Rest your feet and set a spell.
Clicking on the link below will download a Landmark Designation Report from the City of Houston onto your computer. The report is about the John and Marie Etta Garrow House. It contains some very good biographical information about the Hunt/Garrow/Brady side of our family. It also mentions Pierre Schlumberger as well.
The John and Marie Etta Garrow House
Sperry Hunt 5/7/2016
This is a picture of cousin Ryland Howard in front of our grandparents’ house in 2016. It was taken by his lovely daughter Isabel who graciously sent it to me. This is my reply to her.
Isabel,
I’ve been past it myself. It’s a law firm now. There was an air conditioned porch on the south side (to the left). Dr. Howard, Dal or Daddy Philo as people called him, sat there every day as an old man. He listened to the [baseball] game and played pitch with me using enormous cards. Diabetes hurt his vision. He ate figs and spoke very little. The house was originally a block to the south on West Alabama. My dad and I weathered out Hurricane Carla at his house with Nannie Mine and him. I was about 13. Chunks of the palm trees from the median blew down the street. My mom said many of her older relatives passed away in the house. As a girl she and her friends pulled old clothes out of trunks in the attic and put on plays with them. Our grandmother was very wise and good with money. Her mother died when she was little. She live with her mom’s sister who married a man who adopted her and left her and her sister Bessie land. Nannie Mine’s was “the farm” in Chambers County.
Much love,
Sperry
[See other post about Dr. Howard and baseball. Also, the name Hunt on the awning is strictly divine comedy.]
My dad, Judge Wilmer Brady Hunt, was a very serious card player. Notice the expression in this photo. He’s playing a ten-year-old (me) and was as focused as a terrier at a rat hole. Note the hat. He always wore one when he played cards. It was likely to cover his expression as he studied newly drawn cards. (The second hat likely belongs to the photographer – probably Uncle Philo or Uncle Brother. (Yes, Uncle Brother, as Henry Safford was known. His wife, Aunt Georgia, called him Brother, which must have raised some eyebrows occasionally.)
My father’s favorite people to play cards with were probably his mother (Lucy Brady Hunt) and his sisters (Lucy Hunt Barada and Lennie Estelle Hunt). All three were sharks. His mother, whom we called Nana, was the Miss Marple of cards. She was a master of bridge and hearts. Nana rarely glanced around the table. Instead she would stare at her cards, cluck and shake her head grimly. And she would win – decisively and often. What made her particularly difficult to beat was that she held her hand upside down and completely unorganized – so that if a competitor or kibitzer happened by …
My dad told me some of his best times as a young man were playing cards on ships. He did his undergad at Georgetown University in D.C. Most people would have taken the train from Houston. It was a two-day trip. Instead Dad took a ship from Galveston, which would take four or five – leaving plenty of time to drink whiskey and play cards. He was also very good at shooting skeet, which he probably did at the fantail in those days.
As a lawyer and a judge, he played cards with and his friends every Monday night, barring holidays and assassinations. When he hosted the party (in the room in the photo), I made a habit of drifting by for the cold-cuts and the wonderful chatter. One of the men he played with was Judge Pete Salito, who brought wonderful Italian food of his own making, which he warm-up in our kitchen before the game. Another, and I don’t remember his name, drove up in a beautiful Jaguar XKE, he could barely get into. The men always enjoyed themselves.
Among my dad’s favorite sayings at the table were:
I’m looking to my family to assist me with more.
Click below to open up a scanned letter from Jeana to Lalu.
Jeana Letter to Lalu March 11 1965
In the letter she talks about meeting Prince Charles, Sperry coming home from Fountain Valley with his friend from Bogota, Brady’s christening, Roy’s birthday and Daddy’s blues. We lived in this house between the one at 526 W. Friar Tuck (1951-1964) and The River Oaks High Rise on Westheimer just south of Buffalo Speedway (1966-1968). From the apartment she and Dad moved to 900 W. Red Bud Trail in Austin (1968-1983?).
Below is the apartment. This is the north side. We were on the west near the top. A decade letter Robin and Malcolm moved into a house on Locke Lane, a block behind the Google camera tacking this photograph.
Jeana created may religious works. The following is a draft of a 1954 letter Jeana wrote to Father Jose Maria Azpiazu, pastor of the parish of St. John the Baptist in San Juan, Texas. I’ve paced a link at the bottom of the letter. Click on it to learn the history of the church.
Note that this is a draft letter only. I haven’t found a copy of the actual letter as yet. The letter is a small window into who Jeana was as an artist.
Sperry
———————————–
Dear Father Aspiazu,
Yesterday, Mr. Hamilton Brown, Houston architect called me, that he had heard that you were building a church in San Juan, and would be needing some murals.
I would like very much to apply for the job, as I have begun doing sketches for just such a thing for the past two years. Many of which I can send you in photographs. Or I can come down and talk to you and bring the sketches with me.
I have painted for twenty years and have had experience as a teacher in several art colonies.
I can do casein, oil, or paint directly on plaster – or work in plastic which is fairly new and very beautiful. I would like so much to do thes and would charge you minimum because it’s for the church.
My references are Mr. Hamilton Brown 2017 W. Gray(acting Pres. of Allied Arts in Houston), Mr. Paul Elliott – architect and designer in the Contemporary Art Museum of Houston.
[Eugenia Hunt]
Click her to read about the church at San Juan
Alpine, TX; Early circa 1954
The following is a draft of a letter to Grainger, who is fourteen and at Moye Miltary Academy which he recently said was, “run by nuns.” I doubted that, but turns out to be true!!! ( http://www.moyecenter.org/about-moye-retreat-center ). Actually Jeana and Judge were taking their girls to California and leaving their boys behind. I was left (happily) with the Lockharts in Alpine. Mrs. Gard ran a wonderful day care that had a rusty old jalopy to play in as I recall.)
We had a modest summer house on a hill facing the sunset in Alpine. Jeana called it the Gate to Heaven because of the view, and because it was behind the houses of people named the Crosses and the Sohls (lovely people, by the way).
The journal entry ends with a working sketch noting colors she will use to paint the California hills.
———–
Dearest Grainger,
Well – we finally left this morning – as I fell apart and had to stay in bed yesterday.
We left Irene and Mrs. Sanchos1 at the studio cleaning up for our tenant – Mrs. Sanchos is taking Amigo even after knowing what he did last night. He chewed up Lalu’s good black shoes and her brand new blue hat, and the poor thing wept.
Sperry was furious because my being sick delayed his going to Mrs. Gard’s an extra day.
Finally we got off – Mrs. Lockhart lent me her movie camera. We are going to take a film of the trip – and then if they turn out good we’ll show you when we get home.
Down the road and right out of Van Horn with Lalu at the wheel and blow out. The tire was in complete ribbons. Robin and Lalu changed it in about 15 miinutes and on to Van Horn where we had to buy a new tire. Now Robin is at the wheel.
Next day
Well we spent last nite in the La Fonda in El Paso. You remember it used be a motel. Well they added another group of rooms around a patio and a swimming pool and a beautiful dining room. We enjoyed it so much.
Then we left about eight this morning with me driving. About 50 miles from El Paso the car began to giggle and I drove into a station, and lo and behold another puncture. Well we got that fixed and on.
We have been in Texas today, New Mexico and Arizona. We are now nearing Phoenix, Arizona. We stopped at a wonderful place and saw some gorgeous rocks. We could hardly get Lalu out – there were 1000’s of rocks and she wanted to see them all – and found out about them all.
Friday Morn –
Here we are in Phoenix – I think it is the land of motels – hundreds upon hundreds
Another tire down – so we have decided to buy extras, and now they are being put on and Robin and I walk down the streed and find a metal dog – painted about four feet high. So we confer with the furniture store owner and find the enormous fellow was made in France 100 years ago. He’s been in this country 60 years. So we went back and told Daddy we had purchased an antique dog – and we were going to load it on. Poor Daddy’s had so many surprises, I think he believed it.
[New Topic]
Cal. Fall
For gold mountains – under-painting with raw umber and whit. When dry use white brush and brush on Mars yellow for grass. The undulating shapes are almost done across half a side ridge sometimes grew black. Oaks leaning into the wind.
This is a precious letter from Marybelle Hunt to Bill Guest et all. It was in response to his recent email about how much he missed Robin.
Sperry
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Hi Bill,
I just read your email. I can’t hardly talk about Robin with out a huge ache. I love hearing about her. I think of her everyday.
A few days ago I reached for my phone to call her and remembered. Then I thought about calling her number anyway just to hear her voice. I didn’t though.
My girls and I talk about her all the time. Especially when we do girl stuff. We have all taken turns using her Prada bag. She was our fashionista and mentor. She listened to me -always interested.
When I was going through the breast cancer I would email her and Heather. She listened to both of us. She was a huge support. The Bandon trip started out as a way to celebrate our lives after cancer. She and dad planned all of it in about a minute. She was awesome like that. She still is awesome. She had a huge impact on my life. Great role model for the girls and me.
She was so much like Jeana. The way she spoke, held herself. Her grace and wit. She was also one tough cookie when she needed to be. She was never afraid to let you know her view and she did it so eloquently. Jeana was the same. I miss their voices and their cheeks. That beautiful skin.
I remember the first time I cussed in front of her. We had a whole conversation about why the word “fuck” just feels good when you say the letters, regardless of the meaning or intent. Who knew that Robin could cuss like that! ? She was so full of surprises.
Dad says that women are the reason that men are able to be great. Robin was a great woman. Robin also thought you were her great love. Lucky you! You must be an awesome guy.
Thanks for listening.
Lots of love,
Marybelle XO
The following is one of many of Jeana’s travel journals that I am lucky enough to have. I’ll be putting up excerpts from time to time. I thought you all might enjoy this one.
Sperry
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May 1987
Eugenia Howard Hunt
1317 Spyglass
Austin, Texas
Shell House
Here I am out at the Lake Travis at 809 Mariner. Rented my town house in Austin to Meg Ryan, a young Disney star. I stayed around at friends houses for a while because I felt this place was too alone. Ledi’s [?], Ella [Watson’s] and Dorothy [Barnett’s]. But Poppy and I decided to come on out. He certainly isn’t much of a watch dog but friendly. The Lake is a miracle of changing lights, and in this weather – huge clouds, dripping rain – clearing to sparkle than back again. This 29th of May it rained all night and is at it this morning. That soft soothing surreal note as it patters on glass, concrete and trees. The trees are whirling in the wind, but it doesn’t seem noisy just snug inside.
Dr. Bill Lockhart’s son-in-law called early this morning to say Bill is dead. Just after the lightning flashed and I felt as though I saw a great pine fall. He was always master of his situation right or wrong – and he was a fine, fine doctor. Every time no one else could fix me up I’d call Alpine or go up there. His wife Laura-belle is one of my dearest friends. I do hope this won’t be too hard on her. She’s such a loving lady. And if anyone [who] criticized Bill, he was an enemy forever.
I called Grainger to tell him about it. They want money for a heart machine in Alpine. I think I’ll send it to Laurabelle instead. She’ll need it for he did so much charity he couldn’t have made much money in his practice. And there are so many expenses after a loved one dies.
Jean Garwood called. I am staying at the Stephen F Austin [Hotel] with her for the Garwood wedding tomorrow nite, in Austin.
I arrived at the hotel – and had a large corner room. First T.V. I’d seen in weeks. The Lake has been so quiet, reflective and relaxing.
Jean calls hysterical. “Be ready at 6:45.” I was and Jean too in the lobby awaiting here son-in-law. He was ten minutes late, but she was quiet. We picked up Ellen Garwood, Jean’s mother-in-law. I praised Ellen for her T.V. appearance from Washington D.C. and the money to the Contras affair. She was steady straight and unafraid. She said however she would rather have me believe she was right then how she presented it. Of course I could say nothing. Giving private money to a war this country doesn’t approve – and then have the money disappear. She was a pigeon. But I admire her reasons. She honestly thinks she’s saving the world from the communists. Poor Mr. Colorado – Coors knew he’d gaffed.
The wedding was in St. Matthews, a new Episcopal Church, north. Twelve bridesmaids – They kept coming. But they were lovely to see. The bride and groom were well-matched and in love. The storms threatened but we seemed to miss them. Back to hotel – mezzanine has a mirrored ballroom opening to the above trees over Congress Avenue. The cool rain washed everything dripping and clean floated in. Lights and food nicely reflected in the mirrors – a dance orchestra, worlds of young people and a few of us older ones. Sam Dunham III was there. He danced with me and made my evening. The layered cake was half way to the ceiling and wreathed with freesias, summer rain and sweet flowers.
Sunday Ledi met me for a lunch at the buffet at the hotel – Too much non-simple food plus champagne. She and I can talk a blue streak about life, people and happenings.
Back to the lake after picking up yesterday’s mail. This sunset for the evening was Hell in the sky sweeping over the lake under ominous clouds. It swept from left of west to the middle of north. The radio talked about it – since several people have marveled. My old friend Bobbie Yount, the master carpenter said his wife said, “Bobbie, look outside and he though what now” He said, “He never saw such splendor.” Took pictures of it.
The next morning took pictures of the dawn – gold and gaudy pink. This morning – a piece of rainbow against an almost black sky.
June 2, 1987
I awakened early. Took my exercises – breakfast – wrote checks for mailing – cleaned house, showered – and was out by ten. A wild rain storm caught me. I had to pull of the road. All kinds of errands ahead. Cleaners. Travel agent, Maude Anderson’s for sweater and lunch. Rain – rain – rain. It’s 9 PM. It’s still raining. Steven Franden came out and got me for supper.
Sunday, the 7th of June [1987]
I am in my second Bermuda night. I feel as though I am in a civilized Crete. Wouldn’t they be amazed over that conclusion? The Greeks!
The water is soft, transparent and quiet. A Ryder moon – mysterious yet is illuminating. [Reference to American artist Albert Pinkham Ryder?] The air is divine after Austin’s deluge! I ran around in the rain for days until everything reached flood stage then like a rat in a trap. Took poor Poppy to the vet’s to be left for 2 weeks.
Spent the night at Ledi’s to be nearer in. She locks one in like a jailer – bars everywhere, key locks and bolts. I think I fear fire more than burglars.
Houston was wonderful. Stayed with Georgia. Doris Childress took me to the De Menil Museum opening. A tent-like a house with rooms and windows – delicious food. But first the crowds outside – the speech by Dominique was warm, tender and humble. She was never that way before exactly. Always poetic but not humble. The museum – perfect: simple, direct and bright – I would have liked a few more American artists – but after all! She is French and she had it made and furnished it with her collection. The Magrittes were fabulous. Magritte had no new technique – He used a simple direct almost colored drawing bent. He painted poetry – clouds were his symbols – mountains and rocks also.
This photo was taken at Gittings in Houston around 1966. When Dad grew his beard, his sister Lennie called him “The Hippie Judge.” People sang Flip Wilson’s song “Here comes the judge” when he walked into a room. He enjoyed that very much, as I recall. Dad was one of those rare people who could pivot between dignity and hilarity in the blink of an eye. He and I played pool at Le Cue, where we once watched Minnesota Fats give an exhibition. This was soon after “The Hustler” movie. He always beat me in the end. He said I couldn’t beat. Honestly, I didn’t want to. He won with such a flourish. He was a Cyrano when he beat people at cards. He had a regular Monday night poker game with other lawyers and judges. He’d always ask me, “What’s the name of the game?” I’d say, “gin,” and he’d fan his cards out on the table. It was a wonderful ritual.
As an aside, when I looked up Le Que, it seems that cue balls weren’t the only things that changed hands there:
