A Memorial Day Letter from Cousin Ryland Howard about his father

Lieutenant Alfred Ryland Howard
Lieutenant Alfred Ryland Howard II

I received this touching email from cousin Ryland Howard some time ago. With his permission I am posting it on the family website today, Memorial Day 2018, to celebrate Uncle Ryland’s life and to honor his sacrifice.

For the younger generations who may not be familiar with the history Alfred Ryland Howard II, here is an article by his grand-niece Eugenia Kiesling: Uncle Ryland’s military service

Love to all and thanks to Ryland,
Sperry

Dear Sperry –

This means so much, not only to me, but to the children. They grew up with “Alfred” as they called him. Their way to differentiate him from me. My mother kept his memory in the forefront of my life throughout. As I have said before, I said the Lord’s Prayer, “My Father who art in heaven…” Well, he was. So I did my best to keep Ryland’s memory for his grandchildren. I never had a problem with having two fathers. It all made sense. One died for his country and the other lived serving his country. One was in heaven and one was on earth. I knew I was the child of the first and not the second, but that I was blessed to have them both. Ford treated me as his son. The children were in a way too young to really know Ford and appreciate his great sense of humor, but I have done my best to let the kids know what he meant to me and why.

These children really understand the warmth and connection among the Howards. I know it was not all warm and fuzzy, but they did a pretty good job. Each of Aunt Jean, Aunt Georgia, and Uncle Philo became special friends and soulmates to me over the years, and so for Uncle Wilmer, Aunt Mary, and Uncle Brother. I cannot think of a time where there was an awkward silence in my conversations with any of them. We just talked with mutual respect and shared feelings; communication came naturally.

The Howards were so special to my mother. She revered Nanny Mine and looked to her for counsel over the years. She respected the wisdom and skill of Dr. Howard. And she so appreciated the warmth of having this family as hers. She had grown up without a permanent home, with her father gone at age 5, living across Europe, in and out of schools and hotels, with her grandparents and aunt gone by her teens. You can imagine what this warm Southern family meant to her. When she married Ford and was going to Houston to introduce him to the Howards, she was very concerned about their reception of the person who was taking the place of their revered lost son. She called Georgia to ask how to handle it. Well, as Aunt Georgia told me, the Howard family swept Ford up. They loved him from the get go and he fell in with Philo, Wilmer, and Brother each on their own. That is just the way they were.
So, as another family half-orphan (I never thought of myself as such; just had two fathers), how could I have been better blessed.

I did not have to endure the loss of my father. He was always there; but not there. I did not dwell on it. But Mother endured it and the tragic loss to Daddy Philo and Nanny Mine must have been brutal. Timing. The last letter from Ryland to his parents, dated June 30, 1944, was cheering for everyone just learning that Uncle Philo was alive, and relatively safe in prison camp. So, almost up until Ryland’s death, they did not know that Philo was alive. He must have been MIA until then. From the date that he was shot down over Germany until then, he could have been dead. And so soon after the good news came the really bad news. No hope there. Just faith, and the comfort that a son was on the way, to be some solace in this time of sadness.

If you saw the movie saving Private Ryan, the opening scene after the Omaha Cemetery and the landing is the house on the prairie and the car driving up and the officers getting out of the car and the mother, who looked and dressed rather like our grandmother, realizing why the officers were there and collapsing on the porch. That was pretty strong you are there stuff. It was too close to home, that home on 3608 Audubon, JA44961. We can only imagine how that hit. Uncle Dwight Hunter said that people told him later that Dr Howard was in shock after that and would just look at people and say “My son is gone.” There is a description in the biography of Joe Kennedy of when he learned that his eldest son Joseph was killed in the war. The same thing happened to Mr. Kennedy. Total loss for a time. Something gone that will never come back, no matter how strong one’s faith in God. We can only imagine.

So much for my train of thought. I will stop here, and thank you for bringing so much of this family back to all of us.

My regards, Ryland

Hedy Lamarr Meets Judge Hunt

Here Come Da Judge

In April of 1959 famed actress and inventor Hedy Lamarr found herself in Judge Hunt’s court suing her husband Houston oilman W. Howard Lee for divorce.

This from the Houston Chronicle April 15, 1959:

Miss Lamarr’s three appearances in Judge (Wilmer) Hunt’s courtroom Tuesday constituted an impromptu fashion show that was dictated in part by climatic conditions.
When she first came to the courtroom at 9 a.m. for the docket call, Miss Lamarr wore a bright red wool suit, thong sandals and a black scarf tied under the chin and worn like a babushka.
Returning shortly before 11 a.m. for the actual start of the hearing, she wore a tailored black suit with white beads and a yellow coolie straw hat over the babushka.
After the noon recess of court, she returned with an orange-red sweater under the suit coat and a salmon scarf in place of the coolie hat and black babushka.
The next day, Hunt awarded Lamarr $3,000 a month in temporary support, far less than she had originally sought.

The Houston Post reported
Within minutes after Judge Hunt announced his decision in the packed courtroom, Miss Lamarr walked over, smiled and chatted with Lee.
Asked by bystanders if she did not think a handshake was in order, she replied: “Why not? No hard feelings!”
Lee, apparently abashed, smiled and shook her gloved hand gingerly.
The niceties didn’t really end their legal squabbles, which continued off and on for at least the next 10 years.

Note: Here’s the source blog:

When Hedy Lamarr called Houston home

Jeana’s day in divorce court

[I found this in one of my mother’s steno books from around 1951. The photo is from the 1940’s  ~ Sperry Hunt]

Judge Hunt and Jeana 40sRestaurant

My husband is a judge. I was waiting to have lunch with him. He was trying a divorce case. He denied the divorce, and added, looking straight at me, “Young man you have had nothing worse happen to you than any of the rest of us.” The whole court room howled.

[Click below to open the image.]

Jeana’s Day in Court

Eugenia Hunt’s advice on having a happy marriage

[From Eugenia’s steno pad dated November 2, 1952. The photo is from the 1940s ~ Sperry Hunt]

Judge Hunt and Jeana 40sRestaurant

Marriage is a  remarkable institution. It’s full of more fun and trouble that you can imagine. But if you make up your mind to have more fun, you’ll have less trouble.

Make it your business to keep him happy and you know what[?] He’ll make you happy. Worry him good and plenty and you’ll reap your reward.

That’s my best advice.

 

[Click below for scan.]

Jeana Advice on Marriage

 

 

The Judge, Children and the Elbow Story

Lalu and her father at St. Anne's in Houston (c. 1940)
Lalu and her father at St. Anne’s in Houston (c. 1940)

Happy Birthday to my father Judge Hunt who was born on August 25, 1903.

Our father adored children.  Every kid who remembers him has a story. (If you do, please leave one as a comment.)  My dad would often engage one sitting at a nearby table. You can’t do this any more, but many times he handed a stick of gum to a passing tyke. His love of children and playing cards would sometimes lead him to engage older ones in a round of poker or gin rummy.

One of his favorite pastimes was leading a kid on with a card trick, a joke or a story.  My favorite was his tale about kissing his elbow. I watched him do this with dozens of two or three-year-olds. Here’s how it went:

Dad would sidle up to the child who was in the middle of say… eating pancakes.

“When I was a little girl,” he would say. “I put honey on my pancakes.”

The kid would freeze mid-bite, squint up at him and state the obvious with utter conviction. “You weren’t a girl,” she would say.

Dad would nod and continue. “When I was a little girl, I would pour so much honey on my pancakes there wouldn’t be any left for anybody else.”

The kid would roll her eyes, heave a heavy sigh and say, “You were a boy, not a girl.”

Dad would nod again and march on with his pancake story.

Exasperated, the victim would invariably pose the obvious question, “If you were a girl, how come you’re a  boy now?”

“I kissed my elbow and turned into a boy,” he would say as though everyone knew this is how gender was redetermined. He would then complete his pancake elaboration and turn away.

Onlookers following the ruse would then observe the child scowl as if deeply in thought.  After a moment’s contemplation she would seize her elbow and try to draw it to her lips, then stop and shake her head.

As to whether she chose not to kiss her elbow because she couldn’t or shouldn’t was left to question.

 

 

 

Happy Father’s Day

Wilmer Eugenia Sperry Brady and Young Roy 1960 or so
Wilmer, Eugenia and Sperry with young Brady, and Roy circa 1960.

Wilmer Brady Hunt, my dad, was an avid sportsman, as was his father Wilmer Sperry Hunt. Dad told me that in 1910 or so, Grandpa shot as many ducks as he could carry home, somewhere in what is now the Montrose section of Houston. In the early 1900’s Grandpa bought – or accepted as a legal fee – 2200 acres of dense forest near Danciger, Texas. Dad and Grandpa hunted there in the ’20s. My brother Grainger and Dad hunted there in the ’50s mostly. Dad and I were there in the ’60s after Grainger went off to university.

My most vivid memories of hunting with him were on days when we’d arise at 3:45 AM and drive through a dark, ocean of fog so thick you could see nothing beyond the hood of our car. Had we encountered a stalled vehicle or a cow, we would have died instantly, as would have anyone behind us. I was absolutely terrified. Dad whistled “Sweet Georgia Brown.” I must have been clutching the seat, for he occasionally patted my leg reassuringly.

The drive was about ninety minutes. We arrived in the dark. I opened the padlock on the gate by the light of the car. It was cold by Texas standards. Forty-five degrees or so, which seemed frigid to me then. We drove down a shell road that crunched beneath our tires to a narrow clearing in the forest. We were met by a group of men and women gathered in the flickering shadows around a campfire. These people were from the coastal area around Freeport and had a hunting lease with us.  An older man named Red seemed to be the leader.  His wife, I believe, was named Betty. Wonderful hosts, they fed us coffee, biscuits and pan-fried squirrel and venison – all delicious.

Dad and I never shot anything there. We were there to hunt deer only. We did shoot, clean and eat many a dove, duck and quail shot elsewhere though. At the time I thought we hunted because my dad was eager to do so. Years later, after my father passed, my mother told me he rarely wanted to go. When he was in his forties, he certainly did. But at sixty, not so much. Mom said she sometimes had to urge him to go. I know now, he took me so I could know what he had experienced with his father, who probably didn’t want to go in later life either – as I would not now.

My son Christopher Austin Sperry Hunt, and I didn’t hunt. I never really had a real passion for it. We did get our black belts together and saw hundreds of movies, shoulder-to-shoulder laughing in the dark. Now he has movie nights at home on Mondays with his two girls. He takes them to karate and dance classes, and for hikes to the woods, mountains and beaches. Someday he’ll feel too tired to go but will anyway because he loves them, and he’s their dad. And so the world turns.

Happy Fathers Day, everyone!
See a Companion Story

Hughston-Ince Wedding in Dallas

Click below for the announcement of the wedding of Tom Findley Hughston and cousin Betsy Ince in Dallas.

Dallas Morning News, 1959-06-28 section 6, page 1 Wedding

Here is a picture of the bride with her cousin Judge Wilmer Brady Hunt of Houston, who gave her in marriage on June 26, 1959.

Mrs. Betsy Ince Hughston and Judge Wilmer Hunt
Mrs. Betsy Ince Hughston and Judge Wilmer Hunt

 

Glendale Cemetery in what was Harrisburg, Texas

From Malcolm McCorquodale III:

I went to Glendale cemetery today.  Glendale cemetery is the oldest cemetery in Houston and is located right on the bayou in what used to be called Harrisburg.  (Harrisburg was annexed by Houston in the 1920’s.  I remember the Judge [Wilmer Brady Hunt] saying that he was born in “Harrisburg” and that not making much sense to me.)  This historic cemetery is not usually open, but since today was Memorial Day, it was open despite the threat of inclement weather.  There were a few people there and one appeared to be the cemetery archivist.  She had record books with documents relating to the cemetery.  (I requested a copy of some of the records that appeared to be interesting.)

Bridge Brady's Landing

I found a historical marker on the edge of the cemetery that reads:

SITE OF THE HOME OF

GENERAL SIDNEY SHERMAN

1805 – – 1873

COMMANDER OF THE LEFT WING OF THE
ARMY AT THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO
MEMBER OF THE TEXAS CONGRESS,
1842-1843 — BUILDER OF THE FIRST
TEXAS RAILROAD — THIS HOUSE WAS
BURNED IN 1853

Erected by the State of Texas
1936

Just to the North and West, across Brays Bayou, you will find Sherman Street.  If you follow Sherman Street to the West a ways, you will see where it intersects with Sidney Street.

General Sherman Tombstone