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by John Troesser |
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The
mix of gunpowder and the US Postal Service always guarantees a good
story. Not always a story with a happy ending, but a good story.
The time was 1936 and Texas was
celebrating its Centennial.
Ft. Worth
had hired Billy Rose and Sally Rand to entertain their folks, but
the rest of Texas was depressed.
With a capital D.
Things were tough on the border too. Times were so bad that Texas
Rangers, who traditionally passed the time making their badges from
Mexican silver pesos, started making their buttons from five-centavo
pieces.
Those Depression-era desperadoes Bonita y Clyde didn't include the
Rio Grande Valley in their area of operations, so locals bout to
be foreclosed upon had to take matters into their own hands and
shoot their own bankers.
We all know that desperate times call for desperate schemes. How
else could one explain a suitable-for-the-Marx Brothers script that
suggested launching letters to Mexico
and back (and even hoped to turn a profit).
The
story begins with an American Legion Post in McAllen,
Texas that wanted their mortgage paid off in time for dedication
ceremonies that were scheduled for July 2nd 1936. Money was tight,
and ideas were in short supply. But the Post Commander's son had
one.
The boy had two hobbies: rocketry and stamp collecting. Combining
the one unusual hobby with the more popular one, he came up with
the idea of Rocket Mail.
Rocket mail had previously been tried in Europe, but with mixed
results. You can understand France's reluctance to have anything
remotely explosive come across its border with Germany.
Having a foreign country just across the river would allow the use
of the word INTERNATIONAL to the already impressive name ROCKET
MAIL.
The son convinced his father that First Day of Issue commemorative
covers of the event could be sold to stamp collectors around the
world. At that time, stamp collecting was the most popular hobby
in the United States. Even President Roosevelt collected stamps.
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The
enterprising boy didn't miss a trick. He even designed his own triangular
Rocket Mail stamps that he sold for .50 each. In addition to that
stamp, each cover had to have a 16 cent US stamp and for those making
the return from Mexico, a 40 centavo Aero Correo stamp. Add a few
postmarks and there was hardly any room left for an address.
Even today, a letter from Reynosa,
Mexico can take three days to reach McAllen,
although the distance between the two post offices is a mere 10
miles. The Rocket Mail could claim that (at least some of) your
letter would arrive on “el otro lado” in about 10 seconds.
Official postal authorities on both sides were reluctant to participate
at first, but it was the Depression and everyone decided they could
use a good laugh. The seven-foot laminated cardboard rocket tubes
were built and (it is said) schoolchildren emptied out 600,000 Black
Cat firecrackers to fuel the fiasco (Spanish for Fiesta).
On the chosen day, dignitaries were on both sides of the International
Bridge in Hidalgo
praying that Mexico City and Washington hadn't heard about what
was about to happen. The trajectory (rocket language) was set for
1000 feet.
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Aerial view of
Hidalgo,
Rio Grande, Reynosa Bridge crossing into Mexico.
Photo courtesy Museum of South Texas History |
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The Mayor of
McAllen lit
the fuse and the First International Rocket Mail (in the Western
Hemisphere) roared up the launching skid and exploded 10 feet into
the air, turning covers and stamps into so much scorched confetti
(Spanish for burned mail). Much of this first batch was rescued
by Mexican school children who mistook the event to be some sort
of postal piñata.
After everyone calmed down and most of the letters were recovered,
a second rocket was launched that spiraled into downtown Reynosa,
sideswiped a Model T and slid up against the curb at the American
Bar where it's smoldering remains were doused with (the cheaper
brands) of Tequila.
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The
American Bar in Mexico
Photo courtesy Museum of South Texas History |
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authorities that were miffed because they couldn't attend the ceremonies
on the bridge, confiscated the 150 covers in that rocket's payload.
This was turning into more entertainment than anyone had imagined
and it looked like an international incident or a Second Mexican War
was only a rocket launch away. |
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Another
Launch and then Lunch:
Now it was Mexico's turn. Since a Mayor is a terrible thing to waste,
a much longer fuse was lit by a more expendable Reynosan. This rocket
surpassed all expectations and traveled about a mile into Texas.
Most everyone broke for lunch while others searched for the rocket.
A total of six rockets were launched that day in varying degrees of
inaccuracy. Smart bombs these weren't.
Approximately eleven hundred covers were sent into Mexico that day
and approximately nine hundred returned. All but the confiscated ones
were sold and Loyal Service Post 37 was solvent in time for their
buildings dedication.
The confiscated covers were returned a few years later and placed
in a safe deposit box in McAllen.
Time passed and finally an alert clerk noticed that the rent on the
box hadn't been paid for twenty years. The remaining covers were put
on the market for the price of five dollars each. This time there
was more interest and even the Smithsonian Institution and the US
Postal Museum bought samples. A display including photographs of the
launches can be seen at the Museum of South Texas History in Edinburg.
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Rockets
Over the Rio Reenactment, 2002
Photo courtesy Museum of South Texas History |
The
next time someone tells you "You don't need to be a rocket scientist
to mail a letter" you can entertain them with this strange and amusing
tale from South Texas.
As for the boy from McAllen
who combined his two hobbies in 1936 to save an American Legion Post,
he did go on to college and enjoyed a long career with the government
– as a genuine “rocket scientist” (not a mailman).
© John
Troesser |
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Forum
"The article by Phil Ately is great!! I would like permission
to use in advertising some books we have on the rocket mail project.
Although I wasn't even born when this took place, we have a American
Legion Post 37 member who was..." D Lipscomb, American Legion
Auxiliary Unit 37 President and Post 37 Community Relations, June
22, 1999
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Related Story:
Rocket Mail
by Clay Coppedge
One
sweltering summer afternoon in July of 1936, patrons of the U.S.
Bar in Reynosa, Mexico were nursing their beers and tequila, hiding
from the afternoon heat, when a rocket fired from the American side
of the Rio Grande River plowed into the bar under a sign that read:
"The Only Beer in Mexico." The patrons scattered, suspecting maybe
an earthquake, revolution or worse. Some may have sworn off the
hard stuff right then and there. But no one was injured... more
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Escapes, in its purpose to preserve historic, endangered and vanishing
Texas, asks that anyone wishing to share their local history
and vintage/historic photos, please contact
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