Today, I travel down the beach road to Galveston. I have no problem going through Winnie/Stowell, but it would be a lot more retro if we could spend millions of dollars restoring Highway 87 between Sabine Pass and High Island until another tropical storm wipes it out. I’m sure it’s not feasible, but it would be more convenient. I also know the downside of this, and I’m not talking about money. I would have to pass the nudie beach before getting to the cross and Hwy 124. Is the nudie beach still a thing?

I did see that TxDOT has been trying to stop the flooding on the highway with rocks and borders. This is a good thing. I also saw a few old pipes sticking up off the beach, which used to be connected to beach houses just on the waterline. Erosion is the devil. I remember taking a drive to Crystal Beach in 2008 after Hurricane Ike to volunteer for a cleanup. The Bolivar Peninsula was in a pretty sad state, but they were determined to rebuild and look at them now. One thing that was weird was not seeing all of you fishing at Rollover Pass after they filled it in on a dark and dreary night. Well, so much for offshore fishing on a bridge.

A shipwreck just off the beach at Rettilon Road (just before you get to Fort Travis and the ferry) is something of a mystery. I never knew about this wreck until a friend sent me an article about it in 2017. It’s not from the Civil War era—maybe from the late 1900s? I would love to find out more about it. I’ve asked numerous people, but they have no clue. If you know where the ship came from, please tell me; the pelicans don’t.

It’s the second weekend of the Galveston Historic Homes Tour, and I would normally tour the houses again; this year, instead, I will help out a friend and volunteer. I love taking the tour. Sometimes, when you’re in line, you meet others who also love this event and have stories of their experience volunteering. These stories are priceless to me. I will say that volunteers may be from different backgrounds, but they think the same. They love the experience and gripe about it at the same time. I guess it means we’re all family. By the way, if you are traveling from Houston to Galveston there is a mess on a bridge near Tiki Island. It’s one lane only. TxDOT IS the DEVIL. Luckily, I will be taking the ferry in the morning, but I’ve brought my 706-page diary of a WW2 admiral to read while I wait in line on Ferry Road to leave Galveston. I’m sure I’ll finish it, but I already know the ending; it’s not good for him. #Ugaki

As Florence Stratton referred to her, I have Mrs. Bruce Reid on my list of subjects to research in detail. You may have heard of her as Bessie Reid from Port Arthur, and you may have had a textbook entitled When the Storm God Rides: Tejas and Other Indian Legends. This was the last book Florence Stratton published. It was definitely a hit on the elementary school scene. Bessie was an avid birder and a researcher of the Native American tribes of Texas. This is why the original story of Kisselpoo was born on the pages of the Port Arthur News on July 1^st, 1923. It’s a great story, but there was never an Indianette from Port Neches whom the Moon goddess loved and drowned in Lake Sabine. Native American tribes did winter in Port Neches, but that is a whole lot of lost history. You can thank Joseph Grigsby,  the Civil War, Beaumont’s muddy roads, and Texaco for the loss of the burial mounds, which I’m sure were sights to see.

Well, it seems that most of my ramblings were beach-related. I hope that’s alright with you. Thinking back to my childhood, my family didn’t have a beach house. We were the poor sods that ate sandy hotdogs on McFaddin Beach. (There must be many here that did the same.) One thing I hope is that they rebuild the beach road to High Island. It’s what we knew. And if they do, I hope they call it the William D. Quick Highway, because talking to those who knew him, it’s clear that no one loved this stretch of road more than Bill.

Until next week. Aloha!

While attending tours and lectures, or just sightseeing on Galveston Island over the past three years, one name has constantly been mentioned in relation to the history of the island’s beautiful architecture. I therefore decided to delve into the background of the person who produced so much of the artistry that is still here for us to enjoy.

Nicholas Joseph Clayton was born on November 1, 1840, in Cloyne, County Cork, Ireland. After his father’s death, he and his mother immigrated to Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1848. During his pre-civil wartime life, he worked as a plasterer in a few cities that spanned both sides of the Mason–Dixon line. From 1862 to 1865 he served as a yeoman in the U.S. Navy.

After the war he returned to Cincinnati and worked as a marble carver. City directories show his progress from working as a carver in 1866 to becoming an architectural draftsman in 1871. In October of 1871 he moved to Houston. While there, he was appointed as the supervising architect for the First Presbyterian Church in Galveston. It is here that evidence of his exceptional craftsmanship first revealed itself. Clayton designed many different types of buildings from 1873 to 1900 with most of his greatest works being produced in the 1880s and 1890s.

Although his artistry can be found in many structures, I could not include all the treasures he designed and/or built in this post, so I will present a few highlights from his illustrious career.

Eaton Memorial Chapel:  In 1882, the chapel was dedicated as a memorial to the Rev. Benjamin Eaton, founding rector, 1841–71.

George Sealy House and Carriage House (circa 1891): Nicholas Clayton is credited as being the supervising architect, Stanford White the designer, and McKim, Mead, and White the architectural firm.

Ursuline Academy (circa 1894): According to Howard Barnstone’s book, The Galveston That Was, this was Clayton’s largest and most important architectural design. Unfortunately it was demolished in 1962 after sustaining major damage from Hurricane Carla in 1961.

University of Texas Medical School (circa 1890): This treasure still stands as a monument to Clayton’s work but is surrounded by progress. It is part of what is now the University of Texas Medical Branch at Galveston.

Gresham Mansion (circa 1892): Since taking the Basement to Attic tour a few weeks ago, I regard this castle as my favorite of his works. The Gresham Mansion is now known as Bishop’s Palace and is open for tours.

Sacred Heart Church (circa 1892): The original building was destroyed in the Great Storm of 1900. At the time of its construction, the Catholic Diocese was unhappy with the original design and sought out Clayton to finish the project. The present building was designed by Brother S. J. Jimenez.

Other architectural designs by Clayton include Galveston Pavilion (circa 1881, burned in 1883), Harmony Hall (circa 1881, burned in 1928), Beach Hotel (circa 1883, burned in 1898), and St. Mary’s Infirmary (circa 1874, demolished in 1965).

Nicholas Clayton died on December 9, 1916, and is buried in Calvary Catholic Cemetery in Galveston. I for one see his contributions as a major part of SETX architecture. So many of his beautiful structures still stand today. These works are a tribute to the genius of a poor Irish immigrant who succeeded in making SETX that much more beautiful.

Sources:

Howard Barnstone, The Galveston That Was (1966)

Galveston Historical Foundation

One tour that has eluded me for a few years now is the Bishop’s Palace in Galveston.  I have religiously taken the Galveston Tour of Homes for the past three years, and I will continue to do so, but this “castle” has been unavailable for my scheduling. This is why I was so elated for the Galveston Historical Foundation to have its “Basement to Attic Tour” of their treasure in February.

First, let me say that the $30 charge for the tour was well worth it. All funds go to the restoration of this fine structure, and I for one want to help when I can. Second, the docent was a wealth of knowledge, and entertaining as well.

The main highlight of the tour includes, of course, the architecture. 

The Bishop’s Palace, built circa 1892 and originally called the Gresham House, or Gresham Mansion, was built by Nicholas Clayton for railroad magnate and politician Walter Gresham.  The stone and woodwork is simply unmatched to most in SETX. I will say the George Sealy Mansion, circa 1889 and designed by Stanford White, is on the same level, but it is privately owned by UTMB and unavailable for tours. I was fortunate to visit it during the Galveston Historical Foundation’s 39th annual Tour of Homes in 2013.  Those of us who live in the Sabine-Neches River part of SETX might be reminded of the woodwork found in the Stark and McFaddin-Ward Houses.

During the tour, you will see a few painted prints, ceilings, cups, etc. painted by Josephine Gresham, wife of Walter. The artwork, especially on the ceiling of the dining room, is a must see.

The Catholic Diocese of Galveston purchased the mansion in 1923 to serve as the residence for Bishop C. E. Byrne. After the Diocese moved their offices to Houston, it was turned into a museum in the early 1960s and remained under their control until it was sold in 2013 to the Galveston Historical Foundation.

Again, I stress that this is a treasure that needs to be enjoyed in person. My preference is the Basement to Attic Tour. Enjoy!

Guided tours are available seven days a week, from 12:30 – 3:30 pm.

Audio tours are also available seven days a week, from 11 am – 5 pm.

The Galveston Historical Foundation’s “Basement to Attic Tour” dates are as follows:

March 15; April 19; May 17; June 7, 21; July 5, 19; and August 2, 16

The tour starts at 11 am sharp!

For more photos click here: http://flic.kr/s/aHsjTvq7EV

December will mark the 100^th anniversary of the inaugural run of one of Jefferson County’s faded treasures. The Interurban, a full-sized electric train, ran daily between Port Arthur and Beaumont from December 15, 1913, to August 15, 1932.

In the early 1900s, both Port Arthur and Beaumont were thriving. Oil had surpassed cattle and lumber as the major export of SETX, and many people had come here at the turn of the century to earn a better living. A burgeoning industry as well as a growing population had given rise to the need for transportation between the two cities, and in 1913, Jefferson County residents received a gem.

In July of that year, the Stone and Webster Corporation purchased the Beaumont Traction Company, thus acquiring 12 miles of track with overhead electric lines, 20 passenger cars, and a car barn. This, along with the formation of the Jefferson County Traction Company, laid the groundwork for a rail system between Beaumont and Port Arthur. Acquiring the right of way through the county was a simple task since most of the landowners and farmers welcomed the idea of easy transportation to and from the cities. Most gave the required land away or sold it for a token dollar.

The train would make 19 trips per day with an early start of 5:45 am and a midnight finish. Tickets cost 90 cents for a roundtrip or 50 cents one way and were prorated for the 10 stops between the two cities. Stops along the way included South Park, Spindletop, Nederland, Rice Farm, and Griffing/Pear Ridge.

Certainly the railway was a great asset to Jefferson County during its run, and in 1915, it aided the fleeing residents of Port Arthur during a hurricane until a power outage stranded the train. Some passengers rode out the storm, spending a total of 12 hours in the railcars.

In August 1932, the Interurban railway made its final departure, ending 19 years of service. Although it had survived hurricanes and other element-related hardships, it could not survive progress. By the 1930s, private ownership of cars and a bus system ultimately made the need for a passenger railway between Beaumont and Port Arthur redundant.

Nothing is left of the original line except a right of way where the tracks once lay. Sadly, the tracks have been replaced with power lines, which stretch from 19^th Street in Port Arthur to near Lamar University in Beaumont. A historical marker, dedicated in 2002, is located on Austin Avenue in front of what was then the office.

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 19^th 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 19^th 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 19^th 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.