by Steve Hathcock
Many of you may have noticed the little yellow house, an Island landmark that stood for almost 60 years upon the corner of Haas Street and Padre Blvd, disappeared recently. The following is a short history of the building as told to me by co-owner Walt Galloway on the morning of its demolition.
I was late and an oversized end-loader was preparing to move ahead with the demolition by the time I arrived at the site. Several workers gathered around as an inspector from the EPA explained the procedures required for disposing of the yellow asbestos siding that had just been removed from the exterior of the house.
Seeing my arrival, Walt waved me over to where he was standing. Knowing we only had a few minutes until the finale, he conducted me on a quick tour around the building
“My Dad paid $ 50.00 for it in 1949,” he said as we moved closer to the northern wall. “Mom was angry with him for spending that much money for a fishing camp on a desert island. A year passed before she ever saw the place and that was just because someone had offered dad $500 for it. She figured she should see it at least one time. Of course after spending one weekend on Padre Island , she told my dad that under no circumstances was this fishing camp for sale. From that day on we spent as much time fishing, swimming or beachcombing on the Island as we could. There were only five fishing camps on Padre Island at that time. Four of them were converted surplus Coast Guard huts that once housed the “Sand-Pounders,” units who patrolled Padre Island during the war. Ours had originally served as a platform for an observation tent that stood along Brazos Pass. The old fisherman, who sold my dad the structure, had boarded up the sides leaving large holes to provide ventilation. “Look there,” he said, pointing to a section of the wall that until this morning had been hidden under the yellow siding. “These are the original “Arkansas Shutters.” You can see how they hung from straps. We had a set of pulleys inside the cabin where ropes would open them to whatever degree we desired. We nailed them shut and covered them with the siding sometime in the 1950s. That was after we moved it here the second time.”
What do you mean, the second time? I asked, as we watched the operator of the end-loader manipulate a series of levers. Suddenly, the machine leaped forward, smashing its heavy steel bucket atop the roof near where we had been standing. The sound of splintering wood and breaking glass was drowned out by the roar of a passing motorcycle.
The building shook and swayed before settling back onto its foundation of weathered pilings. Again and again, the shovel hammered down upon the house. Tufts of insulation were caught up in the wind. The demolition process was again temporarily halted while a flowing water hose was used to wet down any dust that might have become airborne.
“Well, originally,” Walt continued his story, “the county told us we had to move the cabin from the jetties because they were going to develop Isla Blanca Park. I remember my dad paying Mr. Thompkins $100.00 for the land. Some men came over and walked around a bit. Then they stuck some steel rods with red ribbons into the ground. “Them’s your property lines” they told us, so dad had the house set down about 70 feet to the west of here.”
That would put it right about in the middle of Padre Blvd , I thought to myself, as I looked where Walt’s finger pointed.
“Six months later some more men came around with maps and fancy equipment. Unlike the first group to drive the rods these were real surveyors. Boy was dad mad when they told him he had to move the house again to make room for a road that was still in the planning stages!”
(Note: By 1954, State Highway 100 was extended from the base of the new Queen Isabella causeway, which ended where modern day KOA RV Park is presently located, north to present day Andy Bowie Par k.)
During the 1950-70s the Galloway family continued to spend as much time as they could in their little beach house. A new addition was added onto the rear and real windows replaced the swing-up shutters. A pitched roof, weather-proofed with tar paper and shingles, ensured a dry interior. Asbestos siding and linoleum were also installed, as were the more modern luxuries of electricity, running water and a window air conditioning unit. About 20 years ago, the Galloway Family made their beach house available for use by the residents of the Rio Grande Valley Children’s Home in Mission . Foam mats were spread out over the floors so that dozens of the kids at a time could spend their weekends at the beach. By the early 2000s, the house had deteriorated to the point of needing major repairs. A family conference ended with all parties in favor of selling the property. There was interest in saving the building and in fact the Town of South Padre Island ’s Historical Preservation Committee, which I chair, explored the possibilities of moving the building to another site on the Island . But that effort proved fruitless, when further investigation revealed the prohibitive cost, not to mention the environmental issues due to the asbestos involved.
Walt finished his story as we watched the last wall of the old yellow house come tumbling down. The little beach shack that had withstood the ravages of war, hurricanes and countless spring breaks was no more. The crew worked into the night to remove the debris because under federal law no hazardous material (the asbestos siding) may be transported over the causeway on a weekend. By next morning only a scar on the earth marked the passing of the “Old Galloway House.”
©Steve Hathcock 2009
