This article was published in the March 26, 2013, edition of the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung. The regular publication schedule will resume June 2, 2013.

By Myra Lee Adams Goff

Like so many young men, Ernst Gruene had heard the exciting stories of Texas, a Republic in its own right. He was ready to leave Germany and take his mother with him. Freedom was the driving force in his decision; freedom from demands of the aristocracy, freedom from conscription, and freedom from excessive taxation. Little did he know that in 100 years, he would have a settlement here in Comal County with his family name.

Gruene was engaged to a young woman, but she broke off the engagement when she heard of his Texas plans. He consulted a “marriage broker” who made an appointment with Antoinette Kloepper. They married and soon after in 1845, the couple, his mother, and two servants left for Texas. After his stepbrothers bought out his family interests, he had ample funds. He carried about $5,000 in gold coins sewed in his vest. When he was almost washed overboard (gold can be quite heavy) he gave half of the coins to Antoinette who sewed them in the hem of her skirt.

They arrived on the coast and migrated to New Braunfels on May 15, 1846. So begins the amazing story of Gruene, Texas.

Ernst and Antoinette Gruene settled in Comaltown on Rock St. (building still standing) where three children were born. He continued to buy land. In 1872 he bought the land east of the Guadalupe River called Goodwin. This is where his second son, Henry D. would build a home and start a business and this would become Gruene.

Cotton was the #1 cash crop at that time and H.D. advertised for sharecroppers interested in growing cotton. Twenty to 30 families moved onto his land and each was assigned from 100 to 200 acres. Small three or four room farm houses were built for tenants and a school provided.

The first mercantile store in the area was built where tenants could buy groceries, implements, and hardware supplies and could buy them less expensively and on credit until the harvest came in. With the mercantile store, a lumberyard was set up. Because of the success of the store, Gruene constructed a large two story building (now an antique store). It held a working bank, holding mortgages and farm financing.

Soon a cotton gin was constructed powered by water pressure from the Guadalupe River. (This first gin burned down in 1922. It is the site of the present Grist Mill Restaurant.)

The IGN Railroad built a freight and passenger depot about a mile west of the community

in the 1880s and MKT built another in 1901, allowing Gruene to export cotton and grain and import goods for his mercantile store. What is now known as the Gruene Mansion became the home of Mr. and Mrs. H.D. Gruene in 1872. It started as a one story residence and a second story was added in 1886.

A dance hall with saloon was built in 1878. That was Gruene Hall, the communities social center. H.D. Gruene became Goodwin’s first postmaster in 1890 operating out of the mercantile store. This store was on the original north & southbound stagecoach route. Gruene became a stopping point for the Tarbox Stagecoach Line.

The settlement changed its name from Goodwin to Gruene as the whole town rotated around the Gruene family. When H.D. retired in 1910 he turned over the management to his two sons, retaining that Gruene tradition. His daughter resided in Gruene and eventually his parents did also. At one time Gruene had visions of subdividing but the project never got off the ground and when he died in 1920, thoughts of the development came to a halt.

By 1924 a Chrysler agency opened its doors across the street from the big mercantile store, the site of the first store.

The boll weevil stripped the cotton crop and the tenants were hit hard and many moved away. After recovery of the cotton crop, the Great Depression hit. This brought on a decline in cotton production and an end to the tenant system. A result was the closing of the mercantile store. The two railroad stations closed and the depots were destroyed. Various businesses inhabited the buildings, but the one business that never closed during these tumultuous times was the dance hall and saloon.

Gruene has a very prestigious historic designation; it has been placed on the National Register of Historic Places as the Gruene Historic District, the only National Register Historic District in Comal County. In addition there are several buildings with Texas Historical Commission designations: Gruene’s Hall, Gruene Mansion, Erhardt Neuse House (now Gruene Haus Country Store), Original Gruene Mercantile (now Gruene General Store) and the H.D. Gruene Mercantile (now Gruene Antique Company). There are also two THC subject markers titled Gruene Cotton Gin (outside of the Grist Mill Restaurant) and Gruene. Additionally, there are City of New Braunfels historic designations on several properties. Gruene is a prime example of “Historic Tourism”.

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By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

Shopping for a wedding gift used to be something that I looked forward to. My most recent “gift shopping” experience involved scanning a QR code where I was then directed to a website to choose the appropriate item and clicking to send. Wow! So very anticlimactic. Where is the fun in that?

My first memory of going shopping for a wedding gift was at Dedeke’s in downtown New Braunfels. It was a beautiful store full of beautiful things. Tables were dressed in the finest table linens and perfectly set with china, silver and crystal to tempt any bride. The walls were lined with china place settings of nearly every pattern and color. Another part of that memory is the stern warning from my mother not to touch anything. I watched as my mother carefully selected a crystal pitcher and handed it to the clerk. It was so gratifying to walk out with our specially chosen, professionally wrapped gift to deliver in person.

Dedeke’s Housewares was a small store on Seguin Avenue that specialized in gifts and bridal registries in the 1950s-70s, but their story began much earlier. Richard F. Dedeke was born in New Braunfels in 1878. His grandfather, a farmer, had emigrated from Hannover in 1846. Richard’s father was a farmer and saddle maker. Richard was ambitious and in 1903, he sought his own fortunes in a thriving rural community of 200 people on York Creek. He purchased three lots in Hunter, Texas, between Grand and Railroad (now JC Riley) Streets to establish a residence and general merchandise store. A downturn in the cotton economy caused many of the Hunter businesses to close, including Dedeke’s General Store.

In 1928, R.F. Dedeke opened a new store in New Braunfels. The store was part of the ‘M’ System grocery chain. It opened at 215 S. Seguin Ave. (in the same brick building as The Oyster Bar). ‘M’ System was marketed as a new, self-serve way of shopping with multiple brand choices (as opposed to having a clerk bring a single brand from the shelf behind the counter). It sounds like the beginning of our current supermarket system.

R.F. Dedeke retired from his grocery business in 1951, and then the fun began. Richard’s son, Leslie Dedeke, and his siblings, Dorothy and Edward Dedeke opened Dedeke’s Housewares in the same location. In 1966, nearly a century after it was built, property at 173 S. Seguin Ave. was completely restored and the Dedeke family reopened the gift shop there. That is the beautiful store from my childhood. Even the patterned floor tiles were beautiful, but it was not beautiful before remodeling.

The Heinrich Krause building, located at 173 S. Seguin, already had a long history. The original part was built in the 1860s by Friedrich Krause and his son, Frederick Krause, who brought their carpentry skills with them from Germany. The first 45-foot section of the 24-foot-wide building (nearest to the street) is the oldest, built with squared cedar timbers. The next 45-foot section is of German Fachwerk, built with squared lumber. It had a small basement with rock walls and exposed square cedar timbers.

During the previous one hundred years, the one-story Krause building saw a lot of tenants. It was used by Weber & Deutsch, as an early general store; as an opera house; as a drill hall for a Texas Militia unit; as a blouse factory; as a barber shop and a newspaper office for Town & Country News. The Dedeke’s attention to detail and dedication to correct historical preservation of Krause building helped garner a Texas Historical Marker for the building, as well as honors from the New Braunfels Conservation Society.

In 1976, Dick and Bonnie Denson purchased the Dedeke’s business and it became Denson-Dedeke’s. In 1977, they also bought the entire property extending all the way to Comal Avenue, including the historic Krause building, the adjacent two-story Hoffmann building (on the left side of Denson-Dedeke), the parking lot in back, and the Mergele House on Comal.

In 1979, Sami’s Jewelry opened a kiosk at the front of Denson’s, near the windows. The large storage space in the back of the store was opened to create the perfect home for Marian Benson’s The Collection.

In 1981, the interior of the adjacent Mergele Building, was completely gutted by fire that spread from Ludwig Leather Company (two doors down from Denson’s). Fortunately, the tin roof and separation between the buildings prevented fire from damaging Denson’s. To prevent the building from being torn down, the Denson’s bought the Mergele Building and rebuilt the interior, preserving our Seguin Avenue merchant district. They opened up the walls between the two buildings and expanded their footprint again.

Upstairs in the Mergele Building, above retail space, were the Denson-Dedeke offices, and the very first home of Celebrations Bridal by Connie Worley. By incorporating three historic buildings with a courtyard and promoting complimentary retail tenants, Dick and Bonnie Denson successfully created a boutique shopping experience in a historic setting which eventually became Landmark Square.

The Mergele Building was sold to new owners in 1996. The rest of the property, including the Krause building, the Hoffmann building and the Mergele House on Comal Avenue, was sold in 1997 when the Densons retired. The Krause and Hoffmann properties have sold again in 2008 and 2018.

During that time, there have been multiple tenants of the Krause building, including photographers, marketing firms, a lingerie store and most recently a French café bistro.

When we look at historic buildings, we are spoiled and tend to look for the bigger, fancier, more ornate ones, i.e. the Court House (1884) or the row of buildings on San Antonio Street (circa 1890–1924). By doing that, we may be missing out on the hidden jewels (Krause building ca.1860) that make up the foundation of who New Braunfels is. Not slick. Not fancy. Historic.

Enjoy and appreciate the view and the experience, before you can only click on a QR code to see it. Preserve our history!

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

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

This is the story of two mark­ers. One was put up at Co­mal Springs in 1968, and the other was placed out­side the yard of Franz and Mary Joyce Coreth on Hwy 46 (it now stands in front of Chick-fil-A). They both mark the lo­ca­tion of Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe.

So the ques­tion is, why? Some back­ground on the mis­sion is needed to un­der­stand.

Very ba­si­cally, the es­tab­lish­ment of the mis­sions in Texas be­gan in the 1630s. Spain needed to hold the land, and they wanted to Chris­tian­ize the na­tive peo­ples. Fran­cis­can monks were tasked to set up and over­see mis­sions across Texas which would gather the mi­gra­tory tribes into per­ma­nent set­tle­ments with the hope of con­vert­ing them to Chris­tian­ity, as well as teach them agri­cul­tural tech­niques and trades.

Spain usu­ally sent sol­diers along with the Fran­cis­can mis­sion­ar­ies to es­tab­lish pre­sidios (forts) for the pro­tec­tion of the mis­sions and set­tle­ments. The pre­sidios and the mis­sions were hardly com­pat­i­ble, both with dif­fer­ing agen­das. Trou­ble be­tween the sol­diers and the Na­tive Amer­i­cans led to fric­tion be­tween the mis­sion­ar­ies and the sol­diers. The monks ab­horred the abuse and an­tag­o­nis­tic mea­sures the sol­diers used against the na­tive peo­ple they were try­ing to be­friend.

Our mis­sion, Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe was born out of this strug­gle.

Three mis­sions were es­tab­lished on the San Xavier (San Gabriel) River in Milam County in the 1740s: San Fran­cisco Xavier de Hor­c­a­sitas (1747), San Ilde­fonzo (1748) and Nues­tra Señora de la Can­de­laria (1749). These were re­ferred to as the San Xavier mis­sions. The pre­sidio San Fran­cisco Xavier de Gigedo was set up to guard all three mis­sions.

The re­la­tion­ship be­tween these mis­sions and the neigh­bor­ing pre­sidio broke down over the mis­treat­ment of the Na­tive Amer­i­cans. The con­flict went on un­re­solved for sev­eral years, cul­mi­nat­ing in the mur­der of Friar Juan Jose Ganzábal and a civil­ian at the Can­dalaria Mis­sion in Feb­ru­ary 1752. Sol­diers, Na­tive Amer­i­cans and civil­ians were gath­ered and held for ques­tion­ing. Of­fi­cial pro­ceed­ings held at Pre­sidio San An­to­nio de Be­jar (the fort pro­tect­ing the San An­to­nio mis­sions) took place from May 13 to June 14, but reached no real judg­ment and with­out con­vic­tions or any­one pun­ished.

By 1753, the San Xavier mis­sions were full of fear and faced the added tragedy of drought which led to bad wa­ter and “pests” which brought sick­ness; the mis­sion­ar­ies were plead­ing to be re­lo­cated to the San Mar­cos springs. San Ilde­fonzo no longer had priests or Na­tive Amer­i­cans and Can­de­laria was left with only one friar. San Fran­cisco Xavier man­aged to hold onto 70 con­verted Na­tive Amer­i­cans and one friar. Even the pre­sidio cap­tain was re­quest­ing to move to the San Saba River.

In 1755, mis­sion­ar­ies and re­main­ing Na­tive Amer­i­cans fled with­out Church or Span­ish sanc­tion to the San Mar­cos River. Some of the na­tive peo­ple moved to the San An­to­nio de Valero mis­sion (Alamo): Co­cos, Xaraname, Te­jas, Bidai and Or­co­quiza tribes were among them. The May­eye peo­ple re­fused to go to San An­to­nio and stayed with the friar of San Fran­cisco Xavier at San Mar­cos. He re­quested and was given per­mis­sion to es­tab­lish a mis­sion on the Guadalupe River. He also re­quested and was given per­mis­sion to not have a pre­sidio but civil­ians “of good fam­ily” to help pro­tect the mis­sion.

In 1756, the mis­sion San Fran­cisco Xavier de Hor­c­a­sitas was re­lo­cated and reestab­lished in New Braun­fels as Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe. The site cho­sen had been scouted out by sol­diers and priests from San An­to­nio and de­scribed in records:

There are sev­eral large springs flow­ing from a rocky hill nearby, and ad­van­tages for an ir­ri­ga­tion ditch on the west side of the river a short dis­tance from the springs; there is ex­cel­lent lands for crops, plen­ti­ful tim­ber, pas­ture lands, and the ridge north of the stream is thought to con­tain min­er­als.

The new mis­sion was vis­ited in 1757 and said to be com­prised of a small mis­sion build­ing (most likely of wood con­struc­tion) with two fri­ars, 41 Na­tive Amer­i­cans (May­eye) of which 27 were bap­tized, and sev­eral huts in which lived four civil­ian fam­i­lies.

At this point, in­for­ma­tion on Nues­tra Señora lit­er­ally van­ishes from records. All that is ref­er­enced is a re­quest of the fri­ars for the re­turn of San Fran­cisco Xavier’s equip­ment (6 bells and some uten­sils val­ued at $1804.50. The equip­ment even­tu­ally went to the new San Saba mis­sion. There is also a state­ment in 1762, that says at the time of the San Saba mis­sion’s de­struc­tion in March 1758, Mis­sion Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe had al­ready been aban­doned due to its in­abil­ity to sus­tain it­self against mul­ti­ple en­e­mies.

Know­ing all of that, we can re­turn to the dilemma of two mark­ers. Based on the de­tailed de­scrip­tion of the site in 1756, it seems the short-lived mis­sion could have been down by the Co­mal Springs (1968 marker). And al­though the mis­sion name in­cludes “Guadalupe” we need to re­mem­ber that early Span­ish ex­plor­ers of­ten called the Co­mal, from the springs to the con­flu­ence, the Guadalupe. This seems to be a good fit.

The 1936 marker up on Texas Highway 46 claims Nues­tra Señora to be near or on Mis­sion Hill. Was it likely that they would es­tab­lish a set­tle­ment on the hill and travel through Pan­ther Canyon to Co­mal Springs? Would they have used the spring at Alt­gelt’s pond be­low Mis­sion Hill? Per­haps Mis­sion Hill held some sort of sig­nif­i­cance as the high­est point? Could it have been named be­cause of its just over a mile lo­ca­tion from the mis­sion down by Co­mal Springs? It seems a less likely lo­ca­tion.

Also, who gave the hill that name: Na­tive Amer­i­cans? Span­ish? Texas Rangers? The early Ger­man im­mi­grants called it by that name and there are two maps that rec­og­nize it as Mis­sion Hill from 1878. Af­ter scour­ing the So­phien­burg Archives and talk­ing to archivists at the Texas Gen­eral Land Of­fice and at the Span­ish Col­lec­tion of the Bexar County Archives, hard, prov­able ev­i­dence of the lit­tle mis­sion’s lo­ca­tion just has­n’t been found.

So, the mys­tery around Nues­tra Señora de Guadalupe will re­main — a mis­sion lost but not for­got­ten.

Sources: Roemer’s Texas in 1848 by Ferdinand Roemer; “Texas in the Middle Eighteenth Century” by Herbert E. Bolton, “Proceedings Year of 1752” by Don Torivio de Vrrutia (Bexar County Archives); Handbook of Texas; Texas Almanac 1936; Texas Historical Commission; Texas General Land Office map collection; Sophienburg Museum & Archives map collection and Liebscher and Haas manuscript collections; https://www/texasalmanac.com/articles/the-spanish-mission-in-texas.

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

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By Tara V. Kohlenberg

Change. One of the few constants of life. Because change is occurring rapidly in and around New Braunfels, rural cemeteries are endangered. Cemeteries and graveyards are sometimes the only connection to the history of an area. York Creek Cemetery is one of historical importance, as it documents the lives of early permanent inhabitants of the York Creek and Hunter communities.

Where the heck is York Creek, you might ask? The actual York Creek begins somewhere around Wegner Road in Comal County and travels southeast through Hays and Guadalupe counties before flowing into the San Marcos River. The creek naturally attracted farmers to the resource.

Along about 1867, a man by the name of Andrew Jackson Hunter settled his family on York’s Creek (now York Creek). He operated a thousand-acre cotton farm. The land was strategically located along a stagecoach line that ran from New Braunfels to San Marcos before the railroad.

In 1880, the townsite of Hunter was established with the arrival of the International and Great Northern Railroad. By 1883 a post office opened in Gustavus A. Schleyer’s general store, with the owner as postmaster. Schleyer’s store, a cotton gin, a grocery store, and a saloon were in operation there by 1884, when Hunter had about sixty residents. By 1890, Hunter was a bustling community of 200 that included two saloons, a barbershop, a blacksmith, a wagonmaker, a meat market, and a gin and gristmill.

York’s Creek Cemetery came into being on October 7, 1882, when Ernst Gruene, Jr. sold one acre of land to D. G. Posey, Frank Tate, and Charles Crawford to be used as a community cemetery. Posey, Tate and Crawford were the first cemetery trustees. The cemetery doubled in size in 1904, when William Simon, Sr. sold one acre of land to cemetery trustees, D. G. Posey, Charles Crawford, and William Simon, Jr. That is when they formed an association and officially named it York Creek Cemetery. They elected D. G. Posey, C. B. Crawford, and H. Wiegreffe as commissioners. A. J. Wallhoefer was elected secretary and treasurer. Currently, Mr. James B. Skarovsky and his wife, Lynn, are the only trustees of record.

There are over 180 burials recorded in York Creek Cemetery. According to existing records the earliest burial in the newly established cemetery was John B. Taylor, in 1885. Seven of the graves must have been moved to York Creek, as the death dates predate the cemetery. Most of those buried in the cemetery were born in Texas although at least 16 were born in Germany. Over half of those buried bear German surnames. Occupations of the deceased and their families included farmers, homemakers, laborers, railroad workers, blacksmiths, military, and saloon keepers. Hobart Gilmore, who was killed in 1972 Flood, is also buried there.

Walking through the cemetery, it is easy to see the various family groupings with over 68 different surnames (no way to write about all of them!). Some families are represented in greater numbers. The Soechtings have twenty-one graves. Friedrich Heinrich Andreas Söchting (German spelling) immigrated to Texas in 1852. While preparing to emigrate, he met Christine Katarina Gold, also planning to emigrate. Since married couples received special consideration, they married, before leaving Germany. They moved inland to New Braunfels and in 1866 they purchased 17.5 acres on York Creek. In 1878, they purchased an additional 338 acres for 4.90 an acre. They raised five children.. The children in turn had large families and most continued to farm in the area.

In 1850, Henry Rutherford Crawford and wife, Ann B. Wilson Crawford moved from Tennessee and purchased a 300-acre farm on Hunter Road. The couple established a school in the nearby Bonito settlement. Prior to that time, the first school was conducted in their home with their daughter, Lizzie Crawford, as teacher. Lizzie also taught at the Hunter School. In her will, she designated 500 to build the cemetery fence. Her brother, Charles B. Crawford was one of the first cemetery trustees.

Frances D’Gress Posey came to Texas at age 5 in a wagon train with his parents, brothers and aunts from Tennessee. The Posey family arrived in Texas at the Watson Campgrounds in Comal County (or could be Hays County) in early fall of 1853. That was their home for several years. Eventually, his parents, John Bennett and Amanda Posey, farmed cotton on 539 acres in the York Creek area. Frances D’Gress Posey married Mary Elizabeth Neill in 1869. Frances was a farmer and one of the first cemetery association trustees. He, his wife and many descendants are buried in the York Creek Cemetery. Posey land is now part of TXI.

John Dix Watson conveyed one acre of land in exchange for 1 for the nearby Watson School. It was located on Neill homestead land off Watson Lane. The school was closed in 1949 and combined with other schools as the Goodwin School. Mr. Watson was a Confederate veteran. He is one of seven veterans buried in York Creek

James Curtis Riley was a saloon keeper and started Riley’s Tavern in Hunter after the repeal of Prohibition. Riley’s Tavern has a Texas Historical Commission marker and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. It is one of the oldest taverns in Texas and reported to have the first liquor license issued after the repeal.

Alwin Merz was a trustee when the cemetery was established. He was a farmer married to Annie Braune Merz. Alwin’s parents were John and Elise Strempel Merz, who immigrated from Germany and farmed the York Creek area. Both couples are buried in the York Creek Cemetery.

York Creek Cemetery is a perfect example of a rural cemetery: quietly resting under huge oak trees, protected by a chain link fence with rock posts. Unfortunately, the two-acre cemetery is no longer located among the green pastures and farmhouses. The York Creek/Hunter community was sheared in half when Interstate 35 was built; and the cemetery is now surrounded by industrial warehouses just off one of the most travelled highways in Texas. Little has changed inside the York Creek Cemetery, but much has changed around this true Comal County treasure that holds so much history. It was designated a Historic Texas Cemetery by the Comal County Historical Commission 2022.

Sources: Handbook of Texas Online; The Comal County Historical Commission; Jim Skarovsky; Paul Soechting; Wilfred Schlather; John Coers; Karen Boyd.

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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 –

So, I read an article by Daniel Vaughn about just where and when Texas got its first barbecue joint. Vaughn has been looking into the history of Texas barbecue for many years. According to his research, there was a big post-Civil War wave of butcher shops across the state and this eventually led to commercial barbecue. The first mention of commercially smoked meat occurs in the October 25, 1878, Brenham Weekly Banner; the advertisement states that a butcher in Bastrop had a ready stock of barbecued meats and cooked sausages at his stall. When, I wondered, did this crowd- pleasing favorite make its debut in New Braunfels?

Submerging myself in the historic newspaper collections at the Sophienburg, I came up with some clues to follow.

Barbecue, or in most cases smoked beef and pork, was very popular in Comal County. As early as July 4th, 1855, barbecue was reported as the featured entrée at large community gatherings. On this occasion, it followed a day of patriotic parades, singing, target shoots, gymnastics and dancing. Later that same year, barbecue becomes a part of political rallies and improving voter turnout. Who wouldn’t listen to a politician prattle on and on if you had a heaping helping of FREE BBQ on your plate?

Throughout the 1870s and into the 1900s, barbecue always made an appearance at club socials, school festival days, more political rallies and new business openings. In July 1906, H.D. Gruene opened his brand new two-story red brick and wood store with a community barbecue consisting of five steers and one hog along with an undisclosed number of barrels of bread and pickles. The newspaper said “thousands” consumed the fare in “less than and hour”.

Prior to 1900, there were several local men who are mentioned repeatedly in the newspaper for their BBQ-ing skills: William Wolfshol, Walter Rauch, Charles Jonas and a Mr. Allen. These guys were in demand by various individuals, groups and dance halls to provide barbecue for consumption during events.

I digress. My original question is when did we get a barbecue joint in NB? Turns out, that like that first barbecuing butcher in Bastrop, the first “advertised” local barbecue man in New Braunfels was also the owner of a meat market.

In 1890, Harry Mergele bought the butcher shop of Carl Waldschmidt. In 1901, Harry opened a new meat market in Wetzels’s Store on Seguin Street. For more information I listened to the “Reflections” oral history recording of Edna Mergele. Harry was her uncle. Her grandad Otto and dad Charles were also butchers.

The family lived on Comal Street. They kept their livestock — – steers, hogs and other animals — – on property up on Sophienburg Hill near Carl Schurz Elementary. In other words, pretty dern close to where the Sophienburg Museum is located. On specific days of the week they slaughtered animals and then took the meat to the little Marktplatz on Comal Street to sell. The butchers in town had erected a shed at the west end of the plaza with slatted sides to provide air flow to keep the meat cool.

Edna remembers that prior to 1910, they had a building in their backyard that had three rooms: half was divided into two rooms with floors, the other half was one room with a dirt floor. In this room, they would bring the slaughtered animals from “the Hill” and would clean and prepare the meat for sale. They would make “meat” sausage year round, but would only make blutwurst, liverwurst and hogshead cheese in the fall. Her father Charles also ran a saloon which sold beer, soda water, homemade bread, butter and brick cheese. Charles was a well-known barkeep and worked at several saloons in New Braunfels.

Uncle Harry Mergele’s meat market got a telephone around February of 1903. He advertised that you could now just phone in your meat orders by calling number 33. But, it’s the advertisement that appears in the NB Herald on September 14th, 1906, that made me smile. “BARBECUED MEAT. Every Saturday and Sunday at Harry Mergele’s meat market.”

So there you have it. As far as I’ve been able to find, this is the earliest mention of commercially produced barbecue in New Braunfels!

If, in fact, Harry was the first to realize the profit potential of barbecue, he was definitely not the last. In the early 1900s other meat market owners joined him in setting up their own barbecue pits.

Thank God, they did.

Sources: “The First Barbecue Joint in Texas,” Daniel Vaughn; Sophienburg Museum & Archives historic newspaper collections; “Reflections” program #120, Edna Mergele.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

In May I traveled to Mason, Texas, with my mom and dad and met with some aunts, uncles and cousins to watch a 45-minute documentary: “Herman, der Apache: Ein Deutscher unter Indianen” (“Herman the Apache: A German among Indians”). The film, made by a German film crew for TV viewing in Germany, had been dubbed in English and was shown by the Mason County Historical Society. It is the incredible true story of Herman and Willie Lehmann’s capture by an Apache raiding party in 1870. The meet-up was a reunion of sorts. My mom’s family and the Lehmann family are cousins. I’ve always been proud of this blood connection.

I remember reading Herman’s autobiography, “Nine Years Among the Indians” (1927), and writing a book report on in it grade school. I read it aloud to my kiddos when we did a Native American unit (I homeschooled). I list it as suggested reading to teachers who visit the Sophienburg. According to J. Frank Dobie, it is “the finest of the captive narratives of the Southwest.”

Years ago, I attended a lecture on Native American tribes in our area. The archaeologist mentioned Herman Lehmann’s book with a definite snicker and said it was completely made-up. I took him aside afterwards and informed him that not only was the story true, but that I was related to the family — my mom being cousins with Esther, Herman’s niece. The archaeologist got really quiet and then apologized.

You really need to read Herman and Willie’s story to understand why this narrative is so compelling. I cannot condense the detailed memories of an 11-year-old German boy captured and raised by Apache and Comanche, nor will I really try. I will simply give you a taste of what is in store when you read the book.

Imagine that you, your brother and two little sisters are out in a field a little way from the house to chase the birds out of the ripening wheat. You look up to find there are eight Apache on horseback at the fence and, frightened, all begin to run, except for your baby sister who is hidden in the wheat. The Apache shoot at your other sister and she falls; they think she is dead. They get your brother and go after you. You are finally subdued after you have been slapped, choked, beaten and your clothes torn off.

You and your brother are each tied up naked to the back of a horse behind a warrior and spirited away from the only world you know. The group separates, each taking one captive. Totally alone you are made to catch a calf your group comes across. Your captor slits its throat, cuts open the stomach and drinks the soured milk out of it. He offers some to you which of course you refuse, so he pushes your face into the open stomach.

That’s just part of day one. Have I piqued your interest? It gets better, or worse, before it gets better again. Willie escapes after about a week and makes his way home. Herman isn’t returned to his family until he is 19.

I am fascinated at just how completely Herman becomes Apache. It wasn’t easy — not all captives survived — but he does and he does well. He is adopted into his captor’s family and initiated into tribal life. He describes being burned, beaten, tortured, whipped and other things that he cannot even talk about.

Herman eventually finds affection, respect and acceptance. He forgets his mother tongue and learns Apache. He is taught their customs and rituals: how to hunt with bow and arrow; raid, steal, fight with lance and shield, kill and scalp. He becomes a warrior tested in fights with Texas Rangers, Mexicans, white settlers and other native tribes. By age 16, the only thing that does not seem Apache about Herman are his blue eyes.

He spends six years with the Apache and a year alone in the wilderness before he is adopted into a Comanche tribe. He is Comanche in 1877, when he takes part in the Buffalo Hunters War, the last major fight between Native and Non-Native Americans in Texas. It is Quannah Parker who gets him to go to the reservation in Oklahoma and who adopts him as his son. In 1878, soldiers take Herman from Fort Sill and bring him back to Loyal Valley.

He was home. But he was no longer a German boy.

He knew Apache, Comanche and Spanish, but no German. He hated sleeping inside a house, so his brother Willie slept outside under the stars with him. He hated “paleface” clothing and often changed back into leggings and breach clout and painted his body. He stole the neighbors’ cows and horses. It took time to learn to be a white man, but the same character that allowed him to become Apache, served him well once again. Eventually he “fits in,” somewhat — even gets married and has children. But the “Indian” never left him.

My mom’s cousin Esther knew her “Uncle Herman” really well. She and her sister, Gerda, made an oral history recording about Herman for the Sophienburg in 1992. Herman came to live with his brother Willie in 1927, when Esther was three-and-a-half years old. She told us stories of sitting next to him as he told his Indian tales. She loved it when people would be over and he’d let out a war whoop just to make them jump. She helped him sneak fresh-killed deer down to the cellar when it was out of season, and watched him eating his deer meat raw, ground up with onion and salt. “He loved that life,” she would say. “They should have brought him back and let his mother know he was OK, then left him with the Indians. He would have been happier.”

And that is exactly what I took away from that documentary. Herman was perpetually caught between two worlds. That he was able to move between them at all is a miracle. That he found any happiness is amazing.

Herman Lehmann died in 1932 and is buried at Loyal Valley. Esther passed on in 2016 and is buried next to “Uncle Herman.”

One more thing … it is said that Esther was the last person to have known an Indian captive. Wow.

More on This Subject

Sources: Nine Years Among the Indians, 1870-1879, Herman Lehmann, 1927; The Captured: A True Story of Abduction by Indians on the Texas Frontier, Scott Zesch, 2004; “Nine Year’s with the Apaches and Comanches”, J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, July 1954; “Esther Lehmann: Herman’s Story”, Phil Houseal, Jan 8, 2014 and Feb 17,2016, Full House Productions; Esther Lehman and Gerda Lehman Kothman, “Reflections” #292, Sophienburg Museum & Archives.

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New Year’s Eve was known in the New Braunfels area as Sylvester’s Abend even by my dad who was a child of The Great Depression. Myra Lee Adams Goff wrote an article, published Dec 30, 2012, on the tradition of grand, dress-up dances held on Sylvester’s Abend. Locations such as Matzdorff’s Halle (present-day Eagles Hall), Sweet Home Hall at Solms, Walhalla at Smithson’s Valley, Teutonia Halle, Anhalt, Landa Park, Reinarz Hall, Schwab Hall, Lenzen Hall and many smaller halls hosted Sylvester’s Abend celebrations. Matzdorff’s was an early venue in the city that held numerous dances, singing festivals, and concerts of all kinds throughout the year. On February 25, 1878, Mattzdorff’s was the scene for a grand concert by the internationally known pianist and celebrity, “Blind Tom”.

Thomas Greene Wiggins was born a slave in Columbus, GA, in 1848. Born blind, he was left to wander around the Bethune Plantation. Sound was his passion. He would mimic the cries of animals, birds and men – even drag chairs across the floor or bang pots and pans to make noise. At age four, Blind Tom was able to repeat a ten-minute conversation, yet he could not communicate his own needs; he resorted to whines, grunts and gestures. After hearing one Bethune daughter play piano, Tom found the outlet for his creative soul. By age five, he composed his first tune, The Rain Storm, after listening to a torrential downpour on a tin roof. He had an encyclopedic memory for sound, be it spoken word or musical notation, and could imitate anything he heard. The little slave boy was installed in the Big House and Bethune brought in music tutors. Tom was licensed out to Perry Oliver, a travelling showman, who marketed Tom as “The Wonder of the World. The Marvel of the Age”.

By age six, Blind Tom performed to sell-out houses throughout Georgia. His performances earned him an invitation to play before President James Buchanan making him the first African-American musician to officially perform in the White House. He was eleven years old.

During the Civil War, Blind Tom became absorbed by the sounds of war – the crunch of marching feet, the beating of drums, the pops and booms of artillery were all music to his gifted ears. He composed his most celebrated composition, The Battle of Manassas, at age fourteen.

After the war, Blind Tom toured across North America and Europe. His performances included beautiful classical pieces, popular folk songs, imitations of banjos and other instruments, and playing two songs at once – one with each hand! Audience members would test his memory of a tune and he perfectly met each challenge. As they enthusiastically applauded his efforts, Tom would perform spectacular leaps across the stage and howl along with them.

There was a dark side to the fame. The joy he felt on stage was countered by the treatment of his managers. They kept him locked up alone in hotel rooms and after years of social and physical isolation, he became suspicious of strangers. Having no concept of money, he was easily exploited and manipulated by his guardians. Even though he was an emancipated slave, the Bethunes continued to manage his affairs. It has been estimated that he would have earned $5 million during his career; he, of course, never saw a penny. When the last Bethune son died, his estranged and angry wife traced down Blind Tom’s mother and persuaded her to mount a legal challenge to free Tom from the Bethunes. In 1887, the press announced that “The Last American Slave” had been set free. That freedom was fleeting; his mother naively handed Tom’s guardianship over to the Bethune ex-wife.

Tom spent his last years touring small towns across North America and even appeared on the vaudeville stage. In 1908, he died of a stroke at the age of sixty and was buried in a pauper’s grave in Brooklyn.

So what did the New Braunfels folk think about Blind Tom’s concert? I had only to look in the March 1, 1878 issue of the Neu Branfelser Zeitung. Under the headline, “A Wonder of Nature”, the article stated, ”…the performance far exceeded our expectations…a physiological riddle. [With] one distinct expression…this baffling creature plays the piano with virtuosity…he sings with a clear resonant voice. This person has the extraordinary perception and talent to repeat whatever is handed him…with passion that is astonishing.”

Blind Tom then sang the song Wenn die Schwalben heimwärts ziehen (When the Swallows Come Flying Home) in perfect German complete with proper emotion.

Today, Tom would be labeled an autistic savant. It is said that his unusual rocking and twitching and blank open-mouth expression would vanish the moment his fingers touched the piano keys. To the people of the mid-19th C, Blind Tom was seen as an eccentric oddball and gifted wonder of nature. They watched and listened in astonishment as his hands recreated a composition on the piano after only hearing the piece one time. They marveled and were inspired by the pure pleasure and joy he exhibited whilst playing and singing.

Tom Greene Wiggins was a very special man.

Sources:

• NB Zeitung, Feb 22 and March1, 1878; The Ballad of Blind Tom, by Deirdre O’Connell
• The Ballad of Blind Tom: Slave Pianist, America’s Lost Musical Genius — http://www.blindtom.org

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Tourism has been an important economic facet in New Braunfels for many years. All can agree that the beauty of natural springs bubbling out of a rocky hillside to form the crystal clear Comal River, Landa Park, historic homes and businesses, music venues in century old dance halls, and the beer, sausage and Gemütlichkeit of Wurstfest are not really a difficult sell. But who started it all? Who was the very first tour guide of New Braunfels?

After a quick search through the Archives, I found that it might be a man by the name of Karl Klinger. Okay, so this might need a little background. In 1845, New Braunfels was settled by German immigrants led by Prince Carl of Solms-Braunfels, Commissioner General of “The Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas” or Adelsverein. When the townsite was surveyed and laid out, the Prince chose a large section of land for the Adelsverein. According to the earliest town maps, the land was bordered by what is today Hill Street, Guenther Street, Cross Street and Butcher Street. A three-room log cabin with large doors was built on the crest of the small hill overlooking the settlement to serve as both the Adelsverein headquarters and guest quarters for visiting dignitaries. The building was also to be the beginning of a fortress to protect the colonists. Now, Prince Carl was already betrothed to Princess Sophia of Salm-Salm, so he did not stick around long in New Braunfels (actually only about 6 weeks). Before he left for his homeland, he dedicated the property and named the log structure “Sophienburg” (Sophia’s Fortress) in honor of his fiancée. A couple of other structures were erected on the site including a supply warehouse (or magazine) for foodstuffs and farm implements (thus the street named Magazine Avenue). After the Adelsverein went bankrupt in 1847, the whole Sophienburg Hill property was sold & divided to satisfy debts. The original headquarters building fell into disrepair, standing as a decaying memory of the Verein for over forty years until it was destroyed in a storm (that’s another story for another time).

For a good part of those forty years, the original Sophienburg building was occupied by Christian (aka Karl) Klinger as a sort of caretaker. Klinger had immigrated to Texas in 1845 as a servant of Prince Carl from the Province of Bavaria. He is listed in census records as a “joiner”, which is an antiquated term for someone who joins wooden building components like stairs, doors, and window frames. He also served during the Civil War in Captain F. Heidemeyer’s Company of Infantry, Texas State Troops, 31^st Brigade with the rank of Private. According to an 1888 New Braunfels Zeitung article, Karl Klinger lived in the “only rainproof corner” of the dilapidated old Sophienburg headquarters building until it collapsed (now that’s dedication!). So, what do you do when your historical hilltop home is blown away? What Klinger would do — build a small cabin to operate out of, keep on showing people around the site, keep telling the history of the Prince, Sophienburg Hill and stories about his time as a bugler in the Prussian Regiment of the Guards. To support himself, he sold such items as candy, soda drinks, homemade cider and postcards… the first tour guide and father of tourism in New Braunfels! Klinger was so well known that he was even included in an anonymous poem lovingly penned in German and submitted to the Zeitung in 1877:

The Sophienburg in New Braunfels

At New Braunfels on the hill
An old ruin perched;
There once dwelt the knight
Where now the Klinger lives.
He planes there all day
He tends to play the flute,
His beer is good, the cider clear
For Little money, one gets a lot.
And if you step out in front of the door,
One sees a friendly picture’
There lies the town in green adornment
Shrouded with gardens.
Prince Solms, a good knight,
Had this house built
Thirty-two years ago
To see something different.
After his much loved Lady
Did the Prince name it.
Sophienburg was its name,
So it is still known today.
There in the valley below swayed
The grasses back and forth,
Where you see the manicured farms
Was in those days, bare and desolate.
Wherever the eye turns
One sees today the fruits of Labor
What the parent’s diligence provided,
Was a blessing for their young.

Fast forward to 1928 and when S.V. Pfeuffer, along with a handful of very civic minded people, raised money during The Great Depression to acquire part of the Hill property and build a museum and library. The Museum, built on the original Hill Property, was dedicated on October 8, 1933. New Braunfels Herald accounts of the dedication reported “this was the first instance in the Southwest, at least, where a memorial has risen on the exact site where a city or town had its birth.”

Almost 84 years to the day, the Sophienburg Hill will be recognized by The Texas Historical Commission as a significant part of Texas history by awarding it an Official Texas Historical Marker. The designation honors Sophienburg Hill as an important and educational part of local history. As an added bonus, The Lindheimer Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas will also recognize the Sophienburg Hill as an Historic Site of the Republic of Texas.

A ceremony to commemorate these two events will be held on Tuesday, October 10, 2017 at 401 W. Coll at 5:15 pm. The Comal County Historical Commission invites the public to share in and witness this exciting dedication of the historical Sophienburg Hill.

Sources:

• Neu Braunfelser Zeitung
• New Braunfels Herald
• The First Founders, by Everett A. Fey
• THC application for site status

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Occasionally, I need to look through the Sophienburg’s newspaper collection. The papers, on microfilm, date from 1852 to present day; it is an amazing resource. Often, an unrelated search sends me “down a bunny trail” (of course, I follow!). As I was researching pigeons a couple columns back, I came across Dr. Grube. His name was familiar to me because there are several artifacts in the Museum collections associated with him: a wood box overlaid with sliced deer horn, an engraved watch fob, a meerschaum cigar holder, and some cut-glass steins. So I began to wonder, who was this guy?

A name search in the news index revealed over 80 mentions for Dr. Otto R. Grube in the Neu Braunfelser Zeitung, from 1876-1902. The advertisements, small articles, and one sentence reports in Locales (Local news), gave me a sense of what the everyday life of this local physician was like. This good doctor was a busy, busy man.

The paper announced in November 1876, that Dr. Grube had taken over Dr. Lehde’s medical practice. The practice remained in Dr. Lehde’s home, but Otto made many house calls. During 1877, Dr. Grube rode his horse 10 miles south of New Braunfels to Santa Clara to cure the Helmke child of nervous fever, moved his office to the Voges home on Castell Street, and joined Dr. Claessan in performing an autopsy. The theft of Otto’s horse from in front of the Guadalupe Hotel (Schmitz) during a failed robbery attempt definitely made news in July. Later that fall, he joined the Turnverein (Athletic Club) and the Saengerverein (Singing Society). He was fitting into the New Braunfels “scene” quite nicely.

The Zeitung printed a thank you to Grube in February 1878 for his “special attention and services rendered” during Mrs. Roessing’s illness. That spring, advertisements reminded townsfolk that he was giving smallpox vaccinations during the lunch hour each day at Voelcker’s Drugstore. He is involved in the November murder investigation at the Breustedt Farm, 6 miles from downtown; called in to examine a woman’s body found in the well, he determined that her head had been beaten in with the “weapon” found near her. The murderer turned out to be the woman’s husband, a Polish man, who worked on the farm. (Talk about a bunny trail!) Grube removed Dr. Claessan’s finger in December — it had become infected during an earlier operation.

In 1879, Dr. Grube assisted several San Antonio physicians in a hernia operation; this was considered “major surgery”. Later that year, his neighbor’s dog was poisoned, he was appointed to the examiners board to hire English-speaking teachers, and he amputated Mrs. Seele’s foot after it was badly broken in a wagon accident.

He treated Mrs. Eiband’s lung disease until her death and got politically involved in 1880. He went to Galveston and Dallas as a delegate to the Democratic Convention. He also took ownership of a beautiful, hand-crafted coach made by “blacksmith Galle and wagon maker Mueller, with lacquer-work done by Streuer”. He and his friends survived a “mule and ambulance” accident on the way to a Saengerverein event and that summer he worked on the fair planning committee.

Advertisements in 1881, announced that Dr. Grube was a “family doctor.” He helped reestablish the local masonic lodge. That summer he and Mr. Voelcker began a soda water business. He treated Mr. Glenewinkle’s arm after a thrashing machine mishap and he served as coroner for the intentional morphine overdose of Lee Wilson at Ludwig’s boarding house.

1882 was a difficult year for Dr. Grube. First, he served as pallbearer for his good friend, Dr. Claessen. Next, he treated the wound of M. Starcke’s 12-year-old son after he was accidentally shot by his 14-year-old brother. In November, he travelled all the way to Laredo to treat Judge Pfeuffer’s son, George. (That’s one heck of a house call!). Then in 1883, Grube’s 12-year-old brother-in-law, John Dyer, was shot by Alfred Rheinlaender.

Personal tragedy struck again in March 1885, when Grube’s wife died suddenly at age 30; he buried her with her family in New Orleans. That summer, he treated Mrs. Waldschmidt after a terrible accident. While she was milking a cow, it tried to butt away her dog. She was knocked down instead and suffered a serious “wound” because she was pregnant. At the same time, Dr. Grube cared for the son of Mr. Hildebrand who had shot himself in the head with a shotgun. After the last few months it was not surprising to read in the newspaper that Grube gave his practice to Dr. Underhill and moved to New Orleans in November. The Zeitung reported that “the town would truly miss him.”

And then, in May 1895, Dr. Grube returned to New Braunfels. He set up his practice in Voelcker’s Drugstore and specialized in the diseases of women and children.

In 1896, Grube was reported to have tried a telephone connection between New Braunfels and Blanco. New Braunfels had been connected to San Antonio since January. He continued to give smallpox vaccinations and once again was elected to be a delegate to the Democratic Convention.

He bought shares in the Comal County Fair Association in 1899 and became the president of the Schuetzenverein (Shooting Club). Most importantly, Otto Grube married Emmy Weber in a December ceremony. He was 50; Emmy was 28.

1902 saw a rise in smallpox cases. Dr. Grube, the Comal County Health Officer, reported on the victims: Tausch’s daughter, 2 Catholic nuns, Kern’s son, 1 member of the Lueder family, 2 of Albrecht’s daughters, and 3 Mexican workers on the Kuehler Farm.

Dr. Otto R. Grube died July 8, 1902, of kidney failure, and was buried in Comal Cemetery. His second wife, Emmy, lived until November 23, 1956.

Now I wonder how much of my life — or yours — is recorded in the newspaper.

Sources:

• Neu Braunfelser Zeitung microfilm collection
• First Protestant Church records
• US Census reports
• The Portal to Texas History https://texashistory.unt.edu

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