Monday Meanderings - 1.30.2012

Had a lot of thunder and lightening this past week. Very, very frightening. And a lot of rain - about 5 inches, overnight. Just down the road they had a tornado. Rain is good; roofs blown off not so much.

Busy week. Westover hosted the Stream worship conference, and there's a lot of fetching and carrying sound system-wise for Ken Young whenever he does one of these. The Stream conferences started back in the mid-nineties in Midland, Texas as "Stream in the Desert" - a reference both to the Isaiah passage and Midland's locale. When Ken began holding them in other cities, they became simply "Stream where ever." This weekend was Stream Austin. It's a great weekend, with a lot of behind-the-scenes effort involved to make it appear as a restful, refreshing weekend.

Mike Cope was the speaker; he was warming up for the Renew Conference in Fresno in two weeks. We sent him on with our blessing.

And Stream was my last official duty behind the sound desk. Off and on, for more than 30 years, I have been involved in church sound systems. It's time for some younger guys to take over that role, so this was the grand finale for me. I will not miss it.

Add Stephen Tyler to the list of aging rock stars that should no longer sing in public - especially the Star Spangled Banner. It's getting to be a long list of guys who no longer can hit the high notes. Of course, I'm still wondering who convinced Neil Young he should sing at all.

And speaking of National Anthems, I am seriously freaking out that there will be only one more football game; then it's the long drought until next Fall. Sigh.

Article in the AS about "Less drawl in 'y'all'." A research project at UT says Texas accents are fading away, along with a number of colloquial expressions, such as "yonder" (some distance away), "drouth" (drought), "rench" (rinse), "shinnery" (scrubby oak thicket), "snake doctor" (dragonfly), "light bread" (white bread), "clabber cheese" (cottage cheese), and "snap beans" (green beans). Hmm. Some of those I know, some I do not. How about you? On the other hand, they say Southern standbys such as "cup towel", "lightening bug" and "y'all" have not only endured, but are spreading beyond the South.

And can you tell me what is wrong with this placard we saw in the Bob Bullock Museum a couple of weeks ago?

The cars in my life (the Detroit Years) - stories for my grandchildren

The Detroit years...

Since the Dodge dealership in Abilene was also the Renault dealer, I visited their place of business often, trying to keep the Dauphine running. When it became obvious that it was a losing cause, the dealer made me a great offer on a low-mileage trade-in; a 1962 Dodge Dart. The price was right; the vehicle had been purchased up north but when the owner moved to Texas they found that they couldn't deal with our hot summers and immediately traded for an air conditioned car. We were used to cars with no A/C, so it was a good deal.

The Dodge Dart had a novel feature; an automatic transmission with gear selection through push buttons mounted on the dash. Took some getting used too, and I learned - when the tractor-trailer ahead of me started backing up - that you could easily get confused about how to quickly select reverse gear. Fortunately, the trucking company paid for my new hood.

It wasn't long before we felt the need to become a two-car  company; I had been looking at a Plymouth Sport Fury on a used-car lot owned by a man from church and somehow I talked myself into buying it.

It did have A/C, and it featured the forerunner of the legendary Hemi engine, with 407 cubic inches of displacement that developed 365 horsepower. There were twin air breather intakes, and two tailpipes as big around as my leg. It was very powerful and very fast - an ideal family car. As I recall, it had a 30 gallon fuel tank, which was a requirement to get you from one gas station to another. Gasoline was .35 cents a gallon in those days.

It had bucket seats with a console in the middle, and the gear shift knob in that console. Much easier to manipulate, as two-year-old Rob found out when he shifted out of gear and the car rolled backwards down the driveway into the street!

Barb took a break from teaching when the kids were very young, and it was hard to justify that muscle car under the circumstances (or any other circumstances), so I eventually sold it back to the same guy I bought it from. I notice that it didn't sit on his lot very long.

I worked for a man named Wyman Wilkerson, who bought a new Buick every year. When the new models came out, there was active bidding for Wyman's current car, because it was better than new; during that first year every little kink and problem had been taken care of by the dealer, Fred Hughes Buick. I begged and nagged Wyman until he sold me his 1970 Electra 225 hardtop.

The number 225 referred to the car's length, 225 inches. The car was almost 19 feet long! And yes, it would fit in the garage but only because we had not yet enclosed the bonus room. You could also throw a dance on either the hood or the rear deck, and a small family could live in the trunk. It had electric windows and seats, and an even bigger engine than the Sport Fury, a 370 horsepower, 455 cubic inch V8. And now gasoline was .38 cents a gallon. I paid Wyman $5,000 for that car and we drove it till the wheels fell off.

When it was past time to trade for another car, the afterglow of the Electra clouded my vision and reasoning and we bought another Buick. A lesser, loser, Buick Century. There's no picture of that car because the sooner it is forgotten, the better. It was my last American-made automobile.

Next... The Honda years

Hanging with Joe Nick

Joe Nick Patoski, that is; the guy that has written biographies on Selena and Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Willie, and the coffee table books Texas Mountains, Texas Coast, and Big Bend National Park; the guy who was a staff writer for Texas Monthly for 18 years, and more recently has written for the Texas Observer, National Geographic, People magazine, Texas Parks & Wildlife Magazine, Field & Stream, the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, the Big Bend Sentinel, Southwest Spirit, American Way, the Austin Chronicle, Harp, TimeOut New York, and other publications. That Joe Nick.

Joe Nick is a football fan. So much so, that he was the curator of the recent exhibit "Texas High School Football: More than Just a Game" at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum. The promotional material for the exhibit reads:

"[Football] is the bond that holds together communities, from small burgs barely able to field a six-man team to 5A suburban schools that faithfully fill 20,000 seat stadiums to cheer their hometown heroes. It is the soul of Texas towns.

It is the caravans of cars that drive 200 miles on a Friday night to support the home team, the endless post-game analyses in coffee shops, the local pride in past victories and legendary players. It’s also marching bands, drill teams, pep rallies, mascots, cheerleaders, twirlers, booster clubs, fans and fanatics. For at least a few hours every week in the fall, Texas high school football is the glue that transcends cultural, ethnic, and spiritual differences to define us all as Texan."

 I went to the exhibit to look for mention of Breckenridge, of course, and I was not disappointed. The "team of the century" was listed; Emory Bellard was honored; there was a giant blow-up of a Basil Clemons photo of Buckaroo Field on the occasion of the 1929 State Championship. And Joe Nick was there.

I don't know if he came every weekend to "his" exhibit, but this was the closing weekend, and he was there, talking to anyone who paused near him. The man does love to talk, and talk about Texas High School football history. For the entire time we were there - probably more than two hours - he had someone cornered.

I heard him talk about Jerry Tubbs, a Breckenridge boy... "well, he was from Throckmorton, originally, but you know the stories about Breckenridge recruiting players..." who went on to play for the Dallas Cowboys. I heard him talk about Gordon Woods, the Brownwood coach, and about Joe Don Meridith, and about Emory Bellard. The man does love to talk.

But as we were leaving, I interrupted him, stuck my hand out and said, "Breckenridge High School, Class of '58."

And just for a few seconds, his jaw dropped and he didn't have anything to say. Then we talked for a few minutes about Breckenridge football, and Jerry Tubbs, and Emory Bellard, and even Basil Clemons.

Monday Meanderings - 1.23.2012

While the Northwest is being blanketed with snow, we are having spring-like weather here in ATX. It was so balmy the other morning I took my coffee to the patio - and discovered that if the trees are bare (it is still winter, after all), then the sun shines directly into your face. Oh, I get it! In the winter you do afternoon coffee on the patio. Works for me.

Medicare sends quarterly statements showing what they paid various doctors over the past few months. We got a statement this past week that was prepared in South Carolina, showing a charge from a doctor in Prarieville, Louisiana, for a service that was performed in Fresno, California.

And speaking of doctors and such, the surgical center where Barb had her procedure last week has called a couple of times, leaving messages that they wanted to follow up and make sure she was doing okay. Barb won't let me call them and apologize for missing their calls, "what with all the funeral plans, etc." No sense of humor.

Barb came home the other day with the newest in the series of the "Eat This, Not That" books. If you are not familiar with this series, the books contrast a healthier suggestion for what is usually a more popular (and less healthy) choice. This latest book is a guide to popular restaurants, with suggestions for best choices from the current menu. For instance, at Outback Steakhouse, choose the Teriyaki Marinated Sirloin (418 calories, 12g fat) as opposed to the Baby Back Ribs (3,021 calories, 242 g fat). I looked through the book, and discovered that all the things we like to eat at our favorite restaurants are on the right-hand page. You know, the one that starts, "Not That!"

I've previously written about cowbells and their use at football games. I came across this the other day: empty propane tanks with a number of steel ball bearings inside.

 

Take that, SEC! 

The cars in my life (My First) - stories for my grandchildren

 

In my Sophomore year in college, I became quite enamored with a sporty little French-made Renault Dauphine. Like the very popular VW bug, it was a rear-engine car but had 4 doors, a 4 cylinder engine labeled the 4CV, or quatre chevaux, which quite literally translates as "four horses." All-in-all, that's a pretty good description of the power of this little vehicle. which on a straight-away (like the Winters Freeway) could achieve 67 miles-per-hour. Max.

The dealer let me drive the car for a weekend while I made up my mind, and I gathered 3 friends and took the car out to Abilene State Park for some fun in the windy roads and trails out there. That was also a weekend that the National Guard was engaged in some maneuvers at the Park. We had stopped mid-road to switch drivers when we heard the ominous clank of a half-track around a curve and we just got the car back in gear and moving before a big Army truck roared around the bend. I have often wondered just how I would have explained to the nice man at the dealership that his tiny little car was now a blip on a tank tread.

The Dauphine could seat four, but on occasion, a fifth person would curl up in the luggage compartment, which of course, was in the front of the car. My brother-in-law-to-be Thayne often drew this position. Since the "hood" tilted forward starting at the windshield, he could sit in the compartment with his head out, just in front of the windshield, and watch where were were going, waving at passers-by.

With mileage of better than 40 mpg, it was cheaper for me to drive home to Breckenridge, let my mother do my laundry, eat some home cooking, and drive back to the dorm than it was to go to the laundromat. Not that I ever went to the laundromat, mind you. Plus, with the gear shift floor-mounted, it was a great car for dating. Was it my fault that the girls knee was right where I needed to move the gear shift? I have to mention that when I demonstrated that particular move to Barb early in our dating, it almost changed the course of history, in that there almost was no history!

I'm happy to say that she married me anyway, but I almost didn't make it to the wedding. When I started out for Port Lavaca, the little Dauphine began to seriously overheat. We turned around (Thayne and my roommate Skeet were with me) and limped to Breckenridge and borrowed my parent's car. leaving the Renault in Breckenridge for repair. After we were established in Dallas, my folks drove the car to Dallas to swap. The thought of my Mom and Dad in that little car amuses me still.

Alas, the overheating was just the beginning of a slow but sure decline. Let me just say that while the French may have many skills, building automobiles is not one of them. The Dauphine disappeared from the marketplace by 1960.

Next, the Detroit years...