James Donohoe Interview - James Donohoe Interview [part 1 of 4]

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  • Topic: Early Days at Batson. Name: Donohoe, James 
  • Interviewer: Owens, William A. Place: Batson, Texas. 
  • Tape No.: 23 Date: August  1, 1952 Restrictions: None 
  • O.- Mr. Donohoe, will you begin  by reading the prepared state- 
  • ment that you have? D.- Batson, Texas, August the 1st,  
  • 1952. The subject of this sketch, James Donohoe,  
  • was born July the 4th, 1879, at Sabina, Clinton County, Ohio,  
  • oldest child of two children born to An- drew and Ellen Skelly Donohoe.  
  • The other child, a girl, died in infancy. My parents were both natives  
  • of the parish of Den, Crosskeys Postoffice,  
  • County Kelvin, Ireland, and were married in Cincinnati in the year 1877.  
  • My mother died July 16, 1889, age-- 48 years. My father died  
  • October 31st, 1899, age -- 75 years. They both are buried  
  • in Saint Coleman's Catholic ceme- tery, Washington Courthouse, Payette County, Ohio.  
  • At the death of my mother,  
  • my father and I lived together until his death. Then I went to live with Reverend  
  • James Roberts and wife, both very  
  • dear friends of my family's and they made me welcome into their home, which has always been  
  • very much ap- preciated by me. 
  • During the Spanish-American  War, I was a member of Com- 
  • pany M, 3rd Regiment of Ohio  Volunteer Infantry. I followed 
  • the well business for several  years working for contractors; 
  • and when not working, I was  
  • rambling just like the average young man wanting  
  • to be-- to see-- to be seen and heard. After the Gulf Coast oil fields were discovered,  
  • I came rambling through Texas to see--  
  • to see, but not seen or heard, only when spoken to, for I tried to be one of  
  • the audience, not one of the star actors in the big show  
  • that the boom oil fields produced in those days. I came to Batson;  
  • thought I would only stay a short time, but I went to work  
  • in the oil field and have re- mained here over-- or near fifty years.  
  • And I suppose you might term me an old nester  
  • at this writing. And, in conclusion, per- mit me to say that I am an Ohian  
  • by birth, of Irish parents, a Texan by adoption, a democrat from principle,  
  • and a bachelor from choice. 
  • O.- Alright, sir. That leaves  a few questions for me to ask 
  • now. D.- Yeah. 
  • O.- What about your education, sir? D.- I re--  
  • reached the sixth grade. O.- In what kind of school? 
  • D.- Just a common school. O- Common public school? 
  • D.- Common public school, yes. O.- Yes, sir. 
  • D.- A common school. O.- Yes. Next question:  
  • You mentioned coming to San Antonio. 
  • Will you tell me about that? D.- Well, they was-- advertized an excursion  
  • to San Antonio and my company had shut down  
  • operations at that time due-- due to the severe cold weather. And  
  • I wanted to take a trip at leisure to see what was on the other side of the woods,  
  • where the cow-- where the horns on  the cows, I thought, might be longer.  
  • And I came to Spindletop  
  • on this excursion ticket and then visited an old time schoolmate. 
  • O.- What was his name, sir? D.- Porteus Buttonfield.  
  • After spending a day or so with him, I came on out to Batson  
  • and there I met an old schoolmate by the name of Bert Stivers,  
  • who now resides in Sapulpa, Oklahoma. And he was very anxious for me to  
  • stay and I decided that I would stay a few months.  
  • And during the time we discussed the Panama Canal construction which  
  • was in operation at that time. So we agreed when the weather got better  
  • we both would go to Panama. But  
  • a short time before our time for leaving, Stivers called me to one side end told me  
  • that he was considering mar- rying. So after he had told me this, I said,  
  • "Goodbye, Panama trip."  
  • He later, after his marriage, a year or so, we  
  • went to Sour Lake to work and  
  • we worked there a short time, some few months, and I returned to Batson.  
  • And he-- oh, he went to-- to Humble, Texas,  
  • and he remained there with the Ninety-Nine Pump- ing Company, oil operators. Then  
  • in-- in a few years they ex- tended their operations into Oklahoma  
  • and he went there. And then later on, he moved to Kansas,  
  • now has returned and is mak- ing that his home at Sapulpa. 
  • O.- Now, Do you remember the exact  date when you came to Batson? 
  • Or the month? D.- February. I would say February the 12th, 1905. 
  • O.- 1905? D. - Yes. 
  • O.- All right. You had never  been in an oil field before? 
  • D.- Not to work. O.- Yes,  
  • sir. Well, would you give  me a description of Batson 
  • when you got here? D.- Well, when I  
  • arrived here in Batson, it was a boom place. It was estimated that there was 10,000 people here  
  • and-- which I believe were all-- were all here.  
  • The Rangers had been here and were-- later on, was [sic] here,  
  • but apparently there wasn't very much semblance of law. And  
  • at different times, the law-- the Rangers would be called in here.  
  • There was no roads and the mail was carried from Liberty, Texas,  
  • and that meant it was a distance of about 22 miles,  
  • but it taken [sic] five hours to make the trip.  
  • And the passengers came that-a-way. Also, from Saratoga, a distance of six miles, the  
  • trains-- the railroad stopped there and you  
  • came in hacks, which meant about a two hours trip, for three-- for six miles.  
  • And, as I mentioned before,  
  • law and order didn't seem to  get very much consideration 
  • and-- oh, I often thought--  can you stop that thing? 
  • [break] O.- What kind of  
  • people were these in Batson those days? D.- The people in Batson at that time  
  • apparently came from all over the United States  
  • and they was gamblers, whores, and the very lowest class of people that you  
  • could think of. And so many went under an assumed name  
  • that we-- they would have a nick- name. Well, whatever his nickname  
  • was, that's what I called him. For I always figured,  
  • and I-- which proves to be later on, that they was all under a cloud.  
  • They had left their old homes, had committed some crime  
  • and was here in that way. And the houses, or the business houses,  
  • was I would say, three-quarters of a mile on the main street.  
  • Was solid, just solid buildings. And the gambling houses, saloons,  
  • and bawdy houses and groceries and ever-- and all that place  
  • that the doors was never hung on the hinges. It was a 24-hour  
  • operation. And they--  
  • they would-- when they would make an arrest, which was by the dozens,  
  • I have seen many times-- they had no jail, but they would take--  
  • make an arrest and take a crate chain and put it around the prisoner's neck  
  • and then chain him to pine trees.  
  • That was the only way that they had of holding the prisoners and the--  
  • the-- the shameful-- one of the most shameful things about  
  • that, that the law would take them and round up the gamblers and the whores  
  • and they would take and fine them. Well, it was  
  • often the case where a man would go down-- where these, in prison or chained,  
  • and they would get the girls, the women that was  
  • under arrest. They would ask some of the oil field men  
  • and the like of that to-- to pay her fine. Well, he would do so  
  • and they would go out and live together as man and wife. And  
  • it was a very, very common thing, especially that you couldn't  
  • find a legally married man and wo- man living on the main street of Batson.  
  • The legally married people and respectable people lived out  
  • in the vicinity surround- ing the field. They didn't  
  • live with them. And the-- they was a-- a custom.  
  • It was nothing thought about it on this particu- lar street, so that they would speak of  
  • a man, John Doe, and his woman. And they ask-- if it was ever asked  
  • about whether they were married, they would--  
  • you would receive the answer that they have a "sawmill license." 
  • O. - That's a new one for me. D.- Yes. Then the--  
  • the better element of people that wanted to live a better life  
  • and raise their families, they banded together and, with the assistance of the  
  • lawyers-- of the law in Kountze, which was-- there was a band organized,  
  • what they called the Good Government League,  
  • And then they built a church on the outside-- outskirts of the main town or population  
  • and they went to holding church,  
  • which was the Methodist Church. And a move- ment was started to clean up the town  
  • of this lawlessness. And so, as I stated before,  
  • with the assistance of the officers In Kountze, the men were- were told to either  
  • marry, get out, or live a better life,  
  • or they would be charged with vagrancy and, resultantly, would be fined a heavy  
  • jail sentence. And from that time on, it improved and it--  
  • while it was a quite-- a determined fight at that time. 
  • As for murders, I believe  that I would be safe in saying 
  • that that at that time, at that  period, there would be at least 
  • 40 or 50 people known killed.  Some had been killed and there 
  • was no record of them. And  there was very few convictions. 
  • O.- 40 or 50 killed In how long a period? D.- That would be about, I'd say, about  
  • four years. O. - About four years. 
  • D. - Yeah. However, there was  a few killed later on, but they 
  • was prosecuted and they-- there  was a complete record made of 
  • it. O.- Yes, sir. How many  
  • of those sawmill marriages were legalized? D.- Well, I wouldn't say the number,  
  • but there was quite a few and they was - them that didn't marry  
  • moved on to other places. O.- Yes, sir. Well,  
  • you were making a statement a while ago 
  • about a Mr. Brown here, his  description of the people, I be- 
  • lieve, or the man who was  speaking to him. Could you tell me 
  • that story? D.- Yes, sir. Well,  
  • Mr. Brown, who run a saloon on the north end of the main street of Batson, and he  
  • had a friend who was a gambler,  
  • but stayed on the south end of town mostly where most of the gambling was going on.  
  • This friend of Mr. Brown's was going to leave and he come down one day and--  
  • to bid him goodbye. And Mr, Brown  
  • asked him after they exchanged greet- ings as to how he liked the town. He said,  
  • "What do you think of our place?" 
  • The gambler told him, he says,  "I do not say that everybody 
  • here in Batson is a son-of-a-bitch,  but I do say that every son- 
  • of-a-bitch is here that could get here." O.-  
  • Where did you live when you first came to Batson? D.- I lived in the Caledonia Boarding House, 
  • O.- I understand there had been  no houses here before, or very 
  • few houses. Do you know how many  were here when the field was 
  • opened? D.- I would-- I wasn't here at that time,  
  • but I would say there wasn't over--  
  • oh, a-- twelve houses on the-- on a prairie con- taining several thousand men. 
  • O.- Well, would you describe  the Caledonia Boarding House to 
  • me ? D.- Well, the Caledonia Boarding House was  
  • a two-story house. It was run by a  
  • Scotsman by the name of Simpson, This-- there was some ten or twelve rooms for sleeping  
  • and the rooms were about twelve  
  • feet long and about eight feet wide and that -- the furniture consisted of two cots  
  • and if you had a suitcase and other things,  
  • you couldn't even-- if you wanted to put your suitcase away, you had to put it under the bed.  
  • Then, if it was a bad rainy night or daytime,  
  • you would lay there in bed and dodge the raindrops  
  • from the leaks. The-- there was mud in the front of the boarding house  
  • and all around and when they went to clean out-- clean the floor,  
  • sweep the floor, they taken a hoe and raked the mud  
  • out of the dining room. O.-  
  • What did they charge you for Such accommodations? D.- Oh, $26 a month. That was the regular rate. 
  • O.- For room and board? D.- For room and board. 
  • O.- And what were you working  for? How much salary were 
  • you drawing? D.- I was drawing $90 a month. 
  • O.- So that left you a fair margin. D.- Yeah. Yeah.  
  • And I might say the buying power of a dollar then is much greater--was much greater than now. 
  • O.- Well, what kind of meals did they serve to you  
  • there? D.- They--  
  • they served good, substantial  food for working men, 
  • but I cannot say as to how well  cooked and how clean it was. 
  • It was not. And the sanitary  conditions was terrible. 
  • O.- Any sewers at all? D.- No sewers, nothing. And I have  
  • seen in the ditches and along the pathways and wherever low places  
  • would be water, and that water would lay there  
  • until a green scum would come over it. I have often wondered  
  • why we all didn't die of the cholera And no screens, and flies by the  
  • billions. And no protection at all.  
  • And apparently the sanitary end of it wasn't never considered at all. There was a man  
  • by the name of Mr. Scarpins Was a very good man and an enterprising  
  • fellow and he tried to PIONEERS IN TEXAS OIL 
  • -10- better the condition,  
  • was about the first sanitary work was done. And he went around among  
  • the different people and got up a collection and they-- he got up the money  
  • and he got a couple of broomtail ponies  
  • and a sled and he went to work to build a road and drainage and that was the first  
  • that ever-- oh, was done. 
  • O.- Do you recall what year that was, about? D.- That was about the year 1908.  
  • And I recall very well there was a rig builder by the name of  
  • Rumbaugh and his children, his boys, played out in front of the  
  • house. And was a big mud puddle and water and they  
  • played in there. And he made the re- mark, he says, "Well," he says,  
  • "something rather out of the ordinary." Says, "I  
  • thought when I was giving to Mr. Scarpins a little donation to build up the road,  
  • my-- I was helping the health conditions of the community.  
  • My boys has always played in the mud hole all day and  
  • for some time they never seemed no - none the worse of the effects from it,  
  • but after we-- after we got the place drained up and cleaned up,  
  • my boys was sick." That was an actual-- 
  • O.- How do you spell his name? D.- Ah- Rube, Rubin  
  • R-u-m-b-a-u-g-h. A rig builder contractor. O.- Yes, sir. 
  • D.- And a native of Pennsylvania. O.-  
  • I would like some more on  the saloons. How many do you 
  • suppose were here at the height of it? D.- Well, I would say, including the  
  • saloons and beer joints, which Texas at that time granted  
  • a right for a man to sell beer but not whiskey, and I would  
  • estimate, considering the whole territory covered, there would be  
  • at least thirty saloons. O.- Did you ever go  
  • into any of those? D.- Yes. Quite often. 
  • O.- Could you name some of them for me? D.- Well, there was the Sazarac Bar,  
  • and Tom Matson, and the Jergen brothers, American Bar, Crosby House,  
  • and-- oh, Bird and Mars, and--  
  • I believe I mentioned the Sazarac Bar. O. - Which was the fanciest of them? 
  • D.- The Crosby House was considered the fanciest  
  • at that time. O.- Yes, sir. Would  
  • you give me a description of it? D.- The-- the Crosby House at that time  
  • was a large, two-story building.  
  • The main part of it was a saloon and bar. To the rear of it was a gambling house  
  • and a dance hall. And the up- stairs was rooms,  
  • and it was occupied by questionable characters. O.- Both men and women? 
  • D.- Yeah. And then another saloon  there was Tom Thompson. And 
  • another by the name of Doc  Harris. Doc Harris run a saloon. 
  • And this Doc Harris I've made  mention of was a medical doctor, 
  • but did not practice. But he run  
  • a very elaborate saloon for that time and he had a dance hall and  
  • a gambling room, and a whorehouse all combined. And  
  • just to the rear of his place was a-- was a very large two-story building and  
  • that was run as a Negro whorehouse. 
  • O.- Is that right? For the Negro men? D.-  
  • And often white men was there. O.-  
  • The-- were any of these  saloonkeepers particular charac- 
  • ters that you'd like to describe? D. - Yeah. Doc Harris was a--  
  • what you would term, I would say, he was a typical  
  • saloon keeper and gambler. Very neat in his dress and, as usual at that time,  
  • a very loud, flashy vest, and a double watch chain. And  
  • always had his shooting irons at easy access where he could soon  
  • take hold of It and get into action. But with all that,  
  • he was a very tender hearted man. He was very sympathetic. I recall  
  • in his place of business that there was a man killed  
  • and he was brought in there and his bartender formerly had been an undertaker.  
  • And he laid the body out and prepared it for burial. And after we  
  • went in and looked at it.  
  • And Mr. Harris come in and said-- and his little boy about ten years of age was standing there--  
  • and Mr. Harris said, "Now, gentlemen," he says,  
  • "you're welcome to leave the body here, but," he says,  
  • "I believe if I was you, I would take him some place else. My reason for this is,  
  • now, here is his ten year old boy  
  • standing here by his father who is a corpse and what could his--  
  • would his impression be when he grows to be a man to think that his father was laid out  
  • in a saloon and a gambling place?"  
  • And we then-- we carried him across the street to the El Main Hotel lobby  
  • which was a respectable place run by the-- a lady  
  • and she gave us permission and we put him in there. 
  • O.- Was there a funeral for this man then? D.- Well, that-- as I recall it,  
  • the-- I don't know of any fun- eral services held here, but the body was taken  
  • to Corsicana and, 
  • I suppose, had burial services there. O.- Was the-- do you remember  
  • the name of the little boy? D.- I-- I don't recall the first  
  • name of the little boy. O.- What was the last name? 
  • D.- Howard. O.- Howard? 
  • D.- Yes. O.- The name of the father.  
  • Do you remember the first name? D.- Jack Howard. 
  • O.- Jack Howard. It would be  interesting to see what that 
  • little boy is now. D.- Yes, it would.  
  • I have often thought about him and wondered if he had ever came back to this country  
  • and naturally I was interested to know what kind of a citizen he made. 
  • O.- Was the mother here, too, at that time? D.- Yeah.  
  • And the mother and the little boy-- I don't recall whether there was any other of the family or not,  
  • but I suppose one thing that that little boy  
  • impressed me by what Mr. Harris had said, and I was-- they went back to Corsicana.  
  • And I knew Jack Howard  
  • quite well. He was-- we were very good friends. In fact, we worked together on the same lease. 
  • O.- How did he happen to get killed? D.- Well, it was a domestic affair, a  
  • family affair. And that brought about the shooting.  
  • This-- oh-- Harris-- Howard and his wife was keeping house for a man who--  
  • and they had some argument and some trouble  and Howard had gone to work, had started 
  • to work that morning. We looked  for him on the lease, but he 
  • didn't show up. Later on, we  understood that they'd had trouble 
  • and shot him. O.-  
  • Do you know anything, any  other stories about Harris? He 
  • sounds interesting to me. D.- Well, Doc Harris run-- Doc Harris run a--  
  • a saloon in Beau- mont in the early days there.  
  • I am not positive whether he practiced medicine in Beaumont or not,  
  • but I have always been reliably informed that he--  
  • he had a medical certificate* As to where he practiced I would not say.  
  • But he run this saloon in Beaumont  
  • and I think he had some trouble in  Beaumont there and then later on he came