My June 2019 TX Trip

Almost three years had passed since I visited the city, state and country of my birth, so I had to return (temporarily, of course). I said a warm goodbye to my GF, Audrey Lim, went to Seoul−Incheon International Airport and got on a big jet airplane headed east.

These long flights really take it out of me, but I survived the first leg. After a 3 ½-hour layover in San Francisco, on I went to Austin. Arrival was at 2 a.m.—such things happen when you travel economy class. My exhaustion notwithstanding, I had some immediate problems to handle. The car rental agency with which I had contracted was closed, so I worked a deal with a guy at an agency that was still open at such an ungodly hour. I reluctantly paid $122 to use a GMC sport utility vehicle for less than a day and got a room at a nearby Super 8 motel. Back at the airport before noon (Friday, June 7), I was informed that since I had not picked up my car the contract was rendered invalid. Just a little bit aggravated, I moved to another, a third, car rental agency. That went smooth enough, and I was soon at the wheel of a black Hyundai. I had a lot to do, and I started doing it.

I went to Academy, a big warehouse-type store, and bought mundane things like athletic socks, gloves for weightlifting and biking, and a pair of Nike basketball shoes—as if I still played hoops! I stopped at Phoenicia Bakery and Deli on South Lamar and bought four bags of zaatar (a Lebanese seasoning of which I am fond), swam at Stacy Pool and dropped by the West Austin home of Bob Gibbons. Bob and I traveled a few miles to where Gregg and Kathy Evans live. Gregg, an Ohio State Buckeye, has been battling some serious health problems in recent years, and we were there to offer support. Among other things, we talked about our running days; Bob could boast a 2:32 marathon, Gregg had a 2:38, and I came in at a weak 2:42. I ended the day at Schlotzsky’s sandwich emporium, eating a “classic” and drinking raspberry ice tea.

On Saturday, I went north on MoPac to see a friend named Terron McDonald. We share an interesting history, having met at Kinsolving Dormitory in 1976 while watching the Dallas Cowboys and Seattle Seahawks on TV. After three hours of getting caught up and an exquisite lunch of Texas brisket, I left and drove around central Austin. I could not help reminiscing when I passed by houses on East 30th, Avenue G, Benelva, Elmwood, Lafayette, West 21st, West 29th, Newning and other places where I had lived. Another was 1407 Drake, my home for 16 years before I departed in November 2007 for Korea. The landlord, Mark Ahern, was still living around the corner so I knocked on his door. We talked for half an hour. I wandered around UT and the Drag, observing a new generation of students. Let me take this opportunity to point out that tattooing is increasingly common, not to mention nose-piercing. One more thing: I thought Seoul had gone in for electric scooters, but Austin was even more so. Micromobility is a burgeoning, multibillion-dollar industry. One final thing: Toll roads in Texas, the number of which has grown. Taxes pay for construction of most of these roads, and then we have to pay to drive on them? It seems senseless, unfair and anti-egalitarian.

I departed the Super 8 on Sunday, drove 200 miles north on Interstate 35 to Dallas and found the home of Gary and Betty Scoggins. I have known the former since fifth grade at Hexter Elementary School. The first order of business was for me to go upstairs and collect nearly 150 books I had bought from Amazon.com and sent there. Actually, a few of my own books (Longhorn Hoops, Coming to Texas, Meet the Need and “For Texas, I Will”) also had to be gathered; I pay Gary and Betty $500 per year to let me store some things in their attic. That done, I joined him in the backyard pool followed by a nice meal inside.

Possibly the most important task on this whole trip was to see my dear (and profoundly retarded) cousin Pat Gary in Abilene. I got on the road early Monday but had plenty of time, so a diversion to Denton was not a big problem. Again, I just had to check out the humble house at 718 Crawford and the apartment complex on Oak Street where I had lived for 2 ½ years. The first one remains standing, a little worse for wear. The second, virtually across the street from the University of North Texas, has been demolished, which I did not find surprising. But I also had to stop at the Denton Community Pool at 515 North Bell Avenue, where I had such a joyous connection with some kids in the summer of 1980. It’s in good shape and considerably modernized. I got to Abilene and went straight to Hill Resources, Inc., the private entity which now cares for Pat, age 56. (She had previously been a resident at Abilene State School.) From there, I was directed to a home in a cul-de-sac in a nice neighborhood. While her legal guardian, Larry Baird, was unavailable, I was given plenty of information by a woman named Stephanie. She confirmed that Pat has had no visitors since my last trip there in 2016. In fact, no one else has come to see her since sometime in the 1970s. Her brother, Dennis, and sister, Shannon—also my cousins, as you might guess—choose to stay away. I spent two hours in that house, talking to Pat, holding her hand, taking photos and looking at a book about her treatment. Given that she has a growing list of health problems, it is likely that I will not be seeing her again. Blind in one eye, non-verbal and living in her own small world, Pat scarcely knew I was there. Of course, she has no idea that I dedicated Febrile Keyboard to her.

I had expected to spend the night in Abilene and maybe see Pat again on Tuesday but just could not find a hotel room. Every place was booked! Only later did I learn that Abilene is part of an oil-and-gas boom that has been going on for the past decade or so due to the new extraction method known as “fracking.” This explains why I got back on Interstate 20, ending up at a nondescript joint in Baird, Texas (population 1,496). Hey, it sufficed. In my room, I packed the aforementioned books into nine boxes, labeling them and taping them heavily. The next day, in Cisco, I would mail them off to Korea—paying a cool $1,350. I enjoyed Cisco, which has quite a bit of history. This is where Conrad Hilton had his first hotel. It’s right there on Main Street, as is Waverly’s where I ate breakfast and gave a “Bring Jikji Back to Korea” T-shirt to an employee named Edie whose birthday was being celebrated. I also stopped in Weatherford and did a bit of shopping. The county courthouses in both Denton and Weatherford still have statues honoring Confederate soldiers. But isn’t that against the new PC rules? Having returned to Dallas (after a brief detour to Oak Cliff to see the Texas Theatre), I was able to join Gary on a bike ride around White Rock Lake. The weather could hardly have been better, and I insisted that we stop whenever a historical marker appeared. Here is a fascinating fact: During World War II, some 300 captured German soldiers were held at Winfrey Point. I played baseball at Winfrey Point many a time in my younger days.

On Wednesday, a very important matter was addressed. Gary and I went to the Social Security office on North Central Expressway. I expected something like a zoo, but it was not bad at all. He facilitated the process as a Vietnamese-American lady behind the counter did her part. When it was over, I was registered, got a lump sum payment and will henceforth have a certain number of Benjamins deposited in my bank account every month. He went off to his job as an air-conditioning engineer, but just for a couple of hours. At noon, I would meet him and two other Bryan Adams High School alumni (Tammye Trigg Brooks and Nikki Sorensen Evans) at El Fenix. Supportive readers of mine but also writers themselves, I gave each of them a copy of my newly published tome.

On the road again—I put more than 1,500 miles on this car in eight days—I drove to Austin and checked into the Rodeway Inn close to UT. Thursday was highlighted by a visit to Mi Madre’s, a Mexican restaurant on Manor Road. I have known the proprietor, Aurelio Torres, for 25 years or maybe longer. Arriving at 11 a.m. were John and Elsie Ortiz. John and I worked together at the Capitol Oyster Bar in the early 1980s but had lost contact and then regained it thanks to Facebook. John and Elsie got a few Korea-oriented presents, including a red cap commemorating the 2018 Pyeongchang Winter Olympics that will keep his head warm when undergoing dialysis. Aurelio and I then went down the road to Vida Pura, a juice store run by his daughter Veronica. We shared the memory of a cold night perhaps 15 years ago when I attended a Lanier High School football game just to see her perform on the high-kicking drill team. In the afternoon, I visited Shipe Park in Austin’s Hyde Park district where I had once lived. The pool there, built in 1934, was undergoing a much-needed renovation. Returning to the UT campus, I parked and walked into the Alumni Center. A nice lady gave me some back issues of Alcalde (the alumni magazine) and the current Daily Texan. The front page story was about the Texas Cowboys. This 97-year-old all-male student group, whose main duty is firing a cannon named “Smokey” during Longhorns football games, is back in trouble—again. The issue is hazing—again. A member died in September 2018 after an initiation retreat. When I was a student and in subsequent years, the Cowboys were always being suspended for hazing, promising to reform and still doing it. Nothing, it seems, has changed.

My vacation was drawing to a close. I devoted most of Friday to a trip down Houston way. Jerry LeVias—the SMU football great of whom I have written so extensively—and I had lunch at Denny’s. Our conversation entailed such subjects as sports, race, social justice and women. Shortly thereafter, I met with John Collins (my Jester Center roomie in the 1972−1973 school year) at Burger King. Just back from a trip to England, Wales and Ireland, he had some stories to tell. The traffic on westbound Interstate 10 was thick for at least 15 miles. Again in Austin, I dropped by Half Price Books to see if I might find another nugget or two. Of course, I did. While there, I met a wheelchair-bound young woman named Krystal Cates. A native of nearby Liberty Hill, she identified herself as a poet and writer.

My flight to Seattle left at 6:30 the next morning, with a 5-hour layover. I filled the time by reading Bettany Hughes’ Istanbul / A Tale of Three Cities. Another 5,209 miles and I was home.