That was back around the mid-1930s, when the Civilian Conservation Corps was building the Goliad Auditorium across the river, near the reconstructed Mission Espiritu Santos in Goliad State Park, and the brother had been singing with CCC workers who often gathered at night to entertain themselves around an open fire.
The moon was shining pretty that night, they said, when their brother came to a big dip beside a creek called Sparrow Hollow on his way home. There she stood with her long hair, and all dressed in white.
The following night, Joe Martinez went with his brother to where the apparition had appeared, and at the same spot they heard what sounded like a big rock rolling down the steep bank of the creek, but didn’t see the lady in white again, or ever afterwards.
Wolff said he didn’t know if Jim Leos actually saw La Llorona, or just a look-alike.
Wolff also brought forth the theory that the story has been handed down for generations by mothers bent on keeping their children from playing too close to rivers and streams, and then pointed out that a researcher at Texas A&M University, Ed Walraven, has tried to modernize the old legend by attempting to document sightings of La Llorona at city dumps! Wolff agrees with Walraven that it is a good thing to keep children away from city dumps since they are also dangerous places to play. Walraven says the ghostly figure has been sighted at least twice in landfills!
And so it goes. There are stories of the crying lady, La Llorona, all over the Southwest. She’s been seen crying out from the palm tree shaded resacas of Brownsville, and she’s been heard weeping from the banks of the Nueces. She is often mentioned as having been around the San Antonio River as it flows south to empty into the Guadalupe just before it reaches the Gulf of Mexico. She is everywhere, because she is very real to the people who believe in her.
On dark nights, people who have heard the stories since early childhood say that goose bumps still rise on their necks and their skin crawls. They believe that La Llorona wants to get even with those who are happy, and that is why men, the cause of her sorrows, are often driven mad by the very sight of her in the night. You see, she is very beautiful, until she is observed closely. Some say her face is totally blank. Nothing is there at all. Others say she has the long, distorted face of a donkey, or a horse. She wears long, flowing gowns of white, and her long shiny silver fingernails resemble glistening knives in the moonlight.
Whether she actually exists, or whether she is a figment of many vivid, overworked imaginations, La Llorona is very much a part of South Texas folklore. And her legend teaches several good lessons to those who would heed them: “It is best not to mix with those of an entirely different social or cultural class.” And to mothers: “Don’t be cruel to your children or you will live to regret it.” And to the children themselves: “Stay close by your mothers. Don’t go near the water.”
The Ghostly Lady in Black
Numerous writers have related the story of the ghostly lady in black who has been seen by many people as she wanders the area where Highway 281 crosses Highway 141 between the small towns of Ben Bolt and Premont, down in far South Texas. Dr. Juan Sauvageau, former professor at Texas A&I in Kingsville, wrote an interesting book of Texas legends, titled Stories that Must Not Die (Pan American Publishing Company), and high on his list of “keepers” is the story of the mysterious lady in black. He cites the strange experience of four men who were driving to work at the Exxon refinery in the middle of the night. Suddenly, a woman, dressed in black, appeared from nowhere and stood right in the pathway of their car. They couldn’t avoid hitting her. According to Sauvageau’s account, “There was no thud, no bump, but the passengers of the car were sure the lady had been killed.” A thorough search turned up nothing. The men even called the sheriff, and when the lawman and his deputies arrived, not one single sign of the woman, whom all four men swore they had seen, could be found.
Dr. Sauvageau questioned an elderly rancher in the area about the appearance of the strange apparition, and he knew exactly who she was and why she was out there on that lonely stretch of road.
According to the old gentleman, the lady, always clothed in black, is the ghost of the lovely Dona Leonora Rodriguez de Ramos, who lived, and died, many years ago.
The story goes that Leonora, one of Mexico’s most beautiful young women, married an influential man named Don Raul Ramos, a wealthy landowner. This was way back when the Rio Grande Valley was then known as a part of the Spanish province of Nuevo Santander.
Soon after the wedding, Don Raul was called away on important business and had to travel far away, back to Spain, leaving his lovely young bride back on his ranch in Texas.
Upon his return, some six months after his departure, he found his young wife was six months pregnant. At first he was overjoyed, but his joy soon turned to unbridled rage when he was told that the baby was not his, and that his wife had been unfaithful to him. The teller of such an unfounded story was the daughter of a neighbor who had hoped she would be the choice of Don Raul and was enraged when he chose to wed another. In her jealousy, she told this terrible lie to Don Raul, who was known to have a terrible temper. So enraged was the rancher, that he ordered two of his most trusted ranch hands to take his young wife, who had been clothed all in black, out on a day’s ride to the north of his estate. There she was to be hanged until dead. This was at the approximate spot where Highways 281 and 141 cross today.
Although Leonora protested her innocence and pled with her executioners to spare her, the ghastly orders were carried out by the vaqueros, who were afraid of going against the wishes of their employer. Before she died, Leonora swore she was innocent, and said she would return, so that all who saw her would know an innocent woman had been sentenced to death.
At the same time the vaqueros were riding north, escorting the lovely Leonora to her death, Don Raul rode south. Just about the time his wife and the unborn child she carried were put to death, he must have had a terrible feeling of guilt. Because when the vaqueros got back to the ranch, they learned that Don Raul had put a bullet through his brain. His ghost has never been seen around. But lovely Leonora continues to carry out her promise to appear, and reappear, over, and over again. Dressed in the long black gown in which she died, she comes once more to proclaim her innocence.
The Girl in the Pink Dress
There are several versions of this story around. It’s such a haunting tale, it deserves to be told again. Dr. Juan Sauvageau wrote about it in his Stories that Must Not Die, and I also saw it in a copy of the Corpus Christi Caller-Times (October 31, 1992) written by staff writer Scott Williams.
The story goes back to 1950 when a young man named Manuel got into his pickup truck to drive up to Benavides for a Saturday night dance. As he drove, the lights of his truck picked up a pretty young girl in a pink dress standing by the roadside. He stopped and asked if she needed a lift. She told him, yes, she wanted to go to a dance. He told her he was on his way to a fiesta and she was more than welcome to come along.
The girl told Manuel her name was Maria, and that she didn’t know many people in those parts because she had been away for the past ten years.
Manuel had a great time at the party. He couldn’t get over his good luck in finding such a pretty date. And could Maria dance! Now, she had a little trouble following the new “cumbia,” but he’d never seen anybody polka like Maria! She was just great; as light as a feather on her feet!
The band stopped playing around midnight. Manuel and Maria were sorry to see the evening end, they’d had such a great time dancing together. As they went out to get into Manuel’s pickup, he noticed that Maria was shivering, so he took off his jacket and placed it around her slender shoulders.
When they got to the place where Manuel had picked her up, Maria asked that he let her out. He hated to do this, as the night was very dark and he saw no lights in the vicinity. She assured him it was where she wanted out, and he told her to keep the coat he had loaned her. He would come and get it the next day. (A great excuse to
see the pretty girl again!)
The next morning Manuel drove out to the place where he had picked up Maria the night before. Off about a quarter of a mile, down a dirt road, he saw a small white house. He drove up, got out of his truck, and went to the screen door and knocked. A woman came to the door in response to his knock. Manuel asked if he could see Maria. The lady turned deathly pale . . . “My Maria died ten years ago,” she said.
Manuel assured her that he had seen Maria and danced with her the whole evening before. He told the woman Maria had on a pink dress, and that she just loved to dance, especially the polka. The woman told him that Maria had been buried in a pink dress, and that yes, indeed, she had been a wonderful dancer, but she had been tragically killed in an accident ten years before.
Manuel found this very hard to believe. He told the woman he had even loaned his jacket to Maria when the evening had turned a little chilly, and that he had told her he would come back later to get it.
“If you’ll just come with me, young man, I will show you my Maria’s grave. She is buried in our little family cemetery over there by the road.”
They walked to the little family graveyard. There was a grave marker with the inscription, “Maria Lozano. 1920-1940. RIP.”
On the grave, neatly folded, was Manuel’s jacket.
The Romantic Story of Princess Kisselpoo
Note: I first read this story in a brief article in the Port Arthur Times, October 28, 1992. Since then, I have come across numerous versions in several publications. It’s a charming legend.
Around Lake Sabine, close by the Louisiana border, a legend of star-crossed Indian lovers has been told for many a year. It’s the story of little Princess Kisselpoo, whose name meant “full moon,” and her lover, Running Bear.
It’s usually late at night, when all is calm and quiet on the big lake, and the full moon is shining its beams across the still waters, forming a glittery pathway, that you’re apt to see them. There, on the silvery, shimmering waters, a canoe bearing a young Indian couple can be seen, slowly drifting along the moonlit waterway.
The Attacapa Indians used to live in a little village close by the lake. There they hunted, and fished, and lived their daily peaceful lives. The chief of the tribe had a lovely only daughter, who had been named Kisselpoo because she was born when the moon was at its fullest, and the tribal leaders believed she would be under the protection of the moon goddess.
When Kisselpoo was 15 years old, tales of her beauty and charm had spread among other tribes, far and wide. Many young braves came to woo the fair-skinned, almond-eyed beauty. Her father and his tribal leaders finally singled out a man to be her husband. He was much older than the chief himself, and already had many wives. But he was powerful, ruling over much land to the north of the Attacapa territory. Arrangements were set in motion for the nuptials. It didn’t matter that little Kisselpoo did not love the man.
The arrangements for the wedding festivities were far advanced when a young stranger, a brave named Running Bear, appeared in the village. He lived “seven sleeps” away, towards the west. Tall, straight, and handsome, he brought gifts of stones bluer than the sky (these must have been turquoise, much valued among Western tribes) to show Kisselpoo of his interest in her. She fell in love immediately with the handsome young man, but she could not back out of her betrothal to the elderly chief whom her father and his council had chosen. So it was with a heavy heart she waited in her father’s lodge for her hand-maidens to come and accompany her to the lodge of her husband-to-be.
As she waited in her father’s lodge, she heard Running Bear’s voice softly calling her name. She crept out of the lodge and with him she fled to the big lake where his canoe lay waiting. They swiftly took to the waters. The princess was missed almost immediately, and the chief from the north, along with some leaders and medicine men from her own tribe, followed close behind the young lovers. Kisselpoo’s father had had a strange, mystic dream in which the moon goddess had appeared to him, urging him to relent and let his daughter marry the young Indian from the west, so he did not join those who were in pursuit of Kisselpoo.
The Attacapa medicine men called up the wrath of their gods and soon a terrible storm came up, causing great waves to form upon the lake. The little canoe could not bear up under the turbulence and soon was upset. Kisselpoo and Running Bear were last seen being swept away on the turbulent waters. Only the shimmering water glistening in the light of the full moon was to be seen. . . .
When the moon goddess, the guardian of Kisselpoo, learned what had happened, she called upon her kinsman, the tropical storm god, and he swept down with a furious hurricane, causing the waters of the lake to sweep over and destroy the Attacapan village. For a long time after the storm, the lake waters became murky with silt and there were very few fish. The shore birds that used to nest around the lake disappeared, and the shores of the lake were stained and ugly.
Finally, many years later, the moon goddess has loosened the curse that almost destroyed the lake, and today the beauty of Lake Sabine has been restored. Fine sand again covers the lake floor, and tall cypress trees grow along its banks. Schools of fish have returned to make their homes in the lake and waterfowl and shore birds nest in the reeds along the banks once more.
To those who have the power to see such things, on the nights of a full moon, a little canoe can be seen, riding a trail of moonbeams across the still and peaceful waters of Lake Sabine, according to the legend.
According to an article which was printed in the Port Arthur News on October 27, 1984, entitled “Love Legend Lives for Kisselpoo,” by staff writer Regina Segovia, there are those who live around Lake Sabine who have seen the canoe and its occupants on more than one occasion.
It seems there was to be a big Halloween party at the home of pretty young Tammy Theriot. Her father was a schoolteacher, and he very clearly preferred that she date Roger Landry, who came from a wealthy family, to young Buddy Boudreaux, whose dad was just an old Cajun country boy who worked over at one of the refineries. Buddy was just plain crazy over Tammy, but he knew he wouldn’t be welcome at the Halloween party she was having that night . . . at least her father wouldn’t be glad to see him. So Buddy talked his cousin Kevin into going fishing on the lake that evening. He just didn’t have the nerve to show up at Tammy’s party, knowing how her dad felt about him.
His cousin Kevin didn’t really want to go out on the lake that night. It was cold, wet, and misty. But Buddy talked him into getting his dad’s boat out and the boys headed out into the lake. As they started out, they suddenly heard a sad and mournful cry. A deep voice was heard as the full moon appeared from its covering of grey clouds. The voice said, “Kisselpoo.”
Buddy asked Kevin if he had heard the voice, but he could already tell by the startled expression on his cousin’s face that he had, indeed, heard the voice. They could see each other clearly as the moon had come out full now, and cast its light upon the waters. At the same moment, they both saw a canoe, with a huge man standing in it with his giant arms crossed over his chest. Seated in the canoe and looking up at the man was the most beautiful woman the boys had ever seen.
The couple were bathed in a golden light, and the girl, whose hair was jet black, wore beads and feathers, and looked to be in an authentic Indian costume. The brave was dressed in fur pelts.
Buddy told Kevin, “Don’t take your eyes off them for a minute. I brought my camera, and I have to get a picture or nobody will believe that we saw them.”
At just that moment the wind picked up and the water started getting choppy. The boat swung around, and they lost sight of the canoe. By the time Buddy got his camera out of its waterproof case, the moon had slipped behind the clouds, leaving them in the darkness. But they could hear the sobs of a young girl, crying as if her heart would break.
According to the article, “They cranked the motor on and could still hear the sound of the cry. They slowly moved in its direction. They were scared to death, but even so it could
be the cry of someone who needed help. The boat began to buck, and they picked up speed. Suddenly there was a thud and everything in the boat was flying around. Kevin was looking at small bubbles and sinking. “I’m underwater,” he thought, and then panic gripped him.
“Buddy managed to grab a life jacket and he held it with one hand and swam to save his cousin. He grabbed for Kevin’s hand and felt the strong palm of something he knew was not his cousin. It was the Indian!
“ ‘Your friend will live,’ the Indian said, his voice thundering so loud it hurt Kevin’s ears. “But what is life without love. And I, who have given a century of sadness for love as a brave who fought a tribe and the gods for my Kisselpoo, say this: Love is for the heart and not for those who use it to gain land or wealth. You are a coward to run from the challenge of the heart.
“Then the Indian silently but forcefully pulled Buddy under the water. ‘I’m dead,’ he thought. ‘This is it. This is death . . . dark, wet, and cold holding onto some big red man’s hand. Who would have thought. . . .’ ”
Before he could gather his thoughts, Buddy saw before him a village of huts with fires burning . . . and he heard singing . . . yet he knew he was underwater . . . how strange. . . .
He heard the voice of a woman speaking, but he could see nothing but the Indian village. He tried to swim, but the big hand of the Indian brave pushed him back down. The woman’s voice was telling all about the betrothal of the lovely Kisselpoo to the old Indian chief. Buddy saw the beautiful Indian princess, who was surrounded by women who were combing oil into her long black hair and rubbing her feet with flower petals. He knew she was sad. Then the woman’s voice he had heard told all about how the princess was betrothed to an old man, even though she loved a handsome young brave. The voice continued to tell Buddy all that had happened, including the princess’ escape from the village, and the way the canoe had been upset by the storms. All the time Buddy felt he must be dead . . . maybe even in hell . . . maybe he was even a ghost by now!
Ghosts along the Texas Coast Page 20