George Childress and the Texas Declaration of Independence

The Texas Historical Commission recently released a new documentary titled Independence! A Lone Star Rises. The 30-minute feature discusses the challenging backstory behind the 1836 signing of the Texas Declaration of Independence at Washington-on-the-Brazos. The documentary, which is produced by the award-winning director Gary Foreman of Native Sun Productions, utilizes animation, archival photos, and real-life footage of costume-clad volunteers and reenactors in front of a delightful musical background, featuring the Grammy-nominated composer David Arkenstone. My former colleague from Austin College (and a close history-minded friend) Jameson Moore played the titular role of George Childress, the chief author of Texas's Declaration of Independence. Jameson took his part in the flick seriously, yet appeared to enjoy the filming. In this blog post, I will briefly chronicle the life of George Childress.

George Childress, a prolific Tennessean who would later become the author of Texas's Declaration of Independence, 1834.

George Campbell Childress was born on January 8, 1804 in Nashville, Tennessee. This was eight years after Tennessee became a state. He was the son of local laborers John B. Campbell and Elizabeth Robertson. His sister Maltida married future U.S. Supreme Court Associate Justice John Catron. Childress attended Davidson Academy (later the University of Nashville) and was admitted to the Tennessee Bar in 1928. He was the chief editor for the Nashville Banner, and enjoyed writing opinion pieces on local politics for ten years. Childress married Margaret Vance on June 12, 1828, but she would die shortly after giving birth to a boy in March 1835. The young, ambitious writer visited Texas (then a Mexican colony) in December 1834, where his uncle, empresario Sterling C. Robertson, was establishing the Robertson's Colony in what is today Central Texas. Childress enjoyed his trip to Texas and vowed to return; he would spend the next several month mustering money and volunteers for the Texas Army after he heard of the Texian's victory at Gonzales in October 1835. On December 1, 1835, Childress permanently left Tennessee and arrived at the Red River twelve days later. Like many other Anglo settlers during this period, he illegally crossed the river into Mexico in violation of the Law of April 6, 1830. He reached the Robertson's Colony on January 9, 1836.

When Childress arrived in Texas in the mid-1830s, the Mexican colony was largely uninhabited and the settlers were growing restless against their ruthless government...

Childress and his uncle were elected to represent the Milam Municipality at the Convention of 1836, which was held in a small, rustic and sparsely-populated town named the Washington-on-the-Brazos. Representatives from the colony's communities and municipalities (which included farmers, doctors, and lawyers) gathered on March 1, 1836, in one of the unfinished log cabins to change the course of history and discuss Texas's bright future (which would include declaring independence, creating an ad-interim government, and nominating Sam Houston as commander in chief of the military forces of the Republic). A majority of the representatives were young, under the age of 40. Similar to the scene their New England forefathers had faced against the British at the end of the eighteenth century, there was much debate among the Texians who had gathered at the convention. Should they reconcile with Mexico and face punishment or should they declare independence and fight a losing war (the delegates heard about the tough ordeal at the Alamo a few days after the convention started)? They took a risk when the future of their young Republic appeared gloomy. Their odds were overwhelmingly against them, especially after the Battle of the Alamo (March 6) and the Goliad Massacre (March 27).

Sterling Clark Robertson, Childress's uncle, obtained a empresario land contract in 1834. He was also a captain of a Texas Rangers company before being selected to represent his community at the Convention of 1836. He died on March 4, 1842.

Assuming control of the rowdy crowd, Childress (in his signature booming voice) called the convention to order, and armed with a heavy stack of books and papers, proclaimed he would establish a committee that would draft Texas's Declaration of Independence. The committee included Edward Conrad (a youthful lawyer), James Fannin (an officer in the Texas Army), Bailey Hardeman (later Texas's first secretary of the treasury), and Collin McKinney (a land surveyor who was the oldest person to sign the declaration). The group surprisingly finished drafting the groundbreaking document in one day, leading many to believe that Childress had arrived at the start of the convention with a copy in hand. The declaration mirrored the words of Thomas Jefferson's American Declaration of Independence of 1776. The first document had many writing errors, which were quickly fixed. Debate ensured in the near-freezing temperatures (since the log cabin did not have window panels or a door). The document was approved on March 2 and the signing took place a day later on March 3, 1836. Texas, the Lone Star Republic, had officially declared its breakup with Mexico.

The Texas Declaration of Independence, which was written in one night, mirrors the 1776 American document.

On March 19, 1836, the first president of the new Republic, David G. Burnet, sent Childress and Robert Hamilton (presumably the wealthiest man to sign the Texas Declaration of Independence) to D.C. to seek recognition of the independence of Texas and establish commercial relationships with the United States (note, this was prior to Mexico's defeat at the Battle of San Jacinto and at the same time as the famous 'Runaway Scrape'). Their mission was terminated in May and the pair were replaced by James Collinsworth and Peter W. Grayson. Childress, proud of his work on Texas's principal document during its early days, returned to the private sector and opened three law firms in Houston and Galveston- each were unsuccessful. He married his second wife, a younger lassie named Rebecca Stuart Read Jennings in December 1836, and had two daughters. Since he struggled to provide for his family, Childress suffered from severe depression and committed suicide by slashing his abdomen with a bowie knife at his house in Galveston on October 6, 1841. He was 37 years old. Despite a tragic end, George Childress is a Texas hero, exhibiting unwavering patriotism and quality leadership when a struggling Republic was in a time of crisis. His expressive words of liberty, freedom and opportunity on Texas's declaration demonstrates the bravery, self-sacrifice and grit Texians faced in enormous odds.

I have not been to Washington-on-the-Brazos yet, but it is on my future travel list. The statue of Childress was erected in 1936, 100 years after the Texas Revolution (Wikipedia image).

Childress's sacrifice to the Republic of Texas was later recognized. Childress County in the Panhandle is named in honor of the Texian author. A statue of Childress was also erected in Washington-at-the-Brazos in 1936, the year of the Texas Centennial.

In sum, the documentary was fantastic and I highly recommend showing it in your history classes if you are a social studies teacher: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eq3Y8fnmUE

Paris Is In Texas?!

I recently visited the City of Paris; not France (although I have stopped by the 'City of Lights'), but Paris in Northeast Texas. This quaint, beautiful community at the western edge of the Piney Woods is chock-full of history and culture. My wife and I spent the day eating delicious, homemade breakfast foods at a local diner, wandering around several antique malls (and spending our money on some prized heirlooms), and strolling through the very picturesque downtown plaza, where you can feel the spirits of the past walk by you. We also made an important stop at the city's replica of the Eiffel Tower, a 65-foot tall version of its French counterpart that was built by a regional iron union, the Boiler Makers Local #902. The Paris, TX tower (currently the third-largest in the world) was constructed in 1993 and is famous for wearing a bright red cowboy hat, which is tipped ever so coolly back. When you have lived in the Great State of Texas as long as I have (17-plus years), you will quickly understand that Texans enjoy incorporating their own flair on international icons.

I stand in front of the Culbertson Fountain in Paris's lovely downtown square. The fountain, constructed from imported Carrara Marble, is named in honor of John James and Emily Culbertson.

Following the 1836 Texas Revolution, Red River County spanned the area northeast of the present-day DFW metroplex. By 1840, a significant population growth spurt necessitated the organization of a new county. George Washington Wright, a representative in the Third Congress of the Republic of Texas, persuaded a majority of the politicians in the Fifth Congress to establish a new county on December 17, 1840. Lamar County was named after Mirabeau B. Lamar, the first vice president and second president of the Republic. The City of Paris became the third county seat in 1842 after Wright donated 50 acres around his general store for its creation. After, Wright and his family traveled the region, persuading families to settle in their new community. The campaigning worked; businesses, including banks, drug stores, and schools popped up, five railroad lines crisscrossed through the center of town (including the Texas and Pacific, the Texas Midland, and the Paris and Mount Pleasant Railroads), and many wooden residences were built. Paris thrived. At the start of the twentieth century, the recorded population was close to 50,000. However, fortune would not always be on the citizens' side.

The historic buildings in Paris's downtown square are today either vacant or home to some fabulous antique malls. This is the Paris Community Theatre, which was a popular hotspot for teenagers during the 1930s and 1940s.

At five o'clock in the afternoon on March 21, 1916, a small fire started at the S.J. Long Warehouse near the southwest city limits. Its cause is unknown, however, many theory that a spark from a switch engine ignited dry grass outside the warehouse. The small fire erupted into a larger problem when winds at 50 miles per hour blew the flames out of control as it burned a funnel-shaped path to the northeast edge of Paris. It was said that the flames were visible up to 40 miles away. The blaze was out of control and could not be stopped by the many volunteer firefighters who hastily descended on the scene. Firemen from Bonham, Cooper, Dallas, Honey Grove, and Hugo (in Oklahoma) helped the city's fire department fight the fire. The 1916 fire destroyed most of the downtown's business district and a residential area before it was controlled at sunrise on March 22. Paris citizens were exhausted and gaped at the losses. The Texas State Fire Commission reported the destruction of 1,440 buildings, including the Post Office, Lamar County Courthouse and Jail, City Hall, and several churches, with an approximate monetary loss of $11 million. This event was devastating! 

Paris was quickly rebuilt after the 1916 fire. The American National Bank used to be housed in this 1917-era building. The structure is now home to Paris Optical.

Although most of the city was razed and in embers, the Paris citizens were very resilient and vowed to rebuild. Bolstered by a small carboard sign on a burned building frame that simply said, "SMILE!," the community swiftly cleared the rubble and started rebuilding. John James Culbertson, a former designer of the 1913 Paris Master Plan, and his wife Emily were among several admired citizens who tirelessly worked to restore Paris's successful legacy. The couple donated acres of land and many pieces of art to various institutions in the city. In just one year, the downtown (and all its ancient, mysterious grandeur) was nearly restored. Consequently, Paris now has one of the largest examples of 1916-era architecture. The city, after its sudden rebirth, continued to grow in the first-half of the twentieth century. Paris was host to Camp Maxey in World War II; the 70,000-acre sight was home to 45,000 volunteer trainees at a time as well as a POW compound for 7,000 prisoners. The camp also had an obstacle course and artillery range. The camp's wooden quarters would be broken down after the war and used as materials for the GI Village dormitories at East Texas State Teachers College in Commerce. The Red River region experienced another growth spurt in the 1950s; Paris invited large companies, including Kimberly-Clark and Campbell's Soup to set up their regional headquarters in the city, further enhancing the city's economy (which was once fueled by cotton). Paris's population equaled around 25,000 in the 2010 census. During our visit, my wife and I saw many local 'tourists' (like us) walking into the antique shops and taking photographs in front of the downtown's buildings. It appears that Paris enjoys inviting tourists to encounter the city's vibrant cultural and historical energy. If you drive through Lamar County, I would recommend swinging by the downtown square in Paris; this is a spirited, adorable community (and I can not wait to visit the area's museums when I am next in town!).

There are many vintage murals in Paris, highlighting products that the general stores used to sell at the start of the twentieth century (including Coca-Cola, Dr. Pepper, Texico, Sky Chief Gasoline, and many others). Did you know that a downtown Paris confectionary served the very first Coca-Cola in Texas?!

I also received the first dose of the Pfizer Vaccine, which will hopefully keep me safe from the dreadful Covid-19 Pandemic. The shot was harmless and I did not feel much bruising in my arm in the days after. I send my heartfelt gratitude to the doctors, nurses, and medical personnel who tirelessly worked around the clock in the previous year to create a safe, effective vaccine, and are currently operating day and night in a race to vaccinate citizens before the pandemic becomes worse. I also send my warmest appreciation to the nurse-in-training who carefully administered my vaccine dose, Hodalis. It was a special moment for us both since she is also one of my student staff at Texas A&M-Commerce, and I am very proud of her work ethic and academic accomplishments.

I received my first dose of the Covid-19 vaccine. One of my Resident Assistants at TAMUC administered my vaccine- she is going to be a fantastic nurse in the future!

I am standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, TX (the third-largest Eiffel Tower in the world, and the only one wearing a cowboy hat!). No trip to Paris is complete without seeing this marvel.

Paris has a long-standing relationship with the military; Camp Maxey, one of the U.S. Army's training bases during WWII, was located in Paris. The Red River Valley Veteran Memorial was recently built to commemorate the veterans from Paris and other neighboring cities who fought in American wars. The site and statues were beautiful and breathtaking.

The (older) First Baptist Church in Paris. Robert Cooke Buckner became the pastor of this congregation in 1861. After his resignation in 1873, Buckner founded a Baptist orphans home in Dallas. The modern edition of the Baptist Church is built next to its predecessor.

The Paris Fire Department was established as a volunteer unit by a group of local businessmen led by Willet Babcock. The group was known as Phoenix Fire Company No. 1. The city created a paid fire department in 1908 and were housed in the quarters pictured above (note, the first-floor arched windows that used to be the garage doors). The fire department were involved in the 1916 fire.

Bexar County's Riverwalk Jail

In a blog post on San Antonio, I wrote I once stayed at a hotel that used to be the city's former jail. The Holiday Inn Express Riverwalk is currently located in a historic building that used to house the Bexar County Jail between 1878 and 1962. The jail, the third such facility in Bexar County's long history, was designed by British-born architect Alfred Giles and constructed (at a cost of $34,000) during a dark period of unlawfulness and terror in San Antonio where drunk citizens attempted to start rowdy gunfights in the streets and mess with sporting women in the makeshift bedrooms in local parlors. Executions were common in Texas at the end of the nineteenth century, and the new jail on Camaron Street became a hub for death row prisoners. Most of the dangerous inmates sentenced to the Bexar County Jail were swiftly eliminated by hanging; a trap door was later installed between the second and third floors, and a rope sat coiled up on the wall of Sheriff Owen Kilday's office. The inmates who were kept alive were housed in one of the building's 86 cells. Each cell was outfitted with a simple bed and mattress, sink, toilet, and a few shelves, which the inmates decorated with books, paintings, and other personal objects. The building's many windows (which were needed since there was no air conditioning during this era) were outfitted with steel bars that prevented the notorious criminals from escaping. Inmates rarely saw visitors and often found new, peaceful hobbies to entertain themselves, such as painting, reading, and sculpting rocks.

The Bexar County Jail was a haunted place prior to its renovation.

The Bexar County Jail was remodeled in 1911 and 1926. Following a prison reform movement at the end of the Progressive Era, the last hanging at the jail occurred in 1923. Executions in the county were then moved to the prison in Huntsville (this time by electric chair). Several inmates tried to escape from the five-story jail; some succeeded, others did not. The last inmate to (unsuccessfully) make his surprise exit was Jack Steese in the early 1920s. He escaped his cell by cutting the bars on his window and climbing down the wall by a firehose in broad daylight. The guard dogs in the front yard must have liked Steese since they did not bark and alert the guards! Although he had crafted a genius plan, Steese was not the brightest of criminals and did not plan his getaway. He went to his mother's house in San Antonio, and it was not long before Steese was pulled out from under his bed by the jail's deputies and taken back to the prison. Steese received an additional charge for escaping. In the early 1960s, several inmates hatched a devious plan to overpower the deputies and escape the aging jail. During lunch one day in early 1962, a group of desperate prisoners on the fourth and fifth floors threw their stew and potatoes meals at the guards and demanded fried eggs instead. The inmates were told, "Short orders are not permissible," and they proceeded to set fire to their mattresses. Sheriff William "Bill" Hauck Jr. and his deputies extinguished the fires with water and fired wax bullets at the rowdy prisoners. The ordeal lasted two hours. As a strict punishment, the sheriff put the rebels on a bread and water diet, as well as refused to give the inmates new mattresses for a week.

Clemente V. Apolinar (1891-1923), who brutally murdered teenager Theodore Bernhardt at Salado Creek, was the last inmate executed by hanging on February 23, 1923. He had been at the prison for about a year and a half. Apolinar refused to wear a hood at his execution, and when the trap door was released, Apolinar fell through and the rope almost decapitated him; it was a bloody, gruesome sight that sparked a lot of outrage among political activists in San Antonio. The execution was supervised by Sheriff James Stevens and Chief Deputy Alfonso Newton. 

After the unsuccessful disturbance, Hauck had a few remarks for the press: "This is NO darn hotel...If they don't like the meals we serve here, they can go somewhere else." Oddly, the sheriff's comment has proved to be somewhat ironic. Soon after, in September 1962, the Bexar County Jail closed and all its vile murderers, robbers, thieves, and petty criminals were transported to a newer, larger prison four blocks away at Nueva and Laredo Streets (one of the local newspapers recorded the spectacular grand opening ceremony for the new 707-bed jail, which was attended by over 1,300 citizens). The first meal served in this jail was stewed apples, sweet rolls, butter and jam, and coffee; this was distinctly different from the boiled bologna that had been served at the Bexar County Jail prior to its closing. Hauck's comments predicted the future; Baywood Hotels purchased the vacant property in 2002 and spent $6 million in extensively renovating the former jail. The building's original structure and basic interior design was preserved, and bars from many of the windows were cut to meet fire code requirements. The owner added a heated swimming pool and hot tub in a side parking area, and the attractive hotel now features valet parking, refrigerators and microwaves in each room, Internet and cable TV, a breakfast area (which serves a hot breakfast, not potatoes and stew!), and a business office in the grand lobby, which was built to resemble an old-style police booking station. Omar Guevara, former director of operations for Alamo City Hotels, provided some comical relief to the press: "Guests have been thrilled about getting 'booked' into a room. Our desk clerks joke with the guests about being in jail." Holiday Inn Express purchased the hotel in 2009. My wife and I thoroughly enjoyed our stay "behind bars" at this wonderful hotel! We will never forget (and chuckled a little) when the desk clerk jokingly announced, "You're our prisoner for the evening!"

The hotel was recently renovated and looks very handsome. Although some believe the building is haunted, my wife and I did not encounter spiritual objects/interactions during our pleasant stay. I would highly recommend staying at the Holiday Inn Express Riverwalk the next time you are in Bexar County!

The Remains of Quality Hill, Fort Worth

My sincere interest in U.S. history started in Angela Geiger's 8th grade class. She was tremendous teacher and continues to be one of my mentors. I gave her a copy of my new Sallie Capps book! We had a terrific discussion on the history of Sherman and Fort Worth, including Quality Hill.

A couple of days ago I visited one of my former teachers, Angela Geiger. Geiger is an 8th grade U.S. history teacher and was one of the inspirational educators I named in my book's acknowledgments. She was, and continue to be, a fantastic teacher! She, too, enjoys collecting little historical treasures and displaying antiques on her desk and in the classroom. I was gracious when she gave me a old Dolph Briscoe lunchbox from the 1970s as a souvenir. We had a very pleasant conversation about my graduate studies, her future retirement, and my new book (which was published on March 26!). Since Geiger is considering spending her retirement years at a museum in Grapevine, she is currently educating herself on local history. I thoroughly enjoyed discussing the history of Sherman and Fort Worth with her (two Texas towns that Sallie Capps once called 'home'). An interesting topic that was touched upon in our insightful chat was Quality Hill, an elitist community of affluent individuals in Fort Worth at the start of the twentieth century.

I visited Sallie Capps's house in summer 2020. The beautiful residence features a chimney with a distinct stained-glass window (seen at far right). The house was designated as a state landmark in 1977. 

Fort Worth's wealthiest bankers, lawyers, businessmen, doctors, physicians, and publishers lived along a secluded street called Penn Street, north of the West Lancaster Avenue Bridge and overlooking the Trinity River fork, at the beginning of the Progressive Era. According to an independent scholar, "if the board game of Monopoly had a Fort Worth 1900 version, the board would have Penn Street, and putting a house on Penn Street would cost you a wad of play money." Quality Hill was meticulously lined with luxurious Victorian-styled residences, including the renowned Queen Anne's House, the home of William and Sallie Capps. This home was built in 1898 and designed by British-born architect Howard Messer. William Capps, a distinguished attorney and real estate developer (and known as a 'Maker of Fort Worth'), purchased the house (officially styled as 1120 Penn Street) for a whopping $25,000 from Dr. Joseph R. Pollock, a aging homeopathic physician, in early 1910. The Pollocks were known to host large, lavish parties at the house, according to the Fort Worth Register. After extensive renovations, the house's property included a small golf green, tennis courts, and a barn (the Capps had a collection of horses and cows). Sallie loved her home and enjoyed its proximity to the downtown shops and Trinity River (prior to air conditioning, the residences on Penn Street were kept cool during the hot summers by the river's snappish breezes). Sallie and her doting husband raised three children in this house- Alba, Mattie Mae, and Count Brooke. Today, the Queen Anne's House is home to the Dent Law Firm and one of the two magnificent Quality Hill residences still standing (more information on Sallie's house is found in my book).

Today, the two remaining Quality Hill residences on Penn Street are surrounded by office buildings and churches. Imagine, this street was a hub of activity in the 1910s and 1920s...

Besides the Capps' old residence, the remaining Quality Hill home is the Ball-Eddleman-McFarland House. This handsome structure was built in 1899 for a stupendous $36,000 for George Ball, a noted Weatherford banker. W.H. Eddleman, another celebrated banking tycoon, purchased the mansion from Ball in 1904 for a 'meager' $25,000 (about $700,000 in today's money). Eddleman and his wife, Sarah Conger, expanded the property to includes servants' quarters, corrals and a barn. Like their neighbors, the Pollocks, they were known to lead an aristocratic lifestyle and host many opulent galas and parties on their wide front porch. The Eddlemans would often travel east during the summers to avoid the horrific Texas heat and visit family. They doted on their only child, Caroline Aurelia (Carrie), who later went against her parents' wishes and married Frank Hays McFarland, a humble rancher, when she was very young. Air conditioning units were installed at the house in the 1950s after Carrie's friends refused to come over and play poker in the stifling-humid games room. Following her parents' and husband's deaths in the 1930s and 1940s (F.H. McFarland peacefully passed away in his sleep on May 7, 1948, according to The Eagle, a newspaper for the City of Bryan), Carrie lived a simple life during her twilight years, wearing pink dresses and avidly supporting her favorite football team, the Dallas Cowboys (she went to her first Cowboys game at age 96!). Moreover, she frequently volunteered at Fort Worth's St. Andrews Episcopal Church (Sallie Capps also attended this church) and donated a large sum of money to schools. She lived in the family house on Penn Street until her death in 1978. Today, the Ball-Eddleman-McFarland House is home to the Fort Worth Historic Inc. archives and is open to public tours/special events.

The Ball-Eddleman-McFarland House was built with Edison's electric lights (one of the first residences in the area to be constructed with such a novelty). As claimed by local historians, a sign was later found in the attic with explicit instructions on how to use the light switch: "Do not attempt to light with a match. Simply turn key on wall by door."

According to local archivist Brenda S. McClurkin, Fort Worth's Quality Hill street was also home to prominent lawyer "Major" K.M. Van Zandt, orthopedic surgery specialist Dr. William Crawford, award-winning banker Otho S. Houston, opera singer Katherine Weaver Rose, and land investor Charles Herbert Silliman, among other prosperous North Texas celebrities. The Quality Hill residents enjoyed a comfortable, snobbish, European-styled lifestyle. Yet, they worked hard to provide for their families in a dusty, and sometimes financially-dangerous world. Although many of the residences have since been razed and replaced with office buildings, the two remaining homes gives us a unique inside window on what life was like for Cowtown's most admired families.

I enjoyed "walking with the ghosts" when I visited the remains of Quality Hill.

Ornate woodwork is the most outstanding feature of both houses on Penn Street. The exterior features are attractive and the floors in each room are made of pleasing ebony, mahogany, and pine.

San Antonio: A Vibrant & Historical City

No Texas blog is complete without an entry on the Alamo, Texas's enduring shrine of its 1836 revolution. My wife and I traveled to San Antonio in November 2020, and thoroughly enjoyed the lively cultural atmosphere we experienced there. This was our second visit to the city; we had once stayed for a couple of nights at the Holiday Inn Express-downtown San Antonio (which used to be the city's former jail) in the fall of 2016. This time, we walked around the Alamo, enjoyed ice cream and a delicious all-you-can-eat steak buffet, and were mesmerized at a wonderful trip down the famous River Walk (at night!).

The Alamo Chapel. This building, where Crockett made his last stand, was not entirely destroyed following the 1836 battle and was later restored as a storehouse by Union soldiers in the 1845 annexation of Texas. The gently curved "hump" atop of the chapel was added during the 1845 restoration.

The Texas Historical Commission and other local historical groups have done a splendid job at preserving the Alamo (although the Mexican forces burned most of the military defenses after their victory in 1836). The iconic chapel still exists and is eerily beautiful when you approach it. This was the place where the distinguished rifleman and Tennessee politician Davy Crockett made his last stand, where reports say that when he was unable to load his rifle, he swung his rifle above his head and fought hand-to-hand until he perished, screaming at the top of his lungs. The church was also the haven for the defenders' wives and young children. Susanna Dickinson, spouse of volunteer Almaron Dickinson, and her infant daughter huddled with several other families in one of the backrooms of the church when the assault began. Her husband's last words echoed the terror that the defenders faced when Mexican forces finally breached the walls during the third assault: "Great God, Sue, the Mexicans are inside our walls! If they spare you, save my child." Her husband, along with the other 130-ish Alamo defenders died in the fiercely-fought battle. Susanna and her daughter were allowed to leave the ruined complex, where they traveled to Gonzales with Texian slave Joe to tell the news of the defeat to General Sam Houston. Houston would later obtain revenge and defeat the Mexican Army at the Battle of San Jacinto on April 21, 1836.

The Long Barracks, where heavy fighting ensured during the morning assault, also survived.

The Long Barracks at the Alamo is also still intact. Prior to the assault (which happened in the early morning hours on March 6, 1836), the Texan defenders dug a ditch in the Long Barracks, which would serve as their last line of defense during the battle. Heavy hand-to-hand fighting occurred in the Long Barracks, as the defenders locked arms with their foes, growled and grunted, and tried to repeal the advancing enemy. Yet, their numbers were overwhelmed and they were brutally killed. Blood-curling screams filled the morning air. Blood, sweat, and tears were shed that day. After the attack, which left more than 600 Mexican soldiers killed or wounded, General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna's forces inspected each corpse, bayoneting any body that moved. The Mexican soldiers continued to shoot at the deceased, even hours after the battle. It was a gruesome, horrific event, but the heroic actions of the Alamo defenders (including Crockett, James Bowie, and William B. Travis) earned a place in Texas public memory. I admired the size of the large cannon they had on display at complex. The 18-pounder cannon was the Alamo's largest; the cannon would later be turned on the Texan defenses when the defenders forgot to spike the weapons after retreating to the Long Barracks. The complex also boosts several bronze statues of some of the defenders (which I enjoyed posing in front of).

A cannon on display at the Alamo.

My wife and I also took a boat trip on the River Walk, a lovely way to end a great evening. Our tour guide was fantastic, and briefly explained the history of San Antonio (including Native and Hispanic contributions to the growing city) before discussing the historical/economic purposes of each building on the River Walk. There was one building (I believe a hotel) that was built in separate pods overseas and then shipped to the United States and glued together within a year. The River Walk was designed by local architect Robert Hugman and built in the downtown area following a disastrous flood along the San Antonio River in September 1921 (51 lives were lost). The Works Progress Administration, a New Deal program, provided crucial 'beautifying' funding in 1939, which resulted in the construction of 17,000 feet of walkways, twenty bridges and extensive plantings. This meant that people could easily access all points of interest along the River Walk, including the growing number of eateries that were sprouting on the river. The River Walk was expanded in 1981 when the new Hyatt Regency San Antonio hotel needed another pedestrian connector that linked Alamo Plaza to the River Walk. Today, the River Walk not only eliminates all risks of flooding in the city, but also adds a cultural and historical flair to an already-vibrant city.

San Antonio is named in honor of Anthony of Padua, a Portuguese Catholic priest who was known for his powerful preaching, expert knowledge of scripture, and unwavering love and devotion to the sick and the poor.

The Bexar County Courthouse in San Antonio is a handsome building. It reminds me of the red-brick courthouse in the center of Dallas.

My wife Carly struggles to stand next to one of the largest cannon at the Alamo. This cannon was used by the Mexican Army during the 1836 Texas Revolution.

The River Walk is a peaceful, beautiful attraction in San Antonio- I highly recommend taking a boat trip on the River Walk (especially at night when the river is lit with colorful lights).

Lucky the Lion, TAMUC's mascot, poses in front of the David Crockett statue.

A statue of Susanna Dickinson and her infant daughter. Dickinson, who lost her husband during the battle, survived and told the story of the brave defenders. After she told Houston about the Alamo's fall, the Texas Army general advised all citizens to evacuate, beginning the Runaway Scrape.

I'm standing in front of a statue of William B. Travis, a 26-year old lieutenant colonel and defender of the Alamo. Travis escaped to Texas to avoid arrest and a mounting debt.

East Texas State's Rough Integration

Old South Week was a national tradition on American college campuses in the first-half of the twentieth century and following World War II. The festivities were frequently organized by the members of the Kappa Alpha Fraternity Incorporated. The Gamma Upsilon chapter of Kappa Alpha at East Texas State University hosted their Old South Week celebrations every March on their campus in Commerce for over two decades. The event was held to honor Confederate General Robert E. Lee as the spiritual founder of the fraternity, remind members of the importance of brotherhood, and reinforce “an image of gentlemen ways in the South.” Texas State University’s Kappa Alpha brother Joshua Hughes once recalled the significance in studying and appreciating the South’s unique heritage: “For Kappa Alpha members, Lee’s teaching is a blueprint for us to follow and strive to achieve in one’s personal life.”

James G. Gee was president of the college (later university between 1947 and 1966). Historians have labeled Gee as the "Great Builder" since he significantly increased the size of the physical plant and student body. He was a former staff officer during WWII.

In the 1950s and 1960s, East Texas State University’s Old South Week was very popular among male and female students, young and old townsfolk from Commerce, and even school administrators—ETSU’s President James G. Gee happily partook in the events and was often seen parading around the campus in a Confederate officers outfit while waving a Dixie flag. It should be noted that a majority of the participants were white (since the university did not integrate until the mid-1960s and the event’s purpose of reinforcing old Southern values did not simmer well among the colored population in Commerce, for obvious reasons). The week’s festivities at ETSU included a hay ride for mesmerized children, wiener roast for hungry patrons, special presentations by the beautiful Southern Belles, a Mint Julep party, and the popular Old South Banquet (which exhausted the event’s cooks every year). Also, the community enjoyed watching a colorful ‘Stars and Bars’ parade in front of Binnion Hall, which featured fraternity brothers and other students dressed in either war clothing, Antebellum dresses, or slave clothes, and singing rebel chants and waving Confederate flags. This would be followed by a mock slave auction in which pre-picked fraternity rushes put on blackface and played the part of chattels. Since there was much excitement during Old South Week among the student body and outside community, it is little surprise ETSU’s administration allowed Kappa Alpha to continue hosting the racially-demeaning events through to the early 1970s.

Old South Week participants in costume congregate in front of Binnion Hall, then a residence hall for females (1965).

On June 19, 1964, President Gee reluctantly permitted black students to enroll at the college, after refusing to admit them in previous years (ETSU and Sam Houston State in Huntsville were the final two public colleges in Texas to integrate). The president wrote a letter to Register John S. Windell on this day explaining the procedure: "You are further advised that the aforesaid integration with respect to members of the Negro race is applicable to instructional or academic programs of the college, and also to other activities sponsored, supervised and otherwise under the control of this college." Thus, the history of the institution's student body significantly changed.

Old South Week participants in costume pose in front of a cannon and the Dixie flag (1965).

Following ETSU’s integration in the mid-1960s and the sequential influx of African American students enrolling in classes at the institution (including Velma K. Waters and Charles Garvin), the Old South Week festivities that were once supported by a majority now created much controversary. In 1973, a group of black ETSU students interrupted the events following a Southern Belles presentation and insisted the fraternity remove Confederate-inspired decorations from the windows of five sorority houses—the trimmings were up since a house-decorating contest was part of that year’s program. After that decisive moment, ETSU’s black student population challenged the long-standing status quo for the remainder of the spring semester, and continuously wrote to the administration requesting the deans and university president to eliminate Old South Week festivities on campus. Derryle Peace, director of ETSU’s Alumni Relations, regarded the provocation as, “The black Americans’ moment to approach an insensitive event in a respectable manner, explaining to the Dean of Students that we are choosing to not view such ridicule, and they must step into actions.” The African American Student Society for East Texas (AASSET), a student-led progressive organization that was established following the campus’s integration, actively engaged in campus politics and consistently fought hard to ensure that black presence at ETSU was noticed by the school’s white directors.

Despite the controversary surrounding the Old South Week festivities, East Texas State permitted African Americans to enroll, starting in 1964.

Peace would later recall that, “With AASSET support, there were an estimated 80 members who belonged to Alpha Phi Alpha and Omega Psi Phi and the first Dean of Minority Students, Ivory Moore contributing to the movement.” This movement of logical reasons shortly attracted the attention and support from ETSU faculty and staff. African American historian and student advisor Dr. Richard Buchard endorsed the black students’ cause and later held a strained meeting between a spokesman for the black fraternities and the Kappa Alpha president. By the end of 1973, ETSU President Frank Henderson ‘Bub’ McDowell finally put his presidential powers to use and created a compromise between the two factions. The overdue understanding eliminated Old South Week activities on campus, however, permitted the Kappa Alpha fraternity to continue their annual Confederate festivities off campus, as long as they abided by the City of Commerce public regulations. Despite grumbling from the fraternity and some of the student body, the Confederate flag and its well-established, yet degrading values ceased to publicly exist on the ETSU campus after 1973. It is worth noting that the president was in a difficult political position at that time, and since he wanted to appease the university’s Board and a majority of the student body, McDowell approached the sensitive situation with care and made a deliberate decision in a sensible manner (this event was following the unexpected suicide of former ETSU First Lady Pat Halladay and sudden resignation of former ETSU President D. Whitney Halladay, both in 1972).

Ivory Moore was an administrator and later the dean of minority affairs at the institution between 1978 and 1984. He championed black students' opposition to the Old South Week events. Moore would later be the first black man elected to the Commerce City Council, proudly serving the city for 18 years (including 2 years as mayor).

The ETSU Kappa Alpha off-campus parade was discontinued in the late 1980s and the remaining Confederate-inspired events of Old South Week disappeared in due time. Although the Old South Week festivities are moments fixed in time which historians and admirers of ETSU’s past, including myself, do not like talking or writing about, it is important to not deny this piece of context in the broader story of Professor William L. Mayo’s college. The festivities played a large role in creating a culture at the university that was, for a long period, toxic to minorities and outsiders; fortunately, due to the peaceful and persistent, just resistance from a brave group of African American students in the early 1970s, the ETSU administration matured with the times and eliminated the tools of white supremacism on campus, as well as gave voice to those whose ancestors were once shamefully ridiculed for having a different skin color. The administration fostered a more-inclusive community of students. We must never forget to continue the much-needed discussions on remembering where we came from, why we did what we did (were the results positive or negative?), and what we can do as a society to right the wrongs of the past, and love each other equally.

Frank Henderson 'Bub' McDowell was the university president between 1972 and 1982. He previously served in a variety of administrative roles in the Whitley, Ferguson, Gee, and Halladay administrations. McDowell was the first (and only) alumnus to be selected as ETSU president. He attended the college in the 1930s, where he was a award-winning football player.

*I used the 1972 and 1973 Locust Yearbooks on information about Old South Week.*

Lion Loyalty Runs Deep

Today, Texas A&M-Commerce students are extremely loyal to their mascot, president, and school—as a staff/part-time faculty member, I see the passion among the student body during sports games, club competitions, Homecoming, and Spirit Week celebrations (despite the woes of the ongoing pandemic). This positive fidelity has long been present in the state institution and demonstrated in various ways during the mighty Lions’ 132-years existence. One specific incident that showcases the fierce loyalty ET students had towards their school and principal was a time when President (and founder) William L. Mayo was harassed by a jealous educator from a neighboring town before being rescued by the pupils he had in class that morning.

William Leonidas Mayo (in the center) sits with his ETNC A.B. graduating class, 1905. 

Prior to the turn of the twentieth century, education for many white boys and girls in North Texas was considered a necessity and families soon began requesting towns to construct schools and colleges. Sherman, suitably called the “Athens of Texas,” was home to several of the best private schools in the state, including the Presbyterian Church’s (USA) Austin College and its female equivalent, Kidd-Key College (previously known as North Texas Female College). Greenville became the stomping grounds for the Methodist and Baptist schools, including Wesley College and Burleson College. Henry College, located in neighboring Campbell, was founded by local businessmen Henry T. Bridges and Henry T. Eastman and opened its doors in 1892. The pair's goal was to "provide a first class college education for poor boys and girls in Hunt and the nearby counties," an echo of Mayo's own ambitions three years prior. According to the county historian Jackson Massey, Bridges, who served as president of the new college, put up $15,000 of his own money to fund the construction of Henry College's administration building on the south side of the town. In an effort to boost enrollment numbers, Bridges publicized the attractive fact that six of the 11 faculty had college degrees. Since there was a large number of colleges in North Texas trying to increase their enrollment and endowment during the tough times of the financial Panic of 1893, competition ensured.

Mayo was reportedly jealous of Henry College's robust academic curriculum, which included classes in music, elocution, bookkeeping, and stenography. 

William Mayo thrived on competition, and like many principals during the 1890s, he bluntly mocked the academic curriculums of other colleges in North Texas in attempts to lure more prospective students to East Texas Normal College. In an August 1896 article, Mayo criticized Bridges’ advertising methods. In return, Principal Bridges denounced the Northern-educated Mayo, labeling him a “useless Carpetbagger.” On August 24, the war of words became violent when Bridges (who, according to students, was known to "use his fist and foot frequently" to maintain discipline at his college) traveled to Commerce in his horse-buggy and confronted Mayo. After the ETNC founder refused to sign a statement retracting his claims, Bridges “drew his pistol” and shot at his intended target twice, missing both marks. Thereafter, “Bridges jumped from the buggy with a whip” and proceeded to give Mayo “15 or 20 lashes.” The brawl attracted a group of ETNC students, who, as staunchly-loyal Lions, rescued their president and drove Bridges out of town.

Downtown Commerce at the turn of the twentieth century consisted of Main Street and several wood-built residences. Unlike today, Commerce was a hub of activity that saw traders as far away as Missouri and Mississippi trade their cash crops.

According to records, both educators were arrested and placed under a $500 bond. Bridges, despite getting personal revenge, returned to Campbell a couple days later only to find that the community and the college's Board of Trustees condemned his actions, and later refused to support Henry College (the school closed in 1901 after funds dried up and enrollment declined). After the violent altercation, President William L. Mayo would never underestimate the loyalty and ferocious lion spirit that his ETNC students had.

Cooper, TX

Downtown Square, Cooper, TX.

At the end of the 2020 spring semester, I traveled to Cooper and stood at the site of William L. Mayo's original college. There, I 'felt the ghosts,' admired the open fields (and rustic buildings of downtown), and imagined what life was like in this small, rural town at the end of the nineteenth century. In this blog post, I will write a brief history of Cooper, a beautiful, older community that is roughly 16 miles northeast of Commerce.

The Downtown Square in Cooper features a fine gazebo.

Cooper (and the surrounding area) was inhabited by several Native tribes- including the Caddo, Delaware, Quapaw, and Seminole Indians- prior to the nineteenth-century Anglo settlement of Texas. The Natives were highly advanced in this period, constructing large wooden houses and generating a successful agricultural economy. Yet, their peaceful, sophisticated communities were plagued by many problems, including European diseases and surprise attacks from other tribes in North Texas. Following the Texas Revolution in 1836, a flood of white settlers squatted on these lands in what was then known as Red River County. In 1840, the Lamar County lines were drawn by the newly-established Texas government and the community that would later become Cooper was absorbed into it. Six years later, following a petition by several families who had grown tired of the poor road conditions in Lamar County and desired a new county seat, the region was designated as part of Hopkins County. Cooper was officially founded in 1870 (around the same time when Delta County was created), and a post office was quickly constructed a year later. The fledging town, which was named after Leroy Cooper, the chairman of the Texas House Committee on Counties and Boundaries, was incorporated in 1881 and held its first government elections. That same year, the people of Cooper built the county courthouse, an handsome building that attracted a lot of local press at its opening. By 1885, Cooper's main market center was thriving with trade and the town's population was around 300.

William Leonidas Mayo, a distinguished educator from Kentucky.

In 1889, a young education maverick named William Leonidas Mayo approached the Cooper Joint Stock School District Board and proposed an unusual idea. He offered to purchase the community's existing ill-equipped school and construct "a first-class, private college" based on the rigorous teaching principles he had learned from his academic tenure at Indiana's Central Normal College. The school board members were impressed at this idea and the man's ambitions, and promptly hired Mayo as the Cooper school superintendent. Mayo's dream of constructing a progressive college for the poorer, rural boys and girls from Northeast Texas came true. East Texas Normal College opened its doors to applause on September 2, 1889. The institution, which occupied a sizable plot of land on 600 SE 1st Street, was housed in a wooden-framed, T-shaped structure which contained classrooms, offices, a bell tower, and a small apartment for Mayo. An estimated 16 students attended classes at the college during the first term (note: the college was by name only since there were younger, primary-school children enrolled at ETNC for many years). Mayo met his wife, Henrietta Booth (nickname 'Etta') in Copper. The pair were married in the town, had eight children, and devoted much time in building the college (Etta was a music instructor at ETNC). Following a public hanging of a felon outside the school's grounds and a devastating fire on July 29, 1894 (which burned the administration building and destroyed most of Mayo's personal papers), the professor decided to move his college to Commerce. The Cooper-birthed school grew larger in the twentieth century and became what we know of today as Texas A&M University-Commerce (Go Lions!). 

After the 1894 fire, Mayo's College relocated to Commerce. All that remains of it today is a open field.

The Texas Midland Railroad, which was chartered in 1892, helped promote growth of the town, and by 1896, Cooper's population had exceeded 1,000 people. A new school for boys and girls opened at the turn of the twentieth century following the relocation of Mayo's college. Moreover, two churches, a bank and hotel were constructed during this era. By 1901, 21 businesses were registered with Cooper's Chamber of Commerce. The town also had two weekly newspapers, including the long-time favorite Cooper Review, which kept the rural folks up to date on national events that were happening outside of Delta County. Cooper's farming and ranching economies steadily grew at the start of the Progressive Era; the number of cash crops tripled, and the region produced over 70,000 chickens and 7,000 pigs yearly. By the end of the 1920s, Cooper had one of the largest agricultural economies in Texas. The town's population continued to prosper as the wealth of its citizens increased. Cooper reported its largest population, a staggering 2,563, in 1925. However, fortune would not last for long since the Stock Market Crash at the conclusion of 1929 brought the national economy to its knees. Delta County was hit hard by the Great Depression in the late 1920s and early 1930s. The community's prized cotton crop failed, forcing many to withdraw their savings. The town's bank was forced to close in 1927, plummeting the people of Cooper into despair. Several families moved out of Cooper, and the economy further fell flat on its face when the railroad failed in the mid-1930s (and the once-bustling train depot was later abandoned in 1975). Despite some assistance from the Works Progress Administration, a government-financed New Deal program, which resulted in the completion of a new county courthouse in 1940, Cooper suffered.

The original home of East Texas Normal College in Cooper, between 1889 and 1894.

The national economy stabilized and then boomed during World War II and in the late 1940s. Cooper's population returned to 2,350 people by 1950, however, again declined at the start of the 1980s due to an influx of migrants towards the Dallas suburbs. According to the local Chamber of Commerce records, Cooper had 60 operating businesses during the 1980s. Although population and the number of residences continued to slip towards the millennium, the area attracted many tourists in the 1990s when Cooper Lake, a man-made creation where many people like to fish today, was constructed by the Army Corps of Engineers in 1991. Cooper currently has a population of just under 2,000 citizens. Despite the hardships people faced in the nineteenth century, Cooper endured and is now an authentically-rich piece of history in Texas's story. I enjoyed walking around the peaceful downtown square, noticing every ancient nook-and-cranny on the surviving nineteenth-century buildings. If you ever drive through Delta County, I would highly recommend swinging by Cooper and appreciating one of Texas's foremost agricultural districts back in the day.

The First National Bank was one of the first banks in Cooper.

Today, many structures in Cooper's Downtown Square are vacant. It was eerily beautiful to walk around this quiet, quaint community.