It is hard country, foursquare in the Texas myth. Rain had the same effect on the Big Bend Dance Clubbers as getting money in the mail, and in this semiarid region of Texas, where a wet year would see barely fifteen inches of rainfall, it amounted to the same thing. Rain was a tonic that changed facial expressions, erased wrinkles, lightened voice tones. But what made this particular night special was the light rain that began falling as the pickups and sedans circled and parked around the Beta Sigma Phi Community Center, like buzzards coming to roost at dusk. The people of this most isolated part of Texas are proud of their weather, just as they are, in a quiet, secure sort of way, proud of the way of life they have sustained more or less unchanged since the high days of the cattle kingdom. Marfa’s neighbors 25 miles to the east had been so enamored of the climate between the Davis Mountains and the Rio Grande that they named their town Alpine. At an elevation of 4800 feet, Marfa is virtually as high as Denver, and during this July its evening temperature would average a degree or so lower than in Anchorage, Alaska. Friends from Fort Davis, Alpine, Pecos, Valentine, Van Horn, and Presidio would be here, couples that the vast expanse of country seemed to swallow up between ritual events like weddings, funerals, high school football games, or the Bloy’s Camp Meeting.Īlthough it was midsummer, outside the air was a cool 57 degrees. One of their favorite bands, Al Dean and his four All Stars, had driven in 470 miles from Freer. Not one member of the Big Bend Dance Club of Marfa doubted this would be a fine July Friday night.
#Pony town commands emberrased archive
Read more here about our archive digitization project. We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record. This story is from Texas Monthly ’s archives.
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