Celebrated cartoonist joined Marfa woman in 1950 to create a wacky look at ranch life.
The floor crunches under your feet—broken glass, old roofing material, hopefully not followed by the piercing of a rusty nail. Yellowed newspaper and piles of dirt are scattered through the rooms of this abandoned and crumbling adobe house. Yet, although there is a need to tread lightly, it isn’t a deterrence to exploring. Because adorning the still-intact walls are giant, whimsical painted scenes, murals of sorts, from the Far West Texas past.
Here’s a cow, hot cattle brand in mouth, chasing a rancher, mouth agape. A busty woman emerges in a robe from a “ladies shower” amidst a bunkhouse full of men preparing to enact horrendous pranks on each other—one with a beartrap for a bare foot, another with a feather to tickle a bare foot, a man in the shadows ready to alight gunpowder, and another filling cowboy boots with who know what. Another painting is a detailed map of Presidio County ranches.
The lively scenes were painted long ago by Evelyn Raetzch Davis, a kin to families who play deep in the origins of Marfa, along with a companion—Etta Hulme, the first woman to gain the ranks of nationally syndicated political cartoonists in the 1970s.
I’m not going to tell you where the house resides, nor will I relate a lot more information on it that would give it away, other than to say it’s tucked deep away in deep thickets of mesquite. In some ways it’s kind of silly, since a parade of the curious and plain old beer drinking, partying kids have been there without defacing any of the works. But with a tinge of caution, it will remain a bit of a mystery, something you know the Big Bend holds, but not where—except to say it’s on the border. (Full disclosure: We even erased a couple words from a painting that would have given away the location.)
Evelyn Davis’ granddaughter shed a bit of light on the house. According to former Big Bend native Pam Park, Davis and Hume used the land as a kind of retreat to practice painting, let loose some creative energy, and have a few drinks. We can’t hear directly from Davis and Hulme, as they are deceased.
Only one of the paintings is signed and dated—a bucktoothed rabbit cowboy on a goofy looking horse—marked “POX” and “Sept. 1950.” Hulme used POX as a signature at times, so it’s clearly her creation. The other paintings are decidedly different, likely Davis’ style, although you can see bits of Hulme in some of them.
Hulme got her start working for Disney animation studios in the late 1940s, and worked on the film Song of the South. We know she landed a job in Chicago in late 1950 for a publishing company, so the house painting must have been a trip to Far West Texas shortly before that. In Chicago she worked on a series of Red Rabbit comics (a parody of the popular Western Red Ryder comics) with the rabbit and his companion horse, Glueball, getting into wacky adventures. The rabbit and horse are nearly identical to those painted in the house, so it might have been practice for her eventual job.
Hulme eventually became one of the country’s most respected cartoonists, creating thousands of scathing looks at political figures through the ‘70s until 2008, starting at the Texas Observer and then spending the bulk of her career at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. She died in 2014 at her home in Arlington, Texas.
Davis became a teacher at the Blackwell School but also painted around Marfa, including on the walls of the former Carmen’s Restaurant. Park said she often met up with other teachers and those interested in art. “It was kind of like almost a secret society type thing,” she says. “They just did their own thing.”
An Austin friend, Matt Baker, who owns property in Terlingua, made his discovery of the house about a decade ago and then led Big Bend Sentinel photographer Jennifer Pittinger on a tour. Baker’s fascination with the paintings have led to a deep passion for them to be preserved. “I want to see a way to let the public see these works, while also making sure they are protected and preserved,” he says.
Hearing stories from the time, I realized so much more history related to the house could be written, which led me to wonder how long it will even survive the winds and monsoons. The Presidio County Historical Commission is aware of the situation and has commissioned a photographer to document it, which may be an opportunity to write that history. One key feature that needs to be preserved is a signature wall where hundreds of visitors have left their names and, sometimes, date they visited. Also discussed is removing the walls, or layers of them, to display elsewhere—a daunting task due to their condition.
Davis’ great-granddaughter, Presidio County Attorney Blair Park, is also in the loop on the future of the house. “I think it’s really cool that there is interest in preserving my family’s history, which I’m really proud of,” she says. “That pride in multigenerational local history means even more now that I’m raising my own kid here—the ‘next generation,’ so to speak.”
Until that history is written, know that at least for one short time in Presidio County history, likely with the heat of the border blaring outside, two women stood and painted the days away, letting their imaginations of the wild side of ranch life run free.Anyone who would like to share more history on the house can email editor@bigbendsentinel.com. You can see more photos, in color, at bigbensentinel.com. For a deeper look at Hulme, including a collection of the thousands of comics she drew, see: sites.libraries.uta.edu/ettahulme