The clack of dominos could be easily heard if you walked by or stood on the sidewalk outside. Voices were muted except for an occasional expression of glee or anguish. House rules called for leaving knives and guns outside and there was no room for drunks or malcontents, for dominos was a serious business. The players were a mixed group. You might have expected them to be aging men well past sixty but local sports were there as well and the game was more than just for the pleasure of winning, for money exchanged hands as well.
Athens' domino parlor was on the west side of Market Square, a block from the court house, jail and the First National Bank. So all the important features of the small town were closely assembled to meet the requirements of man without the slightest inconvenience, whether it be justice or injustice.
For the most part the long dark building was a place that one could gain a bit of comfort from the hot Texas sun in the summer months, the chill of winter or whatever other excuse that was needed to enter. More were there than needed for the play, so there were always those who seated themselves in the cane-bottomed, straight-backed chairs that were made in a shop on the Athens-Malakoff highway. With time the conversation would drift away from the game at hand and to the story of the day. If this wasn't enough, one of the old timers would revisit a scandalous event of the past which was sure to draw comment, as never was there agreement to such a simple issue. If one said the sun rose in the east and set in the west it was more than likely that challenge would be made that, "it was reported in the Athens Review that it rose in the West and so be it!" With telling, most stories became legends in their own time. The following are just some that crossed the span of attention in the years when this teenager was permitted inside.
Down by the tracks worked an old man who as everyone knew, had a small depression on the left side of his head, in his temple, just above the ear. On the right side, was a protrusion of almost equal size and shape. It was known that he had been shot in the head, the bullet had passed almost through his head and came near to exiting. It was still lodged in his head according to the stories. What a marvel this would be to the New England Journal of Medicine or the Journal of the American Medical Association. Imagine the x-rays, test, interviews and articles that could be published! In truth, the old man did have the phrenology described, but was the explanation correct? One would only have had to ask him, but no, the story was too good in the telling to spoil it with facts. So to this day, it is repeated. But an equally believable story had to do with his having been hit by an iron bar which passed almost through his head and came near to exiting from the other side. Doctors just pulled it out and he suffered no ill harm, much like the Nathan Bedford Forrest wound that the Confederate General suffered at the hands of one of his own men. In Forrest's case, the bullet entered between the eyes and instead of penetrating the skull, took a circuitous route until it stopped at the back of head, still under the skin. Well, regardless of which story you believed, it was related with authority and you could be sure that when you repeated it, it would be met with a challenge. (The Bedford Forrest story had confirmation by a Doctor in Brownsville, Tennessee. Dr. Gerald White attended to a young man who had been sitting on the tail gate of a pickup truck in the nearby town of Stanton and was struck in the head by a bullet that had been fired from about a block away. The good doctor has the X-rays and the bullet to prove his case.)
A case of suicide was much discussed. Seems that a farmer out Canton way had placed his shot gun barrel in his mouth and using his toe to trigger the gun had ended his life. It was readily accepted that the old gun being so long he would have been unable to reach the trigger with his finger so it only made sense that he would use his toe to do the deed. How he managed to put his shoe back on after stroking the trigger was never explained.
And the case of the "Boss" having taken a fifth wife was enough to get everyone going. His fourth wife had departed this world when she had been in the front yard pursued by a mad-dog. Boss taking his gun in hand with intent of protecting his good wife, tripped on the doorstep and fired the gun, sending her to the promised land. Since the fifth lady in question was well known in the community and rumored to be just out of grieving for her second husband, it was speculated whether she or Boss would survive this latest trip to the altar.
If things got a bit slow, someone would remember the accident under the train tracks at the underpass on the Malakoff road. Seems the tie rod, which is part of the mechanism that controls steering by linking the front wheels, on this gentleman's car disengaged as the car began the long down-grade to pass under the tracks. At the very bottom, and directly under the trestle, the front wheels, instead of pointing straight ahead, each had a mind of its own. They turned inward, which meant that the car came to a halt and could not be driven forward, neither could it be backed up. This occurred some time in the wee hours of the morning when traffic was light and it may have taken a few minutes or perhaps half an hour before someone came along and discovered the plight of the driver and his passenger. This is where the folks in the domino parlor got exercised. It's reported the couple in the car were husband and wife. Unfortunately not each other's. Again this wouldn't have raised much interest except they were bare-ass naked (or so the story goes.)
And the underpass got a further rise when it was remembered what happened to that good old boy who used the train tracks as a place to relieve himself onto cars that passed below. Seems he must have been paying too much attention to the business in hand or the traffic below, the train got him.
Everyone enjoyed the story about the game warden who disappeared over near Cayuga. It was known that he was trying to catch one of the locals that depended on his skills with a gun to provide for his family. Families need to eat three hundred and sixty five days a year and hunting laws don't seem to recognize this fact. After the warden had been given up for missing, the county school superintendent organized a search party in the area where the warden was last seen. Such an event of course brought out a crowd which included the hunter. While it was never determined how it occurred, in the superintendent's presence, the hunter just stumbled on the log under which the body lay. Of course everyone was happy to see a good ending to such a tragedy.
Sheriff Jess Sweeden was a crack shot and gave demonstrations at all the schools showing his skill with his pistols. At twenty feet he could snuff a candle. Such was his reputation that he was written up in Life Magazine. Now this might not have impressed the local nere-do-wells, but any teenage boy interested in the Sheriff's daughter had second thoughts. The crowd at the parlor was always much appreciative of how law enforcement worked and commented on any new resident at the jail which was just across the way.
For a teenager listening to these tales, it was worth the trip to town, but "walking the square" was a part of any Saturday's activity as well. Most ever farmer brought a pickup load of ear corn to the hammer-mill for grinding. For twenty-five cents a bag the corn was run through the mill, resacked and loaded back on the truck. Since it didn't take all that much time, the rest of the day was open.
Athens, like most other county seats, was located at the crossing of the major roads of the day. And, in a dominant position sat the court house on the "square." It's an imposing three story white marble building with marble steps leading up to the "third" floor where all important legal affairs were set to rest. The courthouse building, by today's standards, would be considered two stories with a basement but when it was built it was much more impressive to claim a three-story building, if by name only
You paid your poll tax and property taxes, registered deeds and chattels, recorded births, got a marriage licence and death certificates here as well (not necessarily in that order, but maybe). Some of these records were also kept by the state in Austin as well, but the local folks preferred to have them at home and they continued to be catalogued in the county offices. This duplication of effort carried over to the local land offices as well. They kept a complete record of property transfers on index cards, that could, at a moments notice, inform you of who owned a particular tract of land all the way back to the original Spanish Land Grants. This was and is, particularly important as leasing of rights to oil and gas were/are a mainstay to the economy and many a piece of land had/has been leased to an unsuspecting oil company by someone who may have held a "quick-claim deed" to the particular property. The deed being registered before or after a foreclosure or some other momentous event. As always, it's buyer beware.
Leaving the Domino Parlor and going to the square meant going the half block to where all the major businesses were located. Exception being the funeral homes, auto and farm equipment dealers and lumber yards plus the livestock sales barns. In the past the First National Bank had been on the corner but had recently moved to the more favorable location in the middle of the block. Stopping at the bank was the first order of business if only to drop in and say howdy. The lady in her mid-fifties always was the first to greet entering customers and make sure they felt right at home. This typically involved naming all the relatives and asking how they were, what they were doing and like as not, some reminisces. One of her favorite stories, oft repeated, was how she came to the bank from one of the "little" towns. When she got there, she claimed, "she was green as gourd guts." Even though you didn't need pocket money, it just seemed to be the thing to do to cash a check while you were there. Like as not, you got a free pencil or pad of paper, maybe a piece of candy for the kid (and why not take one for the misses) then you were on your way.
Texas Power and Light was one of the few businesses that didn't play musical chairs around the square. Seems about ever ten years or so the First National would move to another location replacing some business that moved someplace else. This was Athens' own form of "urban renewal" long before Washington discovered it.
Since you were in town, might as well pay the electric bill. TP&L operated on the honor system. You read your meter each month and sent in a card that displayed a picture of the different dials on the meter. All you had to do was make sure the dials were properly marked with pencil showing where the meter's hands pointed to the numbers. When they got your card they entered the amount, subtracted the previous numbers and billed you for the difference by mailing you your bill. Of course if you brought in the card, you saved three cents postage and got what today would be considered "float." They made the instant calculation, gave you the bill and sent you on your way. You paid the bill when you had the money. I doubt TP&L ever cut off anyone's electricity. If you missed a payment, they just assumed you must have forgotten or the letter was lost in the mail.
Down the block, and you passed the hardware store, a furniture store and law offices. No one ever seemed to go into any of these businesses, but there they were year after year after year. On the corner across the street was the "other" bank. The Farmers Merchant Bank's name probably turned away more customers than any other reason. Most everyone wanted to be known as a rancher, not a farmer and merchants, those are the people in town businesses, the bank must be for them, so you just naturally banked with First National.
On the corner if the wind was right, the smell of hamburgers cooking always seemed to catch your attention even if you weren't hungry, a twenty-cent hamburger and coke seemed necessary. Of course if the Mexican was there by the railroad tracks with his wagon, you could get hot tamales wrapped in shucks and made fresh by his wife that very morning. (The old man insisted that the reason the Mexican had chosen this particular woman as his wife was because she was fat. That meant she could pat the tamale flat on the side of her thigh. Wonder how he knew that?) What a dilemma a couple of tamales or a hamburger. The smell of frying hamburger usually settled it. After your lunch, the walk continued. On the west side of the square you came to the five and dime store, a clothing store and a drugstore where you bought your cattle and hog vaccines as well as screw-worm medicine and most everything else needed to avoid the clutches of the veterinarian. The vet was usually called when all hope was gone and the life of the animal was in serious doubt. Of course, if the dog or cow died, you wouldn't pay him and if somehow it survived, then he often times had to settle the account by giving a discount or wait until you had the money.
On the next corner, the Pickle and Clay Barber Shop (South West Corner of Square) and almost in keeping with the traditions of long past, above the barber shop was the office of Dr. C. H. Nash. Perhaps the barber pole served as a dual advertisement. Now Dr. Nash was a dentist and he was kept in business mostly by the generosity of the Texas State Government. Seems that everyone over the age of sixty or there-abouts was entitled to a set of false teeth. And Dr. Nash was most obliging. He was good at pulling teeth.
Cross the street to the other side of the square, and you passed the florist who's major business was funerals and then to the hole in the wall where you could exchange paperback books - two for one. In addition to books and candy, here was the biggest assortment of fireworks east of Dallas. Many of them would be considered explosives by today's standards. The cherry bombs could take a limb off a tree, or a couple of fingers and an eye just as easy. Packs of firecrackers were cheap enough that lighting the twisted fuses all at once could provide a series of explosions the likes of which can't now be equaled. (Of course after they had finished, you picked up the ones that didn't go off and if a fuse was still intact, lit them one by one and those that had no fuse, you bent double, exposing the powder which when you lit it, sometimes would take off like a scalded dog, but mostly, just produced a fiery show of sparks and smoke.) Here you could buy snuff, cigarettes, pipe tobacco, chews and other amazing products that would never be sold to a thirteen-year-old at the A&P. If asked, you could say it was for the old man; but you were never asked.
Next to the hole in the wall was the hotel and its coffee shop. Mostly, people who stayed here were either attending a funeral or else were in someway connected with the oil fields. It's safe to say that ninety-nine percent of the citizens of Henderson County never ate or stayed there, and probably never had been upstairs to the rooms as well.
Finally the fourth side of the square, the side that faced west. Here you found another drug store, the movie theater and the largest clothing store in town. Above the drug store was the offices of a doctor. As opposed to the doctors at the hospital, he practiced here and was almost always to be found in. Besides giving tetanus shots and penicillin, he pushed pills for what ailed you. Having an office upstairs didn't seem to slow down his older customers. I suppose if necessary he would have met them downstairs, but like as not, they would have not admitted they could not navigate the flight.
Most every boy that had a suit for graduation got his blue suit at Kaman's Drygoods Store. And a shirt and tie was always a gift to the customer. Along the way, if it was determined that the graduate would be leaving town (and almost everyone did), a suitcase, shoes (from the Globe Shoe Store next door), socks, belt, tie clasp and sometimes even a hat would get added onto the bill. Same for the girls except for the items. In fairness, the quality was exceptional, the service better than the best stores in Dallas, and the selection while limited was current because they had a good turn of the merchandise and the prices were tough to match (Just ask the clothing store across the square.)
Having made the rounds, and stopped and talked with three or four men on every block, not to mention tipping his hat to the ladies, it was time for the old man to take a refresher. He would cross to the court house, go up the stairs and stop to talk with the tax assessor, county clerk or whoever else was in sight. The court house while not air-conditioned, always seemed cool and comfortable.
The polished marble floors, solid plastered walls and wide-open doors gave a feeling of permanence. Upstairs the court might be in session or the sheriff might be in his office but usually there was no reason to go on up. The sheriff's business was his own and the court was seldom active. No the business at hand was in the basement, therein were the pubic restrooms and drinking fountains. In times past they were segregated but that just seemed too much of a hassle and besides there was a need for additional facilities as the town was growing, so down came the signs, well almost, the drinking fountains were still marked white and colored, but nobody paid any attention to them. The restrooms were equal opportunity facilities, except for one stall in the men's room that was reserved
Outside the restrooms a group of wooden benches lined the walls. These could accommodate those who wanted to get in out of the weather, take a load off their feet or just lounge a while and spin tall tales. A couple of men always seemed to be there sometimes reading the newspaper or dozing.
If you spoke to one of the old codgers on the bench, he would follow you into the restroom and ignoring the "out of order" sign, would enter the stall, to return with a brown bag. The screw top would be removed from the bottle and it would be offered to his "friend." After taking a swig, it was polite to offer a taste to the attendant, who always refused. The top would be screwed down tight and the brown bag returned to its resting place. Both men would exchange a bit of pleasantness and fifty cents would change hands. Each went on his way.
Suitably refreshed, having cashed a check, had lunch and visited for a while, the afternoon could be spent swapping lies back at the domino parlor or seeing what was offered for sale or trade on Market Square.
Market Square lives in a world of its own. The City Fathers wanted to move it away from the center of activities since Athens was becoming such a progressive, modern, growing city. But those who cast their lot with farming, friends, family and trading won out. The Square (as distinguished from the place where the courthouse stood) came to life in the early hours of the morning. Anyone having something to sell had to arrive early to assure themselves of a prime place to park the pickup and display the goods. Depending on the time of year, the Square would be crowded with trucks loaded with watermelons, cantaloupes, tomatoes, black-eyed or crowder peas, squash and most anything else that a farmer could grow. Like as not at least one truck would have a load of guns and knives for sale or trade. Usually there would be a load of fire wood or fence post. There might even be a truck with some furniture, but surely there would be one truck with cane-bottomed chairs that were made just down the road. A truck from Canton usually had a couple of coon dogs tied to the bumper, while other trucks might have crates of chickens, ducks, guineas or something else. (The story goes that when the cattle market got so bad that there was no money in it, a farmer brought a calf to town in the back of his truck and put up a sign; "Free." When he had finished his business in town he returned to his truck and there were two calves.")
Having made the rounds, a visit to the A&P was the last stop to buy coffee and other necessities, then it was time to head for home. Such was the life in this gentle East Texas town.
As Geoffrey Crayon said, "What, after all, is the mite of wisdom that I could throw into the mass of knowledge; or how am I sure that my sagest deductions may be safe guides for the opinion of others? But in writing to amuse, if I fail, the only evil is in my own disappointment. If, however, I can by any lucky chance, in these days of evil, rub out one wrinkle from the brow of care, or beguile the heavy heart of one moment of sorrow; if I can now and then penetrate through the gathering film of misanthropy, prompt a benevolent view of human nature, and make my reader more in good humour with his fellow-beings and himself, surely, surely, I shall not then have written entirely in vain." Sketch Book, Washington Irving.
Did the events actually occur as described? Cervantes wrote that "truth is the mother of history." Perhaps this small bit of history is true. You decide.
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