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Friday, April 30, 2004
May I Introduce To You, The One and Only....
Nope, not Billy Shears of Sgt. Pepper fame, but ta da, The Fat Guy, a great Texas blogger with a Lone Star sense of humor. He and I share a lot of all things Texan in common, we just disagree on a few minor national security thingamabobs. But, I will tell you this, whenever trouble comes knocking at your door, you can't do better than having a big 'ole Texas boy answering it. God bless 'em.
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
The Arkansas Democratic Gazette
Just aimless, useless Googling brought me to The Arkansas Democratic Gazette. Listed below are some Personals from Sunday's paper:
CARLA
YOU left a beautiful impression on my heart. Ugly J
Pattie's Note to "Ugly" - poor thing. So, break all the mirrors in your house and smile!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ERICA IN Ward,
Have crush on you
Secret Admirer.
Pattie's Note to "Secret": I hope Ward is a town!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I LIKE you,
Jesse
From, Ashley
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MAN WAS created
in God's image:
immortal soul
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RAVEN, I'M looking for you too.
Please contact me
@ xxx-xxx-xxxx, Amber
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
REWARD $$$$
for any info concerning Enick Raymond Johnson, Jax/Cabot, January 2003-April 2004. Contact P.O. Box xxx Cabot, AR 72023
Pattie's Note to "Reward": Only 4 digits? With a name like Enick, you should at least be rewarded amply!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SBM, 32 years old, 5'6, 140lbs, very friendly, physically fit, seeking single female for good conservation & companionship. E-mail at blackstalllion4white@XXXXX.com
Pattie's Note to Black Stallion - Do you wear giant gold medallions as well? Obviously a good guy, you practice CONSERVATION!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SINCERE SINGLES
Meet others for respectable dating.
All areas of Ark. Age groups 18-80.
Free info. Leonards, PO Box 421
Berryville, AR 72616-0421
Pattie's Note to "Sincere": Awww, only respectable?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SUSIE, WILL you still want to be with me when are free, Pretty Face. Love, Mike
Pattie's Note to "Mike": So, are you both incarcerated, or married or what?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SWM SEEKS SGM for serious relationship, no time to play, serious inquiries only. Write to Jerry at Box LM 23372218 , c/o Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Classified Advertising, P.O. Box 2221, Little Rock, AR 72203.
Pattie's Note to "SWM": Say dude, you are really SERIOUS about this huh? No time to play is just sad.
Good grief, I must need to eat lunch. My mind is taking weird field trips today.
CARLA
YOU left a beautiful impression on my heart. Ugly J
Pattie's Note to "Ugly" - poor thing. So, break all the mirrors in your house and smile!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ERICA IN Ward,
Have crush on you
Secret Admirer.
Pattie's Note to "Secret": I hope Ward is a town!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I LIKE you,
Jesse
From, Ashley
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
MAN WAS created
in God's image:
immortal soul
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RAVEN, I'M looking for you too.
Please contact me
@ xxx-xxx-xxxx, Amber
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
REWARD $$$$
for any info concerning Enick Raymond Johnson, Jax/Cabot, January 2003-April 2004. Contact P.O. Box xxx Cabot, AR 72023
Pattie's Note to "Reward": Only 4 digits? With a name like Enick, you should at least be rewarded amply!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SBM, 32 years old, 5'6, 140lbs, very friendly, physically fit, seeking single female for good conservation & companionship. E-mail at blackstalllion4white@XXXXX.com
Pattie's Note to Black Stallion - Do you wear giant gold medallions as well? Obviously a good guy, you practice CONSERVATION!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SINCERE SINGLES
Meet others for respectable dating.
All areas of Ark. Age groups 18-80.
Free info. Leonards, PO Box 421
Berryville, AR 72616-0421
Pattie's Note to "Sincere": Awww, only respectable?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SUSIE, WILL you still want to be with me when are free, Pretty Face. Love, Mike
Pattie's Note to "Mike": So, are you both incarcerated, or married or what?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SWM SEEKS SGM for serious relationship, no time to play, serious inquiries only. Write to Jerry at Box LM 23372218 , c/o Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Classified Advertising, P.O. Box 2221, Little Rock, AR 72203.
Pattie's Note to "SWM": Say dude, you are really SERIOUS about this huh? No time to play is just sad.
Good grief, I must need to eat lunch. My mind is taking weird field trips today.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Name that Tune
All these little diddies are off of what Jerry Jeff Walker album? (key word here is album)
Gettin' By (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Desperados Waiting For The Train (Guy Clark)
Sangria Wine (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Little Bird (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Get It Out (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Up Against The Wall Red Neck Mother (Ray Wylie Hubbard)
Backsliders Wine (Michael Murphy)
The Wheel (Jerry Jeff Walker)
London Homesick Blues (Gary P. Nunn)
Lyrics to Gettin' By
OK buckaroos, Scamp Walker time again
I'm trying to slide one by you once more
Don't matter how you do it
Just do it like you know it
I've been down that road once or twice before
Chorus:
Just gettin' by on gettin' bys my stock in trade
Living it day to day
Pickin' up the pieces wherever they fall
Just letting it roll, letting the high times carry the low
I'm just living my life easy come, easy go
Last week I was thinking, its record time again
And I could see Mike making those faces
Ah Mike, don't you worry, something's bound to come out
Besides, I've been down this road once or twice before
Chorus
Income tax is overdue, I think she is too
Been busted and I'll probably get busted some more
But I'll catch it all later, can't let em stop me now
I've been down this road once or twice before
When you need a cryin' in your beer, tune, can't never go wrong with Jerry Jeff. We keep this album handy on the patio for Lone Star parties and barbecue. I love it. Know most all the lyrics. Bet you know a few, too! Awww, come on, ya'll know the title of this album, doncha? Think desert....
Gettin' By (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Desperados Waiting For The Train (Guy Clark)
Sangria Wine (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Little Bird (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Get It Out (Jerry Jeff Walker)
Up Against The Wall Red Neck Mother (Ray Wylie Hubbard)
Backsliders Wine (Michael Murphy)
The Wheel (Jerry Jeff Walker)
London Homesick Blues (Gary P. Nunn)
Lyrics to Gettin' By
OK buckaroos, Scamp Walker time again
I'm trying to slide one by you once more
Don't matter how you do it
Just do it like you know it
I've been down that road once or twice before
Chorus:
Just gettin' by on gettin' bys my stock in trade
Living it day to day
Pickin' up the pieces wherever they fall
Just letting it roll, letting the high times carry the low
I'm just living my life easy come, easy go
Last week I was thinking, its record time again
And I could see Mike making those faces
Ah Mike, don't you worry, something's bound to come out
Besides, I've been down this road once or twice before
Chorus
Income tax is overdue, I think she is too
Been busted and I'll probably get busted some more
But I'll catch it all later, can't let em stop me now
I've been down this road once or twice before
When you need a cryin' in your beer, tune, can't never go wrong with Jerry Jeff. We keep this album handy on the patio for Lone Star parties and barbecue. I love it. Know most all the lyrics. Bet you know a few, too! Awww, come on, ya'll know the title of this album, doncha? Think desert....
Friday, April 23, 2004
A Guide To Life - Texas Style
I profess to being envious of those mental giants of blog who seem so Einsteinian, and keep me on my toes. Gentle readers of TT, you may notice that I ramble on and alternate between silly and serious. At the risk of becoming a sappy Lone Star Pundit, I love Texas humor and offer the following guide ( I didn't originate these little jewels, but they still hold good advice). Serious Pattie might be back this weekend... stay tuned Kiddie Troupers:
A COWBOY'S GUIDE TO LIFE
1. Don't squat with your spurs on.
2. Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.
3. Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier 'n puttin' it back in.
4. If you're ridin' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there.
5. If you get to thinkin' you're a person of some influence, try orderin' somebody else's dog around.
6. After eating an entire bull, a mountain lion felt so good he started roaring. He kept it up until a hunter came along and shot him...........The moral: When you're full of bull, keep your mouth shut.
7. Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.
8. There's two theories to arguin' with a woman. Neither one works.
9. If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.
10. Never slap a man who's chewin' tobacco.
11. It don't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.
12. Always drink upstream from the herd.
13. When you give a lesson in meanness to a critter or a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.
14. When you're throwin' your weight around, be ready to have it thrown around by somebody else.
15. The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.
16. There are three kinds of men: The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. And the rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Genre Vs Lit-Fiction Writers Revisited
My great blogging friend, Michael at 2blowhards has posted this article comparing the high-brow works of a professional lit-fict writer to that of genre writers.
I have given it some thought, and come up with a writer who fits both categories, IMHO. I bet some of you could do so as well. Ann Radcliffe (1764 - 1823) wrote Gothic fiction. Fascinating stories, her writing style was often imitated, yet future gothic writers never seemed to capture her genius for this genre. I loved the Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian. Now, as I write this post, I am reminded to go to my favorite store, Half-Priced Books, to find copies of two of Radcliffe's novels I've missed: The Castles of Athen and Dunbane, and The Romance of the Forest.
Radcliffe may not be everyone's cup of Earl Grey, but as I said in comment at 2blowhards, books are like perfumes, very personal choices.
I have given it some thought, and come up with a writer who fits both categories, IMHO. I bet some of you could do so as well. Ann Radcliffe (1764 - 1823) wrote Gothic fiction. Fascinating stories, her writing style was often imitated, yet future gothic writers never seemed to capture her genius for this genre. I loved the Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian. Now, as I write this post, I am reminded to go to my favorite store, Half-Priced Books, to find copies of two of Radcliffe's novels I've missed: The Castles of Athen and Dunbane, and The Romance of the Forest.
Radcliffe may not be everyone's cup of Earl Grey, but as I said in comment at 2blowhards, books are like perfumes, very personal choices.
"How To Be a Texan" - No Experience Necessary
Before we begin, I must clarify, sanctify, and preachify about the southern word "yawl". When we say "yawl come" to someone we mean the whole family, when we say "do yawl have really cold northers?" we are talking about the whole town. You never go up to a single person and ask "do yawl have a beer?" cause you ain't askin' the world for a brewsky, only one person. You gotta know your conjugations, cowboy. And word to the wise, we never, ever say "you all". Mebbe "yew" but never "you all". That's Yankee for yawl (with many pardons to my very favorite up north friends !!)
A brief dictionary of Texas words with pronounciation:
rat cheer: in this very place
rat chonder: over thetaway
bob warr: something to keep cattle in pasture
cheer: a sittin' on thang
amulants: a thang that takes you to the hospital when your lag is broke
syreen: a noise the amulants makes
puh cons: not pee cans, but tasty little things from a tree
punchard tar: goes flat when you don't have a spare
texco all company: (say it out loud ) refineries
arrows: mistakes
far angine: something you call if yore house is burnin'
Ehr Ull: a man's name
ignert: not smart
ranch: tool used to tighten bolts
farn: not domestic
bare: an alcoholic beverage
hire yew?: a greeting ( Heidi, Hire yew?)
view: contraction and pronoun "I ain't never seed New York City - view?"
Further, you know you are in Texas when:
The preacher says a prayer for the Dallas Cowboys
Restrooms are outside
No such thing as a "secret" sin
Folks gripe about coyotes being on the Ark
Hot water comes out of both taps
Break a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 AM before work
Discover how to drive a car with 2 fingers in July
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is that you will get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death
Asphalt has a liquid state
Potatoes bake underground, all you have to do is pull one out and add salt and pepper
Farmers feed chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs ( aaigs if you are Texan)
You hear a Texan say "I wish it would rain - not so much for me, cuz I've seen it, but for my 7 year-old."
Anyway, hope all my non-Texan friends enjoy my poking fun at myself!
A brief dictionary of Texas words with pronounciation:
rat cheer: in this very place
rat chonder: over thetaway
bob warr: something to keep cattle in pasture
cheer: a sittin' on thang
amulants: a thang that takes you to the hospital when your lag is broke
syreen: a noise the amulants makes
puh cons: not pee cans, but tasty little things from a tree
punchard tar: goes flat when you don't have a spare
texco all company: (say it out loud ) refineries
arrows: mistakes
far angine: something you call if yore house is burnin'
Ehr Ull: a man's name
ignert: not smart
ranch: tool used to tighten bolts
farn: not domestic
bare: an alcoholic beverage
hire yew?: a greeting ( Heidi, Hire yew?)
view: contraction and pronoun "I ain't never seed New York City - view?"
Further, you know you are in Texas when:
The preacher says a prayer for the Dallas Cowboys
Restrooms are outside
No such thing as a "secret" sin
Folks gripe about coyotes being on the Ark
Hot water comes out of both taps
Break a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 AM before work
Discover how to drive a car with 2 fingers in July
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is that you will get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death
Asphalt has a liquid state
Potatoes bake underground, all you have to do is pull one out and add salt and pepper
Farmers feed chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard-boiled eggs ( aaigs if you are Texan)
You hear a Texan say "I wish it would rain - not so much for me, cuz I've seen it, but for my 7 year-old."
Anyway, hope all my non-Texan friends enjoy my poking fun at myself!
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
The Goat Man and His Dog
I never knew his real name, or if I did, I've forgotten it. A tall, rail-thin fellow who always had a ready smile but few words, he lived just off the highway along with some goats and a lone red dog he called Goldie, a cross between a golden retriever and an Irish setter. Surrounded by craggy piles of cast-off junk, the little fly-speck shanty he called home appeared even more tenuous than its occupant. His only visible means of support was the occasional sale of a piece of his landscape and whose resulting vacant spot amongst the rubble was quickly filled twice-over.
Late in the evenings, the small herd of goats held court on top of an old, beat-up truck long past its prime, a twisted hunk of indistinguishable metal; bearded King Billy with his crown of horns more regal than any anointed Shakespearean monarch. Occasionally, Goldie would join her hooved friends in a chase around the yard, barking at their heels, each knowing the rules of the game. Serving as base, the hood of the old truck was safe harbor for the goats, the sound of their bleats an echoing cacophonous song. If her Capricorn yardmates stayed there too long, Goldie would get bored and amble off in search of something more interesting.
And so it would seem likely the old man was known to the locals as "Goat Man". It was not used in a mean way, just a name much like the postman, or the butcher. Someone told me once that Goat Man was very educated, had a master's degree in some field or other. I suppose it was possible. Those days, he was just an old hermit that seldom bathed, preferring the company and philosophy of four-legged friends. Any vestige of higher learning was well hidden underneath the old dirty "gimme" cap that was part of Goat Man's everyday uniform.
If his mood was just right, and the vistor willing to ignore the ripe odors, Goat Man would put Goldie through her tricks. Lining up several empty cans of various labels of beer, Goat man would send Goldie outside of the lean-to barn and ask a guest to choose a brew - care for a Jax, a Pearl, or maybe a Lone Star? How about a Shiner? Nodding his acknowledgement of the choice, Goat Man would pick up the selected can, hand it around for inspection, and then set it back amongst the rest. Then, giving a sharp whistle, Goat Man would call Goldie back inside. She would wait patiently for the signal to begin... ears pointed, eyes glued to his weathered face, she paid no attention to her audience. Goat Man would have a short one-sided conversation with Goldie and then with a slight upward point of his chin toward the wall, she would pad quickly to the line-up of cans, sniffing one, then another. She occasionally went down the line completely before returning to the right beer; placing her paw on its top, she would pull ithe can over, pick it up in her mouth, and carry it back to Goat Man. This would go on until the audience grew tired of the performance, certainly the man and the dog never wearied of the routine. Some people said that Goat Man would put a particular scent on the can, others said the dog got secret signals from him. Me? I always thought it was more the special bond between Goldie and Goat Man, a language only the two of them knew, a unique communication between man and his best friend.
Goat Man and Goldie were minor celebrities in the little coastal town, their fame reaching down the blacktop county highway to the next little sleepy fishing burg. Years passed and both friends lost battles to cancer; Goldie one year to a tumor in her abdomen, and Goat Man the next to lung cancer - the unsolicited gift of decades-long smoking of unfiltered Camel cigarettes. The kingdom of junk has long been razed over, but ever so often, the flattened odd can of Jax beer surfaces, its red and yellow label scratched by time and perhaps the faint markings of canine teeth.
Links to this post
Late in the evenings, the small herd of goats held court on top of an old, beat-up truck long past its prime, a twisted hunk of indistinguishable metal; bearded King Billy with his crown of horns more regal than any anointed Shakespearean monarch. Occasionally, Goldie would join her hooved friends in a chase around the yard, barking at their heels, each knowing the rules of the game. Serving as base, the hood of the old truck was safe harbor for the goats, the sound of their bleats an echoing cacophonous song. If her Capricorn yardmates stayed there too long, Goldie would get bored and amble off in search of something more interesting.
And so it would seem likely the old man was known to the locals as "Goat Man". It was not used in a mean way, just a name much like the postman, or the butcher. Someone told me once that Goat Man was very educated, had a master's degree in some field or other. I suppose it was possible. Those days, he was just an old hermit that seldom bathed, preferring the company and philosophy of four-legged friends. Any vestige of higher learning was well hidden underneath the old dirty "gimme" cap that was part of Goat Man's everyday uniform.
If his mood was just right, and the vistor willing to ignore the ripe odors, Goat Man would put Goldie through her tricks. Lining up several empty cans of various labels of beer, Goat man would send Goldie outside of the lean-to barn and ask a guest to choose a brew - care for a Jax, a Pearl, or maybe a Lone Star? How about a Shiner? Nodding his acknowledgement of the choice, Goat Man would pick up the selected can, hand it around for inspection, and then set it back amongst the rest. Then, giving a sharp whistle, Goat Man would call Goldie back inside. She would wait patiently for the signal to begin... ears pointed, eyes glued to his weathered face, she paid no attention to her audience. Goat Man would have a short one-sided conversation with Goldie and then with a slight upward point of his chin toward the wall, she would pad quickly to the line-up of cans, sniffing one, then another. She occasionally went down the line completely before returning to the right beer; placing her paw on its top, she would pull ithe can over, pick it up in her mouth, and carry it back to Goat Man. This would go on until the audience grew tired of the performance, certainly the man and the dog never wearied of the routine. Some people said that Goat Man would put a particular scent on the can, others said the dog got secret signals from him. Me? I always thought it was more the special bond between Goldie and Goat Man, a language only the two of them knew, a unique communication between man and his best friend.
Goat Man and Goldie were minor celebrities in the little coastal town, their fame reaching down the blacktop county highway to the next little sleepy fishing burg. Years passed and both friends lost battles to cancer; Goldie one year to a tumor in her abdomen, and Goat Man the next to lung cancer - the unsolicited gift of decades-long smoking of unfiltered Camel cigarettes. The kingdom of junk has long been razed over, but ever so often, the flattened odd can of Jax beer surfaces, its red and yellow label scratched by time and perhaps the faint markings of canine teeth.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
"A Brave Man Reposes in Death Here. Why was he not true?"
Legends in Texas grow tall and mossy, and we natives hate to have them lessened by outsiders. Like tales of the Alamo, most any Texan native can regale you with great stories of early Texas outlaws. Some of the more embellished histories are about a train-robbing gang leader by the name of Sam Bass. If you are interested, a good rendition is told
"Sam Bass had everything it takes to achieve eternal life as a folk hero. He was young, good looking, lived fast, died young, and his downfall was sparked by the betrayal of one of the boys in his merry band. Something about that "Denton mare" of his made his the perfect cowboy Robin Hood saga. The fact that he robbed trains was cool; back then the railroad companies were almighty and people rightfully resented the hell out of them. Last but certainly not least, Sam Bass had a good song. The worms had barely taken a nibble from his bullet-riddled corpse before "The Ballad of Sam Bass" was making the rounds. Charlie Siringo, the Texas cowboy, detective, and author, claimed that the ballad helped bring calm to longhorns in bad weather and restless nights, and it helped to keep the elastic legend of Sam Bass stretching and growing and flowing melodiously along from cow camp to cow town, from warbling wrangler to rumbling jukebox": (from The Sam Bass Gang, by Rick Miller)
Ballad of Sam Bass
Sam Bass was born in Indiana, it was his native home;
And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam.
Sam first came out to Texas, a cowboy for to be --
A kinder-hearted fellow you seldom ever see.
He made a deal in race-stock -- one called the Denton mare.
He matched her in scrub races and took her to the fair.
Sam used to coin the money and spent it just as free;
He always drank good whiskey, wherever he might be.
Sam had that special "code of the west" quality as evidenced by his words when asked to turn in his fellow gang members: "...it is ag'in' my profession to blow on my pals. If a man knows anything he ought to die with it in him." It is said that Sam never killed a man, except perhaps at the last gunfight at Round Rock, and even that is disputed as are the last dying words of Bass. John R. Banister, the Ranger who was assigned to guard the dying Bass claimed that Sam's last words were actually "This world is a bubble, - trouble wherever you go" - probably a more fitting epitaph for Sam Bass's life.
Some many stories, so little time....
Did I ever tell you about my uncle in Santa Anna, Texas who was the postmaster? He met THE Bonnie and Clyde...and lived to tell that tale. Stay tuned, kiddie troupers.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Cowtown IS Great!
"Partners for Livable Communities, a national non-profit leadership organization, will name Fort Worth one of America’s Most Livable Communities of the decade."
But, shhhhh, please. We like it quaint and quiet. The word will get out, and then "Wham!" we're not so attractive anymore. One thing I do know, you better like your summers hot and humid, and your eggs with ranchero sauce.
In honor of this accolade, I bring you Cowtown neighborhoods past and present. Neighborhoods that are affluent, working-classed, or the occasional slum. Names like Ridglea, Como, Riverside, Westover Hills, Little Saigon, Monticello, Mistletoe Heights, and Poly. But in early 20th-century Fort Worth, police used more colorful language to pinpoint locations. Areas such as "Gold Coast," "Cabbage Patch," "Hogan's Alley" and "Battercake Flats" identified the neighborhoods where cops covered their beats. Of course, these monikers would all be very unpolitically correct in today's world. The following is excerpted from the Star-Telegram:
Fort Worth Police Sgt. Kevin Foster, who spends a lot of his spare time digging up the department's history, found the police designations for neighborhoods in a Feb. 18, 1923, Star-Telegram. With help from the local history staff at the Fort Worth Central Library, Foster matched some old beat nicknames to neighborhoods.
"Bohunk Alley" -- a word created with parts of the words Bohemian and Hungarian -- was what police called a settlement of Stockyards packinghouse workers.
"Bums' Bowery" was an area that extended along the northern part of Texas and Pacific Railroad property. Numerous transients lived in makeshift houses and sneaked rides "on the rods" from city to city.
The "League of Nations" referred to a section in northeastern downtown where recent immigrants from various countries often settled when they first came to Fort Worth. When officers were summoned to the area, they often had enormous difficulty understanding witnesses because of the myriad languages spoken.
The affluent residential area along Summit and Pennsylvania avenues was called the "Gold Coast" by police on the beat. The ritzy area along Main and Houston streets was called "Silk Stocking Lane."
"Little Africa" referred to Ninth Street, where black businesses and entertainment venues lined the thoroughfare. The diverse businesses included black millionaire Bill "Gooseneck" McDonald's Fraternal Bank and Trust Co., hotels, theaters, cafes, barbershops and stores owned and operated by African-American entrepreneurs.
A massive immigration of Irish looking for railroad construction jobs began in 1876, and many of them settled in "Irish Town," east of Jones Street and just below East Lancaster Avenue. Irish Town was also the area of mysterious murders of "bulls" -- a nickname for policemen that was imported by the Irish.
"Little Mexico" was called the "romantic beat" by officers because of the women in dark dresses and bright shawls who passed cantinas around lower Calhoun and Jones streets.
"Brown's Mule Square" covered the parklike grounds then encircling Courthouse Square on the far north end of downtown. It was named after a popular brand of chewing tobacco because chewers frequented the cool, shady lawns around the Tarrant County Courthouse to spin tales while they "constantly chawed and expectorated."
Police calls were infrequent in "Quality Grove," a north side residential area where many working-class blacks lived.
It had whitewashed frame homes surrounded by matching picket fences.
Another working-class neighborhood -- this one mostly of Anglos -- was "Hogan's Alley," which followed West 13th Street in downtown Fort Worth. Families lived above their businesses, including printing and typesetting shops, engraving setups and photography studios.
The notorious "Hell's Half Acre" -- roughly occupying the area of today's Fort Worth Convention Center -- contained saloons, gambling parlors, hotels, bordellos and other businesses that catered to the weaknesses of men and women.
Policemen dreaded going into the Acre, where they were called "bull's-eyes" because they were likely targets of gun-toting bad guys.
The Acre was about eight blocks long and five blocks wide -- covering Ninth to 16th streets north and south and from Houston to Jones streets east and west.
The police beat nicknames served their purpose until the late 1930s, when the city, particularly the downtown area, began changing radically.
But, shhhhh, please. We like it quaint and quiet. The word will get out, and then "Wham!" we're not so attractive anymore. One thing I do know, you better like your summers hot and humid, and your eggs with ranchero sauce.
In honor of this accolade, I bring you Cowtown neighborhoods past and present. Neighborhoods that are affluent, working-classed, or the occasional slum. Names like Ridglea, Como, Riverside, Westover Hills, Little Saigon, Monticello, Mistletoe Heights, and Poly. But in early 20th-century Fort Worth, police used more colorful language to pinpoint locations. Areas such as "Gold Coast," "Cabbage Patch," "Hogan's Alley" and "Battercake Flats" identified the neighborhoods where cops covered their beats. Of course, these monikers would all be very unpolitically correct in today's world. The following is excerpted from the Star-Telegram:
Fort Worth Police Sgt. Kevin Foster, who spends a lot of his spare time digging up the department's history, found the police designations for neighborhoods in a Feb. 18, 1923, Star-Telegram. With help from the local history staff at the Fort Worth Central Library, Foster matched some old beat nicknames to neighborhoods.
"Bohunk Alley" -- a word created with parts of the words Bohemian and Hungarian -- was what police called a settlement of Stockyards packinghouse workers.
"Bums' Bowery" was an area that extended along the northern part of Texas and Pacific Railroad property. Numerous transients lived in makeshift houses and sneaked rides "on the rods" from city to city.
The "League of Nations" referred to a section in northeastern downtown where recent immigrants from various countries often settled when they first came to Fort Worth. When officers were summoned to the area, they often had enormous difficulty understanding witnesses because of the myriad languages spoken.
The affluent residential area along Summit and Pennsylvania avenues was called the "Gold Coast" by police on the beat. The ritzy area along Main and Houston streets was called "Silk Stocking Lane."
"Little Africa" referred to Ninth Street, where black businesses and entertainment venues lined the thoroughfare. The diverse businesses included black millionaire Bill "Gooseneck" McDonald's Fraternal Bank and Trust Co., hotels, theaters, cafes, barbershops and stores owned and operated by African-American entrepreneurs.
A massive immigration of Irish looking for railroad construction jobs began in 1876, and many of them settled in "Irish Town," east of Jones Street and just below East Lancaster Avenue. Irish Town was also the area of mysterious murders of "bulls" -- a nickname for policemen that was imported by the Irish.
"Little Mexico" was called the "romantic beat" by officers because of the women in dark dresses and bright shawls who passed cantinas around lower Calhoun and Jones streets.
"Brown's Mule Square" covered the parklike grounds then encircling Courthouse Square on the far north end of downtown. It was named after a popular brand of chewing tobacco because chewers frequented the cool, shady lawns around the Tarrant County Courthouse to spin tales while they "constantly chawed and expectorated."
Police calls were infrequent in "Quality Grove," a north side residential area where many working-class blacks lived.
It had whitewashed frame homes surrounded by matching picket fences.
Another working-class neighborhood -- this one mostly of Anglos -- was "Hogan's Alley," which followed West 13th Street in downtown Fort Worth. Families lived above their businesses, including printing and typesetting shops, engraving setups and photography studios.
The notorious "Hell's Half Acre" -- roughly occupying the area of today's Fort Worth Convention Center -- contained saloons, gambling parlors, hotels, bordellos and other businesses that catered to the weaknesses of men and women.
Policemen dreaded going into the Acre, where they were called "bull's-eyes" because they were likely targets of gun-toting bad guys.
The Acre was about eight blocks long and five blocks wide -- covering Ninth to 16th streets north and south and from Houston to Jones streets east and west.
The police beat nicknames served their purpose until the late 1930s, when the city, particularly the downtown area, began changing radically.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Iron-Jawed Angels
As a working mother, and the progenerator of four daughters, the issue of feminism hits home. My fellow blogger and friend, Michael over at 2blowhards has a very interesting post on the feminist movement complete with fiery commentary here .
Seems Michael has opened a can of worms ( although everyone knows the worm can turn - the little beastie can change gender as he/she sees evolutionary fit). Some enlightening facts, some stinging volley - all in all, what makes blogging fun and dirty.
Another, more biblical slant is in this article by Marilyn Adamson about Jesus and his view on women:Jesus and Feminism and I plan on trying to catch a repeat of this HBO jewel: Iron-Jawed Angels .
Anyone care to venture into these murky waters?
Seems Michael has opened a can of worms ( although everyone knows the worm can turn - the little beastie can change gender as he/she sees evolutionary fit). Some enlightening facts, some stinging volley - all in all, what makes blogging fun and dirty.
Another, more biblical slant is in this article by Marilyn Adamson about Jesus and his view on women:
Anyone care to venture into these murky waters?
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Springtime, Puppies and Little Girls
Once upon a spring, girls and puppies romped in my front yard. The four to the far right are mine, the little cotton-top on the far left with the "singing pup" is a neighbor child, Jessica.
Times of dress-up, teddy bear picnics, and bikes, a time of innocence. Like little puppies, they do grow up fast.
Happy Easter Emmiebug, Eronginong, Jamalinski, and Larissa LaRue ( Emily, Erin, Jamie, and Lara).
Saturday, April 10, 2004
"Tiger of Manilla"
The recent events at Falluja, Iraq, bring to mind atrocities of another era, another monster. During World War II, the Japanese Lt. General Yamashita, was responsible for the needless killing of over 50,000 men, women and children in the Philipines. The Marines dubbed him the "Louse of Luzon". During his trial, details of many barbaric acts came to light with testimonies of survivors. One such story has similar connections to Falluja:
A former Manila military police testified how he saw Japanese MP's decapitate 26 Filipino men and women in less than 40 minutes. The order was signed by Yamashita. Further, he stated that two American fliers, gunners from a twin-engined plane that crashed off Cebu, were bayonetted and then burned alive. He exhibited photos of charred bodies, their hands still tied behind their backs. The men had been bayonetted beside a hole, where their pleas for water were answered with a deluge of gasoline. Additionally, he recounted atrocities in the Manila prisons, where some persons were strung from the ceiling with ropes, and then allowed to fall onto boards with protruding nails. Other prisoners were pumped full of soapy water after which the guards jumped on their stomachs. The tales of horror go on and on.
While this generation of Americans shake their heads at the inhumane actions of the Iraqi's, the generation of WWII saw much worse. The Bataan Death March was once described as "never-to-be-forgotten" savagery. General MacArthur wanted the convicted Japanese officers and leaders to be executed at the gallows, which he considered more appropriate for murderers, rapists, and war criminals. To place them before a firing squad would be an honorable death for a soldier, something MacArthur felt should be denied to these criminals of war.
On October 25th, 1945, the AP reported combat casualties were compiled for all armed servcies and totaled 272,862 dead, 651,586 wounded, 27,852 missing in action, 116,903 POW's, for a total of 1,069,203.
Surely these numbers cannot be repeated today?
A former Manila military police testified how he saw Japanese MP's decapitate 26 Filipino men and women in less than 40 minutes. The order was signed by Yamashita. Further, he stated that two American fliers, gunners from a twin-engined plane that crashed off Cebu, were bayonetted and then burned alive. He exhibited photos of charred bodies, their hands still tied behind their backs. The men had been bayonetted beside a hole, where their pleas for water were answered with a deluge of gasoline. Additionally, he recounted atrocities in the Manila prisons, where some persons were strung from the ceiling with ropes, and then allowed to fall onto boards with protruding nails. Other prisoners were pumped full of soapy water after which the guards jumped on their stomachs. The tales of horror go on and on.
While this generation of Americans shake their heads at the inhumane actions of the Iraqi's, the generation of WWII saw much worse. The Bataan Death March was once described as "never-to-be-forgotten" savagery. General MacArthur wanted the convicted Japanese officers and leaders to be executed at the gallows, which he considered more appropriate for murderers, rapists, and war criminals. To place them before a firing squad would be an honorable death for a soldier, something MacArthur felt should be denied to these criminals of war.
On October 25th, 1945, the AP reported combat casualties were compiled for all armed servcies and totaled 272,862 dead, 651,586 wounded, 27,852 missing in action, 116,903 POW's, for a total of 1,069,203.
Surely these numbers cannot be repeated today?
Non tali auxilio nec defensoribus istis Tempus eget.
"Not such aid nor such defenders does the time require" - Virgil
One would surmise that Sam Houston ascribed to this motto during the siege of the Alamo, if you believe Dennis Quaid's interpretation of the man. Houston undoubtedly knew that no victory could be won by rushing to the aid of his compadres surrounded by the Mexican troops and facing execution. The pain of that knowledge must have been excrutiating to Houston, one that I am sure he took to his grave, especially after reading this, a letter from Travis:
Commandancy of the Alamo
Bexar, Fby. 24th, 1836
To the People of Texas &
all Americans in the world
Fellow Citizens & Compatriots
I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender nor retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, & of everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country.
Victory or Death
William Barret Travis
Lt. Col. Comdt.
Dennis Quaid portrayed the larger-than-life Houston a little too subdued, too one-dimensional. Perhaps the cutting room took most of the larger parts of Quaid's role, and thus, we are left with an unfinished portrait and more so a sketch. True, Houston was not at the Alamo, but very pivotal to the story. I see Sam Houston more akin to Prometheus, and the vulture most assuredly, Santa Anna. But, I am a native daughter of Texas, and tend to elevate these men to legendary heroic stature. Afterall, these are my heroes. Thankfully, "The Alamo" did not lessen their importance or mock them in my eyes.
Yes, I enjoyed the movie last evening and was especially good viewed at the new Rave theater with awesome dolby sound. While license was definitely taken, it didn't detract from the historical record too much. Did David Crockett play his fiddle on an embattlement of the Alamo and accompany the Mexican army musicians? Probably not, but it lent a great moment to the movie. One aspect of Crockett was portrayed acurately: Crocket was a crack marksman and using his Kentucky long rifle (the other Alamo defenders used less effective Mexican guns), often picked off Mexican soldiers at a great distance. Billy Bob's rendition of Crockett proved me wrong in my pre-viewing judgement. He is wonderful in the role, and provides the deepest character portrayal. Thumbs up to Billy Bob. As I mentioned, Quaid just is not Sam Houston in my mind's eye; a good actor, but not "big" enough to fill those shoes. Emilio Echevarria, as General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, was perfect as the pompous, barbaric Mexican leader. A soulful, sad Juan Seguin was played well by Jordi Molia; left me wishing Molia had gotten a larger part. A telling line in the movie spoken by Seguin: "...the enemy of my enemy is my friend", portends Seguin's tolerance, not love of the fierce Texians; later, Seguin would join the Mexican side during the U.S.- Mexican War. Jason Patric's, Jim Bowie, was good and perhaps played the man with a little more kindness than history imparts to Bowie.
All in all, John Lee Hancock directs a good story; one that did not offend my Texan blood. That is no small feat. Movies often spark my need for more information, and I will head off to the library to find more written material about these fellows whom I last visited in grade school. Now for the weeks to come, I, too, shall "Remember the Alamo!"
One would surmise that Sam Houston ascribed to this motto during the siege of the Alamo, if you believe Dennis Quaid's interpretation of the man. Houston undoubtedly knew that no victory could be won by rushing to the aid of his compadres surrounded by the Mexican troops and facing execution. The pain of that knowledge must have been excrutiating to Houston, one that I am sure he took to his grave, especially after reading this, a letter from Travis:
Commandancy of the Alamo
Bexar, Fby. 24th, 1836
To the People of Texas &
all Americans in the world
Fellow Citizens & Compatriots
I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual bombardment & cannonade for 24 hours & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls. I shall never surrender nor retreat. Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of patriotism, & of everything dear to the American character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily & will no doubt increase to three or four thousand in four or five days. If this call is neglected, I am determined to sustain myself as long as possible & die like a soldier who never forgets what is due to his own honor & that of his country.
Victory or Death
William Barret Travis
Lt. Col. Comdt.
Dennis Quaid portrayed the larger-than-life Houston a little too subdued, too one-dimensional. Perhaps the cutting room took most of the larger parts of Quaid's role, and thus, we are left with an unfinished portrait and more so a sketch. True, Houston was not at the Alamo, but very pivotal to the story. I see Sam Houston more akin to Prometheus, and the vulture most assuredly, Santa Anna. But, I am a native daughter of Texas, and tend to elevate these men to legendary heroic stature. Afterall, these are my heroes. Thankfully, "The Alamo" did not lessen their importance or mock them in my eyes.
Yes, I enjoyed the movie last evening and was especially good viewed at the new Rave theater with awesome dolby sound. While license was definitely taken, it didn't detract from the historical record too much. Did David Crockett play his fiddle on an embattlement of the Alamo and accompany the Mexican army musicians? Probably not, but it lent a great moment to the movie. One aspect of Crockett was portrayed acurately: Crocket was a crack marksman and using his Kentucky long rifle (the other Alamo defenders used less effective Mexican guns), often picked off Mexican soldiers at a great distance. Billy Bob's rendition of Crockett proved me wrong in my pre-viewing judgement. He is wonderful in the role, and provides the deepest character portrayal. Thumbs up to Billy Bob. As I mentioned, Quaid just is not Sam Houston in my mind's eye; a good actor, but not "big" enough to fill those shoes. Emilio Echevarria, as General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, was perfect as the pompous, barbaric Mexican leader. A soulful, sad Juan Seguin was played well by Jordi Molia; left me wishing Molia had gotten a larger part. A telling line in the movie spoken by Seguin: "...the enemy of my enemy is my friend", portends Seguin's tolerance, not love of the fierce Texians; later, Seguin would join the Mexican side during the U.S.- Mexican War. Jason Patric's, Jim Bowie, was good and perhaps played the man with a little more kindness than history imparts to Bowie.
All in all, John Lee Hancock directs a good story; one that did not offend my Texan blood. That is no small feat. Movies often spark my need for more information, and I will head off to the library to find more written material about these fellows whom I last visited in grade school. Now for the weeks to come, I, too, shall "Remember the Alamo!"
Friday, April 09, 2004
The Angel Of Goliad
Tonight, Kman and I will swallow our pride and go see Hollywood's version of our own beloved Alamo. Why do I get the feeling we will leave the theater saying "Bull Hockey" afterwards? The local critic has already marked it with a flaming "D". I get so desperate for a really good western/history epic, that I will give it a shot anyway.
Tinsel Town might have looked at this little history jewel for the basis of a much better movie: The Angel of Goliad.
The mission at La Bahia is much prettier and a helluva lot more interesting to look at than the Alamo in San Antonio. There is a very unusual mural painted on a wall in the mission depicting Jesus in the Texas desert, and he has six toes on each foot. As I recall, there is also a rattlesnake and a scorpion in the painting. Odd combination but it works for the little mission church.
The story of Panchita and La Bahia's "Black Hole of Calcutta" would be a richer tale and one that has not been told by any movie moguls. Maybe Ron Howard might sink his teeth into this project? Certainly, get it away from Disney.
As my employer is a descendant of Captain Richard King, I need to ask him how much of Panchita's story is true. Will get back to you later on this...
Tinsel Town might have looked at this little history jewel for the basis of a much better movie:
The mission at La Bahia is much prettier and a helluva lot more interesting to look at than the Alamo in San Antonio. There is a very unusual mural painted on a wall in the mission depicting Jesus in the Texas desert, and he has six toes on each foot. As I recall, there is also a rattlesnake and a scorpion in the painting. Odd combination but it works for the little mission church.
The story of Panchita and La Bahia's "Black Hole of Calcutta" would be a richer tale and one that has not been told by any movie moguls. Maybe Ron Howard might sink his teeth into this project? Certainly, get it away from Disney.
As my employer is a descendant of Captain Richard King, I need to ask him how much of Panchita's story is true. Will get back to you later on this...
Sweet Taters and Ham
For a not so traditional Easter dinner, I will be trying some of these tasty taters:
Sweet Potatoes with Ginger, Pecans, and Jalepeno gravy
Ressurect traditional sweet potatoes with some fire and crunch.
4 pounds sweet potatoes
4 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons flour
3 cups milk
1½ teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh ginger
4 jalapeños, stemmed and cut into 1/8-inch-thick rings
1 cup chopped pecans
2 to 4 tablespoons brown sugar
Roast sweet potatoes on rack in 325-degree oven until soft (about 60 minutes, depending on size). Place pan in bottom of oven to catch drippings. Allow to cool to room temperature.
In saucepan, melt butter. Stir in flour to form a smooth blond roux. Remove pan fromheat. Add milk to roux in small portions, stirring vigorously to prevent lumps. When all milk is added, return pan to heat. Stirring continuously, heat mixture until it is slightly thickened. Remove from heat and add salt, pepper, and ginger. Keep warm.
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Peel cooked sweet potatoes and slice into ½-inch rounds. Lay rounds like shingles over bottom of 9- by 13-inch casserole dish. Sprinkle jalapeño rings and chopped pecans over sweet potatoes, and pour milk gravy over them. Sprinkle brown sugar over the top and bake for 30 to 40 minutes or until bubbling.
Allow to cool 15 minutes. Serves 8 to 10
Add a brown sugar-glazed spiral cut ham, some black-eyed peas, fresh asparagus, and steamed cauliflower with hollandaise sauce.
What's on your Easter dinner plate?
Sweet Potatoes with Ginger, Pecans, and Jalepeno gravy
Ressurect traditional sweet potatoes with some fire and crunch.
4 pounds sweet potatoes
4 tablespoons butter
4 tablespoons flour
3 cups milk
1½ teaspoons salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh ginger
4 jalapeños, stemmed and cut into 1/8-inch-thick rings
1 cup chopped pecans
2 to 4 tablespoons brown sugar
Roast sweet potatoes on rack in 325-degree oven until soft (about 60 minutes, depending on size). Place pan in bottom of oven to catch drippings. Allow to cool to room temperature.
In saucepan, melt butter. Stir in flour to form a smooth blond roux. Remove pan fromheat. Add milk to roux in small portions, stirring vigorously to prevent lumps. When all milk is added, return pan to heat. Stirring continuously, heat mixture until it is slightly thickened. Remove from heat and add salt, pepper, and ginger. Keep warm.
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Peel cooked sweet potatoes and slice into ½-inch rounds. Lay rounds like shingles over bottom of 9- by 13-inch casserole dish. Sprinkle jalapeño rings and chopped pecans over sweet potatoes, and pour milk gravy over them. Sprinkle brown sugar over the top and bake for 30 to 40 minutes or until bubbling.
Allow to cool 15 minutes. Serves 8 to 10
Add a brown sugar-glazed spiral cut ham, some black-eyed peas, fresh asparagus, and steamed cauliflower with hollandaise sauce.
What's on your Easter dinner plate?
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Lay, Lady, Lay - On Your Perfect Serta Sleeper
Oh Bob, what have you done? What have you done, my blue-eyed son? Gone and sold us all to Wall Street Boys in Suits. The anti-establishment guru has gone to sleep and awoke with the Pod People.
Have you seen the recent Victoria's Secret ad with Bob Dylan's distinctive profile ( looking oddly evil) in the background? Worse yet, this anorexic nearly-nude model is cavorting with huge fake wings to a Dylan tune, Love Sick. I guess Bob is feeling that old pinch of Father Time, and wants to be sure he is still on the edge. Edge of stupidity, if you ask me. All my heroes are sellin' time on the boob tube, and now Bob joins James Taylor in the tawdiness of commercialism. Even the Who can be heard as weekly show tunesters for CSI. Why would they doubt themselves? Are they that hard up for bread? Why put such a tremendous talent, reputation and legendary name on trivial things such as women's underwear or long distance service? The answer my friend, my truly be blowin' in the wind - and an ill wind it is.
Seems like all it takes is a few greenback dollars to buy yourself any aging baby-booming icon you desire and to hell with artistic integrity.
Tonight, I shall light a candle on the patio table, and spin me some real Bob Dylan - the Dylan I knew so well. Maybe Bob, we'll meet again someday on the avenue, tangled up in blue.
Have you seen the recent Victoria's Secret ad with Bob Dylan's distinctive profile ( looking oddly evil) in the background? Worse yet, this anorexic nearly-nude model is cavorting with huge fake wings to a Dylan tune, Love Sick. I guess Bob is feeling that old pinch of Father Time, and wants to be sure he is still on the edge. Edge of stupidity, if you ask me. All my heroes are sellin' time on the boob tube, and now Bob joins James Taylor in the tawdiness of commercialism. Even the Who can be heard as weekly show tunesters for CSI. Why would they doubt themselves? Are they that hard up for bread? Why put such a tremendous talent, reputation and legendary name on trivial things such as women's underwear or long distance service? The answer my friend, my truly be blowin' in the wind - and an ill wind it is.
Seems like all it takes is a few greenback dollars to buy yourself any aging baby-booming icon you desire and to hell with artistic integrity.
Tonight, I shall light a candle on the patio table, and spin me some real Bob Dylan - the Dylan I knew so well. Maybe Bob, we'll meet again someday on the avenue, tangled up in blue.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
He's Got Legs, and He Knows How to Use Them!
Seems a certain gentleman, Sam Walls, is running for an office in the Texas State Legislature. So what has gotten all the elder statesmen in the Johnson County REPUBLICAN party doing the pee pee dance? Well, Pilgrim, I'll tell ya, but be sure the little kiddies are away from the screen...
(EXAMPLE - NOT ACTUALLY WALLS, BUT THANKEE KINDLY MISS)
And as far as GOP Treasurer Roy Giddens, Jr., is concerned, wearing earrings, a wig and high-heel shoes does not preclude Walls from becoming an excellent state representative. Before you think compassionate Roy has a clue, read what else he had to say about the chic Mr. Walls' secret joy: "I don't have a problem with cross-dressing. There are lots of them. People think J. Edgar Hoover was one of the greatest Americans that ever lived. He was a cross-dresser."
Uh, greatest American? Even I can't fault a man who knows his pantyhose, but does that make him a Great American? More information is here.
Now, before you get all riled up about someone poking fun at Mr. Walls expense, I must admit to having a sense of humor not unlike my friend,Tod, who also suffered from extreme belly-laughter while pondering lip-shaped urinals on an airplane.
If Sam Walls is a good representative for his constituents, then more Revlon to him. Hell, I would vote for him if he would promise to show up in Austin at the Capital in his best drag! Austin has gotten too stuffed-shirted. We could use a new character or two to give Texas politics some razzle dazzle and whiz bang pop! Mr. Walls, you're my man!
(EXAMPLE - NOT ACTUALLY WALLS, BUT THANKEE KINDLY MISS)
And as far as GOP Treasurer Roy Giddens, Jr., is concerned, wearing earrings, a wig and high-heel shoes does not preclude Walls from becoming an excellent state representative. Before you think compassionate Roy has a clue, read what else he had to say about the chic Mr. Walls' secret joy: "I don't have a problem with cross-dressing. There are lots of them. People think J. Edgar Hoover was one of the greatest Americans that ever lived. He was a cross-dresser."
Uh, greatest American? Even I can't fault a man who knows his pantyhose, but does that make him a Great American? More information is
Now, before you get all riled up about someone poking fun at Mr. Walls expense, I must admit to having a sense of humor not unlike my friend,
If Sam Walls is a good representative for his constituents, then more Revlon to him. Hell, I would vote for him if he would promise to show up in Austin at the Capital in his best drag! Austin has gotten too stuffed-shirted. We could use a new character or two to give Texas politics some razzle dazzle and whiz bang pop! Mr. Walls, you're my man!
