THE FRONT YARD – Here comes my neighbor, Billy George Kudzu, who likes to talk about international affairs. “Billy George, did you see those news stories about the Russian spies living in suburban neighborhoods? Had jobs, kids, AA membership, and all the time they were trying to infiltrate our most sensitive operations? They give a whole new meaning to the term, ‘illegal aliens.’”
He scowls. “Cannot believe press. Capitalist corporations draining the blood from proletariat, da?”
“The capitalist press says they all worked for the KGB.”
“Show how inaccurate they are and proofs my punt. It’s SVR Hasn’t been KGB since before glorious liberation war in Afghanistan.”
“They’ve been undercover for seven years.”
“Twelve.”
You seem to know a lot about them,” I say.
“Just hold blank letters from cousin over candle, and listen to radio in basement. But I come over maybe say goodbye. Perhaps me, Nelda Jane and our kids, Muffy and Chip, have to leave suddenly. Very suddenly. Company may send back to home office.”
“Where’s that?”
“Alabama.”
“Oh, that explains the accent.”
Late at work the next day, after everyone else had gone, I noticed our secretary, K-56, in the supply room making copies of some papers. K-56 (which I always thought was an odd name) was startled by my entrance, but said she was copying her dog’s kennel papers. When I noted they were was entitled, “Boeing Contract for F-25 Super Secret Belch Fire Missile,” she patiently explained that pedigreed show dogs have strange names like last year’s winner for that breed, Sniper Scope for Marine Platoon.
The next week I ran into another neighbor, Twitchy Plotter, at a local Tea Party lynching. “We’ve got to be vigilant,” he whispered. “They could be anyone.”
“Who are they?”
“Rooski spies. Soviet agents, KGB moles. There is a guy who goes through our neighborhood almost every day. He knows everybody’s name, where they live, what they read.”
“He’s called a ‘postman.’”
“I say it’s the Kremlin at work. Word is they have taken over the White House by posing as Kenyans. And why did the mainstream media suppress news of the new Arizona immigration law?”
“Then how did you know about it?”
“I read it on the front page of The New York Times.”
“Twitchy, you’re not paranoid, are you?”
“No, I’m Presbyterian. Did you know that global warming is a hoax, just like the moon landings and the EPA? I’m not sure there really is a Gulf oil spill. It’s the Soviet Union that worries me. All that propaganda about it breaking up. How do we know that Stalin is dead and Joe Biden is alive? Fox News is looking into it.”
A few days later in the grocery store I bumped into a neighbor, Boris Khrushchev, who claims to be a Russian spy but I happen to know he’s a sous-chef de cuisine down at the Dairy Queen. Still, he always wears a trench coat, a gray Fedora and a false beard, so he may know how spies slip into our society. “Hi, Boris.”
He glanced around. “Have we met?”
“Of course. Over the last seven years – or maybe 12. You live down the block in the house with an unlisted address, a big radio tower and surrounded by concertina wire.”
“The cake has no frosting.”
“Here to buy a cake, are you?”
“Jenny has two noses.”
Only when I gave Boris the secret handshake we learned in Indian Guides did I say, “It doesn’t make any sense that the Russian intelligence agency would send people to hide in out-of-the-way places.” Boris said the best places for secret agents to hide were in backwater, obscure dumps where the CIA would never look. “Gad,” I gasped, “that means they could be right here in Running Rats Acres.”
“They could be right here in Running Rats Acres,” said the man at my front door late that night. He had knocked quietly and had thrust out a badge. “I’m Agent Orange. CIA Counter-Terrorism Department and Organ Donor Scams. But I’m not really here. We’re checking into reports that there are Russian undercover operatives in the neighborhood. They have infiltrated the Ladies Who Lunch Club, the VFW – that’s Veterinarians From Wisconsin — and are attempting to learn Victoria’s Secret.”
“How did you get suspicious?”
“Our first tip came when the cipher-breakers in our top-secret Ode-Cay Oom-Ray intercepted a pamphlet advertising for baby sitting and lawn cutting by neighborhood teenagers. That’s a well-known cover for espionage activities.”
“What should I look for?” I asked. Agent Orange explained that certain tell-tale clues were Smirnoff drinkers, fans of the Cincinnati Reds and anyone who shops at Lenin ‘n Things. “Also, they know we’re getting close and may need to destroy documents. Tell us if, here in the heat of a Texas summer, you see smoke coming out of any chimney.”
“You mean the spies of Texas are upon us?”
“Of course. This is the Lone Czar State.”
That night I noticed smoke coming out of Twitchy Plotter’s chimney.

Ashby spies at ashby2@comcast.net

Workers unions in Spain are steamed about changes in their rules and are going to strike for the first time in a decade. Nothing will stop them as they slam down their tools, lunch pails and capes to storm out of their factories, rail yards and bull rings. No holding them back as tempers flare and they shout (in Spanish we must suppose): “Workers unite! You have nothing to lose but your siestas!”

However, the workers’ anger won’t reach the boiling point until September. Why? Because striking before then would ruin their August vacations. This is somewhat akin to “the spontaneous rally will begin at noon sharp.” Or the Teabag Party proclaiming that it’s strictly a populist grassroots uprising. We know this because Dick Armey issued the press release from the party’s Washington office.

In any event, the Spanish workers have their priorities right. They, and all Europeans, feel it is their God-given right to take off that month. Barbara Tuchman writes in “The Guns of August” that when World War I broke out the French Army had a major problem, and, no, it wasn’t just the German Army. The problem was that, despite the impending war clouds, most of the French officer corps was on vacation. After all, it was August. Once I visited Paris in August and there were practically no lines at the Eiffel Tower or any other site. But about half the stores and cafes were closed, my hotel was a morgue. I didn’t spot a single French soldier, but I did see a lot of American tourists.

By law, full-time workers in France are guaranteed at least five weeks vacation, plus holidays. But French workers are still in a snit after the government increased their work week from 35 hours to 40. Austrian workers have 26 vacation days, Denmark and Sweden have 25. All other European workers have at least 20 vacation days, plus lots and lots of holidays. In addition, the European Court of Justice has ruled that all workers are entitled to up to four weeks of holiday pay for each year they are on sick leave. Huh? Each year they’re home sick? The Pope takes off every summer. He goes to the Papal retreat in Castel Gandolfo. And us? On average, U.S. workers have less than nine vacation days annually. Some 28 million Americans don’t get any paid vacation or paid holidays.

We may feel sorry for ourselves with so few holidays and vacation time, but stats can be deceiving. During August, see if you can ring up a business person or lawyer or doctor. The secretary will say, “She’s in a meeting.” As for government agencies, each one has a designated Friday afternoon phone answerer to explain that the entire staff is in a meeting. Look for them to finish just after Labor Day. Also, notice how the stock markets slow down. Wall Street brokers leave after Friday lunch to join their families in the Hamptons.

We must hope President Obama and his family take off for part of August like his predecessors – but not the entire month at the ranch. Congress is on vacation. The U.S. Supreme Court is gone and won’t be back until the first Monday in October. The Supremes tossed their clerks all the really controversial decisions to draft and announce. By the time the sweating demonstrators arrive to protest outside the Supreme Court Building the justices are fly fishing in Idaho. Washingtonians, including diplomats and lobbyists, have fled, turning the city over to the tourists who don’t realize in summer our nation’s capital is like Port Arthur without the natural beauty.

With no news to cover, the media split. One sure-fire way to note the disappearing press is to watch the TV networks’ news shows. Throughout August we will hear, “Brian is on assignment tonight.” Williams’ “assignment” is at his lake house interviewing the sunset. The Sunday morning talking heads on TV are substitutes questioning politicians who are back home – or fly fishing in Idaho.

Not even mad dogs and Englishmen go out in our August sun, so, just like the Europeans who live in far balmier locales, this is our favorite time to leave, too. It’s also when those creepy society writers sigh, “All the swells are in Aspen or in the south of France.” OK, summer better than others, but why it always “the south of France.”? Do you say, “I’m going to meet a drug lord in the south of Texas.”? “I summer in Pilot Knob. It’s in the south of Travis County.” Texans who are not swells don’t summer anywhere. They are going through the help wanted pages or Craigslist.

There is a new wrinkle in Americans’ vacation habits. We are starting to take winter vacations, too – a week off to go skiing on the snow or sunning on the sand. I hear you can get really good deals on Gulf coast beaches this year. But we are being hit with a one-two punch: the economy is on the ropes and gas prices are through the roof, giving us a new term which Spell Check hasn’t even recognized: staycation. It means, obviously, staying at home and doing things around town you haven’t done. Just as most New Yorkers have never been to the top of the Empire State Building, a lot of southeast Texans have never been to the Johnson Space Center, San Jacinto or spent a Saturday evening in Baytown’s restaurant row.

How many Wichita Fallians have ever seen their falls? El Pasoites can just nip across the bridge to Juarez – but first notify next-of-kin. Fort Worthians can go to Dallas and ride the escalators. Map out a week’s worth of exciting, stimulating and, for the kids, educational, day trips. “Monday – Visit pawn shop, founders cemetery and library drive-through book drop-off. Tell kids they never had such fun.” By Friday write: “Visit the kids in ICU. Explain there was one too many ‘Are we having fun yet?’ whines.”

Ashby summers at ashby2@comcast.net

We must discuss the Big 12 or, if you’re a Latin major, the Big XII. Cynics call it the Dirty Dozen, and note the athletic conference now has only10 members. How can it be called the Big 12 when the conference almost called it quits? Colorado left for the bigger TV bucks in the Pac-10. Nebraska did the same for the Southeastern Conference. UT, A&M, OU and OSU were being wooed by every conference including the Yalta and parent-teacher. (Incidentally, as every Texan knows, when we speak of college athletics or sports or teams, we’re really talking football TV money.)

The Big 12 is only 14 years old, but it sprang from the ashes of the Southwest Conference (SWC), which had been around for 82 years. Arkansas left for the SEC in 1992, and by 1994 the heavyweights in the conference were UT, A&M and Tech, which had big crowds and big bucks. (The current UT athletic budget is $167 million a year, $7 million more than last year and the largest athletic budget of any university in the nation.)

Rice, UH, Baylor, SMU and TCU were weaklings. The conference was uneven, the games lopsided, and it was not just a Texas secret. On Sept. 12, 1962, at Rice Stadium, President John F. Kennedy’s famous challenge to Americans to send a man to the moon, asked, “But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas?” True story.

The SWC produced seven national football champions. The Heisman Trophy, awarded annually to the nation’s outstanding offensive player, was won by five SWC stars. (Did you know that the Heisman is named after John Heisman who coached at Rice?) Five SWC linemen won the Outland Trophy.

The three strongest members of the SWC – UT, A&M and Tech — merged with the Big Six to the north. Baylor, the only non-public university in the new conference, was included because the Texas governor, Ann Richards, and the powerful lite guv, Bob Bullock, were both Bears. Baylor became everybody’s homecoming game, but the school should stop piggy-backing on its big brothers and start filling the stadium. Perhaps the Baptists should add a nice cocktail lounge and wet bars. Today the Big 12 is staying together because its commissioner, Dan Beebe, promised – but couldn’t guarantee – the major teams would receive a bigger, richer TV contract. If Beebe can’t deliver in a couple of years, watch for another divorce.

Two former SWC members are being mentioned to bring the 10 to 12. One of the names being tossed around is UH, mostly by UH. In a remarkable bit of timing, the Cougars just announced a $160 million building program for its football and basketball teams. Good luck in raising that kind of money in this kind of economy. UH has a new, dynamic president/chancellor, Renu Khator, who announced shortly after her confirmation that she wanted a better football team. Maybe an East Indian can succeed in putting fans’ fannies in the seats when no one else can.

The Coogs have only themselves to blame for not being in the club. Located in a city larger than any Big 12 member’s home – Ames, Iowa, anyone? – UH can’t half fill its stadium. As a yardstick, UT football brings in $87.6 million year, more than any other school and far ahead of Baylor, at the bottom of the conference, with $11.9 million. UH brings in $4 million.

TCU is also being mentioned as a new member. It has been playing some good football and baseball lately, but for decades the Horned Frogs were so bad even Baylor beat them. Can UT & Co. rely on continued success in Cow Town?

Much of this conference-changing is guided towards a national football playoff. True, the title student-athlete is an oxymoron (ESPN? How do you spell that?), but who is really for a collegiate Super Bowl? Not the college presidents, not the coaches, not the beat-up players. The pushers are sports columnists, sports radio talk-show hosts, advertisers, networks. There is big money in a national play-off, and the last of the pushers’ priorities is the young men who have been in pads and out of class since August.

University football teams used to play 10 games and then a few of them played in bowls. Today the season can mean 14 games or more, and any team that finishes the season gets in a bowl. A national playoff would mean games into March, ending just in time for spring practice. And don’t use the reasoning that all the other college sports have national champions. If you can’t tell the difference between the blood, missing teeth, broken bones and exhaustion in football and the pitfalls of basketball or tennis, leave this conversation.

This brings us to the Knight Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics. It has just released a report saying lavish spending on college athletics is straining the schools’ finances and should be controlled. Big 12 members, for example, spend nine times as much on their athletes as on other students. No one has heard of this 22-member blue ribbon commission and its report will be ignored.

Finally, this one is worth re-telling: A major relic of the old SWC is Rice Stadium, which was built with 47,000 seats – expandable to 70,000 — because, back then, Rice could fill them. George R. Brown of Brown & Root got the contract to build the new stadium and broke ground in February of ’50. He vowed to have the new stadium ready for the first game the following September. Problems slowed down construction, so a reporter went out to check on the project. There was George Brown himself shoveling and mixing and sweating. When the reporter asked, “Mr. Brown, do you really think you’ll have this stadium ready in time?”

Said Brown, without looking up, “It’s a night game.”

Ashby cheers at ashby2@comcast.net

My first indication of the changing situation was when my children started inquiring about my health. “How ya feelin’ today, Dad?” asked the eldest. “You look a little tired, Daddy,” said my daughter. Another son e-mailed me: “Is your medication kicking in? Just asking.”

They had never been so concerned before, not even when I passed out and was run over by a Mardi Gras float, or when I was wounded at Khe Sanh saving my commanding officer. After the mistaken obit appeared in the paper, my wife showed up for the funeral, but the kids only sent flowers. So what gives?

Next I noticed my daughter wandering round the house with a clipboard, putting little tags on the furniture. In some cases she took photographs. Then I got an e-mail: “Dad, the safety deposit box is at the Left Bank of the Bayou, right?” And another: “What’s the PIN number for your ATM account? I’m playing Trivial Pursuit.” My son the lawyer wanted to update my will.

It certainly was nice that my offspring suddenly became concerned over my health. Then I spotted a newspaper headline: “Legacy for One Billionaire: Death, but No Taxes.” The article began: “A Texas pipeline tycoon who died two months ago may become the first American billionaire allowed to pass his fortune to his children and grandchildren tax-free.” Hey, we all knew George W. took care of his rich Texas oil buddies, but no taxes at all?

After reading further, I discovered the situation isn’t quite that blatant. What happened was in all the Bush tax cut maneuvering, the law he finally signed contained an accounting quirk: no estate taxes for 2010. The Dems vowed to close that gap when they took control of Congress, but they failed to reach an agreement last December.

Enter – or depart — Dan L. Duncan, the richest man in Houston. A poor East Texas boy with only a business school education, he got into the gas pipeline biz and knew how to make money. Forbes magazine estimated Duncan’s worth at $9 billion, ranking him as the 74th wealthiest person in the world. In March, at age 77, he died of a brain hemorrhage. Had he died last Dec. 31, his estate (or death) taxes could have been at least 45 percent. On the other hand, if Duncan had lived past next New Year’s Eve, the rate could be even higher — 55 percent, although many changes are being discussed. Don’t complain. When John D. Rockefeller, America’s first billionaire, died in 1937, his estate paid 70 percent. Oddly enough, today two billionaires are main supporters of the estate tax: Warren E. Buffett and Bill Gates.

The was enacted in 1916, and since then the rates have fluctuated, but this is the first time the tax has been repealed entirely. Before last New Year’s Day, any estate worth more that $3.5 million — or $7 million for a couple’s estate — was taxed beyond that amount. With all the screaming about the tax, we’d think it applied to millions of departing Americans, but actually the tax affects only about 5,500 estates a year. In 2008, the most recent year for which data is available, that came to $25 billion. Spouses can inherit any amount without limit — Duncan left his home and ranch to his wife along with stock valued at hundreds of millions of dollars. But Duncan’s estate beneficiaries are subject only to a capital gains tax which is far less than the normal estate tax.

Oh. I get it. So that’s why my brood is so inquisitive about my health. They know that if I croak before the next Cotton Bowl game or the ball drops in Times Square, which ever comes first, they get my vast fortune with no estate tax. This also explains last year why they were so intent on my good heath. All of 2009 they kept inquiring about my cigar-induced cough, my vodka-based crawling. “Keep Lynn till ’10,” must have been their mantra. Throughout the calendar year of 2009 they no doubt had life-support systems at the ready to keep me comatose if not frozen. But with the stroke of midnight on Dec. 31 last, it was open season on Daddy.

Maybe I should get a bodyguard who doubles as a food taster. I’ll drive home a different way each evening. Father’s Day, my birthday and Christmas should be called off this year. Those packages might tick. I must be careful of any delivery from Acme Napalm Co. or Shrapnel R Us. Look both ways before crossing the minefield. Avoid leper conventions. No, I’m not paranoid, just careful.

Wait a minute. Why can’t the hunted become the hunter? Maybe I can take a page out of “Kind Hearts and Coronets” and dispose of my relatives one by one until I hit the family jewels? Uncle Waldo has that big company and probably is sitting on a fortune, if his fourth wife didn’t take it all when she left Waldo for the Green Bay Packers. Maybe at the next Labor Day family picnic I can bring him some potato salad that I inadvertently left in the sun for three hours.

There was always the rumor that Cousin Crabgrass was Howard Hughes’ illegitimate son. I could give Crabgrass new Kleenex boxes for Christmas and tie the shoelaces together. Then there is Grandpa Spindletop. He was named for his father’s best friend who had something to do with oil and died childless. Gramps, mind if I borrow your pacemaker?

Hold everything. The news story says during his life Duncan gave away millions to charities, medical research, museums and foundations. I don’t actually give away millions, more in the low $3-$4 range. Annually. Now the phone is ringing again. It’s an offspring. “Dad, you just accidentally faxed me your last IRS return. It’s sort of depressing reading, If I go first, should I leave you something in my will?”

Ashby is hiding out at ashby2@comcast.net

You have ben waiting in great antisipation – some would say angished fear – for your new tectsbooks as approved by us here at the Texas State School Board Comitee.

Well, here they ar. Tell us if you don’t like the emprovments and end-of-chaptor questions so well know who to far. Thank, Texas State School Board Comitee.

HISTORY: Columbus landed in America to: (a) get away from the reign in Spain. (b) bring the One True Religion to the heathens by massacring all non-believers, turning the rest into slaves, stealing their gold and spreading deadly diseases throughout the New World. (c) find a new route to India, but got lost. India had no idea how lucky it was. (d) Keep from falling off the edge.

True or false: The Founding Fathers have been wrongly portrayed in paintings and movies as wearing knee pants, silk stockings and black loafers with silver buckles. Ditto for lace collars and ponytails.

Fact or rumor: Thomas Jefferson was not an Enlightenment thinker who changed the world, but he did wear all of the above.

The War of Jenkins’ Ear was not covered by health insurance because Jenkins was such a deadbeat and a drain on society that he refused to pay a 38 percent increase in his premiums.

GOVERNMENT: Which one of these is NOT a freedom guaranteed by the Constitution: Religion, press, speech, right to assemble, cable TV. (Extra credit is given for naming any freedom which should be abolished.)

Finish this sentence: The Second Amendment is the most important of all because: (Grade points reduced for mention of Starbucks.)

Barack Obama is: (a) the first line of the “Macarena.” (b) Kenyan for “show me the birth certificate.” (c) a one-term president.

True or true? Texas can secede from the Union any time it wishes.

Who said: “Give me liberty or give me a break.” “We distort, you deride.” “You lie!” “Honk if you want a theocracy.”

Gov. Rick Perry is the longest-serving governor in Texas’ history. Who was the longest-serving inmate on Death Row? Hint: Not if Gov. Perry had his way.

The State School Board is: (a) wise (b) brilliant (c) charming (d) all of the above.

MATH: If an Amtrak train leaves Dallas at noon heading for Houston on the same track that an Amtrak train leaves Houston heading for Dallas, how long would it take for everyone to realize mass transit is a commie plot?

When are 59 votes fewer than 41 votes?

Write a 500 word essay on: Taxes should only be levied to run basic governmental functions such as chain gangs, SWAT teams and death panels.

If one black helicopter costs $4 million, how many can be bought by cutting Medicaid in half?

Minimum wage – Class warfare at its worst or an impediment to the free market?

If a plaintiff’s attorney squeezes $250,000 in damages from a good, solid God-fearing company that makes diapers which occasionally burst into flame, how much will an equally veracious, greedy attorney wring from an upstanding, talented physician who mistakenly amputates the wrong leg?

GEOGRAPHY: Texas is surrounded on all sides by jealous people who want to come here. In 500 words, describe the solution. Hint: Unattributed quotes about land mines, pit bulls and F-16s are not considered plagiarism.

Which of these is NOT a national park but should be: Mt. Olympia Snowe, Forrest Gump, Tiger Woods. (This is a trick question. The correct name is Eldrick Tont Woods.)

SCIENCE: Charles Darwin should be: (a) studied with doubt. (b) not studied. (c) sentenced to eternal damnation.

Name the Biblical chapter and verse where this appears: “God created the Earth in seven days, 10,000 years ago, more or less.”

Should sex education be taught in Texas public schools or should our students continue to learn it by circumventing the Parental Control block on the Internet?

Draw a wheel (it’s sort of round, isn’t it?) List three reasons it should be outlawed.

Earth, wind and fire are: (a) a musical group. (b) underwritten by AIG. (c) still not proven.

SOCIAL STUDIES: “Fair and Balanced” is: (a) slogan of a GOP subsidiary. (b) tattooed on Sarah Palin’s ankle. (c) a law firm.

Newt Gingrich: (a) is an amphibian of the Salamandridae family. (b) stole Christmas. (c) will explain in his autobiography why he was thrown out as Speaker and fined $300,000 for misleading a committee investigating him. (d) Our next president and none too soon.

Name three myths on this list: The Easter Bunny. Global warming. The separation of church and state.

A poll by Quinnipiac University in Hamden, Conn. shows that Tea Party members are “less educated…than the average Joe and Jane Six Pack.” This proves “Quinnipiac” is Algonquian for: (a) village idiot (b) morally challenged (c) He Who Hits the Six-packs.

Well, teachers, that abot does it. We hope you like theze emprovements. Or else. Your State School Board Comitee.

Ashby changes facts at ashby2@comcast.net

… even after Ike and our coldest winter in memory, we have beautiful flowering trees and multitudinous flowers. Houston really is a beautiful city, and I am very proud to live here.

BETTY WHITE has nothing on Former First Lady, BARBARA BUSH. WHITE, at 88, has had a 60-year successful show biz career and in recent weeks guest-hosted Saturday Night Live. But, consider that MRS. BUSH has been in the spotlight as often, if not more so, than BETTY. MRS. BUSH had ‘em rolling in the aisles, 800 strong, at the American Heart Association Go Red luncheon. On a more serious note when asked, “What is your advice for raising children?” MRS. BUSH replied, “There are three things:
1) Set an example!
2) Unconditional love
3) “May your children just be happy!”
APPLAUSE, APPLAUSE:
CLEANING FOR A REASON

If you know any woman currently undergoing treatment for any type of cancer, let her know that there is a cleaning service that provides FREE housecleaning one time per month for four months while she is in treatment. All she has to do is sign up and have her doctor fax a note confirming the treatment. Cleaning for a Reason will have a participating maid service in her zip code area arrange for the service. Their website is: http://www.cleaningforareason.org. This organization serves the entire USA and currently has 547 partners to help these women. Pass this information along.

Something in the water? JOE JAMAIL donated $1 million to Rice University Baker Institute in honor of his friend, JAMES BAKER, III; and energy mogul and philanthropist GEORGE MITCHELL donated $1.5 Million in the name of his late wife, CYNTHIA WOODS MITCHELL, to UT Health, formerly known as the University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston. Wow!

“Mission Incredible,” benefiting The Mission of Yahweh, a homeless shelter for women and children, pulled off a totally fun event bringing out 250 people on a Sunday night. A great event!!

WARNER AWARDS

MOST ENTERTAINING:  The Tapestry Gala benefiting Interfaith Ministries for Greater Houston, which brings people of diverse faith traditions together for dialogue, collaboration and service. The evening was interwoven with beautiful music from vocalists KENNETH GAYLE and many others.

MOST INSPIRATIONAL EVENT: Let’s Hear it for the BOYS, the WALIPP Preparatory Academy Spring Luncheon. WALIPP (The WILLIAM A. LAWSON Institute for Peace and Prosperity) was founded in 1996 to initiate and implement programs designed to revitalize the inner city.

As head of Houston Endowment, Honoree JACK BLANTON recalled how exciting it was to give away Mr. JESSE JONES’ money.

MOST INTERESTING HONOREE: Holocaust Museum Houston’s “On Our Watch” Award dinner honored JOHN PENDERGAST, who has spent most of his adult life working to end genocide in the world. Working with actors like GEORGE CLOONEY and DON CHEADLE, he has called for the world to end the horrors of genocide in places like Darfur and the Congo.

BEST INVITATION DESIGN AWARDS:  Funk Shui, benefiting the Bayou Preservation Association on October 7. So clever!

BOOK IT
September 24 – for The Museum of Printing History Gala, featuring remarks from award-winning New York Times journalist, RALPH BLUMENTHAL, and honoring DR. MAVIS KELSEY for his contributions to the Houston community.

October 15 – Houston Humane Society Gala“ Fashonistas and Furry Friends” – 713.626.0570

October 28 – Communities in Schools Houston Gala – 713.654.1515

November 11 – Lunch with COKIE ROBERTS, The Salvation Army Greater Houston Area Command – 832.201.8026

November 13 – “Swinging on a Star” Trees of Hope Gala – 713.942.9733

GRAPEVINE
Bravo Television is looking for a cast of characters for a possible Houston Housewives television series. Could I ever cast that show!

Rave Reviews: KELSEY GRAMMER, a very favorite actor of mine since watching him in his reruns late night on Frazer, is wowing audiences in La Cage Aux Follies, the Musical in NYC. After suffering a near fatal heart attack, GRAMMER is on a crusade to warn people of the dangers of eating salt. He said there was a time when he would take a cube of butter and sprinkle salt on it. Now he’s urging everyone to give up salt and save their heart!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Hooray for TILMAN and PAIGE FERTITTA for surprising DAVE WARD on his birthday. They picked up DAVE and wife, LAURA, and flew them in their helicopter to the San Luis in Galveston for dinner.

Hooray for DAVE WARD, who surprised wife, LAURA, with an early birthday present: A new Bentley. Now, that’s a serious surprise!

April, May and June Happy Birthdays to MARY ANN HOFFER, SIDNEY FAUST, JOANN CRASSAS, CHARITY YARBOROUGH, REGINA ROGERS, NANCY STROHMER, DEBORAH DUNCAN, SHARON WILNER, MARY ROGERS, ALICIA SMITH and KIM MOODY.

BRINGING IT HOME
Did you know that the oldest person in the world is a Texan? Her name is EUNICE C. SANBORN and she lives in Jacksonville, Texas. Her secret? “I love everything about my life. I like everything about it.” Does that tell us anything about the Power of Positive Thinking AND The Power of Love? Maybe we should watch the salt.

And, from Gautama Buddha, “Teach this triple truth to all. A generous heart, kind speech and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.”

Have you done something for someone today?

photo courtesy Warner Roberts

If you think South Padre Island is still only for Spring Breakers. Not to fear, the Girls Gone Wild truck has left the building.

South Padre has undergone a massive transformation, while at the same time retaining its Tex-Mex character and laid-back island charm.

You can still sit on the bay on a lazy Friday night, watching the fireworks and drinking ice cold margaritas at mainstays such as Louie’s Backyard, Wahoo Saloon, or Tequila Sunset.

Or you can go upscale with a plate of Oysters Rockefeller at Scampi’s Restaurant. I recommend a table with a view of the bay, and going just in time for the sunset – they ring a bell as the sun disappears into the water. This is the type of fiery Texas sunset rivaling any on the cover of Conde Nast Traveler. Ask for Leti to be your server, and she’ll make sure you get your homemade chips and salsa before they run out.

Upstairs on the deck, enjoy the live lounge singing of a true South Padre island entertainer, Mr. Larry Battle.

For those of you interested in health food and fresh squeezed juices, you can’t beat Naturally’s for breakfast or lunch. Or, just over the bridge, in Port Isabel, Manuel’s serves the best breakfast burritos in town – and the best cheese enchiladas at lunch. (This is down-home, eat-it-like-it’s-going-out-of-style, Tex-Mex at its finest.)

For lunch with the locals and a view of the rolling waves and sand dunes, try the fried shrimp basket at the Palm’s Restaurant.

And, if you’re concerned about where to stay – don’t be.

Houston’s very own Randall Davis, a visionary developer, has graced the island with the newly constructed Sapphire South Padre – the hottest, most elegant condominium high-rise property to hit the island in years. Located just over the island bridge, between the Sheraton Hotel and Schlitterbahn water park, the Sapphire manages to bring that missing element to South Padre Island – think Miami Beach hits Texas, with a stunning 300 foot long swimming pool, ocean and bay views from every gorgeous unit, a 24 hour concierge, and a gym and full service spa to rival anything in downtown Houston. I don’t know how Randall manages to make the building so magnificent – it has to be seen to be believed. The Sapphire takes South Padre Island to another level – and why not? The best beach in Texas isn’t just for Spring Breakers anymore.

www.sapphiresouthpadre.com … www.sopadre.com

photo courtesy Jo Barrett

Here is my own attic collection of empty suitcases, a forgotten plastic bag of something, a dusty box containing old and yellowed newspapers. Now why do I have this box? Oh, yes. It belongs to one of my offspring. As a child, he collected newspapers reporting important events – like a Wednesday or changing of the seasons. Now he’s gone and these newspapers aren’t. Next to it is a trunk from summer camp. Eight males in my family have attended Camp La Junta and we are now into the third generation at Camp Waldemar. I dare not open this trunk. It may contain a counselor from Summers past.

There’s a lot of this dusty stuff in my house and perhaps yours, too. But it’s not ours. These leftovers belong to our children who grow up and leave, but leave behind everything they don’t want or don’t have room for in their new digs. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do the same — leave behind everything we didn’t need instead of renting a mini-warehouse? At no cost? Then, whenever we need something, just nip over to our folks’ house and pick it up, and return anything we no longer want.

We all know the drill in our current society: kids grow up in their parents’ house gradually collecting furniture, clothes, books and all sorts of electronic gear. Then they leave for college, even if the campus is across the street, taking with them the bare essentials such as a change of clothes and all their electronic gear.

After college, children used to get their own apartment and a job. Since today’s college graduates can’t get a job, they move back in with their parents. But eventually, the kids do leave, usually after the parents have changed the locks. But the offspring don’t take everything with them. Here, for example, is a desk and a chair, nice antiques, I think. They belong to my daughter who used them for years. Now she has her own place, but absolutely refuses to take this desk and chair because “they don’t make the right statement” in her new abode. I didn’t ask her to debate, just take.

This large plastic bag is full of T-shirts. In earlier days, I traveled the globe searching for the perfect martini and cigar. Each time I would return from Hong Kong or Moscow or Marfa, I would bring all my children T-shirts saying “Eat More Poodle” or “Death to Capitalist Scum!”

The other children duly wore them out and then they disappeared – the shirts, not the children. Except for one son who won’t take his clothes collection and won’t let me give it to the shirtless Enron employees. Many is the time, when he would return home on a visit, I would beg him, “Take that big plastic bag of T-shirts.” He wouldn’t. Sorry, Skilling.

If your own children have left home and you have an empty nest, maybe it’s not so empty after all. Look in their rooms. Do they still have that “Seniors Rule!” banner on the wall, next to the giant poster of Che Guevara? Is there still a Playboy under the mattress and beer cans under the bed? Does the bookcase still contain old college textbooks that couldn’t be re-sold because the professors had updated their books and made the next class buy their own? A paperweight made in the third grade that is supposed to be a horse but looks like a camel? Check in the closet, too. Clothes are hanging there which were first worn when Gerald Ford could walk and chew gum. Shoes no doubt clutter the closet floor with mud on them from the Jog For Jesus church rally to raise money for the new moat to keep out Muslims.

In my garage, close by the car driver’s door, is yet another desk, this one belonging to yet another son. I think about him every time I squeeze into my car through that narrow gap. I suppose I should be grateful he took his car with him. Garages are great places to store stuff your kids have so generously left for your use, such as bent bikes, rusty roller skates and sleighs that had to be purchased for the one and only snowfall of the winter.

You could get rid of all your kids’ backpacks, high school megaphones, letter sweaters and records/tapes/CDs (depending how long they’ve been gone), toss the stolen street signs and acne cream, but they would want them the next day. The phone rings, “Hi, it’s me. I’m coming home to get my old megaphone and letter jacket for our high school reunion.” Pitifully long pause. “You still have them, don’t you? Dad? Mom?”

On the other hand, you can be proactive. Simply call your heir and announce, “I’m cleaning out your room. Need the space for my newest job since I got laid off at the muffler repair shop. I’m opening a tanning salon and pit bull recycling center.” Or, you could say, “The Health Department was over here yesterday with a final notice.” Maybe just: “The new renters insist.” Or: “You know how you always said you wanted another sister?”

Looking back, when I would return to my folks’ home for a visit and a loan, I recall that on each trip I would notice fewer possessions in my old room. What clearly happened was, when I backed out the driveway to depart, my father would say to my mother, “Is he gone yet? Good. Toss out another unused college text book — but not the Playboys.”

Ashby gathers dust at ashby5@comcast.net

Illustraton by Robin Kachantones

Texas has again been bypassed in the Washington power game. (Whine-whine, sulk-sulk) I am referring, obviously, to our complete absence on the U.S. Supreme Court. To fill another vacancy there, President Obama has, predictably, looked to the Ivy League to select Solicitor General Elena Kagan.

Her background is the usual. She is from the northeast and earned degrees from Princeton and Harvard Law School. If she is confirmed, every single justice on the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS in journalese) will have studied law at Harvard or Yale. In addition, she was dean of the Harvard School of Law. You can’t be more wrapped in poison ivy than that.

With the elevation of Kagan, the Supreme Court would for the first time ever have no Protestant members. SCOTUS will be made up of six Catholics and three Jews. Where is the Protestant to represent that 51 percent of America? The very name, “Protestant,” means we protest a lot. Can’t we write dissenting opinions? If she is confirmed, four of the nine justices grew up in New York City. Instead of issuing the usual refusal to hear a case, they will yell, “Fughetaboutit!”

This incestuous situation is traditional. In the history of the court, half of the 111 black robes came from the Ivy League either as undergraduates, graduate students or law students. Their death grip is tightening: since 1950, the percentage is 70. Of these, 18 went to Harvard Law, 9 to Yale Law, and 6 to Columbia Law. Two members of the very first High Court were Ivy Leaguers.

In continuing this tradition, President George W. Bush (Yale, Harvard) and his successor, Barack Obama (Columbia, Harvard), have shunned 99 percent of America. Are there no decent judges in Texas, South Dakota or Nebraska? What are we from flyover states, chopped elk?

Incidentally, not everyone is smitten by that Academic Axis of Ivy. When nominee G. Harrold Carswell (Mercer University school of law) was deemed “mediocre” in 1970, Sen. Roman L. Hruska said, “Even if he is mediocre, there are a lot of mediocre judges and people and lawyers. They are entitled to a little representation, aren’t they, and a little chance?”

When President George W. Bush nominated Dallasite Harriet Miers to the high court, she was criticized by her conservative opponents because she had attended the SMU law school. Miers was also rejected because she made such a lousy appearance before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Judge Diane Wood, a University of Texas and UT law school graduate on the federal appeals court in Chicago, was on Obama’s short list for a second time. Wood moved from New Jersey to Houston with her family in 1966. That’s as close as we get.

If Kagan is confirmed, she will replace retiring John Paul Stevens, the oldest member of the Supremes, and the fourth-longest serving justice in the Court’s history. He’s an interesting guy. As a boy, Stevens attended the 1932 World Series baseball game in Chicago’s Wrigley Field, where he saw Babe Ruth call his shot. Stevens later recalled: “Ruth did point to the center-field scoreboard. And he did hit the ball out of the park after he pointed with his bat. So it really happened.” Stevens also met several notable people of the era, including aviators Amelia Earhart and Charles Lindbergh. Stevens’ father, Ernest James Stevens, was convicted of embezzlement (the conviction was later overturned).

Justice Stevens earned his BA from the University of Chicago in 1941 and was working on his master’s degree in English at the university, but enlisted in the Navy on Dec. 6, 1941. Great timing. As an intelligence officer, he helped break the Japanese code that led to the downing of Japanese Adm. Isoroku Yamamoto’s plane in 1943. (You WW II history buffs will appreciate that accomplishment – it was a biggie.) After the war, Stevens earned his law degree from the Northwestern University School of Law with the highest GPA in the history of the law school.

He was our only justice from the Midwest, and the only military veteran. All of the nine justices, including Stevens, had arrived at the High Court after serving in an appellate court. Kagan almost got there. She was appointed to an appellate judgeship, but the Senate never confirmed her.

Stevens took his seat in 1975 after being confirmed by the Senate 98–0, but today we dwell in a different political atmosphere. Party of No had its anti-nominee signs already painted, just waiting to fill in the name. For decades confirmation hearings were rather dull until that of Robert Bork in 1987. His failed nomination was so heatedly and angrily opposed by Dems that it gave us “to be Borked” — to have one’s character assassinated. Example: “You sure got borked on that deal.” It can also mean just the opposite, to have screwed up, usually by doing something stupid. “You sure borked up that deal.”

Anyway, Obama has overlooked Texas again, but we must remember that he doesn’t owe Texas a thing. In the Texas Democratic primary, we voted for Hillary Clinton 51 to 47 percent over Obama. In the general election Texans went for John McCain 55 to 44 percent for Obama – a stomping. But Obama still won the Oval Office handily without us. And, to be fair, we didn’t complain when both George Bushes packed their administrations with Texans, from cabinet level – State, Treasury, Energy, Education, etc. etc. – on down.

After Vice President Lyndon Johnson met for the first time with President John Kennedy’s cabinet — made up whiz kids from the Ivy League and such — he rushed back to tell his mentor, old Sam Rayburn. Mister Sam sighed, “’Well, Lyndon, you may be right and they may be every bit as intelligent as you say, but I’d feel a whole lot better about them if just one of them had run for sheriff once.”

Obama, Sam and LBJ wouldn’t let this happen.

Ashby is borked at ashby2@comcast.net

Okie: If there was a backdoor to the Alamo, there wouldn’t be a Texas.

Texan: There was a backdoor to the Alamo. That’s why there’s an Oklahoma.

Hehehe. Just an old joke to start today’s discussion of who owns the Alamo? It would seem obvious the mission and adjacent grounds are owned by the people of Texas, but now a new fight has broken out over the name itself. This brings up a terrible prospect: How many times must we endure headlines reading: “Second Battle of the Alamo”? There have been so many second battles that we must be into our 145th.

The situation – it’s not yet a dispute — began when the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, or DRT, filed paperwork with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office to register a trademark on the name, “The Alamo.” The organization says the move would apply only to museums or historical sites and is not an attempt to prevent the use of the name “Alamo” by others. But the outsiders would have to get the DRT’s permission first and might have to pay a licensing fee.

When the state government got wind of the DRT’s move, Texas Attorney General Greg Abbott obtained a 90-day extension to file an opposition, then passed the problem on to Gov. Rick Perry. Everyone hopes something civil can be worked out.

But the Daughters, a 7,000-member nonprofit group, are standing their ground. They say their filing is strictly a business decision because they need money to maintain the Alamo. That is believable, for they have always had financial troubles operating the mission. The group gets no state funds although several appropriations to improve the Alamo have been made, the largest being for the celebration of the Texas Centennial. There is no admission charge, so most operating funds come from the gift shop.

“If anyone should trademark the Alamo, it should be the people who have been running it for 105 years. This is not that big of a deal. There are no issues here, at all. We’re just looking for ways to raise money for the Alamo,” Patti Atkins, president general of the Daughters, told the Austin American-Statesman.

The newspaper scanned the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office website to find page after page of trademarks that include the word “Alamo.” There is the Alamo’s Best Smokehouse Meats; Alamo Café Tortilla Factory; Alamotorcycle Rentals; Remember the Alamo For All Your Trailer Needs; Alamocrackers; Alamo Bingo; The Alamo of Nashville and The Alamo Mexican Food Worth Fightin’ For. This last one was a now-cancelled trademark held by a Mexican restaurant named The Alamo on Main Street in Rosendale, N.Y.

My own research turned up the obvious Alamo Car Rental Co., plus two Alamo Steak Houses – in Tennessee. Here’s one: “Alamo Industrial is the world’s largest manufacturer of tractor-mounted mowers, bush cutters and land clearers.” There is the Alamodome which hosts the Valero Alamo Bowl. The on-line bookseller Amazon lists 3,869 separate books with the word “Alamo” in the title. There have been three movies called “The Alamo” plus offshoots such as “The Man from the Alamo.” The Handbook of Texas has 551 listings for the mission. There is even a registered trademark for “Friends of the Alamo,” a splinter group of two members who were kicked out of the DRT over a fund-raising feud. Must all these parasites pay royalties to the Sisterhood of the Siege?

Some background for newcomers: The mission was built by Spanish padres in  1718 and called San Antonio de Valero. Over the years it was occupied by Spanish troops, the Mexican Army, the Texas Army (briefly), the U.S. government — which used the mission as a warehouse – the Confederacy, the city of San Antonio and the Catholic Church. In 1883 the state purchased some of the property and put it in the custody of the city of San Antonio, again, on condition that the city care for the building and pay a custodian – one guy with a broom. In 1905 the state purchased the rest of  the old Alamo fortress, which was occupied by a business concern, for $65,000, then delivered it all to the DRT to run, which they have done ever since.

Ownership of the name of any icon might not be too clear. For example, the UT Students’ Association copyrighted “The Eyes of Texas” in 1936. That’s why at the end credits in the movie “Giant” the producers thank the Longhorns for the use of their song. The copyright expired and the song now belongs to UT-Austin. The name Bevo is state, or school, property. UT had to sue the city of Fort Worth to stop using for its logo a burnt orange longhorn head. The Seattle Seahawks were taken to court by the Texas Aggies for using the term, 12^th Man.

This trademark move is not the Daughters’ only attempt at fund raising. Last year an Austin PR firm, pro-bono, created a fund-raising campaign that included a dues-paying support group, Allies of the Alamo, and snappy slogans such as, “Bowie defended it with a knife. Now all you need is a ballpoint pen.” “Support our troops. Even the ones from 1836.” “Real courage is fighting 2,000 men while wearing a hat with a tail.”

A great idea, so let’s help out. “The condition of the Alamo is a Travisty.” For the intimidated newcomers: “You don’t have to be a Crockett scientist to support the Alamo.” Here’s one: “I’m an Ally of the Alamo — Mission Accomplice.” We need a slogan for the federal bureaucracy-hating Tea Party members: “The Alamo was defended by government workers – deal with it.” Maybe the Daughters could turn a buck by installing a Ben & Jerry’s in the Long Barracks with the motto: “Remember the a la mode.” Finally: “If we had two Alamos to remember — Los Alamos – forget the knife, Bowie, we’ve got the Bomb.” Anything is better than some dumb line about “the second battle.”

Ashby is trademarked at ashby2@comcast.net