Postcard From The Last American International Boundary Marker

Road-side markers for the Texas-Louisiana
boundary marker along FM-31

Just about 10 miles south of Deadwood, Texas and 6 miles from Logansport, Louisiana on Texas FM-31 is a little pull-off site with just enough room for three or four cars to park on the bare ground. Off the beaten path would be a good term for it. Actually, it's so far out in the boonies, you gotta be going there to get there. But this little nondescript spot is historically significant.

In the 1700's, French and Spanish land claims overlapped on the current Texas-Louisiana boundary. Of course they began disputing this New World boundary as each country claimed Texas. The dispute was still going on when the United States purchased the Louisiana Territory from France in 1803. The government leaders finally agreed to a neutral area between the Arroyo Hondo and the Sabine River. In 1819, the Adams-Onis Treaty formally defined the border. Questions arose again when Texas won its independence and became a republic in 1836. Texas appointed a joint commission with the U.S. to survey and mark an official boundary from the Gulf of Mexico to the Sabine River and on to the Red River.

The survey began on May 20, 1840 and after an exact spot was determined, a 36-foot pole was placed in the middle of a large earthen mound on the Gulf of Mexico beach. Proceeding north, they placed 8-foot posts which marked the number of miles from the 32nd parallel. When they reached the parallel, they placed a granite marker on the west bank of the Sabine River and then traveled due north to the Red River. The survey was completed in late June, 1841.

A few years later, erosion caused the granite marker to fall into the river and it was lost to history. Fortunately, the surveyors had placed a second granite marker on their northward path to mark the north-south meridian. On the east face of the marker they chiseled "U.S." and on the west face "R.T." for Republic of Texas. 

That marker is what you will find if you venture to this quiet, very rural little place. So what's so remarkable about this marker? It is one of a kind - the one and only international boundary marker to be found inside the contiguous United States! Except for this one, all others have been lost to time, erosion or vandals.

Fading Photographs

When my mother passed a few years ago, I inherited two large boxes full of photographs – family photos, old pictures of old houses and cars and places, old pictures of old people. A few were identified with a name written on the back, but most were not. Some were correct, some not. In my mother’s halting hand-writing, with failing eye-sight and a faulty memory, she had identified childhood photographs of me as my brother and my brother as me so who knows if the others are correct or not.

The other day, with nothing pressing to do, I broke out one of those boxes again to try and correctly identify people and put some kind of order to them. It's a futile effort as I didn't know most of the older individuals who have long since passed on and the ones who knew them have passed as well. It always makes me sad. These individuals had lives they lived, laughs they shared, stories they told, love and fear they felt and life choices they had to make. Some of those choices they made affected my life - where I was born, what religion I was taught, how I was raised by the people they raised. Now, they are dead and buried and forgotten underground with nothing to mark their resting place but maybe a broken headstone and weeds. I couldn't help but think, when an old person dies, it's like a library burning down.

Why am I sitting on a mule in the snow getting 

my picture taken with this man identified as 

 Pa Kerly? There is no 'Kerly' in my family.

While sitting on my home-office floor surrounded by all these photographs, somehow a smell I remember from my childhood came to me. It was a very distinctive, sickly sweet smell. At one time when I was quiet young, we lived next to a horse processing plant. That was back when they killed and processed old and broken-down horses to be used for glue-making and other processes. I would wonder over to the corrals and look at all those horses and dream of being a cowboy. Occasionally, one of the workers would lift me up and put me on the sway-back of one of those poor creatures. The horses never seemed to mind and rarely moved with me on their back as their spirit had long ago been broken and used up. Sometimes the man would lift me up from one horse and place me on another, then slowly lead the first horse into one end of the big shed and I never saw them come out of the other end even though I always watched closely.

That smell of death that came drifting to me through the years to where I sat in my modern office with all the modern electronic machines I feel I need to keep me informed, warm, cool, dry and comfortable caused me to reflect on why I felt a need to identify the people in these long-forgotten photographs. Maybe it's me I'm actually thinking about. I don't want to end up like them, just a little footnote that nobody pays attention to or actually cares about.

I have a lot of digital photos I've taken and I have them all cataloged in several different ways on different mediums all backed up in triplicate. And I now realize, as I'm edging closer and closer to my own end-of-days, I'm probably unconsciously using these photographs as a barrier, individual bricks in a fence against my own mortality. After all, no one is dead, truly dead, until no one remembers them and no one speaks their name. But that's life though. It's the way it's supposed to be. And so I took those stacks of old photographs and put them all back in their cardboard box, still unidentified, still forgotten. I printed out a few of me and put those in there too, unidentified. Maybe someday someone else will pull them out and think, "I wonder who these people were? What were their stories?" 

The First Shot of the Civil War

Cadet William S. Simkins

Just northeast of today's downtown Dallas, Texas is the historic Greenwood Cemetery. Famous for the many icons of history buried within its grounds, it is perhaps even more famous for the numerous cemetery scenes filmed there for the popular TV series Walker, Texas Ranger which starred Chuck Norris and ran from 1993 - 2001. One of the more obscure burials here is that of Confederate veteran William Stewart Simkins.

William was born on August 25, 1842. On January 9, 1861, he was a senior cadet at the Citadel, a South Carolina military academy. At daybreak, he and several other cadets were manning a battery overlooking the Charleston Harbor. Standing watch that morning, he saw a signal from a guard boat and quickly sounded the alarm, waking up his fellow cadets. They spotted the Union ship Star of the West attempting to resupply Fort Sumter. A cannon was loaded, aimed at the supply ship, and William fired. It was the first shot of the Civil War. (see The Civil War Ended in Texas for who fired the last shot.)

William Simkins

William and his classmates were graduated early on April 9th. Just 3 days later on April 12, 1861, he participated in the bombardment of Fort Sumter, the first battle of the Civil War. William served as an artillery officer and then Inspector General throughout the conflict, finally surrendering as a colonel in the army of General Joseph Johnston in North Carolina in 1865.

Simkins moved to Florida after the war, studied law and passed the bar exam in 1870. He move to Texas in 1873 and eventually joined the law faculty of the University of Texas. After a long and successful law career, he passed away in Dallas on February 27, 1929. 68 years after he fired the first shot of the Civil War.

Simkins Family Plot in Greenwood Cemetery

Grave of William Simkins

The Hanged Man Who Refused To Die

In 1890, after the Ku Klux Klan was somewhat disrupted and driven under ground, another organization called the Whitecaps was formed in Mississippi to "put down criminality and petty thievery among the blacks."  The members swore in blood never to reveal its secrets. Unlike the KKK, the Whitecaps rarely used violence, but the scare tactics they used were enough to keep the African-Americans terrorized.

In 1893, for some infraction that has been lost to history, the Whitecaps in Marion County took physical action against an African-American employed as a servant by a member of the group. The man was severely flogged while his employer, Will Buckley, was out of town and had no knowledge of the group's action. When Buckley returned and discovered his servant had been flogged, he became enraged at the uncalled for violence and the secrecy with which it was carried out. He decided to reveal the whole affair to the authorities and expose the secrets of the Whitecaps at the next meeting of a Grand Jury. Buckley's intentions became known to the leaders of the Whitecaps so when the jury met, the Whitecappers were there to watch the moves of everyone who might testify against the organization. As a result of Buckley's evidence and testimony, an indictment was brought against the 3 Whitecap men who had carried out the flogging.

On his way home from the courthouse, accompanied by his brother Jim and the flogged man, all on horseback, Buckley was traveling down a secluded forest road. With Will Buckley in the lead, they were crossing a small stream when a man jumped out from the underbrush and fired a pistol at them. With a moan, Will swayed in his saddle and then fell to the ground dead. The other 2 men spurred their horses and even though the assassin emptied his gun firing at them, managed to escape unhurt.

A short distance down the trail on which Will was killed was the Purvis home. Although only 19, Will Purvis was rumored to be a member of the Whitecaps. Two days after the slaying, bloodhounds were taken to the place of the murder and with some coaxing, picked up a cold scent which led the handlers into a field near the frame house the Purvis family called home. A neighbor who owned land on both sides of the Purvis holdings had for years tried to buy them out, but the elder Purvis refused to sell. This neighbor confirmed to authorities that young Will was a member of the Whitecaps and he was almost positive it had been him who had shot Buckley. Desperate to make an arrest and solve the crime, Will was arrested and charged with murder.

The arrest threw citizens of the county into two camps. Buckley had been well liked, being known to be fair in his dealings with others and for helping folks in need, but Will Purvis was also well liked, having grown up there and known to be kind and hard-working. Many said it couldn't have been Will who carried out such a terrible deed; he was too kind and just didn't have it in him.  

At the trial, Jim Buckley, the state's key witness, testified that he and the servant had witnessed the killing of his brother. When asked if he could name the man who did the killing, he pointed his finger at Will Purvis and said, "That's him. That's the man who killed my brother." Even though several men of good character substantiated Purvis' alibi of being several miles away with them planning a group picnic at the time of the killing, Jim's testimony along with Will Purvis admitting he had joined the Whitecaps 3 weeks before the murder was enough for the jury to find him guilty. 

At the reading of the verdict, Purvis once again declared his innocence. At the request of his attorney, each member of the jury was asked how he voted and Will looked on in dismay as each one replied, "Guilty." As the last juror answered the same as the rest, Will said, "I am innocent of this crime. I swear, I will outlive everyone on the jury who has wrongly found me guilty." 

Following the law, Will was sentenced to die by hanging. His attorney appealed, but 6 months later, the Mississippi Supreme Court upheld the sentence. Several days following the Supreme Court's decision, Will was escorted under heavy guard to the gallows in Columbia. Five thousand people came to Columbia on horseback, in wagons, carts and buggies. When the appointed hour came, many in the crowd were crying as Will was led up to the scaffold. After the minister finished praying for his soul, the sheriff asked Will if he had any last words. The crowd was silent, expecting a final confession, but Will stated, "You are taking the life of an innocent man, but there are people here who know who did commit this crime. If they will come forward and confess, I will go free and an innocent man will be spared." Nobody came forward as the rope was placed around the boy's neck. The minister loudly proclaimed, "God save this innocent boy!" just as the trapdoor was sprung beneath Will's feet. Purvis dropped and then with a sharp jerk, the hangman's knot slipped and Will fell to the ground with no more injury than a slight rope burn around his neck.

Horror gripped the crowd as Will, his hands and feet still bound, stood up and looked around. Incredibly, he hopped up onto the first step of the scaffold, turned to the sheriff and said, "Let's have it over with." Many women in the crowd began screaming and crying even louder as some of the men began shouting it was divine intervention that had saved the young man. The sheriff said, "This man was sentenced to hang and hang he will" as he ordered the officials to prepare to hang him again. The doctor on hand refused to have anything more to do with the procedure. He had been known for expressing his feelings against the Whitecaps, but all along he had not believed Purvis was guilty. As the doctor prepared to walk away he said, "I will not have any part of this damn thing. This boy's been hung once too many times already."

When the doctor made his statement, many of the crowd cried, "Don't let him hang!" Others in the crowd were just as loud though as they shouted, "Hang him!" Suddenly, the Reverend held up his hands and as the shouts faded, all eyes turned to him. He shouted, "All who want to see this boy hanged a second time, hold up your hands." There was complete silence and only a few hands were raised. The Reverend then said in a quiet voice, "All who are opposed to hanging Will Purvis a second time, hold up your hands." Almost every hand went up. The crowd who had come to see life taken from a man now were virtually united in calling for his release.

The officials were unsure what to do. It was their duty to carry out the punishment, but how could they go ahead against the will of five thousand people staring at them? Once again the sheriff ordered the officials to prepare to hang Will again. At this, the doctor called out to the sheriff, "I do not agree with you. If I were to call for the help of 300 men to prevent the hanging, what would you do?" As shouts of agreement with the doctor rose from the men in the crowd, the sheriff realized that in such an event he would be helpless. The doctor then took several steps up the gallows and quietly said to the sheriff, "And I am ready to it it now." At this, the sheriff ordered the hanging to be stopped and the prisoner to be escorted back to jail.

The question of whether or not Will Purvis could be hanged again was taken to the State Supreme Court. The court decided that just because the noose had slipped was no reason the law should not be followed to completion. The court stated that Purvis had been found guilty, there was a witness against him and to free him or commute his sentence to life in prison would establish a dangerous precedent. His date of execution was set for July 31, 1895.

Indignation over the ruling of the court ran high with most people now believing Will was indeed innocent. During the night of July 30, 1895, the night before Will was to be hung a second time, there was strangely only one deputy standing guard  when a group of unidentified men stormed the jail, overpowered and tied up the deputy without harming him and whisked Will Purvis away. Several other prisoners were left in their cells and the deputy swore he could not identify any of Will's rescuers. Nobody was ever brought to trial for the jailbreak.

Will disappeared and the official search for him never amounted to much, but the case remained in the public eye so much that it was an issue in the next gubernatorial election. The candidate in favor of modifying the sentence won the election. The day after he was sworn in, Purvis voluntarily surrendered himself and, true to his word, the new governor commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. On March 12, 1896, Will began his sentence of hard labor, breaking rocks and clearing fields by hand.

Two years later, the state's key witness, Jim Buckley, the brother who had identified Purvis as the murderer, recanted his testimony and said in his grief and desire for revenge, he had identified Will because everyone thought that's who did it. Since Jim was the main reason Will had been convicted, a new trial was ordered and without an eye witness, a new verdict of Not Guilty was rendered. Will was released from prison and on December 19, 1898, after thousands of letters came into the governor's office requesting a pardon for Will, the governor issued the requested full pardon. 

In time, Will married his childhood sweetheart and they had 7 children. He became a prosperous farmer and life with his family was good, but there was still a cloud over his happiness as he had never completely been vindicated of the murder of Will Buckley.

In 1917, Joe Beard, a long-time resident of the community attended a rousing revival meeting of the Holy Rollers. The charismatic preacher emphasized the importance of the public confession of sins. Joe came forward to join the church and declared he had long been suffering from the weight of a terrible sin. He would say no more at that time, but a few months later he became seriously ill. When the doctor told him he should prepare to meet his maker, Beard called his minister and several friends to his bedside to hear his confession. He stated that in 1893, he was one of 4 Whitecaps who met in secret to discuss Will Buckley's intention of revealing to the Grand Jury the secrets of the Whitecaps organization. Three of them decided that Buckley should be killed to protect the guilty members. The fourth person was a young man of only 19 years who had just recently joined the Whitecaps and he flatly refused to have anything to do with such a dastardly thing. He promptly renounced his membership, quitting the group and returning home. That man was Will Purvis.

The three remaining men drew lots to see who would carry out the murder. Joe and a man named Louis Thornhill drew the short straws. The two men built a brush blind on the side of the creek by the trail they knew Buckley would take coming home from town. They laid in wait until the three intended victims came into sight. Beard said Thornhill jumped out and fired the shot that killed Buckley, but Beard, who was also supposed to jump out and begin firing, had lost his nerve and never moved from his hiding place in the brush. This had allowed Jim Buckley and the servant to escape. The reverend got a pencil and paper and began writing down his story, but before he could finish it and get Beard to sign it, Beard took his last breath and died.

Beard's confession completely cleared Purvis of the murder. In an ironic twist of fate, Thornhill, who was advanced in age but still alive, could not be brought to trial as the deathbed confession could not be used in court since it was not signed. Thornhill, who had years before moved to an isolated cabin in the woods, remained in his cabin, but was never seen in town again. A year later, his body was discovered on the floor of his cabin by a hunter. No cause was given for his death.

In 1920, the state of Mississippi appropriated $5,000 to Purvis as compensation "for suffering endured and for services done and performed in the State penitentiary under the provision of an erroneous judgement. The state of Mississippi confesses to a great wrong done to Will Purvis and now removes all stain and dishonor from his name."

On October 13, 1938, twenty-one years after his exoneration, Will Purvis died of natural causes - 3 days after the death of the last juror who had found him guilty.

Adobe Walls & The Greatest Shot Ever

Monument at the site of the Adobe Walls battle

The place called Adobe Walls is located in a remote area of the Texas Panhandle. It was initially a small trading post consisting of several large tepees established in 1843 by William Bent and Ceran St. Vrain. The men hoped to introduce peaceful trade with the Comanche and Kiowa Indians who lived there.

For 3 years the post remained open in spite of the occasional Indian attacks on the supply trains which brought in trade goods. In 1846, after increasing hostile attacks against the post itself, a contingent of men, including a number of Mexican adobe makers, replaced the tepees with what they named Fort Adobe. The structure was 80 feet square with only one entrance and had walls 9 feet high and 2 feet thick. The hostile Indian attacks however continued to increase and trade with friendly Indians continued to decrease until in early 1848, the post was abandoned.

In the fall of 1848, a peace treaty was established with the Indians of the area and William Bent, accompanied by Kit Carson and 11 other men re-opened Fort Adobe. During that winter, the post was able to conduct business with several friendly Comanche tribes through a small window cut into a wall. By the spring of 1849 though, the peace treaty had been broken and the Comanche, accompanied by a large number of Apache, attacked the post and killed or stole most of the livestock. Bent had finally had enough. He blew up the post with dynamite and with his men and what few trade goods remained, retreated to less dangerous lands. The ruins became a landmark for those few white men brave enough to venture through the hostile country.

In 1864, the New Mexico Territory government wanted to stop Indian raids along the Santa Fe Trail. To accomplish this, they sent Kit Carson and 411 heavily armed men into Texas to punish the Indians who came into New Mexico along the trail from the Texas Panhandle.  After an attack on a Kiowa village which killed several braves and women, Carson and his army set up camp among the ruins of Fort Adobe. Due to the fact that only a couple of walls were still standing, the site had become known then as Adobe Walls. The next day, on November 25, the surviving braves from the Kiowa tribe which had been attacked accompanied by additional Kiowa from other bands and a large band of Comanche attacked the men camped in Adobe Walls. With over 1,000 fighters, the Indians outnumbered the white men by more than 2 to 1, but Carson and his men were able to fight off the attack as they had 2 cannon. When the sun set, the white men set fire to their camp, mounted their horses and made a run to safety. Carson's men only suffered 3 dead and 15 wounded and Indian casualties were light as well, but when the men returned to Fort Bascom in New Mexico, Carson was hailed as a hero for leading his men in the largest battle fought on the Great Plains. The encounter eventually became known as the 1st Battle of Adobe Walls.

Nine years later, buffalo hunters came to the plains of the Texas Panhandle. In the early 1800's, there was an estimated 50 - 60 million buffalo freely roaming the west. The Native Americans hunted them for food, clothing and other necessities. After the Civil War however, as the white man pushed farther and farther into the west, people back east demanded buffalo hide for coats and lap robes and buffalo tongue became a delicacy in restaurants. Tanneries paid $3.00 per hide and 25 cents per tongue. With a high-powered long range rifle, men like Buffalo Bill Cody, Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson and Wild Bill Hickock could kill as many as 250 buffalo per day and make a very good living. After skinning and cutting out the tongue, the meat was simply left to rot where the animal fell. Shooting the beasts from the windows of moving trains became a grand sport and it was not uncommon for the carcasses to be strung out beside the rails for mile after mile. As the mindless slaughter continued, the Indians watched as their main source of sustenance became more and more scarce. They reacted with more attacks on settlements, wagon trains and white travelers. The U.S. government, in turn, reacted to these hostilities with the desire to separate the Indian from white civilization by placing all Indians on reservations. To do this, the eradication of the buffalo was actively sought. 

By April 1874, several merchants from Dodge City, Kansas established a large complex very near Adobe Walls to buy and ship buffalo hides and to serve the needs of the 200 - 300 buffalo hunters in the area.  Soon afterwards, a second complex of stores was established nearby and within several months, a blacksmith shop, saloon and other stores were added. Adobe Walls was again in business and active. The remaining Indians in the area understood the post and the buffalo hunters it served were a huge threat to their continued existence.

Monument to the Indian warriors who died in the
2nd battle of Adobe Walls

On the morning of June 27, 1874, a force of 700 Comanche, Cheyenne, Kiowa, and Arapaho warriors led by Comanche Chief Quanah Parker attacked Adobe Walls. The hunters and proprietors, which numbered only 28 men at the time of the attack, took refuge in two stores and a saloon. Bat Masterson and a hunter named Billy Dixon were among the men. Although vastly outnumbered, the men's superior weapons and the stout walls they sheltered behind enabled them to hold off the Indian forces for 3 days with only 4 deaths while inflicting as many as 50 deaths to the Indians.

On the 3rd day, 15 Indian chiefs and warrior leaders met for council on the side of a hill 7/8 of a mile (1,538 yards) from the post. As they sat on their horses arguing over whether to continue the battle or abandon it, Bat Masterson knowing Billy Dixon was the best long-shot among them, jokingly pointed at the Indians and said, "Hey Billy, why don't you show us how good you are? Go ahead and take a shot at those Indians with your Sharps Big-50."
 

Picture taken from the approximate site where
Billy Dixon took his incredible shot. The Indian he
shot was sitting on his horse on the side of the hill
in the center left.
 

Billy climbed up into the small loft of the store they were in, made adjustments to the long-range finder on his Sharps, took aim and fired. The heavy recoil from the gun knocked Billy backwards and he fell through the attic trap door with several boxes and other items falling on top of him. He fell onto a table which broke apart and fortunately cushioned his fall. As for the Indians, if they noticed the white puff of smoke from the loft window, they no doubt chuckled at the stupid white man wasting powder and lead due to the impossible distance. If they were quiet, 4.1 seconds later they would have heard the distant bang of the Sharps. No doubt they were shocked when 1.2 seconds later one of the chiefs was hit and knocked from his horse. They hurriedly picked up the mortally wounded chief and rode further away and behind the hill.

Perhaps they considered it an evil omen or perhaps they just wisely decided they no longer wanted to try and fight against men who could shoot with such accuracy from so far away, but they gathered up their warriors and horses and rode away to fight another day. The 2nd Battle of Adobe Walls had concluded and Billy Dixon went down in history for making one of the most remarkable shots ever.
 

Billy Dixon

Today, nothing remains of Adobe Walls except a couple of small markers, monuments, and the lonely grave of Billy Dixon. Billy died of pneumonia in 1913 and was buried in Texline, Texas, but was dug up and reburied in Adobe Walls in 1929. Even the small fresh-water spring which had provided life-giving water to the Indians, buffalo hunters and traders has completely dried up and vanished. The site is in no danger of being found accidentally as you have to travel miles down a pot-holed, 2-lane black-topped road out of Spearman, Texas, a nice little town of 3,000 which itself is pretty much in the middle of nowhere, to a gravel road barely wide enough for 2 cars to pass each other as long as one  of you moves over on the side off the road, to a 1-lane dirt road usually not shown on even the most detailed maps. Don't even think about driving this if the ground is still wet from a rain. After about 15 miles of nothing but cows - no other cars, no people, no houses, you come to a gate across the road. The gate is not attached to a fence, it is just a gate across the dirt road blocking you from going further down the road. Right before you unexpectedly reach this gate are the monuments of Adobe Walls. 

The lonely grave of Billy Dixon

Stopping at the gate, to the left almost a mile away is the hill where the Indians thought they were safe but Billy proved they were not. While my friend and road trip partner Chip and I were there, a few cows were standing around and there were so many "cow pies" it seemed the ground was covered with them. The isolation and silence was complete with not even a plane overhead to break the peace. It was easy to picture in your mind how this place looked long ago as the landscape hasn't really changed for hundreds of years. As we walked around taking a few pictures, mostly taking in the surroundings, we hardly spoke and even when we did, it was in low voices as if it would be sacrilegious to break the church of silence and solitude we found ourselves in. 

After some time had passed, my buddy was off a ways from me absorbed in his own thoughts so I walked across the dirt road toward the Indian's hill in the distance. On a whim, I reached down and grasped a dry cow pie and heaved it toward that hill. For a couple of seconds it went flying through the air like a Frisbee and I wondered just how far that thing would go. But then a little gust of wind blew and the cow pie Frisbee wobbled in the air and fell. It rolled a little ways, but then bumped up against several of it's own kind and stopped. It was once again just another cow pie among thousands. Several nearby cows looked at me for a few seconds and then, losing interest, turned their heads and ambled away.

Getting back to the truck, I quietly asked Chip if he was ready to head back. "Yeah, I'm ready," he answered just as quietly. I opened a new package of wet wipes, cleaned my hands and started the engine. It was probably the loudest noise those cows had heard in a good many days. We pulled a U-turn and headed back the way we had come. A cloud of dust followed us as we drove down that dirt road, but there were only cows to see it.

Postcard From The Smallest State Park in Texas

Located in the town of Grandbury, Texas, there is a grave in Acton Cemetery which is the smallest official state park in Texas. Buried within the fenced 0.006 acre plot is Elizabeth P. Crockett, Davy's 2nd wife (his 1st wife died in March, 1815 and Davy married Elizabeth who was a widow later that same year). Upon his death as a hero in the Alamo, Elizabeth was granted 1,280 acres of land in Texas for her husband's bravery and sacrifice in the cause of Texas freedom. She also received Davy's paycheck for his Texas military service - $24.

In the late 1830's, the land Elizabeth had been given by the state of Texas was still ruled by Comanche Indians and they didn't care that Davy's wife had been officially given some of their land by the white man's government, they still considered it theirs. It wasn't until the 1850's that Elizabeth, her daughter Matilda and her grown son, Robert, and his family felt it was safe enough to move onto the property she owned. By then nobody was sure of the boundaries so Elizabeth had to hire a surveyor. Having no money to pay for the survey and paperwork, she agreed to give the surveyor half of the property. The Crockett family finally moved onto their remaining 640 acres on Rucker's Creek about 6 miles outside Grandbury in the 1850's. She resided there until her death on January 31, 1860. From the day she was notified of Davy's death in 1836 until her own death, she only wore "widow's black" clothing.

Four years later, Matilda also passed away and was buried next to her mother. Robert died in 1889 and was buried next to his mother. Elizabeth's grave was originally marked with a simple headstone, but in 1911 the Texas Legislature authorized $2,000 for "the erection of a monument over the remains of Mrs. Elizabeth Crockett." In May, 1913, a 28-foot tall marble monument was placed at the head of her grave and unveiled in a public ceremony by Elizabeth's great-granddaughter. On top of the monument is a statue of Elizabeth shading her eyes from the sun and looking west, perhaps waiting and watching for Davy to come home. The 3 Crockett graves were fenced in and declared a state historic site until 1949 when the 12 by 21 foot site was declared a Texas State Park.

Bonnie & Clyde - Little Known Facts

The Bonnie & Clyde Ambush Museum in Gibsland, LA.
The building is the site of the former Canfield's Cafe
where Bonnie & Clyde stopped for sandwiches 45
minutes before their death. The museum is owned
and managed by "Boots" Hinton, the grandson of one
of the lawmen who ambushed and killed the outlaws.  

Bonnie Elizabeth Parker was born in Rowena, Texas on October 1, 1910. When she was just 4 years old, her father died so her mother moved herself and her 3 children to Cement City, an industrial suburb of Dallas. By the time she was in high school, Bonnie was a top student, winning contests in writing, spelling, and public speaking. In her junior year though, she met Roy Thornton, also a high school junior, and fell deeply in love with him.  She had grown up wanting to be a famous actress, but the love-birds dropped out of school and married on September 25, 1926 just six days shy of her 16th birthday. Roy soon proved to be a womanizer and small time crook, often leaving Bonnie alone for weeks at a time while off with another woman or serving short stretches of time in jail for petty crimes. In January, 1929, he was sentenced to a term of 5 - 8 years for robbery and Bonnie moved back in with her mother. She found a job as a waitress in a local cafe, but she often complained of the boring and lonely life she was leading. At the cafe, one of her regular customers was Ted Hinton, a postal worker who would later join the Dallas sheriff's office and become a member of the 6-man posse who would have a meeting of a totally different kind with Bonnie on May 23, 1934.

Clyde Chestnut Barrow was born on March 24, 1909 in Ellis County near the town of Telico a few miles southeast of Dallas.  Clyde, his parents and 6 brothers and sisters moved to the slums of West Dallas in the early 1920's, sleeping at night under their wagon until their father earned enough to buy a tent large enough for them to all sleep in. Clyde's first passion was music. He became a good guitar player and taught himself the saxophone. He wanted to make his living playing in a traveling band. In 1926 though, Clyde rented a car to go see a girl who had broken up with him. He failed to return the car on time and he was arrested for theft of an auto. He gave the car back and the charges were dropped, but he was soon arrested again when found riding in a truck with his older brother Buck. The back of the truck just happened to contain a number of stolen turkeys. After a short stint behind bars for the stolen turkeys, Clyde decided to join the navy. He went to the recruiting station but before arriving there, he stopped and got a tattoo on his left arm which said, "USN." During his military physical, it was found he still had some lingering effects from his boyhood bout with yellow fever which resulted in his medical rejection for naval service. 

On January 5, 1930, Bonnie had lost her waitress job and with her husband still in jail, was staying in West Dallas helping out a female friend who had broken her arm. She was making hot chocolate in the kitchen when Clyde and a friend stopped off at the house for the friend to visit the girl with the broken arm. Clyde walked into the kitchen and it was love at first sight for both of them. The crime spree began soon after and "the legend of Bonnie & Clyde" slowly became entrenched across America over the next four years.

Marker at the ambush site. Some
people shoot it, some leave
flowers, some deface it with
graffiti, others leave bullets
and shotgun shells. 

At about 8:45 on the morning of May 23, 1934, Bonnie & Clyde stopped at Ma Canfield's Cafe in Gibsland, Louisiana for breakfast. They ordered 2 sandwiches and 2 coffee's to go. At 9:15, they were driving down Louisiana Highway 154 about 8 miles south of Gibsland when they slowed down because they saw the car of someone they knew pulled off to the side of the road like it was broken down. With no warning and before the car even came to a stop, six law enforcement officers, including Ted Hinton, one of Bonnie's regular customers when she was working as a waitress, opened fire with shotguns, automatic rifles and hand guns. The shooting stopped only when the officers had used all of their ammunition. There were over 150 bullet holes in the car. Clyde had been hit with 17 shots; Bonnie 26. When the officers got to the car, Bonnie was found leaning against Clyde, her head on his shoulder, a half-eaten sandwich clutched in her right hand. She was still wearing her wedding ring given to her by Roy Thornton when she married him at age 15. Visible on the inside of her right thigh was a tattoo, two interconnected hearts labeled "Bonnie" and "Roy." On the floor behind Clyde, officers found his saxophone. 

Word of the ambush quickly circulated when 4 of the officers went into town to telephone their respective bosses. Before the undertaker could get to the site, a large crowd of people had gathered around the death car and the two officers who had remained behind to guard the scene couldn't control them. Individuals began reaching in the car and cutting off pieces of bloody clothing to take for souvenirs. Broken glass from the shattered windows was taken, several guns were taken from the car and when the coroner finally showed up, he found people cutting patches of hair from the bodies. He had to chase away one man who was trying to cut off Clyde's left ear with his pocket knife and another man who was trying to cut off Clyde's trigger finger. Additional police finally arrived and pushed back the growing throng of onlookers and souvenir hunters.

The side of the remote road where Bonnie & Clyde's
car came to a stop after being shot over 150 times
with rifles, shotguns, and pistols. 

The coroner had the car with the bodies still inside towed to the Conger Furniture Store and Funeral Parlor in downtown Arcadia. He called H.D. Darby, a young undertaker in nearby Ruston to assist him with the bodies. Just 13 months earlier, Darby and a lady friend had been kidnapped by Bonnie and Clyde during a robbery. They were both later released unharmed about 50 miles from Ruston. He said the outlaw pair had treated them kindly and had even given them some money so they could get back home. He also reported that Bonnie had asked him what kind of work he did. When he told her he was an undertaker, she laughed and replied, "Maybe someday you'll work on me." He did.

The side of the road where the lawmen hid in a stand
of trees when they ambushed Bonnie & Clyde. 

The 6 lawmen who took part in the ambush were each promised 1/6 of the reward money. At that time, rewards totaled over $150,000. After the deed though, most of the state, county and other organizations reneged and never paid. In the end, each of the 6 lawmen received $200.23 and a few souvenirs.

Bonnie & Clyde wanted to be buried together, but Bonnie's mother refused to allow it. She hated Clyde, blaming him for her daughter's life of crime and death. Clyde is buried next to his brother Marvin with a double headstone marking their graves. It is inscribed with the phrase, "Gone but not forgotten." Bonnie's grave, also in Dallas but in a different cemetery, is marked with a simple stone inscribed with her name, birth and death dates, and a poem - "As the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew, so this old world is made brighter by the lives of folks like you."

Faithfully Waiting

High atop Crowley's Ridge in Maple Hill Cemetery north of Helena, Arkansas is the grave of Dr. Emile Moore. In early 1883, Dr. Moore got into an argument with Dr. C. R. Shimault because Shimault had treated one of Dr. Moore's patients who had suffered a broken leg. The argument took place when the two men happened to meet in the middle of town. As their words grew more heated, Dr. Shimault pulled his gun and shot Dr. Moore in the head, killing him instantly. 

The deceased was the owner of an Irish Setter dog named Pedro. Dr. Moore was reputedly a hard man to like when he was drunk and he was drunk pretty often, but by all accounts, he was a good doctor when sober and he loved Pedro so much that the dog was often seen beside him as the doctor called upon the sick and injured of the community. Dr. Moore was not married and had few relatives or friends. When he was laid to rest, Pedro was in attendance at the sparsely attended ceremony. After the funeral, one of the attendants tried to take Pedro away, but the dog ran off into the woods and nobody cared enough to go after him.

Late that evening, there was only a sliver of a moon and as the darkness grew complete, residents of the few homes around the cemetery heard the mournful sound of a lonely dog up on Crowley's Ridge baying in the night. Through rain, heat, cold and snow, night after night, season after season, people would hear Pedro howling in his loneliness. Sometimes a kind-hearted person would try to take him away, but Pedro would growl at anyone who came near the grave of his beloved master and offers of food and water were not enough to coax him from his solitary vigil. He must have drank from dirty ponds or licked the morning mist from tree leaves for water and he evidently caught rabbits or squirrels in the woods for his meals. Sometimes if the cemetery caretaker had some lunch leftover, he would leave it where Pedro was sure to fine it. Over time though, people saw him grow skinny until his ribs seemed to poke out of his skin and eventually, the elements and a broken heart took their toll and the nightly baying ceased. After 2 nights of silence, several men made the trek up to Dr. Moore's grave and there they found the body of Pedro laying across it, still waiting for his master's return. 

Waiting

People in the community were so touched by the dog's devotion and loyalty that after burying Pedro in Dr. Moore's grave, a collection was taken up and a monument to Pedro was placed on top of Dr. Moore's stone. Below the statue of a dog written in stone on one side is the single word "Fidelity." And on the front side - "Waiting." Even in death, Pedro remains forever faithful, keeping watch over his master.

Rest Stops in Texas

Jessie Wilder Jones

In the quiet middle of Abilene's Elmwood Cemetery, eternally resting in a pretty, tree-shaded plot lies Jessie Wilder Jones. Surrounded by other members of her family who have also departed mortal life on earth, with the birds chirping and singing in the trees that protect her resting place from the hot Texas sun, one can imagine Jessie is very much at peace. No historical plaque or marker designates her burial ground and other than the occasional living relative, few visitors come to pay their respects. A good number of Texas travelers though should be offering up a thankful thought to her memory.

Jessie Kenan Wilder was born August 11, 1882 in Graham, Texas to financially blessed parents. She had a privileged, but unremarkable youth and went on to receive a bachelor's degree in music from Weatherford College. After post-graduate studies in music at the Sherwood School of Music, the American Conservatory of Music in Chicago, and the Bush Temple Conservatory of Music in Dallas, she established her own music school in Seymour, Texas. While operating her successful school, she met Morgan C. Jones, the nephew of a wealthy railroad builder. The two were married in October, 1902 and a few years later, the happy couple moved to Abilene. With their combined wealth, Jessie soon embarked on her subsequent life as a civic leader and during the Great Depression, was the founder of several charities which provided free milk to needy children and free child-care services for working Black parents.


As a civic leader in Abilene, Jessie served as chairman of the Home Service Committee for the Taylor County Red Cross during World War II. Then over the next 20 years, she served as president of the Abilene Museum of Fine Arts, the Abilene Garden Club, the City Federation of Women's Clubs, the Abilene Women's Club, the Abilene Parks and Recreation Board, and the Rosenfeld Music Club. She also served as the state treasurer of the Texas Federation of Women's Clubs and served on the committee that wrote the city charter for Abilene.

So what does any of that have to do with travelers on the highways of Texas? Directly, not really anything, but in the early 1930's while driving alone with her five children for a vacation in Colorado, she found there was no shady spot along the road to spread out the picnic lunch they wanted to have. With her children hot, hungry, tired of riding in the car and clamoring with their lack of patience, in desperation, Jessie pulled over in the small shade under a train trestle. With cars passing on the road close by and with the stench and dirt of a train which passed overhead, the unpleasant memory was etched deep in her mind.

Upon returning to Abilene from their Colorado vacation, Jessie attended a highway beautification meeting and proposed an idea for roadside parks. With her credentials and with all of the influential people she knew due to her civic activities, she was able to get an audience with the Governor of Texas, Miriam "Ma" Ferguson, who liked her idea and began actively advocating for it.

Today, the Texas Department of Transportation maintains and operates 101 rest area's and 743 picnic area's along the highways and byways of Texas. Even in the vast empty expanse of west Texas, travelers are never more than 2 hours away from a designated stopping point along a paved Texas road. The next time you need a break from driving; the next time while traveling down a highway in the middle of nowhere and you need to re-leave yourself of that morning coffee; the next time you just can't keep your eyes open and need a safe place to get 40 winks, stop at one of those rest stops, take care of your needs and give a quick thought of thanks to a forgotten lady forever resting in Abilene and those five clamoring children.

President Roosevelt & The Teddy Bear

In 1902, President Teddy Roosevelt accepted an invitation from the governor of Mississippi to go bear hunting in the Delta National Forest. A number of dignitaries and powerful businessmen joined in the hunt and split into several groups, each going their own way. After 3 days, all had found and shot a bear, all except President Roosevelt. With the president's reputation as a world-class hunter at stake, the governor ordered that something be done about it.

The Delta National Forest Ranger Station - complete
with Smokey The Bear statue.

That evening, one of the guides, Holt Collier, born a slave who later became an admired and much in demand hunting guide, managed to corner and capture an old black bear with the help of his dogs. While the bear was fighting with the dogs, Holt managed to stun the beast with a hard blow to the head with the butt of his rifle. The wounded bear was then securely tied to a willow tree to wait for the president.

Leading Roosevelt to the tree the next morning, the men in the party urged him to shoot the helpless beast, but the president, saying doing so would be extremely unsportsmanlike, refused and ordered the bear set free. News of this was picked up by the newspapers and articles about the president who refused to shoot a defenseless bear quickly spread across the country. 

The cartoon which inspired the
Teddy Bear industry

A political cartoonist heard of it and decided to humorously lampoon the president of the United States' refusal to shoot a bear. His cartoon appeared in the Washington Post on November 16, 1902. A Brooklyn, New York candy shop owner, Morris Michtom, saw the cartoon and was hit with an idea of how to capitalize on the popular story. Morris and his wife Rose also made stuffed animals and sold them in their store. Morris asked his wife to make two stuffed bears which he put in his store's front window. He dedicated them to President Roosevelt and called them "Teddy's bears." 

Soon, Morris and Rose could not meet the demand for Teddy's bears. After receiving Roosevelt's permission to use his name, they founded the Ideal Toy Company and began mass producing Teddy Bears. Now more than 100 years later, the Teddy Bear is still wildly popular around the world and it can all be traced back to that hunting trip in the Delta National Forest.

Today, the Delta National Forest contains over 60,000 acres and is the only remaining bottom-land hardwood national forest in America. From this forest each year, the Forest Service harvests over 3 million board feet of timber, maintains 87 campsites and over 50 miles of all-terrain vehicle trails. The Service also plants over 100 acres of wildlife food plots for wintering, migrating and resident birds annually. It is one of the most popular area's in Mississippi for outdoor enthusiasts.

While on a road trip to the Delta Forest, about 2 miles from the site of the famous hunt and seemingly in the middle of nowhere, Youngest-daughter and I came upon an interesting little store in the small unincorporated community of Onward, Mississippi. In 1913, the Onward Store was opened to meet the basic necessity needs of the locals and hunters who came to the Delta National Forest. Since then, the store has become a staple for the community as well as travelers on historic Highway 61 (nicknamed "The Great River Road" and "Blues Highway"). With creaking floorboards and shelves filled with all manner of old fashioned goods and various food items, the store is considered an important historical structure. Entering the front door is like stepping back in time.

The Onward Store

After a fairly recent renovation by the new owner, Molly VanDevender (a former Miss Mississippi), the Onward Store now serves breakfast and lunch in 2 small dining rooms whose walls are adorned with old photos, animal heads and memorabilia. The food is rather eclectic to say the least, but it is very good and sold at a reasonable price. With choices from quail and filet mignon, to "Mr. Ben's chicken and biscuits" and a "Half-pound Big Bear Burger" with Hoop Cheese and bacon, every selection is pretty tempting. I usually just go for a burger, but this time I got adventurous and ordered the pulled-pork sandwich with fries. The sandwich was good, especially the bun. The pulled-pork wasn't of sufficient quality to write home about, but perfectly acceptable. The fries were pretty good too. I wouldn't hesitate to stop there for lunch again. I still want to try that Big Bear Burger with Hoop Cheese.

After perusing the store shelves, taking a few pictures and buying a couple of cold Dr. Peppers for the road, I turned the nose of the pickup north and set out to cover more interesting miles on The Great River Road.

Souvenir Teddy Bears just $4.99!

Of course there's a lot of bear-
themed items for sale.

Youngest-daughter didn't like this old bear. Don't
really blame her as it is a bit spooky.



Big friendly bear on the front 
porch standing by the front door
to greet you.