Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Seventeen
Andrew Stevens, February 1912
The Colonel holds up his folded newspaper. “It appears the so-called green fairy will cease to cast her intoxicating spell over Americans. That hellfire-and-brimstone Secretary of Agriculture is determined to ban the importation of absinthe. Men will no longer be able to seduce young women unaware that absinthe makes the heart grow fonder. The potent French frappé will no longer summon strange, swirling monsters to the bottom of a glass.”
Mr. K emits a snort. “While I have never taken a whiff of that stuff, banning it is wrong. Pros are like rats. A tiny chink in our wall, and in they will swarm, nibbling away at our rights. President Taft should have prevented his secretary from launching this clandestine attack. We send Adolphus Busch princely sums to hire people in Washington so things like this do not slip through the cracks.
Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Eighteen”
Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Twelve
Andrew Stevens, November 1911
“Honey from Solms Apiary. The finest in the country, Andy. This nectar comes not from some common native American bee.”
The Colonel has been waxing eloquent over a jar of honey for the past five minutes. Andy knits his eyebrows together and keeps his lips sealed tightly. Struggling, mightily struggling, to stifle the yawn rising from deep in his throat.
“The Carnacian bees that made this honey were imported to New Braunfels from high in the Alps. The Solms Apiary has sixty-two colonies of these bees, and the queens are prolific layers.”
Running later than normal, Mr. K steps briskly into his office. “Queens? Queen Emma held me prisoner in the kitchen this morning. Blocked my escape route with her chair and locked the wheels until she had no more words to unleash on me. I knew it was risky taking her to the Busches’ gilded celebration. Seems I neglected to mark our recent anniversary with tributes befitting royalty, and she wants to ensure I never make such a blunder again. How the Sultan can bear a whole harem of wives is beyond me.
Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Thirteen”
To know San Antonio is to understand that this is a town essentially Mexican… and that the way to see the town at its liveliest and gayest is to take part in one of the fiestas of the folk. In these fiestas, with the exception of a few severely religious rites, nobody is merely a spectator: everybody takes part. There are two kinds of fiestas, secular and religious. But often the two are intermingled.Charles Ramsdell, San Antonio: A Historical and Pictorial Guide, 1959
When I first moved to San Antonio in the late 1970s, I not only lived here but had to write about it. Almost immediately, I found myself having to come up with monthly features on the city. Pre-Internet. Charles Ramsdell’s 1959 edition of San Antonio: A Historical and Pictorial Guide became my adopted textbook.
San Antonio was love at first sight. It snagged my affection with my future in-laws’ fresh lime margaritas and a deep dive into a Border Patrol Special – the works – at Karam’s. Its Mexican-ness seduced me, particularly under Ramsdell’s tutelage.
Continue reading “Dia de los Muertos commemorations deeply rooted in city’s past”