18 Ramsey Prison My dinner tonight
consisted of only bread with peanut butter so it didn’t take much effort to prepare
it and the TV was my entertainment. Around seven, I opened the door of the pub When I entered the room, five faces turned
simultaneously in my direction. I definitely disturbed the evening routine of
those men. They probably knew exactly which locals would
enter at which time and this was certainly an unexpected time for a local to enter. In general the expressions of the five faces
was not overwhelmingly warm, but also not hostile. One was sitting at the bar
and the other four were playing cards at a table in the corner of the room. This
made me decide not to turn on my steps, but to walk to the bar. I ordered a beer and looked around to investigate
the interior of the pub. The room
radiated a nostalgic atmosphere with some nods to the Wild West. Rifles were an important item in this pub because
on the wall I found all kinds of old maybe antique rifles. Also pictures of tough, rough hunters with a
rifle in their right hand and a slotted dead animal in the other. What made
me a little uncomfortable were the posters of soldiers in the uniform of the
Confederates during the civil war. The bartender saw me looking at the rifles on
the walls. “Stranger, do you know that carrying a weapon is
a right of every civilian in Texas,” he asked. The person made me a little nervous and when
I am nervous, I drink very quickly. In no time my glass was empty and without
asking the bartender filled my glass again. To avoid
a wrong answer I asked, “Only in Texas?” “Here in the Lone Star State, we still believe
in certain time-honored values.” The man next to me moved his shirt aside and
showed me his holster with a gun. “Every American has a right to defend himself,
his family and his private property,” he complemented the story of the bartender. “Do Texas gun laws permit to carry handguns
in public spaces?” I asked. “Yes, with the appropriate permit. However, there are restrictions on where an
how to carry a firearm. Within
the boundaries of a town, you cannot carry handguns openly on your hip and walk
around but it is ok during hunting. You can carry a long arm openly, but you cannot
carry a shotgun or rifle when you are shopping or in public offices. You better not wave one around in a public place
such as a parking lot, unless you want to get in serious trouble.” I
offered my neighbor a handshake with the idea to introduce myself to him, but he
reacted with the question, “You’re
from?” “The Netherlands” No sign of recognition, but because in this
area a lot of people had German roots my second try was. “The
Netherlands is a very good neighbor of Germany.” Bingo, the magic word was spoken, the person
changed, I suddenly got his trust. The next moment Colton and I were shaking hands. His
story was about the good old times before the civil war. He
proudly told me he was privileged to work as they did in the old days. He mostly
rode a horse with a rifle in his hand, guarding black people working on the cotton-field.
I was shocked! My only logical explanation was that the amount
of alcohol he probably already consumed made his imagination grow rapidly. Nevertheless,
even it was mostly fictional and the man was weird and scary, I still was curious
to know the whole story. “ I work at Ramsey Prison
Farm near Otey,
south of Houston. Before the Civil War (1861 to 1865), it was a slave plantation owned by the brothers Mills.
They were among the largest slaveholders of Texas. After the Civil War they lost most of their
estate to creditors. The land was bought by the Texas prison
system in 1908 and formed into the Ramsey State Prison Farm. The prisoners
on Ramsey are mainly blacks and they have to work as much as their ancestors had
worked, like slaves. They have
to, pick cotton, slamming hoes into soil and provide in their own food. To make it bearable, they sing in
the rhythm of their labor. Some of them are rather good singers, singing
spirituals, work songs and blues. I told you, at
some places the old times still live on!” I did not dare to tell him how I thought
about it because I didn’t want to have a fight with a drunken man with a gun. Therefore, I asked him another riskless question. “Aren’t you living too far from your work?” “Yes, but I was born here and will never leave
this town. It’s a six hour drive but I do not travel every day, more like once
a week. I am not married and do not have children and
it is nice to be away from here for one or two weeks. As I already told you, it is a great job” It almost looked as he was challenging me by
these provocative words. During his story, Colton constantly told the
barman to refill our glasses. I became
a little worried; my wallet only held around $70, not knowing if the money from
Holland would arrive on Monday. Because I did not know whether a sign of Colton
to refill the glasses meant he would pay for me I decided to let my last glass half
full. Colton
noticed and told me that if I did not empty my glass faster the bartender would
be offended. I told
him that I wanted to finish cycling in San Diego and looking at my cash flow, money
would be a serious obstacle in reaching my goal. Therefore, I was already at my limit tonight. Colton
smiled a little teasingly, “Let’s make a deal, I told you my story. If
your story is better, I will pay your bill, else you’ll have to pay your own
drinks. To create the right atmosphere it is not allowed
to drink slowly. Not I,
but all my fellow villagers will decide what’s the best story. They
already know my story. I will
warn you they are not interested in mushy stories, like your cycling trip. What
they need is a story with guns, don’t you agree guys?” The last words he shouted to the four who
were playing cards at a table in the right corner of the room. The four came to the bar to find out what was going
on. Colton
explained the case in a few words and the others liked the idea, which was a nice
variation in their daily evening events. They all looked at me with high expectations. I did not
particularly like the situation I found myself in. They were not hostile but I couldn’t
determine if the atmosphere would change drastically if I didn’t accept his proposal.
I did
one attempt to avoid this battle. “Sorry, but my English is too bad to make it
a catchy story.” “We already heard your English is terrible but
thereby it is amusing. It is more
an advantage than a disadvantage and they, pointing at the four judges, heard
my story already for many times, so no excuses else we will be very disappointed.”
Together with these last words he produced a
nasty smile. The only suitable story I could tell was the
story about my grandfather during World War I. It was
the only story that would be suitable if I understood their wishes correctly. The advantage I had was that I had all the
facts and difficult English words in my notebook even a little sketch of the situation
on the North Sea and I already told it once to an angler in Panama Beach and he
loved it. I decided to have fun with it and to make the
best of it.
Because of the number of beers they already consumed, they probably wouldn’t
care about the flaws in my syntax. I asked
them if they’d allow me to sketch something on the scoreboard next to the dart
game on the wall. I first
drew the sketch out of my book to show them the sailing directions of the steamship,
the U35 and the fishing boats. I tried
to talk slowly and dramatically to extend the storytelling time. The number of beers I consumed made talking a
little easier. That evening I did not have to pay my drinks
and there were a lot more. I almost got good friends with them, but that
was one step too far for me. Back at
Twin Oaks I was a little drunk. I tried to repair my gloves but gave up, better
to do it tomorrow when I was sober. The forecast for tomorrow was good, a clear
day with a good chance that I would see the sun a little bit more than today. Dear Note One of the
men at the bar asked me if I heard about the television series Bonanza. I was
not lying when I told him we had that series on our television in the Netherlands.
To prove I knew about it, I told them about two other cowboy series, which were
on tv at the same time. The other two were The High Chaparral and Rawhide. The man
was surprised and asked me with even more enthusiasm if I remembered a guy in the
series called Hoss.” I told him that this was an easy question because it was
that huge big but friendly son of the family. With proud in his eyes he told me
Hoss his real name is Dan Blocker and that they are family. Before he was casted
for this western television series, he was a drama teacher at a high school
here in Sonora. Have a
great night, dear Note, I went to sleep at 00:15am00:15 with
an imaginary shotgun under my pillow and the feeling I had a bullet in my head. |