By Harry Austin Clapp
All you readers who have witnessed performances at the theatre have seen it. You know what it looks like. The auditorium lights dim. The orchestra notes soften and almost, but not quite, become mute. The curtain raises on a darkened stage. Down the center troup the members of the chorus, spreading out in a fan of feminine loveliness, causing one to gasp as one awaits the entrance of the leading character. From the wings she steps and is met by the "spot light." Fluffy skirts, all awhirl, legs clothed in shimmering silk, arms, neck and bust gleaming, eyes asparkle-- all is glitter in the "spot light."
It is the spot's business to concentrate your eyes on this vision of feminine beauty and woe to the spot light man who fails to keep the leading character under proper light. Every actor is jealous of his place in the spot and the oftener he can gain and hold the longed-for spot, the greater he considers his work and the more effect he can produce on his audience. The spot concentrates attention on the principal who occupies the stage center and all actors love to bask in its genial, joyous, cheerful beam.
Off the stage we also have spot lights and most people love to stand in the light, knowing full well that attention is concentrated on them. Here in Matagorda county we have two spot lights. The Bay City Daily Tribune throws the spot once each day and the weekly Tribune throws no less piercing rays once each week. Across the bay in the "City by the Sea," the Beacon operates a flash light that throws its beams far and wife, attracting attention to the beauties of nature in its locality These two spot lights mean much to the people of Matagorda county, for day after day they are on the job holding our county in the spot light and directing attention to all within its beam to the potential possibilities of our towns and surrounding country. They fill a place in our social and business life that no other method can possibly attain. At this time there is no method of publicity that reaches as far, that always covers every phase of our life and environment as the press. There be some who, realizing this, arrange that they, too, may be in the spot light, and these public spirited citizens profit not only in a material way but in a spiritual way, for by the position they occupy in the spot they tell the world that they are assisting in placing before others the advantages of life here in the "Heart of the Midcoast."
The life of the men who operate this spot light is not all a bed of roses for it means hard work that calls on brain and brawn. Few people realized that we owe the men who operate these spot lights. Take the Tribune for instance. Read its pages. Observe the daily items telling the world about the city and county. Read the advertising columns. You will find romance in them. These advertisements tell of success and failures, of hopes and disappointments. The business life of the advertisers is here recorded and preserved in the files as the history of Matagorda county. Everywhere the paper goes these men are known as the doers, the public spirited citizens, the men who are back of every movement for the progress of the politic body of our section. Their names and business become familiar to outsiders and when out-of-county readers visit our county these are the men who are first called upon and they reap the reward of their patriotism in the business received.
There are others who never subscribe for a daily or weekly paper, preferring to bum their reading from their more progressive neighbors. They never advertise and they are known as the pariahs of our county. They believe that in spending a dollar with a local paper they are supporting the paper, making a gift from which they realize nothing. The truth is that the paper with its corp[s] of advertisers is actually supporting these pariahs. They pay nothing, and sitting in their places of business daily profit from the efforts of their more patriotic brothers. They, too, crave publicity, but are unwilling to play the game like a good sportsman. They drift along, many of them reaping riches but all the time they are more and more taking on the resemblance of parasites. They live on others. Most all men love proper publicity and from president of the United States down to the man who tills the soil, they endeavor to place themselves in the spot light. There are of course some exceptions, but they are few. We have some in this burg, for at least five people have requested me to never mention their names in my columns. The column known as "Thoughts" is the spot light for Collegeport and that is rays reach far and wide is evidenced by the letters I receive. Some of them are commendatory, some are critical, some are condemning, but all testify that the spot reached them. This column is good publicity for Collegeport and the Tribune ought to have a goodly circulation in our district. Does it? I hear folks say, let me have your Tribune, I want to read "Thoughts."
Well, anyway, we all know that President-elect Hoover has been having fun fishing. He caught big strings of fish, but how about the fist that have been trying to catch Hoover?
Once upon a time when a woman lost her purse the finder, upon examination, found six hair pins and some other junk. The other day one of our girls lost her purse and the finder, looking through it, found a lip stick, some rouge, a powder puff and three dresses.
This has nothing to do with the visit of Oscar Barber. Oscar comes here each year to tell us all about how much taxes we are to pay, and twice each year he drifts down and mesmerizes us with his gorgeous smile, asking us to send him back for just one more term. And we do it, for we all love Oscar, and anything he asks we give freely. Oscar called on me the other day and we have one fine visit lasting about two hours, and he almost forgot that it was a business visit, but at last he woke up, and making a few figures on his assessment book, told me that I ought to kick in about two or three hundred dollars, more or less. I hope it is less and I leave the final figures to Oscar, but I give him fair warning that I control two votes. I was very alarmed for fear that little Emily Jane would look like Bill, but Oscar informs me that she is a replica of her beautiful mother and has the same sweet ways. I congratulate Emily Jane, Jr., on her escape.
Since I learned that a woman found a $750 diamond in a can of so-called lard. I have requested the miserable wretch to examine our so-called lard in hopes that we, too, would find a diamond, but to date the only result has been extra juicy cherry pies with crust that melts in one's mouth.
The Houston Boy Scouts may have their Col. Ike Ashburn, but our Scouts have their Merriman L. Smith, and whether it is an Ashburn or a Smith, a fine work is being done. Boys like gangs and they love pals and the Scout work employs gangs and pals and mixes them up so that they become finer citizens. Many a man can look back on his scout days as the beginning of real manhood.
We may all breathe again for the State Highway Commission has been probed and found guiltless. The state never enjoyed the services of such a splendid body of men and it was almost a crime to even suggest that they were guilty of wrong doing. Such men are not in the work for graft, but there be some men who fail to understand why any man gives his time freely for the public good. Some men have ideals, others never have.
The annual Washington Birthday banquet was pulled off as usual by that fine organization, the Woman's Union. About one hundred and fifty sat about the table and enjoyed the chicken pie and et cetera. Merriman L. Smith posed as toastmaster in his usual merry way and our people were pleased to find that Doctor Warren Wilson arrived from New York just in time. Dr. Wilson has charge of all rural church work of the Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A., and is a speaker of international reputation. His talk, confined to his work, was an enjoyable treat. Rev. Gillespie came over from Palacios and told us all about George, while Homer Goff drifted down from Houston and contributed a general talk. My next to the last rib bothered me so much that I did not attend, but when I found that the menu did not mention the famous Carrie Nelson Noodles I felt that I was better off at home with my bottle of Sloan's liniment.
Last week I mentioned that in the absence of the miserable wretch there would be a vacancy at Homecroft and invited applications for temporary relief and had several offers of which I submit two: "Dear Mr. Clapp: I am also lonesome, as my husband ran away with a woman with a cork leg. I am considered good looking and have a loving heart and seven children, but have a large wart on my nose. If this is no objection, will be glad to take the position. Your Babykins." Oh, ginger snaps! but that was some temptation, but how about this: "My Dear Harry" I feel that we could get along fine for I know that you like girls with beautiful legs, having read the Tribune for some time. I weigh 120 pounds, am five feet two inches tall and have a fine figure. I am very fond of reading and take True Stories regularly. This has encouraged a natural romantic disposition. I just love men like you who are also literary. We could get along fine. If this suits you send me about thirty dollars and will come on first train. Your loving Kitty." Floating flounders! Think what advertising will do. Goshamighty, I am glad that the miserable wretch will be back Tuesday and give me protection. I and her have stuck together for any years and if she will only come back I and her will stick it out to the end. She is no Babykins or Kitty but she has been a good and faithful wife even if she is a miserable wretch.
P. S.--My busted rib is better and better day by day.
P. S.--(Meaning I Forgot) Oscar Barber owes me a good cigar.
The Daily Tribune, March 1, 1929
By Harry Austin Clapp
[Local information taken from longer article.]
Seems to me that local skirts are growing shorter. Saw a girl with skirt so short that the back of the knee was exposed, and that is about as homely a spot as a girl can expose.
John Merck bringing oysters to an oysterless people.
The King's Daughters meeting this week with Mrs. Richman. Not necessary to report that there were plenty of eatables of all kinds from fried chicken up. I intended to go but when I was told there would be no noodles decided to stay at home. If the King's Daughters desire my presence they must arrange to have a generous supply of the Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles. The miserable wretch and Sister Lucy attended and had a joyous time.
The League met in regular session Thursday night with about thirty present. Refreshments consister of red hot hamburgers, raisin pie and coffee, provided by Mesdames Ash, Chiles and Clapp.
E. L. Hall has been confined to his room with influenza. E. L. does not smoke R. J. R., hence another example of what happens to those who use other brands.
John B. Heisey hauling cans of cream to the station with which Morning Glory butter is made.
A card on the door of the railroad station notifies the public that G. A. Dalton is the new agent. Hope he stays at least three weeks.
Well, anyway, the miserable wretch and Sister Lucy returned from San Antonio and other foreign parts Tuesday and reported a simply wonderful gorgeous time. They met the Van Ness tribe including Anna and her two babies and friend, husband, also saw Ora and Oscar [Chapin] and the Holman family. One day they visited what used to be the Buck Horn Saloon, but alas and alack the fount was dry. Saw all the old missions, heard the grand organ in the City Auditorium, went to service at St. Mark's, ate meals at the Gunter and St. Anthony, the Original and at last arrived home like Mary's little lamb.
Ruth Mowery looks cute in overalls, but in dresses she is charming and dignified.
Wonder what has become of my red bird?
The American Institute has developed an instrument so sensitive that it records the intensity of blushes. It will be of interest to most of our fellows to know that the blush of a blond is warmer than that of a brunette. I never required an instrument to tell me that fact for I well remember that some of my blonde sweethearts always impressed me as being warmer than others. As I would press their blushing cheek against my own I could plainly feel the rising temperature. I am giving this information principally for the information of John Merck so that he will not pay out good money for an instrument.
The week closed with a birthday dinner at the home of Judge S. W. Corse in honor of Mrs. Corse who is now about, well, about the age of Anne, and this does not mean Anne Clapp who lives in Chicago. I have known these good folks for many years and it was a joy to break bread (I mean rolls) with them and talk about the many things that have happened during our lives in Collegeport.
Well, anyway, it has been a good week for it brought back to me the miserable wretch and Sister Lucy and life is going on as usual, thank you.
Wish I could have been present at the Washington banquet and grabbed that big tub of leavings, but, shucks, after all, it was not worth much for there was in it not one speck of the Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles. Wonder who got it? Maybe Mrs. Boeker knows.
Ben R. Mowery is so busy these days that he has no time to give the burghers his usual radio report on the weather. We all miss it.
The Daily Tribune, March 3, 1929
By Harry Austin Clapp
[Local information taken from longer article.]
Our little Scooter dog, missing for two weeks, was found dead yesterday under our front gallery. For the benefit of some San Antonio Tribune readers, I must record that Bonita fell in wrong company and became what is known as a sheep dog. She therefore met her fate by running into a charge of buck shot.
Took a ride on the choo choo train the other day going with my sister, Lucy, as far as Bay City, and in the Tribune office I was introduced to a fine looking young lady named Lurline Mallard. It has been my ambition for years to meet a real poetess, and here she stood before me. I gazed at her sweet face in amazement and no longer wondered how she wrote such beautiful verses.
"Come then, my friend! my genius! come along!
O, master of the poet, and the song!
And while the muse now stoops, or now ascends,
To man's low passions, or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise."
Met Oscar Barber and asked him if he had read last week's Tribune in which he was informed that he owed me a good cigar. Oscar blushed (uncommon for an office holder) and excused himself and soon came back with twenty-five big cigars. I sure will swing my two votes to Oscar.
Saw Bill and looked him over with care and he is not half bad looking, but after I saw Emily Jane I had no eyes for a one-dollar bill. Well, anyway, Emily Jane and Emily Jane, Jr., drove us all over the town and told us where every one lived and I learned more about Bay City in two hours than I had absorbed in twenty years.
Carey Smith still weeps over the failure of Mr. Alfred E. Smith to lease the White House, and because Matagorda county and the state of Texas disgraced the fathers.
Verner Bowers is still confined to his home with an attack of the measles. Bet good money he has been eating some of Tom Fulcher's biscuits.
Jim Hale, engineer on the Portsmouth Limited, home with chicken pox. Wonder why adults fall for kid diseases when there are plenty of things for grown ups?
Woman's Union met with Mrs. Ackerman with seventeen present and counting Pastor Merriman L. Smith, but then he is not a lady.
Friend after friend departs:
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end:
Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.
Thus star by star declines,
Till all are passed away,
As morning high and higher shines
To pure and perfect day;
Nor sink those stars in empty night;
They hide themselves in heaven's own light."
And at one o'clock in the morning of March 8th the star of George Braden's life declined. His was a beautiful death, for he retired at the usual hour and went to restful sleep and awake over there. God was merciful to George Braden. He was aged 51 years, 11 months and 21 days, and having passed the last twenty years of his life in Collegeport and this county was well known as was attested by the presence of something like one hundred autos carrying about three hundred people to testify at the funeral service how they valued the friendship of George Braden. The services at the home were conducted by Rev. Gillespie of Palacios, while the interment was in charge of the Palacios Masonic Lodge of which George was a member. About three weeks ago George attended the Valentine party at the Holsworth home and full of life entered with spirit into the games of the evening. That was the last time I saw him and I wish to remember him as he was that night, laughing, joking, playing with young and old. George Braden will be missed in his old home town, in the county of Matagorda and all who were privileged to know him will pour out to his family their heart-felt sympathy. He leaves his widow, his son, Paul, his daughter, Ruth, now Mrs. Arthur Matthes. We who have seen these children grow up from childhood know how blest Mrs. Braden is in having such fine children to lean upon in this hour, and to make the measure of child love full to overflowing there are the 2 grandchildren, Russell and Margaret Ruth Matthes.
"My soul today
Is far away,
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;
My winged boat,
A bird afloat,
Swings round the purple peaks remote.
I heed not, if
My rippling skiff
Floats swift or slow from cliff to cliff,
With dreamful eye
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise.
Under the walls
Where swells and falls
The Bay's deep breast at intervals,
At peace I lie,
Blown softly by
A cloud upon this liquid sky.
No more, no more
The worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar!
With dreamful eyes
My spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise!"
--Thos. Buchanan Reed.
Tuesday the Rev. Paul E. Engle, Rector of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Bay City, brought the Holy Eucharist to us Homecrofters. He will visit us again for the same purpose the Tuesday of Holy Week.
The Daily Tribune, Tuesday, March 12, 1929
On last Thursday, the Kings Daughters met in a “spend the day” session in the hospitable home of Mrs. P. A. Richman. A delightful time was enjoyed by a large number of ladies in attendance and at the noon hour a most sumptuous luncheon was spread. Displaying all the many good eats that culinary arts can do, in meats, salads, cakes and pies; pies with the “high toppings,” that everybody likes so well. A very interesting and instructive program was rendered in the afternoon. The guests leaving at a late hour, giving Mrs. Richman a vote of thanks for a very pleasant day.
Palacios Beacon, March 14, 1929
By Harry Austin Clapp
One of the up country readers of the Tribune and quite a severe critic of this column writes that he can see little sense in Carey Smith printing "your stuff." He says it has little sense and that I use a plethora of words, or as Jeffrey says, "He labors under a plethora of wit and imagination."
Well, anyway, about all I know is what I pick up from my old friend Noah, and so I asked him about it and he informs me that verbiage means "the use of many words without necessity, or with little sense," and Washington Irving goes farther and puts the knife clear to the hilt when he explains that "verbiage may indicate observation, but not thinking." Here all the past three years I have been thinking that "Thoughts" required thinking and I find it is merely observation.
God, help us literati and poetesses.
In the same mail comes a letter from a woman who lives in Illinois and, wise woman that she is, reads the Tribune weakly. I mean each week. She wonders why the miserable wretch has not long ago shot me at sunrise, and promises to come down here soon as friend husband's pants will yield sufficient dinero for railway fare and when she arrives it is her intention to assist the miserable wretch to rid herself of what I consider a perfectly good husband. Wheeeee, and then some, but it gives me the trembles to know that from this date I am in danger of losing my life. The night McKinley was elected I was badly shot but managed to recover my health and I have no desire to be the victim of another shot. All right, my good friends from Nebraska and Illinois, you have used your right to throw a brick-bat into my works, so here goes another dose of verbiage: If you don't like it stop reading the column, but remember that Mr. Saunders, of Markham, Texas, appreciates "Thoughts," for he told me yesterday that he reads the column every week and that I always wrote the truth. If you doubt this, send a postal to Mr. Saunders, Markham, Texas.
The miserable wretch has went to church where she will hear some more arguments about tainted money, the misuse of liker, and queries as to where that six and a half dollars has done went to. Up to date no one knows, so if any of you readers find six and a half dollars wandering around, send 'em to the Collegeport Sunday school.
Buckshot chased a cat up a tree but just as she leaped, she clawed him a good one across the nose and that is what caused the howls of anguish that awakened the miserable wretch Sunday morning, March 10, A. D., 1929.
At the request of G. A. Duffy, the Mopac shipped in three cars of shell to be used in paving the railroad stockyards. Local cow men owe thanks to Mr. Duffy.
The program committee of the Woman's Club met at Homecroft Saturday and arranged a program for the year and if one-tenth of the program is effective Collegeport will be a very desirable place in which to live. They shoot high all right. The committee consisted to Mesdames, Smith, King and Clapp and that of course accounts for the high quality of the program.
Every son of a Texas gun that attended the Hoover exercises at Washington comes home with fallen arches.
Judging from the number of flu cases in this burg there are many of our folks who do not smoke RJR.
If any of my readers wish to communicate with Pope Pius XI be sure and address the letter to Vatican City, for his address is no longer Rome.
A last year mocking bird nest in a plum tree in our back yard. Yesterday along comes Mrs. Mocking Bird, looks over the old nest, gives it a few tugs with her bill to test its security and being satisfied that it will be safe and economical to make necessary repairs, she flits away and in less than five minutes is busy carrying material for the repairs, so I shall have the pleasure of watching another brood hatch and grow into sweet singers.
I can find many things to admire in a bandit, a bootlegger, a hold-up man, but nothing in the low down hound of a cuss that will scatter poisoned meat about a community and kill several fine dogs. This fell failed to get Ben Mowery's fine dog, but he did get Scooter.
Hattie Kundinger has a passionate desire to be "IT" and so has ordered a great big new horn for her radio. She sold fifty cigars to one customer last week and need sell no more for a few weeks.
Verner Bowers has recovered from the measles and Tom Fulcher testifies that although Verner ate some of his biscuits that fact had nothing to do with the measles.
Mrs. Crane has a fine window display of rabbits on green grass background with plenty of rabbit eggs which if they all hatch will supply the burg with rabbit meat.
Jack Holsworth made a very important business trip to Markham via Bay City Saturday but did not appear at the Federation meeting. Wonder why?
Miss Ethel Sirman went to the Federation meeting via Bay City Saturday and appeared at the meeting. Wonder why she was obliged to go via Bay City. Miss Ethel is the fruit our school trustees plucked from the teacher tree that grows in Markham and it is some fruit. A sweet, dignified, capable, ambitious young woman without a trace of flapperism. Hope the board renews her contract for at least a year for after that I doubt if she will be eligible.
Well, anyway, the miserable wretch attended the Federation meeting at Markham, and had one swell time and enjoyed every moment, especially the cats. I intended to go but I looked over the menu and found they had not provided any of the Famous Carrie Nelson Noodles, decided to stay at home and eat sardines. The miserable wretch reports that the two outstanding features of the program was the address by Rev. Terry Wilson of Bay City and the singing of Mrs. Johnson of Sargent. These meetings are wonderful affairs for our women and I still wonder why the men of our commercial organizations do not follow in the footsteps of the women and have three or four get together affairs each year. The women of Matagorda county are the folks who do things in this county, as witness, the scholarship fund which they have raised and which has already assisted several girls to a higher education. A county federation of chambers of commerce would be a step in advance and would enable our men to meet several times each year and work out mutual problems. My friend, Mrs. Emma Lee Lewis Carlton, was there and from reports that sifted in to me I have the joy of squaring myself or I may lose this good friend.
Thursday the local Woman's Club met with Mrs. Liggett with Miss Frances Mayfield as honor guest. The program was of much interest, being the first of the series for 1929. Not necessary to state that the refreshments served by the hostess were superb, elegant, showy, exquisite, and at the same time nourishing. Mrs. Liggett knows how to combine these qualities in the menu she serves. Miss Mayfield complimented the club on the quality of the program. These women have stuck for twenty years and the club is an important factor in the educational and social life of this community.
Looking over a bunch of our girls yesterday, was struck with the general sweetness of their faces, but goshallmighty, how I do wish they would drop their skirts just enough to hide the bend in their knees. Some of them no longer wear what might be called dresses for they more clearly resemble short flounces.
The Franzen family are this day on the top of the world for the three children, Arnold, Clifford and Dorothy, drifted in for the weekend. The people of Collegeport share with Mr. and Mrs. Franzen pride in these fine young folks.
I am writing this line Sunday, Mar. 17th, and am reminded that just twenty years ago this day I and the miserable wretch erected our tent on what is now Homecroft, and ever since, all over America, green flags fly in memory of the event and that, no doubt, is one of the reasons the ladies of Markham used green in their color scheme at the Federation meeting.
The term "miserable wretch" so often used in this column is in no sense an anathema but it is left to Mrs. Clement, a Markham teacher, to properly interpret what it means.
Reigns more or less, and glows in every heart."
--Dr. E. Young.
Well, anyway, she understands, so what care we that others do not. Vivat regina.
The Daily Tribune, March 20, 1929
By Harry Austin Clapp
Sunday was a very happy day for us Homecrofters, for came Mr. and Mrs. Coffin from Midfield and Seth Corse and Minnie, his wife. Seth is Judge of the Seventh Judicial District, while Minnie is the representative of the United States Postal Department in this balliwick. We spent a pleasant afternoon visiting with these good folks.
Anyone who doubts that Merriman L. Smith is not a busy body these Sundays should follow him about. First, service at Collegeport Sunday morning, then he hikes to Citrus Grove for another, then to Ashby for a third, and back home for an evening service. His last report shows that he drove 10,000 miles during the last year doing pastoral work, and yet there be some who wonder why he uses an automobile.
Monday night more than fifty people assembled at the church to dispose of a good lot of cats and listen to the reports of the various organizations. Some of them did well, others not so much, but all told they turned into the church treasury a goodly sum of money. New deacons, elders and trustees were elected and the organization is off for another year.
Seth Corse has a pet in the post office and has named it "Mephitis Mephetica," and the little kuss is strong for its name. If he dies and he may, if John Merck sees him, Seth plans to give the hide to Mr. Eisel, so Frances may wear it on her fall coat.
Saw two tough birds in the V. L. Bowers store. They wore overalls, but on their feet were girls' shoes and it was difficult to tell the sex, but anyone could see that it would be risky to cross them. I said "Hello, Boys" and one of them replied, "Laugh, darn you." No wonder I was scared. No wonder Verner Bowers kept his mouth shut, was afraid to open it for fear one of the birds would pull a gun and shoot up the shop.
They say that one of our citizens went over to the Ford agency at Palacios to buy a car and told them he wanted to pay cash. They told him that such a deal was unusual and that they would require reference.
Hugo Kundinger is making improvements in his Collegeport Pharmacy by covering the walls with sheet rock. Fine job of work and makes the place look sweeter than ever.
Ben R. Mowery is the busiest man in this section. He not only is general manager of the Collegeport Rice and Irrigation Company, but is obliged to supervise a host of assistant general managers. Seems that it is asking too much of one fellow. Well, anyway, under his management, about five hundred acres have been plowed and will be planted to cotton.
Elizabeth Eisel hunting for a belt which she claims she lost.
Big flocks of white gulls.
A blue crane pre-empting the bar pit and reaping a good living, flies away at my approach, his six-foot spread of wings flapping away.
The first horned toad of the season.
Winter closed Thursday, the 21st.
Here comes a cardinal looking for a nesting place.
Clifford ash discing the fig orchards.
North Cable pruning figs and planting persimmons.
Dogs give tongue across Pilkington Slough and next day I learn a wolf made a raid.
L. E. Liggett dipping cattle.
Arthur Liggett trying to have the measles but escaped.
Pretty girl with peachy legs in a green auto. Wonder who she is.
Three children rubbering at the rabbit window arranged by Mrs. Crane.
George Welsby bedding his cotton land.
Ben R. Mowery rushing along, busy as the proverbial bee. Never has time these days to give the burghers the radio weather dope.
A long, slim, dark snake slithers across the road.
A hen cackles and the miserable wretch thinks there will be another egg, and sure enough there is.
Found a big hole in the pasture with fresh dirt all around it. Spent some time watching and was rewarded by seeing Mr. Tutasia Hybrida emerge. Tutasia is sometimes called armadillo.
The King's Daughters meet this week with Mrs. Ackerman and it is the rule that the hostess supply the drinks. I asked Mrs. Ackerman what she intended to furnish and she said, "it will be good and strong and costs me about twelve per." That leaves me up in the air for I do not know whether she means per quart, per gallon or per barrel. Well, anyway, I bet they will have a "cuppa cawfee" probably made by Mrs. Nelson which insures it being good and also strong.
Had a dandy letter from my son, Harry B.
The new station agent seems to be very popular among the patrons of the Mopac. Stanley Wright just adores, venerates, idolizes him. Great thing--this being in vogue.
A mouse sneaking across the floor. At last he approaches a trap, smells of it, his nostrils quivering. He approaches the dainty offered and nibbles. Tastes good and he nibbles again. Crash! Bang! the world ends for him. Men are like mice, for they, too, approach traps and tasting forbidden fruits bring the world to a close for them.
Last night reading the Houston Chronicle I noticed this heading: "Greta Garbo's Back" and settled down to read an interesting article on backs. Much to my surprise I found that it only meant "Greta's back from Sweden." Whyinthehell couldn’t the printer set it "Returned from Sweden."
"Let's Buy It At Home, Even Though It Costs More." I find at the head of first column, third page, Wednesday's Trib. It is good dope, first class advice and if practiced by all would revolutionize affairs in this county. The trouble is they will not buy at home. Merchants send away for their vegetables when they might be supplied by local growers, they send away for bread when good bread is made across the square, they send away for printing when there is in Bay City a first class print shop with as good craftsmen as can be found in the state. The rule just won't work both ways, hence it is a poor rule. Thousands of dollars go from this county to mail order houses and these dollars will continue to go until our local merchants make it as easy to buy from them as it is to buy from the mail order catalog and when the local merchant's guarantee means as much. The idea of paying more for an article just because the seller lives in your town is clear bunk of the first water. Mr. Farmer, suppose you take a dozen eggs to your local merchant and ask him to pay five cents above the market because you live in the community. Will he pay it? Not as you can notice. He will probably tell you to "get the hell out of here with your basket and eggs and return when you are reasonable."
Well, anyway, the county meet has been postponed one week, much to the disgust of the pupils, for they anticipated a day away from the school room.
Homer Goff is back for a few days.
Election of school trustees Saturday, April 6th, with five places to be filled. What is the matter with L. E. Liggett as a member? He would make a good working trustee and what he was set to do would be well done. Ben Mowery, Gus Franzen, Carl Boeker, Stanley Wright and John Carrick retire. Better figure who will take their places. Jack Holsworth is also interested in good schools and it looks as thought I will throw my two votes to him.
Just received word from the Carnation Company that their heifer, Carnation Walker Hazelwood, has made a world's record for heifers and is the greatest heifer of any breed. She made 29,082.5 pounds of milk and 2498.56 pounds of butter and the average test was 4.12 per cent. She made in one week 50 pounds of butter and came back the next with 45 pounds. A few cows like that in Matagorda county and we might also have a Carnation condensed milk plant. They are building one in Schulenbrug that will cost $310,000 and will employ one hundred people. It took the Schulenburg Chamber of Commerce one year to land this deal but it is worth it. Here is a tip for Doc Harkey. The average production of Matagorda county cows, to the last census was about 1500 lbs. per annum. This cow, therefore, produced in one year a product equal to that of twenty of our average cows. Some cow!
Since writing these lines I have discussed the school trustee situation with one of our leading citizens and we agree that just now is a great opportunity for the women of Collegeport to engage in more fine work. Next week I intend to submit a ticket which no doubt will not suit some of our voters.
Collegeport's sweet "old maid" writes a very welcome and interesting letter from Chicago and sends "very best wishes to Collegeport's "R. H. L.," and adds: "Mr. Clapp, do you know who R. H. L. is? I 'spect you do." I know R. H. L. very well, but the trouble is that he does not know me and he reads the Tribune, and I presume he does, for all writers seek it pages for inspection. I feel complimented when the bouquet comes from such a fine "young maid."
Spring sprang here the same day it sprung in San Antonio, and I had a real beautiful poem writ but when I read the fine words on Spring by Lurline Mallard in Saturday's Tribune I consigned the effort to the waste basket and said, "Requiescat in pace." Maybe I'll dig it up next year, but Lurline has said it for this year.
Wonder what had become of Zack Zackers? Since he quit making crackers the price has risen to in some cases twenty-five cents per pound.
The Daily Tribune, March 27, 1929
Collegeport, March 24.—The Collegeport Rice and Irrigation company, under the management of Ben R. Mowery, has prepared more than 500 acres which will be planted to cotton. It is the company’s plan to build 100 houses this season and settle that many farmers on the land. This company owns a tract of 25,000 acres, much of which is splendid cotton land.
Palacios Beacon, March 28, 1929
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Jul. 25, 2008
Jul. 25, 2008