Dear Friends,
Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it means to me to be a Texan. My
friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway, this fella asked
me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So I set out to think
about rewriting something.
I considered writing about all the great things I love about Texas. There
are way too many things to list. I can't even begin to do it justice. Lemme
let you in on my short list. It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in
and of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Grandad
taught me more about life than fishin, and enough about fishin to last a
lifetime. I can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and
Abilene and Poteet and every place in between. Every little part of Texas
feels special. Every person who ever flew the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or
Victoria or Manor or wherever they call "home" as the best little part of
the best state.
So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I really want to say. Last
year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make Texas
what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael
DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that
came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails
and thinkin about where I've been and what I've done since the last time I
wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is really
great.
You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first time.
I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But you know all my damned
friends are always talking about "the time they went to Europe." So, I
finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did when they
saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met me. "Hey cowboy, we
love Texas." I guess the hat tipped em off. But let me tell you what, they
all came up with a smile on their faces. You know why? They knew for damned
sure that I was gonna be nice to em. They knew it cause they knew I was from
Texas. They knew something that hadn't even hit me. They knew Texans, even
though they'd never met one. That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what
is great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were
trekking across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come
home after 8? Do you know why every time I cross the border I say, "Lord,
please don't let me die in _____"?
Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great State
and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a rhombus from
a trapezoid? I can tell you that right quick. You. The same spirit that made
186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago
is still in you today. Why else would my friend send me William Barrett
Travis' plea for help in an email just a week ago, or why would Charles
Stanfield ask me to reprint a Texas Independence column from a year ago?
What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't know if I can marry a man
who doesn't love Texas like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming
to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what used to be a
nation that is now a state? Because the spirit that made that nation is the
spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call
Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to every one of us.
You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is alive in all of us, even
if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it's our responsibility
to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a "Native Texan" or an
"I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could" sticker on his
car understands. Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a
Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean. My Dad's buddy Bill has an
old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well,
that's what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire.
To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas.
That part of Oklahoma was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you
got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say,
"what the Hell is that?" when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who
sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't the
shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of mind. You're what makes Texas.
The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this,
because that's what Texas means to you, that's what makes Texas what it is.
The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk and
think, "Sonofabitch. Littering on MY highway."
When was the last time you went to a person's house in New York and you saw
a big map of New York on their wall? That was never. When did you ever drive
through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row? Can
you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't.
But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from your house and not see a
business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven't done
business with someone called AllTex something or Lone Star somebody or
other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too long.
When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker, or an
accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what she is,
she'll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either of em might say "I'm
a republican," or they might be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they
are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or "I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a
Smith," they tell you they're a Texan. I got nothin against all those other
places, and Lord knows they've probably got some fine folks, but in your gut
you know it just like I do, Texas is just a little different.
So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken down on
the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in California,
buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas Independence Day.
Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying
this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn't know the story,
tell them.
When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender and
he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that he and
his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your average every day
men. Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that's
why it means it today. It means just what all those people North of the Red
River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no mountain that we
can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means that
Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is richer and
Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in Texas. It
means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the Good
Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that counts
for something. So for today at least, when your chance comes around, go out
and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If you are sitting
wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't for you. But if the
first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is find
the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands,
then you're the reason I wrote this tonight, and this is for you. So until
next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.
Bum Phillips |
