But it doesn’t count as law-breaking (does it?) when one is on an historic mission of civic proportions. And we (as in I, the prime mover, with reluctant relatives in tow) were.
Arched gate to old Stewarts Mansion
Ever seen this house? I haven’t.
Ever heard of this house? I haven’t.
Of course, all us Galvestonians have heard the name Stewart, a name so important the city fathers named Galveston’s signature beach after it. And a road. And probably some other stuff that escapes me just now.
But this house? The family? What’s the story?
Not sure why I hadn’t pondered this question before, this mystery of the Stewarts. I mean, good grief, I have amassed quite a little personal library on Galveston, having purchased, over the past few years, virtually every book ever written about the island (excepting those lame pulp-fiction novellas that use the Great Storm of 1900 as a dramatic backdrop in a vain attempt to prop up their pathetically weak story lines). And yet I’ve never come across a single paragraph about the Stewarts, who they were, what they did. Odd.
And then, during a recent family visit, while on a leisurely drive down the west end of the island, we took a turn toward the bay side and happened to stumble upon the grounds of this crumbling old “Stewarts Mansion,” or so said the peeling, palm-overgrown arched gate.
As we drove by, I caught just a glimpse. Oh, wait! Back up, dear brother-in-law, back up! What was that?
To be continued…
[...] Pull in, I directed my long-suffering yet quasi-adventurous brother-in-law Ken, pull in! And drive around back! [...]