The Texas Messenger

Editor: Margaret Hetrick
254-629-1707
P.O. Box 29
Eastland, TX

 

 

The Outer Limits
By Viola Payne
As I turned east on FM 2526 from SH 183 west of Carbon I realized that the familiar had become unknown territory. I had been over this pavement many times, but never with a mass of fire and smoke running roughly parallel about three miles to the south.
This wasn’t how I had planned to spend the afternoon of Jan. 1, 2006 at all - driving beside a huge wildfire. After hearing about the blaze about 1 p.m., I had simply watched it for awhile from my home, about four miles to the north.
Obviously, with a 40 mph west wind and an 80 degree temperature, this one was going to be hard to control. But it wasn’t headed toward where I lived - unless the wind suddenly changed. So wasn’t I just supposed to stay away from it, and let the firemen and lawmen do their jobs? 
After all, I had wanted to spend the afternoon writing letters, and get ready for the newspaper work tomorrow.
I was wrong on that calculation. The newspaper work had begun right now.
My perceptions were suddenly heightened, making my surroundings stand out like the 3-D images I had watched in my childhood.
The post oaks were waving like firewood in that awful wind. Dead leaves raced down the road like puffs of smoke.
As I passed Pleasant Hill Baptist Church, I noticed cars parked around it. No one seemed to be outside watching the fire.
They had better be having a prayer meeting, I thought, pleading for the people and animals in front of this wind-driven blaze.
I feared the worst of it was over in the Long Branch Community, a picturesque area with some trees left. So many oak trees had already been destroyed in Eastland County, for various reasons. Suddenly I was concerned for the loss of more trees - the ruin of the environment.
I was praying, too, half aloud. I was saying, “Please spare Carbon! And please send this thing away from Gorman! Please stop it - don’t let it hit anywhere!”
The apparition was still moving on. I realized that it looked like some sort of fiendish dragon, with its ugly head pointed toward Carbon. And no matter how quickly the front of the fire moved forward, it still trailed flames and smoke.
How long would I be able to go down this road? Would someone stop me?
I could always say, “ Hey, I need to write something for the Eastland County Newspapers?”, Or, “I know people who live along this road. I was worried about their homes.” Or, “ I have a daughter in Gorman. I wanted to see if the fire was going that way.”
As I crested the hills, it was good to see that the homes nearby were being spared. No signs of fire right here. Not even anyone out looking at the blaze. Where was everyone?
No traffic on the road, either. Then one passenger car, and finally a white tanker truck.
As long as I went straight east, I seemed to keep an equal distance from the fire. But when I turned southeast approaching Carbon, I realized that a slight wind shift could turn that thing over the town.
As I faced the inferno it seemed to engulf the sky, with smoke and pockets of flame entwined.Oddly enough, I was no longer afraid, just drawn to the spectacular view. As I turned into the town, I saw two beautiful bay horses running loose in the road, going the way I had come from. Their blaze faces were almost identical. I wondered where - and when - their owner would find them.
I heard the putter of airplanes above the rush of the wind. Two small planes were dipping and dropping water on a pasture nearby, trying to save the land and home. It seemed very dangerous for those little planes to be flying against the smoke drafts.
Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a large helicopter as it came out of a cloud of smoke to the south. It was flying low, probably going to a lake for more water. Again, I wondered about the danger of flights in and out a fire zone.
As I approached the intersection of FM 2526 and Hwy. 6 (Main St. of Carbon), I noticed how  quiet the residential part of the town was. No people, no cars. Where were they?
“They’re all gone!” I realized. “They were told to evacuate - and they did!”
I saw that clouds of smoke were on three sides of Main Street. And the road I had come on appeared to be the only one not blocked to the public.
Highway 6, on the north side of town, appeared to be open to lawmen, emergency vehicles, and fire-fighters and their equipment, but it didn’t look like they were letting the public through.  .
I kept staring at a wall of smoke on the east side of the town. It didn’t look like the other sides - it was piled straight up, like the face of a desert mountain. Did that show where the thrust of the fire was? Did that mean it was turning northeast?
When I drove into Main Street I saw where the action was. Firemen, volunteers and departments from around Texas were moving in vehicles down the street. But there was no frantic rush. Everything appeared to be determined and organized, as if they all knew what to do.
I don’t think anyone noticed me particularly. They were too intent on their own jobs. From here, it appeared that the worst of the flames were just south of Carbon, on the road that goes to Okra. Firelight danced between puffs of black smoke.I caught glimpses of trucks and firemen in the distance.
Fire trucks were filling up with water at a large tanker on the south side of Main Street.I parked nearby for a moment, caught in the unfolding pageant. The scent of burning leaves was everywhere.
Now the wind was not coming from the west anymore. It was circling around my car in a strange little whirl, like I was in a vacuum.
There were vacuums in the firestorm too. Now and then I saw a brilliant little whirlwind break loose, dancing. The fire had created its own currents, and had a life of its own.
I decided to go on the cutoff southeast of town to Hwy. 6, and drive as far as I could. I would try to see if the fire was going to reach Gorman.
Bad choice. Law officers had blocked the road to Hwy. 6 beyond the cemeteries. Worse still, the fire seemed to have expanded, burst across the Highway, and headed northeast.
There didn’t seem much to do but leave. The smell of burning leaves had grown oppressive.
It was when I turned back that I met a Ranger fire truck loaded with firefighters. They were apparently going down to the blocked portion of the road and maybe beyond, which was about the worst place possible right now. But they  would be there, no matter what happened.
As I drove back through town I noticed a little pale orange circle hanging behind the darkness. It was the sun, barely visible through the smoke.
So I slipped out of Carbon as quietly as I came in, still not sure whether the fire would turn back on the Main Street or not. It seemed strange to leave the scene of action and go back down quiet FM 2526.
When I reached home the news came that fire had destroyed the community of Kokomo, and was threatening Gorman.
That night Gorman residents were evacuated, and it was early Monday morning before they -or I -learned that the town had been spared , thanks a lot to a group of firefighters who refused to give up.
Also, I learned later that my daughter Margaret and husband Steve Hetrick had been in Carbon just before I was there that afternoon. They were taking pictures for the newspaper, and made their way back east just before the fire came across Hwy. 6.
For me - I actually hadn’t done any good, and might have gotten in the way. But I was somehow glad that I went. For if I hadn’t seen the fire for myself, I wouldn’t have known what the firemen had to face.  
It even helped me understand some of the losses people were having to endure.
But I had a little souvenir of my trip. The image of that huge blaze crouched around Carbon had burned its way into my brain. It took several days to shake it loose.
I guess that’s the price you pay when you go to the outer limits of hell and back.
But even more impressive - and this I will never forget - were the images of the people fighting the fire.
Among them is that memory of the Ranger fire truck and its crew headed toward the flames - a symbol of all Eastland County firemen.

 

 

January 1st Fire Brings New Beginnings, Tragedy to Eastland County Population

By Margaret Hetrick (Printed in the Eastland County Newspapers on Thursday, January 5, 2006)
Usually, I look forward to New Year’s Day. I see it as a new beginning, and a time for seeking new opportunities.
Sunday, January 1, 2006 did bring new beginnings to Eastland County residents, but also tragedy to some - and maybe a combination of both for many.
Because of the ban on all fireworks, New Year’s Eve was very quiet in Gorman, Texas. I awoke fairly early January 1st, ready for 2006.
Sunday Afternoon: Mother called to say that a wild fire was burning somewhere not far from Carbon. I could see a pillar of smoke from my back porch.
My husband, Steve, and I grabbed our cameras and took Highway 6 to Carbon. Turning on road 1027 South to Okra, we could see a line of smoke approaching the town.
Residents were spraying water on their roofs and yards. Some were packing belongings in vehicles.
We joined public safety officials, and anxious residents of outlying areas, near the edge of town. On a country road to our right, trailers of horses and livestock were frantically being transported away from the fire.
Suddenly a wall of flames appeared. Tongues of fire flared into the sky, charring everything in its path.
“Maybe the road will stop it, “ someone said. It took only seconds for the fire to jump road 1027.
We jumped in our truck and raced to Highway 6, barely avoiding being cut off.
Approximately 3:10 pm: We parked on a hill overlooking South Highway 6, just past the Carbon cemetery.
The sky darkened. The sun turned a strange dark orange. A blast of hot wind carrying ash and smoke preceded flames and fire cyclones as the inferno raced across Highway 6.
“Where is it going,” I wondered. “Kokomo, Desdemona?”
Sunday Evening: An orange glow lit the night sky behind Gorman. Now and then flames would flare up beyond the tree line.
Our neighbors, the Howard’s, were keeping us informed. The father, John Howard, a volunteer fireman for Gorman, was with the Gorman Fire Department at the scene of the fire. “Houses are going up in flames,” he told his wife on his cell phone.
A young neighbor was helping us spray down trees and vegetation. “I’ve seen scary movies,” he said. “But this is really scary. This is the real thing.”
There was talk of evacuation. I packed a few valuable things together.
Then I saw Lacy, one of the Howard’s daughters, going towards her car. “Margaret, they are going to evacuate,” she said.
I forced my two kittens out of the house. They would fare better outside, than in a burning home, I reasoned.
The City sirens began to scream.
On the edge of town, we stopped for a minute and looked back. The streets were being blocked by police and emergency vehicles.
My husband said that he was going back. He wasn’t going to see our neighborhood go up in flames without a fight, he said.
I went on to DeLeon. I didn’t know if I would ever see my home again. Visions of the devastation I had seen only a week before in Cross Plains kept coming to mind.
A shelter was set up in the old DeLeon hospital, where I found a room for the night. Many people from Gorman and the area were there. Not many were sleeping.
“Have you heard anything from Gorman?” I kept asking. “We just know that fires are burning all around,” was the answer.
Monday morning, January 2, 2006, 3:30 am: The shelter personnel informed me that Gorman was safe and that I could probably return by day break.
As I drove through our neighborhood, I was grateful to see the houses standing. But I was also sad to think of those who had lost their homes elsewhere.
It was a beautiful morning, a brilliant blue sky, but the stench of smoke and destruction lay heavy over the countryside.
My kittens played and rolled in the grass of our front yard, as if they were truly grateful for another day of life.
It was a new year, a new beginning. But, in Eastland County, it was not the beginning that many had hoped.

 

 

New Years Day 2006

By Craig Rogers

New Years morning 2006, as I watched the sunrise over the Callahan divide, I was truly thankful to be in a country where we are free to choose how we can spend each and every day of our lives.
After the horses were feed, it ws off to church, then lunch with one of my most faithful friends. By 2:00 pm, I was headed to Brownwood to see my son in the hospital when I got the call - “The fire is just south of Carbon and you only have two minutes to evacuate.”
I was reminded of what the mother of my children said when I was with her as she received the same call during the Cross Plains fires, just one week before, “It’s only stuff,” she said. I was over an hour away, so two minutes just wasn’t much good for me. I was thankful my landlord and neighbors called. They asked if there was anything they could get out for me, but they were also 10 minutes away, and the fire was already on the road from Carbon to Kokomo.
I asked them if they could get in, to get my photos, and to try to push my truck out of the carport.
I knew there was nothing I could do but pray for the safety of those in the service there, and trust God to do what was best for me.
It was a joy to see my son doing so well and a peace came over me like I have never had before. After the visit I headed back through Rising Star to take the back road in to Carbon.
It was opened about half way, but several cars were turned around by the fire leaping over the road and the smoke becoming so thick we could only see the center stripe.
Being the adventurous type, I moved onward between the drifts of heavy smoke until I reached the spot where there was so much heat the fire flowed across the road like water.
With my training, I knew if I became trapped, I could get into the burned area and move out of the smoke, but I worried about having to leave my son’s car there, which could burn up.
So I turned around in disappointment, but determined to see what lay beyond those flames, and to find out if the firefighters were able to stop or divert them from my place.
Heading back to Rising Star, I was able to make it up to I-20 across to Eastland, and then talk my way through the roadblock heading south to Carbon. I could see the smoke and flames stretching across the entire central part of the county.
As I turned onto FM 2526, it was silent and though no one was there, I knew I was not alone. All the firefighters had moved on west chasing the giant, not a soul around. It was getting late and all the residents were in shelters by now. A peace and sense of awe surrounded me.
I finally came to the point where the fire had crossed over the pavement and expanded its eastern movement. I saw all my neighbors’ homes lying in rubble. The tree trunks, fence posts, and phone poles were still aflame.
The air was clear by now and as far as I could see, everything was black and charred. A few plumes of gray and white smoke, and the glowing spot fires gave some color to the moon like landscape.
As I reached the end of my road, I could see across the baroness, and it appeared noting was left where I once lived.
The 3/4’s of a mile down the long dirt road seem longer than ever before. It was smoky once again with all the brush and fence post still blazing; however, from the highway I could see, across a neighbors field, that it was clear at the end of the road. So I pressed on.
The sun was setting as I reached what was once everything I owned - now all laying in a pile of glowing embers and ash. The power line was hanging down low across the driveway and no tire tracks lead onto the property. So I was the first to see all this.
I followed the line through the smoldering grass until I could get across safely. The flame was leaping from the pipe that once connected to the stove. Landscape timbers still blazed near the propane tank and I could hear it flowing at full force, feeding the fire. Again, reinforcing the fact that the fire department never made it this far, I quickly kicked dirt on the red hot timbers to try to keep the tank from exploding and then turned it off.
A quick survey of the scene showed that the house was a total loss. My truck was still in the attached carport, the shop was burned in two, with both ends still collapsing into the flames, and the fire was still climbing the poles on the barn, just now reaching the rafters. The only thing left was a boat in the barn, which I had bought last fall to spend some time together with my kids, who love going to the lake, now that they are grown.
I had hoped some help would have arrived by then, - someone checking up on the evacuation before dark. But, I was still by myself. I pulled and pulled on the boat, as the rafters began to burn. Smoke from the fields and brush near by blew in from time to time, choking and blinding me.
The flames grew and grew, as I pulled and rested, pulled and rested, until finally the boat was safely on the burned ground.
With the flames of the barn burning brighter and brighter as night fell, I hadn’t noticed that the sun had gone down. Walking back toward the front of the house, the sky was clear and bright. The crescent moon was already low in the sky and billions of stars shown down through the darkness. This day was ending just like it started - beautiful and perfect, only with a little less stuff to clutter up my dreams and a very thankful heart that I was blessed with another day to live and love.
As I stood there looking over the glowing pile, with the cool January night air stirring up the smoke, all I could do was fall to my knees, look up into the heavens and say “Thank You. Thank you for life, for love, for lessons learned, for my children being safe.”
I was thankful for the fact that our God knows so much better than we do, what we need in our lives to keep us going in His direction. God had blessed me so much over the years, that now, out of this pile of ash, on the first day of the New Year, I knew with all my heart He would raise up a wonderful work and open up the floodgates of mercy and love on me and my family. I knew then that 2006 could only get better and truly be the Greatest year of my life.
I am not sure how long I sat there with Him. But it was a peace beyond measure and a joy of freedom that I am sure others have been blessed with. However, this moment was one marked into eternity as the changing of a season for me. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I would do, but I did know it was going to be great, and I was going to love it.
The next two nights, I stayed at the Red Cross shelter set up at FBC Eastland. I was able to reach my family, and found out that my friends had made it to other shelters.
The loving and caring of the people in the Big Country who took care of us, reminded me why I have always called this place home, and raised my children here.
Staying in the shelter, I was happy to learn how so many survivors of disasters around the world must have felt, knowing so many cared enough to give of their time and resources. I was loved and comforted by so many, who were not truly strangers, but brothers and sisters whom I had not met until now. Even greater still was making so many new friends. That night on my cot, as I closed out the most eventful day of my life, I knew if it was my last, I could truly say it was one of my best.
As we have been taught, Joy comes in the morning. It was cold that January 2nd morning, we had a good breakfast the volunteers had come to cook for us, and my son arrived to pick me up to go see if we could salvage anything.
There was nothing left except the boat. Everything, except what I was wearing, was under the rubble of the baked tin roof laying crumpled over the ash - all my clothes, furniture, sporting equipment, extensive library, life long family photos and heirlooms collected from around the world, and my passport.
My truck sat flat on the ground with the rubber burned off the rims, the seats and windows disintegrated.
Everything was gone, included my office, computer, USB, files, documents, and research data. All the years of my work lay in ash.
Now, the reality was setting in. I was leaving the country in 10 days to go back to work after the holidays. I could only hold to the fact that my family cared enough to be there for me, and that they were all safe and healthy. I had to get back to work, but how, with nothing to work with and no way to go?
It only took a few days, and all the people of Eastland and surrounding counties were so great to help put me back on track and keep me moving forward. Dealing with FEMA and the SBA became and still is very frustrating. I have yet to receive any help from them a year later, while still trying to jump through all their hoops. If it were not for so many of you, I would still be creeping along, waiting on the government. But because of your love and prayers, God has now moved me above and beyond where I stood just 12 short months ago.
As always, He uses people to get His work done and for this, I am Eternally Thankful. Especially for each of you, who has given so much to help keep Texas the perfect place to call home.

 

 

Fire Destroys Craighead Family Home

By Mrs. Craighead Cook

I am Mildred Marie Craighead Cook, and I lost all my house and belongings as well as barn, tractor shed, and storage buildings on Jan. 1, 2006.
My place had been in the family of Allen and Ruth Craighead since the year of 1910 and my mother and daddy moved there in 1911 when they married. I still had some pieces of furniture that were purchased in 1911. A large Mulberry tree was also planted that year near the house, and it had lived until the fire burned it, and the remains had to be cut down.
I had gotten sick a short time before the day of the fire, and had to go to the nursing home until I was able to come to the Hotel in Gorman where I have a small apartment. It has been very hard not to look back, but God has cared for my adjusting, after living on the one farm for 87 years.
My mother was sick when we married in 1937, and we helped her. Then my daddy was very sick with cancer after Mother got better, so we stayed on to help care for him. We then farmed the land and brought up our five sons there, so it was really a family home, and we had many gatherings there.
The six room home, and all the contents held many memories - good and bad. The good really outweigh the bad, as we must make the best of each day we have and enjoy even the small blessings that are bestowed on us.
I am the Granddaughter of J. R. Craighead and Mary Catherine Reed, who were early settlers around Center point and Carbon area. My mother, Ruth Bennett is of the early settlers around the Gorman area.
My first schooling was gained at Bear Springs school. I then finished school in Carbon, when our school was consolidated with Carbon. My mother was the oldest daughter of W. R. Bennett.
I also lost my book of the History of Eastland County (in the fire).
Mildred Marie Craighead Cook
Gorman, Texas

From The Desk Of Eastland County Judge Brad Stephenson...

Unfortunately, I realized when H.V. asked me for my pictures and recollections of the January 1, 2006 fire, the only pictures I had, were those burned into my memory.
Never in my eight years as County Judge, for that matter, in my nearly 50 years, have I experienced such an emotional roller coaster as the first two days of 2006.
My wife and I arrived in Dallas for a short New Years vacation. As we walked up the stairs to our hotel room, my mobile phone rang, “Judge, this is Eastland County Dispatch, we have a large fire raging from 183 to Highway 6. Reports are coming in that the fire has jumped Highway 6. Carbon is evacuated and Kokomo is being evacuated.”
I picked up the luggage and headed for Eastland County. Over the last year, I have joked that I tried to get FEMA to pay for the dash on my wife’s car as she caved it in on the rush across Dallas and Tarrant County.
We noticed smoke in Weatherford. As dark approached, we could see the eerie glow from the East side of Palo Pinto County. When we arrived at the Command Center on the corner of FM 2214 and FM 570, I was immediately shocked and terrified by the enormity of the situation.
Chief Phillip Arther approached with a strong recommendation that Gorman be evacuated. With the assistance of DPS, the process of evacuation was initiated. DeLeon and Brownwood provided emergency shelters for our evacuees.
We began to take stock of our resources and to call for state aid. Teresa Borcik, our District Emergency Coordinator with Texas Department of Public Safety was indispensable as she pulled in resources from across the State.
The Texas Forest Service, reliable as always, committed all the resources at its disposal in spite of numerous other fires in the region. Most impressive was the response of our primarily volunteer fire services. All of our 8 County fire departments came together as one unit
to fight this beast.
In addition, 48 different entities from near and far came to our aid. People from as far away as Abilene and East
Texas came to help. I know of additional
departments that committed resources of equipment and men or women who never officially signed in. They simply fell in to fight the fire where they found it.
Comanche County and Callahan County each sent their mobile command units, a resource of immeasurable value in this circumstance.
As the evening progressed, the elements began to turn a little in our favor. The winds shifted and the risk to Gorman appeared to diminish greatly. At the same time, the personnel at The Incident Command Center knew that Desdemona was now in the direct path of the fire.
As an eye witness, this was the stuff that heroes are born for and legends are made of.
The stand would be made on FM 2214 & FM 570. The emergency management team directed by Chief Phillip Arther, Chief Darrell Fox and others, gathered their resources and deployed them strategically for the stand.
As I write, nearly a year later, tears come to my eyes as I remember our County Commissioners, precinct employees, volunteer firefighters, law enforcement officers, and private volunteers, rushing into harms way.
I specifically remember Truet Hart climbing on his dozer and his teenaged son running after him and not wanting to leave his dad.
Be assured, each of the men and women who fought this fire are heroes. They successfully held the fire and I am quite sure, the community of Desdemona was saved as a result.
Throughout the night and for the next few days, we came to realize the extent of the damage. Texas Ranger David Hullum, Sheriff Wayne Bradford and Terry Edwards headed up teams to check each burned structure to see if anyone had been killed.
Thanks to the good Lord and the fabulous work of DPS, the Sheriff’s office and our firefighters, no one was seriously injured as a result of this fire.
As the statistical information was gathered, we stood in awe at the enormity of the destruction.
Nearly 35,000 acres were burned, many head of livestock were killed and hundreds of miles of fence were destroyed.
112 structures burned to the ground, 43 of which were primary homes of our friends and neighbors.
Many south, east and west of Carbon lost all they owned. The Community of Kokomo was almost totally destroyed.
As we toured the burn zone, we came into contact with many families digging through the rubble of what was once their home. The tears and pain on their blackened faces still touch my heart as I look back.
The Promontory Park Fire Department, a small department with a big heart, risked and lost it all. Their one and only truck with most of their equipment was lost in the fire.
Immediately, there were real life needs that had to be attended.
Here is where I want to brag on you, the people of Eastland County. I have never seen such an outpouring of love and generosity. You gave from the heart, from your blessings and from your pocket book to help those who had lost so much.
I must say, I have always been proud to live in Eastland County, but never as proud as in the months to follow January, 1, 2006.
I also thank our State and Federal representatives. Representative Jim Keffer, Senator Fraser, Senator Hutchinson, Congressman Randy Neugebauer and Governor Perry were all very helpful in bringing together resources that were much needed to begin the recovery process.
Our churches united as one community and came to the front lines providing great service and comfort to those in need.
While the January 1, 2006 fire was the most devastating disaster I have personally experienced, what followed were the finest sequences of events I have ever witnessed.
Yes, we experienced devastation! Yes, our neighbors suffered and are suffering yet. We witnessed no small miracles, no one was killed or seriously injured. We witnessed innumerable examples of heroism and selfless sacrifice. We have seen the love, compassion and tenacity of the people of this county and our neighbors.
Through this tragedy, we have experienced a reaffirmation of the many rich blessings poured out on Eastland County. I for one am guilty of so often taking for granted the nature of our blessings and rich bounty.
I want to express my sincere gratitude to every person who worked, served, gave or prayed for those affected by this fire. Quite frankly, I’m fairly confident that means thank you to each and every resident of Eastland County.
As a footnote, that little fire department at Promontory Park, lost its one and only truck. It now has 3, one donated, one purchased with contributions and one replaced by FEMA. There seems to be a silver lining, even in the cloud produced from the Eastland County Fire of January 1, 2006. - Brad Stephenson, County Judge