Route 66 - Planning the Trip

Most people over the age of 55 have their bucket list; the things they want to do, the things they want to see before they leave all of this behind and transition on over to the great unknown. One of the biggie’s on mine, perhaps number 1 now that I’ve seen a space shuttle liftoff (see Space Shuttle), is that quintessential road trip, the road trip emulated by all other road trips, the Alpha and Omega of road trips – Route 66. (see Road Trip Bucket List)

Growing up in a home that was so poor poverty would have been a step up, about the only recreation I had was the public library. It was there I could go to find a different world from my reality; a place to learn; a place to dream. I read most anything I could get my hands on. I spent many, many evenings reading the Encyclopedia Britannica page by page. When it listed book titles, I wrote them down until I had a list several pages long, front and back. And then I started reading them. One of the first I read was The Grapes of Wrath, the American classic by John Steinbeck. I was only 13 or 14 and it made a big impression on me. My grandfather, and therefore myself (even though I had never met them) had family in Oklahoma and the book was about people from Oklahoma, so in my young imaginative mind, it was a book about my family. In the book, Route 66 represented hope; the way to a new and better life. And so Route 66 became that for me also.

As time rolled by, driving Route 66 from beginning to end became more and more of a dream for me. It remained just that though as life happened and there were always logical reasons and good excuses for it to remain right where it always had been, a thought in my head that one of these days…
Fast forward going on 50 years after I first read The Grapes of Wrath and “one of these days” will be here next Friday. I suffered a fatal heart attack 1 year, 5 months and 2 days ago (but who’s counting?), and by a miracle of dedicated, very good medical personnel who didn’t give up on me and a few electrical shocks from a defibrillator, I returned to the land of the living. (that story is here Back from the dead & here I’m still here). Since I was given the gift of a 2nd chance at life, I have tried to make the most of it in ways big and small. One of the things I’ve been trying to do is to check off some of my bucket list items. Number 1 on the hit parade is Route 66.

Youngest-daughter is now 13, soon to be 14, is a wonderful young lady with her own personality and a great sense of humor that often cracks me up. She is my baby girl and the center of my life, but just as important, I truly enjoy being with her. She has also developed into a very good photographer with an innate sense of space and composition and an understanding of what makes a good photograph. So who better to share my grand life-long dream with than her? Momma-woman is staying home so it can be just the two of us on this trip. It will be our adventure, our time together, time to smile, time to laugh, time to talk, time to teach each other and time to learn from each other. Time to hopefully make a nice, life-long memory for her to call on when I’m gone. We’re calling it our “Daddy Daughter Mother Road Trip.”

Next Friday is her last day of school for the summer break. With grades being posted online, we already know she has passed (with almost straight A’s, there was never any doubt anyway). Nothing to do that day except tell her friends bye for the summer, turn in books and throw away unwanted papers. I have work meetings that morning, but can be finished with everything by lunch so Thursday night we pack BFT with clothes, some road food, laptops, GPS, Route 66 books & maps, my camera gear, and Youngest-daughter’s brand new, right-out-of-the-box Canon starter DSLR camera that came from Amazon today and Friday, at 12:00 o’clock, high noon, I pick her up at school and we are on our way to Adams Street & Lakeshore Drive in Chicago, the official start of Route 66.

Who knows what will happen between Chicago and the end of the trip at the Santa Monica pier in California? We have an itinerary of things we want to see and a few places where we want to eat and spend the night, but no set schedule. We might be gone 10 days; we might be gone 3 weeks; and there’s always the possibility that Youngest-daughter will be totally bored with the whole thing & we’ll cut it short and be back within just a few days. If that happens, I’ll be calling on my friends and family for a volunteer to be my co-pilot for the rest of the trip as I don’t intend to let anything stop me from checking off this bucket list item!

Whatever happens, we hope you will join us on our journey as we intend to post entries and pictures when we get the chance. It should be interesting!

Go to the first Route 66 entry here.

Or go to the first entry of each state:

Illinois   Missouri   Kansas   Oklahoma   Texas   New Mexico   Arizona   California 

Goat Man of White Rock Lake

In northeast Dallas, Texas is the beautiful, suburban White Rock Lake. The north part of the lake is a state park and in the southern part are expansive waterfront estates. Surrounded by a 9 mile jogging trail and bike path, the park is an idyllic urban oasis visited by thousands of people every day. Fishing, jogging, biking, families having picnics, sailors piloting their sailboats, lovers stealing kisses under a shady oak tree, boys and young men playing football and small children feeding the ducks present a picturesque, idyllic, Norman Rockwell slice of Americana.



Creepy, haunted Cox Cemetery by
White Rock Lake.

All, however, may not be as it seems, for White Rock Lake has its dark stories. There is the creepy cemetery dating from the mid-1800's which is rumored to be haunted. There are the deaths by drowning in the lake with some of the bodies having never been found. At least one person has committed suicide at the lake by hanging himself from a limb of a large tree by the water's edge. The drowning in a boating accident in 1927 of beautiful 19-year-old Hallie Gaston led to the story of the Lady of the Lake. In 1934, a small plane crashed into the lake, killing every passenger. In 1941, 27-year-old John Howard, a world record holder for underwater swimming inexplicably drowned in the lake. Is it any wonder there have been numerous reportings of strange goings on in the area?

Runners talk of strange "cold spots" frequently encountered near the area where J.C. Hacker drowned in 1938. He was one of the victims whose body has never been recovered. Even in the hot Dallas summer months, there is one particular spot that always feels coolish. Perhaps though, the strangest story of them all is of the Goat Man of White Rock Lake.

In the 1960's, I was busy growing up in Garland, a town "just down the road a piece" from the lake. I went to a church located 2 miles from the lake. I heard all of the ghost stories and I heard about the Goat Man. My teenage friends and I spent many Friday and Saturday nights slowly cruising around the lake. A couple of times I somehow even convinced a girl to spend some time with me parked in a dark corner of the park steaming up the car windows. I never saw the Lady of the Lake and I never saw the Goat Man, but a couple of times I did see and have a nice conversation with Officer Daley of the Dallas Police Department. He told me to button up my shirt, get my butt out of the park and take the girl home. My side of the conversation consisted of, "Yes sir." I may never have had an encounter of the supernatural kind at White Rock, but to this day, the stories persist with a few more people over the years giving eye-witness accounts of encounters with the Goat Man.

The last reported sighting of Goat Man
was on this spooky road.

According to these accounts, the poor creature is half-man, half-goat. He is about 7 feet tall when standing and is covered from head to hoof in coarse, brown hair. He has 2 horn-like protrusions coming out of his head, his feet are hoofs like a goat and he has the body and face of a man. It's skin has a jaundiced appearance and he has long, gnarled fingers with grotesque fingernails.

Most often he is seen early in the morning when he comes running out of the woods toward an individual jogger or biker. He sometimes throws trash or even muddy tires at the person. With a fierce look on his face (some have reported his eyes to be red), he turns and seems to vanish into thin air. He doesn't seem to have ever physically hurt anyone, but the fright he gives has made more than one person swear off White Rock Lake forever.

Strange Case of the Traveling American Mummy

In 1913, a down-on-his-luck one-legged hobo named Anderson McCrew was riding a freight train through Marlin, Texas. Nobody knows for sure exactly what happened; maybe he was hopping off the train to stay a while in Marlin and slipped jumping down or maybe he was leaning out of the empty railroad car feeling the wind in his face and lost his grip, but whatever happened, he was found dead the next day on the tracks with his other leg severed by the train.

His body was taken to a funeral home in Marlin to be preserved until a relative could be found to claim it. Not knowing how long that would take, the undertaker did his job so well that "Andrew" McCrew's body was mummified. It was placed in the window of a local store on the main street through town in the hopes that someone passing through would recognize him. Sadly, nobody ever did.

A year later, a carnival passed through town and since nobody had claimed Andrew's body and nobody had stepped forward to donate the funds for a burial, the carnival owner was allowed to purchase Andrew for the amount owed to the undertaker. For the next 40 years, Andrew, dressed in a moth-eaten tuxedo and sitting in a folding chair, toured all over America. Billed as "The Petrified Man" and the "Eighth Wonder of the World," thousands of people saw him, pointed at him, took pictures of him and talked about him, but nobody laid claim to him.

Eventually the carnival began losing money and had to sell some of its possessions. Andrew and his chair were sold to an individual who kept him in a shed in their back yard. He would be brought into the house occasionally for parties, but he spent most of his time for the next 15 years quietly sitting through the seasons in the shed.

Anderson McCrew's grave

Elgie Pace, a nurse who lived in Dallas, took possession of Andrew when her relative passed away. Thinking the mummy, who she called "Sam," deserved a proper burial, she cleaned away the dust, cobwebs, and bird droppings and stored him in her basement until she could save enough money for the internment. From all accounts, Andrew did just as well in the dark, damp basement as he had everywhere else.

Four years later, Elgie just happened to be passing through Marlin and heard about Andrew. Upon further investigation, it was determined that she, in fact, was indeed in possession of the one-legged, then no-legged hobo Anderson McCrew. The amazing story was printed in a Dallas paper and Frank Lott, a mortuary owner, donated his services so Andrew could finally be buried in 1973, 60 years after his death.

Andrew McCrew's grave marker.

Even then, the strange case of Andrew McCrew didn't end. Don Mclean, the composer and singer who gained fame with his iconic song, American Pie, heard the story and found out that Andrew had finally been buried, but with only a small temporary funeral home plaque to mark his grave. Don wrote a song, "The Legend of Andrew McCrew" Hear the song and donated all of his earnings from it to purchase a proper headstone. Eventually, two stones were purchased, engraved, and placed on Andrew's grave. Even his main headstone is different from the norm as it is inscribed with his year of birth (1867), year of death (1913), and year of burial (1973).

Elgie Pace wrote the words. Don McLean
paid for the stone.

Anderson McCrew, his travels and wait now over, rests peacefully in Dallas' Lincoln Memorial Cemetery. There are no flowers on his grave and he rarely gets visitors. After the life he had after his death, I think he's perfectly fine with that.


Bigfoot in Texas



Bigfoot sightings in Texas

If you think Bigfoot is only in the northwest states of America, you would be wrong. There have been sightings reported in every state except Hawaii. One of the area's with the most sightings is the nearly 12-million acre "Piney Woods" region in East Texas. Stretching from the Gulf Coast all the way up to Texarkana in the northeast corner, this huge strip of land contains four national forests, five state forests, and accounts for almost all of the state's commercial timber.

It is also home to one of the first documented sightings in history - the strange case of "The Wild Woman of Navidad." This story was recounted in the "Legends of Texas" book published by the Texas Folklore Society in 1924. The creature was described as covered in brown hair and was very fast. She eluded capture because the horses were so afraid of the strange creature that they could not be urged within reach of the lasso. The events occurred in 1837 in the Texas settlements of the lower Navidad. Mysterious barefoot tracks were seen frequently in the area for years. There are Native American legends dating back hundreds of years that describe tribes of giants that were hair-covered and lived in the woods.

In 1965, there was a spike in sightings reported by a number of people living in several small, rural towns located deep in the woods. One of the first of these came from an encounter in a cemetery just outside the town of Kountz.

At that time, there was a group of students at Kountz High School who called themselves the Rat Finks. There sure wasn't much for teenagers to do in the small, isolated town so on weekends they would amuse themselves by going "booger hunting," their name for running around in scary places looking for a boogeyman. One night they took a prospective new member of their group to their favorite place, the Old Hardin cemetery located in the woods a couple of miles outside of town. On that night though, they got more than they bargained for.

The Talking Angel

There is a gravestone in Old Hardin cemetery that has a statue of an angel pointing at the heavens. The Rat Finks called it the Talking Angel and would take the prospective club members to the cemetery in the dark of night to ask it questions. The legend they had made up was that if the angel did not answer you, you were doomed!

On this particular night though, with the half-moon providing just enough light to cast shadows, their ceremony was cut short by an eerie figure racing across the cemetery grounds. It ran into a maintenance shed, turning over cans, tossing equipment around, and generally just making a noisy ruckus for a few seconds. The figure came out of the shed and before running away as fast as they could, each of the kids got a good look at the boogeyman. To their horror, it was a huge, hairy apelike creature! One of the few girls in the Rat Finks, Sharon Gossett, let out a scream and when she did, the boogeyman turned to look at them. That was all they needed to beat feet out of there and jump in their car.

After driving back toward town for a couple of miles and regaining their wits, the teens realized that if they ever told anyone about  their experience, they would be accused of having overactive imaginations, so they went to Sharon's aunt's house and persuaded her to return with them to the cemetery for another look and to verify their sighting.

Closer look at the
Talking Angel.

Sure enough, as they pulled into the graveyard entrance, the car's headlights illuminated the creature standing on two legs at the edge of the woods on the other side of the small cemetery. The aunt later described it as being about 7 feet tall and covered with hair like an ape. The creature disappeared into the trees as the aunt and the teenagers got out of the car with several flashlights. After looking into the shed and verifying for herself the disarray of the contents, they were heading back to the car when they heard rustling noises. Their flashlights illuminated the creature which was now back inside the fenced cemetery. As they ran to the car, the boogeyman followed them, loping on all fours alongside them.

After speeding away, the horrified aunt made the kids drive her straight back to her home. Fearing she would be reluctant to verify the kid's account, they then found an adult male to go back with them. After carefully looking all around the cemetery and in the woods along the fence line and seeing nothing, the adult man was getting mad thinking the kids were playing a trick on him. Wanting to show him how the contents of the maintenance shed had been thrown around, they were walking toward it when the beast once again walked out of the shed's door. This time the creature quickly ran away in the opposite direction, leaped over the fence in one bound and into the woods. It was a good thing it did as after seeing the boogeyman, the brave adult male passed out on the spot from sheer fright!

Later, the grandmother of one of the Rat Finks told the kids she remembered hearing of similar sightings near Old Hardin in the Cypress Creek bottoms when she was a child.

Although there is not yet factual proof for the existence of a Bigfoot creature, it's hard to fully dismiss all of the stories and reported sightings. New creatures are routinely being found in the oceans and jungles of the world; strange creatures which have never been seen until now, living and even thriving in places and environments we assumed could never support life. Would it be that much of a surprise to find a species living off the land alongside creeks, streams, and ponds deep in the sparsely inhabited woods of America? Surviving members of the Rat Fink club still swear - the boogeyman is out there!

Aurora, TX. - UFO Crashes Into Windmill - Alien Buried In Local Cemetery



Cigar-shaped UFO

In 1896 & early 1897, more than six years before Orville Wright made his first flight of 12 seconds covering 120 feet, thousands of sightings of a cigar-shaped flying object were reported from California to Michigan and then down to Texas. Witnesses gave the same general description, sometimes with two lights, sometimes with none, in daylight and at night, hundreds of feet in the air, making right-angle turns and even stopping in mid-air and reversing course. On April 17, 1897, according to reports, a cigar-shaped flying machine suffered a malfunction and, trailing smoke, crashed into a windmill in the tiny town of Aurora, Texas. Afterwards, reports of seeing the UFO dropped off dramatically.

Witnesses at the time said the spaceship exploded upon impact with the windmill and the largest piece of debris hit a large tree with smaller pieces scattered across several acres. In the debris was found pieces of strange metal inscribed with hieroglyphics and the body of the pilot, a small child-sized humanoid. Although the body was badly torn up, it was evident it was a being "not of this world."

Entrance of Aurora Cemetery

The kind, rural folks buried the alien in a grave in the local cemetery underneath a tree and marked the spot with a small hand-made headstone inscribed with the outline of a cigar-shaped airship containing windows.

On April 19th, a small article appeared on page 5 in the Dallas Morning News. It read:
"About 6 o'clock this morning the early risers of Aurora were astonished at the sudden appearance of the airship which has been sailing around the country. It was traveling due north and much nearer the earth than before.

"Evidently some of the machinery was out-of-order, for it was making a speed of only ten or twelve miles an hour, and gradually settling toward the earth. It sailed over the public square and when it reached the north part of town it collided with the tower of Judge Proctor's windmill and went into pieces with a terrific explosion, scattering debris over several acres of ground, wrecking the windmill and water tank and destroying the judge's flower garden.

"The pilot of the ship is supposed to have been the only one aboard and, while his remains were badly disfigured, enough of the original has been picked up to show that he was not an inhabitant of this world."

Texas State Historical Marker at the
Aurora Cemetery

Over the next few weeks, the debris was removed and the farmers went on with their lives. The story was basically forgotten until May 24, 1973, when newspapers around the country published a United Press International account of the story. Within days, the alien's headstone was stolen and on several occasions, intruders were run off from the cemetery by police or, in some cases, local residents armed with their shotguns. The state of Texas declared the area a State Historical Spot and erected a Historical Marker, but eventually, things died down again and Aurora returned to being the small, quiet, rural little town it has been for over 100 years. In 2000, the town's people, utilizing memory and existing pictures, replaced the stolen headstone on the alien's grave.

Alien grave?

Is the story true or was it all just a hoax? The mystery remains.

When I visited recently, I found the residents living across the street from the cemetery to still be wary, watchful, and protective. Parking by the front gate, several dogs began barking as soon as I exited my truck and an elderly lady came out onto her porch to watch me. I waved to her and I think she nodded in return, but I was far enough away that I couldn't be sure. She watched me for a few minutes and then went inside her house and opened the curtains in a front window. About 10 minutes later, a police car slowly cruised by, but didn't stop. I was dressed in good jeans and a pullover shirt and carried nothing in my hands except my camera so I guess I passed his inspection.

Alien's headstone?

The cemetery was very well-kept and pretty with fields of Bluebonnets. It took a while to find the alien's grave. I finally figured out the corner containing the oldest graves and concentrated my search there. Eventually I found what I was looking for. It had been easy to miss because the marker is small and there are no other graves within about 10 feet of it. All of the other graves were next to each other in the normal layout. It was as if nobody had wanted their kin buried next to the alien.

I had been roaming around the cemetery for about an hour and nobody else came in. There had even been very few cars pass on the road, but I still felt like I was being watched the whole time. I'm sure the old lady across the street never took her eyes off me. It wasn't a scary feeling, it wasn't like that "somethings not right, I better be on alert" feeling you sometimes get when you are by yourself in an unfamiliar place; just that general feeling of having someone's eyes on you. I noticed the police car slowly cruise by again, but by then, I was already on my way out. I waved at the policeman and received a small wave of his hand in return, but no smile. I could almost hear the thoughts in his head saying, "It doesn't appear you are here with harmful intent and you are not breaking any laws, but I'm keeping my eye on you just the same." I didn't hang around to see him come back a third time.

I don't know if there's anything in the "alien" grave or not; don't know if the tale is true or not, but either way, it's an interesting story.
 

Philip Work - Civil War Hero Beat The Odds



Philip A. Work shortly after the
Civil War.

Philip Alexander Work, lawyer, Confederate soldier and arguably, the luckiest man to ever go to war, was born in Cloverport, Kentucky, on February 17, 1832. The son of John and Frances, Philip moved with his parents to Velasco, Texas, in 1838 and then to Town Bluff, Texas, where John established a plantation.

In 1853, Philip was admitted to the bar in Woodville. He then enlisted and served with the rank of first sergeant for four months in Capt. John George Walker's Company B, Mounted Battalion of Texas Volunteers protecting the Texas frontier from Indian attacks. After surviving several skirmishes, Philip and the rest of the surviving volunteers were mustered into the regular United States Army. After serving uneventfully for several years, he was honorably discharged and returned to Texas.

In 1861, Philip was one of the two delegates from Tyler County to the Secession Convention, but before the convention reconvened on March 2, he resigned to raise a company of Texas militia known as the Woodville Rifles. The company was mustered into the Confederate Army at New Orleans in May 1861 and became Company F of the First Texas Infantry Regiment, Hood's Texas Brigade. By the beginning of 1862, Philip and his men would be in Virginia and almost continuously right in the middle of the most intensive, bloodiest battles of the war.

During the year 1862 alone, Philip and the brigade would engage the enemy in 24 battles, sustaining a causality rate of over 60%. Due to his leadership abilities, the appalling number of casualties suffered by both the enlisted men and the officers and the fact that he miraculously came through each engagement with hardly a scratch, Philip rose steadily in rank, receiving battlefield promotions almost every month until he became the regimental commander on June 27 during the battle of Gaines' Mill after Col. Alexis T. Rainey was seriously wounded. Afterwards, Philip commanded the First Texas Infantry in the battles of Malvern Hill, Freeman's Ford, Thoroughfare Gap, Second Manassas, Boonesboro Gap, Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg. By the end of the war, of the approximately 4,400 men who served in Hood’s Texas Brigade, only 600 remained and the unit would go down in history as one of the hardest fighting and most well-known and respected units of the Civil War.

At Sharpsburg, Philip’s regiment suffered 81% casualties, the greatest percentage of losses sustained by any regiment, Union or Confederate, in a single day of fighting during the war. Of the 226 men he began with that morning, only 44 were still alive by nightfall. His post-battle report is considered one of the most poignant, yet straightforward accounts of the war. At least 8 men had been killed carrying the company’s flag during the fighting and it was lost as he and the handful of survivors retreated through a corn field. When they emerged from the field and he discovered the flag was not with them, he ran back desperately trying to locate it, but only made it into the rows of corn a few yards before encountering a wall of Yankees. He was forced to return without the flag, running through the field as corn stalks all around were cut down by the musket balls being fired at him. In his report, he wrote, “It is a source of mortification to state that, upon retiring from the engagement, our colors were not brought off. I can but feel that some degree of odium must be attached… the loss of our flag will always remain a matter of sore and deep regret.”

Philip was promoted to the command of Hood's Brigade on the third day of the battle of Gettysburg. Although having never been physically wounded during any battle, he became ill on September 18, 1863, the day before the battle of Chickamauga and had to be evacuated to a hospital. He resigned as lieutenant colonel of the First Texas Infantry on November 12, 1863. At that time, he was simply diagnosed with “fatigue.” Today, he would most probably be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD). After dozens of battles, a number of them requiring hand-to-hand fighting, witnessing hundreds of men die horrible deaths or sustaining disfiguring wounds following his orders, personally killing an unknown number of the enemy, seeing the effects of war every day for over a year, and the stress of almost constant battle, every day waking up never knowing if that day would be his last, nothing else could be expected.

He returned to Texas in late 1863, but just 8 months later, raised and commanded a company in Col. David Smith Terry's Texas Cavalry regiment. Returning to the war, Philip fought in battles in Kentucky and Tennessee under Lt. Gen. Nathan Bedford Forrest. His company of men fought in numerous skirmishes as part of the forces under Gen. Joe Johnston that attempted to slow Sherman’s "march to the sea" during the final months of the war. Philip and the remaining Terry’s Rangers delivered what was probably the last charge of the Army of Tennessee at the battle of Bentonville (March 19–20, 1865). Rather than surrender with the rest of Johnston's army at Durham Station, North Carolina, on April 26, 1865, Philip and 157 of the 248 survivors of the regiment slipped through Union lines to join other Confederates that were still in the field. At the actual end of the war, the few remaining Rangers, including Philip, drifted home as individuals and in small groups, having never officially surrendered. 

With the exception of Hood’s Texas Brigade, the Eighth Texas Cavalry was probably the best-known Texas unit to serve in the Civil War. It earned a reputation that ranked it among the most effective mounted regiments in the western theater of operations. Against all odds, against all reason, Philip Work not only survived, but remained virtually unharmed through dozens of battles while serving with two of the most infamous combat units in the Civil War.

Philip Work's simple grave marker.

Work returned to Texas and resumed his law practice in Woodville. After 1874, he lived in Hardin County, Texas, where he became well-known as a land lawyer and the owner of the steamboat Tom Parker, which navigated the Neches River. Late in his life, he wrote several accounts of his wartime experiences, but unfortunately, only fragments of these manuscripts have been preserved.

Philip A. Work died on March 17, 1911, and was buried in Hardin Cemetery in Kountz, Texas, a very rural, quiet graveyard. Rest in peace, Philip, rest in peace.

Wonder What Happened To Aunt Jemima?

When I was growing up, my favorite breakfast was Aunt Jemima pancakes. Before I escaped out into the world on my own, it was mostly my grandparents who raised me. It didn't happen often, maybe just when she felt good for some reason or maybe when she had managed to squirrel away a couple of extra dollars to afford it, but on an occasional Saturday morning, my grandmother would make pancakes with Aunt Jemima mix. Oh happy days! The only kind of syrup I knew of was dark maple that came in a tin can; a very large tin can. We didn't have pancakes all that often so that can of syrup lasted a very long time. Eventually the syrup crystallized, but rather than throw it out and buy fresh, my grandmother would put that can in a pot of boiling water until the syrup became liquid again. I'm sure that wasn't the most healthy thing to do, but what did we know about being healthy back in those days before enlightenment? Eventually, the syrup tasted like burnt sugar so I'd just take my Aunt Jemima pancakes dry and wash them down with a big glass of healthy whole milk.

The modern version of Maple Syrup in a can.

Then Quaker Oats came out with Aunt Jemima syrup. Aunt Jemima pancakes with Aunt Jemima syrup was like having a little piece of heaven in your mouth! One of the few arguments I remember my grandparents having was over syrup. Paw-Paw got mad because Grandma "wasted money" on a few ounces of Aunt Jemima syrup when she could have gotten about a gallon of cheap-ass rot-gut maple syrup in a tin can for the same price.

In my childish way of thinking back then, the Aunt Jemima character became a symbol of maternal love and warmth and comfort. After all, if Grandma would spend some of what little money she had buying Aunt Jemima food and fixing it for me, then that must mean she loves me! Many years later, after Paw-Paw had passed on, I noticed the only syrup Grandma had in her house was Aunt Jemima. I also noticed she always had Aunt Jemima pancake mix in the cupboard. I told her I remembered when she made Aunt Jemima for me as a kid and how special those rare mornings were to me. She responded, "We would have had them a lot more often if Andy (my grandfather) had let me spend the money. What? Did you think I enjoyed making stuff from scratch every morning? When I could get away with buying them, I used mixes 'cause that was easier!" Sometimes cherished memories die a sudden and horrible death.

I started wondering though, was the Aunt Jemima icon just a picture or was there a real Aunt Jemima? And if she was real, what happened to her? Turns out, there was indeed a real live Aunt Jemima. Several in fact.

The first person hired in 1890 to portray Aunt Jemima was 300-pound Nancy Green, a former slave from Kentucky. She signed a lifetime contract with the R. T. Davis Milling Company, owners of the Aunt Jemima brand. She traveled around the country promoting the pancake flour product and when she operated a pancake cooking display booth at the 1893 World's Colombian Exposition in Chicago, she and her off-the-cuff statement "I's in town, Honey" became famous. She continued to portray Aunt Jemima, opening each of her appearances with "I's in town, Honey," singing songs and telling stories of the Old South until her death on September 24, 1923. Some in the African-American community protested that she was being exploited by white men, but being a bit more pragmatic perhaps, she stated, "I was born a slave and now I've been all over this country and have more money than I ever dreamed about so I ain't complaining."

In 1913, the company was renamed Aunt Jemima Mills and in 1926, the Quaker Oats Company purchased the brand. In 1933, they hired the second person to play Aunt Jemima, Anna Robinson. She portrayed the character at the Chicago World's Fair in 1933 and continued her job until the late 1940's. She died in 1951.

Four more people were hired to be Aunt Jemima after Anna, each portraying the icon at numerous fairs, on TV and radio and other personal appearances around the country. In the 1940's through the early 1960's, several ladies portrayed her at the same time. One, Alyene Lewis, was Aunt Jemima only at the Aunt Jemima Cafe in Disneyland, talking to customers and posing for pictures while Ethel Harper, Ann Harrington, and Rosie Hall made the appearances around the country.

By the early 1960's, the only "Aunt Jemima" was Rosie Hall. Born in a small wooden house 9 miles outside Hearne, Texas in 1899, Rosie married early in life. That marriage failed and she moved to Oklahoma in her 20's. Eventually she remarried and got a job working for Quaker Oats in the advertising department. When the company needed another Aunt Jemima, she was "discovered." Until her death in 1967, she toured the country promoting the Quaker Oats Company and delivered the message of a warm, caring, motherly woman serving up delicious breakfasts.

Ms. Rosie's headstone. She is surrounded by
loved ones.RIP Rosie.

During her time touring the country, she always returned every Christmas and Thanksgiving to the Blackjack Community where she was raised and had family. When she passed away on February 12, 1967, she was buried at the Hammond Colony African-American Cemetery near Blackjack.

I visited the Hammond Colony cemetery on a Wednesday afternoon. It's in a very rural area and hard to find. It was several miles of 2-lane blacktop and then 2 miles on a worn, pot-holed 2-lane blacktop and then another mile down an even rougher 1 1/2 lane semi-blacktop road. If you get there, you were either going there on purpose or were seriously lost. I missed the last turn twice and had to retrace before I figured it out.

When I arrived, there were 3 men sitting on the tailgate of an old beat-up pickup truck having a smoke. Leaning against the truck were hoes, rakes, and shovels. One of the men, shirtless with dirty streaks of sweat dripping down his neck and chest, approached me with a weed eater in his hand. He was getting on up there in years, but still had broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms and he did not have a smile on his face. Here I am in the middle of nowhere and in front of me are 3 younger, tough-looking men who do not appear to be in a friendly welcoming mood at all. The thought of a horrible death by weed eater did run through my mind, but nothing from nothing leaves nothing so I put a smile on my face and walked up to the apparent leader of the group, stuck out my hand to shake and introduced myself. The scowl on his face didn't change, but he did change hands with the weed eater to shake my hand. I told him I was seeking the grave of Rosie Hall and when he asked why, I told him about my memories from childhood of Aunt Jemima pancakes. He finally smiled and told me his name is John, Rosie was his aunt and he remembers her well.

He used to sit in her lap when she came home for holidays and she told him about all the places she had traveled in her job. He introduced me to the other two guys and offered to take me to her grave. He told me he had recently been elected president of the Hammond Colony Cemetery Association and he had been drafting male friends and neighbors for the last month to clean the place up. Nobody had been taking care of it over the last 20 years and it had been covered in weeds, vines, and fallen tree limbs. Now, the tree limbs had been removed, most of the weeds had been pulled, the fence repaired and you could see the gravestones again. Rosie lies surrounded by members of her family in this very quiet, peaceful, tree-shaded place of eternal rest.

John left me beside her grave, went back to his truck's tailgate and lit up another smoke. I took a couple of pictures. The only sound was the clicking of my camera. I rested my hand on her headstone and quietly thanked her for the memories even though she wasn't actually responsible for them. I'll forget that convenience was the real reason for baking with the Aunt Jemima mix as I prefer the false memories of love that comforted me during those times.

I left and walked past John and his two draftees'. I told him thanks and got a nod of his head in return. I got in my truck and started her up. It was time to travel on down the road.

The Last Civil War Soldier Killed In Battle



The last known picture of 
John Jefferson Williams.

In the summer of 1863, the midpoint of the American Civil War, a surge of patriotic fervor swept the north. Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had been crushed during the three days of hell that ended on July 3 outside of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The next day, Union control of the Mississippi was established when the city of Vicksburg surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant’s forces following a six-week siege. This effectively split the South and severed the Southern supply chain that brought critical food and material from the West to the theaters of war in the East. Many in the North believed these victories heralded a rapid Confederate collapse. Thousands of new recruits volunteered for duty that summer. Many were afraid they would miss an opportunity for great adventure and glory. Some wanted the monetary signing bonuses. However, pure and simple patriotism played a role also as more and more men sought to take part in the preservation of the Union.

One of those volunteers was a young man from Jay County, Indiana, by the name of John Jefferson Williams. He was 20 years old. He reported for duty in September, 1863, and trained at Indiana’s Camp Joe Holt, on the Ohio River just across from Kentucky. Later that autumn, Private Williams was assigned to the Indiana 34^th Regiment Infantry in Louisiana, where he briefly helped patrol Union-occupied New Orleans and the Mississippi Delta, with a short stint along the quiet Central Texas coast. He saw no action; his unit never fired a shot. In December, 1864, came orders to move the Indiana 34^th Regiment to the island of Brazos Santiago, near the mouth of the Rio Grande River. Here they joined with the 62^nd U.S. Colored Troop Regiment to maintain control of the South Texas coast.

Though far removed from the major battlegrounds in the east, far South Texas was not without danger. While the Union blockade had effectively closed most southern ports, a bustling boom town with the name of Bagdad had sprung up in Mexico just south of the mouth of the Rio Grande. At this time, Mexico was little more than a French puppet state ruled by Napoleon III’s cousin, Emperor Maximilian. Smugglers, often aided by Napoleon’s French forces, snuck cotton and other materials across the river to Bagdad’s docks to avoid the Union blockade. It was a dangerous business, both for the Confederate smugglers as well as the Union occupiers. It was not uncommon for Union patrols along the Rio Grande to come under fire from Confederate, Mexican, French, or even Native American snipers across the river. Williams' luck still held though as he and the rest of his unit came to no harm during the next four months.

In March of 1865, with the war drawing to a close, the commanders of both Union and Confederate forces along the Rio Grande reached a gentleman’s agreement to end hostilities. The southern forces knew that without a major change in fortunes, they were engaged in a losing effort and the northern forces knew it was just a matter of time before the war would be over. There was no need for more death and nobody wants to be the last to die. It seemed Private Williams was destined to survive the war without a scratch. The agreement did not sit well with some, however. One who resented this unofficial truce was the white commander of the 62^nd U.S. Colored Regiment, Col. Theodore Barrett.

No one knows why Col. Barrett decided to march on Brownsville, Texas. It was late spring, and Bartlett knew that Lee and Johnston had surrendered their Confederate forces the previous month. Surely, it was just a matter of a few days, before the remaining Confederate forces in remote places like South Texas would lay down their arms. Why did he decide to attack and occupy Brownsville? Having missed the opportunity to lead men in major combat operations, did Col. Barrett desire a last chance for glory before the war came to an end? Or were his motives monetarily driven? Perhaps he wished to seize for himself the large stores of cotton in Brownsville before they could be carried across the river to the wharves of Bagdad. His reasons will never be known, but regardless of his motives, the decision was poorly executed.

Leaving the 34^th Indiana Regiment behind at Brazos Santiago, Col. Barrett ordered 300 men of the 62^nd U.S. Colored Regiment to cross the rough waters that separated Brazos Santiago from the mainland. Once the crossing was complete, the regiment rested for the night to prepare for the next day’s march to Brownsville. Losing the element of surprise due to Confederate sentries on the south bank of the Rio Grande, Union forces engaged a small contingent of Texans at Palmito Ranch on the north side of the river. Although Barrett had the advantage of far superior numbers, the Texans put up a fierce fight and his troops were unable to push through to Brownsville. With daylight waning, they retreated from Palmito Ranch to safer shelter a few miles away. The Union forces had suffered 2 killed and 4 wounded and the Texans had suffered 1 killed and 2 wounded.

The next morning, Union forces once again marched toward Brownsville. The attack this time included 200 reinforcements from the 34^th Indiana Regiment. Once again, they engaged the Confederates at Palmito Ranch. The number of Union forces were overwhelming this time and the Confederates were forced to retreat. The 62^nd Colored Regiment formed a long defensive line to protect Union gains while the Indianans pushed on about a mile past the ranch to high ground within a bend of the Rio Grande. This position was well protected, but the Yankees were still several miles short of Brownsville. Even worse, by positioning themselves inside the bend with the rapid flowing waters of the river surrounding them on three sides and the Confederates now facing them on the fourth, the 34^th Indiana regiment was effectively surrounded.

The engagement went on for several hours with neither side making headway.The Rebels were too few in number to make an attack and the Yankees were well dug in. Remarkably, for all of the shooting going on, there had been no deaths and only a few men wounded on both sides. At about 3:00 however, 300 Confederate reinforcements arrived. There were now 490 Confederates confronting 500 Federals. The situation shifted in the Confederates’ favor as in addition to the 300 reinforcements, they had brought a six-gun battery of artillery.

Headstone of John Jefferson Williams

At 4:00 PM, Union forces came under heavy bombardment from the Confederate artillery. The 62^nd Colored Regiment quickly retreated back to Brazos Santiago leaving the Indiana 34^th skirmish line unsupported. The Confederate commander, an experienced Indian fighter and colonel with the Texas Rangers named John “Rip” Ford, ordered his cavalry to charge. The young Williams fired his rifle at the charging, yelling Rebels, but in his fear and haste, his aim was off and didn't hit anyone. He was standing, reloading his rifle, when one of the Confederate cavalrymen noticed him. As Williams raised his now loaded rifle to fire again, the Rebel quickly aimed his Colt revolver and pulled the trigger. The ball hit Williams just above the right eye and the young volunteer from Indiana fell back into the prairie grass and breathed his last breath.

The Battle of Palmito Ranch was very small in comparison to most of the battles of the Civil War. The number of soldiers who took part numbered in the hundreds, not thousands. The casualty count was also quite small. Confederate losses on the second day of battle were 6 wounded. Union casualties that day amounted to 1 killed, 9 wounded and 105 captured. The captives would not remain prisoners for long. Just a few days after the battle, Colonel “Rip” Ford ordered their release and he told his own men to go home. The Civil War was over.

With the disbandment of Confederate control in South Texas, the bodies of those killed at Palmito Ranch were turned over to Union authorities. Ironically, they were buried on the grounds of Fort Brown in Brownsville, Texas, the town Union forces had failed to take during the battle. In 1867, the bodies of all soldiers buried at Fort Brown were disinterred and reburied at Alexandria National Cemetery in Louisiana. Williams was laid to rest in Section B, Site 797.

At least 623,656 men died in that terrible war. Private John Jefferson Williams was the last.

Boy Hero of the Confederacy

The rope was new and therefore it stretched, the condemned was slight in stature, and the distance from the bed of the wagon to the ground wasn't far enough. Instead of breaking his neck and a quick, merciful death, the condemned's tiptoes touched the dirt and he slowly strangled, struggling and jerking for almost 5 minutes. Women observers and a few men became sick and at least one battle-hardened soldier fainted. Finally, two of the enemy soldiers took pity, or maybe they just couldn't stand to watch the spectacle any more themselves, and each grabbed one of the hanging legs and pulled down, adding weight to hasten his death. It was a freezing, overcast day on January 8, 1864 and David Owen Dodd had just been executed as a Southern spy. He was 17 years old.

David Dodd's grave in Mount Holly Cemetery

David was born in Lavaca County, Texas on November 10, 1846 to a well-to-do family who owned several business ventures. The Dodd family had moved to Little Rock, Arkansas a few years after David was born and were living there when the Civil War broke out. David's father became a sutler, selling provisions to the Southern army. David, being too young to be drafted into the war, became a cadet at St. John's College. In September, 1863, he took a break from his studies to accompany his father on a buying trip to Mississippi, but while they were gone, the Federals captured Little Rock.

David, due to his age, was obviously not a combatant so his father thought it was safer for him to return to Little Rock to escort his mother and 2 sisters to Mississippi where his father had found a place to live. With the proper passes in hand, he was able to find passage for them on a boat heading south, but it was crowded with Yankee soldiers who amused themselves with abusive language toward the ladies so they got off of the boat before it got underway and went back home.

The senior Dodd soon sent word that he was in the process of getting the proper paperwork which would allow him to fetch his family himself. While waiting for Dad to come get them, David earned money for the family by clerking in stores selling provisions to the Union soldiers. In one of the ironies of this war, for a short time, the father was selling provisions to the southern army while the son sold provisions to the northern army. Eventually, after a harrowing trip in a buckboard wagon, all members of the Dodd family made it to what they considered the safety of Mississippi.

Being ever the business man and looking for an opportunity to make a profit, the elder Dodd concocted a plan to buy a large amount of tobacco. With the northern troops burning the southern crops, tobacco was becoming a rare commodity so the plan was to buy as much tobacco as possible, store it for a while and then sell it at the higher price as it became ever more scarce. Mr. Dodds was a little short of the needed funds so he decided to call on his associates back in Little Rock to get them to join the venture and pool their money. David was once again dispatched to Union controlled Little Rock.

While getting a pass which would get David safely through the Southern territory, General Fagan, as he was signing his approval of the document, said, "I expect a full report when you return." Whether he said this in jest, as he professed for the rest of his life, or if it was a veiled order which David took seriously, has always been up for debate.

David made it back to the Union lines and with the business documents and Southern pass along with his birth certificate showing he was underage and therefore considered neutral, he acquired an approved pass through the Northern controlled territory. He arrived in Little Rock a few days before Christmas and by all accounts, concluded his business and also attended several holiday parties. He spent considerable time in the company of a very fetching young lady, 16-year-old Mary Dodge who was an ardent southern supporter. Her father, a native of Vermont, was a supporter of the north and had become friends with several of the high-ranking Yankee officers. These officers often spent time in Mr. Dodge's home where his daughter, no doubt, overheard their conversations as they sat in the home's parlor damaging the area's stock of alcoholic beverages.

On December 29th, David, riding a mule, reluctantly left the company of Mary for his journey back to Mississippi. As he crossed out of the Union-controlled territory, the last Yankee guard took his Union pass and tore it up since he would no longer be needing it. David took a road which led to Hot Springs to spend the night with an uncle. Early the next morning, he left his uncle and took a shortcut back to the road to Benton. Unknown to him, this shortcut curved back into Union occupied land for a short way. Just before making it around a curve which would have placed him back into what was considered Southern controlled territory, a small Yankee patrol seized him for questioning. Now without a Union pass, he was brought back to regimental headquarters to be interrogated. While there, David handed over a small leather book. Upon inspection, the book was found to contain a series of dots and dashes which were quickly identified as Morse code. The deciphered message pinpointed the precise location and strength of Union forces in the Little Rock area. David was immediately arrested.

With questioning, it was apparent David did not know Morse code very well. It also became apparent he was not able to compile so much detailed information in the short time he had been in Little Rock, plus, he was very naive about military jargon, much of which was contained within the message. The authorities knew they had captured the messenger, but the spy was still out there. Within days, he was tried and convicted of being a spy and, as was the custom, sentenced to death. The Union general in charge of Little Rock, Frederick Steele, offered Dodd his freedom in exchange for the names of those who supplied him with the dispositions of Union forces. David responded, “I can give my life for my country but I cannot betray a friend.”

A quick investigation led to the loose-tongued Union officers drinking at the Dodge home. David's affection for Mary was well known, as was her Southern support. It didn't take much to ascertain where David had gotten his information about the Union forces. General Steele, the Union Commander of the forces in Little Rock was reluctant to execute a boy of 17 much less a girl of 16 so the investigation closed almost as quickly as it had opened. Within 3 days, Mr. Dodge and young Mary had left Little Rock under an armed guard, boarded a Union gunboat on the Arkansas River and waited out the rest of the war in Vermont.

There was ice on the ground the morning of January 8th, just ten days after he had first been arrested. David put on the suit in which he was to be buried. He rode in an open wagon under close guard out of the gates of the military prison, straddling his own coffin, passing not far from his own grave. The wagon halted in front of St. John's Masonic College, where David had been a cadet not that long ago. Witnesses reported that he was a bit drawn and pale, but calm and resolute.

The tailgate of the wagon was propped horizontal. David stood on it under a yoke which had been built for the occasion. The hangman (a man with the unfortunate name, given his profession, of DeKay) took David's coat. DeKay noticed he had forgotten to bring a blindfold. David mentioned there was a handkerchief in his coat. The blindfold was fastened. David's hands and feet were tied. The rope was fixed around David's neck and the prop knocked from under the tailgate.

Buried in Little Rock's Mount Holly Cemetery not far from where he was so gruesomely hung, David Dodd is today considered a Southern hero and is referred to as “The Boy Martyr of the Confederacy.” The truth of the code in his little leather book has never been uncovered. Mary Dodge passed from history and nothing more is known of her. The talkative officers who frequented the Dodge house were transferred to distant posts and they too passed from history. That left David, the only other person who knew for sure, and he took it to his grave.

Luckiest or Unluckiest?



Yamaguchi

Tsutomu Yamaguchi, 29, was on a business trip for his employer, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries. After three long months away from his wife and children, he was finally heading home on that warm summer Monday morning. He and two co-workers arrived at the train station early that morning and were waiting when Yamaguchi discovered he had left in the office his hanko, an official stamp used in place of his signature on business documents. Fortunately, there was still enough time to make a quick trip back into the city to retrieve this important tool. He was stepping off of a tram when an unimaginably bright light went off. The date was August 6, 1945, and an American B-29 bomber, the Enola Gay, had just dropped a 13-kiloton uranium atomic bomb on Hiroshima. Yamaguchi was less than 2 miles from the explosion.

Hiroshima after the bomb

The bomb temporarily blinded him, destroyed his eardrums, and left him with serious burns on the left side of his body. It had killed more than 70,000 other people. Several hours later, in spite of his wounds, Yamaguchi walked back to the station where his two co-workers had also survived. They managed to find a bomb shelter which they spent the night in. The next day, with Yamaguchi swaddled in bandages, they began their journey home. It took two days.

After arriving back home, a doctor put a salve on his wounds and changed the bandages which covered the upper part of his body. The next day, Yamaguchi reported to work. He was in the office explaining what had happened in Hiroshima to his boss when once again, a bright light hit just like before. The U.S. B-29 bomber Bock’s Car had dropped the atomic bomb “Fat Man” on Yamaguchi’s home city of Nagasaki. Just as before, he was less than 2 miles from the epicenter.

Amazingly, Yamaguchi survived once again. His bandages were mostly blown off and his wounds were covered in dirt, but he suffered no additional bodily trauma. He was unable to get his wounds properly cleaned and re-bandaged and for over a week he suffered from a high fever due to infections. It would take several years for him to recover enough that he no longer had to wear bandages, but he had survived. The bombing of Nagasaki had killed over 73,800 others.

After the war, Yamaguchi served as a translator for the American forces and then became a school teacher before eventually going back to work for Mitsubishi. For twice surviving an atomic bomb, he was given a small monthly compensation from the Japanese government, free medical checkups and a free funeral. In the final years of his life, he wrote a memoir and appeared in the 2006 documentary “Twice Bombed, Twice Survived: The Doubly Atomic Bombed of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

More than 144,000 people died from the two atomic bombs dropped on Japan. Tsutomu Yamaguchi, the only person officially recognized by the Japanese government as surviving both explosions, passed away on January 4, 2010, over 64 years later.