Category: History of San Antonio

Seesawing Signage Issues: Take three baby steps forward and two giant steps back.

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Update on September 3:  Oh my gosh!  Some of the window-covering signage in the Crockett Block has disappeared.  Is there some powerful new enforcer at work?  Is there hope Shamu will be chased back to SeaWorld soon?

Originally, I added that optimistic update to the bottom of an older post, “Slip-Sliding Backwards on Alamo Plaza Signage.”  I need no longer be Alamobsessive about the plaza, I thought.  Other people care and are enforcing the regulations spelled out in the Unified Development Code.

Unfortunately,  the Express-News’ Scott Huddleston quickly jerked the rug out from under me,  suggesting I go back for a closer look. 

Encountered the usual irritating distractions on the way, such as the banners and goods spilling out of the basement on the Commerce Street side of the Dullnig Building.  One shop in the Dullnig still had sandwich boards outside on Alamo Street, but Best of Texas removed its sandwich boards, actually advertising sandwiches, from the sidewalk – only to suspend them illegally overhead now.  Some of the “everything changes color in the sun” banners have indeed been removed from the Crockett Block, unfortunately leaving Alfred Giles name carved in stone next to a window full of boxes. 

But what I really came to see was the replacement for the pop-up tent the Daughters of the Republic of Texas previously used to hawk their audio tours of the Alamo.  Like the other hundred or so people on the plaza disappointed to find the grounds closed at 5:30, I had to be content to peer through the barred gateways.  (An aside, but wouldn’t the Daughters be able to rake in more dollars from the sale of coonskin caps and snow globes if they kept the Alamo open later than 5 p.m. while the days are so long?)

A beautiful arcade leads from the Alamo to the library on the grounds.  But… there it is.  A tacky banner suspended from a cedar beam (the flag still waving “proudly from the walls” referenced by William Barrett Travis?) guides you right to the new tour store.  A wall painted a depressing shade of brown now fills one the arches.  A window permits rental of the audio tours with a shelf attached by some cheap metal hinges. 

Banners promoting basement shops proliferate along the Commerce Street facade of the Dullnig Building.
With prices this low, surely a shop needs a second banner.
The Armadillo banners set off a t-shirt price war with its neighbor.
To comply with requests to remove sandwich boards from city sidewalks, Best of Texas hoisted them up on the building.
Some of the illegal signage on the Giles-designed Crockett Block has been removed from the windows facing the Alamo.
Stripped of illegal signage, the window reflects the facade of the Alamo silhouetted against stacked storage boxes.
Alfred Giles deserves apologies for the appearance of the Crockett Block.
A graceful arcade added to commemorate the Texas Centennial links the Alamo Library to the Alamo.
The Daughters of the Republic of Texas seem to have adopted banner marketing techniques from their neighbors.
That open archway was just wasted space anyway.
Sarah Reveley shared this photo with me of the audio-tour booth fully staffed.
Nothing but the finest hardware used for the addition.
Contrasting paint colors help make the adjacent utility closet stand out.
Sarah contributed this photo showing the juxtaposition of the architectural wart with the southern wall of the Alamo Chapel.
And I just threw in this San Antonio Tea Party logo because it scared me.

No one could accuse the Daughters of over-spending on this fine architectural addition to the hallowed grounds.  The budget was extremely frugal according to their reports:

Estimated start up cost is $8,000 to be covered by Allies of the Alamo.  The start up costs are:  portable building to house equipment and sales, part-time, no benefits staff, four credit card machines, signage, cash register, air conditioner, and miscellaneous items such as stickers and printing.

The investment apparently is paying off:

…Tour Mates is now up and running.  They had 201 customers on their second day of operation.  It is in a good location and customers have had good comments.  They are pleased with the charge.  There is a sign that reads “Admission to The Alamo is FREE.  Enhance your visit with a $6 audio tour.”

At this rate, the Daughters’ initial investment will be paid off in about a month.

Huddleston questioned the architectural merits of this low-budget addition in his online blog:

Since it’s on state property, the booth and the banner didn’t have to be presented for approval by the city’s Historic and Design Review Commission.  If it did, I would hazard to speculate that the commission would allow the banner.  But I think commissioners might say putting the wooden booth right up against the outside edge of the 1937 Arcade was “not respectful” to the historic structure.

It’s time for the Historic Design and Review Commission to call for reenforcements.   Send a messenger to Austin to alert the Texas Historical Commission:

in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & every thing dear to the American character, to come to our aid, with all dispatch.

William Barrett Travis

February 24, 1836

Note Added on September 11: 

“I don’t claim to be a historian, I’m just an English drummer who loves the Alamo.”

If only Phil Collins would rally the Texas Historical Commission.  The commission devoted two full pages in The Medallion to Collins’ presentation on “his notable Alamo Collection.” 

But where did he make his presentation?  Dallas.  How about a walking tour around the plaza? 

I’ve issued a pitiful blog-plea before, Phil, but, please, “come to our aid, with all dispatch.”

Note Added on October 28:  Please join me in submitting the audio rental booth addition to the Centennial Arcade at the Alamo to the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s Yikes’ postings of inartistic alterations to historic structures.

Note Added on December 20:  News from London is that Phil Collins himself might try to broker peace at the Alamo.  Sounds dangerous for someone Rolling Stone describes as having suicidal thoughts.  But maybe he can summon up the heroism from whoever he was at the Alamo in a former life:

Collins has noticed glowing, semitransparent light orbs in a series of photos he took at the Alamo. “It’s paranormal energy,” he explains, noting that a psychic recently told him he fought at the fort in a previous lifetime. “I don’t want to sound like a weirdo. I’m not Shirley MacLaine, but I’m prepared to believe. You’ve seen the pictures. You can’t deny them, so therefore it’s possible that I was there in another life.”

Marked Un-Graves Haunt Morning Walks

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I know whom I am supposed to be researching:  The large and unwieldy cast of characters living in San Antonio between 1910 and 1920 whose stories seductively slip their way into the pages of An Ostrich Plume Hat whether they forward the plot or not.  Their ever-present ghosts float above my desk, my bathtub, my pillow at night, beckoning me to resurrect their lives on paper.  

The last thing I need is the distraction of unrelated people haunting me.  Blame it on the failure of native grasses to take root quickly on the Mission Reach.  If the construction workers or stray dogs guard the entrance by Roosevelt Park, I am forced to cross Roosevelt to South Presa.  

And there they are.  Their names prominently etched in stone disembodied from any gravesites.  

Who are they?  I worry they are not resting in peace but lying lonely underground in unmarked paupers’ graves.  

Did ungrateful descendants collect their inheritances and then decline to pick up the tabs for their headstones?  Or were they never real people, just imaginary inhabitants of San Antonio invented to serve as samples for those shopping for monuments to loved ones?  Or are they mistakes, large typos carved permanently in stone? 

From Meier Bros. Website

 

The latter two theories are more settling.  Meier Bros. Monuments has been in business for a long time, since 1900.  Surely the brothers have made a few spelling or date errors.  

But the names kept nagging me.  After all, Edna Viola Clift was someone’s “beloved grandmother.”  I owe her just a few short clicks on ancestry.com or in census records.  She did exist, dying in San Antonio in 1977.  Another woman was a longstanding member of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, still living just a couple of years ago.  How did she end up carved in stone with only her birth date? 

His stone proclaiming “Dios es Amor,” Severo O. Cervantez was born in Mexico in 1887.  In 1910, he made his living in “cement work” and resided on Division Avenue with his wife Francisca and two-year-old son Geronimo, both native Texans. 

Mattie was the one, however, who finally freed me to resume contact with the ghosts entitled to haunt me.  The letters carved in granite read “Martha May Lazrine Miller.” 

Mattie was born in 1869 and married Lee, her senior by 13 years.  The couple raised at least seven children on their farm in Del Rio, Mattie’s mother residing with them, perhaps to lend a hand.  

In 1918, the 5’6.5″-tall Lee applied for a passport so he could board a ferry-boat to take one of his sons to spring baths in Las Vacas, San Carlos, Mexico, to cure his rheumatism.  Mattie and Lee now lie together in Del Rio’s Westlawn Cemetery with some other stone at their heads.  

Lee Lazrine's Passport Photo

 

Thank you, ancestry.com, for giving me the answer I sought.  A major typo.  

Martha May’s maiden name was Miller, and she married Lee Lazrine. 

Rest in peace, Mattie.
Time for me to get back to work.

This Deadly Scenario Should Not Have Been Written

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7 deadly scenariosAndrew Krepinevish has done what I would have sworn impossible.  He has almost managed to evoke a sentimental attachment to all of the horrible signage violations invading the Alamo Plaza Historic District, even Shamu disrespectfully flipping his tail toward the shrine of Texas liberty.

The West Point and Harvard graduate struck a little too close to home – only about six or seven blocks away – in one of his 7 Deadly Scenarios: A Military Futurist Explores War in the 21st Century.  His book, not light end-of-the-summer beach-reading material, was published in January 2009 by Random House, and I’m probably the last person to hear about it.  But the “future” he described is nearly here, and he is picking on the 175th anniversary of the Battle of the Alamo:

At precisely 8:28 a.m. on the morning of March 6, 2011, just as the city’s morning rush hour is at its peak…

Sorry to interrupt his story, but have the reenactors cleared out before 8:30, or are they in big trouble?  Am I on the plaza at the tail end of my morning walk?

…a blinding flash of light rips through the downtown area.  Nearby buildings are immediately vaporized.  Buildings farther off buckle and collapse….  A local television station’s traffic helicopter captures the blast at a distance of nearly nine miles away.  As the telltale mushroom cloud begins to rise from the city, the traffic reporter remarks, “My God, it’s an atomic bomb!…”

“Remarks?”  My loft and I were just vaporized.  That reverse commute my husband makes five days a week sounds pretty appealing at this point in the narrative.  I sure hope this is Krepinevich’s worst-case scenario.

The lead shot on the evening news, not only in America but around the world that night, centers on two images: the footage from the traffic helicopter with the reporter’s horrified voice-over; and on-the-scene reporters standing at locations where the severely damaged Alamo mission – the shrine to Texas’s independence – can be seen in the distant background.

The Daughters of the Republic of Texas must have gotten the roof repaired in order for it to withstand such a powerful attack, but I’m not reading another word.  This book gives me the creeps.  Ban this book. 

I certainly prefer a symphonic concert for the 175th anniversary.  But tell the reenactors to be on alert, and please, Tony, maybe don’t hang the banner.  Let’s not give the nefarious characters invented by Krepinevich that kind of directional signage. 

Rather selfish of me (an understatement much like “remarks”), but could we instead install a banner steering them toward the “reel” Alamo, John Wayne’s Alamo, the one in Brackettville? 

Update on August 31:  The “reel” Alamo is closing to the public.