Texarkana with Phototour

I’m sitting in Outback, eating king crab legs as I type this. Yes, that’s right… I drove nearly 2000 miles to Texas, and I’m eating seafood in a pseudo-Australian restaurant. Ahh, America.
So, Texarkana. In 1984, I drove through Hazleton, PA with my Dad. We stopped for lunch, and couldn’t find a single restaurant still in business. Texarkana is like that, only much worse. Much.
There is a large hotel at the center of town. It dominates the city, with one of those large signs supported by a steel lattice on the roof. It reads: Hotel Grim. Grim indeed. Driving around downtown Texarkana is like haunting a ghosttown. You can see where things used to be, but nothing is newer than 40 years ago, and even less is still in business.

Am I being hyperbolic? Not really, I’m being kind.

Texarkana is what a dead America looks like. Here's the phototour, with more pictures.

But I knew from reading a couple of articles about Battle Mountain, NV, voted America’s armpit in a 2001 poll, that there was something worth seeing here.

I tapped on the GPS “attractions” button and had it display the list within 50 miles. First, was the Ace of Clubs House. Intrigued by the name, I pressed GO and headed that way.

In between two churches (they were still in business), I found the Ace of Clubs House. I instantly understood its name. The house is constructed of the octagonal towers, with a “stem” of a rectangle in the middle of them. It looks very much like a club from the air. At the time it was built, Texarkana was a dirt street, backwater burg, and this was probably the largest and most impressive mansion for hundreds of miles. And it is impressive.

I bypassed the front door as the signs demanded, and followed a narrow walkway into a dry moat, and to a door. The door had a peculiar sign. It said: PLEASE DO NOT TURN KNOB. Squeeze thumb latch, and push open. Thank you.” After snapping a picture of this conundrum, I examined the doorknob. It was dark, as I was in a moat, and it looked all the world like a normal door knob. Instead of turning it – I was determined not to – I felt a round and found a thin metal trigger. I pressed it, and pushed, and voila! I was in what we would call in Vermont, a “mud room.”

Odd electronic bells started sounding, and I knew I had triggered some sort of “Hey! We got a customer! button.” I wandered into the small gift shop, and started looking around.

And there it was. I’ve been joking this entire trip about finding “the ark in Texarkana,” and I had finally found it.

First, and explanation. My friend Jonathan and I have been rabid Clutch fans for years. On an album many years old now, they had a song called “Immortal,” which had the lyrics “who found the ark inside Texarkana?” We joked about that then, and now that I was actually here, I was determined to find one. Of course, the lyrics refer to the word “ark” inside the world “Texarkana,” but being the overly literal person that I am, I had been looking for an actual “ark” object since I’d arrived. Any definition of ark would do: if Noah sailed by, I’d count it as a win.
I stayed in Arkadelphia a few days earlier, and looked up the meaning of the name. The only entry I could find in my brief search said “Brotherly Chest.” I have no idea what that means, but the idea that “ark” meant “chest” ala Raiders of the Lost Ark stuck with me. And there, on the shelf of the gift shop was a chest.. er an ark. Yes, it was THE ark. I’d been searching for it, and I found it. I went over to take a picture of it, and the curator asked what I was doing. I utterly failed to explain it to her, and I’m sure she wrote me off as some obfuscating Yankee. And that’s just fine with me.

She charged me a modest $6 for the tour and explained that there is no photography and it is a guided tour. I decided to pen a rant about photography rules, and slung my camera behind me.
I was led into a basement room rec room. “As you’re our first guest today, we haven’t turned on the lights yet.” They had been open for two hours, so I noted that it was the slow season. “Oh, please sign the guest register.” She pointed to a book on the counter, and I went over and signed. I noticed that the date column where I put Jan 29, 2009, the last visitor had put Jan 24, 2009. Was I really the first visitor in 5 days? Given the manner in which she STRONGLY encouraged me to sign, I think I was.

She turned on an odd little historical VHS of the property, turned off the lights, and left. I watched impatiently, hearing from 6 actors portraying the 6 “matrons” of the house, and their trials and tribulations in keeping the house clean. In this official history, the first matron told the story of how her husband had won enough money in a card game to build this house. Later on, I head an embellished version, in which the card that won him that giant pot was the ace of clubs, and that’s why he built the house that way. The curator later said that these were just stories, and visitors should believe what they wanted. I’d rather believe the facts, and my best guess on the facts is that this wealthy man didn’t gamble at those high stakes, lest he’d not be a wealthy man anymore.

On with the tour! Rather than go by room and spew everything I saw and was told, I’ll now switch to summary mode. The house is a treasure. With its 14-16’ ceilings, ridiculous number of windows and mirrors, and unusual design, I was instantly taken with what a unique and well kept house this was. She lead me from room to room, on two floors, and pointed out many little touches that made the house unique. Some of the rooms had doors like roll-top desks, the ice box was specially constructed so that ice could be loaded from the outside, etc, etc. I was charmed.

We spent the next two hours wandering the home, with me imaging what it must have been like to live here, to have dined with Jay Gould in the former dining room, and how my own condo has so many more amenities in the way of bathroom and kitchen than this upper echelon abode could now offer.

I mentioned to her (we never exchanged names) that this was the only thing to do in Texarkana, and she said “Oh, that’s not true. There’s a lot to do here! In fact, take this.” She handed me a CD audio tour with a map of all the things to see in Texarkana. When I got back to the car, I looked it over. There were fewer than a doesn’t spots, most of them drive-bys, and one of them was the post office. I was thinking that if I were making a road tour for Richmond, VT (pop. 4100), I could easily spend two hours and put 50 stops on it. And they’d be interesting.

It was clear to me that she was proud of Texarkana, and I respect that, but I really do wonder why. Though I was incredibly impressed with the house and her tour, and YES they’re enough reason to visit Texarkana, I just can’t say much nice about the city itself.

I wandered up the hill and straddled the line between Texas and Arkansas at the only federal building that is on a border. I went inside (a volunteer at the Ace of Clubs House said it had been newly redone) and found an old fashioned post office in a terrible state of repair. The ceiling was collapsing, most of the lights were out… honestly, the post office of Fouke, AR was much nicer.
Looking out on the center of town… a large and confusing double-rotary with a somewhat disturbing monument to the confederacy in the middle… I saw the Texarkana Historical Museum and headed there.

It took me a few minutes to find the door. The building was a huge brick affair, with a jutting tower ala Rapunzel, and clearly had been home to some important business or other. Now, it housed the museum. I entered, hoping to find out more about the Hotel Grim at least.
The woman behind the counter greeted me, and had me sign the guest book. They closed in an hour, and I was the 5 visitor. They charged me $5, giving them a grand total of $25 in receipts, assuming everyone visiting was a full-fare adult.

The museum was, honestly, terrible. There was an interesting corner devoted to Scott Joplin and Leadbelly, with some of their original instruments and music samples. Upstairs there was a too brief introduction to the pre-Columbian tribe that settled the area, but that was it. I was out in 20 minutes, without a single picture.

And I ended the evening at Outback, listening to locals say things I’d only ever heard in Southploitation TV sitcoms.

Texarkana scared me. Not because the people were scary… they weren’t; they were by and large friendly and helpful. It was scary because this was a place completely bereft of hope. It was build to support the growing railroad, and in America, the railroad is no longer growing. And neither will be this city.

On one bright note, I had noticed a lot of Bradley fighting vehicles on flat bed trailers all the way from Kentucky. At least a dozen. In Texarkana, I saw a lot more, many with the words “Free Fall” spray painted on the back of them. Curious, I googled and found that a local company had been awarded a $100M+ contract to refit them. I can’t think of a place that needs something like that more. I’m still confused though.. if they won that contract, why were all the trucks heading north?