by S. Smith
Mr. Brann predicted and even expected one of his enemies to shoot him in the back, and it came true. I often wondered if he was bringing the breath of Hades to Waco with this banshee tornado.
Chapter 17
OVER THE YEARS
After the tornado, the city of Waco rebuilt. Much of the downtown area was torn down, but the jewels remained: the beautiful courthouse, the ALICO building, the Provident, and of course my home, the bridge.
But Waco seemed to have lost something. I’m not quite sure what it was, but it missed the drive it once had. The tornado seemed to rob the city of its soul and doesn’t seem to want to give it back.
Even before the tornado, the city seemed on the downward slide. The city’s ugly side showed when one of the local colored boys was lynched. He supposedly murdered a lady out in Robinson and confessed to the murder. The evidence of his guilt seemed to be substantial and he was found guilty by a jury. But once the verdict was announced, an angry mob seized him from the county jail and lynched him on the city square. The unruly mob then burned his body and dragged it around town. It was really ugly and was not a proud moment for the city. I understand the frustration over the murder of the lady, but this didn’t justify mob action. This was when the Klan was big in Waco, yet another ugly stain upon the city’s reputation. I suppose this was typical of other southern cities in the early 20th century, but I hated these events. The city was bigger than this but apparently lost its way on occasion. All of the churches in the town quickly condemned the vigilantism and rightly so. I wish it had never happened.
The years have gone by incredibly fast. It still amazes me how quickly they have passed. I have to admit that they have been fun years, but also sad years, with the passing of good people and good friends.
I remember one fellow that had just recently passed. His name was Henry Polk, but everyone called him Polite Polk. He was teased incessantly by the townsfolk for his strong Texas drawl. Although most other folks also had strong drawls, his seemed to be the strongest in town, and thus he became the butt of plenty of jokes. He talked loudly and slowly, like half his tongue was asleep and the other half had to drag it along in order to engage in normal conversation.
But how he got his nickname was the funny part. It was how he pronounced the name Hawaii. The way that he pronounced it, it sounded like “how are yer.” Whenever he’d say any sentence with the word Hawaii in it, for example, “There are active volcanos in Hawaii that are emitting lava,” before he could finish the sentence after saying how are yer (Hawaii), someone would inevitably jump in and say, “Well, I’m doing fine Polk, how are you?” This would interrupt his entire sentence and train of thought, but he’d always smile one of those big Texas smiles and respond, “I’m glad that you are doing so well – in how are yer,” which would again lead to someone, perhaps even the same person responding, “I’m fine, but how are you?” which would cause Polite Polk to respond again. When things got silly, like they always seemed to do, Poke would just clear his throat and say, the new state in the Pacific, and then pick up his sentence where he was interrupted. The thing about ole Polk is that he never got angry or upset about it. He’d just smile and play along with it for a while. I was sad to see him go. He truly was a polite old fellow, and always a hoot.
Over the years, I got to see some really famous people as they came to Waco, including Theodore Roosevelt, Harold Taft, Dwight Eisenhower, Babe Ruth, and even Elvis Presley. In East Waco during the 1930s and 1940s, the music scene was big on Clifton street, with many big names coming into town to play, including my buddy, Jules Briscoe. Inevitably, when I’d get wind that someone famous was coming over the bridge, I’d sit by the door and try to reach out and shake their hand if possible. I always enjoyed meeting everyone, but particularly famous people.
I also got to see some infamous people as well, including Miss Bonnie Parker and Mr. Clyde Barrows as they made their way out of Waco in a big hurry. If I remember correctly, Mr. Barrows was in the county jail awaiting a trial, when Miss Parker decided that he needed his freedom. She snuck a pistol into the county jail for him. I’m still not quite sure how she did this, if it was in a cake, gift wrapped, or in a personal place, but she was successful in getting it to him. Mr. Parker subsequently requested his freedom with the gun and both he and Bonnie jumped into their Ford that was parked in the alley behind the courthouse and took off. And boy, were they flying when they went across the bridge and headed up Elm Street. This apparently took the deputies quite by surprise, since they were about five minutes behind them and didn’t have a chance of catching them.
During the Great Depression, many men with families were out of work. They would gather on the square looking for any type of work out there. I’d never made so many new friends as I did during that period. Of course, for me, the Depression years weren’t any different than any other years. I still scrounged for Coke bottles and lived off of fish from the Brazos. But I found that there were a lot of folks doing the same as I was, so the Coke bottle return business was down a bit.
When Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Core (CCC) program was put into place, many of the men joined it and were able to bring in a small amount of money that they could take back to their families. But the one event that really ended the Great Depression was the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. That was one of the saddest days, with so many sailor boys dying in the attack. But one Waco man, Doris Miller, gave the Japanese a run for their money. Although he was but a cook on one of the ships, when the Japanese Zeros started dropping their bombs onto the Pacific fleet, he ran towards one of the machine guns on the ship and started shooting back at the Japanese Zeros and hit quite a few, taking down several. He was the first colored man to receive the Navy Cross and was one of the first heroes of World War II. Unfortunately, he was killed in action when the ship the USS Liscome Bay was sunk in the South Pacific in 1943.
In some ways Waco has lost some of its leadership in the state. It used to be the center of commerce, education, and thought leadership for the area and for the state. It is still very much a center of education, with Baylor going stronger than ever. Another college has recently been created out of the old James Connally Airforce Base. I’m glad the state was able to do something with the old Airforce base as I didn’t want to see it fall into disrepair. But in a lot of ways, the City of Waco isn’t leading the state like it once was. Other cities have assumed this role.
The city continues to lose some of the beautiful old buildings. I loved the old square and the old city hall with its tall tower, but it’s been replaced with a gray, flat building. It’s a nice building but lacks the character of the old city hall I favored so much. The Provident building was torn down. It nearly broke my heart as this was where Mr. Brann’s office was. It’s where he was dragged from his office and horse whipped. Now there is nothing but an empty parking lot where it used to stand. I can still hear his yell from his window as he would summon me to deliver a package for him.
There is not a trace of North 2 Street, where my mother worked and where Molly lived. Elm Street in East Waco is quickly turning into a desolate street. Businesses leave it daily. They tore down the old Moore High School and many of the houses in Sandtown to build a new highway.
Thank God that Mr. Cameron’s place is still intact and is now appropriately named Cameron Park. It’s still a beautiful place, especially Proctor Springs, where my beloved Inez faded away. I love to walk through the old trails and look at its natural beauty. You can still see Hueco Indian hieroglyphs where they told about their daily chores and the available game at the time. They are the remnants of the times this peaceful tribe called these river bottoms home. I spend a lot of my time in Mr. Cameron’s sanctuary and love its natural beauty.
I treasure Mr. Brann’s beautiful words about his adopted home of Texas, which hold true today as they did when he wrote them in the late 1890s.
“No Alps or Apennines burst from Texas’s broad bosom and rear their cold, dead peaks mile
above mile into heaven’s might vault; no Vesuvius belches his lurid, angry flame at the stars like a colossal cannon worked by the Titans at war with the Heavenly Hierarchy; no Niagara churns its green waters into rainbow-tinted foam. The grandeur of Texas is not that of destruction and desolation; its beauties are not those which thrill the heart with awe, but fill it with adoration and sweet content. Not dark and dreary mountains riven by the bolts of angry Jove; not gloomy Walprurgis gorges where devils dance and witches shriek; not the savage thunder of the avalanche, but the sun-kissed Valley of Cashmere, the purple hills of the lotus eaters’ land, the pastoral beauties of Tempe’s delightful vale.”
Chapter 18
FINISHING THE MISSION
Robert Frost once said, “But I have promises to keep. And miles to go before I sleep...” Even though I am now old and within a few short years from my eternal sleep, I will continue to the work. If I finish it or not is yet to be seen, since a higher power will be making that decision. But try I will, try I must.
If Mr. Brann and Inez are seeking revenge and used the tornado as a mechanism for this revenge, it provides some valuable clues.
The intensity with which the tornado destroyed things associated with Davis clearly indicates he was a target. It damaged his house, his church and his place of employment. It would seem quite unlikely for all of these things to have happened without some intent of Mr. Brann and Inez to seek revenge on him. But there were other surprises. The Hartmann building was completely destroyed. You may recall that Mr. Brann and Mr. Hartmann had some type of on-going quarrel between them, and how Mr. Hartmann was one to “take care of things.” Is there a correlation between the damage and the quarrel?
One clue I remember is that when Inez was being falsely accused of working as a bawd lady in the reservation, Mrs. Brann said that she was in “his” store. I never found out who the “his” was, but if you put two and two together, the tornado damage and the on-going quarrel of Mr. Brann, it could very well point to a connection with Mr. Hartmann. I would find it very difficult to believe that Mr. Brann would seek revenge for a two bit quarrel. However, I would find it completely believable to associate the damage with some act much more devious, such as murder.
The tornado also destroyed the remnants of the Cotton Palace festival, which had long since stopped its annual celebration. It also destroyed the Katy Park Baseball stadium where the Waco Black Cardinals and the Waco Cubs used to play, which was located on the old Cotton Palace festival grounds. Waco Mayor Riggins was the director of the festival during its heyday and ran the Cotton Palace for years and years. Tom Davis was closely associated with the mayor, acting as his campaign manager in the upcoming election before he died. Davis was also closely aligned with the Cotton Palace planning activities. Immediately after the Brann-Davis shooting, Mayor Riggins didn’t come out of his house for a month. He claimed sickness, which was quite peculiar for the gregarious Mr. Riggins. It just seemed quite suspicious, like he was mourning the loss of his friend, Davis. Were Mr. Brann and Inez getting back at Mr. Riggins for putting Davis up to the assassination?
Perhaps the biggest surprises are what the tornado missed, if it really was a revenge tornado. Now one could say that this is but one event and others may follow that might give more clarity to the revenge target. But if you look at just this event, several notable things should give pause for thought. There was nothing relating to the APA. The APA was a very threatening group and directly threatened the assassination of Mr. Brann. But then again, in 1953, the APA was already dead, so there was really nothing left for the Branns to destroy.
Then there were Baylor University and the Baptists who had kidnapped Mr. Brann and even horse-whipped him. The one haunting statement Cranny had made several years after the assassination continued to ring in my ear. While on the train to Atlanta with Mr. Hayden he said, “And if you ever print or mention my name again, I will kill you.” Cranny made this statement with authority, like he’d already killed someone before. Did Cranny hire Davis to kill Mr. Brann on April 1, 1898? That was the very day the Iconoclast came out in which Mr. Brann called Cranny and Big Brother Carroll apes in the paper.
However, with only two major exceptions, no Baptist entities were harmed. The first one was the East Waco Baptist Church where Davis was a member. It was heavily damaged, and the congregation moved to the west side of Waco shortly afterwards. This seemed like a strong indication to get back at Davis. But the other damage incurred were the turrets of Burleson Hall. Big Brother Carroll’s First Baptist Church of Waco, which was just blocks away from all of the destruction, suffered only minor damage. The rest of Baylor University and Hillcrest Baptist Hospital also had little damage. Were the Branns toying with Baylor when the turrets were damaged? Was it just a glancing blow as repayment for the kidnapping?
Having the tornado pass literally only a few feet from my person and being completely spared, was a very clear sign to me. Its powerful force could have easily obliterated the tollbooth that I was in and swept me away. With this close brush with death and my mother continuing to speak to me through her notes in her Bible, I decided that I was given a very clear directive to join the church. You can bet that I didn’t waste any time doing it. I became a Baptist, at Spring Street Baptist Church in East Waco, and have been there ever since.
I am now an old man with very little time left. I write this in my journal because it is a call for help. Through these terrible events, Mr. Brann and Inez have shown remarkable resolve to seek revenge for their murder. But I have to admit that they have not given me everything I need to pinpoint exactly who committed this crime.
During my long quest for an answer, I’ve often been asked who I believe put Davis up to the assassination. We, meaning Inez and I, developed an opinion about this fairly quickly, but that’s what it was, just an opinion. We had no real proof. The APA was quite vocal about Mr. Brann’s rebuttal of their leader Mr. Slattery and threatened Mr. Brann directly with assassination several times. On the other hand, the Baptists were physically violent in kidnapping Mr. Brann. They may have wanted revenge for the killing of the Harris brothers by Judge Gerald. But then again Mr. Riggins, the Mayor, was a close associate of the assassin and certainly had the power, influence, and the money to take Mr. Brann out. Mr. Riggins also mourned the loss of his friend Davis for almost a month. And then there was Mr. Hartmann who seemed to have a strong grudge against Mr. Brann. Hartmann’s store was completely demolished by the tornado as possible evidence of his guilt. And of course Mr. Brann published Cranny’s name the very day of his assassination, and Cranny later spoke with authority about killing Mr. Hayden if he ever put his name in print again. Had he killed before, possibly Mr. Brann?
After more than seventy years since the murder, I often wonder if the blood-laced leather belt that has the name of the person that Inez and I suspected of murdering Mr. Brann is still inside the tombstone. I haven’t changed my opinion about who did it, but because we had no proof, I couldn’t conclusively say who it was. At this point I’d prefer not to let that Genie out of the proverbial bottle. I’m glad that it is forever sealed. It’s not that I don’t want to know who killed Mr. Brann and my Inez, but without irrefutable proof, I think disclosing who we thought did it would cause more harm than good. I wouldn’t want to bear false witness against anyone, so unless the proof was unquestionable, I’d rather not disclose it. We were just trying to follow the good book’s advice, even though Inez and I had strong opinions about the suspect at the time.
But perhaps the envelope with the initials “WCB” might provide additional evidence. In order to try to preserve it, I put the envelope into an empty Dr. Pepper bottle. I wrote a note to whoever might find it about what it is and why I buried it. I then proceeded to seal the bottle with wax, covering the complete bottle in about half an inch of wax. I then buried it on top of Pal’s grave in East Waco. I wanted to make sure that it was secure, so that if some miracle of technology were to come along in the future, it might be pr
eserved enough to help solve the mystery, and I knew that Pal, even in death would be a good guardian of the envelope. My close friends know where Pal is buried.
Now being of an advanced age, I will likely not be able to document and chase after these clues much longer to definitively know who killed him. I doubt that Mr. Brann and Inez will magically stop their effort of destruction after I’m gone, and perhaps I may soon even assist them in their revenge mission. But if I do, I promise to provide whatever clues I can leave to assist with the search. So I am requesting that whoever finds this journal take up the cause and help in determining who did this. This is now your mission. Tag, you’re it!
Signed,
Mr. Patrick O’Neal Delaney
April 1, 1973
P.S. The initials IMB on the tin box that Old Man Briscoe found stood for Inez Marie Brann. When the great flood happened, it washed my money box from the tollbooth and floated downstream into Old Man Briscoe’s house. This happened several years after Inez died and I was still healing from the shock of the event. I knew Old Man Briscoe had found it when he was going around town asking people if they had lost anything. I went to Mr. Mann and asked him to do me a favor and just claim it as his, but yet give it to Old Man Briscoe. By that time, I had given up on going to Baylor to become a lawyer. I suppose that when Inez passed, my ambition passed with her. If I were a smart man, which I am not, I would have continued to pursue the degree and the culprit, but instead I decided not to attend Baylor. There wasn’t a more deserving family than the Briscoes. I knew if I told Old Man Briscoe it was mine, he’d see I was living in worse conditions than he was and would not accept it. So I asked Mr. Mann to do it for me. Old Man Briscoe never knew, and I’m grateful that he didn’t.