One Square Mile: Texas (OSMTX) is a documentary television series that portrays Texas culture from the perspective of distinct square miles across the Lone Star state. As a whole, the series is a microcosm of Texas life and a collective portrait of the state.
The series represents the many faces and facets of Texas from the perspective of the individual while spanning the emotional, demographic and physical landscapes. This is a series about shared challenges and aspirations. The square miles include urban, suburban and rural communities and neighborhoods from every corner of the state.
Each episode has a theme by which the series examines the square miles and provides a cohesive thread that allows us to explore, compare and shed light on universal issues. Looking beyond the preconceived notions or stereotypes that typically define the state, OSMTX’s objective viewpoint provides a platform and outlet for discussion of the collective and varied identity of the state and the regions and towns that comprise it….
Our culture must be documented as it is happening, lest it be lost or re-interpreted. This series provides a tangible link between where we have been and where we are going. A template and online platform for the cross-pollination of ideas will bring students and individuals together from the diverse regions across Texas. Students are encouraged to document their own square miles with video, photography, art and written word that is to be shared with the OSMTX community.
A series focusing on selected square miles of Texas as microcosms capturing the character of the state as a whole will air this fall on PBS stations. One of the square miles is “mine,” which engages my interest in the progress of this project because I am so smitten by the ‘hood in which I live. If I were visiting San Antonio on vacation, this is precisely where I would want to stay.
A major bonus is that only today my daughter and son-in-law moved into the downtown square mile of Austin included in the series. The Austin teaser is not up on the website yet, but stay tuned.
And, while posting video about the neighborhood, Erik Bosse‘s short showcasing portions of the parade during the King William Fair makes it appear more polished than in real life:
Her Gracious Majesty, Mayme, of the House of Storey, Queen of the Court of Spring, 1913
Within the sacred shadow of the Alamo, flaunting their gaily colored banners beneath the beguiling front of San Fernando, or trespassing jauntily upon the public thoroughfares about the city hall and the market house, the canvas palaces have claimed the right of “Eminent Domain” in the name of the mighty monarch, King Rex. Once more the hobby-horse, the Ferris wheel and the steam calliope are bidding the staid and sober citizen to yield to the importunities of his “youngest” to throw off for a little the musty garb of dignity….
The San Antonio Light, April 21, 1913, page 5
Fiesta madness is seizing the city and will control it throughout the week to come.
One-hundred years ago it did the same. I hoped, before discarding any dignity I might have remaining (questionable indeed), to round up a story of the events of a century ago from the Mythological Parade led by King Rex to the Burlesque night parade, “the funniest parade of the week, with a suffragette band in line.” The accounts throughout the week are quite entertaining to read, but, alas, I have not time to summarize.
I would recommend if you missed it last year, that you refer to my post from then to get a glimpse of the historical festive pageantry. If short on time, skim to the bottom for the hysterical newspaper description of the mayhem erupting during the first Battle of Flowers Parade – details not reported, or purposefully ignored, in the official history on the official Battle of Flowers website.
While trying to avoid delving into details from Fiesta San Jacinto 1913, the names of two of the Mister’s relatives leapt off the page, crying out for me to notice. One of his grand uncles on his paternal side, Willard Eastman Simpson (1883-1967), designed the elaborate scenery for the coronation ceremonies for the Court of Spring, and one of his grand uncles on his maternal side, Lucius Mirabeau Lamar, III (1898-1978), appeared as one of the “men from Mars” in the opening Fiesta Fete operetta, Much Ado.
Hope you fling yourself into Fiesta with wild abandon.
There we were, sitting beside each other. Phil and I.
I’m talking about Phil Collins. But I just call him Phil now. Because I sat beside him for about one minute.
As you can tell this is leading to one of celebrities’ worse curses: people who don’t know them writing about them.
But, of course, this is different. Because I know him. Because I sat beside him for about one minute. And he politely introduced himself to me and shook my hand.
That, and we have several things in common.
Davy Crockett, for one.
When Phil Collins was a kid growing up in a London suburb, he would often watch an amazing show on his family television. There, in black and white, was Fess Parker as Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier. As he matured, Collins not only acted out the exploits of his new hero, but he often refought the Battle of the Alamo with his toy soldiers.
While I’ve never sure been it’s psychologically healthy to adopt Texans’ fascination with the battle they lost, playing Alamo seems a better alternative than the Davy** Crockett chapter that influenced me as a child in Virginia Beach.
I sat alone in my room, playing the record. Over and over and over.
It wasn’t this one, or, if it was, it was part of a much longer recording. I can’t find the version in my mind online.
Perhaps what I remember didn’t exist except as a compilation in my jumbled file cabinet of a mind. But it was Davy Crockett. Or Fess Parker. And it was a life and death struggle with bears and Indians… and the part that haunted me.
I have no idea how many times I listened to that recording, but definitely many times too many.
Even I knew my mother was exasperated.
I would wet my bed. We’re not talking about a three-year old. I was six.
But I had my reasons.
I ran screaming to my parents one night about the bears in the house – my visiting Great Aunt Mary snoring.
There were Indians in my closet. I finally learned keeping the light on in the closet kept them at bay.
But the light filtering through the louvered door did not help with the Crockett family’s other adversaries.
The women then slacked the rope a little and made it fast round a hickory stump, when my oldest darter took the tongs and jumped on [the alligator’s] back, when she beat up the “devil’s tattoo” on it, and gave his hide a real “rub a dub.”…My wife threw a bucket of scalding suds down his throat, which made him thrash round as though he was sent for. She then cut his throat with a big butcher knife. He measured thirty seven feet in length. (Davy Crockett’s almanack,*** of wild sports in the West, life in the backwoods, & sketches of Texas. 1837, p. 10).
My self-preservation instinct was strong. Who in their right mind would risk getting out of bed with alligators on the prowl? Alligators hungry for a “tongariferous” fight. Bladder be damned if I would.
Not only would I not set foot on the floor when alone in my room at night, I would not let a pinky slip over the edge because…. Snap! Those alligators were fast.
And I had a family to protect – a toucan whose name now escapes me; George the green monkey whose rubbery pink hands and feet were comforting to chew nervously upon when trying to make it through dangers lurking in the night; and Nipper, a huge RCA dog who took up easily half of my single bed. I never once let George’s tail hang over the edge. I would sleep rigidly, never ever tumping one over the edge into the alligator pit.
To dream of an alligator, unless you kill it, is unfavorable to all persons connected with the dream.
The flaw, of course, was no one understood this was why I wet the bed. And, when I finally managed to explain, no one took the danger seriously. Of course, now they have books about this. But that was the late ’50s, and they had not yet been written.
Finally, midway through first grade, a solution was found. A path of folding chairs was set up each night between my bed and the bathroom. Somehow, I was able to summon the courage to imperil myself by crawling across this wobbly bridge to the safety of the bathroom, and, of course, everyone knows alligators would never cross the threshold onto the tile floor.
So, as I was writing, Phil’s interest in perpetually fighting - probably trying to change the outcome - the losing battle at the Alamo seems a preferable Davy chapter in which to be stuck.
And Davy seems to have stuck with both of us, Alamobsessive souls that we are.
I focus on and fret about the Alamo as the city’s front door. I constantly nag, in blog form, the city to enforce its historic ordinance to keep illegal signs from multiplying at night. I have even used some of the historic postcards I have assembled to create protest collages.
Postcards from San Antonio ~ No. 21 ~ “We’ve Lost the Alamo.” 2010 edition of 25. Yes, Numbers 21 and 22 are the ugliest collages ever to reflect the overwhelming commercialization of Alamo Plaza. Even Waldo (Yes, he’s there.) is easier to find than the Alamo. An early 1900s postcard of a parade float, “Save the Alamo,” and “Letter from the Alamo” from a plaque on the grounds are surrounded by some of the plaza’s clutter, including a dinosaur, Stumpy, snow cones, the Odditorium, the t-shirt bearing the unheeded message “Don’t Mess with Texas, San Antonio” and even the Daughters of the Republic of Texas’ own unsightly addition of a pop-up tent pushing their “Live the Drama”‘ guides (Fortunately, this pop-up was removed). http://www.postcardsfromsanantonio.com
Postcards from San Antonio ~ No. 22 ~ “They’ve Breached the Walls.” 2010 edition of 25. Mary Bonner’s tasteful woodblock print originally made to help raise funds for the San Antonio Conservation Society is paired with an inscription from the Cenotaph, “In Memory of the Heroes…at the Alamo, March 6, 1836.” The images are overwhelmed by surrounding offers to shop at “Liber-T,” view repulsive world records, obtain henna tattoos or consume ice cream cones and hoagies. Sorry to have left out the coonskin cap. http://www.postcardsfromsanantonio.com
These efforts have had limited effect. And, not surprisingly, these particular collages have not resonated well with art collectors.
Now, legislation has been filed to form a commission to study the state of Alamo Plaza. Good news to some, but the bill would go farther than my Alamobsession wants by giving the commission the mission to “reclaim its original footprint.” I might not love Ripley’s, but I love the Alfred Giles’ Crockett Block.
Plus, if returning Alamo Plaza to its appearance at the time of the battle is taken literally, the Alamo would get a crewcut (Click here for a long-winded post about that particular issue).
“San Antonio: A Descriptive View Book in Colors,” 1913
I don’t know how Phil feels about this. Because how much ground can you cover in one minute?
But I do know, while I was collecting postcards of chili queens on Alamo Plaza, Phil was collecting everything else Alamo. When Phil does something, he doesn’t fool around. He gets serious. He even collected a building off the plaza. This is from his myspace page:
From Bill Wyman’s metal detecting to Alex James’s cheese-making, every self-respecting musician is obliged to cultivate a hobby to relieve the stresses of the rock star life. Collins is no exception, utilizing the basement of his Swiss home for his twin enthusiasms: building model railways and tending to his vast collection of Alamo memorabilia.
“… it’s an all-consuming thing for me. I spend as much time in San Antonio as I can. I rent a little property out there on the walls of The Alamo itself where I’ll dig for artifacts. I’m always looking for stuff to buy and the collection is growing fast. I’ve got a huge number of cannonballs, muskets and bowie knives that were used there, Lady Crockett’s pouch and many documents that were written by the main protagonists. One of my prized possessions is a receipt signed by Commander William B. Travis for 32 head of cattle used to feed the Alamo defenders.
“My kids are convinced that I was present at The Alamo in a previous life. Just recently I attended a convention out there and met a clairvoyant who is married to a man who’s attempting to restore the Alamo compound. She walked up to me and said, ‘’You’ve been here before. In a previous life you were John W. Smith, one of the major couriers who survived the Alamo and become one of San Antonio’s first mayors.’ Oddly enough one of the first documents I bought for my collection was the receipt for Smith’s saddle. So maybe my kids are on to something.”
Phil collected so many Alamo things that photos and information about them now fill a 400-page book, which brings us to another thing we have in common.
Because I sat beside him for about one minute. And, as you can see, we obviously engaged in animated conversation. Probably because we have so much in common. And I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I’m married to a bluesman.
Somehow, KSAT-TV failed to catch this important connection on camera, which is good because I would not have wanted to end up in the pages of some publication, such as The Star, where they zoom in on the superficial shortcomings of someone my age – the preponderance of wrinkles, protruding bellies and falling bustlines.
Another thing Phil and I share is we have changed careers. I have changed career directions several times and feel free to sprint off in any direction I choose. If I choose to write books, that’s fine. No one objects; no one cares.
But, poor Phil. He’s worked hard his whole life – “I enjoyed Genesis when I was 19″ – and wants to pursue his hobbies now:
Reporters repetitively bombard him with “why?” Some fans of the Grammy-winning star express anger at him for retiring from concerts. This, even though, according to his myspace page:
His less prolific work rate is partly down to health reasons. Since 2000 he has suffered from loss of hearing in his right ear. More recently he was diagnosed with severe nerve damage to his hands, making drumming extremely challenging. During recording sessions for his new album, he was forced to tape his sticks to his hands.
Owsers. That sounds totally painful. Give this man a well-deserved break.
Keen to accentuate the positive, he explains that his medical concerns have forced him to take stock of his life. “I never used to think of myself as a workaholic,” he says. “I used to work non-stop because I couldn’t believe my luck that I was able to do all these things that I loved. I was everywhere and I can see why that must have been annoying to some people. Then I reached a point where I no longer felt the need to go zooming around the world and attend the opening of every envelope. Basically I stopped.
“I’ve got a nine-year-old and a five-year-old. I take them to football. I like to take them to school and pick them up. That’s my life now. I love doing the things that other people probably find tedious because they’ve been doing them for so long. I never did those things in the past as I was always working flat out. That was my loss. Now I’m able to do all that and also have time to indulge my passions.”
Besides, somehow I feel this man’s Alamobsession will end up helping shape the future of Alamo Plaza. I’m sure it will accomplish more than my haranguing collages and blog posts.
Oh, and, Phil, if you get tired of staying in hotels when you visit San Antonio, the Mister and I might be able to work out a house swap with you. The Alamo’s less than a mile away from our door. Call me next time you are in town and you’ve got a minute. Who knows what else we might have in common?
*With apologies to William C. Davis, author of Three Roads to the Alamo: The Lives and Fortunes of David Crockett, James Bowie, and William Barret Travis. Hey, at least I didn’t title the post My Life with Phil Collins. Now that would have been a stretch.
** David would be more historically correct, but does not represent the popular culture upon which we – Phil and I – were weaned.
***Oh, dear. I had to stop in the middle of this post to order a copy of Davy Crockett’s Riproarious Shemales and Sentimental Sisters: Women’s Tall Tales from the Crockett Almanacs, 1835-1856, for which I paid a penny, plus $3.99 shipping – quite a bargain unless the alligators return ‘neath my bed. And, as that is an “our” bed, I’m positive the Mister would not relish the thought.
Update on March 25, 2013: John Spong of Texas Monthly spent considerably longer than a minute with Phil Collins.
Phil Collins at age 5, an image (now blog-altered) originally appearing in the San Antonio Express-News
Update on March 27, 2013:
A follower reminded me to look back for this photo of Phil Collins, coonskin-hatted at age five playing Davy, that appeared alongside an article by Steve Bennett in the San Antonio Express-News last May.
Which reminded me of another obvious thing Phil and I have in common – the Battle of San Jacinto. His collection began with a receipt for a saddle purchased by John W. Smith, who was at both the Battle of the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto and seems to continue to haunt the collector a bit. My desk currently is haunted by reams of paper pertaining to the families and relatives of John Coker who settled on his land grant on the north side of San Antonio. Jack Coker was a hero of San Jacinto credited with the idea of blowing up Vince’s Bridge, blocking one of the possible escape routes for the Mexican troops.
And, on another note, one of my sisters fessed up that she was the one who told me I’d be safe from dangers lurking in my room if I let no part of me slip over the edge of the mattress. So nice after all these years to finally unload the psychological burden for bedwetting on a sibling.
Update on May 6, 2013: Mary Dearen’s version of the same awards luncheon as published on mywesttexas.com.
Two years ago, the Kronkosky Charitable Foundation donated 3,700 acres of undeveloped Texas Hill Country land 30 minutes northwest of Boerne for use as a state park.
Great news, except it is closed to the public. And the state has no plans on board to open it because state park funds are stretched thinly already.
Dear Texas State Legislature: Hopefully, the State of Texas will not let this gift slip away from its residents, as happened with a smaller donation of parkland almost 90 years ago with a Kronkosky connection.
In 2010, I stumbled across, what to me, was the mysterious disappearance of a public park:
Whatever happened to your park, Hallie Maude Neff?
The newspapers of the day used such glowing terms to describe the new state park off the Boerne-Blanco Road (474) on the banks of the Guadalupe River.
Curiosity about the business partnerships existing between Albert Kronkosky (1868-1944), Charles Graebner (Albert Kronkosky’s brother-in-law) and my husband’s step-great-grandfather, John Nooe (1871-1944), a doctor in Boerne, led me to the first clues of the existence of the park:
A beautiful park site at Boerne, eight miles from the Guadalupe river, donated to the State by Charles Graebner, Albert Kronkosky and Dr. J. F. Nooe, has been christened Hallie Maude Neff State park, In honor of the governor’s daughter.
The Brookshire Times, July 25, 1924
Following, is a list of parks given the State on the recent trip… Boerne, 50 acres, Charles Graebner, Dr. J. F. Nooe, Albert Kronkosky, on Guadalupe River, fine shade-and water. (Hallie Maude Neff State Park.)
San Antonio Express, August 19, 1924
The Hallie Maude Neff State Park at Boerne. which was donated by Messrs Albert Kronkosky, Dr. J. F. Nooe and Col. Chas. Graebner, will be one of the most attractive spots in Texas for the coming season, because it has the Guadalupe River for the north line and the Sabinas River running through it with a concrete dam across it, making a fine swimming pool or lake. We should say, that will accommodate 7,000 people. This Park will attract thousands of people from San Antonio during the summer season. The Chamber of Commerce at Boerne has raised funds by public subscription to build a better road to the Park and it is about completed now, it isn’t only a better road but a good one. Thanks to Mr. Holekamp for his business methods in spending money.
Big Spring Herald, January 16, 1925
Had I stumbled across these clues in the mystery of the missing state park a number of years ago, perhaps Bessie Mae Kronkosky might have been able to shed light. But she passed away on the first of this month at the age of 103.
Sarah Reveley shared a much larger clue with me, a full-page story praising the park as a “new fairyland” in the March 22, 1925, edition of the San Antonio Express:
For not only has one of the most alluring and naturally beautiful scenic spots of all Texas, or anywhere else for that matter, been given in fee simple to the State Park Board acting in behalf of the State of Texas, but now the same interest that gave the 70-acre tract eight and a half miles out the Blanco highway from Boerne are spending $15,000 from their private funds in order that the park will be ready to receive visitors early this summer. Other citizens of Boerne recently subscribed $1,100 to provide funds for putting the highway from Boerne to the park in the best possible shape to accommodate the tremendously heavy traffic anticipated.
The article describes a lodge capable of accommodating 100 people next to the caretakers’ cottage and facilities for campers. Among the distinctive features were a “babbling brook,” a “bell-ringing rock” and “the Flapper’s Roost, which is reached by a winding stair on a tree that leads from a cliff down to the water’s edge.” Recreational opportunities included the swimming area in the Guadalupe, canoeing and a concrete dam being built over the Sabinas River for fishing. The natural cave on Bear Creek in the park contained:
…the Venus hair fern, a species of Maidenhair fern scientifically known as Adiantum Cappillis-Veneris. This is the only place in Texas that this specimen of fern is known to thrive.
Does this rare fern still thrive today?
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I dragged one of my sisters out to look for the park that promised to attract San Antonians by the thousands. The spot at the creek at what would have been the closest edge of Hallie Maude State Park to 474 is indeed still beautiful. Although there is river access, no evidence of a state park exists.
But how did Hallie’s namesake park disappear from the Texas state map? Please send more clues….
Note Added on September 13, 2010: And how could it disappear so quickly? It does not appear to be included on a 1936 map of state parks published by the Texas Planning Board.
Note Added on September 15, 2010: As this story wandered around the internet, it fell into the hands of Bill Ward, a retired geologist and member of the Native Plant Society. Not sure why, but, according to his research, the “fairyland” was returned to its donors before 1933:
Most of the improvements at Hallie Neff State Park at Boerne came during 1926 through convict labor. Footnote: The seventy acre Hallie Neff Park was donated to the state in 1925. It reverted back to the donors before 1933. Charles S. Potts, The Convict Labor System of Texas. (Publications of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, No. 383, 1903), p. 429, U.T. Vertical File, Box 332, SHRLRC; “Eight Convicts and Truck to Help Neff Build State Parks,” Austin American. 1924, Box 3L426, CAH; Lawson, “The Texas State Parks System,” pp. 1-3; Jackson, “State Parks for Texas,” p. 71; Texas Legislative Council, Texas State Parks, p. 2. page 41 of dissertation on Texas state parks
Note added on October 27, 2010: Another update from Bill Ward -
Sabinas River refers to the little Sabinas Creek that enters the Guadalupe River just west of the 474 bridge. That species of maidenhair fern is the most common fern in the Hill Country. Even in 1925, no one should have said it only was known from that site.
