By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

Last week I took on the challenge of finding out about City Lot 89. It is located on the corner of South Seguin Avenue and Coll Street, across from the First Protestant Church. We know it today as the location of Johnson Furniture Co and their lovely, landscaped corner.

This prime real estate was first drawn by lot from the Adelsverein’s land grant by Aloys Rosser in 1848. Rosser sold it to Jacob Winkler in 1850, who quickly flipped it to H. Bevenroth. By 1854, Bevenroth’s estate had sold Lot 89 to Charles Rossy and his wife, and they sold it to Carl Floege. Six owners in six years — I’m guessing that maybe they wanted farmland not city property or perhaps saw a quick way to make some cash.

Carl Floege, a cabinetmaker by trade, immigrated to Texas in 1849. After obtaining Lot 89 in 1854, he built a home and his first general store on the property. He built a much larger, two-story business on Main Plaza (location of Utilities building) and a larger home off Market Plaza. Impressive! More impressive, he used his carpentry skills and know-how to build the first low-water bridge over the Comal at West San Antonio Street (1856), the Torrey Mill bridge on the Comal at Bridge Street (1867) and a new high-water bridge over the Comal (1873) at the location of his former low-water bridge after it had washed away.

Mr. Floege also used his trade to work on the first Comal County Courthouse (1856), a new 66-foot river ferryboat (1859), add rooms to the New Braunfels Academy (1867), deal with city streets and drainage issues (1873-1874), and build numerous stores and homes. Carl could truthfully say he built a lot of old New Braunfels with his two hands.

Carl Floege sold Lot 89 to Rudolph DuMenil in 1858, after the completion of his larger store and home. DuMenil had emigrated from Germany in 1850, and first lived in Hortontown where he ran a meat market for about eight years. In 1858, he moved into the old Floege home and set up his own general merchandising business in the old Floege Store. DuMenil literally sold everything but the kitchen sink — Hungarian grass, bois d’arc saplings for living fence lines, whiskey and brandy, clothing, dry goods, lead and percussion caps, hardware, tobacco products, paint, stoves and kitchenware. Maybe he did sell the sink! Rudolph also sold an ambulance, pianos and did freighting as well as being involved in local education as a trustee at the New Braunfels Academy.

In 1875, DuMenil auctioned off his store inventory and rented the store building to Carl Floege’s son Herman to use as a wagon business. When Herman Floege moved his business elsewhere in 1881, the store was rented to Homans Saddlery/Leather shop.

Lot 89, with the old Floege home and store, was sold by the DuMenils to Cuno “C.J.” Ludewig in 1902. Mr. Ludewig and his brothers had started a furniture business in 1887 at the location of the old Krueger Chevrolet building (across from Granzin Bar-B-Q). C. J. Ludewig took over the business from his brothers and moved it to the Seguin Street property in 1905. The family lived in the old home and ran the furniture company out of the DuMenil store. In 1929, a new “modern” brick building was built next to the old DuMenil store. It had the first elevator in any building in New Braunfels. Almost 3,500 townspeople attended the new store opening event where souvenir ashtrays featuring Charles Lindbergh’s face were distributed. The building was just one of several “modern” buildings built just prior to the market crash of 1929: Travelers Hotel (Faust) 1927, Comal Power Plant (Landmark) 1926, Greyhound Bus Station (Celebrations) 1929, Booker T. Washington School 1929, and the old City Hall 1929, to name a few.

All three of Ludewig’s sons helped in the store. Local competitors included Jahn Furniture Co., Lack’s Furniture & Automotive, and Starke’s Furniture in Seguin. Ludewig’s sold all kinds of high-quality manufactured furniture that included kitchen, living and bedroom pieces. To promote their company, C.J.’s son, Monroe F. “Fatty” Ludewig, began giving out “little Lane cedar chests” to graduating senior girls in New Braunfels. I still have mine!

When the Ludewig fam­ily de­cided to get out of the busi­ness, they leased the 1929 fur­ni­ture build­ing and the old Du­Me­nil store to Wal­lace and Dorothy John­son in 1966, who con­tin­ued to run the busi­ness un­der the name John­son Fur­ni­ture Co. In 1972, the John­sons bought the prop­erty out­right. In 1984, the old Du­Me­nil Store was sold and moved to Gruene (Hunter Junc­tion) where it sur­vives.

Wal­lace and Dorothy’s daugh­ter Carol pur­chased the prop­erty from her par­ents in 1989 and runs the John­son Fur­ni­ture store to­day. She con­tin­ues the legacy of pro­vid­ing qual­ity fur­ni­ture and decor to New Braun­fels cit­i­zens that be­gan on Lot 89 over 120 years ago.

If you have never been in­side this his­toric fam­ily busi­ness, you have a chance to prac­tice yoga in it on Thurs­day, Oc­to­ber 10, 2024, from 5:30–7 p.m. The $15 fee ben­e­fits the So­phien­burg Mu­seum & Archives. Fol­low­ing prac­tice, a bev­er­age and his­tory talk will let you ex­plore the build­ing.

If you are not into yoga, drop by the store, say hello and check out all the good stuff. Carol’s got a chair, bed or table that is bound to have your name on it.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives: Ludewig, Floege and DuMenil family histories; Reflections program #918-Monroe C. Ludewig; New Braunfels Herald and Neu Braunfelser Herald newspaper collections.

“Around the Sophienburg” is published every other weekend in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

I recently found a note in Oscar Haas’s archive collection, “Zeitung, Thursday, July 6, 1899. Use story some time concerning a jailbreak.” He never published the story.

I felt like he was “speaking from the grave” and I should look into it.

The first purpose-built Comal County Jail was a log structure constructed at the location of the current Elks Lodge’s parking lot on South Seguin Street. It was used until 1854, when a new jail was built at what is now 509 W. Mill St.

The earliest reported jailbreak in the New Braunfels Zeitung was from the Mill Street jail in February 1859. The prisoner, William D. Harris, had committed a brutal murder in Seguin. Eight days prior to the escape, the sheriff heard unusual sounds from the cell. Opening the door, he discovered that Harris had broken free of his chains and that an attempt had been made to break through the cell wall, from both the inside and the outside, with a crowbar and a file. Two men were put on constant guard outside the building. At 11 p.m. on the night of the breakout, about 15 men on horseback descended on the jail and broke the boards and one lock of the two oak doors. The chain and cuffs attached to prisoner Harris were broken off with a heavy hammer.

Don’t know if Harris was ever caught. That’s research for another time.

In 1866, a suspected horse thief and another prisoner attempted an escape by creating a hole in the cell wall. Fortunately, the sheriff arrived before the hole was big enough for the escapees. The two men were put in irons.

An extremely inventive jailbreak was attempted in July of 1874. Two prisoners used the bacon they had been given for supper to grease and set fire to the heavy oak planks of the door that separated their cells. One of the escapees got through and began working to make a hole in the outer jail wall. The second man began coughing from the smoke and got stuck in the burned opening. Prisoner One soon went back and pulled his comrade through. The process scraped quite a lot of skin from the man’s torso; he refused to help make the second hole in the outer wall. Daylight brought the sheriff and ended their creative jailbreak.

Eventually, the Mill Street jail proved inadequate both in size and reliability. In 1879, a new two-story cut-limestone jail was erected behind the 1860 Comal County Courthouse (located where the Chase Bank building is on Main Plaza). This jail was built with an iron roof and doors and cost the county about $10,000; it could hold 20-30 prisoners.

Crime must have been on the rise.

In a humorous, Andy Griffith-like moment, a prisoner escaped from the brand-new jail by simply walking out of his unlocked cell and through an unguarded front door. He was caught later across the bridge in Comaltown. The editors of the newspaper printed the question, “Why don’t we close the doors?”.

The year 1866 saw another jailbreak. James Alexander, incarcerated for the involuntary manslaughter of Walter Krause, simply disappeared from the jail. On the morning of the escape, he was heard playing his flute. When lunch was brought in to him, he was gone. The sheriff, who was in Seguin at the time of the jailbreak, located Alexander in San Antonio the next day. The newspaper never shared how the jailbreak was accomplished.

Now the 1899 story that motivated me to check out this subject. The Neu Braunfels Zeitung article is quite tongue-in-cheek.

Three prisoners escaped from “our break-in and escape-proof county prison” in the wee hours of the morning when the sheriff was away. The men had not been sentenced so were not locked in a cell. Having freedom to move in the corridor between the cells and the prison wall, they managed to fashion an axe with a piece of iron attached to a broken broom handle. With this implement, and the use of a water hose used to clean the cells, the three “very cleverly” used the water hose to soften the mortar and then scrape it away so that the stones of the wall could be pulled in or pushed out without much effort. The last paragraph is priceless:

“These guys really deserve recognition for their job. They probably didn’t want the free room and board from the County any longer… But rumor has it that the intelligent escapees, after celebrating July 4th outdoors, will want free quarters and will decide to break into the prison again. However, all precautionary measures have been taken to prevent this…”

I do love a journalist with a wicked sense of humor.

The 1879 limestone jail was replaced by an addition to the Comal County Court­house in 1931, although it wasn’t torn down until 1958. I found several references to jail­breaks from this newest jail. A rather spec­tac­ular one occurred in 1963. Two prisoners joined forces and escaped via a large steel trapdoor to the third-floor roof. The trap­door was chained to a steel ladder which was bolted to the concrete ceiling of the jail. The two prisoners worked the large steel bolts out of the concrete enough to slide the ladder and trapdoor over to give them space to escape. From the roof, they used an angled corner of the court­house to climb down the rock face to the roof of the first floor. There, they connected a rope made from two blankets and a jacket to the downspout of the gutter. Once on the ground they each went their own way. The other jail inmates said the breakout occurred around 9:45 p.m. The jail­break was not discovered until morning at 8:30 a.m. by a passer­by who saw the blankets fluttering on the building and informed the jailer. The alarm was sounded and by 9 a.m., one of the fugitives was rearrested at his home in Comaltown. The other, who had served time for murder, had been waiting to be trans­ferred to Mexico by immigrat­ion authorities. It is thought he may have made his way home on his own.

Thanks for the nudge, Mr. Haas. It really did need to be used in a story.

(“Around the Sophienburg” is published every other weekend in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung.)

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

So, I’m still in “cigar-mode.” Once begun, research on a subject takes me down many roads, each with their own questions to answer.

For instance, I found out that early New Braunfels had cigar makers. These were not big outfits, but little factories which had one to five individuals who hand-rolled the cigars. While some did grow their own tobacco, most obtained tobacco leaves from Cuba and places in east Texas and Louisiana. It almost goes without saying that most of the makers here in New Braunfels had been trained back in Germany.

As early as 1853, a Mr. Arnold is listed as a local cigar maker in the city. Gustav Conrads set up a cigar factory in 1871, and employed four workers until 1874. Ed Rische, formerly a New Braunfels resident, advertised in 1880 that he had opened a factory in San Antonio and would sell locals (his old friends) his cigars. Gus Mittendorf had been making cigars in his small factory in Comaltown for several years. In 1896, he moved his enterprise out to Austin Hill. Adam von Buchberg reportedly began a cigar factory in 1896 which was still operating in 1902. It is difficult to find information on these early men, but now they are on my radar. Does anyone know of some Hispanic cigar makers?

Carl Schreyer (Schreier) started his cigar making business in 1901. Carl had moved his family to New Braunfels in 1898. He was fond of singing and was a member of the Protestant Church choir and the Echo men’s singing society. He was also in Hermann Sons. His cigars were so good that they won prizes at the Comal County Fair in 1903. The Schreyer cigar factory was located in Comaltown.

Carl also manufactured a special cigar blend for Ed Gruene. “Ed Gruene’s Military Band” brand cigar box featured a photo of the band on the inside of the cigar box lid. Members in the photo were: Director Gruene; Robert Schreyer, brother of cigar maker Carl; Robert Zipp; Alwin Steinbring; Edward Kanz; Harry Eberhardt; Oscar Braunholz; Henry Dierks; Carl Freitag; Richard Nolte; Willie Nuhn; Carl Fehlis; Carl Druebert; Willie Gebhardt, founder of the Gebhardt Chili Co.; Robert Kirmse; Edwin Eberhardt; and drum major Adam von Buchberg, who also made cigars.

The best-known local cigar maker was H.W. Schmidt. He was born at Bünde, Westphalia, in 1866. Schmidt learned cigar making as a young man in Germany before he immigrated alone to America when he was 18 years old. Schmidt moved around mid-America living and making cigars in St. Louis, Denver, and Milwaukee. It was in Milwaukee that a doctor diagnosed him with a heart ailment and told him to move to the Texas Hill Country region. In 1905, H.W. Schmidt moved to New Braunfels with his wife and two daughters. He opened his cigar factory in 1906, featuring his “Comal” and “Colorado” brands. Schmidt sold his cigars to almost all the saloons in downtown New Braunfels and in rural Comal County. His first factory was in the “old Schnabel home on Comal Street.” Later, he moved the factory to “Mrs. Scherff’s recently vacated building on Mill Street.” Schmidt entered his cigars and tobacco in the 1908 Comal County Fair. By 1909, he may have opened another factory in Lockhart. He also bought Ed Kuhfuss’s billiard and pool establishment, “The Smoke House,” at 508 San Antonio St. He promised patrons that the quality of his cigars would never be lacking. His brothers Ernst and Herman joined him in the factory; they are listed along with H.W. as cigar makers in the 1920 US Census.

While H.W. Schmidt sold his own brands of cigars, he also blended custom cigars for many of his patrons. These were boxed under exclusive labels. At least two of these patrons featured their sons’ portraits on the cigar boxes. “Little Dan” cigars were made for saloon owner Otto Reeh who at one time also managed the Phoenix Saloon. “Little Julius” or “Little Schleyer” cigars were made for Ed Schleyer who sold them in his saloon. Julius Schleyer, known as “Judge” Schleyer, was later a prominent local attorney but he was just a small child when his face graced his dad’s exclusive cigar boxes in 1906.

Fischer Store, out near what is now Canyon Lake, bought and sold many H.W. Schmidt’s cigars. Schmidt also shipped his cigars to the community of Comfort and towns in the Hill Country. The New Braunfels Herald even reported that Max Neuse kept himself supplied with Schmidt’s cigars when he went off to World War I. Schmidt cigars were obviously a local favorite for many years.

H.W. Schmidt died from complications following surgery in 1929. Carl Schreyer had died in 1928. With their passing, the era of a good hand-rolled local cigar had come to an end.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum: NB Zeitung and Herald newspaper collections; Family genealogy collections; Oscar Haas; Edna Faust and Marjorie Cook collections.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

How we honor our dead says a lot about who we are. It embodies what we believe and how we live and die. For Hispanic Heritage Month, the Sophienburg Museum and West Side Community Center and Library have partnered to focus on where local Hispanic families have laid to rest their loved ones. We have discovered many stories to share with New Braunfels at our second Fiesta Patria event, “Jardin de las Almas” or Garden of Souls. This free event will be held Saturday, September 10, 2022, on the Sophienburg grounds from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., and will include food, entertainment, exhibits and activities for the kids.

The graves of men, women and children of Hispanic descent can be found in each of the five main city cemeteries: New Braunfels Cemetery, Comal Cemetery, Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Cemetery, Panteon Hidalgo and Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Cemetery. We started with the information recorded in Sexton records. With the incorporation of birth and death certificates, city land deeds, newspaper accounts, photographs, church records and Morales Funeral Home records, we began to build a story of early New Braunfels and how we lived — and died — together.

Concentrating on finding the oldest references and markers, many hours were spent this lovely warm Texas summer visiting, over and over, these places of history and culture. Each cemetery has its own unique identity.

New Braunfels Cemetery, located on West Nacogdoches between Peach and Grape streets, began in 1845 and received many of those early pioneers who founded NB. It also is the resting place for the almost 400 people buried in mass graves who died from hardship and illness like cholera. The oldest existing marker is of Johann Justus Kellner (1821-1851). The first recorded Hispanic burial was of the two-year-old son of Antonio Urdiales in 1885; four other Hispanics are recorded prior to 1900. Like so many of the souls in New Braunfels Cemetery, these are now unmarked. Many of the burial markers in this sacred ground have deteriorated over time and worse, been heavily vandalized. The identity of this relatively forgotten cemetery is one of perseverance through hardship.

Comal Cemetery is across town on Common Street and Peace Avenue. Located on land donated in 1868 by John Torrey, the first recorded burial was Fredrich (Fritz) Hartwig in 1873. However, people were using the nearby hillside covered with cedar trees (Die Peines) prior to that. A search in the sexton records revealed 33 people with Hispanic surnames were buried here between 1874 and 1900. Dionicio Lira (1879-1903) is the oldest existing marker and is located very near to Daniel Murchison’s (1809-1867) elaborate pink granite obelisk. Lira shares the immediate area with Martina Azares (1862-1906), Petro Hinojosa (1885-1919) and Pedro Dominguez (1899-1921). From its inception, Comal Cemetery’s layout made space for African Americans and Hispanics. Its identity is gracious and formal, rooted in its respect for each soul and their contributions to NB history.

Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Church first had a cemetery in the late 1840s near New Braunfels Cemetery on the city’s west side. A lawsuit over polluted water resulted in a land trade that gave the church a new burial ground near Comal Cemetery. Located next to the NB Public Library on Common Street, Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Cemetery was opened in 1889 with the internment of ten souls from the old cemetery. It is laid out on a strict grid with a center monument. The earliest part of the cemetery is the northern half which fronts Common Street. This half is divided equally between Hispanic and German/Anglo. This equality sparks joy!

More joy is found in the ways each half is culturally represented. The German/Anglo side is formal, dignified and focused on solemn remembrance. Their markers manifest the hard-won success of the citizens and honor them. The Hispanic half is less traditional. Honor is given but with a greater sense of creativity. Personality, color, and unique-shaped concrete markers with added decorative materials express the cultural inclination to celebrate life as well as honor death. The identity of this cemetery is one of freedom as the two cultures exist side-by-side through shared beliefs.

It wasn’t until after World War I, that the Hispanic community created their own cemetery. Panteon Hidalgo was begun through the efforts of a group of influential Hispanic men who saw the need to accommodate the growing population. Opened officially in 1920, Panteon Hidalgo is located across Dittlinger Street from the Catholic Cemetery and across Peace Street from Comal Cemetery. Hidalgo is a world of colorful tiles and artificial flowers with Its traditional concrete crosses crowded together. Unlike the German population, family plots here are rare, but it is rather fun to crisscross the cemetery finding family members and also seeing the graves of other old friends. Its identity is friendly and warm with remembrance.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help Catholic Church was begun in 1926 and by 1930 had grown to the point it decided to have its own cemetery. Perpetuo Socorro or Our Lady of Perpetual Help Cemetery was officially opened in 1931. This cemetery shares the block on Peace Street with Panteon Hidalgo and in many ways is similar in look and style to its neighbor. I think there are more flowers, more colored tiles, more family mementos and childrens’ toys which makes this cemetery feel very alive and cared for. It’s personal. Dignified but fun. Its identity is rooted in love of family.

We have gotten to know each of the cemeteries — each delightfully different. We have gained an understanding of how New Braunfels has grown from that early influx of pioneering Germans in the 1840s-1850s to include the African-Americans who became free in the 1860s and the Mexican citizens migrating up through Texas in the 1890s-1900s. The intensive look into our cemeteries has shown us that New Braunfels was built through the hard work and sweat of all its ethnicities. Together we have built New Braunfels and together we have died and been buried here.

Sources: Comal County Historical Commission, Sophienburg Museum & Archives

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By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

I love driving the streets of downtown New Braunfels on a crisp, clear October morning. My favorite streets are the those laid out by Nickolaus Zink and the streets of Comaltown/Braunfels. Some of the oldest buildings in Comal County are located along these streets.

As with anything old, there is likely much more to those buildings than meets the eye. Some are old buildings refreshed with multiple exterior facelifts to keep up with the latest trends, leaving them looking much younger than they really are. Then, there are old buildings that remain the same (historically correct) on the outside, even though the inside has been updated and made more functional by adding electricity and indoor plumbing. These buildings, are the most beautiful. My favorite buildings? Those with hidden secrets, of course. Imagine learning that the building you own holds a treasure underneath!

One such treasure is Eagles Hall. From the outside, it looks like a plain stucco, sort of art deco building with a hodgepodge of multiple additions marked with the year “1922.” But there is more to that story.

In 1870, New Braunfels celebrated the 25th Anniversary of its founding. The parade wound through town and across the Comal footbridge, continuing the festivities on open lots located on South Street in Comaltown. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Heinrich Paul Weichold, an 1845 immigrant, purchased two lots facing South Street. He built a 54-foot by 100-foot hall out of Comal County limestone, complete with a 38-foot by 30-foot stage. It was the largest public place for merriment anywhere around. Did you get that? 1870! That is at least eight years before Gruene Hall was built. Weichold’s Hall served both as a community meeting place and center of entertainment, hosting Turnverein (gymnastics club) events, dances, concerts, meetings, 4th of July celebrations, masquerades, and theatrical performances. The hall even held a performance of Japanese aerialists. Since most of his patrons came from across the Comal River, Mr. Weichold had railings installed on the footbridge for their safety. On the evenings of performances, he also stationed two men with lanterns at each end of the bridge to light the way. Weichold fell into financial difficulty and his property was sold on the courthouse steps on June 16, 1874.

The hall sold to the Matzdorf’s and became known as Matzdorf’s Hall. The hall was leased and run by numerous managers throughout its years of operation. In 1877, Matzdorf took over again from Rheinlaender. He made repairs to the building and put in a new dance floor. Rudolf Brandt took over as manager in 1890. He promoted the venue as “Comal Concert Hall.” In 1893, Mrs. Matzdorf became the sole owner. Other managers of the hall were Moritz Schutz, Hermann Klein, and H. Lenzen. Matzdorf Hall continued hosting touring companies, balls, lectures, operas and more.

In February of 1922, the Echo Home Association was organized solely for the purpose of buying and remodeling the Matzdorf’s Hall property. The group had 300 subscribers (paid members). By April, they hired a San Antonio architect to draw up plans and let bids to build a new building. All of the bids were rejected as too expensive. The Association bought materials in May to renovate the building themselves and dedicated the building in July. Renovations included a layer of stucco over the building’s exterior. They marked the building with “1922 Echo Halle” over the South Street entrance. The original windows and doors were left open with ceiling fans overhead. Over time, additions were made to the long side of the building, including a bar and meeting areas, and at some point, indoor bathrooms were added to the rear. There was a large porch constructed on the front, perhaps in the early to mid-40s, with multiple arched openings. Echo Halle had events going all the time, hosting firemen’s benefits, precinct elections, singing festivals, speeches by governors, bridal showers, church programs, graduations, and dances with all sorts of orchestras and bands every weekend. Many a dancer found their life mate on the Echo Halle dance floor.

In 1958, the Echo Halle was sold to the Fraternal Order of Eagles. They removed the words “Echo Halle” from the stucco but left the year 1922. They also added an inverted star/crescent emblem. Eagles Hall was ‘the’ place to have a dance, wedding reception, anniversary celebration, graduation dance. Bands like the Hi-Toppers, Cloverleaf and more filled the air with music. The well-worn dance floor is smooth as glass, due in part, to the trillions of kids who polished it with their knees or stockin’ feet during intermissions. Kids were part of the celebrations… no baby-sitters. Being the child of a Hi-Topper, I learned to dance back-stage. Others remember being put down on a palette under the tables while parents danced the night away. Eagles’ Hall has been painted a few hundred times, and paneling conceals the original windows and doors, but the bones of the structure are the same. 150 years of life and music is ingrained in every beam and every wall that surrounds the dance floor, because it really IS the old Weichold Halle.

2021 is the year that the Eagles sold the hall. Only those who have purchased it know what is to become of this historic structure that is older than Gruene Hall. In New Braunfels, we are surrounded by the historic buildings that define our heritage and city timeline. It ties us to our beginning. We have three Historic Districts established to protect old homes and buildings, including Downtown Historic District, Mill Street Historic District and Sophienburg Hill Historic District. Within these areas, rules are in place so the property owners will maintain the integrity of the original buildings, whether 50 years old or 150 years old. Eagles’ Hall is not in a historic district. New Braunfels Conservation Society has done an amazing job saving and caring for the buildings at their museum, although moving some buildings is not really an option. Eagles’ Hall is historic because of the site, the provenance and the meaning to the community. Would Gruene Hall be as wonderful sitting somewhere else? Only you, citizens of New Braunfels, and our County Historical Commission and City Council can protect the historic buildings of our metropolis. Once gone, these structures cannot be replaced. Help us preserve what makes New Braunfels special, like dance halls that are 150 years old. Older. Than. Gruene. Hall.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

I don’t have a green thumb or even a brown one. My thumbs are most definitely black when it comes to growing plants. However, I have somehow managed to sustain the life of a Night Blooming Cereus. This unusual cactus has blessed me by blooming on three separate occasions in the last two months.

As the name suggests, the plant blooms only at night and, incidentally, each bloom only last for several hours. My plant always began opening its buds at 11 p.m., had completely open blooms at 2 a.m. and decidedly closed up and wilted flowers by 7 a.m. I’m exact on the times because I set my alarm to wake me every hour and a half so I could experience “the event”. I even got to see a bat as it flew around waiting for me to leave it to its task of ingesting nectar and doing its pollination thing.

There have been other New Braunfelsers crazy enough or interested enough to have foregone sleep to watch a flower bloom. In the early years of our town, August Forcke, a druggist, prominent citizen and an amateur naturalist, reported the night time blooming of a cactus at his home and that several friends visited throughout the night and early morning to share the event with him. His “Queen of the Night” or Cereus grandiflora or “Dutchman’s Pipe” (the newspaper calls it many names; perhaps he had several kinds?) bloomed in June of 1870, 1871 and 1874. In April of 1878, Mr. Forcke shared that his hundred-year-old aloe had bloomed. Think about it — that means his aloe began life in 1778! Exotic flowers appealed to the naturalist in Mr. Forke as did paleontology. Remember when I told you that a huge prehistoric skull was exhibited on the front porch of his drugstore in the 1870s?

I sensed a pattern in the bloom times of Forcke’s cereus, and with a little googling I learned that the plant likes to bloom in the summertime. Later local newspaper accounts include citizens reporting night blooming cactus bloom events from July through September. These accounts occurred from the 1950s through the 1980s and many of these events were celebrated with “watch parties.” In September 1959, Mrs. Egon Jarisch was featured in an article. She was nurturing two Night Blooming Cereus in the hope that at least one would blossom during the Comal County Fair and she could exhibit it. The article went one to state that she had attempted the same thing the year before but her plant had failed her and decided to bloom the night after the fair closed.

Googling also informed me that blooms can be rare and that one must monitor temperature, moisture and soil conditions closely to encourage flowering. Obviously, I did nothing of the kind. I did, however, do one thing right. It seems the cereus cactus likes to be root-bound. This was a cinch for me — I have an ancient ficus (1980 college days) in its original pot which receives rather intermittent watering. It reminds me by letting its leaves turn yellow and fall off; the dear thing has an uncanny will to live.

The newspaper stories, which feature both male and female gardeners, almost always describe the number of blooms that graced each plant. While all are called Night Blooming Cereus, some are reported as having only one bloom while another might have had 42 flowers! Perhaps these were different species. Mine, as close as my novice self can figure, is an Epiphyllum oxypetalum or a Cereus oxypetalus. Perhaps one of you Master Gardeners can tell me based on the photo. My plant seemed to be timed with the moon, producing three flowers two days after the August “Sturgeon Moon”. Its second bloom of one blossom occurred two weeks later and was followed by another one flower bloom two days after the September “Harvest Moon”. I will have to see if my plant has its own unique pattern over the years. It did survive the 2021 “Snowpocalypse” so perhaps it will survive me.

If I have kept your attention this far, then let me just tell you that as a non-plant person, I am quite enthralled by this little plant. The plant itself is rather gangly and leggy, but the blossom it produces is truly amazing. A tiny pink bud forms on the leaf, growing quickly and swelling in size. The stem takes on a snake-like appearance that makes the bud hang below the plant. Then, one evening you realize there is a loosening of the rosy pink-colored tentacle-like sepals of the bud and you know it is beginning. An intense fragrance is emitted; the scent is strong and sweet like a magnolia but very different. As you watch, you literally can see the broader velvety creamy white petals stretching and opening like a time lapse photo. The bloom opens up wide and is eight to ten inches across. Even more fantastic is the inside of the open blossom. My first thought was, “It looks like a little grotto filled with tiny people under a chandelier,” but it is actually the outer white stigma and the inner cluster of buttery-yellow stamens. It is beautiful, charming, exotic and entrancing. Seriously — it is all these things and it takes place in the moonlight of the wee hours of the morning.

Mr. Forcke, I get it now. I totally understand your, and other New Braunfelsers’, love affair with the Queen of the Night.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives: Forcke family history, Neu-Braunfelser Zeitung collection, New Braunfels Zeitung Chronicle collection, New Braunfels Herald collection, New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung collection.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

An English-language advertisement in the German-language Neu Braunfelser Zeitung caught my eye:

Mexican Restaurant Seguin Street — New Braunfels
Meals at all times during the day for 25¢
Chili con carne, frieholes, tomales,
fresh oysters, hot coffee and chocolate
Cruz Gonzales

That might sound pretty normal to you, but this ad ran in the November 19, 1880 issue. 1880 and NB has a Mexican restaurant! Mr. Gonzales continued to advertise his establishment weekly until September 1881 when the ad refers to him selling fresh oysters next to Hampe’s Store on Seguin Street. Then he disappears.

I have so many questions.

Who was Cruz Gonzales? Where was he from and where did he go? Where exactly was the café? Did he live above the place? Why did he close?

I put my coworker, Sylvia Segovia, on the hunt. Together we have begun compiling an index and chronology of Mexican food restaurants in NB — both Mexican and Anglo owned. By collecting newspaper advertisements, phone listings and personal family info we have a good start. But we found nothing on Mr. Gonzales.

While Sylvia continued on the index, I looked into the origins of chili — not as cut and dry as you would think. Some have proposed that San Antonio’s Canary Islanders first concocted the mixture of meat, onions, garlic, chili peppers and cumin. Others, including me, think indigenous peoples have been stewing venison, turkey, and “whatever” meat with native spices for centuries. BTW there is a story written down in 1568 by conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo that tells of the capture of some unfortunate Spaniards by the Aztec. It seems they were thrown into a stew pot full of tomatoes and chili peppers. Ok, not true chili but they were sort of on the right track?

Most believe that chili, as we know it, was introduced by the “chili queens” in San Antonio. By the late 1880s, Mexican women were setting up rows of stalls and tables on Military Plaza. From morning’s light to evening’s dark, they sold chili con carne, tamales, enchiladas and chili verde. But before that in the 1870s, visitors and locals could visit humble homes in Laredito, a neighborhood near the Plaza, and be served “savory compounds, swimming in fiery peppers which biteth like a serpent” according to Edward King in Scribner’s magazine 1874. Sounds like a great bowl of chili! Mr. King also wrote that all classes of society frequented these home restaurants. It was an addicting dish.

Going back further, food historians have found that in 1862, an unruly group from the Confederate garrison set off a riot in Military Plaza destroying food stands of stews (read here, chili) and tamales. However, it wasn’t until the 1870s that the words “chili” or “chili con carne” appeared in print. There are mentions of chili-like stews as far back as the 1820s, so maybe chili was known by other names in the tri-lingual state of Texas (Spanish, English, German).

I found two other stories, almost myths, that tell of the dawn of San Antonio’s chili queens. One is of a young Creole named Louis St. Clare, who was part of the Gutierrez-Magee expedition of 1812-1813. This group, comprised of Spanish-Texan revolutionaries, Louisiana Creoles, Anglo soldiers of fortune and Native Americans, wanted to free Texas from Spanish rule (this actually happens about 25 years later!).

Long story short. The expedition does pretty well capturing Nacogdoches, Goliad and San Antonio. And then it gets messy. The Spanish colonial governors of Texas and Nuevo Leon and a dozen or so other Spanish supporters in San Antonio are taken prisoner and marched out of the city and not shot — their throats were slit.

Naturally, the citizens of San Antonio turned against the revolutionaries, and while they couldn’t throw them out, they could decline giving them any food. Here is where young St. Clare comes into the story. He falls in love with a local girl, Jesusita de la Torre. Their romance turns the residents of San Antonio against the de la Torres. In order to fend for themselves, St. Clare sets up a table and benches on the Plaza and the de la Torre women serve spicy meals to the nearly starving soldiers. The first chili queens?

The second legend is of the lavenderas, or washerwomen. These women followed the numerous armies that marched over and through Texas during the 1800s. Not only did they wash and mend clothes, they also cooked meals of, you guessed it, stews made with venison or goat seasoned with chili peppers. They, too, could be considered chili queens.

The chili queens reigned over Military Plaza for several decades, serving up their amazing spicy dishes to locals as well as travelers and soldiers who frequented San Antonio.

So there you have it. Chili, in various recipes, has been a Texas dish for at least 200 years. But I’m of the opinion that something like it has been here for much longer. I’m thinking it might just be the right time to make your way to your favorite local Mexican restaurant in honor of those wonderful women who shared chili with all of us Texans.

Sources: Neu Braunfelser Zeitung Collection; “The Bloody San Antonio Origins of Chili con Carne”, John Lomax, www.texasmonthly.com; Oscar Haas Collection; http://firstwefeast.com.

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Texas is the perfect environment for many creatures. One of them is snakes, and here in central Texas we have poisonous ones: copperheads, coral snakes, cottonmouths (water moccasins) and rattlesnakes. Early Comal Countians were very familiar with our slithering neighbors. The NB Zeitung records many encounters by citizens all around the county — – many of them deadly. Here are some of the early ones:

• 1855 — Joseph Scherz of Cibolo DIED of snake bite.
• 1859 — 6-yr-old son of Mr. Hazeldanz of 8 Mile Creek DIED of rattlesnake bite.
• 1860 — Son of Wilhelm Fehlis of York Creek found DEAD of snake bite where he was picking dewberries.
• 1861 — G. Sacherer killed 6’8” long, 10” diameter rattlesnake.
• 1868 — Son of Kresche DIED of snake bite and Bartels loses horse from snake bite, both from Hortontown.
• 1874 — Morhoff of Comaltown bitten on hand by rattlesnake.
• 1880 — C.J. Wells, caretaker of mail and stagecoach stop, DIED of snake bite.
• 1881- Child of Mr. Riesling of York Creek bitten by rattlesnake while picking cotton; Johanna See DIED of rattlesnake bite; Henry Lueers of Purgatory Springs killed 6’ rattlesnake that had 10 baby rabbits inside; Mrs. Wilhelm Uhle bitten by snake.
• 1882 — Child of Christian Pape and child of Jacob Heidrich bitten by rattlesnake.
• 1886 — F. Alves killed large rattlesnake with 13 rattles; F. Donnerberg of Blanco, killed rattlesnake with 15 rattles and five unhatched eggs.
• 1887 — 8-yr-old son of W. Fenske of Davenport bitten by copperhead.
• 1890 — Julius, son of Fritz Coers, DIED of rattlesnake bite; son of Theo. Heise of Hancock Valley bitten by rattlesnake.
• 1894 — Carl Brehm of Selma and Fritz Buch of Schumannsville bitten by rattlesnakes; 8-yr-old daughter of Heinrich Jentsch of Huaco Springs and 4-yr-old child of George Beierle DIED of snakebite.
• 1895 — Mr. Thormeyer bitten by rattlesnake; John Sippel killed rattlesnake with 12 rattles; 65-yr-old Marie Werner DIED from rattlesnake bite; Heinrich Jentsch of Hueco Springs killed 30 rattlesnakes on his farm from January until October (he lost his daughter to snakebite in 1894).
• 1896 — Hermann Dierks and Mrs. Frank Nowotny bitten by rattlesnake; 10-yr-old son of Syl. Steubing DIED from rattlesnake bite.
• 1900 — 2-yr-old son of Carl Tonne of Davenport bitten on the leg by rattlesnake.
• 1901 — 10-yr-old daughter of Fritz Scheel of Anhalt DIED of rattlesnake bite while walking to school.
• 1902 — Willie Bremer of Bracken bitten by rattlesnake; son of Friedrich Jonas bitten by rattlesnake while picking cotton.
• 1903 — Heinrich Harborth and H. W. Glenewinkel found nest of snakes in Harborth’s pasture and killed an 8’ prairie snake and 12 rattlesnakes; Max Heimer of Smithsons Valley and Theodore Holekamp bitten by rattlesnakes; Marie Syring bitten by snake while cutting corn tops on her father’s farm.
• 1904 — 19-yr-old Eduard Jonas bit by rattlesnake in cornfield; Arno Jentsch bitten by snake; 8 yr-old son of Heinrich Schneider bitten on finger by rattlesnake.
• 1906 — Franz Preiss and Ottomer Linnartz were at Twin Sisters and came upon a rattlesnake running with 12 babies. She saw them and swallowed all the little snakes. 8-yr-old daughter of Rudolph Jonas DIED of rattlesnake bite.
• 1919 — 9-yr-old daughter of Ernst Pape of Sattler DIED of rattlesnake bite.

The paper also has articles on how to treat snakebite. In 1855, it suggested the use of whiskey and button snakeroot (Eryngium yuccifolium or Liatris squarrosa, both go by the common name “rattlesnake master”). I had to do some research. The chewed roots were applied to wounds and used as a cure for snakebite by Native Americans. They also used it to expel worms, induce vomiting and treat liver trouble. The plant could be used in the treatment of disorders of the kidneys and sexual organs since it had diaphoretic, diuretic and (in large doses) emetic properties. Other ailments treated with button snakeroot were infectious fevers and respiratory complaints. Did the whiskey just make it go down easier?

My dad recently told me a story about my granddaddy. When he was a little boy growing up in Schumannsville, he stuck his hand down a rat hole. He got bit by a rattlesnake. His mom ran to the chicken house and grabbed a hen “that was sitting on eggs.” Ripping it apart down the middle, she wrapped the chicken around his hand and left it on the wound until the “meat turned blue.” Granddaddy got sick, but it didn’t kill him. David Hartmann recently shared this same cure on a Facebook post, so it must have been common knowledge for folks around here. A friend of mine who grew up in Mexico says they used to do the same thing. A dead chicken? Apparently, the chicken’s body temperature is higher and this draws the poison into it and out of you. I don’t know the medical reason, but it saved my granddaddy’s life.

Back then, fewer people meant more places for these creatures to live. Today, with all the new building and loss of farm and pasture land, you’d think we would see a decline in the snake population. But not around my house. I know some of you like snakes and just walk around them. That’s fine. But even when I know the role they play in “the circle of life,” I’d rather not share my space with them. I live on property known as “Rattlesnake Hill” by old-timers. A couple of years ago, my mom killed over 20 rattlers one spring. This spring we have had three sightings and two exterminations….one got away into the bushes. One of the deceased had actually moved in under my back porch. For over a month we could hear the rattles go off every time we walked over the floor. Named the thing Sparkles. Sparkles scared my exterminator away…literally. Finally, my son met Sparkles on the its way out from under the house, with a .22.

RIP, Sparkles.

Sources: https://pfaf.org/user/Plant/aspx?LatinName=Eryngium; https://gardensoftheblueridge.com; https://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/s/snabut57.html; Neu Braunfelser Zeitung collection, Sophienburg Museum and Archives

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I found this story by Louis B. Engelke in the Sunday, January 3, 1954, edition of the San Antonio Light. It’s the story of Henry Langerhans and the part he played in the demise of Capt. J.P. Waldrip. It is really too good not to share in its entirety.

The death of Capt. J. P. Waldrip occurred in 1867, two years after the end of the Civil War and two years after Waldrip had been indicted as a wanton killer. In fact, Waldrip’s entire gang, known as “Waldrip’s Wolfpack,” was indicted for “mob murder” as soon as the Fredericksburg Germans could emerge from a reign of terror which ended in 1865. For a period of four years, the pro-slavery Waldrip gang had killed one anti-secessionist German after another. Victims were usually seized at night and hanged or tortured to death before the eyes of their wives or children. During the war years, no one dared to seek an indictment against Waldrip. That’s why the action waited until 1865. Even then, it was a dangerous procedure, for some of Waldrip’s men still lurked on the highways and byways of the county, and continuing post-war murders were attributed to these die-hards. Consequently, with typical German thoroughness, Gillespie County declared Waldrip “Vogels-frei,” which in German means ”free as a bird” — to shoot of course.

Why Waldrip left his hideout 10 miles east of Fredericksburg and rode into town on a sway-back mule that fateful day in 1867, nobody really knows. Perhaps it was to burn the courthouse, or more likely to steal a horse. But whatever the reason, an unknown party in Fredericksburg wired Capt. Phillip Braubach in San Antonio. The message brought Braubach, US Customs collector for the Western District of Texas, riding as fast as a horse could carry him to Fredericksburg.

A native of Wiesbaden, Germany, who had settled in San Antonio in 1850, Braubach had served with McCullough’s Texas Rangers…he was arrested by Confederate agents in Fredericksburg, where he had been visiting his fiancé, Fraulein Louise Schuetze, when the Civil War broke out. Taken to San Antonio, a ball and chain was fixed to his leg and he was given the then odorous job of cleaning up the San Antonio River. Braubach eventually escaped to the border, where he formed an anti-Confederate company of Mexicans.

Becoming lovesick for Louise, Braubach finally decided to risk a trip to Fredericksburg, but Waldrip learned of Braubach’s visit and raided the Schuetze farmhouse. Not finding Braubach there, the gang murdered Louise’s father. Vowing to avenge Herr Schuetze, Braubach headed back for the border and later made his way to New Orleans where he joined the Union Army, rising to the rank of captain. After the war, Braubach returned to Texas and married Louise. They were living in San Antonio when the important looking telegram arrived late one afternoon. Braubach calmly told his wife he had some “business to tend to in Fredericksburg,” and departed on a fast horse.

Never having seen Waldrip before, Braubach entered the Nimitz Hotel before high noon the next day with one hand on [his] Colt revolver. Nothing happened when he entered the lobby so he next entered the hotel’s saloon. The only person present was the bartender who he knew.

“Waldrip ist hier — im Fredericksburg,” the bartender whispered.

“Where is he? How can I identify him?” Braubach asked.

The bartender said Waldrip was wearing a big black beaver hat and had gone west on Main Street. Braubach circled north around a two block section, so as to meet Waldrip face to face. The pair met 150 yards west of the hotel in front of Brockman’s store.

Noticing Waldrip’s black hat, Braubach asked, “Are you Captain Waldrip?”

“Yes, sir,” Waldrip replied.

Braubach drew his gun and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Braubach cocked the revolver and pulled the trigger and again nothing happened. The revolver was of the cap and ball type, and the powder had become soaked with the sweat of Braubach’s horse.

Waldrip by now was running as fast as he could toward the Nimitz Hotel with half the village, including Braubach, who was shouting for somebody to throw him a rifle, after him. Women, who had ventured onto the street to catch a glimpse of the notorious criminal, were now fleeing in every direction. Among them was Mrs. Henry Langerhans, with two-year old Bertha in her arms.

Observing Waldrip wrestle with a man for a gun at the hotel and seeing his wife and Bertha still on the street, Henry Langerhans, standing in the second-story window of his boot and saddle shop, kitty-corner from the Nimitz Hotel, reached for the Kentucky rifle he had used in many a Hill Country turkey shoot.

Waldrip went through the hotel, with Braubach, who now had a Winchester rifle, after him. Waldrip, holding his shoulder where Braubach had winged him, then came vaulting over the hotel’s high stone fence. Langerhans saw Waldrip take refuge behind a great oak near the fence. Waldrip raised his head and looked in one direction then another. If the man was ever to get a horse, he had to get it now.

It then dawned on Langerhans that Waldrip might possibly grab his wife and child as hostages. Taking careful aim with the long rifle, Langerhans fired. Waldrip toppled into the ditch. Everybody in town looked at Waldrip’s body, particularly the hole in his head, but nobody knew who fired the fatal shot. Nobody but Langerhans and his wife, that is.

Mrs. Langerhans kept the secret from her [eight] children until her husband, the man who had got the drop on Waldrip, died of natural causes. One couldn’t be too cautious when dealing with any of the Waldrips. Even those who had the protections of public office knew that. This was evidenced by the fact that Gillespie county officials waited until 1874 before they paid Charles Basse $10 for hauling the body of the notorious outlaw 300 yards in a wheelbarrow from the Nimitz Hotel to an unmarked grave on Town Creek. Afraid of the werewolf of the Hill Country? Perhaps.

And to top everything in the Waldrip saga is this weird touch. They buried Waldrip with his big, black beaver hat. Two years later, Waldrip’s brother, who somehow had learned exactly where Waldrip was buried, sneaked into town by the dark of the moon and resurrected the hat.

That, my friends, is entertaining journalism!

Sources:

• San Antonio Light, Sunday, January 3, 1954, “He Got the Drop on Waldrip”

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Kids of all ages gravitate to superheroes. I come from a time when the superhero list was relatively short: Superman, Mighty Mouse and Sky King. My favorite was Sky King, of course. But my real heroes — the ones I pretended to be in the backyard with all my neighborhood friends — were firemen. When your family members and your friends’ family members are firemen, it seems kind of a natural thing to play. Perhaps that’s why I find the history of the New Braunfels Fire Department fascinating.

Back in January 2017, Myra Lee Adams Goff covered the early history of the fire department (from 1874 up to about 1918) in her Around the Sophienburg article, “New Braunfels Fire Department — years of service”. In 1918, the city built and outfitted a new state of the art fire station, complete with three engine bays and sleeping quarters upstairs for the first paid firemen. That station became known as Central Station. It was the heartbeat of the firefighting community, for both paid men and volunteers. As a child, Central Station WAS the fire station to me. It held the shiny red engines in its neatly painted bays with pressed tin ceilings. The bay doors were almost always open and the firemen would often sit on the metal benches out front. This station also had a tower with a siren that went off exactly at noon every day without fail (or some poor young fireman would catch heck). That siren was the signal that my Opa would be home for lunch in 5 minutes. The tower isn’t there anymore, but the original 1918 station stands ready right next to the new Central Station. That building, located at 131 Hill Ave. is now the Fire Department Museum, and you can see all the cool history inside.

As New Braunfels grew, so did the need to protect the city. A community’s fire rating (insurance rate) is based on the building codes and the fire department’s ability to reach and extinguish a fire in the shortest amount of time. In 1931, the city saw fit to build Station No. 2., the one-story building that stood on the corner of Coll and Sycamore (next to the water tower) enabling fire coverage without having to wait for a train. The station originally housed one truck (the 1913 American LaFrance moved from Central Station) and two firemen with their families. Yes, families. R. Ebensberger and Hilmar Voigt were the first to occupy the station with family living quarters. Hilmar H. H. Chili Voigt was my Opa. He and my Oma moved in for a short time when my aunt was 11 and my uncle was 5. The station was replaced with the current Station No. 2. located on Loop 337 near Solms in 1975.

Station No. 3 was in Comaltown which was annexed by New Braunfels in 1868. Comal did have a fire house on N. Houston Ave. near where Lamar school is now, but it was torn down in 1925.

In 1950 the city bought and refurbished a 2-story building on the corner of Union and Garza (now Christus’ parking lot). The building had housed Simon’s Garage & Service Station on one end and Dolle’s Saloon on the other with the Hermann Son’s Lodge upstairs. From 1925 — 1950, fire protection had to come from Central Station across the Comal River. Station No. 3 remained in service until 1983 when the current station was built on Hanz Lane.

The city passed a bond in 1968 that built Station No. 4 on Kerlick Lane. It came online in 1970, went out of service for a while and then came back into service. The current Station No. 4 was built on Alyssa Way in 2012. Stations 5 and 6 are relatively new. No. 5 was built on County Line Road before 2006 and No. 6, on Stone Gate, came online in 2008.

To give you an idea of the department’s growth, in 1918, the department operated with three to four paid men and four companies of 15 volunteers each. By 1973, there were 28 paid men and 60 volunteers. Today there are 135 paid firefighters. The volunteer organization dissolved in the early 2000’s.

My Opa started with the fire department as a volunteer in about 1922. He became a ‘paid man’ in 1931, made Assistant Chief in 1958 and retired as Fire Marshal in 1966 after 35 years on the job. He also was a house painter/paper hanger, as most firemen needed a second job to make ends meet. Both my dad and uncle were members and officers of the New Braunfels Volunteer Fire Department for over 20 years, as were many of their friends. It was a way to give back to your community. The “hero games” we played as kids revolved around what we heard and saw. We pretended that the “Plectron” would go off (an electronic notification system at each volunteer captain’s house). One of us would jump on the “truck” (bicycle) and the other would stay by the phone, activating the “phone tree.” We also practiced for Pumper Races with the garden hose. As we got older, we took pride in being able to identify any firetruck coming our way—without seeing it, just by the sound of its siren. My favorite story about Central Station involved my Opa and my uncle. During WWII my uncle had joined the Army and, after completing basic in San Antonio, the soldiers shipped out by train. No one was allowed to notify family of their new orders or duty stations. My uncle knew that the train would pass right in front of the fire station, where the men sometimes sat out front on benches. He wrote on a rock he had picked up before boarding. Just as the train pulled through downtown New Braunfels, he stepped out onto the platform and threw the rock towards the fire station. My Opa no longer worried about my uncle going overseas. The rock said, “Aberdeen, Maryland.”

Firemen were — and are — a brotherhood. They risk their lives daily to protect the community, buildings, and people from fire, flood and disaster. They work hard and play hard, but they alone know what they see in their work and they carry it with them. THEY are my heroes and their history lives in the 1918 Central Fire Station. She looks pretty grand for 100 years old.

Sources:

• Sophienburg Archives
• New Braunfels Herald
• Sophienburg “Reflections”
• New Braunfels Fire Department

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