Nana Davenport Newton was an Auntie Mame sort of a woman who was born in Galveston in 1889, and then in her 40s moved to San Antonio and then to Houston. But that's not to say that she didn't like the island or that she didn't make frequent trips back here for months at a time, usually staying at the Galvez or Jean Lafitte hotels.

In the 1950s, Nana Newton would come to our neighborhood in an old but polished-up touring car, chauffeur in front, and she in the convertible-topped back seat with her enormous hat, slightly over-painted face, and her frilly parasol by her side.

She'd visit a lady friend or two, perhaps join a table for bridge, then she'd go on the prowl to find the kids in the neighborhood so she could take them in the touring car to the Star Drugs Store for ice cream.

Nana Newton was such a character, really, that she was bigger than life, and all of the kids loved her and her eccentric car.

One time she came by our house where a handful of friends and I were playing in the front yard. Her car came to a stop, and we all ran up to the back door, expecting the invitation for ice cream.

Instead she said, "Billy Cherry, when was the last time you milked a cow?" In the same breath, she answered her own question. "I'll bet the closest you've even been to a cow is that you know a couple of the Schaper boys down the island," referring to a wonderful family of dairymen.

"Hop in, kids. We're going to see Dan and Jean Kempner. You're going to have fun!"

So we all got into the touring car and off we went to the Kempners' house on the northwest corner of 25^th and Avenue O. When we got there, we went to the kitchen door and rang the bell. As I was thinking about this story, it occurred to me that I must have gone to the Kempners' home at least thirty times over the years, and I always went through the kitchen door. Everyone else I knew did, too.

Dan Kempner was the president of Merchants and Planters Compress which was at 46^thand Broadway, and was an officer and director of many of the Kempner enterprises. The Kempners had one daughter, Mary Jean, who married a New York banker named Thorne, and in the early 1950s their grandson, Daniel Kempner Thorne was born.

Dan Kempner had digestive problems, and his doctor had told him that he must drink fresh, unpasteurized cow's milk to soothe it. So he got a permit to have limited livestock in back of their Avenue O estate.

I remember chickens, a goat and, of course, cows. Four of them. And there was a lovely vegetable garden and a greenhouse where the Kempners propagated pink oleanders that, once a year, they distributed for free to their neighbors up and down Avenue O, and to their friends on Broadway and elsewhere throughout the city. When you see a pink oleander in Galveston, think of the Dan Kempners.

The houseman back in those days was Virgil Mackey, and now in his 80s, he's still the one who's in charge of the staff that includes Miss Pearlie, also past 80 and who's been there for more than 40 years, and Young Oscar, whose just past 50 and who lives in the carriage house on the premises.

So after we'd been welcomed by Mrs. Kempner, who was sitting on a couch in the south parlor, Nana Newton took us outside where the cows were. And she said to the houseman, who I'm almost positive was Mr. Mackey, "Show them how to milk old Bessie and then let them each have a pull or two."

So we lined up, and each of us took his turn on the three-legged stool. Some of us were successful, others weren't. I'll never forget what those things looked like up close or how they felt in my hands. And that's as much a reason as any why we all went away knowing that we'd leave dairy farming up to the Schaper boys.

Today the Dan Kempner home is owned by their grandson, Daniel Kempner Thorne. But other than the addition of a swimming pool and dressing rooms, and the removal of the greenhouse, everything remains the same. Even the barn and the brick cow stalls are still in the back.

As I walked in the back door the other day and greeted Miss Pearlie I said, "You still got that wonderful Chickering grand piano here?" giving her an entree to invite me play it.

Miss Pearlie said, "Billy Cherry, everything is exactly in the same place it was when you were here for the first time more than 50 years ago." And lo and behold it was, even down to the staff of servants.

I went into the front parlor, and as I did I figured I should play the first song I ever played on that piano. But just as I adjusted the piano bench, Miss Pearlie said from the kitchen, "Billy Cherry, please don't play your rendition of "Chop Sticks" again. I played "Love Is a Many Splendored Thing." It was good, but "Chop Sticks" would have been more appropriate.

Copyright 2002 - William S. Cherry

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