworth was a business visitor in Houston, Tuesday. Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Neill and family of Port Lavaca visited Mr. and Mrs. Harbison, Sunday. Mrs. Frank King returned from Kentucky last week where she visited relatives several weeks. Mr. and Mrs. Harris of Electra came Saturday to spend the winter with their daughter, Mrs. Sutton. Miss Hill and the Girl Reserves are working hard on their room and expect to have their installation service soon. Mr. and Mrs. Ola Sillaman and children of Electra were week end guests of Mrs. Sillaman’s sister, Mrs. Sutton and family. Mrs. Pierce of Blessing, Mrs. Mansfield of Bay City, Mrs. Liggett and Mrs. Harbison of Collegeport were guests of Mrs. Hurd, Friday afternoon. The Woman’s Club met Thursday at the Library. American Homes was the subject of the program led by Mrs. Harbison. Owing to bad weather, only a few members were present. The Demonstration Club met Tuesday afternoon with Mrs. Crane. Mrs. Sides was present and all enjoyed the program led by her. Mrs. Crane served delicious refreshments of fresh hot rolls, coffee, cake and cocoa.
Palacios Beacon, November 18, 1937 |
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Noel Adams of Alvin visited old friends over the week end. Rev. Pope and Mrs. Hensley were Bay City visitors Saturday. Kent Boeker, of Bay City, stayed here with his father during the vacation. Mr. and Mrs. Harbison were Thanksgiving visitors at Pt. Lavaca and Palacios. Miss Mary Louise Clapp and friend of College Station spent the holidays with her parents. Miss Aldine Williams of Angleton visited her sister, Mrs. Batchelder through the vacation. Mrs. Liggett went to Memphis, Tenn., Sunday where she will attend the five-state Y. W. C. A. convention. Mr. and Mrs. Watson Barker of Robstown, spent the Thanksgiving vacation with Mrs. Barker’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Mowery. Mr. and Mrs. Will Riley, formerly of Collegeport now residing in Houston, visited friends here Sunday. They went to Victoria from here. Noel Adams drove to San Marcos Sunday. He was accompanied by Misses Rosalie Nelson and Billie Craybil, and the Misses Halmark of Blessing. The annual bazaar will be held Thursday evening at the Community House. Oysters will be served at noon and throughout the afternoon and evening at popular prices. Everyone come. Students home for the holidays were Misses Billy Craybil and Rosalie Nelson from San Marcos, Misses Roberta Liggett and George Alice Jones from Kingsville and Aaron Penland, of Arlington. Mrs. T. P. Hale, of Bay City, spent last week with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Fulcher. She returned to Yoakum, Monday, where she is under a physicians care. We are glad to report both she and her father are some improved. Thursday of last week the King’s Daughters met with Mrs. Walters. As Mr. Walters and Mr. Carrick had birthdays that week, they were honor guests at dinner. Roast turkey, cranberry sauce, birthday cake and all the good things that go with them were enjoyed by Messrs. Walters, Carrick and Wells, 22 members and lady guests, and 4 children. After dinner the regular meeting was called to order by the president, Mrs. Crane. After business was disposed of a lesson on Acts was led by Mrs. Harbison. We departed soon wishing the honorees many more happy birthdays.
Palacios Beacon, December 2, 1937 |
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Mr. and Mrs. Harbison were church goers in Palacios, Sunday. The King’s Daughters will meet with Mrs. Wright, Thursday of this week. Mr. and Mrs. Howell of Whittier, Calif., are visiting Mrs. Howell’s mother, Mrs. Corporon. Miss Hill was in Bay City, Sat. She assisted Miss Carter, of Houston, with some girl reserve work. The Women’s Civic Club met with Mrs. Hurd, Thursday. Plans were made for the regular Christmas party at Mrs. Helen Holsworth’s, Thursday, Dec. 30. School will close for holidays, Thursday, December 23. Mrs. Hensley will spend her vacation in Victoria and Miss Hill at her home near Palacios. The following women were in Markham, Saturday, attending the County Federation: Mesdames Nelson, H. Holsworth, M. S. Holsworth, Stall, Guyer, Hensley, Harbison, Hurd, Liggett and Crane. The Girl Reserves held their installation service Tuesday night at the Community House. This was a very pretty service, Miss Carter, of Houston, the mothers, and sponsors were guests. The girls, served cocoa and cookies at the close of a very pleasant evening. Friday night, Mr. and Mrs. Harbison entertained the high school with an auto party. And you auto been there. The house was decorated with road signs and auto accessories. After we all arrived we were divided into groups. Duane Corporon and Harold Hunt captains. Games were played to represent autos. Harold’s side winning all but one and received the prize. Good rich tires and gas were served. We all departed declaring we had had a good time.
Palacios Beacon, December 16, 1937 |
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Miss Mary Louise Clapp of College Station was called home Thursday on account of the serious illness of her father. We are very sorry to report that Mr. Clapp is gradually growing weaker. Mr. and Mrs. James Harbison drove to Bay City Saturday night to meet their daughters, Gladis, Ermine and Alline Harbison, who are attending North Texas State Teachers College at Denton. Mr. Boeker Sr. was a week-end visitor in Bay City. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Cantrell of Palacios were visitors in the Harbison Home Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Frank King were shopping and business visitors in Bay City Saturday night. Misses Roberta Liggett and George Alice Jones of A. and I., Kingsville, came in Tuesday night for the Christmas holidays. Mr. and Mrs. Roy Nelson drove to San Marcos, Tuesday for Rosalie, who is attending San Marcos State College. Mrs. George Edwards and son, George, of Palacios, were visitors of the Harbisons Monday afternoon. George is also a student of N. T. S. T. C. at Denton. Mr. Aaron Penland of North Texas Agriculture College, at Arlington, arrived home this week to spend the holidays with parents and friends. Mr. and Mrs. James Harbison and girls, attended the "Christmas Vesper Hour" presented by the Palacios High School Music Department. They reported it a very lovely entertainment. The home of Mrs. Burton D. Hurd was the scene of a lovely miscellaneous shower, Monday, given in honor of Miss Mary Louise Clapp, who will become the bride of Mr. Oscar Lee Crane December 28. The house was beautifully decorated in keeping with Christmas, after a few chosen words from the hostess, Santa visited the bride to be from a heavy laden Xmas tree in the dining room. Refreshments were also served from here. The Daily Tribune,
December 23, 1937 |
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Mr. Boeker, Sr. was a week end visitor in Bay City. Mr. and Mrs. Frank King were shopping and business visitors in Bay City, Saturday. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Cantrell of Palacios were visitors in the Harbison home Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Roy Nelson drove to San Marcos, Tuesday, for Rosalie, who is attending San Marcos State College. Misses Roberta Liggett and George Alice Jones of A. & I. at Kingsville, came in Tuesday night for the Christmas holidays. Mr. Aaron Penland of North Texas Agriculture College at Arlington, arrived home this week to spend the holidays with parents and friends. Mrs. George Edwards and son, George, of Palacios were visitors of the Harbisons, Monday afternoon. George is also a student of N. T. S. T. C. at Denton. Mr. and Mrs. James Harbison drove to Bay City Saturday night to meet their daughters, Gladis, Ermine and Alline, who are attending North Texas State Teachers at Denton. Mr. and Mrs. James Harbison and girls attended the “Christmas Vesper Hour” presented by the Palacios High School music dept. They report it a very lovely entertainment. Miss Mary Louise Clapp of College Station was called home Thursday on account of the serious illness of her father. We are very sorry to report that Mr. Clapp is gradually growing weaker. The home of Mrs. Burton D. Hurd, was the scene of a lovely miscellaneous shower, Monday, given in honor of Miss Mary Louise Clapp, who will become the bride of Mr. Oscar Lee Crane, December 28. The house was beautifully decorated in keeping with Christmas. After a few chosen words from the hostess, Santa visited the bride-to-be from a heavy laden Christmas tree in the dining room. Refreshments were also served from here.
Palacios Beacon, December 23, 1937 |
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By Harry Austin Clapp "And the earth was without form and void; and the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." A limitless sea, a moving, restless sea. It waves sparkling in the sun light and the tossed spray broke into a million brilliant fire flashing diamonds, just as it does this day. When storm winds broke across its breast, immense waves charged a shoreless shore. This grand sea, glorious as it might be, for millions of years, covered many fathoms deep the place where the star fell. And then one day God said, "Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together in one place and let the dry land appear, and it was so." Therefore on orders given by the Great Master the sea dried, land appeared and the place where the star fell became visible, dry, teemed with new vegetation and forms of animal life and so it remained for millions of years, but God never forgot the place where the star fell and one day man came--a white man, the first of his race to press the soil of Texas beneath his feet. Vasco de Gama made a successful landing
fourteen years after Two hundred years passed and After that Stephen F. Austin traversed the same land and the army of Santa Anna, in retreat, crossed what territory this tale intends to cover. Although the word " Land was segregated, farming practiced,
live stock raising predominant, but progress was the order. I am trying
to impress upon the reader that although my tale concerns the history of
one community, that God in His way took millions of years preparing the
place where the star fell, for the use and occupancy of man. After these
millions of years what means the four hundred since This place lighted by the brilliance of
the falling star, covers about two hundred square miles, about 128,000
acres, and is known as the Collegeport territory. The land is well
watered by the Briefly I have covered the years of preparation. Many explorers, many speculators, many explorations organized, until one day a man of vision, of high ideals, ideals that reached far and beyond the acquiring of money, came upon this place and viewing the land with the eye of an expert engineer, he pronounced it good and well fitted for the home of a community. Selecting a beautiful bluff, some
eighteen feet above mean tide he laid out streets, alleys, parks, public
places and the town of The school was under the direction of Professor W. H. Travis, a godly man, who believed he had a call for this work. The first Sunday school was organized by Mrs. Gussie Elmer. I can hear her voice as I write, singing "Bringing in the Sheaves," and "Open Wide the Windows and Let the Blessed Sunshine In." Chauncy Brown, one-time husband of Miss Grace Smith, was superintendent. By the way, Chauncy died about four weeks ago, a member of the editorial staff of the Dallas News. Along come dozens and scores of fine, substantial folk, desirous of settling in a community which presented such admirable home situations. Three hotels were erected: Hotel
Collegeport, the The necessity of a church was seen and
one was designed by Mrs. Dena D. Hurd and built by popular subscription.
The formation of an organization was handled by Rev. M. A. Travis, a
Baptist minister and E. C. Van Ness, a Baptist layman, and it became
known as the first federated church to be organized in Theo Smith & Son built a telephone
line between this community and The building of the beautiful Smith home, the Hurd home and the splendid Holsworth home on the bay shore was followed by the erection of a score or more of attractive bungalows and the establishment of many happy homes. A regular boat service between Palacios and Collegeport was established. The local ice wagon bore the inscription "Watch Us Grow." It grew as ice melted. Mrs. Dena D. Hurd organized in 1909 the
Collegeport Woman's Club and it has lived and functioned to this day,
thanks to the sacrificing labors and love of about The Collegeport Industrial League, once with ninety members, now gasping for breath with three members: S. W. Corse, Hugo Kundinger and H. A. Clapp. For the interest of the readers I give a list of names of those who were members of the league and community. Events long forgotten will return. Memory of folk well known will come back and reappear, bringing happiness and sorrow. Where are these folk this day? Dead, gone back to their home in the north, a fine type of Americans who had they stayed might have built a town. Read the list: Theo Smith, W. H. Travis, H. A. Clapp, F. House, L. E. Liggett, H. N. Sholl, Dr. Knight, C. E. Judin, Chas. Pierson, Wes Miller, O. B. Kone, W. B. Gaumer, E. C. Van Ness, A. J. Palmer, Ed Olson, Arthur Morris, H. P. Socks, Burton D. Hurd, C. E. Sterling, Dr. Darling, G. E. Lipsett, J. D. Evans, I. N. Glasser, M. L. Herbage, A. F. Livers, M. A. Travis, W. N. Glasser, J. H. Adams, N. C. Sweet, C. B. Dirke, Geo. A. Lake, O. S. Leach, Cletus Jones, W. W. Wilkinson, Thomas Jones, D. H. Morris, William Pfeiffer, W. R. Cobb, E. L. Ives, George Black, Mac Jones, T. McM. Clark, W. S. Wright, E. L. Gable, Frank Ocutt, H. C. Harrington, G. A. Delaplain, O. Gabelman, Henry Kahnt, G. S. Welsby, J. W. Grimes, L. C. Sellers, Ed Wilder, E. T. Carey, D. E. Hurd, J. W. Maples, L. S. Hutchinson, Robert Murry, E. C. Hoffhines, D. Sachett, J. W. Hansel, W. S. Elmer, Dr. Pridgeon, M. A. Nelson, George Brown, Robert Price and E. A. Holsworth. These men were building a community. Where are they now? Only five left. Ask the whispering wind. Where are the sweet homes they built? Ask the ebbing tide. On a promise by the railroad company the farmers put out 600 acres of watermelons in 1910. The company promised to be ready to handle the crop June 1st, but, alas, the choo-choo did not arrive until October. Melons decayed in the field. The railroad functioned for 25 years and then expired and withdrew like Mary's little lamb carried its tail behind. The auto and the modern highway. The Burton D. Hurd Land Company,
sponsors for the community progress and development of adjacent lands,
built a canal system and one of the finest pumping plants; the
irrigation system costing around three hundred thousand dollars.
Shortage of water in the Since that day, each year the birth of
the community has been celebrated with a community dinner. Every year
since 1909 the folks of Citrus Grove observe Thanksgiving Day with a big
community dinner. January 1st each year a community dinner at
Collegeport and on Washington's birthday the Woman's In 1935 the railroad obtained permission to take up the track and discontinue operation. One of our citizens conceived the idea of obtaining possession of the freight house and using the material for erection of a community house. The company investigated, the gift was made and with the aid of our county commissioner the community now enjoys a beautiful building known as the Mopac House. It houses the Woman's Club with its library of 1800 books, supplied with a fine kitchen, water, electric lights and an auditorium well furnished and ample for local needs. At the So long as Burton D. Hurd, the dreamer, was in control, the community maintained a wholesome growth, but when hostile elements intruded growth slowed up and at last this element obtained control ousted the man who was a developer, brought about liquidation of the original organization and exploiters were in control. Their ambition was to suck the orange dry, take all profits possible and abandon the community and this was done. This day marked the decline and so here we are today. We have no railroad, but we have a cement highway which begins at Mopac House and reaches all important cities of the continent. It gives us excellent mail and truck service and yet we are sitting at the end of the road and we dream of the time when a causeway will be built connecting us with Palacios and enabling us to "see the race of men go by." Our sea wall provides an unusual view extending down the bay for many miles. Our artesian water is unexcelled and some medical men give it credit for aid in curing or relieving many functional disorders. The soil is generous in growth of crops. The sun is warming with its brilliant rays. The moon shines gently. Collegeport is the home of a happy contented people. They are going about their business of home building. Development of an oil field is promised for the near future and gossip says that the Gulf Sulphur Company has cast approving eyes upon the place where the star fell. We invite the world to visit this desirable situation--a situation brought about by a man during a modest life time. My reader, I know this so-called history
is incoherent, unconnected, irrational, confused, rambling. Every word
has been written under compulsion--under nervous strain, under disturbed
equilibrium. It has taken weeks for seldom have I been able to sit at
the It
is the place where the star fell. |
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Creator of "Thoughts" Passes Away At Home in Collegeport Harry Austin Clapp Dies at Age of 79, Christmas Night. Harry Austin Clapp, creator of
"Thoughts," a column that ran in this newspaper every week for
a score or more years, died at the age of 79, at his home in
Collegeport, Saturday, December 25th at 10 o'clock following an illness
of several months. Traveller, explorer, engineer, writer, philosopher,
real estate man, Harry In the autumn of his life, Mr. Clapp received a profound pleasure from his writing and religiously he sent in his string of copy under the familiar caption of 'Thoughts." He contributed his copy every week until just a few weeks ago, when his condition became so that he could not make the deadline. Before the end came he made it known to this writer that he had prepared his own obituary and stated he was sending it in as his last contribution. He never sent that "30" but it is prepared somewhere and when it is found it will be published as he desired. Before a throng of friends at
the Episcopal Church in Palacios Sunday afternoon at Surviving are his wife and daughter, Mary Louise. The
Daily
Tribune ( |
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Mr. John Sellers is visiting home folks during vacation. Mr. Travis of Alamo, Texas, visited Mr. Evans this week. Kent Boeker of Bay City is visiting his father and grandfather. Miss Margaret Holsworth of Chicago, is home for the holiday vacation. Neil Alexander, of Palacios, is visiting cousins in Collegeport this week. Mr. and Mrs. E. A. McCune of Rosharon visited friends in Collegeport Sunday. Miss Esther Angeline, of Houston, is spending the week with Mr. W. H. Boeker. Mr. and Mrs. W. V. Hill and baby visited Mr. Hill’s parents in Richmond this week. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson and daughters were in Blessing with Mrs. Braden for Christmas. Mr. and Mrs. Hugo Kundinger, spent Christmas with Mr. Kundinger’s sister near Houston. Several from here went to Houston for the funeral of Mr. Janes, a former pastor of the church here. Mr. and Mrs. Harbison and daughters were in Palacios Christmas and Sunday visiting relatives. Mr. and Mrs. Dick Corporon and son, Mrs. Crane and Rev. Pope were Christmas dinner guests at the Carrick home. Mr. and Mrs. Watson Barker of Robstown spent Christmas with Mrs. Barker’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ben Mowery. Mr. Haisley and Haisley Mills were Sunday guests with Mr. Haisley’s daughter, Mrs. Kundinger and Mr. Kundinger. Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Harris who have been spending the winter at Mr. Sutton’s left Monday for their home in Electra. Arch Silkie, Mrs. Trent and children, of Virginia, Ill., are visiting the Lashbrook family. Mr. Wilkie is Mrs. Lashbrook’s father. Miss Ethel Spence and nephew Irwin Glasser, of Dallas, spent Christmas week end with Miss Spence’s sister, Mrs. Liggett and family. Mr. and Mrs. T. P. Hale and son spent their vacation with Mrs. Hale’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fulcher. We are glad Mrs. Hale is improving. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Franzen, of Pt. Arthur, Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Franzen and Miss Emma Franzen of Houston, vacationed with their parents and other relatives here. Mr. and Mrs. Merck are the proud owners of an electric light plant in their country home. Old Santa was very good to them by bringing them this. All of their children were home for Christmas except one. Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Neil and daughters of Port Lavaca, Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Cantrell, Misses Lyda and Leona Jensen and J. M. Harbison, of Palacios, were visitors at the Harbison home the first of the week. We wish to extend congratulations to the newly weds of our community who are Mr. and Mrs. Verner Bowers, bride formerly Miss Elva McKissick and Mr. and Mrs. Crane, bride formerly Miss Mary Louise Clapp. John Logan, an early resident of Collegeport, who moved to Houston was killed in an auto accident near Cleburne. Relatives who went to Houston for the funeral services were, Mrs. Burton D. Hurd and Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Hurd. Others who attended were: Mrs. L. E. Liggett, Mr. and Mrs. M. S. Holsworth, and Miss Margaret Holsworth.
Palacios Beacon, December 30, 1937 |
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The wedding of Miss Mary Louise
Clapp of Collegeport to Mr. Oscar Lee Crain of Miss Clapp was the only daughter of the late Mr. Harry Austin and Mrs. Clapp and had lived in Collegeport all her life, where she is greatly loved and admired. Mr. Crain is an engineer in the
State Highway Department and lives in The wedding occurred at Homecroft, the home of the bride, in the presence of the immediate family and a few close friends. Rev. Paul Engle read the marriage ceremony. The couple was unattended and the bride was given in marriage by the Hon. George A. Harrison, close friend of the family. After the ceremony the guests approached the dining table where the bride and groom's cakes rested amid clusters of pink rose buds, a basket of the same beauties--the favorite of the bride's father--centered the table. After the ceremony of cutting the cakes, the couple quietly prepared for leaving, while the guests were being served a collation. Amid much waving au revoirs and showers of rice for "luck," Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Lee Crain left by automobile for--no one knew where. After a short honeymoon trip
they will be at home in Reprinted in The
Daily Tribune, |
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Of interest to their many
friends here, in college circles and over the state, is the announcement
of the wedding of Miss Mary Louise Clapp, only daughter of the late
Harry Austin Clapp and Mrs. Clapp of Homecroft, Collegeport to Mr. Oscar
Lee Crain of The wedding took place at high noon December 28th at the home of the bride in the presence of the immediate family and a few friends. Rev. Paul Engle officiating, read the Episcopal marriage lines. The couple was unattended, the bride being given in marriage by Mr. George Harrison, close friend of the family, approached the altar attired in a lovely ensemble of blue and carrying a prayer book. After the ceremony, congratulations and cutting the bride's and groom's cake, while the guests lingered over the collation being served from the dining table, the happy pair quietly prepared to enter their waiting car for--no one knew where, when an avalanche of well wishers followed, showering them with rice for good luck. After a short honeymoon trip Mr.
and Mrs. Oscar Lee Crain will be at home in Reprinted in The
Daily Tribune ( |
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Present by Bay City Newspapers, Inc. |
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| Created Nov. 20, 2009 |
Updated Nov. 20, 2009 |