Ten years on the road:
Sunday night, as I was driving back from the coast, I took a call on my cell phone, and talked to my parents for a while, then called my sister, out on the left coast, where it was two hours earlier. Some family business that needed attending to. Missed her, so I sat back, listened to music, and reflected about ten years on the road.
I’ve crisscrossed this state several times. Several times year, in fact. From the deep East Texas bayous down to the rolling Coastal Bend, to the furthest reaches in West and Far West Texas, covered it all. Squeeze in some Panhandle, and a stop on historic Route 66, just for grins. Spiritually, I suppose there’s a portion of eastern New Mexico that’s really in Texas, as well.
As much as I am a book person, and as much as I love to read, I’m getting a better picture of the learning experience. It doesn’t come from books. To be sure, I’ve been entertained by print, but the important tales aren’t the ones in the books; it’s what happens on the road. Interaction between people.
I’ve used this story to illustrate a number of points, and it’s one that’s etched in my memory. I took several classes in “Western American Literature,” which, I thought, would be slightly fluffy advanced lit classes about Writers of the Purple Sage, you know, Zane Grey, Louis Lamour, et al.
While both professors included Lonesome Dove, both professors insisted that Texas itself was not really part of the Western Heritage, nor, for that matter was Texas part of the Southern group, either. “It’s its own, special place.”
Sho nuff.
Lonesome Dove was just garnering awards, so it was also taught. What I recall rather distinctly, though, was one professor talking about Larry McMurty’s characters, assuring us students that the characters were fictitious caricatures, drawn larger than life to embody certain narrative points.
Allow me to be a little cynical. Yeah, right. That one professor, if he were around here today, I’d introduce him to a few of my friends. Yes, one bubba is certainly a good example. And that’s just one friend. Got plenty of examples.
Listening to one remark at the Journal happy hour, “I just want to go to Far West Rodeo in drag.” Actual quote, name removed for the sake of anonymity. Yee-haw.
Better yet, those two? Relative tame by my standards these days.
These are current examples. Ten years ago, I worked in San Antonio, and Midland/Odessa for the first time. High school memories. Wide open spaces, the sound of the wheels on the pavement. And the clients. And their stories. Too bad I believe in a client priviliges, or I could really tell some tales. But that professor was wrong. Dead wrong. Those characters in books? They are not nearly as large, loud, and wild as the folks I’ve met along my pathway.
My education didn’t stop at the books. One [Gemini> Literature professor hammered home a few points about observing people. He taught me to watch for little action, and he taught me how to describe the minutae. Important points. Then watch the people. Listen to the lilt of the accent, the way a particular vowel is drwn out. Try and describe that in print.
Fredlet being from West Texas and all, has a unique ability to pinpoint a Texas accent within 50 miles. That’s a good ear. I’m working on it, but I still have to ask. The other day, I was stymied by a little Leo’s deep [Rio Grande> Valley accent.
The road taught me to listen and observe. Ask questons respectfully. Jump right in with a helping hand when needed. Don’t be afraid to let them know you “ain’t from around here.” Ask questions. Listen to the answers. Looking for a true, local cuisine? Just ask about that out-of-the-way taqueria. It’s a platter full of steak in Sonora; it’s TexMex at the crossroads in Ft. Stockton; it’s Virgo perfect Eggs Benedict in Port A; it’s fried oysters on Padre Island, overlooking the Coastal Waterway.
The road’s been a mighty fine teacher so far. Trade this lifestyle for something else? Why? The road really does go on forever.
