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Thurber
My wife and I are driving along a bumpy, gravel, unmarked backroad, somewhere in northwest Texas, hunting for a ghost town called Proffitt. “It should be right here,” we say to one another, looking at the GPS, which is utterly useless when it comes to finding what sometimes isn’t meant to be found. Only thing GPS is doing is confusing us even more, sending us up and down red dirt roads made for F150s and Pat Green songs, not our RAV4.
Just as we’re about to give up, there it is, what we’ve been hunting down for the last half hour, the last remaining vestige of this once-thriving city: a beautiful cemetery with graves dating back to the 19th century.
Jackpot.
History buffs like me have long been fascinated by ghost towns — communities, cities, and towns that once bustled but are now silent. Wiped away by time, dust, and progress, these abandoned towns are shrouded in intrigue and mystery.
We seek them out for various reasons. Some simply want to admire what’s left behind — beautiful old buildings, fading and cracking in the Texas sun; historic cemeteries; and, if we’re lucky, one or two chatty townspeople who tell better stories than any history book.
Others are endlessly fascinated by why some communities succeed while others fail — and they go looking for answers.
Over the past several years, thanks to social media, a new breed of ghost town chasers has discovered the thrill of these hunts. Three Facebook groups devoted to images of Texas ghost towns and ruins have more than a combined membership of 100,000, and on a broader scale, the Instagram hashtag #ghosttown will get you more than a million pics. For photographers, both professional and not, what’s old is cool again.
Also, ghost towns offer a summer-trip perk that is very 2020: social distancing. On one recent ghost town trip, my wife and I realized we hadn’t talked to a single person during our entire excursion.
Thousands of ghost towns are scattered throughout the state. Many are within a few hours of Fort Worth, perfect for day-tripping. Here are a few of our picks:
Thurber
Located 75 miles west of downtown Fort Worth, right off Interstate 20, Thurber is a great square one for ghost town newbies, as well as a favorite for ghost town vets. To see the town’s towering smokestack, after 100 years still standing tall and proud at 128 feet, alone is worth the drive.
Once the largest city between Fort Worth and El Paso, the company-owned town was built in 1886 by the Johnson Coal Company and, two years later, was purchased by Texas and Pacific Coal Company. Thurber’s mining operation provided fuel for the coal-burning locomotives of numerous railroads of the day, including the Santa Fe and Texas & Pacific.
A brick factory was also built, and soon Thurber bricks were found at key locales throughout the state, from Congress Avenue in Austin to the streets of the Fort Worth Stockyards.
At its peak, Thurber had a population of 8,000-10,000. Most were immigrant workers, who represented more than a dozen ethnic groups.
Various business problems and the conversion to oil-burning locomotives led to the city’s demise. In 1933, during the Great Depression, Thurber abruptly shut down. At last count, the population of Thurber was five; there are more historical markers in Thurber than people.
Over time, many of the buildings have been dismantled or crumbled on their own, but several remain, including the town’s smokestack, built in 1908 as part of the town’s electric power plant; the restored St. Barbara’s Catholic Church; and several small red-brick buildings made with Thurber bricks. Two buildings have been converted into restaurants, and there’s also a museum.
Thurber may very well be the most photogenic of all of Texas’ ghost towns. Against the nighttime sky, stars shimmering above, the town’s red brick remains offer a breathtaking sight.
Burkett
If Thurber is a great beginner’s ghost town, Burkett is the next level up, with much to see and explore.
Found on State Highway 206 in west central Texas, about two hours from Fort Worth, Burkett was named in 1886 for its first postmaster, William Burkett. For years, the town flourished: There were cafes, a school, a cotton gin, a drugstore, churches, and various other businesses. In the 1950s, Highway 206 was built nearby, but it bypassed the town’s business district, leading to the city’s downfall. According to the 2000 census, 30 people remain.
There’s much to see, though, including the abandoned red brick school building, a 1920s gas station, several old homes from the early 1900s, and, most impressively, a truss bridge built in 1922. You can still drive across it, but someone else told you that.
Many of the town’s streets are overrun with foliage and abandoned vehicles, giving this once-thriving community a spooky “Last House on the Left”-type of vibe; explorers and Instagrammers will love it.
Proffitt
Let me introduce you to my ghost town bible, Ghost Towns of Texas, a book written in the 1980s by Texas historian T. Lindsay Baker. Since many of Texas’ ghost towns won’t turn up on GPS, Baker’s book is a necessity for ghost town adventurers.
Personally, I love the guy and his book, but his directions can sometimes be confusing. See if you can make sense of these directions to Proffitt: “Drive west from Newcastle 7.3 miles on U.S. Highway 380 to a paved country road leading north. Take this paved road 1.0 mile north and then west to the end of the pavement in the center of the former town.” What pavement? What country road? What the heck, T. Lindsay?
Now you’ll understand why it took so long for us to find Proffitt, or at least what’s left of it: a historical cemetery, which contains both marked and unmarked graves of area pioneers, including members of the Robert Smith Proffitt family, who established the area in 1862.
Proffitt’s tiny cemetery is one of the most fascinating — and eye-opening — in this area of Texas. Its numerous interments of children and infants paint a somber picture of the often-harsh realities of frontier life. According to a historical marker, the largest number of burials here occurred between 1910 and 1920 and includes victims of the World War I-era influenza epidemic. Also interred here are veterans of the Civil War, World War I and World War II.
The historical marker also points out the unmarked graves of three young men who were ambushed and killed by Native Americans in 1867 — an incident for which Proffitt is best known, as those are the cemetery’s first graves.
The town flourished as a farming community from the late 19th century to the 1920s but quietly faded away when several farms consolidated.
While you’re in the area, visit nearby Fort Belknap, a majestic complex of 19th century buildings originally erected in 1851 to help protect the area from Kiowa and Comanche attacks. There’s a museum and a little café that closed during COVID-19 but may be open before summer’s end. Even if they’re not, it’s nice to roam the picturesque, shady grounds, open year-round.
The Grove
Two hours south of Fort Worth on Farm to Market Road 1114, The Grove is the most tourist-friendly ghost town in Texas. Its camera-ready, half-dozen buildings have been refurbished and are well-kept. It’s listed on all maps, paper and digital, and it’s a breeze to find. Drive around a bit, and you’ll find a handful of friendly neighbors, too; it’s not quite abandoned yet.
Established in the latter part of the 19th century, The Grove — named for its abundance of live oak trees — was once a bustling community with a general store, several cotton gins, and blacksmith shop. The general store, called Dube’s, is now owned by descendants of the original townspeople. For years, it was a museum filled with antiques (which were often used by film companies), but now the building stands still. A note tacked on the window says it may reopen sometime in the future.
There’s still much to see, including the blacksmith shop, a filling station outfitted with a period gas pump and several other 100-year-old-plus buildings. In the town’s center is a water well, built in the 19th century by pick and crowbar; interestingly, it’s still in use.
Indian Gap
Like many Texas ghost towns, Indian Gap could completely disappear at any moment. Matter of fact, days before we made the two-hour drive south to explore and photograph it, one of its key buildings — a large, two-story, red brick school built in 1913 — was demolished. All that remains of the school are its twin cement columns that once guided students to its main entrance.
Other parts of this community remain intact, although some buildings are behind barbed wire on farmland roamed by easily excitable livestock — virtually the only sounds you’ll hear in this otherwise near-deserted pocket of Texas. The structures are still visible from the road, however, and their eerie, faded exteriors are a must-see for ghost town lovers.
The community dates back to 1857 and, according to the Texas history website texasescapes.com, was named for the nearby gap in mountains through which Native Americans often traveled. It prospered in the late 19th century to the mid-20th century and was home to a hotel, a weekly newspaper, and general store.
A cluster of a half-dozen original buildings, found near the intersections of Farm to Market Roads 218 and 1702, includes the general store whose worn sign reads: Carl Reinert - Dealer in General Merchandise. This particular building isn’t behind barbed wire, so you’re free to admire, up close, its tin facade, creaky stairs, and original hardware.
A few steps away, you’ll find an unusual sight: an old farm building swaying to the right, like it’s slowly falling asleep.
Carlton
A hundred and forty-two years ago, things were looking pretty good for Carlton, a booming, agricultural-forward town named after early settler F. M. Carlton. It was lucky enough to grow near a well-used wagon road, traveled by merchants eager to trade and spend.
Thanks to the arrival of the Stephenville North and South Railway, the town continued to flourish. In 1920, Carlton had a population of nearly 1,000 and boasted three of everything: three general stores, three grocery stores, three churches, three cotton gins, plus a pair of banks, a lumberyard, and various other businesses.
The surge in popularity brought on by the railroad was also taken away by the railroad. When its line was discarded in 1940, Carlton began to decline, illustrating the power railroads wield over small Texas towns.
What remains is one of the most impressive ghost towns in this neck of the woods. Take a spin through its streets, and you’ll see antiquated homes that look as though their occupants simply got up and left. Old pieces of furniture are strewn about, and cars that haven’t been revved up in years wither and rust away.
The town still clings mightily to life; we encountered a few of its residents. One was a dog that chased our photographer, and then our car, for a good quarter mile.
Down the street, residents whose curiosity had been piqued by our presence emerged from their home, an old fire station converted into a house, to give us a tour of a dilapidated bank building. They also pointed out a nearby gas station and told us most of the original equipment was still intact. Another bank building burned down, they said.
They then asked us over for a beer. In a rush to hit the next ghost town before sunset, we politely declined but promised to come back. I sure hope they’ll still be there.
