26 posts tagged “texas”
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.
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.
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.
This past week Ms. Carolyn, our son Joe, and I skipped a day of work and headed over to Enchanted Rock in Llano County.
For those who haven’t made the roughly hour-long drive, I recommend it to you.
The site, which was in private hands until 1978, when it was purchased by the Nature Conservancy from the Moss family, has been operated as a state park since 1984.
I am old enough to remember visits to the park when it was still in private hands. In those days there were fewer regulations and as a boy I camped at the top of the rock with a group from my church. I remember, too, we boys building a huge fire at the top, near the mouth of the ‘caves,’ something that one could never do now, nor should have done then.
The visit this week also brought home other changes since the site became a state park: though we arrived before noon, the park was jammed with people. Three or four cars behind us were the last to get into the park that day: all others were turned away. Once the park reaches “capacity,” the gates are shut and no additional visitors are allowed in.
So, if you want to do more than see the giant pink dome from the highway, it’s usually a good idea to call ahead to see if the park is closed for the rest of the day; generally on weekends and holiday weeks (like this week, Spring Break) the park closes early. However, even during these times arriving early at the park (around 10 am), or going on a weekday helps your chances of gaining admittance.
We’ve gotten in the habit of hiking around the domes on the Loop Trail, starting at the southwest end of the park and traveling around the two major domes in a counter-clockwise direction. This week the park was especially beautiful because of the recent heavy rains. Flowers were in bloom and there were hundreds, if not thousands, of small waterfalls and rivulets of running water. I have never seen so much water at the park.
Even the old Moss Lake on the far side of the park, behind the granite batholiths, was nicely filled, and the fish were jumping. It was enough to make me wish for my fly rod, though it was a long climb and walk away, too far for this old man.
According to the Texas Parks and Wildlife website, “[Enchanted] Rock is a huge, pink granite exfoliation dome, that rises 425 feet above ground, 1825 feet above sea level, and covers 640 acres. It is one of the largest batholiths (underground rock formation uncovered by erosion) in the United States.”
The park covers 1643.5 acres on Big Sandy Creek and has become one of the most popular parks in the Texas Hill Country.
After our walk around ‘Little Rock,’ Joe and I went back up ‘Enchanted Rock’ to explore the caves on the rock’s northern slope. These caves are little more than gaps in the tumble of rocks, and with the recent rains were a slick mess inside. The air felt cold and thick as we went deeper into the caves, and looking back at Joe I could see steam rising from his arms and head. We found running water several places along the way, with cold black pools to slosh through. I hadn’t been through the caves since I was much, much younger and found trying to squeeze through, scramble over and clamber down the tossed boulders much harder than I remembered. To hang on to a water-slick rock, in the dark, while stretching one’s leg into the abyss below, hoping to find a ledge with one’s toe – well, I soon found myself hoping for a glimmer of sunlight, an escape from the narrowing passage.
The first shaft of light provided no escape; the walls were too steep to safely climb. I admit I looked at the wispy clouds above with some longing. With reluctance we continued down, down, down into the darkness, heading in what seemed the exactly wrong direction. Finally a small bit of sunlight was visible in the distance and, after some of the trickiest passages of the entire cave, we found a small opening in the rocks.
We wriggled out, tired and largely silent, and sat atop the northern cliff, looking into the distance. I felt reborn coming back into the light. We had been beneath the boulders for only an hour.
The park is 18 miles north of Fredericksburg on Ranch Road 965, and charges $6.00 per person admission. It’s worth a visit.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who is not as young as he thinks he is.
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.
* * *
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.
Who knew that milk jugs, capped and half-filled with water, could be a musical instruments?
Thursday evening at the Cailloux Theater the Symphony of the Hills once again made the unexpected happen. The symphony, under the able leadership of Dr. Jay Dunnahoo, is itself something quite unexpected.
I remember several years ago being interviewed by an reporter from the Wall Street Journal. During the interview, I mentioned that the Symphony of the Hills had a performance the following evening, and I invited him to attend with me.
There was some silence on the line, not unlike those recent television ads about dropped cell phone calls. When the reporter finally spoke, he asked “There’s a symphony in Kerrville, Texas?”
Yes, I told him. We not only have a symphony, we have a good symphony right here in Kerrville, Texas.
Last night’s program was a little different from previous performances – not all of the music was familiar. We were treated with music many of us had never heard before. It was like going to the grocery store and getting to pick a treat – on the condition you picked something you’d never tried before. Ms. Carolyn and I occasionally do this at H-E-B, a game which has led to some very tasty discoveries. That’s how I felt about last night’s performance – new musical discoveries.
I was also pleased to see what an impressive managing board the symphony has put together. I served on the symphony’s board until recently, so I feel I have a unique interest in who works on its board. We all want organizations with which we’ve worked to succeed, and the newcomers on the board are quite impressive. I think the symphony board, under the able leadership of Joseph Benham and H. D. Maxwell, is in quite good hands!
Now, about those milk jugs: One of the pieces performed last night was Robert W. Smith’s “The Great Steamboat Race.” Just before it began, members of Tivy High School’s chorale paraded into the auditorium carrying these half-filled plastic containers. The formed a semi-circle around the audience, standing in the aisles.
The piece is about an actual steamboat race between the Natchez and the Robert E. Lee which occurred in 1870. The two paddle-wheelers faced off because the Natchez had just completed a record-breaking run from New Orleans to St. Louis in an amazing three days, 21 hours and 58 minutes. Not to be outdone, the captain of the Robert E. Lee challenged the Natchez for a race along the same course. It’s a dramatic piece about a true story.
I remember as a child traveling with my family through the southern states and taking a ride on a steamboat, the Delta Queen. I stood in the bow of the boat watching those giant blades slapping the Mississippi, watching the water tumble from the blades as they left the river. It was quite impressive.
Last night in the Cailloux theater I remembered that ride vividly. On cue the members of the Tivy Choir began to shake those milk jugs in unison. The sound was very much like the paddles on the steam boat. And, because they were around us in a semi-circle, the sound surrounded us, just like it did on the steamboat that long ago summer.
Likewise, during the Grand Canyon Suite, during the familiar passage called “On the Trail” which mimics a mule ride down into the depths of the canyon, I remembered my own ride down the trail years ago when our children were small. That ride was seven hours of pure terror for me; my mule had a death wish, and he wanted to take me with him.
We’re lucky, you know. Our little town, despite its size, and its location at the edge of the Sonoran Desert, has many blessings – and one of them is the Symphony of the Hills. Next season the Symphony is doubling the number of performances so more people can attend; since their performances always sell out this will allow many who cannot attend an opportunity to be a part of the audience.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who considered shooting a mule named Rufus after his adventure at the Grand Canyon.
My first memory of Bill Dozier, the former owner of the Kerrville Daily Times who passed away this week, is of him at his office on Earl Garrett Street, when the Daily Times used to be housed in what is now called the Downtown Executive Center. That building, in the 300 block of Earl Garrett, faced the courthouse. You entered by glass doors opening to a long counter. Behind the counter was a jumble of desks with a few offices in the rear of a large room the printing equipment was beyond those offices in the back of the room. I seem to remember Kit West there, a former section editor, who was our neighbor. I also remember the desks were as messy as my own is today.
It was a busy place, the old Kerrville Daily Times. Everything seemed to be happening in that old big room. My memories of Bill Dozier there are of a kind and patient person who seemed to have time even for youngsters like me.
Around the corner, on Water Street, between the Arcadia Theater and the Heritage Star, in the area now housing the safety deposit boxes for Bank of America, was the office of the other newspaper, the Kerrville Mountain Sun. I remember this office, too, for its several linotype machines, big noisy contraptions that struck type in hot lead. Walking into the Mountain Sun offices was a little more risky; I don’t remember a counter. When you walked into the office you found desks to your left, and there in front of you were those belching linotype machines.
I know it’s a cliché, but things were a lot simpler then. Everyone knew your name, and everyone spoke to you on the sidewalk. (It was harder to get into mischief when most of the town would report your behavior to your parents before you had a chance to return to the print shop.)
Everything was within walking distance of our print shop: the post office was on the corner, First National Bank and Charles Schreiner Bank were just down Water Street. Speaking of Charles Schreiner Bank, I’m old enough to remember passing the old brass plaque by the door which said “Charles Schreiner Banker, Unincorporated,” and seeing Louis Schreiner, Charles Schreiner’s son, at his desk near the front door. There was also a large scale in the bank we’d always jump on to see how much we weighed.
Earl Garrett Street offered two men’s stores, Water Street had three pharmacies, Penny’s, Lehmann’s (later Winn’s) and Schreiner’s offered a wide variety of goods. The eight-story Bluebonnet Hotel towered above everything, City Hall and the County Courthouse were nearby, there were dry cleaners, a locker plant, three car dealerships (Peterson’s, Stoepel’s, and Reiter’s) nearby. There were two movie theaters, the Arcadia and the Rialto, though I don’t remember the Rialto showing movies then. There were a bevy of women’s clothing stores, and at least one children’s clothes store, Ken and Mary’s. There were two shoe stores, the Booterie (where Francisco’s Restaurant is today), and Ware’s, which was near the Arcadia. Ware’s had this electronic gadget you could put your foot in and it would tell you your size, showing the size on a screen with lit numerals. It was extremely cool.
I say all this to show how different Kerrville was when Bill and Eleanor Dozier came to Kerrville in the early 1960s after buying the Kerrville Daily Times.
In those days, too, publishers and editors were on virtually every committee in town, along with the bankers, hospital and school administrators. Mrs. W. A. Salter, publisher of the Kerrville Mountain Sun, was tireless in her efforts on behalf of Kerrville, and so were the Doziers. They worked hard to make Kerrville a better place and I think all can agree our community is better for their efforts.
I’ll miss Bill Dozier. He was always kind in his remarks about this column, and once praised an April Fool’s Day column as an elaborate fib which fooled even him.
The last time I ever saw Bill Dozier was in his office on Jefferson street, about a stone’s throw from the place where I’d first seen him. He was packing up his office, closing it down. There, amid the boxes and numerous plaques stacked against the wall, I found a smiling man, still patient, still with enough time enough for youngsters like me.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who has very fond memories of the Kerrville of his childhood.
Really, Dad, I’m Ok.
146 years ago a young man, George A. Staples wrote a series of letters to his father in Virginia from a tiny settlement called Zanzenburg, Texas. We call that community Center Point today. George Staples was employed as a school teacher, but from his letters it seems his classroom was small – the children of one family plus one other student.
I came across copies of these letters thanks to my good friend Jane Ragsdale of Heart o’ the Hills Camp for Girls in Hunt. An acquaintance of hers, Les Staples, gave her the copies, and she forwarded them on to me.
I have tried for the past 4 weeks to summarize each of the letters because they have some historical significance for our community. They were written during the heady days when our state chose to secede from the Union, and they were written from a community which was in the center of the debate; one of the citizens of Zanzenburg, Dr. Charles Ganahl, was actually a delegate to the secession convention, and from what I can gather, was also the largest slaveholder in the county.
I relate stories from this part of our history not because it’s a proud moment in the history of our county. As Lincoln said, whenever he heard someone make an argument for slavery, he wanted to try it out on them personally. I relate these stories because they reflect the prevalent thought in our county during the Civil War era. It shows a picture of our history, warts and all.
Though these letters were written almost 150 years ago, it’s evident that some things do not change. The last letter in the series is a letter of reassurance. George A. Staples is trying to soothe his family back in Virginia, to assure them that he’s safe out here in the wilds of Texas.
“There is no personal danger to be apprehended from the Indians down the low – all the danger is on the stock – they will steal horses, mules, and &c but will not attack a man if they find he is armed – there is no danger in my going in bathing as I always go in in the daytime and the Indians never come out except in the night, that is in the sight of houses – and the river is within 50 yards of the House – it is not swift at all – but very deep in places – but I can swim like a duck – so there is no danger.”
He also writes that he misses his family:
“If I succeed in as I hope to do in business I expect and hope it will not be over two years from this time when I will see you [again. I have never missed] you so badly in my life. I never yet was so long from home but the longer I am away the more I learn to depend on myself – and I think that is something gained.”
He writes about his career:
“The country is so thinly settled that school teaching unless it be in a city or in a college is not so profitable as living in a [state] where a person can become more widely known and stands a chance of improving his situation after his character is established.”
He writes of young women:
“The Girls do not occupy my thoughts any longer than when I am in their company and that is very seldom. I have only been visiting twice since being up here and that was to see a Mr. Lane who lives about a half mile from here and keeps a bachelors’ Hall. I went up and spent the evening with him.”
He writes of secession politics:
“I am sorry indeed that Virginia has so far forgotten herself as to think ever of remaining in the Union – with the North. I heard it though rather vaguely before I got your letter of the 24th February – but that confirmed it – I am almost ashamed to claim her as my native state if she does not secede. It will build up Texas – as the persons – or a majority at least that will leave her will emigrate to the place where there are the greatest inducements and I think Texas is the first in that respect. I hear that since Virginia has determined to remain in the Union that Louisiana intends to petition for readmission – if she does she ought to be rejected by both confederacies. And if my individual feelings were to be consulted before Texas should so dishonor herself as to sue for readmission, if we were compelled to owe allegiance to any government, Texas should be made over to Queen Victoria – rather than remain in Union with those she has just left.”
He writes like many young men, saying “I will start my journal to you when I get it done – this place is so dull that it is very seldom that I can find an incident to jot down in it.” Perhaps he was again trying to persuade his Virginia family that there was no danger here, or perhaps he was lonely in a thinly settled place where he felt he could never ‘establish his character.’
I contacted Les and George Staples, brothers and descendents of the young letter writer of 1861, to find out what happened to young George. Did he study law? Did he become a cattle baron? Did he succeed in business? What was ‘the rest of the story?’
Les Staples wrote “George Staples, my great-grandfather, wound up in Texana, Texas. He fathered 4 boys and 2 girls there. Texana no longer exists. It was a river port and when the river silted up and the railroad went west of the town, the whole town packed up and moved to Edna. Edna is the county seat of Jackson County.”
George Staples adds some interesting details: “I have the original letters and probably know as much as anyone else. He settled in Jackson County, probably at Red Bluff which no longer exists. He had a number of children and named all his sons, including my grandfather, after men he served under while fighting for the Confederacy. My grandfather’s name was Archer McAmy Staples and his brothers included Oliver Hardeman Staples and Henry King Staples. Henry King Staples became editor, owner and publisher of the Edna Herald for 48 years and his brother Hardeman ran the linotype machine. Edna was or became the county seat of Jackson County after the railroad was put through. My understanding is that it was originally known as Macaroni Junction because it was a supply depot for the Italian railroad workers brought in by Count Telferner who got the contract to build the railroad. After Edna became established, most of the inhabitants of Red Bluff moved to Edna. One of my great Aunts was Maggie Staples who lived in the family house which was moved to Edna. She died an old maid many years ago. My father was named George Archer Staples and I am a Junior. My son is George III, known as Rex as is befitting royalty.
“I believe from the letters that the first George’s father’s name was Charles, as I have a letter or two from him as well. I do not know for certain, but suspect that George’s middle name was Anthony as Uncle Hardeman’s son was named George Anthony and the Archer I received was the last name of one of the confederate officers George served under.
“From desultory research I have concluded that the journey started near Lynchburg Virginia somewhere near the Pedlar River, which is the water supply for the city.
“My increasingly dim memory seems to recall that George married a woman named White and I know that there are relatives of that name. Texas was a hard place to make a living after the civil war and all indications are that George never accumulated any significant wealth, either in land or cattle.
“Family legend indicates that the Staples men were all good looking and had a weakness for fast horses. I personally attribute their success and good fortune to hybrid vigor.”
So the young correspondent fought in the Civil War, stayed in Texas, and became a father. Given the names he gave his sons, a gifted researcher could determine George Staples’ role in the Civil War.
Thanks, Jane, for sharing these letters with me.
Until next week, all the best.
Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native.
