On Tuesday, I had the privilege of speaking to the Captain William Sanders chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution at the Port Arthur Library. I enjoyed the event, especially the interactions with those who were familiar with some of the people and history I brought up. Since most of the audience grew up in Port Arthur, we connected well. The interurban, Vuylsteke House, Rose Hill Manor, and the Pompeiian Villa were some of the Port Arthur portions of my talk. This is actually the reason why I began my website RediscoveringSETX.com.
In 2012, I started my adventure exploring regional history because I couldn’t find any information to tour local historic homes in Port Arthur. Hell, I didn’t even know about the Vuylsteke House or how to tour the Pompeiian Villa. Luckily, I knew someone who volunteered at the Museum of the Gulf Coast, and they provided me with a phone number to talk to someone with the keys to these houses—there was no information online back then. Update: I still don’t think there is information on these houses. If I’m wrong, reach out to the Museum of the Gulf Coast and Lamar Port Arthur because they hold the keys. Good luck and Godspeed if you’re interested in Rose Hill Manor, but if you want to see photos of it, I have many (follow the link below).
My interests branched out to other places in Jefferson County and eventually to all of SETX history. Truth be told, my favorite house to tour in SETX is the Chambers House Museum in Beaumont because the story of the Chambers family and their two daughters is priceless. Also, the place looks like some of your grandmother could afford to live there. If you haven’t toured this gem, you’re missing out.
Other unknown gems to visit in SETX would be the Lutcher Memorial Building in Orange, the Museum of Hardin County, and the T. J. Chambers House in Anahuac. There are many more, and I have photos and information about them on my Flickr account. Sorry, but you have to click on the link to see them. I think you might like what you see, but I’m biased—I love SETX history.
February is when I usually get my regular agenda in order, and that agenda would be the places I volunteer at or intend to visit. My volunteering schedule includes the first weekend of May at the Galveston Historic Homes Tour, but I may be at the Tall Ships Galveston Festival on April 13–16. I love tall ships, but I also love the battleship that’s currently in dry dock. I’ll get into that in a little bit.
My main focus is the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour in October. We will have some of our regulars on tour, but we will also have some new faces and new stories. One thing about the tour that some people don’t realize is that it’s a self-guided tour. We have presenters at stations ready to talk about their subject. Most of the time, it is either a descendant or someone who has researched the person and is waiting to tell you their history. I’m still amazed that we had ten presenters last year. This is because of our great people who love history and offer that of their families on our tours.
At my talk on Tuesday, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the young men and women of the Port Arthur Memorial High School’s Navy Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps (NJROTC), who did a great job presenting the colors for the meeting. I was even more impressed when I heard that they came eighth out of 1,578 teams in the National Academic Exam. I’ll add that the sandwiches at our meeting were excellent, and the red velvet cake was scrumptious. One cadet noted that the cookies from Market Basket were divine and even mentioned who made them. So, kudos to you, Market Basket!
While doing my scheduled events, I have been seeing people touring the USS Texas at the dry dock in Galveston for several weeks. I found out that the tours will end in late April, so if you read this on Sunday morning, you will undoubtedly see a few photos of me with the old girl. More photos will follow.
Last week was the eighty-fifth anniversary of Florence Stratton’s death, and I gave a brief account of her life on Saturday. Unfortunately, I could never tell an accurate story like those around her would have been able to. So, on Sunday’s Thoughts and Ramblings, I published a tribute to the Beaumont Journal/ Beaumont Enterprise journalist. I added no content because I wanted to use actual sources who knew her and worked with her. One thing that was mentioned in a few accounts was that her coworkers used the 30 as a tribute to their fallen comrade. As far as I can tell, the 30 was used to indicate the end of the story or say goodbye. However, as a researcher, I could never use the 30 because in 2012 I began my journey to learn more about Florence and keep her story alive.
After eleven years of research, I am still learning. Yes, Florence’s life ended in January of 1938, but her legacy should be treasured and live on as an inspiration to those who may want to follow in her footsteps. Whether it’s journalism, charity, or just caring about people and trying to make a difference, we need this. Florence cared about everyone and did her best to make things right.
Here at RediscoveringSETX, we have some new headers, and I for one am ecstatic about it. To me, it’s almost like looking at one of those Iron Maiden album covers minus the little devils with pitchforks. You can find all kinds of SETX things in them. Sorry if you don’t know who Derrick Riggs and Iron Maiden are. Actually, I’m sure Steve Harris, the founder of Iron Maiden, probably forgot who Derrick was because he went with someone else, but the fans didn’t forget—I digress. Up the Irons, Eddie! And no, I’m not a West Ham fan. Queen’s Park Rangers all the way!
Speaking of Iron Maiden, a few months ago, I was digging through my box of old Kodak moments for some pictures of airshows from the 1990s and found a few photos from their 1983 visit to Beaumont, with the Scorpions. I had no idea who the Scorpions were, but at the time, they played their hit “Blackout” on the radio every hour. Unlike most people, I hear lyrics differently, and all I heard Klaus Meine singing about was that he had a really big nose, or that’s how I understood the lyrics. I’ve seen the photos, and I agree. I also witnessed him swinging the mic and tossing it into the air, nearly hitting the rafters of the Beaumont Civic Center, or was it the Montagne Center? I’m going to have to ask Mikey Mayhem, a fellow connoisseur of local history who was also there. If you subscribe to any of Facebook’s local history pages, you may know him. I’m going to say that he’s into all sorts of shenanigans. Mikey is researching some forgotten family histories that should probably be turned into a movie. Stay tuned!
In the same box, I found some photos of an aircraft carrier being towed through the intercoastal canal in 2006. To give a bit of background, back then I was working on Lakeshore Drive and had no idea that there was a small carrier in the mothball fleet at McFaddin Bend in the Neches River. The USS Oriskany, or the “Big O” as some called it, was put there to be scrapped. The ship was a veteran of both the Korean and Vietnam wars. It was decommissioned in 1976, sold for scrap in 1995, and then repossessed in 1997. Its fate was finally sealed when, in 2006, the 880-foot carrier was sunk off the Florida coast to create an artificial reef. To my knowledge, it was the largest vessel ever sunk to make a reef, but if you had seen it, you might have wondered how anyone could land a plane on it. Knowing nothing of what I know now, I looked up and saw an aircraft carrier being towed down the intercoastal canal! Yes, this was a wow moment.
The USS Oriskany had a rich history, and its burial at sea was a fitting tribute. I wish they’d done something similar to the Grey Ghost. The USS Enterprise was scrapped with no regard for its history. It’s disgusting that a ship with so much importance was thrown away. A watery grave would have been better, if not a museum! I won’t get into a Yukari Akiyama 秋山 優花里-type rant about ships instead of tanks, but I know that she would back me up on this. I would have loved to see the Grey Ghost docked anywhere instead of becoming a pile of garbage. It was the only carrier that lasted the war, and after the Battle of Midway, it was even, at one time, the only carrier in the Pacific. Admiral Nimitz knew this; fortunately, the Imperial Japanese Navy didn’t. Yes, the Battle of Midway was a great victory, but you can lose your advantage when you’re in the Pacific theater and your commander in chief is not thinking about you and is too busy sending everything to the European theater. Yes, that was a thing.
My Yukari rant is finished for now. Changing the subject a bit, we all know that the USS Texas should be in Beaumont, so if you’re in the know, let’s bring her here. She’s self-sufficient.
A friend of mine has been looking into his father’s history. I’ve known this for a few years. Recently, he asked me if Fold3, a military history website owned by Ancestry.com, would be worth the money. I told him that it was worth it for me because I do significant research on multiple people but that if he just wanted to look at his family history, I could do it for him. Fold3 is a great site for researchers interested in finding someone’s military background. It’s also a great place to find war diaries from WWII, which I use. In 2012, a lot of information was released by the government from this time, which is why I found it on Fold3.
Well, that’s about it for now. Until next week, we don’t #uptheirons or support #WestHam. #WeRQPR #ForeverRs
Susie died last night. That’s why her letter won’t be in its usual place in the Enterprise tomorrow morning. We thought you ought to know. Here at the office we’re all rather stunned. Susie belonged to both papers, you know. She gave about 35 years of her life to these papers, Susie did, and from the editor who read her copy to the boys upstairs who set it there’s a strange, hard reluctance to accept the fact that her desk over there in the corner is closed for good.
Susie was … well, call it a tradition. She had more sheer newspaper sense up in her little finger than we brash younger fry have in our collective brain. We used to ride her a lot. Kidding Susie was good fun—because she was “old school.” Hers were standards of that first brave sortie of women into curt, intense business of journalism. And she clung to them to the last in spite of us. Underneath, we loved her for it. She knew that, thank goodness. Good old trail-blazer.
Della, just to look at Susie you’d never have guessed the enchanting glamour of her life, Quiet and self-effacing, Susie was, with a funny little habit of tidying her hair all the time. But she’d met presidents, interviewed princesses, attended the highest functions of Washington. Long-distance calls came to her from Harper’s Publishing company, from the New York Times, from senators. I never knew a woman could have so many contacts—important ones. I never knew a woman who could, even by virtue of long service to a specialized profession like journalism, find somebody she knew in every city of importance in the nation. I never went to Susie with a question and came away without an answer.
Bill Beaumont
Beaumont Journal January 29, 1938
Beaumont Enterprise January 31, 1938
Friends of Low and High Estate pay final respects to Miss Florence Stratton
-One, Only ‘Susie Spindletop’ Called Rare and Gracious Influence, Versatile Genius
Several hundred people, her friends in life, paid the last tribute yesterday afternoon to Susie Spindletop. Miss Florence Stratton, for more than 35 years a Beaumont newspaper woman, and one of the most beloved figures in the newspaper world of her Texas, was buried on a hillside in Magnolia cemetery following impressive services at her home on McFaddin avenue. Her grave was covered with flowers, great sprays of blossoms she dearly loved, and smaller offerings from friends representing every walk of life in her city.
Rev. George E. Cameron, rector of St. Mark’s Episcopal church, who conducted the rites at the residence and at the graveside, said of her that there was but one Susie Spindletop– one Florence Stratton, and that she was the exception to the rule that everyone’s place could be filled satisfactorily by someone else.
While he spoke there was hardly a dry eye. Every room on the lower floor was filled, while scores stood outside. Every old family of Beaumont was represented. In the throng were many of Beaumont’s most prominent figures in the world of business, its courts, and professions.
Associates Attended
Scattered among those attending, often in little groups with saddened, downcast faces, was almost every newspaper man and woman in the city, with many of the Fourth estate who had worked with her in years gone by.
During the services several red camellias lay on her stilled typewriter in the editorial room of the Enterprise, place there by some member of the staff.
Miss Stratton’s body lay in a gray casket in the quaint dining room of her home beneath the portrait of her beloved grandfather, the late Asa E. Stratton, Sr. The casket was covered with a gorgeous blanket of white carnations, the offering of The Enterprise company, to which Miss Stratton had been attached for about 18 years. Upon her breast was a small spray of lilies of the valley and violets, which were perhaps her favorite flowers.
Floral Memorials
The entire house –the one spot on earth she loved best –was filled with blossoms. They came from every section of Texas –Houston, San Antonio, Dallas –from New Orleans, Lake Charles and other cities of Louisiana, from Tulsa, from her beloved Brazoria County, her birthplace, and from as far away as Virginia. The floral offerings from distant points, however, were limited only by the fact that distant friends did not know of her sudden passing in New Orleans Friday night.
Near the casket stood an appealing floral piece made of Japanese magnolias, sent by Miss Stratton’s fellow workers of the Enterprise staff. There was another from the editorial staff of The Beaumont Journal and other employees of the newspaper, on which she was employed prior to that paper’s being taken over by The Enterprise in 1920.
There were also flowers from the typographical chapels of The Enterprise and Journal –the men who for years “set” the Sunday column known as “Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” and her garden features and others. Among the offerings were those from Mrs. Ruth Sergent of San Antonio, her close friend; Miss Matilda Gray of Lake Charles, and her nephew, Lieut. Ernest Stevens of the United States navy, stationed at Portsmouth, VA.
From Out of Town
Among relatives and friends from out of the city were Mrs. Tom Stratton of Angleton, Mrs. Jessie Stratton of Angleton, Bryan Stratton of Houston, Mr. and Mrs. J. E. Burkhart, Jr., of Houston, Mrs. W. V. Ezell, her aunt, of Houston, and Miss Mary Masterson, Mrs. Edna Saunders, Underwood Nazro, Martin Miller and Jimmy Bonner of Houston.
There were several long-distance calls of condolence, as well as telegrams of those of her friends –and she numbered them from New York to San Francisco –in every part of the country.
Rev. Mr. Cameron opened the Episcopal service with a part of the 14th chapter of St. John –“Let not your heart be troubled.”
Then he spoke tenderly of Miss Stratton, telling of the unusual place she held in Beaumont and in Texas. He called special attention to her charities, all of which were little known to any save those who accidently found them out. He said that her spirit was as exquisite as old lace, and that “like old lace, she fitted into any environment.” He said that her heart had a tremendous capacity for affection.
“A Gracious Influence”
His remarks follow:
“This hour is one of deepest bereavement. Standing here among these books, the old family heirlooms, these beautiful flowers and loyal friends, and in this little humble cottage, surrounded by green trees and shrubs each planted by their mistress with a yearning and searching heart we feel the gentle impact of the spirit of her who only a few hours ago, was such a lively gracious influence in our lives.
She was a genius as rare as she was versatile. She is an exception to the rule that everyone’s place can be filled satisfactorily by some other person. There was only one ‘Susie Spindletop.’ Our beloved was an extremely keen intellect that brought meaning out of every phase of human activity. Nothing escaped her notice, and with her imagination awakened her literary paragraphs ran on endlessly and interestingly because they were as broad and as deep as life, itself.
We wonder if these treasured symbols can speak to our hearts as they spoke to our beloved. Among these books there walked a veritable host of literary minds that provided a congenial fellowship; these fragrant blossoms were messengers of peace and refreshment that called to mind the shady lanes and quiet places of childhood and youth; this humble cottage was a friendly home where acquaintances could meet and exchange ideas, without fear of misunderstanding and without criticism, and every bush that bloomed and every bird that sang around this home brought messages from the mysterious spaces of life.”
Her Charities
“Her heart had a tremendous capacity for affection. Not only was she at home with and an inspiration to every accomplished scholar she met, but she loved without stint the poorest, lowest creature on earth. Suffering and injustices aroused her deepest emotions, and upon the helpless she spent herself in affection, bringing help, and relief to untold numbers among the poor of the city.
Her spirit was as exquisite as old lace, and like old lace she was adaptable and fitted pleasantly into any environment. Hence she never complained, and often we marveled at her patience. She was the embodiment of gentility and had absorbed into her personality the nectar of fragrance from the roses of her own garden.
Yet there was a wistful element in her nature. She saw so much to do, so many distressed people to be helped, so many important events still unwritten, so many books yet unborn, one was immediately impressed with her yearning to work and help. We commend her to our heavenly father the source of all intellect, the prime mover of every human impulse, the inspiration of every noble deed, with the belief that in his hand, under his guidance, her yearning for completeness and goodness will be fulfilled. May the Lord bless her and keep her, and make his face to shine upon her and be gracious unto her.”
Miss Kent Plays
At the close of his talk, which brought tears to many, he offered a prayer, and Miss Alice Kent, a friend of Miss Stratton, played the violin.
Tenderly her body was taken from the home she loved by a group of her friends. Acting as pallbearers were Ashley Weaver, Alfred Jones, Terry Duff, Sam Lipscomb, Norval McKee, Bernard Deufser and Frank Godsey, of Beaumont and her friend Watson Neyland, of Liberty. Employees of The Enterprise and Journal were honorary pallbearers.
The procession of cars from the home to Magnolia cemetery, escorted by motorcycle police, was more than a mile long. Silently as they left her under the blankets of flowers her newspaper people wrote “30,” their farewell.
Florence Stratton March 21, 1881- January 28, 1938
Well, the World Cup is over, and we can all go back to work and be productive again, at least until Euro 2024 begins. As a Three Lions supporter of forty years, I assumed England would bottle it. I must say, though, that I expected more from #Cymru. Wales’s heart is strong, but the team has no depth. El Tri looked horrible going in, but Memo Ochoa will always be remembered as the heart of this team because he cares about being there. Japan were also not on their game going in, but the Samurai Blue showed up! Pride, fair play, and victory! The US looked a lot better than they have in a while, but I hate Pulisic and half the team, so here we are.
Apparently, Argentina won not thanks to Lionel Messi, but because of thousands of Argentinian witches doing their thing. I find this ridiculous as everyone knows that Strega witches are always on their game, and yet Italy didn’t even qualify for the World Cup. I guess Mount Etna was still inactive and enjoying England’s loss to Italy in Euro 2020. See, I told you England always bottles it. It’s never coming home.
Beaumont Enterprise 12.25.1903
Last week on “Thoughts and Ramblings,” I acknowledged my love of Tejano music. Back in the 1990s, I enjoyed a few artists—Selena, of course, followed by Emilio and Jay Perez. We’ve lost both Selena and Emilio, but Jay is still the voice! These three got me through Houston traffic in the ‘90s while I was driving a truck, usually to Julian’s Machine Shop in Sugarland. The radio would stay on 108 Super Tejano until I got back to the shop, and then it was probably pop country from my Caney Head coworkers. No, it wasn’t! There was one guy, who every damn time the song “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion came on (which was about six times a shift), would turn it up. This is why I always volunteered to drive to Houston for a pickup or delivery. To this day, I will not listen to that song, and dare anyone to play it in my presence. I still blame this on my anger management issues. Or is it my current problem with libraries taking my signage before a cemetery tour? I guess I need to delve back into some Jay Perez music to find the answer. To quote one of his songs: “Eres Tú.”
December 2008
Okay, I’m just going to say that Mr. Snow Miser sucks, and I don’t want him in my area. I was always in favor of Heat Miser. Maybe it goes back to some of my DNA from Mount Etna. I want to remind everyone who wished for a “white Christmas” that the last time we had one of those we also had Hurricane Rita, in 2005. The next time it snowed was in 2008, after Hurricane Ike. It snowed three times after Harvey in 2017. Hurricanes Laura and Delta in 2020? That ice thing that happened in February 2021? Is it all related? Ancient astronaut theorists from the History Channel may agree that something is going on, but I have no idea. Do you really want it to snow? Sorry if I’m channeling the Witch of Endor, but you can’t have yin without yang. So, Saul, if you want snow, go to Sonic and buy that terrific bag of ice they sell and use in their slushies, then post videos of your dog with antler ears on Facebook. That way, we will all live Hurricane- and snow-free like we did for thirty years before Rita.
#Cymru #QPR
Wow, that’s a lot of football, witches, Tejano, and hurricanes/snow. Sorry, but I tend to ramble on with what I know. But it’s Christmas Day, so I guess I should mention something about SETX’s origins. Nope, I’ll let Susie Spindletop do it because she’s not as brash as me and had fewer anger management issues. Seriously now, I hope all of you and your families have a safe and happy Christmas. We’ll get into your merry New Year’s Day next week. Until then, here’s Susie getting into your family’s gossip.
Dear Della,
It is no scoop to tell you this is Christmas morning and allegedly the happiest time of year. Sometime during the night Santa paid us a visit, and left me a wealth of stuff, among it, four sets of pipe cleaners, a pair of boxing gloves, a tire tool and a trick doojigger used for shining shoes. I am not one, Della, to take the old fellow to task, for goodness knows he would pay a little more attention to his addresses he would avoid no end confusion.
I am writing him a letter with a few suggestions for next year, hoping to get in an order well ahead of time. I propose to him that he give Mr. Duff and artificial flower for his boutonniere as soon as possible, for Miss Clint’s stock of fresh flowers is sorely being sorely taxed. I propose that he give Dr. Williams a new philosophy of women, the Santa Fe switch engine that hangs around Calder a new whistle, Cecil Easley something to talk about besides golf, and the city of Beaumont more sidewalks for Willie Kinsloe to exercise on. Of course, I am mentioning a few things for myself, Della, figuring on the law of averages to produce results.
Incoming Christmas card have wished me, by actual count:
Merry Christmas, 42 times.
Happy Christmas, 24 times.
Joyous New Year, 35 times.
Prosperous New Year, 27 times.
Season’s blessings, 14 times.
An early remittance, one time.
Enjoy myself and then come around and buy some Blank insurance, two times.
A check on the First National bank, only one(I regret to say) time.
My records show that last year I was Merry Christmas-ed and prosperous New Year-ed only about two-thirds this amount, so I am sure that 1928 will bring an improvement. N’est-ce-pas? As tourists from Waxahatchie say.
Reports have it that the mistletoe crop in Texas is a dud this year and that little of the famous kiss foliage is on the market. One wonders, Della, of course, if the absence of mistletoe nowadays will slow up a party of the young-uns any.
And how long is it since you saw mistletoe hanging from a ceiling?
Had you ever stopped to think, Della, that each stage in our progress from cradle to the grave has it’s different Christmas? Old age forgets itself, the ghosts which haunt us memories, and enters into the young creatures happiness with a relish second only to the childs. The grandmother no longer wishes sleds or hoops or gingerbread monkeys for herself, but she looks with love and wonder upon little beings who respond so radiantly to these objects of domestic manufacture. Between these generations stand the parents, with their own lives of bustle and responsibility and desire, their own games and gewgaws to pursue, but yet with a beginning of the change, from living for themselves, to living in their young.
It’s a very happy Christmas and all that for me, Della, but I can’t be perfectly so until a measure has been enacted providing capital punishment for all those who still persist in writing Xmas.
Before saying good-bye, must tell you somebody gave me a subscription to “Time.” That’s what’s worrying me now, Della.
And also in conclusion I regret to announce that there ain’t no Santa Claus.
Yours for bigger and redder cranberries. Susie
“Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter,” Beaumont Enterprise December 25, 1927
Join us for the 2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour.
Thursday, October 20th, 4:30 – 6:30
Saturday, October 22nd, 10:00 – 2:00
The purpose of this tour is to promote the rich history of our area through the lived experiences of our past residents. There are many stories, mostly forgotten over time, that we feel need to be told and remembered. We hope you will enjoy this opportunity to look back on our SETX history and will share some of the stories about the people you will learn about on the tour.
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!
The Texas Historical Commission is currently doing a cemetery inventory project. No, shovels are not involved at this time; what they want to do is clean up their database. On the THC website, there is an atlas that you can access to find information by county. I believe this is a good thing. It shows the names and locations of each county’s known or registered cemeteries. Once the project is done, it will be even better for the genealogy crew.
I wish someone would clean up Ancestry.com. I’ve spent many hours on the site only to sift through entries in which a West end Wanda from Missouri swears that her grandfather, also from Missouri, lived in Beaumont in 1910. The problem is he never set foot in Texas. Of course, my subject lived in Beaumont and could be verified in the census, but they had the same name. However, in true Wanda fashion, it didn’t matter—“that was him.” I guess the moral of this story is: don’t ever let an ex-wife of a cousin be the family historian.
Maybe one day I will do more research on my family. I’ve already discovered a few things and covered some of them, such as the tragedy of the Tugboat Chief. Thinking back, I also have a descendent who died in 1910 but was in the 1920 census. I guess we have vampires in the closet. Maybe this is why some of my family members hate garlic.
Saturday, I visited Sabine Pass Cemetery and ole Kate Dorman. Last week, I said that if there were a Princess Leia in SETX, it would be Sibbie Van Wormer. Well, if there were a General Leia Organa, it would be Kate Dorman. She was a firecracker. Kate took things into her own hands and dealt with obstacles on the fly. She once threatened a small Union Army invading force out to attack the rebel force’s stables and barracks. The invaders had a howitzer but needed a way to move it, so they commandeered Kate’s horse and cart. She told them she hoped the Confederate boys would kill every last one of them before they got back and, if she had 25 men, she could do it herself. I will link to W.T. Block’s article at the bottom of the blog. I have also attached a few videos of a reenactment portraying this event. One thing to note is that Mr. Dorman was also there, and after the federal troops were finished, they returned both horse and cart. Of course, Mr. Dorman was told that if he didn’t keep his wife’s mouth shut, they would hang him. I’m sure there were war crimes on both sides, but no one wanted to have the hanging of a 4-foot plus change firecracker on their books.
Image from the scrapbook of descendant Jessie Plummer. TSHA Online
I will always admire one thing about Kate for another story from the same time. In July of 1862, the yellow fever epidemic hit Sabine as a result of a vessel that ran the blockade put in place by the Federals. At least one thousand people deserted the area, afraid of what was known as the “Yellow Jack”. The fever killed a hundred people in Sabine and Beaumont combined, forty of whom were Confederate soldiers. With her tenants at the Catfish Hotel fleeing and nearly everyone else in Sabine escaping the dreaded disease, Kate stood strong. With no regard for her health, Kate, along with her two friends, Sarah Vosburg and Sarah Ann King, turned the hotel into a makeshift hospital to care for the sick and the dying. All three ladies should be given respect for this. Kate is buried in Sabine Pass. Sarah Ann King was buried in the Sparks Cemetery (where the Dupont refinery is today) but was moved with the rest of the 30 people at that cemetery to Forest Lawn in Beaumont. I haven’t found Sarah Vosburg. It seems she disappeared from the area. According to W.T. Block’s article, she was the key to detecting yellow fever because she had had it while living in New Orleans. Each year since 2013, I’ve placed a bow on the historical marker of Kate Dorman’s grave. It’s not political. It’s for Kate and the two Sarah’s who did their part in trying to save lives during an epidemic, while others ran away. Good on them.
I wish it were October and I could bring up Bragg and Sarah Jane Road and rant about ghost hunters and idiots that do EVP sessions in a trailer in Deweyville and say they recorded a grunt from an Indian spirit after speaking English to it. Why would an Attakapas be haunting a trailer in Deweyville anyway? But I digress. This does go on. Stay tuned.
Well, that’s it for this week. I hope all is well, and I also hope you can look after others. Kate would, except if you were Dutch Margaret.
This week I’ve had some fascinating conversations on a potpourri of Beaumont history; some are even printable. From a speakeasy across the street from the courthouse to the Dixie Hotel, which wasn’t the only, umm, working hotel downtown. Hopefully, this information will be shared on a Sunday rambling soon. Someone mentioned that we should do a podcast of our exciting discussions, and I agree, but with a face for radio and a voice for silent film, I don’t see it happening anytime soon. Southeast Texas had a few good podcasts, but it takes a lot of time and money to produce a quality program. Shout-out to Tyler Troutman for creating the Tyler Knows Everything podcast for a couple of years. Of course, the “Knows” was crossed out because he wanted to learn more. The content was excellent.
For those who have never heard of a podcast, it’s an on-demand radio show or video. I mostly listen to audio podcasts when working, but I also watch a few. Growing up, I listened to the radio constantly, whether it was music, sports, or the hunting/fishing programs. I will say that I don’t hunt and haven’t fished in 35 years, but I listened. I remember listening to KOLE 1340 AM sports on Friday nights or Saturday mornings. They would broadcast the Lincoln High School games. This was after Little Joe Washington showed us his greatness, then showed the world. In the 1990s, the team wasn’t doing well. I always counted on Trudy and Sharon to tell it like it was. Unfortunately, this Saturday morning wasn’t going well for the team, and the professional team within a 500-mile perimeter, named the West Orange-Stark Mustangs, was in town doing what those teams do—run up the score. They even went for two after their touchdown before the half to make it 50-0. The team lost 84-0, but Trudy and Sharon had different views on the game. Trudy was trying to make sense of what was going on and optimistically thought that at 21-0 in the first quarter they could come back, but Sharon always told it like it was. “Nope, they just don’t have their head in it.” I loved these two! This is why I listened. I don’t know where they are today, but they will always be my favorite sports commentators.
Gordon Baxter. Photo credit Portal to Texas
I also remember listening to Gordon Baxter’s radio show after an event that happened on what I think was a recorded segment on one of the local channels. It could have been live, and that would have made more sense in terms of the mistake they made. I can’t remember if it was on KJAC, KFDM, or KBMT, but one of the news sources reported on the Rainbow Family gathering up at the lakes. The reporter was interviewing a member of the family, showing them only from the chest up. But the cameraman forgot to notice the nudist guy in the background behind the reporter. I saw this live on the news, but hearing about it on Gordon’s show was priceless.
I’m finally making headway organizing and digitizing all those files that are destined for greatness someday. If I don’t, my family will probably throw them out because they’re not so gung-ho for history, and being a researcher involves a pack rat level of hoarding. We are a different breed. Just ask Beaumont History Bits, or Bitsy, as I refer to BHB.
We’ve presented some of the stories of Magnolia Cemetery many times, but I’ve never put to pen Sibbie Van Wormer Holmes Kelley Mills. She was born in 1869 to Jacob and Catherine Van Wormer. Compared to many other women of her time, Sibbie was strong-willed and independent.
In 1884, at the age of 15, Sibbie married John W. Holmes, who was 28. Together they had three children: Archie, Sadie, and Max. We don’t know what happened to Sibbie’s husband; I can’t find any record of his death. We do know that Sibbie was married to Samuel P. Kelley by 1910.
Sam P. Kelley
Samuel worked as a grain broker/buyer in Beaumont after moving here from Galveston. Later, he became head of the Standard Warehouse Company. Unfortunately, in February 1917, Samuel took his life with a shotgun. The obituary from the Beaumont Enterprise stated that he had been “feeling badly” before the incident, but no more details surfaced in the following days as to the possible reasons for the suicide.
As a mother, Sibbie seemed to be very protective of her children. According to one story from her descendant Mary Oxford Englander, which is found in the 1991 Texas Gulf Historical & Biographical Record, when Max joined the US Army, his first detail was along the Texas-Mexico border, “fighting Pancho Villa.” Of course, Sibbie did what any other mother would do—she “rented a room in a hotel at the border for the duration of the conflict.” I’ve found a few articles that mention a lady on the border feeding information to reporters covering the conflict, but helicopter moms will do what helicopter moms do.
With the United States’ involvement in World War I, Max was inevitably sent to France. Away from his mother’s protection, he became ill (possibly with Spanish flu) and died in St. Nazaire, France. His remains were brought back to Beaumont by his mother and laid to rest at Magnolia Cemetery.
Eventually, Sibbie married a third time to John B. Mills. He would die of a heart attack in 1931. He is also buried in the Kelley plot, along with Sibbie, who passed away in 1937.
Well, that’s it for this week. Until next time, if any of you know Trudy and Sharon, tell them they are appreciated. Ciao
Has anyone been to Gladys City lately? There is sure a lot of restoration going on. The old wildcatter city is getting a facelift, and it’s been long overdue. Gladys City was built as a Bicentennial project of the Lucas Gusher Monument Commission for the 75th anniversary of the Spindletop. Lamar University dedicated it in 1976. It was intended to be a temporary structure, but they are still holding their own. I will give a massive shout-out to Troy Gray for doing a fantastic job of keeping this gem running.
It reminds me of a book signing I went to at the McFaddin-Ward visitors center during which Jo Ann Stiles talked about her chapter in the book Just Between Us. In it, Stiles talks about her interview with Miss Alice, who lived in the real Glady’s City as a child. Miss Alice reveals both the good and the bad of how things were. This is what you want as a researcher, but the lore and Hollywood often get in the way of historical reality. It is a great book, and there’s a link to it at the bottom of the page.
Big Thicket Outlaws
As I mention Gladys City, I also need to say that the Big Thicket Outlaws have been entertaining folks for years at events in Gladys City and other places. The Big Thicket Outlaws have taken several losses during the past few years. The latest was Earl Keith (Tejano). He passed away in September 2021. He was a treasure that everyone will miss. The Outlaws have done a great job of bringing history to young folks and to us not-so-young folk. Below I’ve added links to past events that the Big Thicket Outlaws participated in at Glady’s City, which I photographed.
Blind Willie Johnson
Straight from the NASA files and Voyager 2, all is well, but the computers in Voyager 1 are troubled by a mysterious glitch. I guess that’s what you get with 1970s technology that’s lasted for 45 years. One thing to add is that both space probes are still working and traveling in interstellar space. To me, this means Blind Willie Johnson’s music has made it out of the solar system and is currently in uncharted territory, along with Beethoven, Bach, and Stravinsky. I’d say this is still a big deal. Blind Willie was a Beaumont preacher who had a music contract with a major label, Columbia Records. Yet he died poor. I have his story below.
Martin Block homestead
Things here on Ye Olde Block Farm are going well after the F-0 tornado decided to attack a few businesses on Nederland Avenue, then move into our area, a few weeks back. It sure seemed to hate water Oaks and some roofs, but it didn’t last long unless you were in its path, in which case it was Hurricane Rita all over again. I’m sure this isn’t the first time this has happened. Martin Block owned and cultivated this old farmland from the 1900s to the 1940s. You might recognize the last name. He was W. T. Block’s uncle. I have a couple of articles from the Beaumont Enterprise from 1927 and 1930 where journalist Dean Tevis spotlighted him in his weekly articles. Back then, old Dean wrote about these farmers like rock stars. It is fascinating to go back and read what things were like in the 1920s and 30s. Those Boll weevils caused many headaches. Dean wrote that Martin had the first truck in Port Neches to deliver his goods to Beaumont. He also had a sugar mill about a block away from his home.
I know that the live oaks were planted by the Block family before 1908, and they are my treasures. On Google Earth, there is a history tab that you can click on to get an aerial view of Jefferson County from 1938. I can see my trees in their blurry magnificence all those years ago. An added tidbit is that the Rowleys also lived not too far from here.
Something that’s been irking me for years involves only Port Arthurans. Why has Port Arthur been known as the friendliest city by the sea for years? You’re next to a lake. I won’t even mention when some committee gave the go-ahead to paint waves on the concrete barrier in the middle of Highway 69, 96, 287, leading into the heart of Port Arthur, then painted over them a few months later because TxDOT can’t even paint waves properly. Oh well, we’re not perfect, but at least some of us know the difference between a lake and a sea. Rant done! I guess we can go back to being friendly unless the powers over that project see this, then my work is done.
This week, the Saharan dust was a sight over the Rainbow Bridge. It was almost like fog. I know this bridge caused a lot of hell before it was built. Beaumont fought hard for this bridge not to be built because that would mean the people traveling from Port Arthur/Groves wouldn’t have to drive thru Beaumont to Orange County. There was a ferry before the bridge, but there were long waits. Beaumont lost and the bridge was built, making all of Mid and South County happy. I should do an in-depth research project on how much mud-slinging went on. I guess it’s water under the bridge. Of course, it is because it’s too darn high. A shout-out to everyone who took their driver’s ed road test over this rainbow because you deserved that license. Also, to the truckers who slapped rearview mirrors when it was a two-way bridge.
I just noticed it’s Father’s Day, so I’ll leave you a Susie Spindletop Weekly Letter entry from June 16, 1929.
MARY AUTRY HIGGINS came along with the epitaph she found somewhere:
Well, I’ve been dieting again. The main reason is that I couldn’t bend down and put on the booties during the Historic Homes Tour in Galveston. Actually, this makes me think of all the food I grew up eating. There were many good places in Port Arthur, but I stand by my Hartmans, Monceauxs, and Fish Net picks. I also want to mention Pie Face. Her jambalaya was not of this world in the 1990s. This was when she was cooking in the Jefferson City Shopping Center. It was the old Ted’s Record Shop. I know that she was previously located near Church’s Chicken on Bluebonnet. Pork Jambalaya that only an angel from Heaven could have cooked, and sweet tea for $5.
As a kid, my family didn’t travel much. As I stated a few weeks ago, we were the poor sods who ate sandy hotdogs on McFaddin Beach, so I don’t know the appetite of North Jefferson County or even the other counties in SETX. Except for Tyler County, we all know that your Pickett House is almost a religious experience. Our Boondocks was too. What was your favorite dining spot in the counties that make up SETX, and is it still around?
When traveling along Twin-city Hwy, just before the point where Hwy 366 connects to it, you will see seven Oak trees planted back in the 1980s in a circle near the train bridge. TxDOT did not do this landscaping. The tribute to the seven astronauts who perished in the Challenger explosion in January 1986 was made by the Nederland Historical Society. I’ll give a shout-out to William D. Quick for this. When I first heard about the disaster, I was on the same porch where I saw a formation of T-6 Texans all dressed up to look like Mitsubishi A6M Zeros for the Tora, Tora, Tora airshow at the Jefferson County Airport. I also saw Air Force One in 1980. The president was here doing what politicians do. I’m still in awe of the planes but don’t care for politicians unless it’s Winston Churchill. I will go on record to say that I’m pro-peanuts, though.
Last weekend I used my time wisely. It had been a while since I updated my files–what a weekend of filing! Nine months of files uploaded and sent to the database for humanity. You’re welcome. There were many interesting things waiting to be uploaded, such as several Port Arthur News clips of Mrs. Hugo DeBretagne. She was quite a patriot, I believe. If you have followed this blog, you’ve seen me mention Hugo J. DeBretagne. She was his mother. Although I haven’t done an in-depth article on H.J., it remains an ongoing project. Below I offer a storyline for this family and hope to expand it in the future.
The father, Hugo S. DeBretagne, fought in WWI and found a bride in Belgium, named Berthe. After the war, they lived in Port Arthur and had two sons, Hugo J. and James. Throughout the 1920s and 30s, there are many mentions of Berthe DeBretagne giving public speeches or heading the Women’s Auxiliary. Since she was mentioned more than her children and husband, I can only assume that she was a go-getter.
In the 1940s, both sons enlisted and were sent to fight in the Pacific. This is where it gets fuzzy for me as a researcher. I do know that James fought at Guadalcanal, but there is no mention of Hugo. The only information I could find is for the Battle of Tarawa. Hugo J. DeBretagne was killed in action on the third and last day of the battle (November 23, 1943). His brother James survived the war. He died in 2008, but I am yet to find his story. Mrs. DeBretagne continued to be in the spotlight with the Women’s Auxiliary in the newspapers, but in 1946 she divorced her husband and went her own way. I will not attempt to explain this decision because I can’t. It is what it is. Berthe eventually remarried an immigrant from Australia named William George Hay. She is buried near her son’s memorial stone in Greenlawn in Groves, Texas. This is one story I will continue to research.
Sparks Cemetery
Another group of files I uploaded was on the Sparks Cemetery and how it was moved in the 1950s. The cemetery was located on Dupont land between Nederland and Beaumont on TwinCity Highway. The McFaddins owned the ground at the time, and both they and Dupont moved all 30 residents of the cemetery to Forest Lawn in Beaumont. I will give the McFaddins and Dupont kudos for actually moving the bodies to their new resting place. There are many accounts of Beaumont cemeteries simply left underneath sites of urban expansion. I will get into that in the future.
Well, that’s it for this week. I’ll mention that I was surprised to make it in the Out and About with Albert section of The Examiner newspaper for the Memorial Service at Magnolia Cemetery. It’s better than the police beat. Au revoir.
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