Past and Present: Historians are a Precious Resource

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No one can argue that Southeast Texas doesn’t have a rich and diverse history although, if you would ask most people around here, they would probably tell you that everything started with Spindletop. Well, we know better. We know this because of a certain few individuals who took the time—sometimes their whole lives—to document and explore our past. It is these people whom I hold in the highest regard.

In my journey to discover Southeast Texas history, I have been fortunate to find many articles, books, and other sources of information that have aided my research. From our first historian, Florence Stratton, to W.T. Block, Bill Quick, Judith Walker Linsley, Ellen Walker Rienstra, Edward T. Cotham, Martha “Toodlum” Ferguson, Yvonne Sutherlin, and the many others whose works I have yet to explore.

These people have taken the time and done the legwork to valiantly give us a true picture of what has gone before. Indeed, our history is not just the battles in Sabine Pass or the discovery of oil south of Beaumont. And these people have weaved their way through our history to bring us the stories that I love to discover. 

When I think of Sabine Pass, Kate Dorman is the first person who comes to mind. It is people like her who bring a real sense of history to our area. When I think of Richard W. Dowling, I see someone who accomplished many things in his short life away from the battlefield. The list of participants in our past goes on and on. Many had very interesting lives, which would have been forgotten were not for those few who keep our heritage alive. Beyond the glamour of historic recognition, most of these people lived their lives away from the history books, and we are fortunate to still be able to learn about them.

In doing research, some of my favorite portals to our history are of course the old books and articles from a time long since passed, such as The Story of Beaumont by Florence Stratton (1925), the Beaumont American Guide series (1930s), and of course, Susie Spindletop’s Weekly Letter (1920s and 30s), all of which you can find at the Tyrrell Historical Library.

One thing that I find fascinating when reading these insights is the absence of the present’s take on history. The past is still fresh, and you can tell this from the writings. Also, I will add that you can learn a lot about how people thought by reading a gossip column written 80-plus years ago.

Another source of information that I have been blessed to encounter is the Jefferson County Historical Commission’s treasures from current members and those members who have passed on. It was there that I began to see the bigger picture of what we face: sadly we are losing our historians. When these people are gone, so goes the knowledge of our past. This is why it is so important to document it, write it, photograph it, in any way you can. It is our heritage, our past, and we owe future historians this courtesy.

I treasure those who have taken the time to investigate my area’s past. Hopefully I can humbly add to their contributions in some way. They were, and are, my mentors, people who I wish I had known. If it weren’t for them, our historical knowledge would be nonexistent.

 

 

 

 

Food for Thought in Port Arthur Texas (70’s- 80’s)

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Growing up in Port Arthur in the 1970s did have its finer points to some degree. As a kid I had no idea what Bernis Sadler (then the mayor) was up to nor did I care. My main concern was whether or not Monceaux Drive In had those delectable and greasy onion rings with my cheeseburger deluxe served in a cardboard pie box. Truth be told, there is nothing that comes close to those onion rings! (Baby Boomers will remember Monceaux’s for the root-beer among other things.)

Over the course of two decades, I have discovered many eateries in my hometown, and there were many. One that comes to mind is a little takeout place called Hartman’s, which was located on Bluebonnet Avenue. If you loved home-style cooking, then this was a gem. I can remember walking in and feeling as if I was in someone’s house, except for the screen door attached to the kitchen from which an elderly man emerged with your plate lunch after you had ordered it from a very nice elderly lady.

These two people were delightful. As far as I could tell, these were the Hartman’s, and one could believe this except for their heavy Cajun accents. One thing that sticks out in my mind is that, when I would call ahead, the lady would ask what I wanted. My answer, of course, was the Étouffée, but there were many things besides the main course. “So what are the sides?”

“Well, we got lima beans, string beans, pinto beans, red beans, white beans, and (it always ended with) black-eyed peas.”

Whatever the sides, this was something to treasure. Speaking of treasure, I also remember a place next to Roy’s Food Center on Lewis Drive called the Brisket Room. The chip beef sandwiches were the best barbeque—or at least they were until I found Billy Joe’s in Port Neches.

Port Arthur seemed to always promote itself as the friendliest city by the sea. Well, Port Arthur is not by the sea, it’s by a lake, but I will give credit to the seafood. There were three restaurants that I enjoyed. The first and foremost was Leo and Willie’s. There was no place better in the 80s—except on Thursdays. On Thursdays I would order a seafood platter from the Texas Fish Net Restaurant. There was no one who had better catfish than the Fish Net!

And let us not forget about the Farm Royale on Memorial. Back in the day, most knew this place to be an upper-class eatery, and they weren’t mistaken. Other eateries offering decent seafood (technically I do not know if they are in Port Arthur, but they are worth mentioning) are Domingue’s on the Neches (under the Rainbow Bridge) and of course, Esther’s. Yes, I do know the latter is in Groves, Texas, but it was just a great place to eat back when.

Finally, sometimes we craved Mexican food, and there was no better place at the time to treat ourselves than under the train bridge at Taco Rey, or my favorite, Guadalajara on 9th Avenue. Both had pretty good Tex-Mex food. Nowadays Taco Rey can be found on Nederland (where it’s safe), and Guadalajara still has a restaurant in Orange Texas.

Please forgive this minor indulgence because this blog really has no historic value other than me remembering those greasy onion rings, chip beef sandwiches, plate lunches, catfish, and tacos from places and times long since passed.

 

 

Eddingston Court Port Arthur Texas

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Eddingston Court 1929

There is one place in Port Arthur that has always fascinated me even though I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting it. Over the years, the grounds of Eddingston Court have made me think of English-inspired flats and gardens. So how did this property come to be, and what is its history?

In 1929 Port Arthur was short of rental properties due in part to the expanding oil industry. Tugboat captain and businessman Ambrose Eddingston saw an opportunity and commissioned the construction of four two-story Tudor brick apartment buildings along with a pond, which lay in the middle of the drive between the buildings. A one-story brick ranch-style home was also built at the end of the drive.DSC00039

Given the time it was built, circa 1929, it must have been quite a sight to see the finished edifice. I have personally always been a fan of English architecture and gardens, so to have been among the Port Arthur residents of the period would no doubt have just added to my ardor.

Given the eccentric flare of the property’s pond and structures, you would think that these would have been sufficient, but Ambrose Eddingston had another visual treat for passersby. The captain had 6,000 Conch shells imported from the Caymen Islands, and these went into the construction of a wall at the front of the property. Ambrose Eddingston commissioned Dionicio Rodriguez, a Mexican-born sculpture who was living in San Antonio at the time, to construct the fence and the pond. (As an aside, Rodriguez was not only known for his wonderful works, but he also perfected a process in which he carved chemically treated reinforced concrete so that it looked like wood.)

During the subsequent 76 years, this property underwent a few minor changes but still maintained its English-style charm, providing tenants with a place to call home. Some residents even stayed for multiple decades. Sadly, just as with many other properties in this area, Hurricane Rita unleashed her fury upon it, and it was damaged. In 2008, Hurricane Ike also damaged the structures, and it has lain vacant ever since.

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Nowadays, you will notice as you go past the property that this glamorous artistic treasure is barricaded by a chain link fence, and a “For Sale” sign is in plain view. I can only imagine the state of the structures, which have been left as is, waiting until a new owner comes in and restores this historic gem to its former glory. Hopefully this is one Port Arthur property that will escape the wrecking ball, unlike so many other buildings over the years that have not.

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.

 

Preserving History

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A few weeks back, I visited Broussard’s Cemetery, which is located on Labelle Road in west Jefferson County. There are few words that I can type here to adequately describe the condition of this sacred place, but I will try to do so.

At first sight, you would never know that there is a cemetery in front of you. The multiple years of abandonment have permitted the overgrowth of brush, vines, and trees to flourish. I actually had to use a few commercial trimmers to cut a trail through to the first grave. So who’s at fault, and where are the keepers of these plots of history?

Actually there are none. In my opinion, blame cannot lay at any particular person’s feet since this place is very old. It’s a sad fact of history that is becoming more and more frequent. Whether they are cemeteries, old abandoned sites, houses, or even simply a lack of interest in our past, a lot of our history is disappearing.

But all hope isn’t lost. There are organizations, commissions, and societies that do wonderful work in maintaining our history. There is a plethora of people behind the scenes who volunteer their time and finances toward specific purposes. Some people even dedicate a lifetime to their cause, and they are to be commended. Any help to these organizations, whether monetary or by way of voluntary effort, would no doubt be gladly appreciated.

So what is to become of Broussard’s Cemetery? There are passionate people who I believe will bring the needed care and attention to this historic site. But it all comes down to individuals with enough enthusiasm and a sufficient work ethic to take the time to correct this travesty. Because in the end, that’s what it takes: hard work and dedication to a cause.

If you would like to learn more about the Southeast Texas organizations that work to preserve our heritage or would like to donate your time, here are a few that would be most appreciative:

Jefferson County Historical Commission :

http://www.co.jefferson.tx.us/historical_commission/links.htm

Chambers County Historical Commission:

http://www.cchcnews.com/

Galveston County Historical Commission:

http://www.co.galveston.tx.us/Museum/historical_commission.asp

Orange County:

http://www.hcwilliams.com/

Beaumont Heritage Society:

http://www.beaumontheritage.org/

Galveston Historical Foundation:

http://www.galvestonhistory.org/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blood of the Innocent

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Blood of the Innocent coverA little SETX fiction on this Halloween 🙂

Katy ran swiftly through the brush near the river. Her heart pounding with fear hearing the barking of the bloodhounds as they drew closer. She surely felt her world coming to an end. Katy could probably outrun the two men on horseback but not the dogs. She might wade into the river but her demise would be evenly shared perhaps among the alligators and the snakes.

Katy ran faster and faster through the darkness finally reaching a patch of oak trees near a shallow inlet. She ran through the water splashing her way to the other side. Just then, only seconds behind her, the dogs appeared through the brush barking fanatically. All three dogs had her in their sights but stopped at the edge of the water. Katy, now on the other side, raced through more oak and cypress trees. There, now seemed to be a path that she could maneuver better.

The two men on horseback caught up with the dogs near the inlet. They noticed the dogs barking at the edge of the water. One of the men trotted up to the water’s edge to see why the dogs did not follow the girl. As he lowered his torch to the water a sudden splash and a hissing sound came from the bank. This spooked the horse and made it buck. The man fell backwards off the horse into the mud. Meanwhile the dogs, still barking fanatically, began snapping at something in the water. The man hurriedly grabbed the torch from the ground to see what spooked the horse.

“It’s a twelve footer!” the other man on the horse yelled. “Hell there’s another one over there.”

The man on the ground jumped up and staggered nervously away from the water’s edge. The dogs seemed to keep the twelve foot gator in the water, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

“Shoot the damn thing Ben!” the man said still backing up.

“Ain’t no point in it. It’ll jest pick out the bullet and spit it back at ya.” Ben said with a grin.

“Well do something dang it,” the man said now grabbing the reins of his horse.

Ben pulled out his revolver and fired two shots in the air while shouting for the dogs to get back. He figured it would be better to cross at another point then to lose three good hunting dogs.

“Mount up Wes. We’ll cross a ways down from here. Dang girl must be in league with the devil to get through them.” He said, “Don’t matter though. She’s headin’ south. I reckon them Creol’s gonna enjoy that little lassie if you know what I mean. Hell, if she makes it that far?”

Wes mounted his horse. Raising his torch he noticed the inlet was full of alligators. He counted around seven sets of eyes peering at him from the water. Being from east Texas, he never dealt with these nasty creatures before. Maybe the odd bear, or hog but not these foul monsters, surely spawned from the devil himself.

Katy, still running as fast as she could, noticed the barking dogs sounding farther and farther away from her. Then she heard the two shots in the distance. For some reason, unaware to her, she had been given a chance to escape. She knew this was a gift and she had better make good with it.

Her heart pounded and exhaustion began to set in. Katy stumbled and fell to the ground. Clamoring to get up her legs began to cramp, but she knew she couldn’t stay there or they would eventually catch up with her. Finally getting to her feet she began to limp toward a thicker patch of trees. Katy’s eyes peered through the darkness in search of where she could hide from the dogs, but there was nowhere that she would be safe. Exhaustion or not she had to move on to stay alive.

At that moment she heard a ruffling on the other side of the trees near another inlet. It sounded like as if someone was near. Told by the locals that there were possibly Indians in the area, and knowing those men chasing her, she crept silently to find out who or what was making the noise.

Katy, hidden with the trees and brush, could make out the silhouette of a person on a flat bottom boat. With the moon now peeking through the clouds she could tell it was a woman although her face was hidden mostly behind a hood.  Katy knew this was her last hope. She raced out of the brush and fell to the ground near the water’s edge.

Coming 2013

Out now! http://amzn.com/B00CA9IOIE

 

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.