Eleven thousand souls, down from  a 1960 high of almost 14,000. History:

Snyder is named for merchant and buffalo hunter William Henry (Pete) Snyder, who built a trading post on Deep Creek in 1878. It soon drew fellow hunters, and a small settlement grew up around the post. The nature of those early dwellings, mostly constructed of buffalo hide and tree branches, led to the community's first, if unofficial, name of "Hide Town". Another early name, "Robber's Roost", is said to owe its beginnings to the sometimes nefarious nature of a few residents and a lack of law enforcement

Powers Boothe was born here.


Oh dear. Well, I guess we’re starting on the outskirts.


Can’t be a theater; the building’s too small, you think. But it was: the Aztec, showing Spanish-language movies.

Now why would I take a picture of a 60s gas station that hadn’t sold regular for decades -



Never seen the upper windows . . . sag like that.

Nice bright litle store, once.

Now we’re getting into downtown proper!

Things will pick up now, I'll bet -


I just can’t get this town going.

Again, here's the before.

Let’s roll back in time, and take a look at that corner.

Nothing flashy, but solid; interesting carvings on the capitols.

Well, the bench survived.

Ghost sign in good shape; was it revealed by destruction?

Rolling back again, we see yes, it was revealed when another building fell. And here it was:

Columns supporting . . . nothing. But you know, I like the design.


“For Jupiter’s sake, paint it!” - Julius Caesar



Ghost of its longtime companion, now lost.


Sit on that bench and you’ll tumble right into the street:


Waymarking site says:

First floor was "Gents Furnishing". Second floor rented to medical professionals, and a real estate agent. Basement held a pool hall and a German lunch room.

The side of the Faught.

There had to be a reason for those small windows.

“I want part of this building to be a memorial to my younger brother, who was mean to me, cruel, and jealous. He was always just a bit shorter than me.”

“How will I accomplish that?”

“I’ll show you.”

“But no one will know.”

“He will.”


I like the spare post-war small-town bank. But there’s spare, and there’s spare.


The thin brick of the post-war rehab meant class, like a men’s clothing store.



“Take the men up to the third, and have them shoot from the slit if the mob gets to the scrapbooking store.”

I suppose it’s better than demolition, but this is just total erasure.


Well, I see someone went off to the World’s Fair and himself a head fulla idears now


You know it was attached to something worse.


Ah! The last picture show.

Opened as the Cozy in 1917 or 1918.

What . . . is this?

Roll back: ah.

OUMB, early post-war edition.

Finally: Anywhere, Texas, USA.

And with that . . .