A small world, thankfully

My new lightweight tent is now safely in my hands.

I do not think of package tracking numbers as something of mere convenience. Those little numbers are essential these days as so much material is zoomed here and there. So I had been watching my tent’s progress via the Internet since leaving Kansas City on Monday until its delivery this morning in Beaumont at 9:43 a.m.

Wait! It said delivery. I checked my abode’s office and it hadn’t been delivered there.

I walk back to my laptop to figure out where the package might have gone. I have had some personal items delivered to my office. And I have had some work items delivered to my residence.

So I called the automated phone number for UPS since I couldn’t figure how to get into their system, being that the tent’s manufacturer provided a link to track the package from UPS. Finally, I call UPS, give the computerized lady my tracking number and determined the package had been delivered exactly two blocks up the street.

For some reason, people aren’t the best about posting their street number up on their building, which you would think a business at least would do if they want to be found. But I found the place eventually and the lady said if I hadn’t come by she would have gone looking for me because I had to be somewhere close. Compounding the initial confusion was that my name was the same as her father-in-law. We all had a good laugh.

Now all I have to do is round up my other supplies and next week I can head out for the national forest where a friend of mine and I are supposed to meet up. The particular campground I am seeking is small and first-come, first-served but since it will be early in the week maybe there will be some spots open. Like a good Boy Scout that I never was, though, I am prepared with alternatives. We shall see what happens.

Now I guess I better get cracking on some things.

Old Sayings Retirement Home No. 24

(Or, the equestrian view of Dick Cheney)

Wow. It is hard to imagine we are already up to OSRH No. 24. For those of you not familiar, this marks the occasion when the little quote below the EFD header is retired and this is the 24th such event. That is of little significance as is the fact that StatCounter has marked slightly more than 40,000 hits for this page when one considers the blog has been up and running for about four years. That’s an average of 10,000 hits a year and half of those are probably mine. It doesn’t mean anything though. Really.

Neither does the current “Dick Cheney Torture Tour.” A lot of speculation exists as to why he is out there talking wherever a microphone is available as well as whether it is hurting or helping the GOP or the Dems. Some pundits say the former vice president is trying to give his spin to leave the Bush-Cheney administration a more positive legacy. More positive than what? George W.’s dog probably doesn’t love him anymore and Cheney shot his best friend in the face with a shotgun.

Others say The Dick showing up everywhere and saying all the bad things about Obama and the Democrats helps to promote a more understanding jury pool should the former Veep be tried for war crimes. That’s a stretch. I don’t think he will be tried unless he decides to take a cruise to Barcelona. And say what you want about Cheney, he is certainly not stupid.

It is really insignificant in the larger realm what Dick Cheney does or does not do. He will be an Aaron Burr-like figure in American history rather than one such as a Washington, Jefferson or Lincoln although he does get a little more prominence because he appeared to be the puppet master pulling Gee Dubya’s strings whether he actually did so or not.

No, in the bigger picture, Dick Cheney will ride through this latest episode as he did in the earlier one as vice president, not as the great man on the horse but rather as the horse’s ass.

Road rage uncovered

Did you ever wonder just what are at the root causes of road rage?

One study I read speaks of part of its origins in terms of almost pack-mentality terms. The study, commissioned by the AAA Foundation for Traffic, notes a combination of factors are likely behind incidents in which drivers lose it and take their hostility out on others. These reasons for drivers behaving badly can range from having a bad day to perhaps an innate animal-instinct in reaction to overcrowding.

More succinctly, the study’s author points out that humans are territorial and the car is an extension of that territory.

“Indeed, the territory extends for some distance beyond the vehicle, again providing room for the defender to prepare to fend off or avoid the attack. If a vehicle threatens this territory by cutting in, for example, the driver will probably carry out a defensive maneuver. This may be backed up by an attempt to re-establish territory — in spite of the rationalizations we used to account for our behavior, flashing headlights or a blast of the horn are, perhaps, most commonly used for this purpose,” wrote Matthew Joint, head of behavioral analysis for the The Automobile Association Group Public Policy Road Safety Unit.

It is a very enlightening study that not only pointedly defines road rage but also explores its prevalence.

Left unsaid in the study, or at least specifically, are a couple of other reasons which may either fit into the realm of animal behavior or ones general surroundings. Now here I must point out that I am not a behavioral scientist, although I did minor in sociology in college. Carrying that qualification to its most ridiculous extreme that must make me a behavioral scientist. After all, as I have mentioned here before, I have met many people who have taken one journalism class — or none at all, hell they may have just read a newspaper — who see themselves as journalists or journalism experts. Okay, down from my high horse. Here is my unqualified opinion as to two major causes of road rage:

1. Stupidity
2. Impatience

Two very minor instances of road rage I experienced during the past week certainly show that these were clearly contributing factors for the behavior I encountered on our city streets.

Example 1. There is an intersection in front of the building where my office is located. A one-way street runs southward on the east side of the building. A one-way entrance to the two-way street in front of the building on that east side shares a two-way stop with the traffic coming from the two-way street which turns left onto the one-way street. Got all that? You will be tested.

Now the stop light where a turn can only be made to the right onto the one-way street has two distinct symbols. One is a red arrow pointing right and the other is a green arrow pointing right. One might only imagine what that means. Hmmmmm. Could it possibly be the red arrow means no right on red, or no go on red, for that matter? And the green arrow. I bet that has something to do with proceeding onto the one-way street to the right. After all, it’s pointed right. It’s not pointed left. For if it was pointed left it might direct a motorist to turn into the path of a big-ass dump truck or some other type of speeding motor vehicle which uses this street daily.

Given those possibilities. I sat at the light with a red arrow pointing right until it turned into a green arrow pointing right. For my trouble, some fellow who I surmise was from out of town because he had clothes hanging over a back window, decided I should make a right on red and so he lays down on his horn. Had I not been outside my office I might have jumped out of my car and try my hand at lecturing the gentleman about not using his horn in trying to influence my driving decisions. But alas, since the guy could have a)kicked my ass b) shot me or c)made some kind of big scene involving me outside my office, I declined not to do so.

Clearly, though the man didn’t know what I might do either. So you would have to give thought to the possibility the man was both stupid and was certainly impatient.

Example two: Just this afternoon I was pulling out of a driveway from a restaurant onto a busy street. A woman in a van signaled a right turn and apparently she believed her van would not make the turn successfully unless I pulled my tiny, little Toyota pickup out into the street for my left turn. Did I mention before the street was busy? Well it was. And all of a sudden the woman in the van blasts her horn at me. Now, even though I was behind cars traveling in front of me, I was able to see cars in the other lane turning onto the street from the freeway feeder in the direction that I coveted as well. If the woman in the van had paid any attention, and maybe she did, she would have seen a car was approaching with a speed that made me believe it was quite unwise to pull out into the street even though the woman in the van who blew her horn felt otherwise.

Thus, I pointed to the oncoming car while looking at her. When I finally was able to pull out into the street, I am sure the woman was able to make out the gist of what I was saying by reading my lips although both of our windows were up. She just smiled as if she had, as my late father used to say, good sense.

Clearly though, the woman did not have good sense which might put her into the category of being stupid although there was no arguing that she was impatient.

So there you are. In a nutshell, if we could get stupid, impatient drivers off the road we would all be a lot safer. And if you think we will be able to accomplish that, let me tell you about some nice land you might like to buy down in the Sabine River bottoms of Southeast Texas/Southwest Louisiana.

Where the Earl industry began


A replica of the boomtown that sprouted up with the beginning of the modern oil industry at Spindletop.

Oil has become a touchy subject in these “green is great” days. I consider myself an environmentalist although I stop short of hugging trees. But I have to be honest that, like many Americans, I have a definite love/hate relationship with the oil and gas industry.

That industry, while causing much of the pollution problems we deal with, has also made our life much easier not to mention it is next to the global communication explosion the reason why the Earth has become increasingly a global village. Sorry, perhaps it isn’t the best picture to use the word “explosion” when talking about the oil and gas industry.

The greed of some, but certainly not all, in oil and gas is next to pollution the facet of the industry that makes it most unattractive. I have friends and family members — none of which are greedy or that you’d know — who have made a good living from oil and gas in one form or the other. Honestly, I don’t know how much money I have made off inherited oil and gas leases and royalties over the past 25 years, certainly several thousand dollars and probably more.

It is with that long preface explaining my complex feelings about oil and gas that I begin what would otherwise have been a short post about visiting a local landmark in the town in which I live and my reasons for doing so.

After living some five years in three different incarnations in Beaumont, Texas, I finally visited the Spindletop Gladys City Boomtown Museum. There are two things Beaumont is famous for, well three if you include the World’s Third Largest Fire Hydrant. One is that it is the birthplace of the greatest woman athlete of the 20th century, Babe Didrikson Zaharias. But even more so it is famous for Spindletop, a “hill” (when you live at 16 feet above sea level it doesn’t take much to make a hill) south of what is now Beaumont where the modern oil and gas industry began on the morning of Jan. 10, 1901.

My reasons for visiting are simple. First, I was in search of something to do. Secondly, I believe one needs to eventually see all the landmarks one’s town has to offer. Finally, it only cost $3 to get in.

Austrian-born Capt. Anthony Lucas knew the aforementioned area had oil and so after gathering some investor money from several folks including money bags Andrew Mellon, Lucas got the best rotary drillers money could buy. The drillers, however, hit rock at 1,060 feet and stuck their drill. While trying to remove the drill, the so-called “Lucas Gusher” spewed out of the well and up to about 100 feet in the air. Some 80,000-to-100,000 barrels of oil per day flew through the air over the nine-day period the gusher gushed before finally being capped.

The boom was on. Everybody and their dog was forming oil companies and drilling. Businesses sprung up like those represented in the little replica town at the museum. One I had not known about was Broussard’s Livery. Being that they had horses and buggies, they were already equipped for what is always a necessity, a funeral home. Today they use Cadillac hearses at Broussard’s Mortuary. A number of other companies started up at Spindletop as well, like the Texas Company, J.M. Guffey Petroleum Co., Magnolia Petroleum and Sun Oil. The former companies became Texaco, Gulf, Mobil (now ExxonMobil) respectively and of course the latter Sun Oil Co.

Fortunately, some of these replica buildings have air conditioning in them, which are surely useful here where it can get kind of hot and humid. They have a lot of interesting relics in the museum, not just oil and gas related but an old camera collection, vintage printing presses and old mercantile of the kind one would buy in a boomtown provided one had not spent their last red cent on rotgut whiskey and a ride at the local harlotry.

If you ever find yourself in Beaumont and you are not just passing through or come to the area to rebuild or reroof homes from yet another hurricane, you should check out the Gladys City museum. I think each year on the day the gusher blew a reenactment is staged using hot, boiling oil. No, not really, I think maybe it’s water.

Idle floating casino looks like a fish out of water


Want to buy the “world’s largest floating casino?”

Recently, I was driving around the old downtown part of Orange, Texas, along its harbor where the Sabine River makes its last oomph before forming the bay-like lake leading into the Gulf of Mexico. During the start of World War II it’s shipyards, turning out mass-produced warships like the destroyer USS Orleck, sent the population booming from about 7,000 to 60,000 almost overnight. Today, Orange has about 18,000 people and is the smallest city to form a corner of the so-called “Golden Triangle” encompassing Beaumont, Port Arthur and Orange, Texas.

Long after the war, even as late as the 1970s much more activity could be seen on the Orange waterfront as it was home to a Navy base housing an inactive ship facility, or mothball fleet. It was there I had my first glimpse of a destroyer. Some of those warships were much older and with twice the number of smokestacks (a total of four) than the one on which I served in the 1970s.

Today, the Orleck is back but is looking mighty old. Preservationists rescued the first destroyer built in Orange from the scrap heap in Greece and brought it back to birthplace with hopes of it becoming a floating museum. Its status is now in flux after it was damaged during Hurricane Rita in 2005, and repaired, only to have lost its berth at a park downtown.

The port commission likes to call Orange the “Greatest Small Port in America.” And it isn’t unusual to see a few ships in and out of the port. I was a bit taken aback during my recent visit though to see what appeared at first to be an ocean liner.

It turns out that the ship, the MV Ambassador II, is billed by some as the world’s largest floating casino and is apparently seeking a home.

The 440-foot former roll-on, roll-off ferry was based in Port Canaveral, Fla., until last summer. When under way it can carry about 1,800 passengers, with 1,000 slots and 50 gaming tables.

All three corners of the Golden Triangle have ports so it seems like some folks in these parts who see all that gambling money heading east on I-10 to Delta Downs in Vinton, La., the gambling boats in Lake Charles and beyond maybe should start getting their nickels and other investment money together. One would think people somewhere would want to put out to sea, have a cold one and feed the ever-hungry slots.

At the very least, it would definitely make one hell of a party barge.