By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

It’s a crumbling brown leather belt with an insert of linked silver-plated rectangular batteries. It might not look like much, but this curious artifact, an electric belt, represents a weird and wonderful era in the history of electricity.

Electrotherapy — using electricity to stimulate nerves and muscles — goes way back to Egyptian times. Patients were treated for pain, gout and baldness with the shocks from electric fish. Scientists, physicians and inventors began experimenting with electricity in the 18th century. The first battery was developed in 1800. The mid-19th century led to technological advances such as the steam engine, the telegraph and the electric light bulb. Electricity was fueling radical changes in the world.

At the 1851 London World’s Fair, the “Hydro-electric Belt” was exhibited. The batteries and electrodes sent an electric current through the belt’s wearer. It was billed as a “miracle cure” for just about everything: arthritis, rheumatism, sciatica, gout, glaucoma, migraines, depression/anxiety, weakness, poor memory, liver disease, hernias, nervous disorders, indigestion and even impotency.

Uh huh. Too good to be true? People didn’t think so. Queen Victoria’s personal doctors bought into it as did Charles Dickens. Based on what we know about electrotherapy today, it might have helped with nerve and muscle pain and regeneration. But no matter, because the lovely vision painted by the inventors was more than enough to sell to a public enamored with the magic and power of electricity.

Companies were soon manufacturing batteries and designing their own electric belts for what became an insatiable market. Slick advertisements, with colorful images of lightning bolts and strong healthy people using the electric belt and other devices, made up 25 percent of all advertising in 1880. You see the miraculous electric belt in newspapers, medical journals and mail-order magazines like Sears & Roebuck.

Still, many in the medical profession preached caution and spoke out against the “quakery and suspicious backgrounds” of the inventors and companies selling electric health wares. They agreed that there were valid uses for electricity in cauterization, resuscitation and treatment of pain, paralysis and neurological disorders. But the public wanted it all to be true. Tens of thousands of electric belts were sold in the US alone between 1890 and 1920.

The Sophienburg Museum was gifted the pictured electric belt in 1979. There is the leather belt, the chain battery pack, several wool-covered circular zinc electrodes with wires, a current regulator and a “suspensory” accessory. It came with a booklet printed in German in 1900 containing instructions for use. This is important; to achieve optimal results, you had to place the electrodes in the proper place in the proper way. The belt is charged by dipping the battery in a solution of ¼ clear vinegar to ¾ water. (in some cases, the person’s sweat would work) and repeated use was suggested. The “suspensory” accessory in the museum’s belt is for male patients (read special pouch for electrode to use on the family jewels) and could be attached to the belt and used for … ahem … well, to stimulate blood flow. To quote the maker, the belt “has sufficient volume to saturate every nerve and vital organ of the body with electrical force; it pours this life into the body for hours at a time in a slow, continuous stream.” The regulator allowed the wearer to change the power of the current flowing through the belt. “One Belt is enough for a family for six or eight, as it is worn only from three to six hours a day.”

Notice the belt’s condition. The leather is not so much crumbling from age as it is burned. Burned! This was not a comfortable experience despite the happy faces of the men and women in the booklet. The addition of the “regulator” on the Museum’s belt and wool covers on the circular zinc electrodes were to “alleviate burning and blistering of the skin”. One article said that you were to “read a lovely story book” while taking the treatment, as if that would take your mind off things. Of course, for some people this just might have been a pleasant experience.

I like lots of things about this artifact, but one of the striking things about it is its decorative nature. Back in Victorian times, utilitarian things were also made to look beautiful. They were all about form and function; currently, we are all about function. The battery chain pack has silver-plated cases (better for conducting an electrical current) with a pierced decoration filled with ruby red enameling or glass and nice pretty clasps on the ends. On its own, it would make a lovely belt. The leather belt fastens with plated buckles embellished with a coin-like medallion featuring a Roman soldier. At the very least, one would feel stylish while doing the electric belt thing.

Our electric belt was manufactured by Dr. M.A. McLaughlin, who seems to have had offices in Australia, the US, Cuba, China, India, Canada and Europe. McLaughlin’s advertised it had patents in both the US and the UK. There was supposed to have been an office in Dallas, Texas.

We have the electric belt on display in the pharmacy exhibit. There are other unusual items in the exhibit: wire thumb cages to prevent thumb-sucking, cod liver oil, patent medicines, an assortment of mortar and pestles and huge prescription ledgers used by the pharmacist.

Sources: “Dr. McLaughlin’s Electrical Belt”, Sophienburg Museum; “When Self Electrocution Was Used to Cure What Ails You”, Krissy Howard; “Good Vibrations: The History of Electrotherapy”; “It’s Electric! Electrotherapy and Bioelectricity on Display the NMHM”, Emily Morris; “Electric Health”, Steve Fowler; “History of Electrostimulation”, Bluetens; “Memories and Miscellany”, June 5, 2021; https://atlasobscura.com/articles/the-victorian-tool-for-everything.

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

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By Keva Hoffmann Boardman —

Remember dot-to dot coloring books? The fun of dragging your pencil around the page to connect each black dot in order to get an image to color? I find that working at the Sophienburg often entails finding and connecting dots.

Recently, Wendy Zunker Coleman donated a small oil painting of “Torrey’s Mill” that had belonged to her great-grandmother, Alma Paulus Zunker. Pasted on the back is a yellowed news article on the mill and a ink pen message ending with “Alma Paulus Zunker gives to you Dec 24, 1964.” Up to the left is the date 1906. Wendy didn’t know much about the painting but didn’t think her g-grandmother painted it.

The sweet little thing was pleasantly painted but needed a gentle cleaning to remove surface dirt, so I spent several hours up close and personal with it.

A couple of days later, I was moving the Sophienburg’s painting collection. I reached for a small oil depicting the original Sophienburg and literally stopped in my tracks. The technique and color palette was eerily familiar. No signature on it, so I turned the canvas over and found a pencil message scrawled on the backing, “Painted by Ferdinand Paulus in 1905.” I got goose bumps. Was this the same painter of Wendy’s painting? Who was Ferdinand? Had I connected a dot?

I contacted Wendy and asked for a family tree. Meanwhile, I looked up the Sophienburg painting and found out it had belonged to Erna Zunker Timmermann who had lived on Klingemann Street. The oil painting had survived the 1972 flood and the water damage had been “restored” with acrylic paint. Our notes also said that Erna was the daughter of Ferdinand Paulus. Wendy came back with information on her g-grandmother and we found out that Alma and Erna were sisters. Pretty great, right? Had their father been the artist?

Plot twist.

Wendy shared the findings with her siblings and cousins and new information was added to the story connecting a few more dots for me. Armed with her family history, Wendy found out that her g-grandmother Alma had six brothers and sisters including Erna. The paintings had not been done by Alma and Erna’s father Ferdinand, but by their brother Ferdinand Jr. And to add drama to this story, Ferdinand Jr. was killed by a train. Yes, a train ran over him.

On Thursday September 2, 1909, the MKT “Alamo Special” (#241) was headed southbound to make its scheduled stop at 5:14 am in New Braunfels. Passing first through Comaltown on its way to the depot, the train crew was unaware that an accident had even occurred. In its wake, two men, Ferdinand Paulus, Jr. and Albert Bauerschlag, were left lying fatally injured at the crossing on Grove St. near Paulus’s home. “Mama, mama, help me!” groaned Ferdinand according to the reports. Mrs. Karoline Paulus, hearing her son’s cry, ran to his side. She had the severely mangled men carried into her home and the doctor was called. The physician found that Albert had already succumbed, but Ferdinand remained conscious and hung on for another hour and a quarter. They were both laid to rest that very afternoon in Comal Cemetery with Pastor Morhinweg of the Protestant Church officiating. That it was a quick burial tells you how bad it was.

Some family story, right? With this HUGE dot added to the tale of the oil paintings, I dug a little deeper into the museum’s resources. Newspapers in Shiner, Palestine, San Antonio, and Houston had all carried the story of the train accident. But I wanted to know more about the artist Ferdinand Jr.

I got in touch with the Zunker family again. They shared several images of Ferdinand with me. A cabinet card from 1899 shows a nice looking young man with a kind face. Another photo illustrates a fun-loving side as he and his friend Albert Bauerschlag (yes, the same guy that also was hit by the train) enjoy the newspaper and brews poured by an aproned bartender. Snippets of info from the NB Herald have told me he was a member and officer in the Comalstaedter Schuetzenverein (Shooting Club) so he must have loved camaraderie and competition. The Zunker family records state that he was “a pretty good poet” and while I have as yet seen no examples of his writing talent, I did find that he took part in Mayor Hoffmann’s 58th birthday celebration in 1905 by giving “original comic recitations [which] contributed not a little to the merriment of the occasion.” So many more dots!

The Zunkers also shared pictures of two other paintings by Ferdinand Jr. that are owned by the Timmermann branch of the Paulus family. A lovely composition of the Filipino gazebo in Landa Park includes palms and the gorgeous nearby magnolia as a young tree. The other painting is of our stately courthouse proudly flying the US flag from its topmost point. Family members recollect that he also painted the old NB Academy Schoolhouse and other landmarks in New Braunfels. In 1907, Ferdinand exhibited his work in photographer H.D. Klenke’s Gallery booth at the Comal County Fair. “The oil paintings of Ferdinand Paulus, the gifted, natural artist, who has never taken a single lesson in the art, were admired by all.”

And that’s as far around my dot-to-dot of Ferdinand as I’ve been able to go. My picture is incomplete but I know him a bit better, giving his little paintings new meaning. As usual, it’s the stories behind the things in the Sophienburg’s collections that so engage me in our history.

One more thing … I just found out he was involved in the early days of the NB anti-prohibition movement … but that’s a story for another time.

Every family has a history and every person a story. Do you know yours?

Sources: Newspapers 1908 — 1909: NB Zeitung, NB Herald, SA Freie Presse, Shiner Gazette, SA Daily Express, Houston Post, Palestine Daily Herald; Paulus-Zunker Family records; Interviews with Zunker and Timmermann family members; The Official Guide of Railways and Steam Navigation (1908); Sophienburg Museum & Archives: First Protestant Church records, Comal Cemetery records, obituary collection.

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Oh. This. Car.

The circa 1930 photo of Locke’s Nursery & Floral Co. parade entry is fantastic, isn’t it? It was taken in front of one of the Locke greenhouses at 298 West Landa Street. The entire car has been draped with what looks like shiny (green?) colored fabric so that real flowers, vines, ivy, moss and ferns could be pinned or even sewn on. The hub caps are stuffed with fringed fabric. A large parrot is perched on each of the front corners of the roof. Decorative cords extend from the hood ornament all the way over the roof. Wait a minute — is that the FTD Mercury logo on the hood?

It was August 18, 1910. Thirteen florists met at the Society of American Florists convention in Rochester, New York, and formed the country’s first flowers-by-wire service. The new group, Florists’ Telegraph Delivery Association (FTD) would use the telegraph system to partner flower shops. The idea was the brainchild of John Valentine who had the idea of expanding the floral industry by offering customers a way to send fresh flowers anywhere in the United States.

Valentine was already using the telegraph system to get orders from out-of-state florists. He would cut, arrange and pack the flower order, then send it by train in an ice (refrigerated) car to its destination. He guaranteed his fresh flowers in an incredible three- to five-day delivery time! By networking the FTD members via telegraph though a central clearing house, florists around the country could fill orders for clients in just hours. Valentine even came up with the slogan: “Say It With Flowers.”

In 1912, FTD introduced their logo — Mercury Man — a symbol still in use today. This same symbol graced the hood of the Locke’s Nursery parade car.

I got to wondering just when New Braunfelsers were able to participate in this flower-by-wire technology. How fantastic it must have been to be able to “Say It With Flowers” to friends and relatives seldom seen. A dig into the newspapers revealed that two local floral companies were members of FTD as early as 1926: Locke’s Nursery & Floral Co. and Linnartz Floral Co. In a time when women often grew their own flowers for gifts and decor, these two businesses appear to be the first to venture into the floral industry.

Locke’s Nursery was begun by Johahn Joseph Locke in 1856, on Comal Creek (Town Creek development and Landa Street). In the 1870s, the business was taken over by his eldest son, Otto Martin Locke Sr., and was renamed Comal Springs Nursery. In 1928, his sons, Herman and Otto Jr., split the business: Otto and wife Etelka opened Locke’s Nursery on property between W. San Antonio Street and Highway 81 South; Herman and wife Thekla (along with their son Howard) formed Locke Nursery and Floral Co. at the old property in the area of Lockner (Locke Nursery), Floral and Howard (Howard Locke) streets. According to newspaper adverts, Thekla ran the floral company part of the business.

Linnartz Floral Co. was located at 876 and 882 W. San Antonio St. Curt Linnartz had built a grocery store on the property around 1920 (today that’s the William Edge Salon across from the Children’s Museum). He added a 14×15-foot building next to his store to accommodate his wife Paula’s flower shop a few years later. The shop was expanded to include a glassed-in greenhouse for growing flowers and plants year round in the mid-1920s. Linnartz Floral Co. got its own phone line in 1926. Upon retiring in the mid-1940s, Curt and Paula sold both the grocery store and the floral company building to Erno Weyel. Some of us remember Weyel’s Foodliner.

These two seem to have been the main town florists and the only ones regularly advertising in the newspaper and phone books throughout the 1920s and 1930s. Both Locke and Linnartz participated in several FTD-sponsored National Flower Shut-In Day events. This was a nationwide noncommercial project that utilized over 5,500 florists together with local garden clubs and other organizations to distribute bouquets and potted plants to hospital patients, disabled veterans, handicapped children and other shut-ins. Its objective was to make a large part of the shut-in population “happy with the gift of flowers.”

It didn’t take long for other townsfolk to get into the flower biz. A quick scan through old phone books, city directories and newspaper adverts revealed a growing number of florists and nurserymen springing-up all over town.

• 1928 — A. W. Steinbring Nursery, Wald Road
• 1937 — New Braunfels Nursery and Floral Co., 288 W. Landa St.
• 1945 — Weidner’s Flowers, 1153 Lee St., FTD member
• 1947 – Viola’s Flowers, 822 W. San Antonio St., FTD member
• 1950 — Salvador Gonzales Nursery, Highway 81 West. FYI: When Landa Park Manager Harley Schulz had the giant elephant ears thinned out each year, Gonzales would trade shrubbery and plants for the elephant ear bulbs! He would sell the bulbs and plants to his customers.
• 1952 — Eduardo Sanchez Nursery, 1614 W. San Antonio St.; Kiesewetter Gardens, 224 Landa St.; Kneupper Flower Shop, 287 W. San Antonio St.

The floral industry in New Braunfels exploded in the 1950s due to an increase in population and in expendable finances.

Even in my lifetime, women who grew and cut flowers from their own yards began ordering flowers to give to friends or use for church and event decoration.

Today, there are about a dozen florists and half a dozen nurseries in NB, and that is without counting lumber companies and grocery stores. We can still “Say It With Flowers” and I, for one, am happy about that!

Sources:

• New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung — Sophienburg collection
• New Braunfels telephone directories and city directories — Sophienburg collection
• Curt Linnartz recording — Sophienburg “Reflections” oral history program
• “Locke nurseries business of the past” — Around the Sophienburg, newspaper article August 26, 2012

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According to stories of the Old West, suspected criminals were shot or hung. No jail was necessary. Then as people became more civilized, there arose a doubt as to whether the person accused was actually guilty. Could we possibly say that “those were the good old days?” I think not. Should we have a trial before the punishment takes place? Holding a suspect in jail was certainly a better solution. A trial determining guilt or innocence would follow, but what to do with the so-called criminal until the trial?

From this need, the idea of a jail was born and in New Braunfels, this jail idea was necessary early on. For that matter, the first suspected criminal, a woman, was arrested and kept in the home of Sheriff Henry Gerwin. There were no buildings when New Braunfels was settled but eventually log huts were constructed. Gerwin’s prisoner’s infraction was not noted in the Comal County Commissioners Court minutes but the Comal County Commissioners agreed to pay Gerwin for keeping his prisoner for 45 days in his home. Must have been mighty cozy. The county had to rely on others who had empty rooms or empty structures sufficient to serve as a jail. New Braunfels Mayor Heuckel, in 1848, helped out by renting the commissioners a room in his home for ten months for $25 to serve as a jail.

In 1848, the County Commissioners asked the newly elected sheriff, Adam Maurer, to look for a place to be used as a jail. It would be subject to their approval. Now, this is interesting: About the same tine in 1848, the county asked the city if they would grant land to build both a courthouse and a jail. When the city offered no land, the commissioners advised the county clerk to tell the city that they intended to build a courthouse and a jail on the Main Plaza even though the property was owned by the city.

The city was asked to respond to the request and after not hearing from them, Commissioner Dr. Koester was asked to obtain a resolution from the city. This eventually happened, but not resulting in what the county expected. The city then offered two lots near the Comal Springs and suggested that if necessary, the county could sell the property in order to purchase property somewhere else, but NOT on Main Plaza.

Buying a lot and building a courthouse and jail was an expensive proposition and the county had only $400 and taxes were still forthcoming.

In July 1849, Theodore Sterzing offered his lot to the county for $600 which included two log buildings. This lot was town lot #85 fronting on Seguin Avenue. The lot is in the location of the parking lot for the Elk’s Lodge. The county records show that the offer was accepted, and the county moved in the larger of the two log buildings. The future plan was to build a log jail on the site 12 feet square using logs 9 inches thick. This building was eventually built and can claim its fame as the first jail in Comal County.

Eventually, the log jail became unsuitable and in 1854, a new jail was built at what is now 509 W. Mill Street. This jail served the county for 24 years.

Do you know the story of the Moesgen murder? Moesgen was a first founder of New Braunfels and he was murdered by his wife, daughter and son-in-law. If you own the book “Around the Sophienburg,” you can find the story on pages 236 and 237. The book is a “must read” to learn about the history of New Braunfels and Comal County. The family killed Moesgen in 1855. The story tells us that the three family members were hauled off to the sheriff’s home. The year shows that they were placed in the Mill Street jail. The court found the three guilty and imprisoned. One died in prison and two were paroled.

The Mill Street jail began to deteriorate, and plans were being made for a new jail to be built behind the 1860 courthouse (where the Chase Bank is located). The new jail was finished in 1879. The plans included iron cages to hold 20 or 30 prisoners. The two-story building was built of limestone rock with an iron roof. Fredrick Ernst Ruffini of Austin was chosen as the architect. The cost was $10,000 with a bid of $1000 for iron work. This building served as the jail from 1879 to 1931.

In 1898, the present courthouse was constructed and in 1931, the jail was added to the north side of the structure. The old jail that was in the Chase Bank parking lot, was torn down in 1958.

What happened to the old stones from the jail? It’s an interesting story. When Sts. Peter and Paul Church had an enlargement project in 1962, some of the stones were used from the old jail in their project. Both sides of the exterior of the church have some of the stones. When researcher John Coers was taking photos of the stones, he found carved initials. He thinks these were done by prisoners.

Another use of the stones from the old jail can be found at the outdoor patio and steps leading to the basement of the Prince Solms Inn on San Antonio Street. There are three notable stones at the top of the steps that have the words COMAL COUNTY PRIS.

The New Braunfels Conservation Society is in the possession of the cornerstone of the old jail with the architect, F.E. Ruffini inscribed on it and they also have a metal device that was thought to be used to pass food through to prisoners.

All of this information was researched by John Coers at the Sophienburg Museum and Archives. John is a member of the Comal County Historical Commission. He used maps, city minutes, county minutes and newspapers to aid his research. There is a wealth of information to aid researchers at the Sophienburg. Check it out.

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The year was 1846, a year after Hermann Seele arrived in Texas. It was the time of year that we, in Texas, understand – July and August. The heat continued to increase and thunder storms made the Guadalupe River rise. A ferry boat at the confluence of the Comal and Guadalupe Rivers had washed away. It was again repaired.

Horrifying scene

Seele crossed the river to the place where the immigrants had been held up from crossing over the flooding Guadalupe. A most horrible scene was observed. Some chests and boxes of the immigrants had been brought over with great effort. Baggage and household goods were laying everywhere waiting with the immigrants to cross the swollen water. Wash was laid out on bushes to dry.

An old farmer lying on a feather bed had a raging fever. Not far away the corpse of a woman was wrapped in a bedspread. Small children were sitting around weeping for their dear, dead mother. The father in vain, tried to understand a discussion with the American wagon owner. What was he telling him to do? He couldn’t understand English.

Walking by the gruesome area, Seele noticed a man leaning against a tree with his hat fallen over off of his head. He wanted to warn him about the danger of sun. Seele went up to the man, shook him, and raised his head “which had sunk to his chest when his wide-opened eyes became fixed on me, motionless and unseeing. The man was dead.” He was buried there on the banks of the Guadalupe.

He passed a tent with nine people lying begging for water. No one would bring them any. Seele brought them water from the river in pails. A long-ago song sung by his mother passed through his mind:

Beyond the island and rocks
We have vanished for eternity.
I feel as though I must weep
Must weep like a child.

From The Cypress by Hermann Seele

Many immigrants camped across the Guadalupe River from Seele’s farm. Many were buried there and years later when the railroad came to New Braunfels, workers discovered the bones of the 29 humans recorded by Ervendberg. The workers scraped them up and reburied them. Today trains roll over the site.

Immigrants planned to settle the San Saba

The real original destination of the Adelsverein German immigrants was the land around the San Saba and Llano Rivers. The Adelsverein had a contract with the Republic of Texas to settle up to 6,000 families and single men in this area. They should have known better, but they didn’t. They knew nothing about Texas.

When Prince Carl arrived in the summer of 1844 to make arrangements for the immigrants to travel from the coast to the land grant, this inland trek from the coast was the biggest challenge he had. He made a trip by horseback to the San Saba and decided that the settlers had to have a half-way destination to stop for supplies.

Unplanned destination became New Braunfels

And so, on March 15, 1845 in San Antonio, Prince Carl purchased the land situated on the Guadalupe and Comal Rivers. This land became the inadvertent final destination of the Adelsverein immigrants. Immediately Prince Carl had Lt. Nicholas Zink plot out a town-site. At the west end of this plotted land was a four-acre cemetery named the New Braunfels Cemetery.

Ervendberg records

When the first immigrants arrived, Rev. Louis Ervendberg recorded some 400 deaths, most of which were buried in the New Braunfels Cemetery in 1845 and 1846. An unnumbered amount of burials took place at the coast and on the side of the road of the trek up from the coast. There are no records to show the exact number or who died at the coast and on the way to New Braunfels. Rev. Ervendberg began his recordings by word of mouth from arriving settlers and it is estimated that 300 or so died at the coast and along the way. He recorded 21 deaths in 1845 and 373 in 1846.

New Braunfels Cemetery

This city cemetery was the first provided for immigrants and dedicated June 25, 1845. The first person buried there was Elise Catherine Reh Peter. Her husband, Gerlach Peter, died a month later. It is presumed that they were victims of a cholera epidemic that was just beginning at this time. Records show that many were buried in nameless graves on the southwest section of the cemetery. Over two hundred deaths recorded by Ervendberg were buried in the New Braunfels Cemetery.

The First Protestant Church is the custodian of those death records. The church has allowed the Sophienburg Archives to copy the records. The records show the name, date of death, age, birthplace, place of burial and cause of death of each of the 348 recorded deaths in 1845 and ’46. The causes of death are so varied that it is impossible to draw any conclusions. So many died of convulsions and something called mucus fever, bilious fever, dysentery, blood poisoning and yellow fever. Most of these sound like symptoms rather than the disease itself. Only two concrete diseases have been identified, cholera and spinal meningitis. Towards the heights of the epidemic with several deaths a day, there were no longer coffins available and many were just buried in a mass grave. The area is marked on the grounds of the cemetery.

Whole families of parents and children sometimes died all at once. All age brackets were victims from the very young to the very old. Several women died of childbirth.

By 1847, the numbers of recorded deaths dropped to 71. One may conclude that this particular epidemic was over.

The rest of the story

When John O. Meusebach accepted the responsibility of taking the place of Prince Carl as Executive Director of the Adelsverein, he was full of optimism. After all, the newspapers in Germany had painted a beautiful picture of Texas. But when Meusebach arrived in Texas, he quickly assessed the misery of the immigrants on the coast. He realized the financial disaster and there was no money to help the immigrants survive on the coast or even to help them get to New Braunfels. He was informed that 5,000 more people were on the way.

What was he to do? He appealed to the Adelsverein who sent a meager amount of money. He then explored the land promised the immigrants around the San Saba and Llano Rivers, the original destination.

In April 25, 1846, Meusebach guided 16 wagons and 180 settlers to colonize Fredericksburg. He then made a peace treaty with the Comanche Indians. This opened up the Texas frontier for settlement.

Meusebach remained a popular personality with the immigrants and in 1851 he was elected State Senator. Two years later, he was appointed commissioner for the German Emigration Co. to issue land certificates to the immigrants brought to Texas by the Adelsverein.

The rest of the story is good, thanks to John O. Meusebach.

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Have you ever watched animals communicate with each other? No words, just bark, growl and whine. They get their point across. If they didn’t, they would have invented words. That’s what humans did. Some still bark, growl, and whine, but these sounds are usually accompanied by words.

Early human communication consisted of a system called “tell-a-woman”. Now, don’t get mad at me, ladies, because there was also “tell-a-man” and by the number of saloons in early New Braunfels, I’m guessing that men won out. This ancient form of communication was around long before the telegraph, telephone and tell-a-SKYPE, where you see the person anywhere in the world.

Depending on where you lived and who you associated with, different languages developed. Time went on and there was a need to communicate with people far away.

Someone (or two) developed a system of communicating from hill to hill. Smoke signals. It was too far to yell or growl from one place to another. The English developed the semaphore, a signaling device using flags or lights. On top of the hill was built a contraption with shutters where men could flash signals from one tower to another tower. A message could be relayed as far as 85 miles. This system was obsolete by the middle of the 19^th century with the invention of the telegraph. Several systems were invented before the invention of the telegraph.

Samuel F.B. Morse is given most of the credit for inventing the telegraph. This may not be entirely true but Morse did prove that signals could be transmitted by wire. Several inventions led up to the invention of the electric telegraph all over the world. The Morse Code, a series of dots and dashes, was used. Western Union built its first transcontinental line in 1861 following the railroad tracks.

Morse received funds from Congress to install a line between Washington D.C. and Baltimore, Maryland. His idea was to bury wires. This idea failed so he had the idea to hang wires from trees and this also failed. Finally he had the idea to hang the wires from poles. In 1844 Morse stationed himself in the Supreme Court Chamber in the Capitol in Washington D.C. He sent the famous message “What hath God wrought” to his assistant, Alfred Vail, in Baltimore. Vail got the message.

By 1846 a new business, the Associated Press, took full advantage of the telegraph to send messages to newspaper offices. What a boom for rapid communication! The national election results of 1848 were sent via wire to newspapers for the first time.

Abraham Lincoln’s State of the Union address was transmitted over telegraph wires to all “loyal states”. Obviously Confederates didn’t get the speech. Lincoln was supposedly fascinated by the technology of the telegraph and would spend hours, even overnight, in the War Department building, keeping track of what was going on during the Civil War. Messages were easily sent to newspapers across the United States but it seemed impossible to send a message by wire to Europe.

An American businessman named Cyrus Field organized a new company called the New York Newfoundland and London Telegraph Co. Field began laying 2,500 miles of cable from Ireland’s Dingle Peninsula. After several failed attempts of the use of the wire, Queen Victoria in England successfully sent a letter of congratulations to newly elected president, James Buchanan, on the advent of his election.

By the end of the 19^th century, most of the world was connected by the telegraph.

What was happening in New Braunfels as far as communication? When the emigrants first came to the Republic of Texas, the fastest and slowest form of communication was by mail. It took about three months for letters to arrive from Germany on a ship and then had to be transported overland.

Letters and penny postcards were delivered to stations by stagecoach. The stagecoach stopped at the Schmitz Hotel located on Main Plaza. Throughout the Civil War (ending in 1865), news about the war reached New Braunfels by stagecoach. Then there was the Pony Express. In 1880 the International and Great Northern Railroad came to New Braunfels and mail was sent by rail.

At a special meeting of the NB City Council on May 12, 1865, the mayor gave permission to the Western Union to fix the places for posts with the agent in such a manner that the free passage and use of the streets of the city would not be obstructed. The operator that worked the telegraph had to learn Morse Code. When the message arrived over the wire, it was written down and then hand-delivered to the person it was meant for. In1871 the telegraph office moved from the Schmitz Hotel to August Schmitz’s home on 267 Mill St. It is confusing, but unknown, the relationship of August to Schmitz Hotel owner Jacob Schmitz. In 1876 Charles Schmitz took his father’s place as telegraph operator at the Mill St. home. In 1879 the telegraph office was moved back to the hotel and then moved to the train depot in 1887.

Eventually the telegraph and telephone offices merged. City Council passed an ordinance Dec. 10,1895, granting Southwestern Telephone and Telegraph permission to erect and maintain on the streets, alleys and public ways, poles, fixtures and wires necessary to supply NB citizens with communication by telephone.

The house at 267 E. Mill St. still stands today at the same address where August Schmitz once operated the early telegraph office. The land on which this house sits was originally conveyed to Francis Gilbeau by the German Emigration Company in 1847. The third owner was August Schmitz, the telegraph operator. Until recently the property belonged to the Fuhrmann-Ludwig family and last year the property was bought by Danny and Anna Lisa Tamez. The building actually has two complete rental units. The fachwerk walls are still standing, as are the original floors. The story is that the bricks that line the walls were put together with mud and water from the Comal River a block away. They also bought the Ludwig house directly behind the E. Mill St. property facing E. Bridge St. which they have also restored.

The early home housing the telegraph office and the Ludwig house on Bridge St. downtown have been restored for vacationers to be able to enjoy a little bit of the past in the present. Danny and Anna Lisa Tamez also own the Gruene Estate on Rock Street. This 15-acre B&B was built in 1857 and is the original homestead of Ernst and Antoinette Gruene.

Since change is inevitable, what changes will take place in communication in the future? Will we be communicating only mentally as science fiction suggests?

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