20 posts tagged “kerrville”
I have no agenda, nor am I “mad at God,” but I think the proposed erection of an oversized cross near the intersection of IH10 and SH16 is an idea that needs to be reconsidered.
It will be taken as heresy by many in our community, but you can actually think the project is tacky and still believe that Christ was exactly who He said He was. You can be a Christian and oppose the scheme being foisted upon our community.
If I understand what a number of Sunday School teachers have been trying to teach me since I was but a wee sinner, the greatest monuments of faith are not built of steel and concrete, carved from marble or cast in bronze. The true monuments of faith cannot be seen at all.
Seeing the drawing of the grounds (which was published on page one of Friday’s edition of this newspaper), of a ‘sculpture garden’ surrounded by parking lots and casual dining restaurants confirmed my worst fears. As envisioned in the drawing, you’d have a serene garden encircled by restaurants, an island of spirituality surrounded by brightly-lit temples of food. (And acres of parking.)
The published schematic makes you wonder if the organizers of the garden have chosen the wrong symbol to emblazon upon the green hills of our valley – looking at the drawing, with all of its commercial emphasis, one could imagine a giant dollar sign instead of a giant cross being erected on the location. Or at least a giant fork or table spoon.
I suppose it’s only a historical accident a giant cross would be considered appropriate. The cross, for those who might’ve missed a sermon or two, was a crude and excruciating form of execution favored by the Roman Empire at the time Christ was sacrificed for our sins.
Had the Romans been fond of killing prisoners with a noose or a fusillade of arrows, I suppose the organizers of this particular scheme would be contemplating the building of a giant noose or enormous arrow. Had Pilate ordered Christ poisoned, millions of people might be wearing a tiny hemlock leaf around their necks today.
And though this horrible instrument of suffering has been a favorite of the faithful for two millennia, aren’t there better symbols of Christianity? How about a stone (as in either rock upon which the Church was built, or as in the stone which was rolled away from the entrance to an empty tomb)? Or a dove (as descended from heaven when Christ was baptized)? Even the Ichthus, that two-stroke shibboleth meant to be scratched in the dust, a symbol born of oppression, would be better than perpetuating Rome’s efficient killing system with a giant gaudy cross erected a great cost in our community.
Having said all of this, I still believe the owners of that property, as long as they comply with all applicable laws, can erect whatever they care to erect on that property. It’s a free country, and people are free to do what they want, thank God.
But in the words of the great philosopher Shrek, who, upon observing the giant tower built by Lord Farquaad, wondered aloud if Farquaad was “compensating for something,” I wonder what motivates people to contemplate the building of a giant Roman cross, especially a giant Roman cross surrounded by chain restaurants.
A rough wooden cross was enough to separate Christ’s earthly body from His spirit, and during His suffering I’m fairly certain He didn’t look out over a field of parking lots and a plethora of neon signs. There wasn’t a museum or gift shop on that lonely hill of death that Passover weekend, just the Son of God and two others, nailed to wooden beams, dying at the hands of an Empire using a method both cruel and cheap. Lord only knows what those who built that particular cross two-thousand years ago would have thought of the proposed giant replica, but one would guess they’d find the idea one filled with gallows humor.
I’m related to a couple who own some property just down the Interstate from the proposed site of the giant cross. Perhaps I can persuade them to erect a giant Question Mark. Or Star and Crescent. Or Dollar Sign.
Nah, I doubt they’d go for that scheme: too costly and too silly.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native whose personal faith is really none of your business.
I was saddened to see the news this week of the passing of Roberta Brown. Ms. Brown, a resident of our community since 1956, was the music teacher at Starkey Elementary School when I was a student there.
While the world of elementary education has changed significantly since those days, the idea that young students should be exposed to music, art, and physical education has remained constant. Ms. Brown was our guide to music, and she was a good guide.
I didn’t realize until reading her obituary Thursday that she was a fellow Longhorn with a degree in harp. Harp: I never would have imagined it. I suppose we waves of schoolchildren were her primary instrument all of those years – we were a slightly off-tuned harp.
Here are some of the things I remember from Ms. Brown’s classes:
I remember her wheeling in a phonograph on a cart and playing different types of music for us. No one liked the opera she played for us, but we did enjoy the narrated “Peter and the Wolf” each year. She also brought recordings of music from around the world.
She was also responsible, in those Norman Rockwell days, for producing school pageants. I have very distinct memories of two of those performances.
In one we sang several selections in Japanese. Well, it was a version of Japanese tinged with both a Texas drawl and a complete incomprehension of Japanese. We practiced for months, making these odd sounds, warbling in a tongue no one could understand. It only occurs to me now that Ms. Brown probably didn’t understand Japanese, either.
On the big night we sang our little Japanese hearts out, and our parents applauded in English. I’m guessing the point of the exercise was to focus on the sounds we were making instead of the words we were saying. Regardless, it’s a lesson I still remember some forty years later.
The other memory is more personal: In class one day she asked who among us students could play the piano. I raised my hand, though in truth I had only just started lessons. I could play the piano about as well as I could play the bassoon.
I found myself assigned a piece to play for the Starkey Christmas Pageant, “Silent Night.”
I looked at the music she handed me. It was like nothing I’d ever played before: it required both hands. At the same time. And each hand was expected to play several notes. At the same time. But even worse, each hand was to play something different from the other hand. Again, at the same time. It was like trying to tie two different knots separately with each hand.
I was terrified. My teacher, too, was not pleased. But Ms. Brown, like another Ms. Brown, was unsinkable. She insisted that I play that piece in that night in front of a huge crowd. “Of course you can play it,” she told me.
And so my piano teacher began some intense training.
Leonard Bernstein once quipped that to accomplish the impossible all that is required is a plan and not enough time to accomplish the plan. Somehow, by the night of the musical, I could play “Silent Night.” I’m sure I stuttered along on the old upright piano, but I did make it through the piece while the audience sang along in the in the school cafeteria.
And yes, Gentle Reader, I can play “Silent Night” to this day. The lesson burned into my head those weeks is still there, the notes are still upon the tips of my fingers, ready to march out, in sequence, upon command.
Roberta Brown was a good teacher, and she gave life to a difficult subject. Music is, after all, a fleeting art. It lives on the edge of a knife, as the sound we hear passes quickly into memory. It is art in a series of moments. Ms. Brown helped us explore those moments and in doing so taught lessons that do not fade.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native and a Starkey Scorpion.
A lot can happen in a week, especially if you leave town for a short vacation.
I was pleased to read (online) the news accounts of the Cailloux Foundation’s gracious exit from the debate concerning the fate of the Arcadia Theater. I have consistently stated the Cailloux proposal, which offered to reconstruct the old theater’s auditorium into an open-air facility, was innovative and should be applauded. I like it when ideas come from “outside of the box” thinking.
I even enjoyed reading the letters to the editor which are critical of the course I’ve proposed: restoration of the Arcadia Theater. I’ve come to expect some criticism whenever I offer leadership on an issue. (Note to Mr. Hyde: your figures are off. I’ve cost the taxpayers of this community much, much more than you cite, though some might argue the expense has made the community better. Still, the jury’s out. Perhaps my efforts here have been a total waste of resources. You might be right.) Just remember Herring’s Second Law of Politics: You can accomplish almost anything if you get the right people to oppose you.
I would suggest we need a vigorous debate about the future of our old downtown area. The decisions made in the next few months will impact that area for a generation. The Peterson brothers’ idea of tearing down the old St. Charles Hotel and building a self-sufficient little hospital/office building, complete with a gas station on the ground floor, was a good decision for the Old Town area, but one which also impacted the neighborhood for more than fifty years. Likewise coming decisions will also impact the area. There’s a change in wind direction right now and this is the time to plot a new course for the little ship.
I am sympathetic to those voices who suggest Adam Smith’s concept of an ‘invisible hand’ is at work in the Old Town area – wiping away those structures and institutions which are no longer of economic utility. I am also partial to the voices who would like to preserve a portion of our community’s past. (Duh. Please see the past 12+ years’ worth of columns.)
I suppose my argument is this: there is a third way. Perhaps there’s a way to repurpose an old thing – say a vacant and deteriorating movie theater – into something that’s economically viable in today’s climate.
I would never propose we save the Arcadia simply to preserve a specimen from the past, like a fading butterfly pinned to a display board.
If the Arcadia is to be saved it should be made a vibrant part of our community, a place where we gather to celebrate a variety of events. It should become a place that builds community, a place where we share the special benefit of living in this place at this time. It should become a place where people want to be.
The Arcadia, in my opinion, should not be made into a 1950s-era movie house. If the community supported it economically as a single-screen 1950s-era movie house, I’m thinking the Hall family, who are experts in the business of presenting movies to the paying public, would never have shuttered the old girl in the first place. Their new facility, the sparkling Rio 10 Cinema, reflects the changing economics of that industry, where a small crew runs many screens simultaneously, where the stadium seating offers comfort and clear lines of sight, where the sound is superb. Asking a restored Arcadia to compete with that would be like asking a Model T to compete with a new Ford Mustang. We might feel nostalgia for the Model T, for its look and the memories it affords us, but my money would be on the newer car.
Nor should the Arcadia become merely a mini-Cailloux Theater (the facility previously known as the Kerrville Municipal Auditorium, managed by the able crew of Playhouse 2000).
Nor should the Arcadia be transformed solely into a meeting space for conventioneers visiting our city.
Nor should it be a neglected department of our city government. I still feel the city should give the Arcadia to a non-profit group. As I’ve offered before, I would be happy to form such a group.
There are those in our community who are much cleverer than I. If we work together on the Old Town area, and the old Arcadia Theater in particular, I’m thinking there is a solution that might just work, though I’m not completely sure what form that solution might take. There are examples elsewhere from which we could learn; there’s no need to reinvent the wheel.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who has been, without a doubt, a costly citizen.
Wow! What a response!
Last week I wrote about finding the movie “Irene” on DVD – the old silent film is historically interesting for Kerrville, since it was the first film shown at the Arcadia back in 1926.
I rambled here last week that I’d like to show the movie at the Arcadia and invited anyone who was interested in watching the film with me to drop me an email (joeherringjr .at. gmail .dot. com) or a postcard (615 Water Street, Kerrville).
Honestly, I thought I might find 10 people who’d watch the old film with me. We 10 would sit in the dark old Arcadia and root for Irene (played by Colleen Moore) as she searched for happiness. I could see us sitting there in our lawn chairs, munching popcorn, the film flickering as projected on a bed sheet.
Let’s just say a few more than 10 people want to see the film. Ok, a lot more than 10. I had to call a friend at the City to see how many people could safely be in the old theater at one time. We might need to have two shows. Maybe three.
So, if you missed sending me a message last week, but want to be included in the invitation list, please drop me a line. There are a few logistical problems to solve, but I’m still hoping to present the movie at the Arcadia soon.
The show will be free, and I think the experience will be fun. For the first time in 81 years the people of Kerrville will see this old film together in the same theater where it played.
I do have a bonus challenge for my engineering friends: how can we cool down the old theater to a comfortable temperature? There is no air-conditioning in the old building, and it can be quite warm in there. Too warm to enjoy the 93 minute movie.
I’ve had two suggestions, both good. First, we could show the film on a Saturday morning. The building is coolest then. Or, we could wait until autumn.
But I’d like to show it at night, with the Arcadia sign flashing in the night sky. And I’d like to show it right away, while people are talking about the future of the Arcadia.
So – if you have an idea how we can cool the old building down (inexpensively) to show the film, please drop me a line.
* * *
Speaking of old films, I got a great email from Cheryl Johnson, office manager of our local Time-Warner office, this week:
“Time Warner Cable will be hosting "Hollywood in the Hill Country" on Saturday, July 21st. We will be doing a free showing of the movie "Casablanca". This will be held at Louise Hays Park - Centennial Stage. The movie is to begin at sundown so it should be around 8:30PM. We would love for you and your families to join us! Bring your lawn chairs, blankets, picnic baskets or coolers. Sit back and enjoy the movie!”
Now that sounds like fun! I hope the weather is good for them – this is something I’d like to see done often, and eventually, I’d like to see old movies presented at the Arcadia Theater.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who likes old movies.
A small package arrived by mail to our office Thursday. It is still wrapped in plastic, like a ham or a gift basket, and I haven’t unwrapped it.
Though I want to, I cannot.
Though the plastic is transparent, I’m not sure what I’ll find when I open it. Sure, I can see right through the wrapper. And I even know what I’ll find when I open the little plastic case when I tear away the cellophane. I’ll find a disc, a shiny plate of plastic with microscopic pits arranged in some secret code only a DVD player can comprehend.
And, according to some research I’ve done on the inconvenience we call the Internet, I even know the basic outline of the information on the disc. It contains a story, the story of an Irish lass named Irene.
“A hardworking but under-achieving Irish girl loses her job and gets tossed out by her tough mother,” the jacket reads. “She turns to her gold-digging friend and turns the head of a society man until his mother finds out about her family. How can it end?”
Elsewhere, I’ve written about the story recorded on this particular disc.
It’s “a saga about the life of a poor, beautiful Irish lass whose dire economic circumstances obscure her royal lineage. She worked as a shopkeeper’s assistant, selling dresses. A local grandee had obtained the job for her there as a model; the villainous shopkeeper had demoted her to lowly clerk. During a grand fashion show, the grandee notes the absence of his protégé, storms to the dimly lit store, costumes the girl and returns with her to triumph, and eventually love – discovered on a rusting fire escape, outside the fashion show.”
I even wrote “the scenes of the fashion show were ‘registered in subdued tones of the Techni-color process, a new idea which has recently been discovered by those who invented the method of color photography.’”
Here’s the deal: I’ve found a digital copy of the 1926 movie “Irene.” This probably means nothing to you, Gentle Reader. But in my recent obsession about the Arcadia Theater, it means a lot to me. You see, ‘Irene’ was the first movie ever shown at the Arcadia.
“On the warm Tuesday evening of June 29, 1926, a flock of folks crowded into a newly built hall to watch the comedy film “Irene,” starring Colleen Moore.”
Yep, about 81 years ago exactly, the first movie shown at the Arcadia has returned to Kerrville. On Thursday afternoon I tapped the still-wrapped case of the DVD against the wall of the old silent Arcadia Theater. I don’t know why, but it felt good. Like a circle was finished, one that started in that hot summer of 1926 and was completed in this wet summer of 2007.
A picture of Colleen Moore is on the cover of the plastic case. She’s pictured looking out of a doorway wearing an oddly-shaped hat. She looks hopeful, as if expecting something.
Here’s what I’d like to do, if I can figure out a way to bring it all together. I’d like to show the movie at the Arcadia, projecting the DVD-encapsulated movie against a bed sheet or some other make-shift screen, not unlike the way movies were shown in the classic film Cinema Paradisio. I’d like anyone who was interested to show up, bring a lawn chair, and watch the old story with me. I’d like to share the story with a crowd of people, munching popcorn in the dark, hoping dear Irene finds her way to happiness.
Not unlike the crowd in 1926. In the same place. Watching the same movie.
It would be an interesting historical experiment: Not only would we be watching the same movie they saw that first evening, we’d be following the same story, feeling some of the same emotions.
If you’d like to be there, drop me a line, either by mail or by email.
Maybe I can figure out a way to make it all happen (there are some technical, permission, and air-conditioning issues to be solved). If so, if you let me know you’re interested, I’ll send you an invite. It might be quite fun.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who wonders what the crowd saw that now distant evening.
Those who’ve read these weekly columns – faithfully presented here each week since my current editor was in grade school – will know I have more than a passing interest in local history.
In presenting stories of our community’s past, I guess I’m hoping to instill in others this love of our heritage here.
I’ve tried various ways to promote preservation of our community’s few remaining historical buildings. I served for a time as the chair of the Kerr County Historical Commission, I served as chair of our community’s recent sesquicentennial celebration.
And I’ve put my own money where my (often unquiet) mouth is – spending more than I should to build a collection of Kerr County historical items, from photographs and commemorative plates to one of the few surviving programs of the 1936 State Championship Football game, where the Tivy Antlers battled the Amarillo Sandies. I have a small Taylor guitar with the words “Kerrville Campfire Edition” written on the rosette. I have soda bottles from Pampell’s and the H. E. Butt Grocery Company (“Silver Valley Sparkling Beverages”). I have books written by Kerrville authors.
Many of the items in my collection were given to me, I’m glad to say. I couldn’t have afforded all of the items in my collection. I have doors from the rooms of the old Blue Bonnet Hotel, and the switchboard from that old hotel; I have old newspapers, and several thousand photographs.
Yeah, I kinda care about local history.
So the recent proposal to tear down most of the Arcadia theater concerns me. While I applaud the Cailloux Foundation for thinking “outside of the box” with their innovative proposal, and also for their generous contributions to our community, I think historic preservation is far more important than the idea of having an ‘open air’ theater in the downtown area. Their plan, while preserving the current façade and lobby area of the building, will completely destroy the rest of the building, replacing the auditorium of the theater with a high-dollar pole barn.
Besides, a reasonable plan already exists to restore and renovate the theater, a plan that will be funded by visitors to our community through allocation of the hotel/motel tax monies. And, in a series of future columns, I hope to share some ideas I’m hearing about the future of our downtown area.
Since the Arcadia will be in the news for the next few weeks, I thought it would be good to share an old column, first published in the late 90’s, telling the story of the theater:
On the warm Tuesday evening of June 29, 1926, a flock of folks crowded into a newly built hall to watch the comedy film “Irene,” starring Colleen Moore. They were greeted with “cooled” air and a saga about the life of a poor, beautiful Irish lass whose dire economic circumstances obscure her royal lineage. She worked as a shopkeeper’s assistant, selling dresses. A local grandee had obtained the job for her there as a model; the villainous shopkeeper had demoted her to lowly clerk. During a grand fashion show, the grandee notes the absence of his protégé, storms to the dimly lit store, costumes the girl and returns with her to triumph, and eventually love – discovered on a rusting fire escape, outside the fashion show.
The scenes of the fashion show were “registered in subdued tones of the Techni-color process, a new idea which has recently been discovered by those who invented the method of color photography.” This probably explains the choice of this movie, a First National release, as the film for that particular evening. The film was in color.
“Irene” was the first film shown in the newly built Arcadia Theater.
The citizens were very proud of their new theater. There was an older movie house, the Dixie, near the corner of Washington and Water streets, on the northern corner, where the Home Center is today. The Dixie is remembered for its wooden bleachers, where patrons tucked their feet up to avoid the rats that ran along the floor eating popcorn and nibbling on shoelaces. The Arcadia, by contrast, was a Movie Palace.
Built at a cost of $90,000, the new theater featured high-tech (for 1926) projection equipment (a pair of Powers projectors), a ‘Gardner Velvet Gold Fibre Screen,’ a Hillgren-Lane pipe organ, and seating capacity for 1,000. The building looked very different then: it featured a Spanish mission façade, and the 16x40 foot ‘arcade’ was accented with rough plaster and hand-hewn beams. In the ‘arcade’ were seven display cases.
Seating was also arranged differently than the seating many of us remember. In addition to the ‘orchestra’ and balcony seats, there were also eight loges with five chairs each. Smoking was allowed in the balcony seats only.
The small stage (8 x 15 feet) was furnished with scenery from Volland Scenic Company of St. Louis, and included a “beautiful mountain and river scene, typical of the country surrounding Kerrville. It is a remarkable reproduction of nature, done in oil.” There was also an orchestra pit measuring 7 ½ x 25 feet; this was the home of the pipe organ.
The neon sign we see frantically flashing in the night sky is not the original sign for the theater. The first was about 15 feet high and extended six feet above the building, with 16” letters. The lighting flashed on and off at intervals, but was not neon; the coloring of the letters was done by placing ‘glass color hoods’ over the lamps, and red and green and amber were the predominate colors. There was a twinkling torch and a ‘flowing’ border driven by an electric motor.
The Bart Moore Construction Company built the building. Mr. Moore was also the president of the Kerrville Amusement Company, which owned the Arcadia and Dixie Theaters, and he would serve as the Arcadia’s first general manager.
Admission prices for the first week of performances were 25 and 50 cents.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who spent many hours at the Arcadia Theater.
At the risk of sounding trendy, I want to report on an experiment I’m trying.
My concern about being perceived as trendy is that your perception of what I’m trying to do will get lost in the current political debate about “green” issues, inspired, in part, by our nation’s concerns over possible global warming and further by the rising cost of energy.
Gentle Reader, I know some of you believe there is no such thing as Global Warming, while some of you believe the End Draweth Nigh. This experiment is not about that debate.
Nor is it about the rising cost of gasoline, or the big debate about how buying gasoline helps fund distant governments violently opposed to our cherished principles. This experiment is not about that debate, either.
This experiment is about my lawn.
Like most folks, I have this image in my mind about what a lawn should look like: it should look like a park with rolling meadows of green, framed by borders of shrubs and trees.
Unfortunately, several natural forces are pitted against this daydream.
First, of course, is the fact that our house sits on the side of a hill, a sloped spot where no soil can be found. Each yard of soil on our lot was brought in by hand by me, one wheelbarrow at a time. Our yard, when we moved into the house, was a shelf of scraped caliche punctuated with exclamations of bull thistles. In an effort to make the house more attractive to buyers, someone had thrown squares of sod on a portion of the yard, but by the time we moved into the house, the baked remnants of St. Augustine grass once thriving in the squares were fossilized.
The second problem is our local climate. For those new to the area, the recent rains are not common. In fact, during last summer’s prolonged lapse between rains, in the spirit of good citizenship, I stopped watering my lawn. The backyard, where our dogs live, became a caldron of dust. All of the Bermuda grass I’d planted died away and weeds somehow took its place.
For those who know Ms. Carolyn, this will not surprise you: she was not in favor of a weedy yard. In fact, she was quite vocal in her opposition to such a yard.
For my part it seemed futile to replant the backyard in Bermuda, given its performance during last summer’s heat.
So, then, the experiment: I’ve planted the backyard in Buffalo grass (Buchloe dactyloides), a variety noted for its drought tolerance. It also has an added, unexpected benefit: the blades don’t grow very tall, meaning, hopefully, I won’t have to mow the yard as often, if ever.
Getting the yard ready took some effort. I completely tilled the area for the experiment, waited a few weeks, attacked the weeds that had survived their tumbling with a herbicide, and then, a few weeks later, tilled the whole area again.
I got the Buffalo grass seed from Wildseed Farms, a client in Fredericksburg, and chose, on their recommendation, their “Top Gun” variety. A friend of mine there advised me to rake in the seeds to a depth of about a quarter inch, which I did last Saturday.
Then, of course, came almost a week of rainy days, some of the rains quite hard. I’ve checked the backyard several times and I think some of the seed remains in my yard (I was concerned it had washed away as a gift to my down-hill neighbors).
So far I haven’t seen much in the way of sprouts, but in truth we’ve only had one day of sunshine since the seeds were planted.
I’m hoping the experiment works back there – if it’s successful I’ll repeat the experiment next year in the front yard. I’d certainly like a yard that was both pretty and better-suited to our climate.
As for the part about not having to mow my yard, it’s not the price of gas that motivates me or the effects of internal-combustion engines on our climate. I’d rather rest in my hammock than mow. It’s laziness that motivates me.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who bought a cheap white rope hammock on impulse several years ago. It was some of the best money he ever spent.
They met at a bridge party in the early 1950s, Gordon Monroe and Gene Lehmann, and over the course of their careers, they changed Kerrville. Friday morning they were honored by the city at the dedication of a park which will bear their name, the Lehmann and Monroe Park. The pair not only donated the land, but also funds with which to develop the park.
Newcomers might not realize what these two accomplished, and, even after going over my notes and reading several pages of information, I’m not sure I know all that they accomplished. But, Gentle Reader, some of your neighbors live in Kerrville today because of the efforts of these two men.
When I was a boy, Kerrville was much different than it is today. It was small, and, if we’re frank with each other, it was isolated. Most of the community’s businesses were in the “L” made by Earl Garrett and Water Streets; residences filled up most of the larger streets, like Sidney Baker and Main Street. There was nothing, really, beyond the Five Points area heading toward Ingram, nothing much north of the stadium and the high school on Sidney Baker, and nothing but farms and ranches south of the river on State Highway 16. Kerrville then was not much larger than Bandera is today. It was small. Many had a direct interest in keeping it that way.
When Gordon and Gene met, Gene was running his family’s store, Lehmann’s, a chain which was a 5c & 10c type store; the Kerrville Lehmann’s became Winn’s when I was a child; it was where the surgical annex of the hospital is today on the north side of Water Street in the 700 block. Gordon was managing the Burton Insurance Agency. Their first real estate venture together was to purchase some apartments on Lois Street, and though they developed other projects independently, such as the Lehmann family’s Inn of the Hills, or the Monroe interest in the Heart o’ the Hills Bowling Alley, now part of the Family Sports Center, they soon formed a very successful land development team.
Their innovation to development in this area was a simple document, something called a Contract for Deed, which allowed a buyer to make a small down payment (sometimes as low as $100), and then start making payments on the land. According to a family member, no one was offering this to land buyers – the only other avenue to purchase land was to make a very large down payment (say 20-40%) and then make payments, if your credit was deemed good enough.
This approach was very successful for the partnership, and, after having good success on their first few ventures, they decided to ‘go out on a limb,’ and purchase the former Louis Schreiner Ranch south of the city in about 1967. This purchase was divided into parts we’d all recognize today: Rio Robles, Glen Oaks, Loma Vista, Loyal Valley, and Kerrville South Ranches. This land included the white Louis Schreiner mansion which later became the headquarters for L. D. Brinkman’s operations here, the land which now holds Albertson’s, the Wells-Fargo bank tower, and, I believe, the land where the new Sid Peterson Memorial Hospital is being built.
I might be wrong, but the pair might have purchased this ranch (of about 3300 acres) from the family of Robert Hays, the husband of Louise Hays, for whom the adjoining park is named.
And, even as they were busy changing the map of Kerrville, they still had time to serve our community: Monroe served as our mayor (hosting First Lady Lady Bird Johnson at the dedication of our Butt-Holdsworth Memorial Library); Lehmann served as president of the Kerrville school board. They also served our community on numerous committees and task forces.
It’s funny to me how different generations view people. By the time I was old enough to realize there were other businesses in town besides the grocery store and a certain print shop, the partnership of Gene Lehmann and Gordon Monroe was already quite successful. I distinctly remember a maroon Rolls-Royce with an Aggie bumper sticker plastered on the paint – the paint! – above its chrome rear fender, which I took as a funny Aggie joke. I also remember taking swimming lessons at this absolutely huge house overlooking the city, where the pool was lined with cut stones.
But there was a time when an older generation thought the two had little chance of success. There is an old story I’ve heard several times of a golf game where one of the members of a founding family of Kerrville, a family whose success had depended upon keeping Kerrville small, made the remark that “it looks like the Go-Go boys [Lehmann and Monroe] are going to make it after all.”
Yep, you might say that.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who remembers looking south of the river and seeing no businesses at all.
The leaves on our two live oaks are falling, soon to be replaced with news leaves, and I’ve been suffering the sniffles all week; must be time to plan my garden.
A hill country garden, in my experience, is a race. One must get the plants in early if he hopes to beat the brutal heat of late July, but not too early, for fear of catching the last frost of the year. Generally I’ve planted on Good Friday, only to hear from family and friends about the sizes of their tomato plants while mine are still little seedlings. My sister, Judy, was unkind enough last year to tell me the size of the fruit on her tomato vines as I was finally planting mine. This year I may plant my garden earlier.
I’ve already tilled the soil and added some fertilizer to the little plot and I guess it’s ready to go right now. Of course, I’m not ready to plant. I haven’t decided what will go in the little space and where it will go.
First off, I’ve got decide about corn.
Readers of this space will know I have a long, sad relationship with corn. The plant has broken my heart the last ten seasons, made worse by the fact that the first time I ever tried corn in my garden it produced beautifully. I had a bumper crop of beautiful corn. That first year I planted it in the worst part of the garden, compensating for the poor soil there by digging small coffee-can sized holes, filling them with a store-bought soil mixture, and dropping in two seeds per mound. A few weeks later I thinned back the plants, snipping the weaker of the two shoots. The corn, planted in a square, took up a lot of garden space, but it was beautiful. Each grew like a tall thick stalk of grass, was a deep green, and made the garden look like a real vegetable garden. I even made a scarecrow.
Because the sugars in sweet corn fade so quickly, we would actually have water boiling on the stove before we picked the ears – so the elapsed time between stalk and pot was just moments. My family tells me the corn tasted great. (I don’t like corn; it’s one of the few foods I cannot stand.)
Trying to repeat my beginner’s luck, I planted the same variety of corn (Silver Queen) in my next garden. It came up strong but withered in the ground despite my use of the same method as the year before.
The next several gardens yield a few freakishly-shaped ears, but no real crop. The corn stalk never looked as healthy as that first planting.
Last year I asked my friends at the Plant Haus II to suggest a different variety, and with some fanfare (and without showing me which variety of corn they chose) I was handed a small envelope of seeds. I planted these, though weeks later than Good Friday, and though they started strong the harsh realities of a dry summer killed them off. Though I was faithful watering the plants, there really is no substitute for rain. Plants seem to prefer rain to a watering hose.
So now I must decide about corn – whether to include it in this year’s garden. It takes a lot of room, and I’ve had precious little success as a corn farmer.
Other plants have been recommended to me which sound quite interesting. Richard Jones, a gardening friend from orchestra, has championed vine spinach. I’ve heard about success with grapes, though it takes several years. Another friend from orchestra, Yvonne Lorick, planted some olive trees.
So this weekend I will pull out a paper and pencil and sit in the old rusting chair I keep in the garden and scribble out a plan for my beans, tomatoes and peppers. I can’t tell you if I’ll try corn again, because I need to decide whether I’m planting it to try to heal my wounded pride or if I’m planting it to, well, grow corn.
Meanwhile, the apple tree needs pruning, and I’ve got to do something with the tilled and blank back yard.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who likes to eat cherry tomatoes right off of the vine, when they’re still warm from the sun.
Where would our community be without its parks?
I’ve seen you in the parks, you know. Some of you are faithful walkers, rounding the crushed granite walkways, burning up the calories. Others find a quiet bench and brown bag it during it lunch, sneaking away from their desks for a bit of fresh air. I’ve seen others of you in attendance at children’s birthday parties, balloons dancing in the breeze. I’ve frowned watching others of you let your nasty little pets poop where children play, contributing, I suppose, to both the composition of the soil and the youngster’s immune systems. I’ve seen gray-haired couples walking slowly, hand in hand, and I’ve seen bands of kids practicing soccer and flag-football. I’ve found, wandering in the wild overgrown stretches of some of our parks, the ratty campsites of the homeless, cheap plastic tarps and scattered fast-food trash heaped in odd semi-circles, primitive camps littered with the irony of modern conveniences. I’ve seen pick-up basketball games, kids on slides, folks fishing from the grassy banks.
I seldom pass parks that are empty. Our parks are almost always full of people. They are a resource we probably overlook – something we’re used to. But they’re a definite plus, a good thing for all of us.
One person has been working to make our community’s park system better for a long, long time: Dennis Kneese.
Mr. Kneese, the city director who’s been in charge of the parks and recreation department for many years retired this week.
The system has grown under his leadership, both in terms of acreage dedicated to parkland, but also in services offered. From swimming lessons to Christmas tree recycling, the parks department is a busy place.
Mr. Kneese has done a good job. Together with his dedicated crew he’s made Kerrville a better place to live.
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Many of you know I like old Kerrville photographs, and I’m thankful to those of you who’ve given me photos or allowed me to copy your photos. I’m thinking of putting together a small book of photos from my collection and I’m wondering if there would be any demand for the thing.
I’ve seen other collections which I’ve enjoyed, including the one published under the name of this newspaper, and the one published earlier by the Kerrville Mountain Sun.
My main concern with the photos in my collection is finding some way to make sure they stay in circulation. A good number of the photographs in my early collection were destroyed in the fire that swept through our print shop in 1995. So I’d like to find a way to not only preserve the photographs, but also to make sure they get in more people’s hands. They have a greater chance of surviving several generations if there are many copies in circulation.
I don’t think there’s any money to be made in such a project, in fact I’m positive it would lose money, but all of these old Kerrville photos currently in my care make me feel responsible for insuring their safe passage to the future generations of citizens of this small corner of the world. I realize I’m only carrying the baton at present and someday it must be handed on to someone else.
If you have an interest in such a book of photos, let me know.
And, of course, if you have any old Kerrville/Kerr County photographs you’d care to share with me, I’d appreciate receiving them.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who wishes someone could figure out a way to eliminate all of the useless spam messages that clog his email inbox.
