Austin (Rosedale) TX, 1950s, by Forrest Preece

From MemoryArchive

Who: Forrest Preece
What: The Rosedale Neighborhood of Austin, TX, in the 1950s
When: 1950s
Where: Austin, TX

Rosedale in the 50's.

A childhood by the numbers.

If I had to select one adjective to describe my childhood in Rosedale during the 50's, it would be "well-defined." Geographically, it was delineated by Burnet Road, Hancock, 40th Street and Shoal Creek Boulevard. In terms of family units, by everyone having two biological parents in place. In 85% of the cases, the father worked and the mother stayed home and took care of the home and kids. The nation? Good grief, we'd just conquered the Hun and the Sun. We were the kings and queens of the world with a manifest destiny that was now extended to the rest of the earth. And that optimism certainly imparted itself to the children at Rosedale School. When I see the cultural upheaval of the nineties, I think back to the quiescent state of Rosedale in the fifties with a certain degree of longing. Like the England of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, when there is a homogeneity within a class group and no striving to climb anywhere else, then the lack of friction makes for a pretty peaceful existence. Somehow, many of us knew that we would go to college and put together decent careers, but those futures were so far down the line that we weren't stressed by them. I suppose that we sensed there were some rich kids going to a school called Highland Park, but that really never concerned me.

Later, when we were all consolidated with them at Lamar Junior High, I started getting a feel for the social category thing; but I can't say that it ever bothered me. In fact, I was kind of amused by the pretensions of some of the fat cats' offspring. The only time I can even think of there being any overt downward negativity in junior high was one time when I was playing in a basketball game with some other kids and somehow the fact my dad was a carpenter came up. A guy whose father was a dean of a major college at UT said something to me indicating that I must mean my dad was just a play-like carpenter around the house on the weekends. (After all, I was as smart as he was--my parents must be in his parents' income group, right?) No, I said, he does that for a living. He gave me this shocked look and said "Gee--where do you live?" Honestly, it took me a couple of days to absorb the full implications of what he was saying. Can't say that it really bothered me, but I never had much more use for that jerk.

Anyway, back to Rosedale Elementary School, where the chain of command was about as firmly demarked as you could imagine. Mrs. White held sway and the teachers brooked little insolence whatsoever. Talking out of turn or being in the hall without good reason were about as horrendous a pair of crimes as any of us could imagine.

When I hear about the drugs and guns being confiscated in schools today, I'm floored. Sex? Are you kidding? Give me a break. Some of us were having lustful thoughts by the fifth or sixth grade, but acting on them? Not a chance. Things I remember about school? Gee. That could fill a volume or two. Funny, most of the things that stick out in your mind have to do with social interaction rather than any particular lesson. For some reason, the other day I was thinking about an incident that happened when I was in the fourth grade. It revolved around one of those school events that the teachers put together for the kids, to inculcate some skills in performing for a crowd. As things turned out, two of the boys who were supposed to be in the folk dance part of the show got sick or whatever and didn't make it. Anyway, there were a couple of guys who had been trained as alternates, but they didn't come around to our room where we were waiting, so two of the girls didn't get to dance. Of course, they started crying and there was a major to-do in the aftermath. Needless to say, the boys got blamed for not taking action to locate the problem. It seemed to me at the time that one of the teachers could have done a little moving around and brought the boys to the right place. But when I became an adult and had to stomach a juicy helping of corporate life, I realized that I had seen the phenomenon known as blame-shifting at work, transferring the greasy stuff right on downhill. Still works that way, all right. (That's why I run a one-man business.)

Were there any downsides to the Rosedale of my childhood? If I had to isolate anything, it would be that it gave me way too high a set of expectations about the way society should work. Frankly, I credit my upbringing in this wholesome universe for a large part of the success I've had. But nothing in my experience in Rosedale prepared me for a society where people take no blame for creating their own problems, criminalize and punish success and prudence, and then want to subsidize sloth and overbreeding. And it certainly didn't make me ready for the business world where skill in telling lies is seen as a gift, rather than a fault. Then again, some enormously positive things have happened that I applaud, such as women taking their rightful places in the professional workforce. Oh well, I am what I am. Kind of like it that way. Thanks, Rosedale.

Now, here are some restaurants gone by...

Caruso's Caruso's was an Italian restaurant at the location where Sfuzzi's is now. Somehow this relaxed little shirtsleeve businessfolk and college crowd place has become major yup mit der ferns und white zin.

What a thrill it was for a college kid like me to go to Caruso's with my buds and get a one of their huge schooners of beer. Of course, you had to be 21 to do that, so there were several years in there when I had to watch longingly while my pal who looked 21 got his and I had none. (I never had the larcenous streak or the gumption to put together a fake ID. ) Caruso's wasn't there for any seeing or being seen scene--the food was all that was important. Huge Italian dishes covered with cheese. Shrimp and pasta and fish and meat and bread for sopping. Linda and I go out to eat a lot now and I'm sure that with our "refined" tastes we would look on Caruso's food as somewhat pedestrian and heavy, which is sad in a way. We love the restaurants we frequent, but there was something just so elemental and relaxing about this place. As I remember, they lost their lease around 1972 or so and moved down the street to where Katz's is now; but somehow, it lost its charm at that point and it went away soon thereafter.

A UT professor named Thomas Whitbread, who taught a Shakespeare course I took, ran into us at Granite Cafe at the first of this year. He actually wrote a poem about Caruso's that was published in a collection of his work. (As I remember, it was called, "Why I Love Caruso's.") When we saw him this year, he reminisced with me about it and talked about how he and another favorite professor of mine used to go down there and get those huge mugs of beer. Man, if there's anyplace like that around now, I know not of it.

Watson Books/Sweetish Hill The first few years we were married (that was in the mid-late 70's), Linda and I made many a Sunday morning excursion to Sweetish Hill Cafe/Bakery and its next-door neighbor, Watson Books. Now Cafe Josey is there. This was a real treat for us; I still remember their elegant eggs Florentine and Benedict with the just glutinous enough muffins and finely blended sauces. They also had a German sausage with apple-potato pancake dish that was scrumptious. We were both working at MRI Systems then and we were always grateful for the weekends--since Linda had to be on the road about three weeks a month and it always seemed like she had to catch a plane on Sunday afternoon. Not the greatest way to start a marriage, but we both managed to extricate ourselves from that less-than-satisfactory employment situation soon enough.

One of the best things about S. Hill was that it neighbored Watson & Co. Books. This symbiotic relationship was a predecessor of Whole Foods Crossroads- Bookstop/Central Market-Bookstop. When you got through eating at Sweetish Hill, you'd go next door to Watson and shop around. This was one of the few places in town where you could get the Sunday New York Times then. (Now, we get the Times thrown in our driveway every day of the week and think little of it.) It was a very prestigious thing to have your name stuck on a piece of paper in the stack. Showed that you were definitely a hip and cerebral sort, worthy of possible movement into the upper echelons of taste, intellectual snothood and decency in Austin.

One of my favorite people at Watson Books was a lovely raven-haired woman named Tara. Linda and I would always talk with her and she'd point out some cool new books to examine. Years later, I was reading an article in Texas Monthly about a schizophrenic woman who wanders the streets of Austin and her pretty, talented daughter and I suddenly realized that the daughter referred to in the article was Tara. We've seen each other in the ensuing years and now I have a whole different level of insight into Tara's life. By the way, she has now written a book that is a Literary Guild selection. The subject is her mother's life and how it has affected her own existence. Truly a marvelous read, one I couldn't put down.

As for Sweetish Hill, it moved and is now a well-received bakery that serves great pastries, a half block or so away from the old location. Watson Books, like most small bookstores, bit the dust when the Big & Notables of the world took the book market for their own fiefdom. Time marches on, huh.

El Rancho Downtown Take a look at the Four Seasons and you'll see where the once-famed El Rancho used to be. When Bob Dylan came to Austin, I remember that someone wrote in "The Austin Sun" that they took him to El Rancho because they wanted to show off the best Austin had to offer. Well, it was the place to see and be seen back in those days. You'd always run into a bunch of political types and pr wonks. One memorable night, Linda and I sat next to Darrell Royal's table. He was with Jim Lampley, the ABC announcer. Lampley was talking TV stuff and I remember him stating rather grandly that he had done an interview in Hawaii with his shirt off. Another guy, who seemed to be a UT sort with DKR, said that the best fights he ever saw were the ones with Carmen Basilio and Sugar Ray Robinson. And good grief--those margaritas they had in there. They were as big as the Caruso's beer schooners. Whew! One night I put a whole one away and Linda had to drive. Probably the most messed up I've been in the marriage; I was numb. But back to the food--you could get Shrimp Embueltos for about $4.95. Shrimp in a soft egg batter with a sour creamy-tomato based sauce. Mmmmm. Truly wonderful. And the Shrimp Mexicana was pretty powerful, too. The chile relleno was a mass of melted cheese, raisins and pecans. One time this pretentious jerk of a woman I knew (and unfortunately had to work for -- she was the reason I started a business, but that's another story) went to The Ranch. Monday after that, she told me that she had ordered the "El Rancho saLAHD." Heck, they never served saLAHD there. "Salad," sure--but "SaLAHD"? Naaaaa, no way. This was old Austin, after all. This was the same woman who crowed to me that she was getting garage door openers on BOTH her doors. BOTH!!! BOTH!!!!! (As if to say, you'll never have such wonders on your garage doors, you little squirt.) She wound up being murdered by her third husband, who, I would imagine, has no automatic opener on the door of his cell. If he does, I can't imagine that he gets to operate it.

Jorge's Now I'm talking about the original. Out where First, Fifth and Seventh intersect. This was real Tex-Mexican food--especially the menudo. (Something I daresay you wouldn't find many places today.) One memorable winter day in the first January of our marriage, Linda and I ate there on a Sunday morning. (one of those famous Sundays where she had to get on a plane and head somewhere). After downing a bowl of Menudo, she felt like she was ready for anything. Unfortunately, she got stuck on the runway in DFW and by the time they let the passengers off the plane, she was approximately the color of a sheet in a Tide commercial. But I digress. Besides menudo, this place had serious atmosphere. I mean, this was the kind of place where litttle yupamongus wannabes like us at that point went to feel like we'd done someone authentic. I do remember that their flour tortillas were absolutely heaevn. And the enchiladas were to die for. Huge chunks of onion. Meaty, burnt umber sauce. Good stuff.

Stallion Oh Lord, bring back the Stallion for just one lousy stinking day. I loved that place. A huge, gynasium sized back room and a cozier front area. And the food--hamburgers that you needed three hands to wrap around. Onion rings from Mars--I'm talking nine inch diameters. Enchiladas with absolutely black sauce. Steask that lapped over the side of the plate. French fries from heaven. I can't understand what happened here, since the place was always full as a tick. Maybe they just got tired of doing it. Oy maybe the land got too valuable during the boom and they got forced off.

Jake's The Stallion with oysters and a lot cozier.

Note: Borrowed with permission from Forrest Preece.

External Links: