April 1973
Briar Patch
IF FORTUNE MAKES STRANGE BEDFELLOWS, the fortunes of death make the strangest of all. In the state cemetery in Austin, J. Frank Dobie, Ma and Pa Ferguson, and Big Foot Wallace lie within a 30-yard radius of one another. Their graves are near the top of a small hill which is lined with the markers of other governors, as well as a varied sprinkling of Texas rangers, park superintendents, insurance commissioners, judges, legislators, and one other writer, Dobie's friend Walter Prescott Webb. Below these graves stretching across a broad field are innumerable weathered stones hardly two feet high which mark the graves of Texans who were casualties or veterans of the Civil War.
On an overcast day last month we drove out to the cemetery. It is a little east of I.H. 35 just off Seventh Street, in an area of old framed houses which time has not treated well; but there are trees along the streets, a few gabled mansions recalling the neighborhood's better days, and, once off Seventh, a heavy stillness which the cemetery, as large as two city blocks, undoubtedly contributes to and may cause.
We parked near the caretaker's building. It adjoins two greenhouses where plants for state offices and grounds are protected during the winter and where new seedlings are sprouted. Two gardeners were on duty that afternoon. One, named Billy, a cantankerous gent, lean and bony, with gnarled hands and an unfortunate limp, told me that he had been a prisoner of the Japanese during World War II, that his Ford had cost $5000, that he made most of his living playing pool at $5 a game, that every now and then when he was mowing the grass around the graves one of the corpses would sit up and ask him for the time.
The other gardener, who had simply shrugged with embarrassment when we asked his name, punctuated each of Billy's remarks with "That's a quarter; now there's fifty cents; six bits he owes me now." After the story about the corpse, he said, "Do believe that one's worth a whole dollar. I'm gonna be rich 'fore sundown."
Telling them that we would be back after seeing the rest of the cemetery grounds, we walked toward the graves on the hill. By far the most interesting monument—calling it a grave would be an injustice—is enclosed within a white wooden structure, probably 15 feet tall, which looks like a cross between a gazebo and a mosque. This odd building shields the elements from the crypt of Albert Sidney Johnston, a general in the army of the Republic of Texas, who died while commanding the Confederate forces during the battle of Shiloh. A large marble block supports a statue of Johnston lying in state, hand across his heart. The statue's face stares peaceably ahead, handsome but not imposing and looking not at all like the stern warrior we had always imagined Johnston to be.
Pa and Ma Ferguson's stone is half way up the hill and, if it is not so imposing as Johnston's, it is fitting enough. The Fergusons are buried side by side before a rather phallic-shaped stone probably ten feet tall, with outcroppings on either side which bear their epitaphs. Ma's declares her faith in God, but Pa's reads "He loved his fellow man and was generous to a fault." Since Ferguson in his stormy stewardship of Texas was certainly something to a fault, perhaps his epitaph is no more inappropriate than most.
The remainder of the graves are rather ordinary by comparison. There are simple markers with name and dates on one side and a list of accomplishments or positions held on the other. Some of the names are well-known but most are obscure, their accomplishments ("Associate Justice Texas Supreme Court 1934-1938") though admirable, becoming of less interest day by day.
Noticing a tall obelisk at the very top of the hill, we cut short our ramblings through the stones to see which historical personage had merited a monument that was easily twice as tall as any other. It turned out to be that of Edmund J. Davis, the last Carpetbagger governor of Texas whose term was from 1870 to 1874. The spire was erected in Davis's memory by his brother, possibly, we speculated, for revenge, as Davis had become a hated man by the end of his administration. Today his monument, tall as it is and standing on the highest point in the cemetery, dominates all around it—even the tomb of Stephen F. Austin.
Before leaving we kept our promise and stopped back at the caretaker's building to smoke a cigarette with Billy. The other gardener had disappeared, which Billy considered all for the best. He had something important to tell us. "I learned long ago," he said clenching a Camel between his thumb and forefinger, "that if you're sitting down and your boss comes in the room, don't pop right up. If you do that, he knows he's got you."
We talked for a while longer before the other gardener came in. Billy was telling me about the special shovel he'd had made. The other gardener said, "How much do he owe me now? Ole Billy's loosing more money than he make this day ."
DALLAS SCHOOL BOARD ELECTIONS: THE LONG WAY TO GET WHERE WE STARTED
THE ARGUMENT FOR ELECTING SCHOOL board members, or other public officials, from single member districts is that the various elements of the population are more likely to get the representation they desire. The Dallas School Board, for example, which for 25 years has elected its nine members at large, has had only one black member in its entire history. It was quite a surprise, then, when last November the board voted seven to two to petition the state legislature for permission to elect members from nine individual districts. Dr. Emmett Conrad, history's one black council member, found himself in the unusual position of voting with a majority of the conservative board members on a major issue.
That alliance, unfortunately, could not last. Conrad himself had predicted the alliance would fall apart when it came time to decide the boundaries of the individual districts since those boundaries could be drawn to predetermine the political philosophy of the board. Gerrymandering, it's called.
Meanwhile, freshman Dallas Representative Paul Ragsdale introduced a bill in Austin enabling the board to have single-member district elections. The board reversed their field and protested. The bill required all nine board members to run for re-election the first time around under single-member districts, no matter how much longer their presently staggered terms were supposed to run. Under the bill, a similiar situation would obtain every ten years when a new census would require a new redistricting. Republican board member Nancy Judy, who was elected just a year ago, claimed, "The lack of continuity on the board from everyone running at once is a Superintendent's nightmare."
That may be, but that problem has not been avoided under the present system either. Three posts are up for election each year. Of the nine current members, six have less than two years experience.
And why shouldn't the incumbents be willing to stand for election? That all nine members would be swept out of office simultaneously, though possible, is hardly likely. Conrad simply stated, "I'm perfectly willing to stand for election anytime. Anybody who isn't must not be too proud of their record."
Proud or not, the board started moving quickly. John Plath Green, president of the board, flew to Austin and asked the Dallas County legislators not to push the bill for the 1973 elections so the board could submit its own bill in time for the 1974 election. The legislators, themselves elected from single-member districts, readily, but not understandably, agreed.
With the passage of the bill neither imminent nor likely, things settled down a bit. Five of the board members even agreed informally during February that they might accept simultaneous elections, while not liking them, since it seemed the only constitutional way to put the new election system into effect.
But two days later, the truce had ended. Green, Mrs. Judy and Tom Williams, who had supported single-member districts earlier, suddenly changed their minds. The board voted to send single-member district elections "back to committee for further study." While this vote didn't formally rescind the board's earlier vote, it accomplished the same purpose.
Many Dallas citizens, particularly in the black community, now think that last November's vote to ask for single member districts from the legislature was a ruse. They claim that the board began talking about abandoning at-large elections only when a lawsuit challenging their constitutionality seemed imminent. The suit was filed, but it provoked no action since the board seemed to be making the proper changes on its own,
Why delay? Possibly, the speculation goes, so that the ruling political group, the conservative Committee for Good Schools, will have at least one more at-large election to solidify its already overwhelming control of the school board. Solid control could be especially important during the coming year when a court ruling is expected that could require massive crosstown busing to desegregate Dallas schools. At which point the plot becomes very thick.
At press time the prospects of single-member district Dallas school board elections seem dead—unless, of course, a federal judge orders the change on behalf of racial minorities who filed the suit.
If that happens, we may have to listen to the same record again. It is too bad the Dallas School Board has missed an opportunity to show initiative and leadership on its own. Perhaps it is too much to expect that an elected body will change the way it is elected on its own.
How about it, Houston? Want to give single member districts a try?
WOMAN, THY NAME IS CAUCUS
WE HAD PLANNED TO LEAVE AUSTIN at dawn to attend the second National Women's Political Caucus in Houston. But someone up there didn't like us. The chauvinist weatherman flung a rare snow storm our way. It was almost noon by the time we five women piled into our car and pulled away regretfully, for the snow was sheer childhood fantasy. We, who would have preferred making snowpersons and hurling snowballs, left dutifully to participate in making history.
