Gruene, Texas

Gruene, Texas is a slice right out of the state's past. A little community within the city limits of New Braufels, it boasts of the oldest dance hall in the state that is still in operation, Gruene Hall. If you entered Gruene from Hwy 306 and drove straight ahead on one of the two main drags in this little enclave, you'd run right onto her plank porch. She is definitely the hub of Gruene.

Part of her many claims to fame are the numerous celebrities who have graced her stages and floors including the dance hall scene from the movie "Michale" staring John Travolta. The original old flooring springs with each step creating the sense that it could give way at any moment. The rest of the community consists of restaurants, an old general store, a huge antique mall, and a myriad of houses converted into eclectic shops selling everything from Texas wine, to clothing. We love Gruene.

This past week end, with Pop in tow, we took our friends, who are visiting from Tennessee to this delightful community for a step back in time, to a quieter more simple, Texas, kind of life.

The Penny:
First stop, Gruene Hall, of course. This being a Saturday in May, a beautiful Saturday after a refreshing rain storm that had cleaned and cooled the air, it seemed that everyone in Texas was visiting this tiny little nitch. A stop light is desperately needed at its one main intersection but technology like that would only dampen the old-time-feel. So traffic is directed by a policeman who moves the vehicles and bodies like herds of cattle. When the officer blew his whistle and motioned for our crowd to cross, Pop came moseying along at his normal snails pace about 10 steps behind the 5 of us. He is always the last one causing me to regularly crane my neck making sure he is following, hasn't lost sight of us, or tripped.

As I have mentioned before, Pop is a frugal man; frugal to the core. On this occasion, as we crossed the street heading for our destination, I heard a woman's voice above the crowd, "He stopped to pick up a penny. Isn't that cute!"

In order to appreciate fully what was taking place here, let me try to paint a word picture. As the policeman blew his whistle, the mass of bodies began to quickly move from one curb to the next. Like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting, there in the middle of this fairly busy intersection, with a large white SUV breathing down his neck, my dad was bent over retrieving a penny off of the warm asphalt. Oblivious to those that he was holding up, to the dangers of the setting and to the attention that he drew to himself, he picked up the copper coin. As if his conscience would not permit him to keep what wasn't his, he offered it to the closest member of our group. Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who said that a penny saved, is a penny earned?

The Dance Hall:

Making it safely to the other side, we were drawn into Gruene Hall by the lilting sounds of the country music which poured from the huge screened, open, air windows. Weaving our way through the crown, we stopped to exclaim over the black and white photos adorning the walls. Autographed pictures of Willy Nelson, John Travolta, Jerry Lee Lewis, among the many others, were enjoyable to us but meaningless to Pop.

Inside the dance hall the humid air was heavy with the warmth of the afternoon and the 100 plus bodies that sat at large, old picnic tables drinking beer and swaying to the tunes. On the dance floor were a very few brave souls two stepping to the delightful music and entertaining those not courageous enough to venture out and give it a whirl. Soon we heard a female voice singing a slow dance melody that my husband even felt we could tackle. Drawing me out onto the floor my husband took me into his arms for a cheek to cheek twirl. As we skimmed across the noticeably uneven floor, I sensed someone at my elbow. Looking over my shoulder there was Pop standing in the middle of the dance floor a foot or so away in the middle of the couples striving to stay as close to us as possible without causing a collision. Tapping his toe he stood out conspicuously among the dancers acting a bit like a fish out of water. Chuckling, we cut our dance a little short, and the five of us hustled Pop off the dance floor and out onto the warm streets of Gruene.

Sometimes I wonder if we are exposing my dad to more then we should at this stage in his decline; to potential mishaps, to embarrassing moments, to confusing circumstances that he has no control over. But when I saw him gathering that penny off of the warm asphalt, the smile on his face as he watched his daughter and son-in-law dancing, sometimes sort of tripping across the old plank dance floor, I though to myself, "Nope. I wouldn't change a thing."