Sunrise from the front porch of "Lonesome," Davis Ford's place on the Llano Estacado.  It is easy for a man to feel insignificent in a setting like this.  Photo by R.G. Box.

      I do not typically do book reviews in this blog, so this will be an exception.  A special book, well done and appropriate for anyone interested in the history of the Llano Estacado will soon be available.  The book, “Son of the Llano Estacado,” is the biography of my classmate, Davis Lee Ford, written by his long-time associate, Pam Arthur.

     I have been aware that Ms. Arthur was working on the book for the last two years, and expected a well-written, but dry,  recitation of facts about the life and times of Dr. Davis L. Ford, PhD, PE.  When I got an advance copy, I was blown away.  The book adequately covers the lifetime of Davis and his family, but it is so much more.  Pam Arthur has written a history of the High Plains and the Panhandle of Texas and some of the pioneers who first survived, then prospered in that harsh environment.

     The book traces the lives of quiet, gritty men who struggled with the elements in the Llano Estacado.  By sheer determination and force of will, they raised cattle and wrestled crops from the parched dirt of dry-land farms.  They fought and won against all odds—drought, insects, blizzards, real estate promoters, and Dallas bankers.

     My favorite parts of the book have to do with the women who worked at the sides of these men.  These ladies were beautiful, well-educated, genteel and far ahead of their times.  They were deceptively quiet, supportive, strong-willed, and ambitious.  I’ve read of an “iron fist in a velvet glove.”  Pam Arthur, in her depictions of these women, put faces to that phrase.

     The book is a must-read for anyone who grew up on the High Plains in the fifties.  Outside the history, the lifetime of my boyhood friend, Davis Lee Ford is worth the read.  I have known Davis for sixty years, but I had no idea all he has accomplished.  The book covered his career and, to the author’s credit, even made Civil Engineering interesting. 

     For those of you with reading problems, hundreds of pictures are included, so reading the book is not necessary.  The pictures tell the story in wonderful detail.  Several pages are devoted to Lubbock High School snapshots.  We were a good-looking bunch back then!

     According to the last information from the printers, the book should be ready in mid-December.  Copies can be ordered from:  pamarthur@gmail.com  Cost is $20.00 per book, which includes all taxes, handling, and shipping.

Dr. Davis Lee Ford, Phd, P.E., on the front porch of his Swankenda at "Lonesome."  Looking at this, it is easy to see why we perfer the view of the sunrise.   By the way, that's me on the left--the one who does not look like a Phd.  Photo by R.G. Box.

 

I love Country Music

It is not black and it is not a Torpedo model, but otherwise, it is exactly like Dad's "Black Beauty"

 

      In the summer of 1941, when I was five years old, my parents went to a dance at the Hotel Lubbock.  I don’t know the occasion, but it was not a usual thing for my parents to go to a dance, much less one held in a fancy hotel.  Dry land dirt farmers just didn’t have that kind of money. 

     My job, for the evening, was to watch over my little brother and sister, and make sure they stayed in the car.  We had no baby sitter, probably for economic reasons, so the three of us stayed in the back seat of the car, parked across a brick side street from the hotel.  Mother came out every thirty minutes or so to check on us.  The evening was pleasant and the car windows were rolled down.  Jerry and Carol were asleep, but I was awake—I had a job to do.  Besides, I was too excited to sleep.  I could hear the music from the balcony of the hotel and see fancy people up there, dancing, talking, smoking, and laughing.

       For the first time in my life, I listened to real music performed by a live band and not shrunk down and squeezed through a squeaky little radio.  The “Sons of the Pioneers” were playing and I remember Along the Navajo Trail, Cool Water, and Tumbling Tumbleweeds, all wafting down on the warm, summer air for my entertainment.  That was over seventy years ago and I still remember the clear, silky voice of Bob Nolan singing those classic lyrics and perfectly enunciating every word.  When the others joined him for choruses, the harmony was flawless.  I will be forever thankful I didn’t have to stay home that night.

       About three years later, Dad got a new car—at least it was new to us—a 1941 black Pontiac, two-door “Torpedo” style with a built-in factory radio and wide chrome stripes down the middle.  Cars were important to Dad—he named this one “Black Beauty.”  One night, as we were driving, we listened to music on the radio.  At the time, radio stations played programs, not records, so I’m sure we were hearing the Grand Ole Opry.  It could have been the Louisiana Hayride.  I think it was the Opry because Eddy Arnold sang a song and I don’t remember him singing on the Hayride.  When he finished, I remember Mom saying, “There will never be another Eddy Arnold.” Another wasn't needed.  Eddy Arnold was a fixture on the landscape of Country Music for over sixty years, releasing hit songs in every decade through the nineties.

     Country Music had character back then.  The music was earthy, plaintive, and passionate--the lyrics were simple, honest, and heartfelt.  The stories were about life and life was hard in the country during and after the depression.  These songs were sung by farm boys, fresh from the fields and close to the soil.   Names like Webb Pierce, Lefty Frizzel, Hank Thompson, Slim Whitman, Don Gibson, Furlin Husky, Carl Smith and Jim Reeves joined Eddy Arnold and Hank Williams on the radio, singing songs such as Back Street Affair, More, More, More of Your Kisses, The Wild Side of Life, and Don’t Let the Stars get in your Eyes.  In 1952, Kitty Wells became the first female solo artist to top the country charts.  Miss Kitty's song, It Wasn’t God who Made Honky-Tonk Angels, answered and rebuked Hank Thompson’s Wild Side of Life.

     I can write reams about this subject, and I will, but not here and not now.  This began as a lead-in to my thoughts on the CMA Award Show I watched last night.  What those people did may have been music, but it was not country.      

     The show originated in Nashville.  It was dark, so it was difficult to tell, but the concert must have taken place in an NFL Stadium strung with high intensity strobe lights, and mined with explosive devices.  For whatever reason, the male singers were kept in near-darkness, with a tiny spot flashing on the side, or sometimes the back of their head.  When these guys reached a dramatic point in their songs, fireworks exploded, strobe lights flashed and steam blew out hidden vents, obscuring everything onstage. Any music that might accidentally have been played was lost in the confusion.

     The female singers were, by contrast, well lighted; otherwise we could not have seen their fantastic anatomies.  Most were almost dressed in something short and tight and low cut, and I loved it, but it wasn’t country.  The skirts were so short that the beautiful ladies could not possibly hit a high note without exposing their assets.  Wardrobe malfunctions were not necessary--the blouses were cut so the top, the bottom, and most of the rest of their breasts were out there in full view.  Only the points of interest were concealed.

     The climax of the evening seemed to be a performance by a new country duo—the Florida-Georgia Line or some such silly name. A guy with a muscle shirt, long shaggy hair, and grotesque jailhouse tattoos (of which he seemed inordinately proud) beat on the face of an electric guitar, jumped around, and screamed something untranslatable into the mike.  An insane drummer with matching unkempt locks went nuts in the flashing, strobe-lighted, white-smoked foreground.  As the camera panned the crowd during this performance, it was easy to see that George Strait was visibly shaken.   So was I.

     As you may have guessed, I came from a more conservative group of country fans.  I think Brooks and Dunn or the Everly Brothers are proper names for Country Duos and the Florida-Georgia Line is geography.  I think Willie Nelson, on a stool with a worn out guitar, singing songs from his And Then I Wrote album is a wonderful concert. I think Dolly Parton, in a cowboy shirt stuffed absolutely full of boobies, is plenty sexy.  I think Hank Williams, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, and Kris Kristofferson are on a poetic level with Shakespeare.  I think Hank, Johnny Horton, Buddy Holly, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley and Jim Reeves all died too young. 

     As is obvious from the CMA Awards Show, Country Music is no longer confined to remote honky-tonks filled with lonesome people feeling the joys and struggling with the pains of life.  It is no longer beer joint music, created and performed by and for beer joint people.  Madison Avenue has discovered Country Music and a mob of marketing gurus have descended to capitalize on this un-tapped resource, and show these bumpkins how to peddle their product.

     Country Music, as I know and love it, is on the way out.  It is changing and becoming unrecognizable.  It has gone the way of shiny black torpedo-shaped cars, with lots of chrome.  Our world is not a better place because of this progress.   

     Long ago, Hank Williams stood on the stage of the Ryman Auditorium with just his guitar.  He wore a white cowboy hat, sequined western suit, polished cowboy boots.   He pushed back his hat, touched his guitar and, with a shy grin, sang, The silence of a falling star lights up a purple sky….and as I wonder where you are, I’m so lonesome I could cry.

     Me to, Hank.  I could just cry.

Hank burned himself out, feeling guilty because music was easy for him and other folks had to work so hard just to get by.  He died in the back seat of a '52 Cadallic at age 29.

More Loose Ends at San Jacinto and Elsewhere in Texas

 

David G. Burnet, the Interim President of Texas from March until October of 1836.  He was very articulate but made a series of  disastrous mistakes.  He hung around Texas politics for thirty more years, mostly taking up space and proving that a complete idiot who talks a good game can survive in politics.

      History changes depending on who is telling the story.  Honest historians tell an imperfect story because they don’t know any better.  They spend years researching a subject, then publish their findings as historical fact and are to be commended for their efforts, even if some of their “facts” are a bit skewed.  Further research and new information always reveals flaws in their work and history is re-written to fit a new set of “facts.”

      Less-than-honest historians, for reasons of their own, slant a story to fit their personal agenda, whether or not it is factual.  News commentators have also been known to do this.  Dan Rather comes to mind.

       It would be nice if mankind was always motivated to take the moral high ground, but experience tells us this is not the case.  It would be nice if Democrats and Republicans were always on the side of honor, truth and justice, but don't hold your breath. Evil people exist.  Humans have needs, and some people are programmed to service their own needs without regard for others.

      That’s about as far down that road as I wish to go, so let me get to the point.  I found several discrepancies in the works I used for research in my studies on the Texas Revolution.  They are mostly variations in detail, and don’t present any great problem, but I want to clear the air and expose some contradictions.

     I found Houston’s friend, Chief Bowles of the Cherokees, listed as Chief Bowles, Chief Bowl, Chief Boles, and in one reference, simply as The Bowl.  I prefer “The Bowl” and wonder if it was not the proper translation of his Indian name.  Historian are tempted to “correct” a name like that.

     Weeks before the battle at San Jacinto, Houston put Sidney Sherman and all his men under the command of Burleson’s First Volunteers. When the army grew, Sherman was promoted and put in charge of an entirely new regiment, the Second Volunteers.  He kept his cavalry until the day before the battle when Houston stripped him of that and assigned it to Lamar.  As for "discrepancies," I noticed several references to Sherman and his “Kentuckians,” who were listed on the far left end of Houston’s skirmish line.  Sherman’s Kentuckians were centered in the line with Burleson and Sherman was on the far left, leading a new group of volunteers.

     In more than one account, Sidney Sherman is credited with initiating the cries, “Remember the Alamo,” and “Remember Goliad!”  According to a reliable source,  Secretary of War Thomas Rusk, “Remember Goliad” was not a battle cry at San Jacinto, because, at the time, Goliad was known as La Bahia.  Houston's troops yelled, "Remember the Alamo," and "Remember, La Bahia."

      The glove that Private James A. Sylvester attached to the shaft of the Miss Liberty Flag was described as red in some accounts and white in others.  All described a long glove that was presented to Sylvester by the daughter of the host of a going-off-to-war dance in Cincinnati, but they disagreed as to the color.  (For what its worth, I choose to believe the glove was red.  White would be a natural assumption, and I feel that some researcher along the way made that assumption.)

The story of the glove was more important than its color.  I wondered if the young beauty gave the glove to James, and if so, under what circumstances.  Young women sometimes bestoy precious gifts on departing soldiers.  Then again, perhaps she lost the glove and he found it and made up the story. Soldiers do that.  Imagination does wonderful things for a lonely young man.

     James Sylvester was a well-respected soldier, so he may have told the truth.  I found him listed as Second Sergeant for Captain William Wood’s “A” Company, in Burleson’s First Volunteer Infantry, so he gained several promotions after leaving Kentucky as a private.  He was, a bit surprisingly because of his rank, listed as “flag-bearer.”  I suppose he retained that position  because he wanted to keep the glove near and sniff it every now and then.

     The complete rout of the Mexicans can be inferred from the fact that Sylvester was not wounded in the battle.  Flag bearers were favored targets, and he would have been front and center with the Miss Liberty flag.  Further evidence that he was a good soldier is provided.  He was listed as one of the patrol which captured Santa Anna on the day after the battle.  I find no other reference to him, so, for me at least, he is lost to history.

     Conflicting stories abound as to the appearance of Miss Liberty on the flag.  Some had her bare to the waist and others said she was completely covered.  Some covered her with transparent fabric. These riddles were answered when the flag was put on display in 1933, and the lady had one lovely breast exposed. (My bias is showing—that’s the story I wanted to believe.)

A replica of the Dodson Flag, which most likely flew over the Alamo.  Santa Anna  took the Alamo flag back to Mexico and put it in a museum, where it remains despite all efforts to have it returned to Texas.

     Historians place other flags at San Jacinto—T. R. Fehrenbach, in his consummate history of Texas, Lone Star, described the Troutman Flag as being carried there.   Houston did send Miss Troutman a place setting—an oversized fork and spoon--from Santa Anna’s silver chest as a thank-you gift for her flag, but all evidence shows that flag was destroyed at Goliad.  
    
      Captain Hugh McLeod, who brought the Troutman Flag to Texas, supposedly fought at San Jacinto, but I could not find him listed on any roster.  I have since discovered that he was delayed on his trip to Texas and stayed at Nacogdoches helping prepare for the defense of the city until after the battle at San Jacinto, when  he immediately joined Burnet and Lamar in Galveston.  Lamar took McLeod under his wing and they became close friends and dedicated enemies of Sam Houston.  

     The Miss Liberty flag was returned to Mrs. Sidney Sherman and the ladies of Newport four months after the battle.  In an attached note, Alexander Somerville testifies that the flag flew over the fight at San Jacinto.  This note is proof enough that the Miss Liberty Flag was the dominate flag of the Texians at the battle.  It is likely other flags were carried that day—most military units carry colors of some sort—and there is no evidence that only one flag was present. 

     Speaking of Alexander Somerville, I found him called “Somervall,” “Somervell,” and “Somervill.”  I used “Somerville” because that’s the way he spelled his name in the note to Mrs. Sherman.  At the time of that letter, in August 1836, David G. Burnet was still interim president of Texas.  He served just over seven months and negotiated both Treaties of Velasco with Santa Anna.  He otherwise busied himself writing thank-you notes, rewarding friends with political appointments, and plotting against Sam Houston. 

     Robert Potter, a friend that Burnet appointed Secretary of the Texas Navy, is listed in some journals as having fought at San Jacinto, but he remained at Galveston, along with Burnet and DeZavala, during the battle.  The three immediately left Galveston and went to San Jacinto after the victory.  They were furious to find Houston had used funds from Santa Anna’s captured war chest to pay his troops, instead of turning the money over to them and the provisional government as Burnet had ordered.

     Over the next thirty years, David G. Burnet took up space in the Rebublic and the State of Texas, but contributed little to the overall good.   His greatest contribution to Texas came from his brother  Isaac, who was mayor of Cincinnati when that city voted to donate the Twin Sisters to the Texas cause.

Loose Ends at the Battle of San Jacinto--A Family Affair

The red-headed fire eater, Mirabeau Bonaparte Lamar

     When General Houston decided to fight at San Jacinto, he was on the verge of losing his command to mutiny.  Several of his officers were actively speaking out, questioning his leadership.  Sidney Sherman, Alexander Somerville, Mirabeau B. Lamar, and John Wharton were all critical of Houston.  Wiley Martin and Mosely Baker had decided to follow him only if he fought.  Officers loyal to Houston included Henry Millard, Edward Burleson, and Thomas J. Rusk, the Secretary of War for the Republic.  Houston kept his his plans to himself and only shared his thoughts with Secretary Rusk.

     Around noontime on the 21^st, Houston, fed up with second-guessing subordinates, told Wharton, “Fight and be damned.” Houston knew his poorly trained troops were ill-prepared for battle, but he also knew their best opportunity for victory was immediate action.  The rank and file were lusting for a fight, the enemy was just across a pasture, and Houston had seen an eagle drifting above when he awoke that morning.  The eagle--Houston's Indian Totem--was a good omen and its message was not lost on Houston--it was time to fight.

      Houston prepared his men for battle.  Starting on the left and facing the enemy, Sidney Sherman’s infantry from the Second Volunteer Regiment was spread out next to the swamp.  Mosely Baker and his men were next in line, then the steadfast Edward Burleson’s First Volunteer Regiment which contained Sherman’s original Newport volunteers. The “Twin Sisters” from Cincinnati stood in the center of the line.  Col. Henry Millard’s A and B Regiments of Volunteers completed the line to the right with Mirabeau B. Lamar’s cavalry on the far right, to protect that flank and prevent the enemy from escaping across the open prairie.

      Whether or not it was intentional, this arrangement separated Houston’s adversaries and grouped his friends at his back, in the center of the file.  Lamar’s Cavalry protected the far right flank and cut off enemy escape.  Sherman’s infantry filled in on the far left and the swamp protected that flank.  Separation of these two dissenters may have been coincidental, or it may have been keen insight on the part of Sam Houston. 

      At three-thirty that afternoon, Houston drew his sword, the drummer and fifer struck up Come to the Bower, the flag-bearer (Second Sergeant James A. Sylvester) moved Miss Liberty forward, and the unwieldy line stepped off toward the Mexican fortifications.

      Among the soldiers in that skirmish line were two young men named McLaughlin.  Private Robert McLaughlin lined up with the First Regular Texian Volunteer Infantry, commanded by Col. Edward Burleson.  Robert was in Company F, under Captain Heard, and near the center of the line, immediately behind one of the Twin Sisters.  His company was near General Houston and the Miss Liberty Flag.  On the far right, at the end of the line, First Sergeant Stephen McLaughlin took his place, riding with Lamar’s Calvary. 

      No documentation shows the relationship of these two men, but it is probable that they were related and that they came to Texas with Sidney Sherman.  Sherman’s original Newport Volunteers were put under the command of Colonel Edward Burleson, but the Cavalry stayed under Sherman’s command until the day before the battle, when Houston replaced him with Mirabeau B. Lamar.  

     During a clash with the enemy on the morning of April 20th, Lamar exhibited coolness under fire, extreme bravery, and superb horsemanship while saving the life of acting Secretary of War Rusk.   Col. Sidney Sherman demonstrated lack of experience and a tendency for rash judgment in the same engagement.  Houston immediately promoted Private Lamar to Lt. Colonel and put him in charge of the Cavalry.

     Eight miles away, two other young McLaughlin men were camped across the bayou from Harrisburg.  For greater mobility, Houston left his sick and wounded in a makeshift hospital there, under the command and protection of Major Robert McNutt.  James McLaughlin and William Henry McLaughlin were listed in Logan's Platoon under “Camp Guards, Special Detail, or Sick.”  I know these men were brothers because James was my great-great grandfather.  Family lore says Henry was sick and James asked to remain with him as part of the guard detail. 
 
     It is likely all these McLaughlins were related.  America had few McLaughlins at the time, and, although they might not have known each other, it is possible they were cousins.
 



The flag as it was originally done.  It was reversed, under glass, for display in the Texas House of Represenatives, which toned the colors to more pastel hues.  Other versions have the entire bust area covered, which makes for a pretty boring Miss Liberty.  The artist must have sensed these troops needed something to stir their souls, for it is obvious he spent a lot more time detailing the breast than he did on the face.

      Four months after the battle, in August of 1836, the Provisional Texas Government returned the Miss Liberty Flag to Mrs. Sidney Sherman with the following note:

     “Velasco, August 5, 1836, War Department.  This stand of colors, presented by the ladies of Newport, Kentucky, to Captain Sidney Sherman, is the same which triumphantly waved on the memorable field of San Jacinto, and is by the government presented to the lady of Colonel Sidney Sherman as a testimonial of his gallant conduct on that occasion.  A. Somerville (signed) Secretary of War.  Approved: David G. Burnet”

      The probability that Sherman and Burnet were friends in Cincinnati may have contributed to this "testimonial of his gallant conduct."  Nothing in his conduct during the battle warrents this praise.  He was competent, but not outstanding.

     The Sherman Family kept the flag for many years.  In 1933 a ceremony was held in the Texas House of Representatives, and the flag was given over to the custody of the Daughters of the Texas Revolution.  It was displayed, back side out under glass, behind the Speaker’s platform in the Texas House.

     Houston’s Fife and Drum Corps chose to play Come to the Bower as they moved across the prairie to attack the Mexican Army.

                                       Will you come to the bower I have shaded for you?

                                       Our bed shall be roses all spangled with dew.

                                      There under the bower on roses you’ll lie

                                     With a blush on your cheek but a smile in your eye!

     These words are certainly not that risqué in today’s world, but consider the circumstances.  Houston’s troops knew full well that they might die during this battle.  They were prepared for it.  Who can blame them if they chose to imagine their sweethearts in a brush arbor, lying nude on a pallet covered with rose-petals?  They were dreaming about different ways to put “a blush on her cheek and a smile in her eye.”  Young soldiers dream those same dreams today.

Loose Ends at the Battle of San Jacinto--A Series--The Texian Flag

                

Col. Sidney Sherman, Soldier and Statesman of early Texas.  The first steam locomotive in Texas was named "General Sherman," after this man, not after the yankee general, as many assumed.

      One of the company commanders at San Jacinto, Colonel Sidney Sherman, was born in Massachusetts in 1805, orphaned at age twelve, worked his way to New York City, then on to Cincinnati, and finally across the Ohio River to Newport, Kentucky.  He built a prosperous business there and married a twenty-year-old Southern Belle, Catherine Isabel Cox, in April, 1835.  

      Sherman, along with other Cincinnati friends and acquaintenances, suffered from "Texas Fever."  Cincinnati was a hotbed of Texas sympathisers, filled with men who saw possibilities for untold wealth in the Mexican territory.

      A rally for the Texas Revolution was held there in November, 1835.  Sherman attended and pledged his support for the young, would-be republic.  The citizens of Cincinnati, at the urging of Mayor Isaac Burnet, voted to donate the “Twin Sisters,” two small cannon, to the Texians.  Sidney Sherman asked for volunteers to join him for an expedition to help the Texas patriots secure their freedom.

     Such volunteer groups sprang up all over the South, stirred by the letters of William Barret Travis, Sam Houston, and others commissioned by the Texas government to enlist volunteers.   The Texas rebellion became “the” war for this generation of young Southerners.  Too young for the Revolutionary War or the War of 1812, these young men longed for the romance of a conflict to prove their merit.  The Texas Revolution, viewed as a righteous fight of American patriots against Mexican despots, was made to order for their needs.     

      Sherman's new bride must have approved of his marching off to Texas, for he sold his business and used the money to arm and outfit fifty-two young adventurers, known variously as the “Newport Volunteers,” “ Kentucky Riflemen,” or “Sherman’s Newport Volunteers.” 

     In late December, 1835, at a going-away party for his troops, Sherman’s new bride presented him with a battle flag made by the “Ladies of Newport” for the Volunteers.  This flag depicted Miss Liberty, with her perfectly shaped left breast exposed, holding a sword with the banner, “Liberty or Death.”  Private James A. Sylvester added a lady’s long glove to the flagstaff as a talisman.  The glove had been presented to him by a lovely Southern Belle at the off-to-war dance in Cincinnati.  The flag, with the lady’s glove, was proudly carried to Texas by the Newport Volunteers.

     The Alabama Red Rovers, the Mobile Grays, and several groups from New Orleans were already on the road to Texas. Sherman’s group hurried to get there while there were still enough Mexicans to go around.

      Sherman's Newport Volunteers went directly to San Felipe, planning to move on to San Antonio and join Travis at the Alamo.  The acting governor, Henry Smith, saved their lives when he directed them instead to Gonzales to report to General Houston for orders.  Though disappointed and spoiling for a fight, they obeyed the governor.

      Sherman and his troops joined the Texian army at Gonzales in late February, 1836,  to await the arrival of General Houston.  Houston merged them with the First Volunteer Regiment, under the command of Col. Edward Burleson, and placed Lt. Col. Sherman second in Command.  By the time they reached San Jacinto, the army had grown so large that a Second Volunteer Regiment was formed.  Despite his lack of military experience, Sherman was made a full colonel and put in charge of the new regiment.

     Sam Houston knew the importance of symbolism to the morale of an army, and especially to his ragged little group.   As he prepared for the most important battle of his life, he searched desperately for any symbol to rally his troops.  TheTexian army had no flag, no marching band, nothing to signify and maintain unity. 

     Sherman’s original fifty-two troops had the only real uniforms, so Houston put them near the center of his skirmish line, along with the rest of Burleson’s First Volunteer Regiment.  He noticed the Newport Volunteer's flag and insisted it be moved to the center.  Lady Liberty, with her perky breast displayed prominently, and the lovely Cincinnati Belle’s long glove hanging from the shaft, took front and center, between the Twin Sisters. 

Miss Liberty as carried by the Heros of San Jacinto and sewn by the Ladies of Newport, Kentucky.  This is the reverse side of the flag as it is displayed behind the Speaker's platform in the Texas House of Representatives.




 

      Houston’s call for music was answered by a free black man with a drum and a German boy who played a fife.  Two others joined them with unknown instruments, perhaps a fiddle or something homemade, and to Houston's delight, they played the only song all four of them knew—a ribald saloon ditty considered risqué at the time—Come to the Bower. 

     With nine hundred men lined up in a skirmish line 1,000 yards long, a flag in the center and a makeshift band to keep time, Houston's troops were ready for battle.  At three-thirty in the afternoon, Houston mounted his great white horse Saracen, drew his sword and started his troops across a mile of pastureland for an eighteen-minute battle that would change the history of the world.

To Be Continued….

Big Mike Brown at the World Championship Barbeque Cookoff

One of Jim Goode's Barbeque Pits on the way to the Houston Cookoff, back in the day.

                          

     I passed another milestone yesterday.  On September 15, 2013, I became seventy-seven years old.  I don’t really celebrate birthdays anymore, but I do notice them.  One of the good things about having a lot of birthdays is that a long life gives you time enough to meet and get to know a lot of interesting people.  I have many friends because I have lived a long time and I like people and I like to hear what they have to say and laugh with them about this funny world we live in.  My only rule about friends is “Please don’t bore me.”

     “Stormin’ Norman” Hanks, “Big Mike” Brown, and Bob “Booger” Poland were among the friends I used to work the Barbeque circuits with.  We talked and we laughed and we cooked Barbeque together.  None of these guys could ever get near being boring.  When you’re seventy-seven, you think back and remember.  This is one of my memories:

      The Houston Livestock Show committeeman came by to enforce the rule prohibiting private vehicles at the team locations for the World Championship Barbeque Cookoff.   Mike Brown explained what appeared to be a pickup parked next to our area, was actually not a pickup, but a UFO.

     “Well now, I admit, in this light, it does sort of look like a white GMC pick-up.  But when it came down and landed, it was shaped like one of them discuses they throw in the Olympics.  Silver colored.  You shoulda seen it.  We watched them three olive drab fellas get out of it without opening the door.  Just stepped right out on the pavement through the side of the machine, like they wasn’t nothing even there.  Then one turned around and pointed at it and it quit being a silver discus-looking thing and started looking like a white pickup truck.”

     “Tell him what them green varmits did to ole Smokey Rawlings, Mike.  Tell him what happened to ole Smokey.”  Stormin’ Norman enjoyed adding reinforcement to Mike’s tales, even though Mike didn’t need any help.

     “You know Smokey, don’t you?  He was our committeeman.”  Mike drawled.  “Well, ole Smokey come up on them guys and told them to move that truck.  Like you, he thought it was a pickup, parked in the pedestrian zone.  One of them green dudes pointed at Smokey and lighting flashed out the end of his finger and ole Smokey went ‘pop’ and disappeared.  All is left is that oily spot on the pavement over there.  See the light shining off it, right there next to our front gate?”

     “Now wait a minute, Mike. He didn’t go ‘pop’.  It was more of a ‘poof.’  Smokey went ‘poof’ ‘fore he disappeared.”  Norman corrected.

      “You trying to tell me a little green man went ‘poof’ and Smokey disappeared?  What you all been drinking?  Smokey must weight two-eighty-five.  He’da left a bigger spot.  Which finger that fella use to do all that pointin’ with, anyway?” The committeeman was getting into Mike’s story.  He didn’t believe it, but was curious.  He wondered where it might go.  Mike was playing him like a trophy bass on a light-weight fly rod.

     “Why, he used his long finger.  Only had two on each hand, and one was a foot long.  His thumbs were short, though.  All of Smokey didn’t settle down on the street in that one spot, neither.  Most of him went up in smoke and drifted over there towards the supper tent.  People smelled it.  You could tell.  They’d get a whiff and look over here.  Pretty soon everybody was looking over here. I really liked Smokey—gonna miss him.” Mike’s story was taking on a life of its own. 

      Mike Brown prided himself on his ability to create Prime B.S. out of thin air.  He had decided that he was not going to move his truck.  The truck came in handy in a lot of ways, and all he had to do to keep it was B. S. a couple of committeemen into overlooking a silly rule.  That was no step for a stepper.  Mike was a salesman—he made a good living passing out Grade A B.S. 

      As the evening progressed, the team-members started to place bets on the action.  Odds were running eight to five Mike would succeed and leave his truck parked there for the duration of the cookoff.  Only ones that bet against Big Mike didn’t know him.

     “Ah’ll tell you what Ah’m gonna do.  Ah’ll take a turn around the grounds and be back here in about a hour.  Ah hope that truck is gone when Ah gets back.  Ah’d hate to have it towed.”  The official walked through our entry and out onto the street.  He carefully stepped around the oily spot.

      Mike fired a parting shot as the committeeman left. “O.K., sir, but I’m afraid to touch that UFO.  Ain’t no telling what might happen if them green dudes rigged it someway.  They can do anything—they made it look just like a pickup.  I wouldn’t get too close if I was you.” 

     The official passed near the truck and lifted his hand to pat the hood, hesitated, then stuffed his hand in his pocket and hurriedly strolled away.  No sense tempting fate.

      About two hours and several beers later, the committeeman strolled triumphantly back into our assigned space, with Smokey Rawlings in tow.  “Looka here who Ah found.  Now, let’s hear that bunch of crap again.  Start over at the part where Smokey went “poof.”

     “Oh My God, it’s a miracle!  A miracle!  Are you OK, Smokey?  You look good, considering.  Where’d them alien bastards send you?  Did separating all your molecules hurt?”  Mike was genuinely concerned.

     “They ain’t nobody done nothing with me.  I ain’t been nowhere, ‘cept here and over yonder, doing my job.”  Smokey’s porch light was on, but it was pretty dim.

     “Norman, get over here—it’s worse than we thought.  They hit him with a Amnesia Ray.  He don’t remember nothing.”  Brown was talking fast, constantly ad-libbing, letting his instincts guide.

      Norm, wide-eyed, said,  ”You don’t remember telling that chartreuse fellow to move that truck and him giggling and zapping you with that long finger?”

     “Nothing like that never happened—I’d remember getting zapped by a green dude.”  Smokey’s porch light flickered.

     Brown moved in for the kill.  “Not if they hit you with a Amnesia Ray.  I bet you don’t even remember how you turned on Miss Lake Jackson so much, she French-kissed you in the ear?  Do you remember that?  If you don’t, it was the A-Ray for sure.”

     “Miss Lake Jackson sure is purty, but she didn’t kiss me in the ear.  I know I’d remember that.  You sure that happened?” Smokey was glowing, remembering Miss Lake Jackson and hoping she had kissed him.  He rubbed his ear.

     “She told me she was just overcome with emotion while you was looking down the front of her dress, and she couldn’t help herself.  She just hauled off and planted her tongue in your left ear.  Who knows what it takes to turn on a woman like that?  Smokey dang sure found the way to her heart.  Look at that lipstick on his ear.  He needs a memory jolt.”  Big Mike was rolling.

     “Miss Lake Jackson says for you to go hang around the committee tent and she’ll be over later, when she can control herself.  She don’t know why, but when you stare at her with those little close-together eyes, she just has all these chemical reactions happening inside.  She said she’ll be by around midnight, if that’s all right with you?”

     The next morning, Mike Brown drove the truck into Houston, picked up 300 pounds of crushed ice and four dozen Shipley’s donuts, and waved at the security guard as he drove back in.  He parked in the same spot, right next to our space.  A truck comes in real handy at a barbeque cookoff.

Lubbock Has a History----Part Two

Springtime moves across the Tech Campus in Lubbock.

     Lubbock County was formed as an unorganized county on August 21, 1876.  Forty-seven other Panhandle and South Plains counties were formed by the state legislature that day and Lubbock was attached, for administrative purposes, to Young, then Baylor, and finally to Crosby Counties.

     By 1880, the census of Lubbock County showed twenty-five residents, most of them sheep-herders in Yellow House Canyon.  Ten years later, in 1890, the population had grown to thirty-three full time residents, but a boom was coming later that year. Texas was offering very liberal terms to homesteaders and many had discovered that farming was possible and profitable in Lubbock County.  By late in that year, a heated race was developing for County Seat.

        County Seat was big stuff back then and two factions in Lubbock County worked toward getting their town selected.   The competition was fierce and the rewards were great.  Lots in the County Seat enjoyed large appreciation in value and small fortunes were made overnight, with the potential for more speculative profits for years to come.  One of the towns, “Old” Lubbock, rested north of the Yellow House Canyon in the vicinity of the current Lubbock Country Club.  That town contained about thirty seven buildings and around fifty people.  The other contender, Monterey, was platted south of the canyon and contained about thirty two buildings and about forty people.  A third settlement, Estacado, was located near the eastern edge of the proposed county, where Paris Cox had settled.  It was a small, not very aggressive community, and had no ambition to be the County Seat, but its citizens could vote to help select the winner.

      As the competition heated up, the developers got “high behind” and gave away lots to any settlers willing to build.  Construction continued in both towns, with lumber and other materials brought in by railroad to Amarillo or Colorado City, then shipped by wagon to Lubbock County.  Neither of the warring factions could afford to lose and the odds were too close to call.  They took a tack unheard of in that time. 

     The developers sat down together and worked out a deal.  They would pool their resources, select a third site, acquire it, and move all the buildings to the new township.  After the site was selected, acquired and surveyed, the lots would be parceled out fairly, in a checkerboard fashion, to each party who participated in the agreement.  The existing buildings in each town would be moved to the new location within thirty days, and an election to formally organize the county and name the County Seat would be scheduled as soon as practical after that.  As to travelers and other visitors not being able to find the new town, that was no problem.  It was less than ten miles from either location.  On the High Plains, you could look over there and see it.

     These folks came up with an agreement in December of 1890, and a site very near the center of the county, south of the canyon, was chosen.  The site was acquired for less than $2000.00, surveyed, parceled out, and the buildings were moved.  On March 10^th, 1891, barely three months later, the election was held and the “new” Lubbock was named County Seat.

      This incident speaks volumes about the competence and energy of those pioneers.  It also may speak a page or two about the size and complexity of their early buildings.  If my math is right, they moved sixty eight buildings and about a hundred people in just a few weeks.  They made special provisions for the only two story building—the Nicolette Hotel—to be moved within two months.  All the rest of the buildings were moved within thirty days. 

      The enlightened self-interest and the willingness to compromise as demonstrated in this early agreement permeated the actions of Lubbock’s civic leaders from that day forward.  The ability to act intelligently and decisively has defined the character of the Texan in literature and folklore for as long as there has been a Texas.  These High Plains Texans possess all the characteristic traits of the legendary Texan of folklore in a more concentrated form.  They are truly “Super Texans”.

      By the 1900 census, 293 people resided in Lubbock County.  The City of Lubbock was incorporated in 1909.  Cotton began to replace grain sorghum as the principal crop, railroads came and Lubbock County started to out-grow the neighboring counties.   Texas Technological College opened in 1925.  Meat and dairy processing plants opened.   Hospitals and hotels built high-rise buildings.   Lubbock became “The Hub of the Plains.”   

The Lubbock High School building was built for $650,000.00.  The contractoe ran out of money and finished the project out of his own pocket, in time to open for classes in the fall of 1931.

   

      The unlikely combination of city government, banking institutions and local churches all cooperated for “the good of the city”.  This spirit was established early on in the city and was passed down through the years as the best way to maintain order and insure stability.  The churches wielded a tremendous influence on the affairs of the city, perhaps more so than any other like-sized city in the country.   

       From the very first, the city of Lubbock was bone dry—no liquor stores, no beer joints, no honky-tonks, no saloons, no cocktail lounges.  If you wanted a drink, you dealt with a bootlegger or you drove about a hundred miles in any direction to a “wet” town.  Lubbock’s churches were full every Sunday and most Wednesday nights.  The churches were strong, both morally and financially. Pastors of the larger congregations were as well known and influential as any city politician, and better known than most bankers.  Every protestant belief was represented, along with Catholic and a congregation of Jews.  There was not a lot of animosity or competition between the various congregations; there were plenty of sinners to go around.  They worked together with each other and the city for what was considered the greater good.

       When I came of age, in the mid fifties, the city of Lubbock was only about sixty years old, and was already approaching a population of one hundred thousand people.  It had been among the fastest growing cities in the nation for at least thirty years.  Lubbock had been voted “Cleanest City in Texas” so often that it dropped out of the contest.  Some few failures were offset by one success after another.  The agrarian mindset; hard work, frugality, “make do with what you’ve got” mentality, combined with self reliance and optimism made anything possible.  Progressive attitudes, willingness to take risks and “outside the box” thinking all combined to make progress not only possible but inevitable. 

Modern-day Lubbock at night.  Lake in foreground most likly photoshopped.