Ever-present Past
Budding park celebrates county’s history
ill Marquis’ hands are like battered baseball mitts. His fingernails are packed with the grime of the morning’s work. Dirt and sweat fleck his T-shirt and cap, even his snow-white beard. Bill has spent most of his 62 years restoring things others neglect, whether it’s an abandoned century-old country store or a four-hole outhouse. Business has never been better.
The plow of development is wiping out historic structures across Texas, gradually erasing remnants of the frontier heritage that long defined the state. Marquis knows he can’t stop it, but at his farm west of Denton, he keeps battling to save one treasure at a time. With the funding and foresight of history lovers in Denton, he is busy filling up the Historical Park of Denton County with his handiwork on 2 acres just south of the city’s famed 19th century town square. “Everybody’s put here for some purpose. I think mine is to fix stuff up for future generations,” Bill says. “I mean, we all oughta leave somethin’ behind for the next bunch comin’ along. I’m in a hurry to get as much done as I can ’fore I get too old to do it.”
Thanks to the park, Bill faces years more of hard work. A preservationist at heart, he renovates the old-fashioned way: cutting down his own trees, using the same tools his ancestors used. He doesn’t punch a time card, wear a wristwatch, or keep track of the time he spends on his restorations. He finished work on the park’s latest addition, an African American museum, in early 2008 after more than a year. He now has agreements with the park to restore a church, a welcome center (created from a servant’s quarters), a windmill and an outhouse. A firehouse will be built anew, based on plans from the 1930s. “I wouldn’t be doin’ this,” Bill says, “if it wasn’t for Georgia Caraway and her big brown eyes.”
Georgia Caraway, executive director of Denton County museums, says the momentum for a historical park in Denton began a decade ago with the Denton County Historical Commission and Historical Park Foundation of Denton County. Their first save was the park’s centerpiece attraction, the Bayless-Selby house. It was about to be bulldozed in 1998 when a local woman bought the dilapidated Victorian Queen Anne-style home for $12,000 at auction and donated it to the historical commission. The members realized the house’s potential as an anchor and the county came through with land. Donors supplied antique furniture, porcelain dishes, family portraits and other offerings to decorate the house. “Ten years ago was a real watershed for us,” says Georgia. “We had the Bayless. We had this dream of the African American Museum. We got the park going.”
Today, the park stands as an oasis from modernity, a shrine to life in the late 1800s. The Bayless-Selby House Museum, a half-million-dollar showcase of local Victorian life, sits on the eastern edge of the park. The two-story home, built in the Queen Anne style, is surrounded by a Victorian garden filled with crape myrtles and roses. A few steps away, in a simple turn-of-the-century home, is the African American Museum, one of only 10 dedicated to black history in the state. (See the story below.) An early 20th century servant quarters sits on blocks in the parking lot, awaiting its makeover into a welcome center.
Park manager Robyn Lee gives a tour that ranges from broad historical themes to the tiniest detail, such as the 26 styles of wallpaper used in the Bayless-Selby house. Tennessee transplants Samuel and Mary Bayless bought a two-room farmhouse in Denton in 1884 and later added the second story. In 1919, however, Samuel died under dubious circumstances — an itinerant worker killed him — and a grief-stricken Mary sold the house to R.L. Selby Sr. and his wife, Mary, whose family owned it for the next half-century. Despite its name, the Bayless-Selby museum has little to do with either family. In museumspeak, it’s a “representative house museum,” set up to tell the stories of a particular style or era — in this case, a middle-class Denton County home of the period from 1898 to 1908.
Robyn has managed the museum since its opening in 2001 and can rattle off every detail, including why the parlor couch is so close to the ground (bustles and petticoats!). In the kitchen, she points out a primitive popcorn maker and a toaster resting atop the stove.
Upstairs she notes the family bedroom with its chamber pot. Across the way is the children’s bedroom, with clothes neatly hung on wall pegs. But so many books and toys lie scattered on the hallway floor — a Beatrix Potter, a first reader, tops and jacks, marbles and wooden blocks — that one expects a child to come running by. The mess is enough to perplex visiting schoolchildren. “They’ll look at me and say, ‘You didn’t pick up!’” Robyn says. “And I’ll say, ‘Well, if I picked it up and put it in a drawer, you wouldn’t see it.’”
At the Courthouse-on-the-Square, in Georgia Caraway’s office, a schematic of the park in the future shows a firehouse, church, windmill, general store, kiln, outhouse, barn, log cabin and schoolhouse. The county, which runs the museums, relies heavily on private donations to buy houses and fund construction. “The Bayless became available 10 years ago. It was auctioned off by the city,” Georgia says. “The same thing with the African American Museum. It came along because it was going to be torn down. The single-mindedness of the commission and the foundation to preserve Denton County’s history is the force that makes the park grow.” The Texas Association of Counties Leadership Foundation recently gave the African American Museum an award because so many schoolchildren, community groups and residents donated funds to build it.
Meanwhile, out on his farm, Bill has created a sanctuary for endangered species — log cabins, windmills, outhouses and other frontier artifacts. “They were in the area and they’s fixin’ to be destroyed, so I saved ’em,” he says, leaning against the newly restored outhouse destined for Denton’s historical park.
He ambles around to the front of the wooden structure and swings open the door. It looks immaculate. “You ought to have seen it before I started,” he says, pulling out an envelope of 4-by-6 photographs showing a heap of wood planks. “Yeah, it was gettin’ pretty bad.”
There’s a sense of urgency to Bill’s work these days. He knows a time will come when age will prevent him from doing a job so physical. There’s no young apprentice to continue his business, no assistant restoration expert on his payroll. “You can’t hire anybody who wants to work that hard for that little a pay, so I have to do it myself,” he says. Still, he knows this is what he’s meant to do with his life. “There’s no way we can know where we’re going without the past,” he says.
By Lowell Brown