Friday, November 12, 2010

UNPRETENTIOUS TEXANS?

My niece, Melissa, messaged me about LBJ Hill Country from yesterday's blog. She was stationed in Texas for a period of time while in the Army and afterward. Her comment, "Unpretentious Texans? Go to Dallas. I think you'll find quite the opposite."
Well, the truth is, Texans weren't raised to be unpretentious, quiet and retreating, its true. And, I'm reminded of the Texas influx into Alaska during the 1970's for work on that notorious Pipeline built across the frozen tundra in deep, deep cold. The bumper stickers went something like this:  

THE ONLY GOOD TEXAN IS A DEAD TEXAN.  And:  TEXAN GO HOME. And: I DON'T BRAKE FOR TEXANS. In fact one man was interviewed at the Fairbanks Airport and was asked if he had a negative view of Texans and his answer was "I'd rather be dead in Alaska then alive in Texas."

To be fair, its my opinion that people are good, bad and in-between no matter where you land. Maybe some areas are overwhelmed with more of one type of trait than the other. When I had my first "real" job, my pay was $200 a month. Most girls spent their money on clothes. I spent mine on flying lessons at $11 an hour for dual, and $7.50 an hour for solo. Both my instructors, Keith Padlo and Sully Sullivan, and their wives were Texans. They were warm and caring and wonderful people that I will always remember. They talked about Texas quite a lot and were lonesome for their native state and family connections. I asked them why they stayed in California. Their answer? The weather.  In any case, the Texans I've personally known were friendly and warm.
Donna Huffer also remembered that her parents and she visited LBJ's boyhood home a long time ago. Her dad didn't like his politics and stayed outside in the car. LBJ happened to drive up and waved at him. That was certainly unpretentious. I wish it had been me. I'm of the opinion that we should respect the president, no matter his affiliation and ours. Its the civil thing to do. Time judges all.  The same goes for Texans.

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