In the age of Jim Crow, the alley people in Galveston, Texas, keep their dignity and independence—against all odds!
In post-Civil War America, the alley people in Galveston forge against racism, prejudice, and poverty hidden within the hypocrisy of civic and corporate corruption. Interactions with these “greater powers” are never to their advantage, but the men and women of the alley press on, and that is the power of the novel. The book follows the downtrodden “little man”—their families and romances—through trials of injustice and bigotry, and culminates in their survival of the Great Hurricane of 1900 that leveled Galveston, killing thousands, and changing US history.
The alley people do not have the wealth and advantages of the town bullies, but they have inner strength and character, brought about by their upbringing in frontier America, with its brand of retributive justice that allows them to overcome what is imposed—to be the free men and women that their spirits demand.
Fanny, Maxwell, Newt—Bishop and Elma—the prostitutes and nuns of St. Mary’s—and the puckish poor who hang out at Bleach’s Tavern journey through self-discovery, as they attempt to find their places in the changing landscape of a modernizing 20th century.
With vivid depictions of turn-of-the century Galveston, its natural beauties and its devastation in the storm, the novel illuminates the frontier spirit of the great city itself, its resilience and fortitude, brought about by the same strengths held by its common citizens—who bet on snails, cage raccoons, shark hunt, avoid the cops and bury their dead. Humorous, evocative and sobering—The Last Paradise is an adventure that encompasses the human soul.
Excerpt
Maxwell brought the revolver up to Judge Hammer. It was clean and well kept. The judge balanced the gun in his hand and then looked at the barrel. “Thirty-eight caliber, seven-and-a-half-inch barrel. Good balance.” The barrel was marked with C.S.A., indicating its Confederate authenticity. “These were made in Memphis, Columbus, Greensboro, and Augusta.”
“I wouldn’t know, Your Honor.” Maxwell said. “My Pappy died usin’ that gun.”
“I’m a collector,” the judge bragged.
“There’s only one bullet in the cylinder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a gold bullet?”
“Yes, sir.”
Judge Hammer gave the gun back to Maxwell. Maxwell stuffed the revolver into his waist, beneath his shirt, and went back to where Newt was waiting.
“Why a gold bullet?” the judge asked.
“That’s personal, Your Honor. A gift from a friend.”
“Why only one bullet?”
“I can’t get into too much trouble with a single shot,” Maxwell answered. “I can only shoot one man. With six bullets I can kill six.”
“Unfortunately, there’s logic in that,” the judge said. “Do you plan on staying in Galveston for some time?”
“I like it here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“So long as the work holds out.”
“Are you going to keep getting into knife fights?”
“Only with Boy Scout pocket knives,” Maxwell smiled. The spectators chuckled, and the judge smiled. “I don’t look for trouble, Your Honor. Never do.”
“Yea, but I’ll bet you finish it, don’t you, Mr. Hayes?”
“Just to stay alive, Your Honor. This is a grand place with good people. I like it here. I saw two signs when I entered the island. Those signs told me everything I needed to know about Galveston.”
“And what were they?” the judge asked in a proud way.
“I got off the ferry,” Maxwell said, “and there it was, gleamin’ like gold—
Welcome to Paradise
Galveston, Texas
Wall Street of the Southwest
Third Richest City in the Nation.”
“We’re proud of that,” the judge smiled.
“Your streets are a fine place. Trolleys an’ no horse manure to stink up the air. Everyone rides bicycles. Businessmen with their derbies. Women dressed tight with parasols an’ fancy hats; they add glamour to Broadway. All fine models, good citizens, Godly, I’m sure. I hear there are two automobiles in Galveston. I saw one: a Riker Electric Brougham, rollin’ without a horse. E-lectric. The future, I bet. Banks, Museums, an op’ra house. Edwin Booth, Sara Bernhardt, Buffalo Bill—they’ve been here, an’ they’re comin’ back. Plenty of newspapers, two dailies. ’Lectricity everywhere. Movie theaters. Ships comin’ in, goin’ out. Beaches. Railroads. Sail boats. Bathhouses. Gas lights. Telephones. You have the number one cotton port in the nation. Anyone—me, you—can take a steamship right straight to Europe.”
“Fourteen lines” the judge added proudly. “Three more to Cuba, two to Japan. We’re the envy of New York. Chicago can have its pigs and filthy stocks. Sears and Roebuck’s coming here.”
“An’ why not? Each tide brings in a million bucks!”
“And the other sign?” the judge asked.
“That one, too, took my eyes away, Your Honor. A real piece of work. I was headin’ for my boardin’ house on the east side of the island. And there he was, hangin’ noose high from a tall oak, a colored boy, dead as Jesus, an’ around his neck was this sign, screamin’ like an angel: “This Nigger Voted.”
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