We Played Beneath This Old Oak And We Climbed In It

The Old Oak Tree at “The Little House”, my grandmothers house (we lived there until I turned 4) in Smithwick, Texas that we played under and climbed in when we were kids. There were always at least a half dozen well made toy trucks and equipment, all constructed from metal that made their home under this marvelous tree. The Old Crib and Pens down behind the house. It has weathered pretty well, considering it hasn’t been used or had any upkeep in more than 50 years. Considering it was several decades old when I was a kid.Walk away from any … Continue reading We Played Beneath This Old Oak And We Climbed In It

Winfield, Me and the Capitol National Bank

Back when my friend Winfield, the CPA, worked for me we were being courted by one of the big downtown Austin banks. Emory Thompson was the pitch man for The Capitol National Bank that would come by and try to get us bring our business to them. I knew him, his family had owned a big tire business that had sold and he went from being a tire salesman to being a money salesman. We had been doing business with a small local bank in north Austin, aptly named North Austin State Bank. They had done everything I’d ever wanted … Continue reading Winfield, Me and the Capitol National Bank

The Old Holland Page Kenworth Truck

When I was a small boy and would go visit the Holland Page Construction Yard. My greatest thrill of all was when we would go there and his big Kenworth Haul Truck was there dropping off or picking up a load. Below is a picture of a truck that looks so much like that old Kenworth. It was a 1940 model. It was retired in 1964, with 4.5 million miles on it. The same driver had picked it up at he factory and driven it every mile or so was the tale. His name was Mullins. I have no idea … Continue reading The Old Holland Page Kenworth Truck

Impersonating My Brother

For years Kenny and I sounded amazingly alike on the phone. We both have what I guess is a distinct Smithwick accent. I’m doubtful that Kenny ever took advantage of that. My wife admits to getting us confused a few times. Maybe she or Kenny can tell us if any of those conversations ever went hay-wire. If they did, I never heard about it. On the other hand, I can’t tell you how much confusion I caused by letting different ones think they were talking to Kenny when I was the one they were actually talking to. Our Grannie Ruby … Continue reading Impersonating My Brother

My Guy Friday

A good old fellow that worked for me for several years in the 70s and 80s went by Friday. His name was Troy Hargraves. Lot of people told me he got the name Friday, because that was his favorite day. Friday was a steady hand. He knew the road and excavation business. He was an estimator mostly, but worked in several positions within the company during his time with us. He was very gruff sounding, but was the kindest and gentlest soul you ever would meet. All the guys out on the jobs loved to see Friday coming. He’d bring … Continue reading My Guy Friday

The Day The Wrecks Almost Never Stopped

The Friday before Deer Season started in 1967, the town of Marble Falls was swarming with deer hunters. In front of the little Chamber Building – Kenny, my brother, driving a small white Oldsmobile car, with Karen Schaefer sitting much too close (I’m sure) to him in the middle pulled out of the Gulf Station directly in front of a businessman from Houston, that was coming to hunt. He was in a brand new Oldsmobile 98 Sedan. Both cars were totaled. Luckily no one was seriously injured. That set off a chain of wrecks that day for the Lewis family. … Continue reading The Day The Wrecks Almost Never Stopped

Dynamite Headaches

I have talked extensively about blasting rock and handling explosives (or mishandling as the case may have been). As I’ve said before, my days in the blasting game came early in my life, mostly before I was 30 years old which was up until the early 1980’s. Most of what I learned about blasting rock was from Cecil Lewis or Burnet, Texas blasting legend LJ Henderson. Of course trial and error and being self taught was where I learned the most I suppose. Since there wasn’t a school to actually go to learn the trade, you start out loading a … Continue reading Dynamite Headaches

The Salt Cedar Switch

I scarcely ever see a salt cedar tree anymore. As a small child there was one growing off the edge of the sleeping porch at my grandparents house. In fact that’s about the only one I ever remember. I saw one a while back down along the river by the lower end of The Santa Elena Canyon at Big Bend. It made me remember why I was so well behaved as a youngun. Just the threat of “Ronnie Gene do I need to go cut a switch off that salt cedar” would get me in line. I’m doubtful that there … Continue reading The Salt Cedar Switch

The Adventures Of Driving Under-Powered Trucks

The 60s were a different time than now when it comes to the horse power of trucks. Today our trucks operate with 500 to 600 horsepower. Back then the common range was 180 to 250 HP. We still hauled equally heavy loads over the same roads as today. Trucks were used much longer and maintained must less than by today’s standards. It was common for when we were hauling a heavy dozer in hillier areas for me to go ahead in a pickup to assist. When we knew there was a grade too steep coming up, Kenny would pull over, … Continue reading The Adventures Of Driving Under-Powered Trucks

Let me tell you about Delbert and Nancy Boultinghouse, My Mother’s Parents

This is a story I wrote sometime ago about my mother’s parents and what life was like back in the 1915 throughout their lives. Much, if not all of their married life was spent in Smithwick. Nancy was a member of the Martin Family from Burnet. I think Delbert was raised primarily in Smithwick. From this union came 11 children, 3 boys and 8 girls. They lived on what has always been known to me as the Old Boultinghouse Place, which is a couple of miles east of the Smithwick Cemetery. A quarter of a mile east of Balcones Springs … Continue reading Let me tell you about Delbert and Nancy Boultinghouse, My Mother’s Parents