Where the Hail is Teddy? (And Other Thoughts on the Alamo)





I’ll be honest—the Alamo is a lot smaller than I expected.

Not the Hollywood version. Not the epic backdrop where men ride horses through explosions with perfectly tousled hair. The real thing. The actual church. It’s smaller, humbler, and more grounded in reality than the mythos we’ve all grown up with.


But if you know the story—and if you stand still long enough to feel it—the Alamo is still pretty damn cool.


We went through the whole tour, and one part especially stuck with me: sitting in the actual spot where church services were once held, long before the walls became a fortress. They dim the lights. The sound of battle echoes through the room—cannon fire, shouting, distant rifle shots. The walls shake with imagined concussions. You can picture the women and children huddled in the shadows, smoke curling through the rafters, dust falling from every blast.


History becomes very real in those moments.


They’re doing a lot of work on the site right now—construction fences, scaffolding, all of it—which seems to follow us wherever we go. (If Jamie and I ever decide to visit Machu Picchu, don’t be surprised if it’s wrapped in blue tarps and “COMING SOON” signs.)




Speaking of missing things: we searched high and low for the Teddy Roosevelt statue. No dice. It’s supposedly somewhere in San Antonio but seems to have gone full witness protection. Someone said it might be behind the construction fencing. Someone else said it might be in North Dakota. Classic Teddy. Rough Rider, war hero, 26th president, and now, master of hide-and-seek.


Fitting for this blog, right? Where the hail is Teddy?




More Than a Monument


Most people know the broad strokes of the Alamo:


  • Davy Crockett, with his raccoon hat and Tennessee grit
  • James Bowie (yes, the knife guy)
  • William B. Travis, who drew that famous line in the sand




But there’s so much more.


Juan Seguín, for instance—a Tejano revolutionary and leader who fought for Texas independence and later protected the remains of the Alamo defenders after the battle. He doesn’t always make the textbooks, but his story matters.



Susanna Dickinson, one of the few survivors, was sent by Santa Anna to tell the tale of what happened. She didn’t just survive—she carried the memory of what happened there for the rest of her life.





And Emily D. West, sometimes called the Yellow Rose of Texas, is part legend, part truth—but her story, entangled with espionage, seduction, and the battle of San Jacinto, has become a staple of Texas folklore.




These names may not be etched into souvenir shot glasses, but they shaped the narrative of Texas independence just as much as the icons we all recognize.




Why We Still Remember


There’s just something about a story where people are vastly outnumbered and more or less raise a middle finger and say: We’re not going anywhere.


It’s the same reason people cry at movies like Braveheart, or that gut-punch moment in Red Dawn where the last two Wolverines are bleeding out in the snow—but they never quit.


Underdog stories matter. Stories of sacrifice matter. They remind us of what courage looks like when it’s not easy. When it’s not guaranteed to win.


And yeah, the Alamo doesn’t have a basement. But the gift shop does. Pee-wee Herman was technically right.


Ozzy  Osborne (Rock star not the Rottweiler)may or may not be banned from the state of Texas for peeing on sacred ground, but that’s a story for another day.




Final Thought


I’m glad we got to see it. Even gladder I got to learn a little more of the real history—beyond the legend. These aren’t just names on a monument. They were people, fighting for something they believed in.


I think that’s what’ll stick with me the most: the feeling of standing there, hearing the echoes, imagining the chaos… and realizing how much we still carry those stories with us.


And now, yeah. I’ll always remember 




Location: 300 Alamo Plaza, San Antonio, TX 78205, USA

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