Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Friday, January 8, 2016

Burkburnett's Historical Fuel Station


     Stumbling upon Russell Miller, Director of Burkburnett's Historical Society, I was invited to view their new static display of one of the Panhandle Oil stations. Their office is in the old depot building, and for years there sat next to it (a fortuitous happenstance) an abandoned fuel station, trashy and messy. Mr. Miller, upon retiring from his profession in the school system, began work in restoring the old station.


       The Burkburnett Historical Society owns the three buildings shown above. Pump is at right.
       (Photo taken during a very foggy morning, and so, for effect, I borrowed the background sky from another image.)


     With the assistance of generous supporters, such as Cheney Electric Company, Sean Lam, Roberta Martin (who donated the tall fuel pump), C. C. Corbin, Robert Gill, and Mike Klipp, the Burkburnett Historical Society and Mr. Martin were able to restore the old fuel station that served the community during the early 1900s. (Background sky is borrowed from another image.)


     Placing my camera against the glass, I captured a part of the exhibit that shows a desk and other accoutrements, including a domino board. They placed a spittoon alongside the chair. 


Peering through the glass on the door, one can see inside the station.


Sign above the door of the station.

Visit Burkburnett Historical Society's Facebook page.
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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.