Author: michaeldexterhankins

A pastor once told our congregation, speaking mostly to those younger people in attendance. “Life isn’t fair, get used to it!” That statement has a lot to do with what I’m about to say.

On occasion, I’ve pondered who was the first white person to live in the Lake Havasu City area. Someone must have been here long before Robert McCulloch Sr. purchased the property. My second question is: Who did McCulloch buy the land from?

Eventually deciding to find out, I discovered that Robert McCulloch Sr. purchased 26 square miles of desert from the State of Arizona. I know that state land came from the federal government who took it from American Indians.

McCulloch bought additional acreage as it became available, including Site 6 from the military, which included an Army Air Corps runway. This land was combined and turned into our city.

Early on, miners worked the surrounding hills, but their presence was seasonal due to the extreme heat, and they only passed through this section of the desert on their way to the Colorado River. Steamboats awaited them.

Of course, we know that the Chemehuevi Indians and other tribes roamed this ground long before European settlers trickled in, although they stayed close to the Colorado River for obvious reasons. Parker Dam and Lake Havasu weren’t here at that point.

My wife’s GGG-Grandfather, George Freeman, is recognized as the first white settler in Dickinson County, Kansas. That has some historical significance, but it doesn’t mean that he owned the whole county.

According to several sources, William B. Maxwell is the first white settler in Mohave County, having a ranch near Short Creek. His arrival dates back to the early or mid-1800s.

Mohave County must’ve encompassed quite a bit of real estate back then, because Short Creek is 350 miles from Lake Havasu City. Colorado City is also located there. It’s highly unlikely Maxwell journeyed that distance for ranching purposes.

Oatman didn’t come along until the 1860s, with Lake Havasu City not even a dream in anyone’s mind at that period. Where the city is now located was a barren desert, complete with mesquite trees, paloverde, sagebrush, and smoketree. Snakes, lizards, and scorpions also call it home.

The reason I write this is that it really doesn’t matter who the first person or people were at a location, other than for historical purposes. It seems to me the point of arguing ownership is moot based solely on time of arrival.

I’ve ruffled the feathers of more than one of these thinkers, on history forums, by saying that I was the first person in McDonald’s the other morning, thus, I should lay claim to the establishment. Stating this is a sure way of starting a literary firestorm of gigantic proportions. It does prime the pump of opinion, which is my intent.

One of the first things I learned in geology class is that all land on planet Earth is connected. Some of it is merely covered by water, ice, and snow. When someone uses the term “this land,” they are in error unless they’re talking about the whole planet.

It’s a different story when the reference is for continents, countries, provinces, states, cities, towns, villages, etc.

“We were the first people on this land!” is often heard in error during conversations. I have a rebuttal to that, and it goes something like this: “Your people might’ve been the first here, but on the other side of the planet, my people were the first ones there. What’s your point?”

Singer/songwriter Woody Guthrie wrote a song titled “This Land Is Your Land.” The beginning lyrics go like this,

“This land is your land, and this land is my land

From California to the New York Island

From the Redwood Forest to the Gulf Stream Waters

This land was made for you and me.”

After becoming a hit, Indigenous North American Indians had a problem with the tune because Guthrie didn’t exactly explain who ‘you and me’ were. With land that they lived on for centuries taken away, some of them viewed the lyrics as selective, and rightly so.

I tend to believe Arlo was thinking of them in the song because of his upbringing. He came from a family full of hardship. President Obama allowed it to be played during his inauguration, which makes me think he felt the same.

Unfortunately, where ‘this land’ is concerned, wars and battles have been fought over it, walls and fences erected, and disagreements aplenty. Not just a United States dilemma, land ownership has been a problem throughout the world since the beginning of time.

As my pastor told us some 50 years ago, “Life isn’t fair, get used to it!” Sadly, that statement applies to not only young people, but folks from all walks of life, including our Indigenous Indian and Native groups. I believe that when Jesus Christ returns, equality will finally apply to all of his followers: black, white, yellow, brown, and red. Amen

A black and white picture postcard mailed from Ketchikan, Alaska, on March 8, 1927, to Mrs. W.S. Booth in Chickasha, Oklahoma, has a photo of a dog sled team on the front. The faded caption says: Joy Riding in Alaska. I’m not sure if the person sending it is the musher standing on this sled or not, yet it could have been, judging by the message inside.

“Dear Mother and Father,

Will drop you a line from Seward or some place near there.

Love – John”

It would be impossible to drive a dog sled team from Ketchikan to Seward, across ocean water. The sender, John W. Booth, was evidently going to Seward via steamer. Once there, dogsleds were common transportation throughout this area during the winter months.

John’s parents lived in Chickasha, Oklahoma, a big contrast from the place where their son lived. Chickasha was founded in 1892 with the arrival of the Rock Island Railroad in that area.  It was a former Indian village, as this was Chickasha Indian land.

William S. Booth had worked for the Rock Island Railroad for 25 years before he was seriously hurt. After that injury, he was unable to work at all, with him and his wife living off a meager railroad pension. Ella, his wife, was also physically handicapped and unable to hold down a job.

Born on October 30, 1860, William died on November 1, 1951, at the age of 91. Ella passed away five years earlier, on March 12, 1945. She was 76. It’s most likely that the two sons and a daughter helped their parents out financially.

John W. Booth was born in 1890. He was working in Alaska on a fishing boat until moving back to the western states. Like his father, John worked for the railroad for many years. John W. Booth was married and then divorced, staying single until passing away in 1977 at the age of 86.

I have a plethora of old Christmas postcards to transcribe, along with researching the senders and recipients of the cards. One in particular jumped out at me because of the compassionate message inside.

This postcard dates back to 1922, making it 103 years old. The Great Depression was just around the corner. I attached things as they were written.

“Dear Doris,

I hope you are feeling better. And that seemingly with the odds against you, you may have much to be thankful for this Christmas. And when counting your friends count me among the number.

Gladys B. – Route 3”

The hand-stamped postmark was December 23, 1922, Versailles, Missouri, with the addressee living in the same vicinity. This would make things easier for me to research. A painting on the front of the card shows a snowy farmhouse and barn with the following poetic message:

“A CHRISTMAS WISH

That sweet contentment and good health be yours, with happiness and wealth.”

Doris May Todd was born on August 10, 1901, in Missouri. Her parents were Robert and Vergie. Robert Todd was a farmer. His wife helped out, along with keeping house and raising the children. Oldest child, Doris, had one sister, Gertrude Mabel Todd.

Tragically, Robert Todd, at the age of 47, died of a heart attack on July 12, 1920, leaving his wife, Virgie, 19-year-old Doris, and 10-year-old Gertrude to run the farm. That would’ve been a sudden and drastic life change for all three of them.

Somehow, Doris was able to find the time to advance her education while doing her farming chores. She became a school teacher in Versailles, with that income helping her mother make ends meet.

On April 26, 1925, Doris married Joe Lloyd Sims. The couple had one child, Mary Ann. Mr. Sims was successful in his farming and ranching operation, with the postcard wish coming true for his wife, where happiness and wealth were concerned.

Gladys Matilda Sanford-Ball was the postcard sender. It seems that her postcard message dealt with the trials and tribulations that her friend Doris was going through. Health can often deteriorate, especially when stress enters one’s life, undoubtedly, the kind that Doris and her family incurred.

Gladys was born on August 29, 1889, making her a few years older than Doris. They attended the same church, Glenfield Methodist. Gladys was married to Nelson Ball, also a farmer. They had four children, two of whom died in infancy.

Doris May Todd-Sims died on January 3, 1989, at the age of 88. Her friend, Gladys Matilda Sanford-Ball, passed away six years earlier, on December 6, 1980. She was 91.

The touching Christmas card that Gladys sent her friend must have been something special for Doris to have kept it. In another 100 years, we’ll see how many digitized Christmas messages remain.

“So Sis is now getting sophisticated and wise. My team won a game today when the Tus-High School failed to score. Heh”

This message was written on the back of a picture postcard sent from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, on December 12, 1908, to Miss Mary Belle Hopson in Frankfort, Kentucky. It was only two weeks from Christmas.

A message on the front of the card says, “Greetings from Tuscaloosa, Ala.,” with individual photos of City Public School, McLester Hotel, Greensboro Avenue, and Alabama Bryce Insane Hospital.

In the center of all of these photographs is a young lady who appears to be “out of it,” if you know what I mean. This postcard was printed in Germany, of all places. This was only a few years before WWI began. The Red Baron nickname should tell you who the US fought back then.

Had I been a postcard designer and desired to put together a greeting card from Tuscaloosa, I would’ve opted for a different photo shot than that of an insane asylum. The Jemison-Van de Graff Mansion comes to mind. After researching this hospital quite extensively, I discovered there’s more to the place than its former spooky name.    

Bryce Insane Asylum, now known as Bryce Hospital, stands as one of Alabama’s most significant historical landmarks, both for its architectural presence and its role in the evolution of mental health care in the United States. Located in Tuscaloosa, the institution has witnessed a long and complex history, reflecting changing societal attitudes toward mental illness, treatment methodologies, and patient rights.

The origins of Bryce Insane Asylum trace back to the early 1850s, when Alabama lawmakers recognized the need for a state-run hospital for the mentally ill. In 1852, the Alabama Insane Hospital was chartered by the state legislature, and construction began soon after on a site in Tuscaloosa.

The building’s design was heavily influenced by the ideas of mental health reformer Dorothea Dix and followed the Kirkbride Plan, an architectural model emphasizing light, air, and humane treatment.

The hospital officially opened in 1861, with Dr. Peter Bryce as its first superintendent. At just 27 years old, Bryce was a progressive physician who championed moral treatment—a radical departure from the punitive and neglectful practices common at the time. He believed in treating patients with dignity, using occupational therapy, and creating a therapeutic environment.

Under Dr. Bryce’s leadership, the institution earned a reputation for compassionate care. The staff avoided physical restraints whenever possible and emphasized meaningful work and recreation. The hospital’s self-sufficient campus included farmlands, workshops, and gardens, providing therapeutic activities for patients.

However, as the decades passed, the hospital’s population grew rapidly, often exceeding its intended capacity. Overcrowding led to strains on resources, and standards of care became increasingly difficult to maintain. The turn of the century saw Bryce Hospital facing challenges common to many public asylums: underfunding, overcrowding, and changing public expectations.

By the mid-20th century, Bryce Hospital, like many state mental institutions, had become severely overcrowded and under-resourced. Conditions deteriorated, and reports of patient neglect and inadequate care surfaced.

In the 1970s, the hospital became the center of a landmark legal case, Wyatt v. Stickney, which established minimum standards for the care and treatment of people with mental illness and intellectual disabilities.

This case had far-reaching effects, not only improving conditions at Bryce but also influencing mental health care reform nationwide. The litigation led to increased oversight, funding, and a shift toward community-based treatment, gradually reducing the hospital’s population.

In recent decades, Bryce Hospital has continued to evolve, adapting to modern mental health practices and reducing its inpatient population. The original Kirkbride building, a striking example of 19th-century architecture, was acquired by the University of Alabama in 2010. The university has undertaken preservation efforts, integrating the historic structure into its campus while honoring its legacy.

Today, Bryce Hospital operates in a new, modern facility, and the original asylum stands as a testament to both the challenges and progress in the history of mental health care in Alabama and the United States.

The history of Bryce Insane Asylum reflects broader trends in American mental health care: from the optimism and reform of the 19th century, through periods of overcrowding and neglect, to the eventual embrace of patient rights and community-based treatment. Its story is one of change, challenge, and ongoing transformation, offering valuable lessons in compassion and advocacy for vulnerable populations.

Miss Mary Belle Hopson was born in Kentucky on January 12, 1890. Her parents were John Peyton and Mary E. Hopson. John Hopson was the Supreme Court Justice for the State of Kentucky and an accomplished lawyer before that.

The Hopsons’ daughter, Mary Belle, had five siblings, with the one writing this card being John Peyton Hopson Jr., who was attending Alabama State College. I suppose back then, the college baseball teams did play local high school teams for practice.

In 1912, Mary Belle Hopson married Penn Leary Carroll, who was a graduate of the United States Naval Academy. Penn reached the rank of commodore before retiring. The Navy veteran died in Mexico while on vacation in 1961. Mary Belle Hopson-Carroll passed away on October 11, 1976. Both Mary Belle and her husband are buried at Frankfort.

John Peyton Hopson Jr. was born in 1888 and also served as an attorney and judge like his father. He lived in Pikeville, Kentucky, with his wife, Maud, and one son, Joseph. The successful husband and father died on July 9, 1960.

The younger John Peyton Hopson Jr., fortunately, wasn’t a patient at the insane asylum while in Tuscaloosa. It’s highly possible that he was crazy about the town and the ‘Alabama Crimson Tide’ football team when he left.

A picture postcard mailed from Sylacauga, Alabama, on October 27, 1954, to Wichita Falls, Texas, shows a photograph of the Hotel Troy in Troy, Alabama. The attached short message reads,

“Oct 27

I’m leaving Montgomery – will be home soon. We give love to all.

Sallie Mae”

The card was sent to “The Frazier Atwood” in Wichita Falls, Texas. In the context of the postcard, “the” is placed in front of Frazier Atwood—evidently as a form of emphasis or familiarity. This usage can imply that Frazier is well-known to the sender or within a certain group, suggesting a unique or notable identity.

In some regions and informal situations, adding “the” before a name can also indicate affection, distinction, or even a playful tone, setting the person apart from others with the same name. For whatever reason, adding the in front of Frazier Atwood’s name led me to a dead-end road.

Frazier Atwood was elusive. He was born in 1920, attended school in Wichita Falls, where he took part in musical events, such as being part of a quartet. After finding out that much, his trail went cold.

It’s possible that the man changed his name, as singers and actors often do, or moved out of the country. I did discover that the house he lived in at 1107 Bluff Street in Wichita Falls is still standing, for whatever that’s worth.

There were three Sallie Maes to choose from living in Sylacauga at that time: Sallie Mae Johnson, Sallie Mae Childers, and Sallie Mae West. I had no way to identify which one wrote the postcard so I left things at that; unfinished.

With that said, here’s the history of Troy, Alabama, and Hotel Troy, which is what I was more interested in to begin with. My father was named after the city.

Troy, Alabama, has a rich heritage that dates back to its founding in the early 19th century. Originally settled in the 1830s, Troy quickly established itself as a significant center for agriculture and trade in southeast Alabama.

The town benefited from its location along key transportation routes, including railroads, which helped it grow and prosper throughout the late 1800s and early 1900s.

As Troy developed, it became known for its vibrant downtown area, anchored by important institutions and businesses such as Hotel Troy. The presence of educational institutions, most notably Troy University, contributed to the city’s cultural and economic growth.

Over the years, Troy has weathered changes brought on by shifts in industry, natural disasters, and evolving community needs, but it has maintained a strong sense of local identity.

Today, Troy is recognized for its historical architecture, community spirit, and ongoing preservation efforts. The city’s blend of old and new reflects its journey from a rural settlement to a modern, thriving community, honoring its past while looking toward the future.

Hotel Troy was once a prominent hotel located in the heart of Troy, Alabama. Built in the early 20th century, it served as a hub of activity for visitors and locals alike, offering accommodations, dining, and a central gathering place for community events.

Like many historic hotels in small towns, Hotel Troy eventually faced challenges due to changing travel patterns, competition from newer accommodations, and shifts in the local economy. Over time, the hotel’s business declined, and it eventually ceased operations.

The original Hotel Troy building no longer operates as a hotel. The structure has been in limbo, waiting on redevelopment efforts or demolition. Tornadoes and storms did significant damage. Historical records and local accounts indicate that the building stood vacant for a good period before they hit.

The Troy Historic Preservation Alliance (THPA) purchased this building along with other vintage structures in the complex. My research shows that a good portion of it was updated, yet city government, namely the mayor, has slowed things down at least temporarily.

Hotel Troy remains a part of local history in Troy, Alabama, remembered for its role in the town’s early 20th-century social and economic life. Former residents and historians still recall stories and photographs of the hotel, with new memories yet to be made.

“The Frazier Atwood” might’ve disappeared into obscurity, but it appears that “The Hotel Troy” will be around for years to come.