My Travels Through Texas

by Thomas Lee Joseph Smith

Episode 1: Remembering the Alamo

I recently went to San Antonio with my wife and for the most part had a wonderful time, but there were three learning experiences which I’d like to pass on as a favor to other people who might be traveling south and haven’t experienced Texas in all its unique outlook and glory.

My wife is a microbiologist and she was going south to a conference on germs and their relevance in the modern world of pustules and vitamins. I’m not going to talk much about the conference itself, but I will mention one particular meal we had.

At the conference I found myself eating lunch while a big screen TV showed examples of flesh-eating bacteria attacking a pregnant woman named Charity. A lecture on beautiful illness was going on right as lunch was served. I remember the woman’s name was Charity, which was apt, because she was willing to share so much of herself for the camera.

Her screams were replicated perfectly by the conference hall sound system. When her arm fell off the look in her eyes seemed to say, “Here, you have it.” I couldn’t take it much longer. I called out to a waiter. He came over. Even though it was lunch and therefore early in the day I said, “Bloody Mary.” Using the tray he was holding to point to the screen the waiter said, “Just a minute... she’s on next.”

So... no I don’t want to talk about the microbiology conference. I want to talk about the times I spent outside the conference.

One evening we walked over to the Alamo, which is a lovely place. Imagine, if you will, a large shady courtyard out behind a small church. And as you walk along, you, too, will grow amazed that such a bucolic setting could have turned out to be the scene of a bloody battle.

It just so happens, at the time of my visit I was wearing a tiny sombrero. I was wearing white pants and a white shirt and brown sandals and a tiny sombrero perched on the back of my neck. I had purchased it earlier at a small shop. I bought it so I could give it to my grandson.

I was also carrying a colorful blanket draped over my left arm. To top off my look, I was carrying a puppet, the kind that dangles from strings...walking him next to me, his knees were lifting high and his torso twisting left then right. The puppet had a sombrero on the back of his neck, just like me, and a blanket draped over his left arm, just like me.

Because of how my mind works I really, really, truly, really wished there was somewhere I could purchase an even smaller puppet to dangle from the arm of my two-foot tall puppet. I wanted people to look at us and think about the random workings of a mad cosmos, to think about that famous philosophical question: if we woke up tomorrow and everything was half the size it is now, how could we know?

I was at the Alamo dressed like one of the extras that inhabited the movie, The Wild Bunch. When the Wild Bunch marches off to rescue Angelo, they pass farmers and merchants all dressed as I was dressed. Now I was inside one of the smaller buildings and for a moment I was all alone; my wife was in the gift shop and the next tour had been delayed somewhat by a hornet.

In the dark and quiet room I saw an empty lectern.
In the dark and quiet room I saw an open microphone.
In the dark and quiet room I saw an opportunity.

When the next group of tourists ran in to escape the stings of outrageous fortune, they were greeted with the piercing shrill feedback of truth.

I was holding the microphone.
I was going to tell them the truth.

I put the microphone under my armpit till the whistling stopped. I pulled out the microphone and this time I just naturally held it further from my face. I started at a mild pace with mild words:

“First I’d like to thank the Park Service for giving me an opportunity to speak here today.” I said. “My name is Thomas de Smith de Santa Louis. And I’d like to begin with just a few facts (and here began the improv). Let’s start with the Bowie knife,” I said. “A lot of people assume the knife attained its great heft and weight because such properties would be attendant in a wonderfully proficient weapon.

“Dear tourists, such is not so. The knife grew to great size because even in those days carrying concealed weapons was much debated and much reviled, witness the derringer and the damage it has caused to domestic harmony over the years. Jim Bowie was against concealed carry and he made a knife to prove it.”

One of the men in the tour said, “I never trusted that guy.” And many of the men nodded their heads.

“And you’d be surprised,” I said, “how many of today’s social problems can be laid at the feet of our forefathers. There was a time in this very area where the illegal aliens were coming from the north. Imagine that, people in the south distressed at the fact that people were coming down from the north.

“Alarmed at the incursion of so many white settlers into the San Antonio area, Mexico enacted the very controversial law which came to be known as “Sorting by Scoville.”

“People entering the San Antonio area in the 1800’s were required to eat some spicy nuggets of chicken. If they could down 6,000 scoville units they were thought to be from the south; if they couldn’t, it was assumed they were gringos and they were sent packing.

“Or the border agents might ask the new arrivals to display the foods they were carrying on the assumption that if they themselves were carrying some spicy nuggets of chicken. That in itself might prove that the travelers were from the good side of the Rio Grande. Hence was born the infamous phrase, muéstrenos algunas pepitas picantes de pollo, which translated reads... ‘Show us your poppers.’ It’s a good thing I didn’t wait for the laughs as none were forthcoming.

I took a drink from some water that was sitting on the lectern. I stalled for a moment making the puppet dance a little. I took off my sombrero and made the puppet dance around my sombrero. I made the puppet bow at the waist. I placed the puppet up on the lectern.

“And now I’d like to address a serious problem. Even back then there were reports of headless bodies and smuggled drugs. But in 1829 the only known narcotic was some partially hydrated swamp moss; brownish-green moss that clumped together and smelled bad. This substance went by the street name, ‘mule droppings’.

“Let’s imagine a scene from those good old days of yesteryear. Two weary travelers approach an inn. They include a man on foot and a young woman riding a mule.

‘Do you have any room in this inn?’ says the man.

‘No,’ says the innkeeper, ‘but you may stay in the stable.’

‘We don’t want to stay in the stable,’ says the man.

‘Christ, you people are picky,’ says the innkeeper.

Just then a police officer approaches. ‘Are you a mule?’ he asks.

‘Sir, that is my mule.’

‘He seems to be carrying mule droppings,’ says the officer.

‘I suppose he is,’ says the man.

“The man goes to jail, the woman goes to live with her parents, and the mule gets auctioned off as seized property.”

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a very puzzled park service employee approaching the area where I was standing.

Speaking to the crowd I said, “And now if you head out to the courtyard there will be free refreshments and pony rides for the kids.” I grabbed my puppet and my sombrero and rushed for the door.

My wife didn’t ask any questions when I found her and told her we had to run. We’d run away before.

People were pointing us out to the police as we fled.

A man called out, “Remember the Alamo!”

My wife yelled back, “We will.”

* * *

Proceed to Episode 2...

To Challenge 432...