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Wiley Post and his Australian navigator landed in New York City on Jul. 1, 1931 completing an epic around-the-world flight in record-breaking time.

Two states claimed Wiley Hardeman Post as a native son. Texas had birth going for it since the intrepid aviator began his short life in Van Zandt County a couple of years shy of the twentieth century. Oklahoma, however, had residency on its side because the Posts relocated north of the Red River when Wiley was nine.

The simple pleasures of farm life never appealed to the youngster, whose head always seemed to be in the clouds. Wiley regularly skipped his chores to whittle model planes out of scrap wood and to dream of the day he would defy the law of gravity.

Post’s first fling into the wild blue yonder came in 1919 courtesy of a gypsy barnstormer. Five years later at an Oklahoma air show, he did such a fine job of filling in for an injured parachutist that the dangerous job became his permanently.

During his two-year stint as a sky diver, Post made 99 jumps. His father objected so strongly to the hazardous occupation that he hid his son’s parachute. Post finally found it and from then on kept his silks in a safety deposit box at the local bank.

In 1926 he turned personal tragedy into the opportunity of a lifetime. While working as a roughneck in the Oklahoma oilfields, a metal sliver destroyed the sight in his left eye. Paid $2,000 in compensation for the accident, he bought a glass substitute and a used airplane.

A wealthy oilman soon hired Post as a test pilot and cloud-hopping chauffeur. When the Department of Commerce started licensing pilots in 1927, only his perfect flying record kept the one-eyed applicant from being grounded.

In the “Winnie Mae,” a craft named after the boss’ daughter, Post won a Los Angeles-Chicago air race against the best flyboys in the business. The jubilant sponsor gladly invested $50,000 in their next joint venture -- a highly publicized challenge of the around-the-world record.

The best time belonged to the German dirigible “Graf Zeppelin” that in 1929 circled the globe in a breathtaking 21 days. Post and his traveling companion easily shattered that mark by returning to their point of departure in just eight days, 15 hours and 51 minutes.

The amazing feat made Post an instant hero. But the standing ovation for the modest daredevil detracted from the practical importance of his headline-grabbing odyssey. As one newspaper explained, if Wiley Post could conquer the world in eight days, “thousands of people at home will feel safer in venturing, say, from Boston to New York by air.”

Post bought the “Winnie Mae” and began painstaking preparations for a solo jaunt. In the early hours of Jul. 15, 1933, he left Brooklyn’s Floyd Bennett Field with only his private demons for company.

The adventure was no pleasure cruise. He rested by putting the plane on automatic pilot and holding a wrench attached to his finger by a string. If he dozed off, the falling wrench would wake him, or at least that was the idea.

Post not only achieved his goal of circumnavigating the planet but eclipsed his previous time by 21 hours. This record stood for five years until surpassed by another high-flying Texan, Howard Hughes.

Post spent the next few months proving the feasibility of high-altitude flight. Wearing a special rubber suit fashioned by tire manufacturer B.F. Goodrich, he coaxed the remodeled “Winnie Mae” into the stratosphere reaching an unimaginable 40,000 feet on Sep. 5, 1934.

Selling the “Winnie Mae” to the Smithsonian Museum, Post purchased a new plane and made new plans. His destination was Siberia, and humorist Will Rogers, a close friend, decided to go along for the ride.

Rogers wanted to visit an acquaintance at Point Barrow, Alaska, but Post was disoriented by the snow-covered terrain and had to stop at an Eskimo village to ask for directions. Told they had missed Point Barrow by 16 miles, the internationally renowned Okies shared a meal with the hospitable natives, who nicknamed the visitors “Man with Rag over Sore Eye” and “Big Man with Boots.”

Always in a hurry, Post refused to wait for the right pontoons and instead bought a set that made the airplane nose heavy. He reasoned that the stocky Rogers, who sat behind him, would balance the craft. Experts later deduced that the weight problem prevented him from making a safe emergency landing.

On the evening of Aug. 15, 1935, the pilot who twice flew around the world failed to finish a 16-mile hop. Wiley Post and Will Rogers were barely airborne when the engine sputtered and quit. The Eskimo eyewitnesses watched in horror, as the plane crashed killing both pilot and passenger on impact.

Read all about the early years of the oil frenzy in “Texas Boomtowns: A History of Blood and Oil” Order your autographed copy for $24.00 by mailing a check to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.

Clay Allison, the two-gun time bomb who called himself a “shootist,” died on Jun. 30, 1887 not from a bullet but under the wheels of his own wagon.

There were two Clay Allisons. One was a respectable rancher, whose character and courage attracted friends and admirers wherever he went. But after a few stiff drinks, his dark side emerged, and Allison became the frontier menace described as “hell turned loose” that killed at the drop of a hat.

The source of his violent streak may have been physical. A medical discharge from the Confederate army stated he was “incapable of performing the duties of a soldier because of a blow received many years ago. Emotional or physical excitement produces paroxysmals of a mixed character, partly epileptic and partly maniacal.” In layman’s terms, when Allison got his dander up, the prudent took cover.

The ashes of the Confederacy were still warm, when the 25 year old Tennessean migrated to North Texas. Odd jobs as a trail-hand led him to New Mexico, where by 1870 he owned a small spread in the northeastern corner of the territory.

A fast draw earned the newcomer a nasty reputation and a host of challengers. One especially cocky opponent invited him to dinner at the local hotel before their scheduled showdown. Choosing to settle the issue over coffee, the overanxious adversary went for his gun but the barrel failed to clear the table top.

Jumping to his feet, Allison coolly shot the clumsy amateur above the right eye. Asked why he risked a meal with a man determined to do him in, he deadpanned, “Because I didn’t want to send him to hell on an empty stomach.”

Just about anything could set Allison off. Arriving at Cheyenne, Wyoming with a herd of steers and a throbbing toothache, the gunfighter hurried to the nearest dentist. When he extracted the wrong molar by mistake, Allison flew into a rage, tied the poor soul to his own chair and pulled every tooth in his head.

If circumstances called for fair play, Allison sometimes gave the other fellow a sporting chance. To resolve a dispute of long standing with a neighbor, the two leaped naked into a grave armed only with Bowie knives. Proving he was as handy with an Arkansas Toothpick as a Colt .45, the gunman climbed out of the pit moments later and kept his promise by burying the loser.

During his infrequent spells of sobriety, Allison took offense at being branded a gunslinger and tried in vain to refute published accounts of his bloody deeds. To cloak his lethal talent in respectability, he coined the term “shootist” and to set the record straight penned surprisingly literate protests.

In a letter to a Missouri newspaper which credited him with 15 killings, Allison wrote, “I have at all times tried to use my influence toward protecting the property holders and substantial men of the country from thieves, outlaws and murderers, among whom I do not care to be classed.” This genteel argument did not move the editor to print a retraction.

The lack of response to such sincere appeals undoubtedly disappointed Allison. When his vision was not blurred by alcohol, he pictured himself as a law-abiding rancher who rightfully refused to be pushed around. Believing he was the innocent victim of a smear campaign by the Yankee press, he ignored the fact that Texas newspapers repeated the very same charges.

Late in life -- late considering the life expectancy of a gunfighter -- Allison married and settled near Mobeetie in the Texas Panhandle. At age 41, he toned down his drinking and struggled to get a grip on himself.

When the chronic problem of rustling reached epidemic proportions, concerned cattlemen called an emergency meeting. Although the thieves had wisely left his herd alone, Allison accepted an invitation to the gathering.

The discussion was going nowhere until Allison asked, “Do you really want to know who the damned thieves are?”

“Yes!” was the eager answer.

Rising from his chair at the same instant he drew his guns, Allison pointed to a couple of dumbfounded cowmen in the corner of the room. “Well, two of them are sitting among us. There they are!”

The accused bolted for the door and vanished across the prairie. Allison screamed after them, “Come back here, you calf-stealing hypocrites!” But the rustlers wanted no part of the notorious “shootist” drunk or sober.

In the summer of 1887, Allison bought several months of supplies at Pecos. On the return trip to the Panhandle, he accidentally fell off the heavy wagon and was crushed to death under the wheels.

Gunfighters in the Old West traditionally went to their reward courtesy of the gallows or a quicker trigger. But then Clay Allison always said he wasn’t bad, merely misunderstood.

“Murder Most Texan” combines Texas history and true crime with 16 classic cases from the Lone Star past. Order your autographed copy today by mailing a check for $24.00 to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box130011, Spring, TX 77393.

Ross Shaw Sterling kicked off his campaign for governor on Jun. 20, 1930, by introducing himself to the Huntsville crowd as “the fat boy from Buffalo Bayou.”

The 265-pound multimillionaire poked fun at his gigantic girth to divert attention from his much bigger bank account. Sterling also never let voters forget that he started life as a dirt-poor farm boy in Chambers County, who had to quit school at 13 to lend his widowed father of twelve a full-time hand.

Sterling’s meteoric ragsto- riches rise began in 1903 at Sour Lake, where he sold everything under the sun to the oilfield workers. Within a decade, he was the founding president of Humble Oil Company and well on his way to amassing a colossal fortune estimated at $50 million or nearly a billion in today’s dollars.

Selling his oil interests in 1925, Sterling plowed his profits back into real estate and publishing in his new hometown of Houston. He merged The Post and The Dispatch into a single newspaper and recruited former governor William P. Hobby to oversee the enterprise. The Post-Dispatch waged a no-quarter war of words with Gov. Miriam A. Ferguson and her husband Jim, Hobby’s impeached predecessor, and helped Attorney General Dan Moody upset “Ma” in her 1926 reelection bid.

Presuming the amnesty bill enacted during his wife’s administration had restored his political rights, “Pa” Ferguson in February 1930 unveiled his plan to succeed Moody, who was in the last year of his second and last term. But after party leaders refused to put his name on the primary ballot and the state supreme court reaffirmed its 1924 ruling that banned him for life from public office, Jim again persuaded his obliging mate to run in his place.

Sterling entered the congested race against the advice of friends, who argued that his enormous wealth would alienate an electorate hard hit by the deepening Depression. Although he trailed “Ma” Ferguson by 72,000 votes, barely 20 percent of the ballots, an anti-Ferguson avalanche carried him to victory in the runoff.

The affable amateur could not have picked a worse time to rule the Lone Star roost. Like the puzzled occupant of the White House, Sterling was blamed for the dead-asa- doornail economy, the disappearance of thousands of jobs and the lack of a “safety net” to keep the unemployed from falling through the cracks. He was, in short, the Herbert Hoover of Texas.

The quasi-populist appeal of Fergusonism was made to order for the campaign of 1932. “Farmer Jim” hammered away at the incumbent’s dubious devotion to high interest rates, seemingly superfluous highway construction projects and the controversial armed occupation of the East Texas oilfield. Sterling’s attempt to curtail production by small-time operators smacked of corporate cronyism, especially since the National Guard commander was the top attorney for Texaco and his right-hand man was a Gulf executive.

Sterling’s vulnerability attracted a horde of hopefuls, who split the anti-Ferguson forces into hostile factions and enabled Miriam to build up a six-figure lead in the first round. She held on to win their hard-fought August rematch by less than 4,000 out of the 951,000 votes cast.

Sterling refused to accept the photo finish claiming he had been robbed. Citing the Fergusons’ reputation for stuffing ballot boxes, he dragged the legislature back to Austin for a special session and indignantly demanded a full-scale investigation. As expected, the lawmakers wanted no part of a precedent-setting post-mortem and in effect told the lame duck to take it like a man.

But there was no stopping the sore loser, who would have gladly sold his soul to the devil to prevent the Fergusons’ return to power. Sterling went to court to have the election results set aside only to provoke a successful countersuit by “Ma,” who was declared the undisputed Democratic nominee for governor.

Sterling shocked and saddened his most steadfast supporters by endorsing the Republican candidate in the general election. This symbolic act of defiance had no decisive impact at the polls but made the defector permanently persona non grata in the Democratic Party.

An inflammatory off-thecuff comment strengthened speculation that Sterling had taken leave of his senses. He actually wished out loud for “somebody to shoot Ferguson in the foot so as to end the threat he presented to Texas politicians every two years.” Even in the no-holds-barred arena of Lone Star politics, his irresponsible remark was clearly out-of-bounds.

As a parting gesture of contempt, the outgoing governor broke with tradition by boycotting the inauguration of Miriam Ferguson in January 1933. To most Texans, this was just bad manners and final proof that the state was better off with Ross Sterling in the board room than the governor’s mansion.

Read the whole story of Bonnie and Clyde and other Thirties outlaws in“Texas Depression Era Desperadoes.” Order your autographed copy today by mailing a check for $24.00 to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.

Dear Editor,

While the civilian population generally lacks the tactical discipline to survive a basic field-day inspection, I have intercepted multiple transmissions that suggest three distinct operatives possess a rare flash of situational awareness.

Operative Maria Weaver issued a formal shout-out congratulating this station on its inaugural deployment. Operative Weaver has logged years of high-fidelity service on the journalism frontlines for the Hamilton Herald-News. Her logistics management and tactical reconnaissance in the printing trenches deserve a full dress-uniform salute. Her commendation of my inaugural post is officially filed in the permanent record.

Operative Michele Latham declared the new column “a hoot” and commended the linguistics asset. Operative Latham correctly identified the strategic value of tactical semantics. She demands that management “keep this guy around.” Rest assured, Latham, I am dug in deeper than a tick on a feral hog.

Operative Sharla Wenzel demanded the publisher, “please don’t let him get away,” citing the raw truth embedded in the briefing. Operative Wenzel recognizes that behind my iron curtain of bureaucratic discipline lies absolute, unvarnished reality. She calls this command “refreshing.” That isn’t refreshment, Wenzel—that’s the cold shock of standard-issue survival doctrine.

Three salutes are authorized for Weaver, Latham, and Wenzel, and they are exempt from next week’s mandatory perimeter policing. All other Hamilton residents: Secure your sectors. The truth is an active asset.

Sgt. C. Attaway

Chief of Civilian Signal Intelligence Duty Station: Hamilton, TX

Praise to Hamilton General Hospital - a month in the hospital is too long, but in the last half, I was at Hamilton General Hospital (HGH). I really prefer HGH. I needed the Temple hospital for the procedures, but HGH took care of my rehab.

At HGH, a blond woman came into my room and said, “I’m Savanna, and I’m your physical therapist. You are coming with me.” She challenged me with upper-body exercises that I could hardly do. It wasn’t tough or heavy, but I was just so weak. Her working partner showed up later and introduced herself as McKinsey. “C’mon, friend, you’re coming with me.” She is an occupational therapist. She worked on my lower body and balance. They are very good therapists. In two weeks, I surpassed my expectations. Way to go, ladies! Lili is a respiratory therapist, and she was omnipresent. She watched my oxygen level and made sure I was okay. Thanks, Lili.

The nurses are superb and friendly. A+ to them. Two nurse aides were especially helpful; Glen and Brandy, with her “knowing look”. They are good help!

“Kitchen” or “Cookie” was how she came into the room announcing herself. She would set the food tray on your little roll-around bedside table and wanted to know what else was needed. Her name is Athena (hope I got that right). She is a joy. We talked and traded histories. She is always up with a smile and a helpful hand.

Dr. Lee is my primary care physician, and I couldn’t ask for better.

HGH is tops! I’m much better and on the road to recovery. “Fly like a bird.”

Dear Editor, On behalf of the Hamilton Public Library and Friends of the Hamilton Public Library, I would like to extend our sincere thanks to everyone who helped make TNMP Day at the Library such a tremendous success.

Most importantly, thank you to the many families who came out to learn, explore, and enjoy a day filled with hands-on activities, demonstrations, and community fellowship. Seeing children and adults alike engage with science, safety, and service made the event especially rewarding.

A special thank you goes to Texas-New Mexico Power and its outstanding team. Ally Tello, Truman Baize, Justin Kirkland, and the entire TNMP crew brought the energy to the day with exciting arcing demonstrations, bucket truck displays, the egg drop challenge, energy efficiency education, delicious hot dogs, and generous door prizes. We are also deeply grateful for TNMP’s grant to the Friends of the Hamilton Public Library, which has helped us expand our popular LEGO Robotics program for local youth this summer.

We appreciate Texas Parks and Wildlife Game Wardens Jim Daniels and Dustin Fleming, along with K-9 Piper, for providing fascinating searchand rescue demonstrations and helping attendees better understand the diverse roles Game Wardens play in protecting and serving communities across Texas.

Thank you to our Touch-a-Truck participants who gave visitors an up-close look at the vehicles and equipment that serve our community every day: Texas Highway Patrol Trooper Liz Perez; Chief Timothy Thompson and the Hamilton County Hospital District EMS crew; Captain Micah Locke and the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Office deputies; Cade Robertson and Joe Ringnald of the Hamilton Volunteer Fire Department; and Johann Jeschke and Brandon Henry of the Texas Department of Transportation, who not only brought the rollover simulator but also helped cook hot dogs for attendees.

We are grateful to Kim Thompson and Myra Sojourner of Dairy Queen for providing cool treats that were especially appreciated on a hot summer day.

We also extend our gratitude to Brandon Taylor for courageously sharing his personal story of healing and recovery. By telling his story publicly for the first time, Brandon offered an inspiring message of hope, resilience, and perseverance. We are equally thankful for his loving and supportive family, whose encouragement and presence helped make that powerful moment possible.

Special thanks to Texas Library Association and H-E-B for the Summer at the Library Grant, which helped purchase the STEM circuit projects, games, and handson activities featured during TNMP Day. Their generous support will continue to enrich library programming and provide fun learning opportunities for local children and families all summer long.

Our heartfelt thanks also goes to Friends of the Library Chair Terri Streater, PJ Jones, and Karen Opersteny for volunteering their time, organizing and helping everything run smoothly from start to finish and to teen volunteers Johanna Jeschke, Jaydon and Silas Barnes.

Finally, I want to recognize Hamilton Public Library staff members Stacey Moore and Jenn St. Cricq for leading STEM activities, assisting patrons throughout the event, and, as always, going above and beyond to make the day successful.

Events like TNMP Day are possible because of strong community partnerships and dedicated volunteers. We are fortunate to live in a community where organizations, businesses, first responders, and citizens come together to support learning and enrich the lives of our families.

Thank you to everyone who helped make this day one to remember.

Sincerely, Kym Jeschke Hamilton Public Library Director

Dear editor.

I love love love this guy (column by Sgt. Attaway). Please don’t let him get away.

Very entertaining as well as a lot of truth in what he says. So, just wanted you to know and hopefully others will let you know.

Very refreshing.

Sharla Wenzel