Tyler’s Old Levee Quiet Now
But Once Boisterous
BUT ONCE..........................3-18
TYLER’S OLD.....................3-36
Morning Telegraph Staff Writer
All’s calm on Tyler’s Old Levee now.
But 30 years ago and even farther back it was swaggering and animate. Its Saturday nights' bloody fisticuffs, suave con men, tinhorn gamblers, smart aleck pistol-toters, wise, colorful characters and the prosaic habitues gave it a spontaneity that was all its own.
In 1950 it’s somber, ordinary. But in the heyday of the free lunch and high button shoes, it was probably the smallest, most colorful district of any city in the country.
Gyps, murderers, rough-and- ready, kindly souls, hoboes, worldly women and celebrities paraded, some only momentarily, about its compact confines from time to time. Each gave it added color.
Desperado Frank James; Minstrel man Al G. Fields; Evangelist Sam Jones; Showman William F. Cody, better known as Buffalo Bill; actors from plays showing at the Grand Opera House who roomed for a night or week at the old St. Charles Hotel on the levee, all contributed to the fame of the area.
There was “The Baron,” noted on the levee as a cardsharp, who reputedly belonged to the nobility of The Netherlands. He sported a big $1,000 diamond ring and a huge, fiery cravat pin which everybody claimed were purchased with his ill-gotten gains by cheating his fellow man at the game of cards. He put up at the St. Charles.
The Baron came up missing one day. Two years later his skeleton was found atop the two-story hotel building. His death, by whatever means it came, met with public approval, for no one liked him.
Then there was a lovable character. handsome Doc Nevens. who never let a guy down. He blew into the Rose City about once a year and stayed at the St. Charles for two or three weeks, then he was up and gone. Doc dished out help to all who needed it. Later, in the East, he was sent up the river for safecracking there.
The wise say don’t pass judgment on your fellow man. You never can tell how he’s going to turn out. There was ”Boohoo” who went from hashslinging on the Levee to become railroad superintendent on a line out of Denver.
"Garrulous Doc" who used to peddle eye glasses to the riff raff on the Levee, was a kindly soul, even if some thought him a gyp. He did help some with poor eyesight. for a fact. He finally went blind and little Wong Lee, cook on the Levee, fed him for free, because he surely did fix up Wong Lee’s eyes so he could see better.
Funny thing about “Professor” A. Allah, who used to gyp the gullible down on the Levee. He sold a little booklet called "Why?" at 50 cents a copy. It told one how to attain an abundant life full of material and spiritual wealth. The old prof died in Dallas and left $35,000 in cold cash to education.
Frail, little Rosie who used to hawk candy among the Levee-ites - she was as pretty as a rose and as frail and graceful as a lillie. She became a lion tamer for Ringling Brothers circus.
Where he came from and where he went, no one knows, but Willie Bokjac, alias The Spider, a habitue of the Levee, was a petty con man who city-slicked people but made them think they were gypping him. The guy caught many in his web, but the coppers never could get anything definite on him.
Many remember "Choo Choo Annie” who used to ride the rattlers and who eventually married a railroad brokeman who later became general manager of a railroad in the East. All the railroad men around the Levee knew her and would fight for her. were one to make an affront, for she was nice.
There’s a raft of others who. in their own way, crooked or on the level, brought color and fame to Tyler’s oldtime Levee.
There is still one man in the Rose City who has spent more than the past half century in one location on the old Levee. He’s little Chinese Lem Tong, onetime owner of the restaurant in which he’s now employed by its present proprietor. E. W. Doman. Lem prepares chow mein and other celebrated Chinese dishes for the 65-year-old eating house. The place is now known as the Cotton Belt Cafe.
Immigrating from Shanghai in the 1880s, Lem finally landed in Tyler after a short stop or two at other points in the United States. He engaged in the restaurant business not long after his arrival here. He’s been at it since. His age is estimated at 75 or 80— no one knows exactly, not even himself
The diminutive Chinese, courteous philosophical with a wisdom that bespeaks of Ancient Confucian axioms considers the Levee his home. Today he could well celebrate an anniversary of cumulative years spent in the hubbub of this once-famed area.
