Southeast Texas refinery fire was quite the spectacle

It is not too unusual seeing tall columns of smoke while driving on Interstate 10 between Houston and Beaumont. The marshes mostly toward the Gulf of Mexico quite often catch fire and spread, excuse the pun, like wildfire especially on days like today when the cool winds sweep o’er the prairies.

But driving to Houston this afternoon I noticed a big riser of smoke that came from the direction where the marsh land has generally been turned into metropolitan sprawl from the eastern edges of  the nation’s fourth-largest city. Once I crossed the 75-foot Trinity River bridge between Anahuac and Baytown I could clearly see the source of the big smoke plume. It was a big, freaking fire which appeared to be coming from some kind of petrochemical plant.

I finally found out the fire was from the explosion at the Enterprise Products plant at Mont Belvieu, 35 miles east of Houston, after having to put up with about a minute of Rush Limberger before hearing the radio news on KTRH-AM 740. Enterprise Products said in a news release that one worker is unaccounted for after the explosion at a storage facility at the complex.

A news release from the company noted its main facilities were not damaged. Those facilities include:

” … the natural gas liquids fractionators, the propylene fractionators, the butane isomerization units, the octane enhancement facility, north and east facilities and the import/export terminals located on the Houston Ship Channel.”

I have no idea what fractionators are, especially when used in such a context. I suppose they make fractions out of the chemicals. I always liked 3/4. My favorite was 4/17 of a Haiku, from the Richard Brautigan piece “Red Lip.”

Hopefully, the person unaccounted for was just off somewhere away from the explosion and was not harmed. Just seeing the huge flame, and that is what it looked like — one gigantic flame shooting way the hell up into the sky, I can’t imagine anyone getting close to it much less surviving while in close proximity to the fireball.

Update: I am watching KPRC News 2 in Houston and their crews on the scene show the fire is still burning (5 p.m. CST)

Dogs but no goats killed in vicious Beaumont attack

A man with a bow and arrow, I suppose, or perhaps a bow and arrows managed to stop a dog attack on a goat herd that lives in a comfy little goat hangout between Phelan and Calder in Beaumont. I say suppose because I am not really sure from this story on the Beaumont Enterprise online edition. Perhaps if I paid the Enterprise king’s ransom to read the whole story I would be more enlightened. I don’t know that for sure, maybe the story is just a wee bit unclear. But that is the enormous crap shoot you take when a newspaper opens what is known as a “pay wall.” Don’t get me started on all that, though.

Goats saved by archer during violent daytime canine attack.

I love this goat herd. I first noticed it about five years ago driving by on Phelan Boulevard, a pretty well-traveled thoroughfare in the middle of western Beaumont. Calder Avenue is on the other side of the goat “farm.” Calder is itself a busy street in more places than others. The part that forms a boundary for the goat-plex isn’t all that busy. However, those two streets combined are, presumably busy enough for a vicious dog or dogs to transit in search of some fresh cabrito.

One or more of the hurricanes we had forced goat owner Sam Parigi to move the herd. An Enterprise story mention a lot of folks began to miss seeing the goats. I know I did.  Nevertheless, the goats returned.

I went by there a month or so ago and took some pictures with my then new camera — now in New Jersey allegedly being repaired from a tumble in my recent trip to Missouri — of the herd. I found that Parigi has built the goats what look like a very comfy stable, or goat-i-minium. But I also noticed the owner, who also is a big real estate person in this town, has a “for sale” sign up on the fabled herd. If Parigi is trying to sell the land, the herd or the land and the herd, I wonder what will become of the goats? Cabrito? Or perhaps the more appropriate term would be “chevon.”

It would be ashamed to see the goat herd hundreds of drivers including myself have come accustomed to glancing at every day while driving by. The almost comical creatures bring, no doubt, a lot of smiles to a lot of people and the goats somehow make it seem all is right with the world just with their presence.

Alas, nothing stays the same but Congress.

Hat tip to the fellow who managed to dispatch the attacking dogs with his trusty bow and arrow. I don’t much like killing dogs but I like less, dogs attacking the Phelan-Calder Goat Herd.

Wigged out Baptists — KC bound — Good eats at Starvin Marvin’s

So I see those lunatics from the Westboro Baptist Church from Topeka plan to protest at the funerals of those killed in Saturday’s shootings in Tucson. The  Rev. Fred Phelps and his gang of Baptist jihadists go wherever there is publicity so they can spread the gospel of anti-gay hate. Amazing those folks with their syllogism that the departed in these shootings and others including KIA American soldiers died because a) God Hates America  b) Because we have turned our backs on God’s way especially by allowing homosexuals in our midst. Well, maybe that isn’t really a syllogism perhaps it is 1/2 a syllogism, or even a half-assed syllogism. It’s been awhile since I studied logic.

I can’t believe these folks from Kansas call themselves Baptists. I’ve been around Baptists all my life. I went to a number of Baptist churches in my younger days. And I can honestly say I never came across any devout Baptists, any devout Christians for that matter, who were such antisocial jackasses.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Speaking of Kansas, I should be in or near there one week from today as I am supposed to go to Kansas City next week thanks to one of my sidelines. I expect it will be cold. It”s been cold the last couple of days. Here on the Texas Coast a 45 degree day, especially one with wind chill in the 20s or 30s passes for cold. Well, in my estimation it is cold. Have I mentioned lately that I  live in Southeast Texas because it is usually pretty warm here? That’s not the only reason, but that is a major one. We also have the best chili in the world in Texas. And the biggest dips**t for a governor. But that’s not really a plus.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Today I had lunch for the first time at Starvin Marvin’s, kind of in the neighborhood. I was a bit afraid it might be too rich for my blood as their TV ads kind of give that impression but the place that is best known for its ribs and hand cut steaks had a reasonable lunch. I had what was the special, which I believe is called their Texas Club. It looks pretty impressive coming from the kitchen as the sandwich is stood up on its ends. I found it a good eats nonetheless with several meats and cheeses. I smelled garlic somewhere, perhaps on the toast perhaps in the meat, if you can smell it you know it’s there. The price with a tip was about $11 for just myself. A little high, perhaps for a sandwich and steak fries and iced tea, but not really, not these days. They have a huge outdoors area with a large fireplace, that was stoked up on “hot” today and some other outdoor fires were burning while plastic helped keep some of the cold out. Still, I wasn’t brave enough to try it.

This is what used to be Rocky’s Road House and who knows what before that. It’s now part of the “Beaumont music scene” and it was the first place I’ve been in years where I knew every song playing from the sound system, from The Doors “Roadhouse Blues” to “I’m Free” from The Who’s “Tommy.” Impressive to an old rock n’ roll fart like me. Oh, and the waitress told me the truth, at least in her mind, about certain menu items. Give that gal a raise. For dang sure give her a good tip. Good atmosphere, reminds me of the Armadillo Palace in Houston.

Whether the name of this bar and grill — they have happy hour specials — was influenced by the little African cartoon character from “South Park,” I don’t know. I do know I had to wear my heaviest coat today which has a hood and it sometimes makes me look like Kenny from South Park, as in “Oh my God, They killed Kenny, you bastards.”

Starvin Marvin’s

2310 N. 11th St.

Beaumont, TX

(409) 234 5002

Deep O’ Meter: 4.5

(I occasionally do a restaurant review. I decided I would put my own stamp of satisfaction/dissatisfaction upon those eateries with the “Deep O’ Meter.” Eight Feet Deep, the name of this blog inspired it so an 8 on the Deep O’ Meter would be the best you could get. You won’t see many of those. I am pretty picky about restaurants, yeah, sure you are. The 4.5 I gave Marvin’s is above average.)

110 years ago today in our town — 110 years later in our world

” … and up from the ground came a bubbling crude, oil that is, Black Gold, Texas Tea.”  From “The Ballad of Jed Clampett” written by Paul Henning

That description of good fortune found by Jed, of “The Beverly Hillbillies” fame, fits to a “tea” what happened in real life about three miles from where I live. The crude began bubbling — exactly 110 years ago today (January 10, 1901) — at place known as “Spindletop.” A very informative article about the history of Spindletop that was written by Robert Wooster and Christine Moor Sanders, and published in Handbook of Texas Online describes the pivotal moment of the World’s most important oil gusher ever:

“The startled roughnecks fled as six tons of four-inch drilling pipe came shooting up out of the ground. After several minutes of quiet, mud, then gas, then oil spurted out. The Lucas geyser, found at a depth of 1,139 feet, blew a stream of oil over 100 feet high until it was capped nine days later and flowed an estimated 100,000 barrels a day.”

It is pretty safe to say nothing of such far-reaching magnitude ever occurred since in Jefferson County, Texas, located on the easternmost Gulf Coast of the Lone Star State. Although I wasn’t around for Spindletop, I bet that not even Janis Joplin’s triumphant return in 1970 to her 10th graduation anniversary at Thomas Jefferson High School in Port Arthur could have matched Spindletop as a colorful and raucous event. And, from what I saw on local TV, Janis coming home freaked out a lot of folks.

The geyser, simply stated, started the modern petroleum industry as we know it. Some of the world’s most important oil companies had their start within a 25-mile radius of Spindletop: The Texas Company, later Texaco; Magnolia, later Mobil and even later ExxonMobil; Humble Oil, later Exxon and ExxonMobil, Gulf Oil, Sun. The companies read like a who’s who list of the petroleum industry.

Some who share my occasional liberal thoughts seem to believe “oil” is a four-letter-word. But the truth is not even those people can with any type of ease live without the fruits of hydrocarbons. While the oil industry made some people filthy rich and others just filthy, many modest livings — read: above average middle class — came from refineries, drilling and other facets of the petrochemical world. Why yours truly has made even a very modest amount of dough off oil and gas wells that I inherited. Certainly not much, albeit the low five-figure range over 25 years.

Most of the folks in the area I grew up in certainly knew the worth of oil as the industry paid for a lot of those people’s pickup trucks, bass boats, nice houses and for the most part a comfortable life. But other than immediate jobs, those who lived in the area I am from and now live in had no clue 110 years ago how Spindletop would transform the worldwide economy.

Those were certainly heady times, back in 1901.

But all was not quiet.

In September at a state fair that year, Vice President Theodore Roosevelt first mouthed his foreign policy mantra: “Speak softly and carry a big stick.” Four days later, President William McKinley was shot at the Pan American Exhibition in Buffalo, N.Y. He died eight days later.

McKinley’s assassin, 28-year-old Leon Czolgosz, was an avowed anarchist although none of the known anarchist groups would claim him as a member and some reportedly thought him to be a spy for the government. Before the month of September was out, a jury convicted Czolgosz. In really swift justice he was executed in the electric chair at New York’s Auburn Prison about a month later, his last words being: “I killed the President because he was the enemy of the good people – the good working people. I am not sorry for my crime.”

The new Republican president, Roosevelt, showed that year that he would not be  easily buttonholed as a politician when it came to his actions. There was  his bully pulpit rhetoric about carrying a big stick, but after becoming president he also told Congress he wanted trusts curbed reasonably and he also invited noted African American Booker T. Washington to the White House. The latter sat off riots and other unrest in the South.

On Saturday, January 8, 2011, almost 110 years to the day Spindletop blew in, Jared Lee Loughner, 22, allegedly shot almost two dozen people at a congressional meet and greet outside a Safeway store in Tucson, Ariz. Six people were killed including a 9-year-old girl and a federal judge. The target of the shooting appeared to be U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, a Democrat. Giffords was shot in the head and remains in critical conditions although doctors say she shows encouraging signs that could signal improvement.

Loughner has left a lot of crazy writings behind as he sits in jail. The alleged assassin appears to be anti-government but like Czolgosz  also appears to be a lone nut job.

Perhaps in the days ahead we will learn just what were the motivating factors behind these shootings. Was the act because Giffords is a Democrat, or that she is Jewish, or that she supported President Obama’s health care plan even though she supported tough immigration measures and is pro-gun? Did the relentless cacaphony of political argument that passes for entertainment on cable news and talk radio play a part in driving Loughner over the edge?

We may never know. But just as the world turned 110 years ago today in the town in which I reside, giving rise to the world’s most important — although sometimes exasperating — industry so does our planet keep revolving where it seems no amount of good can ever completely snuff out the anger that lives in mankind.

I am painting broad brush here. But sometimes it does a body good to look at the world through the macro lens inward. Perhaps one must speak softly and carry a big magnifying glass.

New Year's: For a neighbor, out with the old for one last time

 Two other subjects on which to write about came and went about an hour ago when I heard the sound of a diesel engine outside. I’d heard that sound before — a local city ambulance.

 The paramedics were  soon joined by a supervisor and was followed by several police cars. I could tell when they emerged from my neighbor’s apartment that things didn’t look good. That turned out to be with good reason. 

 My neighbor was dead. A friend of his went to check on him and from what he and the police said, the neighbor, Doc,  probably had been dead anywhere from a few days to a week.

 I liked Doc. I wouldn’t say we were friends but we were pretty close acquaintances. He lived next door and whenever we saw each other and had a minute we’d talk. He had just started receiving disability checks earlier this year after the battle that many have obtaining the disability status. As I told the police, he seemed to be in pain all the time. I’m not sure what all kinds of medical problems he had but I think he may have also had neuropathy as I do. As for the cause of his death, I’m sure the coroner will determine that if the body is in a sufficient state. But the bottom line is likely natural causes.

Doc was 62. I’m not sure. The cops ran his license and he might have been 59 or 60. He was in the range of late 50s to early 60s.

 When Hurricane Ike hit and we were all without power I sat out in the yard with Doc and my former neighbor Gene where we talked about anything and everything. It was then that I got to know Doc better. However, I never really knew him well.

 I’ve mentioned here before that when I saw my neighbor, he would often rant over something he heard on Fox News, fair and balanced.

 The  friend who found Doc after having the manager opened the apartment was, after knowing each other for more than 20 years, pretty much his real next of kin. He had a couple of ex-wives and a daughter, but they were not close, according to his friend. The police were having a difficult time figuring out who to call. Who will be responsible for disposition of his body and what he owns?

 It’s sad for someone’s life to come to an end like that. Also, it didn’t escape me nor did it pass by his friend that Doc was going out on New Year’s Eve. His friend particularly was disturbed by that especially after having discovered Doc”s lifeless body at year’s end — I’m lost for words here trying to be respectful and tasteful for a change — after the man had been dead for perhaps more than a few days. I trust most of you understand what I’m saying.

 We tend to look at New Year’s as out with the old and in with the new. We have the vision of the stork bringing in the new baby while behind the scenes the Grim Reaper is doing his deeds. But in the end we are all part of the process, what Joni Mitchell sang so lovely, “The Circle Game.” A cycle. We see it all the time.

 But that doesn’t particularly make that cycle more appealing when one goes away for good, that is, if it is someone you know.

 Speaking of, the morgue SUV is getting ready to take Doc away. So long Doc. It’s been good to know you.