THE GREATER NEW MAJESTIC Long years ago, when the Redskins roamed on the Texas plains, Far over land and water came Dons from their castles in Spain. Slowly, the trend of empire, knowing no pause, nor rest, Settled the field and forest and conquered the Golden West. First came the builders of missions into this place to dwell, Followed by hardy traders seeking to buy and to sell. Then came the soldiers of fortune, the beggar, the hero, the thief - Others oppressed in their homelands, seeking here only relief. The flags of five nations have floated over the magic domain, Since the first mad roar of cannon forecast the white man’s reign. Step by step they have built, steadily through the years, Dotting the states with cities, and salting the earth with their tears. Now, there is peace and plenty, thanks to this gallant band – On the sites of their first frail structure, mighty skyscrapers stand. The braves now sleep with their fathers, the Dons with their swords are lain, But there rules in this realm they conquered, a towering castle from Spain. It shines like a beacon of progress, a symbol of all that is fine Massive, imposing, and splendid; yet graceful and slender of line. From Houston Street upward it reaches seventeen stories high With its lofty turrets etching against a clear Texas sky. On top of a flagpole that’s swaying , a pennant slowly frets The while there’s a breeze idly whistling about its parapets The copper-colored sunshine of wanning afternoon Brings thoughts of senoritas of whom the Don would croon. Before this castle entrance there are teeming thousands pass Daily as the streetcars clang their gongs of brass. From early morn’ til late at night the din traffic roar Sings of real prosperity before their castle door. The Greater New Majestic is the castle that I tell Will draw you irresistibly into its wondrous spell. Its beauty is so poignant it is near akin to pain – More beautiful than any castle ever built in Spain. Standing in the entrance is a booth of marble sheen Where senoritas graciously take tribute for their queen. Twenty paces farther you are in a passage way That bursts in all its glory of lights and colors gay. From high and arching ceilings, wrought –iron lanterns swing And to the massive columns the shields of heroes cling. The lights are slightly yellow as in the days of old; The court-of-arms inform you of knights of honor-bold. You gasp in sheer amazement at the spender of the art The panels, scrolls, and arabesques and ev’ry other part. There are doors of massive structure and heavy wooden grill Then you turn upon your left and get another thrill. For, standing on a pedestal that slowly turns about A comely maiden bows her head in modesty devout. Sweet Grapes they call this statue that was made by master hand And in the New York salon won the prize both first and grand. Turn left and fifty feet beyond the vaulted ceiling falls To rafters hewn like solid oak, where new allurement calls. Beneath the low-hung beams the walls are rich in tonal hue And as you pass they seem to whisper secrets dear to you. Straight ahead a crystal pool is filled with flashing gold As darting fish swim to and fro with grace as you behold. These tiny, shinning finny freaks were brought from waters far, Where tropic seas and fronded trees and strange, queer people are. Upon your right are two great doors that soon must open wide For just beyond their ponderous weight the castle lies inside. You wonder how it really looks and tingle with delight In keenest expectation at the first enthralling sight. And then the doors slowing swing out on hinges noiselessly An usher bows and beckons that its time for you to see. And, lo, before your very eyes there stands revealed to you A vision of such radiance it hardly seems quite true. Upon the floors are carpets that are thick and rich and soft And over all the mellowed hue of lanterns swung aloof. The ceiling is a masterpiece of inlaid sections wide, A maze of scrolls and copings and figures side by side There are so many treasures there of beauty and delight It’s utterly impossible to grasp them on first sight. You have to stop and one by one study separately Each object as it meets your gaze in all its witchery. There are window ledges where in days of long ago The dons and senoritas might have whispered love words low. Twisted columns carved of stone stand staunchly rooted deep To hold the weight of arches in their broad majestic sweep. A graceful curving stairway leads you to the mezzanine Where other wonders greater still are to be found and seen. Twisted iron rails the stairs, the steps are marble pure You wonder to yourself if all this vision can endure. But now that you have feasted for a spell upon these things I’ll take you to a view from which much greater beauty springs. Please close your eyes and let me lead you to an opera chair. You just mustn’t peak because to do that wouldn’t be quite fair. Now you are seated in a lounge, in comfort and in style But keep your eyes shut tightly for yet a little while. The orchestra is playing, or the organ’s golden note Is floating downward to you from its mighty throat. You hear the guitars strumming, there are castanets that click And Latin voices humming that stir you to the quick. The air is soft and balmy with the tinge of tropic seas And the breath of blooming flowers that thrill with ecstasy. Now in this very moment you may open up you eyes. You are in a Spanish garden beneath the summer skies. Directly here above you, the clouds go drifting by And the canopy of heaven is set with stars on high. Upon your right there greets you in graphic silhouette A hillside Spanish castle that you never will forget. Against the star lit background, there are cedars slim and tall And a mantle rich with romance seems to hover over all. There are flowers, bright with jewels that come from drops of dew; There are doves upon the copings that seem to bill and coo. There are balconies and stairways where senoritas fair Have dreamed their dreams of girlhood, have sobbed in deep despair There are vines that cling and wander as they cover gable eve And clamber over cornice and garlands verdant weave. There’s a fountain in the foreground over which the palm trees sway To furnish shade and shelter from the noon sun’s torrid ray. There’s the tower of a chapel from which a monk might sing A hymn of benediction to vesper bells that ring. And high upon a tower built in ancient Moorish way There’s a pulpit for the heathen to praise Allah ev’ry day. Colossal is the structure and of architecture rare. There swings across the mammoth stage an arch beyond compare. Along its lower border there are statues plump and round. And in ev’ry foot of sculpture there are treasures to be found. Jutting from the back wall is a parapet effect On which an ancient soldier might stand guard erect. And in the very center there’s a steeple with a spire And the statue of a Venus that a monarch would desire. Along the upper border there are urns of varied kinds And a row of peaked towers of a beauty hard to find. Sweeping ever loftward you will see the mission bell That peals of life and marriage or sounds a funeral knell. Beneath the mission tower is another pillared loft Where the voice of gifted artists may sing a ballad soft. Again two tiers of boxes draped in gorgeous hue And an organ loft that reaches into the lofty blue. And all along the sidewall, from the ground floor to the sky An ever- changing landscape to make you thrill or sigh. Each facade and each cornice, each balcony and nook Is like a page of history from Time’s unending book. Even in the background there are trees and shrubs and sky And urns of blooming flowers and vines that never die. There are windows shuttered closely with mysteries to keep, Shaded courts and arbors and massive doors carved deep. But in all this panorama there’s nothing that’s the same, Each portico and cornice is from a different frame. It’s built of stone and plaster and when all is said and done There never was another – this is the only one Hanging from the doorways, and on balconies and stairs Quaint wrought iron lanterns burn brightly and in pairs. The seats were made for comfort and are soft and deep and wide And it’s mighty nice to draw a breath and snuggle down inside. And then into the mezzanine you turn and know again That those who wrought the miracle have labored not in vain. You think of all the happiness that such as this will give To each of us who soon or late tragedy must live. Upon the mezzanine a well is bound by balustrade And on each side a balcony of Spoden grill is made. A chandelier quite antique hangs grandly through And by its blended lighting adds to the castle’s spell. All about are carpets thick and deeply cushioned chairs And alcoves here and alcoves there to rest from world affairs. For you are in another age, and when once you enter here Away from ev’ry care and strife and ev’ry doubt and fear. The ladies parlor is a work of ……….artistry And has been fitted out with ev’ry form of luxury. A make-up room has been provided in the no-man’s land Where rosy lips and tinted cheeks may bloom ‘neath shapely hand. And also on the mezzanine a nursery is found Where painted pigs and furry dogs and dollies cute abound Over all this land of Nod, a kindly soul holds sway To keep the youngsters happy while mothers see the play. This is New Majestic is the dream of one Karl Hoblitzelle Who heads a far-flung circuit and has labored great and well. For twenty long years he has planned and now his plans come true The greatest pleasure he will get is pleasure it gives you. It is matchless in beauty and comfort, the gold at the rainbow end You cannot find anything better no matter how far you may send. The world was combed for treasures, yielding the best sought To create this flawless jewel of artistry that is wrought. It stands like a beacon of progress, a symbol of all that is fine Massive, imposing , splendid, yet graceful and slender of line. From Houston Street upward it reaches seventeen stories high Its lofty turrets etching against a Texas sky Now there is peace and plenty, thanks to this pioneer hand On the sites of their frail structure mighty skyscrapers stand. The braves sleep with their Fathers, the Dons with their swords are lain, But there rules in the realm they conquered, a magical castle in Spain. Pat Hilliard told me "I found parts of this long ballad in two 1929 newspapers."