What is Kerrville's Story?

The Myrta and A. C. Schreiner house, June 17, 2025.

As a museum is being built for our community, I’ve been thinking a lot about how the Heart of the Hills Heritage Center will tell our story. Though many of us are working on the project, and many voices will tell the story, it’s been on my mind a lot, lately.

What’s the basic outline of our history here?

Kerrville’s story begins long before streets were paved or buildings raised. For over 10,000 years, people have lived along the banks of the Guadalupe. Many different early Americans called this valley home, drinking from the same river we still cherish today. Most of those peoples are completely lost to history, aside from the few stone tools they left behind, and a few rough images they painted on the limestone bluffs of the North Fork of the Guadalupe River.

The town we know now got its start in the late 1840s when a group of shingle-makers, led by Joshua D. Brown, built their camp on a bluff above the river. They informally called their community “Brownsborough.” 

When the Texas Legislature created Kerr County in 1856, it decided the county seat would be named Kerrsville, in honor of James Kerr, a key figure in Texas independence. The very first commissioners court session accepted a gift of land from Joshua D. Brown as the site of the county seat.

Early progress here was derived from the power of water. In 1857, Christian Dietert built a grist and sawmill powered by the river. Its stone remnants still rest below Water Street, a whisper of the town's industrious beginnings. That mill aided in the building of the town – and helped process the agricultural products of local farms.

After the Civil War, a young Charles Schreiner moved into town from Turtle Creek, opened a general store, and over time built a commercial empire spanning cattle, banking, and retail. He didn’t just sell goods—he helped build a town. In 1917, he founded Schreiner Institute, planting the seeds of what is now Schreiner University, which first opened in 1923.

By the late 1800s, Kerrville had grown into a small but bustling trade center. Cattle ranching took off, with Schreiner and his partners sending hundreds of thousands of cattle up the trails to Kansas railheads. The arrival of the railroad in 1887 marked a turning point—suddenly, goods and people could arrive with more ease than ever before. Schreiner was also instrumental in getting the railroad to come to Kerrville.

Kerrville officially incorporated in 1889; Joseph A. Tivy was Kerrville’s first mayor. 

Starting in the late 19th century, Kerrville’s clean air and mild climate drew a different kind of visitor—those seeking a cure. Tuberculosis patients arrived by wagon, and later by train, and soon sanatoriums sprang up around the valley. The most notable was the Thompson Sanatorium, later operated by the State of Texas for African-American TB patients. Though that chapter closed by 1949, its story lingers in the bricks and memories of today’s Kerrville State Hospital.

Sheep and goats may not seem glamorous, but by the 1930s, they made Kerrville famous. The wool and mohair industry, thanks to tough little Angoras, and hearty sheep, turned our region into the “Mohair Capital of the World.” Our area was a center for wool production, too. Ranchers clipped and shipped fleeces by the ton, by oxen-drawn wagons, and later trucks, and Kerrville prospered from the natural fibers of wool and mohair. Hundreds, even thousands, of people worked in this industry – and made it a success. The work was very hard, and the days were very long.

The Depression brought struggle, but also grit. The Civilian Conservation Corps built Kerrville-Schreiner Park, still a local jewel, while the community later pulled together in 1950 to build Louise Hays Park in a single day—a testament to what neighbors can do when they roll up their sleeves.

Over the years, the same Guadalupe River that powered mills and irrigated farms also drew children. Religious and summer camps flourished in the hills—Camp Stewart, Camp Mystic, Heart of the Hills Camp for Girls, Camp Waldemar, Mo-Ranch, and the Texas Lions Camp, just to name a few. For generations, kids from across the world spent a special part of their summers here, catching fireflies and memories under Hill Country skies. Many of those campers, years later, moved here, making Kerr County their home.

There are so many people who’ve made a big impact here – business leaders, civic leaders, church leaders, and even an artist or two. We have distinct neighborhoods which have rich histories. There are so many stories to tell, and surprisingly little room in the old Myrta and A. C. Schreiner House to tell them all.

Today’s Kerrville is a blend of all its yesterdays, of course. It’s a city with deep roots and a bright future, where history is more than something you might walk past – history is something each of us make, every time we work to make our community better.

It is my hope, when visitors are finally able to explore the Heart of the Hills Heritage Center, they will not discover someone else’s story – but that each visitor will see a little bit of themselves in the stories told there. We all made this community, together.

Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who enjoys learning about our community’s history. This column originally appeared in the Kerr County Lead June 19, 2025.

Thanks for reading. This newsletter is free, but not cheap to send. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it, or buy one of my books.  Thanks so much. (And thanks to all of you who bought books this week!)

Never miss a story from Joe. Join today for FREE.

The Repair Shop: Kerrville Edition

A Kerrville photograph from the 1890s, before and after
a visit to Joe's "Repair Shop."
Click on any image to enlarge.

My morning coffee friends Lora and Mark recommended a British television show, available on YouTube, that I’ve enjoyed watching. It’s “The Repair Shop,” which was originally broadcast on the BBC, and began in 2017.

In each episode, folks bring by family heirlooms for repair. The items range from broken pottery to a frayed World War II bomber jacket, from dolls to clocks. The show features experts with various specialties. There’s an expert book restorer, a fine art conservator, furniture craftsmen, jewelers, luthiers, and even a two-woman team specializing in dolls and stuffed animal toys.

The key point: the items have sentimental value, not monetary value. While some of the items might fetch a pound or two at auction, it’s not like PBS’s “Antiques Roadshow,” where estimates of value are given. There are no appraisers in the cast, and no one is hoping the vase they found in Grandma’s attic will fetch enough fund their own retirement.

Further, the owners of the heirlooms are not charged for the repairs.

In all, watching the show is a pleasant way to spend three quarters of an hour, and the repairs are often quite remarkable.

Recently, I found among my collection of historical items from Kerrville and Kerr County an old photograph. It had obviously seen much better days. The glass in its unique frame was cracked diagonally, and decades of grime had covered the glass, penetrated the fractured glass, and damaged the photograph below. The frame, too, was damaged, having been knocked around for a very long time. It was covered with scratches and scrapes, and its mottled finish was missing in some areas.

Beneath the dirty glass, the details of the photograph could not be seen clearly.

It was time to put on my imaginary “Repair Shop” apron, apply my expertise, and bring this old photograph and frame back to life.

Getting the photograph out of the frame was tricky; it was nailed shut over 100 years ago. I was fortunate the photograph had not adhered to the glass over that time, and once I’d gotten the back off of the frame, the photograph came out quite easily.

From watching “The Repair Shop,” I knew the first step was often just cleaning an object. The glass was not salvageable and would have to be replaced, but the frame and the photograph itself could stand a good cleaning.

Cleaning the photograph was fairly easy; the grime came off with a little bit of water applied carefully with a cotton swab along the stain. The intricate frame took a little more time, because it had a lot of “teeth” along several layers. On the frame, and on the advice of another morning coffee friend, Randall, I used a diluted dish soap, again using a cotton swab. I rinsed off the soap the same way. The frame cleaned up nicely.

Touching up the color on the frame, I considered several options, but settled on an oil-based tint which closely matched the original color.

Now that the photograph was freed from its grimy frame, and its stains cleaned up, I could scan the image.

Here’s what I learned:

The photograph was of a commercial establishment: H. Nuernberger Merchandise. I did not know if the store was in Kerrville or Kerr County – but the name H. Nuernberger was very unique, and that’s where I started.

It turns out there was a Heinrich “Henry” Nuernberger (1855-1915) who lived in Kerr County. In the 1880 census, he’s 25, and living on the family farm in the Cypress Creek community. In the 1900 census, he’s moved to Kerrville, living with the Boeckmann family, as a boarder. His occupation in 1890 was listed as ‘grocer.’ In the 1910 census, he’s married and his occupation is ‘roadmaster,’ which I think meant he worked locally on the railroad. (This is a guess.)

So, we might infer the photograph of “H. Nuernberger Merchandise” was taken sometime around 900.

Mr. Nuernberger was listed as married for the first time in the 1910 census.

Interestingly, it turns out Mr. Nuernberger, who was listed as a lodger with the Henry Boeckmann family in the 1900 census, married Emma Bell Boeckmann (1859-1916), the widow of Henry Boeckmann (1843-1901).

Of the two Henrys she married, she was much closer in age to her second husband; Henry Boeckmann was 16 years older than Emma; Henry Nuernberger was a little over 3 years older. Emma was only 15 when she married her first husband, and 45 when she married her second husband.

Emma is buried between the two Henrys at Kerrville’s Glen Rest Cemetery, near Schreiner University. She died about a year after her second husband, Nuernberger.

All three have matching grave monuments, made of a dark pink granite, and all three are carved in the same style.

While it probably means little or nothing, I did notice Emma’s grave marker was slightly closer to her second husband’s grave marker. Very slightly closer.

Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who is thankful to Lora and Mark for recommending “The Repair Shop.” I’m happy to recommend it to you, as well. This column originally appeared in the Kerr County Lead June 12, 2025.

Thanks for reading. This newsletter is free, but not cheap to send. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it, or buy one of my books.  Thanks so much. (And thanks to all of you who bought books this week!)

Never miss a story from Joe. Join today for FREE.

The story of Schreiner Institute football

The May 2025 issue of Schreiner University Magazine.
Click on any image to enlarge.

This week we received a copy of Schreiner University’s magazine in the mail at home. Its front cover features a young man wearing a Schreiner University football uniform, looking to our right, as if looking into the future.

The 1923 SI football team

But he’s also looking into the school’s past.

When Schreiner opened its classroom doors over 100 years ago, on September 18, 1923, it had six instructors on its first faculty: J. J. Delaney, president and instructor in mathematics; S. V. Carmack, English and history; C. C. Mason, agriculture and science; James C. Oehler Jr., Latin and mathematics; and J. C. Patterson, history. They were expecting 75 students that first year, and when 85 enrolled, the new school had to scramble to build dormitory space.

Two of the men had big jobs outside of the classroom: Mason was the commandant and instructor in military science, and Oehler was the director of athletics at the new school.

That means James C. Oehler, Jr., an Uvalde native, was Schreiner Institute’s first football coach, and his work began before classes started. On September 10^th, Schreiner Institute held its first ‘football training camp,’ and Oehler had 38 young men to show up. Oehler was optimistic: “prospects are bright for a fast squad at the Institute the opening year.”

Fortunately, most of the students had played football before.

Their first game was on September 28, 1923 against the “strong Junction High School eleven on the local school’s gridiron.

Texas Tech collection

“According to the advance dope a good game is in store for the fans. Junction is reported to be unusually strong and the Maroon and White squad has shown some good stuff in scrimmages…The Maroon and White will put a strong eleven in the field tomorrow. The team as a whole, although heavy, is fast enough to work the running and passing game as well as straight football in line plunging, and the chances are that the fans will see samples of each kind of tactics in tomorrow’s fray.”

Schreiner won that first game, 7 – 0.

For a brand-new school, Schreiner had a decent opening season: 4-2-1, outscoring opponents 101 to 50.

The Schreiner football program got a big boost in 1925, when H. C. ‘Bully’ Gilstrap became the school’s athletic director. Gilstrap had achieved athletic greatness at the University of Texas at Austin, lettering in three different sports in his first year of eligibility.

“We hope to offer Junior College athletes the finest opportunity in South and Central Texas for their athletic development,” Gilstrap told the Kerrville Mountain Sun.

Texas Tech collection

The stats suggest Gilstrap was correct. The next year, 1926, the Schreiner Mountaineers were undefeated.

A note on that ‘undefeated season:’ In October, 1926, Schreiner Institute played Texas Tech. Tech was established in 1923, but didn’t open its doors until 1925. In 1926 their football team was called the ‘Matadors.’

And while Schreiner claims an undefeated season, the game against Tech in 1926 was actually a tie, at 0-0, so Schreiner’s claim is factually accurate.

That game was played in a pouring rain at Fair Park in Lubbock, on October 2, 1926. An old football program from that game shows extensive water damage; a photograph shows both teams lined up against each other on a sheet of water.

The Schreiner team won the state junior college championship in 1935.

They won that title again in 1937, a year after Gilstrap left Schreiner. That team featured some prominent Tivy High School players, including two who’d played on the legendary 1936 Tivy Football team, including Preston Chambliss and Slick McCaleb.

Rex Kelly was another notable coach at Schreiner Institute, serving as a line coach through the 1940s and early 1950s.

In 1950, Claude ‘Chena’ Gilstrap, brother of ‘Bully,’ took the reins of the football program. Cliff Newell, in a 1989 article in this newspaper about Schreiner sports, had this nugget about Claude Gilstrap’s teams: in 1950, “one of the new players was a slender, bespeckled young man from Paris, Texas, who showed a depressing lack of speed for a wide receiver. His name was Raymond Berry, and he became the most famous football player ever to come out of Schreiner Institute.”

Berry had a long career in professional football, including playing for the Baltimore Colts, where he led the NFL in receptions and receiving yards three times, and in receiving touchdowns twice. Barry was invited to six Pro Bowls. Barry was also head coach of the New England Patriots in the 1980s.

The football program ended at Schreiner Institute in 1956, though one standout player from that season also had a career in professional football: Charley Johnson, who played for the Cardinals, Broncos, and Oilers. In the midst of his football career, Johnson earned his doctorate in chemical engineering, later he worked at NASA while in the U.S. Army Reserve, and was a professor of chemical engineering.

Football at Schreiner University has a rich history, and it will be interesting to watch the school work to reclaim some of its football program’s earlier glories.

Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who collects Kerr County historical items. If you have something you’d care to share with him, it would make him happy. This column originally appeared in the Kerr County Lead June 5, 2025

Thanks for reading. This newsletter is free, but not cheap to send. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it, or buy one of my books.  Thanks so much. (And thanks to all of you who bought books this week!)

Never miss a story from Joe. Join today for FREE.

When Weather Writes Kerr County History

Kerrville from the north, looking down the river valley, 2020

Picture this: You're standing at an invisible line that runs right through the heart of Texas. To your east, rain falls generously, nourishing thick forests and fertile fields. To your west, the sky hoards its moisture, creating a land where every drop is precious. You can't see this line, but it has shaped centuries of human drama, conflict, and survival. 

Welcome to the 98th meridian—a boundary that doesn't appear on most maps but has written more Texas history than any treaty or battle.

Let me be clear about what kind of weather I'm talking about. This isn't about the sudden thunderstorm that forced little Lulu's seventh birthday party indoors, turning her parents' living room into a chaos of sugar-fueled seven-year-olds. Though Lulu's parents might argue that was a historical catastrophe, and they'd certainly feel the weight of changed circumstances when thirty kids start ricocheting off their furniture. This isn't even about those dramatic weather moments we read about in textbooks—the storms that changed famous battles, or the icebergs that claimed legendary ships.

No, I'm talking about something far more subtle and infinitely more powerful: the everyday rhythm of seasons, the predictable dance of clouds and sunshine, the quiet presence or absence of morning dew. Plain old, boring weather that whispers its influence across generations.

My journey into this weather-history connection began with Walter Prescott Webb's masterwork, "The Texas Rangers." Why read about Rangers in dusty Kerr County? Because our soil tells their story. Many local men served as Texas Rangers. Joseph Tivy roamed these hills as a Ranger. So did Charles Schreiner. Walk through Center Point Cemetery and you'll find more than thirty former Texas Rangers resting there, including Andrew Jackson Sowell, who traded his badge for a historian's pen. Understanding the Rangers meant understanding the land that forged them—our land.

Webb's opening pages delivered an observation that started me thinking. I'd heard of his 98th meridian theory before: east of that line, plantations thrived on abundant rainfall and enslaved labor; west of it, the rain vanished, and with it, the plantation economy. This geographic reality shaped Texas differently than other Southern states, creating a complex legacy that rainfall helped write. While this doesn't erase the wrongs of slavery from our state's (or our county’s) history, it does reveal how something as simple as precipitation patterns influenced the entire trajectory of our region.

Webb's insight went deeper than antebellum economics. This dividing line along the 98th meridian had shaped Kerr County's history long before the Civil War, long before our county even existed, stretching back beyond written records into the mists of prehistory.

Here in Kerr County, we live closer to the 99th meridian than the 98th. We're solidly in what Webb called the Western Plains—drier, harsher, more demanding than the counties to our east. As Webb described it, "The 98th meridian separates the Eastern Woodland from the Western Plains; it separates East Texas from West Texas." He painted a picture of traveling up the Colorado River from its mouth to its source, moving east to west through "heavily timbered and well-watered country," across level prairie, and finally into the high plains.

Take the drive from Houston to Kerrville along Interstate 10 and you'll watch this transformation unfold before your eyes. Dense, humid forests gradually give way to rolling hills, then to our familiar rocky terrain. Continue west toward Fort Stockton, and those hills surrender to the semi-arid expanse that stretches toward New Mexico. Each landscape demanded different ways of living, different ways of surviving.

When Mexico's grip on Texas was loosening in the 1830s and 1840s, Native American tribes on either side of this invisible divide had evolved into completely different societies—all because of weather patterns. The tribes living in the eastern part of the state enjoyed reliable rainfall that supported agriculture. They built permanent villages, cultivated crops, and many welcomed cooperation with newcomers.

But west of the line, our ancestors—both Native American and settlers from the rest of the world—faced a harsher reality. Resources were scarce, competition fierce. Tribes lived nomadically, following game and seasonal water sources across vast territories. Conflict wasn't just common; it was often necessary for survival. The very landscape bred warriors, not farmers. There was constant tension between different groups, and cooperation with settlers was rare. The people of the plains had learned that in a land where the sky was stingy with its gifts, you fought for what you needed.

When early Kerr County settlers arrived, they entered this western world—a place where the sky's stinginess with rain had created cultures defined by mobility, toughness, and territorial vigilance. How much of the difference between these two worlds came down to weather? Probably more than we imagine.

The peaceful agricultural tribes of East Texas and the fierce nomadic peoples of our region weren't just making different cultural choices. They were responding to fundamentally different environments, shaped by fundamentally different rainfall patterns. The weather didn't just influence their daily routines—it molded their ways of life, their social structures, their relationships with outsiders, their very understanding of how to survive in the world.

Standing in modern Kerrville, watching our own cycles of drought and occasional rain abundance, we're witnessing the same forces that shaped centuries of human drama. The sky above us carries the memory of every culture that has called this place home, every conflict fought over scarce resources, every adaptation made to survive in a beautiful but demanding land. Sometimes history falls like rain—sudden, dramatic, impossible to ignore. But more often, it works like the weather itself: quietly, persistently, shaping everything it touches until the landscape of human experience is forever changed.

Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who remembers times when months would pass between rainfalls—and now understands how those dry spells helped write the story of where we live. This column originally appeared in the Kerr County Lead May 29, 2025.

Thanks for reading. This newsletter is free, but not cheap to send. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it, or buy one of my books.  Thanks so much. (And thanks to all of you who bought books this week!)

Never miss a story from Joe. Join today for FREE.

The Story of the First Kerrville Folk Festival

Kenneth Threadgill and band at the very first
Kerrville Folk Festival, in late May and early June, 1972.
Click on any image to enlarge.

Years ago, the late Rod Kennedy gave me a remarkable document: a program from the first Texas State Arts & Crafts Fair (of which the first Kerrville Folk Festival was a part).

It is remarkable for many reasons: its words, pictures and design evoke a spirit that thrived in this place in the summer of 1972. From the welcoming letters printed in the front of the book from Governor Preston Smith, Schreiner Junior College and Preparatory School President Sam Junkin, and the first Executive Director of the Arts & Crafts Fair, Phil Davis (of the Texas Tourist Development Agency), all the way to the list of exhibitors (including my dad and an old platen printing press) – you can tell that Kerrville was making a difference for itself in the state. It's refreshing to read the program, filled with its optimism and state public-relations department text.

That first fair ran for five days, starting on a Tuesday and running through Saturday, on the campus of Schreiner Institute. Admission was $1.00 for adults and 50 cents for children. Parking was free. Rod Kennedy produced the first Kerrville Folk Festival June 1, 2, and 3 (Thursday through Saturday) at the Kerrville Municipal Auditorium, with a $2.50 per person admission. Other events were happening during the same time: Schreiner Institute offered a production of "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown," and the Hill Country Arts Foundation presented a Neil Simon comedy, "Come Blow Your Horn."

Allen Damron

The program is filled with ads for the expected restaurants and hotels – but also packed with ads for real estate. I wonder how many families came to the fair, bought property here, and made Kerrville their home.

I was 10 years old during that first fair and festival, but I remember it clearly. During the day I helped Mom and Dad at the tent where our old iron letterpress was on display (and running, printing maps of the fair), helping man the front desk in the tent. We were the first tent inside the entrance, and we printed a ton of maps right there. I sure wish I had one of those old maps.

I also remember it was blazing hot. Lady Bird Johnson attended one of those early fairs. I gave her a map.

Carolyn Hester

Phil Davis wanted to have music at the fair, so he contacted Rod Kennedy, then a music producer and radio station owner in Austin.

I remember attending the first Kerrville Folk Festival at the Kerrville Municipal Auditorium, listening to performers like Peter Yarrow, Allen Damron, Kenneth Threadgill, and Carolyn Hester. I'm afraid I didn't make it through the entire show, falling fast asleep after a hard day at the fair. Lady Bird and Lyndon Johnson attended the folk festival that evening, too, along with Darrell Royal.

A lot of folks worked hard to bring the fair to Kerrville; it was a real community effort.

Darrell Royal, Lady Bird and Lyndon Johnson

This year marks the 53rd anniversary of the Kerrville Folk Festival, and it will be quite an event. If you've never been, you ought to give it a try. Tell them Joe sent you.

Until next week, all the best.

Joe Herring Jr. is a Kerrville native who remembers how hot it was during that first festival. This column originally appeared in the Kerr County Lead May 22, 2025.

Thanks for reading. This newsletter is free, but not cheap to send. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it, or buy one of my books.  Thanks so much. (And thanks to all of you who bought books this week!)

Never miss a story from Joe. Join today for FREE.