Youree Chapel & The Oldest General Store in Texas

Continued from (roadtrip post 2)

Highway 2198 through the Caddo Lake National Wildlife Refuge is a pretty road, lots of Pine trees and it took us just long enough for my road trip buddy and I to get into a lively discussion about why there is no underbrush among all the trees we passed by. One of the reasons I love having Chip accompany me on these road trips is because, every now and then, with a totally straight face and full of absoluteness, he makes some "statement of fact" that I find outlandish BS. We can "discuss" these statements for hours, coming to no resolution before dropping the subject and then we'll pick it back up where we left off 6 months later during the next road trip. I have yet to positively determine if he is convinced of the truthfulness of his statements or if he is just having fun at my exasperation. It's one of the benefits of being best friends for going on 50 years!

Youree Memorial Chapel

Connecting onto Highway 43 toward Marshal and then taking several little backroads, we came to our next destination, the Youree Memorial Chapel. Built in 1904 and fashioned after a chapel in England, it has a hand-carved interior with windows by Tiffany. The chapel was built by the parents of Will Youree after he died at age 31 of yellow fever. It is still used today for funerals and the occasional wedding. The historical Scottsville Cemetery joins the chapel property.

The beautiful grounds of the cemetery contain some of the largest and most elaborate, and no doubt, most expensive, gravestones to be found anywhere. One of the first things you'll see is a 25-foot statue of a Confederate soldier, commemorating those who died in the Civil War. Just beyond the statue is a pond a number of ducks call home and a really nice gazebo. The graves are shaded by many pines and shady elm trees giving the whole cemetery an aura of quiet and peacefulness.

Scottsville Cemetery

Unfortunately, the chapel is not open for public viewing. When we arrived, there was still snow on the ground, the temperature was in the 20's and that oh-so-cold wind was still blowing. After just a few minutes outside the warmth of my truck, we decided to forego our usual routine of respectively walking around the grounds and viewing the headstones. Just too darn cold.

Next stop - the tiny crossroads community of Jonesville. Located at the confluence of Hwy 134, County Road 2729 and County Road 2727, it's called a community because calling it a town would be ridiculous. It's one of those communities so small that the "Entering" and "Leaving" signs are on the same post. So why was this little hamlet on my "must stop" list? Because that's where the oldest general store in Texas can be found. The TC Lindsey store first opened in 1847 and it hasn't really changed since. Part store, part museum, the moment you walk in you are transported back in time. Only open Tuesday thru Thursday 10:00 - 2:00, Friday and Saturday 10:00 - 4:00, we had to beat feet to get there before closing time.

The ceilings are tall and the old time-worn wooden floors creak as you walk. The shelves are stocked with lots of old cans, bottles, and boxes, some just old empty relics, some you can buy and actually use. Many items used by the homemaker of years past are still in stock. It's amazing how much "stuff" there is - from clothing to history books to iron skillets. There is also a large selection of locally hand-made jams, jellies, salsas, and honey. In the middle of the store, just past the books and knick-knack shelves is a seating area with a couple of tables. At the counter is a cheese cutting block, the type you see only in museums or movies. Ask for a chunk of cheddar cheese and some crackers, get a soda and have a snack while you have some interesting conversations with the very friendly folks who work there and any other customers. 

On the left side of the store is the hardware section filled to the brim with farm implements, hand tools, empty old soda bottles, oil cans, and leather goods of all ages. There is even the last bale of cotton that was baled at the gin many years ago. In the back corner is the old Jonesville post office (now closed). Look close and you will also find some amusing, odd items for sale - like cans of dehydrated water - something in all my travels I haven't found anywhere else.

There have been 10 movies which made this store a part of their movie productions and you can find a list of them on a wall. The store has also been featured on several TV shows like 60 Minutes and CBS Morning News.

I bought a few items I just couldn't turn down, including a can of dehydrated water, along with some road food - a couple of peanut patties, several other candy bars, a bag of chips and a book. Chip bought a few items himself and it felt good to support a small business like this one even in a small way.

The TC Lindsey store is a throwback to how Texas used to be, a time many of us remember fondly. It was definitely a good, interesting stop on this road trip. If you are ever in the area, make a special effort to stop, browse and remember. 

After an interesting, if cold, day, we headed to Huntsville where a Best Western hotel was holding a room for us. Time to find a place for a bite to eat and rest up for the next day's adventure.

A Mother's Love Never Dies

South of Kilgore, Texas on Highway 259 is a small country cemetery named Pirtle. In the middle of the sacred grounds, hidden among ornate gravestones pointing to the sky, is the grave of a small boy that is no longer marked. When it was fresh, his daddy, a hardworking but poor farmer, couldn't afford a formal marker so he carved his son's name and the year he died into a sandstone rock and placed it there. Over the years though, it has been lost or stolen or maybe the carving weathered away and a well-meaning groundskeeper thought it was just a rock and removed it. 

In life, that little boy was terrified of the dark and the monsters he believed came out when light went to sleep. It’s normal for children to be afraid of the dark and what might be lurking within it, but this little boy, for reasons known only in his innocent mind, was deathly afraid of it. Whenever he found himself in darkness, he would scream in fright and curl up on the ground in a shaking, quivering ball. He even had trouble trying to take a nap in the daytime because when he closed his eyes, the light dimmed.

It had been a difficult pregnancy and mother and baby had both barely survived the birth. He would be her only child as she could never have another. From the time his mother figured out why he would cry every night, she tried to calm him and keep the darkness away. Every night she would sit beside him on his bed with an oil lantern glowing on the table. She would whisper her forever love for him and kiss his forehead. She told him stories of brave knights who slew dragons for kings and queens who lived in far off castles and would softly sing lullabies until he finally drifted into sleep. Only then did she tip-toe to her own bed, leaving the lantern burning low. She would get up often during the night to check on the lantern, because if it burned out, he would wake up crying in terror.

The boy never got over his fear of the dark even as he got older. His few friends from the neighboring farms made fun of him and his father, despite love for his family, grew angry at the boy and resented his wife for her indulgence. Like all little boys, he desperately wanted his father to be proud of him so he tried hard to control his fears, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never suppress them.

One day shortly after he turned six, he “took The Fever” as they said back then and became very sick. For several weeks, his mother stayed at his bedside day and night, cooling his hot little body with a rag dipped in cool water she fetched from the well. Nothing more could be done though and she became ever more frantic as she helplessly watched her young son slowly get worse. In the middle of a dark moonless night, despite all of her efforts and prayers, the boy gave up the fight. With his eyes open and looking at his loving mother, he passed away. 

The next day, neighbors came to take the child’s body for burial, but the mother hugged the corpse to her chest crying, “You can’t take him! He’s afraid of the dark! He's so afraid of the dark!” Eventually, the doctor was summoned and he gave the woman laudanum so she would fall asleep and the dead child could be taken from her for burial.

After the burial in Pirtle Cemetery, the mother visited his grave every evening as the sun set and stayed there the whole night. Newcomers to the area would often ask about the flickering light they would see in the cemetery after dark. Was the cemetery haunted by spirits? No, they would be told, it's only a mother who was crazy with grief. The residents would sadly shake their heads and explain she thought she was comforting her dead son. She kept a lantern lit all night as she sat next to her little boy's grave, telling him she would never stop loving him, softly singing lullabies and telling tales of kings and queens and brave knights in shining armor who rode white horses and slayed dragons. She wouldn't leave until the morning sun rose above the horizon and filled the day with light.

The story goes that the poor mother died not a year later of grief. Her husband buried her beside their son, but it seems she sometimes pays a visit to her little boy at night. Many people have reported seeing a lantern light flickering in the darkness in the middle of the cemetery. The old-timers are sure it's that forlorn mother still comforting her son from beyond the grave. Proof a mother’s love never ends.

Postcard From Dobyville Ghost Town

Ghost towns are places where people lived and dreamed and died. They tell the stories of lost lives and abandoned dreams. Often times, the only thing left of an abandoned town is the graveyard. Such is the fate of Dobyville, Texas.

In the state of Texas, there are over 46,000 known cemetery's. No one knows how many others have been lost and forgotten. Time, weather, and vandals destroy the markers. People a generation or two removed from those buried move away and, over time, cannot be bothered to keep up the grounds. Weeds and brush eventually reclaim the land and erase any sign that people were buried there. Sometimes forgotten graves of those gone before us are bulldozed and paved over with highways and subdivisions.

Some of the known cemetery's are well-kept lush parks with mowed green grass, tall shade-trees and water fountains gurgling. Many others though are barren and desolate; quiet places offering stark reminders of our mortality. The Dobyville Cemetery is much closer to the latter than the former. The settlement of Dobyville was established in the 1850's by pioneers who wrestled the land from the Comanche Indians. By the late 1800's, Dobyville had dozens of residents and a post office, a cotton gin and grist and syrup mills. It also had a school, the Lone Star School, with 1 teacher for its 56 students.

WW II soldier killed in action near the

end of the war

Hard times and the hard limestone underlying the ground began to make it too hard to earn a living and the town began to decline in the early 1900's. Better job opportunities became available in larger cities and better roads made it easy to get away. The post office closed in 1900 and the school consolidated with the Lake Victor school district in 1921. In the 1940's there were few residents to take part in the community spring rabbit drive. The annual community event took place on a Saturday in late March or early April and families would gather for a day of hunting and picnicking, but by 1949, only a few scattered houses marked the community on county highway maps. Only a cemetery remained by the 1980s.

Although still active, the Dobyville Cemetery is a typical quiet, country resting place where love ones, recent and from years past, rest in eternal peace. Few people know about this place and drivers on U.S. Highway 281 will speed past it without seeing, without knowing that here lies people who lived their lives, dreamed their dreams, loved and were loved, laughed and cried and at one time, were important to someone.

Baby's grave - always sad to see

Another child's grave. RIP little one

Buried In A Ferrari

There are fascinating cemeteries all over America. A walk through any one of them can be like a living history lesson, taught by those who preceded us and who know where we are all headed. Some cemeteries have given rise to legends of hauntings and curses, while others are of interest simply for the offbeat tombstones to be discovered in them. Each of these tombstones tells a story and every graveyard we whistle as we pass by offers reminders of life’s triumphs and tragedies to anyone who takes the time to read the inscribed words. Sometimes they are words of warning or advice. Some tell tales of earthly woe, while others are actually lighthearted and inspiring.

(public photo)

Many “tombstone tourists” are interested in visiting the resting places of famous people or places which have interesting stories attached to the dearly departed. An interesting story is what has drawn thousands of visitors to the grave of Sandra West in the Alamo Masonic Cemetery on Center Street in San Antonio, Texas.

Sandra was a Beverly Hills socialite and the wife of wealthy Texas oil tycoon Ike West when he died in January 1968.  After she inherited over $5 million (almost $36 million in 2017 dollars), she had the family lawyer draw up her will and in that will, she requested to be buried wearing a lacy nightgown inside her favorite powder-blue 1964 Ferrari “with the seat slanted comfortably.”

(public photo)

For the next 9 years, Sandra partied and lived large with the rich and famous in Hollywood, going through almost half of her inheritance. The excesses of her life style reportedly affected her health and she died in 1977 of an overdose of prescription pills. Upon her death, it was revealed that her brother-in-law, Saul West, was to receive $2 million if he saw to it that her wishes for burial were honored. If he did not, he would only get $10,000. Her brother-in-law went to court fighting the demand, but after a judge ruled the will valid and in force, Saul suddenly decided to carry out her wishes.

1964 Ferrari 250GT - worth about
$2 million in 2017

Two months after her death, embalmed Sandra and her prized Ferrari were flown to San Antonio to prepare for the unconventional burial next to her husband’s grave at the historic cemetery. A large wooden box 6 feet by 8 feet by 17 feet was constructed. One end was left open and the Ferrari was driven into it. The engine was turned off and the keys were left in the ignition. An undertaker dressed Sandra in a lacy, semi-transparent white nightgown and after the driver’s side seat of the Ferrari was reclined, she was placed on it. The box was sealed and hauled to the grave site on a flat-bed truck. On May 18, 1977, with 300 people looking on, a large crane lowered the box into a hole measuring 10 feet wide, 19 feet long and 9 feet deep. After being place in the middle of the hole, a redi-mix truck buried the whole thing in 2 feet of concrete to discourage grave robbers.

Over 300 onlookers watched the burial
proceedings. No family members were present.

Husband and wife are spending eternity side by side in section 1-2 of the cemetery.  Sandra's simple grave marker doesn’t give a clue to what is underneath.

 

 

One Feisty Old Woman And Her Dog

Jonesboro Memorial Park Cemetery

You often hear the saying that you only have one chance to make a first impression. Well, Thelma Holford of Jonesboro, Arkansas turned the tables and decided to make a unique last impression. For her grave marker in the Jonesboro Memorial Park cemetery, she erected a one-of-a-kind monument featuring her and her faithful dog "Bunnie."

In Jonesboro, Thelma was widely known as the town's eccentric. She was an astute businesswoman who managed a very successful awning business. She was also a great lover of dogs, taking in numerous strays and treating them like the children she never had. In her will, she left funds for a pet cemetery. The executors named it in her honor.

Thelma had been briefly married once, but was divorced in her mid-20's and never remarried. That may account for the message on the sign her monument holds which says, "Don't be afraid to stand alone." Along with her name and dates, the monument also lists her daily prayer - "God help me keep my long nose out of other people's business and give me 26 hours each day to mind my own."

Not long before she passed away, she commissioned her self-designed monument to be crafted in Italy. She wasn't happy with the completed marker though and had it shipped back to be redone. The reason? "It makes my dog look like a horse." She passed away in 1989 at age 82 of natural causes shortly after accepting the 2nd working of her monument.

Postcard From Terlingua, Texas

Just south of Alpine on Texas Hwy 118 going to Terlingua is where civilization takes an abrupt vacation.  This seemingly endless highway, devoid of towns, gas stations, motels, stores and most other cars is like a road leading to the end of the world. If you are the kind who likes isolation and simplicity, the 80 miles of desert, ranch land and mountains have the ability to awe you with beauty. A drive through any desert can be very enjoyable if you have a reliable car, but if your car is sickly, this is one of those roads that should only be aspired to rather than attempted.

Man has inhabited the area around Terlingua for at least 10,500 years. The Comanche and Apache Indians controlled the region for many generations. Explorers occasionally came here, but never stayed. The land was too remote, too harsh, and the fierce Indians drove away even the hardiest and most dedicated. In the late nineteenth century, after the Indians had been largely subjugated and removed by the soldiers, a few settlers came to this wild area to try and make a go of it, but the land accepted civilization only reluctantly.

To call the area settled and fully civilized today would be stretching it. It takes a different kind of person to live here year-round. The few ranchers, desert-rats, and other residents are strong-willed, determined, stubborn individualist who protect their way of life and freedom with fierceness not usually seen in "normal" folks. There are few police and the area is large. If people here have a problem, they take care of it themselves. And if one of their own needs help, they're right there to lend a hand. A lot of people would like to live that way, but few actually can.

Once you pass the Longhorn Ranch Motel, you know you are close to the town. There is no town limit sign, no official boundary. Stubbornly remaining unincorporated, you are either in town or you are not. Like most of Texas, being in Terlingua isn't so much a matter of physically being there as it is a state of mind.

Cinnabar in the area was found and used by Native Americans who prized its bright red color for body art and as paint for rock and cave paintings. Mexican miners had discovered the cinnabar deposits by the 1850's, but until the 1890's, the remoteness and hostile Indians prevented wide-scale mining. Since mercury was used in the fuses of bombs and bullets, mining in the area took off in the early 1900's and continued through 1945 until the conclusion of WWII greatly reduced the market. The population plummeted from 3,000 to zero within weeks of the mines closing and Terlingua became a true ghost town with abandoned buildings, mine tailings and discarded cars and wagons rotting away in the desert sun.

Terlingua ruins

Terlingua remained deserted, desolate and lonely until 1967 when Wick Fowler, Frank Tolbert and Carol Shelby organized a chili cook-off to be held in the former town. The whole thing began when H. Allen Smith, a writer from New York, claimed in a magazine article that nobody could make better chili than him. The Texas boys promptly answered, claiming Smith was a "know-nothing maker of vegetable stew" and issued a challenge to pit Wick Fowler's Texas chili against Smith's New York version in what they called "The Great Chili Confrontation." Shelby owned a 220,000 acre ranch outside Terlingua so it was decided to host the competition in the ghost town just to see if they could attract a crowd of people to the middle of nowhere. News of the upcoming contest became widely known when it was written up in numerous national publications, including Sports Illustrated.

More than 1,000 people showed up for that initial contest, all of them sleeping in tents or their cars since there were no lodging facilities. Large quantities of alcohol was imbibed and all sorts of foolishness and nudity was not only tolerated, but encouraged. In the middle of it all, Fowler and Smith managed to cook their chili. 3 judges were tasked with determining a winner. The contest was declared moot when the tie-breaker judge gagged on a spoonful of Smith's chili and fell to the floor in gastric distress. He eventually was able to claim his taste buds had been damaged beyond repair and he had been rendered physically incapable of submitting a vote.

From that debaucherous start, a few hardy individuals began arriving to live in the crumbling buildings. A commune of hippies tried, but failed to create a sustainable desert utopia. Eventually, others came who wanted to settle there because they liked the isolation or needed the remoteness to leave their past behind and get a clean start. Asking a person about their past was considered rude and could even be dangerous.

Terlingua has come a long way since that first chili cook off. Some of the roads are now paved and there are several motels, gas stations, stores and a new post office building.  Business warriors and moneyed elites from Austin and Georgetown have started buying up property and refurbishing structures into weekend retreats. A private airport has been built. The little ghost town far from anywhere even has Wi-Fi. Progress has arrived.

Terlingua Store

Some folks, like myself, would rather civilization and progress not touch this place. I selfishly would like for it to stay the way it is in my memory, the way it was when I first made trips here in the 1970's.  If I could, I'd tie an anvil to the feet of time in Terlingua, causing it to drag forward slowly, ever so slowly. For now, it's still a cool little town, but it ain't what it was. 

Terlingua Cemetery grave

Old abandoned wagon

The Terlingua Cemetery dates from the early 1900's.
Final resting place for miners & residents who
died in mine accidents, gunfights & the
influenza epidemic of 1918. Very few died
of old age.

 

 

Postcard From Goodnight, Texas

The road to Goodnight Cemetery

Sometimes you come across something on a road trip that is so unexpected, just so "right," that you have to stop and be grateful you are there at that particular moment in time. Goodnight, Texas, a near ghost town on Highway 287 on the edge of the Llano Estacado in the Texas Panhandle presented just such a welcome encounter.

The town was founded by Charles Goodnight who began a ranch here in 1887. The very next year, the railroad laid tracks and opened a station and soon, enough folks were around that a post office was established. A school was opened in 1889 and Charles and his wife, Mary Ann, established the Goodnight College in 1898.

By the time of his death at age 93 in late 1929, Charles had grown his ranch into a successful business, established a herd of buffalo (now the official Texas State Bison Herd) which preserved the animal from extinction, and was the dominant force behind the town which had grown to 300 residents and 9 business establishments. In 1940 though, Claude, another town down the road a bit, began to emerge as the county's business center and Goodnight began to fade. In 1963, the population had dropped to 50 when the movie "Hud," starring Paul Newman, was filmed there. Despite the popularity of the film, Goodnight continued to decline until the closing of the post office in 1969 when there were only 25 residents left. At the time of our visit, the town was virtually deserted and the population in the surrounding area was estimated to be less than 15.  

Entrance to Goodnight Cemetery

The reason for a visit to Goodnight wasn't to see where the town had been though, it was to visit the Goodnight Cemetery where Charles Goodnight is buried. Mr. Goodnight is one of those guys I've read a lot about, a sort of hero to me if you will, and I wanted to pay my respects. A true cowboy with few equals, he was actually born in Illinois, but came to Texas at the age of 10 and always claimed that Texas made him the man he was. A noted plainsman, Indian and Mexican bandit fighter, Texas Ranger, and cattleman, he and his partner Oliver Loving established the Goodnight - Loving trail over which thousands of longhorn cattle were driven to markets in the west. The true life exploits of Goodnight and Loving were so remarkable that Larry McMurtry based his award winning book, Lonesome Dove, on them. It has been proclaimed by some as the best western ever written and the TV mini-series made from the book starring Robert Duval (his character Gus McCrea was based on Loving) and Tommy Lee Jones (his character Woodrow Call was based on Goodnight) won 2 Golden Globes as well as 16 other awards.

Fenced in only by barbed wire, you can see for miles around.

The site of Goodnight and especially the cemetery are located in the middle of nowhere. You won't get there unless you are going there. I was glad I had found the coordinates to put into my GPS before trying to find it. Nestled among the low, gently undulating plains in the emptiness of the Texas Panhandle, it was somewhat surprising to find the cemetery to be fenced and well-kept. Even though it was small, it contained more graves than there are people living in the area. With just a soft blowing breeze, there were no sounds and no people as far as the eyes could see to disturb our cemetery exploring. It was very peaceful and very serene. Here you just naturally talk very little and when you do, you speak in whispers. Spending over an hour walking around, only one pickup truck was barely heard and barely seen driving down the road hundreds of yards away. In my travels over the years and with my interest in cemeteries, I've seen and explored a good number of them. Without question, this was one of the most tranquil I've ever come across. When it's my time to be laid in the ground, this would certainly fit the bill for my peaceful slumber.

Dozens of bandana's left in respect for Charles Goodnight.

The grave of Charles Goodnight and his family are very prominent. Right next to the single dirt road in the cemetery, the large plot is fenced and the headstones are larger than any others. What makes it stand out though are the dozens of bandana's tied on the fence that visiting cowboys have respectively left. There are a few other personal items left, some attached to the fence, some left on the ground, but the bandana's fluttering in the breeze is very touching and somehow humbling. These were symbols of respect from individual cowboys to one of the kings of cowboys.

I didn't grow up on a ranch, I've never rode a horse from sunup to sundown, I've never roped anything, I've never branded a steer or driven a herd of cattle, but I'm convinced I did in a former life. And I am a native-born Texan with a bandana and a love of wide-open spaces and freedom. I didn't have my one pitiful little-old bandana with me because I didn't know and didn't think about it. But I'll go back to the Goodnight cemetery one of these days, God willing and the creek don't rise, and I'll tie my bandana to the fence around Charles Goodnight's grave. A symbol of respect from a wistful wanna-be cowboy to a true cowboy. RIP, sir.

Plenty of room for those who want to rest away
from any others.

The quiet resting place of a military veteran.

A cowboy's grave

Lonely windmill in Goodnight, Texas

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.

Postcard from Baby Head, Texas

Texas Historical marker at Baby Head Cemetery

Sometime between the late 1850's and 1873 (no written historical records have been found giving the exact date), Mary Elizabeth, a 10-year-old white girl, was kidnapped from her parent's cabin in the sparsely settled Texas county of Llano. By riding several miles to other local ranchers, the alarm was raised and a half-dozen men were formed into a search party. Shortly after meeting at the missing girl's home to begin their rescue attempt, an Indian pipe was discovered. The poor unfortunate child must have been taken by a raiding party of the same Comanches who had recently been stealing horses and committing other depredations in the area.

The next afternoon thinking the Indians were long gone, the men were about to give up the mission when they crested a high hill and came upon a most grizzly discovery. In the forks of a large mesquite tree they found the tortured, dismembered body of Mary Elizabeth still wearing the muslin dress her mother had made. Nearby, at the very top of the hill, they found her severed head impaled on a stick that had been stuck in the ground. Wishing to spare the women, especially the mother, from the gruesome manner in which the child had died, the men buried the body nearby in a hastily dug grave marked only by a crude cross made from sticks. Mary Elizabeth's parents soon moved away and time erased all traces of the little girl's grave.

Grave of J. Willbern who
died in 1887 at age 27.

The local people began calling the small mountain Babyhead Mountain in honor of the child who suffered such a terrible death. A creek which flowed nearby was also called Babyhead. As more people settled in the area, a community was established with several stores, a community meeting house and a school. A post office was granted in 1879 under the name of Baby Head and in 1884, the Baby Head cemetery was established when a young boy who had died of an illness on New Year's Day was buried. The community of Baby Head became the site of an election and justice court precinct, but with better and more job opportunities in bigger towns, people began to move away and the post office was closed in 1918. Within a few years, every business moved away or closed and Baby Head became a ghost town.

Today, the quiet little cemetery located on State Highway 16 is the only physical remnant of the community and the grave of a little angel remains unfound and undisturbed.



Margaret Calley - died in 1888 at age 22.
"Husband and children; I must leave you,
leave you all alone; My blessed Savior 
calls me;  Calls me to a heavenly home"



Lelah Bell Frazier, died in 1897 4 days shy
of her 4th birthday. "A precious one from us is
gone;A voice we loved is stilled;A place is
vacant in our home; Which never can be filled"