  Cotton boll and leaves Many “think of Houston as a cluster of mud huts around the Shamrock Hotel, in the cellars of which people hide from the sticky climate, emerging at long intervals to scatter $1000 bills to the four winds,” Gerald Ashford wrote in 1951. Such a fancy formed a dominant theme of Houston appraisals during a brief and a bizarre period. The myth that Houston’s population consisted mainly of the rich was absurd, but the millionaire legend, though arresting to the world, was a liability to Houston. For one thing, it obscured the city’s reality, which was itself exceptional enough. The Shamrock Hilton Hotel, built by the wildcatter Glenn H. McCarthy at a cost of $21,000,000, opened on St. Patrick’s Day of 1949 with what turned out to be a spectacle. Conrad Hilton took control of the hotel in the spring of 1955. The two dates roughly mark the period of the legend’s vigor. Still, it was in some ways an exhilarating time, and it left Houston with an extravagant folklore. The goose hung high. The legends die reluctantly: An oilman was said to have offered his daughter $5000 for every pound she lost; a Houston man who sent a new Cadillac to Europe to have a $5000 custom body put on its chassis was said to have told the craftsmen to “Throw the old body away;” wanting to play a joke on a colleague who was traveling in Europe, another Houstonian had a fair-sized roller coaster built in the traveler’s wooded yard. But the maybe-so stories are less remarkable than many of the authentic ones. A Houston oilman well known for eccentricity and boyish hedonism was staying at a hotel in Los Angeles one night in 1955. He wished to awaken at a certain early hour the next day, so he made a long-distance call to a man on his staff in Houston and told the man to call him in Los Angeles at the specified hour the next morning. In 1957 a Houston high school girl received a graduation gift from her father, an oilman: wrapped and tied in her school colors, it was a map and a legal assignment of the overriding royalties in a lease near Odessa, in West Texas. A memorandum said a geologist expected the lease to produce oil for at least fifty years. Roy H. Hofheinz, the mayor of Houston in 1953, disclosed at a press conference that he had recently made his first million dollars, though he was unsure of the exact date. “You just don’t notice things like that,” he said. The oilman Robert E. Smith has described newspaper estimates of many fortunes as “paper profits.” But some fortunes were as surprising as they were real. In 1957, when a Houston oilman’s former secretary died at the age of eighty, her estate was found to be worth $790,031. A query by a New York matron, visiting Houston for the first time, showed America’s credulity in Houston’s millionaire legend. Passing the Rice University campus—three hundred acres of lawn; buildings in Byzantine, Moorish, Italian, and Spanish architectures—she said, “Tell me, who lives there?” Lords’ Cycle Club at 109 Chenevert Street, probably in 1898, when cycling was one of Houston’s chief pastimes. The first bicycle run to Galveston, in 1892, took ten hours; the cyclists were so exhausted that they returned by train. Three of six sketches made in Houston by an artist accompanying the journalist Edward King, of Scribner’s Monthly, in 1873, when the city was recovering from Reconstruction. “Houston,” King wrote, “is one of the most promising of Texas towns.” The sketches show: Two Negroes racing their drays. A magnolia seller, a common sight at the time. An auctioneer’s street-hawker. In spite of the lingering legend, Houston is in fact a city of working people. They came en masse during World War II, more than forty thousand to the shipyards alone, and most remained. Unlike the state, whose population has grown mainly from the excess of births over deaths, Houston has grown also from people moving in from the rest of Texas and other states. The city’s population differs widely from that of most other American urban areas, having proportionately fewer industrial workers and more professional, technical, and white-collar workers. The difference is caused by automation and by the technical nature of the four dominant industries. Processing oil, natural gas, and especially petrochemicals requires fewer but more highly trained workers than many industries, as does the work to be done by concerns allied with the space center. Such workers get comparatively higher pay, which has made Houston a city with more houses and fewer apartments than older American cities of comparable size. No city is all of a piece, and Houston’s oneness is relieved by the variant peoples merging with it since the beginning. A Greek kaffeneion, a large room, nearly bare, with a ceiling of ornately stamped tin, is a walk-up reached through the unmarked door of an old downtown building. There the city’s Greeks, and only Greeks, drink the coffee of their homeland—a strong brew, neither sweet nor bitter, of a strange, nearly syrupy consistency. The oriental mysteries of the shrine room of the On Leong tong—the word tong is shunned now, and they call it a Chinese Merchants Association—is on the second floor of the tong’s modern building on the northeastern fringe of the skyscrapers. The first Chinese, three hundred of them, came in 1870. Two thousand now live in Houston—two thousand of the city’s most exemplary citizens. The Houston Turn-Verein, founded in 1854, is one of the oldest organizations in the city. The Germans, immigrating to Texas in great numbers in the nineteenth century, came early to Houston and were a dominant element in the city from the 1850s until well after Reconstruction. Edward King, a Yankee journalist who visited the city in 1873, wrote that “the Germans, who are very numerous and well to do in the city, have their Volks-fests and beer-absorbings, when the city takes on an absolutely Teutonic air.” Gradually the Germans have merged with all Houston, one loss of which was the virtual extinction of their magnificent singing societies. Frosttown, Chaneyville, Freedmantown, Chapmanville, and Jourdeville, local names for parts of an older city, have vanished, but a newcomer called Frenchtown still lives. Its street names are lyrics—Deschaumes, Delia, Roland, Adelia, Lelia—and the tiny Creole oasis is seasoned with music and dance rituals unknown in the rest of Houston. Frenchtown’s people, coming from Louisiana during hard times in the early 1920s, settled in a few blocks off Liberty Road, and there they have remained as one family, little altered in forty years by the changing city surrounding them. Houston’s Mexican group lacks the color and ritual of San Antonio’s, but it is the second largest national group in the city. Western Slavs, mainly Czechs and Poles, have lived in Houston for many decades, especially the Czechs. A few Japanese, most of whom excel as truck farmers and rice growers, live outside the city. Many foreign traders, scientists, and executives have been drawn to Houston by cotton and oil and chemicals. The state’s largest concentration of Negroes lives in Houston, which ranks ninth in the nation in the proportion of Negroes to the total population. Nearly a quarter of a million Negroes live in the metropolitan area, or roughly one in five persons. In an article about Negro millionaires in Texas, Ebony Magazine said in 1952, “Houston is sometimes called the ‘Bagdad of Negro America.’” It is said also that Houston Negroes have a higher per capita wealth than those of any other American city. What a change in one century! Frederick Law Olmsted, one of the most important historical figures to have written about Houston, came to the city in 1854. Writing in The Cotton Kingdom, he said of Houston: “There is a prominent slavemart in town, which holds a large lot of likely looking negroes, waiting purchasers. In the windows of shops, and on the doors and columns of the hotel, are many written advertisements, headed ‘A likely negro girl for sale.’ 'Two negroes for sale.’ ‘Twenty negro boys for sale,’ etc.” In his book The Great South, Edward King said Negroes “have had something to do with the city government [of Houston] during the reconstruction era, and the supervisor of streets, and some members of the city council, at the time of my sojourn there [in 1873], were negroes.” Houston has proportionately few native Houstonians. The board of directors of the Chamber of Commerce, where natives might be thought to dominate, reflects the newness of the population. Of the board’s twenty-nine members in 1956, eleven moved to the city after 1945, seven in 1951 or later. Only one of the twenty-nine was born in Houston, only eleven more were born elsewhere in Texas. Yet a fleck of truth still lingers in what Alexander E. Sweet and J. Armoy Knox wrote of Houston in 1883: “After you have listened to the talk of one of these pioneer veterans for some time, you begin to feel that the creation of the world, the arrangement of the solar system, and all subsequent events, including the discovery of America, were provisions of an all-wise Providence, arranged with a direct view to the advancement of the commercial interests of Houston.” A bayou baptism, late in the 1890s, at the foot of what is now White Street. The photograph is one of many made by Frank R. Hutton, Sr., a gifted amateur photographer, who came to Houston in 1893. |
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