The Iron Mule

Before ranchers and farmers descended on the last open land in Texas, huge buffalo herds roamed the Panhandle.
The shaggy animals fed and clothed Plains Indians, but as the U.S. pushed farther west, professional hunters began killing them for their hides.
One day in 1874, a party of hard-case buffalo hunters noticed an unusual amount of smoke in the distance.
Possibly they took it for an approaching prairie fire, but then came the sound, a loud, rhythmic chugging.
As the hunters sat on their horses wondering what


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


Skinny Dipping at Trinity Bay

The full moon washed Trinity Bay in silver.
In the quiet water, trout and red drum preyed on scurrying schools of baitfish moving in the summer night.
Backlit by the refineries off toward Houston, an oil tanker silently slid toward the Gulf through the deeper water of the ship channel.
Despite the hard times brought by the economic collapse in 1929, all seemed at peace and as it should be.
But one Texas preacher


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


Confederate Reunion at Camp Ben McCulloch

His straw cowboy hat balanced on his knee, 84-year-old Luther Watson sat talking about his father’s service in the Confederate army.
“Well, he didn’t want to go,” he began.
“You better not tell that,” Mrs. Watson interrupted, “he’ll put it in the newspaper.”
“That’s all right,” Watson interrupted back, “it’s the truth.”
When the Civil War broke out in 1861 after years of national acrimony over slavery and state’s rights, Watson’s grandfather, father, and his Uncle Jim – along with others


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


Texas vs New Mexico: The Nickname Bowl

Texas had Big Foot Wallace, Deaf Smith, and Cactus Jack Garner, but New Mexico plain outdid its neighbor in coming up with colorful handles for its crooks, cronies and characters.
One consolation for prideful Texans: Many of the characters who became famous – or infamous – in New Mexico either hailed from Texas or spent some time in the Lone Star State before hitting the Land of Enchantment.
For some of them, bullets


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


Elephant Execution in Wichita Falls

Someday, perhaps, a work crew laying cable or pipe will unearth a large set of bones near a busy Wichita Falls intersection.
They may think they have found the remains of some prehistoric creature, but they would be wrong.
Should a paleontologist be consulted, the expert would readily determine that the bones, while old, did not come from a wooly mammoth, but its evolutionary descendant, the elephant.
How an elephant came to


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


New Geography

As much as it might hurt to admit it, Texas isn’t perfect.
Take its map, for instance.
While using the Rio Grande along with the Red and Sabine rivers as borders — along with invisible lines defined by a surveyor’s transom — left the Lone Star state with an iconic silhouette, some of the interior geography could use a make-over.
The Texas pledge speaks of this state as being “one and indivisible,” but the act of Congress that allowed the Republic of Texas to join the Union in 1845 stipulates that Texas could be divided into as many as five separate states.
In light of that, over the years various individuals and groups have advocated either


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


A History of the “Other” Dublin

For reasons she apparently did not think necessary to explain in her book, early in the second decade of the 20th century, Sarah Catherine Shivers Lattimore began gathering information on the history of her community.
She interviewed old-timers who remembered Erath County when it was organized in 1856 by men “in love with the freedom of the prairies, filled with enthusiasm over the possibilities for successful stock raising and consequent wealth, lured by the cheapness of the unoccupied land, were eager to avail themselves of such advantages.”
In addition, she paged through the musty pages of early newspapers.
Her endeavors culminated in


To read the entire story, please log in or subscribe to the digital edition.


Sunday, Nov. 24, 1963

I remember only a couple of times when I saw my granddad excited in a way that will be hard for many people to understand.
He had spent much of his career as a newspaperman, and decades after last typing “30” at the bottom of a piece of copy on deadline, he still felt an adrenaline rush when a big story broke.
On Sunday, Nov. 24, 1963, I was sitting around the swimming pool at a motel on South Padre Island, reading a copy of True, a long-since defunct men’s adventure magazine.
Granddad, portly but still in pretty good shape for a man of 66, shot out of our motel room and yelled: “Somebody just filled Oswald full of lead!”
Only in the ninth grade, and cool as I thought I was, I didn’t get it.
“What?” I asked.
“Somebody just shot Oswald!”
At the time, I did not comprehend exactly how Granddad felt, but I do now.
He had been a reporter and editor in the Fort Worth-Dallas



Thanksgiving Claims of Texas and Others

On April 30, 1598, the members of Juan de Onate’s expedition had every right to be thankful.
For 50 days, his 500-person entrada had endured the Chihuahuan Desert. It rained almost constantly during the first seven days of their trek north from Mexico.
Then the desert returned to normal and the expedition soon began suffering from lack of water.
Forty-five days into the trip, the Spaniards ran out of both water and food.
Finally reaching the Rio Grande at what would become El Paso, man and animal alike rushed to quench their thirst in the river – a stream running fast and fresh from melted mountain snow in what is now New Mexico.
Two horses died from drinking too much, two others drowned.
It took 10 days at the Pass of the North for the expedition to recover from the hardships of the journey.
On the 11th day, at Onate’s order, the Spaniards celebrated a day of thanksgiving.


Somervell County’s moonshine past

Covering only 192 square miles, Somervell County is the second-smallest of any of Texas’ 254 counties.
In addition to its compact size, in the 1920s the county also ranked as the second-poorest in Texas.
But with the advent of national prohibition, Somervell County reigned as one of the state’s top moonshining venues.
A lot of folks of otherwise modest means suddenly had full pockets.
By 1923, in the estimate of Jeffrey J. Pruitt, who wrote a book on Somervell County native Ernest T. Adams, the lawyer and lay archeologist who had a hand in discovering the county’s famous dinosaur tracks, the illegal production and selling of alcoholic beverages ranked as the county’s top industry.
If the way the map had been drawn left the people who lived



Subscribe to RSS - History