They walked (some rode on golf carts) through the Comal Cemetery at the City’s Parks Department “Soul Searching” program. About 360 people met eight “souls” who were buried in the cemetery. The land for this cemetery originally belonged to John F. Torrey and was managed by trustees Ernest Gruene, J.J. Gross, J. Goldenbagen and John Torrey, who transferred the cemetery to the city in 1887.

To add a little mystery to the affair, participants met at Cypress Bend Park where those who could, were transported by hay wagon to the cemetery entrance.  This year’s emphasis was on the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. It is estimated that there are about 200 Civil War Veterans in Comal Cemetery.

Several members of the local Sons of Confederate Veterans were there in full regalia to help with the program, some portraying “souls” and some presenting the flags of the Confederacy and the Union.

In Sophie’s Shop at the Sophienburg there are two books about Comal County’s participation in that war: War Between the States-Participants from Comal County, Texas by Wilfred Schlather and War Between the States Comal County Texas in the Civil War compiled by Francis R. Horne.

After arriving at the cemetery’s entrance, the group walked carrying flashlights. The first “soul” searched was Peter Worff. He came to Texas from Germany with his parents and sister in 1845.  His mother died soon, leaving the father to care for his two children. They lived in the Schmitz Hotel because that’s where their father worked. His involvement in the Civil War was with Hoffman’s Co. B, 7 Reg. Texas Cavalry. He died in 1913.

The next “souls” were that of Oscar Nebergall, a 15 year old child, William Harvey (1840-1891) and Ida Arnold Nebergall (1848-1920).   This couple was convincingly portrayed as visiting the grave of their son nearby. The boy was killed in a wagon accident while coming down Fredericksburg Road. The Nebergalls were married in 1865 after William, a Union soldier, was stationed here after the Civil War.

Louise Mittendorf Benner (1820- 1913) was the next “soul” visited. She came to New Braunfels with her parents from Germany and married Adolph von Benner who had arrived with Prince Carl and was in charge of the Commissary for the Adelsverein. When Adolph died in 1857, Louise took his place as postmaster.   She was the first woman postmaster in NB and Comal County but was relieved of her duties after the Civil War because she served under the Confederacy.

This next “soul”, Hermann Jonas (1836-1912) is one that really struck a note of recognition with me. Hermann was born in Prussia. I knew his grandson, Gus Krause.  Gus and Ricky Fischer Krause lived in the stone house and ranched the almost 2,000 acre ranch. I first met the Krauses in the 1960s when my dad, Marcus Adams, was on a hunting lease at their ranch. My husband, Glyn, took his place on the lease in 1970. We were very fond of the Krauses.

I can picture this very historic house – a four-story, 24-inch-thick limestone and it is as it was when Hermann Jonas built it in 1865. The house was large and unusual for its time.  The Comanche Indians were still a threat in such a remote place. Family legend states that there was a lookout on the roof and the older boys took turns standing watch in times of danger.

The first floor of the house was the kitchen, second floor were bedrooms and the third floor was used as a dance room and community reunions. The top floor was storage and occasional sleeping place for children.

Incidently, three of the Jonas brothers served in the Union and three in the Confederacy.

Another “soul” visited was that of Wilhelm Seekatz (1825-1910). Seekatz played an important part in the Civil War because he started the Saltpetre Mfg. Co. in 1863.  Saltpetre was used in making gunpowder. His kiln is located off Fredericksburg Road in Landa Park.

Perhaps the most famous soldier in the Civil War was Gustav Hoffman (1817-1889). He had been the first mayor of New Braunfels. He was trained in the military in Prussia and he fit right into the Confederate leadership role. As a captain, Hoffman organized the Co. B of 7th Regiment Texas Cavalry and served from 1861 through 1865. He was promoted Major and Colonel. He died in San Antonio in 1889 but was buried in Comal Cemetery.

“A grave, wherever found, preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.” (Nathaniel Hawthorne). This annual respectful program does much to keep our historic “souls” alive.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

This autobiographical sketch was written prior to a Reflections: Oral History Program taping recorded on November 13, 1979. Mr. Fischer was born in December of 1896. He was the son of Fritz Fischer and Caroline nee Klinger Fischer and one of 12 children. He passed away 10 months after the recording, at the age of 83.

The following excerpt beautifully describes the joy and wonder of his younger years and his amazing life-long work ethic.

I was born on a farm Dec 9, 1896, in a small rock house at Twin Sisters, Blanco Co, Texas. In those days all small boys wore dresses and being the baby of twelve, I had lots of hand-me-downs.

After this period was over, my brother Walter bought me a four-month-old German Shepherd black dog. When this dog was 1½ years old and grown, Walter made me a gig out of two wheels, an axle seat and two broom sticks. I trained this dog, and after several months, I would get on the seat and drive him anywhere just like a horse. After about a year, I decided that I needed a two-span team and tried to teach a hound for the second member. This worked out very well until one day I was driving my two dogs in the pasture when the hound spotted a jack rabbit and took out after him. I fell off and the rig and harnesses were completely demolished. All the consolation I got out of my brother was, “I told you so!”

On account of my mother’s health, I was not baptized until I was five years old. She was not able to go, but my dad, brother Otto and sister Alwina took me. We drove to church in a big hack pulled by two mules. When we arrived at the church, my brother lifted me out of the hack and as we walked to the building he said, “Now this is your last chance to pick your name. What do you want it to be, Robert, George or Albert?” I picked Albert. Up to this time I was called “Manny”.

At the age of six I started to school. Had to walk two miles. My dog walked half the way with me and at 4:30 he would meet me at the same spot daily for the return walk.

At nine years of age, we moved to New Braunfels. At the country school everything was in German. I could not speak any English until I was eight. The first English I learned was from neighboring colored children. At the beginning of the fourth school year, we started English. Six months of English saved my standing in the New Braunfels School. I was ahead in about half of the studies, so they placed me in the fifth grade but I had to go back to the second grade for history, geography and English. In two years I caught up with the others in these subjects. The first day in the New Braunfels School, the teacher cut up a stick and an apple and explained the fractions. I was way ahead in arithmetic as I could add, divide and multiply fractions. After the adjusting years were over, I sailed away smoothly, never failed, and graduated from High School in the class of ’13 (1913) at the age of 15.

When I was 12, I went to work at a cleaning and pressing shop after school and Saturdays at a starting salary of 90 cents per week. I kept this up until I graduated, at which time I was drawing $5 per week. A little later my boss, Mr. Alex Floege, sold the cleaning shop as he had inherited an interest in a horse collar factory and he talked me into going to work for him at $10 per week. The work was hard and I got to where I could not take it. After six weeks, I went to work for the Henne Family as office boy at the lumber yard at $20 per month. After three years at this job, I was transferred to the general office at the hardware store at $40 per month working under the office manager, Curt Linnartz.

When I left for the Navy in 1918, I was drawing $85 per month which was the fourth highest salary out of their 27 employees. Some of them had been there 20 and 25 years.

During 1918, most of my friends were drafted, as they were several years older than I was and I felt lost at home. There was only one bright spot for me during this period. In those days, most of the boys had bicycles. I worked up a racket. I bought their bikes for $5 and I did not have any hard time selling them for $10. When it came time for me to go to the service, I had two bikes left. I sold one and gave the other to my nephew, Dr. Ottmar Stratemann. That was 60 years ago.

About ten years ago a dentist told me that I needed dentures. A few weeks later I visited Dr. Stratemann and told him what my dentist had told me. He is well acquainted with this dentist, but he decided that it was not necessary for me to get dentures. While we were talking, someone cancelled an appointment and upon learning this, he decided that he could x-ray my teeth during this time and see whether or not the dentist was right. He found the same thing, that is, I had only one good tooth in my mouth. I offered to pay him, but he said, “You don’t owe me anything. Don’t you remember that you gave me a bicycle when I did not have any money to buy one?” I did not expect that, but he insisted so we were squared off.

After the war, Albert went back to his job at Henne’s and then worked for the IRS in Austin. He eventually moved to the Cuero area where he worked for Magnolia Oil Company (MOBIL) and then the Crescent Valley Creamery as office manager.

He was married — twice — and had one son.

In 1952, he made a full circle back to his first job and bought a drycleaning/laundry business. In 1964, he sold that business to his son and retired.

Almost. His son bought a second laundromat in 1978 and Albert took it on. He ended his 1979 autobiographical sketch with a lot of pride in how he lived his life and his accomplishments:

During my business career, I opened or kept from sinking, eight establishments, four for the Crescent Valley Creamery and four for myself. All of them turned out successful and all but one are still operating. At 83, I work eight hours a day, seven days a week, and I enjoy it.

As I said before, Albert C. Fischer passed on 10 months later.

Well done Mr. Fischer, well done.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives, Fischer family genealogy, Reflections: Oral History Program #155.

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

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

This past March I was in Macedonia, Greece with my eldest daughter. No matter where we walked the ground was literally littered with history — bits of marble, colored tesserae from mosaics, tiny pieces of bronze and always, always pieces of pottery.

History was everywhere.

I remember going to elementary school at Seele in the 1960s. We had a playground, but often, we would end up playing in the vast green grassy area between the school buildings and the Fredericksburg Fields. It really did seem “vast” to us. Whether we were playing kickball or some other game, it was not unusual to find Native American points (we called everything an arrowhead) just lying on top of the ground.

History was everywhere.

Recently, retired policeman/Texas Ranger Ray Martinez brought in two metal objects. He had found them while parking cars for the Lion’s Club at Wurstfest. The objects were lying on the top of the ground, not together and not even at the same time. Their shape caught his attention. He donated them to the Sophienburg.

One object is a thin, squared-spike, 8.25 inch-long, that looks like a really big nail not a railroad spike. Hand-wrought and perfectly straight, I’d venture to guess it has never been used but simply dropped and forgotten.

Hand-forged by whom? Possibly by one of the African-American slaves William H. Meriwether brought with him from Virginia in 1847; it is likely at least one of them was a trained blacksmith. Meriwether’s slaves dug the millrace in Landa Park and built the first water-powered mill on the Comal River. The spike was found in the area of what had been the foreman’s house and the slave quarters.

Meriwether sold the property to Joseph Landa in 1859. Perhaps a blacksmith employed by Landa made the spike. Maybe it was dropped by workers constructing the Landa Industries buildings or the sheds along the railroad tracks installed to transport product to and from the Landa complex.

History is everywhere.

The other artifact is not made of iron. It is lead. Lead is a soft metal made from galena ore mixed with antimony or metallic arsenic. It melts at 375 F. The 10.75 inch-long and 3/8-inch-wide bar is stamped in block letters, “St. Louis Shot Tower Co.” It is not often an artifact gives you such a great clue and Ray Martinez had already done some internet research. I did more, and this ugly dark gray bar is way cooler than it looks.

First, what is a shot tower? In 1782, Englishman William Watts discovered that if he dropped molten lead far enough through the air the surface tension of the lead would form it into a perfect sphere. That’s how raindrops are formed. Watts built a six-story tower and placed a water tank at the bottom. At the top he laid a copper sieve. When he poured molten lead through the sieve, its downward six-story flight was long enough to form the lead drops into spheres and to cool the lead enough for it to begin solidifying by the time it hit the water.

Why make little round lead balls? The balls being manufactured were “shot”. Making shot for rifles by hand was labor intensive, so if you need a lot, like for an army or to sell in stores, Watts new shot tower method was a huge technological breakthrough. Shot towers sprang up all over England and after Jefferson’s 1801 Embargo Act which halted imports, shot towers became popular in America as well.

The St. Louis Shot Tower Co. was opened in the 1830s and continued producing shot until the end of the 19th century. It also produced lead bars like the one Ray found. St. Louis Shot Co. reported that during a five-month period, they could produce 1,994,374 pounds of round shot and 426,400 pounds of lead bars.

What were the bars for? Although bags of shot were available in stores, many rural folk and hunters continued to hand-mold their own shot. The Sophienburg has many single and double shot molds used by early citizens. During the Civil War, both shot and bars were obtained and used by soldiers on both sides. If you think about it, with a bar, you could make yourself 20-24 shot balls while sitting around in camp before a battle. Wouldn’t it be easier to just carry a couple bars instead of a bunch of little balls? And what if the supply wagon didn’t make it? You could still have ammunition.

Why was the lead bar found in the parking lot field? Your guess is as good as mine. I know that during the 1850s the New Braunfels Schuetzenverein (Shooting Club) shot targets in fields near the water out at “The Point” (which is sort of where Comal Cemetery, the VFW and Cypress Bend Park are). In the 1860s, men in the Comal County Home Guard shot targets in fields near the Comal around Prince Solms Park. Spent shot was also found in the playground area of Carl Schurz Elementary School. The museum has a handful of shot from the schoolyard in a jar. The Lion’s parking lot would have been a perfect place for target practice as well.

Of course, none of my guesses may be right. Both metal artifacts could have been there because of floods.

I’m thinking that if we look, we might all stumble across really wonderful history in our own backyard. I find Native-American points and scrapers in mine. What might be in your backyard? Who lived in your house, and what is their story?

History really is everywhere.

Remember, please, that searching or (God forbid) digging on someone else’s property or city or state property is illegal without prior permission and authority. Don’t be an idiot. Be responsible and ethical.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum and Archives collections; https://stlouispatina.com; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shot_tower; https://www.uh.edu/engines/epi422.htm; https://www.minnesotatrap.com/history-in-the-makin/shot-towers-page; https://www.inventricity.com/local-heroes-william-watts.

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

It was a sweltering hot, end-of-summer, August Sunday in 1894, just perfect for a picnic by the river. Marie and Hugo Kramer gathered up their three children and joined Marie’s siblings, Georg and Lydia Hartman, and their in-laws Wilhelm and Walli Hartmann with their two children. Mrs. Williams and her three children tagged along. The group found a beautiful spot on the bank of the Guadalupe River at the top end of what is now Cypress Bend Park. The river came around the bend there and formed a beach-like sand bar with a shallow area where the children could wade and play. Quilts were spread out on the ground, baskets opened, shoes removed and adults and children tested the cool water. After getting their families happily settled, Mr. Kramer and Mr. Hartman walked downriver about a mile to do some fishing away from the giggling and frolicking kids.

At some point in the afternoon, 14 year-old Clara Kramer shouted; she had stepped off the sandbar into deep water and gone under. Mrs. Kramer, Mrs. Hartman and Mrs. Williams immediately recognized the child’s danger and jumped in after her. Two of the women instantly disappeared from the surface but Mrs. Williams struggled, and grabbing hold of a rock made it to shore where she then lost consciousness. The children ran safely back to the river’s edge, but George and Lydia Hartman risked the water in an attempt to save the three who had gone under and barely escaped drowning themselves.

A young stranger was fishing nearby and hearing the shouts and splashing water, rushed to the scene to help. He managed to retrieve the lifeless body of Mrs. Hartman which had bobbed to the surface.

The news of the accident quickly spread through New Braunfels, bringing Mr. Kramer and Mr. Hartmann along with hundreds of concerned people to the river bank to search for the missing mother and daughter. Hours later, J.D. Guinn found little Clara’s body downstream. The menfolk searched all night, torches lit, calling for Mrs. Kramer. She was finally found on Monday further downstream from her daughter. Ironically, Marie Kramer was an excellent swimmer and most agreed that she could have saved her daughter and sister-in-law if she had been clad in a light bathing dress instead of her regular clothing.

Maria Hartman Kramer (36) and Clara Kramer (14) were buried next to Walli Wastel Hartmann (23) in Comal Cemetery the following day. The town mourned.

The August 19, 1894 tragedy was deeply felt in this river-crossed town and indeed, tugged at the sympathies of folks across Texas. Newspaper articles revealed that an undercurrent, not the inability to swim, was the reason for the drownings. It was said that the women were dragged down into a whirlpool created by a “cave” or hole in the river bottom and washed along underground before exiting through other openings downstream. What a terrible way to go.

From that time on, children were told not to swim in that part of the river because of whirlpools. A sign was erected to alert folks about possible whirlpool dangers at that point of the river. My dad was warned about swimming there when he was a boy in the 1930s. There were still many people alive who remembered that disastrous picnic.

As a child, my brother and I were told about the whirlpools. I have a memory of standing on the riverbank licking an ice cream cone and watching the swirling green water while fearful visions of being pulled under and drowning swirling through my mind. Later, when we had Girl Scout Summer Day Camp at Cypress Bend Park, it truly never entered any of our minds to get into that whirlpool water no matter how hot it got. I told my children about the threat of whirlpools when they were little. I feel sure I was not the only one to spread the fear.

A couple of weeks ago, Sophienburg Museum director Tara Kohlenberg and I took David Hartmann driving around Comaltown to learn more about that part of New Braunfels. Stopping in Cypress Bend Park to bemoan the loss of the WPA-built amphitheater, he walked us over to the riverbank and pointed to a place in the middle saying, “Some of my relatives drowned in a whirlpool just there.”

My heart skipped a beat and I madly scribbled the 1894 story down as he was talking. I actually felt my old fear of this part of the Guadalupe welling up inside me. I looked at the water. It was so lovely and peaceful. No ripples or eddies blemishing the surface or swirls indicating dangerous currents. A family was splashing happily on the sandbar, oblivious to the events that occurred there over a hundred years ago. I had to keep myself in check and not run screaming, “Danger! Whirlpools!” lest they call the cops to subdue the strange lady.

It was weirdly vindicating to hear him tell about the Kramer-Hartmann drownings; my fear was not irrational. Do whirlpools still occur in that stretch of the river? There is no longer a sign. I suspect there are undertows and undercurrents all along the Guadalupe as it flows around rocks, buried tree trunks, flood debris and silted up areas. Maybe some of you kayakers can give me a shout and let me know.

It could all be just fine, but you won’t be catching me in that water.

Sources: Sophienburg Museum & Archives: Oral history interview with David Hartman, October 2020; Sacherer-Hartman Family History (FH1); Neu Braunfels Zeitung collection; Oscar Haas German obituary transcriptions.

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Growing up in New Braunfels, I was well acquainted with the name Giesecke. I knew the names of all the watering holes from early age on – Landa Park pool, Camp Ulbricht, City Park (later Cypress Bend Park), Camp Warnecke, and Camp Giesecke. Camp Giesecke across the street from Camp Warnecke (now Surfenberg) changed its name to “The Other Place” long after I plunged into the icy 71 degree Comal River.

The name Giesicke is not an easily pronounced name. Like most German names, the accent is on the first syllable and it sounds something like “Gee sick ee”. Later owners changed the name from Camp Giesecke to The Other Place because tourists were constantly asking if they were at Camp Warnecke. “No, this is the other place.” And that’s what it became.

Fredrick Ernst Giesecke was owner of the 60 acres on the Comal River. He was born in Latium, Texas, on a farm near Washington-on-the Brazos in 1869. He was the son of Capt. Julius Giesecke, Fourth Texas Confederate Cavalry, and his wife Wilhelmina Groos. After the Civil War, Capt. Giesecke moved his family to New Braunfels in 1873. He became the technical manager of the New Braunfels Woolen Mills. After this mill declared bankruptcy, Capt. Giesecke became one of the owners of the Neu Braunfelser Zeitung and their bookkeeper. The Sophienburg is the owner of the original desk made by Jahn furniture maker for Julius Giesecke. When he moved out of the mill, he took the desk with him to the Zeitung office.

The house in which Julius Giesicke’s family lived is still standing at 276 E. Coll St. on the Comal River. It was built in 1881. Growing up near the Comal probably had an effect on Julius’ son, Fredrick. He entered school in New Braunfels after the move from Latium and graduated from the NB Academy in 1882. Then he entered the German-American school in San Antonio.

Fredrick enrolled in Texas A & M College and received his first degree in Mechanical Engineering in 1890. Throughout his college years, he was head of his class and maintained the highest military rank at A & M. He won both the physics and mathematics medals. During his senior year at age 19, Fredrick began teaching at A&M and became head of the department. When Fredrick married Hulda Gruene in 1891, he designed their home of the campus. Hulda Gruene was the daughter of Ernst Gruene, Jr., a prominent family in New Braunfels.

In 1910 Fredrick and Hulda purchased a 60-acre piece of property that that had been the Reeh farm. The location of the land can be described more easily using today’s landmarks. Across the river from New Braunfels and across from the old Woolen Mill, the Comal River makes a bend towards the Guadalupe River forming a peninsula. The property went all the way to San Antonio Street on the northwest side. This area later became The Other Place and Camp Warnecke property. Camp Warnecke became part of Schlitterbahn, making up the 60 acres. The Gieseckes would use the property as a family summer retreat. Since both sets of grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Ernst Gruene, Jr. and Mr. and Mrs. Julius Giesecke lived in New Braunfels, this would give the four children an opportunity to be with their grandparents.

At first, the only way to get to the town of NB from the Gieseke property was by a suspension foot bridge until a permanent bridge was located in the same spot at Garden St. The bridge still stands.

Professor Giesecke started a summer school on the 60 acres for A & M and UT students to prepare them for college entrance or for those with a deficiency. On the peninsula, the family and faculty lived in small cabins and Giesecke built his house on the tallest point on the peninsula. That house is the only one still standing and has never been flooded. It is on The Other Place property. The students stayed in tents on the river and helped in the construction of small cabins that were added gradually.

Some of you might remember the water wheel (gone with a flood) at the rapids area at Camp Warnecke. In the late 1800s, Harry Landa had created the first electric power plant. Electricity did not extend across the Comal River into the Gieseke property. Gus Tolle furnished the water wheel and his wheel was to furnish electric power for lights. Giesecke borrowed a motor and generator set from A & M College the first summer. The light produced from the waterwheel was unsatisfactory because the paddles were water-logged on one side and the wheel ran with a lope that caused the lights to dim and flare up with each revolution. The second year, Harry Landa had a power line run to the camp from his power plant at the entrance of Landa Park.

Drinking water was hauled from the headwaters of the Comal. Classes were held in the shade of the trees along the river where blackboards and seats were arranged according to the direction of the light. The A & M football squad trained there for two seasons under Coach Chas. Moran. (100^th anniversary edition of the Neu Braunfelser Zeitung in 1952)

In 1912 Professor Giesecke left A& M College and accepted a position as head of the University of Texas, Austin, Dept. of Architecture. He wanted his three daughters to be educated there and also his son would be able to do graduate work. Aside from teaching at U.T. and running the summer school, Giesecke had time to study at the University of Illinois and receive his PhD.

Realizing that 60 acres was a lot of land, more than he needed, he sold all but four acres to Otto and Martha Warnecke, who developed the famous Camp Warnecke, home of the rapids. Eventually 103 cabins were built on this property plus a screened dance hall and a restaurant run by Martha Warnecke.

In 1927, Dr. Giesecke was back at A & M College and became the director of the Engineering Experimental Station. He was also a professor of architecture and appointed as the college architect. As architect he was responsible for designing over 15 buildings on campus, most of which are still standing.

When Dr. Giesecke died in 1935, his daughter Alma Hodges managed the property and moved from the Camp Giesecke home that had been turned into a motel, to the original Julius Giesecke home on E. Coll St. She managed Camp Giesecke until 1946 when the camp was sold to Dr. Stanley Woodward, Jack Krueger, and William Hovestadt. The new owners named the camp “The Other Place”. The present owner is Woodward’s daughter, Sarah Shea and her husband Barry.

As I have said many times before, “Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end.”

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