Essays

Moseying: Locations of Interest

A town becomes a ghost town when memories are gone
April 19, 2006

“These two folks may be the last two people alive that lived in the old town of Fort Chadbourne.” Mickey McCowan told me as he introduced me to Demetra Holder, age 88, and James Saunders, age 82. James’ grandson Leman told me later that James had a sister still living down in San Angelo. (Annie Gill of the Fort Chadbourne military site later told me of another gentleman in Odessa who also once lived at Fort Chadbourne.) Ms. Holder lives in Abilene with her daughter Jan Boggan, who had driven her to Fort Chadbourne. Ms. Holder looked twenty years younger, and hiked along with the rest of us “jes’ fine” as we poked around in what was left of the old town. Ms. Holder, in a very quiet and lady-like demeanor would take issue with James at times – “I don’t remember it quite that way.”

Mr. McCowan invited me to explore the old town, after receiving permission from the current landowner (David Adams, a retired MISD principal). Mr. Adams suggested inviting the Saunders men, but he could not make it the day of the daytrip. Mr. McCowan invited his relatives (Demetra and Jan), and I suggested he invite Garland Richards, who has done an incredible job of reconstructing part of the old Fort Chadbourne military post. “Many of the folks that settled this region were from Alabama, escaping the excesses of Reconstruction,” he told me as we explored the old town. Garland brought along his wife Lana and Mrs. Pate (who helps the Richards’ out at the old fort.) It is a bit confusing, I must admit, having a town and a fort with the same name, but we were there to explore what was left of the old town.

Leman Saunders is graduating from McMurry University in Abilene this December with a degree in history. He was filming his granddad for a school project on transcribing oral history. He plans on going to graduate school in Ireland in a year or two. James Saunders still works, driving backhoes to clear brush for ranchers in the Blackwell area. James is definitely the raconteur, constantly telling us all stories about all of his years in the region. One of his best friends was Garland Richards’ uncle Bud – they spent their youth hiking and hunting every inch of the surrounding hills.

Lots of Midland folks know the region – after spending time at the Oak Creek Reservoir just south of Blackwell. It is “mighty pretty country,” with cedar covered hills, mottes of live oaks, and valleys full of hackberry and pecan. “This all used to be open country,” James told us. “After the ranchers brought in sheep in the 1950s everything grew up so thick you can’t see a hundred feet. You know sheep wool can carry seeds of all kinds, and the sheep grazed the country to the bone in that long drought.”

After we had gone through Mr. Adams’ gate, Mr. Saunders led us through a terrible mesquite and cactus thicket. “The old store is this way.” We had to duck under branches and push tasajillo cactus down just to step. My socks became full of the burry seeds of horehound. We eventually came to a large cement slab, with vegetation growing up through the cracks. Just to the east of the slab was a huge old live oak. “This tree was here in the late 1920s, but none of the rest of this brush was here,” he told us. “After it quit being a store, this is where dances were held ever Saturday night” and he named several of the musicians, including relatives of Ms. Holder’s.

After all of us standing around and chatting for a few minutes, Mr. Saunders plunged into the thicket again. “I want to see if the old bank vault is still here.” Within a hundred or so feet he pointed at a big pile of rocks undermined with holes. “Be careful, this looks snaky. This is the vault. See between us and the store – see that low area – that was the street – it is a good two feet lower than either side.”

Garland Richards pulled out an old Kansas City, Mexico, and Orient plat of the town. Mr. Saunders pointed out exactly where we were. “Now, even though all of this was platted out, all of the lots of the town were not sold. The town was getting to be a pretty good size until 1929 – the school had 17 classrooms and over 130 students that year. But the next year consolidation came along, and the closest school in Coke County was in Bronte, so just about everybody packed up and moved there. Some folks moved to Blackwell, or at least over the Nolan County line so they could go to school at Blackwell, just five miles from the town of Fort Chadbourne.

Some folks hung on longer, like Mr. McCowan’s Uncle Dee and Aunt Hattie who stayed until about 1950. He told us, “I came and visited them a couple times when they lived here. We lived over in Wingate (about 20 miles away.)” After we left the old town site we traveled north to the old Kirkland homeplace, where Ms. Holder (a Kirkland) had spent many enjoyable days. In a dense mesquite thicket we found a few lines of rock – “This is where the house was – and it was still standing as late as the 1950’s,” she commented.

Young Leman Saunders had pointed out purple paint on top of the gateposts on the rutted trail leading to the old Kirkland homeplace. “I hope we don’t get shot – the purple is a local way to warn folks that trespassers are not tolerated.” We were lucky, for the only vehicle to pass as we were there belonged to the “middle Saunders,” Leman’s dad and James’ son.

We drove to the City Café in Blackwell for lunch – and everybody dug into some big hamburgers and onion rings. Mr. McCowan convinced a young man, a customer, to take a picture of the 9 people on the daytrip. Mr. Saunders regaled us with stories and anecdotes of the region and its people.

As we all headed our separate ways, Mr. McCowan pulled me aside. “Today we learned about how life was here – and when James and Demetra are gone, the stories will fade away.”

Related: Fort Chadbourne Daytrip