Monday Meanderings - 9.24.2018

Last week I posted about a couple of small books with family significance. This week I'm going big. Big, as in 9"x12"x2.5" and weighing in at 6.5 pounds!

The tome labeled "Johnson County History" is exactly that. An amalgamation of facts, photos, historical events, newspaper clippings, biographies and sketches of Johnson County, it's communities and citizens from inception to publication date, about 1958, The book is still listed on Amazon, available from other sellers for about $130.

Johnson County, measuring 734 square miles in size, is just south of Fort Worth (Tarrant County) and is included in the Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington, TX Metropolitan Statistical Area. It is named for Middleton Johnson, a Texas Ranger, soldier, and early politician. And it is "home" for my family.

My parents were born in Johnson County, and they are buried there. Their parents, and some of their grandparents lived there and are buried there. Countless uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws (and outlaws) that make up the Anderson/Bramblett family lines lived there. Numerous family members still do, along with folks named Boyd, Doss, Elliott, Hagler and Basham, to name a few.

Cleburne is the county seat, and in the early years was the dominant community in the county, in terms of population and commerce. But there were dozens of small communities scattered about that pop up regularly in the genealogical record; places like Bono, Cresson, Godley, Grandview, Rio Vista, Sand Flat, Watts Chapel and Stubblefield. In some cases, the community - or remnants of it - is still there, In other cases, there may only be an old cemetery, now on private property.

One such community was Stubblefield, located in eastern Johnson County. The Handbook of Texas History provides the brief history of the community:

"Stubblefield was initially settled by the John B. Westbrook family in 1857. Westbrook built the first steam mills in the county, which he eventually sold to John Stubblefield, for whom the community was named. In 1868 Stubblefield contracted with Christian Hudzietz, a German immigrant, to operate a sawmill and gristmill at the Westbrook site. A distillery was added later by Reavis and Files, Distillers, but was sold at public auction in 1876 to satisfy overdue taxes. The United States government leased the distilling operation in 1877. A post office was established in 1877, discontinued in 1889, reestablished in 1892, and discontinued permanently in 1900. At one time the community included-in addition to the mills and distillery-several stores, three churches, a physician, and a telephone exchange."

My mother and her 7 brothers and sisters were all born in Stubblefield, The telephone exchange mentioned above was located in the front parlor of the family home.

Most rural communities decline gradually as founding families age and children leave for the big cities, such as Fort Worth. Stubblefield went out with a bang, however. Literally.  The distillery exploded in the early 1890s, killing two men and burning several nearby buildings, Including the general store. Stubblefield never recovered and by the time my mother started school about 1912, the community no longer existed.

Monday Meanderings - 9.17.2018

The School Book Mysteries

My sister recently bequeathed (a big word that means 'from her closet to mine') to me two school text books that have family history.

They are small books - one just over 4 by 5 inches; the other a mere inch longer. I don't know the type point size, but I certainly can't read either book without some assistance. The smaller book, with the almost-illegible title "Selected Poems" and "McMillan's Pocket Classics" embossed on its tattered cover was published in 1922 (a puzzling date, given the inscriptions), with a listed price of .48 cents.

The other book, in somewhat better condition, is labeled "The Return Of The Native" - Thomas Hardy's sixth and most controversial novel and was published in 1917. There is a penciled "1.00" on the flyleaf.  No family names are written in this book. Possession alone makes it a family heirloom.

However, family history is clearly evident on the fly-leaf of the "Selected Poems" book.

It might require the skill of an archivist to enhance all the names and scribbles on these pages, but you can clearly see our mother's name in the upper corner:

Cora Bramblett  

Barton H 

CHS "20"

Mid-page is an aunt:

Ina Bramblett

214 W. Brown Street

Cleburne Texas

C.H.S,

"22"

 And below that Uncle

Erwin Bramblett

502 South Douglas

Cleburne Texas

J.H.S.

1930

In the fall of 1920, mother was 13 years old. I'm not sure how the elementary/middle/high school divisions were made back then, but in today's terms, that would be the 7th grade. Middle School. Or maybe it was called Junior High then, as it was in my school career. So the "CHS" - Cleburne High School - is a bit puzzling. However, the "Barton H" indicates that she was in Barton House. Here's an explanation I found that clarifies that term"

"At that time Cleburne High School was set up on a “House” system. Instead of having a “home room” you had your house to meet in each morning for roll call and each evening for dismissal. The houses were large and probably held 200 students each or more.

There were three houses each for the boys and girls. The boy’s houses were Edison, Riley, and Wilson. The girl’s houses were Barton, Willard, and Addams."

Or, just think of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

In the fall of 1922, Aunt Ina would have been 13 as well. However, in 1930, Uncle Erwin was 15 years old and nominally should have been in the 9th grade - a freshman in High School by our present reckoning, yet he inscribes "J.H.S.," which one initially assumes to indicate "Junior High School."

 A couple of other possibilities come to mind. Erwin might have been held back. Several times. Doubtful, because as an adult he was a capable and prosperous businessman, with multiple patents issued in his name. Or, perhaps "J.H.S." stands for Joshua High School, just over 8 miles north of 502 South Douglas and easily accessible by the "Interurban" trolley car which was in operation between Cleburne and Fort Worth at that time.

Our mother's high school tenure was short-lived. She did not complete her schooling, and it is possible the school year of "20" was her 1st and only year. She never discussed her abbreviated school career, only mentioning at one point that "her nerves" were not up to the task.

Personally, I think it was because they made you read books with teeny, tiny type.

Monday Meanderings - 9.10.2018

My new friend Jack

I mentioned last post that I was narrating an audio book about early tourism along the Inside Passage on the Southwest coast of Alaska - a subject and place that resonates with me.

But the book is proving somewhat of a challenge in that it is full of words that I don't know how to pronounce. - many of them Alaskan Native names and phrases - primarily Tlingit, one of the many First Nation tribes that inhabited Alaska thousands of years before the white man showed up to "discover" Alaska.

My usual methodology for finding pronunciations is to check out some (or all) of the 30 pronouncing dictionaries I have bookmarked, then use a couple of specialized search engines, then finally just Google the term, hoping to find a discussion or better yet a YouTube video with the proper pronunciation.

Failing these methods, I start calling Libraries and Chambers of Commerce, or commercial establishments, or in this case Native Alaskan Association offices and talking to people. That's how I acquired my new best friend Jack. Jack turned out to be a 30-year resident of Alaska and wrote "local interest" items for a newspaper in Juneau, Alaska. He wrote about many of the same people and incidents that are in my book, and I kept running across these articles in my searches, so I set out to find Jack to see if he might be a good resource for the proper pronunciation of " Kwakwaka’wakw" or " Tatshenshin," among other things.

After a few tries, I found Jack. Or rather he found me. I got his first call while Barb and I were out shopping, and I did manage to keep that conversation under 30 minutes. The next call, I was not so lucky. Jack is a lonely man. Jack wanted to talk. And talk he did - for almost an hour. He sprinkled just enough responses to the list of words that I had sent him to keep me from trying the old "zzzzttt!!! sssppppttt!! You're kkkkrree breaking up, Jac...sssspppttt!! call crrrrrsh back...." trick, but even so, Barb finally came and pantomimed, "Do I need to rescue you?" about 45 minutes into this conversation.

Next Jack began an email campaign of articles that he thought I might be interested in. And they are somewhat interesting, but do nothing to further my quest for correct pronunciations, and they just heightened my concern for what I had gotten myself into.

But last week I got a short (!) email from Jack that said he had run out of resources and couldn't find any more pronunciations.

I thanked him for his help, and I might have mentioned that I would be in Antarctica for a year or so, so he might not be able to reach me by phone for a long, long while.
 
Be careful what you ask for. Or, who you ask!

Monday Meanderings - 8.27.2016

One final post regarding Alaska - from a sort of a backward approach.

I'm narrating an audio book entitled "In Darkest Alaska." Strange title, but it deals extensively (!) with the earliest days of tourism along the Inside Passage - that nearly 1,000 mile-long sea lane that weaves up the coast from Puget Sound to Icy Strait and has been a sight-seeing attraction since shortly after the Alaska Purchase in 1867.

In the early days, the steam ships departed from ports ranging from San Francisco to Vancouver - same as now - and made stops at Fort Wrangell, then Juneau, Glacier Bay and finally Sitka. Over the years, those ports have changed somewhat; Fort Wrangell was decommissioned, so Ketchikan was added. Gold was discovered in the Yukon and Skagway became a major destination, but the one constant has been Glacier Bay.

The naturalist John Muir is given credit for "discovering" Glacier Bay in 1879. Never mind that a Tlingit Indian guided him to it, and there were native seal hunters living in a half-dozen permanent communities within the arm of the bay at the time. As tribute, the largest of the nineteen-some-odd glaciers in the bay at the time was named in honor of him, and thousands made the journey to see the Muir Glacier in Glacier Bay.

"The grandest glacier in the bay was the Muir Glacier. Imagine a glacier three miles wide and 300 feet thick at its mouth. Think of Niagara Falls frozen stiff, add thirty-six feet to its height, and you have a slight idea of the terminus of Muir Glacier."

I'm puzzled by this, because it was the Marguerite Glacier - not the Muir Glacier - that our cruise ship parked in front of and we spent the afternoon marveling at.  And, according to the friendly park ranger aboard ship, the width of the glacier is about 1 mile  - not 3, and the visible height at its terminus is "only" about 250 feet. So is the first description simply hyperbole? And did they change the name in the meantime?

 A quick check with Google and the mystery is solved. This photo and the one that follows were taken from the same location on the west shoreline of Muir Inlet in Glacier Bay, and show the changes that have occurred to Muir Glacier during the 113 years between September 1892 and August 2005.

The 1892 photograph shows the more than 328 feet high, more than 2.5 miles wide tidewater terminus of the glacier. Some icebergs, evidence of recent calving, can be seen floating in Muir Inlet

In the 2005 photograph, Muir Glacier is no longer visible, as it has retreated more than 31 miles from its former position. During the 113 years between photographs, Muir Glacier ceased to have a tidewater terminus (no longer touches water in the bay). There is no floating ice and the vegetation is abundant.

So, it's still in the Park, but Cruise Ships can't handle the 31 miles of dry land to reach it. 

Interestingly, when John Muir and his Indian guide "discovered" the bay, the glacier that bears his name was the end of navigable waters, 48 miles into the bay (middle arrow). The ice wall has since retreated some 65 miles from the mouth of the bay (top) and is only a remnant of the massive glacier that filled the entire bay. When George Vancouver mapped the coast in 1790, there was no visible bay - just a huge ice field over the entire area.

Monday Meanderings - 8.20.2018

Jobs in Alaska.

We were already aware that many of the bus drivers and tour guides that we encountered in our Alaska excursions were college kids working a summer job. Some live there year-round - like the bus driver who had a tip jar labeled "Because winter is coming!!" - but most often you ran into summer hires.

We perhaps did not realize the extent of this part-time work force until we set out to venture inland to Denali. The young man and woman who served as our hosts on the rail car were from Idaho. This was his 8th season as a rail guide, and he had talked his girl-friend-now-fiance into joining up a couple of years ago. The bus driver who met us at the train station and delivered us to the lodge lives in Alaska year-round, teaches school in Fairbanks and works as a summer hire "because that's where the money is."

The Princess Denali Wilderness Lodge (and the other Cruise-line lodges, as well as most of the businesses in Healy) are shut down for the winter, and with the exception of a few maintenance workers, everybody goes home in September.

At the Lodge, we noticed a change in the age of the seasonal employees. There were still plenty of college-age workers - mostly in the food venues - but now we encountered a host of older, retirees. Like the woman who drove the shuttle bus at the Lodge. Her sign said "Carol - Flagstaff AZ" She and her husband drive a camper to Denali each Spring, live in an adjacent RV park, and spend the summer driving shuttle buses. The woman who drove our glorified Park Service school bus on the tour of the Park lives in Maine. She makes the trip by herself every year.

All of the drivers have a spiel. Of course that's part of the job description for the train guides and the Park tour guide, but even the shuttle bus driver is quick to carry on a conversation. In part, because it makes driving the Lodge circuit sixty-six times a day (yes, really) more interesting, and in part because it fosters tips.

All of the motor coaches are equipped with hands-free headsets for the drivers, and they take seriously their role as providers of information. Usually it's abut flora and fauna, but the driver on the McKinley to Anchorage portion of the trip gave us a completer and almost unbiased political history of Sarah Palin as we passed through her former home town of Wasilla.

He also told us about the signboard that operates in the winter that keeps a running total of the number of Moose killed by autos on the highway between Wasilla and Anchorage. Last year, more than 300. There apparently is not a signboard for the number of people killed in these encounters. That may say something about Alaskan values. Just saying,

Then there was Carl, the older gentleman who drove the bus from Denali Wilderness down to McKinley State Park. Carl was originally from Louisiana and when he graduated from LSU, he and his new bride responded to an offer to relocate in Alaska and teach school.  It was unclear from Carl's story just when they learned that his school was going to be a one-room all-grades class on an island in the Bering Sea.  Unlike Sarah Palin's boast that "she could see Russia from her back yard," you really could see Russia from this island. In fact, it was closer than the US. Oh, and by the way, you will need a year's supply of food and necessities, and here's a catalog to order what you will need, and a ship will bring it. Eventually.

The contract was for one year. They stayed six. They returned to the "outside," but it was too late. He and his wife live in Alaska year-round now, in Park Service housing, and he drives a bus and tells old codger stories and bad jokes to tourists. Like:

"My wife and I were at the bank in Anchorage and  a gunman burst in and proceeded to hold everyone at gunpoint and rob the place.The gunman asked the teller if she could identify him. She said yes, so he shot her. He asked the person in front of him the same question, and receiving an affirmative answer, shot him. He then asked my wife if she could, and she quickly answered, "No." But then she pointed at me and said, "But he can.""

And Carl is the one who led the bus in singing, "America The Beautiful." At that moment, in that place, it just seemed like the thing to do.