CHAPTER 1

Early Days In San Marcos

Going back a few years, I lollygagged in aimless activities in andaround San Marcos, usually under the care of my mother during thoseearly days. My two brothers were 10 and 15 years older than me andwere not excited about baby-sitting.

Mother began taking me down to a safe spot on the San MarcosRiver where I was taught to swim at an early age. On the way to the river,we would stop at Mrs. Murray's fruit stand and buy a small watermelonthat sold for about 50 cents. I would play with that floating melon in thecold river water until it was time to go home. At that point I would liftthe melon as high as possible and let it burst on the gravel bar. We wouldeat the heart out, wash off and head for home.

Mr. Vogelsang and his wife operated a small tourist court on the eastbank of the river. He fished in a particular spot on the low water bridgenear where Mom and I were swimming. Nearly always he would catch anice bass with a minnow placed just under the bridge. As I grew older,I imitated Mr. Vogelsang's fishing techniques near the bank on the westside of the bridge. Sure enough, one day a slashing monster bass took mybait and gave a ferocious fight until I pounced on him with all fours onthe bridge sidewalk.

After stringing up the bass with trembling hands I headed for townto show him off. I found that old men in the drug stores and barbershops brought me the greatest praises accompanied by smiles galore. Notto mention my folks at our bakery.

I suggested to Mom that we should send an item to Ripley's BelieveIt or Not but her response was not that encouraging.

I cleaned the bass for storage in the refrigerator. But I did not scalethe fish for the benefit of the audience planned for the next day. Momdidn't know the scales were still intact when she fried the bass, thusruining my plans. Not only that, the fried scales protruded out from thebass after cooking – which reminded me of old wooden shingles on abarn roof on a hot summer day.

Well, I've caught a good many bass since that one – some quite large.But none gave me the thrill that big bass did, that time about 72 yearsago. As yet, no historical markers have been placed on that bridge wheremy monster bass was caught.

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Besides fishing, my friends and I enjoyed a variety of activities backduring our younger days. Though I'd be hard pressed to tell you what Ihad for lunch yesterday, those early memories still linger decades later.Below I'll share a few activities which occurred before my interest incollege developed.

My friend Jimmy Turner and I spent many happy hours makingmud airplanes – about the size of your hand. Once the mud hardenedon those planes we would construct small airports on the ground andplace them there as if they were enemy aircraft. WWII was underwayat the time and it was fun to participate. Then, entire flights would bedestroyed by receiving fire from our BB guns. No telling how many U.S.troops were saved by our tactics.

The mud airplane construction and ensuing combat with BB gunsbrought to our minds the matter of bailing out of a crashing airplaneshould that hard luck come our way. We decided to practice thatmaneuver by jumping off the roof of the garage with mother's beachumbrella. We figured that we could hold onto the wooden handle of theumbrella and waft to the ground with about the velocity of falling leaves.

I jumped first and plummeted to the gravel driveway at about thespeed of a bowling ball. My body, upon impact, doubled at the knees.My chin collided with my left knee and unfortunately my tongue wasbetween the upper and lower teeth when my mouth was slammed shut.The pain was beyond belief, offset somewhat by the wonders of yellowflashing balls of light that appeared around my head. As I finally arosefrom the driveway bleeding from the mouth and knuckles and staggeringamong flashing hallucinations, Jimmy announced from the roof that hehad decided not to jump.

March or April each year would provide warmer weather after a coldwinter to allow us to go barefooted, usually earlier then our motherspreferred. The supreme test of bare-footed toughness was to trudgecompletely across Mr. Gulledge's Texaco filling station drive-ways, madeof sharp edged discarded soda bottle caps. The caps were much cheaperthan having to pour concrete for a driveway. In later years we boughtgasoline from him to fill our motor bikes. At 17 cents per gallon wecould fill up for about 34 cents. And Mr. Gulledge would repair flats onour bike tires with a product known as "hot patches" which were ignitedand melted into the tire inner tubes where they were punctured. Tirerepair cost was about 50 cents per puncture, depending on its severity.

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When Buster Williamson became manager of the boat andbait-house on Springlake, the world changed dramatically for those wholoved to fish or go boating and mingle with others that did likewise.Buster's personality and friendliness attracted an outdoors crowd to theboathouse young and old alike. It became the absolute headquartersfor all who loved the San Marcos River, Springlake being the origin ofthe river resulting from the springs bursting from the rocky BalconesEscarpment.

In 1689 the Alonzo deLeon Expedition discovered the San MarcosSprings rising from the Edwards Aquifer. It had long been headquartersfor a number of tribes of American Indians based on artifacts discoveredthrough the years. One reference records their presence 11,500 yearsago. It was discovered on St. Marks Day by early explorers and thusthe river and the town attained the name San Marcos. General EdwardBurleson of the U. S. Army, after many conflicts with the Indians, wasfinally successful in securing the area so it could include early settlers.Researchers later proclaimed from their findings of artifacts that the riverheadwaters may be the most continuously...