THE IMPORTANCE OF THE KREBS FAMILY OF PASCAGOULA BAY

Excerpt from “Alabama’s  Forgotten Settlers: Notes On The Spanish Mobile District, 1780-1813” by Jack D.L. Holmes published in the Alabama Historical Quarterly, Summer 1971, pages 93-95.

 In 1722 an English ship captain named Ross found cotton and a gin on a Pascagoula farm belonging to Hugo Ernestus Krebs, a native of Moselle’s town of Neumagen in Germany. He left fourteen grown children who settled in the Mobile District, particularly in the western portions near the Pascagoulas and Singing River around Kreb’s Lake. The farm house was still standing in 1906, at which time it was said to be 175 years old. As in many houses along the Gulf Coast, it was constructed of heavy cypress lumber which was in excellent condition almost two centuries after the house was built. (J. Hanno Deiler, THE SETTLEMENT OF THE GERMAN COAST OF LOUISIANA AND THE CREOLES OF GERMAN DESCENT (Philadelphia, 1909)  In the census rosters for the Mobile District the name of Krebs or its Spanish equivalent of Kreps appears in the person of Augustin Krebs, who lived at Pascagoula with his wife, children and slaves.(Favrot, 1785 Census of the Mobile District, Mobile, January 1, 1786, Archive General de las Indias, Papeles de Cuba, legajo 2361) Francis Krebs asked the government for a title to Round Island in November, 1783, and the land grant was approved. This 43-year-old settler in 1786 was married to a 40-year-old wife, had two children, three mulatto slaves, and three Negro slaves working their two plantations on which they raised corn.(Mobile Probate Court Records, Translated Spanish Records, I, 23-25, 1785 Census of the Mobile District) Hugo’s son of the same name was married to Luisa LeFlau and lived on Royal Street in Mobile with his daughter Maria.(Ibid; Mobile Probate Court Records, Translated Spanish Records, I, 109-110, 130-131, 216; Mobile Church Records, folio 102.) Joseph Krebs was 44 in 1786; he and his 23-year-old wife lived on a plantation with their two children, five mulatto and six Negro slaves and produced corn.(Favrot, 1785 Census of Mobile District) Margarita Krebs, who was probably Hugo, Jr.’s widow in 1796, rented her house to the commandant of Mobile for ten dollars a month. (She rented the house from June 1, 1794, until September 30, 1796, Pay Records(asiento) , Archivo General las Indias, Papeles de Cuba, legajo 538-A) Maria Krebs, the widow of Hugo,Sr., lived in Mobile in 1786 at the age of fifty. She had four children and eighteen slaves on her corn-producing plantation.(Favrot, 1785 Census) Mary Josephine (Juana) Krebs was the widow of Mobile militia commander Antonio de Narbonne. She died on her plantation, located on the American side of the Southern Boundary Line, on October 14, 1802, at the age of fifty-seven. She had various lots within the town of Mobile.(Mobile Church and Probate Records)

The Krebs family were fiercely loyal to Spain, apparently because the Spanish government provided them with protection and, in one case, when Joseph Krebs and twelve other Pascagoulas settlers complained against the Indians killing livestock while on the road to New Orleans, the Spanish government provided the Indians with rations to prevent the practice.(Petition of Joseph Krebs, et al., to Spanish Governor and Intendent-general(Carondelet), Pascagoulas, June 15, 1792; and Manuel de Lanzos to Carondelet, Mobile, August 1, 1792, both in Bancroft Library(Berkeley), Louisiana Collection, Box 4, Folder 391)

From the GULF STATES GUIDE 1956-1957 edition

Page 66, PASCAGOULA , MISSISSIPPI

“On the Singing River”

In 1717, only a few years after Bienville brought French colonists to the Gulf Coast, Joseph Simon de la Pointe settled on the site of present-day Pascagoula and built the structure later known as Fort Krebs (Old Spanish Fort). This is the oldest residential building, still standing, in the Mississippi Valley. In 1721, Madame Chaumont sent colonists and slaves to the vicinity. In 1771 Franz von Krebs had invented and put into use at Pascagoula the world’s first roller-type cotton gin- well before Eli Whitney’s roller gin.

http://robertoreg.blogspot.com

Here's the unedited version of my story from the 2013 JANUARY/FEBRUARY issue of  PANAMA CITY LIVING magazine

THE WAYSIDE PARK
by Robert RegisterOne afternoon after school my Daddy came home early from work and asked me this question,
"Bob, how'd you like to go to the picture show with me tonight?"

"Yes,sir,Daddy!" I exclaimed.

"Well, get your toothbrush. Tell Mommy to pack you some warm clothes and bring some books and toys to keep you busy."

"To go to the picture show?" I asked.

"We're going to the Martin Theatre in Panama City, son."

"Hot dog! So we're not coming home tonight?"

"No, Bob, we'll be staying at the Dixie Sherman Hotel in downtown Panama City tonight."

"What about school tomorrow?"

"Tell Ms. Odum you were sick."

"Daddy, won't that be telling a story?"

"You're sick, aren't you?"

"No, sir."

"Aw, I bet you're sick. Sick of school."

"Oh boy!" I ran down the hall screaming, "Mommy, Mommy, Daddy's taking me to the beach!"

There is no doubt in my mind that on that winter afternoon in 1958 I was the happiest eight year old boy in Alabama. Even after over 50 years, the memories are so sweet that they bring tears of joy to my eyes. My most vivid childhood memories are of my father, Earl Register. He was loud and he was strong and he loved his little boy. He'll always be my best buddy. Neither time nor the unspeakable tragedy of his death, nor anything else can take that man's love away from me.

That is my inheritance. (Thank you, Daddy, I love you.)

When it came to going to the beach, it didn't take me long to pack my satchel.
Mommy took care of my clothing and I gathered up Dr. Zim's Insect Book,
my color crayons, my tablet and my shovel.

I've always been ready to get sand in my shoes!

My mother, Kate, hugged my neck in the driveway and told me to "be good" and next thing you know we're heading for Panama City. Our house in Dothan was on Gaines Street and it was located one door down from the intersection with South Oates which was U.S. 231 South, the Panama City Highway. Being eight-years old, I was very concerned about getting to the beach as quickly as possible so I was a little worried when Daddy hung a quick left onto the Hodgesville Highway.

"Hey, Daddy. Where are we going?"

"To P.C., son. Why?"

"But this ain't the road to Panama City."

"What have I told you about saying the word 'ain't'?"

"I'm sorry. But this isn't the way to Panama City."

"Sure it is. Hodgesville is due south of town and from there we can cut over to Graceville or maybe Campbellton or maybe even Grangerburg."

"Daddy, why do you always go a different way every time you go somewhere? You even do it when we drive over to Grandma's house and it's just across town."

"Bob, I'm not like a cow. I don't go down the same trail back to the barn every evening."

"I just don't want us to be late. What time is it, anyway?"

"Confucius say, 'He who work by the hands of a clock will always be a hand.' "

Daddy had already handed me a strongly worded explanation of that little saying before, so I decided to climb over into the back seat of the company car and take a nap.

The next thing I knew Daddy was yelling, "Wake up, Bob. We're about to cross the Lynn Haven Bridge!"

I loved Lynn Haven with its pink houses and views of North Bay.

"Are we stopping by Aunt Estelle's house?" I asked.

"Nope. We're heading straight for downtown. We'll check in and then eat supper at Angelo's."

To this day, I always think of Daddy's Aunt Estelle whenever I eat fried scallops. That woman could cook the steam out of a mess of scallops. Every time we went to Aunt Estelle's house in Lynn Haven, she fried scallops. If she didn't have any, she'd send out for some.

The last time I saw Aunt Estelle was in the late 70s at the insane asylum at Chattahoochee.
Old age had caught up with her and she didn't know where she was from the man in the moon, but she remembered me though. She told me,"Bob, let me go get out of these clothes and put on my apron and I'll fry you up some scallops." That's the last thing Aunt Estelle said to me as the nurse led her back to the ward.

I never saw her again.

Daddy and I checked into a great room on the top floor of the Dixie Sherman.
That hotel was Panama City's tallest building and it wasn't a skyscraper but as far as Bob Register was concerned, we had a penthouse suite in the Empire State Building.



image courtesy ofhttp://www.beaconlearningcenter.com/weblessons/bayhistory/bhis29.htm

I turned on the TV and opened the curtains so I could see the sun going down over St. Andrews Bay.

"Get away from that window and get ready for supper, son. Go wash your face and hands. We're going to Angelo's."

It didn't take me long to follow directions. I laced up my paratrooper's boots and I was ready for action. Everything we needed was right there around the block from the Dixie Sherman. Restaurants, movie theatres, newstands, soda fountains- downtown Panama City had it all.

Soon we were seated at a shiny formica table beside a plate glass window inside Angelo's Steak Pit. We watched the traffic and the people on the sidewalk as we waited for our steaks. Angelo Butchikas was the owner and he knew Daddy real well because Panama City was on Earl's territory route with Goodrich. My Daddy was one of Mr. Angelo's favorite customers.

When we were through eating, Mr. Angelo came to our table. He treated us like we were royalty. I really liked him a lot.

"How was your steak, Bob?" he asked.

"Real good, Mr. Angelo," I replied.

"I noticed that you didn't touch your black olives."

"I eat green olives, but I don't like black olives."

"Please, Bob, try one of these," said Mr. Angelo.

"Yes, sir."

I tried one of Mr. Angelo's ripe olives. It tasted real strong but it went down all right. Just like eating fried bay scallops reminds me of Aunt Estelle, black olives always remind me of the nice man who had the great steak house in downtown Panama City, Angelo Butchikas.
& many times, when I try something new, I think of Mr. Angelo and his winning smile.

After Daddy paid our check, we walked down Harrison Avenue to the Martin Theatre. We took our seats and sat down to watch Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas in what was probably the most exciting Western filmed up to that time, "Gunfight at the O.K. Corral."



image courtesy ofhttp://www.panamacitydowntown.com/play.php



image courtesy of http://www.martintheatre.com/history.html

It may have been a great movie but it was too long for this little eight-year old from Dothan. I fell asleep but I didn't miss the good part. All that gunfire at the end woke me up so even though I felt guilty and disappointed for falling asleep and missing the movie, I was sure happy about seeing that gunfight at the end.

When I woke up in the morning, Daddy had already gone to work. The night before he'd told me not to worry, that he would leave early and not wake me up. He told me to hang around the room, draw and color and watch TV so I did. I stared out the window at the beautiful bay. I watched a little TV. I drew insects out of my Dr. Zim book and colored cartoons I copied out of the News-Herald. Before noon Daddy was back and we were checking out of the hotel.

Now came the good part. We were going to Panama City Beach!

It was raining cats and dogs plus it was freezing but that didn't matter to us. We were heading for the beach! As we drove over Hathaway Bridge the weather began to break and the rain slacked up a little, but it was still bitter cold. I had on a couple of sweaters, my windbreaker and my toboggan. [Yankees call them "stocking caps"]

Panama City Beach was a ghost town. Nothing was open except a little grocery store across from Wayside Park. There were no cars on Front Beach Road. No lights were on in any of the motels or in any of the other businesses and not a soul was down toward the Y at the Wayside Park. We had the beach to ourselves. Miles and miles of snow-white dunes & crashing waves abandoned for Bob & Earl's day at the beach.

At Wayside Park, I jumped out of the car and ran straight for the sand dunes. The sand around the concrete foundations for the picnic tables were riddled with ghost crab dens and I immediately began to terrorize those little critters. Down by the water we found plenty of big cockle shells that the storm had washed up on the beach. When we got tired of picking up shells, Daddy chased me down the beach so far that I collapsed in the sand from fatigue. We laughed and walked back to the picnic tables to seek shelter from a fresh rain cloud blowing in from the Gulf.

We sat silently on top of the picnic table & watched the storm come in.

Daddy said, "Son, God knows this is the prettiest beach on the face of the Earth."

"Well, Daddy, you ought to know. You saw lots of different beaches during the war."

"Some of the best. The islands of the Caribbean, the coast of Brazil, North Africa, the islands of the Mediterranean, the French Riviera, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily and the Adriatic Coast.
But I still like Panama City best."

Years later, when I was first out of college, I went back to Panama City Beach for a weekend with our family. Daddy was a little mad at me because I'd showed up a day late(blame Tuscaloosa for that), but he forgave me.
(He always forgave us children, but he never forgot.)

At night, Daddy and I buried a light pole in the sand at the edge of the surf behind the Admiral Imperial. This light attracted skates & rays to the shore and we celebrated the excitement of resting our lawn chairs in sting-ray infested waters by toasting each other.

We were having a lot of fun when Daddy made a very serious statement.

He said,"Bob, you've always obeyed me with the exception of three times.
THREE TIMES YOU WENT AGAINST ME!"silence

I was scared to death.

Believe it or not, I was speechless. (quite an accomplishment for someone who's Cloverdale neighborhood nickname was "LUNGZZZ" )"Three times you went against my advice & each time you were right."

"I'm sorry, Daddy, but what times are you talking about?"

"Three times. When you changed your major;
when you dropped out of ROTC;
& when you let your hair grow out.
Three times you went against me and every time you were right.
I was wrong."

OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!I had no idea this would be my last conversation with my father but I'm glad it happened at the beach.

Panama City Beach always brings back memories of my Daddy.

For that reason alone,
Bay County, Florida,
will always be THE HOME OF THE WORLD'S MOST BEAUTIFUL BEACHES.

WILLIAM A. SMITH painting CALVERT NEGOTIATING WITH THE INDIANS in his Pineville, Pennsylvania studio, circa. 1967.

Silvio A. Bedini, "The Survey of the Federal Territory: Andrew Ellicott and Benjamin Banneker," 76-95.
http://www.historydc.org/media/publications/contents.aspx#spring1991

From the July 8, 2001 WASHINGTON POST

RESTORED MURAL SETTLES AT ST. MARY'S COLLEGE

by Nancy Trejos

They tell the story of Maryland's founding -- an artistic ode to the Ark and the Dove landing on the shores near what became St. Mary's City and Leonard Calvert negotiating a truce with native Indians.

William A. Smith began to create the mural and its two adjoining panels under a commission from the state of Maryland in 1966. Twenty years later, an artist hired to renovate the work made alterations without consulting Smith -- it was a touch up that touched off a controversy about the right of artists to decide how their work is preserved.

Now, much of the unwanted renovations have been undone and parts of the mural are newly restored. And 10 days ago, the Maryland Transportation Authority presented two of them to St. Mary's College of Maryland.

"My father died in 1989 without knowing what would become of his work," William Smith's daughter Kathlin told an audience of her relatives and state and local leaders at the presentation ceremony. "Today, I think [my father] would be relieved to see that these panels have been salvaged."

Two pieces of the mural -- titled "Lord Calvert's Negotiating with Native Americans" and "Ark and Dove" -- will permanently reside at the college's Kent Hall. They previously hung at the Maryland House travelers rest stop on Interstate 95 north of Baltimore. Two other sections will arrive after their restoration is completed.

St. Mary's College President Jane Margaret O'Brien said the presence of the mural will further cement thecollege's connection to the city's history.

St. Mary's City is a fitting place for the mural and its adjoining parts, O'Brien said, because it was once Maryland's capital.

"To have murals depicting the founding itself is very meaningful," O'Brien said. "Our values derive from the place we inherit, which was founded for religious toleration. The principles of toleration, the separation of church and state, and representative government, we believe, inspire our students and faculty and alums."

The mural's story is as dramatic as the history that it depicts.

William Smith was born in Toledo. He took up art early, exhibiting his first work at age 13. He became known for his drawings, watercolors and oil paintings. His 1961 portrait of poet Carl Sandburg is on display at the National Portrait Gallery. He also designed 10 postage stamps.

But the Maryland mural was probably his largest work, at least in size. The mural and its panels were eventually to tell the story of the state's beginnings in 1634 in more than 1,000 square feet.

Smith painstakingly researched the history of his subjects for six months before picking up a paintbrush. His goal was to make the images as realistic as possible.

It wasn't easy because there were no available images of Leonard Calvert, the mural's main character. So Smith had to improvise. He based Leonard Calvert's features on those of his brother Cecil, whose portrait Smith found in other sources.

He visited historical sites. He studied models of the Ark and the Dove, the ships that brought the first Europeans to Maryland. He pored over primary sources, such as the diary of the Rev. Andrew White, a Jesuit missionary who sailed from England on the Ark and the Dove. He made relatives and friends model for him in costumes so that he could base his drawings on real figures.

Obtaining a large enough canvas was a feat in and of itself. He finally found one in Belgium. It took 10 people to carry the 100- foot-long canvas to Smith's home in a converted barn in Pineville, Pa.

Once the canvas arrived, he had to build a studio big enough for it. So, he contracted the construction of a cinder block studio, with glass on the north side to admit natural light. "My father did not like to work with artificial light," said Kathlin Smith, who now lives in Washington.

Painting the mural became a full-time job. He rarely took a day off, his daughter said, and worked straight through Christmas 1967.

The following year, Smith finished the mural. He traveled with it to the Maryland House and oversaw its installation. "I can only imagine the mixed emotions he must have had on the way home, his monumental work complete," his daughter said.

There it hung for nearly 20 years. But in 1987, Maryland House underwent a renovation. The building's restaurant was taken over by Marriott. The company hired an artist to renovate the mural and panels. The artist later acknowledged that he painted over about half of the mural and cut pieces from it.

"It was not in the character of my father's work," Kathlin Smith said.

The damage cost an estimated $400,000 to fix. The changes reduced the value of the work from $500,000 to $70,000, according to appraisals made at that time.

William Smith was devastated.

Kathlin Smith recalls her father's reaction when he saw the revised mural. "He came out and his face was white as a sheet," she said. "He was in shock."

At that time there was little to prevent anyone from altering a work of art.

"In 1986, we were not as careful about the significance of public art," O'Brien said.

The story of Smith's mural is often used to illustrate the necessity of the Visual Artists Rights Act, which empowers artists to protect their works from mutilation or inaccurate attribution. But the law, passed in 1990, has not been a complete remedy to the dangers of displaying art publicly, according to the National Endowment for the Arts.

The state legislature and the Maryland Transportation Authority eventually decided to restore Smith's work, hiring a new curator who has worked on the project for years.

"I think it's wonderful that we are embracing our history and our artistic history as well," said Secretary of Transportation and Maryland Transportation Authority Chairman John Porcari, who presented the college with the mural and a plaque from the governor's office.

Kathlin Smith said she was proud of the finished product. The years since the mural was damaged, she said, "have been a difficult emotional journey for our family." Now, she said, they think the mural has a safe home.

Copyright The Washington Post Company Jul 8, 2001

This was a surprise for me. I'm working on preserving this large set of murals painted by William A. Smith here in Maryland in 1968. Tonight I found out that Smith was one of the first fine artists to design a postage stamp in 1972 and the stamp he designed was for SIDNEY LANIER. It was place on sale in Macon on Feb. 3, 1972. All my old friends from DEAR LANIER should appreciate that. http://www.michenermuseum.org/bucksartists/artist.php?artist=256&image=660

FROM http://www.solowey.com/Exhibitions/SmithBio.html

WILLIAM A. SMITH (1918-1989)

Born in Toledo, Ohio in 1918, Bill Smith first studied under the painter Theodore Keane. At the age of 13, he began to exhibit his work in serious competitions. The following year he was employed as a sketch artist by the Scripps-Howard Newspapers to cover the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics, and later he worked for the San Francisco Examiner sketching murder trials. The same year, Smith was accepted as the youngest member of the National Academy of Design. At the age of 19, he moved to Manhattan where he quickly found success as a freelance illustrator for magazines such as The Saturday Evening Post, Good Housekeeping and McCall’s. He also continued his easel work which attracted the notice of collectors and art directors alike.

To learn further about Chinese art, history and language, during World War II, Smith "consented to be recruited" for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and was sent to China for the duration of the war. There he traveled clandestinely throughout the country and drew a wide variety of subjects along the way. He also made lasting friendships with the country’s greatest artists. He traveled through Asia and Africa on his return from the war, laying the groundwork for his globe trotting travels the rest of his life. Among other journeys, Smith lectured at the Academy of Fine Arts in Athens in 1954; Manila, 1955; Warsaw, 1958. He was one of the first artists sent to Russia under the Cultural Exchange Agreement in 1958.

Introduced to Bucks County by his friends George Nakashima and Pearl Buck (for whom he illustrated five children’s book), Smith moved to Pineville, PA in 1956. He converted a three story barn into his home and maintained his studio there. Over the years, Smith was close friends with a variety of artists, but he shared a special relationship with the poet Carl Sandburg, who often visited the Smith home. Smith’s striking portrait of Sandburg is now in the collection of the National Portrait Gallery and another Smith portrait of the poet was immortalized on a United States Postage stamp. Smith created ten award-winning stamps including a portrait of Sidney Lanier and a four stamp series on the Boston Tea Party.

In 1968, Smith executed a nine panel historical mural for the State of Maryland. The same year he began a five year stint as vice president on the board of directors of Pearl S. Buck’s Welcome House. Smith was a leader of a wide range of artist associations including President of the American Watercolor Society and President of the American delegation to the International Association of Art. His work won a variety of awards including the Winslow Homer Memorial Prize, the Postal Commemorative Society Prize and the American Watercolor Society’s Gold, Silver, Bronze and Stuart prizes. Smith’s work is represented in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Library of Congress, Toledo Museum of Art, and the James Michener Art Museum.

My Letter to The Editor in THE AEGIS

Inbox

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Robert Register robertoreg@gmail.com	1:19 PM (19 hours ago)
to kim

Our local paper, The Harford County AEGIS, published my Letter to The Editor, concerning their article about William A. Smith's MARYLAND HOUSE MURALS which was picked up by the Associated Press.http://www.baltimoresun.com/explore/harford/opinion-talk/letter-editor/ph-ag-letter-register-0926-20120925,0,6188326.story

kim smith	1:36 PM (18 hours ago)
to Kathlin, Kathlin, me

Wow!  Thank you! We have been in touch with the National Portrait Gallery, and though they love the murals (my father's portrait of Carl Sandburg is already there) they only have portraits done from life, or during the lifetime of the subject.  The curator has suggested the Maryland Historical Society and anther organization which slips my mind at this moment. Best to you, Kim Smith Hi, Robert, I'd like to chime in and add my thanks as well. It is heartening to know that people care about the murals. The MTA seems open to suggestions from the family regarding a home for the murals -- the State Archives and Maryland Historical Society are two places we may pursue. We are so grateful to you for helping bring this issue into the public eye. Best, Kathlin