A Proper Stone

On the morning of October 7th, 2012 two of my friends met me at my home in Austin early in the morning, in preparation for a long, 3.5 hour drive to Baird, Texas. After discovering the location of Uncle Henry's grave back in 2009, I knew this day would eventually come. I always imagined taking this trip alone, since this journey began as a very personal one. However, Julio, my friend from college who had just recently relocated to Texas from Seattle, and Jeff, a great friend and Austin local insisted on coming along for support, and to participate in the profound event.

Myself, Julio Rivera and Jeff Robison ready for our road trip to Baird

The weather outlook was not the best. It was a gray and chilly morning, which was uncharac-teristic for early October in Austin. Still, we each dressed for outdoor manual labor, but packed jackets for uncertain weather. This proved to be a wise decision, for the rain did begin to fall, once we arrived at our first stop for refueling along Highway 183 near Brownwood, Texas. It was a kind of cold miserable spit...the kind you feel from the inside out...the kind of wet cold that drove me to leave my Seattle birthplace for the warmer climes of Southern California in 1989. A slight breeze from the Southeast added insult to injury, but we managed our way to Baird with our eminent task at hand.

The flemish-style rear-facing facade of the Baird Train Depot

We drove into town by way of East 4th Street, once a major thoroughfare that used to carry traffic into Baird, resulting in a flow of commerce that has long since subsided with the introduction of Highway 20, built just a few blocks north.

The old courthouse served as a landmark which stood at the head of Market Street where we turned left into the heart of "The Antique Capitol of Central Texas". The familiar storefronts hadn't changed since my initial visit in 2009. The Whistle Stop Cafe was open for business, and would serve as our rendezvous point where we would meet Tom Ivey, the man in charge of all things Veteran in Callahan County.

Julio, Jeff and I popped out of my SUV at the end of Market Street where the great brick-built Train Depot stood. Winding around to the backside of the structure, I noticed that the building design was just as impressive as the street-facing side. Cameras in hand, we circled the building, and some neighboring historic structures that made for some good "Instagram" material. We piled back into the Hummer, and followed Market Street back to The Whistle Stop, where Tom Ivey was obviously waiting. The pickup truck with the dogs in the cab, and the headstone in the bed was a dead giveaway.

The "Blunderstone", sent by the Veteran's Administration
with Henry's first name misspelled.

Tom had packed a second headstone for me, which was a blunder courtesy of the United States Veteran's Administration. After gathering, and sharing all the necessary documentation in order to qualify Henry for a proper stone, the VA shipped the first marker with the unfortunate misspelling: H_E_R_N_Y    I_R_A  B_A_N_K_S. Thankfully, Tom had noticed the mistake upon receipt of the stone, and once the government office was made aware of their error, it didn't take them long to rectify their negligence by quickly shipping a replacement. Had we made the trip to Baird, just to discover a useless stone, there's no telling what kind of ranting, indignant chauffer poor Julio and Jeff would have at the wheel once we were back on the road to Austin. Once Tom had received the correct headstone, the V. A. never asked for the original to be returned, so I asked him to bring it along, though I wasn't certain what I would do with it.

World-class chicken-fried steak was beckoning, and we didn't want to keep Mr. Ivey waiting, so we stepped inside where it was warm, and claimed our seats around the table where Tom was already seated, scouring through the local paper. After proper introductions, we discussed our plans to place Uncle Henry's stone at Ross Cemetery. There was still some question as to the exact location of Henry's remains, but careful examination of a cemetery map from the early 1900's confirmed the spot that Tom and I had collectively targeted during our initial 2009 survey.  (Since this writing, an official dowser has examined the grave, reporting the presence of one male occupant) We continued our discussion about Baird history, and the local Bowlus family that Henry had married into before his hasty retreat from his Kansas farm to Texas in 1888. What a strange transition that must have been for him. I often wonder, instead of his lingering ailments, if the summer climate killed him, as it nearly did me in after my own relocation from California.

L to R: Julio Rivera, Jeff Robison, Tom Ivey, and Me

Mr. Ivey insisted on treating us to our Chicken Fried Steak lunch, which more than lived up to my boasting about it all the way from Austin. Excited about the task ahead, I nearly forgot about my tripod and camera that I had packed. We paused for a group photo in front of Baird's landmark cafe.

Jeff and I prep the trench for Henry's stone, as Tom Ivey readies the cement.

We climbed into the Hummer, and followed Tom in his pickup up Market Street, and onto Cherry Street, which led us North across Highway 20 to Ross Cemetery. Pulling up next to Henry's plot, we carefully, and respectfully examined the small parcel to determine the most appropriate location for the stone. Once we reached a consensus, we went to work. Jeff pulled an ancient pair of posthole diggers from the bed of Tom's pickup. I grabbed a shovel, and Julio manned the camera. Tom assumed cement mixing duty as we began to clear a small trench for Henry's headstone.

Mission accomplished!

It is important for me to comment that manhandling a 300+lb. slab of granite, not to mention leveling, and positioning is thirsty work. Jeff and I are both strong, capable guys, yet it took both of us to manipulate the headstone into its final position. I earned a great deal of respect for those who do this for a living. If I'm not mistaken, I think I've seen them use cranes in certain cases. In retrospect, I think that might have been an option to consider. At any rate, we jogged the stone into position, aligned it with neighboring stones, poured our cement and replaced the soil around it.

After a final photo, we packed up our tools and walked around the cemetery for a few minutes, as Tom regaled us with some local Baird stories and Callahan County legends attached to certain graves in the cemetery. It was during this time that I reflected on the journey, and how it had begun, years ago with the discovery of Henry's bible in my father's study. I thought about all the new friends and contacts I had made along the way, and how I couldn't wait to update my blog, and my book with this, the final chapter...

...or was it?