Downtown Houston

Posted on March 24, 2026 by admin

Who made these skyscrapers possible?

Considering that they are in Houston, Texas, that would be Willis Carrier, father of modern air conditioning.

Heat wasn’t an issue in Houston in February, which was one reason to make my way downtown for a walkabout. Another reason is completely idiosyncratic: I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been downtown. Not 2019, though we could see downtown from Buffalo Bayou and visited Houston’s alt downtown, the Galleria district; or 2015, when we made it to the Menil Collection. Close each time, but no cigar.

A surprising amount of pre-air conditioning Houston remains downtown, though of course even the oldest building has been retrofitted for HVAC.

Nice ironwork on the green one.

Structures surviving from the 1880s.

Imagine those 1880s buildings back in the 1880s. In July, say. Couldn’t have been pleasant. Or any of Houston in 1873, the date of this map.

The 1880 Census counted 16,513 residents of Houston, a near doubling from 1870. Hardy souls who endured the heat and malaria and fetid dung underfoot, among other conditions. Back then, Houston wasn’t quite the port it would be later. The major port then was Indianola, Texas, pop. 5,000 in 1875, before the vicious hurricane that year, that is, the first of two that reduced Indianola to the status of ghost town.

Not all the remnants of an older Houston are buildings, but are underfoot.

There’s a story behind the ghost tiles advertising Loewenstein’s Cigars: an early Texas mercantile family.

Also underfoot.

The splendid former Rice Hotel, designed by John Mauran and completed in 1913, though it only had two towers at the time, becoming triune with a later addition. These days, it’s an apartment building.

The 1910 Harris County courthouse, with enough heft to be a state capitol building.

“An imposing, domed neo-classical edifice, it is a prime example of the civic architecture of Houston of the 1900s and 1910s and is the only example in Houston of the work of Lang & Witchell, a leading Dallas architectural firm of that period,” notes the Texas Historical Commission.

Downtown Houston is also a city of murals. Tall murals.

Even on the parking garage I used.

That one lauds the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo, which just ended for this year. “A total of 2.6 million people attended the Houston rodeo this year held across three weeks at NRG Park,” Houston Public Media says.

Bastrop, Texas

Posted on March 23, 2026 by admin

Consider Philip Hendrik Nering Bögel, an 18th-century Dutchman who at one point in his career was collector general of taxes for the province of Friesland. The Texas State Historical Association takes up his story: “In 1793 he was accused of embezzlement of tax funds and fled the country before he could be brought to trial. After the Court of Justice of Leeuwarden offered a reward of 1,000 gold ducats to anyone who brought him back, Bögel adopted the title Baron de Bastrop.”

Those were the days, no Interpol butting into your business. No one ever collected those gold ducats, because the self-titled Baron de Bastrop spent the rest of his days in the New World, doing well for himself in New Spain and then Mexico, dying in 1827.

“One of his most significant contributions to Texas was his intercession with Governor Antonio María Martínez on behalf of Moses Austin in 1820,” TSHS continues. “Because of Bastrop, Martínez reconsidered and approved Austin’s project to establish an Anglo-American colony in Texas… Although his pretensions to nobility were not universally accepted at face value even in his own lifetime, [Bastrop] earned respect as a diplomat and legislator. Bastrop, Texas, and Bastrop, Louisiana, as well as Bastrop County, Texas, were named in his honor.”

Reminds me of the psychologically astute moment (one of a number) in Mad Men, when Bert brushed off Pete’s accusation that Don had stolen another man’s identity – which happened to be true – with, “Mr. Campbell, who cares?” Bert also quoted a supposed Japanese saying, “A man is whatever room he is in.” Give credit to the scriptwriter for inventing a saying that could well be Japanese, but apparently is not.

Bastrop’s location was an important spot, once upon a time, where the Old San Antonio Road met the Colorado River.

These days, Bastrop (pop. 9,600 or so) is only a short hop by modern vehicle from Austin or San Antonio. Day-trip material from those metros, that is. That was probably true the last time I visited Bastrop, sometime in the late ’80s, but maybe not with the same retail intensity you find near the intersection of Main and Chestnut in 2026.

This part of town has a good stock of late 19th- and early 20th-century buildings. Pleases the eye, pleases the day-trippers.

Around Main and Chestnut, you’ll see Paw Paws Catfish House, Simply Sweet Cupcakes, Bastrop Beer Company, flower designer Greenleaf Gatherings, Urban Beauty Bastrop, the Hobby Hub trading card store, another trading card store called Game Time Cards, DivineLites Soap Shop, Lost Pines Art Bazaar rug store, In The Sticks–Eclectic Gifts and More, Rhinestone Rattler Boutique, Monarch Art Gallery and Main Street Yoga Bastrop. A partial list. The town seems to be doing OK.

Looks like a newer building. The architect did a good job of blending it into its surroundings.

Plenty of these.

Advertising.

Not far from Main St. and next to the aforepictured Bastrop County courthouse is the old county jail.

In 1979, nearby Bastrop State Park, not the town itself, was the scene of Pine Cone Wars, Midnight Backgammon and our slightly older “chaperons” who holed up in a separate tent much of the time to make the beast with two backs. The youthful antics of two successive camping trips with high school friends that spring are something of a blur now, but a pleasant one.

Austin ’26

Posted on March 22, 2026 by admin

South Austin Strolls

Tom’s neighborhood in south Austin is carved into the sides of the dry low hills near the Balcones Escarpment, its streets as much of a grid as possible, which isn’t that much. During my visit, we took a couple of walks in the neighborhood, as we were enjoying an unusually warm February, even for Texas. I started noticing the odd mailboxes. The last one isn’t that odd, but I liked it.

Never mind the five-cent cigar. That’s what this country needs, more whimsical mail boxes. Or little free libraries that offer books, but also sticks and tennis balls for dogs.

More neighborhood ambiance: I call it the TR Elephant.

I took the TR Elephant to my casual AI studio, and once again only proved that image-to-video via text is still a very, very stupid process. Maybe my prompts weren’t clear, but then again, I told the program very specifically what not to do — namely change the eyeglasses or the mustache or the hair — and alternatively phrased things more positively (e.g., “elephant’s mustache and hair remain the same”). Damned if it didn’t change those things anyway, every time, including one time the elephant grew a sort of man bun.

This was as close as I got to what I wanted.

And apparently the program doesn’t know “rimless spring bridge Pince-Nez eyeglasses” (the kind TR wore) from its AI ass. It could not be persuaded to provide the elephant that kind of glasses, after I gave up on trying to keep the glasses the same.

More neighborhood sights.

Do they receive a paper copy of the Texas Observer? Or just enthusiasts, whatever the physical media? Tom took that moment to hone his considerable photobombing skills.

It wouldn’t be the last time.

Austin Skyline

I’ll walk a mile for a good skyline, and in the case of Austin recently, that’s pretty much what we did. We did a walkabout around the banks of the Colorado River not far from downtown. We crossed the river at one point, via a pedestrian bridge under the Mopac Expressway.

The Colorado.

Our stroll took us to the other side of the river, up mild hills on twisty paths, and through copses of gnarly South Texas trees in the massive Zilker Park.

The view from the far bank.

From the near bank, including a kite.

The crowded roads are annoying, and I’m glad I don’t have to deal with property prices in the city, but even so the shiny, growing skyline is a thing of wonder.

Downtown Austin

Nighttime downtown Austin was our choice for another stroll. One reason: Austin neon.

Some public art.

Saw a mural being created: honoring Austin City Limits, looks like.

More Austin, But No Moon Towers This Time

Popped into a joint called JuiceLand for refreshing beverages during my visit. One of many such locations in Austin, Houston and Dallas, the kind of place that has an “Our Ethos” subpage on its web site: “Our veggies and add-ins are always organic, and we source healthy, high-quality, sustainable ingredients to provide our guests & crew with progressive, healthy, uniquely tasty food and drinks.” All that aside, they served some good concoctions. Guess it’s good to have an ethos.

Not photobombing per se by Tom, but who could resist a photo op with the JuiceLand Gorilla?

Yet another walk took us near local infrastructure. The plastic cup was mine, a recent souvenir of Cosmic, a wonderful outdoor food and beverage venue just off South Congress. If it isn’t an Austin institution, it ought to be.

I’d like to say I wasn’t surprised, but somehow I was.

Five More Texas Courthouses, 2026

Posted on March 20, 2026 by admin

The Republic of Texas started out with 23 counties, with more carved out of those in the years afterward, until the most recent establishment, Kenedy County, in 1921. In our time, there are 254 counties, including (slightly) infamously, Loving County, pop. 64 last time I checked. If you go looking for a county with fewer people anywhere in the entire United States, you’ll be out of luck. Loving is it.

Strictly as a tourist proposition, county courthouses have a lot to recommend them. In all but the largest cities, they’re usually easy to find, on a square ringed by smaller buildings, and pretty much in the middle of their towns. They’re free, but not always open. Some have small museums; a few former courthouses are themselves more sizable museums. A good many date from the golden age of U.S. courthouse building, which I’d put from the end of the Civil War to the beginning of World War I.

With all that in mind, the following are five more Texas county courthouses I saw this time around.

Hill County, Hillsboro, Texas.

Presidio County, Marfa, Texas.

Runnels County, Ballinger, Texas

San Augustine County, San Augustine, Texas.

Scurry County, Snyder, Texas.

My maternal grandparents grew up in Scurry County. The courthouse I saw wasn’t the one grandpa would have seen as a young blade. That would be this.

My idle musing about visiting every 254 Texas courthouses was no mere musing for an architect who did exactly that, and blogged about it. About the modern Scurry County courthouse, he said, “Without a doubt, the 1972 alteration of the historic Scurry County courthouse is the most offensive desecration of a Texas courthouse to date. It’s truly sad.”

“These redesign plans are — interesting. Where are the windows?”

“Window are passé.”

Another resource for courthouse (and postcard) enthusiasts: Courthouse History, a collection of postcards depicting every county and parish in the United States. Now that’s an epic project.

Five Texas Courthouses, 2026

Posted on March 19, 2026 by admin

The first time I remember making my mother laugh was in the courthouse square in Denton, Texas, seat of Denton County. Kids make their parents laugh sometimes, unless the parent is completely sour on life, and then woe be to the child. We’d gotten out of church one Sunday noonish when I was maybe six. After church, it was our habit to drive over to the courthouse square to visit a small store for sodas and snacks. A highlight of the day, as you’d think. I remember the long outline of that store, and the rows of candy I explored.

The streets were crowded, maybe more than usual, and it probably meant that we, my mother that is, temporarily couldn’t find for a parking space. “The Baptists must have just gotten out of church,” she said, referring maybe to a specific church, or to the fact that many Baptists tended to be out and about on Sunday, this being Texas. (Quotes are reconstructions, because of course.)

“Do they know we’re Episcopalians?” I said.

That day or any other that I saw it in the mid-1960s, the Denton County Courthouse was a hulking presence, the focus of attention for blocks around, and, for a young kid, a mysterious place. Obviously an important place, but what goes on inside?

Last month, now in my own mid-60s of age and armed with a somewhat better knowledge of civics, I stopped to take a look at 10 or more county courthouses in Texas along the routes of my travels.

Anderson County. Palestine, Texas.

Bastrop County. Bastrop, Texas.

Bell County, Belton, Texas.

Caldwell County. Lockhart, Texas.

Erath County. Stephenville, Texas.

Sometimes I could get in, sometimes the building was closed. With one or two exceptions, I managed to walk all the way around the courthouses. There’s a niche travel blog for you (and I’m not the man to do it): circumambulate all 254 Texas county courthouses. Why? Because they’re there.

Oakwood Cemetery, Huntsville

Posted on March 18, 2026 by admin

Sometimes the right word just comes to you: tatterdemalion. As in, the tatterdemalion historic Oakwood Cemetery in Huntsville, Texas, or at least the older section of it.

I use that word with great affection for tatterdemalion cemeteries – ragged and dilapidated, the ragamuffins of the cemetery world, attracting even less attention than the big-deal Victorian cemeteries in the big cities. These cemeteries might be scruffy, but their repose is deep.

Oakwood does have Sam Houston, so people must come for him.

Oops.

You can park your car on the street, walk a few seconds to Gen. Houston’s stone, pay your respects, and never enter the cemetery proper.

Too bad. The grounds extend along a long strip of land, generally sheltered by such pines as you find in the piney green East Texas, and sport a variety of stones, older and newer, moderately ornate and more modest.

Some smashed slowly by time. The fate of all, eventually.

Henderson King Yoakum (d. 1856) is here. He was on the ground floor when it came to writing Texas history, authoring a two-volume work titled History of Texas from Its First Settlement in 1685 to Its Annexation to the United States in 1846 in 1846. His is the taller of the two obelisks.

Off in a corner of the older section – which is the sector near Houston – are simple crosses.

They tell a story. Actually, no. A sign nearby does. It’s worth reading in its entirety.

A related story, about the yellow fever epidemic of 1867.

To summarize, in case the text in the photo is hard to read: a lot of Huntsville residents died that year from yellow fever, though not Gen. Houston, who was already dead. Wonder whether any Huntsville physicians or other men of science died persuaded that miasma did them in.

Oak Grove Cemetery, Nacogdoches

Posted on March 17, 2026 by admin

Houston’s Glenwood Cemetery sprawls out near downtown, adjacent to much of the parkland along Buffalo Bayou. In Nacogdoches, Oak Grove Cemetery is a more modest burial ground. Nacogdoches is a more modest city. The entrance to Oak Grove is about a half block from the Main St., but the grounds are still tucked away in a residential neighborhood along Lanana St.

Decent flora, but not a garden cemetery.

It’s an old cemetery by modern Texas standards – the first burial was the year after independence – so the cemetery punches above its weight in one way: noted early Texans. Such as Harden Edwards.

The state saw fit, during the 1936 Centennial, to put up a new stone for Edwards, an empresario and “Leader of the Freedonian Rebellion,” who must have penned the rousing tune, “Hail, Hail Freedonia,” for future generations to enjoy.

The stone of a great-great granddaughter of Edwards who died in 1963 seems eager to bask in his remote glory. Why not?

One of the cemetery’s four signers of the Texas Declaration of Independence (60 men in total signed it).

A big name around here: Thomas J. Rusk.

He was a signer, fought at San Jacinto, and had a notable career in antebellum Texas and U.S. politics. There’s is a town a county over from Nacogdoches named Rusk, seat of Cherokee County. Also, strangely, a font based on his handwriting was created in our time, “Texas Hero.”

Some regular folks.

I don’t know how ordinary this person was, but perhaps he was gifted with Victorian prolixity. Or maybe his family was.

Brick tombs of the kind I’ve seen elsewhere in the South from roughly the same period, that is, sometime in the 19th century.

Adjacent to the cemetery but not associated with it is the former home of Zion Hill Baptist Church, one of the oldest African-American Baptist congregations in Texas, founded in 1878. The church is on the corner of Lanana and the delightfully named Bois d’arc St., as in lumpy “apples.”

The congregation hasn’t used the structure, designed in 1914 by architect Diedrich Rulfs, for nearly 40 years. It’s a fine little museum these days, restored to its early 20th century glory.

Rulfs was a German who made good in Texas, as so many have, within a very special niche: most of the buildings worth seeing in Nacogdoches are his work.

Glenwood Cemetery, Houston

Posted on March 16, 2026 by admin

Another in the very large file of Things You Don’t See Everywhere.

Go to a Texas cemetery of any size and of an older vintage, and you might well see one. While in Houston, I made my way to the Glenwood Cemetery, which isn’t far from downtown.

Expansive, slightly rolling but also partly hilly, and chock-a-block with stones for the departed.

Pretty lush in the spring or summer, but earth tones take over for the winter. Glenwood Cemetery is Houston’s rural cemetery movement cemetery, opening in 1871 and since becoming the permanent residence of citizens of the Republic, but also assorted mayors, governors, business men and other Houston notables, including those with the scratch for some sizable memorials. Some monumental.

Others more artistic.

Goyen is an angel, looking rather not like one you might see on a Hallmark card. Below, looks like St. Michael body-stomping Satan.

A large section of the cemetery, among the hills, uses artful bricks and intricate layouts and other features to convey old money – as old as Houston’s going to get, anyway, so we’re not talking about the Rothschilds.

All very nice, but it’s good not to overlook more ordinary folk.

Including the usual sort of sad memorials you always find.

Well worn by time, but you can tell it memorializes a child.

Animated Big Boy

Posted on March 15, 2026 by admin

Busy day, for-pay work to be done. Good day to stay home anyway, since rain has been falling in thick waves. Snow expected on Monday, followed by a winter-like cold snap for a day or two. Bah.

On Friday, on a whim, I used an AI program to animate one of the Big Boy statues I saw last month. A modest ad for the museum.

I created a new You Tube channel for it, It’s AI, But It Ain’t Slop, which is a motto we can call rally around. I’m starting to suspect that much AI animation looks like it does not only because of the technology’s inherent limitations, but also because of unimaginative prompts. Just a hunch.

Anyway, in roughly 48 hours, the thing has gotten more than 1,000 views, along with three likes and a dislike, but no comments. That isn’t many views in the grand scheme of YouTube, and only about a quarter of that total watched all the way through, but I’m tickled all the same. My postings over the years have been desultory, and none has gotten more than a few dozen views, if that. Give the people what they want, I guess, such as talking Big Boys.

Inn at the Art Center Bed & Breakfast

Posted on March 12, 2026 by admin

It’s Burl Ives. It has to be.

Not quite as sure about this one.

I thought of Ed Wynn, but his glasses tended to be round, if Google images is to be believed. I asked AI for some suggestions about which famed entertainer was known for his oval-rimmed glasses, and it returned the following suggestions from most to least likely: Harold Lloyd, Peter Lorre and Buddy Hackett. Not sure “Buddy Hackett” in this context is an AI hallucination. Just a lousy opinion. Maybe there’s no single inspiration anyway.

Which came first, the chicken or the art center? There’s a definite answer to that, the chicken. Lots of chickens.

By the early 1970s, a sizable chicken farm in San Angelo, Texas, had run its course, and artists took to the task of redeveloping the place into the Old Chicken Farm Art Center. Fifty-plus years is a long time, but if you wander around the property in the morning sun, as Yuriko and I did, you’ll get a sense of the old chicken haunts.

No mere coops, but a poultry complex of an earlier time. I’m sure it was made obsolete by larger facilities and automation. These days, most of the spaces are art studios.

Because I can, I checked the numbers for chicken production in Tom Green County, of which San Angelo is the seat. Relatively few chickens, turns out: $220,000 in chicken sales in 2022, compared to $54.7 million in cattle sales for the county. Sounds like that might be a single chicken farm out somewhere from town. The town chickens, you might say, long ago flew the coop.

Being an art complex, there’s a lot of art and other objects on display, besides the wooden faces.

Being fairly early still on Monday morning, most of the studios weren’t open yet – they would be in the afternoon, when were already on the road to Marathon. We’d passed the night at the Inn at the Art Center Bed & Breakfast, in a room that opens onto a breezeway.

Artists had clearly been turned loose to design the rooms. Much to the better, I’d say. Ours was a two-bedroom unit with the sheen of an upmarket forest lodge, but without a particularly high price.