AUSTIN, Texas — Several of my Texas heroes are buried on 20-plus acres of pleasant hills just east of downtown. The traffic of Interstate 35 is a constant murmur, though not quite in sight. I visited for the first time recently on a lovely autumn afternoon. A Texas Monthly article about the place compelled this foray.
The Texas State Cemetery's genesis sprang in 1851 as a gift from future Gov. Andrew J. Hamilton, who donated the land to the state. As a Unionist Democrat, Jack Hamilton soon faced the opprobrium of the vast majority of Texans who were pro-Secessionist. His Unionist views forced him to flee in 1862 under a hail of death threats. He returned after the Civil War ended as a Republican and was named provisional governor. Hamilton lost a re-election bid to Edmund J. Davis. He is buried elsewhere, but Davis — the state's first elected Republican governor — has a plot at the state cemetery.
I wander nearly alone around the ground studying markers elaborate and modest, for folks either famous or largely unknown. Soon I am gazing upon Barbara Jordan's headstone. "Patriot" is chiseled into the top of one side. In 1992, I spent a month as a guest in a class Ms. Jordan taught at the LBJ School of Public Affairs. I was scared to say a word, enthralled to be in a seminar with one of our country's greatest 20-century orators. She is one of my heroes.
So is Bob Bullock, whose marker proclaims, as he often did, "God Bless Texas." Bullock was the last of a breed of Texas politicians more interested in getting things done than party labels or political ideology. He drank too much but finally dried out, chain-smoked even though he had lost a lung, and devoted his life to making this state a better place. God Bless Bob Bullock.
Ralph W. Yarborough, also buried here, served two terms as a U.S. senator — the only liberal ever elected from Texas to that body. He was a leader in civil rights reform, sponsored legislation to create the Big Thicket near Beaumont, the Guadalupe Mountains National Preserve in West Texas and the South Padre National Seashore along the coast. He defeated the elder George Bush to win re-election in 1964. His nickname was "Smilin' Ralph." I wish I had met him.
Tom Landry isn't buried in the state cemetery, but he does have a memorial marker here. This spurred me to check out the guidelines for burial or recognition in this exclusive expanse of real estate. I'm proud Coach Tom is memorialized here, with a stone that depicts his famous fedora. Landry's recognition (he's actually buried in Dallas) came under a clause that allows folks who have made a significant contribution to the state in one of a laundry list of areas — cultural, scientific and sports, to name a few.
A lot of folks buried at the state cemetery are on their second and sometimes third planting — including dozens of Confederate veterans and their spouses, now buried in chronological order of their deaths.
Stephen F. Austin is buried here beneath an impressive bronze sculpture, but it took 74 years to get him moved to the town that bears his name. Robert Potter, secretary of the Navy during the Republic of Texas, who was murdered at Caddo Lake during the Regulator-Moderator war in 1842, was dug up and moved a few hundred miles west in 1928.
The Texas Monthly article featured a color photo of one of my personal heroes, a fellow named Bill Kugle. He died in 1992 at the age of 67 and qualified for burial in the state cemetery based on one term as a state representative. We crossed paths in 1971 when a friend and I were expelled from Longview High School for publishing an alternative newspaper.
Kugle was an attorney who did work for the ACLU and agreed to take our case for free on First Amendment grounds. Kugle got us back in school within a few days. We ultimately won our case without having to go to court. The case didn't cost me, or my parents, a dime. I've been in the newspaper business ever since.
Kugle's headstone on the back side sports this inscription: "He never voted for Republicans and had little to do with them."
Despite this upwardly mobile ascent among dead folks, a chunk of real estate remains available in the state cemetery. The liveoak trees provide shade to those privileged enough to had obtained lots beneath. I wish I could figure out a way to qualify for burial there, though I'm certainly in no hurry. Looking over the various avenues to "burial eligibility" — including getting elected to the Legislature, becoming a state official or the aforementioned contributions to culture, it appears to me my best shot is to become best buddies with a future governor.
Since I tend to agree with the late Bill Kugle's epitaph, that seems unlikely — at least in the foreseeable future. As I said, I'm in no hurry.
Gary Borders is publisher of the Longview News-Journal. His e-mail adress is gborders AT coxlnj.com.
