Postcard from Oakwood Cemetery

Waco's Oakwood cemetery was established in 1878 and is the final resting place for numerous senators, state governors, city mayors, civil war veterans, Texas Rangers and many other notable individuals. One of those notable individuals is Felix Huston Robertson. At the time of his death on April 20, 1928, he was the last surviving general of the Confederacy.

Oakwood is also the home of Charles George Smith (1891 - 1967) and the unusual abstract sculpture that serves as his tombstone. His epitaph says a lot about the man - "Strange cosmic curve integrated arc of space. Unrolling rhythm swinging out from time into eternity." Obviously, Charles G. Smith was not just an average thinker.

There is an interesting story behind the damaged headstone of William Cowper Brann (1855 - 1898). Born in Coles County, Illinois, his mother died when he was just 2-years-old and his father gave him to a nearby farming neighbor to raise and help with chores. On William's 13th birthday, he packed his bags, struck out on his own and never returned. In spite of only being formally educated through the 3rd grade, he became a gifted writer and brilliant thinker. 

Epitaph of C. G. Smith

When he was 18, he began writing for various newspapers, eventually making his way to Texas where he wrote for the Galveston Evening  and then to Austin writing for the Austin Statesman. He started his own newspaper, the Iconoclast, proclaiming it to be a "journal of personal protest." When his paper proved to be unsuccessful, he moved to Waco and brought the Iconoclast with him. Here, the paper proved to be a success, eventually having a circulation of over 100,000.

Brann seemed to thoroughly enjoy taking pot shots at many of the city and state officials. This didn't earn him any friends among the power brokers, but then he focused his ire and withering comments on the Baptist religion, the Baptist faithful and Baylor University. He got people so riled up that on October 2, 1897, a group of students kidnapped him, took him to the Baylor campus and demanded he retract his statements about the university or leave town. Four days later, having done neither of the student's demands, he was again kidnapped and soundly beaten by 3 men.

Several months later, having finally recovered from the beating, Brann focused on Baylor president Rufus Burleson (who coincidentally, is also buried in Oakwood) and began a series of particularly vitriolic statements against him. Brann unwisely ignored numerous warnings to "leave town or else" and on April 1, 1898, in broad daylight in the middle of a busy downtown Waco street, an angry Baylor University supporter, Tom E. Davis, shot him in the back. As he was falling to the pavement, Brann somehow managed to pull his own gun, turn and fire a shot at Tom. His aim was true and both men died within seconds just a few feet from each other.

Brann's headstone is adorned with his full profile. Not long after the stone was erected, an angry gunman came to his grave and shot his likeness in the temple. Nobody liked him enough to have it repaired and so the bullet impression remains to this day. Evidently, for some people, there are  individuals who just cannot be dead enough.

Postcard from Glenrio - ghost town

The first and last hotel in Texas

Straddling the Texas/New Mexico border is the ghost town of Glenrio. It's a rather sad little place along Route 66, home only to a few old, deserted ruins, critters and tumbleweeds. Like all ghost towns, it has plenty of stories to tell and it is here where you can not only stand with one foot in one state and the other foot in a different state, but also in two different time zones!

Glenrio was established in 1903 and named Rock Island when the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific railroad laid tracks through the area. Nobody really knows how the name Glenrio was chosen to replace Rock Island several years later as the it is derived from the English word "valley" and the Spanish word for river - the town is in neither a valley nor along a river.

The long abandoned courtyard motel

In 1905, farmers and small ranchers settled in the area on 150 acre plots and a year later, the railroad established a station on the Texas side of the town. Soon afterwards, a post office was opened on the New Mexico side even though the mail was delivered to the rail station on the Texas side. 

By 1920, Glenrio had a hotel (built on the Texas border and billed as the "First and Last Hotel in Texas), a land office, a hardware store, and several grocery stores. Interestingly, the Texas side had several gas stations, but being in Deaf Smith County where no alcohol was permitted, there were no bars. The New Mexico side had no gas stations because gas taxes in that state were so high, but they did have a number of bars because alcohol was not outlawed. This arrangement led to a long debated battle between Texas and New Mexico because both states wanted the tax revenue.

In 1937, Route 66 was built through Glenrio and the town quickly grew as it became a popular stopping place for travelers. A "welcome station" was built near the state line and a post office was established on the Texas side. In 1938, John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath was filmed for three weeks in the town and everyone was sure the town would soon be a city.

The remains of a former filling station

In 1955, Glenrio suffered a severe blow when the train depot closed and then in 1973, the town was doomed when Interstate-40 was built and bypassed the community. First, the gas stations moved to the highway. The welcome station closed and the newspaper went out of business. Shortly, the hotel and grocery stores all closed and by 1985, there were only 2 official residents in town and the only business was the post office on the Texas side.

By 1990, the post office was closed and Glenrio was a town haunted by its former glory. The 2000 census showed 5 people living in the area, but none in the town itself. Today, there are only a few abandoned buildings, mere shadows of their former selves as they slowly crumble in the hot Texas Panhandle wind, the unpaved roadbed of old Route 66, and several shy, skinny dogs who may or may not rouse themselves from the shade of a tree to halfheartedly bark a greeting.

The old Texas-side post office hasn't seen mail
in decades.