In 1937, a chain smokin’ Texan gal decided to spend everything she had on a beer joint at the top of the Devil’s Backbone. Hell, she even built a dancehall, a Sinclair pump gas station and raised her kids and grandkids on that hill.
It’s a story for the ages and way too long to tell…. But through some sort of strange fate, this little bar survived. The Dancehall did too, but barely. Today we return this historic music venue back... to its roots. Ghosts and all.
How many places get a second chance like this?
There are plenty of ghost stories, so many stories that the area is a regular stop for paranormal aficionados. Ghost stories are an important part of the history of both Devil’s Backbone. The most famous of these stories describes a woman who walks down the road and is carrying a baby and calling out for her husband. Others say that the tavern itself is haunted, with some patrons claiming to have encountered ghostly visitors.
A honky-tonk is not a dance hall. Many of our most beloved dance halls were built by German and Czech settlers in the second half of the nineteenth century. They are often beautiful structures, originally constructed to host social clubs and other family-friendly affairs. Honky-tonks, by contrast, tend to have roots as shallow as tumbleweeds’. Few can trace their history back more than a few decades, and only a handful of stalwarts have been around for more than fifty years. In fact, a honky-tonk is seldom erected at all. It tends to spring to life when an empty filling station or abandoned store is repurposed. As such, the honky-tonk does not boast the elegant architectural qualities of a dance hall. The ceilings are low, the walls cinder block and windowless, the lighting is neon, and the dance floor, when not sticky tile or concrete, is likely made of wood salvaged from an old high school gym. Nor is a honky-tonk the focal point of civic life. It is most often found on the outskirts of town, where it serves the periphery of society. And a honky-tonk is certainly no place to take small children.
A honky-tonk is not a restaurant. The fare is typically limited to the kind you’d find at a Little League concession stand: Frito pie, nachos, nuts, and various fried or pickled items. A few places serve fine burgers from their grease-laden flattops. And you might come across passable steak (chicken-fried or grilled) on certain nights. But if you ever see blue cheese on the menu, friend, you’re not in a honky-tonk. (On the other hand, if you smell blue cheese near the men’s room, you might be.)
A honky-tonk is not a country-themed nightclub. Such country discos are widespread among the state’s big cities and were founded on the honky-tonk’s core principles—namely, booze, country music, dancing, and hooking up—but the parallels pretty much end there. For one thing, these cavernous warehouses operate almost exclusively at night and on the weekends. This runs contrary to the operating hours of a honky-tonk, which should welcome customers at least five days a week and open before folks get off work. Whereas each honky-tonk offers some sense of the owner’s personality (if only in the array of taxidermy displayed), the nightclub is a more impersonal experience.
Washington Jansson, bartender/Werewolf
Matilda Owens, owner
Demeanor: Deviant
The Deviant is a freak, ostracized from society by unique tastes or beliefs that place her outside the mainstream. Deviants are not indolent rebels or shiftless “unrecognized geniuses”; rather, they are independent thinkers who don’t quite fit in the status quo. Deviant Archetypes often feel that the world stands against them, and as such reject traditional morality. Some have bizarre tastes, preferences, and ideologies. Extremists, eccentric celebrities, and straight-up weirdoes are Deviant Archetypes.
Loci Rank 3 Resonates: Violence, music, streetwise, lust, danger, excitment