Ep 26 Wade Morrison Pt 2 : Texas 🐎 Marriage 💍 the Dr Pepper Legend🥤

In the summer shadows of Reconstruction-era Virginia, Wade Morrison stands at a crossroads—torn between the memory of a broken town and the promise of a boundless frontier. As Christiansburg heals slowly from war, whispers of Texas grow louder, tugging at the edges of his ambition. Farewells are spoken. Crates are packed. And across a thousand miles of rail, river, and red clay, a new chapter begins.

But even as Wade heads west, one quiet question lingers: who was the real Dr. Pepper? This episode unveils a surprising truth buried in the 1880 census—about the man behind the name, and the life he preferred to lead. It wasn’t medicine. And it wasn’t fame.

Featuring heartfelt goodbyes, the mystery of flavored seltzers, and the quiet birth of a legend, this episode traces the journey of a young man who would one day name a drink—but never forget the town that named him.

Transcript

ALEX: Afternoon tae ye, Wade. Delivery here for Mister William Pepper, there is.

Wade: Hi Alex. Whatcha got there?

ALEX: Couple o’ crates, full o’ glass bottles—your tinctures an’ tonics, I’d wager.

Had to give the mule a wee reminder it was a delicate load—not some sack of oats.

Stubborn beast near pitched a fit halfway up the lane.

Wade: nice, we’ve been expecting you. 

 Alex: Gie us a haun tae unload, an’ I’ll no be lingerin’.

Wade: Let’s get er done lad

Narrator: When we left Wade Morrison in the previous episode, he was a boy with a broom and a heavy heart—sweeping floors, serving up flavored seltzer waters, and polishing medicine bottles in the small town drug store in Christiansburg, Virginia. A few years make all the difference. Now he’s older. Taller. More experienced. And life’s giving him harder questions. His widowed mama’s seeking new love. His employer and mentor still steadies him. But Texas? Well… that word starts whispering louder every day.

And soon, it’ll be more than just a word. It’ll be a ticket, a journey, and a turning point. Welcome to part 2 of the Wade Brockenbrough Morrison story. 

🎭 SCENE 1 – “The Soda and the Scot”

WADE: just set the last of them right there Alex. William will be happy they arrived. 

ALEX: Thank you’, Wade. It’s always quicker work with some help….While I’m here, think you’ve got anything for a bruised ego and a sunburned neck?

WADE: You been workin’ or flirtin’ again?

ALEX: Both. And not sure which did me in worse. Lass down by the feed store said I talk like a bagpipe that sprung a leak.

WADE: A leaky bagpipe? (Chuckling) That’s not far off.

ALEX: Aye, but charming, right?

WADE: Just a moment. I got something that’ll fix you up. 

Try this. Sassafras, ginger, and a splash of peppermint. Won’t fix your pride, but it might make your day taste better.

ALEX: Ooh. Saints alive. That’s a bonnie brew. Tastes like Christmas and a punch in the throat.

WADE: I’ll take that as a compliment.

ALEX: Thanks for the heart tonic, Wade. Have a good afternoon, aye?

WADE: You too, Alex. And tell the girl at the feed store… a leaky bagpipe still plays a tune.

NARRATOR : The drugstore was small, but to Wade, it was the whole world—a place where medicine and conversations converged, and where a misfit, or even a Scot with a sunburn and a bruised ego could leave smiling.
In the coming years, life moved on, as it does. And so it did for the Morrison family. Wade’s widow mother Caroline found love again with a county court judge by the name of John Newton Lyle. He was a younger man in his early 30’s, never married. Wade was 16 when they tied the knot in November of 1868. Caroline in her early 40’s would be considered in today’s jargon, one of the original Eastern Cougars. Their union brought two more boys into the family…John Newton in 1870 & Harry Walker in 1871.

SCENE 2

It was the summer of 1870. The evening air smelled of fresh cut hay, honeysuckle, and the scent of distant woodsmoke drifting in the air. On a dusty road outside Christiansburg, lined with poplars and creeks traveled a modest buggy — it was a borrowed rig from Minnie’s father’s stable.

MINNIE :
You’re gonna ruin your reputation Wade Morrison, taking a girl out past the bend without a chaperone.

WADE :
I am almost 18 Minerva. Your papa trusts me. Or he’s just too tired to argue anymore.

MINNIE:
He’s too tired from all those meetings with Reverend Miller. School board, Freedmen’s aid, widow funds… Christiansburg’s half meetings now, half memory.

WADE :
Better than half burned Minerva Louise

MINNIE :
You are the only one allowed to call me that Mr Wade Morrison….wow. Gosh Wade, Is this where the Hinkles live?

WADE:
Yes’m. Right up in that thicket. Folks say they don’t even come into town. Sheriff says they’re more animal than man. But that’s just how people talk when they’re scared of what they don’t understand.

MINNIE :
I see someone—two little ones, maybe. No shoes.

WADE :
That’d be Moses and Nancy. I think the older ones are half-feral trying to raise ‘em. Daniel Hinkle came back from the war with no land and no voice left in him. They been in the woods ever since.

MINNIE:
And no one helps?

WADE:
We barely help the folks in the poor house. Let’s ride on a bit further and I’ll show you.

MINNIE :
You’ve changed, Wade. You don’t talk like other boys.

WADE:
Maybe I just see more than most. Working at your father’s shop, I’ve seen war wounds that didn’t bleed. Quiet men. Sick women. Hollow-eyed children. It stays with you.

MINNIE:
I think about those people in the ledger sometimes. The ones Papa calls “infirm” or “destitute.” Their names stay in my head longer than the names in novels.

WADE:
Here we are.

WADE :
That’s Jackson Kirby—man’s over eighty, lost two sons in the war and a home to a fire. Polly Kirby walks the porch like she’s looking for them still. That over there is Sarah Damon—she can’t speak, just hums to herself. And see that little girl with curls?

MINNIE:
Julia?

WADE:
Yes’m. Her mama’s in there too. Priscilla. The Taylors all live here now. All they got left is one another.

MINNIE :
This is what we became. A broken town with broken people.

WADE:
But we’re still here, Minnie. That counts for something.

MINNIE :
What do you think you’ll become?

WADE :
Sometimes I think I’ll stay. Be a fixture like your father, mixing medicine and minding folks.

Other times… I dream about Texas.

MINNIE :
Texas?

WADE:
Mhm. Wide land. Fresh start. No ghosts. Just the sky and what you make of it.

MINNIE :
If you go, I won’t try and stop you. But I’ll never forget the boy who showed me where our town hides its hurting.

WADE : I don’t want you to forget.

WADE: whatcha thinkin Minerva?

MINNIE: ah its nothin

WADE: hmmm. How’s about a peppermint candy in trade for that little “nothin” that’s on your mind Ms Minnie Pepper.

MINNIE : Sometimes I think Papa treats you more like family than I’ve ever seen him do with anyone. He’s never laughed as much as when you’re around. I think… losing your father made him remember things he’d tried to forget…i will miss you something awful if’n Texas takes you from here, and from me.

NARRATOR:
The ride back to Christiansburg was’nt too far,
But the gap between childhood and adulthood felt like it was closing fast.
Wade Morrison had shared the broken heart of his town—
in the woods, on the porches, amongst the silence.
And beside him, Mary Ann Pepper kept her hands folded in her lap,
her eyes fixed on the future…
even as she sensed Wade might not be in it.

SCENE 3 – “Packing the Last Crate”

Narration

 The war had left more than empty chairs at supper—it left a kind of stillness in Christiansburg. A quiet unraveling. Farms that once thrived now fought against worn-out soil and worn-down men. The courthouse still stood, and the train still came whistling through, but something had shifted. Families like the Morrisons—those who had lost a father, a home, or just a sense of what came next—began to feel the pull of “elsewhere”…any elsewhere. 

 Out west, the land was WIDE, the air was dry, and the future wasn’t haunted by yesterday’s sorrows. For many, including Wade’s mother Caroline, it wasn’t just ambition—it was survival. A chance to begin again, far from the smoke and sadness of a town that had buried too much in too few years. Perhaps it was the lure of new opportunity, or the chance to build without waiting for someone to retire or make room in a town too small for big dreams. We may not know the exact reasons he decided to leave Christiansburg, but one thing is certain: for Wade Morrison, the move was a turning point. A game changer. A life pivot. The boy with the broom…became a man with a vision—and that vision would begin to take shape a thousand miles from the only home his boyhood had known.

WADE: I still cant believe we are making the move. 

CAROLINE: this town is shrinking Wade, and your opportunities with it. Nothings been the same since the war. Things need a reset. Texas is ours. 

WADE: Yes mama. I am sad to be leaving Minnie and the Dr.

CAROLINE: you two have been inseparable ever since you took that job.

WADE: yeah…I got aspirations to be a world famous druggist.

CAROLINE: In the Wild West of Texas?

WADE: Mhm. Not sure how, or why. Just got an inkling. 

JOHN NEWTON LYLE : Wade—strap that one tight. If the corner lifts in Memphis, the whole load’ll shift.

WADE :Yes, sir. Got it double-nailed.

CAROLINE : That trunk’s not going in the wagon, is it Mr John Lyle? It’ll jostle all my things to bits dear. 

JOHN: No Caroline. It goes on the train to Lynchburg. From there we follow the freight west.

Should make Memphis in three days—barring breakdowns.

WADE : And after Memphis?

JOHN : Steamboat across the Mississippi. Then the Texas & Pacific’ll take us partway. Last day or two we go by stagecoach. Dont fret Caroline Dear. It’ll get there.

WADE: We’ve come longer for less. This time we’ve got tools, a name, and a trade.

JOHN : And land waiting for feet to settle it.

CAROLINE : It’s a long way to start over.

WADE: Yes mama.

🎭 SCENE 4 – “The Farewell at the Depot”

Narrator:
Some years have passed since the war, and the ashes of Christiansburg’s train station have been rebuilt into a modest, yet functional depot. Morning light filters in through dusty windows as steam gently hisses from the engine. Trunks are loaded with belongings, and family members are gathered on board. The atmosphere is bittersweet—hope mingles with sorrow as the future pulls Wade towards his destiny, and away from everything he’s known.

WADE :
Hi Minnie. I didn’t think you’d come.

MINNIE :
Hi Wade. I wasn’t sure I would. But then I remembered something.

WADE:
What’s that?

MINNIE :
You saved me the last peppermint drop.

WADE :
I never imagined this day would come so soon.

MINNIE :
And yet, here we are—on the edge of forever and farewell.

MINNIE :
Promise me you’ll remember this moment. Remember that you were loved here.

WADE :
I promise. My father is buried here. And you Minnie….I don’t know what’s waiting out there. Texas is just a word on a map right now.

MINNIE:
So was Appomattox once. So was surrender.
And now look.

DR. PEPPER :
Well Wade, employer aside, you have been like a son to me. I watched you grow. I’ve seen you overcome sorrow, learn from every fall, and stand tall despite the hard winds of life.

WADE :
You’ve been everything I needed. You’ve mentored my career. I’ll carry your words with me, always.

DR. PEPPER :
Remember this, lad: the world is wide and the roads are many, but never forget that your roots run deep in Christiansburg.

WADE :
I won’t forget, sir. I… thank you for everything.

DR. PEPPER :
Farewell, son. Go make your mark and bring hope wherever you wander.

WADE: Goodbye Sir.

WADE: Minnie, will you walk me to my coach?

MINNIE: Yes Wade.

WADE:
If I come back, it won’t be soon.

MINNIE :
I am not ready to believe that. 

WADE :
I thought maybe, if things had been different…

MINNIE :
but they weren’t…they were beautiful anyway.

MINNIE :
Go chase what’s next, Wade Morrison. 

WADE :
Goodbye Minnie.

MINNIE :
Bye Wade.

NARRATOR:
And so Wade Brockenbrough Morrison left Christiansburg, Virginia—the son of a broken past, stepping into an uncertain future, carrying with him the legacy of a father lost, a mentor’s wisdom, and the tender promise of a love that endures. In that fleeting moment on the depot platform, as the train pulled him away and the billowing coal smoke & steam of departure settled, every goodbye whispered a hope that no distance could erase.

By the spring of 1880, Wade Morrison was no longer the boy sweeping floors in Christiansburg. He had traveled west with gumption and grit. He was a man with purpose. He was a druggist. He was a Texan. 

He met and courted a Miss Carrie Bell Jeffries, from Missouri way. They married in Williamson County Texas on April 27th 1880, she 18…and he 27. 

On June 1st, the census found them living—or perhaps simply visiting—with his mother, Caroline, his stepfather and Texas attorney, John Newton Lyle.

Everyone was making a new name for themselves. Wade was already listed with the title “Druggist.” A trade, yes—but also a vision. He wasn’t content to work behind someone else’s counter.

SCENE 5 - 1880 Census

NARRATOR: Not but 10 days later, on the afternoon of Friday, June 11th, 1880, a U.S. census taker 1400 miles away visited the Pepper home in Christiansburg.

JL Wade: good afternoon sir. Names John Wade. I am the U.S. census taker this time around. 

DR PEPPER: Oh I remember you. Nice to see you again. Come on into the parlor Mr Wade.

Have a seat John. 

JOHN L Wade: thank you sir

DR PEPPER: Now what kind of information do you need?

JOHN L Wade: Let me get your full name. 

DR PEPPER: William Reed Pepper. R-E-E-D

JOHN L WADE: …and your occupation is Physician 

PEPPER: well…no. 

PEPPER: I am 61 and mostly retired from that work. I just plant the fields, harvest the crops, care for the animals, and run the acreage outside of town. Whatever that would be.

JOHN: ok, lemme write something more fitting then.

MRS ANN PEPPER: Well hi John. Good afternoon.

JOHN: Mrs Pepper, Ma’am. 

ANN: Oh stop…sit John…just call me Ann in my house. 

JOHN: As you wish Ann. I’m gathering the census info this time around. Who else do you want listed in your household. 

ANN: There’s our son John…he’s 19, our daughter Mary Ann, just turned 25, single, and living at home. She graduated from Montgomery Female Academy and is currently searching for a suitable teaching position.

Now hold on John Wade, aren’t you the nephew of Caroline Morrison?

JOHN: I am.

ANN : MINNIE? Mary Ann? Will you come here for a moment please. 

MINNIE: Yes mother.

ANN: Minnie, this is John, he’s taking the census. And he just happens to be related to Caroline and Wade.

JOHN: Yes ma’am. Wade Morrison and I are first cousins. 

MINNIE: Wade Morrison? I haven’t heard that name in….well how is he? And Where?

JOHN: Gosh let’s see…an area in Williamson County, Texas, known as Old Round Rock. About 80 miles south of Waco…at least from what I heard last.

MINNIE: is he married?

JOHN: as a matter of fact he is…Just a couple months ago in April. To a gal from Missouri i think. 

MINNIE: Ooooh.

DR PEPPER: what’s he doing there in Texas?

JOHN: He’s a druggist, just like you trained him to be. 

DR. PEPPER: well thats good to hear.

JOHN: yes sir, and a fairly determined one from what I can gather. Probably have his own place soon….well if thats everyone, i will be on my way. Got a few more houses to visit before I lose daylight. 

ANN: Thank you John, say hello to your folks for me.

Farmer Pepper: Goodbye Mr Wade. 

Narration: 

Minnie mostly sat with her memories during the brief visit. As John left she followed his departing figure from the doorway, as if a name alone had stirred something long resting in her soul.

That muggy afternoon, on a quiet hill in Christiansburg, Virginia a family made an old connection through a common friend. And a young woman, still at home, heard the name of a boy she would always love.

🎭 SCENE 6 – “The Name on the Bottle”

NARRATOR:

Christiansburg had shaped him. Texas would define him.

As the old ties gently loosened back east, Wade Morrison threw his energy into the bustling frontier town of Waco—a place where new ideas had room to breathe, and a man with purpose could make his mark.

In 1880, Texas was more than a destination—it was a promise. A land unto itself. 

Or as J Frank Dobie would say “Texas is neither southern nor western. Texas is Texas.”

To some, it was the land of wide horizons.

To others, it was the land of longhorns and lawlessness.

To land speculators, it was billed as the land of milk and honey.

But for Wade Morrison, it was something else entirely:

A blank page…and a bottle waiting to be filled.

With every tincture he labeled, every remedy he mixed, Wade was laying the foundation for something larger than himself. By 1882, he owned the Old Corner Drug Store in Waco, Texas—a crossroads of community and curiosity.

Now, it’s worth remembering that in the 1880s, flavored seltzer waters weren’t just for refreshment. They were born from medicine.

Carbonated water was believed to soothe the stomach and mimic the healing powers of natural mineral springs. And pharmacists—like Wade—were the ones who served them.

To make bitter tonics more tolerable, druggists began mixing in flavored syrups—cherry, sarsaparilla, peach, vanilla, lemon. The result? Drinks that not only cured, but comforted.

Before long, the soda fountain became more than a health counter. It was a gathering place. A hub of flavor and fellowship, especially in towns baking under the Texas sun.

And for curious minds like Wade Morrison and his young employee, Charles Alderton, the pharmacy became a kind of laboratory—where every pour was a possibility.

And in 1885, one particular pour would become something entirely new.

WADE: What’s all the commotion Charles? Looks like all your friends from Fort Worth are here in Waco?

ALDERTON :
Either that or all of Brooklyn….I think we’ve got a winner, Mr. Morrison. Thats gotta be a dozen requests just this afternoon. 
Them 23 flavors taste like something from the future.

WADE :
It’s a distinctive pick me up for sure. Quite the blend of fruits and spices you’ve created Mr Alderton. 

ALDERTON:
We need a better name. Can’t keep calling it "Waco" if we want it to be more than locally famous.

WADE :
Then we’ll call it Dr Pepper.

ALDERTON :
Dr... Pepper? You sure? Sounds catchy.

WADE :
Yeah. I’m sure.
He gave me my first job.
And was there for me after my father died.
Lotsa life lessons outta that little Virginia drugstore.

ALDERTON: Ok. You’re the boss. Dr Pepper it is.

CUSTOMER lady: Oh! I like that a lot. What do you call it?

WADE : We call it Dr Pepper.

CUSTOMER lady: Thats the 13th amendment for my taste buds. What’ll they think of next…sliced bread?

CUSTOMER man : Oh my. Tastes like cherry… no, plum… wait—spice cake in a glass! Whatever it is, I’ll be back tomorrow for another.

WADE: the next round of Dr Pepper is on the house.

NARRATOR:
Some men name things to make money.
Some to make history.
But Wade Morrison named this drink for something deeper —
for gratitude.
For memory.
For the quiet man in Christiansburg who once saved the last peppermint drop for him, and helped raise a boy who would one day bottle 23 delightful flavors, and serve it cold. 

Not Waco Tonic.
But Dr Pepper.

And that… is how legacies taste.

What became of Minnie Pepper?

And what in tarnation did cousin John Wade write on the census form in behalf of Dr William Reed Pepper?

First Minnie…After Wade Morrison left Christiansburg, Minnie stayed.

She stayed when others went west. She stayed as the nation healed and rebuilt.
She stayed when the train came and left again.
And she stayed when the wounds of war faded into the habits of peace.

In 1876, Minnie graduated from the Montgomery Female Academy, one of the best schools in the region, known for raising refined, capable women in a place still stitching itself back together. 

She never married.

Instead, she became a schoolteacher.
The kind of teacher who taught more than letters and arithmetic.
She taught steadiness. She taught kindness. She taught children how to carry sadness without letting it crush them.

For decades, she passed between desks and chalkboards, while seasons passed outside her window: crops growing, church bells ringing, and railcars rumbling through town.

She never spoke much of Wade Morrison. Not in public.
But once, a student remembered, she paused in a lesson about Texas,
touched the edge of the map, and smiled. Seemingly tasting a sweet memory.

They say she kept her father’s old ledger, and inside it, a brittle slip of candy paper.
Whether that’s true or just the kind of story small towns tell, no one can say for sure.

Known by her friends as Minnie, Mary Ann Pepper, died on a Friday morning, April 22, 1937, at the age of 78, in the same house where she had once waited by the window, for a boy who’d captured her heart.
The illness was brief. The goodbye, quiet.

Her funeral was held at Richardson’s, and the service conducted by Dr. Robert Kinnaird of the Presbyterian Church.
She was buried in Sunset Cemetery, not far from the old train depot.

She was survived by her brother, Colonel J. W. Pepper, a man of commerce and reputation.

But those who really knew her remembered her not for the family name,
but for her stillness, her fierce heart, and the way her life held the echo of a boy who once saved her the last peppermint drop.

He left with no fortune, no thunder, no fame,

Just a bottle of memories, and one borrowed name.

No empire in mind, no riches to sever—

Just a boy who remembered what kindness feels like forever.

He learned to mix sorrow with syrup and glass,

To measure life slowly, let bitterness pass.

That not all that heals has a label or cure,

And some hearts, like tonic, are best kept pure.

The past is a window, not always clear—

It’s sometimes a face that you once held so dear

It returns in a moment, a flavor, a glow,

A peppermint memory from long long ago.

Wade gave us a drink—but left us a favor:

A lesson in tribute, a softhearted savior.

Not doctor, not prophet, not soldier nor herder…

Just the man he named it for:

Doctor Pepper.

His mentor was steady, his wisdom ran deep,

With hands that could heal and a soul that could weep.

A man of great service, whose name now we treasure—

But titles, he’d say, were no true measure.

So when asked one last time how he’d like to be known,

He chose not the crown, nor the medical throne.

He smiled at the pencil, and spoke with calm grace:

“Just write what I am… I tend to this place.”

No doctor, no title, no grand-standing lever—

Just Farmer Pepper.