Two Roads to the Alamo* and the Conservation Society Book Awards

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.

Texas History Store introduction to The Alamo and Beyond

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.

Alligators.

Davy Crockett’s Almanack, 1837. Tenn. 1837 .D38 N3. New York Historical Society Museum and Library. http://blog.nyhistory.org/davy-crockett-almanacs

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.

“Dream Interpretation,” spiritcommunity.com

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.

We are both authors, which is how we met. Our books – his, The Alamo and Beyond: A Collector’s Journey, and mine, Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill: Voelcker Roots Run Deep in Hardberger Park - both were honored with awards presented by the San Antonio Conservation Society at a luncheon on Friday.

Yes, there were eight other publications about Texas history recognized, but those authors need to write their own blogs. Because this one is about Phil and me.

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.

Haunting the graveyard to unearth the past

The pains of death are past.

Labor and sorrow cease.

And life’s long warfare closed at last.

His soul is found in peace.

Headstone of Joseph Coker, 1799-1881

One day I found myself, sitting in the middle of the carpet surrounded by boxes stacked in an attorney’s office on the 30^th floor, rooting through another woman’s purse. 

This really was not a planned direction for my career, but, undisciplined, I have always let it take numerous unscheduled detours. 

I wanted the vintage pocketbook to spill the story of Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker out on the floor in front of me. Although its contents provided tiny glimpses of her personality, it was going to take a lot more time and effort to flesh out her and husband Max. Thanks to the Max and Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker Fund, I devoted two years to getting acquainted with the two hardworking dairy farmers who reside in the Coker Cemetery, resulting in the publication of The Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill: Voelcker Roots Run Deep in Hardberger Park.

The Voelckers’ farm was part of a community of dairy farmers clustered together just north of Loop 410 in San Antonio. These families were unified by school, church and graveyard into a tightly knit community – the Coker settlement, and the Coker Cemetery Association plans to reunite these families in a book.

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Farewell, my wife

and children all,

From you a Father

Christ doth call.

Headstone of James J. Tomerlin, 1858-1896

As the Voelckers did, many of these hardworking farmers retired to the Coker Cemetery. I went to visit them recently, hoping they would whisper tales to me. 

The jarring sounds of bulldozers working on the new portion of Wurzbach Parkway crashing through the former farms at first spoiled the peacefulness. But the spirits in this bucolic setting gradually quashed the intrusive noise, leaving me and several deer free to wander in the past.  

The hours spent in the Coker Cemetery revealed some of the names of the farming families populating the settlement: Coker, Gerfers, Hampton, Harrison, Jones, Marmon, Smith, Tomerlin, Autry, Dekunder, Gulick, Harper, Ison, Maltsberger, Pipes, Tomasini and Voelcker. While their dairies in the area known as Buttermilk Hill were swallowed by behemoth San Antonio, the nonprofit association maintaining this historical cemetery knows their stories merit preservation.

As families dispersed from farms, remnants of the area’s history scattered with them. The Coker Cemetery Association asked me to bring these back together as a gift to the descendents of all who rest under the tombstones behind the old Coker church. 

Charged with weaving bits of historical information together to illuminate this oft-forgotten portion of San Antonio’s rural heritage, I find myself again looking for chards. A page recording births and weddings in a family Bible. A brand registration from the late 1800s. A class photo from the old Coker schoolhouse. A tax return from the 1920s. A long-forgotten diary or letters tucked away in a shoebox. Memories grandparents shared about families’ arrivals in San Antonio or life on the farm.

I am asking descendants to introduce me to their ancestors from the Coker community, to search their studies, basements and attics and dust off the cobwebs in their minds to share memories and artifacts for this project. To ensure their ancestors are: 

Gone but not forgotten.

Headstone of Rebecca Ford, 1823-1881

Thank goodness for detours, always full of unexpected opportunities and discoveries.

And on this farm, there was a barn….

photograph by Dudley Harris

Buttercup, Elsie, Black Beauty, Jaunita and the amply-uddered May West were among the cows Max and Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker raised from birth and milked twice a day, 365 days a year on their farm, part of which is now Phil Hardberger Park. More than a century old, the milking barn could accommodate 20 cows at a time. The 1,500-square-foot  barn is key to understanding what life was like for the farmers who lived on the many dairies dotting the area of San Antonio known as Buttermilk Hill.

For this reason, volunteers from the Associated General Contractors’ Construction Leadership Forum are adopting the historic structure for their restoration project over the next two years. Rotted wood will be repaired, and windows will be repaired with guidance from Fisher Heck Architects and the City of San Antonio’s Historic Preservation Office to ensure the restoration forwards the building’s eligibility for the National Register of Historic Places.

Zac Harris, chair of the Construction Leadership Forum, said:

We want kids to walk in and feel like they’ve stepped back in time. We envision a working farm with live cows – a place where we can all connect with our cultural heritage and better understand San Antonio’s original settlements.

The group is hosting its first fundraiser (in the spirit of an old-fashioned barn-raising, but you won’t have to work before the eating and music get underway) for the restoration of the milking barn on Saturday, May 14, from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. on the farm in Hardberger Park. Music, an art sale and plenty of barbecue will be on hand, and the author of Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill: Voelcker Roots Run Deep in Hardberger Park, will be present to sign books. For ticket information, contact Zac Harris at Joeris General Contractors, 210-494-1638, or Jeff Coyle at 210-826-8899.

As the project continues, I am sure they will need some vintage equipment from dairy operations as well. Any farmers out there with an antique Sears Economy Cream Separator?

The following weekend, the City of San Antonio will celebrate the grand opening of a whole new section of Phil Hardberger Park. The park opens at 8 a.m., with activities beginning at 10 a.m. and running through 7 p.m., on Saturday, May 21. Activities planned for the day include guided nature walks, kite-making and flying, children’s basketball competitions, parachute games and Frisbee tosses. A special feature is the addition of the “Makin’ Hay” exhibit created by sculptor Tom Otterness, previously on display at Espada Park. Parking will be available at the Alon Shopping Center across NW Military Highway from the new entrance to this western part of the park.

Update on May 10, 2011: Jeff Coyle’s post about “Makin’ Hay.”

Update on May 12, 2011: Saturday, May 14, event to include cow-patty bingo.

Update on May 17, 2011: During the event, Forrester Smith, a trustee of the Max and Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker Fund, delivered a $10,000 check from the fund to be used for the restoration of the diary barn.

Making ‘Last Farm Standing’ a Living Document

So many attempts to find people who directly knew Max and Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker literally led to a deadend – the cemetery.  Now that Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill: Voelcker Roots Run Deep in Hardberger Park is in print, people are emerging with wonderful stories and memories – some from unexpected places.  My hope is that people who read the book will return to  this post and share the memories the book unleashes, add to the narrative and (oh my!) make corrections.  I’ll share a few details gleaned from bits and pieces of conversations to start this process.

A neighbor of mine surfaced with a sleeve of Twilite Dairy bottle caps.  Located out Blanco Road about a mile past Voelcker Lane, this dairy was operated by Josephine and Onis Lester Harrison (1910-1954), the son of Nancy Cordelia Tomerlin (1889-1962),  Minnie Voelcker’s half-sister, and James Jot Harrison (1886-1956).  

During the celebration for the book at The Twig yesterday, James Jot Harrison’s nephew, Jim Harrison, the son of Allie Gay Stanley (1902-2001)and Willie Willis Harrison (1898-1982), shared a family tree for the Harrisons (which would have been quite a time-saver).

While conducting research, I visited by telephone with Elizabeth Katherine Monosmith (1918-2010), the daughter of Katherine Josephine Speier (1891-1968) and Henry Dudley Voelcker (1889-1919), Max Voelcker’s brother.  She was extremely tight-lipped with me, claiming she knew almost no family history.  A son-in-law arrived at The Twig, however, saying his mother-in-law had great tales about the Voelcker boys’ escapades and was lucid up until the day she died.  He pledged to share some here after reading the book.

The spouse of the man who built the old rock Coker church building appeared at the reception.  Max and Minnie contributed $10 in the midst of the Depression toward the construction of the church.  And Butch Gerfers, the third great-grandson of Joseph Coker (1800-1881), was letting everyone know about the dedication of a Texas State Historical Marker at Coker Cemetery on Saturday, November 27, at 10 a.m.  That event should elicit many stories from descendants of the dairy farming families who considered themselves part of the Coker Settlement.

COKER CEMETERY

SOUTH CAROLINA NATIVE JOHN “JACK” COKER CAME TO TEXAS IN 1834 AND FOUGHT IN THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO. IN GRATITUDE FOR HIS SERVICE, COKER RECEIVED FROM THE REPUBLIC OF TEXAS A ONE-THIRD LEAGUE, WHICH TOTALLED 1,920 ACRES AND WAS SITUATED ALONG THE BANKS OF THE SALADO CREEK, APPROXIMATELY TEN MILES NORTH OF DOWNTOWN SAN ANTONIO. JOHN COKER SOON WROTE TO HIS BROTHERS JOSEPH AND JAMES TO COME TO TEXAS AND HELP HIM TO SETTLE HIS LAND. WHILE BOTH BROTHERS MADE THE TRIP TO TEXAS WITH THEIR EXTENDED FAMILIES, JAMES DECIDED TO SETTLE WITH HIS FAMILY IN CHEROKEE COUNTY, TEXAS; JOSEPH AND HIS FAMILY JOURNEYED ON TO THE LAND ON SALADO CREEK.

THE COKER FAMILY SETTLEMENT SLOWLY GREW, BUT TRAGEDY STRUCK IN 1857 WHEN LOUCIOUS MONROE COKER, SIX-YEAR-OLD SON OF JAMES HARRISON AND SARAH (GANN) COKER, DIED FROM A RATTLESNAKE BITE. LOUCIOUS WAS BURIED ON A HIGH KNOLL NEAR SALADO CREEK, AND A LARGE LIMESTONE HEADSTONE WAS PLACED AT THE SITE—THE STONE REMAINS AS THE MOST PROMINENT MEMORIAL IN THE CEMETERY. JOHN “JACK” COKER DIED IN 1861 AND WAS ALSO BURIED AT THE SITE.

IN 1873, JOSEPH COKER CONVEYED A 201-ACRE TRACT TO HIS TWO SONS, AND SIMULTANEOUSLY CONVEYED A THREE-ACRE PORTION TO TRUSTEES FOR USE AS “A NEIGHBORHOOD CHURCH, SCHOOL-HOUSE AND GRAVE-YARD.” A SCHOOLHOUSE WAS SOON BUILT AND A METHODIST CONGREGATION WAS ESTABLISHED IN 1885. ALTHOUGH THE SCHOOL HAS RELOCATED, THE CHURCH REMAINS ADJACENT TO THE CEMETERY. THE COKER CEMETERY ASSOCIATION INCORPORATED IN 1967 IN ORDER TO CARE FOR THE SITE, AND TODAY, COKER CEMETERY SERVES AS A REMINDER OF AN EARLY TEXAS PIONEERING FAMILY.

HISTORIC TEXAS CEMETERY – 2009

The title of the book even inspired a board member of Hardberger Park Conservancy, Doug McMurry, to pick up his guitar and write a song.  I talked him into sharing an excerpt:

Last Farm in Town (Phil Hardberger Park)

by Doug McMurry

Here’s to Minnie and Max.

I think you’ll agree

What they left behind

Is incredible to find.

It’s the last farm in town.

Walking through the park,

It’s a different place now.

I think you will see

This was meant to be.

It’s the last farm in town.

 

History is not stagnant; it’s open to interpretation.  I hope others will continue to build upon this story by taking advantage of the interactive dialogue capabilities afforded by blogs and sharing their collective memories about Max and Minnie and life on Buttermilk Hill.

Update on November 23:  The Max and Minnie Tomerlin Voelcker Fund has donated copies of Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill to the Coker Cemetery Association to use for fundraising purposes during the marker ceremonies on Saturday.

Update on November 29: 

Update on March 6, 2011:

Royce Jones recalled:  “I was 6 years old when I asked my father how to milk.  And he showed me.  To my chagrin, he then assigned a cow or two to me to milk every day before I went to school.”

The above story is among many V. Royce Jones (1917-2011), the second great-grandson of Joseph Coker (1800-1881), so generously shared with me two years ago to help me understand what life was like for those families growing up on dairy farms on “Buttermilk Hill.” I read in the Express-News this morning that the 93 year-old will be joining his ancestors and former neighbors resting in the Coker Cemetery on March 9. I’m so thankful for the conversations I was privileged to have with him.

Update on March 12, 2011:

Willie Mae Tomerlin remembered Minnie’s mother, “Grandma Tomerlin, cooked on a wood stove ‘til the day she died (1951).  She made the best biscuits on that wood stove.”

Willie Mae Tomerlin, who also granted me an interview, joined Royce Jones at the Coker Cemetery the following day. The 90-year-old was the widow of Minnie’s nephew Aubrey Tomerlin.

Update on April 22, 2011: A few weeks ago, Butch Gerfers, president of the Coker Cemetery Association, invited me to sign books during the association’s annual meeting. Members of families mentioned in Last Farm Standing - Tomasinis, Cokers, Isoms, Autrys and more - introduced themselves to me and shared stories I was unable to write down while signing books. Mitchell G. Tomasini, Jr., Max Voelcker’s first cousin once removed, said he was quite surprised by the photograph of himself in the book. While he did not remember the photo from the San Antonio Light, he remembered the day quite clearly.

The 1938 image shows him standing next to a wrecked plane in his grandparents’ cornfield. Mitchell said the pilot had been storing the plane on the farm and had taken it up twice that day.  While the pilot was teaching a student to fly, Mitchell waited with great excitement down below. The pilot had promised take the 11-year old up next for what would have been the first airplane ride in his life.

But Mitchell’s first flight was postponed. The plane crashed into the rows of tall corn, killing both student and pilot.

The donkey Minnie was astride in 1942 was Jim Harrison's Seabiscuit.

Update on April 23, 2011:

Jim Harrison, whose family lived near Blanco and West Avenue, grew up calling Max and Minnie by the same names his first cousin and Minnie’s half-nephew, Onis Harrison, did – Uncle Max and Sister.  Jim and his mother “would take my buggy and donkey and ride down Blanco Road to see Uncle Max and Sister.  My donkey was named Seabiscuit.”  Naming a donkey for the legendary racehorse of 1938 fame seems wishful thinking; it probably did little to inspire him to move at a rapid pace.

from Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill

Can’t believe I had forgotten to share Jim Harrison’s excitement over discovering a photo of his donkey Seabiscuit, unidentified as such, in the book. 

Note added on July 23, 2011: The Coker Cemetery Association has copies of the available for sale through its website.