Category Archives: People

Thoughts and Ramblings: The Great Pumpkin; the Church of Port Arthur; the Legend of Sarah Jane Road; Evelyn Keyes was not happy; and the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour.

Posted on by

October is here, and Fall is upon us. I’m not going to talk about Pumpkin Spice, but I may mention The Great Pumpkin if triggered because Linus was always the smart one of the bunch, although Marcie would have probably made a good researcher—I digress.

According to Celtic/European legends, the veil begins to thin from the two worlds at this time of year, but as a child growing up in Port Arthur, I just wanted candy. Everything was good for the most part, but when I was trick-or-treating as a child, I had to make explicit gestures to a kid at the Church of Port Arthur on 19th street because he was trolling his “You are going to hell because your parents won’t let me have candy” scenario. Story below!

It’s also that time of year when newspaper reporters come out of the woodwork and search for a few of us to play on Halloween-themed articles. I get it, but I don’t envy them for having a deadline. I post weekly, but as I’ve stated before, I don’t make money from this blog, so sometimes you’re not getting much. There are a few haunts, stories, and legends that I will get into this month, so tag your favorite one, new-to-this-area person on the local news beat, and possibly launch your career, with my info. Good luck and Godspeed, new journalist.

Back in 2012, when this blog began, I did an article on the Legend of Sarah Jane Road, and it blew up. At the time, I was getting a few hits a day, but the website was new, and a regional history blog is as niche as it gets. Well, one day, for some reason, people began to share the article throughout the world. In twenty-four hours, it had reached nearly 12,000 views from Russia and Malaysia to South America. It wasn’t a great article, but many SETX ex-residents worldwide remembered their own version of this story. That’s fine with me, but I stand with Mr. Block on the fact that the Port Arthur News reporter doing his theme at Sarah Jane Block’s expense is fiction. Speaking of Mr. Block, I’ll link to the article and his website because he did a few spooky/entertaining stories around this time of the year.

Last week I brought up Bessie Reid and her story of Kisselpoo. When researching Mrs. Bruce Reid (as Florence Stratton always referred to her in her weekly letter), I stopped by the Museum of the Gulf Coast to get copies of the information that Sarah, the curator at the time, had on Mrs. Reid. While we waited for the printer to finish, I noticed that some of the exhibits had been moved from the first to the second floor. I also noticed that the Evelyn Keyes exhibition was now on the second floor. So, knowing that Evelyn died in 2008 and that the Aladdin lamp in the exhibit contains some of her ashes, I asked, “How does Evelyn like her new home?”. The printer immediately jammed. I don’t know if Scarlet’s sister jammed that printer, but I assume she was not pleased. I’ll add that Evelyn Keyes left Port Arthur at age three when her father died, but she stayed in touch, unlike other celebrities that y’all put on a pedestal, so she’s alright in my book.

The Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour is planned and ready. The dates are Thursday, October 20th, from 4:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. and Saturday, October 22nd,  from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. The tour is free and will feature some old and new names. This tour is a history tour of the deceased residents of Beaumont. There will be ten speakers on Thursday and nine on Saturday, so come out and listen to the history of the cemetery residents.

Until next week, slán go fóill.

                                     Halloween on 19th st in Port Arthur

When I was growing up, October was special to me. Not only is it my birth month, but it was also a time of great joy. CavOILcade was still something to look forward to, and toward the end of the month we would always anticipate trick-or-treating down 19th Street with keen enthusiasm.

I vaguely remember my sisters telling ghost stories in the living room. (Does anyone remember the man with the golden arm?) Just when the spooky part would happen, Tiger, our cat, would jump up onto the air-conditioning window unit outside and scare the hell out of us. I loved that cat!

Trick-or-treating was special. We would walk down 19th Street to the train bridge, knocking on doors and waiting excitedly for our treats. Of course, not everyone enjoyed this time. There was that fly-by-night church (if I recall correctly, it was called the Church of Port Arthur) where some kid who looked to be 10 years old yelled at us that we were all going to hell. I promptly responded, “And a fun time we will have!” He didn’t respond. I guess that was the only thing he had been taught to say.

For the most part I did have a good time haunting 19th Street in my cheap Casper costume. I will say though that that damned rubber band on the bargain-basement mask never lasted the whole night, but it made it as far as the house where candy was consumed with great relish. I guess in all honesty I wasn’t a friendly ghost. Just ask the 10 year old at the Church of Port Arthur.

I also remember this was the time when there were stories of some candy being tainted with horrible things, such as razor blades. My father was first to make sure that the candy was safe and edible. Of course he took it upon himself to eat each candy where the wrapper had been slightly disturbed. Even at a young age I could figure this ploy out.

Halloween was special while I was growing up. We had fun in somewhat dark times, but all in all, it was a joyful time in my life, and now I would like to commemorate those who made this time a hoot! Even that poor 10 year old. I hope that in his later years he found greater happiness than that derived from yelling at children who were looking for candy.

Legend of Sarah Jane Road:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/10/23/legend-of-sarah-jane-road/

W.T. Block:

http://www.wtblock.com/Default.htm

http://wtblock.org/spooky.htm

Evelyn Keyes:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2014/04/06/tales-from-hallowed-ground-evelyn-keyes/

Bessie Reid and the story of Kisselpoo; Sorry for ruining your childhood stories; Iron Eyes Cody was Italian; Gremlins in the courthouse; Old Roy

Posted on by

Bessie Reid wrote the Legend of Kisselpoo in 1923. It was published in the Port Arthur News on July 1st. The story was epic because it was derived from Indian legends found from New Mexico to Louisiana. With Florence Stratton, Reid also published a textbook called When the Storm God Rides in 1936, but this book does not concern the history of SETX except for one link. I’ll add the story and then get in the weeds of our area.

It is when that orb sheds its full light across the lake that the story has its greatest attraction. Then the tale-tellers declare, in the silvery path across the twinkling water, sometimes can be seen a canoe bearing a boy and girl in strange clothing, paddling up the shimmering moon way.

The tribe of Kisselpoo, so runs the ancient story, lived by the lake; and she, the only child of the chieftain, had been born when the moon was full and was under the protection of the moon goddess. When Kisselpoo was fifteen years old, tales of her beauty and ability had traveled far, and many braves from other tribes came to woo her. The one whom the leaders favored was head of several groups whose land adjoined to the north; and, although he was older than her father and already had many wives, arrangements were made for their marriage.

When nuptial preparations were far advanced, a stranger, whose home was seven sleeps distant toward the setting sun, arrived in the village. He was tall and straight as the pines, and for gifts he brought arm bands of a shining metal, set with stones like rainbows and like the blue of the skies. Kisselpoo loved him, but her wedding was set for the time when the moon would be at its brightest. That night as the luminous disc rose over the horizon, she waited in her finery for other maidens of the village to come to her father’s lodge and lead her to the elderly northern chief.

Instead, she heard the westerner’s deep voice softly speak her name, and with him she fled through reeds and grass to the lake where a canoe lay waiting. Swiftly they glided out on the water; but already the princess had been missed, and pursuit, led by the chieftain from the north and medicine men of her own tribe, was close. Her father did not participate in the chase, for he had dreamed a dream in which the moon goddess appeared to him and urged him to let his daughter wed the Indian from the west.

The medicine men called down the wrath of their gods, and a storm came up, ruffling the lake and upsetting the canoe, so that the eloping pair was last seen in the path of moonlight. Thereupon, the moon goddess, angered, called upon her kinsman, the storm god from the tropics, who rode in on a devastating hurricane. When at last the waves retreated into the Gulf, there was nothing left of the village or its inhabitants. The moon goddess decreed that the Lake of the River of Cypress Trees, for allowing itself to yield to the medicine men’s commands, should slowly disappear and all the streams that feed it bear down silt and mud to fill it.

For many moons after the great storm, the waters of the lake were clouded with mud, and its sandy bottom was covered with silt. The fish that were once abundant were now only a few. The sandy shores of the lake were stained, and shorebirds that once nested in the reeds and fished the shallow flats were gone. However, the spirit of the young lovers has remained with the lake that Kisselpoo loved so dearly. The moon goddess has shown forgiveness, and the lake is free of the curse that could have destroyed it. One can only assume that Kisselpoo had asked her protector, the moon goddess, to restore the beauty of the place of her birth. Now a swift current from the River of Cypress Trees is sweeping away the silt, and a fine sand shall again cover the lake floor.

With each new moon, the water becomes clearer, and great schools of fish have returned to the lake. Beautiful shorebirds and waterfowl have also returned to the sandy shores, along the salt marshes where alligators and furbearing animals abound. Meanwhile on a night when the full moon is rising, to those who have the power to see such things, appears the canoe with its two occupants who shall watch over Lake Sabine and protect its beauty until the last full moon.

One thing that this story mentions is when the god Hurrican devastates the area. In an article entitled Southeast Texas Indian Homeland, W. T. Block says that the demise of the Nacazil tribe in this area might have been caused by the Great Hurricane of 1780. I don’t know if this is factually true, but it would fit into Bessie Reid’s take on the story (if she even knew that a hurricane had hit the Texas gulf coast at that time). Unfortunately, W. T. Block’s notes are not present, and I have no way to confirm this, but it did make a great story!

I’m no expert on indigenous peoples, but I do see that a few are embracing their Karankawa ancestry. I wish them well and hope they don’t invite me to lunch.

Now that I’ve ruined a few people’s childhood stories of the beautiful Kisselpoo, who didn’t exist, I would like to take it further. Do you remember that Indian in the 1970s commercial crying because West-End Wanda was throwing her Burger Chef wrappers out the window of her 1970 Ford Pinto? He was Italian—but I digress.

Jefferson County Courthouse 2012

On Wednesday, I attended a Jefferson County Historical Commission meeting. The gremlins were in full force around the elevators and possibly in the County Clerk’s office as well. Our usual quorum was met, plus some familiar faces to everyone’s delight. After the meeting, while taking the suspect elevator that made a few members late, I glanced at the panel and remembered that the courthouse is thirteen stories, and at one time, the county jail took up five of them. I toured the floors early in my journey in SETX history and will leave links to both the article and the photos at the bottom of this blog.

At our after-meeting (the one in the parking lot, because we were kicked out when they closed the building—as usual), I brought up a memory of working in a shipyard, which I try to forget, but it did make me think of my neighbor Roy in Port Arthur. He taught me many things in life and was a godsend and an excellent source of information. He worked in the shipyards in New Orleans during WWII, and he talked about it frequently with me because he knew I enjoyed his rambles. He grew up in Leesville, Louisiana, and is one of the few people who have influenced my life. He was special to me, and I loved every minute of his rants about Port Arthur, growing up in Leesville, being a union carpenter, and having to wear a sidearm on his belt in the 1960s to build his brother-in-law’s house because the union was on strike for whatever reason. Politics aside, this was wrong. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of this page.

Well, that’s it for this week, but October is on its way. Enjoy your family, neighbors, and friends. Alla prossima! Happy fall y’all.

SOUTHEAST TEXAS INDIAN HOMELAND:

THE BURIAL MOUNDS OF OLD PORT NECHES

By W. T. Block:

http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/indian.htm

Iron Eyes Cody:

https://walkoffame.com/iron-eyes-cody/

Jefferson County Courthouse Jail:

Article:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/09/27/jefferson-county-courthouse-jail/

Photos:

https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjA8nZx

Remembering Roy:  

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/07/24/remembering-roy/

Thoughts and Ramblings: Battle of Sabine Pass; Dick Dowling Days; the veil is thinning; God save the Queen

Posted on by

This week was the 159th Anniversary of the Battle of Sabine Pass, where 46ish Irishman defeated a Union flotilla of 5,000. They also had Kate Dorman in reserve just in case they couldn’t handle it themselves. A twenty-three-year-old lieutenant named Richard Dowling took out the flotilla by practice and planning. He was also at the Battle of Galveston. His history is fascinating because he arrived in New Orleans at around age four from a poor family, but if I remember correctly, he owned three bars in Houston by age twenty-one. The Bank of Bacchus is my favorite one of his establishments. He died of yellow fever at twenty-eight or twenty-nine (his birth records aren’t very clear.)

Dick Dowling Days 2013

In 2013, during the 150th anniversary of the battle, when it was alright to explain history’s sour past, there were many reenactments for each significant battle, and Sabine Pass was no different. This was the last reenactment battle and the 50th Anniversary of Dick Dowling Days, which was a thing since 1967. I was new to the Historical Commission, which I joined in 2012, and was wondering how I would take off three days of work for this, but I did, and it was worth it that year. Since it was the 150th anniversary, more reenactors were on the Union side, and many were dressed as Navy guys (300, actually!).

It was good to listen to some of them and their stories of past reenactments, letting the history and the hilarity flow. Past battles may or may not have included stuffing a beer can with concrete inside a cannon or firing blanks at a foreign tanker that didn’t know what was happening and swerved to miss the (blank) round. I have some videos from 2013 of some of the staged events; I’ll leave the links to them.

As I look back at the photos, I’m reminded that we’ve lost many of these guys in the past few years. Pictures are great, but their families would rather have them in their lives.

It seems the veil is thinning earlier than usual on the research front. I’ll get into more of this in October, but sometimes when you start researching someone with the hope of bringing their stories to light, and you know there are dead ends everywhere, you reach a point where you ask yourself: Why am I doing this? Then things get wibbly-wobbly, and people unexpectedly start to appear, and suddenly you have new, accurate information that you treasure. My Florence Stratton research was like this, and it is still ongoing; each year, we find more info to sift through for twenty hours over a weekend. I’m not complaining; I like doing this because it answers questions about our past. It is evident that I have a new research project for this winter, and hopefully, we will get more history on someone who I think deserves it.

Well, the Queen has died. This is not SETX related, but I’m going to ramble anyway. My interest in history spans different areas, and Rule Britannia is a big one. It is incredible to me that I have no interest in Dickens on the Strand in Galveston though—but I digress.

Growing up, my TV choices were limited to three channels, but thanks to Channel 39 out of Houston, the Benny Hill Show was available.

On PBS, Channel 8 out of Houston was also a window into different things. Toby Charles’s Soccer Made in Germany was a great program for Americans who couldn’t see a decent football match because the US soccer/football team was nonexistent. This is why I latched on to the English national team back in 1982. Rooting for the English national team is like rooting for the Astros (before they saw the sign) or the Oilers. After forty years of pain, I have switched to the Welsh team.

Queen Elizabeth ruled longer than any of her predecessors. As a princess during the war, she was a truck mechanic. Lilibeth, as her sister Margaret called Elizabeth because she couldn’t pronounce her name, was ultimately groomed by her father, King George, for a role in the monarchy. I can’t speak for Britannia, but in my opinion, she did as well as she could. God save the Queen!

As far as Charles goes, I side with Diana’s kids.

I once asked someone from the UK to explain to me the difference in how the US and Great Britain rally their people. He told me, “The US rallies around its flag while we rally around the Queen.”

Seems legit. Rest in Peace Ma’am

Until next week, cheerio!

Dick Dowling Days 2013:

Photos: https://flic.kr/s/aHsjJ35YXp

Colonel Crocker’s Surrender:

Lone Star Pipe Band:

Court Martial and Execution of Elijah Allen:

Queen Elizabeth: The Mechanic – Aiding the War Effort  

Thoughts and Ramblings: Bull and Snake issues; Martha Mack; Bishop Byrne Shamrocks; Raymond Meyer; Gary Kubiak; Honoring what little Irish heritage I have; the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour part deux.

Posted on by

After beginning my work week by ticking off both a bull and a five-foot rat snake on Monday, I think I’ve done alright so far. Thankfully, it wasn’t a Brahman bull, otherwise I wouldn’t be alive to write this. The rat snake was pretty annoyed that I woke him up, but I had a weapon; with his side eye, he saw some guy on a forklift coming for him. Note to self: rat snakes move pretty darn fast! I’ll have to start bringing my katana sword to work, but then the bull would probably laugh at me. Oh well, he’s not that swift anyway, or knowledgeable of anything except not wanting to move out of the way when I need him to. Maybe fireworks are a better option.

Well, I did some proper research this week. Some of it will be on the 2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour in October. It involves the origins of Martha Mack (McFaddin) and the Martha Mack Cemetery located between what is now Marina Drive and the end of Elm St. This research is ongoing. I’ll have more material in October. Martha was born in Tennessee around 1842—a census states that she was thirty-eight in 1880. She worked as a laundress for the McFaddins. The cemetery was on land deeded to her by W. P. H. McFaddin.

Martha had five children, but Roxie Patillo and Basheba Simpson Plummer were the only ones I could find a bit more information on. According to the 1880 census, their father was Henry E. Simpson, Jefferson County clerk. If anyone has information on the Patillo or Simpson family, then I’m “all ears,” as Ross Perot, a businessman and 1992 Texas presidential candidate, said after he screwed up some of y’all’s high school football expectations. No Pass, No Play was brutal for people who cared.

Speaking of high school football, what was the last high school from Port Arthur to win a state title? Bishop Byrne Shamrocks 1952. Don’t give me that crap that they didn’t play anyone. They beat your Bum Phillips 34-13 at Nederland, and French High 26-0. Of course, they did it with Raymond Meyer. (Visit the Museum of the Gulf Coast for more on him.)

My father was on that team (#17), and he told me stories of Ray. Legend has it that they would chain him up to the entrance of the visiting teams’ locker room like a junkyard dog for effect. It worked that year. He would have gone pro, but he blew out his knee training for the 49ers. He and his dad went into the barber business and used to cut my hair. That was the nicest Goliath I’ve ever been around.

Also, a shout-out to Bobby Barras, who was also on that team. My father, Bobby, and I went to Rice Stadium in 1977 for the State Finals, where Bishop Byrne appeared again. They played St. Pius; Gary Kubiak, of Denver Bronco fame, was on that team. I know him as a quarterback who ignored his coach’s call for a field goal in his college days. The coach let him do his thing and, well, they lost. That sums up his playing days. I guess he may have had a better coaching role, but I don’t follow Danny White (Dallas Cowboy)-grade QBs. Anyway, the Green Machine lost 21-13, so to drown our sorrows, we went to Luby’s to indulge in tea and water-filled cups of vegetables. I ordered two or three versions of potatoes, which intrigued Bobby. He asked me why I was eating different kinds of potatoes. My reply was clear: “Because I’m honoring the little Irish heritage I have.” I don’t think he talked to me anymore. Thinking back, I wasn’t a good kid—but I digress.

The dates have been set for this year’s Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour. They are on Thursday, October 20th, from 4:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m., and Saturday, October 22nd, from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. It’s free to all who want to learn not only Beaumont history but also SETX history. There will be some new stories and some old ones. We like our volunteers, who research their topics to shine. My only regret is that I can’t take the tour because I’m on it.

All who volunteer on this tour do a great job to represent the history of our area, while adding their own stories to it. I hope to see you there, and I especially hope you enjoy it. Ciao, for now.

Raymond Meyer:

https://www.museumofthegulfcoast.org/raymond-meyer

Thoughts and Ramblings: Don Larson; The Babe; Sydalise Fredeman; Bob Hope; Park Plaza Cinema; Joyeux Noel; Johnny Janot; Felix the cat gets the shaft.

Posted on by

A few years back, I purchased some photos from an estate sale. They were taken by Don Larson, who worked at The Port Arthur News, in the early 1980s. I didn’t spend much on them, but to me, they are iconic. The first photo is from the Babe Zaharias Historical Marker dedication on 7th street in Port Arthur. (Yes, Babe was from Port Arthur, but Beaumont tries to claim her all for itself.) In my opinion, Babe was big enough for the universe to claim her.

In the photo, the lady trying to hold on to her hat is Sydalise Fredeman, who saved the Pompeiian Villa from Port Arthur’s gauntlet of destruction of its history. Back in the 1960s, both Port Arthur and Beaumont didn’t care about their history, so they decided to destroy many structures within their city limits. Still, Mrs. Fredeman took no crap in Port Arthur and saved this treasure along with the Port Arthur Historical Society. (At the time, she was the Port Arthur Historical Society)

Also in this photo are Bob Hope and Bum Phillips, and I’m almost sure that Wayne Newton is in there somewhere. The second photo is the groundbreaking of Bob Hope School/Hughen School. Of course, neither Bob nor Wayne are manning the shovel, but that’s alright when your philanthropy gives kids a much-needed boost.

Apropos of Hughen School, I remember Mr. Le (the last name might be misspelled because, at age 10, I wasn’t J. Edgar Hoover informed yet). He was my neighbor in the 1970s and ‘80s. He was a very nice man who always laughed and was just a great adult to us mongrels in the neighborhood. He rode his bike to work each morning; if I was on my bike, it would be a race. He had two sons who were good to us mongrels, but when mom found out her two kids were mongrels, usually each week, dad did the disciplining. I don’t know all their family history, but I know that Mr. Le was a captain in the South Vietnamese Army before relocating here. They were great people, and I am glad to have known them.

Another photo is of the Park Plaza Cinema sign. This is special to me because I believe I saw the first Star Wars movie there 12 times. (Of course, multiple viewings were had by not getting up and leaving after the movie ended.) Smokey and the Bandit was another one that I enjoyed while learning sign language from Sally Field in the movie. Jackie Gleason was the man.

The other day I watched again a movie called Joyeux Noel. It is loosely based on the Christmas truce during World War I. It had a great message: “Why the hell are we fighting out here in the trenches when we could be home with the wife and our newborn? Instead we are here, stuck in the mud with Felix the cat.” It’s a good movie and I’m sure that if you rent it or buy it on Amazon there are subtitles. But if you watch it on YouTube, someone from France has uploaded it and there are no subtitles. No problem, my Scottish is good (the movie says British, but this was a Scottish regiment, and the Scotts would tell you the same.) I can understand German passively because of an interest in German music and some French because I took a class in high school—but that was a long time ago, so my French sucks. There are many poignant moments throughout the movie, but I was really irritated when the French spoke. I can’t give a reason for it, but I got annoyed when the commander spoke.

This wasn’t a problem when I would listen to Johnny Janot’s Cajun Bandstand on Sunday mornings on KLVI in the 1980s. He was the best. That dog of his really got him into trouble. I don’t understand why Johnny named his dog Sex anyway. Please click on the link below, where Johnny tells the story himself.

And speaking of Johnny, before I get to my point, he had a song called the Woodpecker Song, and in my short-lived musical life, we did a cover of it, but metaled it up a bit. Cajun Metal, who thought.

The thing that really irritated me was not in the movie, but it’s connected to it. In a scene where all the soldiers begin to come out of the trenches and trade chocolate and alcohol, Felix the cat shows up. The German soldier acknowledges him as Felix, but the French soldiers insist that his name is Nestor. There is nothing more to this scene. But in real life, this story is based on a trial and verdict by a French commander/general. After the truce, someone in charge decided to put Felix on trial for treason. Not to get into the weeds per se, but cats were good pets in the trenches during the great war. Mud, toxic gases, and rats were a big part of soldiers’ suffering in those trenches.

Felix, the cat, was a cat. He cared nothing about Germany or France fighting a war. He ate well until this French commander learned that he was playing both sides. Felix was thus executed for treason. (This really happened! Link below.)

Well, that’s it for this week. If you see me around town, don’t speak to me in French because I may scratch you if you do, but you could try singing. French singers are great. I bid you Meow (that’s cat speak for “bonjour”). Au revoir.

Johnny Janot:

Felix the cat:

https://www.wearethemighty.com/mighty-history/cats-wwi-trench-companion/#:~:text=One%20cat%20by%20the%20name,friends%20long%20after%20the%20war.

Thoughts and Ramblings: I saw Ozzy Osbourne in Beaumont and lived to tell the story; the Chambers House; Florence Stratton and Catherina Stengele.

Posted on by

My taste in music has changed over 50+ years. I will say that I can listen to most things. In the 1970s, it was probably anything that my sisters listened to. Yeah, some Cliff Richard devil woman or Paul Revere and the Raiders. I remember a few things: taking a record player outside and listening to it while sitting in a lot, next to an ash tree that was struck by lightning twice within a year. History tells us that is odd, but that’s what happened. Not me sitting in a lot, but lightning striking a tree twice.

Blizzard of Oz

The first concert I attended was an English guy that had a band with a great guitarist named Randy Rhoads. He was a bit naughty and had a severe drug problem. In his stupor, he apparently enjoyed eating doves at the record label meetings. One time, one of his fans threw him a bat on stage, so in his element, he partook of this fowl delicacy. The publicity was enormous, but I’m sure that those rabies shots in the torso hurt. It was a great concert. There is footage of Randy Rhoads doing a sound check and an interview with the singer, Ozzy Osbourne, on YouTube. I’ll put the links for both videos below.

Randy died a month later in a plane crash, which I’ve always thought was a significant loss to music. Yes, Eddie Van Halen was doing similar things on the guitar, but Randy was classically trained and probably would have ventured further if he had had the chance. As far as Ozzy is concerned, he is still alive and remains healthy, while every other bandmate he has had is dying of some disease. I guess he’s well preserved.

Chambers House Museum

I started my journey through SETX history in 2012, and it’s been a treasure trove of information. I guess it started by clicking on a Chambers House Museum link on my computer. I will say that the Chambers House has always been my favorite museum in Beaumont, not because of the glorious richness in it, but for the simplicity it brings. This is the house where your grandma could have lived—not mine, because she was happy on 18th street in Port Arthur, near her church. But I’m sure that her five boys and one girl would have loved the room of a two-story house. Instead, they had to deal with a 600-sq. ft., two-bedroom one bath priced on Zillow at whoever knows nowadays. There are many unique sites to see there; if you know the stories, it’s even better.

Florence Stratton

I bring up the Chambers House because I need to shout out to Ginny, who used to work there. She was the one who introduced me to Florence Stratton in 2012, and boy, what an adventure it’s been. Florence intrigued me, so I spent ten years researching her. This is why I only post my Thoughts and Ramblings on Sunday mornings—as a tribute to her, because her Susie Spindletop Weekly Letter hit the pages of the Sunday Enterprise from February 28, 1926, to January 23, 1938. I’ve spent many hours (and dollars) researching her, and I can say that it’s been worth it for history on different fronts.

Another person who has intrigued me is Catherine Jeanette Stengele. I learned of her story from a friend while photographing headstones in Magnolia Cemetery. According to him, Catherina was a seamstress who saved all her money and who, upon her death, had paid for an impressive mausoleum as her final resting place. I found this story odd because a lowly seamstress would never make enough to afford a mausoleum that covers 12 plots. So, the research began.

Early Beaumont was home to an entrepreneur in the form of the Dutch-born youthful Miss Stengele. According to her naturalization form, she arrived in this country in 1884, spent a few years in Baltimore learning the millinery business, and then moved to Beaumont in the late 1880s. The form also shows that she was born on February 28, 1856, and not 1866, as stated on her mausoleum. (I suppose that some people need to hold on to their youth even in death.)

Miss Stengele was certainly competent in the world of business. As a single woman in the 1890s, she made a good living with her millinery business and other ventures in the financial and real estate sectors. She had the help of lawyers for living trust claims and property claims, which also seemed to work well for her. Miss Stengele was so successful in finance that she placed an ad in the Beaumont Journal in May 1899 stating that she was “Going to quit the business! I am going to quit the millinery business, and from the date will sell my entire stock at very low prices.”

Catherina Jeanette Stengele seemed to be a natural when it came to finance and the lending market. So much so that she quit her day job, so to speak. Her investments would even finance a return trip to Europe in 1901. See the article in the Beaumont Enterprise dated January 6, 1900.

You may notice the name Stengele Building highlighted in yellow above the article. Miss Stengele also owned a three-story brick building at 345 Pearl Street in Beaumont, which had housed her millinery shop as well as several of her tenants.

Although the records from 1900 until her death in 1909 tell the tale of a successful businesswoman, not every investment she made went according to plan. For instance, around 1905–1906, court proceedings show the bankruptcy of a rice farm in Langhorne in which she held a $20,000 stake.

In April 1909, Miss Stengele left Beaumont for Los Angeles because of an illness. An article from the Houston Post dated September 16, 1909, states that she “underwent two surgeries for appendicitis during the summer.” Unfortunately, Miss Catherina Jeanette Stengele passed away the day before the article was printed, on September 15, 1909.

I found a few articles from the Beaumont Journal that reviewed the highlights of her life and the aftermath of her death, but her will is undoubtedly of considerable interest. According to hearsay, she was at odds with one of her brothers and left him nothing, though technically that’s not true. Browsing through her will, I found that she did leave a detailed list of her heirs and her final wishes. Her wish for the St. Catherine of the Wheel statue was originally included in the first draft of her will in 1908, but the mausoleum was only added in May 1909. She had many family members, both locally and in Holland, to whom she bequeathed her wealth. Her assets were around $120,000. That’s the equivalent of $3.1 million today. Not too bad for a lowly seamstress—or should I say, a milliner?

Well, that’s it for this week, tot ziens!

Chambers House Museum: https://chambershouse.org/

Florence Stratton:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2017/03/21/a-brief-history-of-florence-stratton-part1/

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2017/03/28/a-brief-history-of-florence-stratton-part2/

Thoughts and Ramblings: We need more Cleo Baltimore’s; Yes, I follow Bigfoot on Dishscapes; Mystery at Hardin County’s Museum; Isoroku Yamamoto in Orange County; Kichimatsu and Taro Kishi offer common sense to a troubled world war.

Posted on by

Last week, I decided to treat myself to lunch because no one else offered. I went to Billy Joe’s BBQ in Port Neches. I remember my father bringing home plate lunches from there, as Billy Joe’s catered all overtime plate lunches to Jefferson Chemical (Indorama nowadays), and I’ve been hooked ever since. While waiting, I couldn’t help but see the framed newspaper articles on the walls honoring Cleo Baltimore. Until a few years back, if you drove down Magnolia Ave. in Port Neches or MLK in Beaumont, near Lamar University, you might have noticed a guy waving at everyone that drove by—Cleo. It was a simple gesture that meant a lot to many people. Most people who saw him would wave back and honk, acknowledging him. I remember a news reporter who passed down MLK daily and saw Cleo always sitting in front of his apartment and waving to everyone. When Cleo missed a few days because he was out of town, the reporter tracked him down to find out where he was. Again, that simple gesture of waving made a difference to people’s lives.

Photo credit: Port Arthur News

Cleo passed in 2017. He is still remembered by Billy Joe’s BBQ, which has created a scholarship in his name for Port Neches-Groves seniors who enroll in college. In these times of social media, we need to be more like Cleo Baltimore and less like West End Wanda, spewing her venom on Facebook.

Every once in a while, I turn on the TV instead of a computer. Yes, it’s mostly to know what Bigfoot is up to on Dishscapes (people who don’t have Dish won’t get this), or those Cordray kids making history together while restoring Galveston one house at a time. Sometimes I come across other interesting shows, such as Mysteries at the Museum on the Travel Channel. I know they did an episode on the Lucas Gusher at Spindletop, but they should have stayed and done a little digging up north in Hardin County, to be exact, at the Hardin County Museum in Kountze.

Photo credit: www.sfasu.edu

Renee Hart Wells told me this story while I was visiting the Museum a few years back. I’ll put the link to her article at the bottom of this blog (you need to read it!). The mystery concerns a WWII Bataan Death March Medal that was found on a Sour Lake School bus. Rebecca Hill, director of the Bertha Terry Museum, searched for the medal’s Hardin County owner for years, but to no avail. The mystery was finally solved when she brought it to the Museum of Hardin County, where someone looked at it and knew exactly where it came from. It was Grover Lee Will’s medal. Click on the link for the whole story. Better yet, visit the Museum of Hardin County and let Renee tell you the story.

Speaking of museums, the Paul Cormier Museum in Orangefield is definitely worth a visit. There are many interesting things to see at the museum; one item I found particularly fascinating was a photograph. This photograph is also on display at http://hirasaki.net/, which is a website that shares the family histories of Japanese rice farmers who relocated to the United States. Prominent families, such as the Kishi’s, Kondo’s, and Mayumi’s, moved to SETX in 1906 to farm rice. The Kishi’s came to Orange County, while the Mayumi’s and Kondo’s arrived in Fannett. At first, these families were not greeted well. Eventually, though, the locals got to know their new neighbors and warmed up to them.

The Mayumi’s continued to farm here until 1924. However, due to their mismanagement of the land (they didn’t use fertilizer and depleted the minerals in the soil) and the low price of rice, they decided to return to Japan. The Kishi’s, in contrast, stayed and prospered with another “crop” that was unexpectedly found in the ground—oil. With the discovery of oil on his farm, the family’s head, Kichimatsu, became a millionaire overnight and paid off all his debts to the farm’s investors.

The Kishi Family
Front row, left to right: Toki, Moto (wife of Hachitaro), Kichimatsu, Fuji, Taro;
back row: a maid, Hachitaro, Tora, and a cousin. Photo credit: hirasaki.net

In 1923, a boy from his hometown of Nagaoka came calling to see Kichimatsu’s oil derricks. It was Commander Isoroku Yamamoto. Kichimatsu had fought in the Russo-Japanese War with Yamamoto’s brother, Kihachi. The commander was in town with Katsunori Wakasa (an engineer), Commander Kaku of the Japanese Imperial Navy, and Admiral Kenji Ide. The three men were here to oil the fleet, so to speak. Japan was an ally of this country in WWI, but it was not allowed the same tonnage to build battleships as the US or Great Britain. However, the Japanese disregarded this limit and secretly transformed heavy cruisers into aircraft carriers, along with building the two largest battleships ever: the Yamato and the Musashi.

Kichimatsu and his family lived as American citizens, but after Pearl Harbor, he knew that anti-Japanese sentiment would reach its peak. So, that Monday, he turned himself into the FBI in Port Arthur. I guess that’s what you do when you have no idea what just happened but you know how people will react. He spent two months in an internment camp but was released after his hearings because, according to his son Taro, he answered all the questions correctly.

Here is a question the authorities asked Kichimatsu: “If the Emperor ordered you to bomb the oil refinery in Port Arthur, would you do so?”.

Kichimatsu’s response: “First, I am a farmer and businessman and know nothing about explosives. Suppose I was adopted into another family and my biological parent ordered me to harm my adopted family. I could not do so.”

Mic drop!

I have a lot to rant about rounding up US citizens, but I will pass on it here. However, if you see me in person, just ask!

I doubt that Steve M. King, the US Attorney for the Eastern District of Texas who presided over Kichimatsu’s hearing, knew about the visit by the Imperial Japanese Navy’s representatives back in 1923 and 1924. To my knowledge, there were no more visits during the next 17 years.

I will also state that Taro Kishi’s initial plea to form an Asian-American regiment to show their patriotism in fighting the aggressors was a sign of this family’s loyalty to this country.

Well, that’s it for this week. Be more like Cleo, Kichimatsu, and Taro, and the world will be a better place. Ciao

Museum Mystery by Rene Hart Wells : 

https://www.sfasu.edu/heritagecenter/9329.asp

Dishscapes:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/949470342304306

Kishi Colony:

http://hirasaki.net/Family_Stories/Kishi_Colony/Kishi.htm

Thoughts and Ramblings: When the Levee Breaks; The Dutch Come to Paradise and Blanche Morgan’s Journey

Posted on by

I heard last week that the LNVA canal in Beaumont sprung a leak and flooded some homes. That would have never happened in Nederland because Dutch heritage runs deep in the families’ blood there. It’s summer, and the kids are out of school, and I know one of them would have plugged that hole in the levee without an afterthought, or maybe not.

Dutch Windmill Museum

Speaking of the Dutch, I brought up Arthur Stilwell and his antics last week and, well, the reason many Dutch came to SETX was to “Come to Paradise.” Let’s face it, this area is paradise only to fishermen and mosquitos, especially in 1895, but they came and stayed anyway. In 1895, the Port Arthur Land Company was formed by Dutch bankers/investors who initially financed the construction of the Kansas City Railroad (Arthur’s baby before John Bet-a-million Gates did a hostile takeover and kicked him to the curb). Those bankers advertised a good game, but their palm trees, beaches, and paradise approach were inaccurate. The families that came here endured many hardships. Still, with hard work, they prospered.

This reminds me of another story a blog reader sent me. Blanche Morgan’s journey to this area was sparked by Mr. Stilwell. I’ll put a link to the original article below, but I do want to add her own words here.

It was the first of October, before father had sold all his rent property and our lovely home.  Finally, the day came for he and brother to leave. He kissed us good bye and held mother close to him and said, “Now don’t you worry, I am going to find a place where the sun shines all the time.”

We were lonely without father and brother. Grace and I went to school and finally one day mother received a letter from father which said, “I am on my way south to Port Arthur, Texas. While I was in the depot in Kansas City, Missouri on my way to sell the apple orchard I met a man named Gates and another named Stillwell. I got to talking to them, and what do you know – right across the ticket room hung a canvas which said, “Port Arthur, Texas – the Flower of the South.”  Mr. Gates said the town was close to the sea and was built on Lake Sabine, that it was sunshiny and warm.  He was taking several other men with him to Port Arthur. He bought my father and brother a ticket and said to come on this excursion with him to Port Arthur.  My father gladly accepted the offer and traveled with them.  Port Arthur was not much of a place to live in.

The Journey:

I took along a note book to write down events and things which I saw out of the train car window. Laura, my oldest sister had her pet canary in his cage to take care of. Mother sat back in the car with her eyes closed, and I noticed tears rolling down her cheeks. My youngest sister, Grace, saw them too, and she said, “What are you crying about, we are going to see Daddy.”  I kept up with the stations we stopped at, and watched the people get off and on the train. We reached Albia, Iowa, and changed cars to the Wabash. It was so dark now you could not see anything out of the windows.

Time passed and everyone was sleeping, or lying quiet. I just couldn’t sleep but somewhere between midnight and 8 a.m. in the morning of the next day mother was shaking me and saying, “Gather up your things, we are in Kansas City, Missouri.”  We climbed on a bus drawn by horses and sat up on top, and it was awful cold. The bus took us to the Kansas City Southern Railway station.  We went inside, and there was people from everywhere. We were pretty hungry and mother opened her basket of food and spread out a tablecloth on the bench, and she gave thanks for the food, and for getting this far safely. We were about halfway now, on the road to our new home, a place of excitement, awe and disappointment. If mother had of just known what kind of place we were coming to, she never would have come.

At 12 noon we boarded the Kansas City Southern train for Port Arthur, Texas. We were 2 days and nights on this train, all of us growing tireder all the time. After we left Kansas City, Mo. the snow left and finally the last day, all we could see was farms, hill sides all green, flowers blooming, the sun shining, and it was unbelievable to us, at this time of the year to not see snow and see green trees and flowers blooming.  When the conductor would come through, we would ask him, what kind of place was Port Arthur, Texas. He just grinned, and said, “Oh, I can’t tell you anything, just let it be a surprise.” And believe me, it was a surprise.

On the third night we arrived in Port Arthur, Texas. It was dark and hot for we had on our winter woolens for Iowa weather. The Kansas City station still stands and looks like it did when we first came here. Father and my brother came and helped us off of the train.

Entering of Port Arthur, Texas

As I stepped off the train into the darkness, I was afraid for in those days there was very few electric lights. My brother walked with me, we was going to a hotel to stay all night.  In the dim light I could see one story wood frame buildings, dim lights shining out of the doors and windows. One block away from the station, on Proctor Street on each corner was a saloon.  I heard my mother say, “What kind of place is this, for you to bring your family to.”

In those days there was saloons on every corner. Procter Street was the main street, it ended at Greensport. The streets was shelled and nothing but board sidewalks, with most of the board being loose or gone. As we walked along father warned to watch our step, and not fall on a loose board.  We arrived at the hotel – a one story framed building, were given our rooms. We three girls together, father and mother, a room and brother one by his self.  The air was filled with the odor of the refineries, and we could hardly stand it. We girls finally got bathed and into bed, for we had not slept in a bed for three nights. It felt good and I am sure we never turned over, for all three of us were worn out.

We were awakened by our father who rapped on the door and said, “Come to breakfast.” That is one thing our family always did was have breakfast, and supper together. If one was late from school, the supper was held up until all could sit down together. You talk about a surprise, we were used to creamery butter on our toast and what we had was so rancid we could not eat it. The bacon was all right, but the milk was canned, and nobody in Iowa ever used canned milk. Well, our meal was not eaten. We found out later, that everything had to be shipped in and by the time it arrived here it was too old. As you know there was no refrigeration in those days. You got your ice from the icehouse and had those old ice boxes, that by night fall, the ice had already melted.

The drinking water was tanks of rain water. Every home had a large galvanized cistern attached to pipes from the roof of the house where it was caught and ran into the cistern. All drinking water had to be boiled and all milk had to be brought to a boil.  There was very little sewage. All toilets had a galvanized container in them, that was emptied by negroes who pulled a large tank on a wagon drawn by two horses, down the alley and emptied them into the tank. The odor was sickening, when this was being done.

After we ate breakfast we went for a walk out to the peer. The sun was shining on those white shell streets and it was beautiful. I never saw so many yellow roses as was blooming here then. The peer was a wooden frame buildings, dance floors, band stands, restaurant, but on piling. We walked out there and looked at the lake, which was beautiful, a white sandy beach was all along Lake Shore. This was before the canal was cut through and ruined our beautiful bathing resort.

There were excursions every Sunday who came in to visit our peer, and bathing resort.  Gates and Stillwell had did a good job of advertising of Port Arthur. Boats came in from Lake Charles, Orange, and Port Neches – all tied up at the peer, loaded with men and women in their Sunday best to eat or sit and listen to the Mexican Band who played all Sunday and way into the night.

On our way back from the peer I gathered up some of the shells and put them in a box and sent them to my school teacher I had left in Iowa. Oh – I thought to have streets covered with shells was the most wonderful  thing I had ever seen. As you know people who live away inland never see boats and sea shells in large quantities, like they do when living near the Gulf or Sea.

Sunday finally arrived and we had always went to church. So father, mother, and all of us children went to the Methodist church. It was a 1 story framed building on fifth street. We had left a large brick building with pipe organs, plush seats, and when we entered this church it was quite a contrast. We sang the same hymns and the preaching sounded the same, he was reading God’s word from the same bible I knew, and it made no difference to father, when I heard him say to mother, “God is everywhere, Bless his Holy name.”

I love oral histories and I was thankful to receive this one. Well, that’s it for this week. Any family history stories would be appreciated!
Afscheid!

Blanche’s Journey: An Early Look at Life in Port Arthur https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2014/04/16/blanches-journey-an-early-look-at-life-in-port-arthur/

Tulip Transplants to East Texas by W.T. Block

http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/tulip.htm

Madeline Khan; Remley- Hillebrand and LeBlue Cemeteries; Fatima Sing Hpoo; Wong Shu; Dissing Arthur, and was Mark Wiess a Brownie?

Posted on by
Smaun and Fatima Sing Hpoo

I’m tired! Not Madeline-Kahn-Blazing-Saddles tired, but tired all the same. Work life and air-conditioned research life are at odds, but we will work through the dilemma, as work life pays for research life.

Remley-Hillbrand Cemetery

During the ongoing Texas Historical Commission cemetery inventory project, we’ve updated the names of known cemeteries in Jefferson County. One problem is when you know of a cemetery that has been bulldozed over the years, and there is no record of its removal. Frankly, there is no record because the bodies were never removed. In Port Neches, W.T. Block wrote of one, and I believe him. I’ll link his article at the bottom of this blog. In the article, you can tell he was ticked off. The Remley-Hillebrand cemetery, located on the Southeast corner of the Dearing and Rachford Streets intersection, was bulldozed and concreted in the ‘40s. W.T. noticed this after he returned from serving in the army during World War II.

This is more common than you think. Remember when I mentioned the fire station on College Street? It was built on land used as a burial ground during the Civil War and following yellow fever deaths. Also, let’s mention Le Blue Cemetery. You can pass over that on past Parkdale Mall, between Dupont Credit Union and Spell Cemetery. Most likely, Le Blue was a part of Spell Cemetery, but it was paved over with no record of removal of the residents. Now you know that when traveling over the LNVA canal toward Lumberton, you are driving through the hallowed ground; hold your breath and hope the residents don’t grab your feet!

One person that is a regular on our Magnolia Cemetery tour is Fatima Sing Hpoo. If you search this name on Google, you’ll see many photos of a Burmese woman who visited Beaumont in December of 1902 but passed away in the Crosby Hotel on December 30th. She was part of a team with her brother, Smaun, both of whom were involved in a show completing gymnastic feats, and the billing stated they were the perfect humans but smaller. Fatima was 22 years old, was 28 inches tall, and weighed in at 15 pounds, and Smaun wasn’t any different in height or weight. The day after, the advertisement in the Beaumont Journal read that Smaun would perform alone. We don’t know where Fatima is buried in Magnolia Cemetery, but we tell her story to keep her name alive.

Another story from inside Magnolia’s borders is that of Wong Shu. I will state that there is a headstone with a “roof” of Asian design near Brakes Bayou. It was always a mystery concerning to whom it belonged, because the writings are Chinese characters. Could it be Fatima? No, because the headstones are distinctly different between Myanmar (Burma) and China. The written characters are different as well. So, a few years back, Mr. Don Smart found an article in the Beaumont Enterprise about a Cantonese sailor who drowned in the Neches. He sailed on the Standard Oil Company tanker Santana. The ship had been docked in Beaumont for some time, on hiatus because of the volatility of the Mexican oil trade. I’ll put his story below. I am almost sure it’s his headstone, but we must do the rubbings and translate.

Thinking about Arthur Stilwell, he was a bit all hat and no cattle. He talked a good game, but if it wasn’t for Bet-A-Million Gates, Port Arthur would have never been built. I’m sure the Scottish Brownies would confirm this, but I’m certain they’re still mad at me for calling them English Faeries in my last blog on Arthur. I do know when I wrote the first draft of “Under the influence of Brownies,” it just disappeared from my computer. Now I know not to engage in politics, especially concerning Scottish and English spiritual entities.

Should I dare call the Brownies’ Mark Wiess, because that’s who tipped off Arthur about buying the land in Port Arthur instead of the Sabine Pass. Those Sabine Pass characters were greedy, and Arthur was a shyster who drafted his books after the fact, but I have no skin in the game, so I will post the links at the bottom of the page.

Like I said, I’m tired, so I’ll leave you fatigued from work life. I would rather be tired from research life, but that won’t happen. Cheerio!

Wong Shu :

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2017/01/03/the-uninvited-guests-the-funeral-of-wong-shu/

Arthur Stilwell: https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2016/02/17/under-the-influence-of-brownies/

Mark Wiess, Not Brownies, Told Stilwell Where to Build by Judith Linsley: https://www.sfasu.edu/heritagecenter/9328.asp

W.T. Block:

http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/smith.htm

Thoughts and Ramblings: Books, Books, and More Books; The Tyrrell Historical Library; W.C. Tyrrell, and Remembering Dave

Posted on by
Tyrell Historical Library

I just finished a couple of books from Ray E. Boomhower—no, not Boomhauer, the guy from the King of the Hill tv show. I discovered him thanks to an interview on the World War II podcast. Both books are excellent and full of information on what a war correspondent and a soldier went through. Dispatches from the Pacific: The World War II reporting by Robert L. Sherrod and Richard Tregaskis: Reporting under fire from Guadalcanal to Vietnam are right in my wheelhouse of World War II history because they leave the John Wayne-style propaganda out of it. If you add Eugene Sledge’s books, With the old Breed and China Marine, you will truly learn what journalists and soldiers endured during and after the war.

Listen Closely Podcast

Speaking of podcasts, I’ve been enjoying one for the past few weeks, and it’s local. If you’re into podcasts and history, you need to Listen Closely. The Listen Closely podcast is based in Hardin County and is worth your time. Their latest episode is about Beaumont’s own Rita Ainsworth. Other episodes include Arthur Stilwell and my favorite, Olive Texas. I will put the link below.

The Tyrrell Historical Library has always been an excellent place for research. Originally, it was an old Baptist Church, but W.C. Tyrrell bought it and turned it into a library for the city of Beaumont—a true act of philanthropy.

W.C. Tyrrell photo credit: SFASU.edu

Some may recognize W.C. Tyrrell as a prominent name in Beaumont. Captain Tyrrell was born in Pennsylvania in 1847 but moved to Iowa with his family at the age of seven. During his youth, he worked on his family’s farm, which readied him for his business ventures. In 1867, he married Helen Rodrick and started his own farm. He accumulated land and led a prosperous life in Iowa. In 1898, Tyrrell came to Port Arthur to purchase more land. He eventually settled in Beaumont, becoming very wealthy through his investments in the oil industry and other ventures.

As I mentioned, Captain Tyrrell was known for his philanthropy. After Port Arthur was flooded in the 1915 hurricane, he sent 8,000 loaves of bread to the victims. In 1920, he donated 500 acres of land for a park. Tyrrell Park was born. In 1923, he bought the building vacated by the First Baptist Church and donated it to the city of Beaumont for a library in his wife’s memory. Captain Tyrrell also mandated that service be extended to black patrons, so a branch was opened in the Charlton-Pollard High School.

Over the years, I have accumulated many regional books about SETX history. The price varies from book to book, and I will add that most were not cheap, but they are a good source of information for my research. Some of my favorites are the pictorial editions. I can and do spend hours staring at old photos. The Port Arthur and Nederland Centennial history books were done very well, along with Beaumont: A Pictorial History by John Walker and Gwendolyn Wingate, Beaumont: A Chronicle of Promise by Judith Walker Linsley and Ellen Walker Rienstra, and Beaumont 175 presented by the Beaumont Enterprise. I also can’t leave out Hardin County: A Pictorial History by Renee Hart Wells and Hardin County Timeless Treasures by Renee Hart Wells and Nancy Brooks Thompson.

I believe the Port Arthur Centennial books are still available at the Museum of the Gulf Coast, and the Nederland Centennial book was at the Windmill on Boston Avenue. To get the others, you may have to go on eBay or an online vintage bookseller. I’ve put the links for the ones I’ve used at the end of this blog.

That’s it for this week, so I’ll leave you with this post from a 27-year-old guy I knew from Houston, whom I consider a rock star just for being himself. He hated Facebook and was strictly on Google+. He posted this a couple of weeks before he had a cardiac arrest and passed away. After ten years, he is still missed because his words are still relevant. RIP Dave, and sorry for posting this on Facebook.

“If there’s something you’ve been meaning to do for a while, start planning to get it done. If there’s something you don’t want to do – find an honorable way to stop doing it. If someone needs something and you like them and you can more than afford it (and they’re not a needy do-nothing)… give it to them. And for gods’ sake – don’t forget to tell people how much you value them before they keel over and die. Funerals are not a particularly useful time to tell someone how much they meant to you. I notice most people’s fears about death have more to do with regrets than anything else.” – Dave Grega

Listen Closely Podcast: https://www.facebook.com/HTTLISTENCLOSELY

Beaumont 175: The Shops of Midtown @ 3145 Calder Ave Beaumont Texas

Ebay: https://www.ebay.com/itm/223464094365

Abe Books: https://www.abebooks.com/

Museum of Hardin County 830 S. Maple St., Kountze, Texas 77625

Museum of the Gulf Coast 700 Procter St, Port Arthur, TX 77640

Dutch Windmill Museum 1500 Boston Ave, Nederland, TX 77627