By Harry Austin Clapp
Saturday my cows were missing and I walked miles in an attempt to find them. Had to happen when the Ash family wanted oysters for supper. Doggone it.
Sunday morning found them in the barn lot. They came home during the night, bringing their tails behind them.
Roy Nelson has a fine pasture fence. Will have to build one like it.
The miserable wretch gone to church, leaving me to watch the bean pot.
Mesdames Corse, Wright and Nelson attending the annual bazaar at Blessing.
Ben R. Mowery waiting for a package at the P. O.
Arthur Soekland bringing in some of those good ducks.
Homer Goff on a business trip to Illinois.
Mrs. Pollard, county superintendent of schools, and Miss Francis Mayfield, county health nurse, took lunch with I and miserable wretch Monday. Brought their own ham--the kind that am.
Along comes the Rev. Merriman L. Smith making me another of his welcome pastoral visits. Always enjoy his calls.
Well, anyway, it's almost the day before the wise ones are saying, "won't be much of a crowd at Citrus Grove Thursday," and casting out gloomy thoughts for others to mull over. Makes me think of the story of a woman who, talking to Whistler, said, "there are but two painters--Whistler and Velasquez." And Whistler replied, "Madam, why drag in Velasquez?" It is true of joy and gloom. Both exist, but why drag in gloom?
Saw Mr. Eisel with his trusty 12-gauge waiting for the geese to come near enough.
Verner Bowers packing up groceries.
Two cars of household goods, stock and tools came to town during the last few days. Both emigrants. Our good friend, Webster, says an emigrant is "one who emigrates or quits one section for another," and he explains that an immigrant means "to come into a country of which he is not a native for the purpose of permanent residence." Immigrant is the correlative of emigrant. They do not mean the same thing. Up to date we have no immigrants, but have had many emigrants.
Most of us, all during life have been brought up on maxims, but few of us have ever thought that the amputation of maximums would in many cases add to their worth, for example: All work and no play makes Jack--" What's the matter with that? Well, here's another: "It's a poor rule that won't work--" Pretty good for a maxim, but how about this? "Those who live in glass houses shouldn't--" Let's do a bit of amputating: "What's worth doing is worth doing--" And once more: "Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands--" The flexibility of maxims is well illustrated by a story I once heard James Corbett tell. It seems that early in his pugilistic career he was to fight in Seattle and his father was much opposed to the venture and told him: "Remember, my boy, that a rolling stone gathers no moss." He fought and came home without the moss. The next fight was to be held in Los Angeles and Jim won and arrived home with a considerable sum, and when the old man saw it he said: "Didn't I tell you that the roaming bee gathers the honey?" Maxims are of little worth if they cannot be used both ways.
Well, anyway, I sought the cows in vain and becoming impatient I said naughty words like "cabala, crose, skiboob." This is Turkish and very, very profane and I dare not interpret them for the Tribune is a religious paper and Carey Smith would never allow such words to appear.
Gus Franzen and family going to Houston to spend Thanksgiving with Arnold, Clifford and Dorothy, who are at Rice Institute.
The shell loading outfit has been moved to Citrus Grove and shell is being placed on the "nine-foot sidewalk" on the Citrus spur. Soon will be right down into this burg and that will be good news for Doctor Van.
Myrtle Fulcher Duffy driving in for the mail or male. I dunno.
Arthur Bowers installing a radio in his store. He will have a packed house. Now, if the Bachman's will only put on a good vaudeville we will be fixed for entertainment.
Mrs. Ash clerking at the Bowers store. Guess Verner is out hunting for another girl. But he still sells RJR at one bale for a dime. Ought to be three for two bits.
Mrs. Ackerman, my partner in the goose business agreed to bring me a big fat anserinae [goose] for Thanksgiving dinner, but we waited in vain and then decided to serve gadus morrhua [cod fish] for our dinner, and when all was over we had full tummies and a thankful heart. The day was almost like Christmas, for here comes a box of pecans from Mrs. Clair Pollard; delicate, dainty, delectable cookies from Ora and Oscar [Chapin], and from Mary Louise, candy, cigs, RJR 'neverything that's good. And so we feasted and our thoughts were with the senders, and when the day was nearly over along came Mrs. Liggett with Milford and Roberta for a visit, with four wonderful "punkin" pies. These were not what some folks dub pumpkin pies, but were the old original "punkin" pies. With it all we had a happy day and when night came our hearts were full of thanks that God has been so good to us during the year. He has given us freely of health, food, raiment, shelter, friends. Is there any more of life?
"To our prayers, O Lord, we join our unreigned thanks for all Thy mercies, for our being, our reason, and all other endowments and faculties of soul and body; for our health, friends, food and raiment and all other comforts and conveniences of life. And above all, we adore Thy mercy in sending Thy only Son in to the world, to redeem us from sin and eternal death, and in giving us the knowledge and sense of our duty towards Thee. We bless Thee for our patience with us, notwithstanding our many and great provocations; for all the directions, assistances, and comforts of the Holy Spirit; for Thy continual care and watchful providence over us through the whole course of our lives; and particularly for the mercies and benefits of the past day; beseeching Thee to continue these Thy blessings to us, and to give us grace to show our thankfulness in a sincere obedience to His laws, through whose merits and intercession we received them all, the Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
The sun set behind a bank of clouds, shooting its purple rays towards the sky and giving a promise of rain on the morrow. Thus ended as perfect a day as was possible with Mary Louise away from home.
The train men were all remembered as usual by the Citrus Grove ladies and enjoyed a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner as the evening train waited at the station. For twenty years these women have never forgotten the train crew.
Well, anyway, the pump--thanks to Arthur Soekland, Jr.--has been installed and is now ready for use at the community house. Next Friday when the Woman's Union serve their annual oyster supper they will need the pump to provide water so they may yell, "Soup's On."
I predict a low price for cotton next year for the reason that we began this day for planting twenty acres of cotton. This is almost certain to depress the market, so other cotton men better sail close.
"Clear the brown path to meet his coulter's gleam!
Lo! he comes, behind his smoking team,
With toil's bright dew-drops on his sunburnt brow,
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough!"
--Oliver Wendell Holmes
Had Oliver waited until this day he would have written "smoking Fordson" instead of "smoking team," but then he could not be expected to know all about farming, being only a poet.
The two Ruths still hunting for that rare butterfly and if they find it a small fortune arrives.
Teachers all in San Antonio this week for the State Teachers' Convention. Pupils are pleased and wish the convention would last forever.
Jimmie Fusom planning to go home to Springfield. Many will miss him.
Not many quail, but they are being hunted and haunted since the first. Between men and hawks, there will be few left for seed.
Conductor E. L. Hall taking his annual vacation.
The Cottingham house occupied by Carl Boeker, has been repaired and is in fine condition. This house was struck by lightning last summer and pretty well torn up.
Emmitt Chiles getting ready to begin work on his road contract.
The last of this month the burg will be full of young folks returning from Houston, Milford, San Antonio and other foreign parts. We will have one of them.
Well, anyway, when I found the cows in the barn lot I lifted my eyes to the sky and talking Turkish, said: "Boubla oolam salam," which means "Heavens! how glad I am," and then I added "Korcorooka skiboobie," which I must not interpret for the good reason given before.
Here is some mighty good news for us who are fortunate enough to live in Matagorda county. Dr. Robert A. Millikin, physicist of the California Institute of Technology, says that "this world already has had a life time of at least a billion years and that man has, in all probability, another billion years ahead of him." Just one more thing to be thankful for. Isn't life wonderful?
Matagorda County Tribune,
December 7, 1928
By Harry Austin Clapp
I drove to Bay City the other day with E. L. Hall in his Master Six Buick and was astonished at the building between this burg and El Maton. New houses, dozens in number, all along the road and they seemed to hug the "nine-foot sidewalk."
Met good old Oscar Barber and basked in this gorgeous smile.
Discussed the rat campaign with Doc Harkey, and tried to get a raise in my weekly stipend but Carey Smith is busy paying for that extension to the Tribune building and hardly listened to my plea.
Hunted all over town for Doc Sholars and had to call on Dr. Gaedcke and he treated me like an old friend.
The court house, in some respects, shows refinement; in some ways it is artistic, but its squat appearance destroys dignity, the dignity that should be present in a public building. I miss the clock as others do. Might be a bright idea for the American Legion to take up the matter of building a tower in memory of the fallen dead and in the top install the old clock. Then we would feel at home.
Went in to see Jack Young, for "most everyone does." Bought a few tricks, received a hearty "thank you," but they did not know me, so will try again.
Met Callie Metzger on the street but she did not recognize me. Expect it was because of a recent hair cut and shave or, perhaps, she was thinking of the owl that sings the song, "Now, The Land of Opportunity."
Saw Francis Mayfield and she told me of the splendid co-operation she was receiving from parents, teachers and the pupils in the health contest at Bay View high school, financed by the Collegeport Industrial League.
Met the Merriman L. Smith family and took passage home in his Master Six Buick, so ended a perfect day.
For the first time in over two years I failed to send copy last week and the excuse is that this village supplied nothing worth recording. No bandits, or even banditti, no burglars, no dog fights, or men fights, no vamping, no women or men running away with another's partner, no excitement except when the bazaar will be held and why the Portsmouth Limited is late. A perfect burg for a week simply because the week's rain and mud kept people at home minding their own business. Hope things will stir up next week.
There will be stirring times at Homecroft, for our gal comes home Saturday night for a ten days' stay and we, meaning I and the miserable wretch, are counting the hours until once more we have our daughter girl.
A wonder girl is the girl I love,
And I know that she loves me,
For many years this secret I know
That she always wants me.
I give her of my heart's best love
And she returns it to me, the dear.
Of losing her love, I'm not afraid,
Because she is always the same dear.
--Fragments from Hack.
And believe me, folks, we are going to have a week of hilarity, gaiety, mirth, merriment, joyousness, exhilaration, or words to that effect, if you understand what I mean.
Judging from the price of kerosene Paul Braden is still in poor health. Wish he would recover, stop those doctor bills and cut the price of kero.
"The Square Deal Jeweler" of Palacios floods the P. O. boxes with circulars advising us to "Save Money in Buying at Home," and "Don't Send Your Money Out of Town." Bless your soul, Square Dealer, that is just what we are trying to do. I advise Square Dealer to spend his money in the columns of The Beacon. Lasts longer, goes farther, read by more.
I see by the papers that the stock market is in good shape for Arrow Collars stand up well, Vacuum Sweeper is picking up, Manhattan Shirt has stiff front, Hosiery has a run, Swift a bit slow, while Jello is shaky and La Page traders are badly stuck.
Matagorda County Tribune, December 21, 1928
“With his toot and toot and toot,
I know not the name of the poet who wrote these lines, but I do know that the verse tells the story of a tragedy in my life.
When the White Pigeon Silver Cornet Band was organized, my pal undertook to play the baritone horn and I never knew whether it was the toot and toot and toot that he played on his horn or the glamour of his gorgeous uniform of blue and red with gold paulets on his manly shoulders that lost my girl to me. It beats the devil how women will fall for a uniform, especially if back of it is a horn.
For ten or twelve hours my heart was a bruised, broken, bleeding, bloody mess, but by the next sunrise I had collected the parts and looking about discovered that there were other fish in the sea and picked a pippin.
I never had a lemon hanging around my neck, for I always plucked my fruit from the peach tree and the fruit being in abundance I plucked often. I early learned that to lose a girl only meant opportunity to take on another and fairer and it taught me how to handle women.
Just south of our town ran the creek and from it flowed the water through the mill race that turned the old stone wheels that ground the local grain. The race was a wonderful stream, for did it not give us kids the greatest swimmin’ hole in the world. I thought so then and as my memory goes back I still think so. What a wonderful day it was when the kid for the first time swam from the baby hole to the big hole across the race and when he could dive to the bottom of the deep hole and bring up the evidence in the form of gravel, O, boy,! was he not filled with pride. The last time I visited the old swimmin’ hole was eight years ago and I am inside the true when I solemnly swear that I could spit across it.
Then there was the old town pump, located at the corner of my father's store. A deep well, so considered, but I doubt if it was more than twenty feet, but that made no difference for from its depths came the coolest, purest water that man ever drank until he came to Collegeport. Clear as crystal, a nectar furnished by the gods for man’s use. If a fire broke out a bucket line was formed from the pump to the fire and how the brave fire boys did hustle water, a stream flowing on the fire and often strange as it may seem, the fire was put out.
Dr. Green, tall, bony, with a long flowing white beard, our family physician for many years. He came any time, night or day, for a fee of one dollar and furnished his medicine. In important cases I have known him to stay by the bedside all day and all might nursing the sick one and he most always pulled them through. His fee for a confinement case was never more than five dollars and he stayed from first to last, often washing the newborn babe, and he never lost the baby or a mother. That was his reputation and is it a wonder that we all loved good old Dr. Green?
In the campaign of 1876 the Republicans erected a tall flagpole which looked to be four hundred feet high, but perhaps it was only about fifty. This pole was erected in front of father’s store and across the street in front of a store owned by a Democrat, a tall hickory pole with the brush on the tip was also erected. Great rivalry as to which crowd would get the flag up first in the morning. A great ceremony which us kids enjoyed for at times we were allowed to hold the flag from the ground as it was hauled aloft.
The Republican pole was tipped with a big tin ball about eight inches in diameter, and one morning we found it shot full of holes. Who could commit such sacrilege except Democrats. After that we tried to shoot off the brush which adorned the Democratic pole but that called for splendid shooting and required much practice and waste of ammunition before we could rejoice at its fall, and fall it did, and we Republican kids danced with glee. That settled the national controversy in our minds.
Gosh! but were we not excited with my father’s store received the first bananas ever seen in the burg? Big red ones, and instead of gobbling them down we would use them for a sucker. Too precious to eat--we tried to make one last all day, and it usually did, although sucked by many other kids through the generosity of the fortunate owner.
The town was surfeited, scatuated, cloyed, glutted, over-fed with churches for this little village supported in a meager way a Baptist church, a Dutch Reformed, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian and Roman Catholic. I do not suppose any of the ministers ever saw more than $350.00 in any one year, but some way they lived, aided by an annual donation and they preached the gospel and all lived godly lives and educated large families. I cannot understand now how they could have been godly on the measly stipend that they enjoyed. But churches meant more to people than nowadays. Nothing at all to have a revival in the winter season and garner one hundred souls into the fold. A rich harvest, indeed, for it meant more souls to contribute, and so there was much joy in the harvest.
Those were days of six-cent eggs, eight-cent hams, the best cuts of meat one shilling (most goods were marked in shillings), and liver—well, that delectable article was given away. We always asked Mr. Wimple “have you any liver for my cat,” but the cat never had much of it.
We did a lot of visiting and I do not remember of a home in which I was not at some time a guest. Our cellar was an interesting place to visit for there we had from six to eight big barrels of cider which grew pretty hard along towards spring, but we, drinking it, never realized that it was rock fence. Big barrels of apples, cabbage, carrots, oyster plant, turnips, a big bin holding thirty bushels of potatoes which were bought at twenty cents per bushel and hanging from the cellar rafters long lines of bacon, ham and dried beef. Tin cans were unknown in those days.
Lots of fun when the wood sawyer came with his tread mill power and sawed the winter supply of wood, but when our dads called on us to pile up the sawed wood, fun was turned to grief for there was no romance in that job.
I remember when our first coal was bought. Fine hard anthracite costing six dollars a ton, delivered into the bin.
Great fun to watch my grandfather make candles by dipping. After while he bought a mold that made six at a time. Candles were used in every home and, indeed, they were a good light then, especially at bed time.
After a few years my grandfather bought a naptha lamp—the only one in town and he was some “punkins” for a few months.
One day the town’s poorest boy fought and licked the town’s richest boy, and for doing such a fine piece of business he was placed in the bastile, a small wooden structure fit only for sheltering cows. Us kids sent doughnuts and other food through the bars by means of a string and with a long straw thrust through a crack in the door he inhaled long draughts of cider. He was well fed for the two days he was in stir.
The school house was just about the size of the Bay City Negro building and employed five teachers, the principal receiving $750.00 per annum and the others compelled to feel filthy with a stipend of $25.00 per month.
The little burg of perhaps six hundred souls supported thirteen saloons and a well organized gang of gamblers, so the reader may be assured that we always had plenty of excitement. If Bay City was as well supplied with grog shops it would support about one hundred and thirty. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing for Bay City? Besides the saloons nearly every grocery store sold whiskey by the gallon which they stored in barrels. No harvest was complete without a jug of booze nestling in a shock of wheat, the location of which every worker, and at times others were aware of.
With all this, people were happy, lived well, indeed generously, the churches were filled each Sunday, merchants had a good trade, even if the bulk was credit, for accounts were mostly all paid by the thrifty people who lived in the community. Boys and girls were better behaved than those of the present day and the girls more modestly clothed.
Well, anyway, at 2:45 a. m., Saturday, December 22, winter began. Wonder how many realized the change.
The burg is full of young folks, home for the holiday season—Dorothy Crane, Louise Walter, Clifford, Arnold and Dorothy Franzen, Ella May Chiles and others. Among them is Mary Louise for a week at Homecroft, and naturally, she comes first with us, meaning I and the Miserable Wretch.
“She came like shaft of light,
Here comes Thomas Hale, Sr., Thomas Hale, Jr., and Sweet Barbara, the wife and mother.
Judd Mortimer Lewis may brag about that 31-pound turkey, but I brag about the big box of candy, fruit cake and lots of goodies from Mrs. Nellie Morrison of Corsicana. Homemade stuff just rolling in pecans and other nuts and fruits of all kinds. Abajo turkey. By the way, our Christmas turkey was raised by Mrs. Louis Walter and I wonder on what she fed the bird that it was so wondrous tender. A finer bird has never graced our table.
Verner Bowers spent the day in Mt. Belvieu with his parents while Mrs. Ash dispensed the groceries and truck.
Miss Burk back for a visit with the Ben R. Mowery family.
If it requires two horses and two riders to drive one cow, how many will be required to drive a bunch of 300 1-5 cows.
I am foolish enough to believe that Bibles should be in every home, and it was a shock to me when I knew that Mr. John B. Heisey was taking subscriptions to buy Bibles for the people of Collegeport. It is the world’s greatest book, enjoys largest sales, translated into more language, a very common book, yet this burg is not supplied. Wonder why?
Under the proposed amendment for road building no one will pay a cent of taxes for Texas highways. Those who operate automobiles, according to the Houston Chronicle, will pay a road rent of three cents per gallon.
A rose by another name always smells as sweet.
Talk about a rose. Ought to see Margaret Holsworth just home from her teacher work at Chicago. Fairest of the fair and a credit to the burg.
“Daughter of God! That sitt’st in high
Matagorda County Tribune, December 28, 1928?
By Harry Austin Clapp
George Braden received word the other day that his brother had passed over.
Mrs. Roy Nelson planning with impatience for the bazaar.
Judging from the number of packages arriving at this office Sears & Roebuck are doing a thriving business with the residents of this burg. Wonder why Bay City merchants do not wake up and by giving the same wonderful service keep most of this business at home. Guess they hold dollar too close to their eyes and forget the nickels.
Along comes a Christmas gift from George Serrill. Another of those beautiful calendars. Have three of them still on wall, too pretty to cast away. He sent it to Honorable H. A. Clapp. Ahem, and a couple of more ahems! I notice by reading the Tribune that George seems to operate the only insurance agency in that city.
Another Christmas gift came the 14th day of December, name Lechera Pauline Churchland Aaggie. In about twenty-eight months we will have another cow giving that wonderful Holstein milk filled with vitality. Hope Duncan Ruthven reads this.
Homer Goff reports that the Lawson Gin Co. will build a gin on this side of the bay. Good news for our cotton farmers.
Now that the "9-foot sidewalk" will soon be completed, the Mopac should be induced to stop their night train at El Maton to accommodate Collegeport folks.
"Papa wouldn't buy me a bow wow,
Papa wouldn't buy me a bow wow;
He bought a little cat,
But I don't think much of that,
So George Welsby gave me a bow wow wow."
And its name is "Scooter," and it's a cute little pooch, and Buckshot is jealous of the little kuss.
Wish Mrs. Fulcher would take care of her boy, Tommie. Saw him in the post office the other day fussing with Seth Corse. Well, anyway, Mrs. Fulcher enjoys reading "Thoughts" and asked me why none appeared last week. Told her because there was "nuthin'" doing in the burg worth recording. Thanks for the bouquet. Bouquets from the local burghers are so damn scarce that I appreciate what Mrs. Fulcher said, so another thanks.
The Carl Boekers en route to Illinois for the holiday season with their parents.
Well, anyway, the Gods sent "fare and brite" weather for the bazaar Tuesday, and a good turn out was the result, and about 100 smackers taken in from the various departments. The oyster stew made by Mrs. Roy Nelson was a consummate concoction that was supreme, transcendent, peerless, incomparable and for that reason I did not miss the noodles, for she has promised a batch of those superlative articles for the annual community dinner on the first of January. The chili con carne made by Mrs. Frank King was extra fine considering it was made by an American. I say American, because no American can really make chili as it is made down in Republica de Mejico. The candy booth enjoyed.
Mrs. Holsworth returning from the place where seventeen railroads meet the sea.
Merriman L. Smith taking a trip to a splendid sale, and no wonder, when one looked over the salesladies.
The Burton D. Hurds booked to arrive Sunday, the 23rd, and to spend the holidays in their beautiful home on the bay shore.
The Woman's Club meets Thursday at the Boeker home and as a special will have a Christmas tree.
Just in time to hang on our home tree comes a fine calendar from Callie Metzger, filled with building suggestions and informing the reader that when, as and if the house is built, she will insure it for a nominal fee. Wonder if the "owl" knows about it?
"Brite and fare" overhead this day, but soon as one slips off the "nine-foot sidewalk" one drops into a helluva deep sea of bottomless mud. Guess we should thank God for the "nine-foot sidewalk."
The Woman's Club made a very sensible Christmas gift to Mrs. John B. Heisey in the form of a life membership. Mrs. Heisey has been a faithful member for about twenty years and the gift was a token of appreciation for her long and faithful service. The last meeting was the time of election of officers and the following were chosen for the next two years: President, Mrs. S. W. Corse; Vice-President, Mrs. Frank King; Secretary, Mrs. L. E. Liggett, and Treasurer, Mrs. John Ackerman.
Ben R. Mowery says it is not necessary for him to go to the community dinner New Year's day to eat noodles, for he has a noodle factory of his own. If he will bring a mess of noodles to the community dinner I will sample them and then decide whether they are as good or better than the Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles.
The bug is filling up with young people coming home for the Christmas season much to the delight of their parents.
It is said that one of our young ladies, looking over the holiday goods at Hugo Kundinger's Pharmacy, said: "I'd like to try on that rose dress in the window," and Hattie replied: "Sorry Miss E but that's only a lamp shade." The funny thing about it is why should any young Collegeport girl wish to try on a dress in the window.
The Bachman store has a real city display window all dressed up with Christmas tree, dolls, fruit and other holiday stuff. Looks fine and a credit to Mrs. Crane for the arrangement.
Saturday night the Christmas tree, a tree of light hearts and a joyous community, all loaded with remembrances for every child in all the country round. Not one was missed, and many of the elders were tickled because good old Santa called their names. The program arranged by the teachers consisted of recitations, drills and musical numbers and was received with appreciation.
I hoped Mrs. Fulcher would take care of her boy, Tommie, but he evidently ran away from home and here he was all dolled up in Santa's clothes and wearing whiskers a mile long. I think the spinach is rather becoming and advise him to wear it in the future.
Much to the disappointment of their friends, a wire from the Burton D. Hurds announced that they will not arrive until the last of the week.
In the local column of the Trib of Saturday, Carey Smith calls me the "Sage of Collegeport." Not knowing what sort of sage he meant, I looked it up for fear he might have written about sage tea or sage hair restorer, but to my relief I find that a sage is "a man of gravity and wisdom; of sound judgment and prudence; a philosopher." Shakespeare says: 'rans mit 'em. All your sage counselors, hence!" Mighty nice of Carey, but no more than to be expected after a close friendship of twenty years.
Local readers of the Trib will say "what bunk!" and who knows but that they are right. Only goes to prove that all prophets must hike beyond their own country's confines to be appreciated.
Another calendar from Walker, the seed man, and it's along with the others a hangin' on the wall.
Christmas cards from all parts of the United States came to bring us joy and cheer. Too many, to send personal thanks, but we do appreciate the thought, and especially the one from Mrs. Harkey, in which she promises me a first class dinner, "when I'll be sure to come." No man dislikes to miss a feed more than I and I sure will take advantage of this proposition.
The miserable wretch joins me in sending Christmas greetings to all readers of the Tribune, and as Rip Van Winkle once said, "may you all live long and prosper."
Well, anyway, I certainly do miss that town clock and in this I am joined by the balance of the 18,532 1/2 inhabitants of Matagorda county. (For correct figures as to population inquire of Doc Harkey. He knows.)
"What is it but a busy life,
Its fluctuations and its vast concerns?
'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat.
To peep at such a world--to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not to feel the crowd.
While fancy like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and still is at home."
The Daily Tribune, December 29, 1928
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