Part Three--VeryEarly Texas History--Panfilo de Narvaez--Conquistador?

                               

     In the two decades following Columbus’ discovery of the West Indies, Spain launched dozens of expeditions to explore and colonize the New World.   King Ferdinand richly rewarded Columbus, his descendants, and other explorers.   The native inhabitants of the islands, docile and gentle Tainos, were easily dominated, and the New World was brimming with opportunity.

     To encourage colonization, the Spanish established an encomienda system, whereby Spanish noblemen were awarded tracts of land and assigned Taino slaves.  The landowners made huge fortunes and part of the profit from these colonies was paid directly to the king as tribute.  Spanish soldiers-of-fortune flooded the islands, seeking riches.  Encomienda grants were doled out on a first-come, first-served basis, and the competition was fierce.

     Panfilo de Narvaez, a tall, blond native of Castile, came to the Caribbean as a soldier determined to make his fortune.  Even though he was of noble birth and had friends in high places, Panfilo exhibited a natural tendency to screw-up.  According to contemporary reports, he had an authoritarian personality and was unusually cruel to the Taino natives.  Considering some of his decisions, he was less than bright.   Indications are that de Narvaez was an arrogant, cruel and stupid soldier, dependent on relatives for his position and oblivious to the needs of his subordinates.

       In 1511, Panfilo’s uncle, Diego Valazquez de Cuellar, the first governor of Cuba, put him in charge of the army with orders to conquer the unarmed Tainos and subject the island to Spanish rule.  Father Bartolome de Las Casas watched as de Narvaez’s troops murdered 2500 peaceful natives whose only crime was bringing food offerings to the soldiers.  Watching the massacre, the priest changed his attitude toward the Tainos and fought against the encomienda system, slavery, and mistreatment of Indians for the rest of his life.

     When Cuba was secure, Governor de Cuellar sent Hernan Cortes to conquer Mexico for him.  After launching the expedition, the governor realized the ambitious Cortes might take over Mexico and keep it for himself.  He ordered Cortes back to Cuba.  Cortes ignored the order.  In 1520, de Cuellar appointed his nephew governor of Mexico and sent him with 1400 men to arrest Cortes, put him in irons, and bring him back to Cuba.

       Cortes, with 250 troops, proved his military worth by whipping de Narvaez and his army.  De Narvaez not only demonstrated military ineptitude, but lost an eye in the battle and Cortes threw him into prison in Veracruz for two years.   The Cuban soldiers, promised gold and recognizing competent leadership, deserted Narvaez and joined Cortes.  With his new army, Cortes decided to keep Mexico for himself, showing that de Cuellar was a shrewd judge of character.

     When Panfilo de Narvaez was released from prison, he made his way back to Spain.  Working through contacts in the government, he convinced King Charles V to back him in a mission to explore and colonize the land along the Gulf coast, from Florida to Mexico.  The king provided ships, soldiers, and colonists, and de Narvaez led the expedition.  In June of 1527, with five ships and 600 men, de Narvaez sailed back to the New World, planning to conquer and colonize all the land north of the Gulf of Mexico.

     King Charles, wishing to protect his interests, sent a bright young man along to keep records for the king and to act as second in command.   Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca joined the expedition for his first trip to the new world.  Most of what we know of the expedition is because of his writings.

     The expedition first landed at the island of Hispaniola, where about one-fourth of the crew deserted.  The soldiers had no confidence in their one-eyed commander, and desertion was a constant problem.   Two ships and more men were lost in a hurricane off the Cuban coast.  De Narvaez planned to start at the mouth of Rio de Las Palmas, north of Vera Cruz, and work his way east, but became lost and confused.  Very confused.  He managed to land some three hundred men on the east coast of Florida, near present Tampa Bay.  Because of the confusion, de Narvaez decided to work west to the Rio de Las Palmas, which he thought to be about fifty miles.  The expedition most likely used the crude map drawn by Alavarez de Pineda eight years before, which showed Florida to be a peninsula and not an island as Ponce de Leon believed.

     De Narvaez, in a decision openly opposed by Cabeza de Vaca, sent the ships back to Havana and decided to march his troops overland to explore and occupy the country.  Local Indians, having learned from de Leon that Europeans could not to be trusted, were less than happy to see de Narvaez’s expedition.  Unable to fight the well-equipped Spaniards in the open, they hid in the jungle and picked off the Spaniards one or two at a time with arrows or lances.   Rather than allow the soldiers to occupy their villages, the Indians burned them.   There was no gold or silver and very little food.  The Spanish were soon reduced to eating their horses.

     Six months of struggling through the swamp, fighting Indians and starving, convinced de Narvaez to abandon his ambitions and return to civilization.  There was, however, a problem—no ships.  Cabeza de Vaca felt the expedition should go to Mexico across country, but de Narvaez overruled that notion.  The soldiers built a forge, and melted down every bit of metal they could find—horseshoes, stirrups, bits, fasteners, buttons, armor, anything metal—and made tools and nails to build rafts.  They built five rafts, each designed to hold forty men with oars, and used their clothing to make sails.

      De Vaca protested separation of the rafts, thinking it best that they work together.  Instead, Narvaez picked the forty strongest men to row his raft and made it clear that each barge and every man was on his own.  As they sailed and rowed close to shore, the heavy current of a river, probably the Mississippi, swept de Narvaez’s raft and two others out to sea, leaving Cabeza de Vaca to make his way along the coast with the two remaining rafts.

De Narvaez's raft was washed out into the Gulf, probably by the force of the Mississippi River. He and 150 men were lost in the Gulf of Mexico.

     Cabeza de Vaca, with two rafts and eighty-six men, kept close to shore and made his way west, planning to follow the coast to civilization in Mexico.   A hurricane washed them ashore and destroyed the rafts on a barrier island off the coast of Texas.   It may have been Galveston Island, but most historians believe it was a bit farther down the coast at Follets Island.  De Vaca named the island “The Isle of Misfortune.” 

     Only fifteen of the eighty-six men survived the winter.   Naked, without tools or weapons, and lost on a barren island, some drowned, many starved to death and some were killed by Indians for “sport.”  Cabeza de Vaca made his way to the mainland where he almost died of an illness.   Nursed back to health by the Indians, he stayed on the mainland several months.

     When de Vaca regained his health, he made his way back to the “Isle of Misfortune” and discovered that twelve of the survivors had swum to the mainland, planning to walk to Mexico.  Two men remained and de Vaca joined them to live on the island.  The Indians permitted the trio to stay, and sometimes traded food for menial labor.  De Vaca collected seashells and bartered for hides and other items with mainland Indians.  In a short time, he became a well-known trader and travelled extensively among the tribes along the coast.

 

 

More to come----

The Fire of the Angels

                                                            

Angel Fire at dawn

     Sitting with an old friend at 5:15 in the morning, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee on Davis Ford’s front porch in New Mexico, we watched as a faint rose-colored glow started to show in the east, just over the mountain and just under the cloud cover.   Soon an intense red fire filled the triangle formed by the mountains and the dark clouds above.

      After several minutes, crimson rays began to grow out of the formation and tentatively creep across the bottom of the cirrus clouds, lighting them up.  Within seconds the fleecy white clouds that had been invisible in the dark glowed fiery red, filling the sky with intense color.  The entire sky ignited with “Angel Fire.”   Another day began.

     I had decided not to include this post on my blog, considering it too personal, but it is, after all, about a bunch of boys from Lubbock—old boys, but Lubbock boys, none the less.  I won’t ask that you do the math, we’re all around seventy-eight years old, and showing that age in various ways.  All of us hurt somewhere and some of us hurt everywhere, but, characteristically, no one from Lubbock mentions his pains or infirmities.  Some were too old to fish, sightseeing was fun so long as we stayed in the car, and we almost lost Brad in a hot tub, but everyone’s sense of humor stayed intact.  We laughed our wrinkled old asses off.

     Eight of us, classmates from Lubbock High School, enjoyed Davis Ford’s hospitality at Angel Fire for two days, and then drove north to Creede, Colorado, to join three other classmates, making eleven people with at least one thing in common.  We all graduated from high school on Friday, May 27, 1955, at the Fair Park Coliseum in Lubbock, Texas.  Technically, Brad didn’t walk across the stage that night due to complications having to do with the mindset of Lubbock in the fifties, but he got his diploma the next week and it is just as official as any of ours.

     We laughed.  We fished.  We joked.  We ate.  We explored.  We laughed.  We enjoyed each other.

Headquarters at Freemon Ranch near Creede.

     Our hosts for the Creede and Gunnison parts of the trip, James Collins and Neil McMullen, had several reasons to put together this package.  They want to stay connected .   They enjoy fly fishing and leading others to their favorite hot spots.  They want to share the magnificent mountains they love.  They enjoy laughing with old friends.

McMullen's justifiably famous scratch biscuits and gravy, with a side of bacon.  For dessert, smear one of these babies with soft butter and top it with grape or apricot jelly--it'll stick to your ribs.

     Many times, when visiting with a friend from my youth, I have a quiet yearning to end the visit.   I want to move on, finish this conversation and speak with someone else.   I’ve wondered about this, and decided that I have placed that person in a certain box in my memory and he or she has changed.  I want to get away, so I can put them back into their proper boxes and not be confused by the people they have become.  Unless they are very interesting, I don’t want to make a new box.  I was not bothered by that sensation on this trip with these guys.

Did I mention that we laughed?  This in Neil's backyard at Gunnison.  I didn't step it off, but I'd say the Gunnison River, there on the right, is about forty feet from his back door.

     These men are the same people they were in high school, evolved and polished by time and experience.  It is not possible for these guys to be boring—they have special talents which have carried them past the norms in life.   All have that deep-seated ambition that is a trademark of the High Plains.  Their careers span those initials we read about—MDs, MBAs, PhDs, LLBs, CEOs, and Captains of Industry.  I felt honored to be included.  Did I mention how much we laughed?  

     We learned important lessons, just growing up in Lubbock.  Ten years old and almost crying after I struck out once, a baseball coach at the Boys Club put his hand on my shoulder and told me, “As long as you’re swinging son, you’re dangerous.”  I took the message to heart and have used it often throughout my life.  It fits a lot of situations.

      The Creede Crew in alphabetical order:  James Collins, Davis Ford, Truitt Garrison, Jim McLaughlin, Neil McMullen, Larry Merriman, James Pope, Wayne Ratisseau, Brad Reeves, Paul Sikes, and Roy Turner.  This is a funny bunch of old men—boy, did we laugh.

     The whole week was wonderful, if perhaps a bit bittersweet because of our age.  Time polished some of us a bit more than others, and leaned heavily on all of us, but we’re still here and we’re still swinging.  I cannot help but remember a line from a favorite poem of mine—“Why, to be in such fine company would make a deacon proud.”  

This little creek feeds into the Rio Grande.  During the 1880's, the stage coach from Creede to Lake City stopped overnight here, to give the passengers a needed rest.  The Rio Grande originates in those mountains beyond.  All this was part of Texas until 1848.

 

   P.S.  I read that Angel Fire was named for the fiery reflection of the late afternoon sun on the snow-covered mountains and not for the fantastic sunrise.  I suppose a Madison Avenue ad man named it to attract skiers.  He should have been there in the summer, just after 5:00 AM.

More early Texas History

Columbus sailed on the Santa Maria, with the Nina and the Pinta nearby.

        In 1492, when Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca was just two years old, Columbus left Portugal, crossed the Atlantic Ocean and sailed, more or less aimlessly, around the Caribbean Sea trying to figure out where he was.    He realized the world was round, but it was about twice as big as he imagined.   He was convinced that   everything would be fine if he could just find India.  Or maybe China.  Instead, he kept finding islands.

      The islands he found were inhabited by friendly indigenous people called Tainos.  After his first encounter with the Tainos, in the Bahamas, Columbus wrote King Ferdinand and described them as tall, well formed, handsome people.  He went on to say:

     “They traded with us and gave us everything they had, with good will….They took great delight in pleasing us.  They are very gentle and without knowledge of what is evil; nor do they murder or steal….Your Highness may believe that in all the world there can be no better people….They love their neighbors as themselves, and they have the sweetest talk in the world, and are gentle and always laughing.”

The Tainos were handsome people, warm and gentle and eager to please the Spaniards.

This is, no doubt, a Hollywood version of the Tainos.

Regardless of Columbus’ feeling that there were “no better people” on earth, the Spaniards were more than ready to give these “gentle and ….laughing” people knowledge of “what is evil.”  Columbus believed the “Indians” would make great slaves, and on his second voyage, in 1493 and 1494, set about to conquer and enslave them.  He decided the subdued natives would pay a tribute which he would split with the king.  Every three months, every native over fourteen years of age was required to deliver a hawk’s bell full of gold to Columbus.  If there was no gold, Columbus would accept twenty-five pounds of spun cotton.  If the Tainos did not pay, Spanish soldiers cut off their hands and left them to bleed to death.

     The Indians rebelled against these harsh methods without much success.  Many died in battle, and many, forced into slavery and not allowed to work their fields, starved to death.  The biggest killer of all was disease—the natives had no immunity to smallpox, measles, influenza, typhoid, or other European maladies and hundreds of thousands were infected and died.   In 1492, the apex of Taino society and coincidently, the arrival of Columbus, historians estimate one and a half million natives lived on the island of Hispaniola alone, with at least that many more scattered among other islands. Some estimates put the entire Caribbean population at over eight million, and "long counters"estimate over thirty million.  In any case, only fifty years later, in 1540, the Taino population of the islands stood at forty thousand and falling.  The Spaniards imported slaves from Africa to do the work.

     It is believed that the Tainos moved into the islands from the South American continent about 400 BC, and thrived there almost 2000 years, until the Spanish came.  Taino language gave us the words canoe, hammock, barbeque, tobacco, and hurricane.  Tainos named Cuba and Haiti.  The Karankawa Indians who lived along the Texas coast are believed to have migrated from the Caribbean. They were large, handsome people and may have been distant relatives of the Tainos.

     Columbus discovered Cuba, but was not sure if it was an island or a continent.   Perhaps it was China.  In 1494, he sailed along the south side of the island and finally, in 1508, Sebastian de Ocampo proved Cuba was not a continent by sailing around it.  Columbus never saw the mainland of either continent that blocked his way to China, but he kept searching.

      Also in the year 1492, Spain drove the Moors out of their last European stronghold, Granada.  Suddenly, a number of young Spanish soldiers were left without a war to wage.  Many of them volunteered to help explore the “New World,” and hurried west to make their fortunes.  Cuba became the center of operations in the Caribbean.  Spain conquered and enslaved the native population, and built the city of Havana on the South Coast in 1514.  The city was moved to its present location on the north side of the island in 1519 because of the superb natural harbor there.   Havana soon became the center of all commerce and culture for the New World. 

     In 1519, Hernan Cortes, a cousin of Pizarro, ignored orders to return to Cuba and proceeded to conquer the Aztecs in Mexico.  He enslaved the indigenous people, put them to work in the gold and silver mines, and began systematically looting the country.    The Spanish king forgave his mutiny and appointed him ruler of Mexico in 1523.   Ruthless and universally disliked by his contemporaries, Cortes became one of the richest and most powerful men in the New World.

     Ships arriving from Spain unloaded their cargo into Havana’s warehouses.  Treasure ships returning to Spain stopped in Havana to take on fresh food and supplies for the voyage back to Europe. Conquistadores and explorers planned their trips and outfitted their ships among the wharves in Havana.  About this time, a twenty-one year old Cabaza de Vaca joined the army in Spain and began making a name for himself on the battlefield.

The Spanish conquistadores were young, ambitious and utterly ruthless.  They shared a complete disregard for the welfare of the natives in whatever area they conquered, enslaved them, killed them in battle, and wiped out whole populations with European disease.  When the native populations died off, the Spaniards imported slaves from Africa.

     Most of these conquerors knew each other, or at least knew of each other.   Ponce de Leon arrived in the New World with Columbus, on his second voyage in 1493, as one of 200 “gentlemen volunteers.”   DeSoto fought alongside Pizarro and Balboa, and became rich in the conquest of Peru.  Ponce De Leon became the first governor of Puerto Rico before he decided, in 1512, to lead an expedition to search for gold, explore, and colonize lands to the north.  He discovered and named La Florida, which he thought was another big island.  A popular legend was born fifty years after his death, when a writer wondered if De Leon had been searching for the “Fountain of Youth.”

     Financed by the governor of Jamaica, Alonso Alvarez de Pineda set out to map the coast of the gulf from the “island” of Florida to the Panuco River, just north of Veracruz.  He hoped to find an ocean route to China.  Pineda was the first to see and map the Gulf Coast of Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas, land which he called “Amichel.”  His explorations verified the fact that Florida was a peninsula, and he was the first European to see the Mississippi River.  His notes describe the river and the many Indian settlements on its banks.   He sailed eighteen miles upriver from the coast before he returned to the Gulf.    Historians are always ready to dispute the findings of each other.   Some suggest he missed the Mississippi River altogether and, instead, sailed eighteen miles into Mobile Bay.

A "cleaned up" version of Pineda's first map showing the Texas Coast.

     Pineda’s map, done in 1514, was the first document in Texas history.  By today’s standards, it is a rather crude rendition, with an oversized Cuba dominating the center of the Gulf, a misshapen Yucatan Peninsula to the left, and the coast curving past Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and finally terminating at a rather boxy-shaped Florida on the far right.  Pineda proved La Florida was not an island, proved there was no outlet to China from the Gulf, and proved the Gulf was much larger than previously believed.  Cortes disputed his findings, probably in an attempt to keep from sharing any of the discovered lands with one of his many rivals, Francisco de Garay, the governor of Jamaica who financed Pineda’s expedition.

     Pineda’s discoveries were taken to Seville and entered into the Patron Real, a master map of the Caribbean set up for the king to keep track of all discoveries, claims, and counter-claims in the area.   These maps were shared with any Spanish ship’s captains, explorers, or conquistadores bound for the New World.   One of the first explorers to use Pineda’s information was Panfilo de Narvez, who, in 1527, mounted an expedition to explore, colonize, and settle La Florida.  A thirty-five year old soldier with the unlikely name of “Head of a Cow,” Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca, was the king’s accountant and second in military command of this expedition.

 

More to come….

Very early Texas History

 

Giant Bison, weighing near 4,000 lbs, were common around Lubbock until about 15,000 years ago.

      Texas History starts whenever the historian wants it to start.  Some have placed the beginnings of Texas at the time man first crossed the land bridge at the Bering Strait and began to filter down between the glaciers into North America and naturally settle in the garden spot of this continent, around present-day Lubbock, Texas.

     Newer evidence suggests that this migration happened, but may not have populated Texas.  The first humans on Texas soil may have come from Europe or Africa, by sailing across a narrow part of the Atlantic, landing in South America and working their way north.  Then again, they may have floated over from Polynesia and landed in Chile.  Perhaps all of the above contributed to the settlement of early Texas.  Because of advances in the study of DNA, all these theories have some merit and are being investigated.

     No matter how they got here, there is solid evidence that humans lived near Lubbock over 12,000 years ago.  At the Lubbock Lakes Archeological Site, one excavated cliff wall shows proof of continual habitation  from before that time.  This site is the only place in North America showing such evidence.  Indications are that early Texans hunted Wooly Mammoths and Giant Bison in this area, butchered their kill here, and dried and preserved the meat.  A variety of artifacts, flint spear points, arrowheads, and cutting tools show that these Indians were nomads.  Some lived near here and others came from afar or perhaps traded with distant peoples.

     Instead of getting into an argument about who came first from where, fast forward 12,000 years to 1211 A.D.  The Moors from North Africa conquered most of the south half of the Iberian Peninsula and the Pope in Rome was worried they would take the rest of Spain, and then Europe, which would put him out of a job.  He was so worried that he ordered the Christian Kings of the area to quit squabbling among themselves and join together in a Crusade against the Muslims.  Most everyone joined.  It is no surprise that the French didn’t like the rules and took their 30,000 knights and went home.

     Pope Innocent III ordered this Crusade.  Thinking this might be the first example of an oxymoron in modern history, I read all I could about him.  He was not the first oxymoron—at least two examples preceded him—Innocent I and II.

     King Alphonso VIII of Castile,  Jimenez De Rado, the Archbishop of Toledo,  Sancho VII of Navarre,  and Pedro II of Aragon followed Innocent III’s orders, pooled their armies, and set out with some 50,000 soldiers to fight the Saracens.  The Muslim horde, estimated to be over 125,000 men, was camped in a secure valley near Las Navas, protected on all sides by impassable mountains.  They rested peacefully, knowing they controlled the high ground at the only known pass into the valley.



     A local shepherd, Martin Alhaja, (or Halaja) told the soldiers of a secret pass into the valley which he had marked with a cow’s skull.   The troops found the pass, staged a forced march through the night, and surrounded the surprised Muslims on the morning of July 16, 1212.  The ensuing Battle of Los Navas de Tolosa was a slaughter.

Sancho VII making short work of the Caliph's guards.

     The caliph in charge of the Muslims, Muhammad al-Nasir, camped in a splendid tent on a rise near the center of his army.  His tent consisted of “three-ply crimson velvet flecked with gold; strings of pearls descending from its purple fringes.”  Rows of chain radiated from the center of his camp, and tied in place 3,000 camels.  Inside the ring of camels, 10,000 black slaves were chained together in a circle, their steel tipped lances facing outward at an angle, with the bases buried in the ground.  According to reports by the Christians, the caliph stood inside this protection, “wearing the green dress and turban of his ancestral line,” holding a scimitar in one hand and a Koran in the other.  He read passages from the Koran which promised all the delights of paradise to any young man who perished in religious battle and the torments of hell to any coward who should desert his ranks.

     The Spanish attacked eagerly.  Sancho VII drove his war horses through the lines of camels and made short work of the chained, immobile slave guards.  Muhammad al-Nasir fled on a mare and “did not rest until he had reached Jaen,” where he spent long hours writing elaborate excuses as to why he lost the battle.  The Spanish soldiers roamed the mountains for the next few days, slaughtering Muslim stragglers.  Causality estimates are perhaps exaggerated, but approximately 100,000 Muslims are claimed to have perished, while the Spanish only lost some 2,000 men.

     Written accounts of the battle are available from both sides and are interesting in their contradictions.  Moorish reports tend to stress the unavoidable series of unfortunate circumstances which befell the competent commanders, while most of the Spanish reports come from various letters to the Pope and uniformly cite the hand of God and the influence of the Pope in the victory.  Self-serving statements praising the authors are scattered through all the documents, no matter which side they represent.

     The caliph’s elaborate tent was sent to Innocent III as a gift from Alphonse VIII, in case the Pope needed a folding three-bedroom, two-bath place to sleep.  Perhaps in deference to the Pope, no mention was made of the dispensation of the harem. The poor shepherd, Martin Alhaja, was appointed a nobleman, and gifted appropriate lands and a coat of arms.  He was bestowed the title Cabeza de Vaca—the head of the cow.

Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca, probably in 1540 or so.  He must have been very wise, because he sure wasn't pretty.

       The heirs of Cabeza de Vaca prospered, and almost three hundred years later, in 1490, Francisco de Vara and Teresa Cabeza de Vaca had a son named Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca.  Two years later, in 1492, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella's armies finally drove the last Moors out of Granada and across the Mediterranean into North Africa.  That same year, Isabella backed an unknown Italian, Christopher Columbus, on a quest to find a short cut to India.  Spain was on a roll.

The Reason I was Banned from McDonald's

     When my son, Paul, was eight years old, we had his birthday party at the farm.  Our rule was one guest for each year, so Paul invited eight friends, all boys.  Most of these boys were also in his Cub Scout troop and on his Little League team.  Charlotte and I were well acquainted with all the parents.

     The farm was called the Easy Three Ranch, located near Austonio, Texas, about twenty miles west of Crockett.  Being from West Texas, I called it a farm.  Two hundred acres to me is a small farm, but the other two-thirds of the EZ3 partnership, Ken Black and Hugh Ruggles, deemed it a ranch.  Because most everyone from Houston lived in a condo or on a 5,000 square foot residential lot, they considered it vast acreage.

     After work on Friday, the boys gathered at our home, with their bedrolls and overnight gear.  I loaded the gear into the trunk of my car and put the boys into Charlotte’s Buick Estate Wagon.  I drove the wagon and carried the boys.  Charlotte and our twelve-year-old daughter, Devon, followed in my car.  They were my support group, along to help with food prep and other chores.

     All the seats in the Buick folded down, which created a semi-level, carpeted platform from the back of the front seat to the rear window of the wagon.  Plenty of room for the nine little guys and they loved it.  Seat belts were not mandatory then, and would have impeded the natural flow of busy boys in the back of the car.  I only had three rules—don’t fight, don’t pester the driver, and don’t jump out the window.  Being safety conscious, I locked the doors and windows from the driver’s seat.  I turned on the A/C, tuned in some good country music, and zoned out for 112 miles.

     We got to the farm in time to build a wonderful fire in the pit behind the house.  The boys sang camp songs, roasted hot dogs, and did S’mores all around.  Everyone had a bath, brushed his teeth, and bedded down in the bunkroom before eleven.  They slept very well.

     I fixed scrambled eggs, German-fried potatoes, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy for breakfast, with orange juice and milk.  Some of the guys didn’t like some of the food, but most of them found something they would eat.  Josh Spikerman ate everything in sight, and Shane Rogers didn’t like anything.  I offered him oatmeal.  No way.  I finally told him, “Tough stuff, Shane.  Maybe we’ll have something you’ll like for lunch.”

     Paul led the guys on a nature hike, through the thicket, around the lake, and out into the hay meadow. He taught them how to herd cattle by waving his arms and yelling as he charged.  The cows hooked it into the next pasture. We spent the rest of the morning shooting arrows at targets I had set up on the ends of the round hay bales stored in the meadow. 

     Charlotte and Devon brought lunch out at about 1:30.  Cold drinks, deli sandwiches and potato chips. Shane Rogers drank a Coke, ate two thick bologna and cheese sandwiches and two bags of chips.   Charlotte worried that he would get terminal constipation. 

     We finished Saturday with Paul’s favorite dinner—brisket I’d smoked all day and Charlotte’s potato salad, followed by the mandatory birthday cake.   After a session in the hot tub in lieu of showers, everyone fell asleep without any trouble.  Sunday morning, I fixed oatmeal and orange juice, we cleaned up our trash, straightened the house, loaded our gear and left the farm at about 11:30, planning a stop for lunch on the way home.

     I pulled up to the McDonald’s in Huntsville with the after-church crowd at 12:45 and waited in line.  When it was my turn, I eased up to the window and ordered ten assorted drinks and ten Happy Meals, nine with everything and Shane Rogers’ plain, no pickles, no secret sauce.  I was worn out.  My ears hurt. My back hurt. I was bone tired. The girl at the window took my money and asked me to drive forward to the next window to pick up my order.

    The timid little girl at the service window passed our drinks to me and I distributed them.  Then she handed me ten sacks, one marked with a yellow tag for Shane.  I passed them out and prepared to get back on the road.

    “Mine has secret sauce on it!  And pickles.  I can’t eat secret sauce and I hate pickles.”  Shane yelled from the back seat. 

    I put the car in park and asked the girl to give me a second.  “Everyone check your burgers and find the one without sauce or pickles.”  No such luck—all had sauce.  I returned Shane’s to the girl, apologized and asked her to replace it. 

     She smiled and said, “No problem, sir.  We’ll fix another one.  Just pull forward and wait over there and we’ll bring it to you in a few minutes.”

     I put the wagon in drive, then had a thought.  I put it back in park.  “I’ll just wait right here, if It’s all right with you.”

       “Oh no, Sir.  You must move—you’re blocking the whole line.  Please drive forward.”

      “You don’t understand.  I want that burger to be as important to you all as it is to me.  I’ll just stay right here till I get it.” 

     The Plymouth immediately behind, knowing I had received my order, gave a polite little toot on his horn.  I put my foot on the brake to show him the size of my tail lights.

     “Oh, Sir!  You can’t do this.  Please move up to that parking space and I’ll get your burger right out.  Please don’t make me call the manager.”   The poor child was almost in tears. 

     A Chevy Blazer, three cars back, started honking.  I noticed Charlotte and Devon had pulled around the line, and were waiting at the edge of the parking lot.

     “It’s not my burger, Ma‘am.  It is for Shane Rogers.  He doesn’t like secret sauce and he cannot stand pickles.  Call your manager.  I’m not moving.”

     The young lady slammed the sliding glass shut and spoke into the microphone.  In a minute or so, a yuppie-looking fellow in his early thirties, with a McDonald’s baseball cap on backwards, a Golden Arches Polo shirt and slacks, came out of the store and motioned with a lot of authority for me to move forward into the parking space he designated.  His manner said I should do so immediately.

     I put my car in drive and moved forward about three feet, enough to clear the service window, but still block the drive.   I stopped, put it in park and killed the engine.  Clear of the service window, I could open the door and step out.  The Plymouth driver went crazy, standing on his horn.  He was six feet from his lunch.  He could see it getting cold in the window.  A jacked-up pickup pulled out of line six cars back and roared past me.  The driver was honking with one hand and shooting me the finger with the other.   A sweet-looking girl in the front seat was shooting me the finger with both hands.

     I stepped out of the manicured ivy bed and onto the sidewalk with the manager.

     “You’ve got to move that car.  No one can get through the line.  This is our busiest time.  We’ve got orders piling up inside.  I’ve been nice about this, but I want that car moved now!”  The young manager seemed to be under a lot of stress.

     “You would be making a lot better use of your time to get back inside and make Shane’s hamburger.  I waited in line to order it.  I waited in line to pay for it.  I waited in line to pick it up.  I’m not waiting in line anymore.  Let the line wait on me.  You have my money.  I want that burger.”  I was growing short of patience.

     “Look here, now!  We can’t be held responsible to instantly produce every special order some spoiled kid wants. These things take time.  I want that car moved.   You need to move it right now!”

     In the great scheme of things, I have to admit that I may have been a bit unreasonable.  I was tired and looked forward to nothing more than getting on my way with all the boys quietly sipping their drinks and munching their burgers.  I wanted to get them back to their parents and away from me as soon as possible.  It had been a great weekend, but enough was enough.   Besides, that yuppie irritated me.  I enjoyed pulling his chain.

     “I’ll move the car as soon as I have that burger.  It is not complicated. “   I held my left hand out, palm up, as I spoke.  My right arm rotated, windmill style, until my right hand slapped down on my left palm.  At the impact of the palms, I did a little hop, both feet coming off the ground. 

     “I want a piece of bread.”  Slap. Hop. “I want a piece of meat.” Slap. Hop. “I want a piece of cheese.” Slap. Hop. “I want a piece of bread.” Slap. Hop.  “That’s it. I’ve already paid for it. I don’t care if you make it yourself or if you get it from Jack-in-the-Box,  I’m not moving until I get it.”

     I turned and started back to the car.  Nine boys, all with eyes wide and mouths open, peered through the windows on that side of the car.  Several people in the line were standing outside their cars, trying to see what was happening.   The jacked-up pickup came around again, honking and shooting fingers from both windows.  I glanced at Charlotte and Devon, parked near the edge of the lot.  Charlotte wore a curious, exasperated look and Devon was laughing hysterically.  Both of them have reacted to my antics much the same way for the last forty-odd years.

     “Here’s your burger, Sir.”  The timid country girl held out the sack with Shane’s lunch.  “Please come back soon.”  I arched an eyebrow.  She realized what she’d said and flushed with embarrassment.

     I got into the car.  Shane checked his burger and found it satisfactory.  I adjusted the mirrors, fastened my seat belt, checked the blinkers, and drove to Houston.  

     Paul turned eight in 1982.  Those kids are in their forties now, and to this day, when I see any of them, they ask if I’ve been to McDonald’s lately.

Texas Independence Day March 2, 1836

     I wrote this a couple of days ago, hoping to get it ready to publish on the 2^nd, but I let it slide because I've discovered the joy of ignoring deadlines.  March 2, by the way, is not the day Houston beat Santa Anna at San Jacinto.  It is not the day the Alamo fell.  It is not the day the drunks at Gonzales fired the cannon shot through the pecan trees over the Guadalupe River.  It is none of those things.

     On this day in 1836, 179 years ago, fifty-nine elected representatives and an appointed secretary all signed the Texas Declaration of Independence.  The day was not unlike today, with the wind blowing cold and damp through the unchinked walls of a half-finished, wood-frame capitol building at Washington-on-the-Brazos, the newest designated capital city of Texas.   The delegates covered the window openings with sheets and huddled around a wood stove, attempting to keep warm as they made plans for the colony.

     Colonial conventions had been held in San Felipe in 1832 and 1833, and a “Consultation” took place there in 1835.  The chief purpose of these meetings had been to ask Mexico to honor a pledge to return to the liberal policies of the Constitution of 1824, which Santa Anna agreed to do, but then characteristically reneged on his promise.   A secondary purpose of the conventions was to convince Mexico to allow Texas affairs to be dealt with in Texas, and not govern the colony from far-off Saltillo. 
     The Texians discovered that a “hat in the hands” approach to the Mexican bureaucrats did not work.  Stephen Austin, who, hat in hand, delivered these requests, was promptly imprisoned for over two years.  The colonists decided to mail a letter next time.
      New delegates, mostly a rowdy bunch of lawyers and real estate promoters known as “War Dogs,” were elected for the convention of 1836. Many were new to Texas, trying to get in on the land grab.  Only ten members of the group had been in Texas for more than six years, and fifteen had been here less than one year.   The “War Dogs” were openly opposed to rule by Mexico and loud in their criticisms.  The stately Lorenzo De Zavala and the learned Jose Navarro represented the Tejano population, along with Francisco Ruis (spelled elsewhere as Ruiz).  All other delegates were white European males, including Thomas J. Rusk and Sam Houston.  William B. Travis did not attend the convention because of pressing business at the Alamo.
      The Convention of 1836 convened on March 1, and the president, Richard Ellis, from the Red River delegation, wasted no time.  He did away with all pretense and immediately appointed a five man committee to write a declaration of independence.  The committee was chaired by George Childress, and included Edward Conrad, James Gaines, Bailey Hardeman, and Collin McKinney.  Indications are that Childress did most of the work on the document, and probably came to the convention with a draft already prepared.  He was obviously primed for the task—the committee presented a complete draft of the declaration first thing the next morning and it was passed by a unanimous vote on the first reading, without discussion. 
       Stated in language borrowed freely from Thomas Jefferson’s American Declaration of Independence,  the Texas declaration contained a long list of real and imagined grievances.  Among examples of dire suppressions named in the Texas document are, “….our interests have been continually depressed…., carried on at a far distant seat of government, by a hostile majority, in an unknown tongue…” and, “It denies us the right of worshipping the Almighty according to the dictates of our own conscience, by the support of a national religion, calculated to promote the temporal interest of its human functionaries, rather than the glory of the true and living God.” 

     The document includes several examples of unwelcome intervention by the Catholic Church, corruption within the Mexican Government, and, as if the Indians needed encouragement, it accuses the Mexicans of inciting the Comanche to rape, scalp, and pillage the settlers. 

      The Mexican Government did not lie or trick these people into colonization.   Every man in the room had come to Texas knowing that it was a colony of Mexico and all official business would be conducted in Spanish.  Most of the delegates were landowners.  To own land in Texas, one had to swear allegiance to Mexico,  join the Catholic Church, and accept Spanish as the national language.

      After the list of grievances, the document continued, “We are, therefore, forced to the melancholy conclusion, that the Mexican people have acquiesced in the destruction of their liberty, and the substitution therfor of a military government; that they are unfit to be free and incapable of self-government.”

     Having introduced the idea that the Mexican people were incapable of governing themselves, and therefore unfit to be free, the Texians announced that they were not hampered by such limitations, and would no longer submit to Mexico’s laws, “unknown tongue,” or “national religion.”   Texas was declared a free and independent nation, open to the judgment and dealings of an “impartial” world.

     Logical questions arise from many quarters.  Was this simply a land grab by a bunch of shady real estate agents?  Did these promoters really have any patriotic intentions or were they just power and profit driven scum who stole Texas from Mexico?  Is this just another example of white European males taking advantage of poor, unsophisticated, simple people?  Are we not morally obligated to give this territory back?
 
      The Mexicans are a fun-loving, happy race.  They work incredibly hard and take good care of their families.  Most attend church and, as much as is possible, help the poor.  They are honest, warm-hearted, good-natured and resourceful.  The peons laugh, drink cervesa, gamble, and fiddle around with their neighbors' wives.  On the other hand, they don’t vote.  They don’t educate themselves. They don’t pay debts. They don’t own property.  They don‘t deserve Texas.    

     Back in 1836, many of the delegates wanted to adjourn and hurry to San Antonio to help Travis and his boys at the Alamo, but Sam Houston convinced them it was more important to stay and establish a government for the new republic.  Their efforts to relieve the Alamo would have been in vain—it fell within four days.  It is doubtful they could have made the journey in time to get slaughtered by the Mexican troops under Santa Anna, so, instead of a futile attempt to save the Alamo, the delegates, quietly encouraged and nudged forward by Sam Houston, settled for a futile attempt to write a constitution.

     Some of these delegates, including Thomas Rusk and Lorenzo De Zavala, were pure and noble in their intentions.  They wanted to establish a fair and democratic nation for the betterment of all the people.  On the other hand,  delegates such as Robert Potter were simply rotten to the core, and wanted nothing more than to line their own pockets.  Most of them were between the two poles.  Politicians are no different today.   They are motivated by self-interest, and every single one of them can find moral justification for taking someone else’s property. 
        I have reached my own melancholy conclusion and wish to answer from a purely intellectual standpoint.  Screw the fun loving Mexicans.  They could not govern themselves in 1836 and they cannot do it now. Look at the condition of their country. One dictator after another moves in and seduces the populace with promises of power to the people.  He says let us share the wealth, and offer equal reward for equal effort, and so on, and so on.  Immediately upon gaining office, he executes all known or suspected enemies, raids the treasury, confiscates private property, encourages and accepts bribes, and grinds the common people under his heel.

     Give Texas back?  Pay reparations?  Feel remorse?  I take a white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant view of the situation.  Ain't  gonna happen.

The Rabbit Hunt



If you
If you're gonna hunt Jack Rabbits, this is a good place to do it.  Did you know Mark Twain called them Jackass Rabbits, because of their big ears.  That was shortened to Jack Rabbits and came into general use.

     If you are a regular reader of mine, you know about Buck Campbell and Charlie Flowers.  They farmed in Muleshoe, and have been friends of mine for over sixty years.   Their sons, Scott Campbell and Eddie Flowers, grew up together.

     One night, during their senior year, Scott and Eddie decided to go rabbit hunting.  If you were a high school boy and lived in Muleshoe, that was a popular pastime, made more so because it provided an opportunity to drink beer with friends in the middle of the night.  The equipment needed was minimal—a pickup truck, a spotlight, a cooler chest, and a 22 rifle.  Some cheaters used shotguns, but right-thinking sportsmen considered shotguns unfair to the rabbits.

     The best time to hunt rabbits is between 1:00 and 3:00 AM, while they’re out feeding.  A foursome of teenage boys pile into a pickup truck and drive across the prairie, scanning the area with a high-powered, Q-Beam spotlight until a rabbit is spotted.  Each boy plays a specific role, one driving, one spotlighting, and two standing in the pickup bed, holding onto the headache rack and shooting over the cab.  Every so often, they rotate, so everyone gets to shoot.

     Muleshoe rabbits do not deliver Easter eggs.  They are not cute little Cottontails.  Muleshoe rabbits are long-legged, big-boned jack rabbits that are incredibly fast and very tasty.  They can be chicken-fried or cooked into a wonderful stew.  Sydna Flowers made a legendary rabbit pot pie.

     A rabbit hunt is pure excitement.  When the rabbit is spotted, all hell breaks loose.  The bright light temporarily blinds and confuses the rabbit, but it recovers and takes off like wild fire.  The shooters fire away with semi-automatic 22 long rifles.  It sounds like a Mexican revolution.   The rabbit pops up and down at top speed across the prairie, while the driver keeps his foot in it and the truck bounces over the pasture.  The spotlighter focuses the light on the critter as best he can. Panic-stricken rabbits do not run like other creatures.  They take long, erratic hops high into the air, incredibly quick and mostly in a zig-zag line.   The best hunters time their shots to catch their quarry in mid-hop, when it can’t change direction and seems to float above the landscape.

     The boys were not allowed to hunt rabbits on school nights, but one of their friends had scored a case of Coors, and all high school kids know that stuff will spoil if it ages too much.  Charles Flowers came in from the cattle auction after eleven that evening.  At 12:30, the boys pushed his pickup out of the driveway and down the street, so Sydna Flowers would not hear it start.  No danger of Charles hearing anything after the cattle auction.

I tried my best to get a picture of a Jack Rabbit in here, but it would not work, so I just put her in.  Ain't she cool?

 

     By 2:30, the boys had a half-dozen rabbits skinned and field dressed on ice in the cooler.  Eddie was driving and all four boys were in the front seat, drinking the last of the beer and singing “There were Ninety-Nine Beer Bottles, a hanging on the Wall.”

     The bar ditch came up suddenly and Eddie tried to turn left and miss it.  Too late.  The pickup slammed into the ditch.   The front passenger side tire smashed into the far wall and the wheel bent under the axle at a weird angle.  The boys managed to push the truck out and get it on solid ground.   It listed a bit toward the right front, but, after they changed the flat tire on the crooked wheel, the vehicle was drivable.  Only problem, it took two guys to hold the steering wheel and keep the truck going straight down the road.

    “My dad’s gonna kill me!"  Eddie groused.  "He’ll be mad as hell when he sees that wheel.  I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” 

     “Don’t panic, Eddie."  Scott had an analytical mind.  Let’s think about this for a minute.   Your dad went to the cattle auction tonight.  You know what he generally does at the cattle auction.  He sips Black Jack with my dad and Charlie Tom Isaacs, and they all get plastered.  Isn’t that right?”  

     “Yeah, but that won’t help.  He’ll have a headache and just get madder.  You know how he gets if someone messes with his truck.”

     “Well, we just might get lucky.  If we can get the truck back in the driveway without waking anybody up, he might come out in the morning and think he bent that wheel himself."  Scott said logically.  "It’s worth a try.  Beats hell out of waking everyone up and telling a made-up story.   We don’t dare resort to the truth, and they ain’t no lie we can tell that they’ll believe.”

     They killed the motor three houses down and the boys managed to push the pickup into the driveway without waking anyone.   All four walked home—it was not far.  After all, this was Muleshoe, not some big town like Lubbock or Odessa.

     Every Friday morning at 5:45, the twelve members of the Muleshoe Politically Correct Conservative Action Committee meet for breakfast at the Dinner Bell Café on Highway 84, just across the road from Leal’s Mexican Food.  They talk about manly things—politics, religion, crops, weather, government subsidies, and big-titted women.  They wonder if it will ever rain again.

     “Man, I’m damn lucky to be here this morning,” Flowers said.  “I mighta had a drink or two last night, but  I don’t rightly remember.  I musta hit a curb or something on the way home.  Bent the front wheel on my pickup over sideways and I can’t hardly herd the damn thing down the road.  Sydna’s gonna be pissed, too.”

     Bobby Dale Johnson grinned.  “As far as I can tell, Sydna has good reason to be P.O.’d at you most of the time.  She got somethin’ extra to be mad about now?” 

     “Well, when I got in the truck this morning, I didn’t feel too good, but I cranked it up anyway, put it in gear and went to back out.  It didn’t want to go, so I goosed it.  The damn thing jumped clean sideways and smashed into Sydna’s car.  Tore hell out of it.  She’ll be madder’n a wet hen.  Tommy Joe, I’ll come down to your office and fill out them claim forms soon as Willie James can get me some estimates.  You reckon they’ll cancel my insurance?”

     “Damn, Flowers, if they was gonna cancel it, they’d a done it last year after you run the cattle trailer over Buck’s yard and took out that motor home.  I’ll write a letter to submit with the claim, kinda explaining things from your point of view.  It’ll be all right.”  Tommy Joe turned toward the waitress.  “Hey, Ruthie!  Is they some law against us getting any more biscuits over here?”

     Almost twenty years later, during happy hour one evening at his Dad’s home, Scott told the true story of the rabbit hunt.   Nobody enjoyed it more or laughed harder than Charlie Flowers.

      Charles Flowers died three years ago with stomach cancer.  His friends and neighbors miss him a lot.  Flowers had his flaws, as we all do, and was little-known outside the high plains.  He lived his entire life in that harsh and beautiful environment, and became a legend.  Stories about his exploits live on and grow more elaborate with each telling.  Charles taught us all how to live.