Tag Archives: Ghost Road

Thoughts and Ramblings: Texas Point, William D. Quick, John McGaffey’s Gold, Legends, and Fireworks

Posted on by

Last week, when someone mentioned that they had visited Texas Point, where the coastal gun positions were during the Spanish–American War and World War II, I wanted to use a photo of mine dating back to when I last went to the area. I thought the search would be easy—boy, was I wrong. On my Flickr page, which contains more than 8,000 photos, I found many of Sabine Pass, but not of this spot. Then, I checked my photographic database, which is probably three times bigger than the Flickr page, and I still couldn’t find one. So, I ended up searching the blog’s Facebook page, and I finally found what I needed. I also found many more interesting photos that I had forgotten about. Some of these were from the William D. Quick archive. There is one photo of what looks like a saloon with people near the front playing cards; other people are standing outside on the walkway, probably posing for the picture, with nine barrels dumped on the dirty street. Who are these people? What are they doing? Why? These are a few of the questions that came to my mind.

I would assume that the photograph was taken in the 1890s. According to Blanche Morgan’s recollection of early Port Arthur, you could have seen the same scene around 1905. I will also throw in the Catfish Hotel in Sabine from the 1860s. No one went thirsty in those days. Although no one in the photo resembles Dutch Margaret, I doubt that someone was assaulted with a parasol. I’ll leave a link at the bottom of the page for this story. I think Sabine Pass was the Wild West before the Wild West existed. I guess I’d have to talk to Sam Houston about this because he’s one of the folks who founded the city.

One mystery that has intrigued many is the legend of John McGaffey’s gold. According to historian W. T. Block, it’s folklore. However, in the past, many people have searched for the gold booty of the Spanish, which Josiah Carton stated was buried by pirates on a beach in the area. My first thought was the following: If he knew where it was, why didn’t he dig it up? Legends are fun until people start desecrating cemeteries looking for precious metals. “In 1936, one hunt resulted in considerable vandalism to an above-ground brick burial vault in McGaffey Cemetery, so desecrated that bones were left scattered about on the ground.” I’ll leave a link to W. T. Block’s article at the bottom of this blog.

Bragg Road

There are many legends in our area; some are more factual, while others are more speculative. The Bragg Road/Saratoga lights? Maybe. Sarah Jane Road? I’ll leave a photo that shows that Sarah Jane Bridge did not exist in 1938. By the way, there were no trees to hang oneself from on that nonexistent road. If you are interested in reading my 15 minutes of fame, which came with no monetary value, you can check out the links to the “Legend of Sarah Jane” and our antics on Bragg Road. These two are my most popular articles by far. People like spookiness. If you know of any spooky stories here in SETX, then get in touch with me at rediscoveringsetx@gmail.com.

I hope everyone had a happy holiday and an amazing time at your local fireworks show. I know Nederland’s display went off without any incidents. There was no word from Beaumont, but I’m sure that the Beaumont Camera Club was there to document the display’s awesomeness. I’m only bringing this up because in Port Arthur there was a “situation”. No one got hurt, but there may have been a snafu in terms of firework etiquette. It does suck when you are launching fireworks during a drought. Nothing major happened except a grass fire, which was put out with the help of the fire departments of Port Arthur and Bridge City. But that photo by Ricardo Chavez was awesome! Photo Credit: Ricardo Chavez. Story by KBMT 12 News Now.

I know the Port Arthur fireworks display well. I was lucky to have the keys (with permission) to set up on what I call a hill, though it’s actually a wave brake. To translate from engineerspeak, a wave brake is a barrier placed on a property to save its structures from being destroyed during a hurricane. Not to spoil the ending of this episode, but it didn’t work during Hurricane Ike, and it took 10 years for them to rebuild. During that time, I took my first photos of the fireworks show, locked in a property away from the public. Yes, I lost a lot of blood because you don’t use DEET or anything else around lenses. I was new, okay, and I preferred having my blood sucked out of me than ruining a shot with slimy hands. I took some nice pictures. However, in the end, I figured that hanging out in Beaumont to photograph the fireworks was much less blood consuming.

Well, I have many links this time, but some of them are worth a click. This week, Facebook stole all the good parts of Twitter and put them into Threads. I am on it, and the reason I will be putting my blog there is that Instagram doesn’t do links. Also, the only reason I’m on Instagram is that I hate Facebook, which owns Instagram. I digress. Don’t follow me on Instagram unless you are okay with bog witches, World War II, Tankery, and cats. You have been warned.

Until next week.

Flickr photo page: https://www.flickr.com/people/25032584@N05/

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

W.T. Block Kate Dorman and Dutch Margaret:  http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/catherin.htm

John McGaffey’s Gold by W.T. Block:  https://www.ned.lib.tx.us/john1.htm

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

Legend of Bragg Road:  https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2012/10/30/legend-of-bragg-road-saratoga-light/

 12 News Now Port Arthur Fireworks Display:   https://www.12newsnow.com/article/news/local/port-arthur-fireworks-display-ignites-fire/502-86392137-c3fa-4928-a605-6db67babad9d

Flickr Fireworks Port Arthur (2014):   https://flic.kr/s/aHsjZky5Pj

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/paulprosperie/

Threads:  https://www.threads.net/@paulprosperie

Thoughts and Ramblings: The Rowleys; No Word on the GPR Survey; Hoppy Easter; So Says Susie

Posted on by
Johnny Horton with the Rowley Trio

The Rowleys are trending again. I don’t often check my stats, but when I do, it’s either “The Legend of Sarah Jane Road” or “The Legend of Bragg Road.” The people who share my articles are into ghost legends, growing up in Port Arthur, or the restaurants they would eat at. I guess it’s food for thought. But I usually also see interest in the Rowley family articles—to me, they are a part of history that needs to be told. Yes, most of the hits come from the family itself, but the historical aspect inspired me to search for answers in order to tell the correct story of what happened to each member of this family. I often think about Gene, Dido, Jerry, Rex Jr., and their father, Rex. I have a photo of the Rowley Trio with Johnny Horton in my office. I nicked it from a YouTube video; since then, I offered it to the interweb and the family. I’ll leave a link to the Rowley Trio and their amazing story below.

My first association with the Rowleys was at Greenlawn Cemetery in Groves while I was visiting the plot initially reserved for World War I veterans and their families. Walking through the rows, I noticed a headstone with a photo of a young girl and a poem under it. The poem was odd and depressing, so I wanted to know her story.

Virginia Lee Rowley

If I must die then die I must and when the coffin round me rusts my bones will go whence they came and all that’s left is my name. To shield that name I’ll do my best; that’s all that’s left when I’m at rest. I’ll do no harm and bring no shame upon my dad and mother’s name.

When I first saw the headstone, I immediately began to research its story. I found that someone from Port Arthur had made a twelve-minute movie about the girl’s presumed life. I won’t get into the crap that this jackass put out because he was wrong for doing this. Virginia “Gene” Rowley died in San Antonio in a car accident. She was there working as a radio operator at Kelly Field.

Her mother probably added the poem to the headstone because Gene was a poet and had won awards for her writing. She may have also been saddened by her father’s suicide in 1934. Rex was in the Great War, but I have no information on how and where he served. According to the newspaper articles, he was upset that he couldn’t find a job. Remember, this was during the Great Depression. Although our SETX area did not suffer as much as most of the country, some of its residents did. Both Rex and Gene are buried in the World War I plot. They are not side by side but giving their backs to each other. Although they are facing away from one another, I have a feeling they are looking at each other eye to eye. In the end, we can only guess how it is.

Jeanna Clare and Don Mahoney

There is a lot of tragedy here. Fortunately, a descendant sent me some information on Vera (Dido) and Jerry, who had a different life. The story of the Rowley Trio is amazing. They played with some big names at the time. One was Johnny Horton. They even played on the Louisiana Hayride radio show, which launched many careers during that era, including Elvis Presley, Hank Williams, Kitty Wells, and Jim Reeves. The Rowley Trio didn’t rise to that level of stardom, but Dido continued her career in show business. Some of you here and in Houston who grew up in the 1960s might remember the name of Don Mahoney if you watched KPRC on Saturdays. Don Mahoney had a local television show called Don Mahoney and Jeanna Clare and Their Kiddie Troupers. It was a talent show for kids, but the two hosts emulated Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Yes, Dido was Jeanna Clare!

Between the tragedy and the triumph, there is a lot here that the family can be proud of. They are not the Kennedys, which is a positive thing, and I see their part in SETX history as a source of great inspiration. And yes, I wanted to tell their story correctly. They deserved as much. Well, Nederland, you have other celebrities in the world of entertainment. Move over, Tex Ritter, and let the Rowley Trio and Jeanna Clare join you on the pedestal of entertainers from Nederland, Texas. I know you would Welkom that because it’s on your Boston Avenue sign!

As I write, I still haven’t heard anything back from the ground-penetrating radar (GPR) survey. It may take a few weeks, but hopefully there will be something of substance that we can use as proof of where the yellow fever victims are buried. I’m crossing my fingers but not holding my breath. The GPR machine can penetrate concrete but has trouble with the clay soil of Sabine Pass. The more sand in the soil the better it works. Those thinking of using something like this tool should keep this issue in mind.

Well, it’s Easter Sunday, and I’m working because there is no rest for the wicked. So, I’ll bid you farewell and let Susie Spindletop take over for some Weekly Letter “hoppy” memories.

Dear Della:

I am like Tom Heflin, Easter makes me sick. The Alabama senator has been egged so often during his speaking tours that I hear he dodges every time any one mentions Easter to him.

Easter makes me sick, however, for an entirely different reason. According to my way of thinking Easter is divided into three classes:

Too cold for Easter hats.

Too wet for Easter hats.

No Easter hats.

I have never known any other kind of Easter Sunday. Therefore Easter makes me sick.

                                         *                         *                         *

It is intriguing to delve into the beginnings of a festival such as Easter, isn’t it? So many whimsical customs come to light which account for many of our modern observances of the day.

Frinstance, Della, where did the custom of the Easter bonnet originate? An old superstition to the effect that a new bonnet worn on Easter Sunday would insure love and happiness in the ensuing year is back of it.

                                          *                          *                         *

And how come the Easter egg? Many hundreds of years ago the egg stood as a symbol of a new life, I read, and played an important part in the religious ceremonies of the Egyptians, Persians, Greeks, Gauls, and Romans. Later, the Christians took an egg as an emblem of the resurrection.

                                         *                             *                       *

About egg rolling?

Well as far as I can find out, egg rolling had its inception in England.

It seems in ancient days it took a most astonishing form. People themselves were accustomed to roll down Greenwich Hill, supposedly for the purpose of expressing the ecstasy which the return of spring incited. This custom was abandoned and in its place came the charming practice of egg rolling.

It is related that in olden times, poor children would wander through the streets singing. For reward people would give them colored Easter eggs which they would take up to the same hill. Arrived at the hill they would roll their eggs down and the child who succeeded in rolling his so that they reached the bottom intact would be proclaimed the winner.

                                    *                             *                           *

Della, from England, too, I notice, came the quaint superstition that the sun danced on Easter morning—a superstition which to this day is solemnly believed and celebrated in parts of Ireland. In order to see the “sun dance” the people would arise at dawn and go forth in masses. I’ll take their word for it. How about you?

So wrote Susie,

Easter Sunday, March 31, 1929

Don Mahoney and Jeanna Clare with Their Kiddie Troupers | Segment (1970)

https://texasarchive.org/2016_04235

The Rowley Trio:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2017/04/11/the-rowley-trio/

Virginia Lee Rowley:

https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2015/12/29/tales-from-hallowed-ground-virginia-lee-rowley/

Louisiana Hayride: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louisiana_Hayride

Dido Rowley And The Troupers – When The Chips Are Down (Enterprise GS-1206) [1957 country bopper]

Legend of Bragg Road (Saratoga Light)

Posted on by

Bragg Road

My last venture into the spooky realm might have been eerie, but Bragg Road has always been much more so, mainly because I have seen the light, so to speak. In the late 80s, a few friends and I frequented the sandy eight-mile road, which runs between Highways FM 787 and FM 1293 near the town of Saratoga.

Located in the heart of the Big Thicket, one could definitely lose oneself in the pitch blackness of the forest. Except for the single light that mysteriously shines on occasion. But what is this all about? Let’s delve into the history of this lonely road.

In 1902 the Santa Fe railroad cut a line through the dense thicket between Saratoga and Bragg. These tracks were needed for hauling oil from the Saratoga oilfields, along with logs and cattle. For a long time, just one trip per day to Beaumont and back seemed to be enough to progress this wilderness into civilization. However, perhaps inevitably, the wilderness won and the city of Bragg is all but forgotten.

In 1934, the tracks were removed leaving behind a sandy road, which was used mostly by hunters who inadvertently kept the thicket from reclaiming it. It was around this time that some began seeing a strange light. (Note: In the book Tales from the Big Thicket by Francis E. Abernethy, there was one sighting of the light even before the tracks were removed.)

So what is behind this strange light that has been seen for nearly 80-plus years? The foremost story is that a railroad man was decapitated in a train wreck, so now he holds a lantern high while he looks for his head.

Other explanations include the Mexican cemetery where a foreman, rather than pay his road crew, killed them and kept the money. They were swiftly buried. Now their restless spirits haunt the road.

Whatever the source, there is a light on that darkened stretch. Skeptics will tell you that it is a reflection from car lights, but that would not explain the earlier sightings when there were few cars traveling down or near the road. Furthermore the old Model T’s headlights wouldn’t have shined brightly enough.

Another possibility is swamp gas. I could entertain this theory because of an investigation I was a part of 25 years ago.

In the late 80s, I made numerous trips to Bragg Road. The first was a day trip, and my friends Bryan and Hector tagged along. I only mention this because, after unsuccessfully identifying the road, we stopped at a store in Saratoga where Hector asked a lady where Bragg Road was. She explained to him how to get there and asked why we were looking for it. Without pause Hector explained we were going to a friend’s house that was located on the road. The woman grinned and wished us well. We did find the road and traveled down all eight miles never seeing a house or any sign of life. We had a good laugh over this.

My second trip down Bragg Road was a night-time journey done solo, but I saw nothing, only the blackness of the thicket. Fortunately my next jaunt into the forest did pay off. A few friends and I did see the light. It looked like an oncoming train if you were standing on the tracks. Try as we may, we could never get close to it. The light would flicker and then disappear.

On one occasion Paul Newman and I (Note: Not the actor turned racecar driver turned salad-dressing king) did an investigation to find out just what the light was. We started by removing all evidence of tire tracks at the entrance to the sandy road, followed by all three turnarounds. We figured that if we saw a light then we would have some idea if it was from a vehicle traveling down the road or something else.

As the night progressed, we saw the light several times, but only one vehicle, other than ours, passed down the road. We checked each turnaround and found only one set of tracks. Our investigation ended without a clear answer as to the cause of the light, or if it was indeed paranormal. We did conclude however that the light, at the very least, was not from a vehicle.

Usually when I go down that road, I see the light, except on full moonlit nights. Although the light seems to be far off, I have talked to people who know people who have seen the light close up, but sadly I have never personally met anyone who has done so, nor have I been privileged to witness it in close proximity. So please take the last statement as is.

So if you’re ever along FM 787 or FM 1293 and want a thrill, just turn onto that dark sandy road. You may just see that ghostly train headlight coming toward you. And what a sight it will be.

Legend of Sarah Jane Road

Posted on by

Most people who have grown up in the mid and south Jefferson County have heard at least one version of the legend of Sarah Jane and the lowly road that it’s attached to. I remember riding the darkened road myself many times in the 1980s. I even fished from the bridge during a dark and foggy night. So, what did I see? (He paused to entice the reader before modestly stating that the author saw nothing of substance.) We will however delve into that a bit later.
So who was Sarah Jane, and what are the legends surrounding this ghost road? In one version, on a moonlit night, you may see her ghostly apparition searching the marsh and thicket for her baby who drowned in the murky waters of the Neches River.
Other versions include Sarah Jane as a lady pirate (or Lafitte’s girlfriend). In a further account, she was attacked by a group of bandits, so she placed her child in some weeds near the bridge. When it was safe, she returned for the child—but it was gone. It somehow got into the canal and disappeared.
The story I know is as follows: Sarah Jane was crossing the bridge of the canal when she accidently dropped her baby in the water. Try as she did, she could not save her child, and it drowned. Distraught about losing her child, Sarah Jane hung herself from a huge oak tree further up the road from the bridge.
There are many renditions of this story, but whichever version I read, I inevitably uncover a big problem with the historical accuracy. I am not saying that something isn’t afoot along the Neches—I just don’t think it was with Sarah Jane. Union soldiers were never in Grigsby’s Bluff (Port Neches), which another version implies. In this report, Sarah Jane hears there are Union soldiers making their way toward her cabin, so she puts her baby in a wicker basket under a wooden bridge before fleeing the area. Later, when she returns, the basket and the baby are gone. (Please note that this area, in the past, present, and future has been, is, and will be known to have alligators frequenting its waterways. To put anything remotely fleshy in a waterway is therefore not advisable.)
In an article by Carl Cunningham Jr. in the Mid County Chronicle dated October 28, 1998, the author asserts in an interview with W. T. Block (whose family owned a lot of the land in this area) that a reporter from the Port Arthur News made the connection to his mother’s name (Sarah Jane Block) and the dark spooky road, and so the legend began.
As I said, I spent many a night on both the road and the bridge but never saw anything of substance—except for one night. Three friends and I had decided to drive down Sarah Jane Road to see what we could see, or at least scare the hell out of the couple making out on the parked motorcycle we encountered while driving with the headlights off. (Thank you, Bryan, for warning them of our impending appearance with your rendition and re-enactment of the laugh from the movie “Gremlins.”)
Just before our encounter with the Harley lovebirds, I looked into the trees and noticed a faint ball of light shooting across the tree line. I immediately asked another friend Hector if he’d seen it.
“Uh yeah,” he had said nervously.
Replaying the scene in my mind, I do not think the light in question was of a paranormal nature. But I cannot figure out what it actually was. Possibly a type of swamp gas that most hauntings are blamed on. It could have been, but we did not investigate further. I will also add that there was no alcohol involved on this day on my part or any of the others.
In the following weeks, a few friends (including Hector) also took a ride to the bridge. This time, my friend Hector decided to be belligerent toward whatever could be lurking in the darkness. At about this same moment, the fog began to roll in swiftly. Disheartened and a touch spooked by the sudden appearance of the fog, Hector returned to the safety of the car, and they quickly retreated. As they drove away, the storyteller told me that the fog seemed to keep up with them. (Note: The storyteller had not partaken of any alcohol, but I can neither confirm nor deny Hector’s involvement with the beverage that night. I will say however that this was the last time Hector was aggressive toward a ghostly legend.)
For me, the question of whether or not Sarah Jane haunts the lowly road between Groves and Port Neches is still unanswered, but with this area’s history, there are other possible players in the saga. North of the road, there were six Indian burial mounds, all standing 20 ft high, 60 ft wide, and 100 yards long. (Note: All the mounds were destroyed by the year 1900 for various reasons.) Indians have a rich history in this area and their set of own legends to boot.

(See Legend of Kisselpoo.)
Therefore, in closing, if one ever finds oneself traveling down the dark and winding Sarah Jane Road, I would refrain from yelling out profanities because you never know who or what might be listening.