New York, New Orleans and Texas
(03-14-2005)

Yup, pardner, I messed with Texas, but first a word about the Gates:

CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK

You heard about them. Christo’s creation of thousands of saffron colored (god forbid, don’t call them orange) gates, better described as rectangular poles connected by huge blankets. The City was abuzz, the society set found them quite chic and, of course, I took my irreverent pictures.

But the main question still remains: What if we ripped Christo’s brain out through his nose, tore out his organs, and filled all of his cavities with stale pistachio nuts. Is it art?

NEW ORLEANS

Whatever else they say about New Orleans, it’s Bourbon Street that makes it. I was prepared to be disappointed. Sure, there are the sex shops, the girlie clubs, and enough trinket shops to pay off the mortgage on Manhattan, but it was fun, damn good fun. The atmosphere is light, people are in a jovial mood, men are acting like boys, girls are baring their breasts, and all the bands are free – rock, blues and jazz, mostly rock.

Every city should have a Bourbon Street, a place for people to blow off a little steam. In fact, we should recreate the street in a few cities, and then patent the concept for export. Look, we need to cut our foreign trade deficit ‘cause it’s just a matter of time before we roll doubles, land on Chinaville, and they decide it’s time to foreclose on the good ol’ USA. And since we can’t pay up, we’re going to need a product we can sell.

So why not declare sex, booze and Rock & Roll an American creation, and export it to the rest of the world for a fat fee. We can claim the idea is proprietary, since we Americans have already elevated mediocrity to an inalienable right. And then…oh, wait a minute…we’re already doing that. Never mind.

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

I’ll Never Forget the Alamo (or, How I Spent My Spring Break Messin’ with Texas)

I bypassed Houston just to get to the Alamo; a place I’ve always wanted to see. So, I walked in the front door and past the little sign which requests that hats be removed as a sign of respect for those who defended the Alamo. Ignoring the sign, I proceeded to view the exhibits when a docent asked me to remove my hat. I replied that I had respect (I didn’t say for what), and since there is no law against wearing hats, I would like to keep it on if that’s okay. He replied okay.

Five minutes later, I was accosted by two Texas ‘Rangers’ who demanded I leave the premises because I had my hat on. I asked if there was any specific law against it, they said no, but to get out now. I said that if there is no law, I preferred to stay. At that point, I was the recipient of the physical game of Texas hold-‘em. One grabbed my upper arm and forcibly ejected me, threatening that if I did not leave the premises, (the entire Alamo Square), I would be arrested. They were extremely insistent, over-powering, and refused to discuss it. He continued to escort me off the Square, still threatening arrest. But I got his name and badge number.

I admit, I was a little shaken. However, I immediately went across the street to the visitor’s center, but the clerks couldn’t help me. So I got the Alamo brochure, called the number, and asked to speak with a honcho. When I described what happened, he was very apologetic and asked me to meet him at the side entrance. He again apologized and escorted me to the administrative offices at the rear of the Square to meet the Curator. Hmmm….

Dr. Richard Winders is mid-forties, soft-spoken and his office is cluttered with Alamo memorabilia, reflecting his devotion to this historical site. He apologized, as well, said they had meetings on this issue, that all employees were instructed that if visitors wanted to wear hats, that’s okay, that he was aware who the “arresting” office was, and was confident that this individual would not be harassing people again.

We had a very nice chat, about his (the Curator’s) background, as well as my nine month trip. When he asked which places I had been that were the most memorable, I replied Aspen, Colorado and western Kentucky. Bingo. He was born and raised in western Kentucky. After our chat, he gave me a few minutes tour of the grounds, and we amiably shook hands, each assured that we had achieved our individual goals: his, to assuage me in order to prevent a civil law suit (it turns out that the officers were not Texas Rangers, but security people hired by the organization which administers the Alamo under State charter); and mine, to enter the Alamo, hat on head, which I did.

The arguments against the absurd action of that ‘officer’ are so obvious, I won’t go into them here. But I will offer a partial solution: ditch the uniform. When these guys put that uniform on in the morning, their nicely creased ranger pants, their crisp shirt, their thick shiny belt festooned with all sorts of power-trip paraphernalia, their secret ranger decoder ring, and then position the ten gallon hat just so on their heads (hats they did not remove, by the way, when they came inside to get me ), I bet they look at themselves in the mirror and see John Wayne staring back, convinced they are on the front lines in the war against terrorism. However, when they get home at night, and look in the same mirror, I doubt very much that they see it is they who are the terrorists, by denying rights, physically abusing people, enforcing their own belief structures and showing no respect for the living.

Contrast these guys with the police on Bourbon Street who are so non-descript that it truly would be difficult to pick them out of a crowd. No belts, no weapons of any kind, hatless, just dark blue short-sleeve shirts with a small insignia on one arm; and laughing and joking with tourists. No pretensions. Cool. Think I’ll have another beer. Adieu.