The Spark — Bones of Texas

The Spark by Dustin Rice

We were on our way home. The date that started us down this road was one year ago. This was our longest road trip and we were nearing the end. After four days and nearly two thousand miles across west and central Texas, we were also really worn out. We had no idea that this last stop on this last day of our first marathon trip would send us down a different path.

We started out with the intention of making a photographic documentary of the decline of small-town Texas. That was why we went to Fort McKavett. Once part of a chain of forts guarding the frontier, it became a town after it outlived its military needs. We were there to shoot a few photos and get back on the road as soon as possible, so we decided to split up and meet back up at the gift shop in an hour.

The fort is spread over many acres and the views are stunning. It sits on top of a hhill, with limestone buildings framing the former parade ground. The former barracks was once the longest building west of the Mississippi. Taking in the stone against the sky, the sprawling ruins, the history of the fort just grabs you and pulls you in. This was what our project was made for. I was particularly drawn to the tallest building, which reminded me of a crumbled castle. How could this be Texas? How had I never seen this before? I laid down, sprawled out in the grass and shot from the perspective of an animal. Before I could blink, it seemed, it was time to wrap up. So I made my way to the gift shop, figuring I would get a t-shirt and get home. It was there, however, that our project changed.

A tour guide was passing time in the shop. He was curious about why we were at the fort. We explained our project and he said he had a story that we might find interesting. The building I was so enraptured with, the tall one with the great chimneys rising like castle spires? That used to be the officer’s quarters. It then became a hotel when Fort McKavett became a town in the 1870s. It was a hotel for almost 70 years, until one fateful day. On that day, a commotion roused the sleepy town and everyone, including hotel staff and guests alike, took off for the source of the disturbance—the former mess hall. Converted to a town meeting hall, it housed the best radio in the county. That afternoon, a newsman broke in to tell of a bombing halfway around the world.

It was just then that someone noticed smoke coming from the hotel. In their haste to leave, someone had left a fire unattended. The old quarters were still heated by fireplace and sparks had caught the ancient spruce flooring. It didn’t take long for the fire to spread; it was out of control before anyone noticed. There was no hope of saving it. It was December 7, 1941.

I wondered: How many other coincidences of history were there in Texas that haven’t been heard? What other stories lay in the ruins we were photographing? That was when we resolved to capture not just photos of the past, but also the stories that could bring these places back to life. The coincidental, the marginalized, and the forgotten histories of Texas were our new objective. Suddenly, we couldn’t wait to get back on the road.

flooring. It didn’t take long for the fire to spread; it was out of control before anyone noticed. There was no hope of saving it. It was December 7, 1941.