Bonham, Texas, 1888: Where Charlie’s Story Begins

By Erv Lenzy

Before Grandpa Charlie was a gambler… before he was a ghost… he was just a boy from Bonham, Texas. Not unlike myself. I keep coming back to that. Because when you spend your time chasing a mystery, a missing man, a fake death, a vanishing act... it’s easy to forget that the story didn’t start with smoke and confusion. It started with a little Texas town.

Bonham, Texas. 1880.

It’s where Charlie was born. And thanks to a forgotten 1888 promotional booklet I stumbled onto online, I got a rare window into what life might have looked like when he was just a kid. Bonham wasn’t just some quiet farming community. Not in 1888.

By the time Charlie was about eight years old, Bonham was booming. It had two railroads, a college, banks, schools, and even newspapers. The 1888 Fannin County annual I found was full of civic pride. The kind of publication meant to lure businesses and settlers. It listed every kind of establishment you can think of: blacksmiths, grocers, mills, dentists, bakers, and undertakers. (Always a little eerie seeing that last one show up next to the baker.)

The streets were likely dirt. The air probably smelled like wood smoke and horses. But Bonham was connected. By rail and telegraph, and proud of it. According to the Texas State Historical Association, the city was originally named Bois d’Arc, but renamed in 1843 after James Butler Bonham, who died at the Alamo. It became the county seat of Fannin County and quickly established itself as a regional hub.

By the late 1880s, Bonham had over 2,000 residents. There were six churches, multiple schools, two colleges (Carlton College and Savoy College), and dozens of businesses, including Bonham Cotton Mill, which would later become one of the biggest employers in town.

It was a place on the map where a place where a young boy like Charlie could grow up watching the world slowly change, one train whistle at a time.

What Charlie Might Have Seen

It’s easy to romanticize it all, and maybe I am, just a little. But I can’t help imagining Charlie running errands for his mother along the square, or watching men unload goods from a freight train. Maybe he went to church on Sunday and sat through long sermons, fidgeting in a wooden pew. Maybe he chased stray dogs through back alleys or dipped a toe into the mischief that would come to define his reputation later on.

Bonham was a crossroads town, a place where deals were made, fortunes built… and maybe, lives left behind.

Why It Matters

If I’ve learned anything in this search for Grandpa Charlie, it’s that stories don’t start with the mystery. They start in places like Bonham, with everyday life, everyday choices. Charlie didn’t wake up one day and decide to vanish. Whatever happened to him, whatever made him the man who might have faked his death, all started here. In this town. On these streets.

That’s why I’m not just chasing census records. I’m chasing context. Chasing texture. Chasing the feel of a place that helped shape him.

Bonham, Texas isn’t just a dot on the map. It’s the beginning of the story.

Coming Up Next

There’s someone else whose trail I’ve been following — a woman whose name is just as tangled in mystery as Charlie’s.

Her name was Henrietta.

And she may be the key to everything.

Let’s go find her.