The Pecan Park Eagle

How Far Has Houston Come on Race in 100 Years?

December 27, 2014

"n the Houston Heights historic districts, named streets run north and south. East-west streets are numbered, beginning with 4th St just north of I-10 and continuing to 20th St on the north side of Heights East. Sixth Street is also known as White Oak Boulevard. Numbered streets are named ‘West’ on the west side of Heights Blvd are ‘East’ on the east side of Heights Blvd. " ~ http://www.houstontx.gov/planning/HistoricPres/HistoricPreservationManual/historic_districts/heights_boundaries.html

“In the Houston Heights historic districts, named streets run north and south. East-west streets are numbered, beginning with 4th St just north of I-10 and continuing to 20th St on the north side of Heights East. Sixth Street is also known as White Oak Boulevard. Numbered streets are named ‘West’ on the west side of Heights Blvd are ‘East’ on the east side of Heights Blvd. “
~ http://www.houstontx.gov/planning/HistoricPres/HistoricPreservationManual/historic_districts/heights_boundaries.html

While searching for something memorable about Houston from the New Years Eve reports of 100 years ago that remain lodged in the news sources available to The Pecan Park Eagle, the following short story in The December 31, 1914 edition of the Galveston Daily News simply jumped off the page:

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AGED NEGRO WILL ENTERTAIN SEVERAL FORMER SLAVES ON NEW YEAR’S DAY

Special to the Galveston Daily News, Dec. 31, 1914 ~

Houston, Tex., Dec. 30 ~ A novel dinner will be given New Year’s in honor of several ex-slaves who live in Houston by John Brant, an aged negro of Houston Heights. The ages of his guests will range from 80 to 116 years. Bob Holmes is the oldest man to whom an invitation has been sent. J.B. Marmion, mayor of Houston Heights, will deliver a short message to the negroes, as will W. Oliva.

~ Galveston Daily News, December 31, 1914, Page 3.

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That’s it? We are left to wonder what was said? What was the Houston Heights mayor’s message to those former Houstonian survivors of slavery a mere 59 years after the end of the Civil War? As far as we have come since then, we now know this much. – It would still be another half century from 1915 before the heavy walls of segregation fell that separated local blacks and whites well into the 1960s – and another half century for Houston to become a world class economically diverse and international community in which all Houston citizens have a much more balanced opportunity to rise or fall on the basis of their individual abilities and activity energies for success against all obstacles.

Has the issue of “race” improved in Houston over the past century? Of course, it has. It’s way better today. Could it be better than it is? Absolutely! When the day comes that no one in Houston is hired or not hired because of race or skin color is as non-existent as discrimination by sex, sexual preference, or age, we will be a stronger community. When being Black, Hispanic, White, Asian, Native American, Straight, Gay, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Old no longer counts for you as an entitlement – or against you as a basis for negative profiling – things will be much better.

Will that kind of ideal ever be seriously possible? Probably not.

The self-serving interest of the human ego is not going away – and the human ego thrives strongest in a world in which it is possible to polarize all people into camps of “us” and “them” – those who are “for us” and “against us”. To this day, I cannot imagine how the southern Protestant ministers and southern Catholic priests prior to the Civil War got up in the pulpit each Sunday and preached anything about brotherly love in oversight of the fact that a few million of our brothers and sisters were providing the slave labor that built their churches. Yes, it was a different time, but slavery was just as wrong then as it is now.

And that depressing thought raises an even scarier one: What are we ignoring today that is just as wrong as our culture’s ability to ignore slavery until the 1860s?

Flip quickly to the brighter side. – With the power of all races and ethnic groups working today, side by side, Houston has a chance to be one of those points of light that former President George H.W. Bush used to talk about during his term as our 41st President. The more Houstonians drop the “us” and “them” mentality of hate, fear, and acted-out animus that some parts of the country seem to be feasting upon recently, the better our chances grow for a strong and bonded one-people of America.

God Is Love. ~ You, of course, are equally free to believe what you believe. For me, I just hold to the idea that life’s too short to devote one’s energies to hate. All we peacefully can do is wake up each day and give life our best run possible in the name of love. Everything else we do is ego – and being human, we all have one that’s just waiting for us to slip it on like a favorite Halloween costume.

The fact is, unlike the ego demands, we don’t really have to be perfect in what we do. All we can do is hit the wind-up handle each morning and keep on moving in some positive and giving direction for as long as possible. If we make mistakes, those are our lessons. We can either learn from them and move on in greater wisdom – or wait to see the lessons we refused again down the road – in some similar form.

(In my case, nap times, of course, are included in my daily plan these days. They didn’t used to be there on the calendar, but they sure are now.)

Happy New Year Again, Everybody! ~ Go out and – do that thing you do – the one that feels good to you and some others – without causing injury to innocent bystanders.

And may God Bless the memory of two Houstonians from 100 years ago that we should learn more about and never forget. John Brant and Bob Holmes, two Houstonians who spent parts of their early lives as slaves. Based on the report we read today, the 116-year old Bob Holmes was a former slave, for sure. We are simply assuming here that John Brant was a slave as well based on his story description as the “aged negro” host of this gathering in the Houston Heights.

Anyone who knows more about either man is invited to leave a written informational comment below. Also, anyone who knows the exact spelling of the Houston Heights mayor’s last name in 1914 could really help us out there too. The old type on this story made his last name beyond the reach of my abilities to decipher blurred print. Thank you. Mike Vance for answering the call. Now corrected above, the mayor of Houston Heights in 1914 was J.B. Marmion.

Have a great Saturday too, everybody. Looks like Houston is in for another rainy day.

Tags: ex-slaves gather in Houston on New Year's Day
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Seinfeld Says It All About Our “Stuff”

December 26, 2014

Jerry Seinfeld
~With Funny and Sage Thoughts on Stuff on the Day Of and After the Biggest Gift Day in Our American Culture ~

On the Tuesday night before Christmas 2014, 12/23, comedian Jerry Seinfeld did a stand up routine for Jimmy Fallon’s NBC Tonight Show that pretty much said it all about the “stuff” we accumulate in our homes, especially at Christmas time. As you look around the room at your Christmas Haul, and at the Halls and Garages of Christmases Past, remember these words from the sage comedian prophet of Christmases Future that is the one and only Jerry Seinfeld:

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We have too may things. That’s the problem. There’s too many things. You have things. I have things. How many times do you want more things? I don’t like having too many things. I’m a “thrower-outer” That’s my personality type. I’m a “thrower-outer”. If I have something, I really don’t want it. I wish there was a store where I could just buy something, print it, and then just throw it down a chute into the incinerator, walk out, no bags. – That’s my perfect shopping experience.

Now my wife, of course, is the opposite. This is marriage. This is the beauty. The concept itself is the beauty of marriage. My wife is a “saver”. She’s a “keeper”. She grips and grabs. Everything is organized. Every Styrofoam peanut is numbered, cataloged, filed. I don’t throw anything out at any time.

“Where’s the wedding album?” (She asked)

“I thought you were done with it.” (I said.)

I was wrong. I admit that now. Those were special memories, and they’re gone now, but the point is this: All things on earth – only exist in different stages of becoming garbage. OK? Your home is a garbage processing center where you buy new things, bring them into your house, and, slowly crapify them over time. OK? This is your life.

Oh, you’re all excited when you get something, right? You bring it in. You open it on the kitchen table, the place of honor for the new arrival. You read the instructions, fill out the registration card. – You may even join the club of other idiots who have this thing. And then some time goes by – and it suddenly begins to dawn on you that maybe you’re not going to be quite so keen on drying out fruit and storing it in your basement as you thought. – So, what are you going to do? You have to demote it.

Objects start at the highest level, visible in a living area. From there, it goes down to a closet, cupboard, or drawer. That’s why we have those – so we don’t have to see all the huge mistakes we’ve made. That’s the way it is.

From the closet, it goes to the garage – one of the longest phases in trashification, but the most definite. – No object has ever made it out of the garage and back into the house.

The word “garage” seems to be a form of the word “garbage”. That’s what it is.

Once you are living in the same room with the garbage can, well, it won’t be much longer now.

Really, E-Bay is the only thing that can save the object at this point. E-Bay is another great step forward in modern culture. Hey! Why don’t we mail our garbage back and forth to each other? Why talk to your family at night when you could be bidding eight to ten dollars on a troll doll from Thailand? Or a personal storage unit – This is the saddest of all. Now, instead of free garbage, you pay rent to visit your garbage.

It’s like a prison visit when you go there, isn’t it? Everything is locked up; everything is rusted and broken; you gotta bust into that lock. You lift up that rolling steel door, (and you just want to say to your stuff): “Look, I’m trying to get you guys out of here, OK? I’m working on it. And I’ll be back to see you guys again soon.”

My point is simple: Everything is thrown out in the end. We, my friends, are thrown out in the end and, when I hear that someone has died and wants certain important possessions put in with them when they’re buried, I’m all for that.

Take your crap with you!

~ Jerry Seinfeld, The NBC Tonight Show, December 23, 2014.

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Tags: erry Seinfeld on Our Stuff as Garbage
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Former Astro Brett Myers Now a C&W Singer

December 25, 2014

Brett Myers
Former Houston Astro
Brand New C&W Singer

If you drink alcohol long enough, and hard enough, sooner or later, you end up in one of five places: (1) the insane asylum; (2) jail; (3) the cemetery; (4) Alcoholics Anonymous; or (5) finally trying to make it big in that Country and Music career that you always thought in your wildest dreams that you could have.

Now, to be totally honest about it, The Pecan Park Eagle doesn’t know diddly about former Houston Astro pitcher Brett Myer’s drinking habits, but we did just learn from media veteran and good friend Greg Lucas that the 34 year-old Myers has now launched a new post-baseball career as a C&W singer, as all of us can now sample for ourselves at his new website:

http://www.brettmyersmusic.com

Brett has a nice whiskey-husky voice that he brings to this new task – and Brett, or somebody with him, plays a pretty mean guitar as his talent back up. I give him an A for even trying. The world is an oyster, all right, but only for those who are willing to try new things – and Brett Myers suffers no shortage of the courage it takes to keep the door open on new possibilities. Moving from the big league stage to the Country and Western music circuit seems to me like a bigger challenge than becoming a bullpen or pitching coach in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, for example.

How about his music? It’s probably too soon to tell, but his first big number comes off pretty well for the genre.

Brett’s first big offering apparently flows from his longtime love of beer. Its called “Kegerator” – and any of us can hear it for free at his website. I just heard it for the first time about twenty minutes ago and its the reason I’m now inspired to write one more short pre-Christmas Day Break piece about the man and his music – and the potential that now exists before Brett Meyers to write songs about painful cowboy-cowgirl relationships that are described, aided, or abetted by our rich baseball lingo as future song titles or hurting-bad themes.

A few themes feed directly off pitch types. I’ll try to describe those here and let it go from there as our Christmas gifts to the old pitcher.

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Baseball Theme Hurting-Bad-Songs About Cowboy-Cowgirl Love

1) Fast Ball Fever, Falling Out Fast. For cowboys who have to hit the bars to find their true love before the sun comes up on tomorrow, the ride is rougher than a ten second trip through the sky off the back of the meanest bull at the rodeo.

2) The Change of Pace. This type of cowboy lover thinks that drinking faster will help him find true love quicker. What kind of bad hurting blues could possibly come from that kind of thinking?

3) A Curve Ball Cave In. For drunk cowboys who think they are slipping a few lies past a lady when they can’t even keep all the letters in a single sentence separated as different words as they try to speak.

4) The Screw Ball Screw Up. There was a young cowboy from Denton, who loved a sweet girl down in Sinton. But he couldn’t resist, all the girls that he kissed, so he’s still stuck in Denton, not Sinton.

5) The Pitching Machine Cowboy Blues. The daring young man on the pitching machine, he worked through three wives, ’cause they all were so mean. He never let go, til another one came, and each time he did, his old wife was to blame.

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Merry Christmas again, Everybody! And this time, we really mean it when we say – God Willing – that we’ll be back on Friday!

Good Luck, Brett Myers!

Tags: Brett Myers is now a C&W singer
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Christmas Eve, 1914: McGraw Wants Buffs

December 24, 2014

100 years ago this Christmas Eve 2014, John McGraw was still eager to buy the Houston Buffs as a “farm” club for his surplus players.

One hundred years ago today from this Christmas Eve 2014, a brief article appeared in The Galveston Daily News about a potential impact on the future of Houston baseball. It seems that John McGraw of the New York Giants had a hot interest in purchasing the Houston Buffs for his use as a “farm” club for his National League club. It didn’t happen, of course, but what a change it could have made on the future face of baseball in our area, had it occurred.

If you are looking for the best, most singularly comprehensive book ever written, edited and published on the early history of baseball in Houston area as a last day Christmas gift, drop by your nearest Barnes and Noble in Houston and ask for “Houston Baseball: The Early Years, 1861-1961”. If they have any copies left in stock, it’s the perfect baseball history gift for the fan in your family. Researched and written by several Houston members of SABR, the Society for American Baseball Research, including iconic writer Mickey Herskowitz, and brilliantly edited by Houston historian Mike Vance, this 368-page, beautifully illustrated history by artist Patrick Lopez, is also a hard copy photo and text gallery of how Houston grew into a major league city. The work is one for the ages, prepared carefully and assembled with nothing less than first class materials and book assembly craftsmanship that are up to the task of preserving all copies as our legacy to the generations of Houstonians that will be reading it one hundred years from now and beyond. Prepared and published by Bright Sky Press of Houston, this book is an informative and entertaining reference work that belongs in the libraries and homes of all entities and individuals who care about the full history of Houston. Bob Dorrill, Chair of the Larry Dierker Chapter of SABR, was our administrative project director. We could not have done a quality job without his involvement and relentless enthusiasm.

If you miss out on an available copy today, place your order with either Barnes and Noble or Amazon.Com. You will not be disappointed.

At any rate, here’s a brief look at a story that ran exactly one hundred years ago on Christmas Eve. It didn’t happen as John McGraw hoped it might, but you can find out what did happen with the book we just described. And yes, for the record, this editor of The Pecan Park Eagle was the book project originator and one of the principal researchers and writers of the text. Cut me a little slack for personal bias in favor of this book, but this was no throw-it-together piece. Editor Mike Vance held us all to a standard of research that went as far as we needed to go to report only verifiable factual events and their complex connections to all that followed. Here’s a couple of reviews that will give you some idea of the impression our book is making with people who critique baseball research publications:

http://chapters.sabr.org/hornsby/research/reviews/353-book-review-houston-baseball-the-early-years-1861-1961

http://jhvonline.com/houston-baseballs-early-years-come-to-life-p17326-256.htm

Finally, here’s our Christmas present – the exactly 100-year old story of John McGraw and his interest in the Houston Buffs:

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M’GRAW WANTS FARM IN TEXAS

New York Giants May Make Another Effort to Purchase Houston Baseball Club for Surplus Players

Special to The News ~

Otto Sens and Doak Roberts were co-owners of the Houston Buffs 100 years ago today.

Houston, Tex., Dec. 23. ~ That John McGraw will again make an offer for the Houston baseball club when spring training begins in 1915 is believed to be a certainty. With the new rule of prohibiting the carrying of more than twenty-one men, effective May 1st, the Giants, as well as other big league teams, find themselves in need of a baseball “farm” more than ever.

McGraw himself has indicated that the purchase of the local club would be a welcome step. By buying a franchise in Texas, he would be able to save for himself many of the players he would otherwise be forced to part with. An effort was made to purchase the Houston club last year, but, negotiations were broken off when Otto Sens set his price, which was in the neighborhood of $50,000. It is likely that the negotiations will be resumed.

~ Galveston Daily News, December 24, 1914, Page 2.

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MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY!

...and Merry Christmas too from the Land of Houston Astros Memories and Dreams!

…and Merry Christmas from the Land of Astros Memories and Dreams!

The Pecan Park Eagle will resume publication on Friday, December 26, 2014.

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One Hundred Years Ago: 12/23/1914

December 23, 2014

Did the ride on Mr. Appel’s Galveston County Courthouse elevator back in 1914 really feel this good? ~ What do you think?

A hundred years, these were a few of the stories floating through our Houston-Galveston neighborhood, dateline 12/23/1914, on the way to Christmas Day 1914. All of these brief column reports appeared on Page 6 of the 12/23/1914 edition of The Galveston Daily News:

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COOMBS WILL VISIT HOUSTON

Former Iron Man Pitcher of Philadelphia Athletics Writes Letter to Otto Sens of Buffs

Special to the News ~

Houston, Tex., Dec. 22 ~ Jack Coombs, late iron man of the Philadelphia Athletics, probably will be in Houston within a few days for a visit. Otto Sens, president of the local baseball club (The Houston Buffs), received a letter from him today in which he expressed a desire to enjoy the party of baseball men who are contemplating a hunting expedition near Carrizo Springs. Coombs is spending the winter with relatives in Palestine.

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FOOTBALL AND BASEBALL EARN

Princeton Report Shows Only Two Athletic Branches Make Money

Princeton, New Jersey, Dec. 22 ~ Football and baseball are the only two self-supporting branches of athletics at Princeton, according to the annual report of the Athletic Association, which was made public today. The report covered the period from July 11, 1912 to July 10, 1914. The figures for the past football season are not yet complete, but in 1913, football netted the association $38,341, while in baseball last spring $9,318 was cleared. The $48,000 from these two sports had to be applied to track, crew, and the minor sports which do not make their running expenses.

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VOLUNTEERS READY FOR SPLASH

Captain of Christmas Day Swim Receives Offers of Aid by Galvestonians

Galveston, Dec. 23 ~ Since Walter Mayer, Cashier of the Galveston Commercial Association, called for volunteers to take a dip with him in the surf on Christmas morning, able-bodied and hardy citizens have been stopping him on the street to tell him they are prepared to take a chance. Mr. Mayer himself is somewhat uncertain, but if the sun shines that morning, he will lead his recruits into the sparkling waters. One city fireman wrote him a letter pledging his services on the ground that it was a patriotic duty no Galvestonian should refuse. “It would be a big boost to Galveston,” he wrote, “and it pays to advertise.”

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SANTA’S SLEIGH IS AT WORK

Christmas Elevator Is Decorated to Harmonize with the Christmas Spirit, Like Oaring with Santa

Galveston, Dec. 23 ~ To take a make-believe trip with Santa Claus in his sleigh is an easy matter in Galveston. Just step into the courthouse and then inside the elevator and say to the elevator man:

“To the top floor, please,” and lo, you will experience all the sensations of skimming through the air and over housetops with Kris Kringle.

The cause of it all is the desire of the veteran courthouse elevator man, Richard Appel, to symbolize the spirit of the season with appropriate decorations in the cage whose orbit is from the basement to the top floor of the Galveston County courthouse. Everything but the toys is there, and one could imagine he saw even those among the many colored lights, fluttering evergreen and pictures showing the Christ in various stages of his life.

Mr. Appel says he believes in one’s showing his appreciation of the season by brightening things up a bit. He has succeeded admirably.

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~ Galveston Daily News, December 23, 1914, Page 6.

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Pecan Park Eagle Note: As we all know, technology has done a lot to alter the volume and course of our imaginations over the past century. Can you imagine talking today’s kids into putting down their “Apples” long enough to go ride the decorated courthouse elevator with “Mr. Appel” in 2014?

Happy last minute shopping, everybody who waited until now. ~ Tomorrow is Christmas Eve day.

Tags: Christmas Time in 1914
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All I Want for Christmas is Two Talking Dog Stories

December 22, 2014

Story # I: MONTANA DOG FOR SALE

COCOA THE TALKING LAB
~ IN HIS YOUNGER DAYS ~

A guy is driving around the back woods of Montana and he sees a sign in front of a broken down shanty-style house: “Talking Dog For Sale” reads the sign. Curiosity is too great. The guy gets out of his car and walks over to knock on weather-worn front door. The owner comes to the door to hear of his interest and, without saying much, he motions for the guy to walk around the house to see the dog for himself in the backyard.

The guy opens a rickety old wooden gate and goes into the backyard from the left side of the house, where he is greeted by a very nice looking Labrador Retriever. The dog is just sitting there, apparently staring into the Montana big sky with one of those dogs-only panting smiles on his face, lulling away another quiet afternoon in God’s Country .

“You talk?” the visitor asks as he calmly and quietly approaches the handsome chocolate-haired Lab.

“Yep,” the Lab replies, and my name’s ‘Cocoa’. Please don’t laugh at the moniker. Creativity is in short supply in this valley.

“Who the heck are you?” Cocoa asks.

After he recovers from the brief shock of hearing a dog talk, he answers: “I’m just a guy named Joe who was passing through here. I only stopped when I saw the sign out front that said your owner had a talking dog for sale. How in the world did you ever learn to speak?”

The Lab looks up and says, ‘Well, putting aside the whole question of whether any hick rancher from Montana has a right to sell a talking dog, or any dog, for that matter, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young. I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA. In no time at all, they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping.

“I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running … but the jetting around really tired me out. I knew I wasn’t getting any younger so I decided to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security, wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals.

“I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”

Joe is amazed. He goes in the house through back screen door and asks the owner what he wants for the dog.

‘Ten dollars,” the dog owner says.

‘Ten dollars? Are you kidding? This dog is amazing! Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?”

“Because he’s nothing but a liberally educated BS talker, who, other than four collegiate years at UC Berkley, Cocoa, otherwise, has never been out of the backyard.”

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Editorial Note: Thanks again to Father Gerald Beirne for the basic storyline. The Pecan Park Eagle takes complete responsibility for certain storyline embellishments.

Story #2: BUYER’S REGRET

WC FIELDS AND FIDO

Egbert Souse (pronounced Sue-SAY and portrayed by the inimitable W.C. Fields) is a man of the 1930s who likes his drinks. He simply isn’t always flushed with the moolah he needs to pay for them. As things go, however, the man is blessed with certain compensatory skills that often make up for the absence of honestly earned cash. In a way, “Buyer’s Regret” is little more than the story of a poor carnival ventriloquist who learned to rely hard upon his natural talents in balancing his own accounts in a way that did not vary one inch from the low shelf position of his personal integrity as an infrequently sober member of the community.

On one of those common summer nights in which Souse is attacked by an alcohol thirst that is inversely proportionate to his available pocket cash, the broke, but always optimistic man starts out on the two block walk from his cold water flat to his favorite saloon, “The Pink Pussycat.” On his way, he finds a small and docile dog on the street. He picks it up and takes it with him into the bar.

“Oh, Ted,” Souse shouts to the bartender as he sidles up to the drinking rail and deposits the little dog on the bar. “Did I spend a twenty-dollar bill in here last night?”

“You sure did, Mr. Souse!” Ted answers.

“Thank God,” Souse exclaims. “I was afraid I’d lost it!”

“What’s you got there, Mr. Souse?”

“Oh,” Souse utters casually, “are you talking about Fido?”

“Yes, exactly, Mr. Souse, Ted exclaims. “What’s the idea of bringing a dog into the saloon?”

“Oh, Fido,” Souse asks, “would you care for a drink too when I order?”

“No thanks,” Fido seems to answer in a voice much deeper than Souse’s. “I’m good for now.”

“Holy Moley!” Ted exclaims. “Did that dog just talk?”

“Of course, he did,” Souse says. “You heard him speak, didn’t you? Now pour me a shot of Jack D and I’ll have him talk some more for you.”

Excited to hear Fido speak again, Ted the bartender pours the drink for Mr. Souse – and even leaves the bottle out in Souse’s comfortable reach.

For about ten minutes, Fido and Ted get into a big discussion about how the Giants blew a game, 5-4, to the Pirates earlier that day at the Polo Grounds.Souse hardly seems to speak at all during this time, but his hands and mouth are still quite busy regardless.

“How much do you want for this dog?” Ted suddenly explodes. “I’ll give you twenty-five bucks for him right now!”

“Couldn’t sell him,” Souse says. “It would be like selling family to me – and I could never do that.”

“How about fifty bucks?” the bartender counters.

“Well, OK, since you want him that badly,” Souse says, “I will let you have Fido for fifty bucks – even though it breaks my heart to part with him.”

Ted quickly retrieves a fifty from his register and places it in Souse’s eager hand. Souse picks up the bottle of JD with the money and turns to leave with a goodbye tip of the cap to Fido.

“Just for selling me,” Fido seems to say to Souse, “I’ll never speak another word for as long as I live.

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Editor’s Note: The Pecan Park Eagle apologizes for certain liberties we’ve taken with the WC Fields character Edgar Souse. We do know that Edgar Souse was the henpecked drinking husband from “The Bank Dick” and not the man we’ve described in this story. The purpose here was not history, but for our chance to take a quick look at the humor of Fields from another film segment that we were unable to place by its actual movie appearance from memory. Fields was magnificent.

Tags: two talking dog stories
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An Astros Christmas Carol Collection

December 21, 2014

~~~ The Astros Season Ticket Holder Christmas Carol Chorus ~~~

~~~~~ With Solo Performances by Mr. Michael McCroskey ~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~ Singing Their 12 Songs of Christmas ~~~~~~~~~~

1) All We Want for Christmas Is Our Series Wreath!

2) Win Some Games! Win Some Games! Win Some All the Way!

3) Oh Holey Bats, Our Hopes for You Aren’t Shining!

4) God Rest Ye, Merry Bullpen Men, Let Starters Have Their Day!

5) Oh, Little Town of West Palm Beach, With You, We Soon, May Stay!

6) A Rod the Red Nosed ‘Roids Fear, Never Struck an Astro Pose!

7) It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Baseball, Now that Lowrie’s Here!

8) Chestnuts Roasting on a Fresno Fire; Warming Up in Corpus too!

9) I’m Dreaming of a Bright Season, Just Like the Ones We Used to Know!

10) Feliz Navidad! Grab a ball and warm up! Feliz Navidad! You Da Man, Not a Pup!

11) It Came Upon Us from Mud to Clear, You’d Better Start Winning or Else!

12) “We Saw Jim Crane Playing Santa Claus!”
~ Our Choral Group’s Closing Number and Generous Indulgence in Fantasia.

Tags: An Astros Fans' Christmas Carol
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The Priest and The Rabbi

December 20, 2014

Once again the seasonal blessings of a good Christmas story have fallen upon the eaves of The Pecan Park Eagle house like the gentle rain that fell upon Houston today. Thanks to our good friend in both Christ and SABR, Father Gerald Beirne, who sent us this delightful story of two friends, a priest and a rabbi, who settled into the enjoyment together of sharing psychological strategies for dining out at no cost. We have elected here to forgo any comment on the ethics and integrity of two men of the cloth who would actually engage in this sort of thing because the humorous payoff here is too precious to waste. As per usual, the author is unknown, but don’t let that stop you. Thank Father Beirne – and enjoy!

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The Priest and The Rabbi

A priest says to his friend, the rabbi, that he has a perfect way of eating for free in restaurants.

“I go in at well past 9 o’clock in the evening, eat several courses slowly, linger over coffee, port and a cigar. Come 2 o’clock, as they are clearing everything away, I just keep sitting there until eventually a waiter comes up and asks me to pay.

Then I say: ‘I’ve already paid your colleague who has left.’ Because I am a man of the cloth, they take my word for it, and I leave.”

The rabbi is impressed, and says: “Let’s try it together this evening.”

So the priest books them into a restaurant and, come 2 o’clock, they are both still quietly sitting there after a very full meal.

Sure enough, a waiter comes over and asks them to pay.

The priest just says: “I’ve already paid your colleague who has left.”

And the rabbi adds: “And we are still waiting for the change!”

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The Scorpion and the Snake

December 19, 2014

The Scorpion and The Snake

I learned this one forty years ago in a meditation retreat, week-long event in Oakland, California, Then, about twenty years ago, I heard the story used again in one of the big movies from that year. Now I’ve forgotten the year and the name of the movie, but I’ve just always assumed that the screenwriter had attended the same event or a similar seminar at another time. Once more, it’s a parable. Many sources attribute the fable to Aesop and his story of “The Frog and The Scorpion” since the tale is essentially the same as the one presented here, but I prefer the version I heard of “The Scorpion and the Snake” because it pays far more attention to the relationship that existed between the two characters prior to their journey. Please feel free to post your comments on what you think the lessons are. That’s what matters. ~ Bill McCurdy, The Pecan Park Eagle

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The Scorpion and the Snake

The scorpion and the snake had been enemies forever, but they both lived together on the lush food supply banks of a wide and deep flowing river.

They also understood each other and the dangers of a physical encounter that would endanger the lives of both fairly equally. A sting from scorpion and the snake would quickly fall into paralysis and death. A poisonous bite from the snake and the scorpion would find himself quickly rendered helpless and swallowed as a morning, afternoon, or evening snack.

And so the scorpion and the snake lived in careful peace around each other for close to half a century.

Then, one day, the scorpion was forced to face the fact that he was running out of food due to his own consumption of the dwindling natural source on his log-time side of the river. He could also see that all of his preferred food sources appeared as abundantly plentiful across the river on the other bank. The only problem he faced was simple. The scorpion could not swim.

The scorpion had two choices: He could do nothing and slowly starve to death. – Or, he could risk asking his old cold war enemy, the snake, for getting help via transportation to the other side of the river. The snake was an excellent swimmer.

The scorpion chose the latter option and he finally approached the snake with a request that offered all the logical support he could muster:

“Old-like-me enemy of mine,” the scorpion began, “I have a request that I think may appeal to you. – I’m running out of food on this bank, but, as you may also surely see, my kind of food is abundantly available on the other side of the river. – I can’t get there as a non-swimmer, but you could take me there on your back, if you are willing. You are an excellent swimmer. – Once you deposit me on the other bank, you will then be rid of me forever. Again, because I cannot swim, I could never return to this side to haunt you as a potential danger. – What do you say?”

The snake thought long and hard about it, but finally yielded to the wisdom of the scorpion’s logic. He agreed to help with an abrupt reply: “I’ll do it. Hop on my back when we reach the river and I will swim you across right now. – Come on. Let’s go. The sooner the better!” Both creatures smiled knowingly and then walked and slithered together to the river’s edge, where the scorpion crawled up the snake’s back as they then immediately started the snake’s three hundred feet swim to the other side.

All went well until they reached the middle of the river.

Suddenly, the scorpion stung the snake in the back with the full force of all the paralyzing venom in his system. And the snake felt its effects almost immediately. His body was shutting down. Soon his entire respiratory system and his control of the powerful muscles within him would vanish completely. If the snake didn’t first die from the venom, they both would soon enough drown in the hard rushing waters he was losing his fight against.

“Why did you sting me in these circumstances, you idiot?” the snake screamed with his last ability to speak. “Now we are both going to die in the river!”

“I did it because I’m a scorpion,” said the ancient enemy, “and that’s what scorpions do.”

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Know Your Audience

December 18, 2014

In line with the seasonal message on life lessons from “Burned Biscuits” on Wednesday, 12/17/14, today’s column recalls an old story that has stayed with me since first I heard it in my early adult years. “Know Your Audience” (my name for it) is anther of those tales with no traceable author, but, like the burned biscuit story, this ne also makes its point too. This one was apparently fiction from the git-go, but it hits home with all the power of a non-fictional parable. It found my frustration button quickly, one I’ve tried to avoid getting pushed again to this extreme, but not always successfully, because the lesson here extends to one of our greatest social bugaboos – the nurturing of “great expectations” that then take on the power of blinding us from the danger that comes once the door is open for others to kill our joy in ways we either had not anticipated – or else, were blindly forgotten in our need for quick attention from an appreciative audience.

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Know Your Audience

Bozo McMullin was a 35-year old flea show trainer and ticket booth operator for a nefariously crooked traveling carnival in Texas during the 1930s. Bozo’s skill with the tiny insects was legendary in his social circle. He was almost capable of training a handsome flea into replacing Clark Gable on the silver screen because of the superior acting skills he had acquired from his time with the true “flea whisperer” of his day.

Sadly, Bozo’s dishonest ability to shortchange customers caught up with him in Beeville, Texas on May 30, 1936. McMullin subsequently was arrested, indicted, tried, and convicted of felony theft and sentenced to ten years in the state prison at Huntsville, Texas.

Something happened on Bozo’s first day in the pen that fanned the fires of his self-perception as a very talented and lucky man. He found a flea in his bunk.

“I’m going to train that little fellow into becoming the most talented flea the world has ever seen,” Bozo shouted to himself in unflinching hope for tomorrow. And so he did.

For the entire ten years of his incarceration, Bozo kept his flea and the whole training process under wraps in complete secrecy. He also soon discovered that the circumstances of his imprisonment and his talent for teaching had combined to give him both the time and the higher level of motivation he needed to take his training of the flea to a much more impressive level of achievement.

By the day of his release from prison on July 4, 1946, Bozo’s flea possessed the ability to throw a tiny baseball curve over a distance of six inches. He could recite the “Gettysburg Address” verbatim. He could dance like Fred Astaire; and he could even play George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” on a very tine piano that Bozo had made for him in shop. His other talents were many and varied. He was nothing less than a miracle genius that would soon become Bozo McMullin’s ticket from the outhouse to the penthouse of his personal American Dream!

Once released, Bozo used a couple of bucks from his prison release stash to hail a taxi. “Take me to your nearest beer joint!” Bozo shouted.

Five minutes later, Bozo walked into the dumpy place called “Joe’s Halfway House” and placed the talented little flea on the bar.

“Hey, bartender come over here!” Joe again said in a raised voice. “I want to show you something!”

A surly 50ish looking, red-faced man with a gray-haired crew cut, a cigar chomp in his mouth, and wearing a dirty white apron, sauntered over to Bozo.

“What’s up, Bub?” the bartender asked.

“You see that flea on the bar?” Bozo responded.

The man paused until he sighted the flea. Then he quickly crushed the little fellow with his right index finger.

“You mean that one?” The bartender asked.

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