By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

Divining. Dowsing. Witching. Switching.

These strange words all refer to the same thing, an ancient method of finding something under the ground. It’s not science. It’s not magic. Some people have “the gift” and others do not. In many cases, the ability is found generationally in families. Whatever it is, it has proven to be a relatively effective technique for finding minerals, coal, oil, water, treasure and burial sites for centuries.

German miners used dowsing rods to locate minerals in the 1400s. English miners were using the method in the 1600s. Americans tended to call dowsing either “witching” or “switching”, possibly because many practitioners used witch hazel branches (switches) for the rods. Dowsing rods can be made of hazel, hawthorn, willow, peach, pear or cherry branches, but not elder. Elder trees were associated with witchcraft and dowsing is not witchcraft.

Dowsing rods are simple to use. The diviner (dowser, witcher or switcher) holds the ends of a Y-shaped branch with the joint nosing upward and then walks across the ground they want to survey. Say he or she is looking for water — when underground water is passed over, the joint end will point down or twist. The strength of the rod’s movement can even estimate the distance under the surface so you know how deep to drill for a well.

Elmo Jonas (1916-2001) learned how to switch for water in the 1930s from watching his uncle. As a Wassersucher, or switcher, Elmo used a Y-shaped rod from the branch of a peach tree. He stored his rods wrapped up in his freezer. Mr. Jonas was known across the county for his ability to find water to help people locate sites for wells on their property. In a New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung article, Mo Schwab was quoted saying, “To my knowledge, he’s never had a client say it was a dry hole …. He doesn’t charge for switching. He earns his living on his sheep ranch off Purgatory Road. People make donations if they want to, but I know he’s found good water sources for people who gave him nothing.”

In other words, he wasn’t scamming anyone.

The Herald-Zeitung interviewed Elmo in 1995 about the “gift” he shared with others. He and many of his neighbors were relocated when their family ranches and farms were bought to make way for Canyon Lake and Dam in the late 1950s. Buying new land and building a new home made it necessary to also drill new wells. Elmo Jonas found just the right spot for good wells for those resettling.

How does it work? No one really knows. Some think it has to do with a physical principle, possibly electrical in nature, that isn’t yet understood. Curtis Bremer (1934-2016) said, “There is no scientific evidence, but I’m satisfied that it works, and I’ve used Elmo Jonas on six or eight wells. I’d want a switcher if I were drilling a water well today because you increase your probability.”

The U.S. Geological Survey can’t prove how or if it works so they caution against using a water witcher. But, they cannot prove it doesn’t work, and as many people have seen, somehow it does. In 1975, Mrs. James Mayer of Bulverde was asked to locate water for a well at the Comal Indepent School District’s Smithson Valley High School. Successful, she was asked by the school board to also find water for Mountain Valley Elementary and Middle School in Sattler. Harvey Pape reported on that experience. “She would just walk across the field and the rod would go straight down — she just could not hold it. There were two places on our land like that. It was really amazing to watch, in fact, the first switch she used split in half.… She gave me the switch, and it wouldn’t do anything, … we gave it to my little daughter, and the switch pulled almost out of her hands.”

Water is not the only thing people switch for. Former educator Wilfred Schlather also uses a divining rod to locate lost gravesites. Sounds weird, right? Mr. Schlather taught high level math and physics at New Braunfels High School as well as hand-built the first computer on campus. He is definitely no stranger to scientific facts. He doesn’t know how switching works, he just knows that it does.

I got to go on a grave hunt with Wilfred (It is so hard not to call him Mr. Schlather.) a couple of years ago. We needed to find out where a young boy was buried in one of the local cemeteries. We vaguely knew about where he was lying, but with no headstone, it was just guesswork. Wilfred got out his switching rods — two copper pipe cylinders in which he put L-shaped pieces of wire. He held one copper cylinder in each fist so that the long end of the L-shaped wires swung freely facing forward. As he passed over different areas of ground, we watched in astonishment as suddenly the wires turned inward and crossed each other and then several steps later uncrossed. I. Kid. You. Not.

Wilfred repeated the action flagging where the wires first crossed and then flagging where they uncrossed. Between the flags was the exact space that would be needed to bury a child’s casket. To make certain of his results, he walked parallel to the marked space. The wires did not cross. When he walked across the area of another marked grave, the wires did their crossing thing again.

“May I have a go, Wilfred?” I asked hesitantly. “Here, try it,” he said, handing me his rods. I held one copper pipe in each fist and with the rods floating forward walked over a marked grave. At the foot, the wires turned inward and crossed. At the headstone, the wires uncrossed. I tried the burial site he had just located. At one end of the space the wires turned inward and crossed and at the other end the wires uncrossed.

It was quite the OMG moment. Apparently, I have the “gift” for finding graves. Who knew I was so blessed. I was telling my mom about this article. It seems I had an uncle in the Fredericksburg area who was a water switcher. Looks like I need to try switching for water!

Sources: New Braunfels Herald; New Braunfels Herald Zeitung; Texas Escapes Online Magazine: “The Ancient Art of Dowsing”,  “Dowsing for Graves, Witching For Water”; Farm and Dairy, “The Curious History of Water Witchers”.

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

The post Dowsing for water and switching for graves appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

Have you ever experienced a Christmas where you thought you would get nothing from Santa?

I am sure that there are several good children that have worried about getting gifts due to their parents’ circumstances. During the Great Depression, it was the generosity of angels that helped out needy children in New Braunfels.

The U.S involvement in World War I lasted from 1917-1919. During that time, everything went to the war effort to support our soldiers, causing restrictions (read shortages) of meat, wheat, sugar, eggs and more. Once the war was over, with a short readjustment, the economy rebounded with gusto. Oil was flowing, business was booming, new construction was up and all was well again for nearly a decade. Texans were looking to the future, that is, until the stock market crashed on October 29, 1929.

Texans were not initially affected by the downturn. In fact, they were optimistic that it was a little recession, a short-lived blip on the radar. The cotton crop was already harvested and sold at very good prices. The population had grown by 25 percent. New Braunfels’ new building projects were still being built in 1931. Then reality hit. The battered economy caught up to New Braunfels.

Many people did not have money to spend. Business suffered. The one-year-old Montgomery Ward store closed along with others. Men were out of jobs. Some lost their farms. Some lost their homes. Women went to work doing what they could. Many people were hard pressed to survive. Some went to the poor house with their family. Others reached out to charities for help with food and clothing. In 1931, Christmas joy was a faraway memory for many.

To lessen the heartache of a Christmas without presents for the children, the Lions Club joined with New Braunfels firemen to collect toys. The Lions Club of New Braunfels (chartered April 1925) was founded on the basic tenets of loyalty and service to community, state and nation. The Lions jumped right in to make Christmas better for the children of the less fortunate with a city toy drive.

Unlike the toy drives of today, (think KENS-5 Bill’s Elves or Marines’ Toys for Tots), they were not asking for new toys or monetary donations. They wanted old, used, castaway toys. The idea was for the Lions to do the collecting and the firemen to repair and refurbish the toys.

The wheels may be turning in your head thinking, “my child would flip out if they got a broken toy.” Perhaps, but toys were made differently in the ‘20s and ‘30s and were not generally considered disposable. They were made to last. We are talking metal scooters, tricycles, pedal cars, velocipedes, kiddie-cars, doll buggies, mechanical toys and wagons (these are all of those wonderful things that catch your eye in the big antique stores). Replacing a wheel or putting on a new coat of paint made it all new again.

Calls went out for old toys beginning in November. The toys were collected by Lions Club members and dropped off at Central Fire Station (now the New Braunfels Fire Department Museum on Hill Avenue). Why partner with the fire department? At that time the New Braunfels Fire Department was made up of approximately seven to eight paid men located in three stations with 60 on-call volunteers. The paid men were basically confined to the fire station premises during their shift when not on a call. After daily chores were completed, they had some down time to work on repairing and painting the toys. Paint was furnished by Louis Henne Company and Jacob Schmidt & Son provided cloth for new doll dresses, which were made by Mrs. Walter Staats, wife of the fire chief. The campaign was deemed a success as there was an incredible number of toys turned over to Associated Charities for delivery to identified needy families.

As the Depression dragged on, the Lions and Fire Department continued their Christmas Toy Drive. In 1932, the Lions and Fire Department were already organized and ready for the toy campaign. They enlisted cloth donations from Eiband and Fischer and paint donations from Cameron Lumber Company.

By 1933, the firemen were not only repairing toys, they were also in on the delivery of the toys with Santa (the best part). That year, Santa named Chief Staats and his firemen as Special Agents to Santa Claus, meaning that the toys, along with apples and oranges provided by the American Legion Auxiliary, were loaded up on a big red firetruck for special delivery to each and every recipient.

In 1934, the firemen rode the big hook-and-ladder truck to make deliveries themselves to those children identified by the Comal County Relief Board. By 1935, the recipients were identified from relief rolls along with input from the elementary school principals. Each year, the Lions Club provided new toys to help meet the demand of needy children.

The toy drive continued through 1936. In 1937, the fireman’s and Lions Christmas toy program was postponed when an investigation determined that there was no longer a need. However, in late December of 1937, an urgent plea went out to the public from the Junior Chamber of Commerce for old toys.

So, here we are. It is December. The economy is rocky. Inflation is high. Food prices are high, and people are struggling. I hope that you will follow the lead of the Lions Club and New Braunfels Fire Department to do something good for your fellow man and for the community. If you have a little extra in your pocket, be an angel, pay it forward to a non-profit organization or something that warms your heart … and theirs.

I love that New Braunfels is a generous community. The number of people that volunteer their time, talents and money to non-profit organizations in New Braunfels proves it. We take care of each other. I wish you joy this Christmas season!

Sources: Sophienburg Museum and Archives; Handbook of Texas History Online.

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

The post A joyful Christmas of Lions, angels and firemen appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

We go see the latest movie and think nothing about it. It is an easy and common thing to do. I don’t even remember the first film I saw, though I’m fairly certain it was a Disney movie. Not so in the early 1900s. I recently found several articles in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung microfilm collection that talk about what it was like to see moving pictures for the first time.

Fred Oheim, a long-time editor of the newspaper, had some wonderful memories. He was born in 1903, so his earliest recollection as a kid was of a film shown on Marktplatz (Tolle Street). A traveling carnival set up a tent for the film. He was too young and too poor to go — which turned out to be a very good thing. After the first showing, rumors spread through town that parts of the film “shorts” were, in fact, “X-rated.” Mostly men were seen entering the tent at the 9 p.m. showtime and “they had a sneaky look about them.” The men all exited the tent with their hats tipped low over their faces.

The first film Oheim remembered seeing was shown by photographer H.D. Klenke who presented short films in a building on South Seguin Street between the Hoffmann and Klappenbach buildings. Fred saw his first “talkie” in the Seekatz Opera House on West San Antonio Street. “Talkies” came out in the 1920s. Synchronized sound was produced via a belt connecting the projector in the booth with a phonograph on a box on the stage. It was rather like a trotline and ran the entire distance from the projector to the phonograph in the cone of light produced by the projection lens. In Oheim’s own words:

There were two knots in this loop of driving belt and I was fascinated watching them slowly travelling down to the stage and back to the projector, particularly since there were always a couple of “snake doctors” (what he called dragonflies) in the auditorium which regularly attacked the knots.”

The synchronized sound from the phonograph never really matched up well with the film. He remembers that it got worse and worse as the film ran. This story conjures up images in my head of Gene Kelly in “Singin’ in the Rain.”

Oscar Haas was our Comal County Clerk and the unofficial historian of New Braunfels and Comal County. Born in 1895, the first film he remembered was shown “over” South Seguin Street. Yes, I said “over.” A projecting device was set up on the second floor of the old wood Naegelin building/residence which pointed directly across Seguin Street at a screen set up on the second-floor porch of the Homann Saddlery business/residence. Attendees sat in the street. The movie was part of an advertising campaign for some product Oscar did not remember. Called “The Train Robbery,” the film was shown three nights in succession and repeated again the following four summers. Most importantly, it was free, which allowed the children to take their nickel and go into Naegelin’s for jelly beans and wine balls. Oscar described the event:

“This movie had no sound track but there were attendants who realistically produced the sounds of the train as it came puffing around the mountainside, crossing a bridge, and the sound of the horses’ hoofs as the robbers came galloping out from a ravine, firing pistols, and brought the train to a stop with passengers ordered to come off the coaches and stand along the side of the track.”

The excitement was absolutely riveting, and Oscar Haas tried to make it to every showing.

Oscar’s wife, Clara, remembered that there was an open-air movie garden on part of the empty lot next to R.B. Richter’s building on West San Antonio Street. She also remembered Martin’s Theater which was located next to the Phoenix Saloon beer garden (now the courtyard in front of the bank building). Martin’s was showing films already in 1914. Other theaters recalled by Clara included The Capitol, which opened in 1924 on Main Plaza (between Comal Flower and Black Whale). The Capitol got its movies and performers straight from the Majestic Theater in San Antonio. The Brauntex Theater opened in October 1942 with the Bing Crosby flick “Birth of the Blues.”

Roger Nuhn, journalist, photographer, newspaper editor, and SWTSU (TSU) professor, grew up in the generation of Saturday serial movie-goers. Roger and his buddies would go each Saturday to catch the next episodes, known as chapters, of popular Western serials. The serials always ended in a cliff-hanger so patrons would have to come back the next week. Jack Kaufmann Sr. was running the Seekatz at this time, and the kids would all wear a special badge they got at the “Chapter One” film. With the badge, entrance each Saturday was then only a nickel — half of a regular child’s admission. The serial chapters were quite a bargain: you got to see the next part of the story, then a full-length Western or adventure film, a two-reel comedy and a newsreel. Cheap and it kept the kids entertained!

Roger also recalled that Jack Kaufmann had a heart of gold. “If he saw some child hanging around the entrance of the movie house looking longingly at the posters obviously without the necessary cash for a ticket, he would go up to the youngster and say, ‘What are you doing out here? The show’s inside, get on in there!’ Jack Kaufmann never got rich but was among the most-loved businessmen in downtown New Braunfels.”

LaVerne Schwab Pearce, long-time Sophienburg employee and volunteer, shared a story with Myra Lee Adams Goff back in 2008. LaVerne remembered that the first movie she saw was at the Seekatz in 1934. It was Shirley Temple in “The Littlest Rebel.” Temple’s character has to save her Confederate father from execution for treason ,and she does so by pleading with President Lincoln. LaVerne said she was so upset by the action on the screen that she began wailing loudly and her mother had to take her out of the auditorium.

The new-fangled movie business sometimes made it hard to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

One more story …

Jack Coleman, in a Reflections oral history program recorded in 1977, tells of his Uncle Nob Richardson’s first ever movie. It was a Western. There was lots of shooting. Uncle Nob was so upset that he whipped out his handgun and shot a hole in the screen.

Ah, now that’s entertainment!!!

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives newspaper microfilm collection: “Shots at Random,” Roger Nuhn, New Braunfels Herald, Feb. 22, 1973; “Museumantics,” Fred Oheim, New Braunfels Herald, March 1, 1973; “Early-Day Theatricals, Movie Houses Recalled,” Oscar Haas, New Braunfels Herald, March 1, 1973; Reflections program, Jack Coleman, 1977; ”Around the Sophienburg: Brauntex Opened in 1942 with Bing Crosby,” Myra Lee Goff, Jan. 22, 2008.

Photo Caption: Martin’s Picture Palace was the first movie house in New Braunfels. Advertisements for films begin in March 1914.

The post Movie memories appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

I often think about living in New Braunfels and how fortunate we are to have wonderful century-old buildings everywhere. I don’t necessarily think about that when I am trying to dodge tourists crossing the streets of downtown or hurrying to be on time to some destination, but I do think about it. I love how the downtown buildings have evolved over time and taken in new businesses. A recent visit to Myron’s Steakhouse on North Castell Avenue reminded me of visits to the same building many years before, piquing my curiosity about its history and how my memories match up.

The sleek stucco building was built in 1924. The Palace Theatre, owned by A.J. Loehman and John H. Stahl, was one of several movie and entertainment houses in New Braunfels. The partnership dissolved by October of 1925, but Stahl continued to run the theatre for a few more years. By June of 1932, the building was sold to R.B. Gode to satisfy debts. Clearly, I was not around in 1924, but we need to back up even further to pick up the details of what came after the theatre.

Just before the turn of the century, a young girl named Milda Richter moved to New Braunfels with her mother. Money was scarce, so the girl began doing housework for the Gruene family at a very young age. She later worked for a restaurant in town. In 1912, Milda met and married a young man and they set about their life’s journey.

There was an establishment at that time, on the corner of San Antonio Street and North Castell Avenue (where Callahan’s stands now), that sold wine, liquor and cigars, otherwise known as a saloon. If patrons wanted food, they were directed through the saloon to a restaurant connected in the back. There was also a door facing Castell Avenue. The young couple bought said restaurant from Mr. Edmund Runge, the owner, for $175.

The couple opened their new business under the name Fritz Bloedorn’s Restaurant. It was hard work. Everything was cooked on a wood-burning stove. No gas or electric ovens. No microwaves. Plus, they had two children to care for. Fritz soon left. When they divorced in 1921, Milda retained the restaurant. Milda lived above the restaurant, raised her children and ran the restaurant by herself. Milda was friendly, outgoing, and compassionate in caring for her customers. She earned the name “Ma” from Walter Faust, Sr. and the name stuck. She built a great reputation; she built a great business; and she survived the Great Depression.

By the end of 1932, Milda had a terrific opportunity to rent the much larger space right next door in the former Palace Theatre. The building renovations allowed enough space for the restaurant and one other tenant, the Central Meat Market, owned by A.G Startz and Erwin Startz. Bloedorn Café opened in the renovated Palace Theatre building on February 1, 1933. It eventually became known as just “Ma’s Café”.

Restaurants in New Braunfels were a little different than today. There were a lot of people who lived in a boarding situation. In other words, they rented a room with no kitchen, so they had to take their meals at a café. Every meal. Ma cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner. There was usually a special of the day with limited choices. Many of the patrons ate there several times a day.

Ma was an innovative cook. She bought fresh vegetables from farmers who came to the back door. Fresh chickens were delivered on Fridays, LIVE, which then had to be plucked and butchered to cook for Sunday dinner. On one occasion, someone brought soft-shell turtles to the back door and she made turtle soup.

When Prohibition was repealed in 1934, Ma’s was one of the first restaurants in New Braunfels to get a beer license to better serve her customers. Before that, beer was only consumed in saloons.

Food was rationed during World War II. The purchase of meat, sugar, coffee, and butter required ration stamps. Restaurants were required to take their menus and the sales book for the month in order to obtain food stamps for the coming month. Ma survived many hardships — single motherhood, the Great Depression, and World War II — and yet was very generous with others. She never turned away a hobo, but she would give them something to do to earn their food. Ma was known to open the café to boarders on Christmas Eve. On New Year’s Eve, she would start her day early in the morning, preparing the day’s meals as usual, before hosting a huge New Year’s Eve dinner and after-dance meals. There were a lot of people that even showed up during intermission from a nearby dance for a bite to eat. Then she would start all over again at 5 a.m.

Milda’s children Arthur and Erna helped their mother a lot. She operated the café for 47 years until her death in 1961. Her son, Arthur, and his wife, Louise, ran it for 19 more years. People are more likely to know Arthur by “Schimmel”, which in German means “white horse.” He was given the nickname because as a child he had very white blond hair. I remember Schimmel as a gregarious man who served the biggest, best hamburgers ever.

It was during Schimmel’s time at the helm that a group of men began meeting after work to discuss the affairs, events and politics of the day. This group was composed of local bankers, businessmen, doctors, dentists, lawyers, and salesmen. Their camaraderie developed into a Stammtisch table. For those who do not actually know what a Stammtisch is (even though you might see the word as a heading above the events in the Herald-Zeitung) it is a “regulars’ table”. Twenty-six men routinely met at Ma’s to enjoy discussion and a round or two of adult beverages. Besides meeting regularly, the group took a page out of Ma Bloedorn’s playbook and sponsored a yearly feast for the people who worked downtown. Ma’s generous soul fed the community for many years from downtown New Braunfels.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum and Archives; Dennis Schwab.

The post The story of Ma’s Cafe appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

As a child, were you ever told that wanting a special toy or dress or bike would land the whole family on the poor farm? I’m not sure it was said specifically to me, but I have heard it said. I wondered where these farms were and who had to go there, but never really got an answer, until now. Did you know that New Braunfels had a poor farm? I certainly didn’t, and I grew up here.

I think the farm location shocked me the most. A farm. In town. Okay, it was actually located in Comal Town, close to what is now Landa Park, but only a mile and a half from Main Plaza. The area was rural farmland when the county commissioners created it, and Comal Town was not part of New Braunfels. Let’s start over.

As long as people have inhabited the earth, there have been people of lesser means – the indigent or poor people. Many were poor because of unfortunate circumstances, illness or old age. Continental Europe followed Spanish traditions where families and the church charities were responsible for helping the needy. Within English society, responsibility for care of the poor was given to local authorities and families, but with government oversight.

Pauper care in Texas was rooted in Spanish tradition that expected the church, charities and families to care for the needy. The churches did the best they could. With the formation of the Republic of Texas 1836, care for those in need changed to a system rooted in English poor law. The new republic enacted laws that organized courts and defined their duties. One law specified that it was the “duty of said board of commissioners to provide at the expense of the county, for the support of indigent, lame, and blind persons, who are unable to support themselves.” Support came as both outside support (money to help them in their homes) or inside, which meant living in an almshouse or on a poor farm. After Texas gained statehood, the act was modified in 1846 to include a provision for responsibility of pauper burials.

Those who came to Texas from Europe banked all they had to make a new life in this wonderful land. The risk was high and there was no Plan B. If things went wrong, they were in trouble. Illness, snake bites, childbirth, even riding a horse could create a traumatic change of events. Losing a spouse to childbirth or illness often split up families. Those with frailties, no means of support and advanced age were sent to the poor farm and children went to an orphanage. The indigent of early New Braunfels were usually widows or of very advanced age. They were granted support of about $6 monthly.

After the Civil War, there was much suffering that churches and charities could hardly keep up. The Texas Constitution, amended in 1869, provided for the establishment of the county labor poorhouses. It was not until 1897 that Comal County Comissioners voted to establish a poor farm in New Braunfels. They voted to purchase fourteen acres of land from Louis Moeller for $1350. The land was located in the vicinity of the Landa Estates, bordered by Market (now Torrey), LibertyAvenue, Mulberry Avenue and the Comal River. The county authorized the building of three houses of board and batten construction. The houses were located on Lots No. 74 & 82 up front on Market. Mr. George Lang was hired to be the manager of the poor farm. He was allowed to live rent-free in the middle house and was expected to feed all of the paupers sent to the farm on 20 cents per day. Approximately eleven and a half acres of the property was leased back to Mr. Moeller for cultivation.

The poor farm continued to operate over the years in spite the MKT Railroad cutting through the property. Albert Marion was manager for twenty-four years. After his death in 1934, his nephew Milton C. Marion took the job. The poor farm had been very important in helping many people make it through the depression, being able to work and support the families.

In 1934, the Social Security Act changed indigent care forever and the need began to dwindle. I could still find M.C. Marion was listed as poor farm manager in 1940, but not after that. In 1936, Harry Landa sold his park to the City and the Landa Estates developed on property that was once poor farm. People still resided in the old poor farm houses in the ‘40s and ‘50s.

Time moved on and in 1961 the City County Health Department took up residence in one of the white board and batten Torrey Street houses. If you had to get vaccinations or health cards between 1961 and 1974, that is where you went. At the same time, the county warehouse occupied barns on the same poor farm property between the railroad and Torrey Street. After the Health Department moved to the old Naval Reserve building on Comal Street, the County Probation department had some programs there. The two-acre poor farm property changed hands in 1980 when Henk Paving moved in. The last board and batten structure was recently destroyed to make way for parking.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives; https://scholarworks.sfasu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1467&context=ita

Caption: Map indicating the location of the Comal County Poor Farm

The post New Braunfels had a poor farm appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

Oscar Haas was well known as the historian and record-keeper of New Braunfels and Comal County. He documented a hundred years of our community’s progress through twenty years of newspaper articles and a published book. Now in its fourth printing, The History of New Braunfels and Comal County, Texas 1844-1946, a book by Oscar Haas, set the standard for historical documentation about German immigration. It has been the “go-to” for generations of researchers, but there is nothing like hearing his voice as he tells his own story.

“I was born on October 12, 1885, on land which is now at the bottom of Canyon Lake…. We moved to Twin Sisters. My parents decided to move to New Braunfels so that their children could have more education than they would have gotten (in Twin Sisters).” He attended the New Braunfels Academy but dropped out in sixth grade. “I could get a job selling groceries and delivering groceries at $12 a month. That was a lot of money. They taught me to ride a bicycle and go out once a week and ride around town and take up orders from the housewives, then come back and fill those orders and put ’em in baskets and then hitch up a horse and deliver the groceries around town.”

He clerked in another general merchandise store for several years. “We had to have conversations in English and Spanish, and of course, German. They wanted the clerk to speak their language or they wouldn’t buy from you.” Haas opened his own store in the 1920s. “We handled ready-to-wear, men’s and boy’s and children’s ready-to-wears and shoes and hats, millinery, and dress materials, by the yard and all kinds of trinkets. It was in the Richter Building. I had a partner, Walter Wiedner, so we called it Oscar Haas and Company. When the Depression hit, then we lost. It was loss, loss, loss, and finally you lost everything, ja.”

That loss prompted him to run for Comal County Treasurer in the 1934 election. He served as Treasurer for 28 years, unopposed. That is when the history bug bit him. “Yes, I just got stung in 1934, and fortunately, men like Herman Seele, the first schoolteacher” were still around. “He was a tall, pleasant faced, full-bearded man and always interested in greeting the people as he came walking down the street, particularly children. He always stooped down to shake hands with the children.”

“One day, I was in Otto Rohde’s — who was then County Clerk of Comal County’s Office — I saw on the shelf where the first book of the minutes of the Comal County Commissioners Court. I asked Otto, could I look at it? As I opened it up, I saw the recording of the very first session of the Comal County Commissioners Court in 1846. I found it so interesting that I took it down to the editors of the New Braunfels Zeitung, the German-language newspaper, and to the New Braunfels Herald, the English-language newspaper.” They both told him that if he wrote weekly installments from the minutes, they would print it. It took about three years. “After that was finished, I went through the minutes of the first church in New Braunfels, which also took about three years. And then after that, went through the City Council minutes.” All of them were in German and required translation to English to be published in the New Braunfels Herald. In 1961, he and his wife wrote a history series in 144 weekly installments, “Comal County in the Civil War”, translated from Ferdinand Lindheimer’s German-language newspaper articles of the 1860s.

Haas retired from his job of county treasurer in 1962 to devote time to compiling his vast collection of historic materials into the definitive History of New Braunfels and Comal County, 1845-1946 first published in 1968. The knowledge and information gained from all the years of going through official city, county and church minutes was a tremendous foundation for his book. He did further research into translated writings of Carl, Prince of Solms-Braunfels, Dr. Ferdinand Roemer, and others to fill in the earliest parts of New Braunfels’ history.

Other published works include Chronological History of the Singers of German Songs in Texas (1948); The First Protestant Church, Its History and Its People:1845-1855 (1955); and a translation of the Civil War diary of Capt. Julius Giesecke of New Braunfels. He contributed multiple articles to the Handbook of Texas History and received numerous honors for his devotion to history. Not bad for a sixth-grade dropout.

While going about my research for this story, I looked for something different than what others had written about him. I looked for his voice. Among the treasures that are held by the Sophienburg Museum and Archives is a stash of oral histories, the “Reflections” program, professionally recorded since 1976. Oscar Haas was number three. He was 90 at the time of the recording. I pulled the recording from the studio and played it for Don Cooper, the volunteer that has faithfully been cataloging the Oscar Haas Collection for at least two years. It was entrancing. Don’s face lit up as he actually heard the voice of the man that created boxes and boxes of notes written on scraps of paper and backs of old ballots. I could hear the impish demeanor and twinkle in the eye of a man I only saw in photos. His voice took me back to childhood, when my grandparents and many of the store clerks spoke with a little German accent and a “ja” on the end.

“Reflections” is still recorded and airs 9 a.m. Sundays on KGNB. Copies are available for purchase. Is your parent or grandparent recorded as they talk about New Braunfels? Wouldn’t it be great if you could hear their voice again? We also want to record your stories about growing up and living in New Braunfels. Call us at the Sophienburg, 830-629-1572.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives; Handbook of Texas Online.

The post The voice of Oscar Haas appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

The best part of the local newspaper, for me, has always been the “society pages”. Since the Neu-Braunfelser Zeitung’s first issue back in 1852, there was always a section for local news called Lokales (German for local). This section described events, weddings, the births of babies and funerals. It told you who visited town and of people’s visits to other towns, states and countries. Lokales touched on everything from fishing stories and new building projects to accidents and criminal activities — – in short, all the noteworthy incidents which happened during the week preceding publication.

Lokales carried longer articles by a part-time employee of the paper named Bohemian John. Bohemian John travelled extensively around Comal and neighboring counties riding horseback or with a horse and buggy. He represented and sold subscriptions to “Die Tante” or “the aunt” which folks back then fondly and regularly called the Zeitung; I’m not sure why. Bohemian John wrote weekly reports of his travels which included publishing of the names of new subscribers but more importantly just what the heck was happening out in the County. He knew everything that was going on. Over the years, I have read many of Bohemian John’s contributions and for some reason or other, I never thought about who the man behind the pseudonym was. Now, suddenly, I am curious.

I did a little scatter-plotting research. Bohemian John was John Mickesch or Mikesch. With a name, I could now learn about the man and so onward and upwards or perhaps sideways….

In 1854, John, a newborn infant, accompanied his father Jacob, mother Marie nee Weselic and his two older sisters on a three-month voyage which took him from Sobeslav, Budweis, Bohemia (in today’s Czech Republic) to Texas. The family left behind five dead children. His father Jacob became a farmer but added to the family coffers by also freighting; basically, he was a truckdriver only he used a wagon and team of 10 oxen. By the time John was 13, he was periodically joining his father in the freight business. He wrote about those times in some of his newspaper articles. On one particular trip in 1869, his father had taken ill in Victoria and he went to help.

What we experienced was no joking matter. We had ridden several miles in rain and came to a creek. When I said “Say, John (Nowotny), I believe that is a deep creek!” he laughed and urged his horse into the water. Plump! His horse disappeared from under him. Luckily, he was a good swimmer and his horse also got out again. But our provisions and bedding were gone. What to do now? A Negro on horseback came to us and told us that the water was 25 to 30 feet deep and we needed to go several miles upstream to a new bridge. Walking on the sleepers for this new bridge, we carried our saddles and what little effects we had across to the other side and pulled our horses after us. We caught up with Valentine Schumann, Ed Schertz and Oswald Jung and camped on this side of the Guadalupe (near where Cuero would be established).

The next day we rode through rain until we came to Victoria. My father still lay very sick. Mr. Schumann had recuperated and could drive his own team again. My father did not recognize us. John rode back to drive my father’s team. Some of the 10-oxen team had died. I stayed until Thursday. The next morning, I found my father sitting up in bed. It was, I believe, the happiest moment of my young life.

I now drove father’s team and John Nowotny rode on home. He soon came back with Adam Daum of Mission Valley whose brother John had also become ill down in the Indianola Prairie. John had already been buried. Several other waggoners died that year down there. It took a month to get back to New Braunfels. To list all misery and hardships endured on that one trip would take up all the space in the “Tante” and I believe that the youth of today (1903) cannot have any conception of the hardships that were endured on those trips.

The youth of 1903? Pshaw! John, the youth of today might not even listen to your story.

For a taste of Bohemian John’s basic style, I give you a bit of his folksy banter from his report published January 26, 1903.

Everyone knows that a sort of rheumatism has had me by the “Schlaffitcher” (collar?). However, my Bohemianess has quickly subdued the evil, and I now again feel good so that I want to tear trees out by the roots. If only trees weren’t so big and deep-rooted. Readers, you can admire me this week as [I am] the bailiff for the Grand Jury.

Met Rudolph Gloff of Clear Springs last week in New Braunfels. He is moving to Brenham and instructed me to have the “Tante” sent to him. Also saw Mr. Alfred Klein in town. He is the son of our “Rittergutsbesitzer” (Lord of the Manor) Carl Klein, and who, on the 17th of January was married to Miss Frieda Link. That the “Tante” will go weekly to visit the young couple from now on is “eine alte Sache” (“an old thing” or self-evident).

John Mickesch married Karoline nee Fenske in 1881, and they had five children. He lived most of his life in the Bracken and in the Schönthal area where he farmed. He died in New Braunfels in 1934. This staunchly Catholic man had served the community as a school trustee and county commissioner as well as newspaper reporter and was held in high esteem. He is buried in New Braunfels Cemetery near his father and mother.

In 1899, Bohemian John was heralded as the first Zeitung correspondent. His articles on the state of the county continued almost weekly well into 1907. They create a vivid picture of everyday people in the rural hill country landscape of the time. Bohemian John’s style and passion make this early social/gossip columnist’s reports on life’s myriad details fascinating and a joy to read.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives collections; Oscar Haas collections; Neu-Braunfelser Zeitung collection.

The post Bohemian John appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

Some of my favorite memories include Mayfest, a fundraising event that was put on by the New Braunfels Volunteer Fire Department beginning in early 20th century. The early versions of the day-long event included parades, picnics in Landa Park, foot races, sack races and pumper races. The celebrations that I remember featured barbeque dinners, pumper races and dances in the evening. The pumper races were my favorite. I loved the tight knit crews, the excitement of the race and the rush to push water, all skills they used in fighting a fire. Never seen a pumper race?

Let me explain.

In 1886, the growing city of New Braunfels took steps to acquire their first fire-fighting equipment — a hose reel cart and hook and ladder cart. About that time the New Braunfels Volunteer Fire Department was formed. Forty interested men showed up for the first meeting. They were divided into three companies, two hose reel companies and one hook & ladder company. These equipment carts were big-wheeled carts that required the stamina and strength of several men to pull it from one end of town to the other to get to a fire — not pulled by horses, but by people. There was a lot of running: to the fire cart station, to the fire pulling the hose cart, back to the station to return the equipment for next use. To say the least, it was very physically challenging. Think Camp Gladiator, but in real life.

For more than 25 years, firemen actually ran, pulling the equipment carts to fight any fire. It was not until 1913 that a fire truck was purchased, but the entire city was still protected by an all-volunteer department. By 1918, the city finally had a real fire station and the first paid firemen. Training was required to develop skill and accuracy. Out of this training came the natural competition between companies to be the best and a race was born. The races are a type of recreational competition among the firefighter teams involving timed completion of tasks related to or simulating common firefighting activities. Races test for speed, strength, dexterity, and teamwork. New Braunfels teams and individuals competed in both hose reel races and pumper races. The hose reel race had eight to eleven men pulling the cart down a track, drilling a wooden water pipe, getting water and returning the cart to the original position.

The pumper race is more detailed. There are a lot of moving parts. First of all, a “pumper” is a fire apparatus (truck) with a large tank and the capability to pump water at high pressure on to a fire. A pumper race is a timed 6-man race. Before the start, with all hands in the air, there are two men seated in the cab, one man standing on the truck rail on each side of the truck, and two on the back bumper of the truck. The starter pistol fires. The men on back grab the hose and nozzle, running to the 100-foot line, where they attach the nozzle. The two on the passenger side wait for the end of the fully extended hose to come off of the truck, break the coupling and attach it to the side of the truck. The two men on the driver’s side grab the big black suction hose off of the side of the truck, attaching one end to the truck and one end to the hydrant. Once attached, they immediately begin turning the wrench to open the hydrant full blast. All of that happens in anywhere from 16 to 20 seconds, without busting a connection. There was also an individual version of the race. What prizes did the winners take home? Pride! The races were friendly rivalries between hose companies. Their goal was to be the best team with the fastest time without a busted connection. They got to hold that title until the next big event.

New Braunfels Volunteer Fire Department was a member of the Texas State Firefighters’ and Fire Marshals’ Association organized in 1876. It held annual statewide and district conventions to keep volunteer departments up to date. They also made the convention more interesting by inviting volunteer departments to bring their race teams for competitions at the district and state levels. State level competitions offered cash prizes to the top three winners. New Braunfels hosted the 41st convention in 1916. The first known photograph of a competitive race team from New Braunfels was in 1920. The 1934 race team won the State Championship.

In 1962, the Ladies Auxiliary was formed. Chief Zipp’s wife was actively involved in the Fire Marshal’s Association and promoted the Auxiliary locally. It was sometime in the ’70s that the Ladies began practicing as a six-person race team. I practiced with them, but never competed. In the ’80s, the Ladies’ team seemed to get some traction with members like Betty Doeppenschmidt, Earlene Klabunde, Teresa Haag and Geraldine Wesch. They were very competitive. They even created their own competition uniforms and custom patch. Again, they competed for pride.

The New Braunfels Volunteer Fire Department grew to 60 members, never more than that. There were four companies of 15 men. They were selective and members had to be voted in. In 1925, there were three paid city firemen. By 1958, the number grew to thirteen paid men. The Volunteers were instrumental in keeping the community safe and rescuing many during the flood of 1972. The Volunteer Fire Department finally was disbanded in 1996. The Texas State Firefighters’ and Fire Marshals’ Association is still one of the oldest and largest fire associations serving fire and emergency responders of Texas. Pumper races were not held at convention in 2020 nor will they be held in 2021, but are scheduled to return again in 2022. If you know a fire or emergency responder, thank them for what they do every single day.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives; Reflections; Roger Brinkkoeter; Darren Brinkkoeter; Earlene Klabunde; Teresa Haag; New Braunfels Fire Museum.

The post Race for pride appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Tara V. Kohlenberg —

I always looked forward to our weekly trip to the grocery store. Although it was only a short twelve or so blocks from our house (and about the same from the Plaza), it felt like we were traveling to an exotic place with odd sights, sounds and smells. It was both scary and exciting to ride in the car as my mother drove over the bridge high above the Guadalupe. The grocery store was Pittman’s Red & White Store.

To me, the store was small and safe with only three aisles and a meat market in the back. If I behaved, I would get to select a treat from the cooler case at the end of the trip. But there was so much more to Pittman’s story than those three aisles of groceries.

The Comal and Guadalupe Rivers marked the boundaries of the land purchased by Prince Carl. The rivers defined the edge of New Braunfels for a long time. The Faust Street Bridge, one of New Braunfels’ most recognizable landmarks, was completed in 1887. The bridge was part of Highway 2, and served as a major crossing for all traffic between Austin to San Antonio until 1934, long before US 81 and Interstate 35 were built.

Highway 2, the Guadalupe River and the railroad brought industry. In 1921, Planters and Merchants Textiles began planning and building their modern water-powered textile mill. It began full production in July 1923. In 1922, just across the road on the edge of the highway in rural Comal County, Litt Atkin (L.A.) Pittman and his wife Eula set up a hamburger stand. According to family history, L.A. and Eula came to the New Braunfels area in 1919. When they wanted to build a business, it was said that the only properties available to them were outside of New Braunfels city limits. They purchased property from Louis Meyer on Highway 2 (now Porter Street).

What started out as a hamburger stand evolved into a grocery store. L.A. worked as a fireman in a factory job while Eula ran the store. They served not only the mill workers, but the families that built homes in the new Meyer Addition. The store was a little of everything to the community. Because it was on the highway, it served as a Greyhound bus station. It also served as a post office and polling place for Comal County. The community was dubbed Milltown by the people of New Braunfels. It was a derogatory name, but the people of Milltown embraced it. The funny thing was, the mill was the largest employer in the county, with a good number of the workers crossing that bridge from town every day to work there.

As the mill prospered, so did Pittman’s. By the late ’20s, the store became Pittman’s Red & White Store. L.A. and his wife built a large home behind the store and raised their children, who also worked in the store. About 1940, the Pittmans built a new modern Red & White Store next door to the first wood frame store. L.A.’s son, Walter, raised his family in the remodeled old store building while working long hours in the new store. The new store had the traditional red and black tile front and plate glass windows. This is the store I remember from the ’50s and ’60s. It was a nice place to be. The air conditioner was cool in the summertime. There was a square table with chairs near the front doors. Hot coffee was available all day along with cold sodas in the cooler. They made sandwiches and burgers to go. They also had a butcher in the back of the store that custom cut and wrapped the meat for customers. Gary, L.A.’s oldest grandson was the butcher. For a while, Walter and Helen Pittman owned a myna bird, and believe it or not, they had it by the back door in the butcher shop. It would whistle and call out Helen’s name all the time. My child-self thought that was so very cool. My adult-self is like, oh my gosh, you had a bird in a butcher shop! So many things wrong with that. The Myna bird accounts for both odd sights and sounds. Across the street from the store, stood the mill, a huge glistening white building guarded by a row of tall palm trees and a green and white neon sign. The odd smells mentioned before? The dyes used contained formaldehyde. Occasionally, the dye vats were flushed into the river and released an acrid smell into the air. Yuck. Best thing ever at Pittman’s? Grapette from the cooler!

Pittman’s store was fundamentally tied to the textile mill, whether it was Planters and Merchants, Mission Valley Mills, or Westpoint Pepperell. Pittman’s opened before first shift so workers could fill up on breakfast tacos (yes!) and get sandwiches for their noon meal. They cashed checks and ran charge accounts for groceries. They even delivered. Before the war, Pittman’s would purchase flat fold yardage of ginghams from the mill to sell at the store. There would be people lined up before the store opened to purchase that fabric. L.A.’s daughter, Bernice, would cut gingham sample swatches stapled together with cardboard labeled Comal Cottons to mail out to people. Mr. McKenna purchase that name for his own retail operation. After the war, Comal Cottons retail store opened across the street. Pittman’s returned to grocery sales and Gary would later go on to a career with Comal Cottons and then fabric sales.

Pittman’s Store remained a staple in Milltown serving people of the area until the family closed the doors for the last time in late 1979.

Sources: https://historicbridgefoundation.com/txbridges/hillcountry/comal/faust.html; Sophienburg Museum & Archives; Around the Sophienburg, Myra Lee Adams Goff; Gary Pittman; Bonnye Manning.

The post Pittman’s Red & White Store appeared first on Sophies Shop.

By Keva Hoffmann Boardman

Some stories seem to write themselves. Not this one. I have struggled with this story for over 2 years. On the morning of Thursday, Sept. 13, 1923, nine-year-old Irene Hitzfelder was brutally killed by sixteen year-old Clarke Coffield.

Irene, the daughter of Herman and Wanda nee Pfeuffer Hitzfelder, had left her home around eight o’clock. She rode her horse “Charlie” down the road towards the Spring Branch school house. By 9 o’clock, she was lying, dead, in a clump of bushes about 200 yards off the road — the left side of her skull shattered in pieces.

Clarke, the stepson of James and Melitta Coffield, left his home that morning to hunt for turkeys. By lunchtime, he was taken into custody for the murder and assault of Irene.

The Spring Branch community, 25 miles northwest of New Braunfels, had been settled by Germans. They were farmers and ranchers with familial ties to New Braunfels. It was a close-knit settlement where people knew their neighbors. The Hitzfelders had a large prosperous ranch; Irene was their only child.

Clarke’s family had moved to Spring Branch when his mother married his stepdad. James Coffield had a small farm which he augmented with funds from cedar chopping and charcoal burning. The newspaper sources I read make me believe that the Coffield’s were considered “lower class.”

The events of the murder, spelled out in detail in dozens of news publications across the US, went like this.

Irene never made it to school. At 10 o’clock recess, nine year-old classmate Valeska Bindseil told her teacher that she had seen Irene’s horse tied to a fence post on the road. 13 year-old Lawrence Knibbe was sent over to his father’s store to phone the Hitzfelder and report her missing.

Henry Bender, a neighboring rancher waiting for his mail, grabbed Lawrence and drove to find the horse. Near the animal, the wire fencing had been lifted and there were two sets of barefoot prints that led towards the Coffield home. Bender and Lawrence drove to the house and found Mrs. Coffield and Clarke. Wet clothes hung on the wash line and Clarke’s clothes were damp.

Bender asked Clarke to join them in looking for Irene in the area between the Coffield home and the horse. Other neighbors, including Irene’s father, joined the search party. Clarke suggested they call out for the girl.

It was Mr. Hitzfelder and Bender who found the child in a clump of bushes — face up, arms outstretched, clothing in disarray. Next to her shattered head was a blood-stained rock the size of two fists. A second stained rock was found seven yards away. Following a trail of blood drops, a third rock was found lying on top of a tangle of barefoot prints that indicated a struggle. Two sets of prints led to this spot: the small set was in front with deep heel marks and the larger set followed close behind as if one person was pushing the other forward.

Bender compared Irene’s foot to the small print and Sheriff Peter Nowotny put Clarke’s foot next to the larger print — both matched perfectly. Clarke immediately claimed his innocence, but when Sheriff Nowotny took him to the body, he confessed his guilt and was secured. The men of the search party, understandably incensed over what they saw, tried to take Clarke by force. Knives were drawn, but Sheriff Nowotny kept a cool head and with the help of Bender got Clarke unharmed into his car. He took Clarke to the Comal County jail. The tragic news spread quickly and fearing trouble from the citizens of NB, Nowotny secretly moved Clarke to the Bexar County jail in San Antonio.

Dr. Rennie Wright was called out to the scene of the crime. After examining the body, he stated that she died of a massive head wound and that there were definitely signs of assault but that he felt certain it had occurred after death.

Later that evening, Clarke sent for Sheriff Nowotny to come and take his confession. Clarke is reported to have confessed that he killed Irene but did not assault her. He had thrown a rock and accidently hit her, wounding her badly on the head. He killed her instead of letting her remain in pain.

It gets a little weird here.

By Friday morning, Clarke’s written confession said, “…after looking for turkeys I grabbed her by the shoulders … we struggled … I released her, grabbed up a rock and threw it hitting her in the head. After assaulting her I killed her with a rock then went to a small pool of water and washed the blood off… I told my mother I had killed a jack rabbit.”

On Friday, Sheriff Nowotny drove Clarke back to NB for the indictment and then returned him to the Bexar County jail to await trial. I found two references to Clarke’s incarceration. One, he asked for a photo of Irene; I think this is pure journalistic fabrication. Two, a Kelly Field woman heard Clarke had asked for clothing and left a package at the jail for him. She said she thought the boy was not in his right mind and would probably be punished severely. She could see no reason for him to be uncomfortable. The package contained: 2 shirts, underwear, socks, a tie, collars, tooth brush and paste, soap and towels, a Bible and a $5 check.

Coffield’s trial was set for some time in February 1924. There was confusion over Clarke’s true age. Clarke and his mother said his birthday was Feb. 11, 1907, but no birth certificate could be located in Houston. This became a big deal. Under Texas law, if Clarke were tried before he was 17, he could only be sent to reform school; if he was tried after that age, because of his confession, he could be given life imprisonment but not executed.

The trial took place on Feb. 13, 1924 — after Clarke had turned 17 — with accounts saying it was not manipulated that way. He was assigned Frank B. Voigt of New Braunfels as his attorney. This was Voigt’s very first trial. Jury selection began at 10:15 and the jury, composed of 6 farmers and 6 businessmen, were sworn in at 12:15. The trial began at 1:15 and was concluded at 4:10. It took the jury a mere four minutes to decide Clarke’s penalty — life imprisonment.

Clarke was sent to Huntsville. He died of congestive heart failure on Jun 13, 1966, and was buried in the Blanco Cemetery.

Irene was buried Friday, Sept. 14, 1923, in Spring Branch, with Pastor Mornhinweg officiating. All the children of Spring Branch School attended with their teacher. Mrs. Hitzfelder gave birth to another little girl, Joyce, on Feb. 25, 1924 — just 12 days after the trial. She died of complications following appendicitis surgery on Oct 20, 1934. She was ten years old.

I told you this was a tough tale to tell.

Sources: “Reflections” interview #970, Mrs. Valeska Bindseil Heimer, Sophienburg Museum & Archives; Newspapers: NB Herald, Sept. 15, 1923; Sept. 21, 1923; Feb. 22, 1924; Mar 7, 1924; NB Zeitung, Sept. 13, 1923; Feb. 21, 1924; SA Light, Sept. 14, 1923; Feb. 12, 1924; Feb. 15, 1924’ Feb. 16, 1924; SA Express, Sept. 14, 1923; Sept. 15, 1923; Sept. 16, 1923; Feb. 16, 1923; The Junction Eagle, Sept. 21, 1923; The Chillicote Constitution, MO, Sept. 18, 1923; Sept. 19, 1923; The Evening Independent, OH, Sept. 13, 1923; The Daily Record, Weatherford, Sept. 14, 1923; The Ada Evening News, OK, Sept. 14, 1923; US Census 1930, 1940; Texas Convict and Conduct Registers 1875-1945; www.ancestry.com, www.findagrave.com

The post True crime series: The Irene Hitzfelder murder appeared first on Sophies Shop.