The Right Kind of Troublemaker
Ghosts of the Runaway Scrape
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Art Exhibition Built Around Man’s Church Doodles
Alex Reid has spent years fighting off sleep during church services by doodling on the backs of bulletins and scraps of paper that he found in his wife’s Bible. Now, he has gathered all of his drawings, doodles, and half-formed scribbles together and will be displaying them at one of Seattle’s premiere art galleries.
It remains to be seen whether the message of this work will be as well-received as the half-heard sermons which inspired his, ahem, ‘work’. There is also quite a bit of debate as of to the meaning to his drawings. Take the example below. Does he envision a world of cardiac inspired hat wear? If so, how are these hats sourced? That question becomes particularly disturbing when you consider the first image in the illustration below. Visit the exhibit to find out more!
Alex is primarily a reader and his profile on Notes can be found here.
Scoop Reports: The Right Kind of Troublemaker
Sometimes, in the gritty world of reporting, all a news hound can do is spin the yarn. There’s no neat bow to tie, no fix to be found, no help to offer. Your share the facts with whatever audience you may have and hope that someone out there is moved to action. Truth to be told, that’s the grind, day in and out. You just gotta hope that you light a fire under the right kind of troublemaker.
I was recently contacted by a young mother named
. She lives in the Gulf Coast region of Texas and asked if I could meet her at a Buc-ee’s located in Baytown. I never quite know how to describe Buc-ee’s to people who have never seen one, but it’s kind of like if the largest truck stop you’ve ever seen had a baby with the biggest Walmart in existence. That child would be Buc-ee’s. None of that really matters though. The most important thing to know about the place is that they have great brisket. I’m always happy to visit a place that serves a mean brisket even if it means meeting at nine o’clock at night. That seemed a little odd to me but leads for the type of stories I like to tell don’t always keep normal business hours.
I arrived a little early so I could wander around the store to scope out their selection of snacks. The burritos and kolaches were tempting, but I went with my old standby of a chopped brisket sandwich. I wanted to eat it here while it was still warm and that meant wolfing it down before Sara showed up. So, I made my way through the checkout line as quickly as possible and then headed to the back of the property where I was supposed to meet Sara. She told me to meet her on a bench by the rows of Tesla Superchargers.
I settled in on the bench and had just finished removing the tinfoil wrapper for my sandwich when I heard someone ask, “Excuse me. Are you Scoop?”
I looked down at my sandwich. The still-warm brisket was steaming in the night air. I hadn’t even taken a bite out of it yet.
“Hello? Did you hear me?” the same voice asked.
I looked up to see a young family. I assumed the young lady was Sara and immediately behind her was a man I’d never met and two children whose details I couldn’t make out because they were in a double stroller.
“Did yew heah me?” a younger voice repeated in a sing-song way. Then, an even younger voice babbled laughter.
I sighed and reproached myself for not getting here even earlier than I had. One day I was going to be able to enjoy a meal while it was still hot, but today was clearly not that day. So, I rewrapped my sandwich, put on a smile I didn’t really feel, and said, “Yes, I’m Scoop. You must be Sara. Is that right?”
She looked immediately relieved and motioned to shake my hand. I shook hands with her and she introduced her husband, James, and their two children. I had no sooner shook hands with James than he announced that he was going to take the kids into the store so they could get out of the night air and look at all the displays. Maybe see the giant Buc-ee’s mascot.
“Thanks for being willing to meet me out here. I know it’s probably unusual. Normally, my husband would stay with us, but I don’t want my kids to see what’s about to happen.”
That was rather alarming. I thought I could probably take her in a fight if she attacked me, but if she was carrying a gun or something like that things would get dicey pretty quickly. “And, what’s about to happen, Sara?” I asked.
She looked at her watch and then pointed to an open field that stretched out between the superchargers and the I-10 freeway. “Keep an eye on that area right over there. It happens every moonlit night at exactly 9:13 PM, but it doesn’t last long, and you pretty much have to be staring in that area to see it.”
I looked at the barren expanse of scrub grass and dirt. Headlights from passing cars would occasionally illuminate the field, but all in all it was just the same desolate waste that stretched out for miles and miles all along the I-10 as you drove through Texas.
“What am I looking for?” I asked.
“Shh… it’s about to happen. Just watch.”
As she spoke a thick layer of fog began to coalesce and blanketed the field. Figures rose up out of the fog and gradually took on more form as the moonlight revealed the forms of several children. They wore plain, homespun clothes, and all of them seemed to be running across the field in a desperate flight to escape some unseen menace. As I watched some of the children’s mad dash was cut short as their bodies spasmed from what looked like gun fire, but I heard no rapport. Their backs would arch and then they would collapse to disappear into the fog once more. The children around them dodged their fallen comrades in a desperate attempt to find safety. I never saw what happened to those children because as they approached the end of the field, they all disappeared. The entire scene played out before me in a matter of 90-some seconds.
It was heart-breaking and horrifying. I looked back to Sara. I needed an explanation. “What did I just see?”
“Do you know much about the history of Texas?”
That question was unexpected, and my ignorance made me feel a little uncomfortable. I deflected by saying, “Well, I remember the Alamo. Does that count?”
Sara smiled and said, “It sure does and the Alamo ties in directly to the events you just saw. After General Santa Anna overwhelmed the Alamo, he began a march east across Texas. The intention was to quell any further acts of rebellion, but he and his men were notorious for their harsh treatment of anyone they came across regardless of whether that person had been a combatant or not.
“That harsh treatment led to what we have come to know as the Runaway Scrape. Word spread about the fall of the Alamo and the cruel tactics used by Santa Anna’s forces and panic set in among the population of Texas. People were afraid, Scoop. So, they gathered whatever possessions they could carry and fled their homes.
“While all of this was happening, Sam Houston was playing a series of mind games on General Santa Anna by staging a several retreats and maneuvers that made Santa Anna feel confident. Eventually, Houston led him into an ambush at the San Jacinto River. That tactic led to a decisive victory and the eventual capture of Santa Anna. That battle secured Texas’ independence and led to the establishment of the Republic of Texas.”
“So, you’re saying the children I just saw were victims who fell to Santa Anna’s men during this Runaway Scrape period?”
“That’s what I believe. They would have traveled right through Baytown. Of course, back then, this area was divided up into three separate towns, but people were fleeing all through this area and I think we’re seeing the ghosts or the echoes or something that’s left over from those people who died here in this field almost two hundred years ago.”
“It’s heartbreaking. And you say this happens every moonlit night? Why don’t more people know about this?”
“People do know about it. It’s the kind of ghost story that people whisper about around campfires and the kind of thing that kids dare each other to go see. It’s probably not as famous as you’d think it would be because it only lasts for a matter of seconds and you pretty much have to be already looking in the direction where it happens if you want to see anything, but people do know about it.”
“Has anyone tried to do anything to put the ghosts to rest?”
“How would we do that?” Sara asked.
“I don’t know. Call a priest or something. Just seems awfully sad to think that these kids are reliving their last moments repeatedly even after their oppressor had been stopped.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. I was hoping that you would be willing to write about this because this does feel like something that could be solved if we had the right people working on it. Maybe your article could help us to resolve this for once and all.”
“I would be happy to share the story of these children,” I said. Just then, I noticed that James and the children were coming back.
“They had animal crackers. So, the kids are happy now,” James said as he pushed the stroller up to where we sat and gave his wife a kiss. “You guys get everything sorted out?”
“We did. He’s agreed to do a write up about the kids.”
“That’s great,” James said. “History is so important. More people need to learn about the triumphs and tragedies from our collective past. It’s the only way we can avoid repeating those same mistakes in the future.”
I turned to go but paused a moment to look around. “Last time I was at a Buc-ee’s was in Sevierville, Tennessee. You know that’s the biggest one in the world, right? Makes this one in Baytown look downright small.”
I immediately realized that I’d said the wrong thing because both Sara and James were immediately incensed.
“You tell Tennessee to enjoy their victory while they can,” James said.
“Texas will not let that stand!” Sara assured me. “We always have to have the largest of everything. They might have the biggest for right now, but it will not last.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll take your word for it, folks.” I couldn’t help but to laugh. I’d never seen so much passion. “I didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject.”
“Don’t mess wid Texish!” a small voice called out from the stroller, and I took that as my queue to leave. I grabbed my now cooling sandwich and thanked them for their time and made my way back to my van.
Several weeks went by and I received an e-mail from Sara. She wrote:
Dear Scoop,
The strangest thing has happened. Two weeks after our meeting, a plaque was erected in that field behind Buc-ee’s. I asked around, but no one knows who is responsible for paying for the plaque or working out a deal with the property owners so that it could be placed on that land.
The plaque told the story of the defeat of General Santa Anna at the Battle of San Jacinto. It then, went on to commemorate the bravery and sacrifice of those individuals who participated in the Runaway Scrape. Its text was printed in both English and Spanish. The monument is simple but does a good job at sharing the story of those people and their ordeal.
The strangest—and most wonderful thing—of all though is that since the plaque was placed on that land that there have been no further sightings of the ghost children. If you know who is responsible for this, please extend our thanks to them on behalf of those children who are finally at rest.
Yeah, it’s true. Most of the time a reporter is there to tell someone else’s story. Fixing things isn’t in our purview, but sometimes… sometimes, well, let me tell you, dear reader, sometimes it feels good to step in and become the right kind of troublemaker yourself.
Until next time, this is Scoop signing off.
Sara Dietz writes Blinking Blue Line.
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Great story, John! It was so well done that half of our dinner conversation tonight was about this story! haha!
Mama, I made it!
Funny you mention the Baytown Buc-ees because we actually did stop there on our last trip to Louisiana and saw a police chase through the parking lot... But for real, this line - “You tell Tennessee to enjoy their victory while they can,” James said. - I read in James' voice, 100%. Glad we were able to help the ghost children get some peace in the afterlife, and sorry for interrupting your sandwich. ;)