Hollywood Soot, the Fire in La Grange. (original) (raw)

by Audrey A. Herbrich Photos courtesy of Boyd Photography, La Grange"The north wind�unusually strong this March�carried the voices from those gathered below to me, and I could hear their whispers and gasps. And it wasn�t the ablaze Botts Title Company that trumped the conversation, or the equally ablaze China Inn Restaurant, Bertie�s Barbershop, or the income tax lawyer�s office. No, it was the Cozy Theater, slotted between Bertie�s on the left and the JC Penney catalog store on the right."

View from the courthouse. Photo courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-8-00

The following text is based on the author's experience of the fire on the La Grange, Texas town square, Mar. 8, 2000 (Ash Wednesday).

The dry heat wafted across Washington Street and forced my eyes open�WIDE�so as to take everything in. Green-gray smoke billowed from the cinder blocked exterior as citrus colored flames reached toward the late afternoon sky. The fireman arrived just as the courthouse clock struck four, the tower being only a few yards away and level with me, now three stories up. Today, even from here, the chime sounded so distant because of the commotion.

�Get �em out of here!�

�Where is she?�

�Step back! You can�t go there.�

�Step BACK!

�But why the��

�And then��

Trucks roared. Hydrants opened. A city bucket truck came to a screeching hault. Volunteers poured past. Systematically, almost mechanically, the firemen began clearing the sidewalks, unrolling hoses, and stepping into their uniforms, trying desperately to prepare themselves to fight a fire unlike any the town had ever seen.

	Photo courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-8-00

We could work, but we didn�t. The drive-thru lanes were blocked by engines, which put the tellers in a hellfire panic. This made the bookkeepers nervous, which made the loan officers flustered. I just wanted to get out of there. So I punched out early, deciding to forgo the invitation from Sylvia in New Accounts to join her in the fire resistant safety of the money vault.

�I�ll bring peanut butter crackers,� she said. �And the radio�ll work in there. We�ll listen.�

I shook my head on the way up the lobby stairs. I made my way through Bookkeeping, through the supply closet, and opened the security door onto the roof. The alarm wasn�t even heard. Not today. I made my way around the air conditioner unit and stopped. And from this perchtop post of the State Bank, one of the highest points on the town square, I watched the mayhem and desperation of a town that tried to prevent her landscape from changing.

	La Grange's famous "Muster Oak" witnessed the blaze; but escaped unscathed.Photo courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-8-00

The barber sat on the curb, staring in disbelief. Another man, his customer, paced nearby. There was still loose hair on his neck. Weary-eyed Lutheran school children lined behind the stop sign, their butter soaked popcorn left uneaten, their cartoon movie, unfinished. A lawyer brought his cell phone to rest on his cheek. The Chinese woman wept. An elderly couple stood next to her, their foreheads smudged with centered gray. They bowed their heads and held hands. I reached to my own forehead and brushed my fingers in a half circle across my skin. I lowered my index finger and looked at the sooty mark: my holy day reminder. �Of all the days,� I thought. �Of all the days.�

By now, most of the Fayette County courthouse has emerged from the limestone chambers and gathered under the Muster Oak at the corner of Colorado and Washington. The county judge had stepped on the sidewalk with his hands tightly clasped and pressed hard against his chest, leaving the others on the street. I could see him mutter before his mouth dropped. No, Judge, there would be no sanctimonious sending off of a football team to the state championship today, no glorified goodbye to a troop, no political promenade beneath her mighty limbs. We were there to bid another farewell of sorts: an end to Hollywood, whose influence became soot in a small central Texas town that Ash Wednesday.

The north wind�unusually strong this March�carried the voices from those gathered below to me, and I could hear their whispers and gasps. And it wasn�t the ablaze Botts Title Company that trumped the conversation, or the equally ablaze China Inn Restaurant, Bertie�s Barbershop, or the income tax lawyer�s office. No, it was the Cozy Theater, slotted between Bertie�s on the left and the JC Penney catalog store on the right. The theater. Our theater. The theatre had always been a town staple, not unlike cotton of the 40s, Chicken Ranch hookers of the 60s, or oil of the 80s. It was a prime hot spot. First dates, first kisses, first tastes of Cokes not from cans�all in the Cozy. It was the Friday night hangout, the Sunday afternoon retreat, the weeknight default. Everyone�kids, teens, parents, and even grandparents�had been to the Cozy. Had been. _Had_been. ... next page

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� Audrey A. Herbrich
Photos � Boyd Photography, La Grange, Texas