FOXY GRANDPA
by Rani Birchfield
T
Photo courtesy of Wendy Lynn Wright
he year is 1910. Fewer than 50
per cent of Americans have
electricity and fewer than 25
per cent have telephones. Music and
entertainment are provided by pianos,
organs and other electricity-free musi-
cal instruments. The average life
expectancy in America is 47 years and
the average wage is 22 cents per hour.
Less than one per cent of American
households have cars. Sul Ross State
University doesn’t exist; Alpine isn’t
the entrance to Big Bend National
Park; and there are no paved roads in
Alpine. (There are only approximately
144 miles of road that are paved in the
whole of the United States.) Across the
Rio Grande, revolution is ready to
explode in Mexico.
20
Cenizo
Despite its remoteness, Alpine is on
the verge of immense transition along
with the rest of the country. There are
thriving businesses on both sides of the
tracks. Murphy Street is the main
street of commerce on the south side,
boasting several businesses – a photog-
raphy studio, an ice plant, a bottling
works and an electric light plant, along
with a blacksmith shop and a furniture
store to name a few. Holland Avenue is
the main street on the north side of the
tracks. There is the original Holland
Hotel—built in 1908, it is the center of
the business district. There is the post
office, a general store, a saloon – natu-
rally – a law office and several small
shops and businesses. The Alpine
Avalanche had already been in publica-
First Quarter 2016
tion, serving Big Bend and the Davis
Mountains for 19 years.
The following story was published
in the Avalanche in July of 1910. That
was over 100 years ago, and yet the
story it tells is much like moving to
Alpine today. The more things
change, the more they stay the same.
Foxy Grandpa.
HE DOES THE HANDSOME
THING BY THE NEWLY
WEDDED PAIR
They Come to Alpine and fit
Themselves out for Housekeeping –
Grandpa Gives Them the benefit of
His Experience and Foots the Bills.
“Miss Sommers, Polly, I – er – dare
– I –” but the speaker took a header
over bashfulness, only to hear a sweet:
“Yes, Charley.”
“Can I aspire to – er – that is –”
Again a lapse into silence followed by
an encouraging: “Yes, Charley.” “Oh,
if I might only hope to – er – to –”
Another failure of language. It was
seemingly a hopeless case, and it might
have been, only for a demure:
“Charley, I have said “yes” twice. If
you mean it, I mean it too, and –” And
to this day that young man insists that
he popped the question.
All this happened away down East.
Before long there was a wedding, with
a nice list of presents, but heading the
list, in their estimation was a letter
from Polly’s Foxy Grandpa, out West