Buy an adventure for a dime!

Pulp fiction of the American Wild West from—of all places—Germany!?

In the 1870s, you could spend a dime and revel in the western adventures of Buffalo Bill, Kit Carson, or Jessie James. For a half dime you could buy a novel featuring Fancy Frank of Colorado or Daisy Dare. Western pulp fiction of the 1870s had captured the imagination of America! One publisher—Beadle and Adams—turned out 2,200 western titles, hungrily consumed by readers of all ages.

While some of the early Western novels’ characters were real, they didn’t always recognize themselves in print. When presented with a novel featuring himself killing seven Indians with one hand while holding a damsel in distress, Kit Carson was said to have commented, “I ain’t got no recollection of it!” But never mind, stories like this satisfied Americans’ arm-chair desires for wild West  adventures.

Yet America was not unique in its demand for glamorized stories of the West. One German author, Karl May (pronounced My) began writing exciting cowboy-and-Indian novels in the latter part of the 1800s. His stories featured a noble Apache—Winnetou—and his white blood-brother, the frontiersman Old Shatterhand, who had immigrated to the West from Germany.

May is the primary author credited with creating Germans’ view of the American West. His 33 novels have sold over 200 million books, been translated into 37 languages, and been made into movies and plays. Today, more than one hundred years later, May’s “cowboy cult” still provides reasons for Karl May festivals—the largest of these draws 300,000 fans annually. At least 200 German Cowboy Clubs attract members, Wild West towns draw visitors, and trips to US dude ranches are other offshoots of May’s German popularity.  Yet he is largely unknown in the US.

May’s books have been fabulously successful; however, despite the tales May told about his personal journeys to the American frontier, he never traveled to the West. Late in his life, he did visit the US, for the first time, but never went west of Buffalo, NY.  His stories are fraught with errors and the life he said he had led was mostly fiction. Although May is Germany’s best selling author of all time, he began life as a thief and a conman who spent eight years in prison or the workhouse for assorted fraudulent acts. But he claimed his time in lock-up was spent traveling abroad. Despite his being a con artist and imposter, the German public continues to love May’s stories and are apparently willing to ignore his books’ historical errors and his checkered life. For his fans, an exciting tale trumps all else!

May’s fictional view of the American West, as shaped by his pulp novels, still lives today in Germany—just as the American view of the West has been largely glamorized by books, television, and the movies.  It’s all about a good story!

This has been Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong Podcast. Tune in every other week for a new episode. It’s tidbits of Texas history you didn’t learn in school.

Pick up a copy of my historical novel, “GONE TO DALLAS, The Storekeeper, 1856-1861.” You’ll find it—along with enthusiastic reviews—on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords and other sites where books are sold. Thanks for listening.  Ya’ll come back!

The Legend of the Texas Bluebonnet

You’ve seen them. If you haven’t, you’re in for a treat. Bluebonnets line the highways and byways in Texas in late March to mid-April, their blooms turning fields and the sides of the roads into oceans and rivers of blue. Painters show up to paint them, parents plop their small children into the dense flowers for photographs, traffic jams occur along well-known bluebonnet trails, and small towns hold bluebonnet festivals. It’s a mass celebration of Lupinus Texensis (and other varieties of bluebonnets)—the Texas state flower.

The colors of the blooms of these herbaceous annuals range from blue to maroon. As you can imagine, the maroon ones are especially popular in College Station, home of Texas A&M, where the Aggies’ school colors are maroon and white. The shape of the individual flower petals are said to resemble the sun bonnets worn by early pioneer women. So proud of these flowers and the Springtime beauty they bring, the Texas Department of Transportation plants 30,000 pounds of bluebonnet seeds along state roads.

Depending upon the weather, the best bluebonnet blooming locations will vary year-to-year. For the most spectacular viewing, search online for the “Best places to view bluebonnets this year.”

We Texans love our bluebonnets and one of the most charming things about these beautiful blooms with their green pointed leaves, are the numerous legends of how bluebonnets came to be.

Here is one Native American legend I particularly like . . .Long ago in Texas, the land suffered many disasters: A great flood swept through killing the game, drowning the camp fires and sweeping away the people’s tepees. The great flood was followed by a terrible drought which cracked the earth and dried up the streams. Then a bitter winter brought cold winds and thick ice. Food was scarce and the people were starving. Disease came into the tepees. The Great Spirit had turned away from his children.

Desperate, the medicine men danced, chanted, and beat their drums. Finally a message came from the Great Spirit. “You must sacrifice the most important thing belonging to the tribe in a burnt offering. Then scatter the ashes toward the sunrise, toward the sunset, and to the two directions in between.” The wise men of the tribe argued for a full day and long into the night about what was the tribe’s most valuable possession. 

While they argued, a very young girl sat and thought. Clasped in her hand was a tiny doll made of soft fawn skin with horse-hair braids, and features painted with berry juice. The child had made clothing for her doll with the feathers of a beautiful blue bird with a black feather collar.  She loved this doll with all her heart and believed it to be it the most valuable thing the tribe possessed. With a heavy heart, while her family slept, she took her doll and a smoldering stick from the fire and crept outside.  Gathering twigs and dried grass, she made a small fire and praying that her offering would be accepted, she carefully laid her most valuable possession on the fire and watched the blue feathers burst into flame and the prized doll reduced to ashes.  When the small fire had died and the ashes cooled, she prayed again to the Great Spirit and tossed the ashes into the wind, north, south, east and west. She smoothed the earth where the fire had been and crept back into her tepee.

In the morning she returned to where she had made her offering, and in four directions as far as the ashes had blown, the ground was covered with a blanket of flowers like she’d never seen before. They were the color of the beautiful blue bird whose feathers had dressed her tiny doll. When the medicine men saw the flowers and heard her story, they told the tribe her offering had been accepted and the curse removed.  As they predicted, the land became green and fertile, the animals returned, sweet water flowed again and the tribe prospered. The small girl was given a new name, “she who dearly loves her people.” 

So, when you see the first bluebonnets spring from the Texas soil in all their glory, remember the small girl who gave up her most valuable possession—the doll—from which the flowers grow.

This has been Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong podcast —tidbits of Texas history you never learned in school.  It’s the best little podcast in Texas.  Thanks for listening and be sure to check out my new novel, GONE TO DALLAS, The Storekeeper, 1856-1861.  Available on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and Ingram Sparks. Ya’ll come back.

After the Alamo Fell 

A Mexican’s eyewitness account of the hours after the storming of the Alamo… 

You probably know the often told story of the Battle of the Alamo which began in earnest on February 25th, 1836 and ended on March 6th.  But do you know how the story ended AFTER the siege concluded with the successful storming of the Alamo by General Santa Anna and his Mexican forces?

On that day, March 6, 1836, a banner, red as blood, flew above the church in Bejar and in the Mexican’s camp—a silent warning that the battle was one of vengeance against the rebels.  They would all be put to the sword. And as you know, they were.

But this post is about what happened next, and it is told through the eyes of a Mexican—Francisco Antonio Ruis, the alcalde or mayor of Behar (San Antonio) who was charged by General Santa Anna to dispose of the bodies on both sides of the battle. There is some speculation that giving the task to Ruis was punishment. Despite the fact that Ruis had pledged neutrality, others in his family, including his father, were active in the revolution on the Texan’s side.

Here is Ruis’ Report:

Quote…“On the 6th of March 1836, at 3 a. m., General Santa Anna at the head of 4,000 men advanced against the Alamo. The infantry, artillery and cavalry had formed about 1000 varas (approxiately 1000 yards) from the walls of the same fortress. The Mexican army charged and were twice repulsed by the deadly fire of Travis’s artillery, which resembled a constant thunder. At the third charge the Toluca battalion commenced to scale the walls and suffered severely. Out of 830 men only 130 of the battalion were left alive.”

Ruis goes on to say that as the Mexican army entered the walls of the Alamo he and several other local officials who had been ordered by Santa Anna to assist with the wounded when the battle ended, gathered and started to walk toward the Alamo.

His report continues “…about 100 yards from the same, a party of Mexican dragoons fired upon us and compelled us to fall back on the river to the place that we had occupied before.

“Half an hour had elapsed when Santa Anna sent one of his aides-de-camp with an order for us to come before him. He directed me to call on some of the neighbors to come with carts to carry the (Mexican) dead to the cemetery and to accompany him, as he desired to have Colonels Travis, Bowie, and Crockett shown to him. On the north battery of the fortress convent, lay the lifeless body of Colonel Travis on the gun carriage, shot only through the forehead. Toward the west and in a small fort opposite the city, we found the body of Colonel Crockett. Colonel Bowie was found dead in his bed in one of the rooms on the south side.

“Santa Anna, after all the Mexican bodies had been taken out, ordered wood to be brought to burn the bodies of the Texans. He sent a company of dragoons with me  to bring wood and dry branches from the neighboring forests. About three o’clock in the afternoon of March 6, we laid the wood and dry branches upon which a pile of dead bodies was placed, more wood was piled on them, then another pile of bodies was brought, and in this manner they were all arranged in layers. Kindling wood was distributed through the pile and about 5 o’clock in the evening it was lighted.

“The dead Mexicans of Santa Anna were taken to the grave-yard, but not having sufficient room for them, I ordered some to be thrown into the river, which was done on the same day.

“The gallantry of the few Texans who defended the Alamo was really wondered at by the Mexican army. Even the generals were astonished at their vigorous resistance, and how dearly victory was bought.

“The (Texans) burnt were one hundred and eighty-two. I was an eyewitness, for as alcalde of San Antonio, I was with some of the neighbors, collecting the dead bodies and placing them on the funeral pyre.”

Signed —Francis Antonio Ruiz.

And so it was that 182 Texas defenders of the Alamo were burned, their ashes scattered to the wind, but their sacrifice and their names not forgotten. They are writ large in the history of Texas.

         Source of this translation by Amelia Williams: Texas State Historical Association & Barker, Eugene C. The Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 37, July 1933 – April, 1934, pages 39-40, periodical, 1934; Austin, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth101094/m1/47/: accessed March 11, 2022), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Texas State Historical Association.

This has been Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong Podcast.  Tune in every other week for tidbits of Texas history you didn’t learn in school.  Ya’ll come back.

Take the challenge: Could YOU gain admission and graduate from Texas’ first college?

Higher education came to The Republic of Texas in 1840 with the Republic’s Congress officially approving the charter of Rutersville College in the new town of Rutersville, located six miles northeast of LeGrange. Although founded by a group of Methodists, the co-ed school was open to all religious denominations. Its two-story main building was completed the following year. By 1844, enrollment was 194 students, both men and women.

Lest you scoff at the idea of a serious college on the early frontier, take this challenge…do you think you could flip the tassel on your mortarboard to signify successful graduation from Rutersville College? Let’s take a look at the terms of admission and the courses in the second annual college catalogue.

To gain admission, candidates for the Classical Course must be acquainted with the rudiments of the English language, ancient and modern geography, arithmetic, first lessons in Algebra. So far so good, right? But there’s more: You must also know Greek grammar, latin Grammar, Greek and Latin Prosody. (That’s the rhythm, and sound used in poetry—I had to look it up.) You must also be familiar with Anthon’s Cicero, Cooper’s Virgil, the four Gospels or Jacob’s Greek Reader.  All that checked off, you must provide satisfactory testimonials of a good moral character. 

If you met those requirements for admission, here’s what your course list would look like:

In the first of five major areas of study, The Department of Moral Science and Letters, you would study elocution, analysis, rhetoric, logic, intellectual philosophy, elements of moral science, elements of criticism, evidences of Christianity, and political economy. You would also be called upon for weekly exercises in composition and declamation. Whew!  Quite a work load!

In The Department of Mathematics, be prepared to master algebra, geometry, trigonometry, surveying, navigation, calculus, civil engineering, astronomy, and natural philosophy.

The Department of Ancient Languages and Literature would offer you extensive readings in Latin plus Latin composition and declamation.You would also study more than a dozen Greek books on a variety of topics including five books of Homer’s Iliad.  And don’t forget Greek composition and declamation. A Classical dictionary and ancient atlas would be available as resources.

Have a knack for languages? You might turn to The Department of Modern Languages to learn Spanish, French, Italian, and German.  I’m not clear whether you could choose just one or would have to study all four. I suspect the answer is all four.

Nothing sounds challenging enough?  Then The Department of Natural Science would be for you! It seems to be a combination of most all of the above minus the romance languages with geology, mineralogy, and botany thrown in for good measure. 

But let’s not forget the female department (just having one seems progressive for 1841!)  If you are a lady wondering what might have been available to you. Ladies could pursue any of the studies embraced by the departments already mentioned. In addition, females could study drawing and painting, or music on the piano forte.

The Collegiate year of Rutersville College encompassed two terms with a month’s break in the summer. Tuition for the higher studies ranged from $20 to $25 per term.  Music was an additional $15 per quarter. Board—which also included washing and fuel—was $12.50 per month. A far cry from today’s college tuition, but still more than many could afford.

Seems to me that one might conclude from all this that a classical education was alive and well in Texas in the 1840s! Looking back at the Rutersville College curriculum, I think many “educated” individuals of today would find the 1841 classwork challenging.  I certainly would. 

Native American troubles, the Mexican War over the boundary between Texas and Mexico in 1846,  and competition from other educational institutions caused a decline in registrations, and in 1856 Rutersville College and its properties merged with the Texas Monumental and Military Institute, which itself, closed when students left to join the Civil War.

Schools for younger students were also plentiful in early Texas. Prior to 1854, when the state legislature introduced a state public school system, teachers offering schooling in towns and villages were numerous. Private tutoring was also an educational option for those who could afford it, and many children were home schooled. All in all, despite what we would consider as the often primitive circumstances of many Texans, the desire for an education was strong.

This is Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong Podcast.  Tune in every other week for a new episode and discover tidbits of Texas you never learned in school. It’s the best little podcast in Texas.  Find it on Apple, Spotify and other podcast sites.

You may also wish to read my new historical novel—GONE TO DALLAS, The Storekeeper 1856-1861. GONE TO DALLAS is a fast-paced fictional story salted with true history and peppered with real people along with fascinating fictional ones. Find it on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Ingram Spark and more. Ask for it at your local bookstore. Available as a trade paperback and in digital form.

Thanks for listening! Ya’ll come back! Source: The Second Annual  Catalogue of Rutersville College, Rutersville, Fayette County, Texas, 1841

San Antonio’s Menger Hotel: Historic and Haunted

History lives at San Antonio’s famous Menger Hotel, and if you can believe the legends, so do numerous ghosts. 

Bearing the title of the oldest continuously-operating hotel west of the Mississippi. the Menger’s story began in 1840 when twenty-year-old German Immigrant William Menger arrived in San Antonio and started the Western Brewery—Texas’ very first brewery—built on part of the site where the battle of the Alamo had occurred four years before. Menger moved into Mary Guenther’s boarding house next to the brewery and ultimately convinced the proprietress to marry him.

By the late 1850s, the Mengers recognized the need for a hotel to serve their successful brewery’s many customers. So, in 1859, the Menger Hotel, a two-story, cut-stone building of classical design, opened its doors replacing the boarding house. A tunnel between the hotel and brewery was created so hotel guests could tour the brewery and sample the beer. The hotel met with such quick success that three months after the grand opening, Menger started planning a three-story, 49-room addition. Menger also constructed an underground cellar with three foot thick stone walls for cooling the beer. During the Civil War, business was slow and Menger opened the hotel as a temporary, makeshift hospital for sick and wounded soldiers. Although Menger died in 1871, his wife and son continued operation of the brewery and the hotel. 

Ten years later, in 1881, Major J.H. Kampmann purchased the Menger and assumed management of the hotel, expanding the number of rooms and adding a cherry-wood bar designed after the Club Taproom pub in London’s House of Lords. The Menger’s version consisted of a two-story bar room, a billiard room, and a reading room. Elegance prevailed with french mirrors, gold-plated spittoons, and mint juleps in solid silver tumblers. Beer was chilled by the Alamo Madre ditch which ran through the hotel courtyard.

Over the years, additional additions and improvements were made—from an ornamental marquee to the Colonial Dining Room, famous for its wild game, mango ice cream, and turtle soup—actually made from turtles caught in the San Antonio River.  Today, after 163 years, the historic Menger is part of San Antonio’s “Alamo Master Plan,” an exciting renovation of the entire Alamo site and its surrounding area, including the Menger Hotel.

Scores of famous guests have visited the hotel, from Robert E. Lee to Ulysses S. Grant, actresses Sarah Bernhard and Mae West, Oscar Wilde, Babe Ruth, eleven American Presidents, and foreign royalty. One of the more unusual guests was a 750-pound alligator left behind by a guest who skipped on his hotel bill. Hotel management appropriately named the alligator “Bill” and kept him in the atrium. But no worries, this was over 100 years ago and Bill is long gone.  

Theodore Roosevelt stayed in the hotel while on a javelina hunt in 1892. He returned in 1898 to recruit machete-carrying Rough Riders for his First U.S. Volunteer Cavalry one of the most famous fighting units in the Spanish-American War, praised for their role in the Battle of San Juan Hill.

According to Texas Legend, Teddy Roosevelt lingered at a table in the Menger bar to recruit cowboys returning from trail drives on the Chisholm Trail for his Rough Riders, signing them up on the spot and later drinking and carousing with his volunteers. While it’s true Roosevelt led his Rough Riders on the charge up Kettle Hill and San Juan Heights in Cuba, did he really charge up the Menger hotel’s main staircase on his horse named Little Texas? I can find no evidence that he did, but I’ve heard that story since childhood.

Ah, but I promised ghosts, didn’t I?  Let’s start with the ghost of—who else but Teddy Roosevelt—who is frequently seen and sometimes heard at the Menger’s bar. Reports are that he appears frequently and sometimes talks to staff in an attempt to recruit them for his Rough Riders.

Another ghostly guest at the hotel is the apparition of Sallie White, a nineteenth century chambermaid murdered by her husband. Reports of a ghostly Sally with her hands full of towels and sheets have been reported on the third floor of the original section of the hotel.  Guests have been shocked to see her walking through walls and closed doors. 

Cattle Baron Richard King, founder of the giant King Ranch enjoyed his own suite in the Menger in the 1800s. At the end of his life in the 1880s King requested to move to his private suite in the hotel and died there in 1885.  The hotel’s King Ranch Suite is the site of numerous sightings of Captain King’s apparition.

If you want an historic luxury hotel experience, The Menger Hotel in San Antonio awaits you and who knows, you might just get lucky and spot a friendly ghost! But don’t let Teddy Roosevelt talk you into joining the Rough Riders, the Spanish-American War is over.

This has been Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong podcast —tidbits of Texas history you never learned in school.  It’s the best little podcast in Texas.  Thanks for listening and be sure to check out my new novel, GONE TO DALLAS, The Storekeeper, 1856-1861.  Available on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and Ingram Sparks.

Ya’ll come back.

Longhorn Cattle: The Living Symbol of the Old West

The man and the little girl leaned against the corral fence looking in at the cattle. 

“Are these the ones we want to buy?” the child asked. “I like their long twisty horns.”

“Yep. These are the ones we want. Their horns set them apart from other cattle. Notice how no two Longhorns are like. Colors and color combinations run the gamut from solid to speckled. I’m planning to leave this auction with a bunch of these Longhorns—some cows and at least two bulls. We’re starting us a Longhorn herd. You know these are the real Texas cattle.”

“What do you mean, Dad?”

“Well, their ancestors were the first cattle to set their hooves on American soil almost 500 years ago when the Spanish first arrived. The Spaniards brought their cattle from the South of Spain so they’d have hides, meat, and milk in their Catholic missions. Used ‘em to pull wagons, too. So Longhorns have had a long time to adapt to living here in Texas. They’re the cattle breed that started Texas ranching. In fact, your ancestors were Longhorn cow chasers back before the Civil War.”

“Why do you call them cow chasers?”

“Back then, there were plenty of wild Longhorns down in Mexico. Six generations ago our family came to Texas and saw the opportunity to gather some of the wild Mexican cattle, bring them back to Texas, breed them, then trail drive them to markets to satisfy a growing demand for meat across the country.  They had to hunt and chase the cattle to gather a herd. Learned how to handle them with the help of Mexican vaqueros or what we call cowboys today.”

“I want to be a rancher when I grow up.  Look at that brown and white speckled bull, Dad, how wide do you think his horns are?”

“He’s got about a six. . . or maybe seven foot span. About average for a mature bull. But I’ve seen horn spans as wide as nine feet. Looks like he might weigh about 1200 or 1300 pounds. Nice sized bull, a lot of good meat on him. One reason I want Longhorns is they’re fast breeders.  Heifers can conceive before they are six months old. Cows can deliver a calf every 11 months and do that long into their teenage years. That’s a lot of new cattle from one cow.”

“More cattle means more profits, right?”

“Yep, and profits mean we can stay in business. Another reason we want Longhorns is that over the centuries they’ve developed a natural resistance to common cattle diseases and they can avoid parasites like the screw worm. Guess you could say they even treat themselves for screw worms.”

“How do they do that?”

“Well, it’s kinda gross. When a Longhorn calf is born, blow flies lay eggs under the calf’s tail and in its navel. The cows lick ‘em off to keep from getting worms. If a cow gets infested and can’t reach the worms to lick them off, it’ll go stand in water for hours and drown the worms.”

“ Lick ‘em off! Yuck!” The girl wrinkled her nose.

With a laugh, the man said, “May sound yucky to us, honey, but it works for the Longhorns. Helps keep the cows healthy and veterinary bills down. We’re gunna raise our cows on grass, no chemicals or supplements for them.  That means we’ll have extra healthy beef. Longhorn meat is lean, tasty and a nice red color—lower in cholesterol than a skinless chicken breast—actually offers more nutrition per calorie than other beef.

“Dad, why aren’t there more ranches with Longhorns? The ranchers around us don’t raise Longhorns.”

“Well, let me tell you a bit more about the Longhorn’s history. As I said, before the Civil War, Longhorns were THE Texas cattle. When the war started, the men went to fight and the cattle ranged freely, so after the war, the men returned and found a vast number of cattle across the state. Estimates are as high as five million head.”

“WOW! That’s a bunch of cows.”

Yep, but these cows were worth only $3 to $4 a head in Texas; however, demand for beef in the eastern states was high and cattle could be sold there for 10 times the Texas price. This potential for profit started the era of large herds being rounded up and taken to market along routes like the Chisholm and Shawnee Trails. Giant ranches were started. For instance, at its peak, the Goodnight Loving Ranch in West Texas covered 1.3 million acres and grazed more than 100,000 cattle. Ranches spread onto the Great Plains grazing lands of Montana, Nebraska, Wyoming, and the Dakotas. Longhorns ruled the cattle industry. Of course, Texas Fever created some big problems.”

“What’s Texas Fever?”

“It’s a disease caused by ticks and it can kill cattle. Longhorns can spread it, but they are immune to it. As early as the 1850’s—out of fear for their cattle—ranchers in Kansas and Missouri had started blockades to keep Texas cattle drives out of their states and their state legislatures passed laws attempting to banTexas cattle. Got pretty nasty for awhile and many drovers diverted their herds. Finally, in the 1870s, railroads came to Texas and rail heads were created in the state for the shipping of cattle.

“What happened then?

“Barbed wire!  Barbed wire changed it all.  When the range was fenced by farmers and sheep ranchers, the free range was cut off. That limited access to water, shut off free grazing, and blocked the cattle trails to market. Imported cattle were brought in. Herds got smaller. Longhorns lost their popularity. I’m hoping that will change and that Longhorns will be in demand again for more than just dude ranches and show herds.”

A grin bloomed on the little girl’s face. “We’re trying to bring the Longhorns back. I like that.”

The man’s smile matched hers. “That we are, sweetheart, that we are. They’ve been overlooked for too long. The Texas Longhorn is a living symbol of the Old West. What do you say we go buy us a few?”

“Yes, sir! We better hurry. I can already hear the auctioneer.”

A Bowl of Texas Red

What five letter word stands for Texas just like an oil man in a stetson hat or a rodeo cowgirl? C-H-I-L-I . . .Chili. Yep, when you find a steaming bowl of authentic, spicy chili on the kitchen table or on a cafe menu, the chances are pretty good that you’re in Texas. Chili is a passion in Texas.  Some would even say a bowl of the thick, meaty stuff can be a religious experience!

But’s what the history of Texas chili?   Most people are in agreement that chili started in Texas, but as to the definitive beginnings of chili . . .well folks argue about that just like they debate the best chili recipe.

We do know that in the latter half of the 1800’s “Chili Queens were dishing up bowls a’ red or chili con carne —that’s chili and beef— from booths on the Military Plaza in San Antonio. At the same time, wild long horn cattle were being brought up from Mexico by cow-chasers to stock newly-formed Texas ranches. With beef and wild chilis readily available, the combination of the two ingredients made its way into many a Texan’s bowl.

When the Chicago exposition of 1893 rolled around, some Texans from San Antonio set up their booths offering Texas chili. It didn’t take long for the word about this tasty new concoction to spread and chili parlors began to pop up across the country—some cooks making traditional chili, others expanding on the recipe.

Did you notice I haven’t said anything about beans? When it comes to chili, don’t add beans or even whisper the word beans over your chili bowl or some native Texan will say, “ Hummp, might be goulash, but’s sure as heck ain’t Chili!”

However, beans on the side are traditional.  During cattle round ups or cattle drives to market, chuck wagon cooks would often have a pot of beans on the cook fire for some extra protein for hungry cow chasers.

By the way, the term cow chaser or cow catcher was an early term for cowboy and generally denotes those who collected wild Mexican cattle and then drove them to early start-up Texas ranches. Mexican cowboys were skillful cow handlers and made up about a third of the first Texas cow chasers. In Spanish, they are Vaqueros (which translates to cow boys). The word buckaroo evolved from vaquero.  Anyway . . .back to chili.

According to The Chili Appreciation Society International, In the 1800s Texas prisons served their residents chili on a regular basis and prisoners rated the quality of their jails based on the quality of the chili served.  Some prisoners even asked for the recipe when they were released.

By this time, households had begun preparing their own chili with the advent of commercially-available spices. 

by 1895, Lyman T. Davis and a ranch cook developed their chili recipe and took it by wagon to the oil boomtown of Corsicana, TX where they sold it for five cents a bowl next to the Blue Front Saloon. Accompanying crackers were free.  Subsequently, Davis opened a meat market and sold the chili in brick form.  By 1921 he was canning his chili under the name Wolf Brand Chili, named after his pet wolf, Kaiser Bill. Two Corsicana business men bought Davis’ chili business in 1924.  The two were savvy marketers. They customized model T Ford trucks with cabs shaped like cans of chili. These cans on wheels were painted with the Wolf Brand label. As if this weren’t enough to draw attention, a live wolf was caged in the back of each truck. They built a brand and sold a lot of chili because the Wolf Brand chili can still be found on grocery store shelves. 

Chili was a staple in many households during the Great Depression.  It was cheap and high on protein. Paired with crackers, it made a meal.

Jump ahead several decades for the start of chili cookoffs— a civilized way to settle the best chili recipe debate. The State Fair of Texas launched the first recorded chili cookoff in 1952. Naturally the rules included NO BEANS!  If you’ve ever heard of Terlingua, TX, you know the chili cookoff lives on with Texas beer a key ingredient (replacing water) in many winning recipes.  

Talk to a Texan today about Chili and you’ll often find yourself in an enthusiastic discussion about their chili memories.  Here’s one of my chili memories.  I grew up in a small Texas town.  When I was in the seventh and eighth grade, I looked forward to the one day a week I could take 30 cents (the cost of a school lunch) and spend it across the street at a local root beer stand. For 15 cents, a small bag of Fritos would be split down the side, a big spoonful of chili would be ladled in, and the crunchy, spicy mass sprinkled with grated  cheese and a bit of chopped onion.  Sheer heaven! Along with this “Frito Pie” came a 15 cent Frosty mug of root beer containing a scoop of vanilla ice cream. For a middle schooler, life didn’t get much better!

As you can imagine, I cheered when in 1977 the Texas State Legislature voted to make chili the official state dish of Texas—in recognition that “ the only real ‘bowl of red’ is that prepared by Texans.”

Just remember, as “The Chili Song” sung by William Clark Green says,“Don’t you put no beans in my chili. If you put beans in my chili, you don’t know beans about making Texas chili!”

This has been Laurie Moore-More saying, “Enjoy your bowl of Texas red.”

The Great Beefsteak Raid

The white-haired man and the young boy sat side by side warming themselves in front of the fireplace.  The man turned to the boy. “Robert, did I ever tell you about the time I rustled cattle?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Grandpa, You were a rustler? I thought rustling cattle was a bad thing.”

“Yep, usually is. But in this case it was a good thing and at the behest of General Robert E. Lee during the Civil War.”

“Robert E. Lee, he’s the general I was named for . . .”

“Right and a fine man he was.”

“What’s behest?”

“Behest means an order or command.” The old man smiled, “Let me tell you about it. It was quite an adventure.  Way back in the Fall of 1864—more than three years into the Civil War—things were not going well for General Robert E. Lee and our Confederate army. General Ulysses S. Grant’s Union Army had Petersburg, Virginia under siege. By September of that year the siege was in the third month and supplies were short for us Confederate troops. I was one of the troops who had established a ten mile defensive line surrounding Petersburg.”

“Petersburg is on the James River, right.  Dad and I fish there sometimes.”

“Yep, good catfish fishin’. Petersburg was important because it had four rail roads and two roads making it the heart of Southern supply lines, especially for Richmond, where the Confederacy was headquartered.

“General Grant’s strategy was to strangle the Southern supply lines—to cut off shipments of food, weapons, ammunition, uniforms, too. Not that the Confederacy had many uniforms to ship. We were a ragtag bunch. At the same time, he was cuttin’ off our supplies, Grant worked to maximize supplies for his own Union troops at the major supply depot and his field headquarters over at City Point, Virginia, that’s where the James and Appomattox rivers come together. It was about eight miles behind Union lines. I’ve been told that 2,900 tons of supplies arrived every day from trains and from ships at the City Point Harbor.”

“Gee! That’s a lot.”

“Yep. You like bread and butter, right?”  The boy nodded.

“Well, the City Point Bakery turned out 100,00 loaves of bread each day. All this kept the Union soldiers well fed and well supplied while we Confederates were sittin’ around our campfires with growling stomachs. I remember being really hungry and worried about how to stay warm ‘cause winter was comin’. Sure would have liked some of that bread and butter.

“Needless to say, the food situation was pretty desperate. I remember being on sentry duty on September 5th, when one of our Confederate agents and scouts, a guy named George Shadburne came back from a reconnaissance trip behind enemy lines and reported to General Wade Hampton— he was Commander of the Cavalry Corp. of the Army of Northern Virginia— that there were 3000 cattle—intended to feed Union troops—being held at Coggins Point, just five miles from Grant’s headquarters. I overheard him say that he believed the beeves were guarded by about 120 soldiers and 30 unarmed civilians.”

“That’s a lot of cattle. Those are the one’s you rustled?” The boy’s voice  was eager.

The old man patted the boy’s knee. “Don’t get ahead of me now. I’m comin’ to that. General

Hampton recognized an opportunity to harass the enemy and get some food for us. General Lee liked the idea and gave us permission to go after the cattle. Hampton gathered a force of some 3000 of us soldiers including (and I quote) “several certified Texas cattle thieves”. . . or, cattle rustlers as we’d call them. I’d never been a rustler. Valued my neck too much. Didn’t want to swing by it from a tree. But, I was a Texan, so he figured I’d at least know how to handle cattle. We found some shepherd dogs to help as herders.”

“How’d you get past enemy lines?” The boy’s attention was complete.

“Well, on the mornin’ of September 14th, Hampton led us around the Union’s left flank, then turned us southwest toward Wilkinson’s Bridge on Stony Creek, where we cold-camped for the night. Next mornin’ we moved northeast at a quick march to where Cooke’s Bridge had spanned Blackwater Creek—that is, until the Union troops burned it.  FIgurin’ the enemy wouldn’t expect an attack from this direction, Hampton ordered our engineers to build a new bridge over the creek. By midnight, we had crossed the creek and were within 10 miles of the cattle at Coggin’s Point.

“Hampton divided us into three groups. Group one, that was my group—under the command of General Thomas Rosser, would launch the attack at Sycamore Church, the central point of the Union camp and the spot closest to the cattle. Group two would go to the left to offer us protection from the Union forces close to Petersburg, while group three rode to the right to provide support for us as we rounded up the cattle and then skedaddled back the way we’d come.

“It was 5:00 a.m. on the 16th when we burst into the Union camp. Sure surprised the troops there! We were surprised, too. There were more than 300 soldiers in camp instead of the 120 the scout had estimated. Took about three hours to get in control of the situation and round up the herd. We captured 304 Union prisoners along with their new Henry repeater rifles.  Also rounded up eleven wagons. A bunch of non-combatant Yankee herders changed allegiance and came back with us to help drive the 2,486 cattle we rustled. And can you imagine, all this happened just five miles from Grant’s headquarters?”

“Were you scared?”

“Robert, any time you ‘see the elephant,’ you have some fear.”

“Seeing the elephant means going into battle, right?”

“Yep. Anyway, the march back to our Confederate camp was across the new bridge we’d built over Blackwater Creek. When we’d had crossed with our new wagons, prisoners, and all those beeves, we dismantled the bridge so, any Union troops chasing us cattle thieves couldn’t cross the creek.”

Laughing, the boy said, “Weren’t many left behind to chase you, were there?”

The old man grinned, “Nope. The raid was successful, but we lost ten Confederates, forty-seven were wounded. One of those was my cousin Jack (he recovered), and four soldiers went missing. We lost a few stray cattle on the road back to Confederate territory, so we ended up with a total of 2,468 “Confederate cattle. 

“But there was a problem. Wasn’t any fodder to feed the captured herd, so it was necessary to slaughter them immediately and with little or no salt to use as a preservative, we needed to cook and eat two million pounds of meat. There was so much meat in the short term that we Johnny Rebs could eat our fill and have a bit to trade in private exchanges with Union sentries for other items which union troops had and we Southerners didn’t. We had some fun taunting the Union sentries, invitin’ them for a steak dinner or simply “mooing” at them. Couldn’t eat all that beefsteak fast enough and raw beef spoils fast. Before long, our Confederate food shortage was desperate again.

“You know, when President Lincoln heard about our raid, he called it, ‘the slickest piece of cattle stealing’ he had ever heard of. Story is that shortly after our cattle rustling raid, Grant was asked when he expected to defeat Lee. He supposedly said, ‘Never if our armies continue to supply him with beef cattle.’” The old man chuckled, making new wrinkles on his face.

“Several ‘certified Texas cattle thieves’ and the rest of us who were part of the raid, have stories to tell and braggin’ to do about the great “Beefsteak Raid.”  The old man laughed again. It’s a bit of cattle thievery which didn’t justify hanging.

The old man stood. “All this talk has made me hungry. What do you say we go to the kitchen and rustle us up a couple of steaks?” 

Jumping to his feet the boy said, “Make my beefsteak rare!”

In a final note:

Prince Georges County, Virginia holds a steak dinner each year commemorating the Great Beefsteak Raid.  Want yours rare, medium or well done?

Kings of the Road

The next time you’re tempted to complain about traffic, stop and think about traveling to Texas in the early to mid-1800s when the rush was on! Compared to today, travel was certainly slower and more difficult at best. Train travel wasn’t available yet on the routes to Texas. So, unless you were a single person coming on horseback, you needed a covered wagon. 

Wagons of the time had to be strong, solid, and made of seasoned hardwood. Smaller than the old Conestoga wagons, they were straight sided with a flat bed measuring about ten feet wide and with sides about two feet high. The slats had to be well caulked to handle water crossings and the double canvas cover needed to be well oiled to be waterproof.

You could plan on packing about 2,500 pounds, evenly balanced. With a full load you’d need four ox teams—that’s eight oxen. Plus you’d need good luck to deal with rough roads and river crossings. Add water barrels, an extra wheel, a couple of tar buckets for greasing wheels, some tools and spare parts and you’d be reasonably well equipped.

Wondering why oxen instead of horses were needed to pull the wagons? The weight of the wagon, the terrain to be traveled, plus the fact that oxen could forage for their food—while it was necessary to carry supplementary food for horses—all that combined to made oxen a necessary choice. But you had to take care of your oxen. Most likely you’d pass through a few towns on your trip and having your oxen’s cloven hooves re-shod would probably be necessary. Damaged hooves could bring infection and death. If you lost an ox, you were in trouble. Some travelers even carried small leather bags which could be tied to a damaged hoof to help protect it, hopefully until a blacksmith could be found.

Once your wagon and oxen were purchased, it would be time to load up the wagon with most every thing needed for the trip—from clothing to food to pots and pans. Not to mention the things you’d need upon arrival in Texas.

Travelers generally walked beside their wagons rather than riding to avoid adding extra weight to the wagons. Men walked leading the first yoke of oxen and the women and children walked behind—often gathering dry kindling and tossing it into a cowhide sling under the  rear of the wagon.  

Every wagon train needed a captain who could lead the way and be responsible for the wagon train and its travelers. Ideally, you’d find a captain who’d made the trip before. Decisions would need to be made by the group before starting. One common question was whether or not the train would travel on Sundays. Travelers in some trains voted to make Sunday a day of worship and rest, other trains chose to travel on Sundays, perhaps taking an extra hour at midday for hymn singing and bible reading.

Key to the trip were the roads. . .or, rather the TRAILS. Travel was on dirt trails which generally had been cleared by the military. A class one road was 30 feet wide when cleared and had tree stumps no higher than six inches. A class two road (more common) had stumps no higher than twelve inches. As you might guess, it was important to check the clearance on your wagon!

Many travelers to Texas from the Southern states and other nearby states, traveled the “Trail of Tears,” which consisted of the dirt trails and waterways used during the official “Indian Removal” from the southeastern U.S. to a new “Indian Territory,” which had been established by the US government in the early 1830s (in what is now Oklahoma). Although these trails were pretty well traveled, one still had to deal with fallen trees, washed-out areas, water crossings, and in some cases, heavy wagon train traffic—especially at the ferry crossings where there were actually wagon train traffic jams!

As to travel time, while wagon trains might aim for twenty miles a day for the first day or two to settle the oxen into a routine, the travel goal would drop to fifteen or so miles daily (if the roads were good) to keep from wearing out the oxen. Healthy oxen were key to a successful trip. Travel days would be lost due to problems with the trail, sickness, weather, break downs, deaths, and long waits at water crossings.

If you traveled through Indian Territory along the Texas Road to the Red River’s ferry crossings into Texas, you’d pass Choctaw and Chickasaw farms, where the people lived much like the settlers in Texas, and you’d have the opportunity to buy food and other items from farmers and from an occasional small village store.

Life on the road developed a pattern. Up before dawn to dress, cook and eat breakfast, gather and yoke the oxen, and begin the day’s travel. Eat a cold midday meal during a short break, then back on the trail. Circle the wagons at the end of the day, unyoke your oxen, build your campfire, cook and eat supper and also prepare a meal which could be eaten cold at midday the next day. Refilling water barrels, bathing and laundry could be done if camps were made by creeks, rivers, or lakes. Hunting and fishing were occasional activities to supplement the food pantry. If berries, grapes, wild onions and other edibles were spotted along the trail, the women would stop to harvest, then hurry to catch up with the wagons.

The final stage of travel to Texas was crossing the Red River and moving down the Preston Road which went from Denison to Dallas to Waco and on to Austin. There were several ferry crossings on the Red River. In the 1840s, the Coffee Crossing at Preston was a busy ferry across the river. Later, the Colbert Crossing, just seven miles away, attracted huge numbers of wagons. In 1853, Benjamin Franklin Colbert, a Chickasaw, had been granted a ferry license by the Chickasaw Nation. His ferry was a flat bottomed boat poled across the river by his slaves. Colbert also had a large plantation on the river and his river crossing became a station stop on the Butterfield Overland Mail stage coach  trail in September of 1858 when stage coach travel started in Texas.

It’s true that traveling to Texas was easier than taking the Oregon Trail to the West Coast. Settlers heading to the far West had a longer distance to travel. In addition they had to traverse the prairie, where the fierce Comanche and other tribes roamed and attacked wagon trains. They also faced the desert, mountains, and the challenges of those terrains. Nonetheless travel to Texas was no picnic as wagons dealt with lake, river, and deep creek crossings, traversed the mountains of western Arkansas and eastern Oklahoma and faced endless miles of the dark green tunnel created by the Cross Timbers forest—a tangle of stunted, interwoven trees dense with under growth and twisted vines. What Washington Irving (who traveled there) described as the Cast Iron forest.  Travel to Texas wasn’t easy. Graves marked the route.

The decade of the 1850s was a mad rush to Texas and the state’s population doubled and almost doubled again in this decade. Individuals and families in search of land and opportunity poured into the new state and entire plantations were moved to Texas as the Civil War loomed and planters feared invasion of the South by the Northern army—rightly so as it turned out.

While many new residents of Texas traveled by ship to Gulf Coast ports, especially Galveston, wagon trains were the kings of the road!

During the holidays, podcast posts will be every other week. Check back for new posts.

Remember to check out my novel, Gone to Dallas, The Storekeeper 1856-1861 on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Goodreads and other popular book-buying sites. Thanks for listening! This has been Laurie Moore-Moore with the Texas Brave and Strong Podcast, the best little podcast in Texas. Ya’ll come back.

The Back Story of the Texas State Fair

Let’s talk about Fletchers’ corn dogs, fried butter, roller coasters, Big Tex, football and prize hogs.  Have I conjured up the Texas State Fair for you?

Join me for a whirlwind trip through the 135 years of the Texas State Fair’s history—hitting just some of the high points. Then, I’d like to transport you back to the very first fair held in Dallas and the tiny log cabin village that started it all way back in 1859 — 27 years before the Fair’s official beginning.

The State Fair of Texas runs for24 daysand welcomes about 2.5 millionpeople annually. The food and midway rides are big attractions, but there’s more to love. Visit and you’ll learn more about the state’s history through exhibits on agriculture, livestock, science, art and culture. Plus, there’s the Texas Auto Show and football at the Cotton Bowl.

The first fair in Dallas—an early precursor to the State Fair—was in 1859 (more about it later). This first fair—a county fair—was  followed by a smattering of fairs. In 1862 the Confederacy chartered or approved a state fair and there were a few fairs during reconstruction in the 1860s and  later in the 1870s.

By 1886 the desire for a major fair in Dallas was so high that the following year, two rival business groups held competing State Fairs in Dallas with overlapping dates. Neither fair met expenses—although one fair claimed 100,000 attendees despite the town’s population of about 38,000. However, fairs were good for the town’s business.

One of these 1887 fairs also had tremendous impact on the culture of Dallas. 

Mrs. Sidney Smith, wife of the fair’s director was in charge of the Ladies Departmentand boldly decided to include an art display. This was the very first exhibition of art in Dallas (and quite possibly in the state of Texas!)

The first art show consisted of paintings by a local artist—JR Onderdonck—and his students. Now understand that in those days affluent ladies had an art teacher who offered art lessons at your home and painted a bit on your canvas during every lesson until eventually you had a completed painting.

The art show was well received and the next year,1888, paintings were acquired from New York—an amazing accomplishment because few New York artists had much interest in sending their canvases to Texas. The prevailing attitude was “Texans won’t buy paintings!”

This small beginning established a tradition of art exhibits at the fair and Texans not only wanted to look, they wanted to buy. For a number of years in the 1920’s there were more art purchases at the State Fair than at the National Academy Show in New York!

Exposure to art was still new to many Texans and one young visitor was reported to have exclaimed to his friends, “Hey, these are hand painted!”

Thanks to the State Fair, an arts community grew and prospered. Paintings were displayed in a special room of the library and ultimately a city art museum was created. Beau Arts balls were held. At one ball, the head of the University of Tulsa arts program attended as a Hopi Indian dancer—complete with a live snake. That might qualify as Dallas’ first performance art.

By 1890, Dallas was the largest city in Texas. Horse racing was a popular event at the fair and the largest money maker.  Attractions included cattle sales, balloon ascensions, farm machine displays, baking and other contests for ladies, even jousting tournaments.

In 1903 state laws banning gambling killed racing, and the loss of revenue forced fair management to sell the Fair Park site to the city—with agreement that the fair would continue on the site.

In the early 1900s, auto racing and stunt flying joined the list of attractions. And by 1905, attendance had jumped to 300,000. It reached a million in 1916.  In 1918, toward the end of World War One, the fair was cancelled and the fair grounds became a temporary army camp.

The 1920s brought the arrival of New York shows to a new Spanish Baroque style Music Hall where the first performance was Sigmund Romberg’s the Student Prince. The decade of the 20s ended with the beginning of the Texas-OU football rivalry in a new 46,000 seat stadium which replaced the race track and became known as the Cotton Bowl.

In a major event in 1936, one hundred years after the eighteen-minute Battle of San Jacinto successfully ended the Texas Revolution, Dallas won the opportunity to host the Texas Centennial Celebration.

The Texas Centennial drew six million people over six months to enjoy the exhibits and beautiful art deco buildings which are today’s architectural treasures and make Fair Park a national historic landmark.

You’d probably never guess that the 1946 exhibit that drew long lines of folks at the fair was  Borden Milk’s brand symbol—Elsie the Cow!

1951 saw the debut of Big Tex—a 52 foot tall second-hand Santa Claus figure redesigned as a cowboy.  The decibel level went up in the 50’s when Elvis Presley performed at a Cotton Bowl concert. I’ll bet the excited screams of teenaged girls could be heard all across the city.

The 1960s began a decade of pro football in the Cotton Bowl.

In the 1970s the Cotton Bowl hosted the World Music Festival with lots of big name talent.

Friends of Fair Park was established in the 80s, The Texas Star, a 212 foot high ferris wheel was installed and an 18-million dollar bond offering was approved in support of the fairgrounds.

The African American Museum opened in the decade of the 90s and the first round of the World Soccer cup was played in the Cotton Bowl.

The 2000s have been eventful. Fears of the COVID virus caused cancellation of the fair in 2020.  Big Tex burned, was repaired, and returned in 2021 to once again call out, “Howdy Folks,” to visitors.

That ends our whirlwind tour of The Texas State Fair’s history…Let’s turn attention to the tiny log cabin settlement on the Trinity River that started it all in 1859 and how the fair came about.

I did a tremendous amount of research on early Dallas for my new historical novel, Gone to Dallas, The Storekeeper 1856-1861. Let me tell you a bit about the book because I’m going to use it to share with you what Dallas was like in that time period and a bit about the first fair—the one that started it all.

Gone to Dallas is an historical novel with a Texas twang. Let’s start with the first sentence in the book . . .“Sara’s husband was a disappointment in life, but she had to admit he was a handsome corpse.”

Foremost, the novel is the story of Sara, a young woman who travels from Tennessee to Texas in a wagon train in 1856. Through a twist of fate, she arrives in Dallas as a widow determined to open a general store in the tiny log cabin village.

It’s a tale of migration, betrayal, death and determination— a  page-turning, inspiring fictional story rooted in fascinating, true historical events and featuring a strong female protagonist.  Reviews indicate that readers—regardless of where they are from—enjoy the combination of fiction and historical fact. The former CEO of the Alamo says “Sara’s story is compelling…a recommended read.” The Director of the Stockyards Museum in Fort Worth says, “Sara was fascinating—a strong and enterprising young woman. She had the grit and moxie that Texas women are known for. A good fictional read with real historical events thrown in—an interesting twist.” A Canadian reader says, I was hooked at the very first sentence!”

That gives you a quick introduction to the book which is available on Amazon. . . .let’s look inside for an historically accurate description of the village that birthed the State Fair.

Imagine for a moment that you’re a settler bringing your wagon into Dallas in 1856, after months of travel  from Tennessee. . .

Sara could sense the excitement of the group of settlers who led their wagons down the Preston Road and into Dallas the next morning. But as they got closer, it was obvious from the muttering Sara could hear that their jubilation had turned to dismay. Dallas was not what the travelers had expected. Sara looked at the dusty, potholed trails forming a square around a squat, two-story brick building set in a scattering of trees. Maybe a courthouse? The structures on the square were mostly low, rough log cabins hunkered down in the brown earth. There are more vacant lots than buildings. Some of the buildings had business signs, others appeared to be homes. A two-story log hotel with stables, a couple of two-story brick buildings, and a two-story log boardinghouse—according to the sign swinging in the wind— rose above the simpler cabins and were the dominant structures. There were numerous log cabins and sheds randomly scattered away from the square. A network of dusty, winding foot paths connected them to each other and to the square. Hens and a couple of ragged roosters pecked at the dry ground, and two hogs were rooting at the edge of someone’s small garden plot. Clothes hung haphazardly on a rickety looking clothesline. There were a couple of horses tied in front of the courthouse and only half a dozen people in sight on porches or on the streets of the square. A lone wagon sat in front of one of the cabins. A mongrel dog was asleep in the shade it cast. Sara could hear distressed conversation from the wagons around her. Hearing the ruckus, a few people began to come out of the scattered structures.

Soon a tall, black-haired, deeply-tanned man in a suit and derby hat came into the street and shouted, “Welcome to Dallas! Please come forward so you can hear me and I can greet you.” Sara’s first impression was that he had the look and sound of someone in authority. Wonder who he is?

Sara and the other travelers gathered around him as he shook hands and welcomed them. “I’m Alexander Cockrell and I offer the land here.”

Ah, the man in charge.

The Johnson twins stepped out of the group. Horace shouted, “This ain’t Dallas. The Peters Colony man promised Dallas was a real town.”

“Dallas is a real town, young man. We are the county seat. We’ve got a courthouse, a church, some schools, a hotel. Almost 450 people.” He gestured toward the square. “There’s a general store, a sawmill, a weekly newspaper. I’ve even built a new wooden toll bridge across the Trinity River.” Cockrell smiled. “Settlers here have great prospects.”

Horace frowned. “Don’t look like it.”

“On the contrary, Dallas is growing. A large group of two hundred settlers has come from France, Switzerland, and Belgium to establish a colony on the limestone cliff just across the river.” He pointed to a bluff in the near distance. “They believe there is no better opportunity in Texas than that offered by Dallas.”

John Henry looked at Sara, wiggled his eyebrows, and grinned. “Sure sounds like a land promoter. This is his one chance to make a sale before folks move on down the road.”

The Dallas of 1856 doesn’t sound too impressive, does it? Yet a mere three years later the town put on a successful fair attracting 2000 people

Here is a version of the first fair mixing lots of facts woven into a fictional framework:

Sara was not sure where the idea came from, but talk turned to having a Dallas County fair. A planning committee was formed. When Ira Webster approached Sara about joining the committee, she thought of Sarah Cockrell’s behind-the-scenes philosophy. Sara suggested Daniel could represent the store.

Daniel was pleased but hesitant. “I’ve never been on a committee. I wouldn’t be sure what to do.”

“Daniel, you’re smart and you’ve made good suggestions and solved problems here at the store. If you like, we can discuss ideas for the fair before the first meeting.”

After the first committee meeting, Daniel bounced back into the store full of enthusiasm. He was hardly in the door before reporting. “The Cockrell representative immediately volunteered use of empty land on the eastern edge of town for the fairgrounds, you know, at the intersection of Commerce Street and the Preston Road. There’s also space there for a campground for those coming from outside of town. The sawmill manager agreed to donate sawdust to cover as much of the fairgrounds as possible to keep down the mud or dust, whichever it might be. The committee also voted to collect money from local merchants for canvas cloth, and Ira Webster agreed the saddle shop would make a tent for exhibits.”

“So it was a good meeting?” Sara could guess his answer, based on his obvious excitement.

“Yep. We already decided on the categories for competition. We’ll have a livestock competition with prizes for the biggest hog, prize bull, and strongest ox. Ladies can enter their best pies, cakes, and biscuits in baking competitions. We set up a subcommittee to choose judges from around the county for each competition.

“We’ll meet again in a few days to agree on a list of exhibits and activities. Can we talk about some ideas before then?”

“We can.”

As the county-fair planning meetings continued, Daniel came back with frequent reports. The committee agreed that exhibits for ladies would include needlework, carpets, quilts, and shawls. Plows and tools would be exhibited for the men. One exhibit table would hold the most unusual insects that Ellie’s class had collected and Mr. Reverchon had mounted.

The list of activities kept growing. There would be music, a demonstration from the dance club established by Edouard Charles Beaulieu, and a Maypole. Gerard Fave had agreed to try to make a wooden merry-go-round for the children, who would also be offered pony rides. The big event on the first day would be a potluck picnic supper featuring a roast bison cooked by the T-Lazy-R Ranch cow chasers. Supper would be followed by demonstrations of roping and horsemanship featuring the ranch’s Mexican vaqueros and cow chasers Jellie and Zollie. A jousting tournament would end the riding demonstrations.

Benjamin asked Sara to order two flagpoles, one large US flag, and a Texas flag of equal size, all paid for by the cotton brokerage. Adolph Gouhenant offered to make a large “Dallas County Fair” banner. With Sarah’s permission, Daniel agreed the store would pay for two large poles to support the banner. Not to be outdone, Virgil West volunteered to provide the prize ribbons.

It was to be a four-day event. Spring dates were set, with alternate rain dates agreed upon.

*

Two days before the county fair opened, wagons full of families began to arrive. Others came on horseback, a few on mules. The camp area filled up and, by the first day of the fair, had spilled over to the very edge of town.

On opening day, Dallas woke to warm weather and a cloudless sky. At the appointed time, the Dallas mayor and five district commissioners stood by as district clerk Edward Browder cut the entrance ribbon. The politicians were almost trampled by the excited crowd.

Who would have guessed that the county fair the small log cabin village of Dallas created, would grow into the fabulous and successful State Fair of Texas?