W.F. Strong

Plumbing The Depths of Jacob’s Well

When settlers first came upon Jacob’s Well near Wimberley around 1850, they did not encounter a swimming hole. They discovered a magical fountain of beautifully clear water, 12 feet in diameter, sometimes spouting four or five feet above the surface. They named it Jacob’s Well because of its Biblical magnificence.

Over the next 70 years, thirsty central Texas pulled water from the Trinity aquifer that feeds the artesian fountain. It was slowly tamed but it is still wildly beautiful there. You can jump off outcroppings rising 10 to 15 feet above the well, into eternal 68-degree waters. Quite an arctic blast in the middle of a Texas summer.

My focus here is not, however, on the idyllic surface world of Jacob’s Well. I’m interested in what lies beneath. Far, far beneath. In Stephen Harrigan’s novel “Jacob’s Well,” he says it is “like a portal from another dimension, a world of unnatural vibrance and mystery.” Harrigan logged over 20 dives in the cave more than thirty years ago.

The well takes an initial plunge through 23 feet of well-lit water to an apparent bottom, but then it veers off into a descent of increasing darkness. I visited with Gregg Tatum who has logged over 250 dives there. He says it is no place for a novice. Only cave certified divers with substantial experience in cave diving should go deep into Jacob’s Well. He says, “It gets so dark you can taste it.”

Novelist Harrigan describes his character’s response similarly: “He turned off his light and felt the darkness rush in… exquisite blackness like a weight. If he had been on Mars he couldn’t have felt farther from the familiar world above him.”

Eight or nine divers have lost their lives in Jacob’s Well. It is difficult to get an exact number – could be more. For that reason, Jacob’s Well is known as one of the most dangerous diving spots in the world. Tatum, however, bristles at that description. He says that the Well is only dangerous if you “don’t know what you are doing.”

Still, Tatum says that there is no room for error. He takes at least two, and sometimes three of everything – two knives, two tanks, three lights. Lighting is sometimes more important than air. It is likely that some of the doomed divers ran out of air because they first ran out of light. Another hazard is the silt on the bottom. It is easy for the novice to accidentally stir up the silt so he cannot tell up from down or which way is in or out.

The Jacob’s Well Exploration Project, of which Gregg Tatum is the director, has mapped the cave system. It plunges to 140 feet at its deepest point; 14 stories underground, underwater. There are two tunnels, A and B. A is 4300 feet long (three-quarters of a mile) and B is 1300 feet long. It takes five hours round trip to get to the terminus of tunnel A. Tatum believes that if one had time to work at the terminus, there might be a way to gain access to more of the cave. There is a strong flow, too, which divers must struggle against to get down into the depths.

Authorities once tried to seal off the cave. They welded a steel grate at about 70 feet in. Within months it was removed by rogue divers who left a note saying, “You can’t keep us out.”

A particularly interesting feature of the cave is called the “Birth Canal.” This two-foot square portal is found at the rear of a fairly large underwater room, 75 feet from the surface. The Birth Canal is situated at the top of a long, steep, gravel-floored slope which is notoriously unstable. At the base of this slope, divers encounter a narrow restriction that, depending on conditions, can be as tight as 15 inches in height.

Negotiating this restriction sometimes requires divers to push rocks and gravel out of the way, pull forward a few inches and then repeat the process several times. Once past the restriction, the cave widens considerably, but the ceiling remains only 2 to 3 feet high. Clearly, this is not a place for the claustrophobic.

Gregg notes that divers occasionally find that gravel that was pushed aside to gain entrance has been replaced with more material from higher up the slope, making the opening appear to close shut behind them. Even for an experienced cave diver, this event can give one pause.

Divers now use side-mounted tanks to lower their profiles and make them more streamlined as they slide through narrow passageways with less risk of getting stuck. And it is a sublime underwater world. There are no stalactites and stalagmites, but there are impressive limestone walls of many colors, vibrant and muted. There are no bats, of course, but there are catfish, perch, turtles – at the beginning of the cave – and then deep in, there are blind Texas salamanders to keep you company.

You can’t scuba dive there without a special permit from Hays County, and the only entity that has one is the Jacob’s Well Exploration Project. However, you can go along with them, so to speak, by video, on their website, Jacob’s Well Exploration Projectg. You will be diving deep into the heart of Texas in no time.

As for me, I couldn’t dive there, even with training, and I’ll tell you why.

When I was six years old my mother took us to swim in a pool at her friend’s house. It was unusual for a residential pool. The deep end was exceptionally deep. You couldn’t see the bottom because of the shade that the big trees cast over it. My older brother, Shep, who was a practical joker extraordinaire, told me that it was 100 feet deep there and dared me to swim across it. Though I was a good swimmer already, I would not risk it. The idea that it was possibly bottomless and that strange creatures might be lurking down there, kept me in the shallow end. There is a name for this fear: bathophobia. It is not a fear of being clean: it is a fear of deep water that may hide unknown horrors.

Fast forward 30 years: I went swimming at Jacob’s Well in central Texas. When I learned that eight or nine people had drowned scuba diving in that cave system, my bathophobia was triggered. Just the thought of going down into those depths was to me the stuff Stephen King novels were made of. I stayed on the surface or near it, enjoying the well lit waters.

But that was not so for everyone. Whereas I was disenchanted with the depths, the free divers and scuba divers were seduced, and still are, forever attracted to what lies beneath.

A Handy Guide To The Most Texas-Loving Pages On Facebook

Back when Facebook was new on the net, in order to spur participation on the platform, Facebook made a page for every state and issued a challenge: “Let’s see which state can get to a million likes first.”

Texas won and won handily. It wasn’t even close.

Given Texas’s galactic reputation for state pride, the only surprise would have been had Texas not come in first. California and New York were much more tech savvy and digitally connected at the time and should have at least come in second and third, but they didn’t.

Colorado took second place, probably because the state was proud that it was once part of Texas. I say that with tongue firmly planted in cheek. Since that time, Texas pride pages have proliferated on Facebook. Most have sister sites on Twitter, but I’m choosing to focus exclusively on Facebook for today.

So here are ten pages, of the hundreds in existence, that you might enjoy “liking” and seeing their posts in your news feed – I certainly do. I’m leaning away from the strictly business, news, political or government pages in favor of those that are mostly about celebrating Texas as a beautiful land and culture. The order is random and the choices are mine.

Traces of Texas shares fascinating photos from Texas history, recent and distant. Most are high quality black and white photos. Traces of Texas followers send in never-before-seen-by-the-public photos from old family albums and library collections. Traces of Texas is an online museum of Texas history – created by Texans, for Texans.

Texas Humor has a huge following because – I figure – most people like a good laugh as often as they can get one. They don’t publish jokes in the traditional sense. Their humor is largely visual, comprised of Texcentric memes that are all the more funny if you’re Texan. For instance, you will see a picture of wind turbines with the caption: Texas is so hot we’ve installed fans outside.

I Love Texas is perfectly named. It focuses on celebrating Texans’ love for their state, in breathtaking photos of Texas landscapes, cityscapes, and historical stories in short form. They have a sister page called I Love Texas Photographs which is certainly worth following. I Love Texas greets you every morning with a stunning photo that says, “Good Morning from the Great State of Texas” and signs off every night with a prayer for those in the military serving overseas.

Texas Hill Country is likely the granddaddy of this genre, with nearly a million followers. It has been around since before Facebook, as a site devoted mostly to exquisitely beautiful photos of the Texas Hill Country. Now it still has the photos, but has added nostalgia, music, historical stories, humor, etc. THC also has a companion page named simply Texas.

Texas Highways is a publication of the Texas Department of Transportation. It is one of the few older publications that has successfully migrated onto the net and gotten better. I enjoyed Texas Highways as a kid for their photographs and enjoy it even more today on Facebook for the same reason. But is more than photographs. It is, in their words, “the official travel magazine of Texas and the ultimate guide to the Lone Star State.”

Texas Back Roads is, like the title suggests, a backroads travel page. They say that, “From Abbott to Zunkerville and Antiques to Ziplines, we are letting you know what there is to see and do in Texas.” TBR also provides a good deal of historical stories.

Texas Storm Chasers is the premiere Texas weather page on Facebook. It further proves that the weather in Texas – and in general – is an everlasting subject for discussion. Started by two high schoolers in 2009, their aim is “to provide weather information in the evolving digital age and to share our professional storm chasing content.” Here you will find unsurpassed video and photographs of extreme weather.

Texas Country Reporter is the Facebook companion to the TV show where you’ll get links to the stories and additional Texas-centric posts that they think you’ll enjoy.

Texas Monthly is another of the classic Texas publications that has adapted to the digital age quite well, where they remain the “indisputable authority on the Texas scene,” from arts to food to travel.

Now, I said I wouldn’t mention any business pages in the list but I must include the largest following in that category by far. With 65 million “likes,” it is – drum roll please – Texas Hold’em Poker. Yep. 65 million people learning when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

The Honorable Mentions, which you can find by searching Facebook:

Best of the West (West Texas)

Texas Farm Bureau (Splendid Photos)

I AM A Texan

Texas Pride

Images from Texas

Texas Pride

Texas Mountain Trail Region (West Texas)

Vintage San Antonio

Flashback Dallas

The Texas Observer

100% Houston

El Paso Historical Society

Landscapes of the Texas Hill Country (Superb photos by master photographers)

The King Ranch

Schumacher Cattle (Texas Longhorns)

Cowboys of the Waggoner Ranch

Stories from Texas

My Favorite Texas Landscape Photographers:

Wyman Meinzer (State Photographer)

Carol M. Highsmith

Tim McKenna

Jeff Lynch

Larry White

David Pine

Rob Greebon

Travis Yust

George McLemore

Matt Sklar

John Martell

Srini Sundarrajan

On The 20th Century, And The 22nd

With 2018 upon upon us, let’s look 100 years back at 1918, and let’s make some guesses about the coming year.

In 1918, there were fewer than 250,000 vehicles on the road in Texas. No driver’s license was required, by the way. Given that there were only about 5 million of us back then, we had one vehicle for every 20 people. That made getting to the family reunion a tight squeeze.

Today there are 22 million vehicles on the road in Texas – sometimes I think all of them are in the I-35 corridor when I’m there. There are 28 million Texans. Subtract the children and you have damnear one vehicle for every Texan of driving age. Since 1918, cars and trucks have proliferated far faster than Texans. We’ve seen a twenty-fold increase in vehicles and only a 6-fold increase in people. We’re adding cars and trucks faster than we’re making Texans.

In 1918, World War I ended. Incidentally, it was called The Great War then. It didn’t become WW I until we had a WW II, which created the unique war labeling. Many people have been talking about WW III for some time but fortunately, nobody has been able to produce it yet.

A million Texans registered for the draft and 200,000 fought in the Great War. Texas volunteerism was high, perhaps because Germany had offered Mexico a deal in the Zimmermann Telegram. They said that if Mexico threw in with Germany, Germany would help them get Texas back.

5200 Texans died during the war. About a third of them died from the other devastating event of that year, the influenza pandemic, better known as the Spanish Flu. It was particularly sad that we had soldiers survive four years of unholy trench warfare and mustard gas only to come home to die of the flu.

The Spanish Flu was unusual in that 20-40 year old adults were most at risk rather than children and old people. A common story of the time was of four healthy women who played bridge late into the night. They went to bed and the next morning, three were dead.

Children who survived the flu that year, some believe, went on to live healthier lives than most because they developed powerful immunities. My mother had the flu when she was eigh years old. She lived to be almost 102. She was in good company: Walt Disney had it, Woodrow Wilson had it, and so did Texas novelist Katherine Ann Porter, who later wrote a novella based on the epidemic called “Pale Horse, Pale Rider.”

A study by Vanderbilt University in 2008 found that people like my mom still had the Spanish Flu antibodies, working hard 90 years after they had the flu.

Texas cities like El Paso were particularly hard-hit, partially because of Fort Bliss, the military base there. 600 people died in El Paso, almost 1 percent of the population, and many more, of course, survived the flu.

Today, we have the flu vaccine, which was invented by Jonas Salk and Thomas Francis in 1933. So though a pandemic of the 1918 variety is not impossible, most experts feel it is highly unlikely. But we cannot say the same for World Wars. It always seems one surprise assassination of an obscure archduke away.

Turning to the future, what will Texas look like in 100 years, in 2118? All one can do is look at trends and guess. As Peter Drucker said, “Trying to predict the future is like trying to drive down a country road at night with no lights on while looking out the back window.” So with that warning, let’s try anyway.

If we go by the futurists at Google, we can predict that there will be fewer cars on the road, per capita, than now. We will have many types of public transportation such as self-driving buses and cars. Fewer people will own their own cars and trucks in the future. Experts believe we will simply hail self-driving taxis using some future version of smart phones which probably won’t be called phones anymore. I wonder if we will have taxi pickup trucks, nicely lifted, with an occasional set of longhorns strapped to the front, just for nostalgia.

I asked former official State Demographer of Texas, Steve Murdock (everybody’s go-to guy for the future of Texas) what the Texas population would look like in 2118.

“If Texas continues to grow as it has in the recent past, one would expect it to increase its population to more than 80 million by 2118. This assumes that Texas will obtain technology and other factors to increase the water supply,” he said.

From this number, we can see that this would put us in the neighborhood of present-day Egypt for size and population.

Murdock also said that in the 2050-2060 decade, Texas will be about 55 percent Hispanic and 20 percent white. It’s hard to predict trends beyond that point. He said we need very much to ensure educational opportunity for all or we will not have the success in the century ahead that we enjoyed in the last one.

My personal guess is that Texas will be incredibly urban in 2118, as compared to today, particularly east of I-35. DFW, Houston and San Antonio will be super cities. Austin may well be a kind of giant suburb of San Antonio. It’s quite possible that San Antonio and Houston will fight over city limit signs.

If the big tech giants have the future properly envisioned, our cities like Dallas and Houston will be more people-friendly – pushing vehicles out of our streets and reclaiming many as green spaces for walking and biking and sports. And we will all have artificial intelligence robots.

I just hope the robots say things like “howdy” and “fixin’to” and “while I’m up, can I get y’all a beer?”

4 Gifts For Texas

By W. F. Strong

As it is Christmas time I got to thinking about the great gifts, money and property, given to the State of Texas over the years. I’m going to tell you about three such gifts that led to a priceless fourth.

In 1926, a bachelor banker died in Paris, Texas… a rich bachelor banker that is. His estate was worth about 1-point-2 million dollars. Today, that would be about $17 million, enough to buy a Whataburger for everybody in Dallas and Houston, with enough left over to What-a-size the fries. In his will, the banker left 90 percent of his money to The University of Texas to buy a telescope and build an observatory.

The banker’s name was William Johnson McDonald. No relation to the McDonald’s hamburger chain.

Well, as you might expect, Mr. McDonald’s relatives didn’t like him leaving all that money for a telescope. They believed that anyone who would do such a thing must be, by definition, a bit crazy. So they sued.

Fortunately, Mr. McDonald had shared his telescope dream with his barber. He said that astronomy was a young science of great potential if it had the right funding, and hoped that, “one day a telescope would be built that would allow astronomers to see the gold-plated streets of heaven.” He was also well-known as an amateur scientist – so the jury had little trouble believing that his wish was the product of a sane mind. Upon appeal, his relatives got more than Mr. McDonald had left them, but UT ended up with about $800 thousand dollars, which is still 11 million in today’s dollars.

Once UT had the money, they had to go shopping for a mountain to put the observatory on. That must have been fun. Mountain shopping has got to be something that you get to do only once or twice in a lifetime. Lucky for UT they were located in a state that had West Texas in it, with some of the finest stargazing potential in the North America. After driving several thousand miles around the region, inspecting various sites for altitude, dark skies, cloudless nights and poor prospects of rain, they found what they were looking for out by Fort Davis. It had no official name but the locals called it Flat Top Mountain. It was part of a ranch perfectly named for that region: The U up and U down ranch.

President Harry Benedict of UT wrote a letter to the owner of that mountain, Mrs. Violet McIvor. He told her of McDonald’s gift and of the university’s great need for a mountain to put the observatory on. Benedict wrote that her mountain was ideally suited for such an observatory, that “optical tests already made showed that the Davis Mountains region was the best in Texas, perhaps the best in the United States, for astronomical purposes.” He asked her if she might consider giving her mountain to science.

I think Violet surprised him when she did just that. She wrote back almost immediately and gave UT the entire top of the mountain, 200 acres. She also gave UT the land to build a road to the summit. The resulting highway, Spur 78, is to this day the highest highway in Texas.

UT built the observatory and named it for William Johnson McDonald. The mountain was officially named Mt. Locke after Violet’s grandfather, G.S. Locke, from whom she had inherited it. Violet wrote to UT and said she was delighted “to have her grandfather’s name perpetuated in the Davis Mountains.” She said, “He would have been pleased to leave his name among the mountains which he had known and loved so long.” Anyone with a scientific leaning can’t see the name Mt. Locke without thinking of the British empiricist, John Locke, who believed that the best science was one steeped in observation.

I asked Mrs. Julie McIvor, who, along with her husband, Scott, still live on and operate the U up and U down ranch, why her grandmother-in-law, Violet, would have simply given away such a valuable piece of real estate, one that would be worth millions today. She said, “That generation was different. They believed in giving back.They were building a great state and a great country. She loved that she could do her part to empower a better future for Texas – and America.”

As gifts inspire gifts, only five months after Violet gave her mountain to UT, the estate of long time Fort Davis Judge Edwin H. Fowlkes, donated the adjoining mountain, known as little Flat Top. The Fowlkes estate donated a total of 200 acres and that mountain was formally named Fowlkes Mountain in his honor. Sheri Eppenauer, who is the granddaughter in law of Judge Fowlkes, said that he was a civic minded man and always did what he thought was best for the people of Fort Davis and the region.

Three gifts to Texas. An observatory and two mountains. These collectively gave us a fourth gift: one of the world’s leading centers of astronomical research – in fact, these gifts gave us the heavens themselves, as McDonald predicted.

*I want to thanks Mrs. Julie McIvor and Mrs. Sheri Eppenauer of Fort Davis, family descendants of the donors of Mt. Locke and and Mt. Fowlkes respectively, for their kind assistance with this commentary.

Judge Roy Bean

Texas has produced and nurtured a great number of colorful characters, but none more colorful than the prismatic Judge Roy Bean. He squeezed many showy lives into one lifetime. In fact, he didn’t become the Judge Roy Bean that Paul Newman immortalized on film until he was almost 60 years old. This proves my favorite maxim: “The greatest mistake in life is thinking it’s too late.”

In his earlier years, he was living in a poor area of San Antonio named for him. It was called Beanville. He tried and failed at many things, mostly for, ironically, running afoul of the law. He failed at selling firewood because he cut down trees that didn’t belong to him. He failed as a butcher because butchering other people’s maverick cows before you’ve bought them is frowned upon. He failed at selling milk because he watered it down. One customer complained that he found a minnow in his milk. Bean defended himself by saying, “That’s the last time I let that cow drink out of the creek before I milk her.” He eventually had some success when he opened a saloon in Beanville, but he sold out when he heard that there were rare opportunities out in west Texas where they were building the railroad.

It was in the lawless railroad camps that Bean’s vast knowledge of people, his bilingual fluency in Spanish and English, and his unique persuasion skills became prized. The Texas Rangers liked his style and recruited him to become Justice of the Peace in those parts. And he took to the role like he was sent there from central casting. Bean made it known that he was the “Law West of the Pecos.” He was actually playing on an older saying that went like this: “West of the Pecos there is no law; west of El Paso, there is no God.” So at least, now, there was law west of the Pecos. He hung out a sign saying so.

Bean was also famous for saying, “Hang ‘em first and try ‘em later.” Though it certainly worked as a deterrent, the truth is he never actually hung anybody. It’s true. There was no jail in Langtry, so Judge Bean would often keep accused criminals chained to a mesquite tree outside until he could have a trial. On a few occasions he would sentence a young man to hang for some generally unhangable offense. The night before the hanging, Bean would leave the lock open, allowing him to escape. The young criminal would never be seen in those parts again.

In time, Bean opened his famous saloon there in Langtry on the right of way of the railroad. He was actually just squatting there, but the railroad, because they liked him, eventually created a legal arrangement so he could stay. He named his bar the Jersey Lilly in honor of Lillie Langtry, of England, one of the world’s most beautiful women at the time. Bean wrote to her and asked her to visit Langtry, Texas, which he claimed was named for her (it wasn’t). She did come to see him, too, but she had to visit him in his grave. She was ten months too late. But that’s another story.

The trains would stop at the Langtry depot for water and all the passengers would get down to have a drink at the Jersey Lilly. When Judge Roy Bean served customers in his saloon, he never had change. So if a customer paid for a 25 cent beer with a dollar, he wouldn’t get back the 75 cents. If he complained, the judge would fine him 75 cents for disturbing the peace.

Stories about the abusive Judge Roy Bean got out in the world, and rather than drive people away, everyone on the trains wanted to stop and get harassed by the irascible Bean. You could say Bean’s Jersey Lilly was a precursor to Dick’s Last Resort in today’s world.

He had a law book called the “1879 Revised Statutes of Texas0.” He liked that one. Even though the legislature sent him new books every two years, reflecting new laws, he burned them. He said he liked the old book better and he like those laws better, too.

As a justice of the peace, he could marry people. He had no legal right to divorce people, but he did that anyway. He believed that if he made the mistake of marrying them he should be able to correct the mistake by setting them free. Bean also officially pronounced people “dead.” He merged his duties on occasion. He would use his official pronouncement of death as the last thing he said at a wedding: “I pronounce you man and wife. May God have mercy on your souls.”

The Jersey Lilly was also where Judge Bean held court. And so, naturally, you couldn’t be on a jury if you didn’t drink. Right in the middle of happy hour, you might say, he would assemble a jury and swear them in. The case would be presented, verdicts arrived at, and sentencing pronounced, all within an hour or two. Often the sentence for misdemeanors was to buy a round of drinks for the jury. He was very patriotic about Texas, too. He often preceded sentencing with words like: “You have offended the great state of Texas by committing this crime on her sacred soil… “

One of his most famous cases had to do with a dead man who fell off a bridge there in Langtry. Bean found $40 on him and a pistol. He fined him $40 for carrying a concealed weapon. That was enough to get him buried.

Bean rose to international prominence when he promoted the World Heavyweight Championship prizefight between Fitzsimmons and Maher. Believe it or not, prizefighting, back then, was illegal in Texas. It was considered uncivilized. At first, the fight looked like it might be held on the sly in El Paso, so the Texas governor sent 25 Texas rangers over there to make sure it didn’t happen. Then, it seemed like it might be held in Juarez, but such fighting was illegal there, too, though only a misdemeanor. Nonetheless, the governor of Chihuahua sent troops to Juarez to make sure the fight didn’t happen there, either. Finally, in steps Judge Roy Bean. He sent a telegram to the promoter saying they could have it in Langtry, right across the river on a Rio Grande sand bar. Technically, Mexico, yes, but miles from any authority that would be able to stop it.

So the whole menagerie of unlikely associates, boxers, gamblers, Texas Rangers, high-rollers from the East, and spectators of all stripes, boarded a train bound for parts unknown because the destination was kept a secret. Bean met them at his rail-side saloon, sold everybody beer at the exorbitant price of a dollar each, and then escorted them across a pontoon bridge to the Mexican side of the river. The Texas Rangers watched from the Texas side, satisfied that they had no jurisdiction in the matter. The fight ensued, and before the spectators could get settled in for a good, long match, it was over. Fitzsimmons knocked out Maher in the first round. The fight lasted 95 seconds. But the big winner was Judge Roy Bean. He sold a lot of beer and his name went out over the wires worldwide as the clever man who made the fight possible.

Judge Roy Bean lived his life in ascendancy, saving the best for last. Had he died twenty years earlier, you never would have heard of him. I wouldn’t be talking about him. His fame is still bringing some 40,000 visitors a year to Langtry, over a century after his death. Not bad numbers for a dead man. As a lifelong showman, you can be sure he’s grinning in his grave.

Jules Verne, Texas, and the Moon

The first word uttered on the moon was “Houston.” That was the first word of the longer phrase uttered by Buzz Aldrin: “Houston, Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.” I know there are those who say that there were other jargon words uttered first in the process of landing such as “contact light,” but that’s a mere technicality. The words that matter are those that officially announced the safe landing of The Eagle on the moon, and of those words, the first one was “Houston.” Another way to put it is the first phone call from the moon was placed to Houston.

But this is not the centerpiece of our story today. This is just a lead into a more fascinating connection between Texas and the moon landing. The fact that Houston was so central to the success of the achievement was prophesied, in a way, 100 years before, by Jules Verne, in his novel, From the Earth to the Moon. This is the same Jules Verne who wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Journey to the Center of the Earth, and Around the World in Eighty Days. He is often considered to be the father of modern science fiction. Well, his book, From the Earth to the Moon, concerns a moon shot. And it was actually a moon shot because in the book, characters attempt to build an enormous cannon and fire a huge “bullet” at the moon. Now, the bullet looks amazingly like the Apollo Capsule. It has room for three people in it, just like the real lunar capsule that would come 100 years later. Even the physics of Verne’s moon voyage were impressively correct for his time (except for the intolerable g-forces that would have been experienced by the people in the bullet capsule).

So how does Texas factor into this prophecy? Well, Verne calculated that the best place from which to launch such a shot at the moon would be either Florida or Texas. It would have to be below the 28th parallel. He discusses Brownsville as a possible launch site (interesting that Space X is now locating a launch facility there). Corpus Christi is discussed as a possible site, and so is Galveston Bay. Also, Verne names one site in Florida as an option – “Tampa Town.” The real life Tampa is across the state from Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral, where the Apollo moon launch eventually came from.

Remember, Verne’s novel was written 100 years before the actual moon landing. Verne even named the launch cannon The Columbiad. The command module for the moon landing was The Columbia.

The other accurate prophecy came in the way of politics. Verne has a wonderful section in From the Earth to the Moon on Florida and Texas each flexing their political muscle and persuasion skills to win the business of the space launch. The same thing indeed happened 100 years later. The debate was settled by Lyndon Johnson, Texas’ native son. He, through political maneuvering, gave the launch site to Florida and the command center to Texas.

Still, it is fascinating to read the arguments each state advocated in Verne’s novel. The Texans claimed a greater population: 330,000 to Florida’s 50,000. Texas had the finest cotton, the best iron ore, the purest grade oil and coveted green oak for ships. Tampa said they had the best bay from which to bring in supplies. Texans said, “You mean a bay clogged with sand! Galveston Bay can hold all the navies of the world.”

And then Florida dropped the big one – the space launch should go to the state that is truly American. Texas got red-faced and said, “Scandalous – wretched little strip of country like Florida to dare to compare itself to Texas. Texas didn’t sell herself to the union for 5 million dollars. She won her own independence at San Jacinto when Sam Houston defeated Santa Anna and drove the Mexican armies from the state. Only then did we voluntarily annex ourselves to the U.S. Anyway, that little strip of land called Florida will be ripped apart by the forces of the moon launch.”

Florida said, “Not so. And Galveston Bay is slightly below the 29th parallel and Tampa Bay is right smack on the 28th parallel,” perfectly positioned for the moon shot. And so Florida won that argument. And 100 years later Florida got the launch site, too.

But in real life, I figure Texas got the best deal with the command center (and the budgets). And, it got the first word. The first word of consequence uttered on the moon was “Houston.” And it was this space connection that gave us a team called the Astros, the WORLD CHAMPION ASTROS, I might add.

*Special thanks to Dr. Jack Stanley who told me about this book and its unique connection to Texas.

Honorary Texans

I was looking at a list of honorary Texans recently. It is quite a long list. Only about a tenth of them would be known to most Texans. John Wayne – no surprise there. The only surprise is that it took until 2015 to make him one. Chuck Norris, born in Oklahoma, was made an honorary Texan a few months ago.

Gov. Rick Perry made many of his favorite political allies honorary Texans: Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Sarah Palin, and Glenn Beck, for example. George W. Bush made Bob Dylan an honorary Texan. Ann Richards chose Don McLean, Bob Hope, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, among many others. Alan Shivers made General Douglas MacArthur an honorary Texan.

The one case that stands out to me as the most astounding in this honoring business – and to my mind, the most deserving – is when Gov. John Connally, in 1962, awarded honorary Texan status to thousands of men simultaneously. He made the entire 442nd Regimental Combat Team and the 100th Battalion, C divisions of the U.S. Army for World War II, honorary Texans. As this year’s Veteran’s Day is fast approaching, I thought I would tell you how this came to be.

We must begin our story with the 1st Battalion of the 141st Regiment comprised of the Texas National Guard. Their nickname was the “Alamo Regiment.” In 1944, they were at the lead of a push to drive the Germans out of France. The battalion had a large supporting force during their campaign but they pushed ahead so fast in the Vosges Mountains that they found themselves cut off and surrounded behind enemy lines.

They became known in World War II lore as “The Lost Battalion.” The only good thing for the Texans is that they were on top of a mountain and so they had the classic advantage of high ground and line of sight. But they were still pounded by German artillery. It was foggy, rainy and very cold. They quickly dug fighting positions in the wet, muddy soil and covered themselves with tree limbs, rock and dirt. They did everything they could to provide cover from the splinters of tree bursts and shrapnel from exploding shells. They were also out of food and water. Exceptionally courageous pilots were able to fly through the rain and fog and airdrop small supplies of water purification pills, c-rations and ammunition to sustain them.

Even Hitler became aware of the Texans’ situation and he issued orders that they were not to slip away. They were to be killed or captured at all costs.

The Army redirected its push to the Rhine to focus on first, saving the 1st Battalion from the Germans. American forces pounded the German lines with their artillery, but the forest was so thick they weren’t having much effect. So they had two different infantry battalions try to break through the German lines and each was repelled by horrific hailstorms of bullets from the German machine guns called “Hitler’s buzz saws.”

This is when the 442nd and the 100th Infantry combat regiments were called in. Battle-hardened, they had a reputation for succeeding in just these situations. Their motto was “Go for broke.” It took them five days of brutal, close-quarters combat on muddy terrain in bone-chilling weather to reach the Texans. They fought tree to tree and yard by yard to reach the top of the mountain. The 442nd started out with 3,000 men and took 1,000 casualties. 800 wounded and 200 killed in action.

By the time they reached the Texans, they, too, had been fairly decimated. The Texans had lost over 20 percent of their force – they had been killed, wounded and captured. It is said that the first soldier of the 442nd to reach them merely walked up to their commander, Lt. Marty Higgins, and nonchalantly pulled out his Lucky Strikes and said, “Cigarette?” Higgins gratefully accepted. After almost a week, they were freed from the German onslaught.

What makes this an even more surprising story is not just the ferocity with which the 442nd fought, or the casualties they took to save their brothers in arms. The real surprise is that the 442nd was a Nisei regiment, comprised of second-generation Japanese-Americans. Most of them, along with their families, had been put into internment camps at the beginning of the war. These men, however, asked if they could fight, rather than sit out the war.

And they were extraordinary fighters. The 442nd was called the Purple Heart Regiment because they received more purple hearts than any other unit their size in WWII. Over the course of the war the 442nd was awarded 5,200 Bronze Star medals, 588 Silver Stars, 52 Distinguished Service Crosses, seven Distinguished Unit Citations, and 21 Congressional Medals of Honor. The late Sen. Daniel Inouye was one of the Nisei who fought to rescue the Texans, and later earned his Medal of Honor when he lost his arm taking out a German machine gun nest in Italy.

When the 442nd returned from Europe, President Harry Truman said, “You have fought not only the enemy, but you have fought prejudice – and you have won. Keep up that fight, and we will continue to win – to make this great Republic stand for just what the Constitution says it stands for: the welfare of all the people all the time.”

Many years after the war, President Bill Clinton upgraded a good number of the military awards for the 442nd. Some of the Nisei had not received their due because, sadly, they were Nisei. Clinton said, “Rarely has a nation been so well served by a people so ill treated.”

And that is why Gov. Connally, too, paid tribute to the 442nd and 100th Battalion by making them all honorary Texans. It was his way of demonstrating to the these soldiers, and their descendants, the solemn gratitude of the Great State of Texas. We will always be grateful for the supreme sacrifice they made in saving our men.

Much of the background for this commentary was provided by Scott McGaugh’s book, “Honor Before Glory.”

Missing Whataburger

What’s the best Whataburger you ever had?

That’s a question a friend of mine likes to ask everybody. Seems a strange question, but in Texas it isn’t. When he first asked me I told him I could not tell him about the best Whataburger I ever had until I first told him about the time I most wanted one.

Many years ago I took a job in Africa for the period of a year. While there, I just couldn’t find much to eat that I liked. I lost about twenty pounds in six months. I was so thin the local Care guys joked that they might have to send me a package.

It was at this point of mild starvation that a friend back in Texas, Don Love, sent me a two-by-three foot poster of a Whataburger. Ten times life size. Hot cheese, mustard and onions cascading seductively down the sides. Food porn. That is exactly what it was.

I think it was the cruelest thing my former friend could have done. There I was in Whataburger-less Africa, staring at that poster every day. He had me Whataburger-dreaming for months.

After a year in the African hinterland, I flew back into DFW. Though it was midnight, I hailed a taxi and said, “Take me to the nearest Whataburger.” I got a double-meat double cheese, with chopped jalapenos. I whatasized the fries and the Coke and chased it all with a chocolate shake and an apple pie.

Now that was the best Whataburger – indeed, the best meal – I ever had.

I am not alone in having such priorities.

Soldiers on leave from posts around the world often go straight to Whataburger when they get home.

I tell you, If the Pentagon would make MRE Whataburgers, it would lift morale.

Some people who live in Whataburger-less states will drive a couple of days to get a Whataburger. They don’t even check into a hotel. They just eat one, take one to go and drive back home. So you see, there are only two kinds of states in America – those who have Whataburger and those who wish they did.

In the Whataburger states, there are connoisseurs who feel that there is a particular restaurant that makes the best Whataburger of all. They will drive 60-70 miles in this Holy Grail-type-quest to get what they feel is the Whataburger of Whataburgers.

Whataburger is a Texan chain, born as a food stand on Ayers Street in Corpus Christi, back in 1950. It was the brainchild of a burger visionary named Harmon Dobson. His goal was simple: in a time of small burgers, he wanted to make one so big it would take two hands to hold it, and so good that with one bite people would say, “What a burger!”

And it was so. When my mom used to take me and my two brothers to Whataburger when we were just little boys, she would first spread newspapers across our laps in the back seat of the cavernous old Buick sedan. Then she would cut the burgers in half and serve them to us that way, one half at a time, so we wouldn’t “make a mess” of her protective plastic seat covers.

Three things I loved about the early Whatsburgers: 1. The triangular buildings that looked like the orange table tents everybody takes as souvenirs today. 2. The smell of burgers and onions that permeated the air within half a block. 3. My mother saying, “If you finish all of that, you can have a shake.”

Today there are 810 Whataburgers across the Orange States of Whataburger Nation, from Arizona to Florida. Texas remains the capital, of course. All of these Whataburgers are open 24/7 – proving every day that everything is bigger and better in Texas.

Texas Contractions

Anytime I hear someone say something like this: “Y’all ‘bout fixin’ to head out?” I think it’s highly likely that they are from Texas. You have y’all and fixin’ to in the same sentence and a couple of contractions. We do love our contractions, which, if you don’t recall from your halcyon days of grammar school, are words squeezed together to make shorter ones, with apostrophes standing in for what’s missing.

“Y’all” of course, is our most famous contraction. But we have even extended its usefulness by placing “all” in front of it to form “all y’all.” It is well known that y’all describes two or more and all y’all could mean five or 500. And we even use all y’all possessively as in “y’alls’s.” I heard this sentence at a barbecue two weeks ago: “Y’all need to move all y’alls’s trucks so Carlos can leave.”

Now that y’all have heard this, I know y’all are gonna start wanting to practice your possessives, but try to wait till the lesson is finished. I’ll let you go in two minutes.

We can also use an interesting contraction for something that is owned by at least two people. “Whose dog is this?”

“Oh, that yorkie is our’n.” Our’n is a contraction of our own. It’s our’n. The expression is a bit archaic – on its last legs, so to speak – but still around if you listen carefully.

The king of contractions I believe is y’all’d’ve. It has three apostrophes in it. Three! You have to admire the muscular nature of that contraction. y’all’d’ve. You all would have. And here’s how you use it: “y’all’d’ve loved it if y’all’d’ve come.” Now just stand back and take in the magnificence of that sentence. 12 words reduced to six! That, ladies and gentlemen, is the very soul of linguistic efficiency.

Cousins of y’all’d’ve are she’d’ve and he’d’ve. She would have or he would have. “I figure she’d’ve married him if he wudn’t such a ne’er-do-well.” Or, for a more modern take, “He’d’ve already lost 20 pounds, if he’d’ve stuck with that low carb diet.”

I’m sure you’ve heard of “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” as a kind of mantra of regret over what might have been. My father was fond of it. It was his way of teaching me that I could not change the past, but the future was quite pliable.

Similar to a contraction is a hybrid word, or as my friend and linguistics professor Lars Hinrichs calls them, portmanteau words. These words are comprised of two words. “tumped” is one such word. “I tumped over my coke.” It is a combination of tipped and dumped – tumped. I don’t say it myself, but it is common in Texas and throughout the South.

“Spanglish” is a portmanteau word. It combines the words Spanish and English to describe the tendency to merge the two languages with expressions like mandar un mail (send an email) or googlear – to google something.

Hangry is a modern portmanteau, combining, of course, hungry and angry. “I’m mighty hangry for a Whataburger.” Certainly a useful word. Chillax, too, is quite in vogue these days.

And for a more Texcentric take on these hybrids we have: “texplain” – to explain Texas to others; “texpatriate” – one who lives outside of Texas but still longs for home; and “texcellent,” which needs no explanation.

That’s our linguistics lesson for today. Y’all’d’ve liked it a lot more if y’all’d’ve been listening instead of repeating everything for your immediate amusement, but that’s okay. As long as all y’all had a good time.

Uncle Dale’s Greatest Gift

Uncle Dale was the first grownup to come home in the afternoon. He wasn’t our real Uncle – we just called him that. Back then, it was considered rude for a child to call an adult only by their first name, so we had lots of aunts and uncles.

Uncle Dale got up when it was still dark and walked a mile to work, where he put in hard days at the Halliburton yard. At 3:30 in the afternoon, he would, as the poet Appleman put it, “follow his shadow home to grass.”

And there he would sit, in his law chair, under the gauzy shade of a mesquite tree, and watch over us as we played baseball in the street. It was a caliche road – hard and dusty in dry times and it turned to cake-like mud when it rained.

Home plate and second base were in the middle of the street. First base was in the Garcias’ yard and third base was in Uncle Dale’s yard. Uncle Dale was our umpire. He would sit there drinking coffee from a big white mug, smoking one cigar after another. We could smell the sweet tobacco drifting through the infield. Even now, I can smell it as it drifts across the years to where I sit.

Uncle Dale ruled on close calls from the comfort of his place in the shade. “That was a foul,” he’d say. Or he would coach: “Two hands while learning, RJ!” He also served as traffic cop: “You boys get out of the road before that truck runs over you!”

I can only remember his getting out of his chair one time. We were having our own little baseball draft, the way we always did: hand over hand up the bat – you remember. Well, Mrs. Anderson came over and suggested we draw numbers out of hat – making one team out of the even numbers and the other out of the odd numbers – to spare the feelings of those often chosen last. Uncle Dale would not stand for these progressive ideas. He was a purist. He got up and he waved her off, saying, “If a boy is struggling, he needs to know it early so he can do something about it.”

One day we came home from school, and we saw Uncle Dale on a huge Halliburton bulldozer in the brush down the road. We went down there to watch him because, like all boys, we were fascinated with anything that could topple trees and reform the earth. After about thirty minutes, he shut down the dozer, hopped off and said, “There’s your new baseball field boys! You’re off the streets.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, “Get your gloves. Let’s break her in!” Never again was the crack of a bat muffled by a car horn wanting to drive through our infield.

Uncle Dale’s baseball field cost him a few phone calls and three hours of his expert labor. But it gave us and the boys that followed us years of immeasurable joy. It was the greatest gift we ever got, really – the gift of a beautiful boyhood and the lifelong memory of it.

Bass Boat Heroes

Every destructive hurricane is remembered in a unique way. Katrina is largely remembered for levees breaking and the paralyzing chaos that followed. The Galveston Hurricane of 1900, whose anniversary is in two days, is remembered for a horrific number – 6-thousand. 6-thousand people perished. It was the deadliest natural disaster in U.S. history. I believe that Hurricane Harvey will be remembered for the greatest amount of rain ever to fall in one place in the U.S. within 24 hours, but I believe it will also be remembered for the bass boat heroes.

Someone on social media suggested that we should build a monument to “two regular guys in a bass boat.” And that idea has been seconded by tens of thousands.

Even from where I live in deep south Texas, I saw dozens of trucks pulling boats, headed north on Highway 77: bass boats, swamp boats, pontoons, skiffs and navy seal type zodiacs. The call went out for help across the state and Texans answered. They came from San Antonio and San Angelo and Austin, Waco, Dallas, Ft. Worth, Tyler, even I understand, from the Panhandle and El Paso. From every nook and cranny of the state, they rolled toward the floods, spontaneous convoys racing to the coast. It was magnificent to see them: Texas flags bent by speed and proudly waving from their trucks and trailers, a genuine cavalry to the rescue. These men and women didn’t ask for money or mileage or payback of any kind. They didn’t ask for whom the bell tolled, they just concluded, it tolls for me – and away they went.

I talked to a man at a station near my house who was filling up his slightly lifted GMC. He was pulling a 15-foot bass boat with a trolling motor. I asked him if he was going to Houston. He said, “My brother and me thought we might head up that way. I mean I got a truck and a boat. Might be of help to somebody. I know they’d do it for us if things were turned around.”

And they didn’t just come from Texas. The Cajun Navy, as they are so beautifully named, came from Louisiana in large numbers, as did others from Arkansas and Oklahoma, and no doubt other states too.

A National Guard Officer said on the Weather Channel: “These people are showing up with air boats, swamp boats, and jet skis. They go out and rescue people and bring them to us. I don’t know where these people are coming from, but it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”

An old friend of mine, Matt Carr, from Central Texas, answered the call. He said: “Driving into Houston in the storm was surreal. I-10, 290, and 610 had no cars on them. It was apocalyptic. Fields full of water, cows huddling on tiny islands above rising water. We felt all alone. We got there in a window of time before the world arrived again.”

He said the police were busy with calls and told the rescuers they were free to go where they pleased and help in any way they could. So they did. He said once the National Guard arrived, the process became more efficient. “It felt like a Texas version of Dunkirk,” he said, “less dangerous, but the same spirit.”

Matt rescued a 90-year-old woman named Hazel. She didn’t have anyone in her life. She was alone. She didn’t want to leave her house, but she was cold. Matt convinced her to go. He said, “I took her to a bus so they could take her to a shelter. She was scared. So I knelt down next to her in the aisle on the bus and we said a prayer together. And then I got back to work.”

Matt’s was one of thousands of similar stories from that night. Here’s another from my buddy Manny Fernandez who is the Houston Bureau chief for the New York Times. He was out riding along with many of these rescuers, impressed with their instinct for navigating what was now an urban bay. And it was dark except for helmet headlamps. Dangerous work. Manny asked many of these rescuers why they had come so far to take these risks. He said that almost to a person, they answered, with three words: “This is Texas.”

Texas: The Name Heard ‘Round The World

By W. F. Strong

I’ve spent a good deal of time over the last couple of years contemplating all things Texas inside of Texas. So I thought I would take a look at Texas OUTSIDE of Texas. There is a lot out there.

First, I suspect you’ve heard that in Norway the word “Texas” means something like “crazy.” More like wild and crazy. Let me use it in a sentence as the Norwegians would: “That party last night, after 1AM, turned Texas on us.” I am honored to have Texas utilized that way – describing something that is a bit out of control and rebellious.

In Barcelona, Spain, “Texans” is a common name for blue jeans. People in Barcelona often say, “Let me put on my Texans and I’ll go with you.” In other parts of Spain they refer to jeans as cowboys, but in Barcelona, they get right to the point by simply calling them Texans (Tejanos).

In London and Paris you can visit the sites of the Texas Embassies, which were located in those cities in the early 1840s, when Texas was an independent sovereign country. The legations were just rented spaces so no dedicated structures remain. However, you can still see commemorations of the first embassies (and last ones) for The Republic of Texas. When I first saw those words, “The Republic of Texas,” on an antique gold plaque in London, my heart swelled up bigger’n Dallas. Not that I want Texas to be a Republic again, but I love the fact that we once were. The other site has a carving on the facade of a hotel in Paris, the Hôtel de Vendôme.

Leaving Europe, let’s go way down under to Oz. In Australia, there is a town named Texas. It is in Queensland. Texas, Queensland. It’s true. When you see the road sign that says Texas 15, it is surreal. Not just because you are in Australia, but because the 15 is for kilometers and the sign is on the left side of the road, the side you are driving on. From the look of the landscape, you would swear you’re in west Texas, perhaps near Marfa. It is a good comparison because Texas, Queensland is just a bit smaller than Marfa – only about 1100 people live there. But Texas, Queensland has more water – a river runs through it.

So, how did it get its name? How did the folks there decide to name their town Texas? Well, first of all, there were no immigrants from Texas who gave it that name. That is a common way that such things happen, but not in this case.

They say that back in the 1840s there was a sustained dispute over the land between the McDougall Brothers, who had earlier laid claim to it, and the squatters who took it over in their absence. Seems that the McDougalls went off to look for gold. When they returned, goldless, they had the added insult of finding squatters on their land. The McDougalls were eventually successful at getting their land back, after a few years in the courts. They said it reminded them of the more famous and much longer struggle Texans had endured to secure Texas, which happened halfway around the world, but at roughly the same time. So in honor of their victory, the McDougalls named their little settlement “Texas.”

You already know that everything’s bigger in Texas. As you see from this quick trip around the world, Texas is pretty big outside of Texas, too.

Cabeza de Vaca: The First Texas Tourist

The first person to waltz across Texas – okay, waltz is the wrong word (just tipping my hat to Ernest Tubb there). The first European to walk across Texas was Cabeza de Vaca. And he did it barefoot and mostly naked. Why? We shall see.

His full name was Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca. Bet they just called him “Al.” “Alvar” means “guardian.” Turns out that he tried to be just that for the indigenous peoples of all the Americas, North and South.

He started out as a Spanish Explorer in the New World, with an expedition of 300 people in Florida in 1528. Within a few months, Indian attacks and starvation had driven the Spaniards to the coast where they quickly built 5 crude rafts to escape into the Gulf. They hugged the coastline and made it to the Mississippi River, which pushed them out to sea where they were separated by currents and storms. Many died from drinking sea water. Many fell overboard and drowned. Cabeza de Vaca’s raft and one other, along with about 80 survivors, washed up just south of Galveston Island.

Aboriginals on the island saved them from starvation, but many of the Spaniards still died of malnutrition and illness. Many of the native Texans died, too, likely from European viruses that Cabeza de Vaca’s group carried. Within months, only he and three others of his expedition were still alive. That was out of the original 300, a 99 percent death rate. Not exactly a confidence builder.

And then the fun really began. The tribe turned hostile. They made slaves of these castaways – forced them to dig for edible roots, gather firewood and keep fires going all night to ward off the swarms of mosquitoes. They were beaten if they didn’t work hard and sometimes they were beaten just for fun. The castaways were stuck in captivity for several years, though Cabeza de Vaca himself got some relief as they allowed him to trade with other tribes on their behalf.

Despite the horrors they endured, a tiny hope sustained them – Cortés was only 1,000 miles away down in Mexico. Maybe they could reach him and their countrymen. Finally, as their tribe migrated south one summer, they seized the opportunity and escaped.

They headed southwest, following the coastal route that is today highway 35. They had no clothes and no shoes. They walked mostly naked and barefoot through increasingly brutal terrain of mesquite thickets and cactus and sharp coastal grasses. They ate pecans, at what Cabeza de Vaca called the “river of nuts,” which ironically was not the Nueces River – nueces meaning “nuts” – but the Guadalupe. They also ate prickly pear fruit, prickly pear itself, mesquite beans and roasted corn (elotes). Bet they would have given about a million gold Escudo coins for a Whataburger.

One thing they did have going for them is that they became known as shaman or healers. They were called The Children of the Sun by tribes in the region. Many in these tribes flocked to them to be healed. They did the best they could, blowing gently on their patients’ bodies and making the sign of the cross over them. Sometimes they recited rosaries. Fortunately, most people they treated were cured, or at at least reported feeling much better.

Their reputation preceded them and the tribes they encountered greeted them as holy men and demigods. This was quite a welcome reversal from their lives as slaves.

Despite the difficulties of their journey, Cabeza de Vaca still marvelled at the beauty of the coastal plains of Texas. He saw buffalo, which he called huge cows, and even tasted the meat once or twice. He declared it better than European beef. He later wrote: “All over the land there are vast and handsome pastures with good grass for cattle, and it strikes me that the soil would be very fertile were the country inhabited and improved by reasoning people.” He was a bit ethnocentric on the criticism, but it turned out he was a healer AND a prophet – predicting the great cattle ranches that would flourish in Texas 300 years later. Back in Spain, he would argue for peaceful coexistence and cooperative colonization with the American Indians. The Crown was so amazed by his idea that they imprisoned him to kill it.

Though the exact route is not known, many believe that Cabeza de Vaca and the castaways trekked southwest through present day Falfurrias and Roma where they crossed the Rio Grande and then turned Northwest. They walked all the way to the Pacific Coast. Ten years after they left Spain, they made it to Mexico City.

Cabeza de Vaca was the first European to get a good look at the magnificence of Texas and to leave behind a record of what it could become. He was Texas’ first tourist and he was Texas’ first travel writer. He gave Texas a five star review for its potential. And in terms of making the most of the land, our ancestors fulfilled his prophecy. In terms of getting along with the native Texans, well, not so much. Let’s just say, it’s complicated.

Top of the Chart Songs about Texas Towns

There are thousands of songs about Texas. For example, all the way over in England, Duran-Duran – the British new wave pop group, dropped a top 20 (#14) song called “Rio” back in ’82.

And you have “All My Ex’s Live In Texas” and “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and “The Road Goes on Forever,” as does the list.

Pat Green sang in “Songs about Texas” – “there’s a song in every town,” implying that there is a song FOR every town in Texas. Probably true, but only a rare few made it to the Billboard top 40.

So I thought it would be interesting to look at Pat Green’s idea with one provision: What are the songs about Texas towns that became bonafide hits? Note these are not about Texas in general, but about specific towns in Texas. I looked at songs after 1960 (when the charts were more reliable) that became hits on either the pop or country charts.

First is “El Paso” by Marty Robbins. His most famous song. It was released in ‘59 and hit number one in January of 1960. And some trivia? The cantina beauty Faleena was named after his 5th grade schoolmate, Fidelina Martinez.

I must also mention Robbins’ “Streets of Laredo,” which was an unofficial hit that same year – unofficial because it was never released as a single, though it received a lot of air time.

Next, chronologically, is “Galveston” sung by Glenn Campbell, which made it to number 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1969. Jimmy Webb wrote it while sitting on Galveston beach.

“Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone?” made it to number 1 on the country charts in 1970, sung by Charley Pride. The song was also made popular by Texan Doug Sahm, who recorded it twice: once in 1973 and again in ‘91 with the Texas Tornadoes.

“China Grove” by the Doobie Brothers was number 15 in 1973, written by Tom Johnston. Got the name subconsciously when the band passed through China Grove, a town of less than a thousand, while on tour, as the lyrics say, “down around San Antone.”

In the same year – 1973 – “La Grange” by ZZ Top. This song only made it to 41 on the Billboard Hot 100, but in Texas it no doubt ranked much, much higher. From the Album “Tres Hombres,” this song put the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, The Chicken Ranch, on the national map. Made it “Nationwide” in ZZ Top lingo. It’s also number 74 on Rolling Stone’s all time best guitar songs because of Billy Gibbons’ virtuoso performance on a 1955 Fender Stratocaster.

“Luckenbach, Texas” was released in 1977 by Waylon Jennings and made it to #25 on the pop charts and #1 on country charts where it stayed for over a month. Guess the idea of simpler country living was appealing. It made Luckenbach so popular the state had to stop making Luckenbach signs because the theft rate was breaking the budget.

George Strait’s “Amarillo by Morning” hit number 4 on the country charts in 1983. Written by Terry Stafford a decade earlier, after going to a rodeo in San Antonio and driving home to Amarillo.

I have to give a tip of the hat to “I’m a Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas.” Though it was released before there were charts, it was a quite a phenomenon in the 1930s and 40s. Written by a moderately successful bandleader and native Texan named Phil Baxter, who spent a few weeks in Dumas. The song was performed by everyone – including Bob Wills and Louis Armstrong. Even the town radio station is named KDDD – for Ding Dong Daddy.

Show ‘Em Your Badge

As told by W. F. Strong

This story comes under the heading of a Texas classic. It is folklore. I don’t know for sure that its origin is in Texas, but from the oldest versions I know of, going back 30 plus years, they have Texas linguistic markers. So I believe there’s a good chance that the story originated here. In any case the story has migrated around the world. I’ve heard Australian versions and Irish versions and I suppose if I ever go to China I’ll hear a version translated from Mandarin. Story goes like this:

A West Texas rancher was stackin’ some hay in his barn when he heard a truck rumble across his cattle guard, half a mile away. He looked up to see what looked like a Government Suburban – dark windows – leaving a dust cloud of caliche boiling up behind it as it raced his way. He walked out to the clearing to meet it and it came to a quick halt right in front of him, sliding the last five feet.

A guy hopped out. Nice lookin’ young man. Slacks, pressed shirt. Glock on his hip. Badge on his belt.

“Can I help you?” Rancher asks.

“Sir, I’m with the Government,” he said, pointing to his badge. “Just making a courtesy stop. We have word of drug activity in this area. I’m going to be looking around your ranch for a couple of hours to either confirm or invalidate these reports.”

“Well,” said the rancher, lookin’ mystified. He pushed his salt stained hat back off his forehead. “Aint’ no drugs around here except the big ole horse pills my doctor gives me for my rheumatism.”

He laughed a little.

“This is not a laughing matter, sir. I assure you this is serious government business.”

The rancher said, “I’m sure it is. Go ahead. Help yourself, son. Just don’t go in that twenty acres behind the barn.”

The agent got visibly angry for a second.

“Sir,” he said, “You see this badge? This badge gives me unimpeded authority, granted by the U.S. Constitution, to go where I please, when I please – no questions asked. I will decide where I will and won’t go. Do you understand me, sir?”

The Rancher said, “Yes, I do. I’ll guess I’ll just back to stackin’ my hay.”

The agent said, “Good choice. That would be best.”

The rancher was stackin’ hay for about five minutes when he heard a blood-curdling scream from the pasture behind the barn.

He said to himself, “What the hell?” as he rushed out that way.

Even he was shocked at what he saw. That agent was running for his life – staying only five yards ahead of the rancher’s big ole long-horn bull that was seconds away from goring him good. He couldn’t tell who would arrive first, the agent at the fence or the bull at the agent.

Just then the agent yelled at the rancher: “Help me! Call him off!”

The rancher cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Show him your badge! Show him your badge!”

Texas Land Rush

The most expensive property currently on the market in Texas is a 2300 acre estate in Lago Vista. It is near Austin, on Lake Travis, going for a mere 68 million. Only 30 thousand an acre. Get out your checkbooks.

That’s quite a contrast compared to the deals the first Texans were getting on real estate. Stephen F. Austin charged 12 and a half cents an acre for a league of land, which was 4428 acres.

He offered two deals, 4428 acres if you were a rancher and 177 acres if you were a farmer. So you can imagine that many farmers became ranchers right quick. And that’s not all. Married men got far more land than single ones. So there was a stampede up the church aisles as single farmers rushed to become married ranchers. Imagine, you walk down the aisle with nothing and come out with almost 4500 acres. Compare that to today where you walk in with thirty thousand dollars and walk out broke.

That was quite a deal Austin offered. 12 and a half cents an acre (and mostly on credit) at a time when land in the rest of the U.S. was ten times more than that. Someone later pointed out, “Land in Texas was what gold was to the gold rush.”

A league of land for $550. Even adjusted for today’s dollars it would be only $12,000. 4428 acres is a lot of land. It would require a long hard day of walking to make your way around it by sunset. But you still wouldn’t have a King Ranch. Even with all those acres you would still own less than half a percent of the King Ranch. By comparison, you wouldn’t even have a ranchito. You would have a ranchititito. Essentially a postage stamp.

In deep South Texas, the original land grants of 4500 acres sold for even less. Sometimes as little as the filing fee of $50 and other times for ten cents an acre, with payments not starting until the fourth year of the seven-year term, to give you the chance to work the land and have it help pay for itself.

And even considering that $30,000 an acre today is shocking – it may well seem like a bargain 20 years from now. How many times have you sat at someone’s kitchen table and heard them say, “See that house over there? 30 years ago I could have bought it for $100,000. Today it’s worth $300,000.” Or more. As the old saying goes, “Buy land, they’re not making anymore of it.” Certainly been a wise adage to live by in Texas for about 200 years now.

What I need is a good time machine. I wish I could go back to see my great grandfather when he lived in East Texas. I could say to him, “Great gramps, here’s $1,000. I want you to go over to Beaumont and find a little hill known round there as Spindletop. Buy that hill and the 4,000 acres that surrounds it. Here’s another thousand for mineral rights. Leave it all in a trust to be shared by your descendants who are 6’ 5” or more, blue-eyed, and work in radio.

If only rebooting your life were that easy.

McMurtry And Twain

Larry McMurtry is, by many standards, Texas’ best writer.

He wrote “Horseman, Pass By” to wide acclaim when he was just 25, which became the movie “HUD,” starring Paul Newman. When he was thirty, he published “The Last Picture Show,” which won him even greater critical praise and the movie that followed launched Cybil Shepard’s career.

“Terms of Endearment” is another of his great novels. The film that followed pumped sales of the book when Jack Nicholson and Shirley McClain took the lead roles. McMurtry’s best book is his Pulitzer Prize-winning “Lonesome Dove.” That became, to most Texans anyway, the best television miniseries of all time.

McMurtry grew up on a ranch in Archer County, Texas, where there’s about five people per square mile. It is interesting that another famous American writer owned land in Archer County. That was Mark Twain. He didn’t live there, but he did own land there, as an investment. This 320 acre plot is still known locally as “the Twain property.”

So these two great writers, Twain as perhaps America’s best and McMurtry as perhaps Texas’ best, both owned land in Archer County, Texas. Small world. Both were Southerners. Both grew up in small, rural, agrarian towns. Both wrote classic books about the American West and about the cowboys and pioneers that inhabited those vast, rugged, haunting landscapes.

Now let me stop here to tell you an interesting story about Twain and the land he owned in Archer County. One day he received a letter from the County Clerk of Archer County saying that his land was in danger of being repossessed due to unpaid taxes. Twain had a man in Texas who was supposed to pay those taxes but he had failed to do so. So, Twain immediately paid the back taxes and saved the land. He was quite angry about the whole affair. He explained in a now somewhat famous letter to his friend William Dean Howells that he had had a man in Texas who was supposed to take care of those taxes, but that man had taken the money and run, so to speak. He wrote that if he ever caught up with him he would suffer on a Biblical scale. Twain said that “he shall beg for brimstone, he will beg in vain.” Now there’s beautifully worded threat even the mafia could be proud of.

Many years ago I sent a copy of the Twain letter to McMurtry. I had stumbled across it in the Twain papers at Vassar University. I told him that he might be pleased to know that he wasn’t the only famous author to have owned land in Archer County. He wrote back in his straightforward, modest style. He said
that he didn’t know about that, but he was glad to know and that he would check into it to see if maybe they had owned some of the same land. I guess they didn’t. I never heard any more about it. But the day I received that letter from the great man himself – that was a mighty fine day.

As a teenager, I used to lie awake at night reading McMurtry. I felt a special connection with him because we lived on the same road, U.S. 281. Six hundred miles apart, it is true, but on the same road. He lived a mile off of U.S. 281 in north Texas and I lived a mile off of U.S. 281 in south Texas. He could hear the trains where he was and I could hear them where I was.

He and I were both lovers of books and of Texas. We both grew up in ranch country. He played the trombone. I played the trombone. And as the years passed, the similarities continued. He went to North Texas State and so did I. He wrote a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, and I… I read it. He now lives in Tucson, where I went to doctoral school, and wrote my thesis – on Mark Twain.

McMurtry is now in his 80s. Given the parallel nature of our lives,
I’m praying he has many beautiful years ahead of him.

Lingo for Gringos: Ten Spanish Words All Anglos Should Know

I call this commentary “Lingo for Gringos” mostly because it rhymes, but it should really be called “Ten Spanish Words all Texans Should Know.”

I’m not talking about the easy words like cerveza, vino, tortilla, taco and baño. And I’m not talking about the common words you say every day that are actually Spanish words – patio, plaza, armadillo, mosquito, etc. I’ve chosen 10 words that are important for their social significance. If you know very little Spanish but at least know these words, you will have a clue as to what is going on around you. Listos? Ready? Here we go.

Aguas means “watch out” or “be careful.” My wife uses it often when children are in danger: “Aguas, aguas,” she says with the same tone of impending doom, whether they are really about to walk off a cliff or could just get gently bumped by the fridge door. The expression has its roots in the cities of long ago when water used to be tossed out the second story windows and walkers below would warn their companions by yelling “aguas.”

Guácala is a slang word, popular throughout Latin America. It means “gross” or “disgusting.” It is also fun to say. It has an onomatopoeic quality that makes the word sound like what it describes. It animates the moment. Guácala, for all that disgusts you. And a true grammarian who just heard me torture the pronunciation of the adjective form for onomatopoeia probably just said it.

Ni modo is two words, but always sounds like one to me. I love this expression. It means “What can you do?” Or “It is out of our hands.” Or “Whatever will be will be.” Ni modo. Someone says, “They’ve changed the computer system at work again.” Ni modo.

N’ombre is not the meaning for “name,” but a word with an apostrophe that is short for “no, hombre.” N’ombre. “No way.” It has many nuances of meanings, but for the most part it expresses surprise, disbelief, or even shock. “Did you know Lisa and Chuy eloped?” N’ombre!

Güey means dude. N’ombre, güey! “It can’t be, dude!” The Big Lebowski would be the ultimate güey. “El Güey aguanta.” “The Dude abides.”

Chisme is gossip or rumor. Good, juicy stories. “Tienes chisme?” “Got any good gossip?” When Facebook was new, I would hear people say, “Facebook es puro chisme,” meaning that private information could easily slip out and travel to all the last places you would want it to go.

Naca or naco. Don’t confuse this with narcos – those who work for cartels. A naca is a girl or a woman who sports unsophisticated tastes or at least less sophisticated than you. She is often, like true rednecks, proud of being authentic. If Jeff Foxworthy spoke Spanish he might do this routine: “If you think Sharpie eyebrows are high-fashion, you might be a naca. And if you think mullets are in – hate to say it – ‘N’ombre, que naco!’”

Sin vergüenza means without shame, or without embarrassment. It is used when someone stuffs her purse with buffet food at the reception. We say, “sin vergüenza.”

Resaca is a hangover. It is a common word in the Rio Grande Valley. It is another name for the oxbow lakes so common there. Just as the oxbow lake is a leftover or hangover from the Rio Grande, resaca is the name for a hangover from the tequila of the night before. “Tengo una resaca horrible.” “I have a horrible hangover.”

Órale is famous for having about 40 different meanings achieved by variations in vocal inflection and situation. Some linguists say it has 820 meanings depending on the tone, time of day, style of hair and what shoes you’re wearing. It is used for enthusiastic affirmation. Someone says “vámonos por una cerveza” and you say, “órale.” It means, “Let’s go ahead,” “absolutely,” “let’s do it,” “hurry up,” “wow,” and dozens of other things. One Texas English equivalent for órale is simply, “there you go.”

So there you have the 10 words that will be helpful to you. I want to say gracias to my gorgeous wife Lupita who has taught me these words and many others I cannot share on radio. But these 10 will serve you well in our increasingly multilingual world.

Soy W. F. Fuerte. Estos son Cuentos de Tejas. Algunos son ciertos.

I’m W.F. Strong. These are Stories From Texas. Some of them are true.

Three Texas Pride Stories

I’ve been sad lately noticing how the oral tradition seems to be dying. Twenty years ago friends would often come up to me on the street and say, “Hey, I got a story for you.” But now they just come up to me and hold out their phone and say, “Seen this?” And laugh. Not the same.

Today I thought I’d do what I can to fight this trend. I’m going tell you three short stories – or jokes – that showcase our Texas pride. You can even pass them on, if you think them worthy.

The first one I heard from my father when I was about 10. It was my first exposure to this genre – and I loved it. It went like this:

“A man from Kentucky was talking to a Texan and bragging about all the gold they had in Fort Knox. The Kentuckian said, “You know we have enough gold in Fort Knox to build a wall of solid gold, six foot high, all the way around Texas?”

The Texan said, “Is that so? Tell you what, you go ahead and build your wall – and if we like – we’ll buy it.”

The next story comes from John Gunther’s book, “Inside U.S.A.” You remember Gunther, who was famous for the quote, “If a man’s from Texas, he’ll tell you. If he’s not, why embarrass him by asking?”

Gunther says that a man from Boston was visiting a friend in Texas. The Bostonian was tired from traveling and went to bed early. As he pulled back the blankets, he was shocked to find a 12-inch lobster waiting for him. Rather than let the Texan get the better of him with this practical joke, he picked up the lobster and took it into the living room where his friend was reading the paper.

He held up the lobster and said, “You sure do have big bed bugs in Texas.”

The Texan peered up over the paper, squinted at the lobster and said, “Well, must be a young ’un.”

The last story, truly a Texas classic from the 60s, concerns a prideful Texan who died and went to Heaven. Saint Peter was giving him an orientation tour of Heaven, to get him acquainted with beauties of the place.

He first showed him some snow-covered peaks reminiscent of the Swiss Alps, and the Texan said, “Well, they are nice if you like your mountains all covered in snow that way. I like mine with a light dusting now and then and otherwise hot and dry like we have ‘em in Big Bend.”

Next, Saint Peter took him by the elbow and flew him up to a peak overlooking a gorgeous mountain river. He said, “You ever seen a more beautiful blue than that?” The Texan said, “No, but you want to see the most beautiful turquoise river ever, you need to see the Devil’s River in West Texas. Sorry to mention him, but that is the name of it. And don’t get me started on the Guadalupe for beauty and beer that was…”

Saint Peter interrupted him and pointed to the Alpine forest waving in the gentle mountain breeze before them. The Texan said, “Impressive, but nothing can steal my heart away from the Piney Woods of East Texas. You ever seen the Big Thicket?”

Exasperated, Saint Peter flew the Texan over to the very edge of Heaven and had him look over the side. Far, far below there was dense fire, and smoke as far as he could see. Saint Peter said, in an almost threatening tone, “What do you think of that?”

The Texan said, “That is impressive and clearly out of control, but I tell you what, we got some ol’ boys down in Houston who can put that out for ya.”

Quanah Parker: A Mother’s Day Story

Quanah Parker was the most feared of the Comanche chiefs on the Texas frontier. He was half white and half Comanche. He was taller and stronger and faster and more clever than any other chief of his time.

The fact that he never lost a battle to soldiers who relentlessly pursued him …

The fact that he was a ghost on the high plains and disappeared into thin air, even as he was chased in the bright Panhandle sun …

The fact that he was devastatingly handsome and could have graced the cover of one of those steamy Western romance novels …

The fact that he was the last Comanche chief to decide on his own, without being defeated militarily, to move to the reservation…

… is not the point of this commentary.

This is a love story, but not a love story for Valentine’s Day. This is a love story more appropriate for Mother’s Day.

Quanah’s mother, Cynthia Ann Parker, was abducted by Comanche raiders on the Texas frontier when she was 9. She was raised as a Comanche and married Chief Nocona. She had three children, the oldest of whom was Quanah. Cynthia Ann was eventually “discovered” by white men who traded with the Comanches. Her family, having searched for her for years, quickly organized a ransom offer. The Comanches would not sell her. No matter how much they WERE offered, tribal elders would not sell her. This was because Cynthia Ann did not want to go. Though born white, she was now culturally Comanche, the wife of a chief, with three children she loved.

Many years later, her camp along a tributary of the Pease River was attacked by Texas Rangers. Her husband was killed but her boys escaped. Cynthia Ann was finally freed from captivity, but she saw it as being abducted again. She was now 34. While being escorted to Tarrant County after the battle, she was photographed in Fort Worth with her daughter, Prairie Flower, at her chest and her hair cut short – a Comanche sign of mourning.

She never readjusted to white culture and tried many times to escape and return to her tribe. She begged to go back to her people. As S.C. Gwynne reported in his masterpiece, “Empire of the Summer Moon,” Cynthia Ann knew Spanish better than English. She told a translator: “Mi corazón llorando todo el tiempo por mi dos hijos.” “My heart cries all the time for my two boys” – Quanah and Pecos. But they wouldn’t give her her wish. Her relatives believed she would readjust in time. In truth, she was being held captive a second time.

She never gave up her Comanche ways. She often sat outside with a small fire and worshiped the Great Spirit according to the customs she knew. Sadly, Prairie Flower died of the flu a few years after they were returned to white society. And Cynthia herself died SEVEN years after that, relatively young, essentially of a broken heart.

Gwynne eulogized her this way: “She was a white woman by birth, yes, but also a relic of the Comancheria, the fading empire of high grass and fat summer moons and buffalo herds that blackened the horizon. She had seen all of that death and glory. She had been a chief’s wife. She had lived free on the high infinite plains as her adopted race had in the very last place in the North American Continent where anyone would ever live or run free. She had died in the deep pine woods where there was no horizon…”

Quanah lost his mother when he was just 12 and longed for her all his life. When he surrendered to life on the reservation he searched for her and was sad to learn that she had died and was buried far away in Texas. All he had of her was a photograph someone gave him, which he kept over his bed always.

He jumped through elaborate legal hoops for many years to get her body moved and buried on Comanche soil. When he was successful, he felt his mother was finally home. When Quanah died, he was buried next to her. He believed that though separated for so long in life, they would certainly be together forever with the Great Spirit in the Sky.