Stephen F. Austin State University

Goob Newton (May 2015)

Goob Newton-excerpts from "Rocking Texas' Cradle" by Ralph Ramos

Goob Newton was the last of his breed, a frontiersman living beyond that age. His legs were bowed and permanently bent from the years of banging around through the woodlands astride horses. His back was ramrod stiff and his walk rolling like an old seadog. He often needed a hickory stick for support. His laugh was loud and infectious. In other words, Goob Newton was a man you just had to like. His story telling was superlative and his wolf hunting was dead serious.

Goob ran a couple hundred head of cattle on the 20,000 or more acres surrounding him in the bottoms of the Quicksand hills where the draws unfold into the creeks racing off to the Sabine River in Newton County at Lee's Mill. He'd been in the saddle working cows or hunting as long as he could remember.

Goob had a police siren hooked up and at night he'd turn it on and, as he put it, there was just something about that siren that wolves didn't like because they would start into howling. He swore he could count them and there were more than 35 wolves in number. When he heard and located the sound he'd take his hounds as near as he could and let them go. He relished the chase and did not always shoot anything but he often had wolves or bobcats he'd killed with the Luger pistol he carried at his waist.

Goob's father, Jeff, killed 16 bears, all within less than a mile of the old place. His grandfather, Bill and his Uncle France had tangled with a huge bear right at their doorstep. Neither had a gun and so, armed with stout hickory sticks, they attacked and finally killed the beast. The last creature they killed was a panther that measured 11 feet from tail tip to nose tip.

Goob's story about how he got the hobble in his walk involved a hunting trip he was on. He was carrying a heavy buck on his shoulders and crossing on a plank which remained from an old bridge. Midway across the load was too much and the plank cracked and broke. Goob landed on a piling about 30 feet below. He was dragged out of the water "by his heels." He was days in recuperating and months moving in pain but he kept moving. As the years passed, the pain increased until finally X-rays showed the hip socket gone, the bone ramming into muscle when he walked. Bone surgeons cut, and then fused the joint but it no longer functioned properly. He could no longer ride a horse-he tried. He couldn't sit in the saddle and to get off he had to fall on the ground. He didn't give up wolf hunting though. He rode his tractor but driving cattle couldn't be done from a tractor. Last we heard he planned on shortening the stirrups on his saddle and adding a lot of padding. He was determined to try again.

Jonnie Miller