The Mayes Ranch

On both sides of interstate 10, nestled between the Trinity River, Old River, & Lost Lake, stretches an expanse of land called Mayes Island, originally Dorr Island. Today, other than a picnic area and miles of meandering roads, the majority of its 8,955.4 acres are a tangled wilderness. Only the crumbling cattle pens serve as a reminder of the flourishing cattle business that once dominated the island. The massive, aged oaks, grown from acorns dropped from the hand of Joshua Jackson Mayes over 170 years ago, remain as silent stalwart sentinels who have chronicled within their myriads of rings, the saga of the Mayes family of Wallisville.

As I stood in the shadow of these massive oaks by the old pens, I closed my eyes in an effort to block out the incessant din of traffic filtering through the woods from the busy interstate. I had hopes of transporting myself back to the sounds of lowing cattle and chirping frogs that dominate the memories of my friend, Marsha Mayes Willcox. My efforts were unsuccessful; such is the sad price of progress. 

Garner’s son, Joshua Jackson Mayes, affectionately referred to as “Gampy” by his family, married Sarah Ann Dunman in Wallisville in 1852. They built a home on Dorr’s Island, later called Mayes Island. Joshua built the home, constructed with cedar logs, on a sand hill facing the Trinity River. After it was built he secured a land grant for the island. Joshua became one of the largest cattle ranchers of Wallisville, Texas with a herd that grew to about 1,000 head of cattle. A 1957 article by Dollie Williams recorded the size of the herd at 3,000 head of Longhorns along with razorback hogs. The Longhorns proved to be too rough to handle in the marsh, so Joshua changed his herd to Devers cattle. Joshua farmed about 30 acres of the hill in corn, peas, and sweet potatoes. While farming he would drop acorns in rows along the fence to create a windbreak. The majority of these trees are still standing today making a thick canopy over the area of his homestead.  Josh and Sarah eventually built a home in Wallisville to be closer to family, but in the December of their years it would be Mayes Island they would return to.

Joshua would get his cattle to market one of three ways: drive them down the Opelousas Trail to New Orleans, load them on stern-wheeler boats that arrived from Galveston using loading chutes built next to the river, or sell them to Mr. DeLeaux who came to the island from Louisiana to purchase steers to train as oxen. Mr. DeLeaux would transport them back to Louisiana by boat.

The Mayes family weathered the 1875 hurricane and the 1900 hurricane on Mayes Island. Although Joshua lost a lot of his cattle during the storms, the majority were driven across the river to safety before the storms hit. The Mayes’ home survived both the 1875 and 1900 storms perched upon its hill. During one storm it was reported that Joshua was in Galveston and with him was his prized horse, Bismark that he had purchased from Edward Pickett. He was staying at a hotel and sheltered Bismark within its walls for safety during the storm. Joshua died in 1912 leaving a rich ranching heritage that was passed down through five generations. 

The 1915 Hurricane was not so favorable for the Mayes family. They lost almost all of their cattle and the Old Place that had stood securely on the hill through the previous storms, fell to the fury of the 1915 storm along with almost the entire community of Wallisville. The old home was then torn down and moved across the river to Wallisville.

Frank and George Vernon “Bun” Mayes, Sr. sons of Jackson Mayes, were phenomenal cowboys and renowned for their ability with a whip. Virginia Loya recalls a story she was told by her family of a time they were herding cattle north to the Humber pastures near Liberty. “A woman came out of her house hollering and a’cussin’ at the Mayes’ because the cows were going through her yard,” related Virginia, “and Uncle Josh, B’s grandpa, took his cow whip out and “ca whop” that whip barely missed her face.  She turned around and walked straight back in the house without another word.  They said it was something else, they were really good with their cow whips,” she said with admiration.  

The marsh grass, rich in nutrients, sustained the cattle through the winters for many years. However, in the fall of 1956 the natural water supply became salty, perhaps due to the deep channel that was cut from the mouth of the Trinity to the Houston Ship Channel. The Mayes family were forced to dig several water wells that pumped water 24 hours a day to water the large herd of cattle. It eventually became unprofitable to winter the cattle in the marsh, so the Mayes family began the practice of driving the cattle to the Jackson Ranch in the fall of the year to winter them on the rich salt grass.

Virginia’s daddy, Goonie Mayes, was born George Clinton Mayes, but his first cousin, Jamie White couldn’t say George when he was little, and it came out Goonie. The name stuck. Goonie was another phenomenal cowboy, so much so that the US military used him to break horses for them during World War II. Goonie also had the best set of hunting dogs around, all trained by him. The military used this skill set as well, using him to train his dogs to carry messages up and down the beaches on Bolivar Peninsula for the mounted Coast Guard, who patrolled the beaches looking for the German submarines lurking in the Gulf Coast waters. Virginia said there was a black panther roaming the areas of Anahuac and Wallisville, at one time. “A family named Watson lived across from the Eminence Baptist Church and that cat would go and cry and scream under their house in the middle of the night,” said Virginia. “Mr. Watson would call daddy and beg him to bring his dogs down to try and catch that panther. Daddy told them, ‘There’s isn’t any doubt they can catch it, but it would kill my dogs.’

Clint Mayes was my grandpa,” Virginia stated, “and he was a darn good cowboy. He taught Goonie everything he knew. All the Mayes’ were good cowboys and they all seemed to get along. They were just sweet people.” She concluded.

Jim Bob Jackson spoke highly of Goonie Mayes’ cowboy skills. In his book The JHK Ranch 1940-1963, Jim Bob wrote, “The head of the Mayes family was Bun Mayes, but Bun didn’t do much riding. That was done by Goonie Mayes, the son of Clint Mayes. There was Frank Mayes that also rode.” One cattle drive Jim Bob mentions he talks about a cow, named “Tush” that caused trouble one day. “She had a young calf and was particularly protective of it,” said Jim Bob. “However, someone got too close and she ran horse and rider out of the herd. She would spook the horse and then whip its rear end with her horns as she ran and pushed it out of the herd. Maybe this would have been permitted once or twice, but “Tush” would charge every rider that got within twenty yards of her calf. Frank Mayes had been run out twice. Goonie Mayes rode by me and said, ‘I will catch her, and you cut off her horns before someone gets hurt.’ Which was fine with me. Goonie roped and busted her, and I held her down. However, there was no saw of any type available. I sent Dut Humphrey to ride along the Bay shore and drag me up a timber so that I could lay her horns on it while chopping. The timber was found, and horns were removed!” exclaimed Jim Bob.

“I’m going to take you back about 70 years,” said Glen B Mayes, son of Josh B. Mayes and Grandson of Josh Guy Mayes in a phone interview I had with him, “I was in high school, probably a sophomore, and I lived with my grandparents, Josh and Tabitha Mayes. My folks were in Venezuela, so I spent a lot of time in Wallisviile. I’ll take you back to a summer we stayed there and we went across the Trinity River to gather up all the Mayes’ cattle and bring them back across to Bun Mayes’ house in Wallisville to work ‘em. I remember the morning . . . it was always hot,” Glen said with a sigh, “I got up and grandfather already had the horses there. His horse was named Buck, mine was Buck Two, and he had a little black horse named Baby Ray. Ivy (Martin), a black cowboy, lived down by the little schoolhouse on the highway and he would come and ride Baby Ray. He was a darn good cowboy,” Glen added with admiration. “The three of us would saddle up and take sandwiches and walk over to Uncle Bun’s,” Glen continued. “I called him Uncle Bun and I called Frank Uncle Frank, but actually, they were my cousins, but when I was raised you just called everybody uncle or aunt. Everybody would gather at Bun’s house to go across the river. Lester LaFour would show up, and there was Bun and Frank, and my grandfather Josh, Goonie, and Ivy, and I think there was a preacher named Horace. Booster always came and everybody called him “Stuff” and they called me “Starcus”, don’t ask me why, ‘cause I have no idea, they had strange names for everybody back then,” he said with a laugh, “but we were “Stuff” and “Starcus” and we were buddies.

“Once we got everyone together, we would ride over to the river, which was about a quarter mile from Bun’s house. A skiff with a motor would show up with a little flat bottom barge on it, driven by Son Mayes, I called him “Hoggie” from the time I can remember,” noted Glen. “We’d load the horses on that barge, and he would take them on across. Sometimes they would just take the saddles off and swim the horses. They would load the saddles up in a little skiff and saddle back up once they got to the other side,” he explained. “Once on the other side we would ride towards the old Mayes’s place. There was no I-10 at that time, it was just all wide open and we would ride one maybe two hours to get to where the cattle were. Generally, they would be up on the north end and we would start rounding them up. The dogs were barking, the whips were popping, and people were hollering to get all the cattle rounded up,” described Glen, adding a visual image of the excitement of the drive. “Generally, once we got them rounded up, the men would slow down and have some coffee and we’d eat a little bite of something, and then we’d start back towards the Trinity River. We always wanted to get back across the river before dark. I discussed the size of the herd with my cousin, Virginia Loya, she’s my favorite cousin you know,” he said light-heartedly, and I could visualize the twinkle in his eye, “we figured there was probably about 1,000 head of cattle or more. Each uncle or cousin had their own herd but they were all comingled together. We would start pushing the cattle and naturally Booster (Stuff) and I were at the back. The whips were poppin’ and the dogs were barking, and the cattle were spread out,” Glen said, once again setting the scene for me. “Ivy was always up in the front and there was a couple of riders on the side, then the riders in the back that were driving them. There was either two words, “Hold Up” or “Ride Up”, that’s all you heard,” he laughed. 

“About a half mile or less away from the river Ivy would start getting into a little fast trot trying to move the cattle from being in a bunch into a long line so when we got to the river there wouldn’t be a bunch at one time, they could enter the water one right after the other. Those cows knew where they were going,” Glen said assuredly, “and the closer Ivy got to the Trinity the faster he would ride. Once he hit the river, they were just a long string of cattle and they’d just hit the water and start swimming across. By the time we got there we saw the last of them swim across, it was kind of a pretty sight to see. Once we were back across the river we would pen them in Uncle Bun’s pasture. The next day we’d go down and work’em. We’d put the mamma cows and calves in one pasture then part out any calves for sellin’ and move them to the opposite pasture,” Glen explained. 

“I never did go with the cattle to the salt grass, but Stuff and I had an occasion to ride from Double Bayou and drive the cattle back to Walisville,” Glen added. “All the cows were mingled at Double Bayou, they started parting them out and getting the Mayes’ cattle out. The next day we arrived and drove them from Double Bayou to Wallisville. They would put the cattle in Uncle Bun’s pens and work them then they’d either put some in the pasture south of Uncle Bun’s place or take some of them back across the river to the Mayes Island pasture. There was a lot of good cowboys and I’ve been around a lot of them and I’m no judge of cowboys or riding horses,” Glen said honestly, “but to me, Goonie Mayes, when he sat in the saddle, that saddle was made for his butt. The rest of them were cowboys, and ropers, and hollerers, and cussers,” Glen recalled, conjuring up the imagery once again, “but that’s my memories of my cowboy days from a long time ago. 

“I will close with a little funny story,” smiled Glen, “One time Bun and Frank got into a little disagreement across the river over two horses. Uncle Frank could pop a whip like nobody, and he just pulled his whip out and popped it right there in front of Uncle Bun’s face and that was the end of that conversation. Those were good times, different times,” recollected Glen. 

“Memories of the cattle are intertwined with my memories of Bun, for Bun was a cattleman. His days were spent riding amongst his cattle on the East side, and I was with him as soon as I was old enough to go,” recalled Marsha. There were cattle on the West side too, but the only way to get to them was by boat. To get from one side to the other the men, cattle, and horses had to swim the Trinity.  Later they built a barge to carry the horses across the river to what was always referred to as the “Old Place.”  My Daddy, Son Mayes, also had a boat he took to the West side.  Still today Mayes Island has the most beautiful live oak trees in the world, planted in straight rows by my great-great-grandpa, J. J. Mayes.  He and his wife, Sarah and some of his children lived there for a time.  Everywhere he ever lived the oaks are planted in a row.  

“My earliest memories of swimming the cattle from East to West is of them being parted and worked in the pens here where I live, which was one of J. J. Mayes’ houses on the East side.  He later gave it to my great grandparents, Jackson Mayes and Mary Louise Wooten Mayes. I would go sit with Bun on the fence while he would keep up with who the cattle coming down the chute belonged to.  I have the ledger books in my house and I have lots of pieces of paper he wrote brands on to put in the ledger.   Bun’s, my Daddy’s, and my brand were all the same, but Bun’s was put on the hip, Daddy’s on ribs, and mine on the leg.  Every now and then Bun would brand some of his calves to me and some of my Daddy’s calves to me too,” smiled Marsha.   “This did not make my Daddy very happy.  I especially remember when the cattle trucks came to haul off cattle.  The mammas who had their babies sold would low all night and for a good while it was noisy.  These were the days before air conditioners, and you slept with the windows open.  This all took place at the house where I live now, it was Bun and Nina ‘s house then.  I slept on the South side of the house in the same bed I sleep in now.  Not only were the cows lowing, but the frogs in the marsh were just as loud.  I wish I could hear those cows and frogs once again,” said Marsha wistfully.

“They had a cattle buyer that came by the name of Thad Smith, but I don’t remember where he was from,” Marsha said.  “He had two sons who were a little older than me.  We would play in the yard, run up and down the steps, and jump off the porches.  I always looked forward to those days when they would come.  Mr. Smith would come to the house and sit on the porch and drink Dark Roast Seaport Coffee.  My Grandma Nina was known for that strong coffee.  Every morning she also brought coffee to Bun and Mr. Josh Mayes on the porch. Josh was also known as Boots.  They would sit in the rocking chairs with their feet propped up on the banister.  Nina and my Mamma, Evelyn, did all the cooking during the cow-working.  I especially remember the big round steaks Nina would pile up on a platter.  I loved them, nobody could cook steak like she did.  I wish I could eat one again.  They would come in and eat and when finished, all the Mayes’ men would go home and take naps.  Bun lay on the couch, here at the house, to nap, and the hands napped under the big oak in the yard.  No work started until the Mayes’ got up. When it came to cow-working they wanted the cattle worked slow and easy. If anybody did not abide by that, they were not too welcome. In the old days the cattle were driven in the winter to the salt grass at Jackson’s Ranch.  I was very young then and only remember bits and pieces of it.  What I remember most was when cars would honk their horns trying to get through them.

“There were no stock laws in those days.  If you went somewhere at night in the town of Wallisville, you drove through cattle bedded down on the roads.  They belonged to the Cooper family, ours did not run free,” Marsha clarified. “My cousin, Sharon LaFour and I would go to Pitt’s Grocery, in town, to get Dr. Peppers.    We would see those dung beetles on the roads. It was so funny to see them rolling along pushing rolled up cow mess in front of them.  Wallisville was so safe in those days.  We walked or rode our bikes everywhere.  One day we got in trouble because we did not shut the wire gap-gate right and let Mr. Josh Mayes’ horses out by accident.  We were surrounded by thickets in Wallisville, but we could ride down and look at the river.  Sharon’s daddy, Morgan LaFour, had a fish house right on the river and he would have fish fries that were so good.  He also was a great duck hunter.  Sharon’s mother, Clara, would cook for his hunters that he took on guided hunts. I started school in Wallisville and was there for two years, then in the third grade I had to go to Anahuac because Wallisville consolidated with Anahuac.  I really miss our Wallisville school.  I was scared to death in Anahuac.  I didn’t know there were that many kids in the world as there were in Anahuac. 

In 1941 an application was made to build a bridge over the Trinity River. “All the Mayes men were so happy when they received the news that a bridge would be built over the Trinity River,” stated Marsha, “it would be so beneficial to them regarding the cattle.  The family gave them the right of way through the Mayes property.  Time rocked on and the interstate was completed.  I can remember the big ribbon cutting on the bridge.  West side kinfolks came to see kinfolks on the East side of the river, everyone was so happy.  After the bridge was completed, the cattle pens were built on the west side making cattle working easier.   

“In 1961 Hurricane Carla hit.  They got the cattle up on the West side.  I would ride over the Trinity River bridge with Bun to see how much the water was rising.  The wind was blowing so hard that it felt like it might blow us off the bridge.  I was the only person who would ride with him.  Once it came time to move the cattle, they were trying to get them on the bridge, then someone jumped up and took a picture of the cattle and the cattle scattered.  There were some really mad hands and men at that point.  They finally got the cattle rounded up again and over the bridge and drove them on I-10.   From there they took them to Moss Bluff.  I have many moving pictures of them going in front of my parent’s house on the interstate. In 2008 Hurricane Ike hit.  We got our cattle out of the marsh ahead of the storm and penned them across the road.  That night they broke out and headed south, back to the marsh.  About 60 head of ours drowned.  Those that didn’t drown roamed all over Wallisville for several days.  They were finally caught and taken to Booster and Cris Stephenson’s.  Today, I only have about 30 head here at my house.  I would like to keep them as long as I can because I have always had cattle in my life.  I love to watch them and the calves. 

In the early 70s the Army Corps of Engineers initiated their plans for the Wallisville Reservoir Project. The Corps had taken over the Wallisville townsite in the 1960s and by 1973 the reservoir was 75% complete. Although local foes of the project fought hard to stop it, the townsite was eventually dismantled. Marsha Willcox remembers well that era of time, “I remember that I was still riding my bike around Wallisville, and I was pulling up Corps of Engineers survey stakes all over my town.  It probably didn’t hurt them at all, but it sure made me feel good. The Corps of Engineers condemned our land on the West side of the river exercising the right of eminent domain.  The town of Wallisville was dug up and the dirt was used to build the levee along the river on the East side.  Everyone in town had to relocate.  It was heartbreaking when Wallisville was destroyed.  The older Mayes family members sold their cattle, my grandpa Bun was one of them.  I remember him crying when he sold them, it was the only life he and the others had ever known,” Marsha recalled sadly.  “The West side land is now called the J. J. Mayes Trace. The younger family members kept their cattle on the East side of the Trinity.  The Corps let people lease the West side to run their cattle.  Tommy Willcox and I married in 1968 and he brought his cattle to the Mayes Marsh in Wallisville.  Others who kept their cattle there were Virginia Mayes Loya and her husband George, George Mayes, and B. Mayes. Before Tommy and I were married and before the Project happened with the Corp of Engineers on the West side, Tommy would come and help them work cattle.  They would ride north of the interstate up around the cutoff.  Tommy said the palmetto was almost higher than your head on horseback.  I remember Tommy saying that at one time when they brought the cattle from the North, they looked like a long line walking single file down the riverbank. I now live in the house that was once J. J. Mayes’ house and then my great-grandparent’s house and then Bun and Nina’s house.  Tommy and I moved into it in 1992.  It was built in 1883.  It has seen so much in the years it has been here.

“Mother and I were walking around over by the cattle pens at one point and she had either a shotgun or a rifle in her hand, but she was like Annie Oakley.  You didn’t want to make my mother mad, ‘cause if she shot, she was going to hit you.  There was a mamma nutria that made a run at me, we didn’t even see her, and my mother killed that nutria, shot her from her hip, she didn’t even pick the gun up to aim, she just cocked the gun and boom!  There went mother nutria.   I thought, ‘Oh my gosh, my mother saved my life!’  And then we saw all the little baby nutrias, that’s why she was charging me.   

“We had a gigantic rose trellis on the end of our house, it was covered with roses.  There was a horse that daddy had that I wanted to ride, but he didn’t like me very much, his name was “Old Bald.”  Said Virginia. “I brought him in the back yard to ride him and I thought, ‘this ought to be safe.’  He bucked me off and ran between the rose trellis and the hurricane fence and he got stuck . . . the saddle horn stuck in the rose trellis.  Daddy was taking a nap and I had to go in and wake him up to come get “Old Bald” out of the rose trellis.  My daddy was so mad at me for getting his horse stuck in that trellis!” laughed Virginia. “We had a little horse we got from Jamie White, Goonie’s first cousin, with an H3 on the hip which was a White Ranch brand, and Goonie always liked that little horse, we called him “Little Blue.”  Jamie finally gave him to Goonie, he probably wharted him down.  That was my baby horse I rode all the time.  He lived to be about 28 years old and when he got too old to ride Daddy decided he’d take him on the north side of the freeway, kinda across from the museum, and put him in with a set of heifers and he would feed him every day so he could keep up with him.  There was a 16-plus-foot-long alligator over around Lake Charlotte and Lake Miller.  No one ever thought of something happening to that dumb horse.  We were over there working cows one day and I was loping along behind daddy and his horse jumped that alligator, I mean I saw it!” exclaimed Virginia. “Daddy jumped the gator, then the gator went off in the water.  He never could get that horse to go back over there, he wouldn’t even come out of the horse trailer if they went there,” she chuckled, “he’d pull him over there in the trailer and could not get him to come out!” Virginia said emphatically. “Little Blue came up missing and my daddy was so distraught, he rode that pasture forever looking for him.  He couldn’t find any bones or anything, so you’re coming up with two options, somebody stole him or the ‘gator got him, and that’s what we figured happened.  Oh, my daddy was so stressed, he loved that horse so much.  

“Those were great times for me, growing up on the ranch, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I will tell you what the most devastating thing was for me . . . it was seeing the spirts of the Mayes family broken as they watched the government take their land . . . their family legacy away from them. They fought hard making many trips back and forth to court, but it was all for naught. In the end the government ended up with the entire 10,000 acres on Mayes Island. The US Army Corps of Engineers did open up the J. J. Mayes Wildlife Trace near the Wallisville Lake Project. The trace consists of four miles of nature trails available to automobiles and a picnic area under the towering oaks planted by the pioneer families, a meager consolation for a Legacy Lost!