Category Archives: History

Living in Beauxart Gardens in the 1930’s

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I can vaguely remember my father telling stories of my family’s life in Beauxart Gardens where they lived for a short time before moving to 18th Street in Port Arthur. I particularly recall being told of an event in which my grandfather was bitten by a tarantula in the garden. But I really cannot confirm that tarantulas even existed in Southeast Texas in the 30s (most likely just big wolf spiders—but wolf spiders don’t make as good a story as a tarantula when you’re talking to a 10-year-old).

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The other day I heard it mentioned that the Beauxart Gardens marker had been knocked down. My first thought was to wonder why Beauxart Gardens had a marker to begin with. And so goes the journey. I was immediately given the answer to “why,” and this led to another interesting story that I had no idea existed.

Beauxart Gardens was one of five farm/homestead colonies in Texas, which were developed in 1934 as part as of the New Deal legislation. Under President Franklin Roosevelt, this piece of legislation, among other things, provided housing to displaced Americans who couldn’t meet their mortgage payments and had been foreclosed upon. Generally, such residents in Southeast Texas worked part-time at area refineries and also kept vegetable gardens and livestock. The Beauxart area included not only 50 homestead sites, but two park sites, the largest of which (nine acres) contained a community center and playground. (This is the park located between Central Drive and South Garden Drive.)

Having had family that lived there for a time, I thought it best to go to the source in order to find out more about the place. So I called my uncle for a firsthand view of life in Beauxart Gardens, and the conversation was priceless.

My family had lived there for about three years. It was a great place to live and certainly to raise kids, but it was, at the time, away from civilization. There was no town to speak of: no stores or no churches, just pasture lands and gardens. My grandmother, in particular, did not like living that far away from her church (St. James on 16th Street in Port Arthur), but you did what you had to do back then, I guess.

The children were bused to Nederland schools, which posed a problem if a child wanted to participate in after-school programs. This was the 30s, and unlike today, ownership of cars was not widespread.

My grandfather worked at the Texas Company. The hours after work and at off times were spent tending to the garden. The family also had cows. Those necessities and other groceries were purchased at the Texas Company store, which my grandfather would visit every Saturday. Learning about his Saturday trips resonates with me because my father would do the same, although I’m sure Howard’s on 9th Avenue had a bit more of a selection than the Texas Company store.

After speaking with my uncle, I felt that the memories of growing up in Beauxart Gardens were kindly, although I do know that times were hard, especially given that people were in the grasp of the Depression. But our family has never shied away from hard work, and my grandparents raised six great kids in the process.

If you or someone you know has a story about growing up in Beauxart Gardens, or Southeast Texas in general, I would love to hear it. You can contact me at rediscoveringsetx@gmail.com. Let’s not allow our history to disappear. It’s not about the big battles or the status. Our history comprises the lives of the ordinary people who made SETX interesting.

Rediscovering Anahuac / Wallisville

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If you’re like me, Anahuac is an exit sign off the I-10, which you pass as you go to and from Houston. Yes, you may notice a few old buildings lined up next to the post office, and if you’re really observant, you may see the old church that sits in the background amongst the many old oaks along the streets. A thought might enter your mind to visit this place one day and find out what these old buildings are and why they were built in the first place. But, if you’re like me, your life will get in the way, and you will forget—until your next trip to Houston.

Well, let’s flashback to last year. I acquired a job in Anahuac itself and my travels took me much farther than Exit 813 by the McDonalds. I found out that Anahuac is actually about seven miles south of the Interstate. So every other week, I travelled to this city, oblivious to its rich historic past.

One day, I made a wrong turn and ended up near the Chambers County courthouse. An odd old house caught my eye. It was two-story dwelling with nice porches and a very interesting window. I immediately stopped and felt compelled to investigate.

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The house had belonged to a certain Thomas Jefferson Chambers, a lawyer, land speculator, and namesake for Chambers County.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago when I took a trip to Anahuac to spend the day getting to know its sites and places of interest. And what a day it was. I found out that the Chambers County Historical Commission has a museum located across the street from the Chambers House. It is filled with photos and memorabilia of early families, landowners, and the history-makers of the past few centuries. It’s interesting to note that most of these people’s names are familiar to us from roads, bayous, and such, but most of us are unaware of the historical impact they’ve made. I guess that’s true for wherever you live.

Another plus to visiting this museum was how insightful and knowledgeable the docent was in explaining each photo and artifact. This in itself makes the visit worthwhile.

After spending time at the museum, we were lucky enough to have the Chambers House opened up for us to tour. This house, although small, was intriguing to me. From the large porches and spiral stairwell to the Texas Lone-Star window, I could see myself living there. I also enjoyed the period furnishings in the house, which were all decorated for Christmas to boot. DSC03912

Our next stop was Fort Anahuac. Sadly, nothing is left of the fort, but there are markers explaining the history. (Note: Fort Anahuac was the site of the first armed confrontation between the Anglo-Texan and Mexican troops in June of 1830.) The bluff that the fort sat on was also the site for those immigrating to what was then Mexico. As an aside, the immigrants of the time were required to pay taxes upon arrival!

Before our final stop, I took a back road and discovered an old cemetery, along with a row of oaks, which had been watching over the area for multiple centuries. It was just a beautiful sight to see, particularly since they were decorated with Spanish moss, which was hanging from their branches.

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Near the Wallisville Heritage Park (you remember those old buildings and the post office on the highway?), we came across a house that I never knew existed. It is simply a wonderful structure—unfortunately it is private, and we were not able to tour. After doing some research and asking the docent at the Wallisville Heritage Museum, I found out that the house is the Archie and Effie Middleton House circa 1906. Their son, John Middleton, one of the founders of Heritage Park, lives there. DSC03953

Finally, after having passed it multiple times over the years, we arrived at the Wallisville Heritage Park. This private nonprofit organization was founded in 1979 by John Middleton and some others who were interested in saving the Wallisville town site. A few buildings were saved, moved to their current site (on the Interstate) and restored. One treasure is the old Wallisville schoolhouse circa 1869.

Just like the Chambers County Historical Commission Museum, there are a lot of interesting artifacts and tons of old photos. It is a memorial to a town that was nearly forgotten, as many are in our history. But thanks to John Middleton and those concerned citizens who took it upon themselves to save our history, these artifacts have been preserved.

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As our tour of Anahuac/Wallisville’s interesting and historic sites came to a close, I felt certain I would be back again. There is much more to see. I guess I’ll need to call Houston next time and tell them I’ll be a little late.

Sabine Lighthouse

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I can point to one site in particular that originally sparked my love for local history over 20 years ago. In fact, when I rediscovered it in 2009, it brought back a lot of memories. It was the reason that I started writing again and began my journey to rediscover our past. What is this place you ask? Well, actually, it’s technically not in SETX.

 

Just southeast of the Sabine Pass Battleground, stands a weathered and abandoned but still majestic-looking brick lighthouse that has seen and been a part of our history for many years. Even though it resides in Southwest Louisiana, I believe its roots justify honoring this historic site for both states.

 

I first saw this landmark back in the late 80s while fishing with a couple of friends. I was then—and still am to this day—in awe of this structure. But alas, it’s yet another part of history that’s yelling out to be saved. Unfortunately, the attempts to purchase and restore the site have not panned out, as it all comes down to money. And I’m certain it would take far more than would be available.

 

So how did this landmark come to be? Well, on March 3, 1849, Congress appropriated $7500 for a lighthouse to be built at Sabine Pass, but naval commander Henry Adams investigated the site and felt there was no need for it. So all of the money, less $116.80, was put back into the surplus fund.

Local citizens strongly disagreed and continued, with the help of politicians, to petition Congress for a lighthouse. Finally, four years later, Congress appropriated $30,000 for a lighthouse to be built after a different surveyor suggested that one be built on the east side of the pass. The land was obtained, and work began in the latter half of 1855.

 

The 80-foot-tall brick lighthouse went into service in late spring or early summer of 1857 but would cease operations a little over four years later with the start of the civil war.

 

During the war, the Union army used the lighthouse to spy on the progress of the Confederates, who were constructing Fort Griffin at Sabine. Unfortunately, they lost their prized looking post in April of 1863, five months before the Battle of Sabine Pass, when the lighthouse was seized by a small group of Confederates.

 

Oh, how different history would have been if the Union soldiers had kept the lighthouse. With their knowledge of the fort, including the fact that it had no protective back wall, one can only imagine that the Battle of Sabine Pass would have been nothing more than a skirmish after 6000 Union soldiers flanked the 50 Davis guards and Lt. Richard Dowling. Sure, they still would have to have dealt with Kate Dorman (see Kate Dorman post), but even Kate probably couldn’t have handled all those Federals by herself.

The lighthouse returned to service on December 23, 1865, after the end of the war, and its beacon would continue to shine for more than 87 years. There would be many trials and tribulations within this time, especially of the tropical kind.

 

In October 1886, a strong tropical cyclone ravaged Southeast Texas and Southwest Louisiana (see The Destructive Side of History post), destroying the keeper’s house adjacent to the lighthouse. Some have said that the surge was 10 feet high while others say 20. But whatever the actual height, it left total devastation in its wake and 150 dead in Sabine Pass—except for the lighthouse across the Pass.

 

There would be other storms that raged upon this land, but the structure has stood sound throughout. It took  the winds of progress to seal its fate. On the morning of May 21, 1952, the light dimmed for the last time, ending a part of our history forever.

 

Today it sits in hazardous decay. Unsafe to enter, but from afar, it still holds the majestic glow that I have come to love. I hope that one day she will be saved, but it will be a long and hard journey before her light shines again.

 

Elisha O. Brewer Cemetery

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Not many people know about the grave off Amoco Road just south of Beaumont. I never knew of it until it was pointed out to me while I was working at Oiltanking Beaumont (formerly Amoco). After looking over the cracked stone, I knew there was a story there, but what story, I did not know.

That night I did an internet search for Elisha Brewer, the name on the headstone, and found an article written by W. T. Block, which was first published in the Beaumont Enterprise on November 13, 1999. It told the story of Elisha O. Brewer, who, after visiting the deathly ill mayor of Beaumont, Columbus Caswell, had been un-harnessing his wagon when his horse had kicked him in the groin. Elisha died a short time later. He was 31.

Elisha Brewer was the grandson of Christian Hillebrandt, a cattle baron, who was the namesake of Hillebrandt Bayou. His wife Mary was the granddaughter of John Sparks, the first settler and founder of the Sparks settlement (Aurora), which was the precursor to the city of Port Arthur.

It is unclear why Elisha O. Brewer had been buried in what would have been his backyard 129 years ago. Possibly it was out of haste or necessity, but whatever the reason, we can assume from the words on his gravestone that he was deeply missed.

“Since thou canst no longer stay

To cheer me thy love

I hope to meet with thee again

In yon bright world above.”

Elisha O. Brewer

February 2, 1852 – August 5, 1883

The grave is located less than a hundred yards from Amoco Road, and the small fence surrounding the hallowed site can be seen from Highway 347. Although it is technically on Oiltanking Beaumont’s property, it is not located in a fenced or restricted area. With that said, I do make a point of driving past the grave and up to the guard shack and explaining to security why I’m there and what I am doing.

 

Legend of Bragg Road (Saratoga Light)

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Bragg Road

My last venture into the spooky realm might have been eerie, but Bragg Road has always been much more so, mainly because I have seen the light, so to speak. In the late 80s, a few friends and I frequented the sandy eight-mile road, which runs between Highways FM 787 and FM 1293 near the town of Saratoga.

Located in the heart of the Big Thicket, one could definitely lose oneself in the pitch blackness of the forest. Except for the single light that mysteriously shines on occasion. But what is this all about? Let’s delve into the history of this lonely road.

In 1902 the Santa Fe railroad cut a line through the dense thicket between Saratoga and Bragg. These tracks were needed for hauling oil from the Saratoga oilfields, along with logs and cattle. For a long time, just one trip per day to Beaumont and back seemed to be enough to progress this wilderness into civilization. However, perhaps inevitably, the wilderness won and the city of Bragg is all but forgotten.

In 1934, the tracks were removed leaving behind a sandy road, which was used mostly by hunters who inadvertently kept the thicket from reclaiming it. It was around this time that some began seeing a strange light. (Note: In the book Tales from the Big Thicket by Francis E. Abernethy, there was one sighting of the light even before the tracks were removed.)

So what is behind this strange light that has been seen for nearly 80-plus years? The foremost story is that a railroad man was decapitated in a train wreck, so now he holds a lantern high while he looks for his head.

Other explanations include the Mexican cemetery where a foreman, rather than pay his road crew, killed them and kept the money. They were swiftly buried. Now their restless spirits haunt the road.

Whatever the source, there is a light on that darkened stretch. Skeptics will tell you that it is a reflection from car lights, but that would not explain the earlier sightings when there were few cars traveling down or near the road. Furthermore the old Model T’s headlights wouldn’t have shined brightly enough.

Another possibility is swamp gas. I could entertain this theory because of an investigation I was a part of 25 years ago.

In the late 80s, I made numerous trips to Bragg Road. The first was a day trip, and my friends Bryan and Hector tagged along. I only mention this because, after unsuccessfully identifying the road, we stopped at a store in Saratoga where Hector asked a lady where Bragg Road was. She explained to him how to get there and asked why we were looking for it. Without pause Hector explained we were going to a friend’s house that was located on the road. The woman grinned and wished us well. We did find the road and traveled down all eight miles never seeing a house or any sign of life. We had a good laugh over this.

My second trip down Bragg Road was a night-time journey done solo, but I saw nothing, only the blackness of the thicket. Fortunately my next jaunt into the forest did pay off. A few friends and I did see the light. It looked like an oncoming train if you were standing on the tracks. Try as we may, we could never get close to it. The light would flicker and then disappear.

On one occasion Paul Newman and I (Note: Not the actor turned racecar driver turned salad-dressing king) did an investigation to find out just what the light was. We started by removing all evidence of tire tracks at the entrance to the sandy road, followed by all three turnarounds. We figured that if we saw a light then we would have some idea if it was from a vehicle traveling down the road or something else.

As the night progressed, we saw the light several times, but only one vehicle, other than ours, passed down the road. We checked each turnaround and found only one set of tracks. Our investigation ended without a clear answer as to the cause of the light, or if it was indeed paranormal. We did conclude however that the light, at the very least, was not from a vehicle.

Usually when I go down that road, I see the light, except on full moonlit nights. Although the light seems to be far off, I have talked to people who know people who have seen the light close up, but sadly I have never personally met anyone who has done so, nor have I been privileged to witness it in close proximity. So please take the last statement as is.

So if you’re ever along FM 787 or FM 1293 and want a thrill, just turn onto that dark sandy road. You may just see that ghostly train headlight coming toward you. And what a sight it will be.

Legend of Sarah Jane Road

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Most people who have grown up in the mid and south Jefferson County have heard at least one version of the legend of Sarah Jane and the lowly road that it’s attached to. I remember riding the darkened road myself many times in the 1980s. I even fished from the bridge during a dark and foggy night. So, what did I see? (He paused to entice the reader before modestly stating that the author saw nothing of substance.) We will however delve into that a bit later.
So who was Sarah Jane, and what are the legends surrounding this ghost road? In one version, on a moonlit night, you may see her ghostly apparition searching the marsh and thicket for her baby who drowned in the murky waters of the Neches River.
Other versions include Sarah Jane as a lady pirate (or Lafitte’s girlfriend). In a further account, she was attacked by a group of bandits, so she placed her child in some weeds near the bridge. When it was safe, she returned for the child—but it was gone. It somehow got into the canal and disappeared.
The story I know is as follows: Sarah Jane was crossing the bridge of the canal when she accidently dropped her baby in the water. Try as she did, she could not save her child, and it drowned. Distraught about losing her child, Sarah Jane hung herself from a huge oak tree further up the road from the bridge.
There are many renditions of this story, but whichever version I read, I inevitably uncover a big problem with the historical accuracy. I am not saying that something isn’t afoot along the Neches—I just don’t think it was with Sarah Jane. Union soldiers were never in Grigsby’s Bluff (Port Neches), which another version implies. In this report, Sarah Jane hears there are Union soldiers making their way toward her cabin, so she puts her baby in a wicker basket under a wooden bridge before fleeing the area. Later, when she returns, the basket and the baby are gone. (Please note that this area, in the past, present, and future has been, is, and will be known to have alligators frequenting its waterways. To put anything remotely fleshy in a waterway is therefore not advisable.)
In an article by Carl Cunningham Jr. in the Mid County Chronicle dated October 28, 1998, the author asserts in an interview with W. T. Block (whose family owned a lot of the land in this area) that a reporter from the Port Arthur News made the connection to his mother’s name (Sarah Jane Block) and the dark spooky road, and so the legend began.
As I said, I spent many a night on both the road and the bridge but never saw anything of substance—except for one night. Three friends and I had decided to drive down Sarah Jane Road to see what we could see, or at least scare the hell out of the couple making out on the parked motorcycle we encountered while driving with the headlights off. (Thank you, Bryan, for warning them of our impending appearance with your rendition and re-enactment of the laugh from the movie “Gremlins.”)
Just before our encounter with the Harley lovebirds, I looked into the trees and noticed a faint ball of light shooting across the tree line. I immediately asked another friend Hector if he’d seen it.
“Uh yeah,” he had said nervously.
Replaying the scene in my mind, I do not think the light in question was of a paranormal nature. But I cannot figure out what it actually was. Possibly a type of swamp gas that most hauntings are blamed on. It could have been, but we did not investigate further. I will also add that there was no alcohol involved on this day on my part or any of the others.
In the following weeks, a few friends (including Hector) also took a ride to the bridge. This time, my friend Hector decided to be belligerent toward whatever could be lurking in the darkness. At about this same moment, the fog began to roll in swiftly. Disheartened and a touch spooked by the sudden appearance of the fog, Hector returned to the safety of the car, and they quickly retreated. As they drove away, the storyteller told me that the fog seemed to keep up with them. (Note: The storyteller had not partaken of any alcohol, but I can neither confirm nor deny Hector’s involvement with the beverage that night. I will say however that this was the last time Hector was aggressive toward a ghostly legend.)
For me, the question of whether or not Sarah Jane haunts the lowly road between Groves and Port Neches is still unanswered, but with this area’s history, there are other possible players in the saga. North of the road, there were six Indian burial mounds, all standing 20 ft high, 60 ft wide, and 100 yards long. (Note: All the mounds were destroyed by the year 1900 for various reasons.) Indians have a rich history in this area and their set of own legends to boot.

(See Legend of Kisselpoo.)
Therefore, in closing, if one ever finds oneself traveling down the dark and winding Sarah Jane Road, I would refrain from yelling out profanities because you never know who or what might be listening.

Jefferson County Courthouse Jail

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There are times when you think your day couldn’t get any better, but then it does—even if it means you end up in jail!

After the Jefferson County Historical Commission’s meeting, I was fortunate to be able to take a tour of the upper realm of the Jefferson County Courthouse. Excited about having the chance to photograph the landscape of Beaumont, I hadn’t a clue what would I would find once I got there. My historical knowledge about the Courthouse was  little-to-none, and I was amazed to find out that the upper floors were once Beaumont’s jail. So armed with a guide, who was very knowledgeable about the building’s history and its many secrets, I proceeded up the stairs of history.

 

Built in 1931 at a cost of one million dollars, the Jefferson County Courthouse is one of the tallest courthouses  in the state (13 stories high). The top five floors were used as the county’s jail from 1931 right up until the early 80s. Nowadays, the upper floors are used for storage, but the past is still very much present. The original graffiti and murals are still visible alongside the rusting iron bars, peeling paint, and 80-year-old cells.

I found the experience of exploring the upper floors of the Courthouse both exciting and surreal. This place wasn’t for the meek: it was a prison. The stories of what the prisoners threw out the windows at times would match those from any zoo. (Let’s just say that the canopy, which was in front of the Courthouse for all those years, was there for a reason.)

 

There are no set tours but, if you ever have a chance to explore the Courthouse, by all means do it. It is a place with an amazing history and is a SETX treasure.

 

 

 

 

 

The article that I have added below is from the Beaumont Enterprise 1931. I do not know who the author is, but I found this article to be most amusing.

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Exclusive Apartments Open About November 1

 Beaumont’s newest and most exclusive apartment house, “Bar Harbor,” is nearing completion and tenants are expected to move in about November 1. The building itself, which will cost approximately $1,000,000, is conceded to be one of the best in the state.

Located within a block of the harbor, the windows of the apartments, which are located on the eighth to thirteenth floors, give a remarkable view of the city and surrounding territory and their height insures a constant breeze. Because of this and the proximity to the river it is conceded that tenants who take leases on space in the building will seldom suffer from the heat which sometimes descends upon the city.

Electric Refrigerator

   Every conceivable convenience has been provided. Electric refrigeration is not only provided in the kitchen, but ice water is available in each room. Many windows give plenty of light and ventilation. Steam heat warms the building in winter and hot water is on tap at all times. Elevator service is offered 24 hours a day and caretakers are on hand at times to look after the needs of the tenants.

Home cooking is not essential for the lucky tenants as a table d’hote restaurant service is provided by the management for those who wish their meals sent in.

Unique in Beaumont

   The apartment house, because of the many luxuries, and advantages it offers, is to be unique in Beaumont. Apartments will be let by lease only and there is a clause in the contract which absolutely prohibits lease breaking. No children or pets will be allowed in the building.

Persons interested in taking an apartment in “Bar Harbor” are advised to get in touch with the custodian, W.W. Covington, at the sheriff’s office.

Airy and Well Lighted

   Yes, dear readers, this new and modern apartment building is none other than the new Jefferson county jail located atop the million dollar courthouse. But what a glorified jail it is! No dark, dingy, buggy, and unsanitary hole, but six stories of airy, well-lighted cells, adequately barred it is true, but also provided with clean, light painted walls, hot, cold, and ice water at all times, shower baths, snowy white toilets and wash basins. The furniture is built in and indestructible.

Steel bunks built in, steel dining benches, and benches with the tables so built that they make a comfortable backrest when the prisoner wishes to turn around and lean back, are furnishings provided for the guests of the county.

Dick Dowling Day

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What a day! My first introduction to historical battle reenactments and all things LOCAL! First, let me begin by saying that those who planned, volunteered, and participated in this event did a wonderful job. I can only guess at the enormous preparation something like this takes.

I left the house early—at 7:30am—as I wanted to check out another site that had been on my radar since my WWII oral history lecture. I drove to Texas Point to see the remains of the defense battery, which had last been used between 1898 and 1945. The gun had since been removed and little still exists except for the cement circle mount that it once sat upon. (A quick note to anyone wishing to make the journey down to Texas Point: the road is nothing more than old crumbled bricks and cement. To take a car would be a real adventure in my opinion.)

After taking a few photos of the Sabine Lighthouse with both my regular camera and my new Sony Handycam Extended Zoom Camcorder, I headed to Dick Dowling Park. As I drove into the park, passing the flags and white tents set up by the reenactors, I found myself imagining that fateful day when Lieutenant Richard William Dowling commanded 40+ Irish dock hands to victory over a 6000-strong Federal invasion force.

I had heard bits and pieces of the story, but I had never really delved into it until I learned about my favorite actor of that time, Mrs. Kate Dorman. On this day, however, I would learn much, much more.

As I parked, I watched as, right behind me, a truck and trailer carried two canons. Another truck followed holding the wagon. Yes, I was early and the actors were setting up, but it still took me to a place that I had not been before—a hundred and forty-nine years back in history.

I walked through the grounds taking in all the sights. One thing I did learn during the day was that the passion these reenactors felt boiled over into their everyday conversations. Most of these people had family who had fought in the war. Some even had family members on both sides. And I guess that last sentence sums up the reality of what this war between brothers was, for it was indeed a family affair.

After the reenactment of the court-martial and the execution of Lt. Elijah P. Allen for desertion, the first battle took place. (Note: I have not found much information on Elijah Allen at the time of writing but will do more research into his story.) The canons roared, and the battle began. By the time the smoke had cleared, the Confederates had the upper hand, but the Federals would get their chance later in the day.

And it wasn’t just the reenactors dressing in the appropriate garb. There were a few people who showed up in dress but who were not a part of the formal festivities. One person in particular was the Woman-in-Mourning. (Note: There were three Women-in-Mourning walking around the grounds that day, but the first caught me off-guard.) As I looked back, I saw a lady dressed all in black. I couldn’t help but picture this woman to be the “Woman in Black” from the novel of the same name by Susan Hill. Fortunately she wasn’t and no harm came to the children of Sabine City, but she was creepy all the same. (Great costume!)

If she sees you its too late? ;)

Speaking of ladies, there were many who dressed according to the fashion of the occasion, and I found it surreal to see them walking through the grounds or sitting near tents. I also felt for them. In 1863 it must have been bad enough enduring the elements in this area but to dress the way they did? I could not comprehend how they could stand the heat.

At 11:30 some people made their way to the statue of Richard Dowling. It was time for the memorial service. The service, hosted by the Jefferson County Historical Commission, served as a remembrance of those who died in this battle.

After the memorial service, Edward T. Cotham, author of the book Sabine Pass: The Confederacy’s Thermopylae, gave us an accurate account of what had happened on that fateful day. To hear him speak of the reality of the crews of the gunships Sachem and Clifton made me think that this day in history had been very different from the earlier skirmishes that had taken place here. Death was apparent and many lost their lives. It was certainly not on the same level as Gettysburg per se, but I believe that a life is precious whether it is one or a thousand.

Finally the time came for the Federals to face a worthy opponent. In October of 1862, a raiding party of 50 came ashore and burned the Confederate’s barracks and stables along with other structures. They confiscated steamboat Captain Dorman’s horse and wagon to transport a howitzer to use against the Rebels, but Capt. Dorman’s wife, Kate, saw what was taking place and would not stay silent as these invaders of Texas pillaged the town. Her rant to the invading army cut deep and, despite all the threats by the Federals, Kate’s hotel, which they declared they would burn to the ground, survived the raid. (Note: I apologize for the audio quality of the video of the reenactment. It would seem we were invaded by another northerner this day—a Canadian front blew in and impaired the sound.)


After the reenactment of Kate and the raiding party, another battle took place. Both sides fought bravely and fiercely, but in the end, all of the fallen would rise from the hallowed ground and prepare to fight another day. And I, of course, will be there when that day comes.

To all those who participated and put in countless hours of preparation to bring us a part of our history and heritage, I salute you. Whether you wore the blue uniform or the grey, whether you were the owner of the Catfish Hotel and cared for your brethren during the yellow fever epidemic as Kate did, you are remembered, as are the hardships you endured.

 

 

 

 

Legend of Kisselpoo

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

The tribe of Kisselpoo, so runs the ancient story, lived by the lake; and she, the only child of the chieftain, had been born when the moon was full and was under the protection of the moon goddess.

When Kisselpoo was fifteen years old, tales of her beauty and ability had traveled far, and many braves from other tribes came to woo her. The one whom the leaders favored was head of several groups whose land adjoined to the north; and, although he was older than her father and already had many wives, arrangements were made for their marriage.

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

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

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

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

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

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Certainly an interesting legend from our past that should live on for many more moons! The Attacapas were the last of the Indian tribes to live in this area, but not the only ones. Past archaeological digs have been performed, finding many burial mounds along the banks of the Neches and Sabine rivers. There was also a mound found at Tyrrell Park in Beaumont years ago, dating back 10,000 years or so, if I can remember right.

Here in Port Neches, one of the most extraordinary archaeological finds would have been the six burial mounds 20 ft high, 60 ft wide, and 100 yrds long, located on the bluff where Joseph Grigsby built his home. I say ‘would have been’ because they were never excavated. The first was destroyed by Joseph Grigsby in preparation for his home and slave cabins; the second was disassembled in 1862 and used to build Fort Grigsby during the Civil War. Three more mounds were used for Beaumont’s roads, industries, and railroad right of ways. The last was destroyed by the Central Asphalt and Refining Company in 1902 while building its nearby refinery. I do understand using resources in time of need, but looking at it from a historical perspective this was a tragedy.

On a lighter note, one interesting fact about this legend is that it was the inspiration for J.P. (The Big Bopper) Richardson’s song Running Bear, recorded by Johnny Preston. Both J.P. and Johnny were Port Arthur natives and added their own history to our little patch of the world, which we will explore at a later date.

For now, tonight is the full moon. And what better way to spend the evening on the banks of Lake Sabine? Who knows…? You may even get a glimpse of a dark stranger in a canoe, along with his love, our own Princess Kisselpoo.

 

 

The Oil Pond

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Everyone who is from or has visited Southeast Texas has inevitably ended up on one of our beaches. If you are not from the area and are looking for clear blue transparent water in which to frolic in the heat of summer, you might want to go to Florida, or further south to Padre Island, because our part of the Gulf of Mexico is murky at best, due to the Mississippi River’s outflow.

While walking on our beaches, you will frequently find a multitude of waste that has been ejected by the Gulf. Some people see the beautiful shells that have washed ashore, while others see bits of a black rubbery substance known as tar balls.

Back in 2010, at the height of the British Petroleum fiasco/disaster, many national news stations scanned our beaches for signs of an expansion of the ongoing doom. One day someone found a tar ball on one of the beaches. “Oil has made it to Texas shores!” a correspondent blurted over the airwaves.

The unsuspecting public would later find out that the tar ball was not from the BP spill but rather a natural occurrence. We, of course, already knew better. Tar balls have been a sight on our beaches since the beginning of time. Indeed, long before man trolled the area in search of oil, the Gulf had been releasing its own patches of black gold. But in early Southeast Texas history, some found more than tar balls.

Just off the coast, south of Sabine Pass, lay a patch of the Gulf that was different from the rest. On some maps it was perceived to be an island, but in reality, no land or reefs were apparent. What was apparent however, was the sludgy blackness on the water. This small space in the Gulf (one mile by four miles) existed for hundreds of years. Many a captain sailed his ship into it as a safe haven from the storms. (With the raging seas, the thick layer of oil seemed to keep the waters calm and the vessel safe.)

This surely would have been a sight to see in the 17th, 18th, or 1900s—or even today. Unlike the Deepwater Horizon spill, which seemed to expand as time went on, this patch remained intact and confined to its small area. I could not begin to speculate why this occurred, so we’ll leave that to other more qualified people to answer one day. Today though, it remains a mystery.

With the discovery of oil at Spindletop in Beaumont in 1901, just a mere 50 miles from the pond, Southeast Texas began its journey into a whole new market, which to this day is still the No. 1 industry in the area. Over the years, oil was routinely pumped out of the ground to the delight of many. But by 1910, a strange thing had happened. The ever-present oil pond began to dissipate, and by 1911, it was gone.

Looking at the facts, I can only assume that the oil pond was part of the Spindletop oilfield, and that years of oil extraction had lowered the pressure of the leak in the Gulf. Whatever the reason, the oil pond left yet another mark on our local history, of which few have ever heard.