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Chasing Ghosts – San Marcos to the Gulf of Mexico
I spent part of today following up some leads that might yet take me to the survey records of the Thomas F. Jackson who died in 1940 in Paint Rock, Texas, records that should give details of surveys that he made at a particular ranch in about 1914. The census records indicated that Mr. Jackson had a son and a daughter. The son lived in San Marcos in 1940, and had evidently traveled the 200 miles to Paint Rock when his father unexpectedly died at age 74, or so I gathered from the fact that he had signed the death certificate on file in the courthouse in Paint Rock.
The son, Ernest B. Jackson, was the librarian at Southwest Texas State College from 1925 to 1965. This in particular was what gave me reason for optimism that at least some of the elder Jackson’s records might have been preserved. My possibly overly optimistic idea was that librarians tend to be stronger on the organizing than the throwing away. An internet search turned up a letter written from Cotula, Texas to Ernest the librarian by a young teacher named Lyndon B. Johnson, a former student at the college. It also turned up the fact that Ernest had died in 1965 in San Marcos.
I called a couple of former clients who were long-time residents of San Marcos and was gratified to hear both say that they had known E.B. Jackson the librarian at the college. The older of the two didn’t know anything about E.B.’s family when we spoke, but later I got an email from him recommending that I contact a fellow who had worked with Mr. Jackson in the 1960’s before leaving San Marcos to take a job as head librarian at the college in San Angelo.
The other client, who also had grown up in San Marcos, knew E.B. Jackson a bit better. The client’s father and Mr. Jackson had been friends, but all he was able to tell me about Mr. Jackson’s family was basically what the census records had – that and the fact that the daughter had died in the 1950’s. He confirmed that Jackson’s widow had lived into her nineties, passing away about fifteen years ago, but had little information about her. However, he assured me that his sister in Boerne was the family historian and would probably know more.
So I called the sister’s number and left a message, mentioning some of the details of why a surveyor from Austin was calling to bother her about someone who had departed from this life 45 years ago. I also called the telephone number of a man in San Angelo who an internet search had assured me had the same name as the former assistant librarian who had worked with Mr. Jackson in San Marcos in the 1960’s. I rang him up and was pleasantly surprised to learn that (a) that co-worker was still alive and (b) I was talking to him.
While he knew a bit about Mr. Jackson’s family, it was really only that his sons had been alive back in 1965 when Lee had gone back to San Marcos for the funeral. He did suggest a collection at the library at the college in San Angelo that might conceivably be where an odd lot of papers of historical interest would have been deposited and gave me the name of the person in charge of the collection. When I hung up, I sent an email off to the archivist and looked at my empty hands for any other clues.
My luck was with me, though, because after lunch I got a call from the woman in Boerne whose answering machine had taken a message from me earlier. Yes, she was able to tell me a bit about the family, confirming that E.B.’s widow had lived in San Marcos and that the daughter had died as a young woman in child birth. She knew that both of the sons lived in a city on the Texas coast and that they themselves had children.
That turned out to be a pretty good lead. After an internet phone book search and one “number no longer in service”, a woman answered who was the daughter-in-law of E.B. Jackson, former librarian at Southwest State Teacher’s College. She was actually interested in talking about her husband’s grandfather and thought that her husband had a metal box with some of Thomas F. Jackson’s papers in it. Fortunately for me, I was able to tell her some things about her husband’s grandfather, including his place of birth, that neither she nor her husband knew, so there were the makings of a fair exchange.
Her husband was away at the time, but she said he’d give me a call tomorrow. Until then, the contents of that metal box are in a quantum state. There is about a 50% chance that they actually contain something useful to the object of my search.
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