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by Joan Upton Hall
Originally printed in the column: "Roam
with Joan"
In the Williamson County Sun, Oct. 23, 2002
Looking for a spirited Halloween getaway? Visit “Waxahachie’s Most Haunted” attractions and prepare to be spooked, regardless of your age. But don’t worry. These places are more delightful than frightful.
For a one-day jaunt, you can shop the square, visit museums, and dine with
ghosts at the Catfish Plantation (1895). If you dare--spend the night in the
haunted but luxurious
When you first drive into town, you’ll find yourself surrounded with the Southern charm of marvelous old homes and public buildings. The magnificently restored Ellis County Courthouse (1875) puts you into a mood of mystery. Carved faces adorning each porch depict a lovely young girl among grotesque gargoyles. Why?
Legend has it that the sculptor, Harry Hurley, fell in love with a local miss and immortalized her beauty in stone. After she rejected him, his work turned to ugly, grimacing faces.
For meals, you have two haunting (and delicious) choices. Pick one for
lunch and the other for dinner. The
The charming Victorian house at
The Catfish Plantation, highly publicized as “
Former owners, Tom and Melissa Baker, tolerated the ghosts’ playful antics--knocking walls, pianos playing, blue glowing lights, cold spots, and moving objects, to name a few. Once, according to the Antique Traveler newspaper, Mellisa was greeted by a fresh pot of coffee--and she had the only key. About 75% of their employees have experienced strange occurrences too. And don’t be surprised if an unseen hand touches you.
Let’s move on to the
Also Tammy told me that Room 409 is the source of many eerie occurrences. Once while cleaning, a maid, Gloria, found a picture of a beautiful woman drawn on the canvas of a chair. She went after something to clean it off, but when she returned, the drawing had vanished.
The
Every weekend in October, Friday through Sunday nights, Screams® joins the list of attractions. Covering 50 acres, it’s the world’s largest Halloween theme park, with plenty of fun for young and old, offering free admission for children under age 5.
Don’t miss the eight main attractions included in the price of your ticket,
not to mention all the other events and roaming ghouls. See the
As for the rest of Waxahachie, it won’t lose its mystique. After all, these ghosts have occupied their digs for a long time.
SIDE BAR:
Driving Directions:
(about 140 mi.
• Travel N. on I-35
• Take I-35E North toward
• For Waxahachie, Exit #397 and go east
• For Screams®, Exit #399 and go west on FM66 (1.6 mi.)
Contacts:
• Catfish
•
• Screams® (888) 372-7326 or www.screamspark.com
• Chamber of Commerce (for other info.): (972) 937-2390 or www.waxacofc.com
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I HAD A BIG APPLE FOR THANKSGIVING
by Joan Upton Hall
Originally printed in the Willaimson County Sun, December 6, 1999
“Avoid sustained eye contact with people you meet,”
our tour director, John Ore, cautions us as part of the orientation session.
He should know.
It’s no easier for my traveling buddies, Jeanette Crabb of
Round Rock and her lawyer daughter Vickie Audette of
Then I remember what I learned in dog obedience training when I took my two Lab puppies. Ever notice how dogs first circle each other looking out of the corners of their eyes? According to dog psychology, direct, frontal staring from a stranger (human or canine) communicates challenge. Okay, so it’s a primal thing, right? Something you don’t do in jungles, whether they be rain forests or skyscrapers.
I’m psyched for the trip, but it doesn’t become real to me
until we motor-coach from the airport at
We head toward the Lincoln Tunnel, and the road descends between
massive blocks of black granite. Nope, we aren’t in
I breathe easier at seeing the sky again. As we drive into the city, the curtain of night comes down fast among the tall buildings. It usually matters to this country gal where the sun goes down, but sunset becomes insignificant in the blaze of lights. Times Square is brighter at night than by day, and our 47th Street hotel is only half a block off Broadway.
Jeanette, Vickie, and I can hardly wait to walk on Broadway and find a place to eat. We dive into the current of people going our way. All three of us struggle to look as obliquely as we can at faces while absorbing Broadway’s sensory barrage.
Now and then, the flow of humanity halts and rings around street performers. Four young rap dancers give their best, equal to anything on TV. Another time, drummers produce percussion solos out of buckets and pipes. Their tip cans brim with bills, as easy to steal as purse snatching, but it doesn’t happen. The honor system works here.
We’ve been warned not to make ourselves vulnerable by acting like tourists. Jeanette and I try not to gawk at first. Then we realize half the other people are gawking too. Besides, all we have to do is say, “Pardon me,” and our origin will be out of the bag. We find that’s generally okay too. On every side you’re hearing foreign languages and accents, but nothing seems to stop a New Yorker quicker than hearing a Texan “say something.”
Every few feet, I smell a new kind of food, from pastries to pizza. Nobody has greater gastronomic gusto than I do, and I probably would stop at the first cart selling roasted nuts, but our cosmopolitan Vickie keeps us moving to better things. Our first NY meal is a Reuben at Times Square Brewery, our table next to a corner glass wall on the second floor overlooking 42nd Street and Broadway. It’s worth waiting for, both for taste and gawking pleasure.
Street vendors are everywhere, repeating the name of their wares like machine gun fire. Others use a different approach. “Rolex, Rolex, Rolex, Rolex!” a man who looks like a linebacker mumbles almost in my ear as I pass by, but he doesn’t have a briefcase open like most of the vendors. I stop Vickie because she’s looking for a Rolex. “Meet me in the back of that deli,” he says. I’ll have to admit we make eye-contact with the linebacker before he disappears.
We worm through the crowd to the rendezvous point. There’s the linebacker, seated at a table, open briefcase and all. A band of what looks like Scotch tape encircles his shaven head. I wonder why, but I don’t ask. We don’t ask where he gets hundreds of watches in his case either.
By this point, we decide eye-contact is okay, after you establish your intentions. Just don’t act like an ugly American, ask personal questions, or brag. In other words show a civil attitude.
Mostly, the streets are a sea of yellow cabs and busses. I don’t believe the natives could drive without horn-blowing, though nobody seems to pay any attention. I suppose it does vent the drivers’ spleens though. In crossing streets we quickly learn not to wait for the “walk” sign to come up. At some secret signal, native pedestrians charge across the cross-walks, and we charge with them. Cabbies might run over one or two people, but they’ll respect the rights of a pack because they can’t roll over it. If any cabby ever thinks of cow-catchers or tank-treads, pedestrians will be in trouble.
On another day, we discover a different world in the Upper East Side. We take a leisurely stroll down Park Avenue, gawking at beautiful high-rises where the fortunate make their homes. Trees and flowers grow in small beds beside doorways, some peeping over rooftops and from balconies. About every fifth person is walking a dog, and whether they wear designer dresses or leggings and Nikes, they issue an aura of belonging and affluence. Young handlers walk other dogs (up to five at a time). I understand you can make a nice chunk of change walking all those Fidos. (Or on Park Avenue, would that be “Fideaux”?)
Apparently, very few New Yorkers own cars, some never having driven at all. You couldn’t park if you tried, and I marvel at the absence of gas stations. Mass transit and taxis are the way to go, along with walking--lots of walking. I think I’m a good walker until the second day. When I take off my shoes, I fully expect to find two nubs where my feet used to be, but they’re okay.
At least, wearing comfortable clothes and shoes is acceptable nowadays, unlike the time I went to NYC many years ago. On Broadway then, people who could afford it distinguished themselves from the “bums” by dressing up (men in suits and ties, women in heels, hats, and gloves). It’s also cleaner and safer than it used to be, thanks to Mayor Giuliani.
My friends and I aren’t willing to accept the cash outlay it takes for taxis (that meter keeps running even when you’re stopped or taking the long route). We love the subway. You can travel amazingly far and fast for a pittance.
Why most cities don’t use subways or el trains, I don’t understand. (I do understand why people resist mass transit in the form of a lumbering bus; you’re not on a subway long enough to get uncomfortable.) All you need is a city map and a subway map to see what train to board and where to get off. Then you walk no farther than you’d do in Texas after parking your car. When was the last time you were able to park right in front of the store you wanted in Austin, Dallas, San Antonio, or Houston? Or on your friendly, neighborhood courthouse square, for that matter?
The Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade is quite a sight, even though I can’t get close enough to see any but the tall floats. Had I been more of a parade aficionado, I would have gone out early, declared squatter’s rights curbside, and watched the whole thing. I find it more interesting to talk to people milling around farther back, like one woman who leaves now and then to go baste her turkey. She lives only two blocks away.
Sight-seeing? Overwhelming! It would take many visits to see everything I want to see. Thanksgiving Day, Jeanette and I opt to be tourists. We skim the surface of the city via a tour bus, learning the names and histories of districts, buildings, statues, and parks.
Jack and Jane Van Horn, from Georgetown’s Sun City, two of our favorite fellow travelers, are on the same sightseeing bus. Jack, having grown up in New York City, adds personal touches to what the tour guide tells us. At one point, on 57th Street, he says, “Oh, there it is! We lived in that apartment building when I attended PS #95!” He points out an unsavory looking area. “I had to run through Hell’s Kitchen to the subway every day to keep from getting beat up.”
We can get off anywhere we want and board another bus later by showing them our tickets. Jeanette and I get off only to take the Staten Island Ferry. Thanksgiving dinner is a hotdog on the boat. Then we visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It takes more hours than we expect, and we don’t have time to get off at any other places. At least, our tour guide this time is a hoot. He sandwiches information with singing, joking, and flirting. Lots of entertainers in the Big Apple.
Vickie spends that same day in Greenwich Village and Soho (which means “South of Houston Street,” pronounced “How-ston” by New Yorkers). She hangs out with a friend of a friend in Soho, who turns out to be a former Broadway dancer, “dahling.”
One of my favorite sights is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We spend almost half a day on the Egyptian exhibit alone. Then we go to the gift shop and spend more than time--for items that will be keepsakes forever. Again, we run out of time (and energy) and have to rush back so we won’t miss our play.
Another favorite sight is Central Park. I salute New York for saving such a choice piece of real estate in the middle of the city (a 2-1/2 by 1/2 mile area) to give people respite from the man-made. I’ve always heard it was a haven for muggers, rapists, and murderers. It doesn’t look that way to me, nor do the people act uncomfortable. In fact, almost everybody we encounter is friendly and helpful.
That courtesy doesn’t hold true for waiters and waitresses (at ordinary restaurants, not ritzy ones). Never before did I better understand that time is money. If you don’t make up your mind fast or you fumble for change, don’t be surprised at a rebuke, or at least an attitude. You don’t have time to meander through, “I think I’d like to have ...” without having a waiter say, “I got that part.” Just say, “Black coffee,” and shut up.
Restaurant prices? Go figure! Our luncheon (with gracious service) at the exquisite Tavern on the Green isn’t much more than twice the cost of a teacup-sized bowl of soup Vickie has at good old familiar-sounding T.G.I. Friday’s one evening after a play. We learn to check the menu before we go in next time.
Theater? Part of our tour package includes three Broadway plays, (this trip: “Lion King,” “Kiss Me, Kate,” and “Annie, Get Your Gun,” listed at about $80 each). How John Ore stretches our dollars is a mystery, but we have excellent seats at all three. Some of our group take in a matinee and an evening play each day. I could O.D. on shows if there weren’t so many other things I want to do. A place on Times Square lists tickets still available (for off-Broadway productions too). You can pick them up for half price, but be prepared to stand in line and don’t have your heart set on one particular play.
The grand old theaters themselves are a treat to see.
Shopping at Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s? I frankly can’t see that much difference from department stores in other cities, but it’s neat to do it once, and New York’s glitz on glitz is exciting.
To give you an idea of the tour’s success, several of our fellow travelers have been several times. One person tells me she’s been _____ times. Most of us hail from Williamson and Travis Counties, but people from Little Rock, Houston, Dallas, Washington DC, Charlotte, and Santa Fe join friends or family members on this trip.
Part of that success may stem from the freedom to choose your own interests. On the phone, Jeanette’s husband tells her he’s watching the parade on TV, when the announcer introduces a woman from Georgetown. We find it’s song writer, Lolly Wildharber, and her daughter, Jody.
Before this trip started, Sammye Munson, a writer from Houston, has contacted me although we have never met before. As a former Georgetonian, her husband, Leslie, continues to take the WILLIAMSON COUNTY SUN, so they read the “Kilgore & Hall” humor column when I mentioned this trip, a trip they also plan to take.
Their musician son, Mark, of
Not long ago, Janet Kilgore, my column partner, wrote about travel experiences as “seeing the elephant.” In the famous poem, “The Blind Men and the Elephant,” each man comes away with a different “view” of the creature. One, feeling the trunk, declares it to be “very like a snake”; another, a rope after feeling the tail; another, a tree after feeling the leg; etc. I imagine that’s how it is for each traveler, regarding our trip.
I think what will stay with me are the people. Incomplete scenes will run and rerun inside my head, leaving me puzzled, angry, worried, or warmed: artists and street performers playing to crowds of twenty or thirty in New York instead of making it big anywhere else; the guy with Scotch tape around his head selling watches; people in a hurry, drawing up short and offering to take our photo so nobody has to get left out; a stony-faced mother dragging her child through a revolving door, oblivious to whether he gets through intact; a young man pinning his girlfriend against a storefront while she insists, “But it’s not mine!” her voice tough but her eyes scared; cyclists at Central Park giving directions to the zoo but grinning, “Better leave a trail of M & Ms so you can find your way out.”
These people are my view of the elephant.