Artie Collins (Franks) Neal is buried in City Cemetery #4, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX.

The San Antonio Light, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX, Sunday, July 28, 1907

BURIAL PERMITS.

Mrs. Artie C. Neal, aged thirty-seven years, died July 26, tubetculosis, Del Rio, Texas. Interment cemetery No. 4.

Henry Albert Neal is buried in Mission Burial Park, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX.

The San Antonio Express, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX, Wednesday, January 7, 1942

Henry Albert Neal, Cattle Expert, Dies

Henry Albert Neal, 74, a cattleman recognized as an expert on fine Jersey cattle, Died Tuesday. He was a resident of the Culebra Rd. and had lived in Bexar Co. his entire life. Besides his wife he is survived by his son, Leslie R. Neal; two daughters, Mrs. Walter Fricke and Mrs. Lela Neal Pirtle; sisters, Mrs. Laura Neal Lassiter and Misses Maude and Emma Neal; two brothers, Jack W. and H. D. Neal. Services will be Wednesday afternoon, with the Rev. Everett Jones, Rector of St. Mark's Church, officiating. Pallbearers will be Marshall Terrell, John James, Q. C. Boatman, Jimmei Chittim, S.W. Seale and Frank Lubbock.

Emily L. "Emma" (Nuckolls) Neal is buried in Confederate Burial Park, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX.

The San Antonio Express, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX, Monday, February 16, 1948

NEAL:

Mrs. Emma Neal, age 81 years of Route 4 Box 83, died at a local hospital Saturday evening. She is survived by: sister, Mrs. Cora Lacy; nephews, Frank and George L. Downs; nieces, Mrs. Florence Gilliam, Mrs. Evelyn Amberson. Services will be held Tuesday afternoon at 2 o'clock at the Porter Loring Chapel with Chaplain A.. P. Vaughan officiating. Interment in the Confederate Cemetery. Direction by Porter Loring. 

The San Antonio Express, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX, Saturday, November 22, 1952

MRS. LELA NEAL PIRTLE

Funeral services for Mrs. Lela Neal Pirtle, 61, 1412 Donaldson Ave., who died at her home Thursday, will be held at 10:00 a.m. Saturday at Porter Loring Chapel with the Rev. Harold C. Gosnell officiating. Burial will be in Mission Burial Park. Mrs. Pirtle was a lifelong resident of the city. She was a member of St. Mark's Episcopal Church and a civil service employe at Lackland A. F. B. She is survived by a son, William Pirtle, Jr., a brother, Leslie R. Neal, Sr., and a sister, Mrs. Walter Fricke, all of San Antonio.

The San Antonio Express/News, San Antonio, Bexar Co., TX, Sunday, October 11, 1970

Walter Fricke

Funeral services for Walter Fricke, 82, of 1412 Donaldson Ave., will be held at 11:00 a.m. Monday in the Colonial Chapel of the Porter Loring Mortuary. He died Friday. Burial will be in Mission Burial Park. Survivors include his wife, Mrs. Arrie Frick, two brothers and two sisters.

Frontier Times, Bandera, TX, June, 1931

Some Reminiscences of Pioneer Days

By Mrs. Julia Thompson Neal, 510 East Dewey Place, San Antonio, Texas.

MY FATHER and mother moved to Southwest Texas in 1852. I was then in my fourth year and I vividly remember such things as Indian battles, run-a-way slaves, and like incidents of early pioneer days. One of the most vivid incidents standing out in my memory follows. One night not long after we arrived here, we heard a commotion down in the negro cabins. My father went down to see what the trouble was and found that two of the negroes, Bob and his sister, Hannah, had run away. Hannah left her two children, Chloe, who was only three months old, and Mary Ann, who was about my age. My uncle, Dr. Desmuke, who with his family was living with us, temporarily, found that two of his negroes were gone also. All we ever got back was a gun that Hannah and Bob had taken with them. They also took a fine American mare which we never recovered. When Dr. Desmuke heard of his negroes in Mexico, he went for them and brought them back. They had our old gun which they had borrowed from Bob, that is how we got the gun back. This gun has been in our family ever since and is now handed down to one of my sons. My father tools two trips to Mexico to try to find our negroes but never heard of them until after the Civil War, when Hannah wrote from Virginia in­quiring about her two children. I answered the letter but we never heard from her again. My mother had taken the baby, Chloe, and reared her with my little sister, Kate. Mary Ann was my girl. We always kept the two children right with us and they were about as free as we were. After the war Chloe married a good colored man by the name of Tom Hays. My father had them get a license and he, being a minister, performed the ceremony there in our home. My father, though owning slaves, really did not believe in slavery and was always very good to them.

The next thing that comes to mind now is the building of our new home. I remember the two men who had charge of the building. They were Russ and Green Storey. One had charge of the masonry and the other the painting. It was a large rock two- story house, located twelve miles south of San Antonio on the Medina River. As soon as the house was finished we moved in and of course were very proud of our new home and surround­ings. Not long after this the Comanche Indians made a raid on us and I remember well my father standing in the door with the old gun, above mentioned, in his hands listening to the horses stampeding in the field. It was in the fall of the year and the horses had been turned in to eat the grass after crops were gathered.

By this time a few more settlers had moved into our community and the Indians began coming quite often. They would come on moonlight nights and drive out all the horses they could find. My father decided he would rent our house and move to the village, San Antonio, and send we children to school. I was then seven years old and I shall never forget my first day in school. There was a little four‑room cottage located where Goggan's Music Store stood for so many years, on the southeast corner of Navarro and Houston streets. There were four teachers - two men and two women. My teacher's name was Mrs. Thompson. My sister and I were at school quite early the first morning when someone said, "there comes the teacher now." I thought my troubles had commenced and started to cry. My older sister and cousin came up to see what the trouble was and just as I told them I was afraid the teacher was going to whip me, Mrs. Thompson came along and heard me. She patted me and said, "if you are a good girl I will not whip you." After that I was not afraid any more.

While we were living in San Antonio we had the misfortune of losing our old square piano. We had left it out at home with Mr. Stevens, the man who rented it. One day Mr. Stevens said, a man brought him a note pur­porting to be from my father and asking him to send us the piano in San Antonio. The piano had been gone a week before we heard about it and we had no way of apprehending the thief. In those days we did not have the ad­vantages of easy communication and transportation.

But time moves on apace. How true the old adage: "Time and tide waits for no man." I do not remember just how long we lived in San Antonio be­fore we moved back to our home. There were no schools, churches, nor public houses of any kind in our sparsely settled community, so my father employed a tutor, a Mr. Hewitt, to teach in our home. He also taught some of our neighbor's children. I remember my mother turned over a large room upstairs for a schoolroom. Mr. Hewitt taught us for some time and then a Mrs. Jackson came as our governess.

By this time more settlers had moved into our community and there was some talk of building a school house which would at the same time serve as a church. My father donated an acre of land and in time the house was built. Father was reared an orphan and appreciated the advantages of an education and the difficulties of securing one. I think that is why he was always so generous in helping to provide an education for others. When I was about twelve years old the Civil War broke out, and with it all the attending difficulties. The rest of my sketch might be called: "Going to School Under Difficulties During the Civil War." 

We, my older sister and a boy cousin, Fount Gayle, and I were sent out about fifty miles west of San Antonio to a boarding school that was then thought to be the best in the Southwest. There were boys and girls from different places in Texas, even from San Antonio, as we did not have the advantages of the wonderful school system that we now have in San Antonio. Not only were we handicapped in that way but it was during Indian times and the settlers were living up and down a creek which was called the Hondo. Some of the families who lived in the community boarded pupils who came from a distance. We boarded with Mr. Downs, which was the nearest place to the school. Most of the pupils lived below us, down the Hondo Creek.

The Indians got so bad that the boys carried guns to and from school. It was not unusual for an Indian to jump up from a bush or from behind a tree and shoot an arrow into someone.

One beautiful moonlight night four of us girls were standing in the yard talking when suddenly we saw two men ride up to the gate and shake it. When they found it was locked they rode on down the hill. That morning in a settlement called the Lower Hon­do, Mr. Rube Smith was killed by the Indians, and the men who had gone to the cemetery to bury him were now coming home. They were just opposite our house in the wagon road that ran through the bed of the creek which was nearly always dry. Direct­ly we heard shooting and Henry Downs, the doctor's son, Fount Gayle, and the old colored man came running up the hill and said two Indians had met the white men and were having a fight. The next morning quite a number of men came by our house from the lower Hondo (where Hondo City is now located) gathering men as they came. They finally overtook the Indians, had a battle, and killed every one of them. None of the white men were killed at that time but one man was wounded. Not long after this the Indians got so bad, the school was closed and we went back home.

In January of the following year, 1864, my dear mother passed away and left me when I was but sixteen years of age. I felt that there was nothing left to live for but time, the healer of all wounds, was passing on, and the inevitable had to be met.

The Civil War was now nearing the close. How all of us wished for peace! I will not go into the horrors of that war as it has all gone down in history. I would to God that it could all be blotted out of memory.

Two years after my mother died I married. My husband passed away just four years ago. Had he lived an­other ten days we would have been married sixty years. But that brings up many other stories and I shall have to leave them for abler writers if they are ever told. I am now in the sunset of life - I pause while the curtain falls.

My grand daughter, Lela, asked me to jot down some of the things I have told her and the other children, of my life in pioneer times, and this is the outcome of it. Now that I have started, other things come crowding.

Dec. 28, 2012

A man and woman were killed in a two-vehicle crash Friday on Highway 285, north of Pecos, according to the Texas Department of Public Safety.

The crash happened at 1:30 p.m., DPS reported. The deceased were driving northbound in a 2008 Cadillac DTS. A 2011 Dodge Ram was traveling southbound on the highway passing another vehicle.

The driver of the Cadillac, 77-year-old Alvin Bruce Gilliam, and the passenger, his wife 72-year-old Joann Brockman Gilliam, died at the scene.

The truck and the Cadillac swerved to avoid each other but did so in the same direction, left the roadway and collided in the east bar ditch, DPS reported. No charges