R.I.P. Charlton Heston

Cheston has left the building. Does this mean we can pry the gun from his cold dead fingers now?

I don't know about you, but I like the Omega Man Chuck Heston the best. Kicking it in the velour track suit, chest hair flowing, rocking the sub-machine gun, blasting zombies and playing chess against the bust of Napoleon with a sifter of cognac. That's unfiltered awesome.

Yep, Heston and guns are as inextricably linked as ... uh, Heston and apes. Unfortunately, my most vivid memory of Heston the NRA guy is that whole scene with him at the end of Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine. I thought Moore made an interesting and compelling argument about the detrimental impact of guns in American society, and then blew it at the end of the movie with his unfair ambush interview of Heston. You may not agree with Heston's views on guns, but the man was obviously not at the top of his game mentally and the "interview" was, I thought, unfair and disrespectful.

Sorry about that Cheston, you deserved better. Still, thanks for defending us from zombies, apes, pharaohs and centurions. I am forever grateful for that. Rest in peace, man.

Remembering Hank Thompson

Sometimes, it just happens. You pick up one of those records that realigns your view of the musical landscape, that happily sends you off exploring in a different direction.

For me, one of the records was Hillbilly Music: Thank God! Vol. 1, which was the result of letting Marshall Crenshaw loot the Capitol Records archives back in the late 1980s. So, after being immersed in punk and alternative music for most of my junior high and high school years, suddenly I was listening to Merle Travis, the Louvin Brothers, Jimmy Bryant & Speedy West and Rose Maddox.

But the real thunderbolt moment for me was the first cut, Hank Thompson playing "How Cold Hearted Can You Get." Maybe it was the virtuoso guitar work, maybe it was Hank's deep clear voice and the jauntiness of his phrasing. I don't know what it was, but at that moment, the twang hooked me and it lives in my heart still.

Last week, Thompson, the country music Hall of Famer and Fort Worth-area resident, passed away last week after a long battle with lung cancer. He was 82. Since then, I've been thinking about him a lot and trying to put my thoughts into words.

I was lucky enough to meet Hank a couple of times. I saw him play a gig at The Sons of Hermann Hall in Dallas back in 1995, an almost religious experience. As he played that big ole Gibson hollow-body and sang all of his classics, I sipped on a Shiner Bock and watched dancers, old and young, scoot their boots across that old wooden floor. And I thought gawd-damn, THAT is the kind of old guy I wanna be.

I got to meet Hank after the show, say thanks and get an autograph on my Hatch Show Print poster. That poster still hangs in my man-cave to this day (it's in the photo in the upper right).

I saw Hank again a few years back, I think it was 2003. I wanted to take my wife and daughter to see him, and I laughed because we were probably the only folks under 60 there at the theater in Grapevine. He had slowed a step, but was still able to play a 45-minute set and sign autographs after the show. He autographed my daughter's program, graciously accepted our thanks for a show well played, and gave me a firm handshake and his trademark smile.

You have to admire a guy who could keep working like that at an age when most would have consigned themselves to a Barcolounger to watch reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show. Not Hank. In fact, I think we can all learn a few things from him:

Do What You Love
Growing up outside of Waco to German immigrants, Hank showed a knack for music and played on local radio before a stint in the Navy took him to the South Pacific during World War II. He studied electrical engineering briefly at Princeton after the war. It was a great opportunity, but what he really wanted to do was play music. So he returned to Waco and to the radio business, and put together a band he called the Brazos Valley Boys. They recorded their first single, "Whoa Sailor," a song inspired by his time in the Navy, for the Globe label in 1946. (See a video of "Whoa Sailor" below:


When the song became a regional hit, it caught the notice of Tex Ritter who helped Hank get a record deal with Capitol Records. From 1948 through 1980, Hank recorded 60 top 40 hits on the country charts. Yeah, electrical engineering is good job, but country music legend is a hell of a lot better. Lesson learned: You can always play it safe in life. Listen to your heart and take a few chances.

Don't Be Afraid to Try New Things
Hank enjoyed a lot of firsts in a career that spanned seven decades. His band was the first act to tour with a sound and lighting system; first to receive corporate tour sponsorship; first to record a live album "Hank Thompson, Live At The Golden Nugget In Las Vegas" released on Capitol in 1960, first country music show to play in Las Vegas, first to record in Hi-Fi stereo; and first to perform on a color broadcast of a television variety show. Lesson learned: Life changes. Change along with it.

Keep On Keeping On
This could also be called "Do what you love 'til it kills you." Hank kept performing until a few weeks before he died. Seven decades doing anything is impressive. Seven decades of doing something well -- now that's special. Lesson learned: You're going to die anyway, but there's time for that later. Live. Now.

Don't Expect People to Make a Big Deal When You're Gone
At his request, there will be no funeral for Hank Thompson. However, his fans will gather to celebrate his life at 2 p.m. today at Billy Bob's Texas, 2520 Rodeo Plaza. Lesson learned: If people really love you, they'll remember you anyway.

Because I can't make it, I offer these videos I found on YouTube that show the man in his prime. Take a minute to check out the greatness.

Playing "Green Light":



Playing "Wildwood Flower / Just to Ease The Pain":



Interview on the Hal Peters Show. It's kind of funny. His house is on Tenkiller Lake and my grandfather was an engineer who helped build Tenkiller Dam:



Thanks for the memories, Hank. Rest in peace.

El Dia de los Muertos

South of the border they call it El Dia de los Muertos, in the Disciples Church, it's All Saints' Day. Whatever you want to call it, it is a day to remember and celebrate those who have passed. A few people I will be remembering today:

John Reuler: A good friend with whom I enjoyed many a LuAnn plate at Luby's. A West Point graduate, classmate of two Heisman Trophy winners, a member of the honor guard at FDR's funeral, a great guy.

Karl King: As a teen-age Marine, he fought on Bataan and Corregidor, then survived over three years in Japanese POW camps. He later worked as broadcast journalist in Fort Worth and covered the JFK assassination. After he retired, he went back to school and received a bachelor's degree from TCU in 1980. When I knew him at the end of his life -- in spite of everything he had experienced -- he held no bitterness.

Kurth Sprague: He was one my favorite professors at the University of Texas. If ever learned anything about writing, he should get a chunk of the credit.

Aunt Edie: She showed me kindness and love and that a person could live their life their own way.

My Dad: For everything.

I miss you all.

Requiem for a Cat

I never thought I would ever read an obituary for a cat, much less cry because of an obituary for a cat, but I did.

Pablo, faithful feline friend to Ken the Stash Dauber, slipped the bonds of this mortal coil earlier in the week. I highly encourage you to read this remembrance. It says something about Pablo, but also about Ken, who I have found to be an exceptionally soulful person with a heart calibrated to the rhythms of the universe.

I am sorry for your loss, Ken.

Unknown Soldiers

The New York Times reminds us that the largest military cemetary in Europe is for battle most people have never heard of and for a war that most people don't think of very often.

"The Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, 26 miles northwest of Verdun. As exquisite as any French park or chateau grounds, the cemetery is a formal garden of perfectly clipped trees, immaculate lawns, fountains and roses and long white rows of grave markers. Given its beauty, it's also strange how empty the place is — and stranger still since this is the largest American military cemetery in Europe, the burial site of 14,246 United States service members who died in the war to end all wars."

These World War I cemeteries are rarely visited now. Most of the people who knew and loved the soldiers who rest here have passed into history themselves. It seems more than a little sad that those who gave the last full measure of devotion for our nation are largely forgotten.

Not forgotten by everyone -- the American Battle Monuments Commission continues to act as guardian of America’s overseas commemorative cemeteries and memorials. They honor the service, achievements and sacrifice of United States Armed Forces around the world.

My great uncle, Oscar Cheyne, was one of those doughboys who slogged through Meuse-Argonne campaign. Unlike the soldiers under those headstones, he made it back home, although with a mustard gas injury that lingered for the last 30 years of his life.

Holy Cow! Phil Rizzuto Checks Out

Scooter has left the building at age 89. Who saw that coming? I'm not a big Yankees fans, but for Scooter and Yogi, I make an exception. Godspeed, Phil. You'll be missed.

Everman High Grad Killed in Iraq

Sgt. Dustin S. Wakeman, a 2000 graduate of Everman High School, was killed Saturday in Hawr Rajab, Iraq. The 25-year-old medic was riding in a vehicle that was struck by an improvised explosive device, according to the Defense Department. Two other soldiers were also killed.

He enlisted three years ago and was assigned to the 1st Squadron, 40th Cavalry Regiment, 4th Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division at Fort Richardson, Alaska. He was deployed to Iraq in October, his father, David, told the Star-Telegram.

Wakeman spoke of pursuing a career in medical services. "He liked helping people," his father told the S-T. "He found that fulfilling."

Glen Rose Soldier Killed in Iraq

Cpl. Rhett Allen Butler, a 22-year-old graduate of Glen Rose High School, was killed Friday in Khan Bani Sa'd in Iraq when his vehicle was hit by a roadside bomb, the Defense Department said Monday. He was a 2003 graduate of Glen Rose High School and played linebacker on the football team. "He had so many friends; everyone loved him," his stepsister Melissa Ganer told the Star-Telegram. "His smile filled up a room."

RIP, Lady Bird Johnson

I can't say it better than this. "When all the volumes written about her are stacked up and analyzed, here is God's truth: The woman was a marvel — a combination of ability, intellect, purpose and charm that resulted in a rare beauty. Mrs. Johnson was, as we say in Texas, 'the real deal.'"

Weekend Odds and Ends

The Hamburger Pimp is dead! Fort Worth's Vanius Murray "VP" Rackstraw, co-star of the blaxplotation classic Dolomite, died April 14 at age 65. The obit ran in the Saturday Startlegram. Why the delay? Evidently, Rackstraw "remained at the funeral home for a month because the convalescent facility where he died lost his death certificate. His mother had him cremated him May 7, but money and transportation issues kept her from submitting his obituary notice until this week." There are some great moments in this obit, like "Family members said Mr. Rackstraw was a devout Muslim who loved Muhammad Ali, Richard Nixon and, of course, his mother." Nixon?! WTF?! Take some time to read this. It's worth it.

Ornette Coleman collapsed onstage while performing at the Bonnaroo Festival this past weekend. Apparently, he was suffering from heat exhaustion and dehydration. Coleman was given fluids, taken to a local hospital and released a few hours later.

This story about Tarrant Sex Predators on MySpace seemed like the perfect mix of public service and prurience for a Sunday read. But this lead really jumped out at me:

Tarrant County prosecutor Lori Varnell looked at the teen-age girl’s MySpace page, and a red flag went up.

The teen had included too much personal information -- enough for anyone, including a sexual predator, to find her.

With a few clicks of a mouse and an online directory, Varnell quickly had the girl’s phone number and address. Later, Varnell drove to the girl’s home, pulled into her driveway and called her mother.

“Look out your door,” Varnell told the woman. “See the headlights out here? I’m a prosecutor and I found your daughter from her MySpace page. She is 16. She goes to a school near me. You definitely want her to take it down.”

Is it just me or does this seem a little wacko? Honestly, if I had been the parent she called, I think I would have thought this woman had come a little unglued. But if 10 percent of this county's sex offenders are on MySpace, who's to say Varnell's an oddball? But this is the kind of scare-the-pants-off-your-readers stories that editors love. It sells papers. And selling papers is important.

As we mentioned before, musicians are getting their equipment boosted all over the place. Now, it turns out even dead musicians aren't safe. There's a story in the Austin American-Statesman today about $100,000 in backstage passes, music equipment, photographs and other memorabilia of Stevie Ray Vaughan stolen from the storage unit belonging to his brother Jimmie.

Ryan Adams is clean and sober according to the NYT.

Memorial Day 2007

UPDATE, 6.5.07: I found John Moore's blog item about this photo. Please take a moment to read it. It puts the photo into context and makes it even more raw and powerful (if that's possible). Also, Unfair Park's Robert Wilonsky weighs in on John: "He's a hell of a guy."

6.4.07: I missed this last week -- a photo from my old UT classmate John Moore that appeared in the New York Times. "Mary McHugh visited the grave of her fiancé, Sgt. James J. Regan, who was killed in Iraq in February. He is buried in the new Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery for those killed in Iraq and Afghanistan."

Burleson Soldier Killed in Iraq

I’ve been posting about Fort Worth soldiers killed in Iraq this year. Unfortunately, young men and young women are dying there every day, and one of the many questions I ask myself is this: why do this?

Honestly, I wanted to provide a brief snapshot of the toll of this war on one city – the one I live in. I’ve primarily focused on soldiers who lived in, grew up in or went to school in Fort Worth. I don’t want to make a political statement through this. I just want to say that these people were members of our community and their lives mattered.

But city limits are irrelevant -- each death is a tragedy and diminishes us all. Last week, a young man from Burleson named Jonathan Markham died in Iraq. The 22-year-old corporal in the First Cavalry Division died a week ago with five other soldiers in Abu Sayda, Iraq, when their Bradley fighting vehicle blew up from a powerful roadside bomb while they were racing to a helicopter crash. Yesterday, his wife, Stacey, received the flowers that he ordered for her birthday.

Markham had recently re-enlisted in the Army so he could continue putting his wife through school. Before he left for Iraq last October, he saw his son, Daniel born. He also had asked his wife to ask President Bush to attend his funeral. “He wanted the president to see the cost of war, to know that the men are not just numbers, that there’s a face and a family behind that number,” she told the Startlegram.

Rest in peace, Jonathan. You were more than a number. You were a member of our community. And you mattered.

Charles Nelson Reilly -- NOOOO!!!

I don't know about you, but I spent a lot of time back in the go-go 70s watching Match Game. So I was sad to learn that Charles Nelson Reilly, the Tony Award winner and professional gadabout, has left the building. He was 76. Sez the San Jose Mercury-News, "Reilly's openly gay television persona was ahead of its time, and sometimes stood in his way. He recalled a network executive telling him 'they don't let queers on television.'" Wow. What I didn't know was that there is CNR documentary. Fabulous! I can't wait to see it. And no, Paul, I'm not telling my Paul Lynde story.

Kurth Sprague, 1934-2007

I was with immense sadness that I learned today of the passing of one of the great teachers in my life, Kurth Sprague. If I ever learned anything of writing in my life -- and those who read this blog may find that claim to be debatable -- then Kurth and Bill Stott and F.J. Schaack were certainly, in part, responsible.

Kurth Sprague taught me to write simply and clearly and with a confident voice. He taught me that writing was real work, and like real work, an important part is showing up every day and doing it. He taught me that whatever it took to make it happen -- having exactly eight sharp pencils or a well-oiled typewriter or a bottle of bourbon or a pot of coffee or a pack of Luckies or a Chopin record -- whatever got you in the zone to write, do it and get about the business of writing.

He was the first person who led me to believe that I could actually make a living being a writer. He encouraged me to listen to myself, take some chances and -- sometimes -- ignore what other people said because what did they know anyway. He helped me greatly on the journey to becoming myself.

He was a true gentleman, a product of the the Eastern establishment who would have been right at home in the Oak Room with the Algonquin Roundtable. I remember the first day he strode into class, a tall imposing figure in a seersucker suit with a straw boater. He looked like a mix of John Wayne and Tom Wolfe, which he, in fact, was. He could recite Swinburne and Shakespeare by heart, but was also proud to say that he was a member of the last horse cavalry unit in the U.S. Army. I will always treasure the memories of sitting in his basement office, smoking cigarettes and absorbing his wisdom. He would start sentences using phrases like, "Ah, yes, I remember back in the bourbon days ...."

Since I found out about Kurth's passing, I've been pouring over over my old notes and writings from his class. One thing I had forgetten -- I used to write everything in longhand. I've found tons of old yellow legal pads. Boy, those days are way over. I've also been trying to find my old journals to use the words I wrote down back then. But those words are buried somewhere in my office here, and I suppose it doesn't really matter, because, like another old prof, Bill Goetzmann taught me, it's not about what happened, it's about what I think happened. And so here it is.

After all these years, I still can't believe how sad this makes me. The worst part for me is that Kurth was living right here in Fort Worth when he died. I wish I could have talked to him one last time to say thanks. But this will have to do.

Kurth, thanks for everything. You will be missed. To read his colleagues' rememberances, check out Bill Stott's blog.

Fort Worth Soldier Killed in Iraq

Pfc. Joshua Romero, 19, served in B Company, 1st Battalion, 12th Cavalry. The Army informed his wife and father about his death on Friday, the family said. He would have turned 20 next month. "Josh was brave to go out there," said his 6-year-old brother, Anthony Romero. Joshua Romero enlisted in 2005 shortly after graduating from Crowley High School. He told his father the military would help open doors for his future. His father, Joe Romero said Joshua left behind a wife, Michelle, and a 1-year-old son, Joshua David. Survivors include his stepmother, Shellie Romero, and his biological mother, Kimberlee Cummings. Joshua Romero attended Worth Heights Elementary, Rosemont Middle School and Trimble Tech High School before graduating from Crowley.

Joshua was the 17th Fort Worth serviceperson killed in Iraq.

I Really Can't Believe This

I enjoy the hogstomping baroque exuberance of American life -- not so much the Jerry Springer version as the Weegee and Diane Arbus sort of strangeness that pervades our culture. But when I read things like this, it just leaves me shaking my head.

You may or may not know that there is a group of protesters from the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kan., that stage anti-homosexuality demonstrations at the funerals of soldiers killed in Iraq.The group's message is that U.S. soldiers are dying in Iraq because of America's tolerance of homosexuality. Then there are the Patriot Guard Riders, a nationwide group of motorcyclists who stage counter-protests to show support and rev their engines to drown out Westboro protesters.

Are you kidding me?!

I am appalled that these tragic and solemn occasions are turned into such a freakshow. One bit of dignity in all this: Fort Worth’s own State Rep. Charlie Geren-R checks the church's Web site daily to see whether it is planning a protest in Texas. He said he plans to go to every Texas funeral that the group protests."They don't have any right doing what they're doing," Geren told the Startlegram. "That time is a special time that these families deserve to have without these hateful, hateful practices." I'm not a big Republican supporter, but thanks for trying, Charlie.

Remembering Karl King

Because today is the 62nd anniversary of VE-Day, I thought I'd do a post to say thanks to the sacrifices of the men and women who endured those years. I thought I'd point out that we need to appreciate those folks while they're here, talk to them and learn their stories because they are passing into history. So I did a little Googling around trying to find some information about an old friend and sort-of-Fort-Worth legend Karl King, a guy who lived through some of the worst of that time. I interviewed Karl a few years ago for a story I wrote and never sold that you can read here. I had been out of touch and hadn't spoken to him for a few years. Unfortunately, I found out today that Karl passed away on July 25, 2005.

You can read Karl's obit if you like. Let me just summarize it for you: He dropped out of Dallas' Bryan Adams High School at 14 and joined the Marines to escape the Great Depression. He served in China and survived the fall of Bataan by swimming two-and-a-half miles to the island fortress of Corregidor, where a month later he became a prisoner of war at age 16. He survived a hellish three-and-half year prison camp experience with many scars but remarkably little bitterness. He became a Fort Worth radio journalist and was among the first to report the JFK Assassination (his oral history is on file at the Sixth Floor Museum.) After he retired, he went back to school and received a bachelor's degree from TCU in 1980. He had curious mind and was an avid reader of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and he especially liked Emerson's essay on self-reliance.

Karl was a fantastic guy and I'm glad to have known him. Rest in peace, Karl.

Fort Worth Marine Killed in Iraq

Master Sgt. Kenneth Mack was killed by a roadside bomb in Anbar province on Saturday. The 42-year-old Marine reservist was a Southwest High School graduate who worked for the Postal Service as a mechanic and enjoyed scuba diving and skydiving. Sgt. Mack leaves behind an 18-year-old daughter, Shyquadra, and an 11-year-old son, Nathanial, his mother, Mahalia Mack, told the Star-Telegram on Monday. He was the 16th Fort Worth service person killed in Iraq.

David Halberstam, R.I.P.

David Halberstam, a guy who knew what it meant to be a journalist, died yesterday from injuries sustained in a car accident south of San Francisco. He was 73.

He made his reputation reporting from Vietnam in the early 60s. His reporting there won him a Pulitzer Prize in 1964.

Sez the Times: "His reporting, along with that of several colleagues, left little doubt that a corrupt South Vietnamese government supported by the United States was no match for Communist guerrillas and their North Vietnamese allies. His dispatches infuriated American military commanders and policy makers in Washington, but they accurately reflected the realities on the ground."

If you could find a point where scotch-drinking, red-meat eating, SUV driving Republicans really started hating the so-called Mainstream Media, this was it.

But for Halberstam, this was just the beginning of a brilliant career. His book on the 1949 pennant race is maybe the best book on baseball I've ever read. “The Fifties” is another one of my favorites, a look at a decade that he argued was more monumental than many believed.

“A writer should be like a playwright — putting people on stage, putting ideas on stage, making the reader become the audience,” he recently told an interviewer for NY1 News.

In the end, he was still reporting. When he was killed yesterday, he was on his way to an interview with Y. A. Tittle, the former New York Giants quarterback, for a book about the 1958 championship game between the Giants and the Baltimore Colts, considered by many to be the greatest football game ever played.

Godspeed, David. You will be missed.

Benbrook Soldier Killed in Iraq

Lance C. Springer II was home just two weeks ago. The Western Hills High School graduate liked to play Santa Claus with the Iraqi kids and gave out candy, crayons and stuffed animals.