Treasures of the Texas CollectionFrances C. Poage Map Collection

Hi, I’m your host Robert Darden, an associate professor of Journalism, PR & New

Media at Baylor University. Welcome to Treasures of the Texas Collection. One of

the hidden treasures of The Texas Collection at Baylor University is its one-of-a-

kind map collection – all kinds of maps, some hundreds and hundreds of years old.

In 2010-2011, the Texas Collection began showcasing 21 maps that guide the

viewer through 231 years of discovery and chartering, showing how our country’s

boundaries and geography came to be documented.

Freelance writer Corley Sims paid a visit to The Texas Collection specifically to

see these maps … and hear the fascinating stories behind this invaluable resource.

Welcome, Corley! Tell us about this collection.

Thank you, Robert. Well, the exhibition highlights the cartography of Texas and

the Western half of the United States, following the exploration, miscalculations,

and eventual rapid colonization of these areas.

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The back of a Houston and Texas Central Railway map, one of the concluding

pieces of this showcase, entices colonizers to settle in Texas, a territory that had

been juggled between major powers, gained its independence, and then finally

come to rest as a member of the U.S. The advertisement boasts of a “rich and

inexhaustible soil,” saying that “not even fertile France surpasses the Empire State

in the character of her production.” Every “product known to the use of mankind

can be grown” in the “salubrious” and “healthful” climate of the state of Texas.

Those of us who have actually attempted farming in the state of Texas can agree

that the article perhaps exaggerated the lusciousness of the grounds and the

promise of flourishing produce.

Still, the map – and its accompanying ad – had its desired effect, right?

Right. This advertisement marked a dramatic change in the world’s view of a state

whose interior puzzled geographers for years. The state was now not only charted,

but major railway systems ran through evolving Texas cities. The map

advertisement claimed that “the empire state” only needed an industrious

population to reach its promising potential.

However, this map is only the end of a long journey through American

cartography.

Correct. The collection begins at a time when Texas and the southwest puzzled

cartographers. The western United States was a mysterious and often misstated

territory: for a long period mapmakers convinced the world that California was an

island; sometimes an honest “unexplored territory” title appeared over a white

space in the Western hemisphere. With no satellites or advanced technology,

explorers were forced to live up to their name and chart the territory as they found

it with their own eyes, sometimes consulting the top authorities, or sometimes,

constrained by rumors and the work of their predecessors, plotting their versions of

the United States. Between the inaccuracies brought on by the explorers and their

predecessors’ personal miscalculations, those traveling by word of mouth, and the

frequent change of territory lines as the major powers scuffled, it was quite a while

before the maps began to accurately reflect the present layout of the U.S.

I believe the first map featured in the Texas Collection is particularly rare.

It is. Le Nouveau Mexique et La Floride, was a map created by Nicolas Sanson

d’Abbeville, who was named Royal Geographer to King Louis XIII. During the

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17th century the Dutch handed over its monopoly of European cartography to the

French, and Sanson rose as France’s major geographic pioneer. One of the most

notable features in this French map is the beautiful and elaborate “cartouche” that

encases the map’s title, the cartographer’s name, and the date. It is comparable to

a coat of arms, a very elegant border with intricate designs used to showcase the

map’s information. The word “cartouche” originated in Ancient Egypt and

indicated that a royal name was enclosed in its borders. The cartouche later spread

to the world of mapmaking and became a garnishing staple of Italian, Spanish, and

French maps. The cartouche on this particular map shows large ribbons holding up

a draping, tasseled curtain with the words written inside.

I suppose, at that early date, there was the odd inaccuracy here and there.

Right. Several geographic misrepresentations are present on this early map, the

most obvious being the “Californie Isle.” The name itself announces the flaw:

California is represented as an island completely severed from the rest of the

country by a stretch of water and a few islands. Prior Dutch maps, such as Jan

Jansson’s America Septentrionalis, also represented California as an island, leading

us to believe that Sanson had come to this conclusion on the basis of those who

came before him. However, Sanson expanded on Jansson’s idea by adding

geographic elaboration to the north and interior coastal lines of this island.

Another geographical flaw in this map is the placement of the Appalachian

mountains.

Ouch. Mountains are a little harder to misplace.

The mountains in this map begin on the lower east coast and arc over what is now

the Deep South before plunging into present-day Texas. The lack of geographic

detailing in Texas and the Northwest, including the misplaced Appalachians,

indicate that little was known about these areas. The interior of Texas and

California, along with the Northwest part of the country are almost completely

white, except for a few rivers snaking from the coasts. The Spanish had not yet

colonized the state of Texas, so Sanson had very little to work off of. Though

major geographic features such as the Mississippi River are absent from the

Southwest, Sanson is renowned for his identification of Indian tribes such as the

“Navajo” and the “Apache.” These names are marked in the central and

northwestern parts of the map.

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Sanson is important in other ways – which makes this map all the more valuable.

Right. The school of cartography that Nicolas Sanson established in Paris allowed

France to make tremendous strides in geographic study and dominate mapmaking

for decades. The creator of the following map in the collection was Guillaume de

L’Isle, whose father had been a pupil at Sanson’s institution. As opposed to the

preceding Dutch cartographer’s mindset, the French did not feel obligated to fill

undiscovered territory with decoration or guesswork. They were unashamed to

leave a void in uncharted territories, relying only on personal exploration and the

most accurate authorities of the time. This dedication to accuracy was shared by

most of the French mapmakers, and therefore a trend of open white space became a

common means of indicating unknown territories.

However, by the time Guillaume de L’Isle published his map Carte du Mexique et

de la Floride in 1703, there was less white space on his map of the United States

and Central America. The Appalachian Mountains were placed almost in their

rightful place, lining the east coast, and the Rio Grande appears and begins to

define the shape of Texas as we know it today. Though the Mississippi River for

the first time is accurately portrayed, many other rivers snaking in from the coast

were inaccurately plotted. The only portion of this map that remains completely

void of markings is the Northwest, where the cartouche rests on a completely blank

top left corner of the map.

Fascinating. Tell us about another treasure in this collection.

Certainly one of the most striking maps on the walls of the Texas Collection is

Alexander von Humboldt’s Cart Generale du Royaume de la Nouvelle Espagne.

This map was regarded as one of the most scientifically advanced works of

cartography seen yet, partially due to Humbolt’s attention to topographical

features. His manner of depicting geographical features, especially mountain

ranges and other elevations, was certainly the most advanced method seen yet in

the collection. Humbolt employed a technique called hachure, in which the

illustrator uses short line segments to represent different elevations and slopes.

More concentrated strokes indicate steeper slopes and gentler slopes are depicted

by thinner lines. Humbolt’s depiction of mountains therefore was of ranges rather

than the filed singular mountains employed by L’Isle and Sanson. The popular

practice of copper engraving in this period allowed very detailed hachures to be

easily transferred to replica maps.

And, Humbolt did his homework.

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To prepare for the creation of this map, Humbolt completed a five-year expedition

to the New World, where he researched the territory he would map in 1809. After

visiting libraries and archives in New Spain and consulting Mexican authorities,

Humbolt created what was considered one of the most extensive and accurate

topographical maps created yet. However, there were still major errors in his

depiction of the Texas area. The rivers that deposited into the Gulf of Mexico

were inaccurately shown as plummeting almost directly South, instead of winding

down in a Southeasterly direction. The Brazos was significantly understated in

scale, and the Guadalupe Mountains were placed east of the Pecos. His

misplacement of the Guadalupe range was accepted and copied by travelers and

mapmakers long after this map was printed.

Your next cartographer has one of my favorite names in all of American history –

Zebulon Montgomery Pike.

It does trip off the tongue, doesn’t it? Unlike the cartographers who have so far

appeared in this collection, Zebulon Montgomery Pike had not been extensively

trained in cartography nor was he particularly a man of science when he embarked

on his expedition. Pike, a 27-year-old lieutenant, was ordered to explore the

Arkansas and Red Rivers with specific instructions to find the sources of the rivers.

In 1810, Pike’s recount of his discoveries, one of the first detailed accounts written

in English, was published along with his map, A Map of the Internal Provinces of

New Spain. Shortly after the piece was published in Philadelphia, Humbolt, our

previous cartographer, accused Zebulon of plagiarizing his own map without

giving credit. While Zebulon likely had access to his predecessor’s map in

America and many portions of his map mimic Humbolt’s geographical

representations, Pike’s depiction of Texas was overall superior. Zebulon’s personal

expedition and his consultation with New Spain’s authorities rendered new and

more accurate findings in Texas. The rivers that Humbolt had shown as flowing

directly South had been corrected to their true placement, and the Brazos River --

which Humbolt had portrayed as merely a minor stream -- and other major rivers

were not plotted perfectly, but certainly more accurately than previous attempts.

I guess the maps got better in the years that followed.

As we move into later maps, the East Coast becomes heavily occupied and

accurate state borders and coastal features appear. The west, which had been such

a looming sparsely charted area, now transforms into a territory of possibilities for

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new settlers. Traveling roads begin to appear and the titles of the collection’s maps

change from “New Spain” to the “United States.”

The western portion of the United States became a cartographical priority, as the

future was sure to hold promising opportunities. In response, the controlling

powers began to scramble for authority in these parts.

And America starts demanding better maps.

Right. It was around this time that America rose to the cartography standards of

their European competitors and Philadelphia became a major location for the

drawing and printing of maps. This movement was largely influenced by John

Melish, who seized the opportunity to provide greater knowledge of the Western

front and created one of the most popular maps of the U.S. This map that would be

highly influential, and controversial, in later land treaties.

One such negotiation was the Adams-Onis Treaty of 1819, in which Spain

relinquished control of Florida to the U.S and an official border was established

between the two powers. In exchange for Florida, the U.S allowed control of

Texas to pass over to Spain. However the boundaries were unclear. The

diplomatic leaders of the time relied heavily on John Melish’s Map of the United

States to divide the territory. The negotiating powers decided that the Western

Louisiana border would run from the mouth of the Sabine River and carry along its

Western Bank. This border was accurately placed on Melish’s map and still

serves as the border between Louisiana and Texas today.

However, the northern border, which was supposed to run west along the Arkansas

River, was largely disputed long after the treaty due to a miscalculation in Melish’s

plotting. Melish had indicated that the Arkansas River was 240 miles north of its

actual location. He also failed to correctly place the 90th meridian which defines

the Texas panhandle, an error that would only be concluded after an 1896 Supreme

Court decision.

Drat! I hate it when I miss my mark by 240 miles. Guys just hate to ask for

directions.

In 1841, cartographer John Arrowsmith released the most up-to-date map of the

newly independent Texas published in his London Atlas. This map was one of the

first maps showcasing an accurate Republic of Texas. The map showed traveling

routes to the new city of Houston and enticed settlers with labels reading “valuable

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land” and “delightful country.” These hand-written descriptions scrawled between

the geography were indicators of the evolving interest in this new state and the

resulting demand for traveling information. The map not only includes travel

advice and detailed labeling of rivers and landmarks, but also the names of Indian

tribes and their dwellings and titles such as “Droves of Wild Horses and Cattle.”

Texas remains in its Republic shape until 1850, with its western border following

the Rio Grande north, extending its boundaries into present-day New Mexico. The

maps following Texas’ adoption of this new shape show counties and communities

flourishing, especially in the eastern portion of the state.

Attention in Texas maps begins to focus on railway systems and mail routes, and

traveling companies are urging settlers to find a home in this state and utilize their

transportation. Texas and Houston railway companies began teaming up with

major traveling agencies and offering reduced trips to and from Texas.

And this is where the advertisers step in…

One advertisement at the end of the collection announces, “For the purpose of

settling up the state of Texas, the Houston and Texas Railway Company has, in

connection with the above named Steamship Companies, placed in effect greatly

reduced rates from all prominent places in Great Britain, Ireland and Continental

Europe to all points in Texas, to which the railway is tributary.”

And when these settlers arrive, for the first time, there will be accurate maps to get

them where they’re going in this great state! Thank you, Corley, for sharing

another treasure of the Texas Collection.

Thank you, Robert.

My pleasure, Corley.

OK, while we’re speaking of maps, here’s a story about someone who put Waco

on the map. His name was Samuel Blythe Price … better known as “Sammy” …

and boy! could he play the piano! Here’s just a snippet of Sammy Price playing:

INSERT “Harlem Parlor Blues” HERE

Love that stuff! For more than 50 years, Price was one of the top pianists,

composers, arrangers in the U.S. – if not the world. He was the master of a host of

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genres: boogie-woogie, swing, jump blues, gospel blues, early rhythm & blues, and

that particularly Manhattan sub-genre, piano blues.

Price was loved and acclaimed in the African-American music community in the

first half of the 20th century, recording on his own, mostly with the boppin’ Sammy

Price Trio, and many, many more sides as an arranger/writer with top African-

American artists of the day, including Sidney Bechet. One legendary session in the

early 1940s featured famed sax man Lester Young.

But if Sammy Price had never played a note of jazz or jump blues, he’d still be

important. His autobiography of turn-of-the-century African American life in a

mid-sized Texas town is an invaluable resource to historians everywhere.

In What Do They Want? A Jazz Autobiography, Sammy writes that he was born on

October 6, 1908 in Honey Grove, Texas. But at a very young age, the family

moved to Waco, where his father found work at the Brazos Bakery – at $6 a week.

Living on the old Corsicana Road in East Waco, Sammy tells of an idyllic

childhood, roaming the city, always returning to their small house, now over-run

with grandparents and aunts and uncles. At one point he writes:

“To mention Waco was like talking about heaven. As far as I was concerned, going

to Waco, I was going to the biggest city on earth. I mean, I thought that if it rained

in Waco, it rained in the next county, the next state; it rained in New York,

Chicago and Washington – those places I’d heard of that I figured were just about

the same – though not as important – Waco.”

In 1913, Sammy started East Waco Elementary, about a mile down Corsicana

Road from his family’s house on Paul Quinn Street. After class, he’d shine shoes

with the older men and listen to them talk about the war in Europe. At age 7, he

and his brother once even got into a fight with some Baylor boys on Waco’s

excellent streetcar system.

His first musical lessons were from a Professor Cobb, who tried to teach Sammy

the cornet for 25 cents a lesson. After two weeks, Cobb told his mother:

“Mrs. Price, your son ain’t got it. He just doesn’t have it. He doesn’t understand

what it’s about. He can never learn. He has no concept of tonal qualities and that’s

that. Save your 25 cents.”

Famous last words …

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But Sammy kept attending the vaudeville shows at the Gaiety Theater, just across

the Brazos River on Bridge Street, where he’d sit all day watching act after act –

but especially the piano players.

Each year, the massive Waco Cotton Palace would open its grounds on certain

days to African-Americans. His father had one of the food stands on the

fairgrounds and little Sammy would wander in and out of the fair, the rodeo, and –

of course – the musical stages. It was there that he met the famed comedy and

dance team of Ella B. Moore and Chintz, her husband. They kindly invited the

little kid who seemed to love the music so much to visit them in Dallas, should he

ever get up that way:

“From that night on until the summer of 1918, we just day-dreamed about music,

always listening to the blues melodies we heard around us day and night. These

songs used to come to us from some of the strangest places, and from the start I

loved every one of them. Like religion, the blues was also part of our people.”

Sometimes the blues singers sang of sad and terrible things, too. He once heard a

bluesman sing about a lynching that had just taken place in nearby Robinson, then

called Robinsonville. The lyrics haunted him, 60 years later:

“I never have, and I never will,

Pick no more cotton in Robinsonville.

Tell me how long will I have to wait,

Can I get you now or must I hesitate?”

It was on the street corners of Waco that Sammy heard the legendary blues singer

Blind Lemon Jefferson on the city’s downtown square. Price writes that he

distinctly remembers people in the crowd urging Jefferson, “Come on, Lemon,

pick that box!”

Meanwhile, he’d begun taking informal piano lessons on the grand-piano at his

aunt’s house. It was clear from the beginning that he did, indeed, have talent,

whatever Professor Cobb might think.

By the advent of World War I, the Price family had split up and times were even

harder than usual. Finally, his mother moved to Dallas to look for work and, on

June 3, 1918, sent for the boys. They took the Interurban to Dallas. He soon got a

job operating the player piano in Mrs. Lizzie’s Parlor – memorizing the music as it

played. Eventually, he began formal piano lessons with Mrs. Portia Pittman of

Dallas, the daughter of Booker T. Washington.

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And thus began the career of Swinging Sammy Price.

After Dallas, Sammy traveled with Alphonso Trent’s band, spent some time in

Kansas City studying under the great barrelhouse and boogie pianists there, then

moving on to Chicago and Detroit. In 1938, Price becomes the house pianist for

the great Decca label in New York, playing behind some of the greatest African

American singers of his generation… Peetie Wheatstraw, Big Joe Turner, Blue Lu

Baker and more …

It’s in New York that Price begins a long association with Sister Rosetta Tharpe,

the one-of-a-kind jazz gospel singer and guitar player. With Price, Tharpe cut – or

re-cuts – many of her greatest hits, including: “Up Above My Head, I Hear Music

in the Air,” “Rock Me,” “Didn’t It Rain,” and “Shout, Sister, Shout.”

And this gem:

INSERT “Strange Things Happening Every Day” HERE

Price worked steadily in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s, mostly because he could play

just about everything – recording or performing with Buddy Rich, Benny

Goodman, Red Allen, Doc Cheatham and others. Sammy even played piano on a

number of early rock’n’roll songs. In later years, he returned briefly to Texas to

open a couple of nightclubs and a meat products company.

Price was deeply involved in politics, too – actively working on the campaigns of

Adam Clayton Powell, LBJ, even Bobby Kennedy, performing at benefits and

organizing neighborhoods.

But he eventually returned to his beloved Manhattan, much like Bobby Short, and

became a fixture there. Sammy Price died April 14, 1992 in New York City … just

weeks after playing a steady gig in Boston.

But before we go, here’s just one more taste of the great piano stylings of Sammy

Price, again with Sister Rosetta:

LAST MUSICAL INSERT HERE; “Strange Things Happening Every Day”

I’m your host Robert Darden, Associate Professor of Journalism, PR & New

Media and thank you for joining us for another edition of Treasures of the Texas

Collection. The Texas Collection has an extraordinary collection of Texas-related

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documents, books, letters, photographs, memoirs – and, of course – maps and

music and much, much more. For more information, go to: baylor.edu/lib/texas/

Treasures of the Texas Collection was made possible by generous grants from The

Wardlaw Fellowship Fund for Texas Studies and by the Guy B. Harrison, Jr.

Endowment Fund.

This has been a production of KWBU-FM 103.3, public radio for Central Texas.