Tag Archives: #SETX

Thoughts and Ramblings: transferring prisoners on a cemetery tour on Veterans Day; cemetery symbolism; Brandon and Skipwith may have been a thing; Woodmen of the World; International Concatenated Order of Hoo-Hoo; Yma o Hyd

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Blue skies and tailwinds

This is the last time on Thoughts and Ramblings that I’ll mention what happened last week, but I wanted to include the faces of the people and a few words. I will digress more on this subject on Mondays if needed. Every time I came upon the B-17 Texas Raiders at the airshows, the crew was out there greeting the visitors with a smile and their history lessons. When I first went inside the old girl as a child, I was mesmerized by the plane. A fortress indeed. After many years and crew changes, the guys’ attitude remained the same. They always put the history of the B-17 Texas Raiders front and center. At every airshow I attended, those who manned the Texas Raiders were cutting it up with the kids who showed up for their first event. Even today, that’s something that impacts children. I know the airshow will go on, but that B-17 with only one wheel trying to land during the Tora Airshow will never happen again, and there’s history to that (link below); unfortunately, though, those guys are no longer here to explain its significance to you. We lost six great men on Saturday, and here are their names and faces.

https://warbirdsnews.com/warbird-articles/texas-raiders-one-wheel-tribute.html

Terry Barker, Craig Hutain, Kevin “K5” Michels, Dan Ragan, Leonard “Len” Root, and Curt Rowe.

Without any knowledge of what happened, I’ll add that Craig Hutain was usually the guy in the P-40 that chased the zeros during the Tora shows. He had been flying since he was ten years old (that’s not a typo). As you can imagine, with over fifty years of flying experience, he was an expert. Here, under the oaks on Ye Olde Block’s farm, they will all be remembered. Please keep the families of these men in your prayers.

Blue skies and tailwinds.

Thoughts and Ramblings: transferring prisoners on a cemetery tour on Veterans Day; cemetery symbolism; Brandon and Skipwith may have been a thing; Woodmen of the World; International Concatenated Order of Hoo-Hoo; Yma o Hyd

On Veterans Day, we did a Magnolia Cemetery tour for those who signed up for the McFaddin-Ward House and Museum lecture series. It went really well. Those walking tours are good because you can discuss history in a different setting compared to when someone is stationed at their spot. I love our Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour, but unfortunately, I’ve never taken it because I’m too busy at my station. Still, I did have spies out with digital recorders, and I must say (again) that I love our presenters!

Inside the Norvell Mausoleum

That day, the tour was originally meant to consist of two tours that would last an hour each, scheduled at different times, with Judy Linsley and I as the guides. But things got crossed in the timey-wimey email universe. In the end, though, we did it. We decided that the short tour could be split into two areas. One covered the hill and the original plots of the cemetery, while the other included its lower portion.  Since Judy knows the hill better than me, she would take her group up there and talk for thirty minutes while I took my group around the lower part and talked about those residents. It worked out well because if you want to know about those on the hill, Judy is the one to listen to. I know my people and stories around the office and the flagpole. We agreed that we would do a prisoner exchange at the thirty-minute mark in the middle of the tour area, at the Keith plot where Tom the Tramp is interred. Yes, it was my idea to transfer the people on the tour between the two of us. I thought that by listening to guides who know their subject, the visitors would have a better experience. It was also me who called it a prisoner exchange. This is how my mind works, so consider it if you want me to speak at your event. Thanks to all who participated. I assume you enjoyed the tour because you were a great crew.

One thing that I brought up on the tour was the cemetery’s symbolism and some fraternal features. A funerary urn, for example, represents immortality. If there’s a drape over the urn, it symbolizes the veil between life and death. A broken obelisk or column means a life that ended prematurely. One obelisk on the hill was put there to memorialize Brandon Chaison, who died aged twenty-one when he was thrown off his horse. Family tradition holds that he and Skipwith McFaddin, W. P. H. McFaddin’s daughter from his first wife, were in love. I will also add that one of my favorite names is Skipwith. The other two are Seawillow and Fannie. My stepdaughters are thankful that I was not around in the naming department, but they might make a fantastic Brady Bunch reboot if anyone’s interested. I threw that out to you for free. Sorry if you’re named Marcia, Jan, or Cindy, but those names rock!

Woodmen of the World

When you scan over the many acres of headstones in Magnolia or any old cemetery, you may see ones that look like tree stumps. They are the product of the Woodmen of the World, an insurance company back in the day. The company is still around, but I believe they’re not as prominent as used to be. The Woodmen of the World derived from the Modern Woodmen of America, a fraternal group founded in 1883. The Woodmen advertised themselves as an organization for the “Jew and Gentile, Catholic and Protestant, the agnostic and atheist.” In other words, they didn’t care who you were; they just wanted your money.

In Magnolia Cemetery, you can find many different fraternal groups. The Odd Fellows are a prominent one; they even have their own section. I’m always wondering if today we could bring back to SETX some sort of fraternal order, such as the International Concatenated Order of Hoo-Hoo, Inc. They are still active but have too many restrictive rules that I don’t agree with. However, I’m game for using a Cheshire cat as a mascot. Anyway, this order was founded in Arkansas in 1892 during a layover by some guys from the timber and lumber industry whose train had broken down. I’m sure debauchery ensued, and we had another order that today lives on as a webpage. They were big back then until the depression hit. Who knows what the actual order is up to now? Illuminati stuff probably, because their symbol is a cat, and cats want to take over the world. Please tell this to the Dogtober people in Beaumont; Catvember is all they ask for, but I digress.

The World Cup begins today in Qatar, and I was just informed that no beer will be sold in the stadiums. I blame FIFA for this; my condolences to the English, the Germans, and the Welsh for this tragedy.

Until next week, cheers mate! Gott ein Bier! Yma o Hyd (we’re still here, and to hell with everyone else, because we’re Cymru!).

Craig Hutain flying the P40:

One Wheel Tribute by Kevin Michels:

https://warbirdsnews.com/warbird-articles/texas-raiders-one-wheel-tribute.html

Gravestone symbols:

http://wolfememorial.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/GRAVESTONE-SYMBOLS-and-THEIR-MEANINGS.pdf

Woodmen of the World:

https://www.woodmenlife.org/about/history/

Odd Fellows:

Home

International Concatenated Order of Hoo-Hoo, Incorporated:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concatenated_Order_of_Hoo-Hoo

Dogtoberfest:

Home 2023

Yma o Hyd:

Thoughts and Ramblings: Me, Krampus, and der Belsnickel will be up to nothing; World War I memorial; the Beaumont Boys; Minor’s cross

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My calendar is done until February, so Krampus, der Belsnickel, and I will enjoy nothing at all until then. Actually, I am looking forward to bringing up a Welsh character called the Mari Lwyd, but that’s in December, so no more Welshness until then. However, I will say that it’s a guy dressed in a sackcloth with a horse skull on top that knocks on your door and incites a rap battle for your food and alcohol! I love the Welsh! Stay tuned.

At both the lecture and the cemetery tour, we discussed the movement/committee that wants to move the World War I memorial from Triangle Park to Magnolia Cemetery. I’m sure you’re wondering where this park is located, and I’m also certain that you didn’t know there was a memorial dedicated to the Beaumont Boys who died in World War I. Well, the current location is on Main street, in front of the old Beaumont Enterprise building, across the street from the Fire Museum of Texas. Triangle Park may be the smallest park in Texas because it’s triangle-shaped with only the monument and a bunch of aggressive jasmine as greenery. Truth be told, the memorial used to be in Keith Park, located at the present-day site of the Julie Rogers Theatre, which was built as the original city hall in 1927.

The memorial was a project of a community of Beaumonters who wished to honor those who died in the Great War, whether in battle or during the Spanish flu pandemic. The Beaumont Journal led the fundraising, which consisted of donations of no more than $5 per person, so that as many people as possible could donate to the memorial. Initially, the monument was supposed to have the names of all the Beaumont Boys who perished inscribed on it, but this never happened. Though if these fine folks/extraordinary researchers get their way, it will finally happen. I’m excited about this, and so are the people at Magnolia Cemetery. So, if you know anyone pulling the strings at the City of Beaumont, you may mention this project. All help is appreciated!

Twenty-four Beaumont Boys were brought back home after the war. Twenty-two of them are interred in Magnolia, and two are down the road in Evergreen Cemetery. George Carroll Smart, the first Beaumont Boy to make the ultimate sacrifice, is buried near the flag pole in his family’s plot. Shortly after his death, George’s sister received a letter from Captain T. C. Reid, Commander of the Thirty-eighth Infantry, with details of his death.

“Private Smart died as is only a good soldier’s privilege, namely: facing and fighting bravely our enemies. Private Smart has always shown himself to be a very good soldier, always obeying orders readily and in every way earning the highest esteem of his officers and fellow soldiers; his comrades are to this day mourning the loss of a dear friend and good soldier who gave up his life gladly and bravely while fighting for humanity and liberty.

His grave is located on Moulins Hill, overlooking the river Marne. Our local chaplain placed a cross with his name and number on it and offered a very appropriate prayer over his grave, and I think nearly every officer and man in the company paid his last respect to him before leaving that area. Please accept my deepest sympathy in your bereavement.”

A sad way to learn of your loved one’s death, but George did come home, which somehow brought closure to the family. Others did not get that luxury. Their loved ones still lie somewhere in Europe, never to return.

A few years ago, I was photographing headstones in Magnolia and came upon an old cross with the words “That I Gave, That I Have.” I didn’t learn the meaning of these words until last week when I was in the same area. I was searching for the Minor family plot to see if one of the Beaumont Boys, Farrell Dabney Minor, was ever brought back. As I noticed the cross again, I saw a Daughters of the Texas Revolution medallion on it, so I checked the name. The cross is for Eleanor Minor. Her husband, Farrell Dabney, and she lie side by side. There was no trace of their son Farrell Dabney Minor Jr. Eleanor gave everything she had for the war effort, but he never returned.

Until next week, welcome home, boys.

Thoughts and Ramblings: 2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour; McFaddin-Ward House Museum Lecture Series; Wanda of the North End was a good person; Wanda of the West End hates Smurfs and Bette Midler; Welshyness and the Three Lions; Bigfoot may have scared a child, but he has no TWIC card or ISTC badge to be on the land near Oak Bluff Cemetery.

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Photo Credit: Port Arthur News 10.31.1984

Our 2nd Annual Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour was this week, and I would like to thank everyone who came out and supported us. It’s always a free event, and we strive to improve it. We have a lot of great people volunteering their time to bring out the history of both Beaumont and Southeast Texas, and we are blessed to have them.

Art of Unliving Beaumont Enterprise

If you missed the event but want to take the tour, then you are in luck. In November, we will be part of the McFaddin-Ward House Museum’s lecture series. Our lecture is on Thursday, November 10, at 6:30 p.m. Two hour-long tours will be conducted on Friday, November 11. These will be walking tours, and they will cover the same ground as the ones held in October. You will need to sign up for the tours with McFaddin-Ward House; check their website for further details. I always enjoy the walking tours because we can cover more history.

On Halloween of 1985, Port Arthur News staff writer Cynthia Cook ran a story about a Beaumont Witch that she fictitiously named Wanda. Don’t worry; this Wanda was from the North End, and who I did correspond with. At the time, her other sister from the West End was too busy griping about those “Blue Devil” Smurfs taking over the children‘s souls while they watched the cartoon to notice me. All I will say is that it never ends well for Wanda of the West End.

It was a decent article, but the historical claims made by the reporter were sketchy at best. Even so, Wanda was a good person. I wrote to her because, in the article, she called herself a White Witch, which translates to healer in the old country. If you were to apply the term nowadays, she would be classified as more of an Appalachian Granny Magic Witch. Yes, that is a thing. To be precise, I thought of her as being more in the New Age movement and not as a witch per se. She was very positive and yearned to help however she could.

At that point in life, I was into English history and obsessed with a book by Elizabeth Goudge called The White Witch, published in 1958. I tried to write a few of my own, not very good, stories. These were historical fiction from a place I’d never visited. Nonetheless, I was determined. I told her of my interest in English/Welsh history, and she referred me to a book by Evangeline Walton called The Song of Rhiannon. This was part of a four-book epic based on the Mabinogion. The Mabinogion, based on old oral legends, was written between 1050 and 1225 by Christian monks. It was translated into English by Charlotte Guest in 1838, although William Owen Pughe did translate a few stories in journals in 1795, 1821, and 1829. These were the stories left over after the Arthurian legends we know today as the story of King Arthur.

Some of you may recognize Rhiannon from Stevie Nick’s song. Yes, this is the same story, but Rhiannon wasn’t a witch. She was a goddess in the Welsh pantheon. Who knew that Wales had a pantheon like the Greeks and Romans? (Rant incoming.) Hell, the Welsh can’t even get a different shade of color on a map of the UK, which I know ticks them off. Well, this year is different, because guess who’s in the World Cup? This should be interesting. #Cymru. Sorry for the excess “Welshyness.” (Is that even a word?) I’m sure my editor will be annoyed at me for that, but 40 years of pain supporting the Three Lions (England) has taken its toll.

I learned from Wanda that it doesn’t matter what your story is. Put it out there. And I did, 28 years later, by publishing a book. I will get into that next week. I often wonder what happened to Wanda and hope her life is still positive. As for Wanda from the West End, she is currently up in arms about trying to block Bette Midler from sending curses through her television. Sistas! She never stops.

Up until a few years ago, I would visit Oak Bluff Cemetery in Port Neches, and I always wondered why there were no trespassing signs near the bayou. Then I googled a KBMT News story that happened. Apparently, someone showed up with a camera and took a fuzzy picture of Bigfoot throwing rocks on Refinery land. I will say that that hairy beast has neither a TWIC card nor an ISTC badge. This means that he is unauthorized to be on that property. And yes, he will suffer the consequences. That being said, I do not believe that Bigfoot was throwing rocks at Oak Bluff Cemetery. Though there was that one time when something showed up at the Sabine lighthouse.

There is an article in the Port Arthur News dated October 31, 1984, by staff writer Peggy Slasman. Slasman had interviewed a Port Arthur resident whose father was the Sabine lighthouse keeper in 1905. The story began as the fog rolled over the marsh, and the lighthouse keeper’s 10-year-old daughter stepped out on the porch to enjoy her favorite time of day. Unfortunately, this morning was different. The silence of the early morning was broken by movement in the marsh. She peered out over the railings, wondering what could be lurking near, when suddenly, she saw something so terrible that she screamed and fainted.

Her parents later found and revived the child. Both dismissed their daughter’s story as a figment of her wild imagination, but they couldn’t help but notice her obsession with her tale.

A month later, the lighthouse keeper was hunting in the marsh when he heard movement in the reeds. He crouched down and stared in the direction of the sound. To his dismay, before him stood an eight-foot-tall, hairy, dark, ugly “thing,” which scared the lighthouse keeper so much that he ran toward the safety of the lighthouse, forgetting his loaded rifle in his haste.

The monster was seen by others 12 times that year, but it never harmed anyone. Most Sabine residents believed it to be a bear, which is indeed quite possible, but one can only speculate. That same year, a storm flooded the marsh, and the beast was supposedly drowned or washed out to sea. However, according to Slasman’s article, some say it still lurks in the marsh. I have no idea, but whether it’s Bigfoot or Kisselpoo, those mosquitoes are brutal.

Next week, it’s time to Niitakayama Nobore at Ellington Field in Houston. These people put on a great event. I’ll leave a link to it.

Until next week, keep your cauldrons close, and don’t let Wanda of the West End near it.

Appalachian Granny Magic –

https://www.learnreligions.com/appalachian-folk-magic-4779929

Mabinogion –

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

https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofWales/The-Mabinogion/

http://www.mabinogion.info/rhiannon.htm

Bigfoot –

http://texascryptidhunter.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-port-neches-wood-ape-sighting.html

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jefferson County Courthouse 2012

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

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

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

SOUTHEAST TEXAS INDIAN HOMELAND:

THE BURIAL MOUNDS OF OLD PORT NECHES

By W. T. Block:

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

Iron Eyes Cody:

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

Jefferson County Courthouse Jail:

Article:

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

Photos:

https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjA8nZx

Remembering Roy:  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny Janot:

Felix the cat:

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

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

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

Dutch Windmill Museum

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

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

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

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

The Journey:

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

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

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

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

Entering of Port Arthur, Texas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tulip Transplants to East Texas by W.T. Block

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

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

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Smaun and Fatima Sing Hpoo

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

Remley-Hillbrand Cemetery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wong Shu :

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

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

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

W.T. Block:

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

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

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Tyrell Historical Library

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

Listen Closely Podcast

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

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

W.C. Tyrrell photo credit: SFASU.edu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dutch Windmill Museum 1500 Boston Ave, Nederland, TX 77627

Reenactors; the Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour Part Deux; Orlo Greeves; Hubert Oxford; and no reference whatsoever to Star Wars people.

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Dick Dowling Days 2013

Watching the Kate Dorman Scenario video that I uploaded to YouTube from the 150th Anniversary of the Battle of Sabine Pass brought back many memories last week. I hadn’t watched it in ages. The year in question (2013) was special because of many people who planned the event behind the scenes. It was a big deal as most battles were recognized and promoted. At the time, I was learning photography and filming. I was not an expert, but I did what I could for those who would be interested in the future.

Ron Strybos and Darlene Mott Dick Dowling Days 2012

One thing I will say about reenactors is that if you want to know the reality and life of a period, you need to talk to a reenactor and not a historian. I know many reenactors, and I am blown away by how much research these men and women do. They also volunteer their time to teach us about interesting stuff.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned Earl Keith, who passed in September 2021. Ron Strybos, who portrayed Colonel Crocker in the video, was a great reenactor, actor, and all-around good guy. He also reenacted at the Battle of San Jacinto in April. This is one event that I wanted to see him in, but I couldn’t; either I was working or the grounds were flooded that year. Ron passed in June of 2021. I wasn’t close to these men, but dammit, it hurts when you lose two people who gave everything for historic preservation and education. Many other reenactors have left us over the past year, and we will miss them all.

The Historic Magnolia Cemetery Tour Part Deux is in the works. I can’t help but recall the planning of a Cemetery Tour in 2017 that never happened because of Hurricane Harvey. Things were getting a little like Game of Thrones. He killed this guy by accident but was murdered 13 years later by his incompetent friend. Some of this research will be on display on our next tour, but I do want to say that our tour is educational; it is not a ghost tour, as the Beaumont CVB put it. I’m glad that the Beaumont CVB has since updated their website and does not mention us at all. I find things like this hilarious because I make zero dollars from this blog, but some of the people at these local websites have a salary and they haven’t updated the sites in four years. And now, with the rant done, I want to get into the weeds.

Orlo G. Greeves

Someone once asked me who these people were and how they could afford these big mausoleums. They were looking at the Greeves Mausoleum, not too far from Rush B. and Aurelia Norvell’s Mausoleum near the office. I have researched both Rush B.and his wife, Aurelia. In 2017, I looked into Orlo G. Greeves and found that this impressive mausoleum was erected after his death in December of 1920.

Orlo George Greeves was born in Orange County in 1887, but most of his early years were spent in Beaumont. He attended the Peacock Military Academy in San Antonio for a short time, then left the city to go to the Texas Agricultural and Mechanical College (Texas A&M).

In 1905, Greeves returned to Beaumont and entered the business world with a job at the Lumber Machine and Equipment Company. In his obituary, it was noted that the company “has grown until it is one of the largest of its kind in the South.” He was also a director of the Texas Bank & Trust Company and the former president and vice-president of the Beaumont Baseball Association, along with many other civic and business interests.

Unfortunately, Mr. Greeves met his end while hunting near Raywood, in Liberty County, with his friend Hubert B. Oxford, who was married to Sibbie Van Wormer’s daughter Sadie. As the story goes, both men were walking back from a hunt to a friend’s home one Sunday evening when Hubert’s shotgun accidentally discharged, killing Greeves instantly. Oxford managed to carry Greeves’s body for a few feet, then summoned friends from the house to help. The sheriff and the coroner were called, and an inquest was held. The death was ruled an accident.

I believe this was true, not because all of his descendants are lawyers, but because accidents happen—I guess. Unfortunately for Hubert, thirteen years later, he was at the beach and a friend who always needed money shot him in cold blood. All the facts are available in Beaumont Enterprise records. A hundred people got subpoenaed for that trial, even Florence Stratton.

Well, I got through this blog without any references to Star Wars. I’ll give it a rest for this week, but I think that my other interests, including Kaiju (Godzilla) and anime (Sword Art Online) for the gen z’s, will trickle in. Sayonara.

THC cemetery inventory project; Ancestry.com; Yearly visit to Sabine Pass, Kate Dorman, the two Sarah’s, and yellow fever; Dissing ghost hunters.

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Kate Dorman Historical Marker

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.

Tugboat Chief: https://www.rediscoveringsetx.com/2016/05/24/tugboat-chief/

W.T. Block: http://www.wtblock.com/wtblockjr/catherin.htm

Legend of Sarah Jane Road: 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/