My Friend Vick(a)

April 6, 2007

Omni Hotel

San Antonio, Texas

Texas Folklore Society

Joyce Roach—The Life and Times of a Legendary Texas Lady: Beyond Sally Skull

Legendary Ladies of Texas published in 1994 by E-Heart Press and Fran Vick for the Texas Folklore Society chronicled the lives of the most extraordinary women in the state. They were rambunctious females, among them one, Sarah Jane Newman, became known in folklore as Sally Skull. I’ve written about, researched, and will write again about Our Gal Sal. But I confess that I’m more than a little tired of her and of all the others in books whose lives are legendary. Friends, they are dead as doornails. Not just a little about all of them is made-up. When you’re dead, writers can say all manner of evil against you, recreate you in someone else’s image, make you short when you were really tall, pretty when you were really ugly—or vice versa; mean and scary when you were really a nice person.

I am of the opinion that some legendary ladies ought to be researched, written about, praised or condemned while they are yet alive. We live in an electronic, technological, Burn-it-on-a-CD, Send-it-to-Cyberspace Age. And I like being first—in something. Be it therefore resolved that on the very day that one, Fran Vick, is enthroned and beatified as a Fellow, that she at the same time should become the First Legendary Lady of the 21st Century; and that this session be devoted to getting the facts correct and right in her favor so that 100 years from now, the truth be known about her.

Here to assist are family and friends to give the intimate details of her stellar self. Beginning at the present and moving backward through time to her birth is the plan. We are likely to get it closer to right.

Ellen Temple—Fran Vick: A Legend in Her Own Time

Fran is a legendary woman in all ways—especially in friendship. I am living proof that when Fran makes a friend, it’s for life. We met in Austin in 1960, while sitting in the bleachers at a University of Texas intramural softball game—Fran watching her husband fast pitch and her 3 kids, Karen, Ross and Pat play--and I watching my boyfriend field balls at shortstop. We’ve been friends for almost 50 years now. She has nurtured me through my husband’s death in Vietnam; guided me into graduate school; matched me with my new husband; godmothered our daughter; supported me in publishing, honored me and loved me, as only a woman like her with a heart as big as Texas can!

A legendary woman on the Texas and national stage, Fran has distinguished herself in her publishing career, has been a voice at the state and national level on behalf of literature and the humanities, and has supported education at all levels, especially The University of Texas at Austin.

Beginning her career in publishing as a UT undergraduate, Fran received her early editorial, proofreading and production training from Louise Barekman and Dorothy Lay of the University of Texas Official Publications in the Registrar’s Office, a publication organization that predated the establishment of The University of Texas Press. She went on to a career in teaching and then returned to publishing in the 1970s.

Fran became the leading voice on behalf of Texas books and Texas writers. She founded and was the award winning publisher of E-Heart Press and her first book was a Folklore Society publication—the beautiful “Built in Texas”. Fran was one of the founders of the Texas Book Publishers Association which was a thriving organization in the 1980s. She then co-founded and directed the University of North Texas Press in 1988. Fran actually started the press with $50,000 from UNT administration and made a return on sales of her titles. She never had to ask the University for additional subsidies, which makes her unique as a university press director. She named me and Ab Abernethy to her Editorial Board and we had a wonderful time reviewing proposed books.

Fran published hundreds of titles during her 12 years with the University of North Texas Press. She was the only press publishing poetry and Walt McDonald’s Rafting the Brazos won the National Cowboy Hall of Fame Western Heritage Award for Poetry, 1989. She took on all of the Folklore Society titles. Her titles will enrich our culture for many years to come. Books like Jean Andrews’ American Wildflower Florilegium and also The Pepper Trail; Jose Lopez Portillo y Pacheco’s They are Coming: the Conquest of Mexico ; Frank Fujita’s FOO, A Japanese American Prisoner of the Rising Sun reflect Fran’s courage and care for her titles. Publishing books is kind of like having babies, although gestation is longer. Fran has given birth to a bunch of them and nurtured them through tough markets and successful sales. Until she retired in 2000, twenty seven of her titles won awards. Many of her titles will have a lasting impact on the literary heritage of Texas and the nation.

Upon her retirement in the summer of 2000, the University of North Texas awarded Fran its Doctor of Humane Letters recognizing her influence on university publishing in the Southwest. In her hooding ceremony, Dr. Hurley quoted a letter that I wrote when I gave a gift to UNT in Fran’s honor: “The books you brought to life with courage and good humor are an amazing legacy”. They are indeed. The Frances B. Vick Series at UNT Press continues her legacy with 3 titles to date: Capt. John H.Rogers: Texas Ranger by Paul Spellman (# 1); The Alamo by Frank Thompson” (#2); Prairie Gothic: The story of a West Texas Family by John R. Erickson (#3). In 2000, The Dallas Morning News recognized Fran as one of the “The 100 Texas Women Who Made Their Mark on Texas” in the 20th Century and in a later issue, featured her story in an impressive piece in its High Profile.

In addition to her publishing, Fran’s distinguished service to Texas includes her membership on the board of Humanities Texas, the national arm of the NEH; her membership in Leadership Texas and Leadership America, programs for women leaders; her leadership in the Philosophical Society of Texas which she served as Annual Book Award Chair, bringing that Award new distinction. She is currently serving as president of the Texas Institute of Letters, which rarely honors Texas publishers as members and places her in the ranks with Frank Wardlaw, Lloyd Lyman and Bill Shearer, and she is a president elect of the Texas State Historical Association. Fran also serves on the Texas A&M University Editorial Board.

Fran’s support for the Texas Folklore Society is boundless. The first book that E-Heart Press published was a Folklore Society publication, Built in Texas edited by Ab Abernethy. Under Fran’s direction, the University of North Texas Press continues to publish the Society’s books. She has been to every meeting, written papers for its publications, supported Texas folk lore in every way that she can. Under her direction, Legendary Ladies of Texas, edited by Ab Abernethy, became UNT’s first Folklore Society Publication.

Fran’s support for the University of Texas is also legendary. She serves on the University Development Board, the College of Liberal Arts Development Council, the Advisory Board of the Graduate School of Library and Information Science, the Dallas Leadership Council for the successful We’re Texas campaign, a Lifetime Member of the Texas Exes and of the Eyes of Texas Annual Giving Club, and a member of the Texas Exes Heritage Society Advisory Board. She wrote “One Hundred Years of the ‘Eyes of Texas’ for presentation to President Larry Faulkner and for the Alumni magazine The Alcalde. Among her many gifts to The University are the Frances Brannen Vick Endowed Presidential Scholarship at the College of Liberal Arts and the Martin Palmer Scholarship in Texas History, both at the University of Texas at Austin.

Fran’s writing talent is also legendary, whether it’s an article on Texas publishing, a book introduction, or a presentation, she finds just the right words and just the right tone. Texas Women on the Cattle Trail, edited by Sara Massey, includes Fran’s chapter on Cornelia Adair. The book just won the Liz Carpenter Prize for best book on Texas Women. Fran and Jane Monday will soon have a new book on Petra Kennedy in print.

Somehow in all of her “doings” for Texas and all of its people who love literature and history, Fran has always kept her family and friends first. With 3 children, their spouses and 6 grandchildren and 4 great grandchildren, she is right in the middle of their celebrations, singing, dancing, loving every minute! How lucky I am to claim this talented, hardworking, funny and fun legendary woman as my friend. We’ve talked books together while sitting on those bleachers at the UT intramural field, published books together, served on lots of boards together—always friends—laughing and enjoying our time together.

Bob Compton—My Friend Vick(a)

I can't remember the date or the circumstances that I first met Fran Vick. Whenever, or wherever, it was such a comfortable, natural meeting that it didn't require a chiseled memory. It's as if she's always been there, almost like a member of the family. If there is a marker in my memory, it's gratitude for our long friendship.

But, as recollection serves, E-Heart Press brought us to our first handshake, and I think we had corresponded about books and reviews for a while before we had a face-to-face. And I believe our first real meeting was—had to be—at a Texas Folklore Society meeting, probably in 1981 and probably in Fredericksburg.

I tried to reinforce memory by looking through boxes of files I'd brought home after retiring from The Dallas News. To explain why Fran would ever have corresponded with me in the first place, I'll have to tell you that I became book editor of the News in 1981 after the retirement of Allen Maxwell, a man well-known to Folklore oldtimers, because, as director of the SMU Press for many years, he was involved in publishing much of the Society's collections.

Before Allen retired from The News and from SMU, the book pages had appeared each Sunday in Focus, a special section of features and analysis which I had conceived and edited beginning in 1976. So when Allen departed, I took on the duties of book editor as well. And happily, for I've loved books and—Texas books especially—since childhood, when I discovered J. Frank Dobie. And in small town Central Texas I grew up amidst folklore.

So, it was natural that I should meet Fran, for I was extremely interested in publicizing Texas writers, Texas presses, and Texas book-people. Space for books expanded and allowed greater coverage, and that was good, because in that period of 1980s there was great activity by small presses in Texas—E-Heart chief among them, but also including those operated by Bill Shearer, David Bowen, Ellen Temple, and others.

Fran has been a treasured friend ever since, and I've always been careful to make note of her books, from E-Heart through her very productive years at the University of North Texas Press as first director in 1987 until her retirement seven years ago. As much in fear as in favor.

Fran is kind in her wrath. She doesn't shout. She speaks firmly: "What happened to my book? When are you going to review it?" There weren't many calls like that, for I didn't miss many of her books. But if I did, I tried to call her before she called me. The old "Best Defense is a Good Offense Rule."

Fran was always understanding—I think. And we've never had an argument that couldn't be resolved with a laugh. She's great with laughter.

I never knew a publisher so close to writers and so determined to find the biggest audience possible for them. Fran was all over the country—at regional book gatherings, at national book conventions, wherever she could mingle with other publishers and booksellers. And she made sure that her authors got to as many signings as possible.

Joyce Roach remembers that Fran took her to New York City for a signing of her book, The Cowgirls, in the Cowgirl Hall of Fame Cafe in Greenwich Village.

"We stood 'em on their ear," said Joyce. And what better pair of Texas Cowgirls to stand a bunch of Yankees on their ear?

And when Fran wasn't rushing about the place, she was on the phone, thanking, cajoling, pleading, planning. . . .

Subject matter didn't matter—it just had to be interesting. But she loved folklore best and, as she had at E-Heart, she published annual volumes of TFS and contributed to them as well. One of her best, and one of which she is proudest, is Legendary Ladies of Texas, originally published at E-Heart and still in print.

Nothing was arbitrarily written off, whether it was peppers, wildflowers—or cemeteries.

Fran once sent me manuscript of a collection of pieces on various cemeteries across Texas which had originally appeared in The Dallas News as an occasional series and asked me if I thought it would make a book that would sell. In my view, the pieces didn't hang together just right, because they had been written by so many people in so many styles. I told Fran I thought this "might be a book for those people who liked this kind of book."

She didn't appreciate my humor and published the book, which, as did most of her books, became a success.

When she announced she was leaving North Texas, I was in disbelief. Retirement?

"What are you going to do?" I asked her. She gave me one of her copyrighted replies to what seem to be unanswerable questions: "Hell if I know!"

Believe me, she hasn't retired. Try and catch her at home—Lotsa luck! And what a home! If it was mine, I'd sit there with a pleasant drink, read and sigh with sheer pleasure at that magnificent view of the Dallas skyline a few miles to the south.

But Fran is attending to all kinds of business -- as president of a stodgy TIL that she'd love to prod into modern times, as director or board member of a satchelful of organizations, as advisor to the UNT Press, writing books, visiting friends, lunching, traveling, talking, talking, listening . . . most of all, listening.

That's what made her a great publisher. She loved to hear about things and people—familiar and obscure—that might make a good read. And her homey, Deep East Texas accent makes one feel instantly at ease, because here she is, just a plain good ole girl with no pretenses, being comfortable with who she is and proud of it.

But city slickers who think they're talking to a country girl fresh in from the sticks are making a big mistake, and they soon learn. Behind that drawl is a steel-trap mind that can outdraw anyone in a flash.

Be sure that whenever she finishes what's on her agenda now she's not going to sit down and just be happy with that grand view of the Dallas skyline for very long.

So, what she's going to take on next?

Hell if I know!

Marilyn Manning—Fran

Well, I met her in the 4th grade and the first thing she did was get me into trouble. There were five of us girls who sat toward the back of the room of forty-two kids. Our teacher, Mrs. Walley, was only twenty-two years old and had her hands full but we didn’t care. Fran made us talk so much that we five got an Unsatisfactory in Deportment that grading period and I explained to my mother it was Fran’s fault. Sadly she didn’t believe me.

Our growing up years together were full of questionable but really fun times. We lived on the edge of deep woods and would go exploring out there, find old bones, make up stories about them, build a fire, bake some potatoes in the fire and eat those dirty things. Somehow we managed not to poison ourselves or start a forest fire and burn down the town.

We also had some rope swings that required climbing way up into a tree, hauling the rope up there and then jumping onto the knot that provided a sort of seat and swinging way out over the drainage ditch. It was thrilling. Then Joe Pat saw it and maybe tried it out himself. Anyway he told on us and Bess had a running fit and put a stop to that. Almost. Now and then, of course, we were back at it.

Fran was always a leader. She led some of us girls into some nasty stinging pink Merle Norman facials which we allowed ourselves to be subjected to at her house… and as you can see, it was well worth it!

When her father purchased a little red Crosley car…well, not a real car, exactly, a tiny tin can of a thing…often she got to drive it. No license, of course. She was probably thirteen. But we totally trusted her and got in that thing with her. Rode all over the place. What were our parents thinking???

The Brannens had interesting cars. Her mother drove a pink Kaiser, a huge thing that would seat four in the back and did so most of the time. Fran and I and our boyfriends would get Bess to drive us at night around the lake and we would have a lovely time in the back seat in the dark except for the ongoing interruptions by Bess in the front seat putting some question or other to one of us. To which an immediate and satisfactory reply was expected, of course.

Her mother was our mentor and our 5th grade teacher as well. We learned a hundred strange and wonderful songs from her as well as Texas History and long division. This was the first married woman I had ever known who signed her own name instead of Mrs. Whatever Her Husband’s Name Was. This was almost heresy! Although she married and doted on the love of her life, nobody ever had to liberate Bess Brannen OR her daughter…

Fran’s house was the gathering place. I learned something about football from Fran long before we were in junior high, simply because when enough people showed up we had to play football in the yard. She would yell at me, “Marilyn, get on the line of scrimmage!” There was no line in the grass. I had no idea what scrimmage was. I failed football. But she did teach all of us what might as well have been the national anthem: The Aggie War Hymn. Which we sang often at the top of our lungs, over and over…I learned what an Aggie was from her. And when the time came for us to go to a real college football game, in our high heels and Sunday best dresses, it was at College Station where one of the military looking Aggies walked by us and said, “Beat the Hell out of Baylor, M’am”, totally shocking the four girls standing there, one of whom was a serious Baptist.

Fran got a piano and took lessons and learned to play the sheet music of the tunes of the day. She had a salon at her house before we ever had a concept of that word, where we would sing and discuss what to us were the important questions of the day, like what boys we liked and who we thought they liked and why we didn’t like that girl who had “developed” early.

Fran became the town’s young pianist. She and I were often a performing duo at the meeting of any club in town: the lions, the rotary, the jaycees, you name it, we were the program. (It was a really little town.)

A great memory of performance was when we decided that we would raise money for the Texas City Relief Fund after the huge explosion in the ‘40s. We were all of 10 or 11 years old. Fran slick-talked her mother into letting us set up a stage in the overhang leading to their front porch doorway…the main entrance to the house. We had all of our best buddies in the show. We practiced and practiced, recruited a couple of boys to help us, one to stand on a ladder and hold the spotlight (a bare bulb on an extension cord), and to open and pull the curtains (bedspreads on a clothesline), sold tickets by going door to door all over town (well, as I said, Lake Jackson wasn’t that big), and had a great turnout. We sang and acted our hearts out (we still remember the program!) and we raised $12.92. We sent the money to Andy Anderson of the Houston Press. He wrote a couple of lines in his column about us. We were famous!

Fran’s house was always the place to be. When our friend Darwin was killed in an auto accident a few days before we were to start High School, we all gathered at Fran’s to try to deal with the shock. We wept together, shared stories and essentially learned too early how we deal with death.

High School was where Fran really began to make her mark. She was elected Cheerleader every year, was an officer if not President of every club she was ever in, represented our student body in every way a high school student can, and was elected Miss Brazosport High School. It was a fitting title.

Our college years we spent in different schools but caught up with each other whenever we were at home. When her mom was diagnosed with cancer, she almost gave it up but that stalwart mother of hers insisted that her education was primary and wouldn’t let up until Fran was pursuing her degree. Wise woman. She knew what potential Fran had, and over the years she must have been looking down with pride and satisfaction to see what her baby girl has accomplished with her life.

Because we go so far back together, and have shared so much in our lives, we stood beside each other at our weddings, raised our children, shared vacations, celebrations, operations, our work, our divorces, our triumphs, our challenges, our daily lives, I feel that this woman, this virtual sister of mine, is well honored today in this group she so dearly loves. She makes the lives she touches better for knowing her. And especially mine.

Ross Vick—About My Mama and Education

Fran was always enthusiastic about education. This she got in spades from her mother, father and family of cousins and other family members who were either lifelong learners or themselves in the profession. Fran learned to be such a good teacher from her professors along the way, including Dr. Abernethy, but I surmise the greatest single influence or her care for the profession and concern for the welfare of her students was her mother Bess Brannen. There is an elementary school in Lake Jackson, Texas named in her honor and that school to this day is a consistent exemplary rated school. And Great Schools.com rates this school 9 of 10. In keeping with Brannen dogma, there’s always a little more to learn.

I had first hand knowledge of Fran’s classroom style and abilities. She was the founding Director of The English curriculum and Head of the English Department at what is now Vanguard College Preparatory School. Moreover she became Vice Headmaster, which always made things interesting. As I was an extremely late bloomer, most of what she was talking about with regard to Beowulf and Shakespeare were lost on me as my interests were in The Beatles, The Alamo, The Civil War, World War I and World War II. To help get me interested in poetry, Fran included the lyrics of Eleanor Rigby into the curriculum and to this day, when I include a lyric as wonderful as “wearing a face that keeps in a jar by the door” in one of my own compositions and the critics “don’t get it”, I smile and think of my High School English teacher. Fran was exceptional at reaching out to Gifted students. She treated them as intellectual equals and they got so much from that special acknowledgment. Those of us where were not gifted or talented much in the way of school work, she could nudge and cajole us/me into at least finishing the paper on time. From her I also learned early that “just showing up” counts for something. I graduated from Vanguard 17th in my class. There were 18 of us. Just ahead of the kid that spent most of his time in and out of drug rehab and domestic violence counseling. Mom didn’t care. She seemed ticked and proud of this struggle to get my High School diploma.

Fran had a great time in college at The University of Texas at Austin and there was never much question about where I would go to school. Darryl Royal and Earl Campbell, James Street and an all conference softball pitcher, Ross Vick Jr., were all graduates or some facsimile thereof of Texas and I wanted to be a part of that. Fran drove with me to Austin to register and based on my grades, SAT’s (860: 680 Verbal . . .) ACT’s and class raking, it was strongly suggested that I start early. So the day after I graduated from High School, I packed up my stuff and headed to Goodall Wooten Dorm. I ended up in the same room that allegedly was occupied by Charles Whitman and isn’t it ironic that Fran later published Sniper in the Tower. Had I been up there instead of Whitman, mother would have been below shouting “Nice Shot Son!”

So, I enrolled in the “flunk out” course: Freshman English. I loved that class. The professor we had in that class was a throwback to 1968 was enormously endowed, never wore any support and wore loose gauze like blouses and as she had extremely poor eyesight spent most of her day leaning over her desk squinting at her notes. Lovely. I was still 17 and not able to legally go out and drink with my roommate and his buddies. That soon changed and we began exploring the chemical limits of our liver, kidneys, brains and entire circulatory system. Having Frans low tolerance for all things alcohol, I eventually learned that the Speotzel Brewery was going to make more Shiner Bock no matter how much we drank. Fran was always very gentle with my occasional “teenage indiscretions” as she knew that nothing she could render in the form of punishment at the time would come close to the misery I would feel or was feeling “the morning after.”

To further encourage my social development, Fran suggested, I think, that Ross Jr., come to campus and the two of us should go visit the house of Beta Theta Pi, where Ross Jr., in all of his athletic glory was the founding recipient of the Ross Vick Memorial Trophy awarded to the outstanding athlete of the Beta brotherhood on the UT campus. When we got there, they were cleaning up from some kind of blow out. Based on the condition and the smell of the house, there was much recycling of alcohol in play. When dad inquired about the “outstanding athlete” trophy, he was told: “We lost it.” But by golly, I wanted to be a Beta anyway and see if I could find that darned trophy and win it too. And so my education continued. To go down hill. I flunked American History: The Puritan Ethic. We had a professor, Dean of the Department at the time, I think, who was as dry as any talcum powder I’d ever used on a pool cue. He read verbatim from his wonderful book: The Puritan Ethic, in a halting manner, so. . . that . . . we. . . could . . . get . . . the . . . essence . . . and . . . mean . . .ing. . . of ev . . . ery. . . word. Ugh. Anyway, she called to set up an appointment to “talk to this man.” And find out just what the problem was. She knew what the problem was: The class had 300 kids in it, and I disliked the subject matter and the way in which it was presented. American history is exciting and full of heroes and villains and battles and heroes and war and villains and all of that good stuff. At least that’s the way the Brannen’s taught it. And so, Fran’s visit to the dean was for naught, but it does remind me about the first time I was aware that she was fully engaged in my public education. I flunked 8th grade math. She went in to talk with the teacher about “what the problem was.” The “problem was, Missus Rickess, that your boy ain’t made himself knowed to me in class.” I’m sure Fran’s resistance to fly across the desk and throttle that poor man is still her greatest moment of restraint. That next year she and Ross Jr., along with a dozen other educators and concerned families in Waco founded Vanguard.

Thirty years later, I sit here in this esteemed company. People I have worked with, admired and tried my best to emulate in every positive way to honor Fran Vick: Legendary Lady of Texas and my mother.

Jane Wood—Fran Vick: A Writers’ Best Friend

Fran Vick is extraordinary. When I met her in 1987, she was wearing her distributor’s hat. The occasion was a book party for my first novel. The books the college ordered had all been sold before the ceremonies were to begin. This vibrant, dark-headed woman came up to me and said, “The books will be here before the speeches end.” And they were. But that morning I had no inkling that Fran would be a steadfast and loving friend through all the grace notes and the Catherine wheels of my life for the next twenty years. Nor did I know that she would breathe new life into the Train to Estelline by beautifully reprinting the trilogy.

Even the idea that a publisher and the writers she publishes can be best friends is oxymoronic. But writer after writer has assured me that when Fran becomes your publisher, she becomes your new best friend. Now let me tell you three stories that illustrate Fran’s gift of friendship and as well as her abiding interest in the grass roots history of Texas:

Once upon a time there was a man named Ed Stimpson. This man, who had been a black sharecropper during the depression, met a woman named Rachel. Using old bibles and letters, Rachel had found that her great-grandfather had been the slave owner of Mr. Stimpson’s great- grandmother, and she got in touch with him. These two people wanted their descendents to know their shared pasts. As Mr. Stimpson said, and I quote, “It was my children and her children and how we came through the passing times together, the hard times for everybody.”

Fran heard about Ed Stimpson’s book, titled My Remembers, published it, and a warm friendship was begun. Speaking of his experience with Fran, Mr. Stimpson said, “Why, it was all like a dream. I brought in pictures and pretty soon Fran and her helpers were, why we was all like a family. Fran is a right comical lady.” Then he said, “Life is sunshine and storm. With Fran the bud of friendship opens and the flowers bloom all along our pathways.”

Not only is Fran a conservator of our history, she is a risk taker who has published books few publishers would take a chance on. One such book is Boarding in the Thicket, by Wanda Landry. This is the story of railroad workers, many of them African Americans, who moved from boarding house to boarding house while working in the big thicket. This book evokes the ambience of a time when folks would sit around a dinner table and talk; it’s a book of delightful reminiscences and mouthwatering recipes.

The list of books that might have been lost, some portraying the richest part of our history is long. Another example, another story:

While reading a biography of Sam Houston, Jane Monday read a single sentence that became a catalyst for a series of books. The sentence was: “Joshua Houston drove him (Sam Houston), and Margaret (his wife) to Tennessee to Andrew Jackson’s funeral.” A woman named Madge Roberts, a direct descendant of Sam Houston, told Jane she had some letters she had inherited from Sam Houston and wondered if someone might be interested in publishing the letters. Jane told Fran about the letters and Fran said, “We’ll make it happen.” And they did. From Slave to Statesman: The Legacy of Joshua Houston, was published, and the work grew to four volumes. These books are examples of “the grass roots” history of Texas Fran has cherished and conserved.

Another hat, an invisible hat, Fran wears is that of a closet intellectual, a discerning publisher who loves poetry as well as biography, fiction as well as history. She has published gorgeous books, books too fine to simply be called “coffee table” books. Walt McDonald’s poems, Rafting the Brazos, illustrated by Charles Shaw takes one’s breath away, as does Jean Andrew’s The Pepper Trail, written and illustrated by Jean. Both Walt McDonald and Jean Andrews speak lovingly of Fran as publisher and friend.

Jane Monday is the co-editor with Fran on a book about Petra Kennedy, titled The Gift of Petra Kennedy, to be published this fall. Fran and Jane tell very funny stories about a weekend devoted to research and spent at the La Parra ranch, now a Catholic retreat of silence. They lugged their suitcases up beautifully carved and winding stairways, past a breathtaking Tiffany window to their rooms, each furnished with only a single bed built on a box and a crucifix. These two never travel lightly, nor do they invite silence. But they pressed onward, silently and breathlessly. And I am confident that the Petra book will be painstakingly researched and documented. And it will be entertaining as well.

Fran published one of my favorite books: A Booklover in Texas, by Evelyn Oppenheimer. While Fran was publishing Evelyn’s book, Evelyn was reviewing my books on National Public Radio, and we became good friends. Dub and I and Ross and Fran and Evelyn and Billie would sit around our kitchen table telling stories. One evening we were talking about Faulker when Evelyn Oppenheimer, in that great booming voice of hers, said, “William Faulkner ruined Mississippi!” Although Fran and I have always admired Faulkner, neither of us demurred. As Fran says, “Evelyn was always sure.” When Evelyn’s book was introduced at SMU, Fran and I read excerpts from it, and afterwards stood, like children, when Evelyn told us that she did not enjoy hearing excerpts read from her books. One week before her surgery for lung cancer, I called Evelyn and said, “There’s a cloud hanging over all of us, and I want us to be together.” And we were, drinking wine and telling stories in our kitchen.

Joyce Roach has experienced Fran’s friendship through the reprinting of Joyce’s book called, The Cowgirls, and the publishing of her anthology called, This Place of Memory: A Texas Prospective” This week Joyce sent an e-mail that focused on Fran’s expertise as an editor. I quote: “Every time I try to write right, try some other style, move to some other nouns, (subjects), Fran rescues me from myself.” And in her inimitable, warm West Texas style, Joyce continued: “Fran expects me to be true to myself and to my roots, just as she is true to hers . . . . I’ve never known Fran to be anybody for anyone except exactly who she is, a woman for all writing seasons completely at home in this world or any others, as long as there are books aplenty.”

Finally, I want to speak about Fran on a personal note. Since the long ago Train debut, Fran has been by my side every step of the way, providing wisdom and humor and encouragement. She and Karen were with us when the Burlington Northern gave us to train to take to Estelline for an autograph party in their civic hall, formally a gas station. She was there when we went to Anson to “The Cowboy’s Christmas Ball” to dance to the music of the Bob Wills Band. When Dutton gave me my first two-book contract, she was with me, rejoicing. When Dub and I moved to Argyle, here came the movers. And Fran. She came every day for three days to help us place furniture and to help us unpack. In our new house, we have the “Fran Vick” room with a chest of things Fran might need when she spontaneously spends the night.

When my twin sister was gravely ill in Washington, I was on the phone with Fran seeking comfort. When we brought Betty home to Texarkana to be buried, she was by my side. As Ed Stimpson would say, she is there “through the storms and the sunshine.”

I am one of many of Fran’s best friends, and I say this with great pride. She is a woman to be greatly cherished as a friend and greatly admired as a writer’s friend.

One more gift: When Fran becomes a friend, one has a claim upon her children. A part of the richness of our lives, Dub’s and mine, has been getting to know Karen, Ross and Pat and their families while listening to their “Trueheart” music ” and watching Fran in her own trueheart manner, smiling and keeping time to her children’s music.

Patrick B. Vick—Book Publishing / Body Building

It all started sometime in 1978 when I was fourteen. Mom/Fran and my uncle, Joseph Patrick Brannen, for whom I am named, took their inheritance from their father, Carl Andrew Brannen who had passed away in October of 1977, and created E-Heart Press. The way I remember, they started up the press in order to publish Carl Andrew’s World War I memoirs. The memoirs would wait many years, before being published by Texas A&M press in the mid 1990’s. This would make C.A. Brannen smile, as he was an Aggie. Nevertheless, it did not take long to get the press up and running.

In doing some research for this paper I turned to the TFS book The Family Saga and got great insight and information about Willie Frances Brannen Vick’s interest of family history and folklore. To start with, I had no idea that my great-great-grandfather, Miles Courtney, after having a son, my great grandfather Joseph Patrick Courtney, with Mattie Wood “divorced when Joseph Patrick was very young” P.32. My great-great-grandmother Mattie, “remarried and had children with this new husband” P.32. Joseph Patrick Courtney had three children, one of whom was Frances’ mother Bess. From my grandfather’s “bull” sessions with Frances, come stories about her great-grandfather, Andrew Jackson Walker, and his capture by Osage Indians. The Osage Indians let him go when he acknowledged he indeed had Indian blood in him. P.98-100. What does all this have to do with book publishing / body building you ask? It is stories like these, early in Fran’s life, that made her realize how important family history and folklore are and as such getting them published for people to read.

The first book published was a Texas Folkore Society book, Built in Texas edited by Ab Abernethy. One Built In Texas was pretty heavy; a case of BIT’s could break your back. I did not know then, or much care, for the reason we had to run these books to the post office. Obviously, we were mailing the books to the Folklore Society members, which is much more important to me now that I am a member as I very much enjoy reading the books. It was then, that we (my brother Ross and I) decided that the real reason Mom got into the publishing business was to try and make body builders out of us. We have joked many times over the years that it was a shame Mom got into the publishing business and not the ping pong ball business.

The next book E-Heart Press published was another Texas Folklore Society book, Legendary Ladies of Texas. This book was not as heavy nor as big as Built In Texas, but when weighing by the case, they seemed to be every bit as heavy. The beauty of this book was there was a hardback as well as soft cover. As you can tell by now, I am not referring to how interesting or good a read these great books are, but literally to the girth and weight of the actual book.

When Mom/Fran was hired in 1987 to start up the University of North Texas press, we (Karen, Ross and myself) all rejoiced as we thought it was the end of our hard labor. Well we thought wrong. You see Mom would call us from her University of North Texas office and need us to ship her E-Heart Press books to various customers. This happened for many years until finally all the E-Heart press books were folded into the UNT Press. We were still not clear from the heavy lifting as we would go to the various meetings around the state, the Texas Folklore Society meeting being one of them. The meetings were not always heavy lifting of books, not fun, but sometimes heavy lifting of wine, fun. It has always been fun hanging out with all the characters at these various meetings as working in the toy business, as we all did for twenty plus years, was just business with no characters only business people…as with most things business.

Aside from the body building aspects of my view of the book business, it has truly been an honor and pleasure getting to meet and know the people who my mother has published throughout the years. I have to admit I have not read all the books Mom published, but I have read many of them and have thoroughly enjoyed them. In fact I much more enjoy reading them than I do shipping them.

Karen Vick Cavasos—The Legend of the Moniker Willie Frances Brannen Vick…Or Why Our Mama Has a Boy’s First Name

Frances B. Vick was born Willie Frances Brannen on August 14, 1935 in Trinity Texas – born to two very distinct individuals, Carl Andrew Brannen and Bess Courtney Brannen. Bess, already the mother of two wonderful boys Carl Andrew and Joseph Patrick, was determined to have a daughter and as we today know, managed to do just that. Carl Andrew, whom we called Pappy, however, was just as determined that the new arrival would be a boy, to be named after his father William Jefferson Brannen, called Willie.

Sadly, Grandma Bess passed away when I was a mere 18 months old so we do not know her version of the story, but my beloved Uncle Pat often tells my brothers and I how like our grandmother our mother is – so it is not hard for me to envision Grandma Bess as being determined, opinionated, kind, funny, wise and loving. Therefore, I imagine that upon the arrival of my mother, Pappy must have acknowledged defeat in the “son” category, but managed to have his namesake wish granted by giving his new daughter the first name of Willie. Grandma Bess knew and was fond of her father-in-law and obviously believed in passing down family heritage in the naming of her children – Uncle Andy, her oldest child, was named after my grandfather, Uncle Pat was named for Grandma Bess’ father.

In my imaginings, Frances is the name Grandma Bess had chosen to call daughter, somewhat validated by Uncle Pat’s comment to me “…I cannot imagine my mother allowing Dad to name her…” Nevertheless, Grandma Bess obviously ceded the first name to Pappy early on, but must have said something along the lines of “Baby (Mom says that was Grandma Bess’ favorite “love name” for Pappy) we simply cannot call our daughter Willie, we will call her Frances” and I imagine that was that as I never heard Pappy call Mom anything but Frances – although now that I think about it, sometimes he did call her Willie Frances. I also remember Little Mother, our great-grandmother on my mother’s side, calling my Mom “Frankie”. Our Uncle Pat has added that Grandma Bess instructed both he and Uncle Andy (lost to the family in a battle in the Pacific during World War II) to call their new sibling “Baby Sister”.

However, there is another version of the “Frances” story, one which my mother relates more often than not and that is that Frances was the name of Pappy’s favorite cow, a cow so beloved that he named his only begotten daughter after that sainted bovine. Apparently to my grandfather, some cows were more like pets with which he would develop relationships by naming them – this I can confirm as I remember feeding the cows with him, his favorites at that time had names such as Sophia, Richard Burton (a bull of course) and Elizabeth Taylor. Sophia was a beautiful Black Angus and would eat feed pellets right out of your hand – she smelled so good and had long dark eyelashes and a soft muzzle that was not as slimy as some – as one might assume, I obviously get my love of animals from Pappy, and I am now officially digressing.

I suppose we will never know how it came to be that Pappy was granted the honor of naming his new baby girl – I imagine Grandma Bess had no problem with her father-in-law having a namesake amongst her children, albeit a female child and as a woman that has born children, one could suppose that, tired from hours of labor and childbirth, perhaps the moniker of Frances/Fran was just fine with Grandma Bess…..even if that name had bovine rather than Courtney/Brannen origins. I must reiterate, however, Uncle Pat’s emphatic opinion that he cannot imagine Grandma Bess allowing Pappy to name any of their children especially a daughter, but as is usually the case between Willie Frances and her older brother Joe Pat, he reminded me (again!) how wonderful life was before my mother came along and that upon her arrival everything in his happy world changed forever...therefore I am slightly discounting his opinion due to his older brother/middle child bias against certain “Baby Sister” issues.

Interestingly, in recent years Willie Frances was required to produce her actual birth certificate, I believe for DRT purposes, and found noted in the original document that her birth was recorded as a live birth of a male twin ! I wish I had been present to hear my mother explain to the records department that while she was indeed Willie Frances Brannen she was in no way male, nor was she now or had ever been a twin…..long story short, the record of my mother’s birth has now been corrected for a female single birth.

So, while no one disputes the origins of “Willie”, there will forever be some debate as to the origin of Frances – Uncle Pat even postulated that “Frances” could have been Pappy’s way of honoring his time and experiences in France as a soldier in World War I. My brother Pat, named after Uncle Pat, even wondered if Pappy had always planned his third son’s name to be Willie Francis, with an “i”, which made some sense to me as well.

All are plausible stories, but to me and my brothers, Mom being named after our great-grandfather and one of Pappy’s pet cows is our favorite “how Mom got her name” story, which means it will probably become a factual part of our family folklore already being passed down to the next generations – I think it is the thing I love most about my family on my mother’s side, how our family history is sometimes prone to certain embellishment to make a better story….not always the most accurate, but by far the most entertaining !

Joe Pat Brannen—Promise Mother

The certainties that made childhood so secure included an awareness of generational

progressions of life and death that would some day lead to eating first

table at family gatherings. Someday Andy and I would sit on the front porch

digesting while the current crop of cousins had broken up their game of ”under

the bed booger” and were eating at the second table. Such was the case when

Cousin Scottie commented on the anatomical deficiencies of Alabama Creek

home grown chickens that “aint nothing but assholes and wings.” The family

would be there, the depression would end, and there would be lots of hunting

and fishing, not much plowing or hoeing or picking. The kids would do that.

The only current worry we had was to stay out of the electric chair and grow

up to ”amount to something”.

But life did not turn out quite that way. The war came. Dad went, for the

2nd time in a quarter of a century and, except for the crippled one, my boy

cousin generation went. All others went to Houston. Scottie went ashore on

D-Day, Brannen went to Tarawa and other places, GS flew 60 missions in the

8th air force and Andy navigated a PB4Y1 for VPB 102 . Being the youngest

of the lot, I was still in flight training when it was over. Andy was the only one

who did not return.

In the summer of 1956 it became clear that mother would not live long. I was

teaching mathematics at Sam Houston and having a good time with a biological

project. During a visit with mother, she addressed the issue of what I was going

to do with the rest of my life. It was a surprise as I was already a college

professor, but never the less a discussion ensued in which she was told of my

plans to work on a PhD in the future. I brought up UT and Rice. Her response

was to reject Rice and push for an immediate move for me to get started at UT.

She slipped into third person and with ”Promise mother that you will go this

fall.” settled the issue. I was moved by her concern for my future and did as I

was forced to promise.

That fall found me with a pregnant wife, a dying mother, a teaching schedule

of 4 courses in mathematics, and a full time job studying integral equations.

Time in its passage was not kind to mother. So I found a way to visit her in

Lake Jackson. I made an effort to assure her that all was going well in UT.

Frances was there with us and Karen was crawling about. Mother sent them

away and started in with the importance of education to women. Repetition is

not necessary as the real reason for the discussion was soon apparent. It turns

out that Fran needed to complete something in order to get a degree at UT and

upon failure to do so would doubtless spend the remaining voyage of her life

in shallows and miseries, i.e. would never amount to anything. Mother slipped

into third person with ”Promise mother that you and Patty will take in Frances

until she can finish her degree.” It became clear that I had been divinely guided

to UT as a pawn on Mother’s chessboard. My guess is that she ”Promised

Mothered” Frances into doing what was necessary to get that degree as I do not

recall any plans being made, but Fran and Karen were there in the summer of

1957 and no one was surprised.

Mother died and my son Carl was born, both in February. The summer

with Frances provided a slight reprieve from the stress of the previous years. It

was a transition period. I had formulated a distinct mental separation between

education and the acquisition of knowledge. And for the first time, I began

to accept that Andy might not return. It so happened that I become aware

of a sailor who had been fished out of the Atlantic in 1945. He had a head

wound and shrapnel wounds. There was gangrene. He was comatose for 2

years, had awakened eventually and spoke a name which did not track. He

was in a hospital in Boston. The sailor did not really communicate and his

identity was still unknown. On the night of July 3rd, I dreamed that Andy was

in such a state in a hospital in New Orleans and that I should go get him. The

following day, I started out but turned north to where I first flew while in the

navy. In the light of day, logic did not support the dream. Excepting a funeral

and a few trips to see mother, that was the only day off I had for about 4 years;

but by then I did know the difference between education and the acquisition of

knowledge.

Completing Fran’s degree was not the first time ”Promise Mother” had been

used on me. She blamed Andy’s loss on flying. In 1947, I was still in flight

training with the navy and was as well set as a 19 year old could be. But

every time I saw her, it was ”son you’re going to kill yourself” which eventually

turned into ”Promise mother you will leave the navy and go back to school.”.

Her pain was great enough that finally I did just that. I am just now getting

over having left doing what I loved. Her name is N914XS. My giving up flying

didn’t help mother all that much, but nothing could. She pulled herself together

long enough to support Fran through high school and almost the university.

The rapport between Andy and his mother was so marvelous that I do not

believe she ever had to ”Promise Mother” him. She never recovered from Andy’s

loss and even though she was almost terminally depressed she did ”amount to

something.” The Bess Brannen school is submitted.

Dad lived long enough to know his grandkids and was fortunate enough to

spend his last 18 months with Fran’s family in Waco. Shortly before his death,

he told me that those months had been among the best of his life. He never

“promise fathered” me but when I told him I had a job teaching mathematics

at Sam he did ask, after some thought, if I thought I could work the problems.

His confidence was reassuring. He was the easiest man to be around I have ever

known. He died some 20 years after mother.

Fran and I ran the cattle for a time under the E-Heart brand but it became

a trial as she was in Waco, teaching at Vanguard, and I had taken a slot in

Europe. We sold the cows and then talked about what we would do with

the money. Neither of us needed it and Fran happened to mention that she

was interested in publishing. My non academic years had taught me the value

of hands on experience toward “amounting to something” and my immediate

reaction concerned her continuing education. And so we put the money into a

partnership called E-Heart Press with me as super silent partner. She did well

enough with that to begin publishing for the Folklore crowd. She moved from

E-Heart to North Texas. You know the rest. She is beginning to “amount to

something.”