The Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour is this week, and almost everything is set. Upon trying to use Facebook to promote it, I encountered a few problems. It’s a cemetery tour, Facebook, and it doesn’t fit into your event list. Food? Gardening? I finally chose Visual Arts because I didn’t want you to think we were trying to get you to do yard work or invite zombies. But I digress. We will have ten presenters on Thursday from 4:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. at the cemetery and nine on Saturday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. This is a tour to discover the history of some of Beaumont residents and this we have something special that will become a permanent feature. The newest addition to the 75-acre cemetery is the Pipkin section. The land in question was originally the site of the Pipkin Elementary School on Pine Street, where many African American Beaumonters began their education. In 1911, when Millard Elementary School for whites received a new brick structure, the old two-story wooden building was moved to the Pipkin School location on Pine Street. This building was also replaced with a brick structure in the 1920s. In 1974, the City of Beaumont acquired the school and land and demolished the building in 1981. The property was sold to Magnolia Cemetery in 1999. This site is a part of our history that needs to be remembered, and we have an excellent person to share this history with, Lynn Simon.

Here on Ye Olde Block Farm, we do have our share of spookiness and shenanigans. It doesn’t happen often, but it does occur all the same. This land was Martin Block’s farm. He was W. T. Block’s uncle. Martin died in 1945, and the original house burned down in the 1960s. Some of Block’s descendants still live in the neighborhood. We moved here in 2007, and Martin’s granddaughter lived next to us. She was a good source of family history, and my findings from Dean Tevis’s articles about farmers in the 1920s were an excellent addition to her accounts. I even found a photo of the original house that I gave to her and her older cousin, who remembered the structure. I’m glad I could do this before she passed.

We also have live oaks that are four and five feet in diameter. The cousin told me they have been there since at least 1908. These trees are precious to me. I look after them as best as I can. They’ve protected the house during Hurricane Rita, Humberto, Ike, Laura, and Delta.

Mostly, I think that those still here were farmers because they typically show up in the mornings or afternoons. One incident that stands out in my mind is someone sitting on the side of my bed at 5:30 a.m. and making the bed sag. Another time was when I was in my office at around 2 p.m. and heard someone walking in the kitchen. There was someone else here, and they work graveyards, so I assumed that they had woken up and it was coffee time. Thirty seconds later, I stood up and went into the kitchen—no one was there. The other person was still asleep.

This brings me to the third entity that pulls my chain. I don’t know if the original owner of the house (not of Block descent) built it, but he sure did his best to southern engineer things. I think he meant well, but he was not a Jack of all trades, as far as I’m concerned. We did a few renovations and had some things happen. After the first renovation, I was working at a table in the living room, and another person was asleep on the couch. Downton Abbey was playing on the TV, and the lazy boy chair popped open between us. In the fifteen years that we had it, it had never opened by itself. I know I get irked with the past owner for some things, but if he’s still here, he is used to my rants, and I am glad he enjoyed my chair that evening. He also might be just a fan of Downton Abby.

I might get into the second renovation later, where nothing happened because he knew what I would discover. Let’s just say that there were many chosen words that day.

Blackshirt ghost hunters are a different breed. Like I said last week, I am not a professional parapsychologist, nor do I spout that I’m an expert on anything of this nature, but some of the people in this field really go hardcore. Many run around in the dark, taking photos of dust particles while asking questions to an SB-7 spirit box. For those who don’t know, a SB-7 is basically a broken radio that continuously turns the dial to different radio stations. The objective is for a spirit to use this to communicate through the white noise. I have one of these, but it never works for me. It’s about as helpful as the Ghost Radar App I have on my phone, just for giggles. It may have worked a few times, but I don’t put much faith in it. Although there was that time when I was at Magnolia Cemetery cleaning headstones, and it told me to “RUN.” I looked around but didn’t see anything, so I went about my work. Probably just Thomas Langham having a bit of fun. Which I guess the ol’ sheriff is entitled to. (I say this because it was his headstone that I was cleaning.)

 Nowadays, there are many more gadgets on the market that beep and moan but I’m really not interested in that stuff. It’s easier just to sit, watch, and listen. If someone wants to make contact, they will by any means. This happens over and over when you’re doing research. I’ll get into this next week.

Some ghost hunters take their investigations seriously, and others are outright mental. Years ago, a team was doing an investigation inside a trailer located in Orange County. Supposedly they caught an EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon) of an Indian saying “ugh” and proudly uploaded it to Youtube. I heard the EVP of the so-called Indian saying “ugh”, but the big question is, why would the ghost of a dead Indian be haunting a trailer? And why do you talk to a spirit in English when they don’t know the language? It’s (explicit language here) to think that the spirit of a dead guy or gal has a Babel fish in their ear. These people get really mad when you call them out. It’s almost like they’re politicians but above the food chain level because I would never say they’re worse.

Well, hopefully I’ve angered someone till next week because I’m tired.

Until next week, ugh!

P.S. Nobody cares about your orb photos!

Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour:

2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour

Pipkin School:

https://www.sfasu.edu/heritagecenter/9619.asp

Babel Fish:

https://www.theliteraryreview.org/editors-letter/why-babel-fish/#:~:text=For%20those%20who%20aren’t,you%20stick%20in%20your%20ear.