Spooky Alton Bridge

The one-lane, wooden-floored "Old Alton Bridge," as it is known, was constructed in 1884 to connect the Texas towns of Lewisville and Alton in Denton County. It well served the communities and surrounding farms until it was replaced by a new bridge in 2002. My family and I lived just a few miles from the old bridge and before it was replaced, often drove over the creaking, rather scary structure to visit friends on the other side of the creek. Although the bridge shaved three miles off the closest alternate route from our friend's house to ours, I rarely drove over it after dark.

For several miles the little 2-lane black-top road on either side of the bridge goes through an isolated area with no houses and no street lights to break up the dark. Large trees grow in thick profusion on both sides of the roadway. Very pretty in the daytime, very spooky in the dark. The bridge itself takes courage to drive an auto across. The bed is made of wooden boards laid crosswise and you have to carefully steer your car to keep your tires on the thick lengthwise boards. While you cross, the bridge creaks and pops, the boards moan and you see water rushing by in the creek below through spaces in broken slats. It's impossible to not hold your breath and clench your hands on the steering wheel until you reach the far side. Unsettling in the daytime, positively unnerving in the dark.

The bridge the morning after my
spooky encounter.

One cold winter night, for some illogical reason, I dared to drive that spooky route. As if to prove to myself that I'm not afraid of the dark, I stopped my car on the road just before reaching the edge of the bridge. As usual, there were no other cars in sight and it was extremely dark as even the moonlight was blocked out by the overhanging trees. I turned off the headlights and rolled down the window, but even though my car was rather new and the engine was very quiet, its hum was all I could hear so I turned the key off. The silence in that blackness was total with none of the normal sounds you would expect to hear; no birds chirping, no dogs barking in the distance, no traffic noise on some distant road, no nothing. My senses told me something was not right.

Suddenly, there came a noise from the woods and it was very close! It sounded like some animal, maybe a coyote or a feral pig skulking through leaves. It was just a short sound and before I could react, all was quiet again. I looked as closely into the woods as I could, all my senses on high alert, but for a number of seconds there was still no sound. The seconds seemed to be minutes until with no warning, I heard a sound like a twig breaking under a footstep and then a rustling of leaves several times in procession. It sounded for all the world like somebody, a 2-legged somebody, was slowly walking through the leaves in that black jungle. I didn't wait to see if I could find out what it was. It took about 2 seconds for me to start the car, roll up the window, put it in Drive and get the heck on down the road!

I drove onto the bridge and didn't take my foot off the gas even where it is usually prudent to slow to a crawl to be sure your car is situated correctly on the boards for the drive across. Fortunately, I made it over safely, fearing at any moment that something, man or beast, would pop up in front of me at the end of the bridge. That was the last time I ever drove that route after dark. I decided to see what I could find about that bridge and the area around it. I figured it was just too spooky to not have some kind of history associated with it. I figured right.

 In the early 1860's as the Civil War raged, a bunch of area cowboys took it upon themselves to punish a slave goat-herder named Jack Kendall for some offense which has been lost to history. They tied one end of a rope around his neck and the other end around a sturdy tree limb  of a large oak tree which was growing next to the creek right where the Alton Bridge would later be built. They drug him to the top of the creek bank and threw him out toward the water. It was a long fall and the rope used was thinner than it should have been so when poor Jack Kendall hit the end of the rope, his head was severed and his body dropped into the creek. Stories of a headless apparition wandering up and down the creek, apparently in search of his missing head, have been told for over 150 years now.

 The story which has taken hold and gained the most notoriety though is of Oscar Washburn, an African-American man who gained a reputation in the 1930's as an honest, dependable business man who raised and sold goats and goat products. He and his wife and children lived in a small cabin in the woods a short distance from the Alton bridge. He was popular with many of the locals for the quality of the goat meat, milk, cheese and hides he sold at a very reasonable price. To help the unfamiliar easily find him, he hung a big sign on the end of the bridge which read, "This way to the Goatman." Unfortunately, this popularity came to the attention of the local Ku Klux Klan who didn't take kindly to a black man taking away business from other local goat raisers.

The exact spot where Oscar Washburn was
hung over the side of the bridge.

One dark night in 1938, with their car's headlights off, the Klansmen drove across the bridge to the Goatman's little cabin and dragged him away from his wailing wife and crying children. They took him back to the middle of the bridge to a noose they had prepared ahead of time and after roughly slipping it over his head, flung the pleading Goatman over. Much to their surprise, they heard a watery splash below the bridge and when they looked over the side, they were shocked to see an empty noose and no sign of their victim.

 The Night Riders split up and quickly ran to both ends of the bridge where they scrambled down the embankments to the water's edge. After frantically searching for half an hour with no sign of their intended prey, they returned to the Washburn residence. After a quick search proved he was not there, the men barricaded the front door and with mother and children huddled together inside, the cabin was set on fire. They hoped the screams of his family would bring the Goatman into the open where they intended to capture him, securely tie him up and throw him alive onto the raging inferno, but their plan didn't work. The screams of the innocent mother and children were silenced as the burning walls crumbled.

Oscar Washburn was never seen again. Some believe that just like poor Jack Kendall, the Goatman's head popped off that night when he was hung and his body was washed away by the quickly flowing waters after it dropped through the noose. Others believe he survived the botched hanging and ran far away from the area, leaving behind his poor family to suffer a horrible death. To this day, what is certain though are the eerie and strange happenings on and around the Alton bridge.

Many say the unforgiving spirit of the Goatman still haunts these woods. Locals warn to not cross the bridge with headlights turned off for if you do, you will surely be met on the other side by none other than the vengeful Goatman himself. There are persistent reports of a ghostly apparition herding a bunch of almost transparent goats being seen in the dark on the road leading from the bridge. The apparition and goats disappear as quickly as they appear. Others have seen a pair of unholy red, glowing eyes staring at them from the tree's or have glimpsed the fleeting image of a large goat-headed-man-beast in the shadows of the forest which is usually accompanied by the revolting smell of rotten flesh. Often there are tales of unexplained noises such as hoof beats of goats running across the bridge, loud splashing in the waters below the bridge or a low non-human growl coming from the trees near the bridge.

There has been a rash of documented cases by the police where people have vanished with no trace around this seemingly cursed bridge. In the 1950's, a local high school boy and his girlfriend were reported missing when they failed to return from a Friday night date. The boy's car was found the next morning parked in the woods beside the bridge with both front doors open. They have still never been found and the case is a total mystery. On November 15, 1967, a Ford Mustang was found by police parked at the end of the bridge. They eventually found out who owned the car, but the person has never been found.

In 2002, a new road and bridge was built to replace the old one. The original Alton bridge is still there, but since then, the odd happenings and reports of strange apparitions and unexplained phenomena seem to have decreased some. Daring teenagers like to hang out there at night in groups, spray-painting graffiti and trying to scare each other. But even the most daring teenagers do not go there at night alone.

 I don't know what I heard the night I stopped on that dark, lonely road. I didn't stick around trying to find out. One thing I do know for sure though, it wasn't just my imagination...something was out there.

 

Postcard from a See-thru Public Toilet

One of the glass-walled toilets in
Sulphur Springs.

The small Texas town of Sulphur Springs took a big leap in 2012 when they debuted two all–glass bathrooms on their downtown square, the first of their kind in the United States. The pair of glass potties didn’t come cheap. The masterpieces cost the City $54,000, but it’s all in the name of art.

Make that “functional art.” Part of the inspiration for this project came from an Italian art piece, Monica Bonivicini’s ’Don’t Miss A Sec’ from 2004, which was on display outside an art museum in Switzerland. The structure was initially part of the overall exhibit, but when construction workers began using the glass bathroom, the idea of “functional art” evolved.

In all of North America, little Sulphur Springs has the only functional, permanent and code complying glass bathrooms constructed with one-way mirrors. Users of the facility can see out, however, no one can see in. The design, which made the toilets finalists in 2013's "America's Best Bathroom" contest, includes a spacious wheelchair-accessible interior and a gleaming stainless steel toilet and sink.

The 2nd glass-walled toilet.

To put your mind at ease, Sulphur Springs’ square has good security and monitoring with 9 cameras always watching what goes on. They are all recording in HD color and are monitored at the police department 24/7. The Sulphur Springs square is the last place a creep wants to hang out.

The facilities are the cleanest public toilets I've ever seen and they even smelled lemony fresh. People with a shy bladder might want to "go" somewhere else though. Even if you don't have that issue, it's still a strange experience doing your business in a public toilet while looking at people walking around and all of them seem to be intensely interested in what you are doing and staring right at you. Oh, go ahead and use one. It's for sure something you'll tell your friends about later!

Looking out at the town square from inside
the toilet.

The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, Texas

The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, Texas was built by hotelier T. B. Baker in 1929 for $1,250,000, a huge amount of money at the time. Known as the "Grand Old Lady," the hotel was a success as soon as it opened and was a top spa destination during the 1930s. When the nearby Fort Wolters closed down after World War II in 1946 however, the fortunes of both the Baker Hotel and the city declined. For the years it was around though, the Baker Hotel put Mineral Wells on the map.

The Baker opened on November 22nd, 1929, three weeks after the stock market crash of 1929. After it was completed, the hotel was 14-story's tall and had a bowling alley, two ballrooms, an in-house beauty shop and 450 guest rooms. There were three different staircases: one for the well-to-do guests, one for their servants, and another staircase for those who had reasons for not wanting to be seen. It was widely considered to be one of the finest hotels in America.

The main purpose of the 452 room hotel was to provide stressed-out upper-class people the opportunity to take advantage of the natural mineral waters found in the town's wells for the medicinal value. The water seemed to cure stomach and intestinal problems and even some forms of mental illness. Besides the miracle water, massages and therapeutic baths were a big hit in the hotel's two complete spas. Guests also enjoyed swimming in one of the two swimming pools, going to the gym and attending dances and big band concerts in the hotel's huge ballrooms. Famous big bands of the era from the Dorsey Brothers to Lawrence Welk regularly played for the gala's the hotel held.

Other non-advertised activities were provided in hidden gambling parlors and discreet drinking areas during Prohibition. Dining rooms offered fine meals cooked in the hotel's kitchen and there were shops and personal services available so one never had to leave the hotel grounds for the necessities of life.

In its glory days, from the 1930s until the early 1950s, such famous people as Judy Garland, Dorothy Lamour, Clark Gable, Marlene Dietrich, Will Rogers, Helen Keller, Sammy Kaye and General Pershing came here to relax and enjoy all the Baker Hotel offered. Even Bonnie and Clyde, under assumed names, took time off from robbing banks and spent some of their ill-gotten gains while staying at the Baker Hotel.

After the war ended in 1945 and Mineral Wells was no longer the growing, bustling town it was before, the owners of the Baker Hotel did everything they could to stay in business. The hotel hosted the Texas Republican Party conventions of both 1952 and 1955 and the Texas Democratic Party convention of 1954, the costs to keep it open and operating was more than the income so the decision was made to close in 1963. Two years later, local investors leased the building and reopened the hotel, but once again the costs exceeded income and it closed for the second time in 1973.

The owner, Mr. Baker, lived in a fancy suite on the 10th floor with his family. It is known that he also maintained a suite for his red-headed mistress on the 7th floor. He lived in his hotel until his death in 1972. For the last 20 years of his life, he endured the decline of his fortune and watched the decline of his once luxurious hotel.

Just because the Baker Hotel has been closed to the living since 1973 doesn't mean it has been devoid of activity. The hotel remains a grand old structure containing thousands of stories of the people that stayed there - some during their last days as they sought cures for terrible illnesses. The reports of ghosts and hauntings began in the Baker long before it closed and it is regarded today as one of the most haunted buildings in America. For stories about the spirits living in the hotel, click here.

Over the years, a number of developers and visionaries have come forward with plans to bring life back to the "Grand Old Lady," but all have failed for one reason or another. In 2013, the city of Mineral Wells partnered with a collection of developers with the intention to renovate The Baker back to its former glory. The plan included the revival of the hotel's famous natural spring spas, construction of world-class business and convention facilities, over 11,000 sq. ft. of retail and shopping space and 157 guest rooms. This latest project however has not moved beyond the planning stage as restoration costs were found to be much higher than first estimated and governmental red tape has brought everything to a virtual standstill. The group is currently attempting to attract foreign investors for the additional funding, but it appears this plan may well end in failure as well.

For now, what once was the pride of West Texas sits slowly falling apart. True icon of a bygone era, gone now are the movie stars, the military officers in impressive uniforms, the big bands, the conventions and the glittery grand balls. Or are they? Perhaps in another dimension, the good times continue and maybe, just maybe, there's a helping hand from beyond that keeps the Baker Hotel un-renovated and locked in a different time.
 

Popeye in Alma, Arkansas

Remember Popeye the Sailor Man? Alma, Arkansas does and it erected a statue of everyone's favorite sailor to prove it. It's an incredibly cheesy statue, but pretty cool nonetheless. If you're a big Popeye fan, you can also check out the spinach can water tower that proclaims Alma the spinach capital of the world. The spinach can is found off U.S. 71 North and also proudly sports Popeye the Sailor man.

The first Popeye statue was built in 1987 out of paper mache and fiberglass. Tourists in cars and buses would stop by to see it, laugh and leave. Residents of Alma were a bit embarrassed by it all so they decided to either get rid of the statue or make it into something to be proud of. After much discussion and debate, paper mache Popeye was retired in 2007 and replaced with the bronze statue and fountain now in Alma's town square. The original statue is in a store called Kustom Kaps right up the street.

Mural of old Alma in the Popeye Square

Why all the Popeye love in Alma? Alma is the home of Allen's Canning Company, which cans spinach. They are also home to the annual Spinach Festival held the 3rd weekend each April.

To see Popeye for yourself, take exit 12 on I-40 and go south on US 71. Go through the traffic light, bear left, then turn right onto Fayetteville Ave./Hwy 162 into downtown. The Park is near the end of town, on the right.

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.

The Famous King of Clubs Roadhouse

Before the fire

In the early to late-1950’s, the King of Clubs in Swifton, Arkansas was the center of a rowdy club scene along Highway 67. Future household names like Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, Conway Twitty, and Jerry Lee Lewis were paid $10 to perform at the roadhouse for rowdy audiences of drunk red-neck patrons. The performers often spent more of their set fending off the drunks with chairs, their musical instruments and in several cases, a whip, than they did actually singing songs. The manager kept a tear gas pistol behind the bar and used it on a number of occasions to disperse people when things got out of hand.

In 1955, Elvis performed there with his opening act, Johnny Cash. Cash only performed 3 songs, but he was so good the manager paid him $20 instead of $10. Elvis, who was by then already a rising star, was paid $450 and drew such a large crowd that no more people could get inside the building and more stood around outside in the gravel parking lot. Whenever Jerry Lee Lewis performed, he had a guy stand next to the stage with a fire extinguisher to help control the crowd which he always incited into a frenzy with his possessed, revival-preacher-gone-wild performances. During his closing number, his cover of “Thank Heaven for Little Girls,” he would jump around like a crazed madman pounding the piano keys with his elbows and feet. The bar always had to have new strings put in and the piano tuned after he performed.

After the fire

The little King of Clubs, located basically in the middle of nowhere, in its heyday, was one of the breeding-pens for rockabilly, a rough-and-ready mix of blues and country that provided great influence on later generations of musician’s like the Rolling Stones and the Beatles.

Unfortunately, after more than 50 years of operation, the old building burned down with all of its irreplaceable memorabilia inside. During the night of December 13, 2010, dozens and dozens of one-of-a-kind photos lining the walls were lost forever. Elvis has left the building. So have most of his friends from that era and now, so has the old building.






 

Wild Swans in Arkansas

Magness Lake

In early January, 1991, in the skies somewhere north of Arkansas, three juvenile swans were caught in a snowstorm and became separated from their flock. Despite their 7-foot wingspans and powerful wing beats, they were blown far off the normal course of their migration path. That evening, nearing exhaustion, they heard the calls of geese who had settled for the night onto the sheltered waters of a small lake outside Heber Springs. The swans came down to rest and recuperate from their ordeal.

The next day, 4 birdwatchers happened to drive by the lake and when one of them called out in surprise at what he saw, the others didn't believe him. Wild swans had not been seen in Arkansas for at least 80 years so their doubts were justified. However, their sharp-eyed friend convinced them to stop and look for themselves. When they walked back and spotted the 3 swans, they were astonished. "Those aren't Trumpeter swans, are they?" As if on cue, one of the birds called out and there was no doubt. The loud, trumpet-like sound which gives them their name cannot be mistaken for anything else. For a few days anyway, the endangered Trumpeter Swan, the largest fowl in North America and the rarest of swans was back in Arkansas.

The owner of the lake and surrounding farmland, Perry Lindner, for a number of years had been feeding corn to the wintering waterfowl who came to Magness Lake. When he came out several days later, he saw the new visitors so he spread extra handfuls of corn along the shore near them. The hungry birds eagerly ate all he put out. They enjoyed their new home and the free corn so much that instead of staying just a few days, they didn't leave until February 24th.

Nobody expected the swans to return after that first visit. Evidently they liked Magness Lake so much though that not only did they return on Christmas Day, they brought several friends. They were then joined in January by a female and her mate who had been banded in Minnesota. This time the group stayed until the last day of February. The next year, the same group returned and this time the banded female and her mate brought 3 cygnets (juvenile swans) with them. Since then, the swans have taken a break on their way south and returned every year bringing mates, family members and friends. More than 150 swans now stop at Magness Lake and surrounding ponds for several winter months to rest and replenish with the deer corn people bring to feed them.

By a quirk of fate, where once there were no swans  in the whole state, there are now many and the people who make the effort can stand within a few feet of North America's largest, most beautiful waterfowl. It's an experience you will probably never forget.

 




 

Ozymandias Legs On The Texas Plains

Standing out in the vast, flat plains of west Texas, most of the towns are small and the highest point is the Dairy Queen sign. Eleven miles outside of Amarillo though stands something totally incongruent with that flatness - a giant pair of disembodied legs, all that is left of an ancient statue. A few feet away from the barbed-wire enclosed legs is a Texas State Historical Marker. The inscription on the marker states in part: In 1819, while on a horseback trek over the great plains of New Spain, Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife Mary came across these ruins. Here Shelley penned 'the poem Ozymandias.' The visage (or face) of the statue was damaged by students from Lubbock after losing to Amarillo in a competition. A stone cast of it will be replaced when it is ready. The original is now on display in the Amarillo Museum of Natural History. Souvenir hunters have scraped off the bottom of the pedestal. Archaeologists have determined it was as Shelley described it.

You are standing looking at a genuine relic of an historical time! At least, that's what you are supposed to think.

In 1996, Stanley Marsh 3 (he uses the number "3" as he feels the Roman numeral "III" is pretentious), the creator of the infamous Cadillac Ranch and other local oddities he referred to as "a legalized form of insanity" commissioned local artist Lightnin' McDuff to create a replica of the ruins in Percy's poem. Only working part-time (Lightnin' had a tendency to fall off his scaffold in the wind so he only worked on calm days), the legs were completed 2 years later.

Standing on a base which is 4 feet tall, 10 feet wide and 20 feet long, the left leg rises 24 feet in the air and the right leg stands 34 feet high. The whole thing is made of concrete, but the legs were made to look like they were carved from sandstone and very old. Lightnin' said, "Stanley wanted them to look like they were weathered and old and had been through prairie fires and storms and one thing or another."

To complete the illusion, prankster Marsh also commissioned a fake Texas Historical marker to mislead the curious. The marker states 3 erroneous claims - the first is that these legs were the inspiration for Shelly's poem, but they were obviously built many years later. It also states the "shattered visage" was damaged as a casualty between the Amarillo and Lubbock schools. In fact, Lightnin' never made a face to accompany the legs. And last, the nonexistent visage does not reside in the Amarillo Museum of Natural History because, just like the face, the museum does not exist. Amarillo has never had a Museum of Natural History. The historical marker is a close enough replica of the real thing though that the Texas Historical Commission reports they often get inquiries from the unsuspecting as to why the marker is not listed on their official web site.

Much like the Cadillac Ranch, the statue and fake marker are frequent targets of graffiti artist. Several times a year the unsightly paint is sandblasted away, but it doesn't take long for the vandal artists to return. Stopping by on a recent road trip, we were totally alone the 30 minutes we were there. The only sound was the cold wind steadily blowing from the north and a disinterested cow standing in the field chewing its cud. We found the marker to be so covered in paint that it was almost impossible to read. There is an abundance of litter around. The statue is rather remote and isolated and is evidently enjoyed as a place of romantic encounters. Among the empty liquor bottles, beer cans and fast food wrappers, we saw 2 bra's (both white), a pair of red thongs and a pair of pink bikini panties, one blouse, a pair of girl's shorts, a pair of jeans and an unopened condom. Interestingly, we saw no men's clothing items. 

Lightnin' McDuff

Not unlike the Egyptian King Ramesses II (Ozymandias is Ramesses in Greek) who filled the Valley of the Kings with monuments to himself, Stanley Marsh 3 filled Amarillo with monuments to his humor. When asked why he had the legs built and placed in a large open field, he said Shelley's poem is about the futility of monuments so he built a monument to it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ozymandias, by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an antique land,

Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mock them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

 

Silent Witness - Halfway Oak Tree

Trees have been used as landmarks, meeting places and for protection from harsh weather. They have provided wood for homes and church's and provided cooling shade in the hot summer. In times of war they have been used as mustering places, scouting nests, and sniper's perches. In times of peace, churches and courts have been held under their limbs and sometimes, those same limbs were used to provide frontier justice. Over 500 years after Columbus sailed the ocean blue and Europeans first came to America, some of the saplings from then are still alive, silent witnesses to history. If only they could speak.

The Halfway Oak Tree next to Hwy 183

One of these trees, an gnarled, old live oak, lives on the windswept plains 13 miles south of Breckenridge, Texas. For miles around there's no other tree so it's hard to miss. The tree got its name from its location: halfway between Breckenridge and Cisco. In the 1800's it served as a halfway rest stop on the original Fort Griffin to Stephenville stage coach passage. Noted on maps as early as 1858, it provided travelers a refuge for centuries.

in 1867, Fort Griffin was one of the frontier forts built to defend settlers against Indians and outlaws. The town of Fort Griffin, named for the fort but called "The Flat" by everyone, was established nearby. This lawless frontier outpost attracted many infamous characters of western lore such as Mollie McCabe and John Wesley Hardin. Lawlessness was so bad that the Flat was eventually placed under martial law and soldiers ran the outlaws and troublemakers out of town. As the bad guys rode south, they no doubt stopped under the old oak tree just long enough to rest their horses for a few minutes. In 1877, Wyatt Earp came through The Flat hot on the trail of a fleeing criminal. Doc Holiday was coming to help his friend apprehend the scofflaw and Wyatt left word for Doc that he would wait for him at the Halfway Oak. The next day, Doc caught up with Wyatt at his camp beside the tree.

In the oil boom of the 1920s, thousands of prospectors rushed into Breckenridge. Photographs from that time show almost nothing but wooden oil derricks stretching to the distant horizon. The oil boom brought railroads and the tracks for one line were laid less than 200 feet west of the tree. The tracks are long gone now, but the Half-Way Oak still stands.

Over the many years of its life, the tough old tree has suffered through drought, ice storms, misguided pruning, an accidental poisoning and several car crashes, one of them fatal. (It must be rather embarrassing for there to be only one tree for miles around and somehow you crashed your car into it.) In the 1970s the tree was scheduled to be removed for the widening of Highway 183, but the citizens of Breckenridge banded together, refusing to allow the tree to be cut. Instead of living history being destroyed, the road was routed around it and a few picnic tables and a nice highway pull-off were added, allowing the Half-Way Oak to continue to provide a welcome respite for travelers.

 

World's 2nd Longest Burning Lightbulb

There's something to be said for an object that just keeps on doing its job, day after day, year after year. Especially when that object consists of thin glass and wispy little wire. Steadiness in good times and bad. Reliability and durability you can count on.

In 1970, the Guinness Book of World Records listed a light bulb in in Ft. Worth, Texas as  the world's "most durable." But then somebody in Livermore, California jumped up and said a bulb in a fire station there had been burning even longer. A lady claimed she was the daughter of a man who had donated some light bulbs to Fire Station #6 on East Avenue and she remembered the light bulb being installed and turned on in 1901. Or maybe it was 1902. Or it might have been 1905. Even with this somewhat sketchy "documentation," Guinness decided the claim was legitimate and the little lightbulb in Ft. Worth was dethroned and relegated to obscurity.

Since bulbs usually fail when they are turned back on, the city of Livermore installed a dedicated power source for the bulb to ensure no electrical interruption even in a blackout or a fire house blown fuse. A rheostat was installed to smooth out any power surges. For its maybe, possibly 100th birthday, the Sandia National Laboratories donated and installed a "Bulbcam," a small camera which has its own web page showing the world that "The Centennial Light," as it has been named, is still burning.

"The Eternal Light"

But what about that forgotten bulb in Ft. Worth? Even in relative obscurity, it still burns, still doing its job. Known as "The Eternal Light," it spent its early life illuminating a stage door entrance at Byer's Opera House on 7th Street. Thanks to meticulous record keeping by the opera house, this bulb is proven to have been screwed in and turned on by a stagehand named Barry Burke on September 21, 1908. The opera house was sold in 1919 and turned into the Palace Theatre, but being a rear door, the light was never turned off throughout the years.

In 1970, a nameless somebody flipped a very dusty, never used switch just to see what it went to. The building's owner happened to walk by as the bulb went dark. When he found out what caused it, in a panic, he flipped the switch back and was astounded and relieved when the little light came right back on and burned as steady as ever. After shouting a while (nobody knows what happened to the guy whose curiosity got the better of him and flipped the switch), he placed a piece of cardboard over the wall switch with clear instructions to never, ever, ever touch the switch. 

"The Eternal Light" in it's display case.

Ft. Worth Stockyards entrance portal.

The only other time the bulb was dark was in 1977 as the old building was being torn down. A man named George Dato knew about the bulb which had been burning for so long and managed to remove it and put it in a socket at his home which he then kept turned on. In 1991, it was turned off one more time, the bulb unscrewed and transported to a socket in a glass display case in Ft. Worth's Stockyards Museum. Everyone held their breath when the power was flipped on, but once again, the bulb began glowing and it hasn't stopped yet. 

To see the unheralded World's 2nd Longest Burning Lightbulb, visit the Stockyards Museum at 131 E. Exchange Ave, Ft. Worth, Texas. You might want to hurry as there is no telling when it will finally give up the ghost and become just another burned out bulb. Or who knows, the thing just might keep on shining and outlast us all.
 

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.