Essays

Moseying: Locations of Interest

Big Spring and the Potton House
May 1, 2002

“We’re from Midland. We like coming over to Big Spring.” Shirley Ryals arched an eyebrow and seemed to wait for an explanation. The colors of the Potton House had first caught our attention, then the wonderful detail of the architectural embellishments. In front of the house is a historical marker, so Deborah and I definitely had to stop in. Ms. Ryals stood with us on the porch as Deborah bent close to the door, examining the artisanship. “We like the hills and the cedars. Today we came over for the arts and craft show at the coliseum.”

Ms. Ryals asked us if we wanted to have a guided tour. To the north of us, past an auto parts store, Gregg Street arched over the railroad, where several strings of boxcars and hoppers were waiting on sidings. Beale’s Creek ran alongside the tracks, in a deep and narrow channel. To the northwest, next to a feedstore, the curves of tin agricultural storage facilities gleamed in the mist. “Mr. Potton was the Master Mechanic for the Texas and Pacific railroad. He was in charge of 500 men back when Big Spring was the jumping-off point for development in far west Texas. He owned the first automobile in town. The colors of pain on the outside of the house are the colors of the steam engines and depots back in 1901.”

I pointed to the red stones of the foundation. “Is this some of that Barstow sandstone?” All over west Texas, old houses often incorporate the reds and yellows of that old quarry. At the turn of the 20th century Pecos served a similar role as Big Spring, a central collecting and dispersal point for products and goods. Barstow rock was a sign a settler’s prosperity.

“Oh, my gosh, look at this!” Deborah had led the way into the house. “Look at the high ceilings, and the transoms between rooms.”

Ms. Ryals laughed. “It makes it hard to heat, but in the old days, without airconditioning, any way to move hot air made a difference. A person was taxed as if a closet was another room, so there is just one closet. ” After Deborah signed the register, I glanced over the signatures. The visitors seemed to be split evenly between Big Spring folks, tourists from out of state, and people from within a couple hundred miles. “I have been working here 20 hours a week since September. After thirty years in an office this is lots of fun. Five hundred people have toured since I started.”

As we progressed through the rooms, we were amazed. Most historical homes are furnished with a mixture of original belongings and antiques procured elsewhere. Not the Potton house – the paint on the walls and the carpet in the parlor were not originals, but just about everything else was. The granddaughters of Mr. Potton had carefully preserved everything: harmonium, sets of clothing, bedpans, pie safe, the old brass bed, an old ice box, a kerosene water heater, several armoires, Mr. Potton’s starched collars, butter churn, children’s toys, and even a kitchen tool that Ms. Ryals said that no one could identify.

Deborah and I told Ms. Ryals we felt as if the Pottons had just stepped out. “The Tourist Development Council of the City of Big Spring purchased it in 1975, with Councilwoman Polly Mays spearheading the project. History was one of her biggest passions.” The late Ms. Mays was a birdwatcher, so I encountered her following my birdwatching mother around west Texas as I grew up. Ms. Mays knew every bit of her town, even the “vacant lots” of the arroyos running down from the mesas to the creek. Up on a cliff overlooking town she once showed me a marking which she believed Coronado’s men had carved in the 1540’s.

“Mr. Potton is buried in the Masonic section of the Mount Olive Cemetary.” Ms. Ryals did not know that Deborah and I like to tour cemetaries. (We later decided to tour Mount Olive before the day was out.) We thanked her for showing us the Potton House, and then wandered on. For thirty minutes we cruised up and down streets, finding more Barstow rock, including a wonderful fence constructed of it, adorning a house made of the same stone, just a little south of City Hall. Masonry is an often overlooked art, and usually considered only craft, a somehow diminished form of creation. Stone houses are highly individualistic.

In another section of town, to the northwest of the Potton House, a homeowner had placed benches and tables along the street. Several of the neighbors had similarly converted outdoor space into living space, full of ornamention. The neighborhood was palpable with a sense of a happy and spiritually centered approach to life. When people act with their heart and soul freely expressed, inventing and defining their own surroundings with a joyful spirit in the act of creation, humans are at their best.

We stopped at the Blue Room Café on 2nd Street after visiting the Heritage Museum. The café’s decor, too, was that of an individual creating space with all of her heart. The café was nothing fancy – but a honest atmosphere expressing what she enjoys. Deborah and I sat discussing the roles of museums. The Heritage Museum has impressive collections of dolls, longhorn cattle horns, old gramophones, and lightning rods for its permanent displays. The preservation of subject-specific collections is important to the understanding of that subject. The Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. is such preservation at its grandest. The Potton House is a different type of museum, where preservation and interpretation of one time period is paramount. Visitors have a visceral response – “I can imagine myself living here, at that time.”