Miller's Cave is an 8x12, two-bit shed deep in Brook Village, the very heart of River City's historic old country club. Not The Country Club colony just up the road by the old Burns Mansion, mind you. We're nearer Gene's on Holliday, around the corner from where Haven Park used to be and smack in the middle of where River City's Country Club began. That's Ben Franklin Elementary a short hike west. Started First Grade there, back in '55. We lived on the other side of Mr. Kemp's & Mr. Kell's railroad tracks on Avenue Q long before someone turned it into a muppet musical. Two blocks east is Carrigan where I unceremoniously ended my elementary school career, thrilled to be moving on to Barwise Junior High!
We could visit for years over how a 62-year-old son of a sea dog came to be retired in this neighborhood. I won't keep you engaged here quite that long. Not at one sitting at any rate. This journal, you see, is a lot like a road trip but different. Getting there doesn't mean a damn thing; it's the trip that counts.
Hear that? The bells of First United Methodist Church (FUMC) chime out "Praise Him! Praise Him! Jesus our blessed redeemer." Sitting out here of a Sunday morning, you can hear those bells if the neighbor birds aren't too chatty.
That was the first Methodist church in River City, I believe. Goes back to 1881. A mile northeast is the foundation print of our original home church, First Primitive Baptist Church, that stood on the corner of Seventeenth & Burnett Streets until TXDOT decided it needed that piece of real estate more than we did. Ours was not the first Primitive Baptist church in River City. At least one other predated it and was located over on Northside.
Ours was, however, the first progressive hardshell baptist church here; progressive in that it allowed piano accompaniment for song services and Sunday school, neither of which was allowed in "old line" churches. Some of the brethren were shocked, or so I've heard, that W.P. & Cordie Saunders--my Mom's folks--would leave the old church and help charter a new one. History records no other particular, peculiar people excel at feuding, breaking up, splitting off, making up and starting all over again like hardshell baptists. And they've got the late, great Speaker of The House Mister Sam Rayburn to prove it.
The split between the two local churches came before my time, but I'd like to think that metamorphosis was to prepare the ground for my arrival. Not too likely, I'll admit, but it could have had something to do with Granddad Saunders being a deacon and Mom learning to play piano.
DRAT! There's the phone! Excuse me, I have to take this.....
 |
| Brook Village field office, a.k.a. Miller's Man Cave |
Hear that? The bells of First United Methodist Church (FUMC) chime out "Praise Him! Praise Him! Jesus our blessed redeemer." Sitting out here of a Sunday morning, you can hear those bells if the neighbor birds aren't too chatty.
That was the first Methodist church in River City, I believe. Goes back to 1881. A mile northeast is the foundation print of our original home church, First Primitive Baptist Church, that stood on the corner of Seventeenth & Burnett Streets until TXDOT decided it needed that piece of real estate more than we did. Ours was not the first Primitive Baptist church in River City. At least one other predated it and was located over on Northside.
Ours was, however, the first progressive hardshell baptist church here; progressive in that it allowed piano accompaniment for song services and Sunday school, neither of which was allowed in "old line" churches. Some of the brethren were shocked, or so I've heard, that W.P. & Cordie Saunders--my Mom's folks--would leave the old church and help charter a new one. History records no other particular, peculiar people excel at feuding, breaking up, splitting off, making up and starting all over again like hardshell baptists. And they've got the late, great Speaker of The House Mister Sam Rayburn to prove it.
The split between the two local churches came before my time, but I'd like to think that metamorphosis was to prepare the ground for my arrival. Not too likely, I'll admit, but it could have had something to do with Granddad Saunders being a deacon and Mom learning to play piano.
DRAT! There's the phone! Excuse me, I have to take this.....
No comments:
Post a Comment