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Collegeport Articles

January 1937

Thoughts From the Ether
By Harry Austin Clapp

I wrote the above words December 27th, planning to write a tale of the things brought to me by the air but, alas! One time, I had a canary, a beautiful golden yellow bird with a heavenly voice. How that bird could sing and he seemed to know when to sing and when to be silent. One morning I missed his song and upon examination found my little bird singer, on his back, down on the floor of the cage, his little feet up in the air. A dead, insensate, thing, to longer the joyous, happy bird giving me melody. No longer did I see his bright eyes peering at me. Dead-insensate.

“The silence and the calm of mute and insensate things.”

And soon after Mary Louise left us we turned to the ---- for music and it too was a dead, insensate thing. The dial lighted up with brilliance but from it there flowed no melody, no words of cheer, instruction, to delight us. Gone dead. When the canary died, us kids fixed up a nice box, lined it with white cloth in which we placed our little bird with some flowers and buried it in the back yard. Now that the ---- is dead, guess we will plan to bury it. I wrote the firm from which it was purchased, but eight days have passed and no reply so guess they were interested only in the sale. Might be well to recall what definition the Supreme Court gave the “Good-will.” The Court said “Good-will is that which causes a satisfied customer to return to the place where he has been well treated.” Well, anyway, the ---- speaks not.

Writing about a radio causes me to think of the oil well just SE of town. They say the drill is down about 4000 feet and still running easy. Of course every one hopes that it will result in a huge spouter. Little activity just now in the lease game but a few are flirting, which is a bad idea for the procession will pass sooner or later and then empty bags will be held. When one can take down $25.00 per acre for a lease, common sense dictates “take it.” It is always a good idea to let the other fellow make a bit or who the hell cares if he make two bits so long as the land owner has his share. O. P. M. looks good yet.

Mary Louise left Monday at 3 p. m. and as she departed, the daylight seemed to fade. I swept the sky and pulled down a bunch of stars and with them tried to brighten the shade. When she is home the sun shines bright and when she leaves, some way it seems we lost a radiant light. We must with patience wait until April showers brings forth brilliant May time flowers.

Here came Mr. and Mrs. Gustave Franzen and Emma. They brought a swell bouquet of turnips, soft as silk in their freshness and the tops, glory be, what a mess of greens they will make, cooked with a chunk of bacon. The Franzens are fine folk and we hope they will return again and not necessary to bring the greens. We enjoy the greens but much more do we enjoy these persons. Clifford and Odessa Franzen gave us two very delightful calls. Two fine young folk and no wonder for Odessa was picked from a peach tree. I always loved peaches.

Ruth Mowery Barker desires to take her mother down in the Valley for a two-week rest but mamma Mowery refuses to go because she fears that if Ben is not provided with her nutritious food he will become so feeble that he will not be able to shake up the mail. An example of woman’s devotion to a mere man.

If “The Rambling Long Horn” reads this wish he, she or it, would give me name and address. Swell picture sent me.

For weeks, wearying of being shut in I dreamed of the day I might be allowed to attend the annual New Year’s Community dinner. The day came and although not quite as pleasant as might be desired. Gustave Franzen, Jr. kindly came for me and in a jiffy or maybe two, I was soon in the midst of the local burghers. It was the twenty-seventh time this affair has been held. Any community able to keep up such a sentimental gathering should be proud. About one hundred folk were present but many of the oldsters were absent. I enjoyed meeting many whom I had not seen for six months which is the time I have been in hock. Tables covered with white linen on which was placed viands to tempt even the Duke of Windsor. Meats of several varieties, salads, vegetables, pies, cakes, etcetera and a tank of coffee brewed by that superlative coffee maker of Carrie Nelson Noodles. Mrs. Liggett seemed to do the main ramrodding and capably aided by Mesdames Guyer, Lashbrook, King, Wright, Jones and others. With Roberta Liggett at the piano those present joined in singing “Nearer My God to Thee,” and thanks was given by Reverend Mr. Harris. Few of the young girls gave aid for they all seemed willing to let mother do the work. Some day they will have to undertake this job for mother will not be there. I hope that next year some of them will put on the old gray bonnet and get busy. The time is here when those who have handled civic affairs are due to lay down the burden and the young folk must prepare to assume the work else there will be no community life. Mopac House, the Library, the Church community progress hangs in the tipping balance and is waiting. Will they come across and carry on? Well filled up on a chicken wing, delightfully whipped potatoes with glorious chicken gravy, and a few other delicacies. I lighted a good cigar and Gustave brought me home very tired and mighty glad to be where I might rest. It was a grand day for me—this second excursion outside the walls. School opens the fourth day and as we used whipped cream on cakes and puddings so the faculty will arrange some basketball contests to keep the kids’ minds from their books.

My Narcissus is blooming right along each day telling me of the love those children have for me and the geranium now has five blossoms. That’s the way love grows—just one blossom after another—always bringing perfume to others. What wonderful things flowers are. Nothing dead there but of course like all things God has placed on earth there comes an end. I have experienced what love means during the past six months and am able to testify that it is about the grandest of passions.

Daily? Tribune, January 6, 1937

By Harry Austin Clapp

[Local information taken from longer article.]

We were honored Saturday by a visit from Mr. and Mrs. F. Cornelius, Sr., and son and wife, Foncie Cornelius, of Houston. I fear that in the excitement and happiness experienced by this unexpected call that I neglected to properly give thanks for the beautiful Christmas gifts they brought. One huge bunch of sweet turnips with tops that filled a bushel basket, two jars of preserves, a potted geranium plant in full bloom. It certainly was a sweet thought which prompted such lovely gifts and in this way I express my gratitude for the kindly act. We had one swell visit which was over all too soon. We want them to come again soon and make it an all day affair. Such kindly folk so gentle so lovable. Soon as I am able to make the trip, I shall return the visit so Mrs. Josie better begin getting some of them spareribs ready.

Christmas is here for Tuesday came Elliott Curtis with a big Christmas tree for we’uns. It is the tallest and prettiest tree we have ever had. Isn’t Christmas a grand idea? We give thanks to Elliott for the gift and he better come over when it is all dolled up. I know now that Christmas is here for Frances King brought me a potted narcissus in bloom. It is tall and slender and stands about two feet. It is a gift from the first and second grade children and they have been growing it ever since I became ill so they could present it to me for a Christmas gift. Gosh, but I do appreciate such a splendid gift and to think that little children thought of me. No wonder Jesus said, “Suffer little children to come unto me.”

“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Clapp: We appreciate the lovely Godly Christmas card from you more than I can express in words. So glad that you are again enjoying good health. We have enjoyed reading ‘Thoughts’ so much.”

From Johnny’s Bakery a swell fudge cake at hands of Jack Watkins and I’ll say that Johnny’s cracked wheat bread has all other breads stopped.

The Tribune sent me a fine hamper. It was not a cheap basket, but a very handsome hamper fit to be used as a travel companion and what think was in it? A complete assortment of Heinz products all put in cellophane, red ribbons and other right trimmings. Sure was a very beautiful gift.

Monday we received Christmas greetings from the Sims of Detroit but no address was given and as I have lost mine I hope S. B. Sims, after reading this, will supply me his address.

This from Illinois: “We are grateful to God that He has spared you good folk so that we may enjoy your ‘Thoughts’ and learn to enjoy life and its beauty more abundantly because of you. May God bestow His sweetest and richest blessing on you.” And to these good friends we send our wishes for a swell new year and that God may bless them in their daily life and keep them in His comforting arms. This is our wish for C. W. H. and Junior.

Mr. Phillips, Postmaster at Santa Claus, Indiana, says during the holiday rush they handle more than 45,000 pieces of mail each day. That is nothing to what Ben Mowery handles. He has repeatedly asked the Federal department for additional help but it has been refused. Mr. Mowery is worn to a frazzle. I feel sorry for the poor man. If it were not for the good feeds Mrs. Mowery prepares for him, we would be obliged to find a new P. M. 45,000 is a small day’s reception for Collegeport. Cut off three ciphers and a five and Ben may rest.

About one hundred and fifty Tribune readers sent me holiday cards and many of them carried personal messages. Wish I had strength to reply to each of them but I’ll say “Thank you, you good folk and may God bless each of you.”

Christmas Eve the local Sunday School held their annual tree festivities. A sweet and pretty scene with the beautiful decorated three loaded with gifts. Not one child was forgotten and a big fat Santa Claus took care of the distribution. Santa came by plane, direct from his workshop so we know he did not send a representative, for did we not see the old boy? A splendid program of singing, declaiming and fine stunts appropriate for the occasion. About two hundred were present.

During the holiday week more than fifty persons called to see me, each one with cheering messages which brought much joy to me. Reviewing the week it seems that I never had such an enjoyable Christmas.

The only disappointment was the absence of “Zadie Z and Sunshine too” for I counted on seeing those two fine sweeties.

St. Stephens day came Reverend Paul Engle with the Holy Communion, which I was obliged to accept sitting in my chair. We are rejoicing in the glad news that his mother is making rapid recovery from the serious operation and in a few days will be moved home.

Sunday I made my first excursion to the rim of the world where I have been confined for six months. My trip took me to the Liggett home where Mrs. Liggett gave a dinner in honor of Mary Louise Clapp. Any time a fellow is invited to sit at Mrs. Liggett’s table, he is a subject for congratulations and on this occasion I was the lucky pup. The table was lavishly laid with silver, gold and gleaming glasses, and the food, Ye gods and gadzooks! It was a delight to me and I enjoyed it from soup to nuts. For months I have been held down to certain diet, but this day I ran loose and I ate without the eagle eye of the miserable wretch beaming upon me. It was a sumptuous, exquisite, gorgeous, display of gastorial delights and I expanded and at last felt complete satisfaction. Not one after dinner effect so this Monday morn feel fine as a silk pocket book. Mighty fine of Mrs. Liggett to give this friendly gesture. The punkin (not pumpkin) pie was so good that I snitched a second piece, when my hostess was not looking. Smothered in whipped cream! O, well, why write more about such a delectable dish. Go far away “pumpkin pie,” but give me the old reliable “punkin pie” the sort Mrs. Liggett makes.

On our return home came Ruth and Naomi Harrison and Dorothy Hood and Mr. McGee from La. but a student at the Texas U. Fine young folk and we had a most happy time with them.

Mary Louise with us five nights and now that she had gone, the house is empty for we no longer hear her laughter or see her bright face.

Reviewing the week it seems that it was the happiest Christmas of my life. My program is as follows: week end with Dr. and Mrs. Wagner; Rotary Club with George Harrison; a day with Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius at Juanita ranch; the annual New Year’s community dinner. Perhaps I’ll not make all this but It is something to shoot at.

I wrote some time ago that while listening to the radio the miserable wretch burned the toast and now the other day she allowed the tea kettle to boil over and one night after I had sneaked into the husks, she forgot to turn off the stove burners so they burned all night. This was not such a bad stunt for it saved me the trouble of starting the fires in the morning. Even with all this, the radio is some comfort.

Well, I wish all Tribune readers and others a Happy and Prosperous year and when you do not know where to make purchases just “Go Shopping with Tootsie.” Good bye and great joy with God’s blessing.

It’s “30” for 1936.

The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, January 7, 1937

By Harry Austin Clapp

[Local information taken from longer article.]

Came to this community a few weeks ago a man, his wife and three small children. The man in poor health seeking relief from the climate in this section and much to his delight is experiencing improvement. While not a regularly appointed minister of some sect, he is obsessed with the desire to preach what he defines as from the Bible. Well to make a long story short, he has delivered several sermons in the local church, which at one time was called a community church and assisted in Sunday School work. His compensation was the offering. One night, while he preached, at least five thousand dollars of autos were parked outside the building, about one hundred folk were inside, several of the younger ones were necking in the parked autos, at least fifty of the inhabitants were in Bay City or Palacios [at] shows. At the proper time the Deacon passed around for an offering and this time it yielded the magnificent sum of twenty-seven cents. Poor suffering Jesus! He died on the cross that humanity might live and two thousand years after this humanity gives him twenty-seven cents. Poor suffering Jesus! I wonder what is the matter with us humans. We pay for Jesus twenty-seven cents for autos many thousands of dollars, for shows and amusements, hundreds of dollars. I hope the next offering will be at least thirty cents. Jesus would rejoice.

In Saturday’s Chronicle I find liver quoted at 28c per pound. When I was a lad, liver was free. My mother would say, “Harry go down to Mr. Baker’s and get some liver.” Down I went, but being proud and not desiring Mr. Baker to get the idea that my family was so hard up that it was obliged to eat liver, I would say, “Mr. Baker please let me have a small chunk of liver for my kitty.” Mr. Baker, God rest his Dutch soul, knew very well what kitty wanted the liver and would give me a big hunk and then the Clapp family had liver for dinner, but we did not advertise the fact. Kitty went hungry. No butcher ever thought of making a charge for liver, heart, tongue, brains, sweet breads, kidneys. Asking for liver was humiliating, so when I could I would have my sister Lucy visit the shop. She was a cute trick and Mr. Baker would give her an extra large chunk. You see I was about as smart a kid as they had round our parts.

About the age of eighteen I had my first shave in a barber shop. Mike Baumgartle, the barber, said I had a very heavy stubborn beard and I should have a private mug. The idea appealed to me and soon my mug was safe in the rack with the mugs of other plutes. It was green with pink roses on the side and in front in gold letters appeared H. A. Clapp. Gosh, but it was a swell day when I rested in the chair and Mike took down my own mug. I have treasured this mug for fifty-six years and have it on the table and use it each day, much to the disgust of my daughter, who thinks a shaving mug should have no place on a dining table. She, poor wretch, or maybe retch, has no sentiment. Mike suggested that I would add to my social position if I had a private razor and so I paid him $3.50 for the one he used on me, for it was an extra swell blade just right for my heavy beard. It is a fine blade and has genuine ivory handles. Mike said the ivory came from a bull elephant. Some bull no doubt. I have it to this day and have used it for more than fifty years. I bet Ack Barnett would gladly buy it if he had a chance. It sure whips the devil around the stump.

The ignorance of us humans. I did not know the meaning of service until I looked in the dict., and sure enough I found that service was just another way to spell Taylor and it also spells McCree. Well we were settled down where we are confined and a car drove in and a young man knocked on the knocker and he was loaded up with all sorts of packages. He announced that he came to investigate our radio. He yanked out about seven hundred wires, had the floor covered with tubes and some other things and after looking very smart and wise, found that the original tubes had the jeebees, and the B battery suffered from jingbats and the C battery had some sort of hebucks. No wonder the damned thing stopped working for us. After while he got new stuff in place, fixed the wires where they wanted to be and “There’s music in The Air.” McCree gathered up what was left and beat it with our thanks and we are glad to know what service means. McCree is a strict pro for he refused a glass of wine and a slice of swell cake which makes him a very nice young man. I bet Taylor would have fallen. A radio is not all sweetness, for instance after the resurrection the M. W. placed a tea kettle of water on a stove in which there had been no fire for a day and sitting calmly down to attend to the dinner dishes until 10 p. m. and then found a kettle of cold water.

About two years ago a strange cat appeared in the barn. It was fat and slick, with glossy yellow pelt. It was also as wild as any wild beast but by talking to it in a gentle coo, it began to feel less fear and soon it would come up as I milked and I would squirt a stream down its face and neck which it enjoyed. Then it began to drink milk and allowed me to stroke its back, which produced satisfied purrings. Well after while we became great friends which merged into palship, so much so that when she saw me coming she ran to meet me and purring would rub against my leg (presume this should be lower limbs) but I guess you all know what I mean. This kitty besides being a yellow cat, has been honored by science with the name Felix Domestica, by which you will know this is something extra in the cat line. One day some boys placed traps along the hedge in our pasture for the purpose of catching fur bearing animals. Poor kitty, snooping about, sprung a trap ad when released her right front paw was broken clear through so it hangs by shreds of skin. She hobbles about on her three good legs and trys to rub against my leg purring her pleasures.

When my pard Nephew Tommy, my nieces Barbara, Jane and Anna Claire were here they went to the barn and found four little one day kittens, little squirming animals. Now the mama is dead and I miss her gentle ways, but the four are now lusty cats. Kitties come and go just as all life ebbs and flows.

The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, January 14, 1937

By Harry Austin Clapp

This story is not written for grown-ups, but for the children along about four to ten in age. Of course, the old boys and girls have the privilege of reading if they desire. It is the story of a little girl who lived in a small town known as Roseland. In a cute little cottage on the border of Roseland, lived this little girl Doris Welt, with her papa and mamma. I am very much afraid that Doris was not a very careful little girl, or else very unlucky, for she was continually breaking dishes or other articles. If her mamma told her to take a plate of food from kitchen to dining room, she was almost certain to stumble and spill the food over the floor. This was so usual that mamma called her the ‘struction girl, for she spread destruction where ever she went. One day mamma lost patience and she told Doris to go out in the garden and see if she could work with flowers and plants with out destruction. Obeying her mamma, Doris took a pitcher of water so she might water some of the flowers, but ill luck followed her and just as she entered the flower garden she tripped and fell and the pitcher was broken. She fell upon the grass and there remained sobbing her heart out, for she realized that truly she was the ‘struction girl. Flowers nodded on every hand, beautiful blooms and as they bowed and danced in the gentle breeze, they seemed to sympathize with Doris and to tell her that some day she would no longer be known as the ‘struction girl. Presently Doris heard a wee little voice speaking to her. It said, “Doris child, look up and see what you may see. Look up.” In a moment Doris saw, sitting on the edge of a big yellow daisy, a small little fairy figure. It had a cute little hat with a red feather. The dress seemed to be made of gold, but it really was made with spun glass. It was very brilliant. Shoes were white and glistened in the light. The fairy said, “If you want to get away and learn how to do things without destruction, come away with me to the land of Crystalease. There I will show you the most beautiful homes and palaces in the world.” “There,” said the fairy every thing is made of glass. Flowers, houses, autos, planes, carriages—all made of glass.” “But,” said Doris, “how am I to make such a journey as this?” In response the fairy waved her wand, for you know all fairies carry wands. Anyway she waved her wand and at once appeared the swellest, sweetest, most gorgeous little carriage Doris had ever seen. The horses were twenty-four butterflys. On a box sat a driver and footman dressed in green pants, red coats with beautiful diamond buttons. The boots were polished and bright red in color. These little men like the fairy, were diminutive, scare two inches tall. The butterflys were strung out in a row, wings all a flutter and the carriage ready for Doris. Doris wondered how she could find a place in such a small vehicle and with such small little folk, but lo and behold, Doris seemed to shrink or the carriage enlarged, she could not tell which, but soon she was seated with the fairy who waved her magic wand and looking down Doris could see her home place with its garden and the village of Roseland rapidly disappearing from her sight. Way up in the cloudless sky they sailed, as the wings of the butterflys fluttered and beat the air. The fairy told Doris that in Crystalease every thing was of beautiful colored glass and soon she saw way up ahead what appeared to be a crystal like cloud but which on closer approach was the suburbs of Crystalease. Lightly as a feather bloom, the carriage landed on a great park of light green grass of glass and soon Doris was escorted to a seat on the plaza. Well, kiddies, this is about all I can think of this week, so next week we will tell about the adventures of Doris in Crystalease, and she had plenty of them.

“I want to be more like Jesus
And acquire His loving way.
I want to be more like Jesus
While in the world I stay.”
--Fragments From Hack.

What a great wonderful world this will be when humanity from day to day tries to be more like the Savior of men. All that is required is to be more like Jesus.

Monday at 5 p. m. a Cardinal perched on our gallery rose bush. It saw me when I looked from the window and flew away. First of the new year.

A reader asks me what I meant by the term chaser in last week Trib. In the old continuous vaudeville it was necessary to clear the house at the end of each bill, so about the punkish act on the bill was put on and called a chaser. This was presumed to be so rotten that everyone would leave the house. The chaser was poorly paid and about the only thing to be happy about was that he really was on the show.

Another reader writes, “I read in the paper that Arthur Brisbane used only thirty minutes to dictate his “Tomorrow” and “Today” copy. I wonder how you write Thoughts. Please tell me.” Well here it is. Mr. Brisbane used only thirty minutes for his dictation but there is no dictation in my house. I am unable to dictate because there is a dictator in my house. Guess you know who she is, so further explanation is not necessary. That’s the difference between Arthur Brisbane and Harry Austin. I mean one difference—for there are other differences. He drew $250,000 per annum while I draw a little less per annum.

My sweetie, spending some time way up north where Panhandle breezes make icicles five feet long, writes that she has procured a suit with feet woven in so she may keep her tootsies (not shopping Tootsies) warm. Wish I might see her in this costume, for get she looks like a cute little cupid sitting on the north pole. For more complete particulars, I refer you to the society column of the Daily Tribune.

Mary Louise writing about a man who has been very kind to us, writes, “He is entitled to a star of glory in his crown.” We told this to him and in reply he said, “Well that’s fine, but have you ever thought how empty my life would be if I did not have someone for whom I might do something?” That’s another angle. Wonder how many of us ever think of service in this manner?

The local BB team went to Port Lavaca Friday night with the ambition to take a few scalps. Instead they were paralyzed, pulverized and purified. Elliott must breed up a tougher bunch of nuts before he again goes that far for complete disintegration. A symphonic drubbing.

Sunday mornings at nine o’clock we tune in to Dallas and listen to the service of Emanu-El Temple. The choir singing, as well as the solos just beautiful, loving melody. Prayers which I am sure reach up to the same God Christians worship. A sermon appealing to the soul of those fortunate enough to listen. A beautiful and glorious service. With the last word we turn off and sitting quietly, we feel a comforting sense steal over us—sort of cleanliness and peace. We do not want anything but peaceful quiet. And yet there is something missing. It appears to us like a cart with one wheel. There is no word of the Jesus Christ Christian worship. Without Jesus any religion is without balance. Jesus is the missing wheel. The Jews are great people. For centuries they have suffered persecutions, many of them of extreme cruelty and they have stood unfaltered holding fast to the teachings of their fathers. What wonderful women! Grandmothers, wives, home makers and keepers. I can’t help but hope that the day will come when they will recognize and welcome “The King of Jews.” Next Sunday at nine we will again be in Emanu-El Temple. At night we heard a Priest of the Washington Catholic University talk on “Freedom.” Listening, the thought came to me that Protestants are not all the good Americans in this country. Catholics, Mormons Protestants, Jews. We are all good Americans. We are all glad that we live in a land of religious freedom.

The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, January 21, 1937

By Harry Austin Clapp

[Local information taken from longer article.]

Let’s see. Where did we leave Doris? Oh, yes, I remember now that we left her waiting on the plaza for someone to take her to the place where she was to be entertained. Toot! Toot! Toot! This warned her that the automobile was approaching and at last it arrived. About six inches long, all built of glass and gold, it certainly was a royal carriage. The midget driver sat before a wheel not larger than a pea and the hubs of the wheels were little disks of pure gold about the size of a gold twenty-five cent coin. I am surprised you did not know that at one time the United States Mint issued twenty-five cent gold coins. I know it is true, for I have one right in our home. But for goodness sake or my sake, don’t let Franklin D. know about it, for if he knew I was hoarding gold, he would pop me into the bastille for fifty years. Seated beside the fairy, Doris started on her journey up the esplanade to the center of the city. Crossing the bridge which arched over the river bordering the city, she was interested in the river which purled its way, gurgling, laughing, nibbling at the flowers which covered its banks. She was interested because the river was red and she soon found out that it was cranberry sauce. Yes, sir, it is the truth, that this river flowed with cranberry sauce. I suspect this made Doris remember the day when her mama gave her a dish of cranberry sauce to carry to the dining table and she fell and scattered the sauce all over the floor. And there was the river of cranberry sauce flowing under the bridge. All along the esplanade, was lighted with tiny electric lights, each one about the size of a grain of wheat, but there were so many that the route was brilliantly illuminated. All along the route, she saw many of the people of Crystalease walking in the parks or playing many games, some of which she had never seen. One peculiar game consisted of throwing delicate glass balls in the air and they were broken by small bats or clubs, and when broken released little balloons which floating away showered the air with brilliant sparklets. Arriving at the castle, at the end of the esplanade, Doris was conducted to the throne room beautifully and extravagantly decorated with spun glass rugs and wall hangings in all colors most of them being of a opalescent figure which reflected with many colors the lights and shades of the room. Here she was greeted by the King of Crystalease and given the freedom of the city, with the admonishment that destruction of any article or decoration or flower or animal would be met with instant banishment from the city. Doris was then taken to the apartment reserved for her, accompanied by a maid for personal service. The maid was about three inches tall, dressed as all others in clothing made of glass.

The bed, dressing table, chairs, were all of delicate mold in many colors with pearl effects in control. The mirror of the dressing table was about the size of a silver three cent coin. Guess we will have to hunt up one of those old coins so you many know. On the dresser was found all the beautiful things usually used. The little brush was of real old gold with incrusted diamonds covering the back. The bristles were made from the hair of a gnat. The comb had teeth so fine that they would not allow the passage of a flea’s leg. The back of the comb was resplendent with rubies which seemed to form a crown along the comb top, each ruby glistening in the brilliantly lighted room. The little toilet articles, powder puff, lipstick, perfume bottle, all of many colored glass, were, while delicate and fragile, of possible use, especially to the little folk but for Doris, well she hardly knew how to use them. The bed was sure a delight. Made of orchid glass with covers of spun gold and silver glass. Pillows six in number, were soft as a feather’s down, made from a glass that was very flexible and soft. Each pillow a different color. Pearl, gold, blue, green, yellow, crimson. I dislike to mention it, but I feel that a terrible tragedy is about to occur. I fear that some destruction will take place and that Doris will suffer. Wonder what will happen.

This from Michigan, “The story about your stray cat his week impressed me and touched a responsive chord for we have just recently lost our little Major, the Boston Terrier that accompanied us on our last visit to Collegeport and was constant companion for the past nine years. If there is a Dog Heaven (and who can say there is not?) he surely is there now.” Don’t worry my friend, for Major is sure waiting over there. I do not believe that God wastes any thing especially a thing as precious as the soul of a man, a dog or a flower, so believing that I know that Major is sitting on the shore across the river, tail a wag, ear erect, eyes alert, shining with love and ready to bark his welcome to the master’s coming. Do not, therefore, worry about Major. The world marches on and soon you, too, will reach the river shore and you will see Major. I have a little Fox Terrier. He weights about twelve pounds and his registered name is Sunny Jim, but we call him Jimmy. We love Jimmy and he loves us. He speaks our language and when his beautiful brown eyes look into mine, something passes and we both understand. It will be a sad day when Jimmy goes over to “Dog Heaven,” but we will meet him there.

“When Major closed his eyes and passed away
Something seemed to stop and stay
Something staid with us when Major passed away.”
--Fragments From Hack.

This 22nd day of January we are shrunken up with a cold, wet norther and temperature close to freezing. Our sole business is keeping warm.

Wednesday, June 16, 1937, I will reach my seventy-fifth birthday celebration, and if Doctor Wagner keeps me alive until then and fixes my wooden leg so I can walk, I plan to have a birthday party. I am giving you readers notice that I shall expect as many of you as possible to be present and if not possible, that you send me a letter or postal card. I expect as many of my friends in Matagorda county and the State of Texas as are able to stagger, to also be present. In as much as it will be impossible for us to feed the large assemblage, I advise each one to bring a sandwich for himself and one for another fellow. I don’t want presents, but I do want presence. Just advance notice. For further details read the Daily Tribune.

Across the Colorado at Matagorda they have electric and gas service. Across the bay at Palacios they enjoy the same service. East of this burg a big derrick pierces the sky with a drill down, say, six thousand feet. Across the bay in plain sight another derrick and still Collegeport sits at the end of the road. Perhaps some day this community will be taken over by folk who adore progress and then we shall have passage across the bay and may sit on our gallery and watch the race of men go by.

If Palacios business men allow Rotary to die from lack of interest it will be another thrust between the ribs from which recovery will be a long road. The next thing is to allow the Chamber of Commerce to die of a broken heart and Palacios will be on the emergency table. These things must be kept up if a community is to enjoy progress. I hope they will keep Rotary going until I can meet with them.

The Matagorda County Tribune, Thursday, January 28, 1937


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Nov. 20, 2009
Nov. 20, 2009