Houston

     While waiting in Atlanta with my older brother Hoke we learned all we could about
Houston, Texas.  We were told it was a town of about sixty thousand people and my Mother had 
written me about the climate, oleanders and roses in bloom out of doors, and ripe oranges on 
trees in many yards.
     When I got to Houston [circa 1879], my parents lived in a rented house on Capital and 
Louisiana, an old two story house with large outhouses and no flower gardens.  We had a pew in 
Christ Church and Mr. Clemens was the rector.  So many of the fine old names have run out I am 
glad this name is well represented, among others by Major Frank Clemens.  I enjoy meeting him at 
any time although he embarrassed me considerably on one occasion. My daughter Mary (Mrs. J. 
P. Gibbs), Frank and I met outside the Church and were talking of old times.  They politely gave 
me the floor and I was quite decided in objecting to late hours kept by the young people now and 
certain that 2 AM was the very latest Mary and her friends ever stayed out.  When I paused for 
breath, Frank said "Miss Mary, you remember the time the hall clock struck six when we got in 
from a New Year's party at the Rice Hotel?"  
     But to go back to when I was young and taught Sunday School at Christ Church.  My 
class was made up of the oldest boys, about two years younger than myself who came to the 
church steps very immaculate in appearance, how fresh and bright they looked!  Their hair smooth 
as silk, their eyes and hearts full of fire and mischief.  They were Hadley Franklyn, David Rice, 
Ben Morris, Sidney Mitchell and Allie Hobenthall.  
     Old Mr. Hutchins was the teacher of the class of oldest girls, and he told these boys if they 
would come in, instead of remaining as usual on the steps, he would give them one of the prettiest 
young ladies in Houston for a teacher.  They demanded to see the young lady without her 
knowing anything about the offer and decided to accept me.  
     They were so kind and polite, real gentlemen, I have never forgotten them.  Mr. W. D. 
Cleveland was the Superintendent of the Sunday School and I really loved him.  He was so 
enthusiastic, so generous and so witty, one could not blame his beautiful wife for running off and 
marrying him.  In fact I told several of my gentleman friends that my excuse for wanting to be an 
old maid was the fact that there were no more men like Mr. Cleveland.
     When my Father went to Huntsville, the Clemens offered to get up a Church School and 
let me teach and stay in Houston, but I was devoted to my Mother and could not be separated 
from her.  I probably would not have been a successful teacher, they are like poets, born not 
made, but how I hated to leave Houston.
     Mr. W. V. R. Watson was one of the devoted members and worked in Christ Church and 
the Ennis family had a pew near ours.  All the pews were rented in those days and my Father, a 
most unworldly man, always wanted one of the best pews in church and a home on one of the best 
streets.  I have often wondered about this tact.  The choir had some lovely voices, there were two 
men named Smith, one who sang tenor in a voice to make thrills run all over you.  When he sang 
"Angels ever bright and fair" the congregation held their breath and sighed when it was over, and 
he was urged to repeat it many a Sunday.  Annie Watson sang beautifully, she was a dear friend of 
mine, and Carol Fhiles was also an attractive Sunday School teacher.  When I was in Mississippi 
on a tour with my Father among many gallant young men I met a young widower simply wild 
about Carol.  He gave me a piece of original music to bring her, words and music dedicated to 
her.  The words "Carol, darling, friend beloved, will you answer to my cry" made quite an 
impression on me.  I thought it thrilling but Carol did not answer to his cry.  I almost envied her 
such a romantic incident.
     Many, many years afterward at Bay Ridge, one of the boys wanted to name his boat for 
Mary and I was thinking how "Mary of Bay Ridge" or "Merry Mary" would sound or look.  I 
thought it quite a compliment.  One night Mr. Clifton Drew and Mary asked if she could go 
sailing on this new boat.  As usual, Mr. McAshan said "She cannot go" and Mary said in a said, 
weak voice, "That makes eleven times you have made me refuse!  I will never be invited again."  
Mr. Drew struck an attitude and urged the reluctant Father, saying "I can swim, Miss Mary can 
swim, and I will protect her with my life."  So she was allowed to go.  Clifton Drew was a grown 
man, not just a boy like Robert Ring, Carrington Weems, Edward Parmer or Bryan Everts, etc.  
They left for a sail on the moonlit water of Galveston Bay and we sat and worried until after 10 
o'clock when here came two doleful figures, dripping most clammily on the grass.  Their news 
was that the boat got stuck on sand about 100 feet from shore, the sail did not come off, the other 
girls took off their shoes, held up their dresses and got in pretty well, but Mary just came in with 
no precaution, her pretty dress and shoes and hose were soaked.  The water was only two feet 
deep but she did not think it nice to raise her dress.
     But to go back to Houston in 1879, I recall a visit from Gen. U. S. Grant and Mrs. Grant.  
Houston people always tried to hold up their end so to show how liberal we all were, no waving 
of the "bloody shirt", the "Mason & Dixon line" being all forgotten, they got up an entertainment 
for the distinguished guests.  While the affair was in full swing the lights suddenly went out and 
people felt terribly about in, realizing all the implications, but the General sat very quietly, not 
worried, and the committee in charge soon had lights restored.  Across the street upstairs the 
reception was held and I shook hands with Mrs. Grant, a nice little plump lady with short pale 
blue tight kid gloves on her little hands and a red crocheted shawl over her light blue silk dress.  I 
did not feel it would be missed nor ruin the affair if I did not shake hands with the General, for 
after all 
     "I am a good old Rebel
     Now that's just what I am
     And for this Constitution
     I do not care a --- dance the boatman
         dance, dance, dance."
     Anyhow, my uncles were all in the Southern Army and my Uncle Robert Hoke was the 
youngest General in it and a personal friend of Lee, but I enjoyed the occasion.  I saw a young 
man I knew slightly taking care of his little sister and I thought he had beautiful hair, so curly and 
thick, dark brown and wasted on a man.  It was Mr. J. Everett McAshan and little Jennie and I did 
not suspect that when I had that name engraved on my calling cards with the prefix of "Mrs." he 
would say "I have parted my name in the middle."
     Once when Mr. McAshan left town he told Maurice to take care of me and what Maurice 
always called "the children", meaning all but himself, he being about fourteen.  When I got the 
young crowd in bed, prayers said, a story told for each so that all could hear three or four, Mary 
and I found our guardian had departed, no Maurice to be found.  I was not worried, but Mary got 
more and more excited, was sure he had been run over and killed or kidnapped so that I 
reluctantly agreed to go over to my near and dear neighbors, the Frank Cargills and ask Ennis to 
look him up.  Ennis came over somewhat amused, had put on his slippers to cool off, but he just 
asked "Is there any special girl Maurice is sitting up with now?"  "Oh yes," said Mary, "he is crazy 
about Eva Tuggle."  "Well, I'll go get him for you," said Ennis.  Mary said, "I know something 
awful has happened.  Papa told him to stay with us while he was gone."  Soon the two returned, 
but Ennis told me privately that Maurice was on the porch with Mrs. Tuggle and had not quite 
had the nerve to ask for Eva, wanting to be very nice to her mother first.  
     When my children were very small we often called an elegant old gentleman, a retired 
physician, a near neighbor.  Once when Maurice was very sick Dr. Palmer had been so kind and 
attentive: Maurice was eighteen months old had high fever and said constantly, "I want to see that 
baby's Mama."  We were worried because he did not know me, but he was better at last and the 
doctor looked him over and said, "He is convalescent, he need not take anymore medicine."  
Maurice said, "Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory."  Dr. Palmer was amazed and never 
got over telling about it.  It was just as bright for a baby to apply the quotation as if he had not 
heard the cook sing it over and over.  Dr. Palmer paid no attention to the idea that he got it from 
the cook.  It was just as original for a baby to use it and he declared Maurice and his 
great-granddaughter Lucy "were the most wonderful children ever born."  Baby Lucy was a 
musician, she could play by ear the air of any music she heard.  Her Grandmother, Mrs. 
Grunewald, gave lessons and the whole family were elegant Southern people.  Some of the ladies 
allowed their hearts to conquer their heads and married musical men with foreign names and 
manners and often regretted it too late.  Perhaps we Americans are rather new and crude but 
when it comes to marrying perhaps we can stand our own manners and crudeness than of the 
German nationality as some of these ladies did. 
     As Maurice was our first experience we probably were rather green and my care and 
worry about his diet often amused Mr. McAshan's parents.  We did not serve wine but I had some 
very thin wineglasses and Maurice got hold of one and chewed a piece out of it while we and his 
nurse were on the floor on our knees looking for the pieces to see how much glass he had 
swallowed.  He, like the little busy bee improved the shining hour by getting out of doors and 
picking and eating a bunch of tiny green grass leaves and all.  Later, when I was sick in bed, the 
nurse came and said Maurice would not eat his pudding.  I was giving him tapioca cream, very 
delicate and suitable, so I said, "Make him eat it, he needs it."  She said, "I choked some down but 
he hated it."  I said, "That is very queer, let me see it."  She had been giving him some plum 
pudding that had been sent to Mr. McAshan by his Mother.  I sent for his Grandmother and asked 
her if she thought it would kill and what must I do.  She had always thought I was too careful but 
did not recommend plum pudding for a baby, and she wondered that I had not bought a stomach 
pump to use on the baby.  She looked out every night to see if "those" children had set the house 
on fire by their carelessness and she was sure we would go to sleep and smother the baby.  One 
night I waked up scared and asked Mr. McAshan and told him something hot and alive was on my 
feet, I thought it was a puppy, it wiggled.  He said, "For heaven's sake it is the baby!  I went to 
sleep and forgot him."  We were nearly scared to death but when rescued from under all the 
covers way down at the foot of the bed, Maurice just stretched real well and never even opened 
his eyes.  Years later he had more curiosity and Ennis Cargill said that when Maurice had a 
sudden call to go to the dentist or something urgent in generally turned out that had been a 
murder of a big fight on the street and he always was an eye witness.  Ennis said, "Maurice had 
some uncanny power of knowing when some excitement was going on."  Long ago here people 
got shot in the streets and sometimes bystanders received some of the bullets by accident.  On 
circus day ladies did not go down town and ladies never walked on the side of the street where 
the barrooms were.
     The men got up a big party when President McKinley and some of the prominent cabinet 
members visited Houston.  Mr. Spencer Hutchins our great social asset had charge of some of the 
frivolous affairs for the ladies and I was among a number to assist at the reception at the Rice 
Hotel.  They suggested we select a lady and take charge of her, the committee had carriages 
waiting and I selected the wife of the President's doctor.  She was very nice and we got on well 
although she said I should have had Mrs. Hay, wife of the Secretary of State, because I was 
Senator Hoke Smith's sister.  When we went out to the sidewalk Mr. Hutchins handed us into a 
carriage the front seat of which was filled with beautiful flowers, when three other ladies came up 
and insisted on joining us.  One of them urged on her reluctant companions and Mr. Hutchins 
suggested everything he could but they were firm. They picked up the flowers and crowded into 
the little seat.  They asked me why I did not use my own carriage.  I said I have sent my carriage 
home because the committee invited me to ride in this one and entertain this guest.  Mr. Hutchins 
directed the driver to go to the Auditorium where McKinley was to speak but after he turned 
away the three ladies ordered the driver to go to the depot.  He did not know what to do. I told 
him he heard what Mr. Hutchins said but one of the ladies grew rather violent and he drove thru 
the ugliest backstreets to the dept.  It seemed that one of the ladies offered to take the other two 
to Austin in her husband's private car.  The same trip the President and his party were taking and 
she promised them a grand time.  They looked a trifle embarrassed almost covered with wreaths 
and garlands of flowers belonging to the President's party but the doctor's wife and I had a 
pleasant conversation.  
     As we had no time to go to the Auditorium we called on Mrs. McKinley, who was pretty 
and sweet, she came out on the platform with her hair rolled up in curl papers and talked very 
unaffectedly.  The doctor's wife, I hope to recall her name before this effusion goes into print, 
paid me many compliments on my behavior, that I would always be her idea of a perfect lady 
under the most disagreeable circumstances she had ever seen.  That our drive was so pleasant, our 
conversation so interesting, that I acted as if the other persons had not intruded and were not 
present, etc., etc.  Really I felt as if I had not done what I ought to do, but could see no way of 
getting rid of the unwelcome guests without making a worse scene and we had the last carriage 
and mine had gone home.
     When Secretary Shaw came here with his wife and daughter the committee were 
Republicans and Mr. Brown came to Mr. McAshan in some distress.  He said, "Everett I have to 
entertain Secretary Shaw, Mrs. Shaw and Miss Shaw at dinner, full dress.  I've got the full dress 
clothes and not another thing.  I am begging you to bring your wife and daughter and take them 
off my hands."  I was all for the frolic and I prevailed although Mr. McAshan and Mary did not 
care for it.  We dressed up and when we got there found Mr. Brown wringing his hands on the 
sidewalk, "Come on Everett! Come on, the Secretary is in the parlor, hurry."  Well we really 
looked rather well, Mary wore her debut dress of white embroidered mousseline de soie and Mr. 
Shaw was most agreeable.  He pretended to feel embarrassed, said they had a very small trunk 
and that Mrs. Shaw and his daughter could not hold a candle to us.  I told him we put on our best 
to do him honor.  We six had a table, a perfect dinner and service, and  Miss Shaw said she was 
having the best time she ever had in her life.  She said back at home she sat out lots of dances, but 
here more asked for dances than she could accept.
     When Mr. William Jennings Bryan was here the Houston Post appointed Mr. McAshan 
and me to keep him company nearly a day.  He was a charming gentleman and a real orator.  We 
heard him make one of his fine speeches in the East and I felt glad I had met him and even an 
interest in his brilliant daughter for his sake as well as her own.
     In those days anyone who built a hotel always went broke.  I had the idea that if one 
owned a brick store down town and it was rented they were comfortably fixed, perhaps they are.