Carol C Taylor Blog

It was a grand day when Buffalo Bill, Congress of Rough Riders, and Annie Oakley visited Greenville. (Photo from author’s collection)

W. Walworth Harrison and his mother Mrs. Will N. Harrison probably were the first historians in Hunt County. Mr. Harrison loved newspapers, especially the three local papers, and frequently made notes on pages or copied the highlights and filed them away. When I worked at the Genealogy and Local History Department at the library named in his honor I copied many of his notes. Hence the sources of today’s article.

Three big events occurred in Greenville in 1900 are noteworthy. That summer a Greenville Street Carnival was held in July. Parades, balls, more parades, exhibits, and a Firemen’s Racing contest kept the crowds entertained for two days. Even though there were printed programs, organizers often adjusted the events to suit visitors.

In late September handbills began to appear all over town. Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show was coming to town for one day in October. This time the Congress of Rough Riders was in the festivities along with cowboys, Arabs, Mexicans, German and English soldiers, Cossacks, Gauchos, and other riders. Miss Annie Oakley would display here talent with a carbine.

Finally, the very first football game took place in McKinney when the Greenville team took the train over there to clash with their team. This was so new that neither team had a name or mascot. In fact, records for Greenville High School show no coach employed by the school. Who won? Who knows because Mr. Harrison neglected to make a note of that important question?

But now let’s look at the year 1900. Was it the beginning of a new decade and new century or the last year of the current decade and century? If you remember the debate in 2000, you have an idea of the conundrum.

It’s similar to arguing that 0 is the first digit in our numerical system or is it at the end when joined with a one to form 10, or both? Is the ace in a suit of cards the highest or lowest? This discussion was argued throughout the world from 1899 until January 1, 1901. In most places a convenient solution was arranged. Why not celebrate on December 31, 1899 and again on December 31, 1900?

Around the world no one seemed to mind having two festive events. No one complained of having celebrated a year earlier. It was a huge celebration of New Year and New Century twice.

From his notes and comments, I get the idea that Mr. Harrison was not a big party guy. As a result, I found no descriptions of parties at the homes of the very elite in town, of which the Harrisons belonged. I found no Watch Night parties at churches, although 1900 may have been too early. I found no lively excitement in the local saloons and no long list of those put in jail.

Back in 2000, I read local newspapers for news of 1900 festivities. I found that dinner parties made the newspapers but were not necessarily the largest gatherings in town. I do remember reading that those nights, boys and young men shot off fireworks. However, I recall wondering how the working class celebrated. I thought since wages were not lavish, most enjoyed a quiet gathering if they celebrated at all. So what and when did you celebrate the New Year, the New Century and the New Millennial of the twenty-first Century?

Kress building (now Landon Winery) where estranged husband shot his wife’s male friend and then turned himself in to authorities in the courthouse.

I know the title should be Halloween on the Square, the event we celebrate around the Hunt County Courthouse every year. But why not throw in a few local “ghost stories” to add a little flavor?

I know of two mysterious events right across the street from the courthouse, one in the courthouse, and one a block away. Plus, it’s supposed to be dark and rainy Halloween night. What a better time for real ghost stories.

Go stand on the front steps to the courthouse. That is the Lee Street or north side for newcomers. You can’t miss Landon’s Winery in the building that still has the original name Kress on the front. During the 1930s when the economy was rotten and jobs were scarce, marriages sometimes disintegrated from the stress. Such was one couple around here that had recently separated but not started the divorce process. The wife was having lunch with another man in a booth in the Kress soda fountain when the estranged husband walked by and spotted them. He walked in, pulled his pistol, and shot the interloper before turning around. He then walked across the street and turned himself in to the sheriff. The staff at Landon’s can point out the exact spot and often report phantom figures at closing times.

The site of the former Ende Hotel, where a fire started in 1883 that left much of Downtown in ashes and 13 dead.

Turn right and then right along Johnson Street to the intersection with Washington Street. On the opposite corner you will see My Sister’s Closet in a red brick building. That was the site of the former Ende Hotel that opened when the first trains arrived in Greenville in 1880. One evening in April 1883, a strong windstorm blew into town but caused no damage. During the night, occupants of the hotel and others were awakened by a loud crash followed by an explosion. The northwest corner of the hotel, which you are looking at, collapsed and the building was in flames. Fire spread to the east, south, and west side of the square. With no fire equipment, the citizens waited an hour for Sherman to send their fire wagon, horses, and men to help. Morning found the city in ashes, about thirteen dead from the fire, and the new courthouse destroyed. The courthouse was replaced with an almost identical structure, gradually the town rebuilt, but the insurance was slow to repay Mr. Ende.

Washington Hotel penthouse where an extremely polished gambler lost his life. With minimal investigations, the case remains open to this day.

A block down Washington Street away from the courthouse is the remains of the luxurious Washington Hotel with its lavish penthouse suites on the top floor. At the corner of Washington and St. John, look up at the window where the fire escape starts. That was the apartment of a prominent couple. On Valentine’s night she visited her mother in Dallas while he plied his trade as a gambler. After the card game he returned to the apartment. About one o’clock a shot was heard from there. The local policeman making his round ran into the hotel and with the night clerk made their way to the murder scene. Everything was in disarray, the gambler lay on the floor murdered, but his collection of diamonds was untouched. After a rather crude investigation, no murder charge was filed. The case remains open to this day.

Now, go back to the courthouse. Find a place where you can see the two jails sitting recessed a little on the roof of the fourth floor. Several years ago, a group of paranormal investigators spent a night in jail there. The next morning they reported a rash of paranormal activity, but with no names or stories. However, they swore the courthouse was awash with ghosts!

Jails on top of Hunt County Courthouse where a paranormal group found much evidence of paranormal activities. Of course, the ghosts told no stories.

Ship that took Lt. James W. Chatham to Bordeaux. Not a luxurious ocean liner but it did the job.

When the United States instituted draft laws in 1862, mass riots disrupted New York City, killing numerous civilians and injuring a multitude of others. After the Civil War, the concept of drafting soldiers was dropped. Only in April 1917 did the United States institute the plan again.

President Woodrow Wilson took a nation unfit for battle into the Great War that year. Each state had a National Guard, many of whom were guarding the border with Mexico. But these were little more than a local or state militia. Military training, equipping the army and navy, manufacturing weapons were all lacking, but the country soon had a semblance of war readiness. One of the first actions was to create local draft board that managed three rounds of drafts, organized by dates of birth.

Each round was held on Sunday so young men would not miss their work the other six days. Most newspapers in Hunt County did not print a Monday edition; so on Tuesday readers could read the names of everyone in the county who registered on Sunday. As a good citizen, if a reader noticed that some name missing, he was to notify the draft board immediately.

An incident occurred in early October 1917 that made the Dallas Morning News. “James W. Chatham, Jr., of Greenville who is now at Camp Travis, yesterday refused to accept a permanent discharge that had been granted him on industrial grounds. At the time of his examination Mr. Chatham held a responsible and highly specialized position at the Greenville cotton compress, but refused to file any claim for discharge. Thereupon his employers filed a claim with the district board. In the meantime, Mr. Chatham made personal request of the local board at this place (Greenville) that he be placed in the first 5 percent and stated that he would waive any claim in his behalf that might be pending. When notified that discharge had been granted him, Mr. Chatham wrote the local board that this was as much his war as any one’s, and that he was going to stay in the army until the end.”

So what was this responsible and highly specialized position? He was the cashier, not a highly trained engineer as suggested. On his draft card in a note stating that someone claimed exception for him on the grounds that he handled cotton and linters that are “assets to government.” (Linters were machines that removed short cotton fibers from cottonseeds.)

Chatham had two years of college, lived on Park Street with his parents, and probably looking for adventure. However, it seems he missed the real dangerous encounters. According to U. S. Army Transport Service Records, he departed the U. S. on May 31, 1919 for Bordeaux, France as a First Lieutenant in the Quartermaster Corps.

When the war was over, Chatham did not return to the cotton compress in Greenville. He appeared to have been a very organized young man who had a talent for industrial management. He served as traffic manager for Wichita Falls before becoming manager of Tuf-Nutt, a hardware manufacturer in the same town. By the 1930s he worked for the Federal Works Agency as a supervisor who administered a number of public construction, building maintenance, and public works relief functions and laws.

By 1940 Chatham, his wife, and three children were living in Detroit when he continued to work for the Federal Works Agency. He died a natural death in February 1981 where he is buried in Grand Lawn Cemetery there. I believe it is safe to say the cotton compress in Greenville did not suffer severely the loss of his talents. Maybe his boss should have asked his permission before filing a exemption claim with the draft board.