Cowtown’s German Accent: The History of Our Oktoberfest

Fredericksburg and New Braunfels don’t have a monopoly on Texas’ rich German culture. In fact, immigrants from the land of Deutsch had a big hand in shaping the jewel of North Texas.

by

Take a stroll through Fort Worth during the heyday of the Wild West: German music spills out of German-owned saloons where dust-covered cowboys drink German beer with German farmers.

You walk by the German-English school and pick up a German-language newspaper to read about the season’s biggest events: a masquerade ball, a singing competition, and a spring festival — all hosted by German social clubs.

Most people’s minds travel south when they think about German settlement in Texas, to Fredericksburg, Boerne, and New Braunfels. Indeed, this area was the heart of Teutonic immigration within the state, a “German Belt” that stretched from Galveston to the Hill Country. But plenty of Germans landed in North Texas as well, contributing greatly to the development of Fort Worth from its earliest decades.

While you probably won’t hear much German spoken the next time you’re walking down Main Street, the culture’s values of freedom, equality, and community — not to mention its beer and barbecue — have left an indelible mark on the Texan identity.

Meadows with the most charming flowers

The first Germans arrived here before Texas was Texas — it was Mexico. In 1831, a charismatic German of dubious reputation named Johann Friedrich Ernst brought his wife and five children to live in Stephen F. Austin’s colony. Ernst’s glowing letters to friends and family back home weren’t just passed around the dinner table, they were published in the newspapers. He painted Texas as an earthly paradise of “meadows with the most charming flowers … melons of an especial goodness” and “persimmons sweet as honey.” Every man received “a small kingdom” of land. 

“Climate like that of Sicily. The soil needs no fertilizer … No winter, almost like March in Germany. Bees, birds, and butterflies the whole winter through … Scarcely three months’ work a year. No need for money, free exercise of religion.” Taxes were virtually nonexistent, and you needed no license to hunt or fish. All that Texas lacked, said Ernst, was German industry and genius. He failed to mention that he was on the run from embezzlement charges back home — and that “Ernst” was not his real name.

But it didn’t matter; his letters lit a fire, and soon Germans began pouring through the port of Galveston. Like all immigrants, they left their homelands for better lives: to find economic opportunity, to escape narrow belief systems and overcrowding, or simply for adventure. Some were fleeing the wars (and concurrent drafts) that plagued Central Europe during the mid-1800s. They came from a land of duchies and principalities that were aggressively jostling for space on the map of Europe, like Prussia, Saxony and Alsace (Germany didn’t unify until 1871). This patchwork nature of their homeland(s) helps to account for the diversity of the German pioneers. They had different religions and dialects, even different physical features. There were Lutherans, Catholics, Methodists, Mennonites, Baptists, and Jews. Most were middle-class peasants, land-owning farmers that could afford the boat ride over. But there were also businessmen, artisans, aristocrats, and even an enclave of intellectual atheists.

Despite their differences, a shared cultural heritage helped German communities in Texas to retain their sense of a collective identity for decades. They often settled in groups of small families that recreated the tightknit social structure of their native villages. Many kept to themselves and showed little interest in assimilating, which also served to maintain their traditions.

Texas’ first foodies

Early 19th century stereotypes of German immigrants painted them as plodding, dirty, kind but slow-witted slackers that liked drinking beer and eating sausages. But as more and more Germans moved to Texas and the existing inhabitants actually met a few of them, the image shifted to one we recognize today: industrious, orderly, efficient workers that like drinking beer and eating sausages. The Germans’ cozy limestone and half-timber homes were a stark difference from the quickly raised (and drafty) log cabins most common in the state. They built houses to last, even if it took two or three years. Instead of smoking fireplaces, they made tidy stoves. They also planted a wider variety of crops than most Texans, who usually stuck to cotton and corn. Germans had fruit orchards and vegetable gardens, dairies, and smokehouses — making their meals much more exciting (and healthier) than the customary diet of cornbread and fried pork.

While Germans espoused the ideas of freedom and equality like all Americans, they were much more community-minded than the individualistic Texans. Most were opposed to slavery, which did not endear them to many of their neighbors. Germans also placed a prime value on trade skills and education. They favored a humanistic approach to learning, going beyond the standard “3 Rs” (reading, writing, and arithmetic) to include music, philosophy, history, and physical development. Music was particularly essential to their way of life, from classical music and opera to the polka and the accordion. They had this in common with the Moravians and Bohemians (aka Czechs) who also traveled to Texas in droves during the 1840s and ’50s, and the groups often settled together and even shared churches. Their combined influence is largely to thank for the Central Texas-style smoked barbecue and brewing traditions that we hold dear today.

Foreigners on the frontier

By 1847, so many Germans were living in the state that the legislature began publishing laws in German along with English. Back in the fatherland, a group of noblemen on the Rhine River founded the Society for the Protection of German Immigrants in Texas, which helped thousands to make the trip. On the eve of the Civil War in 1861, more than 20,000 Germans were living in well-established communities down south.

Immigration stopped entirely during the war, restarting soon after with renewed vigor. With the collapse of the plantation system in the former Confederacy, broad tracts of farmland were parceled out and sold as small units. Railroad companies went all-in on promotional efforts to attract settlers who would purchase and colonize their lands; their agents worked the docks in Galveston to recruit immigrants fresh off the boat. The footloose nature of existing Texans, who exhibited a high propensity for moving around, also added to the abundant amount of land up for grabs. The Germans snapped it up, and their population surged.

Between 1861 and 1878, German immigration to North Texas increased by 1,000%. Germans accounted for 2% of all newcomers to the state (6.5% came from Mexico and 89% from other states). By the end of the 1870s, almost three out of every 10 people in the American West were born in foreign countries, usually Ireland or Germany. This was the era of the cattle drives and the Chisholm Trail — and the wildest days of Fort Worth.

Germans in Cowtown

Fort Worth had always been home to a few Germans, but their numbers ballooned between 1866 and 1875. They often arrived here after stopping first in the Midwest or South Central Texas. Many were second-generation German-Americans. Others moved to isolated outposts in North Texas like Muenster and Lindsay, Teutonic islands in an Anglo-American sea. These two colonies were organized and promoted by a private company owned by the Flusche brothers. Similar towns were sponsored by the Catholic Church, but most immigration endeavors were piecemeal. While the majority of settlers continued to be farmers, Fort Worth and other cities attracted a greater proportion of skilled workers like merchants, craftsmen, innkeepers — and brewers.

Germans introduced beer to the city when a few of them built a tiny brewery “back of Samuels Avenue” sometime after the Civil War (the source is a little vague). Fort Worth’s war-weary citizens were hungry for amusement and distraction, and they flocked to the brewery for both. The small operation supplied many of the town’s busiest watering holes, two of which were owned by Germans: J. Bohart’s Bismarck Saloon and Herman Kussatz’s Tivoli Hall. Both were workingman’s bars that served fresh beer on tap to cowboys, farmers, and other rough-and-tumble types that inhabited Fort Worth in the 1870s and ’80s.

Tivoli Hall was the biggest saloon in the city and one of the most famous in all of cattle country. Advertising beer “as cold as ice itself,” Tivoli’s refrigerator had enough space to chill down 150 kegs. Guests could enjoy a free “warm lunch” like ham and beans every day at 10 a.m., a happy hour-like perk that was common in German drinking establishments. But this was no family-friendly beer garden — it was a rowdy saloon and dance hall. German musicians and raucous variety shows kept the masses entertained. 

As more Germans made their home in Fort Worth, the brewers shared the skills and secrets of their trade with their countrymen. The group soon began to dominate the local beer trade, as well as the trade in liquor, cigars, and saloons. German-owned breweries and barrooms proliferated across the city, though only a few left traces in the historical record. By 1873, Mauer & Co. brewery was operating on Rusk Street (Commerce Street), and another brewery on the east side was in the works. With the arrival of the railroad in 1876, businesses began to multiply — and living in heat-baked Texas was thirsty work. Many Germans congregated at E. H. Keuln’s saloon on Houston and First, which was right across the street from a German-owned wholesale whiskey supplier. The optimistic German Evangelical Church of North America took the opposite tack and established an outpost in the middle of Hell’s Half Acre, which unsurprisingly never prospered.

Eat, drink, and be merry

As the cattle trails closed and a new century dawned, it was clear that Germans gave much more to Fort Worth than sudsy brews: They enlivened the local culture and helped fuel the city’s social life. Gregarious and community-spirited, the Germans loved nothing more than to gather with their friends and family to relax, listen to music, and have a beer or two. Their eat-drink-and-be-merry philosophy stood in contrast to the customs of Fort Worth’s prevailing Anglo-American society, which descended largely from East Coast Puritans and Scots-Irish Calvinists — two groups not exactly known for their fun-loving lifestyles.

While the Anglos were drafting blue laws to ban heathen practices on Sunday, the Germans formed numerous organizations to host festivals and celebrations. The Como Social Club threw Christmas masquerades, and the Deutsche Verein (German Society) held fancy summer balls. The Sons of Hermann had their Maifest. The Turnverein (Gymnastic Society) attracted athletic types to its sporting events at Germania Hall, a social hub not just for the Germans but for everyone. 

Grunewald Pavilion was even busier. Situated at the intersection of Samuels Avenue and Pavilion Street, the wooden dancehall was built in 1885 by the Rosedale Streetcar Line Company to promote its new route. It had two cupolas as viewing points and was surrounded by a pretty park, the perfect setting for a beer garden. So thought Peter Grunewald, a German businessman who already operated a hotel, saloon, and restaurant in the city. He purchased the building in 1889 and turned it into the go-to destination for cookouts, cakewalks, carnivals, concerts, dances, singing festivals, and patriotic celebrations. 

Newspaper ads for events at Grunewald Pavilion promised riders that streetcars would run every 15 minutes between 1 p.m. and 1 a.m. One announcement nods to Fort Worth’s multicultural heritage: “A Mexican orchestra will furnish the music for the Scotchman’s concert and ball tonight” at the German pavilion, it says. “Ladies free.” Many ads also specify no “questionable characters” or “roughs, toughs, and hoodlums.” One journalist surmised that the dancehall had been visited by “practically the entire population of the city.” 

The same could no doubt be said for Hermann Park, another major social center and the stomping ground for the Sons of Hermann members and their friends. Perched on the banks of the Trinity River opposite the courthouse, the waterfront park grew out of a beer garden to become a prominent pleasure park in the early 1900s. Every Sunday evening, Germans would gather around tables in the open-air pavilion to play cards, sip lager, and picnic on traditional foods. Young people danced to overtures and popular music by a live orchestra. During a time when it was considered highly improper for ladies to patronize any place selling liquor or beer, German women socialized at beer gardens shoulder to shoulder with the men. Wives, unmarried women, and even children all came out to have a good time.

This weekly Sunday revelry ruffled feathers with many of the locals, who believed drinking alcohol on a church day should be illegal — and indeed it was within Fort Worth. But both Hermann Park and Grunewald Pavilion were located right outside the city limits, so the Sunday ban on drinking did not apply. For the Germans, these Sunday events weren’t about getting drunk but about getting together. They drank beer slowly while eating and talking, often nursing one stein the entire night.

Greased pigs & donkey drawers

But there was one time of the year when everybody in Fort Worth was German: Maifest. With music, dancing, and fireworks, the springtime festival functioned as a semiholiday and was rivaled only by Independence Day as the city’s biggest celebration. It was hosted by different groups at various venues through the decades, including Grunewald Pavilion and Hermann Park. The catching of a greased pig was the highlight of the earliest recorded Maifest in 1882. Soon a parade was added. Decorated floats trundled down the dusty streets, and the young May Queen rode by in a carriage. A German band played Viennese melodies, drawing people out of their homes and to the main event.  

Texans traveled from across the state to hear jolly Germans singing fatherland songs and see a “pantaletted donkey” — Maifest’s star attraction in 1891. By 1897, the schedule was stacked with all kinds of competitions: pole climbing and “hunting money in the flour pan” for boys, “striking the pot” for married women, and “hop, skip, and jump” for young men. There were also prize races for grandparents, “fat ladies,” and runners who were blindfolded. The sound of military drills filled the air, and hot air balloons rose in the sky. Crowds thrilled to the walking prowess of world-champion pedestrians, one of the era’s most popular spectator sports. While today’s Mayfest at Trinity Park no longer has greased pigs or flour pans, all the essential elements of the early festival are still there: music, dancing, and plenty of ice-cold beer.  

German echoes through the ages

German influence peaked in Fort Worth during the 1890s and early 1900s, after which emigration from Europe began to dwindle. Second- and third-generation immigrants assimilated, intermarried with other ethnicities, and came to feel more American than European. The process accelerated in 1917 when the U.S. declared war on Germany. German communities became less visible but didn’t disappear. In 1935, 3,000 Fort Worthians claimed German descent and 400 were native Germans, around 2% of the population. In the Fort Worth City Guide produced by the Federal Writers Project the same year, the author writes that “The Germans in the past have been by far the most influential foreign-born group in the city.” As late as 1937, German was the only language spoken in the local Sons of Hermann lodge, and pockets of the language still existed in small Texas communities until the 1970s. Today, census estimates indicate that more than three million Texans claim whole or part German ancestry, one-third of the state’s entire citizenry.

While Germans no longer animate Fort Worth’s social life or dominate the beer trade, their values and customs echo through the ages. Listen closely, and you can hear the German influence on Tejano music, whose players adopted the polka and made the accordion their own. You’ll taste it with your next bite of brisket, slow-smoked by German settlers to preserve leftover meats — and you’ll definitely feel it the next time you have an ice-cold Shiner Bock in your hand. Mayfest lives on as one of the city’s marquee events, and Oktoberfest (September 21-23 at Trinity Park) celebrates all things German, from keg-rolling contests to schnitzels and sausage dogs.

So, raise a stein to the hard-working German immigrants who sang, danced, and socialized their way into the story of Texas — and helped to create the Fort Worth that we know and love. Prost!  

With special thanks to Gaby Kienitz at the Fort Worth History Center