DUANE
Duane's take
The marker here in Colorado County is the one doing the talking, and I'm just Duane, passing it along. Now, picture 1837. The Republic of Texas is barely upright, the law is trying its best to keep pace with the land, and somewhere in Colorado County a court needs to convene.
There's just one small problem — the courthouse isn't finished. And why isn't it finished? Because the logs that were supposed to build the thing came floating down the river, hit a strong current, and swept right on past.
Just kept going. The building materials for the courthouse decided they had somewhere else to be. So what do you do?
You're a court. You have jurors. You have a presiding judge.
You have the law of the Republic of Texas on your side — and absolutely no walls to put it in. Well, you find a tree. And that's exactly what they did.
In 1837, a oak tree in Colorado County sheltered Texas jurors while the court did its work right there in the open air. No ceiling but the sky, no floor but the ground, and the shade of that oak standing in for all the timber that floated away. Now, presiding over this outdoor arrangement was a man named R.M.
Williamson. And R.M. Williamson had a nickname that tends to stop a conversation: Three-Legged Willie.
The marker doesn't leave you wondering why. He had a good leg, a crippled leg, and a wooden leg — three legs in total, by any honest count. Three-Legged Willie, running a district court under a tree, in a republic that was still figuring out where its courthouses were supposed to go.
That oak did its duty. Justice was served — or at least convened — in its shade. And the tree has been remembered ever since, which is more than you can say for those logs that drifted past.
What the marker says
In 1837 this oak sheltered Texas jurors. Courthouse was unfinished because logs coming down-river for building had swept past in strong current. R.M. Williamson, presiding, was called "Three-Legged Willie" due to appearance: He had good leg, crippled leg, and wooden leg. (1969)