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House in New Ulm THE TEXAS A Journal of Free Voices A Window to the South Dec. 13, 1974 50e 6.erman Round Top East of Pflugerville and north of south of Dimebox and west of Industry, the Hobbits are alive and well. Most folks who read Tolkien’s trilogy, The Lord of the Rings, think it’s a fairy tale, a myth. That’s just on account of they don’t know German Texas. The Hobbits have all grown to be around six feet tall and they hide their furry feet in cowboy boots, but elsewise they haven’t changed much since Bilbo Baggins’ birthday party. They are still peaceful, pipe-puffing farmers who drink beer all day, are shy with strangers, and beverage in German Texas bars is lead lives of profound contentment because that’s all German Texans drink. Some folks hold that German Texans suckle beer from their mothers’ teats. They may not be far wrong. In German Texas, a good papa who has had a suitor ask for his daughter’s hand will the homeless and the lonely drink themselves into sodden oblivion. They are cheerful, down-home community centers. People bring their children along and they gossip, exchange crop information, make business arrangements, and engage in political and philosophical discussion. In general, the life-flow of the community is carried on in bars. Most German Texas bars are not bars at all, but other places of commerce where beer is served, such as Zapp’s Store in Walhalla, Albert’s Store in Waldeck, or Weishuhn’s Garage in Warrenton. The reason beer is the only alcoholic served German Texas reminds some people of Wisconsin dairy country, only with more folkways, others of Pennsylvania Dutch country before it was overrun by chichi and fake folksiness. But German Texas is really the Shire with a twang. LIFE IN German Texas is about semi-fraught with excitement. Last summer they had a movie come to Round Top \(which has a pop. of 94 if you believe the sign on the north side of town and a pop. of 104 according to the sign on the east store and everyone came. It was a 20-minute feature about safety belts. Everyone felt that 20 minutes was about long enough for culture and afterward they all repaired to Birkelbach’s Cafe to discuss the finer points of cinematography. Sometimes, for high adventure, folks go over to La Grange, the local metropolis mats they got in front of the doors at the grocery store that make the doors open automatic when you step on the mats. But usually there’re enough frisks and jollifications around Round Top, Nechanitz, Waldeck, and Walhalla to keep everyone at home. First place, there’re the local bars. Bars in German Texas are not dark dives where attempt to ascertain from the young man’s friends if he is a suitable person. “Does he drink?” the papa will inquire. “No, sir, not a drop,” report his friends, despite the fact that all parties are aware that the young man puts away a case of beer a day. Drinking beer is not considered drinking. The point is that the young man does not drink whiskey. Except at Christmas. German Texans traditionally get royally smashed on whiskey once a year Christmas Eve. It is rather difficult to acquire a reputation as a heavy beer drinker in this milieu, but there are a few drinking feats still honored in the telling at the back tables of general stores. One concerns the day that Rosa Lee and Delphine Hinze and two friends stuffed 300 pounds of sausage while drinking seven cases of beer. The outside world is a matter of .4.4010141q.,