Merrilltown Cemetery

Along the east side of Mopac Expressway in northwest Austin just a hair south of the Williamson County line, there is a peculiar little cemetery. It's peculiar in the sense that while there is a gate, there is no fence; I often found myself driving by it thinking about that, as though they were saying; "we're cool if you walk around in here, but you'd better not even think about driving up in here because there'll be some hell to pay!" (for some reason I always heard this in Slim Pickens' voice).

A quick Google search told me that the small park was known as Merrilltown Cemetery, and it is the only thing remaining of the community of (wait for it) Merrilltown, a small hamlet once large enough to have its own school and rail station but was crushed by the explosive growth in the area and annexed by Austin years ago. I always wanted to take a closer look, and one Sunday we had a fat lot of nothing else to do so I found myself pulling into the parking lot of Calvary Church next door (according to the historical marker, the congregation of which is now responsible for the upkeep). What I found was largely typical of most ghost cemeteries: collapsed headstones, forgotten gravesites, and an abundance of graves occupied by infants (as the child mortality rate as recently as the early Twentieth Century was alarming). However, there were a couple of things that struck me as odd as hell (and not in the creepy old cemetery way; I'm an adult, for Christ's sake).

It was after I got into the cemetery that I realized why there was a gate; there are no driveways or even dirt paths to be found anywhere; a car driven past the gate would tread immediately upon graves (which made sense once I thought about it; Merrilltown dated back to the late Nineteenth Century when the closest thing to a car in Texas was a horse-drawn carriage, which made me feel like kindof a jackass).

Looking from the hill that overlooks the location (nestled in a suburban subdivision) struck me as being a little surreal; most of the graves even from a distance appeared as though they obviously dated back at least a century yet here these people are, resting mere yards away from Burnet Road and Mopac Expressway where the modern world zips past them in our automobiles (if you haven't noticed yet, I have an odd way of thinking. It makes sense in my head; just go with it). Time seems to have stopped in the park, which makes for a very odd yet sad scene.

One of many graves belonging to infants.

Several Benning children.

Another thing that you see when you visit these old, forgotten cemeteries is an abundance of quite obviously homemade headstones and markers, most little more than concrete blocks with the names of the dead scratched in with a nail or chisel.

This got to me a little. When my beloved Aunt Christine died in 2002 there was a time where we weren't certain that we were going to be able to afford a marker for her. I know what it feels like to want to have something showing that this is where someone dear to you are resting and cannot afford to have a stone professionally made. 

These two welded stones show that this situation is not confined to the distant past; the first is undated, but the second is the stone belonging to a woman who died in 1996.

This stone belonging to a couple born in the mid Nineteenth Century did not strike me as particularly odd at first; I quickly assumed that she was merely still alive. However, my rudimentary math skills kicked in, and I realized. "Wait a minute; that would make her almost 140 years old. That can't be right." I was instantly fascinated. What was the story behind the fact that her date of death was left off? Did she remarry, and is buried beside her next husband? Could her children not afford to get the inscription done? Had she simply moved away and is buried

somewhere else? Their story will likely never be known, and that saddens me.

Loe and behold, here are two more stones in which the man's date of death is listed, and his wife's is not. Before this I had never even seen one such stone, yet here were three in a relatively small cemetery. 

I can think of a lot of things I'd want on my headstone. "Big Head" is not one of them.

Captain Merrill, the town's namesake.

"Mrs. Blanche Moore" was only 17 when she died in 1929; Mr. Moore is nowhere to be found.

What appear to be sisters, who died several years apart but are buried together and share a stone.

These handmade stones made me sad.

They were quite literally stepping stones with a single name scratched into them.

A crude yet loving symbol of loss. 

I need a new hobby.

Anyway...

This grave made was the only overgrown one in the park and it belonged to a Korean War vet. That bothered me.

The carving on this one is beautiful.

The oldest grave in Merrilltown Cemetery belongs to 2-year old Julia Merrell. I left shortly after photographing it; it seemed appropriate.

Not Fade Away....

"...I knew I was out of luck, the day the music died..."

~ Don McLean, American Pie (1971)

Buddy immortalized in a Lubbock mural. 

Rock music is everywhere.

Born of fire and spit forth in a volley of angst and energy, it blasted through the 1950's as rebellion personified, stuck a thumb in the face of "the Man" as a generation struggled to find its voice in the Sixties, nearly crumbled under its own excess as a bloated shadow in the Seventies before roaring back in a hail of anger and sexuality in the 1980's. As it enters its seventh decade of existence, it is as powerful and ubiquitous as it was in the early days in Sam Phillips' little studio in Memphis. It is a dynamic restless changeling, altering its visage with cunning and skill, never resting yet never really losing its roots. There is good rock, there is bad rock, and there is everything in between but one thing is certain, as a bat murdering, dove-biting maniac with bad hygiene from Birmingham once said, "you can't kill rock n' roll"....

And few people have had as indelible yet not fully appreciated impact on the foundation of the greatness that is rock music as Charles Hardin Holley.

Born in Lubbock in 1936, Charles "Buddy" Holley had music in his blood from the moment he took his first steps. His older brothers taught him how to play several instruments before he could even drive and he cut his first recording at the age of 12; a rough track of a bluesy take on a Hank Snow tune.

Buddy's life (and the face of music) changed forever in 1955 when he caught an Elvis concert and he began to mimic legend's rockabilly style and in October of that year, he and his schoolyard friends Bob Montgomery and Larry Welborn opened for Presley; by February of 1956, Buddy (who had adopted the misspelled "Holly" due to an error on his first recording contract) along with bassist Joe B. Mauldin and drummer Jerry Allison had signed to Decca Records, and the template for so many rock bands to follow was born: vocals/guitar, bass and drums.                

In September of 1957, "That'll Be The Day" became the group's first Billboard #1, and in August of that year Buddy showed that his music was truly universal when he and the Crickets were the only white act to appear on a tour that included performances at mainly historically black venues after winning over a predominantly black audience at New York's legendary Apollo Theatre; his music spoke in a language that transcended race and geography and as his star rose, he was being noticed by budding musicians abroad, notably a young pair from Liverpool named Paul and John who were just getting through the "skiffle" craze and looking for a new voice. Always thinking forward, Buddy was also a pioneer in the studio; he was among the first artists to double-track his vocals and harmonize with himself creating a distinct vocal sound, and his extensive use of solid-body electric guitars (namely the then-new Fender Stratocaster) helped mold and solidify the early rock sound.

 By the time Holly was killed in that fateful plane crash on February 3, 1959 he had already set in motion a musical revolution that would eventually see the birth of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and the Yardbirds. To think that a mere 22 months passed between the recording of the Crickets' first single and Buddy's death is truly remarkable; he accomplished more in those two years than many artists will do in a lifetime, and many are still trying their hardest to be as revolutionary. Few have succeeded.

Sunday in Court- Denton County

Denton County Courthouse

Denton, Texas (Population 113,383)

Built: 1896

Photographed: 2005 and 2013

Been awhile, but I'm back. Had a big transition go down in my life but I  haven't forgotten about this thing. Easily could have but luckily for y'all (?) I haven't.

Anywho-diddly-oo, Today's courthouse is the historic Denton County Courthouse in Denton. Even though it has been relegated to museum status, this awesome looking building on the square in Austin, Jr. is still worth its weight in stones.

Sunday in Court- Ellis County

Ellis County Courthouse

Waxahachie, Texas (Population 29,621)

Built: 1897

Photographed: 2005

This is the one that started it all. In my opinion it's the most awesome courthouse in Texas. Not only is it an awesomely foreboding building, but there are 45 faces hidden in the facades. It is also one of only about 40 houses in Texas that have a functioning clock and bell tower. The architect (J. Riely Gordon) designed several houses in Texas and he was a straight running badass for dreaming up a building this cool looking. I also dig the fact that it is still a fully-functioning government building; a lot of towns have relegated their historic courthouses to landmark or museum status. Not this one. And that's cool. 

Hey, YOUR HONOR, maaaan....

All of this started off with a courthouse.

Back in the formative years of the great State of Texas (yeehaw), something as innocuous as a courthouse could mean the difference between prosperity and death for a town and caused literal battles to be fought between neighboring communities (I'll get to that later). Nowadays they do not really have a whole lot of significance unless you have to pay a parking ticket (or that CCTV camera you didn't see caught you whipping it out and pissing all over that blue Toyota last week and you had to go to trial for public lewdness; I know who you are and we need to talk), but back in the day they were sort of a big deal.

I took some pics of a couple of the more attractive courthouses in the north-central part of the state and decided (much like the lunatic that I am) that it would be a great addition to my "bucket list" to challenge myself to photograph all of them. It's been on these road trips that I've seen most of the cool shit I've taken pictures of that you will see on this blog. Again, I never said I was normal.

If you're a nerd like I am and you do questionable shit like this, you develop a bit of a taste for these things; a palette, if you will; you develop an appreciation for the good ones and a distaste for the ugly ones, and a curiosity as to why so many great looking 19th Century buildings got uglified (yes, I made that one up too and no, you can't use it.) in the 20th. You also get to where you can guess about when they were built based upon the architecture (the Depression-era architects loved themselves some Art-Deco). Being an absolute geek, I've come up with a rating system for the courthouses I've photographed (good God, how did I ever get laid?):

E- Excellent: This is the highest rating. "E" level houses are beautiful buildings, sit on attractive courthouse lawns, and maintain the original integrity from when they were first constructed. Most "E" courthouses date back to the 19th to early 20th Centuries and are Gothic, Romanesque or Classical in architecture.

G- Good: These buildings are attractive but not necessarily awesome. Most are of Classical architecture and generally nice to look at but definitely not ever going to be seen on the cover of Texas Monthly.

M- Meh: Not ugly, not attractive, just, well, "meh".

BDEBBB- "Boring Depression-Era Bland Brick Box". Name says it all.

RBR- Ruined By Renovation: These buildings started off pretty but were dragged through the Ugly Forest sometime in the mid-20th Century. When possible I'll include archived pics of what they used to look like before they got jacked up.

W- WTF?: The opposite of "E". These buildings look less like centers of government and more like nursing homes or libraries. There are only a couple of these but yeah, they're hideous.

I'll post a courthouse a week which will keep me busy, and y'all will have plenty to check out because there are 254. Jesus; why couldn't I have picked something less elaborate?

Right, I'm a nerd.

Shit....

Out of Gas- Week of August 9

We only really notice them when we really need one and can't find it. From their beginnings as auto service depots to their current status as a one stop shop for everything from sodas to ranch-flavor CornNuts and everything in between, gas stations are as ubiquitous and omnipresent as fire hydrants and traffic lights. We all have our favorites; we choose them by fuel brand, cleanliness, location, broad selection of porno magazines and flavors of Cheetos.

Like everything, however, these street corner fixtures eventually outlive their usefulness (much like the other notable street corner fixtures) and end up abandoned and left to fall into decay. Every city and town has them, but its the ones in the smaller hamlets that I like to photograph. I suppose it's all a part of my fascination with history and how it evolves. Anyway, each Friday I will post a handful of these lost stations; here is the first installment.

Close your eyes and smell the beef jerky....

Bardwell

Henderson

Albany

Silver Lake

Kilgore