This is the script from a character created for the living history play about the ghosts of Southwest Austin.

Howdy. I’m Joe Tanner. As you may, or may not know, I was a blacksmith. My shop was right there on Williamson Creek where the Oak Hill Baseball Fields are and next to where they named a street after me. I’m a third generation blacksmith. My Grandfather, the first one of my family to come to Texas was mostly a gunsmith. One of the best in the country north and south. During the War Between the States  when all of Texas was barricaded land and sea no weapons or ammunition could come in state. So Texan’s had to make  weaponry  for their soldiers on their own. When the Texas government wanted to pay to have weapons made three gun and blacksmiths made bids to get the contract. But only one made good on bringing the product. Manufacturing the needed arms for the soldiers. 

 

My extended family has a long and important place in Texas history. I and my parents are buried in unmarked graves in Oak Hill Cemetery along the road that takes folks to The Natural Gardener, sure busy place.
 

Let me tell you how this here ghost walk came about. It was us ghosts still living in these parts that made it happen.  

The lady who was thinking about an Arbor Trails Ghost Walk  o remember all of us that pioneered these parts of Texas was just a thinkin and thinkin. Just a hem hawing around about it. Three years past and she was STILL just a thinkin. So we ghosts decided to jump start the plan last Halloween when we watched her going downtown to read the old newspapers about that horrible hurricane that blew away sisters Joanna and Ada Bargsley, old Mrs. Towsend and her son, old widowed Mrs. Bargsley, 70 yearold Marla Kincheon and little Hailey in the blink of an eye. 

 

And to get things moving the next morning Ada made an appearance on Convict Hill Road. A human girl driving to work at 5:45 in the morning saw a lady wearing a white dress, with long black hair and bare feet walking in the middle of the road. Two cars driving towards each other swerved off the road so they wouldn’t hit her. But then there was no one there cause Ada’s a ghost!  Realizing it was one of us ghosts scart that one girl nearly to death! The girl went on to the NextDoor website and asked if anyone had heard of a ghost on the Convict Hill Road? 

 

And by golly someone responded YES! 20 years ago she was driving from Congress Ave on the Davis Lane road right close to where it crosses the Brodie Lane, in fact close to where the Barsley house once stood before it blew away, she saw a lady in a white dress with long black hair and bare feet. It was 3:00 AM in the morning, she was driving home from work, which she did every night but never saw no one. Back then when she was driving the backroads there were no houses. Nothing was built out here. She was concerned for the woman so she slowed down and rolled down her window ( for those of you who may not know, there was a time when car windows had to be rolled down by hand) and asked if she was alright? Then she had a very strange feeling, something was not right. The lady never acknowledged her and the driver could not see a face, just hair. Then she was scaret!! Drove away as fast as she could. Looked behind in the rear-view mirror but no one was there. 

This got the people on Nextdoor talking!   And here we are. 

My blacksmith shop was right where the Oak Hill baseball fields are today. In my day there was one thing every boy played, and everybody enjoyed playing was baseball. Every boy and some girls had a baseball glove. Whether it was a pick-up game in the front yard or a fancied up game like on the Oak Hill fields, everybody loved watching including me. I’m right tickled that that’s what became of my old place. 

But like Ada BargsleyI have a mischievous side to me. You know I’m there a watching with you see a hawk around. My hawk friends still visit. Or if you get a whiff of fresh flowers or fresh tomatoes in the air. Or something might go a missing at the ball field. Just say “old Joe Tanner put it back!” And I just may… 

 Joe Tanner’s father’s sister has poem is on her tombstone.
 

Shed not for her the bitter tear;
Nor give the heart to vain regret;
Tis but the casket that lies here;
The gem that filled it sparkels yet.
37 yrs. 1 mo. 21 days. 

 Researched and written by Jeanine Plumer

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