Give the man room

by Robert J. Casey; Mary Montgomery Borglum

numbers and sat at ease as they yarned about how cattle behaved; how cowboys talked, rode, ate and slept; how they dressed by putting their big hats on; how they soothed the bedded herd by singing a ballad of uncounted verses. When the time came for the sculptor to make scenes in bas-relief around the base of the monument talk rose to feverish heat over such moot questions as whether thirsty cattle lift their tails when they scent water, or whether cowboys squat on their heels around a campfire at night.

Gutzon tracked down the few remaining longhorn cattle in the state and took time to witness driving, riding, roping—all the details of the cattle business as exposed in numerous rodeos. A cowboy known as “Red” posed for one of the chief figures in the group. And when a question arose as to who should be pictured in the other, there was rivalry over the claims of George Saunders, president of the association, and another old cowman, Tom Russell, recently deceased. Russell’s widow was a prime mover in the memorial project, but she wasn’t looking for a personal monument. She and her committee worked tirelessly to raise money for this tribute to the unsung heroism of their menfolk.

As the model was finally developed to their satisfaction it showed two riders, one pointing with outstretched arm to indicate where water would be found, while behind them were three longhorn steers, their heads and tails raised as they scented the distant river. To cast that group in bronze, full size, called for more money than the women could raise at a time when drought and low prices for beef put the cattle business in a decline. Even before the clay model was completed, messages came from Atlanta warning the Trail Drivers to have nothing to do with Borglum. The women seemed unconcerned. When the model was exhibited in other cities there came lively bidding for its location. Mr. Goodnight, a famous old ranchman, offered to pay for the casting on condition that the monument be placed in Abilene, but the San Antonio Chamber of Commerce was determined to keep the work where the idea originated. Only enough money for a bronze about one-fourth life size could be raised, and the memorial was permanently placed outside Trail Drivers Hall, especially built for the purpose in Breckenridge Park. This was a great disappointment to the sculptor who had planned for an enlarged group more than forty feet long to stand under the open sky in front of San Antonio’s auditorium.

As long as there was any hope of completing his work at Stone Mountain, a hope that died hard, the sculptor wanted to remain in the South, where his chief need was a roomy studio. He secured lease of space in a machine shop near the railroad tracks to complete the model of the Trail Drivers’ memorial, and then began to scout around San Antonio for a more permanent location. He found it eventually in an old stone building on the edge of Breckenridge Park which had been abandoned by the local water company.

The genial park commissioner allowed him to remodel it. A new roof was built with its big skylight, an ell added, windows and doorways completely rebuilt and the interior decorated. When finished it was a delightful place for work or play, half hidden by pecan trees that shaded it from the Southern sun, with the sound of running water beneath. Here several new sculptural works were modeled, but only one was destined to stand in Texas. When it came about that Mount Rushmore demanded all his time the sculptor gave this San Antonio studio to the Witte Museum in the same park. Now known as the Borglum Memorial Studio, it is used for art classes and as a meeting place for art students.

In this city the sculptor became deeply involved in several projects promoted mostly by women, who often took the lead in civic improvements. There were women’s clubs all over the state which invited the sculptor to tell his ideas on the art and beautification of one’s surroundings. The Conservation Society of San Antonio interested him in their pet project of beautifying the banks of the San Antonio River, a lazy little stream that threaded its way through the city. Real-estate interests wanted to fill up the stream and use the space for more buildings, but the women wouldn’t hear of it. In this the sculptor joined heartily, but his ideas conflicted with theirs when it came to restoration of old Spanish ruins.

From his experience in preserving the California missions the sculptor was keenly interested in these San Antonio ruins, one of which, the San Jose Mission, is especially beautiful. A copy of its rose window was sent to the Chicago World’s Fair in 1933.

Before he arrived, its belfry tower had collapsed. Mrs. J. P. Drought, one of the most civic-minded leaders San Antonio ever had, had at her own expense hired workmen to collect the stones and wood blocks for the stairs and return them to their original places. The belfry stairs, triangular blocks of wood that unknown hands had carved out of big trees, had been carried away as relics by Mexican families, and the same Mrs. Drought had searched them out, one by one, and brought them back to the mission as a real work of restoration. Meanwhile the Conservation Society engaged a local architect to restore parts of the old church and a granary which had almost disappeared.