Category: Orphans

 

Like some slow moving locust infestation eating its way across the Corn Belt, the construction work on Calder Avenue in my town of Beaumont, Texas, slowly creeps westward. Today it was near the Exxon station and Calder Avenue Washateria where the avenue intersects with Ewing Street. Tomorrow, who knows? Wilcox, Arizona?

The busy four-lane thoroughfare which leads to downtown has been chopped up like so much concrete ice blocks for some time now. For one who has to drive into town such as I do — whenever I have to go to my office — it has been a rather frustrating exercise because one never seems to know what streets will be blocked off leading to Calder.

Our City-Government-At-Work indicates the construction is all for a good cause, to make badly needed drainage improvements. For a city built on a river only 45 miles from the Gulf of Mexico and only 16 feet or so above sea level, it would seem worthwhile to have decent drainage.

Indeed areas around Calder are flood prone and not just from those inconvenient little hurricanes but from massive rain storms as well. So I shouldn’t bitch about the construction and having to take alternate routes each and every day. One can even view the problem this way, it’s good training for getting around all those downed trees and power lines when the next hurricane blows through. Smile, brother, smile.

During the peak of the “awl” boom of the early 1980s the owner of a successful oil services industry company named Eddie Chiles became semi-famous by proclaiming: “I’m Mad.”

Chiles, then owner of the Western Company of North America, had a series of right-wing radio commentaries on which an announcer would ask: “Are you mad, Eddie Chiles?” Chiles would reply that “Yes I’m mad” and would then launch into a tirade against liberals in government and the virtues of capitalism. Chiles, who died in 1993, was quite a pitchman who would conveniently use government largess when it suited him. His company also had an ad campaign in which bumper stickers would trumpet: “If you don’t have an oil well, get one … ” Of course when the bubble burst in the mid 1980s you would see more bumper stickers which would say: “God, Just Give Me One More Oil Boom. I Promise Not To Piss It Away” or “Don’t tell my momma I work in the oil patch, she thinks I play piano in a whorehouse.”

The oil bust not only hit Chiles in the pocketbook it also cut into his ownership of the Texas Rangers baseball team, which he eventually sold to a group of businessmen which included future president George “Gee Dubya” Bush.

One can only imagine that if Chiles were around today he would be in hog heaven what with a Democratic-run government and fiscal disasters such as the fallout from the AIG bonus controversy. Instead of saying he was mad, however, Chiles might pick up the buzz word of the day “outraged.”

The cable news channels today make it seem like everyone within the borders of the United States is nine kinds of pissed off over AIG execs receiving mega bonuses after after the company was given a huge government handout. Perhaps that type of perception might play to the national security profile. If our enemies believed the whole country was mad as hell, combined with Americans and their private arsenals in states such as here in Texas, then it might just scare away potential adversaries.

Oh sure, a lot of people are pissed or say they are pissed about the AIG deal. From what I can see though is mainly a bunch of politicians — bipartisan but mostly Republicans — playing to the cameras. But the larger question in all of this is just how many people are genuinely angry and to a certain extent, why are they so angry?

Do I think that a bunch bean counters whose exceptional greed caused them to run their company in the ground deserve million-dollar bonuses? Of course not. Do I think the people responsible for the whole ball of wax should be punished in some form or fashion? Yes. But am I mad, or perhaps to be more trendy, am I outraged? No, I am not mad, or outraged, if you wish.

These types of screw-ups or examples of outright thievery have been going on for years. Remember the $800 toilets for Air Force planes? And for years the business culture in this country has been get yours and screw everyone else. A million here, a million there and eventually you’re talking a lot of money.

Our president said today that this type of mindset needs to change. But I have seen it most of my life, so we’ll see. Even though Obama wasn’t the one who gave the AIG people their tons of dollars, he stepped up to the plate once more today and said: “The buck stops with me.” Or something to that effect. That is so refreshing compared to the “I don’t do any wrong” mantra of the Bushites that perhaps it will provide some impetus for change. I am kind of cynical though.

In the meantime, if you want to get mad or outraged or even a little raged then do whatever floats your boat. As for me, there are plenty things within sight and out my window, figuratively speaking, to potentially piss me off. The AIG debacle is certainly something I can’t change right away, so why should I be outraged?

Not that more proof was needed, but this little story confirms that the only objective for Republican congressional members is obstructing the ruling party.

It seems our (Texas’)two GOP senators plan to hold back every nominee to the federal bench unless they pass the Republican litmus test. Although that is not exactly what the linked article says it is easy to read between the lines.

When the Repubs ran things Sens. John “Bush’s Lapdog” Cornyn and Kay Bailey “Rah-rah-rah” Hutchison had the say over who was nominated as a federal judge in the Lone Star Beer State. And, at least Cornyn, still does. Cornyn is a member of the Senate Judiciary Committee and under Senate rules the committee will not vote for a nominee who does not have the approval of a home-state committee member.

Dems are saying: “Not so fast there, Hoss!” There is a new sheriff in town, along with a new judge and jury (figuratively speaking). So either a federal judiciary nominee from Texas will have Cornyn’s approval, the Senate’s rules change, or else the white-haired senator will take his balls and go home (football, baseball, ping pong?)

Now, ask me what is the difference between the GOP obstructionism and that of the Democratic variety which almost led to the so-called “nuclear option?” Very little except for the fact that the party which holds the presidency and both houses of Congress should hold pretty much every card in the deck when it comes to nominating federal judges. What fun is it being the majority party if you don’t run things, huh? I am sure if the shoe was on the other foot I wouldn’t be talking crazy like that. But someone once said, honesty is the best policy. Probably a politician said it.

Oh well. I never said I had all the answers.

It took the better part of four hours, four-to-six scratches to the hand, several bumps on the head, some $50 and a plethora of Navy-style profanity but my truck now runs like a kitten’s purr.

I would have only spent two-thirds of that amount, probably saved three hours, would have had probably one or two scratches, would most likely still have several bumps on the head from banging it on the hood and would have produced slightly less cussing had I known from the start that my problem was one (1) fouled spark plug wire. That will be $39, Bubba. Cha Ching!

But I didn’t know that was the problem until my neighbor and a veteran mechanic, Doc, figured it out by pulling a few wires here and there on the thingamajig.

I am no mechanic, no way, no how. If I had been rolling in dough, or money, I would have taken my truck to a mechanic. Well, if I had literally been rolling in dough I would not have gone anywhere due to fear the cops might think I was a big donut. I didn’t have a lot of moolah though and I decided to diagnose and treat the patient myself. Here is a play-by-play:

1. Went to the Internet. Looked for “running rough” and “stumble” and “moisture” (because it rained all weekend)and “Strawberry Alarm Clock” (because I woke up with “Incense Peppermint” playing inside my head, and so forth.

2. Went to AutoZone. My “Check Engine Light” was going crazy, whereas normally the light just remains on. The code thingy said there was a misfire in “Plug No. 4.” Of course, the malfunction could also be due to an oxygen sensor, catalytic converter, sinusitis, witchcraft, stagflation and a condition called “hot dog finger.”

3. Did someone say: “Plug?” So I thought I would change the spark plugs. My plugs are located on top of the engine block. It looks like the plugs would be a snap to change. Wrong again! There are wires everywhere and hoses and big pipelines full of ammonia and cyanide gas and 2 percent milk.

4. Plugs changed. Truck still runs like crap.

5. Doc comes by. He does his mechanical voodoo and finds that the No. 4 plug WIRE is fried. Oh, yeah. The wire. Now it all makes sense.

6. Of course, you can’t buy just one plug wire, kind of like how you can’t just eat one Lay’s Potato Chip. I go to an auto parts store and the guy behind the counter sneaks in some little package of something I thought was for free but cost $2. I told him he had a racket and I complained about spending $35 to buy one wire because one cannot buy just one wire. He give me this shelizzle about how there are all these electronic thingies these days and blah, blah, blah, and I just about had to snatch the receipt out of his hand while I proclaimed “Bullshit!” on the way out the door.

7. I replaced No. 4 wire. The truck runs smooth once more. But I have these four other plug wires I paid a total of $39 for so … I put them on as well.

And thus it came to pass that a 1998 Toyota Tacoma lives to see another day despite its 145,000 miles. Sigh! What a way to spend the afternoon.

It is a cool and rainy day on the Upper Texas Coast. It is the type of day that must’ve been good for liquor stores and the bootleggers before them in the little East Texas Pineywoods town just up the road where I was raised.

Back in the day the big bidness in my hometown was the woods. People made their living cutting and hauling timber, mostly pulpwood and logs. It’s funny watching that reality show, Ax Men, about loggers on the History Channel because the loggers on the show are so alien from the woodsmen where I grew up.

The show is set in Oregon and these dudes cut some heavy-duty wood in some very rugged terrain. East Texas logging and pulpwood hauling takes place in relatively flat or slightly hilly pine forests. There are other differences including cultural and racial ones between those in my part of the country and in the Northwest. Even the lingo is different. Those who cut trees in the TV show are called “Fallers,” or so I think. Where I grew up the people who fell trees are called “Flatheads.” I think the reason why should be obvious.

Getting back to my primary thought, those who sell liquor where I was raised should have made good money on rainy Fridays like today. At least that was the case when I was a kid. The why stems from the inability to get into the woods due to the wet ground. The roads in the woods, where they exist, are hardly Interstate 10 and of course the rain just makes matters worse. Thus, the hands might go in long enough to get paid, it being Friday, then skedaddle because they can’t work. And once you can’t work you certainly have to talk it over with your friends and co-workers over a six-pack or three or a bottle of I.W. Harper.

The pine forests of East Texas have long been home to what some refer to as the “Buckle on the Bible Belt.” Because of the heavy religious influence legal sales of alcoholic beverages in most areas there are a relatively new phenomenon. Portions of my hometown first voted in sales of beer, wine and liquor for “off-premises consumption” slightly more than 30 years ago. Before that one’s choices were limited if you wanted a “snort.”

One could drive across the river into Louisiana to such scenic places as Leesville (home of Fort Polk or as some soldiers who trained there called it, “Fort Puke.”) Then there was DeQunicy or Vinton. The nearest legal liquor in Texas was in Silsbee, just north of Beaumont until Browndell in northern Jasper County went wet. Browndell is a whole different story, being one of what I call “liquor towns” which sprung up in Texas over the years. These are tiny little incorporated cities which exist for no reason except to sell booze in otherwise “dry” areas. Such cities in East Texas include Seven Oaks on U.S. Hwy. 59 in Polk County and Cuney on U.S. Hwy. 175 in Cherokee County.

If one didn’t care to make the haul out of town or ran out of hooch before legal liquor came to town the only choice would be to buy from a bootlegger. Now when I say bootlegger I am not talking about the long-bearded hillbillies who make corn squeezin’s and play hide and seek with the “revenuers.” No these were men and women, in my town who sold hooch at inflated prices.

These bootleggers operated with the full knowledge of local authorities back then. Once in awhile the state would bust them and sometimes the local yokels would tip them off while other times John Law would let the illegal booze merchants take a hit for appearance’s sake. I remember one summer afternoon while at a bootlegger’s place, I saw a flat-bed truck drive up with its bed filled with jail inmates from the adjacent county. They had been doing some work for a certain county official and stopped to get some refreshments for the ride back to the slammer.

Well, I certainly rambled on from a simple little comparison about the rainy Friday afternoons of my younger days and the present day. I am sure some of my story must sound foreign to people who always had a convenience store or liquor store around the corner, but that’s just how it was. I am also sure rainy Fridays in places where alcoholic beverages have always been sold likewise produce some good business with construction workers who are rained out as well as other folks who just want to start the weekend early. Rain, rain go away? No thanks.