13. Postcard from Oakville - “Dobie Dichos and Legends in Live Oak County”
The village of Oakville sits hidden in plain sight along an isolated stretch of I-37 between Corpus and San Antonio. Founded in 1856 by a hearty group of Irish settlers, at its zenith this one-time stagecoach station boasted a population of 400, claimed seven saloons and was a notorious site of brutal frontier justice. But while one could perhaps get away with calling this tiny community a ghost town, each year some of Texas's finest writers gather here to share stories under the stars in homage to Live Oak County's great Poet Laureate- J. Frank Dobie. Featuring a retelling of one of Dobie's great campfire legends, Sancho's Return, this episode invites listeners to experience the magic of this unique celebration of western letters now hailed as "The Greatest Little Literary Festival in Texas."
TRANSCRIPT
(As this transcript was obtained via a computerized service, please forgive any typos, spelling and grammatical errors)
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Evan (00:00):
Well, so this is an amazing, uh, an amazing project. I mean, would it, would you say it would have been safe to describe Oakville as a ghost town when you first got here?
Albert Davila (00:10):
It was a ghost town and in fact to some people, it still is. Cause they can come here and they see things and they hear things. Ben, who's been with me for 12 years. He sees, he's seen ghosts. He's heard them. I never have, but he has an, a lot of other people that have come through here. And I think if you come here with a mindset that you're going to see and hear you do. Ben- Ben has an old story that he was told when he was a kid, uh, growing up that if a ghost is going past you and he turns around and looks at you, that that's where you dig and you find gold. Well, one day I come here and there's holes everywhere. I asked Ben how many times did that ghost stop? And I said, "You better cover those holes before somebody falls in there. And they're the ones that are going to get the gold cause they're gonna sue me."
Evan (01:04):
The village of Oakville sits hidden in plain sight, just a few yards off I-37 in Live Oak county, roughly midway between Corpus and San Antonio. Founded in 1856 by a hearty group of Irish settlers at its zenith this one-time stagecoach station boasted a population of 400, claimed seven saloons and was a notorious site of brutal frontier justice. Standing in view of the old jail house, a two storied 1886 building of grey sandstone, this town's tall silver-haired owner, Albert Davila tells me of its history and in hearing of the blood that was spilled here can see why ghosts may very well haunt these grounds.
Albert Davila (01:46):
Uh, it's got a lot of character. It's got a lot of history. The Texas Rangers were here. They, they tried them and, and the ones that were guilty, uh, I'm not sure that they were all guilty, but they hung them. And then across the road here, we have a, uh, a cemetery. And so they would take them from here to the cemetery. There's a bunch of unmarked graves there. They wouldn't even waste the time to write their name and they just, uh, lay them to rest back there.
Evan (02:12):
This all came to an end, not long after the shrewd cattleman, George West snatched Oakville's title of county seat by muscling the railroad through his namesake town, 12 miles down the road. By the time Albert purchased this land apart from Van's BBQ on the frontage road, things had pretty much dried up. But having retrieved and restored the post office, depot, mercantile and a few old homesteads, Mr. Davila has essentially built an old Western square from scratch. And today Oakville is a wonder to behold. Yet, while things might feel a bit more civilized around these parts today, much of the country that surrounds here remains a little wild.
Attendee (02:54):
Everything will bite you or sting you, but it's a beautiful, beautiful place. I mean, just like we're watching the sunset, uh, it's it's it can be just such a soft, beautiful place.
Evan (03:07):
The Nueces Strip isn't a region that arrests its visitors immediately. It's isolated. The land is tough, flat brushy. And during the summer one could almost forgive general Sheridan for having said, if I owned hell in Texas, I'd rent out Texas and move to Hell. But its ranches, red sunsets and authentic spirit possess a peculiar mystery that gradually wins you over. And it's a place that Mary Margaret Campbell is honored to hang her hat.
Mary Margaret Campbell (03:37):
I was born in Alice, Texas. Um, when I was born, my father was attending college at Saul Ross State University, and was on the rodeo team. He was a calf roper. And I was, I said, I was born in Alice, but the night I was born, my father competed in Abilene at the college rodeo, borrowed a car and drove all the way from Abilene after he roped to get to Alice. And I had been born a little after midnight. So he got there a few hours after I was born. I just- it's home to me. My, uh, ancestors go back to the 1850s on, on my dad's side in south Texas. And it's just it's home. It's, what's familiar. It's just where I belong.
Evan (04:24):
A former teacher and oil and gas landman, considering the time she dedicates to historic preservation and civic engagement, it would feel grossly inappropriate to call her retired. We're chatting under the shade of a Mesquite tree outside Albert's main house. And as this is my first visit, she's proud to tell me that due in part to her efforts nearby George West was officially proclaimed, "The Storytelling capital of Texas." Turns out, oral traditions are big around here. And when I ask local rancher, John Ed James why this might be, he says, he thinks it's because where we are is an important juncture.
John Ed James (05:01):
People call this area kind of the crossroads to true deep south Texas and the valley. I think you have a, you have a lot of different influences in this area from, from the, the Mexican population and the Germans and the Irish. And it's really a melting pot. And I, you know, uh, you know, there's, there's all kinds of different people in this area maybe. And maybe that has something to do with it. I'm not sure though. There's, there's, there's been storytelling going on for years. Um, there's several in the area, you know, a lot of times it happens around the campfire after a few beers or bottle of wine bottle or two of wine. The stories get real good then.
Mary Margaret Campbell (05:43):
Well, there have always been storytellers in Live Oak County. Um, Cowboys are going to tell stories. They're going to tell stories around the campfire. Um, they're going to tell stories on each other and it's not just Cowboys, but it just, it's just south Texas that people tell stories,
Evan (06:00):
Whatever the root, Live Oak county not only birthed, but proudly shaped one of the great poet laureates of the American west- J Frank Dobie.
Mary Margaret Campbell (06:11):
J Frank Dobie was born on a ranch in south Live Oak county in the Lagardo area. And his mother was big on education. They had books, Ivanhoe, they had all Treasure Island. Had all kinds of books when he was growing up. And he just was one of those voracious readers. He loved learning. One thing he discovered was that those stories, the folklore was dying out. And so he kind of made it a personal mission to collect those stories. And he sat around many a campfire and listened and recorded the stories. And I, I, I'm a proponent that if it weren't for him, the folklore of Texas and the Southwest might not have been,
Evan (06:58):
This is a sentiment that Dobie biographer Stephen David readily agrees with.
Stephen David (07:02):
So J Frank Dobie was the guy who rescued Texas's social history and turned it into literature. He saved the stories of Texas. He became the first Texas writer to achieve any kind of recognition. So he basically invented Texas literature, became a big folk hero because he told the stories of our state. He promoted African-American storytellers, Mexican American storytellers, and he really became during his life a beacon, a beacon for intellectual freedom for human rights. He was awarded the presidential medal of honor for all of his courageous battles against censorship for civil rights. And his writing was of his time. But so far ahead of his time, too, because he was writing these really visionary things about the environment and our relationship with nature, that we're just now beginning to catch on to as a society. So he was a great example of one of the best kinds of Texans. You can imagine.
Evan (07:59):
Born in 1888, Dobie was laid to rest in the Texas state cemetery in 1964, following a lifetime of plaudits and accomplishment. But while buildings at UT are titled in his honor and his likeness can be found in a bronze statue outside Austin's Barton Springs, his name today is sometimes met with critical derision and even worse blank stares- which is something accomplished author, Mark Busby readily acknowledges.
Mark Busby (08:27):
And you know, when I was an undergraduate, Dobie was very well known and his books were all over the place. Now, very few students have ever heard of J Frank Dobie. There are plenty of people who have negative things to say about Dobie. Even about his writing. He tended sometimes to sort of slip into purple prose and just overdo it. Um, but, uh, he was a great influence. He was on the radio every week and almost everyone knew who he was. And that's the irony is that now almost nobody knows. You used to, you could go into almost any Texas bookstore and you would see a lot of Dobie's books, but he's really, uh, his, his reputation is just diminished and it's partially because of the subject matter. And, uh, it just, it's an older kind of world.
Stephen David (09:17):
Well, part of it is that Dobie is from an older rural tradition and that hasn't worn well as Texas has to become a more urban cosmopolitan state. The thing is there's so much that's timeless about his work. He tells the story of people in Texas and those, those are enduring forever. So
Evan (09:35):
Seeking to remind people of this, and reverse this tide of opinion in 2011, Mary Margaret and noted writer and Dobie aficionado William Jack Sibley hatched an idea to stage an annual event honoring the legacy of this county's native son.
William Jack Sibley (09:50):
Mary Margaret came to, well- She asked me 10 years ago, if I would emcee uh, one of the shows at Story Fest in George West, which is now defunct. So I went down and did it and had a great time. And as I was leaving, I said, "You know, you're missing the ball here because probably one of the most famous storytellers in Texas and the Southwest is from right here, you know, in live Oak county, uh, J Frank Dobie. And she said, she thought about it for a minute. And she said, "Look, if you'll help me, we'll, we'll do this. We'll do it next year. And I said, okay. So that was how this began. And we're right off the freeway. And we have a literary event in the middle of nowhere with the best writers in Texas coming every year. This is our 10th year. Who says, this is going to work? I mean, who gives you permission to do this? Nobody. You just do it. You roll the dice and see what happens. And here we are. I mean, it's just, it's grown. It's blossomed. It's, it's become this thing. I mean, the New York Times wrote about us a couple of years ago. It's extraordinary
Evan (11:00):
Having served as a contributing editor to Andy Warhol's interview magazine, authored two novels and a dozen screenplays, Bill's lists of accomplishments are dizzying, but south Texas remains home and sitting in a rocker on the rickety front porch of Oakville's Hinton Homestead, he tells me how they came to settle on a name for this celebration- Now, hailed as the best little literary event in Texas
William Jack Sibley (11:25):
Dichos is Spanish for sayings. Like I have a saying for you. And so Dobie was famous for Dobie-isms, you know, Dobie's sayings, and it had a nice ring to it. Is it the best we could have done grammatically? I don't know, but it works. It's catchy. Dobie Dichos!
Evan (11:47):
I wish I could say I remember how I learned about Dobie Dichos. It's by no means famous like South by Southwest. But I do know the second I heard of it, I wanted to go. While Dobie is certainly a name I knew growing up and my dad remains a big fan, my experience with his work remains limited to a few short stories and passages I've read here and there, but the thought of gathering in this teeny hamlet far from the city to hear great writers, share his work outdoors over a chili, dinner sounded too intoxicating to miss. And now a decade into its run, it's an experience that continues to wow, Mary Margaret.
Mary Margaret Campbell (12:28):
It's just, it's an awesome, it is a unique event. There is not another event like this. It's literary, it's, Texas themed, Texas, everything we have- We serve a meal of Chilli, that is the Texas state dish. We serve pan de campo, that's the Texas state bread. We serve dessert, miniature pecan pie. That's the Texas state dessert. We serve, we have Texas brewed beer and we have water. People bring their own lawn chairs, bag chairs. They set them up wherever they want to on the lawn. When the sun goes down here, you can, you can see the sun setting to the west over here toward the interstate. But you don't. When, when you're at Dobie Dichos and that sun goes down, you don't even know that interstate is right there as we are right on the access road. You don't hear it. You don't hear all. It's just like, it's, it's, it's just this magic takes place. And that first night, I think I just kind of stopped and kind of looked around and thought, "Oh my gosh." And you could feel it in the air. I've had people tell me from that first night, they felt like J Frank Dobie's spirit was here among us.
Evan (13:44):
Magic is the best word to describe this experience. As dusk hits, the grounds of Oakville become bathed in an Amber glow. That's complemented by a burning fire pit in the square center. Guests begin filtering through to claim spaces in view of the stage, which has been built on the bed of a vintage rusted Ford. A large black and white portrait of Dobie rests prominently at its base, naked bulbs shimmer above and singing cowboy Lee Hailie steps up to play as volunteers, dish out the Chilli John Ed graciously prepared. I grab a bowl and beer. Settle in a chair and kickback as a fleet of Texas's finest take the stage.
Norma Cantu (14:25):
Primera que nada, good evening, everyone. I want to acknowledge the spirits of this place that is Live Oak. It's an incredible space. All of our ancestors who first inhabited this land, I ask permission as I present this. And of course I thank Bill for the invitation Mary Margaret, for all the hard work that goes into doing this, the Davilas for the space and all of those of you who attended because without you we wouldn't be here. Right? So muchas gracias.
Evan (14:56):
Norma Cantu, president of the American folklore society reads an imaginary letter she penned to Dobie. Eldrena Douma, a daughter of the Laguna, Tewa and Hopi tribes traveled over eight hours from Canyon to perform a retelling of the mystery of the Palo Duro. Stephen Hardin spoke of the complicated friendship Dobie shared with Walter Prescott Webb. And mark Busby examined the parallels between Dobie and McMurtry. But the evening standout for me was Donna. Ingham. A slender, 80 something with neatly cropped gray hair. Her presence is at once gentle and commanding. And as she takes to the podium to tell the legend of Sancho's Return without a single written note, the assembled crowd becomes slowly hypnotized.
Donna Ingham (15:46):
So I thought I'd finished with a story from the Longhorns, somewhat abridged. One of my favorites called Sancho's return. It's a story about a rancher named Kerr who had a ranch down in south Texas. He was one day out riding. It was late in the winter, 1877, and he came across a little scrawny, black and white bull calf. It was mud splattered, too weak to, to rise, to stand. It's a wonder the coyotes hadn't gotten to it already. Mr. Kerr lifted that calf up on his saddle, across the saddle in front of him and took it home, turned it over to his wife, Maria. She'd know what to do with this little orphan, which of course in cowboy lingo would be a dogie. She had, she had raised many of them in the past. She first got some milk down him, and then she washed all that mud off with some more water.
Donna Ingham (16:58):
They finally got an old mama cow that had a calf of her own to adopt a little newcomer to feed. Now, Maria didn't have any children. And she took a special liking to this little orphan. She named him Sancho and she treated him like a pet. And Sancho had a special liking for Maria too in part because she gave him handouts. First, the shucks that she used to put around her tamales to hold them together. And then finally, she just gave him the whole tamale. Peppered as they were with those hot peppers seasoned up and he liked them. In fact, he developed such a taste for hot peppers, he would go browsing around and under the brush and under the trees there along Esperanza Creek, looking for those red wild chili pequins that most of the cattle wouldn't eat. But Sancho, he, he got addicted to them.
Donna Ingham (18:09):
Now, by the time he was a yearling, he had established a routine. He would, uh, well, if he couldn't get a handout of the tamales, if he wasn't busy looking for red peppers in the summertime, anyway, he, he grazed on the grass and the Mesquite beans, but then every night he would bed himself down under one special Mesquite tree, up close to the ranch pens. And when he was a three-year old, and that would have been in 1880, that's when Maria lost her pet. And it was inevitable. Mr. Kerr sold Sancho and a bunch of other steers to the Shiner brothers who were putting together three herds to deliver to a ranch in Wyoming. There were going to be 2,500 in each of those herds. Sancho was branded with Seven Z. That was his road brand. And he was put in the first herd going north. Well, the first night out, he didn't bed down with the other cattle.
Donna Ingham (19:26):
No, he stayed on his feet and he kept looking back, maybe thinking about his Mesquite tree on the Kerr place, and well, maybe hankering for an evening tamale. The next morning, when the herd moved out, he stayed at the back and he kept stopping every little bit and looking back. Well, the Cowboys noticed that and they took, they passed the word- "Better keep an eye on that, that paint steer in the back there." And on the second night, one of the Cowboys flipped a, a loop over his Longhorns and staked him to a bush and that helped for awhile. But then he saw an opportunity to duck through some brush and head home as the herd had reached up around the Llano River and, and he headed south. But the second Shiner herd was coming behind. And one of the point men saw this big bank steer saw that seven Z brand on his left side, gathered him up, put him in that second herd and headed him north again. But then just north of the Colorado River,
Donna Ingham (20:44):
there was a little run. It wasn't quite a stampede. There was enough confusion that again, Sancho saw his chance to duck back and head home. But not for long because the third Shiner herd was coming along and they gathered him up and headed him north again. Well, by this time, everybody on the trail, every cowboy on the trail knew him. And he never, he never resisted when they would put the loop over his horns and stake him out. He was, he was regarded as one of the gentlest, most docile steers in the herd. As a matter of fact, they would rope him, taking him to the front anytime they were going to cross high water because he would blend right in and the other cattle would follow him. But the minute they released him, back he went to the drag. Well, they would make 10 or 12 miles a day and they were following the grass. Of course. And then they crossed 500 miles of Texas. They crossed the no man's land north of the red river, went through Kansas into Nebraska and finally reached their home in Wyoming.
Donna Ingham (22:12):
Well, it was September when they got there. Sancho didn't like it much. And he was thinking maybe that it was about time for those chili pequins to be getting ripe down on Esperanza Creek. But nevertheless, he was branded with the C R the range brand for this particular ranch. And the Shiner brothers Cowboys, they headed home and they left Sancho there. It was the next spring that one of the Cowboys was out riding with Joe Shiner, they were gathering up cattle to make another drive north. And this cowboy looked over by the Kerr cabin and he, and he saw something that made him just stop and rub his eyes. And he looked over at Joe Shiner and he said, "Do you see what I seen?" And Shiner said, "Yes, but before I say, I need to check the brand. Well, sure enough- They rode on over. And the cowboy said, "You can hang me for a horse thief. If it wasn't that Sancho paint steer, the 7Z road brand, the CR range brand standing out on his side just as big as box car letters. Well, they rode over until they found Mr. Kerr. And then they heard the story.
Donna Ingham (23:43):
"Yes, sir," Kerr said. Old Sancho come in about six weeks ago. His hooves were worn mighty down to the hair, but he wasn't lame. And Maria nearly went out of her senses. When she saw him, she hugged him. She cried. Then she started feeding him hot tamales. She's made a batch of 'em nearly every day since. Well, he had taken up his old routine, Sancho had. Coming up to that mesquite tree every night and bedding down there, close to the ranch gate." Maria said, and Mr. Shiner could see that she was nervous about losing her pet again. But he said "Any steer that loves his home enough to walk all the way back from Wyoming, 2000 miles- I'm not going to run him off again." So as far as we know, Sancho stayed right there on Esperanza Creek feeding on tamales when he could get them and looking for the Mexican hot peppers when they were in season fattening up on the prairie grass and the Mesquite beans until he died of natural causes. And he remains now one of the truly legendary walking Longhorns.
Evan (25:29):
When I spoke with Bill Sibley at the start of this evening, we swapped stories about New York and he jokingly told me he still thinks of himself as "Bi-Yankee." "What I love about Texas, I really love," he said. "What I'm not so crazy about Texas, I'm not so crazy about." I relate to this, but sitting here taking in this extraordinary story under the stars and pleasant cool of a fall breeze, I feel the love. For me this evening is a balm. See, Dobie Dichos is held on the first Friday in November. And you might recall last November marked a particularly tense political moment. Being a lone visitor, I had little desire to discuss the returns coming in from Georgia and Pennsylvania, but had to ask a few of those I'd met what wisdom Dobie might impart on us if he could see where we are today.
Stephen David (26:27):
That's, that's a big question. You know, Dobie as I said was always a fighter for human rights, civil rights, intellectual freedom. Dobie believed that the arc of the universe bends towards justice. One of the things he said is he believes The Garden of Eden and perfection lies further ahead than way back yonder in the old past. So he would see that we are on a road of evolution as humans. And the question is if we can get ahead of our own doom? So by, by evolving, into being civilized enough, to be able to live in the world-
Mary Margaret Campbell (27:02):
He would tell us all to be safe. Like we're all trying to do to stay healthy and do whatever we need to do to, to stay healthy and stay safe. But at the same time, he recognized the need for social interaction. I'm not saying he wouldn't subscribe to the social distancing, but not to isolate yourself. As so many people have for one reason or another during this time. And a lot of people have, are having emotional issues about that. And I think he would be one of those proponents that said, "Yeah, you need to, you need that social interaction, but just be smart about it." That's that's my take on, on what he might say-
Carl Moore (27:43):
But he always spoke of a liberated mind. To have your, you know, to be educated, to read and to open your mind up. And I think he would say the very same thing. Now, even though he's been dead since 1964, I think he'd be the same way.
Evan (28:01):
Indeed, Dobie famously said, "I have come to value liberated minds as the supreme good of life on earth." How does one liberate their mind? I can't say I'm an authority on the subject by any means, but I think listening with empathy might be a good place to start, and God knows that's where stories come into play. On that note, I'll leave you with the words of tonight's musical entertainer, Lee Haile, who tells me that's what folklore like, this is all about
Lee Haile (28:39):
The most authentic definition of folklore is "the lore of the folk." Okay. That's basically what it is. Well, I think it's important to, uh, first off boy, in this day and age, especially, it's important to be able to tie the generations together, to keep us united, you know? Uh, uh, folklore has always done that, you know? Um, and when you study folklore, you realize that you've been involved with folklore all your life and never realized it. But then you see how other people do things and you realize there's some cool traditions out there that are outside of your realm. But basically it makes them the same human and people and Texans that we all are, you know, uh, that's what I think. The most important thing is tying the generations together and keeping us all united, where everybody's trying to divide us these days. And we need to find ways to keep us all united. United in our differences. That's the way I like to say it.
