Texas City Information

It’s a new year, a leap year. A whole new 366 days to explore the adventure to be found on Texas back roads, on Main Street, and in the heart of Texans who make this the greatest state in the Union.

On my calendar for this year are blogging and photo trips to new craft breweries such as the Karbach Brewing Company in Houston, and established wineries from Bernhardt in Plantersville to the Fairhaven Vineyards in Hawkins.

Minor League baseball will be played for the first time in Sugar Land when the Skeeters take to the diamond at Constellation Field this spring. I plan to be there to cover the action. 

I’ll be heading over to Grand Saline to check out the reptilian action at the East Texas Gators & Wildlife Park, paying my respects at painted churches, and continuing the search for the best catfish kitchen in the state. So much to see, so much report . . .

In 2011 Texas highways led me to some mighty fine food, new friends, little known historical spots, and quirky attractions. Quality time spent with retired railroad man Bobby Jack Middleton in Hearne and Frank the hobo in Tomball was unexpected. The thick chocolate malt that I found at The Diner in Corsicana brought back childhood memories, while hearing first person accounts of the ghosts of Galveston, San Antonio and on The Lex in Corpus Christi was chilling.    

Coming face-to-face with “Old Sparky”, the infamous electric chair at Huntsville’s Texas Prison Museum, was thoughtful provoking, and visiting the graves of men who fought for the Texas military during the American Civil War was humbling.

I loved touring the Tee Pee Motel in Wharton with its rows of cone-shaped lodges, a throwback to the day when the family summer vacation was made in a station wagon and Route 66 was more than just a tune on the AM radio.

Sampling Dr Pepper made from the original sugar laced recipe in Dublin was sweet . . . pun intended. The Sterling McCall Cadillac Museum in Warrenton was a nice surprise and exploring the historic Fulton Mansion near Rockport was really cool for a fan of architectural design.

Then there were the churches, big and small. The stained glass at the Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Round Top was “heavenly”, and the tiny Saint Martin’s Catholic Church on Highway 237 was so . . . small.

The mom-and-pop restaurants that I visited in 2011 were no less than awesome. The T-bone steak at San Antonio’s Josephine Street Café easily went head-to-head with the fried shrimp at the Laguna Reef in Flour Bluff. Barbecue at Holders in Dobbin was just as good as the original “pig sandwich” at the Pig Stand on Broadway in the Alamo City. And, the burger at the Chicken Oil Company in Bryan is still at the top of my list . . . well, at least for now.

My Texas getaways were seriously good in 2011. Maybe this year you’ll hit the road to create your own Lone Star adventures and meet a character or two.  I certainly plan to keep on pick-up truckin’ across the state on my own as a Texas trekker. It’s just too much fun not to!

Listen . . . the open road is calling. Can you hear it?  

There should have been a big banner over the street that read “Just add snow!”. 

Christmastime surrounded us as we walked along the crowded sidewalk in scenic downtown Grapevine. Everywhere you looked there were colorful lights and smiling faces, giant red bows and displays of the season.  But it was more than the festive decorations; Christmastime was in the crisp north Texas air. You could feel it and it felt real good.

Grapevine knows how to celebrate Christmas and it shows in the weeks of activities staged throughout December. On this particular night we were there for no particular reason other than to just enjoy the atmosphere that is Grapevine during the holidays.
 

The animated North Pole was a favorite for kids. I stood and watched as they ran from a Keebler-like treehouse with busy elves, to a toy workshop, and then on Santa’s bedroom where more elves frantically tried to wake their bearded buddy for his annual trek to the south.

A short walk past whimsically decorated collectible shops and boutiques was a park with thousands of synchronized holiday lights. The gazebo flashed multicolored patterns in the night alongside a conical Christmas tree towering nearby. First solid green then red, next came a rainbow of light followed by total darkness only to repeat again to the beat of traditional Christmas tunes. It was hypnotic and fascinating to watch standing there with hundreds of others who had come to share the joy.

Hung high above the traffic along Main Street were reindeer in lights. The sales and wait staff in shops and restaurants were dressed in their winter pajamas to celebrate the North Pole Express making a holiday stop at the Cotton Belt Railroad District through Christmas. 

From the Grapevine Opry Country Christmas to the historic pioneer cabins, and the City’s signature wineries and tasting rooms, Christmas was everywhere and everyone was filled with the spirit of the season. You could see it in the children’s faces. But, it was not just the Santa kind of Christmas. It was bigger than that as it should be. It was a peaceful, Joy to the World, reason for the season sort of thing and I’m glad that Grapevine is one of the spots that I chose to spend this holiday season.

Merry Christmas y’all.

For a listing of more Christmas celebrations across Texas, check TourTexas.com now!








  Michael Baxter is the Texas Travelin' Man


Alway check TourTexas.com for the latest Texas Travel and Vacation information, brochures, maps and more.

It was a random conversation in College Station that tipped me off to the Franconia Brewing Company. Just a casual word that I was on my way to a wedding in McKinney, and he mentioned a great craft beer tour just minutes from where I would be staying. What were the odds?

Franconia is a regional brew available primarily in the DFW area, and only in kegs. No bottles or cans to be had.

From the outside the warehouse-style building appeared to be nothing special; a simple brick building with no distinguishing sign or logo among several others in an industrial complex on the McKinney Parkway. But inside there was stuff happening from one end to the other that would make most craft brewers envious. An old-style German beer was being brewed with several generations of experience to make it right.

Owner and Brew Master, Dennis Wehrmann comes from a long line of German brewers. His great grandfather was a brewer back in the 1800s where all kegs where made of wood and beer was delivered by horse carriage. Most of his uncles are brewers and even his mom has a degree as a brewery lab technician. I guess you might say that Dennis has beer in his blood . . . literally and figuratively.

I have been on several brewery tours, but this one was the best ever. Dennis was one part Brew Master and one part standup comic. His well rehearsed routine was peppered with comedic one-liners skewering the big guys. One minute he was explaining how four simple ingredients combine to make beer, then the next he was debunking the claims of a major beer company that by “triple hopping” their brew it makes it superior. According to Wehrmann triple hopping has been a standard process for brewers since the beginning of time.

Perched on a commercial step ladder high above more than 125 visitors, Wehrmann told beer lovers, home brewers, and curious looky-loos about the three temperatures necessary to brew his three signature beverages. He then proceeded to offer to wave the usual $5.00 Franconia tour fee for anyone who would go to Houston’s St. Arnold Brewing Company and come back with their closely guarded temperature ranges.

He mocked the Rocky Mountain claim that “frost brewing” makes beer taste better by asking the crowd when was the last time any of us saw “frosty steam” rising from a heated beer kettle. “After a workout, why spend money on expensive protein shakes when there is just as much protein in the foamy head of a great tasting beer?” he asked. No one in the crowd with a pint of lager in-hand could dispute that statement.

Wehrmann went out of his way to explain a complicated process in a manner that everyone could understand. From start to finish he made it sound so easy, though we all knew that this was a skilled master of his craft. Unlike many brewery tours, this was more than a two-hour drinking party. It was a learning experience for anyone who appreciates the process of brewing a tasty tall one. From a traditional German lager, to the Wheat and the dark Durkel, Wehrmann has gotten it right.

As we were leaving his lecture Wehrmann asked us to stop and listen closely to his final words. He said that Americans have three major misconceptions about Germans that he wanted to set straight. “First, Germans don’t wear lederhosen all the time.” There was a laugh. “Second, Germans did NOT invent the Chicken Dance . . . in fact, we don’t even do the Chicken Dance.” This time there was a bigger laugh. “And three . . . Germans don’t drink warm beer.” Cheers filled the room.

These were words to live by. . . words that I won’t soon forget.

My chocolate malt was a tad thicker and creamier than any that I have had in years. Topped with a mound of whipped cream and a single stemmed maraschino cherry, it was more than tasty . . . for me it was a flashback to the days of Billy Hailey, Chuck Berry and the Big Bopper. This was the real deal right in the middle of Corsicana, Texas.

Originally opened in 1905, The Diner on North Beaton Street is the oldest continually operating soda fountain in Texas and with the same ice cream machine purchased in 1922 it still cranks out old-style Dr Pepper floats, sodas, sundaes and banana splits to customers from the Piney Woods to Waco and north to Ennis. 

It’s been years since I had a Purple People Eater – a tall drink of grape soda and vanilla ice cream, or a Brown Cow – an incredible mix of root beer and chocolate syrup with vanilla ice cream. When was the last time you even heard of a Phosphate? For readers under the age of 50, a Phosphate is a well balanced mix of flavored syrup and soda water over ice. The perfect combination should be left to the professionals like Pepper, our waitress and hand scoop extraordinaire.

As we sat at a red vinyl booth it was impossible not to take in the history around us. The scuffed, stained floor was worn white tile with Art Deco patterns in black, red and teal green. The matching green and red counter was original with a row of chrome-railed red and black vinyl swivel stools. Above the mirrored back wall behind the counter hung a large sign from the early days that read “Hashop Drugs – ice cream”.

Well used Coca-Cola and Dr Pepper fountains rested on the counter top as customers sat and enjoyed their meal to either side.

 I ordered my cheese burger done the old fashioned way, the way burgers used to be served up during the heyday of diners and soda shops. It was loaded with great taste and better memories.

As I savored those memories along with the ¼ lb. stack of beef, lettuce, tomatoes, onions and extra mustard, classic country tunes from the ‘60s floated over head. If only for a moment it was small town Texas from decades past and I was hanging on to every second of it for as long as I could.

When the check came I quickly returned to present day reality . . . there was no 5-cent dipped ice cream or 15-cent soda on my tab like there used to be. But, the modern day price was well worth the cost of admission to this malt shop memory maker in Corsicana.

It’s parade season. Multi-million dollar productions in New York City, Anaheim and elsewhere around the country fill the holidays and our television screens with glitz and pageantry.

But, despite their uber budgets – ask a Hill Country German if you need a definition - those nationally televised events can’t compete in spirit and pride with the productions staged in small town Texas.

Earlier this fall I stood elbow-to-elbow with thousands of spectators along the curb at the Gillespie County Parade in Fredericksburg and the annual Holiday Parade in Tomball.  The excitement and anticipation in the air was as thick as the oak and pecan-infused smoke at the Salt Lick around lunch time.

A jacked up, tricked out F-150 with a local beauty queen, sponsored by a neighborhood florist, and wrapped in yellow roses and tinsel streamers is every bit as special to a small community as a two story fairy tale float on 34^th Street in the Big Apple.

The pride of the local high school band, smartly dressed in its performance garb and marching to the beat of a precision drum line is contagious. There are the old military vehicles sporting the red, white and blue and carrying veterans from WWII, Korea and Vietnam as ROTC units march in step nearby.

In Fredericksburg there was a canopied flatbed trailer filled with seniors rocking back and forth while waving to the crowd. In Tomball it was a Camaro convertible with the recently crowned Mrs. Senior Assisted Living surrounded by her great grandkids.

The distinctly different sirens of a 70-year-old unit and a state-of-the-art fire engine wailed in harmony as they rolled down the flagged boulevard. Men and boys removed their well-worn caps and western hats each time Old Glory passed by. Young girls cringed and giggled when the horses “pooped” on the asphalt.

Wide-eyed kids found it hard to focus on any one element of the procession. Cowboys on horseback to the left were competing with colorful clowns on motor scooters to the right. An Uncle Sam on stilts loped along the yellow stripe on Main Street in Tomball. Antique tractors and hand-pulled red wagons toting costumed farm dogs rolled by in the “Burg”. It was eye candy for all ages and it was all Texas.

Big city parades may have their high flying helium filled cartoon characters, heart-throb celebrities and rose covered rolling wonderlands, but they will never have the down home authenticity of a locally owned parade. It’s a spectacle of community pride. It’s small town Texas and I’ll take that over big city pomp any day.

Ghost sightings are nothing unusual in San Antonio. The downtown is filled with “spirited spots” said to be the favorite haunts of the departed.

With all the carnage surrounding the siege of the Alamo in 1836 it should be no surprise that the historic site and the city blocks surrounding it are said to be loaded with paranormal activity. Add to that natural deaths in the years to follow and you have the perfect scenario for specters and spooks near the Riverwalk.

The beautiful Menger Hotel is reported to be among the most haunted of San Antonio’s historic downtown locations. Directly across the street from the Alamo and built on the site of Texas’ first brewery, the Menger Hotel opened for business in 1859. From President Theodore Roosevelt to baseball great Babe Ruth, the Menger continues to provide a nostalgic place of rest for the living  . . . and the dead.

My friend Jo Cox spent many years working in San Antonio’s hospitality industry. From the legendary St. Anthony to the Crockett Hotel, and other properties, she says the Menger still ranks at the top when it comes to things that go bump in the night.

There is the story of ghostly hotel chambermaid who was murdered by her husband. Sallie White was so loved by the hotel staff that they paid for her funeral, and out of apparent gratitude she is said to still roam the halls of the Victorian wing of the Menger late at night attempting to continue her assigned housekeeping duties.

The spirit of a woman wearing a blue dress and small, metal spectacles is often seen knitting in the old lobby. It is said that she appears to be an “intelligent” haunting, and actually rude to anyone when spoken to.

Tales of the ghost of King Ranch founder Captain Richard King persist to this day. King spent the last days of his life in his suite at the Menger and his funeral was held in the parlor there. Many employees and guests have said that the spirit of Captain King simply drifts in and out of his former suite without regard for walls and closed doors.

On occasion items have moved on their own or “floated” in mid air, and for years staff and guests have reported hearing voices and laughter when there is no viable explanation. As my friend Jo once told me, the Menger Hotel is the place for a supernatural stay in the Alamo City.

By day the City of Tomball, 25-miles northwest of Houston, is filled with thriving antique and specialty shops, mom-and-pop eateries, entertainment and a quality of life that makes living in a small town special.

Despite the lively daytime activities here and in communities just a short drive away, it’s rumored that after dark the surrounding countryside is filled with a nightlife better suited for those who have crossed over. No, not into Montgomery County . . . those who have passed away, yet feel the need to remain in Tomball.

THE MUSEUM MYSTERY

Nestled in the heart of the popular Tomball Museum Center with its historic homes, log cabin, church, one-room school house and farm museum is the Griffin Memorial House.

Built about 1860 by Eugene Pillot, a renowned builder along the Texas Gulf Coast, the Griffin House is a beautifully restored example of Civil War era architecture complete with its own apparition in the attic.

Museum Director, Charles Hall shared with me the story of a female spirit in the Griffin House that has circulated for years. As the story goes the figure of a woman dressed in period clothing has been seen in the upper reaches of the home and more than once rocking quietly back and forth in her rocking chair in the parlor.

The ghost is thought to be the 21-year-old daughter of the Faris family who once lived in the home. The mysterious cause of the young woman’s death has never been determined.

SPRING CREEK SPECTERS

During the Civil War a Confederate powder mill sat in what is now Spring Creek Park, just a short drive from downtown Tomball. It was there Texans loyal to the Confederacy worked around the clock making cannon powder for the rebel army’s artillery pieces.

In 1864 a horrific explosion destroyed the facility killing three men working there. The force of the blast was so great that a huge crater was created that over time filled with water and became a popular swimming hole for locals.

Despite rumors of spirits at the pond and in the surrounding woods, the lure of the cool dark water continued to draw swimmers to the powder mill site willing to risk a ghostly encounter for a quick dip. Unfortunately for some that decision ended in their death. After several curious drownings the powder mill pond was fenced, but the rumors remain even today among park-goers and overnight campers.

A paranormal investigation was conducted at Spring Creek Park in 2008 with results showing evidence of unexplained responses to questioning, shadowy images and psychic impressions. Could these have been the spirits of deceased soldiers of the Confederacy, drowning victims or possibly both?

GRAVEYARD GOTCHA

Historic old cemeteries surround Tomball. From the Pillot plots and the Salem Lutheran Church cemetery, to the Magnolia’s community cemetery and others in Klein and Spring, exploring the final resting places of founding fathers and mothers can be an adventure . . . especially after dark.

A story circulated on the Internet involves the Dowdell cemetery just east of downtown Tomball on FM 2920. It’s said that a group of friends looking for a graveyard “gotcha” parked their car outside the locked gate of the cemetery late one night.

It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of approaching footsteps through the open windows. As the sound grew louder the group peered into the darkness but saw nothing. The sound continued to “walk”around the car, pausing at the rear, then slowly move away into the night.

Minutes later, as they sat there talking about their creepy encounter, a green light flashed through the cemetery and the chained gate began to rattle on its own. The terrified group drove back into Tomball and later that night found unexplained handprints in the dust on the back window of their hatchback.

The days around Halloween tend to make one wonder a bit more about things that go bump in the night; things to be explored after dark, or better yet, left alone. Welcome to Tomball, y’all.

For years the Mernard House at 33rd Street and Avenue N 1/2 has been known as "the" haunted house of Galveston.

Built in 1838, the home of Michael Mernard - one of the original signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence, sat empty for many years with its windows boarded shut. The imposing oaks surrounding the mansion only added to its eerie appearance. In fact, long time Islanders such as my old friend Sheila Lidstone still talk about crossing the street as kids in order to avoid passing directly in front of the "creepy" old house. Like Ashton Villa, Mernard House is today one of Galveston's most beautifully restored historic homes with rumors of its own resident ghost.

According to local legend, well before the Civil War the Mernard House was the site of Galveston's first ever Mardi Gras Ball. At midnight a young woman tripped on the front hall stairway, fell and broke her neck.

For years that followed on Mardi Gras night, Mernard's slaves were said to have seen the ghost of the young woman standing on the stairs. It is not known for sure who the young woman was, but it is believed to be Mernard's daughter, Clara, who reportedly died in her teens.

Another ghostly tale of Galveston Island . . .
 





  Michael Baxter is the Texas Travelin' Man

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Music Among the Manuscripts

If asked to name the most "spirited" cities in Texas, San Antonio, Galveston and a few others would probably top most lists. But among the rocket scientists, oil workers and its towering office buildings, Houston has accumulated a fair number of haunted hangouts over the years. After all, the Bayou City has been around since 1836.

Mr. Cramer was loner who lived in a basement apartment beneath the library. After working all day he found companionship in Pete and his ever-present violin. Seldom was the night when Mr. Cramer didn't stroll through the building playing beautiful melodies on his instrument, eventually making his way to the ornate rotunda where he would perform one man concerts late into the night. It was said that his lilting version of the "Blue Danube Waltz" could bring a man to tears.

Sometime in the late 1930s Mr. Cramer died in his small basement apartment. But even so, folks said that his music could still be heard throughout the building for years after his passing. Skeptics believed that it was only the wind blowing through the drafty old library, but those who heard the "Blue Danube Waltz" on windless nights were convinced that Mr. Cramer and Pete were still on the job minding the manuscripts at the Houston Public Library.

Galveston Island is one of the most "spirited" towns in Texas.  From the old community cemetery on Broadway to several stately homes and residences on the east end, Galveston is said to be filled with Gulf Coast ghosts after sunset.

Carl Wade is was said to be one of several folks over the years to see for himself evidence of one of Galveston's well known specters - the ghost of Miss Bettie Brown, the flamboyant hostess of Ashton Villa. Ashton Villa is a marvelous example of Italianate architecture built in 1859 by James Moreau Brown. Today the magnificent house on Broadway is a museum home open to the public.

Though strongly denied by management for many years, it has been rumored for years that the spirit of Miss Bettie is still very much "alive" and well at Ashton Villa. "While my brother was a docent at the house he told me about straightening a bedspread in Miss Bettie's sitting room at closing time only to find it rumpled the next morning as if someone had sat or slept on it during the night," reported Carl's sister Adrienne.

The rumpled bed linens were just one of the more regular occurrences referred to by staff members over the years when speaking of Miss Bettie's spirit. It was reported that a caretaker sleeping in the carriage house adjacent to Ashton Villa was awakened late one night by the sound of a piano playing. He reluctantly entered the house and is said to have seen the faint image of a woman sitting at the keyboard of the home's beautiful antique piano. An instant later the music stopped and the apparition vanished. Needless to say the flustered caretaker slept with the lights on in his carriage house apartment for the rest of the night.

There are stories of ceiling fans and lights that mysteriously turn off and on, burglar alarms sounding while in the "off" position during the day, and a trunk belonging to Miss Bettie that locks and unlocks itself without a key. There was an alleged sighting of Miss Bettie during Galveston's annual Dickens Christmas blow-out in 1991. An unidentified woman in a nineteenth century turquoise gown was seen by a docent standing at the top of the home's grand staircase. What made this so odd was that Ashton Villa had not yet opened to the public, and no staff person working in the house was dressed in a turquoise gown that day. The incident was written off as nothing more than Miss Bettie overseeing the final preparations for the holiday festivities.

Though there have been many unexplained happenings reported throughout the years, no one has ever had an ill-feeling about the house or its resident spirit. Ashton Villa's former manager Lucy Testa summed it up best saying, "Several of us have had different feelings while in the house, but never anything spooky or gloomy. It's a happy house, and we were never afraid of the presence that we all knew lived there," she said.

It has sat quietly along Highway 237 between Warrenton and Round Top for more than a century - a tiny sanctuary for reviving the soul and praising the Lord.

At just over 250 square feet, Saint Martin’s is said to be the World’s smallest Catholic Church. The simple white frame structure is home to an equally small congregation that meets there for Mass once a month.

From the hardwood floor - worn smoothed from years of wear, and twelve small bench pews, to the exposed roof beams and traditional bell steeple above, this pint sized house of worship may be simple in construction, but it’s filled with the Spirit.

On either side of the ornate gold and white painted alter are iconic symbols Catholicism: the Virgin Mary, Christ and a Crucifix, and a large oil painting of St. Martin – Patron Saint of soldiers. There are vases of fresh and silk flowers, and framed words of wisdom.

A hand-written note lay on the Alter – an open letter to God. Though short on words, the message was strong. “Almighty Father. Empower the Holy Spirit to help us with decisions that we have to make at this time. Sweet Jesus, give strength to our daughter and her family to cope with having a very special daughter, our RETT ANGEL. Thank you Lord for all you have given us, especially our children.”

Small Texas towns. What’s not to like about them? Maybe it’s a special shop, restaurant, historical site or the town “character” you meet at the gas station that makes the visit memorable. But, on this day it was more. It was the white limestone church on the hill with its steeple towering above twisted old trees. It was the historic Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Round Top.

Dedicated in 1866, the church was designed in an old world style by Carl Bauer, a German immigrant who moved to Texas along with so many others during that time. The $2,400 cash needed to construct the building was collected by the congregation and all the inside furnishings – from the altar covering to the massive pulpit Bible and Crucifix - were donated.

For more than 140-years, music has lifted high into the sky around Round Top every Sunday from the handmade cedar pipe organ that still plays from the balcony overlooking the sanctuary. Its 408 hand-shaped pipes were crafted from cedar trees grown nearby.

On the gently sloping turf to the rear is the church cemetery.  There are the headstones marking the final resting places of church founders, Texas war veterans, children taken by illness and more. It’s the history of Round Top there to ponder.

As impressive as the building, its contents, and its long history are, one element within the church spoke to me like no other; God’s glass . . . the stained glass windows that have inspired congregations for generations.

Shades of blue and purple are wrapped in bands of gold and orange. Diamond shaped panels spray a rainbow of colors onto worshippers seated in the well-worn wooden pews below.

Each window displays its own distinctive biblical message in a circular pattern among the diamonds. One features a lamb and pennant, another a cross and crown, and a third displays an open bible with the Greek letters Alpha and Omega. The image of two carved stone tablets with the Roman numerals “I, II, III, IV . . . X” share another window with crossed trumpets announcing “Ye Praise the Lord”. It is an emotionally moving display of spiritual art created by devout German believers in small town Texas at the end of the Civil War.

The Bethlehem Lutheran Church is at 409 S. White Street, just a block or two off Highway 237 in Round Top. You can’t miss it . . . just look for the steeple on the hill and God’s glass in the walls.

TOUR TEXAS: Whiskey. Steaks. Whiskey. Steaks.

I’ve made the Josephine Street Café in San Antonio a regular stop for more than 25-years. It’s the kind of place that locals flock to every day and tourists happen upon by accident or on the recommendation of someone who knows good food.

I can remember twenty-five years ago asking the concierge at the Hilton Riverwalk where I might find a good restaurant where the locals eat. He told me to go out of the driveway, then down Broadway, take a left at the Pearl Brewery and look for the flashing signs that read “Whiskey, Steaks, Whiskey, Steaks” . . . he added “park under the freeway and order the steak”.

Since that first outing little has changed at the Josephine Street Café and I wouldn’t visit the Alamo City without a steak and Shiner Bock in a corner booth there.

On this trip a buddy and I settled in around sunset. I didn’t even have to look at the menu. It was the 16 oz. T-bone steak with mashed potatoes, white gravy and a single, large onion ring that spoke to me.

Regular customers and first-timers continued to come and go on the well worn hardwood floor as classic county music played overhead. The old wooden bar along one wall was busy with orders for Texas craft beers, Budweiser and mixed drinks. A waitress patiently waited behind the tree that pierces the dining room floor and ceiling, while a group of customers made their way to their table.

I really love this place. It’s like Cheers with history. From the wait staff to the customers, Texas friendly is the norm and the food is consistently the primary reason for coming.

My steak, topped with seasoned butter, was done just right, and went down great with the ice cold Texas beer from the little brewery about two hours to the east of San Antonio.

My friend and I talked about this and that, watched the diners as they enjoyed their meals, and laughed at the passing convertible party bus decorated with Lone Star and Schlitz beer signs. It was a great night to be in San Antonio.

That’s when our waitress suggested the “best apple pie and ice cream in the entire state of Texas”… come on, who could pass that up? Not me.

Several minutes later the large slice of homemade apple pie with an equally large scoop of Bluebell vanilla was set down on our table. It was awe inspiring . . . a sugary golden crust over cinnamon laced baked apples, and a layer of melting Texas tradition.

The Josephine Street Café is San Antonio. It’s one of those places where the locals congregate to have a good time over a great meal or a brew or two. It’s my go-to place when passing through and I can’t wait to try the ribeye on my next trip to town. I might even have another slice of apple pie.

TOUR TEXAS: They Were Way Too Cool For Me!

I had lunch with Bill Haley and the Comets, Rick Nelson and the Four Tops the other day . . . no, not in rock and roll heaven; at the City Diner & Oyster Bar in downtown Corpus Christi.

The City Diner has been a landmark for decades with an eclectic look of art deco architecture and a ’50-style black and white pallet. It’s a sort of Mel’s Drive-In with an attitude and no curb service.

We were led to our table past an open mesquite grill used on steaks and juicy mega burgers. There were miles of stainless steel, pink and white neon, and gray-topped tables paired with vinyl covered chairs and booths. As they used to say - it was a serious blast from the past.

A wall along side our corner booth was covered with framed yearbook pages and class photos from the 50s and 60s including an 8x10 black and white image of everyone’s favorite Angel, Farrah Fawcet. She must have been 18 or so, and a cutie even before the infamous red swimsuit pin-up poster.

While waiting for our meal to be delivered by a waitress who called me “hon”, my Texas Travelin’ Gal and I took in the atmosphere and listened to classic oldies like “Poison Ivy”, “Rock Around the Clock”, and “Blue Velvet”. We heard the Everly Brothers explain in song how little Suzy’s goose was cooked, her reputation was shot. So sad for Suzy, but my lunch was here!

Loaded with cheese, pickles, onions, jalapenos, lettuce and tomato, on a fresh bun, the quarter pound “Greasy Burger” was just as advertised . . .”A Hamburger should be a little greasy or it’s just not a Hamburger”, the menu read. The mesquite grill in the lobby had done its job well. Bring on the big, thick chocolate malt and this diner delight could not have been better.

Lunch at the City Diner was a tasty trek back to the time of real American music and messy burgers, black and white wall tiles and touches of maroon in a black and gray carpet. It was an escape from cookie cutter menus and eateries found along the freeway from Orange to El Paso. It was the kind of place where Arthur Fonzarelli or Danny Zuko would have hung out with Sandra Dee, Connie Francis and the Texas Travelin’ Man.

Who am I kiddin’? They were way too cool for me!

The City Diner is at 622 North Water Street in downtown Corpus Christi.

Though he looks like an early twentieth century Station Agent, Ken Walden never worked for the railroad.

His well groomed gray beard and wire-rimmed glasses are a reminiscent of a time when the City of Tomball, Texas was a rural community of farmers, prosperous businessmen and employees of the Trinity and Brazos Valley Railroad.

The dark suit with a pin-striped vest, and gold pocket watch are just what I would have expected to see at the station more than 100-years ago as he stepped forward to meet steam locomotives at the platform with loads of freight and passengers.

No, Ken Walden never worked for the railroad, but this life long train enthusiast still knows more about riding the rails than most . . . after all, Ken is the fact-filled historian of the Tomball Depot and museum.

An illustrator by trade, Ken spends every Sunday afternoon in the restored Tomball Depot by the tracks that run from Galveston northward as they have more than a century. He told me that as a volunteer he regularly shares stories with locals and tourists who wander by for a look or maybe to shoot a photo or two by the old caboose nearby.

He tells the tales of how the Depot was the first building constructed in the tiny railroad town of Peck, Texas, and how on December 2, 1907 Peck was renamed Tomball after Thomas Henry Ball, the man responsible for bringing prosperity to town by way of the railroad in the late 1800s.

Ken’s original hand-drawn illustrations of the old depot, a grandfather walking hand-in-hand with his young grandson along the tracks and other railroad-themed art hang throughout the building. 

It was while looking at this art that Ken introduced me to a frequent visitor to the station. His name was Frank, but he's known as Doug or “Thug” depending on what part of the country he was in.  “Frank here is an honest to goodness hobo,” he told me. “He and his wife stop by to say hello when they are passing through.”

Frank smiled and nodded in my direction. His salt and pepper gray bearded face showed the many years of  riding the rails. His hands were rough and scarred from fights and grabbing for moving box cars as they rolled down the line.  His soiled t-shirt  was an obvious souvenir from the road promoting a Gulf Oil gas station in Reno, Nevada . . . “Home of the $4.99 Oil Change!”.

For an hour I listened as Frank told Ken and me tales from the rails. I heard about the hobo camps, life-long friendships and ruthless gangs. The rail yard “Bulls”, or police, that helped the riders and those who would beat them down just for fun. Frank told us about climbing on a train in Magnolia almost 20-years ago and waking up somewhere in New Mexico the next day, then jumping another to wind up in California a day later.

It was a lifestyle that most of us would never image for ourselves, though an occasional thought of leaving it all behind has certainly crossed my mind over the years.

I asked Frank why and he simply said, “I got tired of working all day and giving my money to the government.” Then after a short pause he added, “I can go anywhere that I want for free, and Ive got nobody to stop me.” With that he said goodbye and left the depot for destinations unknown. Ken told me that Frank would be back . . . he always came back when the wanderlust was out of his system.

We continued the depot tour. From the long wooden benches in one of the two original waiting rooms, to the authentic tin ceiling and paint colors both inside and out, the Tomball Depot is as close as can be to those first days more than a century ago. 

Typical period railroad décor is displayed on the two tone green walls of the depot among faded and rusted memorabilia from the golden age of rail travel. On exhibit are two gowns worn by Mrs. Thomas Ball to the Presidential inauguration of William McKinley in 1897, along with old handwritten Western Union messages, train orders and other documents found in the depot’s attic during restoration.

The old Tomball Depot is a treasure as is its caretaker. Ken Walden is passionate about the responsibility that he has accepted. But, the real adventure this day was meeting an honest to goodness hobo named Frank, or Doug, or Thug, who shared his stories of traveling the rails.

Tomball, Texas is 25-miles northwest of downtown Houston at FM 2920 and Highway 249. For more information, please visit http://www.ci.tomball.tx.us/, or call 281-351-5484.

 

Follow the Texas Traveilin' Man at TourTexs.com for stories about the real Texas. 

Karla Nash is passionate. Whether it’s about good wines, good friends or working hard, the passion is obvious. That’s why her boutique winery in the small town of Montgomery west of Conroe is so popular. The passion.

She and a girl friend started Cork This! Winery a couple of years ago with the goal of creating a fun place where folks could stop by for a glass, a tasting or a bottle, socialize with other wine lovers and just have fun far from the big city. “Not bad for a place started by a couple of chicks”, said Karla while giving me a tour.

The majority of the new yet vintage looking building is where the good times happen. Large windows overlook a patio of umbrellaed tables facing Highway 105. Over stuffed couches sit among displays of wine, wine related merchandise and t-shirts with phrases like, “Grandma’s Sippy Cup,” “Got Wine?” and “Group Therapy” all in colorful sequined “bling”. Behind the bar is where the bottling happens for all to see.

With a temperature controlled back room filled with carboys of wine in all stages of production, Cork This! produces a line of products with labels and faux health warnings on the outside every bit as fun, whimsical and tasty as the wine on the inside. 

Seventeen varietals in all, there are the Overly Committed Pinio Grigio and the Irreconcilable Differences Syrah. The One Night Stand Cab Sauvignon is on the rack next to Boot Leg Red, a winner at the 2010 International Wine Competition of the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. The house white is called Girls Night Out and R.U.B., or Rich Urban Biker, Merlot will “get your motor runnin’, just don’t head out on the highway”.

The label art is reminiscent of illustrator Jack Davis or one of many other Mad Magazine cartoonists from the early 1960s, and phrases like, “Warning. Consumption of alcohol may lead to pregnancy” are the norm.

Cork This! is one of the ten wineries found along the Texas Bluebonnet Wine Trail that stretches from Montgomery to Brenham. Quirky girls night out events like  Botox, Wine & Chocolate! are staged every month for boutique shopping, chocolate fountain and all the fixin's, wine and of course . . . Botox. No Testosterone allowed. 

My Texas Travelin’ Gal and I got a kick out of visiting with Karla Nash, and I’m sure a bottle or two of Ed’s Red Malbec will be included on a road trip to Montgomery real soon. Cheers!

Cork This! Winery is at 21123 Eva Street in Montgomery, Texas . . . right across Highway 105 from the historic Montgomery cemetery. Call 936-597-4030 or visit www.corkthiswinery.com.

For Texas travel information about real Lone Star destinations and more, always visit tourtexas.com

It was the kind of day that comes around far too seldom. In fact, it was an alternative route that brought such delight as a constant rain fell from the north Texas sky.

As in Robert Frost’s classic poem, “The Road Not Taken”, I decided to drive home along the road less traveled, and just as Frost had poetically suggested, it really did make all the difference.

In the roundabout route I took Highway 377 outside of Fort Worth and traveled south passing through one small town after another. For the longest time the blinding mist from fast moving 18-wheelers in the opposite lane flew up from the road making it difficult to see what was ahead.

I had never driven this stretch of road and therefore had no idea what to expect, but that was the fun it all. I never knew that Stephenville was home to the Cross Timbers Country Opry where for just $8.00 you could be entertained every Saturday night by the Country Express and other real Texas performers. They’ve been at it since 1979.

Then there was the town of Hico. There were two signs at the city limit welcoming visitors to this busy little community along Highway 6 west of Waco. The first sign read, “Welcome to Hico. Where Everybody is Somebody.” I think that’s a similar slogan to the one used by Luckenbach, but what the heck?

The other welcome sign proudly announced, “Hico, home of Billy the Kid”. Luckenbach may have Waylon, Willie and the boys, but it doesn’t have Billy the Kid.

There was even a big sign inviting me to visit the Bill the Kid museum and gift shop. I never found the museum, but the life sized statue of Billy in a shooting stance with gun drawn was prrree-ty impressive.

The highlight of the road trip was the two hours that I spend in Dublin, Texas, population 3,000. For 120-years Dublin has bottled the famous Dublin Dr Pepper - the only Dr Pepper still made using Imperial Pure Cane Sugar. When bottlers around the world were switching to corn syrup and other sweeteners, the little plant in Dublin kept turning out bottles of my favorite soft drink the old fashioned way.

The 30-minute tour of the old bottling plant and museum was a serious trip back in time. As the rain continued to pour outside, the sweet, fruity Dr Pepper continued to pour inside. Next door in Old Doc’s Soda Shop I sat at one of the small, wire-framed retro tables across from the soda fountain that had been painted lime green to match the wood interior of this classic old stone building.

Dr Pepper memorabilia and gift items hung from the walls. I ordered a PB&J sandwich and chips and washed it down with a couple of ice cold DPs. For dessert I sampled a few Dr Pepper flavored Jelly Bellys. It was too good.

Being the Dr Pepper fan that I am, I grabbed a couple of cases of the original formula in the bottle (no cans . . . it changes the taste they say) to share with the uninitiated back home the next day.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” . . . you got that right Mr. Frost.