Mike Yawn, Author at Postcards Magazine

Chilly at the Lodge

Mike Yawn — Mon, 01 Jan 2024 16:21:24 +0000

Postcards
January 1, 2024
Postcards

“Chilly at the Lodge” is about “Chili,” and it’s also about fun. The event, held annually on the first Saturday in February at the Josey Scout Lodge in Huntsville, Texas, involves bands, vendors selling their wares, community, and, (of course) chili tasting.

This free event was the vision of Karla Christian, Chairman of the Board of Trustees for the Josey Scout Lodge. “We needed to raise money for some much-needed repairs to the historic buildings,” Christian noted, “and I wanted to do this in a way that was fun and benefitted the community. I also want the community to see and experience Josey Lodge. It just so happens that everyone loves chili.”

The Weekend

This concept—that everyone (or almost everyone) loves chili—is the central aspect of the event. Chili-chefs, known as chili-heads in the business, will be peppered around the Lodge, preparing chili for competition and offering samples to visitors. But there is a lot more.

Vendors will be offering items for sale; KSAM will have “Bryan and Tracy” serving as “celebrity judges;” and live musical guests will also be on hand to entertain guests. In the past, acts such as Kate Watson, Shannon Maisel, Audy Armentor, and Drew Fish have performed, adding spice to the already peppery proceedings.

Scout Leaders and supporters of the Josey Lodge are also on hand to offer tours of the historic building and its grounds.

The Lodge

The Josey Scout Lodge was built in 1934, constructed specifically for the use of local Boy Scouts of America troops. The money for its construction was donated by Robert A. Josey, a Huntsville native who grew wealthy as a Houston oilman. Additional support was provided by the Gibbs Brothers, and the project was built under the auspices of the Civil Works Administration.

Josey was at the dedication of the building, as were the Huntsville Mayor and the Texas Governor, a reflection of the Lodge’s centrality to the community. This was not lost on Josey. According to Dr. Will Oliver, who compiled a short history of the building, the importance of the Lodge and the Boy Scouts of America stayed with the Huntsville native, throughout his life. In a letter to a friend, Josey wrote, “In the oil business which I have been engaged in for nearly 50 years, tremendous profits are sometimes made on a small investment. But I can think of no investment that I have ever made which has…paid greater dividends in happiness than the Boy Scout Lodge at Huntsville…”

Since its construction, it has served as the local home of the Boy Scouts of America, and, more recently, the Girl Scouts of the USA. The property, however, is managed independently by the non-profit Robert A. Josey Lodge organization, which is responsible for maintenance on the property and structures—two of which (the Lodge and Caretaker’s Cabin) are on the National Register of Historic Places.

Time, however, has taken its toll on the structures. Some of the logs need repair; a new paint job is needed; weatherproofing is called for; and the caretaker’s cabin (located on the same property) requires much care.

These needs are what prompted Karla Christian to think of ways to raise funds for the Lodge, while also spicing up a community event. And, in Texas, what cause can unite more people than chili?

The Chili

Texans are known as an independent bunch, but if there is one thing they can agree on, it’s that chili is a gift to food lovers, particularly in what passes for cold weather in the Lone Star State. It is, after all, the “State Dish,” so designated in 1977.

The origin of chili is a fiery matter of contention, with different regions staking a claim to “inventing” the dish. A Franciscan friar noted in 1529 that the Aztecs cooked a type of stew with chilis and frog, lobster, or fish.

But Texans have long claimed that chili, properly understood, involves red meat. And, according to food writer Robb Walsh, the first record of such a dish is in 1827 in San Antonio, when a visitor to the city noted that poor Tejanos mixed the “cheapest beef” with peppers. By the late 1800s, “Chili Queens” were well known in San Antonio, and as news accounts and travelers proliferated, Texas became more closely identified with “true” chili—so long as chili is defined as red meat and peppers.

And that is pretty much how Texas writer Frank X. Tolbert described it in his book, “A Bowl of Red,” which he wrote in 1966. “When speaking of a bowl of red,” he noted, “I refer to chili con carne—honest-to-God chili, and not the dreadful stuff masquerading as chili which is served in nine out of ten cafes.” Helpfully, he laid out what “honest-to-God chili” is: beef, “cooked slowly and for a long time in boon companionship with the pulp of chili peppers,” along with oregano, cumin, and garlic. Notably absent from his ingredients was beans, an omission that The Washington Post credits with establishing the Texas “no-beans law.”

Mix that basic tenet with a bit of Texas chauvinism, and you have some strong feelings. President Johnson, while still President (and, presumably needing votes outside of Texas), nonetheless publicly noted that “chili concocted outside of Texas is a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing.” Johnson’s chili patriotism is the type of attitude that made writer Calvin Trillin observe, “I love chili, but not enough to discuss it with someone from Texas.”

This disagreeable tone isn’t really in the spirit of Chilly at the Lodge, but it is a competitive endeavor. The “cook-off” consists of three divisional competitions: (1) an International Chili Society (ICS) Division, that is open to their members; (2) a Community Adult Division open to adults not affiliated with ICS; and (3) a Community Youth Division for young people ages 10-17. Each division has its own competition and prizes, and the winner of the Community Adult Division on Saturday earns the right to participate with the ICS cooks on Sunday.

Over the past two years, more than 50 contestants have entered the competitions, some from places as far flung as Arizona and Nebraska. In fact, in 2022, its very first year, seven previous national champions competed.

What this means for residents is some amazing chili. The contests include categories such as “traditional red,” “chili verde,” “homestyle,” and “veggie.” Some of these categories allow ingredients that one suspects Frank Tolbert would disapprove of—including crawfish, meat substitute and…beans.

The People

There is a global community of chili-lovers, and within the inner circle, these people are “chiliheads.” Indeed, the ICS notes that “as fellow Chiliheads, we pledge to continue the friendship and comradery that was established back in 1967 and continues today.”

But “Chilly at the Lodge” is also about the camaraderie that comes from a tight community, which Christian hopes the event continues to foster. For the World Championship Chili Cook-off, judges are required to complete a “Certified Chili Judge” onsite class, but for regional competitions, judges are simply selected for their impartiality, willingness to follow rules, and their community involvement. They cannot be related to anyone in the contest, but they need not be chili connoisseurs. According to Christian, “we tell them they just need to know what they like and what they don’t like.”

Leanne Woodward, a Board of Trustee member who recruits judges, is impressed by people’s willingness to serve. “People are so willing to give their time to support the event and the Lodge. It’s another example of the great-hearted people of Huntsville.”

Derrick Birdsall, who was a judge in 2022 and is serving again in 2024, considers the judging a privilege. “I love chili, so there’s that. It’s interesting to taste the different flavors, wondering what the cooks did to produce their version of chili. But it’s also just a fun event, and it’s good for the community.”

Gene Roberts, a “Scout Father” who doubles as a member of the Lodge’s Board of Trustees, also relishes the event: “Huntsville Scouts do so much for the community. So, it’s great for the scouts to see the community come out and support them and the historic Lodge while they are supporting another event that’s good for the community.”

But the event isn’t just for “seasoned professionals.” Morgan Robertson, an SHSU student who attended “Chilly at the Lodge” the last two years, says it’s a great opportunity to try chili. “For $5, you get a ‘tasting kit’ of six spoons, which you can use to sample from among the many chili chefs. It’s a good way to try new foods, and you’d be surprised how filling six samples are!”

Those who purchase the tasting kit also receive a “people’s choice ballot,” which allows the public to select the “people’s” winner, reinforcing the community-centric nature of the event.

The Event

This year, “Chilly at the Lodge” will occur on Saturday, February 3, 2024. The event is free to the public, although visitors should donate $5 if they wish to sample the chili. This is Texas, so it may not be “chilly,” but it is a perfect weekend for those with the appetite for music, fun, and lots of chili.

The event is open to the public Saturday, February 3 from 9am-3:30pm, with chili available beginning at 11am. All proceeds go to Josey Lodge’s capital campaign for repairs to the organization’s historic buildings. For more information, go to joseyscoutlodge.org/chilly.

Sidebar: Chili Notes

Scoville Scale: Named for American pharmacist Wilbur Scoville, the scale attempts to measure the pungency or heat of a pepper. This method has been superseded by the “high-performance liquid chromatography” (HPLC) test, but even so, the HPLC often converts its results to the Scoville scale to help with interpretability. So, what is hot? Well, a jalapeno comes in with about 5,000 Scoville Heat Units (SHU), a cayenne emits about 40,000 SHU, and habaneros possesses about 300,000 SHU. The world’s hottest pepper is the “Carolina Reaper,” with 2,200,000 SHU.

Chiles: Myriad peppers or “chiles” are used for chili, according to taste. Robb Walsh, in his book “The Chili Cookbook,” sorts them by “dry” and “fresh” according to heat. Among the dry are Ancho (mildest), New Mexican Long Red Chili, Pasilla, Chipotle, and Japones (hottest); the fresh include New Mexican Long Green Chile (mildest), Poblano, Jalapeno, Serrano, and Chile Pequin (hottest).

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Texas State Parks 100th Anniversary

Mike Yawn — Tue, 31 Oct 2023 15:47:25 +0000

Postcards
October 31, 2023
Postcards

In part two of our salute to Texas State Parks, an informative account of one couple’s trip, full of adventure…and misadventure.

My girlfriend Stephanie told me to take a left. We were headed to Estero Llano State Park. Established in 2006, it is one of the newer additions to the Texas State Park System. Nonetheless, at less than 30 miles from McAllen and, amidst the Rio Grande Valley and its 1.4 million residents, it helps the System fulfill one of its original goals: to provide the State’s residents, even those in urban areas, access to nature and nature’s blessings.

I thought these blessings could best be found on the right. Gifted with a strong sense of direction, I am almost never wrong about these things. I turned right, where I found a winding paved road, then a dirt road, and then a dead end. Through some error in the urban planner’s design, I had been led astray.

A three-point turn is surprisingly loud when there is complete silence inside the car. There is the difference in engine hum from drive, to reverse, to drive; there is the squealing of the axles as they turn; and there is distinctive sound of tires on an unpaved road. Fortunately for me, there was not the sound of anyone uttering, “I told you so.”

Eventually, we found Estero Llano Grande (it was on the left), and we were soon enjoying another of the State’s 89 parks—a total that does not include historical sites. While at the Park, we saw green jays, chachalacas, and otherwise enjoyed our first foray into the Valley. Seeing the State Parks, we have learned, is a way to see Texas.

The Park’s Centenary

This year marks the 100^th anniversary of the Texas Park System, and when I first heard this, I became more serious in my goal to visit all of Texas’s Parks. To date, I have explored more than 30 parks, many of them multiple times.

I have my favorites. Cedar Hill State Park, located just 18 miles from Dallas, is a great urban park; Caprock Canyon State Park has the largest bison herd in Texas; the coastal state parks offer numerous beautiful views; and Monahans Sandhills offers a unique geologic setting, what the Park refers to as a “Texas-sized sandbox.”

There are some excellent guidebooks on Texas State Parks. I recommend Laurence Parent’s Official Guide to Texas State Parks and Historic Sites.

Hueco Tanks

Humans have occupied—or passed through—Hueco Tanks since at least 10,000 BC. The Park’s mountains were made of sterner stuff than the surrounding rock and have eroded more slowly, leaving us with three large, rocky mounds. But even this hard rock has worn away in places, leaving hollows in the rock. The Spanish called these hollows “huecos,” and the historic site is named “Hueco Tanks.”

Over millennia, the area’s inhabitants created more than 3,000 paintings that still grace various surfaces in the region. Some of the most famous are inside Kiva Cave—which sounds more impressive than “Kiva Crawlspace.” But crawl we did, scooching through tight spaces until we found all eight pictographs. It was an intriguing find, and we exited elatedly, with worm-like maneuvers to inch our way out.

This was quite enough excitement for Stephanie, who did not want to do “overdo things.” Prudently, I refrained from scoffing, but, confident in my own abilities—I am almost never wrong about these things—I was in no mood to stop exploring. Stephanie retreated downhill, leaving me with a parting reminder to “be careful.”

These words floated by me as I began my climb. Because it is steep, generally slippery, and rocky all over, rangers have installed a chain “rope” to help visitors ascend. Cleverly referred to as the “bawl and chain” trail by some, it can be a strenuous hike.

I certainly didn’t need the chain. I roamed, crawling over boulders, squeezing into tight places, and enjoying the views from the top of the mountain. Eventually, I descended, doing so with a certain elan, walking purposefully toward the base of the mountain.

Encouraged by my rapid pace, I cavalierly refused to use the chain supports. This sense of confidence abandoned me when my foot hit the ground a bit awkwardly, landing in a slick spot next to a small ridge.

My body landed to the right of the chain, and my left arm dangled to the other side, forcing my armpit into the role of a gondola lift, keeping my upper body erect and guiding me such that I slid perfectly parallel with the chain, which collected pieces of my arm. I skidded 20 feet down the mountain, a one-man impersonation of a toboggan, haunted by the words, “be careful,” echoing in my ears.

Big Bend Ranch State Park

It was late at night, and a few hours before we would arrive at our destination: Big Bend Ranch State Park. Running low on gas, I suggested we stop at the next gas station.

The “next station” appeared shortly. True, there were no external lights, the eaves were bent and dangling, and there were potholes in the parking lot, but it was a gas station, and the pumps were seemingly operable. Stephanie, however, hesitated…suggesting we get gas “at the next station.” I assured her it would be okay. I manfully disembarked and began fueling.

With the fuel pumping, I wandered, getting in some steps around the unlit lot—when, to my right, I detected movement. I glanced over, seeing what appeared to be a black cat running in my direction. I do not like cats, and they often sense this, so it was an odd sight to see one running toward me. Odder still, it stopped about five feet from me, slowly turned around, and raised its tail. It was then I noticed the black fur was tinged with a white stripe.

The ride to Big Bend Ranch State Park is a long one. From Huntsville, it is approximately a nine-hour drive. But it is longer still when one of the car’s occupants has been sprayed by a skunk.

For the next two days, we repeatedly doused the vehicle’s interior with Febreze—using half a bottle in the process. We also left the windows down, even while the car was parked outside our line of vision. It is a new, somewhat expensive model, and we were on the border, in lawless lands west of the Pecos–but no thief was so bold as to approach it.

Apart from the smell, the days were a joy as we took in the natural beauty of Big Bend Ranch. Derrick Birdsall, a friend and photographer, has long extolled the Park’s virtues, and we followed his suggestions in exploring the largest of Texas Parks. We drove along the El Camino del Rio, which author Laurence Parent described as perhaps “the most spectacular drive in Texas.” We visited old churches; stopped at Fort Leaton; hiked Ojita Adentro and the Cinca Tinajas Trails, and we enjoyed the beautiful views.

On our last day, we embarked on the Hoodoo Trail, a short hike abutting the Rio Grande and predictably adorned with hoodoos, which Park literature describes as “rock structures with strange animal shapes” that “embody evil spirts.” There was, however, nothing foreboding about this hike. It was bright, clear, and beautiful.

As the day and the trip drew to an end, we made our way to Closed Canyon. Tackling this hike at golden hour, I thought, might offer intriguing photographic possibilities, topping off what had mostly been a wonderful excursion.

Closed Canyon is a “slot canyon,” or a narrow channel, typically with a depth-to-width ratio of at least 10:1. In places, the canyon narrows to a width of six-to-eight feet, while the sheer walls tower some 200 above the trail.

Fortunately, these walls were not crowned with hoodoos carrying evil spirits. We were, however, given fair warning about troubles that can befall careless hikers. The trail’s brochure encourages hikers to be on the lookout for rattlesnakes, mountain lions, and flash floods from even small amounts of rain.

While hiking, we saw evidence of these floods, which had washed and polished some of the canyon’s rock bed. Such floods had also eroded parts of the canyon floor, producing small waterfalls and, in turn, tinajas beneath the waterfalls. The visual effect is striking, but the practical effect is the canyon is marked with slopes and pits that can make access difficult. “Do not go down any slopes,” a park ranger noted, “that you cannot get back up.”

For half a mile, all was well. We spotted lizards darting through the canyon; eyed birds flying; and we marveled as the day’s last light reflected on the canyon’s walls. But we also noted the canyon floor was becoming steeper in places.

When we arrived at one drop of about 20 feet, Stephanie declined to go further. After some negotiation, she agreed to let me continue, so long as I promised to “be careful.”

I trekked on for half a mile, before a tinaja full of water blocked my path. I looked for ways around the obstacle, but I was stymied. There was no safe path to the trail’s conclusion. This was disappointing, but I know my limitations. I am almost never wrong about these things.

Thus, I returned. Stephanie looked relieved when she caught sight of me, but as I approached her, it was I who became uneasy. She seemed to have grown taller in my absence; or, more accurately, the slope on which she stood seemed to be higher and steeper.

With some trepidation, I made my first attempt at climbing out, which proved in vain. Before my second attempt, I handed my gear to Stephanie, lightening my load, but this attempt, too, was fruitless.

I paused my efforts, which were both exhausting and futile. I got the sense that Stephanie was looking in my direction with disapproval, so I looked elsewhere. I glanced behind me, up the canyon walls, and toward the setting sun.

In this dwindling sunlight, I saw bats flitting; heard owls hooting; recalled the trail brochure, warning hikers of the danger of mountain lions. I remembered the park ranger’s admonition: “Don’t go down any slopes you cannot get back up.”

I devised a plan. I began collecting rocks, the largest I could carry, and I piled them at the base of the pit. As I depleted the rocks in my vicinity, I roamed further to find new rocks, necessitating longer hauls. After 100 or so rocks, I tried another climb, again to no avail. But I was closer.

Stephanie, ever-resourceful, took my cameras, removed the straps, and tied them together, producing a “rope” of sorts more than six-feet long. This rope, combined with the rock scaffolding, did the trick. I emerged from the pit, still a half mile walk to the car.

Hiking can be quite loud when there is no conversation. Bats’ wings whir, owls hoot noisily, wind whistles through the canyon, and hikers’ breathing is heavy. But, fortunately, there was no sound of anyone saying, “I told you so.”

Coda

Our departure from Big Bend Ranch State Park was bittersweet. Even in the face of recent misadventures, I wished I could stay in the midst of this natural beauty, remain connected to nature, and see more wildlife.

I reflected as we reached the Closed Canyon parking lot, and I turned briefly to bid the trail adieu. Vestiges of the sunset persisted, and I looked admiringly at the orange streaks against a purple sky. It was beautiful, a fitting afterglow to a three-day trip that taught me a bit about Texas…and a lot about myself.

Armed with this knowledge, I entered the car, detecting a faint aroma of Febreze. For a moment I wondered, “Left or right?” Regaining my confidence, I turned right. I am almost never wrong about these things.

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Texas State Parks: A Centenary Celebration

Mike Yawn — Mon, 02 Oct 2023 14:55:04 +0000

Postcards
October 2, 2023
Postcards

Highlighting the birth and development of our state park system.

Sam Houston may have written that “Texas is the finest portion of the globe that has ever blessed my vision,” but Texans were slow to embrace and preserve the natural beauty that so impressed Houston. It was not until 1923 that Texas created a true state park system, and even then, government leaders have been hesitant to provide adequate funding. Much progress has been made in this regard, and today—in the state park system’s centenary—the system can boast more than 800,000 acres of preserved land, within which every Texan can experience the state’s diverse regions, natural beauty, rich history, marvelous and sometimes eccentric wildlife, and unique geologic features.

Texas State Parks: An Idea Takes Root

The concept of a state park system did not come easily to Texans. For the most part, citizens of the Lone Star State are averse to the idea of public regulation, public management, or public ownership, so the notion of setting aside public lands for the common good wasn’t an easy sell. And when the idea did come, it did so in fits and starts, always beset by challenges.

By the end of the 19^th century, however, national trends, at least, were favorable. A nostalgia for a pre-industrial America was emerging as the country’s western frontier was closing. Yellowstone was established as a National Park in 1872, the first such designation in the country—and the world. Yosemite, Sequoia, and Mount Rainier followed, all in the 19^th century. Theodore Roosevelt employed the “Antiquities Act” to expand preservation efforts, and in 1916, the National Park System was created. “National Parks,” Wallace Stegner noted, “are the best idea we ever had.”

In Texas, this trend manifested itself in greater support for historical sites rather than in a simple regard for the preservation of nature. In 1891, the Daughters of the Republic of Texas (DRT) was formed, in part, to preserve historical sites. In 1897, the legislature allocated $10,000 for the purchase of the San Jacinto Battlefield—where General Sam Houston won Texas’ independence as a nation—and it became the first “park” owned by the State of Texas. Similar efforts were made to preserve the Alamo, Gonzales, Washington-on-the-Brazos, and other historical sites over the next decade.

To develop a full-fledged park system, however, Texas needed a politician with the will and zeal to go “beyond historical monuments” and, as author Cynthia Brandimarte has noted, “to showcase the diversity of Texas’ landscape, encourage tourism, and promote conservation.” That politician was Pat Morris Neff.

According to contemporary accounts, Neff “was not like other boys.” As Stephen Harrigan recounts, Neff, “though Texas born,” had “never shot a gun, baited a fishhook, used tobacco in any form, nor drunk anything stronger than Brazos water.”

He did, however, have a vision for Texas’ future, which he laid out in a series of reelection speeches between 1922-1923, as well as calls for legislative action. According to authors Dan Utley and James Steely, Neff called on the state to “establish parks, both large and small, throughout her borders. The people should have the breathing spots where they can enjoy nature in stream and tree, in rock and rill.” He proposed such a bill, enjoining the legislature to create a state parks board and to fund a new parks system.

Texas State Parks: Growth of the System

The legislature was recalcitrant, and while it approved a parks board, it provided only a bare minimum of funding. Indeed, its annual budget in the early years was only $375, with no funding for staff, the acquisition of land, or the improvement and maintenance of such land.

With no funds, the Board pushed for donations, often having to beg the donors to provide additional funding for improvements and maintenance. What followed, according to former Parks Director Carter Smith, were “grueling political battles, eleventh-hour land saves, go-for-broke land deals, extraordinary feats of civic pride, [and] boundless displays of generosity from citizens across the state…”

One of the citizens who spearheaded the campaign for donations was Huntsville native Marian Rather Powell, whom author Jennifer Bristol described as “brilliant” and “fiercely organized.” These qualities would serve her well as she led a letter-writing campaign; attended and spoke up at meetings; and lobbied legislators on behalf of Texas parks.

Powell’s efforts were successful. In 1927, the legislature agreed to accept the donation of 24 parcels of land, each of which would serve as a State Park. Without real funding, however, the supervision and maintenance of the parks was left to local municipalities. But as Representative W. R. Chambers noted at the time, “It requires more than a cow pasture and an excited Chamber of Commerce to make a park go.”

Texas State Parks: A Park is Born

Pat Neff regarded all these sites as more than cow pastures, but one had a particular place in his heart. Shortly after he was elected governor, Neff’s mother passed away at the age of 91. “Mother Neff,” according to Utley and Steely, “bequeathed a small part of [her] homestead ‘as a park for the public, for religious, educational, fraternal and political purposes.’”

Although Texas had previously designated public lands as “parks,” such sites had been selected for their historic importance. Mother Neff, at least in Pat Neff’s mind, was the first State Park to be established in the National Park mold, a land of natural beauty, with support for diverse activities and rich wildlife. This land, on which he had reached maturity, was his inspiration of what a park system could provide.

In its earliest iteration, the Park was only six acres, but even today, at 259 acres, Mother Neff State Park is one of the state’s smaller recreational parks. It lacks the desolate grandeur of Big Bend Ranch, the brooding beauty of Caddo Lake, and the towering spires of Palo Duro. But, as Utley and Steely note, “Mother Neff State Park is everything a park should be.”

Nestled in Texas’ hill country, Mother Neff State Park is approximately 30 minutes from Waco. Such placement is consistent with the original concept of the park system, which sought to provide city dwellers quick access to rustic environments.

Mother Neff’s “parkitecture” themed visitor’s center and xeriscape grounds provide an attractive gateway to the park—and a home for a diverse number of butterflies and birds.

Its modern look, however, belies its claim to being one of the oldest parks in the system. But the Park’s rich history is easily discovered in its interior. A short trail from the main road, for example, takes visitors to a “rock cave” occupied by the Tonkawa Indians hundreds of years ago. Another short trail offers access to “Wash Pond,” a small, spring-fed body of water used by Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) workers in the 1930s.

The CCC was central to the development of Mother Neff State Park, but the Park is not unique in this regard. More than 50,000 men worked for the CCC in Texas alone, with approximately 30 Texas parks housing CCC camps. In Mother Neff State Park, there are several CCC structures, most of which reflect the distinctive stone construction favored by the Corps. In typical fashion, the construction materials were locally sourced, allowing the structures to blend with their surroundings.

The Park also features more than three miles of hiking trails—many developed by CCC—which wend through prairies, rocky landscapes, and along the Leon River. Given its four distinct habitats and proximity to the river and other water sources, the Park features an abundance of wildlife, with deer, armadillos, and rabbits, particularly visible. Perhaps its most striking feature, at least in the spring, is its wildflowers, which bloom across the Park’s prairies, at the visitor center, and at the entrance portal, the latter also constructed by the CCC.

Mother Neff State Park is not the State’s most dramatic park, but it is to an unusual degree, a successful representation of what it was meant to be: a rural oasis, that, as Governor Neff hoped, enhances the “health, welfare, and happiness” of Texans, by providing them with “leisure periods…for rest, recreation, and relaxation.”

This is the first of two pieces celebrating the State Park System’s centenary. Next month, Postcards will highlight some of the State’s most dramatic and unusual parks.

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Grady Hillman

Mike Yawn — Fri, 25 Aug 2023 15:34:07 +0000

Grady Hillman is a poet, anthropologist, artist, urban planner, writer, teacher, and translator. It’s not so much he has separate careers; rather, he has found a way to roll these careers into one livelihood and one lifetime. His work has taken him around this country and to more than 20 other countries, to the betterment of diverse communities and populations. Over the past dozen years or so, he and wife Mandy Gardner have combined talents in these endeavors.

Act I: A Nomadic Education

Where did you grow up, and how did this develop your facility with language?

All over: Mississippi; New Orleans, and other parts of Louisiana; Houston; Beaumont; Odessa; and Maracaibo, Venezuela. In New Orleans, French was required; in Venezuela, I had Spanish instruction; and in high school, I took German.

How did that turn into a career in poetry?

I was studying Humanities at Southern Methodist University, but I took a break from school and sort of did the hippie/activist thing; I became a carpenter. I moved to Austin where all the artists, writers, and dancers were banging nails as the city was beginning to grow. I would do poetry readings with construction buddies. But I was always interested in people, the stories they tell, and the things they believe in that help them make sense of the world. I ultimately graduated from the University of Texas and found understanding those things could benefit communities and earn me a living.

Act II: A Nomadic Educator

How did you wind up teaching in schools and in prisons?

It began when asked to be part of ‘Poets in the Schools’ in Huntsville. I did that, then Bob Pierce from Windham (Windham is the school district for TDCJ) contacted me about doing ‘Poets in the Schools’ in prison. This had never been done.

How did you and the program evolve?

I ended up teaching in more than 100 prisons! Some of that work was the subject of the award-winning film, Lions, Parakeets and Other Prisoners (1984); I also received a Texas Humanities Council grant to do Jailin’ in Texas, a discussion program about prison storytelling. That was especially gratifying.

How do people react when you tell them you taught in more than 100 prisons?

(chuckles) They might think it’s unusual or unsafe. If they ask, I just say, “It’s interesting, but not nearly as challenging as teaching a group of middle schoolers. Middle school is the toughest place I’ve ever worked.”

I taught in Beaumont, San Angelo, Terlingua, and other places. I taught in Mumford, a small town near Bryan, and I was in a classroom with children between the ages of five and nine, teaching them all at the same time. It required innovation, and it was a great learning experience for me, too.

What type of assignment would you give inmates at Windham?

I taught Dante’s Inferno, which has various characters from literature in various circles of Hell. They read the book, and I posed questions, one of which was to assess the punishments that Dante assigned to his characters. I’m not sure if they thought I’d be turning over their answers to the parole board, but they were all in favor of harsh punishments, noting, “Oh, Dante was too lenient. They deserve much worse!” Whatever the motivation of their responses, they knew the material.

Act III: Rising Action

At the end of the 1980s, you obtained a Fulbright Fellowship and returned for your Master’s Degree. What prompted that move?

I was dependent on other scholars throughout the 1980s to do the programs I wanted to do. I had the ability to implement the big grants, but I did not have the graduate degree, and in the Humanities, you really need such a degree. The Fulbright turned into my graduate research. I was able to travel and work with Dr. Roger deVeer Renwick, and I learned a lot about the Incan culture and language.

In fact, you took on the unlikely task of translating poetry from Quechua to English!

Yes, I had been to South America, and I was interested in the Incan Empire which, at its peak, was as large as the Roman Empire. The University of Texas taught Quechua, so I had this opportunity to learn. For the translation project, I worked with a professor named Guillermo Delgado, and he didn’t speak much English, and I didn’t speak much Quechua. Our common language was Spanish, and that’s how we worked, translating these Incan myths and poems to English.

Why did you choose anthropology for your Master’s degree, and how did your work change afterward?

It connected the things that interested me. It is studying people, and that’s what I do. I had more flexibility, and I could do larger projects. I put together cultural or historical plans for many communities: the King William District in San Antonio (TX), as well as districts in Greenwood (MS), San Marcos (TX), Charleston (MS), Anniston (AL), and the cultural district in Huntsville (TX).

When did you meet Mandy, and how did that change things?

We met briefly in 2007; I then reached out to her in 2010 for something work related, and something clicked.

It didn’t so much change things as enhance them. She has a PhD in interdisciplinary studies, with a focus on pedagogy, literature, and sociology. She has taught in jails and homeless shelters, and she is a writer, often writing about health. This was a match for me, and her knowledge turned out to be helpful. At the time, all I knew was: I was at the top of my professional game, and I had met a wonderful woman.

Act IV: The Fall

This wonderful life stopped—literally—on June 26, 2011. While walking his dog, Hillman had a heart attack, a cardiac arrest, and a stroke—a medical hat trick. A short ambulance ride and three defibrillations later, his heart resumed beating. His fine motor skills and his voice, however, were slow to follow. The poet had lost his voice.

What do you recall about the moment you awoke?

I don’t have clear memories of much immediately following the stroke. I remember trying to communicate, but it was just gibberish. I also lost memory of events before the stroke. I didn’t even remember Mandy. That was her best chance to leave me. I wouldn’t have even known! (much laughter)

Mandy Gardner didn’t leave. In fact, she was essential to his recovery. They married in 2012, about nine months after Grady’s stroke.

How long were you unable to speak?

About two months. I was in the hospital for a month, then I went into rehab for five or six weeks. Even after I went home, I struggled, doing things like reading the paper upside down (laughs).

Mandy Gardner: He mostly babbled, and he would agree to all sorts of things, because he didn’t have a sense of time.

Grady: It’s a linguistic joke: “I lost my tenses.”

Mandy: It’s worth noting here that his speech therapists used his poetry to help him recover.

Grady: Yes, they taught me through “key vocabulary.” My poetry contained words that had meaning to me, and it helped me relearn language and speech.

When were you able to work again?

About a year later, I had my memory and most of my skills back. We got a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) to do research. Beth Bienvenu, the Director of the Office of Accessibility for the NEA, contacted me and asked me to mentor writers teaching in a federal prison program. She said, “You still have your memory and your cognition, and we can work around your ability to talk.” So, I worked on that project for several years, until COVID put an end to it and similar projects.

Is the memory fully back?

Names and numbers give me the most problems. At times I cannot think of the correct word, and I have to use a circumlocution to describe it. It’s a slow, long recovery from losing about half my vocabulary.

Mandy, Grady, and half his vocabulary now live in Albuquerque, and he still works and travels. He completed a book in the past year, Arts in Corrections: 30 Years of Annotated Publications by Grady Hillman.

Act V: Revival

It’s been a dozen years since the stroke, what ails you besides the vocabulary?

My right hand has lost some motor coordination, so it’s harder to write. Things come to me more slowly, which makes it difficult to toggle back and forth among topics. It’s like a large ship trying to turn around. I’m still recovering, and I’ve been humbled, but I am doing what I need to do. I am an editor, and I am editing myself, with the help of Mandy.

What are your current projects?

I am still publicizing the book, and I am working on a project to get back into a correctional facility to teach arts and poetry. I am also working on a book based on my travels in Peru. I wrote a lot of poetry when I was in Peru, which was during their civil war, and I kept journals.

Would it have been more difficult to recover from your stroke if you hadn’t been trained in linguistics and had so many diverse life and career experiences?

It would have. I was trained as a linguist and as an anthropologist. I know what’s wrong with my brain; I know what I am doing; I know where to go for help; and Mandy knows what I don’t. It is a blessing.

The post Grady Hillman appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

Jim and Nancy Gaertner

Mike Yawn — Fri, 31 Mar 2023 14:19:32 +0000

Jim Gaertner first visited Sam Houston State University (SHSU) as a teenager, when the institution was named “Sam Houston State Teachers College.” He traveled from Yoakum, Texas (where he grew up), and decided, without a lot of thought, he wanted to attend SHSU. Reflecting on this decision decades later, he said, “It was the right decision, possibly for the wrong reasons.” Nancy Gaertner had planned to move from her hometown of Port Lavaca, Texas and go to college out of state, but a month before embarking on her journey, she decided on SHSU. “My decision,” she recollected, “wasn’t very scientific.” It was, however, fortuitous.

When did the two of you meet?

Nancy Gaertner: It was at Garner State Park, and we were on (separate) family vacations with our parents. The meeting was an incidental one. But four years later, in 1963, one of my friends who was on that trip with my family, said, “I saw Jim Gaertner the other day, and he goes to SHSU, too!” Anyway, Jim called me, and we went out on a date, but when we met for the date, I don’t think either one of us recognized the other from Garner State Park.

Faded memories aside, the date must have been a good one.

NG: When I was a child, our family had a 50^th anniversary party for my grandparents, and I remember thinking, “Lord, they are old. They’ve been together a long time.” But my first date with Jim was almost 60 years ago! So, yeah, I’d say it went well.

The Gaertners married in 1964, and they will celebrate their 60^th wedding anniversary next year.

The campus you attended was very different than today’s campus.

Jim Gaertner: That’s true. The LSC hadn’t yet been built. The Margaret Houston building was our student center, and it had the only cafeteria on campus.

During Gaertner’s first year on campus, SHSU’s unofficial mascot, “Tripod,” was still alive and part of campus life. This mutt, who had been abandoned in the 1940s, had only three working legs, hence his name. But he was communally adopted by the student body: he was fed; lavished with attention; and provided with shelter. He died in 1962, and he is buried on campus.

Jim, did you ever meet Tripod?

JG: I did, and I had heard a lot about him before I ever met him. One day, I was walking to class, and there he was. I walked over to pet him, and he didn’t really respond. He was old at this time, and he had likely been petted so much and given so much attention, he just wasn’t impressed with my affection. But I went to his funeral. They dismissed classes for the service, President Lowman spoke, and there was a three-gun salute, one for each working leg. Tripod was a celebrity.

Nancy, the early 1960s was a different time for females on college campuses. Was there a curfew?

NG: Yes. We had to be in at 9 p.m. during the week, unless you were at the library, in which case you could come in later. I went to the “library” a lot. (laughter)

Where did you live?

NG: Before Jim and I married, I lived at Elliott Hall. After we married, we lived in Gintz apartments. Interestingly, our neighbors included Ron and Ruth Blatchley. After we all left SHSU, we lost touch. But after Jim became SHSU’s President, we attended an alumni event in Bryan, Texas, and we ran into them again. We didn’t recognize each other at first, but then we realized we had been neighbors long ago!

JG: Ron has been very successful in business, was Mayor of Bryan, and he served as Chairman of the Board of Regents. They also have been generous donors to SHSU, funding, among other things, the Blatchley Bell Tower on campus.

Although less than 20 years old, the Blatchley Bell Tower is now a key landmark on campus and central to many SHSU traditions. It is a major stopping point on prospective student tours. According to campus superstition, freshmen, sophomores, and juniors should avoid walking under it, lest they not graduate on time. And it is one of the most popular backdrops for graduation photos.

Jim, you graduated with your Bachelors in 1965 and your Masters in 1970, both from SHSU; what followed?

JG: I earned my doctorate from Texas A&M in 1977, then we moved to Indiana, and I taught at Notre Dame for seven years. They had a London MBA program, and I directed that one year.

NG: The move to London really provided amazing opportunities. We had two children at the time, Scott and Denise. Jim had a job; he had a schedule to keep. I didn’t! I planned my week out each Sunday. I’d get the kids off to school, then I would go explore. It was wonderful; I took a gourmet cooking class, among many other things. I didn’t stay home one day.

What was it like adjusting from the states to London?

NG: In some ways, it was a bigger adjustment going from Texas to Indiana. We had both lived in Texas our entire lives before going to Indiana. Also, there was a big difference in campus culture between Texas A&M and Notre Dame. Social gatherings were more relaxed in Texas, too, I think. It was just a different life, but we made many friends in Indiana, and we enjoyed ourselves. We would take the train from South Bend to Chicago, and we would visit museums or go shopping. We traveled when we could.

Nancy, you graduated from Indiana?

NG: Yes, from Indiana University South Bend (IUSB), but we moved from Indiana to San Antonio before I graduated. Once we moved back to San Antonio, I did my student teaching and completed a couple of classes, which then transferred back to IUSB, and I officially graduated.

Nancy’s formal teaching career lasted two decades, and she was selected “Teacher of the Year” at Curington Elementary (Boerne) in 1989. Her teaching career was varied, working with all levels of students and multiple grades. She led an environmental club, worked with students to build a reading garden, a butterfly garden, and to implement a recycling program. Jim served as professor, chair, dean, and interim provost at the University of Texas San Antonio.

Jim, when did you think about possibly becoming a university president?

JG: Let me preface that response with a side note. When I was at Notre Dame and serving on a committee there, our president, Father Theodore Hesburgh, wanted to meet and speak with the committee members. He spoke with us about committee service, and about doing what is right. He capped that discussion with a comment made in passing, noting that, “Some of you will be university presidents one day.” And I remember thinking, “Man, I just want to get tenure.” The thought of becoming president did not seriously occur to me until I became acting provost at UTSA. I worked closely with the president during that time, and that was the first time I thought that might be a role for me.

Were you actively seeking a president’s position when the vacancy occurred at SHSU?

JG: No, not really. I had applied for the position of president at UTSA, and I was a finalist, but I wasn’t selected. I thought my time had passed for that position, and I was content. But when I heard about the SHSU opening, it caught my attention.

What type of questions do they ask candidates for university president?

JG: The questions were straightforward, as I remember them. They asked me what made me qualified for the job; what my priorities would be, if selected. One thing that was interesting, when I had been dean at UTSA, I had denied a couple of professors tenure, and one of them sued me for $2,000,000. I remember calling the UT System office and asking if I was covered for this. They told me I was covered for $200,000, and I said, “I don’t have the other $1.8 million.” I remember that vividly—

I’d remember that vividly, too—

JG: As it turned out, the suit didn’t amount to anything, but I thought it would hurt me when applying to SHSU. But after I was selected president, a member of the committee told me it helped me, because the committee thought, “Well, here’s a guy who will stick his neck out to uphold standards.”

You mentioned they asked you what your priorities as president would be. What was your first objective?

JG: I think if you are running a university, you must think of academics first. One thing I worked to implement was reducing the teaching load to nine hours a semester, so professors could do more research. I was convinced this would allow us to continue to attract high-quality professors and give them the chance to pursue the kind of career they wanted.

The look of the campus changed under your tenure as president.

JG: I became President of SHSU in 2001, and the University had not built a new dorm since 1968, so new dorm construction was a priority. I believed newer and nicer dorms would attract more students to campus. This also involved removing some of the older dorms, such as Wilson and Frels, which were in the middle of campus and were eyesores.

With Wilson and Frels removed, the center of campus became an open plaza, now named “The Frank Parker Plaza.” Urban design specialists refer to open and accessible areas as “civic spaces,” places that attract people—who, in turn, congregate. From such designs, communities form, much as has happened at SHSU. The Frank Parker Plaza—graced by the Blatchley Bell Tower—is now the key campus gathering place, somewhat akin to the “agora” in the Greek city-states.

What other physical changes did you initiate on campus?

JG: We created The Woodlands Center, giving us a presence in that growing community. We also built the College of Humanities and Social Sciences building. We renovated the Peabody Library, turning it into a place to host special events. And, of course, the Performing Arts Center; Nancy and I are very proud of that.

The James and Nancy Gaertner Performing Arts Center is the most impressive of the buildings constructed since the 1920s. In 2015, College Degree Search identified the structure as one of the “25 Most Amazing Campus Arts Centers” in the United States.

What other goals did you have when you returned to SHSU?

JG: I thought more focus should be given to athletics. This is an area that all people—students, faculty, staff, alumni, and the surrounding community—can rally around, and I thought that would help build institutional pride and provide publicity.

During his tenure as President, Gaertner also created an online program at SHSU, bringing in Bill Angrove from UTSA as director. He expanded the University’s alumni and advancement offices, creating an infrastructure capable of initiating the University’s first-ever capital campaign.

Nancy, what was the adjustment like for you when Jim became President?

NG: It was an adjustment. I really loved teaching, and before Jim took the SHSU job, we had just built a house. I remember driving home from school one day, and I thought, “I just love my life.”

Man plans, and God laughs.

NG: That is true! I was supportive of Jim applying for the presidency, but it was an adjustment for me to stop teaching and to assume the role of what people referred to as “first lady.” It turned out to be a much larger role than I ever imagined. I really thought I would just be going to a lot of dinners. (laughter)

JG: She quickly developed her own reputation, as people picked up on her competency and her ability to get along with people and to get things done.

NG: At one point, I told Jim, “I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing,” but he encouraged me to make the role my own, specializing in what I enjoy. This prompted me to think, “What do I want? What can I add to the university and to the community?” It then seemed simple: I love fitness, education, children, and wellness. One of the things we did was to provide employees with the opportunity for 30 minutes of work time each day for wellness activities. I thought this was important not only for individuals’ wellbeing, but also institutionally. Healthy employees miss less work and are more productive while at work.

During Jim’s nine years as President of SHSU, Nancy—to paraphrase a recent movie—did almost everything, everywhere, and all at once. She was on the CASA Board, the Friends of the Library, the Huntsville Memorial Hospital Board, and the Chamber of Commerce Board. She served as President of the Huntsville Study Club. She was selected as President of the Friends of the Wynne. She chaired the City’s Cultural District Committee, working with state officials to secure a “Cultural District” designation for the community. She also co-chaired the “Let’s Talk” committee on campus, which raised hundreds of thousands of dollars in scholarships for SHSU students.

Nancy received the Alumni Service Award in 2006; she and Jim were given the “Sandhop Spirit of Huntsville Award” by the Chamber of Commerce in 2015; and in 2017, Nancy was recognized as the “Outstanding Supporter of the Arts” by SHSU’s Department of Art “because of the many ways she has positively influenced the Huntsville community and the University community through her tremendous support of the arts.”

JG: I really cannot emphasize enough how instrumental she was in helping lead the University. She was so involved on and off campus that it really lightened my load, led to advantages for the institution, and built important bridges between the community and the University. She was an ambassador for SHSU and the larger community.

The titles “ambassador” and “first lady” turned out to be more appropriate than anyone might have thought. When Jim and Nancy went to Thailand, they had lunch with Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, an SHSU alum. When the Prime Minister came to Texas, he made an eleventh-hour decision to visit SHSU. With little more than a day’s notice, the couple (and friends) pulled together a dinner, which they hosted at their house, entertaining the head of state—and his security entourage.

Jim, you retired in 2010, after nine years as President. What led you to think that was the right time?

JG: It wasn’t a hasty decision, and it wasn’t prompted by one single factor. It was partially that I had done most of the things as President I had set out to do; it was partially that I wanted to spend more time with my family; it was a little bit of burnout, and I think it’s natural and usually positive to have turnover at the top of a university every decade or so. It wasn’t one single thing. It was just a rational decision.

You are now President Emeritus, and you still go into the office. How do you balance staying active in things without appearing to overreach?

JG: This can be a problem, especially when you stay in the same town. It is a continuum, and you don’t want to come off as uninterested or as uncaring about the University; you also don’t want to be seen as trying to still run things. It’s important not to go too far in either direction. I have tried to err on the side of being less involved rather than being thought of as too involved.

How do the two of you spend your time now that you are retired?

NG: I am still very involved with the Wynne Home, continuing to serve as President of the “Friends of the Wynne.” I have taught a Pilates class for several years now. I also bake and cook, and we love to travel.

JG: Let me add to that: Nancy is a wonderful cook. She is really capable of some culinary craftsmanship. In fact, when we came back to SHSU, one of the areas she took on was the dining at special events. She worked with Aramark to ensure we would have top-notch food, excellent service, special menus for special events, and the like.

NG: I thought it was important that the University be presented very positively during special events. I love good food, and the food and its presentation are important.

Jim, what kinds of things do you do now?

JG: I still do work, but not as much as I did immediately after retiring. I do some unofficial mentoring, just people stopping by the office now and then, and asking, “What should I do about this situation?” I give presentations occasionally, as well. I golf, and I enjoy travel. I also write about our family, stories that we enjoy and want preserved.

Speaking of family, you raised three children—Scott, Denise, and Amanda—and you also have two grandchildren. You suffered a loss in 2020 when Denise passed away. I am sure some of our readers have had this befall them as well. Could you discuss the impact of losing an adult child?

JG: You know, it’s really tough. You think about it a lot. She had diabetes and was having heart problems, so we knew she was in poor health. It wasn’t a shock, but it was tragic for us.

NG: I don’t know how to describe it. Your children are a part of you, and when they are here, you think about them on a day-to-day basis. But when they are gone, the memories come in floods: I remember when she learned to walk; when she started school; and when she went to Okinawa in the military. Your children are a part of you, and they are a part of you forever.

The Gaertners established the Denise Gaertner Tippy Endowment for Veterans, a scholarship that, as the name suggests, will benefit student veterans at SHSU. At the time of its establishment, Jim noted: “I hope the students who receive the scholarship will appreciate her and then also be inspired to give back in the future and pay it forward to someone else. It is a tremendous way in which Denise can be remembered forever.”

Denise had a son, one of two grandchildren you have.

NG: That is correct. Her son, Cody Tippy, is living in Laramie, Wyoming, and he is a state trooper. Our youngest child Amanda is living in the San Antonio area. And our son Scott is married to Wendy, and they live in the Austin area. They have a son named Riley Gaertner. He is attending Colorado University—Boulder.

Your grandchildren seem to enjoy the west, and if I recall correctly, so do you two.

NG: We love the southwest and the west. One of our favorite towns is Santa Fe, and we go there and then explore some of the towns and even states nearby. In the past few years, we’ve done that a couple of times, visiting St. George, Utah and Monument Valley, Arizona. It’s just a beautiful area in which to spend time. We’ve traveled so much, sometimes the trips run together.

What’s a recent trip you enjoyed?

NG: A couple of years ago, we traveled for an entire month! We drove up to Montana, then into Canada, and we visited Banff. On that same trip, we went to Victoria, British Columbia, which is one of our favorite places. And then we drove south through California’s wine country. It was a wonderful trip.

Jim, after you retired from Sam as President, you went back to work for the Texas State University System. Any chance of you taking another job?

JG: That’s very unlikely. And even when I took the TSUS position, which was 12 years ago, I initially turned it down. The Chairman of the Board of Regents then reached out and asked me to reconsider. I met with the Chancellor and told him I would consider it, but the interim position would have to end in May, because I wanted the summer to do things. I had more things I wanted to do than I had summers left to do them in.

Do you ever miss being President of SHSU?

JG: No, not anymore. When I first retired, I’d miss seeing friends at the University every day, or being actively involved in the big decisions. I think everyone who retires misses aspects of their job at the beginning. It may have been a bit harder for me at first, because I loved the University so much, and I still do. I just don’t miss the day-to-day work that goes into being president. Nancy and I are remarkably fortunate, and life is good.

The post Jim and Nancy Gaertner appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

Bullock Museum of Texas History

Mike Yawn — Tue, 28 Feb 2023 19:12:51 +0000

“Only death will end my love affair with Texas,” reflected former Lieutenant Governor Bob Bullock. As it turns out, though, that wasn’t quite true. In April 1999—two months before he would die—Bullock managed to attend the groundbreaking for a new museum, one that would not only be named for him, but would also showcase the history of the state he loved.

The Bullock Museum of Texas State History—all 175,000 square feet of it—reflects Bullock’s larger-than-life personality and his love of Texas. It features two theaters—a 320-seat IMAX and the multi-sensory “Texas Spirit Theater”—an impressive rotunda that doubles as exhibit space, and three themed floors including hundreds of artifacts highlighting millennia of history.

Three Floors, Three Themes: Land, Identity, and Opportunity

Visitors enter through the rotunda, where they see—and likely walk across—the mosaic “Born Around the Campfires of Our Past,” by Texas artist Robert Ritter. This colorful piece includes the state’s flora and fauna, while also depicting those who have shaped Texas history. These representative individuals—Buffalo Soldiers, Vaqueros, Conquistadores, Missionaries, American Indians—are sitting around a campfire, presumably telling stories of their people and the land.

Some of these stories are told on the first floor of the Museum, which highlights “The Land,” the sprawling, geographically diverse region that is now Texas. Visitors learn of the early nomadic peoples, the exploration of the territory, the cultivation of the soil, and the battles that took place in—and for control of—the region. The centerpiece of this floor, however, involves a sea-faring vessel, La Belle, a French ship that ran aground and was disabled in Matagorda Bay in 1685. The Spanish found the “broken ship” the next year, but after salvaging items from it, La Belle was abandoned, forgotten, and underwater—for more than 300 years.

It was rediscovered in 1995, and much of its skeletal structure and more than 1.5 million artifacts from the ship were recovered. Indeed, the storage capacity of the modest-sized ship was staggering; among the many items it carried were more than 600,000 beads, 1,500 brass rings, and 100,000-plus pounds of gunpowder. Some of these items are spectacular: a colander, which looks like it could have been lifted from a 20^th-century kitchen; a helmet with fine etchings; and, perhaps most impressive, an exquisitely detailed crucifix.

Interestingly, the Bullock Museum is a non-collecting museum, which means that the artifacts on display are on loan from collectors, including other museums. Sam Houston Memorial Museum (SHMM), for example, has, according to former Director Mac Woodward, “loaned the Bullock Museum artifacts such as Sam Houston’s leopard (jaguar) vest, Santa Anna’s chamber pot, and other items of historical interest.” This type of arrangement benefits both museums. It offers new artifacts to the Bullock Museum for display, while providing exposure to the SHMM and its holdings.

Of course, this also means that artifacts leave the Bullock Museum periodically, to be replaced by items loaned from other sources. In the case of La Belle, however, the vessel has been a mainstay since its installation, and Museum staff note that their custodianship of their first-floor centerpiece is “very long-term.”

For many, the second floor, which tackles the state’s quest for “Identity,” is the most intriguing and familiar. It is here visitors will learn about Stephen F. Austin’s journey to Texas and the work that made him the “Father of Texas;” see Elisabet Ney’s “Sam Houston” statue; follow narratives of the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto; and explore the state’s tumultuous early days in the Union and unfortunate time in the Confederate States of America. Interpreters are occasionally on hand to provide information about the era or one of the Museum’s many artifacts.

The third floor of the Museum showcases collections that reflect the state as a land of “Opportunity.” The state’s oil industry is featured; ranching and farming are discussed; air and space exploration are highlighted; Texas’ first-class medical facilities are spotlighted; and Texas’ contribution to music are showcased. Images of and facts about notable Texans—from Farrah Fawcett to Michael DeBakey—are on display.

Looming large amidst these three floors is the omni-visible Goddess of Liberty. This artifact is the original statue that sat atop the Texas Capitol until 1985, when she was replaced by a younger, aluminum alloy replica. Following a brief tour of parts of Texas and some cosmetic surgery, this original Goddess was put on display in the Museum in 2001.

The Museum describes her as “formidable,” which is true, but it is also true that she was not chosen for her beauty. Rather, her features were purposefully exaggerated—protruding lips, a gherkin nose, and a brow that would embarrass a caveman—to provide shape to a face designed to be viewed from afar. These features are particularly emphatic when seen up close, which is the view from almost anywhere in the Museum. Standing at more than 15-feet tall, she continues to command Texans’ attention.

Theaters and Rotating Exhibits

The Museum features entertainment options in the form of an IMAX theatre, which occasionally offers movies or documentaries that reflect the theme of Texas, special exhibitions, or other “educational” fare. Currently, for example, they are showing films on the Serengeti, the Arctic, and dinosaurs. For pure entertainment, they are also offering Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania. In the smaller, multi-sensory “Texas Spirit Theatre,” visitors can view Shipwrecked to learn more about La Belle or The Star of Destiny, to brush up on key events in Texas history.

The Museum also has gallery space for rotating exhibitions. With 2023 being the 100^th anniversary of the Texas State Park System, the Bullock is featuring artwork capturing the beauty, mystery, and diversity of the state’s many parks and historical sites. The 34 paintings on view reflect a sample of the 65 works commissioned by the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department for this centenary. The works, according to Museum staff, “prompt meaningful reflection on the natural beauty of public lands and their significance as places of solace, rejuvenation, recreation, and refuge.”

One of these paintings, undertaken by Lee Jamison, highlights a public site of great significance: the San Jacinto battlefield. The landscape was undertaken from a flattering angle, one that deemphasizes the region’s swampy terrain and minimizes the prominence of refineries and their attendant smoke plumes. What is depicted is a painting of variegated grasses and multihued plants, and a blue sky, composed in a horizontal landscape punctuated by a vertical monument to the State’s aspirational culture.

This quiet and beautiful scene depicting marsh grasses and woods, according to Jamison, somewhat disguises “the grim realities of the long-ago Battle,” which reflected, among other things, poor planning on Santa Anna’s part. But the “nature of the land contributed to the outcome of the battle,” continues Jamison, and therefore may “provide insight into our park system and the influence of the land on our state culture.”

The “Art of Texas State Parks” will remain on display through April 30.

Reflections

Apart from the Museum’s name, Bob Bullock maintains a presence in the structure. A bronze statue of the long-serving state official stands on the second floor, gavel in hand, in front of a limestone wall engraved with the words, “God Bless Texas,” a reminder of the force and the sentiment behind the Museum.

Bullock’s statue faces eastward, toward newly redesigned exterior grounds. The Lone Star Plaza remains, along with its large, bronze star-shaped sculpture. But gone is a three-block portion of Congress Avenue; in its place is a pedestrian promenade that, with surrounding buildings, makes up the “Texas Mall.” This Mall will, according to its designers, serve as the “northern gateway to the Capitol,” where Bob Bullock once labored as Lieutenant Governor, and where, in 1995, he first discussed the idea of the state history museum that now bears his name.

Bullock Texas State History Museum
www.thestoryoftexas.com
1800 Congress Ave, Austin, TX 78701
(512) 936-8746

The post Bullock Museum of Texas History appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

Kathryn Casey

Mike Yawn — Mon, 02 Jan 2023 15:23:21 +0000

Kathryn Casey is primarily known as a true-crime writer, but her writings cover the spectrum. She’s written about glitzy art galas in Houston, interviewed A-list celebrities, interrogated serial killers, dished with first ladies over tea, and authored several novels. She has written more than 100 magazine articles, 11 works of non-fiction, and 7 novels. She has been seen on numerous news programs and documentaries and can currently be seen in all three episodes of Netflix’s Crime Scene: The Texas Killing Fields, which ranked as one of the most streamed programs in December 2022.

Where did you grow up?

The Midwest, in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin, which is near Milwaukee. I still have family there, and we go back from time to time.

When did you move to Texas?

I moved to Texas in 1980, when my husband moved here for a job. At the time, I was working a flexible job as a bookkeeper. When I got to Houston, though, I decided to make a switch and earn a bachelor’s degree from the University of Houston.

Did you pursue that degree with the idea of being a writer?

I did. I wanted to major in English, but I was in my thirties, and I thought that was really old. I figured I needed to be practical and get a degree in journalism.

Do you still think that being 30-something is old?

I do not.

Did the degree lead to a job writing?

Yes. I obtained an internship with Houston City Magazine, which, in turn, led me to being hired by the magazine. By the time I left a couple of years later, I was a senior editor. I then jumped to Ultra.

It was a bit like a Town & Country for Texas. I went to many ritzy parties and store openings, and we published a lot of stories with ball gowns and jewels. I was there for about two years, and then I worked regularly as a contract writer at Ladies Home Journal for almost two decades. During this period, I did a lot of freelance writing.

I wrote for numerous magazines and newspapers. I published for The Washington Post, Houston Chronicle, and The Boston Globe. I was a stringer for Newsweek and People. I wrote for Rolling Stone, Town & Country, and Seventeen. Freelancing was great because it allowed me to do different things, but it was important to have regular work, as I did with Ladies Home Journal.

Things are so different now that a lot of people don’t realize what a thriving and stimulating world journalism was in the 1980s and 1990s.

It was a lot of fun. One week I might be in a penthouse at Caesar’s Palace interviewing Reba McEntire; then I would go to talk to a grandmother in another state who had been artificially inseminated with her grandchildren; this could be followed by a visit to Allentown, Pennsylvania to cover a serial-killer case; and then it was off to the White House to interview Hillary Clinton.

She wasn’t the only first lady you interviewed.

That’s correct, I’ve interviewed Betty Ford, Rosalynn Carter, Barbara Bush, Hillary Clinton, and Laura Bush.

Who was your favorite interview?

That is a tough one. But I really liked Laura Bush. I spent two days with Ms. Bush, one day with her during the campaign and a day interviewing her. She had been a librarian, and we spent a lot of time talking books, which I enjoyed very much.

Do you have any amusing stories from your time with first ladies?

When interviewing Rosalynn Carter, I had something of a surprise. While in her home in Plains, Georgia, President Carter walked through the door. He had been clearing out some vegetation, and he had cut his hand. He walked in the door, saw Rosalynn and me speaking, and he interrupted, asking, “Rosalynn, do you think we have health insurance?”

Was he serious?

No, he was just playing, but he sat with us for a while during the interview. At one point he interrupted again, and noting that I worked for Ladies Home Journal, he said, “Lot of recipes in that magazine. Think you could make us some lunch? I’m getting darn hungry.” At that point, Rosalynn got up and escorted him out of the room.

Around this time—the late 1990s—the internet is changing journalism. Can you describe what effect this had?

Absolutely. The internet was emerging, and people were writing internet content for free. A lot of the print media began to dry up, and jobs became scarce. Fortunately, I was writing books by then. Not all writers were that fortunate.

The internet has made information more available, but not necessarily more reliable. When you were writing for major magazines, what steps were there to ensure accuracy?

Just as one example, when I did a piece for Rolling Stone, I had to supply the editors with a list of all my sources and their contact information. The magazine had fact-checkers, and all my work had to go through a legal team. Back then, even as a freelance writer, I had support from the magazines. The leading magazines had research teams to support writers. There were strict journalistic standards.

During this period, you wrote on a diverse set of topics, and you could have written books about any of those broad subjects. What brought you specifically to true crime?

I began covering true crime while I was with Houston City in the 1980s. There was a love-triangle murder I covered, and I spent months working on it. I found the trial addictive; I enjoyed seeing the attorneys in action. It was like a chess game; as a journalist, I was watching the strategy. I enjoyed that aspect of it. But the cases are also sad, and it is difficult to interview the victims’ families. But I thought there was something valuable in getting the information to the public.

Is it the investigative challenge that intrigues you?

Partly. It’s putting the puzzle together, assembling the pieces into a coherent picture, making sense out of the case. Prosecutors have asked me, “How did you get all that information?” For me, it’s a quest.

What’s the most interesting true-crime case you have covered?

The Celeste Beard case in Austin probably involved the most unusual set of circumstances. It was something of a preposterous story, one I described in She Wanted it All. If the Coen Brothers made a movie about domestic murder, it might look like the Celeste Beard case.

Celeste married a millionaire widower, Steve Beard, who was more than twice her age. She had also befriended Tracey Tarlton, the manager of Austin’s Book People, and the two of them, according to She Wanted it All, made two unsuccessful attempts on Steve’s life. In a third attempt, Tracey shot Steve in the stomach, and he died four months later from a (probably related) blood clot. Tarlton received a reduced sentence for testifying against Celeste, and she was released from prison in 2011. Celeste was convicted of capital murder, and she is not eligible for parole until 2042.

You made the transition from magazine journalist to true-crime author, then you made the transition to novelist. Tell us about that transition.

I’ve basically been in a long-running legal education, dating back to the 1980s, when I began covering criminal trials. I’ve been in a lot of courtrooms. True-crime is interesting, but it’s not a lot of fun to write, and it’s reporting, not creative writing. I began writing fiction to explore things creatively, to have control of the plots, and I’ve been having fun with it.

Casey’s first novel, Singularity, was published in 2008, and it featured Sara Armstrong, a Texas Ranger. Library Journal called it a “well-written debut” and Booklist called it “impressive,” with a “memorable heroine” who “has brains, moxie, and heart.” Casey wrote four novels featuring Armstrong.

**After years of writing magazines and non-fiction, you wrote Singularity, featuring a female Texas Ranger. How did you prepare for that?**

I spent about a month going around interviewing female police officers. They shared with me the process of breaking into the profession and various elements of law enforcement. And, of course, I have my own experiences covering cases, so I have a lot to draw on. What I learn in non-fiction bleeds into my fiction.

Which sells better: your non-fiction or fiction?

They both sell pretty well. The fiction works have been pretty successful, but I am known as a true-crime author.

Ann Rule referred to Casey as “one of the best in the business” and author Gregg Olsen called her a “true crime great.”

With several successful novels under your belt, do you think you’ll return to the more emotionally and physically grueling true-crime?

I have submitted a couple of chapters of a proposed non-fiction work to my agent. I would like to do more. True crime is very popular right now, perhaps a function of both podcasts and documentaries on Netflix and such. I think readers take something from the true crime.

You self-published one of your novels. Tell us how that works.

My first three Sara Armstrong books were done through St. Martin’s, and I had a clause in that contract that I could get the rights back under specific conditions. It worked out, and I was able to get those rights. When I wrote my fourth Armstrong book, I self-published it.

Is that a risk?

Not as much now. Self-publishing is quite common, and if I don’t like an offer from a publisher, I can go the self-publishing route.

What are the industry standards for royalties through a traditional publisher and self-publishing?

It depends on various factors, such as who the author is, but the standard on a paperback is for the author to get eight percent; and for an e-book, the author receives twenty-five percent. With self-publishing, the author will receive between thirty and seventy percent of the cover price, but the author will also need to hire the copy editor and cover designer. And, of course, the author will need to do all the promotion.

**Your latest books feature Detective Clara Jeffries. The first of these books, Fallen Girls, begins in a Mormon community. How did you come across that idea?**

In my magazine years, I spent a week in a polygamous Mormon town about an adoption case. It is a lifestyle that’s very different from what most people know, and, as I was writing my novel, I thought that knowledge might be useful in forming the backstory and setting.

In both your fictional series, you have a female investigator as the lead. Is that because it’s what you know, or is it a social statement?

Female sleuths sell well; they are in demand. But, also, I am female, and I have done a lot of investigating. I know female police officers. I can take what I know, and I can incorporate it into my novels.

Have you ever thought of inserting yourself into one of your novels as a character? For example, having a dogged female reporter named Kathryn Casey cover one of the cases that Clara Jeffries is investigating?

I have never done that, but it is a great idea. If I do that, I’ll have to include you in the acknowledgements!

You can see Kathryn Casey on Netflix’s Crime Scene: The Texas Killing Fields, you can find her books on Amazon or at almost any bookstore, and you can learn more about her on her website: https://www.kathryncasey.com/index.htm.

The post Kathryn Casey appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

Remembering Old Main

Mike Yawn — Mon, 31 Jan 2022 15:04:42 +0000

In conjunction with the 40^th anniversary of the Old Main fire, Mike Yawn will host a Facebook Live on Friday, February 11, 2022 at 2:00pm. Guests will include Linda Bowers Rushing, Chris Tritico, and Jane Monday. Those interested can tune in to https://www.facebook.com/SHSULEAP.

The Fire

It was after midnight, and Debbie Pecor, an SHSU junior, was tired. Her study session had gone late, and she was driving home on a Thursday night—or, more accurately, a Friday morning. But even accounting for her bleary-eyed condition, she knew something was amiss. This was February 12, 1982, years before the Holliday Unit or Ravenwood Village cast an institutional glow over the town, but a glow there was, in a spot where no glow should be. As she got closer, the glow reified into defined flames and nebulous smoke. Old Main, a building once referred to as the “most beautiful building owned by the State of Texas,” was on fire.

Even today, 40 years later, Debbie Pecor—now Debbie Daugette—remembers the scene. “The streets were blocked by emergency vehicles; smoke filled the air. It was chaos, and it was awful.”

Just two months earlier, Jay Letney, also a junior at SHSU, had played a concert in Old Main—one of the last such events performed in the structure. But much had changed since that concert, and Letney was now a full-time student and a full-time jailer/dispatcher at the Walker County Sheriff’s Office. He worked the graveyard shift, and he heard the news unfold in real time. The first call came in at 1:17am. The dispatchers were professional, but the tone was urgent, even frantic. Old Main, the dispatcher noted, was aflame, and Austin Hall, located just feet away, was in jeopardy.

Tom Grisham, one of three paid firefighters with the City of Huntsville (and now a retired Chief from the agency), was asleep when the call came in. He awoke at the sound of his pager, and after listening to the dispatch, moved quickly to the scene, arriving shortly after 1:30am. Even as he approached, he could see the magnitude of the fire. He knew it would be a long night, and he suspected Old Main might be beyond saving. He hoped that, with the assistance of volunteer firefighters and help from Livingston’s Fire Department, the crew “could save the Austin College Building.” It was, he said, the longest and most emotionally draining fire event to which he responded in his career—a career of service lasting more than 40 years.

Chris Tritico wasn’t a fireman, but he was an SHSU student in 1982 and, in fact, he was the student body president. He learned of the fire in the early morning by phone, and, fireman-fast, drove to campus. He arrived in the early morning. It was still full dark except for the fire’s flames, and he saw Dean Bobby Marks and President Elliott Bowers, the latter of whom asked him to “stand guard” and discourage memento-seekers. Tritico stood post—just southeast of Austin Hall—for the next fifteen hours, a witness to the unfolding tragedy. Now in his 60s, he still says with certainty, “I’ll never forget Old Main, and I’ll never forget that fire.”

Bill Nowlin lived in the avenues, and he and his neighbor, Professor Jimmy Dale Shaddock, had formed the “fat man’s running club,” which, either because of poor marketing or contradictory eligibility requirements, didn’t attract a lot of members. But these two were dedicated, and at 5:00am on February 12, they met for their usual run. Even before starting, however, they knew the morning wasn’t usual: they heard sirens, saw a faint but ominous “glow in the sky,” and smelled the smoke. They strayed from their typical path and headed toward campus, where they soon realized it was Old Main ablaze. They came as close as responders would allow—close enough to feel the heat from the fire—and watched through tear-filled eyes the demise of a once-grand community landmark.

Jane Monday, then a City Council member and the mother of school-age children, did not hear of the fire until 5:30am. Following a regular routine of watching the news, making breakfast, and preparing for the day’s activities, she heard reports of the fire on KPRC. “It was devastating,” recalled Monday. Rather than take her children to school that morning, she drove them to 7^th Street, behind Samuel Walker Houston Elementary School, which offered a better view of campus. And although smoke partially obscured her view, she might have been able to see Austin Hall, visible—for the first time in 92 years—behind the magnificent ruins of Old Main.

Up close, the view was grim. Grisham remembers the front wall of Old Main collapsed before dawn. The building’s interiors were mostly wood, which burned, turned to ashes, and blew away. Skeletal walls remained, teetering over a rubble of bricks, and beams, the collapsed bones of a quondam cathedral. “It’s all gone,” President Bowers told The Houston Chronicle, “the spires, the stained-glass windows, the auditorium.” It was, he said, the “saddest day of my life.”

The Structure

Before the stained-glass windows were installed, before the spires were erected, before the auditorium was built, the structural concept was developing in the mind of architect Alfred Muller. Prussian-born, he immigrated to Galveston via Washington, DC and New York City, and, if his own advertisements are credible, he designed as many as 100 structures. His body of work, according to one architectural guide, reflects “flashes of genius,” and, incontestably, one of those flashes was his 1890 design of Old Main.

The structure possessed many of Muller’s characteristic motifs, which, according to architectural historian Helen Mooty, included effusive “ornamental millwork,” “heavily embellished” surfaces, “beaded and turned spindles,” and “generous and impressive” entry stairs. With Old Main, Muller not only found a physical scaffold for his ideas, but he was provided a budget ($40,000 in 1890 dollars), location (hilltop), and institutional setting (college campus) that afforded him the opportunity to express fully his mature architectural style.

Although Muller developed the architectural plans for Old Main, execution of the design was left largely to the “supervising architect,” Edward Northcraft. In fact, Muller was relieved of his official duties before the project was complete. Historian (and SHSU alumnus) Dan Utley suggests that the dispute involved the “integrity of the foundation,” but whatever the cause, it was Northcraft who completed the design, and a decade later, he designed a (suspiciously) similar building at what was then Southwest Texas University.

The builders of Old Main were brothers George H. and J. A. Wilson, who constructed numerous courthouses in Texas and, according to one news article, also built (unidentified) structures in downtown Huntsville. Interestingly, a descendant of George Wilson—who went by “Jerry”—wrote to President Harmon Lowman in 1963, noting that family lore had “‘Uncle Jerry’ as a wealthy man…until he started the Old Main project.” On Old Main, Wilson lost all his wealth, “because he miscalculated the number of bricks it would take.” The bricks, notably, were made from clay originating in the Huntsville area, and these bricks would, after the fire, become much sought after.

The structure, situated on a hill, with high ceilings, and seemingly sky-scraping spires, was imposing and created an impressive silhouette against the Huntsville sky. Professor of Architecture Willard Robinson praised Old Main’s picturesque massing, which he described as possessing “extraordinary pinnacles, steep-pitched roofs, and pointed arches.” Dan Utley went further, noting that the building “set a standard for other elaborate public buildings to follow.”

The rapid technological and cultural changes of the 20^th century, however, brought changes even to Old Main. The structure was equipped with electricity in 1913; the organ was removed sometime around 1925 to provide more space in the auditorium (this organ is now in the Peabody Library); Architect Harry Payne, who designed many structures in River Oaks and Huntsville, renovated the building’s exterior features, particularly along the roof and eaves; the ivy was removed in the 1950s, to prevent further damage to the building; and major renovations were made in 1966 to “modernize” the structure.

Unfortunately, the building wasn’t fully modernized. No sprinkler system, for example, was installed, and the electrical wiring was laughably problematic, so much so that people remember lights flickering in and out during stage performances. Joe Janczak, who, on February 11, 1982, stopped in Old Main at sunset to see the sun shining through the stained-glass windows, remembers noticing “extension cords plugged into extension cords,” which he described as “a violation of basic electrical standards.” It was, according to many sources, a fire trap.

The fire, of course, was the most massive and devastating change in the structure of Old Main, but it wasn’t the last. In the fire’s aftermath, University leaders explored building a new “Main Building,” using the Old Main design and incorporating a modern infrastructure. This was rejected as too expensive, and, instead, a memorial was designed on the original site, one that highlighted the building’s footprint and incorporated original elements salvaged from the ruins. It is now typically referred to as “the Old Main Pit,” emphasizing, in sculptural or architectural terms, the negative space left by the absence of the once towering structure.

The Spirit

The absence of Old Main isn’t just a physical phenomenon. In the days after the fire, numerous students, citizens, and alumni sent in letters—some handwritten, some typed, some by telegram—expressing their sense of loss. Bill Hall described the news as a “great shock and sadness”; Mac Woodward referred to it as a “tragic loss;” Kriss Brink likened it to someone stealing “a piece of my heart.” All mentioned a sense of grieving or loss.

Frank Krystyniak, then the University’s Spokesperson, arrived early in the morning—possibly around 3am—and managed to hold his composure through dozens of media interviews and fact-gathering meetings. Later that day, however, while walking across campus, he noticed that there were an unusual number of pigeons flying around campus, and it dawned on him: “They had lost their nesting place. They didn’t know where to go.” Confronted with this poignant observation, his eyes filled with tears.

For a while, students may also have felt they didn’t have a place on campus. For more than nine decades, Old Main was the natural gathering spot for students, where they played frisbee, sat, conversed, flirted, and made friends. That happens much less frequently at the Old Main Memorial today, but the spirit of sociability and friendliness hasn’t departed or declined, it has simply found new sites and means of expression. Mostly, it has moved eastward, toward the middle of campus, where the Blatchley Clock Tower reminds students that they are—following a well-documented SHSU student tradition—late for class.

More importantly, the students have continued to work toward achieving the best of the University’s traditions, that of defining a life by its service. In so doing, they, too, have helped the University maintain and renew its identity.

This identity was perhaps best expressed by alumnus Esteban Gonzales on February 20, 1982, when he wrote to President Bowers, and observed that the conflagration “both took away and added to my life. In concrete terms, [the fire] took away a building that was both beautiful and special to me. In abstract terms, it added a spirit that will always live in my memory and my heart.”

Like Gonzales, other alumni have Old Main memories that live on in their hearts. Bill Nowlin recalls proposing to his wife, Debbie, on the steps of Old Main in 1970. This memory is much clearer than the classes he took inside the structure, as it should be. Bill and Debbie were married in 1971, and they recently celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary.

And Nancy Patrick, who began attending classes at SHSU in the 1960s, still has a vivid impression of Old Main. Following a nice first date with her soon-to-be boyfriend, Jim, she agreed to meet at Old Main to discuss the logistics of a second date, a costume party. Many nice dates followed, and in 1964, the two married, and she became Nancy Gaertner.

Today, many students and alumni attend events in one of the campus’s newer—and most attractive—buildings: the James and Nancy Gaertner Performing Arts Center. Each time they do, they strengthen University traditions, while also forging new memories, which, in turn, they will likely share with others in future years.

Renewal comes from rediscovery, too. Four decades ago, Paul Culp sought solace after coming to work and seeing Old Main reduced to rubble. But in an eloquent letter to President Bowers, he suggested that in the face of such a “tragedy,” a restoration of Austin Hall might bring forth a “new symbol of the University.” He observed that, “for the first time in nearly one hundred years, Austin Hall is visible from the…foot of the hill,” and he openly hoped that its renewed profile would again be recognized for its preeminence “both in age and in beauty among educational structures west of the Mississippi…”

Most on campus would agree that Austin Hall has fulfilled Culp’s hope and, in doing so, these onlookers are implicitly thanking those firefighters who, for 17 hours, fought and contained the flames of Old Main on February 12, 1982. Their efforts salvaged Austin Hall, allowing this building’s restored beauty to be seen on campus today—and from diverse vantage points across the community, including on the 7^th Street hill, where, forty-years ago, Jane Monday and her children watched the Old Main fire.

SHSU archivist Barbara Kievit-Mason was instrumental in providing information for this article, and she generously shared artifacts, photos, and knowledge about the University and Old Main. Any person with Old Main artifacts—letters, photographs, bricks, histories, shards of glass, etc.—is encouraged to consider donating these to the SHSU Archives.

The post Remembering Old Main appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

The Bewitching Wichitas

Mike Yawn — Tue, 30 Nov 2021 19:24:32 +0000

There are mountains in Oklahoma. They aren’t large mountains—Coloradans would probably think of them as “cute”—but they are mountains. Indeed, the state has four distinct mountain ranges: the Arbuckles, the Ozarks, the Ouachitas, and the Wichitas. The latter of these, the Wichita Mountains, are mystical and enchanting, offering a diversity of flora and fauna, numerous recreational activities, and beautiful views, making for a perfect long-weekend visit.

The History

This area has been inhabited for at least a thousand years by the Wichita people, whose full territory covered Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. Their religion reflected what was important to their lives, with a focus on the land and wildlife surrounding them and, according to one ethnologist, “more than the ordinary consideration of the infinite.” They were semi-nomadic, living in beehive-shaped lodges for most of the year, but following the bison for sustenance in the winter months. By the 19^th century, however, the Wichita people’s largest village was in southwestern Oklahoma, near the mountains that now share their name.

These mountains are geologically unique, having formed some 500 million years ago, in what geology textbooks describe as a “failed continental rift.” If so, it was a magnificent failure, producing a pleasing line of rolling mountains, massive boulders of exposed granite, and an unusual habitat for wildlife and plant life.

Indeed, the area’s history, beauty, and attractiveness to living forms prompted President Teddy Roosevelt to designate some 60,000 acres of this region as a wildlife preserve in 1905, making it the oldest site managed by the Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS).

The Wildlife and the Legends

Today, there is much to manage. It is home to almost 1,000 plant species, including the intriguing gold cobblestone lichen; more than 200 bird species; and 50 species of mammal. Among the mammals is the bison, which once numbered some 20,000,000 in the Great Plains, but by the turn of the 20^th century had vanished entirely from Oklahoma. They were reintroduced in 1907 by—again—President Roosevelt, who suggested that 15 of them be moved from, of all places, the Bronx Zoo. Today, there are almost 700 American buffalo on the Refuge, and they can be seen regularly in most areas of the park.

In fact, in half a dozen visits to the Refuge, we have never not seen them. They are large creatures—the largest land mammals in North America—weighing up to 2,000 pounds. They take up a lot of space, and when we have witnessed them, they moved slowly, when they moved at all, giving us much time to gawk, point, and photograph.

Looks, as they say, can be deceiving. According to the Fish and Wildlife Service, bison are as fast as horses, capable of speeds up to 35 miles an hour and are—I find this almost unbelievable—“extremely agile, able to turn quickly and jump high fences.” You really don’t want to anger a bison.

Helpfully, the FWS notes that you can “judge a bison’s mood by watching its tail,” which, apparently, operates as something of a middle finger, rising in periods of anger.

Wild herds of Texas Longhorns also roam the Refuge, along with many deer and elk. The elk, however, are mostly out of sight, dwelling in less-travelled areas of the Refuge. In September and October, however, the Refuge offers special “Elk Bugling Tours,” allowing visitors to access these areas with the hopes of spotting bull elk engaged in their aggressive competition for cow elk, bugling all the while.

Perhaps the most entertaining animal to observe on the Refuge is the prairie dog. With more 20,000 acres of mixed grass prairie, these creatures have their choice of homesites. Early travelers described miles of prairie dog villages, and from the vestiges visible today, such reports are credible. It is, perhaps, damning with faint praise to call these animals the cutest among the order rodentia, but they really are entertaining to watch, and children will enjoy seeing them sun themselves, dine on grass, or occasionally frolic with friends.

The prairie, of course, is also a birders’ haven. There are the horned grebe, several species of woodpecker, and the endangered and elusive black-capped vireo. Also living in the Refuge are numerous birds of prey: merlins, kestrels, and several species of hawk—including northern harriers, which can be seen swooping down on other birds, field mice, and even prairie dogs.

Such sights may have given rise to the legend of Piamempits, who, according to the rich and mystical lore of Wichita elders, was a “giant cannibal owl.” This creature lived in a cave in the Wichita Mountains, but he prowled at night, searching for and devouring naughty children while they slept. If this wasn’t sufficient to keep children in line, there were stories of Teihiihan, a “race of cannibal dwarves,” who had sharp teeth, one eye, and a penchant for kidnapping small children.

Of course, we may have been overly sensitive to such tales, inasmuch as our first visit to the Wichitas corresponded not only with Halloween, but also with a full moon. We lingered in the Refuge after sunset, and as this Full Hunter’s Moon arose behind a veil of clouds, we tried to dwell more on the Wichita people’s moon deity, Bright Shining Woman—a generally beneficent deity and Mother of the Universe—and less on Piamempits and Teihiihan.

The Mountains

In absolute terms, the elevation levels of the Wichita Mountains are modest. Even the highest mountain peaks in the range reach only about 2,500 feet above sea level. But this is Oklahoma, which is otherwise largely flat, and even small elevations allow for expansive views across the entire southwestern part of the state. And, this being Oklahoma, even the same views are altered throughout the day, as weather events come and go.

These views are best reached by hiking, although the summit of Mt. Scott, the second highest peak in the Refuge, can be reached by car. Mt. Scott offers 360-degree views of the Refuge; nearby communities; and a few of the Refuge’s 13 lakes, some of which can take on a mystical quality during periods of fog or heavy weather.

One of these, the Jed Johnson Lake, is particularly picturesque. The Jed Johnson Tower, constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1941, is 60 feet tall, and was formerly used as a fire watch tower. Because of structural issues, it is no longer open to the public, but it is visible from many spots in the park and is accessible via a two-mile hike.

Elk Mountain Trail is also recommended, offering wonderful views of the Refuge and numerous opportunities for wildlife spotting, all while intersecting numerous water features. Our most recommended hike, however, is Little Baldy Trail, which offers almost perfect views at sunset, providing a lot of punch for a round-trip less than two miles in length.

A Holy City

The Wichita Mountains, where tales of Piamempit and Teihiihan were once passed around campfires and in beehive-shaped grass lodges, might seem like an unlikely spot to build a simulated Jerusalem. But Native Americans are not the only people to find a religious quality to the mountains and its inhabitants.

Reverend Anthony Mark Wallock began offering sunrise Easter services in the Mountains in 1927. The annual service proved popular, and a “Passion Play” was added. By the mid-1930s, during the height of the New Deal, the federal government provided a grant to build a Holy City. The Works Progress Administration undertook the construction, and using locally quarried cobblestone, workers built key landmarks from Jesus’s life: Herod’s Court, Mary’s Garden, a Lord’s Supper building, Pilate’s Judgment Hall, the Gateway to Jerusalem, and even a Golgotha.

Nearly 90 years later, the structures still stand—and the Easter pageant is still performed, making it one of the longest-running annual Passion Play performances in the country.

The Magic of the Wichitas

This enchanting land, marked by granite mountainous outcroppings, rolling hills, and diverse wildlife, is a natural wonder. It is no wonder, then, that the people who have encountered it have projected their own spiritual beliefs on the land. From the terrors of the Teihiihan to the spiritual rebirth and renewal associated with Easter, the Mountains, the wildlife, and the elements provide a rich land for “more than an ordinary consideration of the infinite.”

The post The Bewitching Wichitas appeared first on Postcards Magazine.

Texas Talent- Lee Jamison

Mike Yawn — Wed, 01 Sep 2021 14:31:36 +0000

The region of East Texas, notes historian Dr. Caroline Crimm, is “little noted and often dismissed,” but “hidden behind the thick forest of the ‘Pine Curtain,’” it “holds a treasury of views and vistas.” Lee Jamison thinks so, too, and his newly published book, Ode to East Texas: The Art of Lee Jamison, lends considerable evidence to his belief. What follows is an interview with Jamison—part dialogue, part travelogue—as we explore the art, sights, and character of East Texas.

What is it about East Texas that makes it art worthy?

LJ: The landscape possesses a very particular beauty, marked by pine forests, mixed timber, gently rolling farmland, meadows, and some grassland. Collectively, this is a pleasant landscape, but it also affords a privacy, a sense of being set apart, and it is a contemplative region.

Contemplative not only describes East Texas; it also describes Lee Jamison, as a thinker, artist, and (as I learned from reading his book) writer.

Jamison matriculated at Lon Morris College, the now-defunct East Texas College located in Jacksonville, Texas. “It was where I got serious about art,” Jamison recalls. “I still think if you want to know who humans are, what they believe, and how they treat others, art history is a better way to do this than political history, and I learned that and more at Lon Morris College.”

While Lon Morris may have been the “Genesis Nexus” for Jamison’s East Texas, also looming large is Sam Houston State University, in Walker County, where Jamison has lived for the past 40 years.

One of the paintings I was a bit surprised to see in the book is “Old Main at Dusk,” capturing Sam Houston State University’s most impressive building (which, unfortunately, burned in 1982). How does this Gothic structure embody East Texas?

LJ: Old Main needs an article of its own. It is a beautiful and multifaceted design, with fascinating history. From a distance, Old Main had a classical appearance. But as you draw nearer, its Gothic style becomes more distinct, reflecting the aspirational nature of a university building and, as I argue, the nature of the community in which it was built. It’s not an inherent part of the landscape; it’s a reflection of the people. This includes Huntsville’s founder, Pleasant Gray; Sam Houston himself; and the people in the community who attracted Sam Houston to live here. So, in Huntsville, I focused a bit less on the landscape, and a bit more on the structures they created.

Vestiges of Old Main still exist, in the form of preserved ruins from the 1982 fire. Visitors can see the building’s footprint at its original site, which is next to Austin Hall, the oldest educational building west of the Mississippi.

Across from Old Main is the Sam Houston Memorial Museum and the grounds, which are also included in the book. This setting captures both landscape and the character of the area’s residents.

LJ: One of the paintings I do is the “Frontier Law Office,” which is firmly nestled in the landscape tradition. The physical structure it depicts is the law office of Sam Houston. Joshua Houston, the Houston family’s slave, was charged with the upkeep of the office, and he availed himself of its library of books: law, classics, and history. Following the Civil War, he was appointed alderman in Huntsville; he was subsequently elected as a County Commissioner and as a delegate to the Republican National Convention. In that sense, he reflects the aspirational character of the community.

Heading a couple of hours north, in our art travelogue, we arrive in Tyler. This city is designated not only as the “Rose Capital of the United States,” but it is also home to the beautiful Azalea District.

One of your Tyler paintings features the Goodman-LeGrant House and Museum, which you describe as anchoring “Tyler’s magnificent azalea tour.” Tell us about its intriguing history.

LJ: It is an Antebellum home whose significance is born in the horrible conflict of the Civil War. It was a place where refugees could come for comfort and respite. The home survived that catastrophe, was designated as a historic structure in 1962, and has been beautifully preserved. It is an almost resurrectional symbol–capturing history, beauty, and place. The setting, however, is somewhat marred by a giant water tower in the background. If I were just designing a beautiful painting, I would not have included the water tower, but as I say in the book, “this particular home’s depth of meaning seemed to make including the ugly thing the wrong thing not to do.”

About a half hour southeast of Tyler is the town of New London–a seemingly odd name for an East Texas town, until you remember the region also sports Paris, Carthage, New Boston, Atlanta, Pittsburg (no “h”), Palestine, and Athens. This town was the site of a 1937 public-school explosion that killed 294 people, almost all children. This event is captured in a monument, which is, in turn, captured by Jamison’s painting “Foundations of Progress.”

Perhaps another symbolic painting is “Foundations of Progress,” which depicts the New London memorial. Tell us about that.

LJ: I learned about the New London explosion from my mother, who told me about it within the context of the regulatory changes it brought about. Prior to the explosion, natural gas could be used without added odorants. Following that explosion, Texas passed a law changing that, thus providing a warning of a leak. I have seen photos taken shortly after the explosion, and the scene was horrific, with bricks spread over the countryside.

Near the memorial is the New London Texas School Explosion Museum. One artifact on display is a reproduction of a piece of recovered chalkboard, on which is scrawled: “Oil and natural gas are East Texas’ greatest mineral blessing. Without them, this school would not be here and none of us would be here learning our lessons.”

At the time of the explosion, the town’s population was 2,129. But with one explosion, an entire generation passed. A majority of these victims are buried at Pleasant Hill Cemetery and can be identified by the date of their death (March 18, 1937).

Today, the town has fewer than 1,000 residents.

That explosion was brought about by neglecting safety standards. Juxtaposed to that, however, you argue that, in the case of Jefferson, a form of benign neglect led to the preservation of one of Texas’s prettiest small towns.

LJ: Yes, Jefferson was a busy port in the 19^th century, heavily reliant on steamboat traffic for its commerce. As such, it wasn’t interested in other income streams such as the railroad. Unfortunately, the flow of the Red River changed in the late 19^th century, the water level in Jefferson was reduced, and this ended the town’s status as an important port. Without shipping traffic, it became isolated, with little new development or investment. Whatever negative effects this had, the lack of development also meant old things weren’t torn down, thus preserving the town and giving us a pretty good picture of what a river port in the middle 1800s would have looked like.

What’s your favorite spot in Jefferson?

LJ: I love the old federal courthouse; it is a beautiful building, with a Richardson-Romanesque style of architecture.

About 30 minutes from Jefferson is Caddo Lake, one of the intriguingly beautiful spots in Texas.

LJ: Caddo Lake is Texas’s only natural lake, and it possesses remarkable beauty. It has been an artistic haven for years and years, and it comes with a mystery deepened by its seemingly endless channels, which are often hidden away, as if you are entering the underworld. It is Dante-like in its mystery and intrigue.

As an artist, what approach do you take to capture that mystery and beauty?

I keep coming back to the cathedral-like space in Caddo Lake, defined by the Cypresses that populate the region. As you travel through these areas, you find yourself looking out from tree canopies into places of light, seeing open water. It is as though you are peering out from a mystery into light, and as an artist, I try to explore that sense of enclosure and release.

From the seemingly pre-historic shores of Caddo Lake, we travel a couple of hours south to Nacogdoches—the State’s oldest municipality. Visitors here can find the red-brick roads of downtown, nature trails through pine forests, and Stephen F. Austin University (SFA).

Tell us about Nacogdoches and the Old Stone Fort.

LJ: Nacogdoches illuminates the age of settlement in Texas. When the Spanish established a mission, they sought to establish a settlement to support the mission. In the case of Nacogdoches, the administrative center of that settlement was “The Old Stone Fort,” which is a misnomer, since it never served as a fort. Unfortunately, it was torn down in 1902, and those stones were used for another building. In 1936, however, as the city prepared for the Texas Centennial, they used these original stones to reconstruct the Old Stone Fort, and that structure still stands today, on the grounds of SFA.

Just west of Nacogdoches is another historic destination, Caddo Mounds State Historic Site. You captured this site in your painting, “Journey to the Ancients,” which features a Mound and a Caddo hut.

LJ: Caddo Mounds is a wonderful ancient place, where people have been living for hundreds of years, possibly even longer. Interestingly, my painting reflects a view that no longer exists. The hut I depicted was built not long before I visited and was crafted by a Caddo elder from Oklahoma. In 2019, a tornado blew through and destroyed that hut. The mounds, of course, remain, and their simple beauty also elicits contemplation.

From the primitive beauty of the Caddo people and their settlements, we travel two hours south to Polk County, the borders of which are formed in part by Lake Livingston and the Trinity River.

When painting a scene from Polk County, you eschew not only the pine trees, but also Lake Livingston, and instead focus on the courthouse. What prompted that decision?

LJ: I think courthouses are a source of civic pride for many East Texas towns, and I wanted to reflect that. In Livingston, the courthouse square is indicative of people’s need to share commonalities. The Polk County Courthouse sits near the railroad, next to the intersection of HWY 190 and 59, near the Trinity. It is a transportation hub, connecting people through travel. It also connects to other places architecturally. It shares, for example, elements with the Marion County Courthouse in Jefferson. And the red building on the Polk County Courthouse grounds, “the records vault,” was copied in Groveton and enlarged, becoming the Trinity County Courthouse. Our courthouses should tie us together, and, at least in terms of architecture and pathways to elsewhere, they do.

Speaking of tying people together, you highlight the St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in New Waverly, Texas.

LJ: Yes, this church was the center of a rather isolated Polish community in East Texas. It is a prime example of Texas’ “painted churches,” more common in Central Texas, where they are often made of stone. While I studied the structure, I became interested in a large nearby tree and incorporated it. To me, the work of humans and the work of God—the Church and the tree—were matched together.

Coming full circle, both conceptually and geographically, we arrive in Dodge, north of New Waverly, and a few minutes east of Huntsville. What makes that a special place and an important focus of your book?

LJ: We lived in Dodge from 1984 to 2008, and during these years, I had the opportunity to complete my understanding of East Texas as a distinct place and culture. It’s one thing to experience a region as a college student; it’s another to live “in the soil of the earth,” to see people as they live, to witness the beauty —as well as the less attractive qualities—they possess and display. It was where I experienced people as humans and, as I mentioned earlier, there is a tight connection between understanding art and understanding humans.

Settling in a place, even a place obscured in East Texas’s Pine Curtain, “is to come to love, and then lose, people and things” notes Jamison, in his book. These people and things “come and go”—much like travelers who seek out new memories by visiting new places. But Jamison’s travels, experiences, and artistic vision, are captured permanently in the images and words of Ode to East Texas, and sometimes, to quote the artist out of context, they repeat “like a melody in a symphony of light and grass and sun.”

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