Editor’s Note: This is the 450th installment of Growing Up in Bandera. The Bulletin is grateful for every single installment from Mr. Clark and to Bandera and beyond for its readership.
The tale of the disappearing town of Bandera, Texas is still being written. Contemplating its demise will create differing opinions depending on one’s perspective.
Back in the day the daily rush hour traffic flow on Main Street was even less than what you might encounter today around midnight on a weekday. Chances were pretty good back then that you knew everyone you met and where they were going and for what reason. “Oh that’s Jimmy Britt getting an early start going to the Market Square in San Antonio to pick up produce for Britt’s Vegetable Stand”. “There goes Warren Hyde heading to the OST for a late cup of coffee with Sheriff Miller and Walter Welch”. You just knew those things.
Teens dragging Main in the evening usually didn’t encounter any traffic other than other teens dragging Main. Now the one thing that caused a short flurry of traffic was when the siren on the water tower went off and folks headed into town to follow the firetruck to the site of the emergency. Yes, I know about current laws but things were different back then. Lots of things were different back then and perhaps they were better. There is a lot of that going on these days as imagined fears drive us to fix things that aren’t broken.
Back in the days of Joe Short and Tag Knibbe manning the post office there where the Bandera Bank parking lot is now located along Main Street it wasn’t unheard of to receive mail addressed to you general delivery Bandera, Texas. They knew which box to put it in.
When I went in for Granddaddy Kindla’s mail I didn’t have to ask. They knew and it was handed to me with instructions to tell granddaddy they said hello. I understand why that wouldn’t work in today’s world but what a great memory it is to recall.
During my later teen years it wasn’t really unusual for boys my age to obtain beer at a couple establishments around Bandera county. My parents would receive calls occasionally informing them of my activities. The result was always the same, “When you get caught you better have the money to pay the fine or else you will be doing jail time”. As I recall the fine for any misdeed at the time was $27.50. My mother continued to get those calls even after I was married and had moved out. Such was the life of a small town kid Growing Up In Bandera.
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