DUANE
Duane's take
Here's how the marker tells it, and I'll do my best to do it justice. Now, if you're rolling along the Houston Ship Channel today, you might glance over at what they call Constitution Bend — Houston's famous ship-turning basin — and think, well, that's just geography. But that bend in Buffalo Bayou has a story behind it, and the story starts in June of 1837, when a steamboat called the Constitution came grinding and groaning up these waters and made history the hard way.
Houston was less than a year old at the time. It was serving as temporary capital of the Republic of Texas, which was itself barely more than a year old. So you had a brand-new city, in a brand-new republic, and somebody decided what this whole situation needed was a steamboat.
According to one story — and it's a good one — the town's founders, brothers John and Augustus Allen, paid the captain one thousand dollars to make the trip as a publicity measure. A thousand dollars. For a voyage nobody was entirely sure was possible.
That, friends, is the founding spirit of Texas real estate. Now the Constitution herself was no small vessel. She ran approximately a hundred and fifty feet long, twenty-four feet wide, eight feet deep, with one deck, no mast, a round stern, a male figurehead up front, and a cabin sitting right there on deck.
She looked the part, anyway. The trip up Buffalo Bayou, though — that was another matter entirely. Lines were run from the boat to the trees along the bank, and she was laboriously hauled forward by windlass.
Hauled. Like a stubborn mule on a muddy road. She ran aground twice.
Twice. And at one of those groundings, she sat so long — so completely stuck — that a famous passenger named Thomas Jefferson Chambers, patriot of the Republic, had enough time to leave the boat, walk to shore, and visit a friend. Just... popped over for a social call while the steamboat was wedged in the mud.
You cannot write that. Well, somebody did, and here we are. The Constitution was carrying a hundred and fifty passengers on that trip, and when they finally reached Houston, thirty-five of those passengers memorialized the captain for his landmark voyage.
He earned it. But here's the thing about a story that starts hard — it tends to finish the same way. The exit of the Constitution was no more graceful than her entrance.
The bayou was too narrow to simply turn around, so she had to back down — all the way back down — until she finally reached a spot wide enough to make her turn. And that spot, that particular bend in Buffalo Bayou where the Constitution finally managed to wheel herself around and head for open water — that's the bend that carries her name to this day. Constitution Bend.
The marker says it plainly: the name of this bend records that event. A thousand dollars, two groundings, one shore visit, and a steamboat backing through the mud. That's how a city announces itself to the world.
What the marker says
Now Houston's famous ship-turning basin, this bend in Buffalo Bayou was named for the "Constitution," first steamboat to turn around here in June 1837. At the time, Houston was less than a year old. It was serving as temporary capital of the Republic of Texas, which was itself barely more than a year old. According to one story, the town's founders, John and Augustus Allen (brothers), paid the captain of the boat $1,000 to make the trip as a publicity measure. The trading vessel was approximately 150 x 24 x 8 feet in size, with one deck, no mast, a round stern, male figurehead, and a cabin on the deck. The "Constitution's" trip up Buffalo Bayou was not easy. Lines were run from it to trees and the boat was laboriously hauled forward by windlass. It ran aground twice. At one grounding, famous passenger Thomas Jefferson Chambers (patriot of the Republic) had enough time to visit a friend on shore. Upon their arrival at Houston, 35 of the 150 passengers memoralized the captain for his landmark voyage. The exit of the "Constitution" was no more graceful than her entrance: she had to back down the narrow bayou until she reached a spot wide enough to turn around. The name of this bend records that event.