Texas State Historical Association - My Texas - The Little Bridge from Times Past

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The Little Bridge from Times Past

There's a little bridge standing on the west side of Interstate 35 between Engel and Schwab Roads near New Braunfels. It's not much of a bridge--only one car width across. It's not very pretty either. Six concrete columns with two iron rails running between them. No dates. No names etched in. But it was a good, solid little bridge. It served its purpose through the years by spanning a small creek and giving cars a way to cross. The bridge's history isn't certain, but it more than likely dates back before 1927.

Ninety-eight-year-old Alton Vordenbaum, born in 1907 on a farm where Garden Ridge Pottery sits today at FM 3009 and IH-35, remembers the bridge. Alton went to work for the Highway Department in 1927 when there were no "highways." He remembers the old Austin Road as a single-lane dirt road. He also remembers the new machines, called "cars," that traveled the road two or three times a day. His oldest brother left the farm and opened up a repair shop in Selma in Mr. Albrecht's tin building that faced the Austin Road.

He also remembers the columns of soldiers laden with their gear who marched down the old road. They were coming from Camp Travis (a tent camp near Fort Sam Houston) and were in training to get "toughened up" for World War I. Alton says this little bridge most likely is the last remnant of old State Highway 2, the road that ran from San Antonio to Austin that later turned into U.S. 81 and ultimately IH-35. The little bridge got left in a field when the new superhighway came through and has sat there all these years.

The land upon which the bridge sits is now for sale--prime commercial real estate directly adjacent to the highway. Lots of dollars there for the owners. So that little, ugly old bridge's days are numbered. It sits there with the last of its dignity waiting for the wrecking ball. It's not pretty enough to save and would cost too much to move. So it just sits there and waits for the inevitable.

My friends Everett Fey and Alton Rahe, historians from Comal County, heeded my call for assistance in getting pictures of the bridge. I got permission from the owner to go on the property. Arriving about ten minutes after Everett and Alton, I put on a pair of cowboy boots to make my way through the "jungle" to join them. When I walked up, Alton was in the creek bed with his camera pointed up. Everett was fumbling in the trees and thick bushes trying to make his way down. Assorted bugs were buzzing about. Alton and Everett immediately warned me about the large yellow jacket nest on one of the pillars. Dead limbs and debris cluttered the top of the bridge. Cactus plants were growing out of a few of the older piles. Much to my chagrin, I managed to "snuff down" some bug flying around while trying to angle my camera for the best shot possible. I passed my camera down to Alton standing in the creek bed and he kindly took pictures for me from his angle. My friend Madeline Burdett, who had come along for the adventure, was under strict orders not to follow me into the bushes because she is so short she would get lost in the underbrush. She patiently waited on the side of the road.

I asked Everett to make his way through the thorns and shrubs to see if there were any dates or inscriptions on the bridge posts at the end of the bridge. Alton took up the other side and was "wounded" by a serious thorn while pushing the branches away. No dates, no inscriptions, nothing to tell us the little bridge's history.

I told Alton and Everett, "Let me take a picture of the two of you on the bridge." Alton squatted down to one side of a column and Everett squatted on the other. I said, "Say, Everett, isn't the column you're leaning against the one with the big yellow jacket nest?" He jumped like a bolt of lightning. One swallowed bug, one close call with a hornets' nest, and one arm sliced by a serious thorn--all worth it to get those pictures.

I headed back to the car and told Madeline to put on my boots so she could make the trek to the bridge. She couldn't be this close and not see it. With boots on, she started through the high grass. As she got closer and could no longer negotiate her way, Everett and Alton gallantly came forward and took her by the elbows and led her through the undergrowth. They stood on the bridge and talked for a long time while I waited in the 102° heat. I tooted the horn and motioned for Madeline to head back. A bouquet of cattails appeared and moved towards me through the underbrush. Madeline stepped out into the open attached to the bottom of them. The guys had plucked them from the creek waters for her to take home. So much for our experience with the little bridge.

There's not much we can do to save it. About the best we can do is take pictures and turn them over to the Historic Bridge Foundation. I'll make copies for the Texas Department of Transportation, the Comal County Genealogy Society, and the Sophienburg Museum and Archives. That's not the same as being able to drive or walk over the little bridge, but it will have to do. I'll write something on the back of each picture: "One-lane country bridge. Last remnant of State Highway 2. Concrete columns with rails. Ugly. Did its duty all those years by passing travelers safely to the other side. Sad to see it go."

Jean Heide
San Antonio, Texas
Published: January 23, 2006