Big Chief (Photo Courtesy of Al Mitchell, Class of ’65)
“Yup. They hang out in the parking lot of Big Chief. I seen ‘em.”
Thus spoke Johnny, 7th grader and object of my 5th grade affection. I made no reply. I had lived in Texas City for less than two years. Johnny lived in TC all his life. Given his age and experience, he should know, and he said Texas City had a gang called the Red Coats, and they hung out in the parking lot of Big Chief.
He expected me to say something, I could tell. I had a thoughtful look as a child, but it was a trick of countenance. I thought nothing at all, unless it was along the lines of Oh, dear, what do I say now?
For once, I thought of something. “What about Weingarten’s? Do they hang out there, too?”
“Naw. Too far away from Texas Avenue. They hang out at Big Chief.”
From the time I moved to the neighborhood around Fourth Avenue and Ninth Street, Big Chief Grocery Store on the south end of Sixth Street was my most frequent destination, not counting Danforth school.
Tuna, Actual Size.
On one of my first visits to the store, I stood at the meat counter clutching a grocery list scribbled out by my mother. The butcher, who looked Italian to me, smiled.
“You want a tuna?”
“Yes, please.”
“Little girl, do you know how big is a tuna?”
He walked me to the canned goods aisle and handed me a flat little can. “This is what your mother wants. You need a truck to take home a tuna.”
My face burned – at that age I took myself pretty seriously, but the butcher was kind, and that’s my overall impression of Big Chief. Kind and friendly.
If I wasn’t shopping for my mother, I hung out at the magazine stand by the back entrance, sitting on the floor with a Superman comic book on my lap, and no one ever shooed me away. I kept an eye open for foot traffic, but one time I didn’t scoot out of the way fast enough. A cross-looking fellow didn’t see me hunched over my comic book. He caught his foot on my ankle and lurched head first into the magazines.
He stayed on his feet (barely), and I expected to be in trouble. Instead, the store people fussed over me and shot looks at the poor man. The store folks recognized a drunken sailor when they saw one, though I did not. There were a lot of bars on Texas Avenue between the docks and the grocery store, and even if Big Chief was the original destination, many lonely seafarers “dropped in” at seedy places before they got to the store.
By the time Johnny informed me of the gangs in the parking lot, I knew about the unsavory characters from the docks, and I supposed a gang was a possible.
Weingarten’s (Photo courtesy of Al Mitchell).
I was familiar with the other “real” grocery store, Weingarten’s, at the other end of Sixth Street, and it didn’t surprise me that no gangs found it convenient or accommodating. It was a chain store, well-lit and modern. Danise’s mother piled all the kids in the car every week when the specials came out, and we drove from one store to the other, buying the sales at Big Chief, then the sales at Weingarten’s. Gas was cheap and distances were short. And it was fun.
The Miller’s had a scary new black-and-white Ford, and it had too much dignity for kids. We might dribble or barf in the back seat, and sometimes we laughed so hard we sneezed or worse. In the old car, we were allowed to enjoy our treat, a six-ounce bottle of Coca Cola – one apiece. In the new Ford we clutched the shapely glass bottles, unopened until we got home. The old car was Big Chief; the new car was Weingarten’s.
The scary new Ford looked something like this.
After slandering Big Chief, my favorite grocery store, Johnny had one more thing to say, of great importance, judging by tone.
“You know what?” he said. “As soon as I can find a Red Coat, or anyone who knows anyone in the Red Coats, I’m joining. I wanna be in a gang”
He sped away on his black bicycle. I didn’t understand boys, and I suspected I never would. What was the big deal about finding a Red Coat? I knew exactly where to look, because he told me himself. The parking lot of Big Chief. Did he suffer from memory loss or was he a moron? Or both?
I never heard about a gang except from him, and in Texas City there was no chance of keeping secrets, so how could a gang escape the notice of the omniscient grown-ups, who (I was sure) would have put a quick stop to such a thing. The Red Coats existed because Johnny said so, and from then on the pretend games of the Fourth Avenue gang changed.
Sometimes the boys were fire fighters, policemen, or soldiers, and Danise and I became girlfriends of fire fighters, policemen, or soldiers. Our role models were confined to nurse, teacher, secretary or housewife, and as crucial as those occupations were, it was hard to fashion adventures around them. To be fair, the boys never pretended to be civil engineers, accountants, or pipe-fitters.
Hastings (Photo courtesy of Al Mitchell).
If Johnny hung around, we had to be “bad guys,” like Jesse James or Al Capone (who in my mind looked like the nice butcher at Big Chief). Mostly we pretended to be Red Coats. We circled St Mary’s Church on our bicycles, backtracked to Hastings grocery store, and tore into the parking lot in formation, twisting the hand-grips of our “motors,” which was the popular moniker of motorcycles in those days. We went inside to buy beer (root) and cigarettes (candy). (I wasn’t allowed to go to Hastings for groceries – my mother said the tiny convenience store was too expensive.)
Switchblade? Comb?
Bobby had a comb switchblade he bought at Rocks down on Sixth Street and Johnny owned a pair of sunglasses, so they were cool. We pretended to knock over liquor stores and steal cars, but we assumed the main thing this gang did was wear red coats. We turned red sweatshirts inside out to hide the Mickey Mouse logos. By sixth grade, at the tail end of my infatuation with gangs (and Johnny), I found a red coat! A red corduroy jacket, anyway, on sale at Penny’s. I didn’t say anything about gangs, and my mother bought it for me.
By the time school started and I was in junior high, “kid stuff” was behind me. I still had the red jacket, but it disappeared from the gym and reappeared on a brazen ninth-grade thief. I recognized my jacket, but in seventh grade I couldn’t have confronted Mr. Peanut, let alone a full-grown ninth grader. How had I ever considered myself gang worthy?
When my mother remarried and we moved to 17th Avenue, my allegiance shifted from Big Chief to Weingarten’s. It was closer now. Also, I had gone from taking myself seriously to being seriously prissy in record time, and I would have put my hair back in pigtails before I sat on the floor by a magazine rack ever again.
But the main attraction at Weingarten’s was the bag boys. Now there’s a dying occupation (prohibited to girls – we were too delicate). These days you hope your checker doesn’t put the watermelon on top of the bread, but since the bag boy is usually you, it can be avoided. At Weingarten’s in the early 60s, a crew cut kid in a white shirt and black bow tie took great care, and even carried your bags to the car. In the eyes of a 14-year-old girl, they were men, especially Terry. He was too old for me, according to my mother, but he was once in love with my friend Rhonda, so I was acquainted with him because of his interest in her.
Well, Beulah. Where will we all sit now?
Weingarten’s also piqued my interest because thoughts now lurked behind my thoughtful expression. My introduction to social injustice came courtesy of Weingarten’s. When racial tensions heated up and there were sit-ins around the country, management at corporate headquarters decided to have the stools removed from all Weingarten’s lunch counters. There. No Negroes could sit down. And neither could anyone else, I thought.
After his time as a Weingarten’s bag boy, Terry became a lifeguard at the TC swimming pool, and then head lifeguard when he was home from college during the summer. I probably never would have thought of the Red Coats again except for him.
Terry Covington. A nice guy who gave this picture to a lot of ladies.
By the time I was in high school and he was in college, he was over Rhonda. He noticed I was alive when in response to a dare I plunged off the high diving board, screaming all the way down (12 whole feet). Then I didn’t get out of the diving lane fast enough, a major swimming pool infraction. Terry blew his whistle like a crazy man.
I climbed out of the pool and said I was sorry, so he peered down the front of my bathing suit and asked me for a date. Although he didn’t seem as cute with zinc oxide on his nose, I accepted. My mother had relaxed her age-gap rules by then, so Terry took me to see West Side Story.
Afterwards, sitting at the Terrace drive-in eating tiny burgers, I casually wondered if TC ever had a gang called the Red Coats. Terry had the answer. Yes. It did, and it was. He knew, because he was present at their demise.
And this is the tale he told me.
The leader of the Red Coats (I’ll call him Red) and the leader of the Weingarten’s bag boys (Bow-tie) fell in love with the same girl (according to Terry – all according to Terry).
So being in love with the same girl – classic – caused friction between Red and Bow-tie. Apparently, she had no say in settling the matter; it was up to the guys to work it out. Red called up Bow-tie at Weingarten’s and threatened him. If Bow-tie didn’t cease his pursuit of the young lady, there would be consequences. Apparently, Bow-tie took the call in the back of the store within earshot of the other bag boys. Naturally, because of the audience, Bow-tie had to respond with bravado, something along the lines of:
“Oh yeah?” sneered Bow-tie. “Well, we close at 11 and the bag boys are off by 11:30.” A pause. “Naw. We have to mop the floors and clean the toilets first. Me and my guys will meet you n the parking lot. At 11:30. Unless you’re chicken. You’re not chicken, are you?”
So the rumble was on. Terry said the bag boys all huffed and puffed and agreed something had to be done, but secretly they were less than thrilled to be part of “my guys” in this context. Still, no one could admit to being chicken.
At 11:30 the bag boys filed out of the store, one by one, leaving a night watchman inside to lock up and possibly call an ambulance.
Red Coats in my imagination.
The Red Coats emerged from the shadows at the edge of the parking lot, red jackets looking black in the dim light, sinister with their defiant ducktails.
These bag boys look ready for anything!
The bag boys lined up in V-formation, Bow-tie at the tip of the V. By the light of the Weingarten’s sign, they went to meet their destiny, white shirts gleaming, bow ties straight and proud, crew cuts stiff in the breeze from Galveston Bay.
“I myself,” Terry said with a grin, “found a place as far back as I could and still stay in the parking lot. I had my car keys in my hand.”
I was thrilled. “As a weapon?”
“Heck, no! So I could make a quick get-away.”
The Red Coats inched forward. The bag boys inched forward.
Weingarten’s – Better Food for Less. The sign flickered. For a full five minutes, nothing happened except a staring contest.
“This is crap,” Bow-tie muttered.
“Yeah,” said Red.
Bow-tie took two long strides and landed a punch square on Red’s jaw. Just as the night watchman switched off the Weingarten’s sign, Red’s lights went out, too. He laid as still as an oil slick. Could it be over? Another Red Coat stepped forward, arms up, palms forward, making it clear he wasn’t interested in retaliation.
He knelt by Red, who was trying to stand, but his knees wobbled. His pals drug him away. The Red Coats skulked back into the shadows and were gone. To the relief of the bag boys and probably the gang, too, it was over. No one else had to provide proof of non-chickeness.
“So the good guy got the girl?” I inquired.
Terry had no idea what happened to the girl, and I refrained from asking what the point was, if it wasn’t about the girl – one more entry in the ledger of reasons I would never understand boys. Terry finished the story by saying Red was so humiliated he moved to Baytown and was never seen in Texas City again.
Was it a fairy tale or a Terry tale? Was it a tale full of sound and fury, just a boy trying to impress a girl? Or was it true? Even as Terry told the story I munched my tiny burger and tried to sort it out, but I didn’t know the truth then, and I don’t know it now. Somehow, though, the story makes perfect sense.
I liked Big Chief, I liked Weingarten’s, and I liked Terry, and in the context of the times, I choose to believe in a dark parking lot in the 60s, the Weingarten’s bag boys broke the back of the Texas City Red Coats. And everyone lived happily ever after.
NEXT: My Favorite and Other Love Stories
Author’s note: My tales of growing up in Texas City are coming to an end. When I began this journey, I expected to write about 10 posts. With this entry, I’m on post number 18, spurred on by the warm reception my work has received. I have four or five more stories I’d love to share, but with the holidays coming up, plus three trips on my calendar before the first of the year, I’ll be posting every other week, going for quality over quantity. My next post will be Tuesday, November 17. Next weekend I’ll be away – it’s my birthday!
Tuesday in Texas 
Heard of the Red Coats myself but never knew one–think the head was once named Chief or something like that!!! Once again many memories of places and things of our youth!!! Thanks for the memories—happy birthday girl—enjoy!!!
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Love you Judy, and love all you do for our class! xxoo
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i love reading your stories you should become a published author. and all the memories awesome
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Thanks, Emma. I’m coming to the end of the road with the blog, and I’m considering self-publishing this collection of stories, along with the photos. The stories are a gift to my class and to anyone who grew up when we did, but maybe some people would like to buy the book as a keepsake when I close down the blog. Thanks for reading, and thanks for your nice comments. Bec
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Yes yes yes! Put me on the list and I need more than one. My Tuesdays will be so boring…..you have made them amazing!
Thank you, Paula Warren Atwood
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Well, my kids want copies, so that’s two, ha ha, plus you and a couple of others. I might just do it. There’s a lot of information out there about how to self-publish. Could this be my New Year’s resolution as an accomplishment in 2016? Thanks for writing, Paula. Hey to Kent!
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I had an older cross the neighbor who was a member of the red coats. I have heard other stories but my neineighbor was much older than me so we did not share war stories. Who knows the truth! I do like your version but the is really a more violent. Why not string out our pleasure and post once a month? I have really enjoyed your blogs. Joe
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Thanks, Joe. I may go to once a month. Every other week seems manageable. It’s been my pleasure to share these stories for free, but I’d personally like to keep them, but after I’m done, I won’t maintain the blog site (I have to pay a monthly fee for that — not much, but I won’t want to keep paying for it). Anyway, I’m looking into self-publishing — some people might like to buy the book as a keepsake. That would be nice. I’m glad to hear from you, and glad you’re enjoying my work. Bec
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Again, you have captured another memory. I heard of the gang also. Judy, I think you are right, Chief was the leader???? Ha! Ha! Big Chief…Chief! I too remember Terry the lifeguard at the pool. But he didn’t ask me out! Ha! Ha! Really Becky you should publish these. I for one would love to have a copy! Enjoy your birthday and many more! Roxie
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As I told Dolores, I didn’t know these stories would generate so much interest. It’s been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done, and given that I’ve had several expressions of interest in having the stories in book form, I may well do that. Thanks for reading and for taking the time to comment. It means a lot to me. (Terry asked me out more or less because I was handy — you’re the one with the long, long legs, ha ha.) Bec
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Didn’t you ever shop at Bearden’s? It was at 16th and 6th…very close to us and you. We had a charge account there. No card…just had to sign a sales slip. I had to walk up there frequently, to get something Mother had forgotten. I don’t think Mother liked the big stores, because she’d always see someone she knew. She’s still like that…not wanting to join in with the other residents at the nursing home. (I wonder if I was adopted? Ha.)
Heard about the Redcoats…never knew or saw them. They must have not ventured down to 16th.
Re: your blog book: Sign me up! I suggested that a LONG (get it?) time ago! Take it easy with the postings. We understand. But, every Tuesday just won’t be the same. They are so enjoyable, triggering lots of memories! Love them and you.
Dolores
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As usual, I am so glad to hear from you. I’m just beginning to explore the possibility of self-publishing. And yes, you did suggest this. To tell you the truth, I had no idea people would enjoy reading these stories as much as they do. I’m doing a good bit of reading about it, and after the first of the year I’ll decide. I’ll have to put up several thousand dollars, but I would hope to at least break even, if others are interested in buying this as a memento. Love you, to, and you’ll always be the Queen to me (and not — definitely not — a dowager). I saw your pictures from the last GOTCHA outing, and you’re looking wonderful. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. And send me some, ha ha. Bec
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Becky,I also heard of the Redcoats,but never knew them,they were older, and we only went to Beardens or Little Chiefs ( 19th ave and 6th street, owned by the Knox family), we too, had a 56 Ford like the picture and the tiny burgers were fantastastic. I was more worried by the Biggs family boys across the street from me, but most of the time I was working at Doc’s Enco or our family’ bbq( Little Pigs BBQ) on 6th street and 14th across from Blocker. Thanks for the Redcoats memory!!! RONNIE(Ron) Palmer
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I remember Beardens now. That’s how memory works. I’d forgotten about Bearden’s until Dolores and then you mentioned it. Now they have something called “sliders,” which are just little hamburgers served as appetizers, and every time I see that on a menu, I have to tell everyone at the table TC had tinyburgers waaaaay long ago! I also remember the Biggs boys. Lucky and another one, I forget. Thanks for your comments!
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I would like a copy also. I have kept all the posts in a file I call Becky’s Book. I honestly don’t know how you remember all this. I do remember Johnny and the Red Coats and Terry from the swimming pool. I will miss your blog. Tuesday’s won’t be the same. Love you my friend.
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I don’t know why I ever considered writing such a book as fiction. Memoir is so much better, and as they say, truth is stranger than fiction sometimes! Love you, too!
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A comment from my older sister (she loves it when I call her that) class of ’59: “Yes, the Red Coats really existed and as I recall Roy, who married my friend Fran was a former member. They were essentially harmless. :)” You may recall that it was her class that was responsible for the water tower “graphics” that were in place for many years.
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It’s interesting to hear people’s memories and impressions. So far, it seems there was such a gang, but that’s about it. It would be lovely to hear from a Weingarten’s bag boy of the era, or a real Red Coat. But then, time renders everything hazy, so I’ll stick with the lovely story of the rumble in the parking lot. Thanks for reading, Fred, my old friend.
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Thoroughly enjoyed your entry of November 3rd. I was married at TC’s St. Mary’s Church. I recall reading purchased “Hot Stuff” & “Jughead” comics in my private grocery store restroom stall in Alamogordo NM. At age 9 I felt perfectly safe riding my bike nearly a mile to that store. I, too, would very much like your series in book form. One for me, one for my brother’s household and one for my daughter — although hers must be mailed directly from the publisher. All my treat. Whenever. Can probably think of others who would be interested as well. PUBLISH!
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Thanks for the kind words of encouragement, cuz! You may remember the lifeguard/bag boy Terry. When you came to TC one time, I fixed you up with Terry’s friend and fellow lifeguard Robbie Robertson (Robinson?). We double-dated, and he thought you were the cat’s PJs! I was looking at the things people wrote in my yearbook, and Robbie wrote blah blah blah and ended with “You sure have a good-looking cousin.” xxoo
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When I played Little League baseball, one of my team mates had a brother that was a member of the Red Coats. Later in life I went to work at Union Carbide and one of the men I had a lot of contact with turned out to be that brother. If you want, I can tell you quite a lot about that organization and some of the members. I assure you they were not Boy Scouts. Turning to another subject, do you remember the water fountains in Weingartens?
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I don’t remember the water fountains — odd about memories. Some are so clear, and others are gone, and sometimes when someone mentions something, then I remember. Believe me, the nature of this particular blog is all the “good stuff,” but TC had it’s share of bad stuff, too. I’ve no illusions about that; still the good outweighs the bad by a long, long margin, and that’s it’s own kind of truth.
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The RedCoat guy was Chief Salazar. Another one was Jerry Easrley. Thanks so much for the great memories
Dave Warwick… 64
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Are you kidding me!!! The Red Coat leader was really named “Chief”??? I thought people were joking about that. OMG. And they hung out at Big Chief. You couldn’t make this up! Thanks for writing, Dave, and thanks for reading. And thanks for telling me about Chief. Still can’t believe it, but I do.
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My first memory of the water fountains at Weingartens was their signage, “Colored” & “White”. My mother didn’t understand my fascination with them & drug me off with her to the grocery shopping, so I never got to see what color the “colored” was. Alas!
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Isn’t it amazing that given the times, when TCHS integrated in our senior year, there was little if any trouble. I remember my friends and I thought it was nothing to worry too much about. The only “incident” I remember hearing about was a certain young lady said she would refuse to go in the pool with “them,” and of course, that came from her parents, I’m sure. Maybe other stuff happened, but if so, I didn’t know about it. Thanks for your comments, Pat.
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Another excellent story. Thanks.
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I’m glad you liked the story. It all seems worth-while because you and others seem to enjoy them, and the memories they evoke.
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I remember Jim Bell welding the door to a welding booth shut with Papillion in it during class. We ( I ) thought it was beyond funny. As for the water fountain signage in Weingartens, the restrooms upstairs had like signs on the doors. On our way to school in the mornings we sometimes got a box of donuts at the bakery counter at the rear of Weingartens, eat them on the way to the front and throw away the box. Not quite Bonnie and Clyde but we thought we rated being in the top 10 public enemies.
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Both these stories are sooo funny. It speaks to the climate of the time that these things seemed like the height of risky behavior. Thanks for telling me about it!
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When I was in the 6th grade at Woodrow-Wilson in 1950 friends of my parents moved to Texas City. They had a son my age that I knew before and I introduced him to my class mates. He was a very handsome young man. So we bummed around together some. In later years he asked me to go out we him and some of the guys. I asked him what they were going to do. He said wait and see. They drove up to a firecracker stand and while one of the guys distracted the clerk the others sold firecrackers from the stand. I was shocked, scared and embarrassed. That’s when I learned I had gone out with the “Red Coat” gang. I stopped associating with my (ex) friend. A few years later he and his family moved to Austin. Yes, Bec, there was a TC red coat gang!
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Wow, you could have had a criminal career, ha ha. Seriously, though, that show how easily a kid can find himself involved in something he never meant to be a part of — glad you didn’t get in trouble by accident! It’s been fun hearing stories about the gang, and what a range. Some say they didn’t do much to speak about, just sorta slinked around looking tough. Others say they were a real menace. One thing everyone seems to agree about it that yes, they did exist. Hope you and Susan are well. We enjoyed your hospitality so much when we were down your way. xxoo
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Another great story and great memories. Happy Birthday
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Thanks, Richard!
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Does anybody know when the Texas City Red Coats existed, like how many years and from what year to what year. This information would settle an argument for me. Thank you in advance.
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Not sure if this is a recent comment or not. Sometimes things “circle back” to my website. Either way, I’m sorry I can’t answer your question, except the gang did exist. All else I know about the Redcoats is contained in Chapter 16 of my book, Tuesday in Texas. I heard about the Redcoats in junior high, about 1959, and they may have ceased to exist in the mid to late 60’s.
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They ceased to exist Halloween night 1959
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I knew some Red Coats in the late 1950s. The gang pretty much disintegrated Halloween night 1958. The leader of the gang went to prison for murdering a fisherman on the end of the dike earlier that year. Two of his lieutenants got into an altercation in the balcony of the Showboat Theater. One stabbed the other to death.
The cops cracked down on the gang. The red nylon windbreakers disappeared. Most of the members had been middle class James Dean wannabes.
What was left of the gang concentrated on the midnight auto supply business.
My parents sent my little brother and I to Louisiana to spend the summer on our uncle’s farm, because of the gang problem. By then there was no gang problem.
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Thanks, Gordon. Interesting. As I said, my only knowledge of the existence of the Red Coats was second or third hand. A murder on the dike, and a murder in the balcony of the Showboat. Yikes. I could write a book called “The Dark Side of Tuesday in Texas.” I’m not questioning the truth of what you say, but I would be curious of how you know all this. However, I understand if you don’t care to say more. Thanks again for your interest. Rebecca
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I knew a few redcoats. One of them , Grady Trafton, stood up for me when some seniors tried to bully me my sophomore year at TCHS (which was after the gang went underground). I was in auto mechanics class with a few of the hard core criminals (midnight auto supply)
One of them bragged that he could drop a transmission while his getaway drier drove slowly around the block.
I was a square. I have no idea why Grady befriended me. Grady was a street fighter.
A couple of them were football players I played with at Levi Fry. After we won a game (a rare occurence for the Dragons) we were celebrating on the bus ride back. Chief (I don’t remember his last name) threw a cleat that hit me in the back of the head and knocked me out. I came to on the floor of the bus with Chief straddling my chest, holding onto my shirt front and shaking me.
“Don’t die Haire! Don’t die! I’ll kill you if you die!”
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My grandfather grew up in Texas city aswell as my dad but growing up my grandfather told me stories about a gang in his time known as red coats.
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Thank you for your comment. I’m sorry to be so long in replying, but I was away. I hope you enjoyed reading “Tuesday in Texas.” It was a pleasure writing about those carefree days in Texas City.
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Did you know about Bill and Rex Bell stealing the Tiki Gods from the Bamboo Hut on Stewert Beach?
I came home on leave from the navy and found the 7′ tall thing in his bedroom. Someone snitched. Fortunately, Christie Mitchell didn’t want to file charges. He just wanted the gods back.
Gordon Haire
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Ha! I imagine there was more than one “caper” Rex and Bill got up to that I didn’t know about. They were a pair, alright. Never bad guys, but sometimes up to no good.
Rebecca
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