NovemberStar.pdf

North Texas StarNovember 2013

OUTDOORS ALONG THE BRAZOS • J.L. ODOM’S SNAKE STORIES • ROBERT E. LEE ON THE TEXAS FRONTIER

CHASING OUR TALES: The William Sebastian Bowden Family

November 2013 • NORTH TEXAS STAR • Page 2

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North Texas Star 4OUTDOORS ALONG THE BRAZOSBy Don Price

6CHASING OUR TALESBy Sue Seibert

14J.L ODOM’S SNAKE STORIESBy Randall Scott

10By Jim Dillard

ROBERT E. LEEON THE LAST FRONTIER: PART 2


Outdoors Along the BrazosBy Don Price

The following vignettes have been extracted from Outdoors Along the Brazos columns, begin-ning in 1963. Occasionally, a sentence has been paraphrased for clarity.

It is in the beginning, the early days of another great season, the time of gun dogs and bobwhite quail.

It works in wonderous ways, getting you so excited your contemporaries whisper you've turned a bit strange lately, talking to yourself that way. This is years before cell phones.

This is what you've been waiting for and dream-ing about all year. It's almost too good to be true. Something is bound to happen because a pleasure such as this is only possible in heaven, not likely in a Palo Pinto County pasture.

But you know better; you know the birds are in Village Bend, plenty of birds, and then again along Hess Road in a root-plowed field, lots of grass, because a good rain soaks in, doesn't run off like on slick ground, and so the cover is dense soon after a good shower.

And the last couple years have been wet years, above average rainfall. Everything looks good for a bumper crop of fat bob-whites. But it's after 4 p.m., really too late to hunt today.

Nevertheless, you grab the shotgun and shells, game bag and gun dog to roar to the countryside, to the root-plowed pasture, because your English setter sometimes finds half-a-dozen coveys on the 135-acre tract of heavy grass.

It's late fall, the sun sets early, its just about 4 p.m., and you're going for the Holy Grail, flying down a straight country road.

Your pickup creates a shadow on the landscape like a hedge-hopping jet, so you cautiously glance in your rearview mirror, hoping your Baptist friends don't recognize your pickup, a dead give-away.

The accelerator sticks, most of the time when you least expect it, the speedometer is broken, tell them anything, but you must hurry to work your dog in the root-plowed field before dark-thirty.

I didn't tell you there was one heck-of-a turn, a 90-degree job, I'd plum forgot about. Have you ever done a doughnut without realizing what you'd done? And not a living soul in sight to see it?

Turning again, careening is a better word, off the outback blacktop onto another country road, you'd better focus on the house ahead before it's too late.

Your hunting buddy is sitting on the front porch trying to look calm as you carom off twin cedar gate posts in his front yard. It didn't hurt his gate posts but you ou'tta see my grill.

This is dead serious as far as money is con-cerned as I don't have collision insurance, a lot more serious than a caroming two-bit bet at the pool hall.

Dang, a ruined grill. I'd better get ahold of myself. My hunting partner sitting on the front porch looks at the sun, already turning into an orange slice; he grimaces slightly, takes a deep breath and bellows, "You're late!"

You mutter something humbly, almost inaudi-bly, because you're feeling a little foolish [just a tad] after such a wild ride, plus some of the teeth

in your grill would now cause any orthodontist to jump for joy.

"Gee, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't tear myself away, what with those customers lined up for hunting licenses and shotgun shells. Business comes first, doggone it."

"Birds been a-whistlin' in the field behind the house for 20, 30 minutes, might have moved into heavy timber by now cause it took you so long to get here," he scolded.

You're already shaken, thinking about all those missing teeth and you without collision insur-ance, and this just about does you in, a brand new pickup.

In a somehow desperate motion you grab the dog and shotgun and shells and game bag, slam-ming the door.

His dog is already on point, but your dog catches the scent to back his dog, now a brace of dogs with classic points, I mean picture perfect in the field of cut grain right behind the house.

Whew! Everything is going to work out, and you've almost forgotten the missing teeth.

Now just look at this magnum opus, ever bit

as good as the "Gone With the Wind" Georgia cotton plantation: two classic English setters on point – not in a manicured shooting resort fre-quented by gentlemen with 28-gauge Parker doubles – but right here in the rolling Palo Pinto hilly country, in a rustic field of cut grain, a few briars and a lot of grass burs and goat heads, hardly a hundred yards from the old house place.

It's a glorious evening, the ground is damp, the cover is right, and you're hunting with someone you'd call a close friend, with his dog on point and your dog honoring, and the whistling bob-whites in seemingly every direction.

Absolutely too good to be true, but it is true 'cause you've already pinched yourself good and hard.

Cautiously you inch up behind the dogs to pause, to make sure your hunting partner is also ready for the heart-thumping covey rise.

This pause before the explosion of birds and feathers causes healthy men to sometimes have heart attacks.

"Just a minute," you say softly. Suddenly you remember you've not loaded your shotgun.

You break the gun easily, quietly, a Belgian Browning over-and-under 20-gauge, and reach into your game bag pocket to feel two shells with

your fingers.Bobwhite quail have seemingly turned into

figurines; the pair of setters statuesque; time seems frozen; everything has forgotten to breathe, it looks from here. For the rest of his life how could a quail hunter ever forget?

And so you stand there, in a way statuesque yourself, just feeling the two shotgun shells with your fingers, rolling them around and end-over-end in the pocket of your game bag.

You already know now. Your hunting partner senses something wrong, perhaps because of the hapless expression now plainly showing under the camouflaged cap.

"What's wrong now?" He's out of snuff, almost shouting, all of this tension triggered because you were late getting here, only enough hunting time left for this one covey.

You know it's hopeless, but you pull from your game bag every shell anyway. Have you ever tried to put a 12-gauge shotgun shell into a 20-gauge shotgun? No matter how hard you hold your mouth, it won't fit.

There is just no way. •••



Chasing Our Tales The William Sebastian Bowden Family By Sue Seibert

As many, perhaps most, of you know, I am a member

of the Ralph Ripley Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR). I am the reg-istrar right now which means I help prospective members com-plete their genealogy and current members add supplemental patri-ots to their ancestry. It’s a lot of fun doing genealogy, but some-times it is frustrating, too.

In this column I try to assist you with your queries regarding family history and genealogy. Now I am asking for you assis-tance. I know there are several Bowdens in the Mineral Wells-Weatherford area, and I hope you will read this story and help me find my missing connections.

If you don’t know, DAR requires positive proof of an ancestor and their patriotism during and following the American Revolutionary War. First-hand knowledge is always the best, and this usually consists of birth, marriage and death certificates, census records, wills and deeds. Often a family Bible or a published work is also used, as are city directories, newspaper clip-pings, obituaries, funeral home records, pension records, and the like.

In this history of my family, I have discovered a disconnect between my Revolutionary War ancestor, William Bowden, and his son, John Bowden.

William Bowden was born about 1742 in Guilford County, NC, and served in the American Army as a pri-vate from North Carolina under Captains John Nelson, John Bostick, and Edward Lovell and Col. James Martin. He died in Maury County, Tenn., in 1834. Her had three sons of whom I am aware: James, Jesse and John. John is my ances-

tor. William’s wife’s name was either Martha or Mary Ann, and they married in Surry County, NC, in 1776.

John Bowden was born in Guilford County, NC, in 1777, and died in Lawrence County, Tenn., in 1846. He was married to Elizabeth Blackburn who was born in South Carolina and also died in Lawrence County, Tenn. They married in Oglethorp County, Ga., on Aug. 7, 1802. They had at least two children, Feriba and James.

John’s son, James, is my ances-tor. He was probably named for his uncle James. He was born in Oglethorp County, Ga., in 1806. He married Elizabeth McAnally in Lawrence County, Tenn. He later married Loris Ladd. He died

in 1860 in Lawrence County, Tenn.When we get as far down as Elizabeth McAnally,

I can prove everything for DAR as Charles McAnally was Elizabeth’s great-great-grandfather and one of my DAR proven ancestors.

James and Elizabeth had several children includ-ing Mary Ann, probably named for Williams’s

wife, Charles Winston, Elizabeth, Lois Matilda, John A., Sarah K. and William Sebastian, who was my great-grandfather.

William Sebastian was born in Lawrence County, Tenn., in 1837, and married Didama Elizabeth Nowlin, descendant of another of my patriots, Bryan Ward Nowlin. They married in 1858 in Lawrence County, and they had seven children.

William Sebastian and Didama moved to Gum Log, Pope County, Ark., in 1860, when he was 23 and she was 20. At that time they had one son, Allen Florinton, who was born in 1859. In 1870, following the Civil War, they were back in Lawrence County, but in 1880 they had returned to Pope County, Ark., to the town of Valley; but by 1900 they were living in Blanket, Brown County, Texas, where they stayed until about 1909 when they moved to Rising Star, Eastland County, Texas, where William Sebastian died in 1914, three years after my mother, Rose Elizabeth Bowden, was born. His wife, Didama, died five years later, and they are both buried in the Rising Star Cemetery.

The children of William Sebastian and Didama were Allen Florinton, Charles Winston, William J., Ida Madora, Anna Lee, Andrew Alonza, and Marvin Tilden, my grandfather.

We know that William Sebastian fought in the Civil War where he enlisted in July of 1862 and surrendered and became a prisoner of war in May

of 1965. He fought in Company H, Colonel King’s Regiment, Fagan’s Brigade, Shoop’s Division, and he applied for a pen-sion in 1914.

My grandfather, Marvin Tilden Bowden (Doc), was born in Pope County, Ark., in 1876, and by 1900 he was living in Ballinger, Runnels County, Texas. That same year he married my grandmother, Lora Day Routh (Bee),

continued onpage 8

The William Sebastian Bowden Family

Cousins: Mack Gibson and M.T. Bowden


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continued from page 6who was born in Jack County, Texas. They married in Dublin, Texas, and, interestingly, that is where she died years later.

Doc and Bee Bowden were in Rising Star, Texas, by 1910, the same year my mother was born; but by 1930 they were living in Brownwood, Brown County, Texas, where he was operating a furniture store. They had one son who was born and died in 1907.

My DAR problem, howev-er, stems from not being able to prove, to DAR’s satisfaction, that William, the Revolutionary War patriot, was, indeed, the father of John.

This is where everything gets sticky. James Bowden’s final pen-sion statement made for his father, William Bowden, as William Bowden's only surviving son shows that William Bowden died Oct. 25, 1834; payment RG-217; last pension for S2,388; and full pension application S2,388. William, and his son, James, were in Maury County, Tenn., which is just one county northeast of Lawrence County. However, John was still alive in 1834, so James should not have been the only surviving son.

Everyone that I have talked to regarding Bowden family research says that this is our William Bowden. Their next comment is that the line "as William Bowden's only surviving son" kills any attempt to join DAR. However, I intend, to the best of my ability, to prove they are one and the same, as this has been family lore for the last 100 years or more.

We also have the 1830 census which shows that William, James, and John were all in Maury County, Tenn., at the same time! And the 1820 census shows that James and John were in Maury County, although, apparently William had not moved there by then.

Further, the Nashville Christian Advocate, in 1886, published the following: “James Bowden born Oglethorpe Co., Ga., Feb. 6, 1806; died Feb. 9, 1886; married (1) Elizabeth McAnally; (2) L.J. Ladd; had 8 children.”

From Noble Ladd came the following: “John and Anna Blackburn Bowden, both natives of Georgia,

and of English and German descent, respectively. The father was born in 1777, and was married about 1796. He and his wife emigrated from Georgia to Tennessee, and there they received their final sum-mons, the father dying at the age of 95, and she at

the age of 65 years. Their

family

consist-ed of 15 chil-

dren, eight sons and five daughters of whom grew to mature years, two died in infancy. Those living are named as follows: Polly, William Feriba, James, Anna, Jane, John S., Jackson J., Charles, Newton, Wiley, Lucinda and Allen. The pater-nal grandfather of these chil-dren emigrated from England to America at an early day, and fought for independence in the Revolution.

"My grandfather and grand-mother Bowden - were John and Ann. They reared 12 chil-dren, eight boys and four girls - My father's brothers were: James, who married Elizabeth McAnally; William who married Winnie Brewer; Charles married Elvira Ladd; Newton married Polly Pollock;

John married Elizabeth Reynolds; Allen who mar-ried Isabelle Stout; Jackson married Selina Leigh (Lay). My father’s name was Wiley and he married Susanah Pollock. My father's sisters were: Ann who married John Chambers; Lucinda who married George Barnett; Jane married Lowery Poag(Pogue); Feraby married Elisha McAnally.

“His family moved from Georgia to Maury Co, Tennessee in 1819, and then moved to Lawrence Co, Tennessee in 1820. Listed in the 1820 census

with males: 5<10, 2=10-16, 1=26-45; fem 1<10, 2=10-16, 1=16-26, 1=26-45 adjacent to what

seems to be his brother.“The family moved to Arkansas sometime

around 1844, where 3 more children, another daughter and two sons were born. Listed as a farmer age 73 born in North Carolina in the 1850 Tennessee census. Again at 83 in the 1860 census, without his wife.”

So, I am asking you, dear reader, if you have a Bowden connection, or if you know someone who does. Please let

me know if you find proof that my William was indeed my John’s father! And

I thank you in advance. As well, I do hope some of you with a Bowden connection will

find what I have said here helpful to you.

Do you have a query about your ancestors? Are in interested in DAR? Contact me at [email protected]. •••

M.T. Bowden Furniture

WS & Didama



Robert E. Lee on the Texas FrontierBy Jim Dillardpart 2

(This is Part 2 of a two-part series on the life of Robert E. Lee and his military service in Texas between March 1856 and February 186l.)

By May 18 1857, Lee had resumed his duties at Camp Cooper on the Clear Fork as dust filled the air and the temperature rose to 105

degrees. Dust was so bad in Lee’s tent that his pen clogged, making it difficult to write. Drought once again set in with a vengeance making life miserable at the remote outpost. Although Lee and the soldiers had attempted to grow gardens to supply their diet with vegetables, heat decimated the plants, which shriveled and died. Sickness was rampant at the camp and morale low as the soldiers struggled with the heat. By June 29, the thermometer registered 112 degrees as the camp baked in the relentless heat.

Because of the unhealthy location of Camp Cooper, Lee had been instructed by Col. Albert Sidney Johnston to search for a more suitable location for the post. He began roaming the area searching for a new site with springs nearby that would provide a better source of good water. At the same time he initiated improvements at Camp Cooper with the construction of several facilities with stone, clapboard, pickets and logs cut from an area of post oak woods north of the

camp. The bakehouse, three company kitchens and the guardhouse were made of stone with clapboard or can-vas roofs; the forage and quartermaster storehouses and two stables for the Second Cavalry horses were of logs. Lee’s quarters and the two hospitals were jacals with part-canvas sides and roof.

On June 16, 1857, Lee received orders assigning him to a court-martial trial at Fort Mason. He left six days later leaving the command of Camp Cooper to Captain Caldwell. Soon after the trial started he received another message ordering him to take command of the Second Cavalry at San Antonio. Colonel Johnston had been ordered to Washington and would ultimately be sent to lead an expedition against Mormons in Utah who had refused to accept the jurisdiction of federal courts. Lee immediately left Fort Mason with Colonel Johnston by stage which traveled through Fredericksburg and on to San Antonio. In San Antonio he made a deal to occupy Johnston’s house after he left for Washington.

On Oct. 31, 1857, Lee received a letter from his wife in Virginia saying that her father, George Washington Parke Curtis, had passed away. He began immediate preparations to return to Virginia to be with his wife by relinquishing his command of the Second Cavalry and transferring his regiment’s headquarters back to Fort Mason. He sold his mare and equipment, paid his bills and left San Antonio for the long journey to Virginia.

When he arrived in Arlington, Lee found the estate of his father-in-law in a state of disrepair as the slaves had not maintained the plantation. His grieving wife was ill with debilitating arthritis, two of his sons had been assigned military duties in the West and two of his daughters were also sick. He had been assigned as executor of his father-in-law’s will and began that lengthy process which extended his absence from his regiment until Feb. 6, 1860.

By midsummer 1858, Lee set about bringing the Arlington plantation back to life by making improve-ments that would return it to a productive state. He also spent time meeting with lawyers to implement his father-in-law’s will. In Washington he met with General Scott in hopes of securing an appointment for his son Curtis in Washington so he would be close to home and could help manage the plantation. On Oct. 17, Lt. Jeb Stuart brought him orders from Colonel Drinkard to report immediately to Secretary of War John B. Floyd for duty. Lee left immediately with Stuart and traveled to Washington where Lee learned he had been put in charge of quelling the John Brown disturbance at Harpers Ferry.

Lee arrived to command a detachment of militia, soldiers and United States Marines to suppress and capture Brown and his band of 21 abolitionists who had taken over the arsenal in hopes of inciting a slave

rebellion. Although already surrounded by militia when Lee arrived, Brown refused to surrender. The fol-lowing morning at dawn Lee attacked and after a three-minute fight, Brown and his followers surren-dered.

Lee now began his return to Texas to resume duties there and arrived at Indianola on Feb. 9, 1859. Two days later he was in San Antonio and took command of the Department of Texas. Although his duties included such things as troop changes, buying sites for military posts and reviewing disciplinary cases, Lee gave each and every task his personal attention in an attempt to humanize the service.

Lee soon received communication from Texas Governor Sam Houston concerning the United States’ military role in resolving the turmoil created by Indian and Mexican bandits raiding along the Texas border with Mexico. In particular were the actions of Juan Nepomuceno Cortinas and his band of over 500 pillag-ers who raided throughout the Brownsville and Rio Grande Valley area stealing horses and defying local law enforcement officials. On Sept. 28, 1859, Cortinas and his gang took over Fort Brown, which had only recently been abandoned by U.S. Troops, and attempt-ed to break into the powder magazine. His men also rode through the streets hunting their enemies and stormed the jail freeing prisoners. They killed jailer Johnson, a young man named Neale and a Mexican. His lawlessness and vendetta against Americans esca-lated to the point that a company of Texas Rangers under Capt. W.G. Tobin was sent to Brownsville to deal with the situation.

On Oct. 22, Cortinas and his men clashed with a force of Mexican militia and a volunteer force called the “Brownsville Tigers” led by W.B. Thompson. When they attempted to force Cortinas out of hiding at his mother’s rancho, Cortina’s men retaliated forcing them back to Brownsville and captured their two piec-es of artillery. Following that event Cortinas robbed and plundered the area with impunity. Mail riders were stopped and mail taken so he could read letters to gain intelligence about movements of forces against him. All the time Cortinas flaunted his power against the Americans, he was becoming a champion to much of the Texas-Mexican element throughout the region. Mexican forces across the border were also attempting to capture the bandit but without success.

Eventually, 177 U.S. troops under Major Heintzelman and 53 Texas Rangers led by Maj. John S. Ford moved to Brownsville to combat Cortinas and defeated him in a battle at Rio Grande City. As was his mode of operation, Cortinas disappeared and no one knew where he was or when he would turn up to fight another day. With the Rio Grande Valley seething with

continued on page 12

Robert Edward Lee


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Robert E. Lee on the Texas Frontier


continued from page 10rumors about Cortinas’s whereabouts, Lee traveled to the area to further investigate the situation and to hopefully bring Cortina’s depredations to an end. Accompanied by one company of cavalry, Lee departed San Antonio on March 15 and traveled to Eagle Pass and down the Rio Grande through Laredo, Ringgold Barracks and Edinburg to Brownsville.

Lee conferred with Mexican General Guadalupe Garcia in Brownsville on May 12 and reminded him of his responsibilities for border security on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande, his duty to arrest Cortinas and his gang. Intelligence was received that Cortinas had retreated 100 miles south of the border into Mexico. By using diplomacy and a show of force along the border, Lee had at least temporarily succeeded in thwarting Cortinas’s hold on the region without escalation to an all out border war. Although he would resurface from time-to-time along the border as the “Robin Hood” of the peons, Cortinas eventually became a brigadier general in the Mexican Army and governor of Tamaulipas.

Lee returned to San Antonio and resumed his busy duties as Commander of the Department of Texas. While there he watched with interest the experiment of the War Department in using camels for transporting heavy loads long distances across the rugged and arid terrain of West Texas. Trials were conducted to determine whether mules or camels should be the beasts of burden for the military’s use in moving supplies and equipment through a region beset by such a wide range of topography and climatic conditions. His report to Adjutant General Cooper was favorable toward the possible future use of camels which had successfully negotiated the region between San Antonio and Presidio del Norte on the Rio Grande.

Indian depredations continued along the Texas fron-tier, a problem Lee inherited when he took command of the Department of Texas in San Antonio. The frontier had exploded with violence as raids by the Comanche and Kiowa dramatically increased. Clashes between Texas forces, militia units and U.S. cavalry and infantry units did little to stop the depredations which would continue for another 15-20 years. On Dec. 31, 1860, Lee was relieved of his duties in San Antonio when General Twiggs arrived to take command. Lee was now able to rejoin his unit at Fort Mason, despite the ominous cloud of secession looming on the horizon that would soon split the nation and propel Lee into the fray.

The trip to Fort Mason was into the teeth of a cold winter storm that had blown into the region. Freezing rain and sleet turned the landscape into a winter wonder-land as Lee made his way northwest, arriving at Fort Mason on Dec. 23. Since most Indians had retreated to their winter camps in Mexico or along the canyons of the Staked Plains of Northwest Texas, the atmosphere at Fort Mason was relaxed. Lee mingled and dined with the offi-cers and their wives whenever the opportunity arose.

Now at the age of 54, Lee contemplated his military career and the 22 years it had taken to advance from the rank of captain to his present rank as a lieutenant colonel. His gross income was only $4,060 including his salary of $1,205 and allowances for rations, quarters, travel and other expenses. The possibility of achieving the rank of

brigadier general was unlikely as he continued his service on the Texas frontier. But the winds of change were beginning to blow as rumors of secession and civil war increased. Where his and the other officer’s loyalties would rest remained to be seen.

During early 1861 the Union began to unravel as one after another southern state passed ordinances of seces-sion, including Texas. The Confederate States of America

was formed in Montgomery, Ala., and Jefferson Davis was elected president by the provisional congress with Richmond, Va., named the permanent capital. On Feb. 13, 1861, General Winfield Scott sent orders to Fort Mason ordering Lee to give up his field command and return to Washington immediately. Following those orders, Lee departed Fort Mason for Washington with a troubled heart, knowing he must decide whether to remain loyal to the Union or defend his native state of Virginia should it also secede.

In San Antonio, Lee was confronted by Texans repre-senting the Committee of Public Safety who had taken control over federal facilities there. They demanded that he declare his allegiance to the southern cause to which he bluntly reminded them he was yet a federal officer and had the right to make up his own mind. Lee had already made up his mind: if Virginia seceded from the Union (which it did on April 18,) he would support its actions and take up the sword to defend it. The following day Lee boarded a stage for Indianola on the Texas coast to take a ship to New Orleans on his way to Washington, a trip that would end his military service in Texas.

Texas troops would soon occupy the federal military forts along the Texas frontier, including Fort Mason and Camp Cooper, as federal troops departed for the coast. Troops of the Second Cavalry under Capt. Innis N. Palmer left Camp Cooper on Feb. 21, and on March 21 Second Cavalry troops under Capt. Richard J. Johnson abandoned Fort Mason which was set on fire by the retreating troops.

Lee arrived in Arlington, Va., on March 1, 1861, and was allowed to spend a few weeks with his family. With the firing on Ft. Sumter on April 7 and its ultimate sur-render two weeks later, President Lincoln authorized that Lee be offered command of a federal army of 100,000 men to invade the South. Lee refused and submitted a letter resigning his commission as an officer of the United States. Although he loved the Union, Lee said he would not “raise my hand against my relatives, my chil-dren, my home,” and chose to follow the destiny of his beloved state of Virginia.

On April 22, 1861, Lee took a train to Richmond, Va., to accept a commission in the service of Virginia which would lead to his eventual command of all the Southern armies during the Civil War. His time on the Texas fron-tier had enriched his military bearing and helped prepare him for the demanding trials and tribulations he would face during the next four years.

Lee’s service in Texas did little to solve the problem of Indian depredations along the Texas frontier and Rio Grande which increased dramatically following the removal of federal troops during the Civil War. The goril-la warfare tactics used by Indians to kill, steal and intimi-date settlers would frustrate efforts by Texas Rangers, state militia units and federal forces for years to come. Raids into Palo Pinto and surrounding counties sent many settlers and cattlemen eastward until after the Civil War when federal troops returned to the region.

One of the few lasting tributes commemorating Robert E. Lee and his time spent in Texas is the town of Robert Lee, county seat of Coke County, which was named in his honor. The town’s location on the Colorado River was thought to be near the site where Lee and his troops camped during one of his expeditions through the region searching for hostile bands of Indians. Lee’s military ser-vice along the Texas frontier during those turbulent times qualifies him for icon status as one of the many silver threads in the fabric of our rich Texas heritage. •••

Sources: “Robert E. Lee in Texas,” by Carl Coke Rister; “Lambshead Before Interwoven: A Texas Range Chronicle 1848-1878,” by Frances Mayhugh Holden; TSHA Online and other Internet sites.

Robert E. Lee in 1863


Found guilty for the murder of two guinea chicks, I executed the bull snake at sunrise this morning as payment for his crimes – a grizzly

task before breakfast, but a necessary chore for country folks. Living on Granddad’s ranch reminds me of what, he, J.L. Odom, would say, “Poor ole snake’s just trying to make a living.” He was right. Truly, it was nature’s way of life on a cattle ranch in Palo Pinto County, Texas, as anywhere else: Critters ate other critters to survive.

The lowly snake was no exception. But they don’t have my sympathy the way they had Granddad’s. Those rusty wiggly things gave me the willies, and sometimes, they gave me nightmares when I thought about snake stories Granddad told. The earliest of these recollections was when Granddad and I were feeding cattle on a warm day just before sundown. He fed a bovine menu of range cubes and costal hay, which were stored inside a barn behind the house.

Forbidden to play there for reasons unknown to an inquisitive 5-year-old, I admit that I was hauntingly drawn to it. Yet, I stopped short of going inside that dilapidated old barn – too scared to open the door. It was a daunting structure of rotted wood siding polka-dotted with square tin cutouts randomly applied across the walls. These pieces of tin were feeble attempts to cover missing boards and served as makeshift patches over knotholes. The roof sagged under its own weight from rusted metal sheets of corrugated steel loosely fastened and free to flop and bang in the breeze.

It wasn’t because I was scared. I liked holding Granddad’s hand when we walked to the barn. Through small holes and cracks in the walls, a gentle breeze whis-pered a faint warning for me to stay away. Amid growing momentum, blowing winds distorted the sounds of whis-pers into low moans and groans that seemingly came from somewhere inside. With only a few yards left to go my anxiety turned to panic and a sense of dread came over me. I used both hands to tightly squeeze his arm.

Once there, high gusts of wind bowed tree-limbs, whipped our clothes, and I heard the barn scream an eery chorus of shrills at me, “Don’t come in, don’t come in.” The roof angrily reached a heightened crescendo when sheet-metal crashed in a loud BANG! And then the barn went silent again.

I took its silence to be a good sign that maybe the barn likes us and wants us to come inside. But neither one of us could move with my arms and legs tightly latched around Granddad’s leg. When he opened the door, a cop-perhead snake wiggled between our feet and shot across the ground parallel with the barn’s foundation. At first, we were both too startled to move. Then, Granddad

quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me back to a safe distance away from the venomous reptile – out of harm's way.

A nearby stick was used as a weapon for a quick dis-patch of the wiggling devil and the whole encounter still remains vivid in my mind 50-some-odd years later. In his typical blasé tone, I can still hear Granddad make his nonchalant apology to the snake: “Sorry old friend, I probably did away with the only mouse catcher in the barn.” Much to my grandmother’s objections, this epi-sode with Mr. Copperhead was the event that spawned an evening of granddad’s snake stories.

A Snake Too Big To Kill “Did I ever tell you about the time the Taylors and I

come across a rattlesnake too big to kill? Well, it’s true. When I say, Taylors, I’m talking about my father-in-law, Ike, and his two boys, Maurice and Auburn. In the early '30s we’d cut our own cedar fence posts to save money and sometimes we’d trade ’em with the neighbors for other stuff they had. That’s how we ‘got by’ in those days. We’d cut our posts way back there on the far western pasture where the valley drops off down into a creek-bed lined with tall boulders. Rugged country…

"I recall that morning had started out warm, for early summer, and a fine day to be riding on the wagon bench with Ike. He pulled back on the reins to slow his team of horses down to a trot and then he gave them their head for the rest of the way down the creek-bank. Suddenly, the team stopped dead in their tracks. Suspicious of a wildcat or some other critter, Ike slowly crawled down to investigate the nearby brushy sur-roundings.

Both horses began to fidget, stomp their hooves, and whinny with wide-eyed fear. When he saw it, Ike hol-lered for us to come down off that wagon and bring the broadaxe ‘cause there was a snake needed killing. By then, the horses were raring on their hind legs in retreat. All this commotion had ruined a fine day and I was annoyed by the fact some little snake could waylay the plans of four grown men. Well, we liked to think we was full growed. However, being the rambunctious youngster that I was, I did a stupid thing. I grabbed up that axe and stepped into the thicket ahead of Ike.

"In a low voice, Ike told me not to move, don’t make a sound, and stand perfectly still. Pointing with his thin boney finger, he told me to look yonder past that hack-berry bush. That’s where the snake started and the rest of him kept going way over there past that rock and no telling how much further. Frozen in my boots, I didn’t argue with Ike; he was right!

continued on page 16


J.L. Odom at his favorite passtime, fishing at Possum Kingdom Lake.

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APlace in TimeNOVEMBER 6, 1957Ed Dismuke dies at 97 after falling and breaking a hip. A former Waco druggist, Dis-muke, in 1904, founded the Famous Mineral Water Company in "The City Built on Water." Famous is the sole remaining purveyor of mineralized water in Mineral Wells.NOVEMBER 9, 1929Baker Hotel opens in Mineral Wells. Though it opened just days before the stock market crash of 1929, the Baker was successful through the 1930s as a major mineral water/spa destination in the "City Built on Water." The famous and well-to-do ocked to this North Texas town. The grand hotel got its "second wind" when Camp Wolters was established. The Baker went into decline following the second World War, experiencing a brief upswing in the early '50s when Fort Wolters was reopened as the Army's primary helicopter training base. It closed in 1972.NOVEMBER 12, 1940Ground broken on the Infantry Replacement Center (Camp Wolters) at Mineral Wells. Due to rain, work proceeded at a slow pace until early 1941. More than 19,000 men worked to ready the camp for soldiers.NOVEMBER 22, 1929The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells formally opens.NOVEMBER 26, 1957First class of the U.S. Army Primary Helicopter School in Mineral Wells reports for training. The class consisted of 34 Warrant Of cer Candidates (WOCs) and one Chief Warrant Of cer.NOVEMBER 29, 1846Palo Pinto County rancher Jere Benjamin Hart is born in Butler, Bates County, Mo.


continued from page 14 Impatient to be on their way, Maurice and Auburn sat

in the wagon prodding and egging us on. Them boys were just like me, anxious to be done with it; to swing that axe, behead the snake, and go about our business. Without a doubt, that’d be suicide ‘cause we all knew this to be true: The striking distance of any snake is lim-ited only to his total length and this was one very long snake! So, from a safe distance, I explained the situation. I told them there’s a rattlesnake with a head bigger than your fist and a body that looks to be longer than two axe-handles lengthwise. And, if either one of you want to take a swing at him just come on down here and be my guest.

"At that, the two laughed at me. But Ike didn’t. They saw their father sternly shaking his head in agreement with me and their laughs turned to serious concern. Maurice got the idea to cut each man a long pole and bat-tle the thing from all angles. Odd as it was, instead of using the axe to kill the snake, we’d used it to cut poles and sharpen the ends to make spears. It stretched out lon-ger than the 8-foot wagon bed. Ike declared he was big enough to swallow squirrels, dogs, cats and barnyard chickens whole. He also believed that up until that time, it was probably the biggest rattlesnake ever been kilt in the Live Oak Community.”

Horned Toad Kills Rattlesnake and Lives

to Tell About ItGranddad sat up in his rocking chair,

looked around to see if my grandmother was watching, and aimed a long-shot at his spit-toon on the fireplace hearth. Swiping his lips with the back of his hand, he began again.

“I come across a sight one day, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. A rattlesnake was on the ground curling over and over itself. I sat and watched him roll over into a ball, stretch out, and then roll again when directly, he stopped. The snake lay still for a while and uncurled itself full length across the ground. Not a large snake, I thought, but of average size on this ‘place’ [ranch].

There was a big hump in his middle just a couple of inches behind his head. The hump looked to be twice the snake’s normal width, and to compare, I’d say it was like shoving a golf ball inside a balloon. Under closer examination I saw two small horns protruding through the snake’s skin. A strange looking thing! Like I said, I’d never seen nothing like it before.

"I wanted to know what was inside that rattlesnake’s belly, if anything, just to satisfy my curiosity. By now, the snake was obviously dead, so I stepped on his body with one boot and worked my other boot towards the hump. The hump moved! Placing all my weight on top of the snake, it moved closer to the snake’s mouth and out popped a horned toad. It scampered across the ground and out of sight, having survived the belly of the snake.

"Just imagine a wiggling horned toad jabbing its horns side-to-side till it rubbed a hole clean through your belly and out your skin. Must’ve been a long time for that poor rattlesnake to suffer in agony and nothing he could do but just roll over and over on the ground with no relief. I

suppose the irony of this story is that a horned toad kills a rattlesnake and lives to tell about it.”

How to Find a

Cottonmouth Water Moccasin“When we got good rains,

the fence running alongside the road, down by that stock tank, was completely under water. Later on, when water levels dropped, that old wire rusted out from time-to-time leaving big gaps where calves crawled through. Couple of steps and them little rascals are up the bar-ditch and standing in the road watching cars swerve every which-way to miss ’em. And, confound it all, I can’t see holes in the fence for the tall weeds grown higher than your head. But little calves can find them holes – you can bet your bottom dollar on that.

"Repairs ain’t so easy. Gotta work fast or you’ll sink knee deep in mud. But the real challenge is stretching

barbed wire across water. So, how I done it was like this: I’d pull on my knee-high slicker boots; and with a pair-o-pliers, lengths of wire, and some staples in my pocket, I’d wade through waste deep water, cross through the tank and come up the other side.

"But, you’re not gonna believe what happened last time I fixed that fence. Tacking wire on the post wasn’t too bad, but when I took another step through the tall weeds I felt something move under my feet. I looked down to see a black snake squirming under my slicker boot, and he was mad. When he bent his head around to bite me, he was just short of reaching the other boot. But the important thing I noticed was his big

white mouth that told me I’d found a cottonmouth water moccasin.

"What do you do? I think a Senator once said that when you hold a wolf by his ears you don’t dare let go! Well, that was his opinion, but Mr. Cottonmouth and I both had to have some relief. So, hoping that little fence-post could hold my weight, I scampered to the top of it. Mr. Cottonmouth shot out swimming the opposite direc-tion across the water and when he reached the opposite side, he crawled up the tank dam and slithered out of sight. Several hours later I had the courage to crawl down off that fencepost. And, like I said, that fence ain’t been fixed since then and probably never will – at least not by me.”

A Little Snake with a Big Bite“After those near misses, one of them crawly wigglers

finally got me. I believe it was back in 1971. He was a

little bitty copperhead hiding in the backyard stack of leaves. Looked to be the size of a nar-row straw, you know, the kind you’d use to drink out of a soda-pop bottle. His bite felt like a little prick on my hand just about the time I scooped up a hand full of leaves. Using a new razor blade, I cut a gash across the bite and let it bleed for a few minutes and all the while I’m thinking this little snake wasn’t a problem. How much venom could a little snake have?

"Several hours later I’m sick-as-a-dog under intensive care treatment at a hospital in Weatherford. But I survived and made it out alive to tell this story. What copperhead’s venom does to a body is attack the nervous system. That’s bad enough, but a rattlesnake is

worse. His venom attacks the blood-stream and destroys cells; blood cells, muscle cells, skin cells, in fact, all the

cells that it comes in contact with. Doc said I was lucky to have come in for treatment when I did. I learned a valuable lesson that day; it’s not the size of the snake, but instead, it’s the power of the venom.”

*****

To his parents, Mac and Sarah (Rippetoe) Odom, Junior Louis (J.L.) was the 10th of 11 children, born on Sept. 2, 1902, in Palo Pinto County, at their home between Double Mountain and the city of Lipan, Texas. He went to school with his brother, Dewey, at Midway east of Tuggle road in a one-room schoolhouse. In 1918, J.L. was infected with Spanish Influenza and he counted himself to be very lucky, having survived such a deadly plague when so many hadn’t. He said it shaped his life in many ways thereafter and I believe it’s where Granddad gained his compassion for life – all life, even those of venomous snakes.

He married Cedric Estell Taylor on the 30th of November 1924, and they lived on her parents', Ike and Emma (Geupel) Taylor’s, ranch. They had three children: Gene, Wynell and Carolyn. Later, they purchased an adjacent ranch and moved there in 1957. Cattle ranching and fishing occupied his time when he wasn’t working as a painter at Fort Wolters in Mineral Wells. He retired from the Civil Service in 1972.

J.L. and Cedric loved to travel with their family and “tour” (he called it) on many extended trips across America. From Canada to Mexico, or just down on the Brazos River, he never went anywhere without his fish-ing pole and tackle box. When at home, J.L. and Cedric weren’t happy unless their house was filled with guests they could entertain with range-fed beefsteaks, dominoes, and a good game of 42. Folks would say about J.L. that his whimsical demeanor and pleasant personality remind-ed them of the famous humorist and star of the '30s, Will Rogers. His total attention and love for family and friends remains a hallmark family legend in the hearts of the people who knew him. J.L. passed away on the 21st of April 1977, and his interment was at Landreth Cemetery in Palo Pinto County, Texas. •••

Rancher and humorist, J.L. Odom circa 1972

J.L. Odom


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little bitty copperhead hiding in the backyard stack of leaves. Looked to be the size of a nar-row straw, you know, the kind you’d use to drink out of a soda-pop bottle. His bite felt like a little prick on my hand just about the time I scooped up a hand full of leaves. Using a new razor blade, I cut a gash across the bite and let it bleed for a few minutes and all the while I’m thinking this little snake wasn’t a problem. How much venom could a little snake have?

"Several hours later I’m sick-as-a-dog under intensive care treatment at a hospital in Weatherford. But I survived and made it out alive to tell this story. What copperhead’s venom does to a body is attack the nervous system. That’s bad enough, but a rattlesnake is

worse. His venom attacks the blood-stream and destroys cells; blood cells, muscle cells, skin cells, in fact, all the

cells that it comes in contact with. Doc said I was lucky to have come in for treatment when I did. I learned a valuable lesson that day; it’s not the size of the snake, but instead, it’s the power of the venom.”

*****

To his parents, Mac and Sarah (Rippetoe) Odom, Junior Louis (J.L.) was the 10th of 11 children, born on Sept. 2, 1902, in Palo Pinto County, at their home between Double Mountain and the city of Lipan, Texas. He went to school with his brother, Dewey, at Midway east of Tuggle road in a one-room schoolhouse. In 1918, J.L. was infected with Spanish Influenza and he counted himself to be very lucky, having survived such a deadly plague when so many hadn’t. He said it shaped his life in many ways thereafter and I believe it’s where Granddad gained his compassion for life – all life, even those of venomous snakes.

He married Cedric Estell Taylor on the 30th of November 1924, and they lived on her parents', Ike and Emma (Geupel) Taylor’s, ranch. They had three children: Gene, Wynell and Carolyn. Later, they purchased an adjacent ranch and moved there in 1957. Cattle ranching and fishing occupied his time when he wasn’t working as a painter at Fort Wolters in Mineral Wells. He retired from the Civil Service in 1972.

J.L. and Cedric loved to travel with their family and “tour” (he called it) on many extended trips across America. From Canada to Mexico, or just down on the Brazos River, he never went anywhere without his fish-ing pole and tackle box. When at home, J.L. and Cedric weren’t happy unless their house was filled with guests they could entertain with range-fed beefsteaks, dominoes, and a good game of 42. Folks would say about J.L. that his whimsical demeanor and pleasant personality remind-ed them of the famous humorist and star of the '30s, Will Rogers. His total attention and love for family and friends remains a hallmark family legend in the hearts of the people who knew him. J.L. passed away on the 21st of April 1977, and his interment was at Landreth Cemetery in Palo Pinto County, Texas. •••


STORIES & SNIPPETSExplosions wrecked several large

storage tanks, and fires following the blast virtually wrecked the facilities

at Southwestern Gas Pipeline Plant located at 2700 SW 5th Avenue, with the first explosion occurring at 1:58 a.m. today.

Estimates of the damage done to the large Mineral Wells plant indicated that the plant was approximately 75 per cent destroyed, although company officials could not make an accurate estimate of the damage.

Miraculously, however, there was only one injury, and that was slight. Robert Crowley, 65, night operator at the plant, was said to have suffered cuts and bruises from being blown off his feet. He was also said to have suffered minor burns, but he was treated at Palo Pinto General Hospital and released.

Considerable damage resulted in the adjoin-ing residential area, with one house, that be-longing to Nathaniel Armfield located near the plant, being virtually sliced in two when a large segment of a tank plummeted through the roof of his home and landed in the living room.

Armfield, whose wife is an invalid and gets around on crutches, said that when the first blast occurred he went to the door to see what had happened.

"I went to the door when I heard the first blast," he said. "Another one hit and knocked me back into the bed.

"I ran out of the house and then thought about my wife – she gets around on crutches – and ran back in and got her out. Everything at my house is demolished."

The tank split the Armfield home in two and crumpled one side.

L.C. Harris, who lives across the street from the plant, said "I was awakened by a tremen-dous blast, windows and doors slamming open. There was a huge ball of fire and a big noise. All I could think about was getting my wife and children running."

Fire units from Mineral Wells were on the scene immediately, and were later joined by forces from Millsap, Fort Wolters, Weatherford, [and other departments]. •••

ThursdayJanuary 7, 1971

EXPLOSION DESTROYS PLANT

Publisher's note: At the time of the explosion I was a senior in high school and work-ing summers at Southwestern Gas and Pipeline where my father, M.N. "Dusty" Rhodes, worked as pipeline superintendent. The blast shook the ground and its muffled boom sat us up wide awake in our beds. Dad got a call and we were quickly out the door and on our way to examine the damage, which was considerable. Does anyone else remem-ber the event? If so, please share your memories. Contact information is posted below. Thanks for reading.

This series of pieces from the past is meant to remind us of this area’s unique history. The material comes from old issues maintained at the Index office and is presented pret-ty much as it appeared in print. These papers are quite yellowed and brittle, deteriorat-ing from age. By publishing these pieces perhaps we can keep them in play in the digi-tal world for years to come. For clarity, some punctuation issues have been addressed. Hopefully you will enjoy these tiny windows to the past. Feedback is appreciated and will be shared. E-mail [email protected] or send your letter to Mineral Wells Index, P.O. Box 370, Mineral Wells, Texas 76068, attention publisher. You may also drop it by our office at 300 S.E. 1st. St. in Mineral Wells. Thanks for reading!



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