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14
Cenizo
DYNAMITE HOLDING
CONTEST – 1975
by Blair Pittman ~ Illustration by Mark Kneeskern
M
ercury was discovered
in Big Bend in the late
1890s. In the following years,
more than 20 major mines
were opened. With the mines
came dynamite for blasting
tunnels in the search for
quicksilver. The former
Waldron mine used it here, at
what is now the Villa de la
Mina, then later for develop-
ment of building sites for
houses.
I remember a cache of
dynamite, old, old dynamite
covered in glycerin droplets.
This was to be carried very
carefully to a throwing place,
where it went BOOM on
impact. This was considered
nothing but a tool, like a
hammer or pick and shovel.
Any rancher or farmer could
buy dynamite just by showing
a drivers license. A tool, that’s
all we considered dynamite.
Also, kinda like adult fire-
crackers.
A young man, Glenn
Pepper was building a resort
and living with his lovely
blond wife Donna and three
children. The new resort
became a home away from
home for some Houston
friends and me. It was a lone-
ly eight miles west to the
Lajitas Trading Post and
another eight miles east to
Study Butte. About the only
person I can think of in
between was the eccentric old
Second Quarter 2009
German
known
as
“Terlingua Paul Vonn” who
lived at the ghost town of
Terlingua three miles away.
Paul had trouble hearing
thunder, so there was no one
to complain about any loud
explosions.
For several years, with a
handful of photographers,
newsmen and movie people,
we would leave our families in
Houston on Christmas day
for the 700-mile drive to
Glenn Pepper’s resort. We
were free as could be for a
precious few days, till we had
to drive the 700 miles back to
the real world of real jobs
and real families the day after
New Year’s Eve.
As we finished our steak
dinner, Pepper invited us to
step outside on his porch. “I
have a surprise for you. It’s
nearly 12 o’clock.” We
stepped into the dark night. A
match flared, then a HISSSS.
Pepper handed me a lit stick
of dynamite. “See how long
you can hold it before it
explodes.”
I watched the fuse. Looked
pretty long but burning short-
er and shorter. With about
an inch left my friends moved
farther away from me. I
threw it as hard and as far as
I could. The dynamite landed
in the parking lot and
bounced over a rock wall.
BOOM. It wasn’t very loud.
Pepper sounded disap-
pointed. “He didn’t do very
good.” Another match flared
in the night. In that instant I
saw Glenn Pepper’s face. His
expression resembled that of
a kid eating chocolate cake.
HISSS as he handed the lit
stick of dynamite to Frank
Dobbs.
“See if you can do any
better.”
Frank had seen how far I
had let the fuse burn, so he
had an advantage. When the
fuse got to one inch, I moved
away from him. He threw it
with half an inch left, higher
than I had thrown. It went off
with a big explosion in the air.
Almost knocked us down.
Pepper had a big grin. “Good
throw, Dobbs.” Grins were
exchanged in the dark.
“Now, here is the sur-
prise,” said Pepper, as he
reached inside the door
pulling out his 30-30 rifle and
a big flashlight. He aimed the
rifle with the flashlight pick-
ing up a reflector on the hill
about 30 yards in front of us.
He explained, “The dyna-
mite cap is behind that reflec-
tor, attached to 5 gallons of
gasoline with four sticks of
dynamite taped to it.”
The rifle fired, pretty loud.
But that was nothing when
the explosion went KA-
BOOM. Fire mushroomed
toward us as well as up, up,