The Great Texas Freeze-Out of 2021

Well, that was something.

As a native Houstonian, I used to look north at winter with a sense of missing out. Look, they had snow. That all changed when I spent a semester in grad school back in 1996 in Kent State University in northeast Ohio. I got a taste of winter and a new understanding came over me: I was not, in fact, missing out on anything. Don't get me wrong: snow for skiing is still awesome. But I was done with cold weather, and I vowed, as I crossed back into Texas that summer never to complain about the heat again. 

And I haven't. Partway through this week, I told my son I can't wait for August in Texas. 

Winters here in Houston are relatively mild most of the time. I kept my Ohio winter jacket but rarely need it. A few years ago, we literally got winter for a weekend. A big cold snap that killed plants but we were back to our normal Houston winter the following week. No problem.

But this week was a problem. For me and my family and millions of others. 

This past weekend was normal. My wife and I watched some television on Sunday night before she retired to bed. My son returned from his job and ventured into his room to watch some anime and YouTube. I had Presidents' Day off so I stayed up later than usual. I channel surfed before falling asleep on the couch, a rarity for me. So tired was I that not only did I fall asleep in my clothes but I didn't plug in my iPhone.

Two hours after midnight on Monday morning, the sleet arrived and the power blipped out. As a resident of the fourth largest city in the country, when our power goes out, it's usually back on in minutes or less. As a preemptive measure, I lit the gas fireplace. I didn't turn it off until Wednesday night when our power was restored. Fifty-eight hours in case you were wondering. 

Monday and Tuesday were the worst, with Monday night the coldest weather I've endured since Ohio. But at least in Ohio we had power and heaters. For two days, during the worst cold to hit the city in thirty years--some say over a century--there was no power in the house.

Our house is U-shaped. On one end was the TV room. That's where the fireplace is. It faces north which, during hurricane season (they come from the south) is a good thing. No so much for winter weather. We put sheets over the back glass door and the short front hallway. We closed the hall door to the back of the house. When we had to let our dogs out, I used the back game room as the 'airlock.' Every door in the house was opened and closed. We could literally feel the temperature drop as we went into each room. 

We stocked our essential refrigerator food into the ice chest and took it outside. Ditto for the frozen food. The irony there was that we needed simply to leave it outside. It was cold enough. We brought in the sleeping bags and the air mattress that we discovered held no air into the main room and hunkered down.

Fearing burst water pipes, we preemptively turned off the water at the house. As of yesterday morning, we still hadn't turned it back on. We wanted Friday's sun and another day's worth of home heating to warm the pipes and pray they didn't burst. For the bathroom facilities, yes, we harvested snow for the bathtub. My dad--who grew up in Tyler, Texas, and dealt with spotty electricity as something that happened frequently enough that they had lanterns around the house--reminded me of the rhyme about hygiene without water: "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down." 

The clothes I fell asleep in back on Sunday consisted of jeans, undershirt, button down shirt, and a wool sweater. Monday morning, I added a knit sweater and a hoodie. For my head, I put on a stocking cap. In the house. Despite the gas fireplace (and gas stove), the temperature continued to drop. The lowest it got in that room, with three people, two dogs, and a cat, was 39 degrees.

With no power to charge our phones, my boy and I went out to my car, which is now the oldest of the three cars and gets to spend its time in the driveway. Lucky for us. I had filled the tank and the boy and I sat for hours, charging phones, listening to classic rock radio, and getting warm. The wife opted to stay inside with the dogs and the fireplace, layered up, and read or played Plants vs. Zombies. 

Driving around on Monday with the snow and ice on the roads, some of my old Ohio skills returned. I used it as a teaching experience. We found a Walgreens open and bought some more batteries, a trio of flashlights, and some ground coffee. I buy coffee beans and grind them myself, but without power, those beans are as good as useless.

There's something to be said for being a parent and not being able to keep your child warm. Sure, he's nineteen, but there's still that part of you that knows your child will go to bed cold and there's nothing you can do about it other than offer him more blankets. Ditto for your wife. 

With no other distractions, it is amazing how long an hour can feel. Then a day, and then another day. Cell service was spotty so we'd get our news in fits and starts. We brought in an old battery powered jam box on Tuesday evening--hard to remember where it was--and we three settled into a pleasant waiting experience. Sure, it was fifty-something in the house, but you'd be amazed how warm that felt. 

Wednesday around lunchtime as the boy and I were in line for gas the wife called. The power had blipped off/on/off and then it came on. We drove to a battery store and called my parents. They had lost power, too, but it had come back on. The boy and I feared we'd get the call from the wife that the power had gone off again, but, by the time we got home, it was still on. And it stayed on the rest of the week.

Yet we still operated like we had no power. We were asked to conserve and ratio power so we did. We finally turned off the gas fireplace to conserve natural gas for others. We only used a single lamp in the TV room and didn't turn on the TV. We still used flashlights to get around the house, including when taking the dogs out. We repeated the exercise Thursday night, but did turn on the TV for news and escape. 

Speaking of escape, I got to thank my Kindle yet again. With its light feature and a lot of time to kill, I read Open and Shut by David Rosenfelt most of the way through. 

It's Friday morning as I write this. The sun is shining and I hear the sound of a chainsaw down the street. Sure, I'm still wearing three layers in the house and the thermostat shows 63 in the house--more shared conservation--but I'm hoping today will be the first normal day since Sunday. I'm looking forward to turning the water back on. Sure, we'll have to boil our water, but we'll have running water in the house. Which means we won't have to worry about mellow yellow in the toilet. Which means a shower, a luxury we've not experienced since Sunday. Had a short laugh on Wednesday night when I finally changed out of those Sunday clothes and into fresh PJs and caught a whiff of the body odor the five layers were masking. 

There will be investigations, accusations, blame, and accountability in the months to come. Our legislature is in session this spring so I hope something will be done to ensure something as severe as the Presidents' Day Ice Storm of 2021 doesn't happen again. Well, we can't prevent Mother Nature from doing this again, but we sure as hell can prepare better. 

This was my story as my family experienced it. We're going to learn a whole lot more as we get some distance. Many of those stories will be heart-wrenching and anger inducing and deservedly so. But there will also be stories of shared sacrifice people coming to each others' aid. Let's be sure to listen to them both, commiserate with those who have suffered and celebrate with those who came through. 

My family and I came through. Ain't gonna lie: it was hard but manageable. I consider us blessed to have persevered as smoothly as we did. Other did not. Let's keep them in our prayers and figure out ways to help them now and prepare us all for the next time. Because if we're talking Mother Nature, there will be a next time.

It also made us very aware of just how much electricity we use. As the boy and I drove around the west side of town on Thursday night, much of the power was back on. Office buildings and parking garages were lit up with abandon. So were various commercial places. It was a lot of power at a time we are supposed to conserve. We can't do much about those places, but already we are ensuring all lights and nonessential appliances in our house are turned off. It's a lesson we've certainly learned and will carry forward, thankful for what we have.

But I also want to leave you with this wonderful story: the family who welcomed their newborn son into the world while stuck at home without power or water. Wow.

Update: The pipes held although the water flow in a couple of the sinks have low flow. We think it is the rust of the pipes that have settled and now is clogging those little filters at the faucet. We'll have to fix that this weekend.

Update 2: As of Friday evening, the house was more or less back to normal. We still have pots in the kitchen full of clean, pre-storm water to drink. But it's a little surreal to walk through the house again, the sheets having been taken down and the sleeping bags back in the garage. It's good to be back to normal. May it last a long, long time. 

The Wickhams: Christmas at Pemberley by Main Street Theater

Sometimes the unexpected becomes utterly charming.

My wife’s aunt is in town from Tucson and she loves the theater. No sooner did the thought of theater enter my wife’s mind than she went online and found the Main Street Theater’s website. We were in luck: Friday, November 22, was a preview performance of The Wickhams: Christmas at Pemberley by Lauren Gunderson and Margot Melcon. We snagged three of the last tickets available, and they weren’t even together.

Didn’t matter.

The Intimacy of Main Street Theater

Perhaps the greatest selling point of the Main Street Theater (MST) is the size and arrangement of the venue. The stage is actually the center portion of a room about the size of two standard living rooms put together. On all four sides are three rows of seats. I made a point to count them. I came up with 110 total. Clear lines of sight, including the other audience members. The actors perform in the center section, with the entrances situated on the four corners. Live theater is fantastic, but to have the actors literally be steps from you is another thing entirely. You feel like you’re a part of the story. You just don’t have any lines to memorize.

The Setting

The Wickhams: Christmas at Pemberley is the second sequel Gunderson and Melcon have written to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Even if you’re like me and know nothing about the story going into the theater, the title tells you enough. It’s Christmas and the setting is the Pemberley estate, the ancestral home of Fitzwilliam Darcy who is now married to Elizabeth, the heroine of Austen’s novel. The family is gathering during the days before Christmas and this includes Lydia Wickham, Elizabeth’s sister who wed George Wickham in the novel. George, it seems, is away much of the time, but Lydia, although lonely for her husband [she knows nothing of the true reason George wed her] is nevertheless enjoying the season.

The setting is the lower floor of the Pemberley Estate. If you’ve seen Downton Abbey, it’s the downstairs room where all the servants spend their time making the upstairs, fancy rooms run smoothly. I’m a big fan of entire stories that take place in one setting.

The Seven Characters

The play consists of only seven characters, three servants and four upstairs folk. There is Mrs. Reynolds, the head of the servants, the one who makes Pemberley hum. Brian is a footman with a penchant for tinkering and inventing things and longs to improve his station. He has a little history with Cassie, the new kitchen maid, recently added to the staff. He has eyes for her, but she’s desperate to make her own way in life.

If you write a sequel to Pride and Prejudice, you have to include Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth are getting used to being the heads of the household and are still very much in love. Lydia Wickham pines for her husband, but is excited to be visiting Pemberley again. Finally, there is George Wickham, always trying to scheme his way to fortune and always failing, despite the bribe he accepted from Mr. Darcy to get him to marry Lydia.

The Story

The plot of the play has multiple threads. There is Cassie, her new job, and the interactions between her and Brian. You’ve got Lydia, fluttering around the estate relishing the vibe of the season. Mrs. Reynolds just tries to keep the machine that is Pemberley well oiled and running, something that’s thrown asunder when George shows up, bleeding from a recent fight. His appearance and the actions of the various characters to him sparks the main part of the story and drives it to its conclusion.

The Superb Cast

Like I wrote before, I didn’t have a clue about this story going into the theater, and it was such a refreshing way to experience a tale. Think about it: for just about every story you consume, you read a blurb on a dust jacket, see a movie trailer, or watch a commercial. To go into the theater cold and just allow the story unfold in front of you is great.

But with theater, the story is told via the actors and this cast was fantastic. Claire Hart-Palumbo gave Mrs. Reynolds the gravitas necessary to the woman who runs the entire estate. Her humorous moments typically came as a response to the events and were wonderfully understated but still authoritative.

Alyssa Marek as Cassie brought a modernness to her role that might not have existed were this play not written over two hundred years after Austen’s novel. Marek relied on body language and subtle side-eyes to convey the character’s feelings and frustrations as well as some truly funny moments.

Nathan Wilson as Brian was did remarkably well as a footman who wanted more in life. The eagerness in his delivery when he explained his inventions really gave you the sense this character was destined for something greater if only the rigid class system of Regency Britain would allow it. Facially, Wilson gave Brian those extra little nuances that had me smiling throughout most of the performance.

I honestly cannot recall any of the actors who played Mr. Darcy in the various films, but Alan Brincks was fantastic. His deep baritone voice could fill the space when he was making a ruling as head of the household or come out soft when talking with his wife. I loved his costume and how he would often stand as if he were posing for a portrait.

That loud baritone would often boom when Darcy faced off against George Wickham. Blake Weir sported a short beard, more of a glorified five o’clock shadow, which added to Wickham’s ne’er-do-well character. The kind of scoundrel he was. There was a haughtiness to Weir’s vocal styling that made you enjoy rooting against him.

Leslie Lenert as Elizabeth was every bit the heroine Austen imagined. Still in love with Darcy, Lenert portrayed Elizabeth as a strong woman, capable of defending her husband’s actions as well as taking actions on her own to help her sister. When Lenert would look at Brincks, you get the impression they really are a couple.

But if there was a standout to the performance I saw, it was Skyler Sinclair’s portrayal of Lydia. Again, I came in to the story cold—so cold, in fact, that at intermission, I had to be reminded of what Darcy did for Wickham in the novel—so all I knew of Lydia was how Sinclair played her. Sinclair as Lydia is a carefree soul, full of smiles and pithy asides. The way she could deploy humorous facial expressions really fleshed out Lydia as a character. As funny as Lydia is, however, her story arc is the one that changes the most, calling for broader emotional expressions. Sinclair delivers all aspects of the arc splendidly.

The Verdict

I haven’t watched a play in a little over a year, and the performances at the Main Street Theater reminded me how much I enjoy watching stories unfold in front me. I think I wore a goofy grin on my face throughout most of the show as the story twisted this way and that, but especially for the talented actors.

Experiencing a story with no prior knowledge was a blast. Makes me want to subscribe to an entire season and just show up at the theater with no preconceived ideas about the play or the playwrights.

Speaking of playwrights, I researched both Gunderson and Melcon on the way home after the play. There is an excellent 2017 article from The New Yorker that includes the genesis of their first collaboration. Ironically, the title of the article is “You’ve Probably Never Heard of America’s Most Popular Playwright.” I count myself in that category prior to Friday night. Now? If I see a Gunderson play being showcased in a Houston theater, I’m buying a ticket.

I thoroughly enjoyed The Wickhams: Christmas at Pemberley as did my wife and her aunt. We talked about it all the way home. The actors did a superb job at bringing this delightful tale to life, and I almost want to see it again, but I don’t want to deprive others the chance to see this show. The production runs through 22 December, but tickets for most of the performances are selling fast or limited.

Head to the Main Street Theater’s website today and add this tale to your Christmas season. 

Year of an Indie Writer: Week 42

In book-related news, I witnessed something wonderful this week, and I have my wife to thank.

On Monday night, here in Houston, we traveled to Blue Willow Bookshop to attend an author event with Elin Hilderbrand (my review). The author event was not a new experience. Frankly, it was pretty much like most every author event I have attended before. No, what struck me was the clientele.

The audience was almost exclusively women.

Granted, the kinds of books Hildebrand writes generally appeal to women. But in most of the author events I've gone to tend to focus on books I like. Me. A dude. And most of those events have been sparsely attended.

Not so the folks at Blue Willow on Monday. It was packed.

We arrived about thirty minutes before show time and we managed to snag the last two side-by-side seats. By the time seven o'clock rolled around, the strangling guests were in standing room only. I literally think I could count the number of guys in the room on one hand. Yup. Exactly five that I can remember. The rest of the, say, fifty fans were ladies of all ages.

Ladies who read. Passionately. And follow everything Hilderbrand writes. In fact, she commented she had finished next summer's novel that very day. She dangled a tidbit about the book and the audience reacted with a combination of happiness and anticipation at having to wait until the summer of 2020.

All of this isn't news. More women read books than men. I knew that ahead of time. But I hadn't actually witnessed it. Now I have. I even commented on it to my wife and the fellow reader, Elizabeth, we met.

The following day, in a text, my wife asked when I planned on having an author event at Blue Willow. "When I have written a book I think Valerie's [owner] customers will like."

There's the key, right? Somehow align what readers want to read with books I want to write. Writing to market is as old as writing. Nothing new there, either. Which makes me think of all the stories on my immediate To Be Written pile and ponder which one of those might most appeal to women.

I think I'll write that one first, and then, on a day sometime in the not-too-distant future, I'll have my book signing at Blue Willow.

Elin Hilderbrand in Houston

When I noted Elin Hilderbrand, one of my wife's favorite authors, was going to have an event at Houston's Blue Willow Bookshop celebrating the publication of WHAT HAPPENS IN PARADISE, I faced a choice: tell her ahead of time or just surprise her with a secret trip.

Blue Willow Bookshop is an independent bookstore in west Houston that is like the TV show Cheers: when you walk through the doors, you are among friends. We were told to arrive early because Hilderbrand can fill a room. My wife, a jewelry artist (betojdesigns.com), got the biggest and happiest surprise when owner Valerie greeted us...while wearing a pair of my wife's handmade earrings. A great night already made better.

The good folks at Blue Willow weren't kidding about the expected crowd. The small neighborhood bookstore filled rapidly. We arrived almost thirty minutes ahead of time and we snagged one of the last pair of seats side by side. We struck up a wonderful conversation with a woman named Elizabeth. We talked about Hilderbrand's books and other favorite authors, but as 7:00 pm rolled around, it was show time.

Hilderbrand spoke about why she focuses on what she calls beach books. If you've seen the covers of her books, you'll know what I'm talking about and will almost instantly recognize them as hers. She told a story about her childhood in a blended family, spending summers up on the beaches in the northeast. Sadly, her father's death stopped those wonderful times. She had a realization one day that she couldn't get her father back, but she could recapture those summers. Thus, her beach books.

The Q and A portion was also equally as good, with other folks asking the very questions I'd have asked, which for a writer, is a process question. Hilderbrand writes her books chronologically, shifting viewpoints as she goes. On a question regarding writer's block, I was pleasantly surprised to know she does the same thing as me: re-read the manuscript from the beginning until you've reached your stopping point. Generally, what has blocked you will work itself out.

Speaking of process, she completed her summer 2020 book yesterday in a hotel room, proof that professional fiction writers always are working.

I was also impressed Hilderbrand answered the perennial question: what is your favorite book. I have my own answer. So did she: BLUE BISTRO. Judging by the audible sounds of affirmation among the gathered crowd, it sounded like she wasn't alone.

Guess which book of Hilderbrand's I'll be reading first.

The line to get the new book signed was handled well, and my wife got to meet one of her favorite authors. All in all, it was a wonderful night. Thanks to all the folks at Blue Willow, Hilderbrand for her tour, and readers in general for always turning out for a live author event.

Oh, and if you're wondering if I told my wife ahead of time about the event, well she doesn't have a Facebook account and I don't think she's on Blue Willow's email list (I am), but I couldn't tell for sure. I ended up telling her about it and ordering the new book for her. It was the better decision because the anticipation built up in the days and hours leading to the event.

One Last KISS in Houston

Forty-one years and nine months. The first is the number of years I've been a KISS fan. The latter is the difference between the day I bought my tickets for the last KISS show in Houston and the day they actually arrived in town. And in that span, time marched on.

Gene Simmons turned seventy. Paul Stanley turned sixty-seven. And then some of the tour dates got postponed. Crap! Was there some health issues? Was there something the band, which also  includes Tommy Thayer on lead guitar and Eric Singer on drums, wasn't letting fans know about? Would we Houstonians get our last KISS?

I needn't have worried. The End of the Road Tour landed in Houston on Monday, 9 September, and it was about as perfect a show as I've ever seen by the band. It brought bittersweet emotions at the end, but it started with something that never, ever gets old.

You Wanted the Best...

After performance artist David Garibaldi painted three large canvases (ZZ Top; Mick Jagger; KISS), the crew altered the stage and raised the familiar KISS curtain. Various rock songs played during, and I was ecstatic to hear "Dirty Sexy Money" by The Struts boomed through the speakers.

But when Led Zepplin's "Rock and Roll" started, everyone knew it was time. The lights were doused, the synth notes vibrated the walls of the Toyota Center, and the two screens on each side of the stage--shaped in the familiar KISS Army logo--showed the band walking backstage. The the forty-year pronouncement of "Alright, Houston! You wanted the best, you got the best. The hottest band in the world! KISS!"

The eighth-note riff of "Detroit Rock City" greeted us, the stage lights blared on, the curtain fell, and the pyro exploded. There they were: Paul, Gene, and Tommy coming down on large saucer-shaped pads, smoke and sparks flying. Hexagonal video panels hovered over the stage. A monster screen dominated the backstage area, just behind a large metallic artifice that served as the pyro's portals.

As I told my son who attended with me: "This never, ever gets old." I can think of no other rock act--ever--who opens a show in a manner like KISS. Will there ever be another band like this? Never say never, but KISS showed the world how to open a show.

...We Got the Best (Setlist We Could Hope For)

Now, in preparation for this show, I looked at no setlist ahead of time, but you don't really have to. For the most part, the setlists have remained static with the occasional album cut gem thrown in. Sure, I'd love to hear "Yes I Know (Nobody's Perfect)", "Modern Day Delilah," "Danger Us," "Ladies Room," "Hell or Hallelujah," or "Naked City," but that simply is never going to happen. There is no reason to hope for something like that and walk away disappointed. Chicago's my other favorite band and they, too, have had basically the same setlist for a generation. If that pisses you off, don't buy a ticket.

Having said all that, this was about as good a KISS concert as I’ve ever seen. Five songs from the 1980s. Out of twenty total songs, that's 25%. Perfectly fine with that. Plus, we got a Sonic Boom cut ("Say Yeah") and the perennial favorite new song, "Psycho Circus." That left thirteen tunes from the band's 1970s heyday.

Let me go ahead and say this as well: When Eric Singer sang "Beth," he knocked it out of the park. Taking nothing away from Peter Criss, I have long since skipped that song when it comes up on shuffle on my phone. I had to sit through it that night, but I didn't mind. It was different. It was powerful. I want this version on audio.

And we even got a kick-ass version of "I Was Made For Lovin' You", 100,000 Years," and a personal favorite, "Let Me Go, Rock and Roll."

The Hottest Band in the World (Who Knows How to Entertain)

Knowing this was the final tour, KISS pulled out all the stops and lit all the fuses. The fire was felt by those of us on the far side and in the upper deck. The explosions were wonderfully loud. Ironically, this is the first time I've seen the band in a basketball arena. The Woodlands Pavilion is outdoors and has a sound ordinance. The new Sugar Land Smart Pavilion Center is great, but when I saw KISS there in 2017, they volume could have been turned up.

Not this time. The music was pleasantly loud. The vocals propulsive. The drums booming. Tommy's lead guitar tastefully screeching.

As the show kept going, there was plenty of time for Paul Stanley to chitchat with the audience. Because this is the last time he'll have all us Houstonians in the same room as the same time. It was all smiles all the time.

But the end was inevitable.

The Last KISS

I know myself. The older I get, the more emotional (sappy, as my wife says) I get. I had an internal debate on how emotional I'd get during the opening song and during the finale. For the opener, I was all smiles and fist pumping.

But as the opening chords of "Rock and Roll All Nite" started, I knew this was it. This was the last time I'd hear KISS play this song. This is their mission statement, their life outlook for the most part. It was a chorus everyone the world over can sing. This is their Hall of Fame song.

I had my phone in position, snapping photos, but I was not watching through the screen. I was watching with my eyes, my youth, my adulthood, my fandom, and everything else. As Paul started to break his guitar, the emotions welled up. I didn't exactly roll a tear, but they were there. The last few moments of me seeing KISS in person, it was through a mixture of confetti in the air and tears in my eyes.

KISS was my first favorite rock band. And now I've seen them for the last time. Sure, there will be more videos, maybe even a DVD of this tour, and maybe even a one-off show in the future. But I likely will never see them again. I will never see the band that captured my imagination as a boy and still resonates with me in middle age.

I walked out of that building thoroughly satisfied with the show.

Man! Has it been a great time.

Thanks, KISS, for being a part of my life (and the lives of millions more).

Interview with Don Price of Son of Houston-Con: Part 3

Son of Houston-Con IV (2019) starts tomorrow and I've been running a lengthy interview with Don Price.

In Part 1, Mr. Price discussed his origins as a comic book reader and him attending the early conventions. In Part 2, we discussed what he's had to do in order to host the four Son of Houston-Cons and the featured guests this year.

Today is something special. It is only one question, but as you will read in Mr. Price's opening statement, "Hold on to your hat."

Be sure to read to the end, because Mr. Price sums up his outlook on life that I appreciate and to which I subscribe.

Note: Son of Houston-Con IV (2019) will be held this Saturday and Sunday, 7-8 September, from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm at the Wyndham West located at 14703 Park Row. Tickets are only $5.00. Here is a Facebook link with more information.

You seem to be a part of several very uniquely Houston communities.  Would you care to share a bit about what this city means to you and how you've seen it change over the last 60 years?

Hold on to your hat. So I was an Air Force brat who moved around a lot, and then it became a “broken family” when my mom and dad divorced (before that was common.) So it took me eight different schools to get through 12th grade. They were: Jim Bowie in Baytown for 1st and 2nd grade, Shearn and Red elementary schools. Jonston Jr. High, then Lanier Jr. High for what is now called “middle school.” Then I had one year at HSPVA [High School for the Performing and Visual Arts], and then finished high school at Lamar.

I had to decide whether I wanted to stay an introvert or forge ahead and make new friends everywhere I went. It used to drive one of my bosses crazy when “important” video clients when come in and I would treat them as if we knew each other all our lives. My philosophy became, “I never met a stranger.” I met have met plenty of stuck-up people with more reserve than was called for, but no real strangers, other than maybe the creepy Serial Killer I met when I was hitch-hiking in the 70s. For real!!!

But I always attributed it to the social skills I developed as a survival technique from moving so much and maybe the Officers’ gene I inherited from my dad that I have variously been the President of the Jaguar Club of Houston (I have a 1952 XK-120 and a 1962 XK-E) and a Wing Leader in the Commemorative Air Force.

I am putting on my fourth Son of Houston-Con now. This is in addition to the fact that I still play original music live, and have played coast to coast. I played the opening night of infamous “The Island” on Main Street. Later on our beautiful lead singer was accepted to Columbia University and we wound up following her up for visits and have played New York City multiple times. And when she got busy we booked into clubs with what I call “The Houston Band” and were well received. When my nephew Matt moved to Seattle we wound up using his place as a base to play there. And Austin is just down the road by comparison. Let’s save the stories about when I used to choreograph, teach and perform dance for another article.

But Legacy? I have been in Houston through the days when it mushroomed in size. The 610 Loop was not built yet when we moved here in 1964. It was started, but nowhere near complete. The city has always had an inferiority complex, even when we had one of the largest conventions in the country. There was no Comic Con in San Diego, or at least it was not the mammoth it was to become. And because of its growth, everyone seemed to be from someplace else, so it was easy to sit back and let the rest of the country bash us!

But things changed in Houston’s self-confidence. I think NASA’s achievements started that, but that was shared across the nation and the world. The Houston Rocket’s winning back-to-back championships did TWO things. It showed that Houston sports teams COULD win championships, especially after the Oilers had been screwed over. But it also showed how much the power centers of the East and West Coasts hated us when they ignored the Rockets on such venues as Sports Illustrated and then ignored the rules to avoid a three-peat.

Stick with me. Pop Culture matters! And sports is part of it for a city’s group gestalt. So my opinion is that things are getting a LOT better in Houston. Now the Astros won a championship and you could see people perked up. Of course the “I hate sports” curmudgeons are snorting, but you could see it when the basketball and baseball teams won.

What has that to do with comic book conventions? Well Houston already proved it could put on some of the best conventions in the country. And as far as Airshows go, Wings Over Houston rightfully claims to be one of the top air shows in the nation. But comic books and airplanes are on the fringe: Geeky fringe in the case of comics and hardcore aviation in the case of Wings Over Houston.

My little show is a start and I am getting some help. Will it grow to the scope of the original Houstoncons? Not without some more help and support. The OLD Houstoncons stopped when people started moving away and having life distractions. But the potential is there. Of course the elephant in the article is Comicpalooza. It is proof that the fan base is there and willing to pay $35.00 a day to walk miles through a convention center that is filled more and more with things that have less and less to do with comic books. But SOMETHING is there in the comic book industry. The fresh creativity to generate projects that start on cheap paper and wind up multi-million dollar movies and spawn whole franchises.

And then there was “The Big Bang Theory.” Suddenly Geek became chic. Who knew? Amazingly enough Bedrock City provides all the proper comic books for “Young Sheldon.” So the same Richard Evans who owns Bedrock City was in Roy’s Memory Shop rifling through bins and stacks of comics when I was riding my 10-speed over and he was at the same Houstoncons when I was getting lost on the way home on that same bike. Until some bastard stole it from my back porch at La Fonda Apartments, long since torn down but proudly decaying over by the Summit, where the Rockets won back-to-back championships.

But most of all, REMEMBER THIS: “These are THE Good old Days!”

Interview with Don Price of Son of Houston-Con: Part 2

Yesterday, Don Price talked about his early life as a comic book reader and collector and those first conventions here in Houston. Can you believe the story about Batman #1?

Today, we're focused on the four Son of Houston-Cons Mr. Price has sponsored, the challenges faced and overcome, and the guests of this year's convention. If the weather forecast is accurate, at least it won't rain this year.

Note: Son of Houston-Con IV (2019) will be held this Saturday and Sunday, 7-8 September, from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm at the Wyndham West located at 14703 Park Row. Tickets are only $5.00.

In the beginning, did you have a plan to turn Son of Houston-con into an annual event? 

I had no idea whether I would ever do another one. This year is my fourth show, and believe me, a fifth is still up in the air.

The first show in 2012 was basically a ten-table swap meet at a La Quinta and I didn’t even charge admission, but I charged the dealers just enough to cover the rent. And it rained! The room was so small that if ten “civilians” were inside the room, it seemed packed.

So in 2013 I got ambitious and moved it to the Hilton on the Southwest freeway, which was near where the long since torn down Royal Coach Inn was. And it rained! I almost made money on that show until the Hilton came up with certain post-show room fees that made it basically me throwing a comic book party.

Then I became Wing Leader of a Commemorative Air Force unit that was restoring a B-17 bomber to flight and “funny books” had to be put away for some real life adventures. Then I had back problems that resulted in two surgeries, but all the while friends and cohorts were asking me, “When are you going to do another one?” Finally in 2017 I did the Return of Son of Houston-con III and, lo and behold, Hurricane Harvey came to town the week before.

When I attended the Son of Houstoncon show in 2017, one of the things I noticed was your program from the 1971 Houstoncon with original big screen Superman Kirk Alyn the featured guest. How did that booking come about? 

You’ll have to see Clayton Thorp’s article [in the program for Son of Houston-Con IV for the cost of $5.00 for both days]. I was too young to know ANY of the backstory on that.

This year's convention is officially Son of Houstoncon IV. What made you resurrect and create Son of Houstoncon? What were some of the challenges?

Why resurrect the name is easy. The Houstoncon association has so many great memories for those of us that are still around. And the vacuum that there is in Houston for what would be a “medium”-sized show that concentrates on older books, for the most part, was waiting to be filled.

The psychological hurdle of calling something starting so small Houston-Con (hyphenated) when Houstoncon (un-hyphenated) was so large is one thing. Another thing is the old-timers lurking in the weeds. I know somebody else owns the un-hyphenated name, but no one is doing anything with it.

Now that we're gearing up for Son of Houstoncon 2019, was the process easier? Did you have more response based on the success of the 2017 con? 

Son of Houston-Con 2017 was a bear! It was one week after Hurricane Harvey and I had at least three dealers bow out because they had lost their homes. I asked some for the larger dealers like Bedrock City and Richard Evans was of the opinion that whoever COULD make it needed the distraction. By that point, everybody knew someone who had gone through the worst experience of his or her lives. I lost a little money as the producer of that Con, but it was more than worth it to see people jazzed.

As for 2019 getting easier? No!!! That was why there wasn’t a 2018 conventino. All the hotels seemed to have raised their rates and it was touch and go for putting on the 2019 Number IV. I did have a steady stream of vendors after me to put on another show. If the stars had not aligned and the rent been right for the space at the Wyndham, it might have slipped another year. I cannot say enough about the help I have had this year from Clayton Thorp and Angelo Juarez. It makes a real difference to have people in your camp actually doing leg work and providing encouragement.

How do you feel about fandom in Houston today?  It's certainly larger, but does it feel closer than it did in the 60 and 70s?  Is there anything you would like to see change about it in the future?

What Son of Houston-Con is ALL about is connecting the younger fans with the classic material that was before MY time. I love Golden Age books, and am glad I got them when they were “affordable.” I say that in quotes on purpose. But the thing is—I got into those books because of the reprints that Marvel and DC did of their own books AND shops like Roy’s Memory Shop and Roy Bonario extolling the coolness of certain books and movies and serials. I even put out an email to my dealers in 2017 asking them to ask the younger fans what they thought was cool and to show them what us older geeks thought was the best. If that doesn’t happen it is going to be BAD for comic collecting in general.

Who are the guests for Son of Houstoncon 2019?

Doug Hazlewood—Longtime artist for Marvel and DC comics at various times.

Anthony Tollin—Colorist for DC (on some Major books) and publisher of several books on The Shadow and other Pulp heroes.

Jim Newsome—artist who provided a lot of fan art for HCCA and went on to have work published in the seminal Rocket’s Blast/Comic Collector as well as Marvel.

J. David Spurlock—Author and publisher of several books on comic book greats and representative of the Wallace (Wally) Wood estate.

Paul Pearson—Fanzine and blog writer

Writers—Greg Kelso and Shane Lassetter

Upcoming Artists—Shawn Machie and Perry Edwards.

Remember: Don Newton was showing up as barely established when he took Houstoncon by storm. Doug Hazlewood won a tryout for amateur artists with Marvel. Everyone starts SOMEWHERE and for some of them Houstoncon played a big part!

There wouldn't be a Son of Houston-Con without people like Richard Evans of Bedrock City Comics and Roy Bonario of Roy's Memory Shop supporting and encouraging me.

Continue on to Part 3.

Interview with Don Price of Son of Houston-Con: Part 1

When I saw there was going to be a Son of Houston-Con IV for 2019, I knew I'd be going. I thoroughly enjoyed the 2017 edition and wrote about it. Not only did I get a chance to chat with the organizer, Don Price, but I got to meet Roy Bonario. He was the owner of Roy's Memory Shop, a fixture in the Houston fan community for decades.

But I didn't really have a chance to capture my conversation with Mr. Price. I know we talked about the early days of the original Houstoncon and the fan community here in Houston, but I didn't write down anything. Historian though I am, I can't memorize everything.

Cut to 2019 and the news of the upcoming con. One of my SF book club members emailed me last week asking if I'd be up for attending Son of Houston-Con IV. I said I already was and I sent him the link to my 2017 review. I mentioned I was interested in interviewing Price. I had a list of questions. I shared the list with him, and he made some tasteful additions. Then, literally throwing the Hail Mary pass, I emailed Mr. Price asking if he'd be willing to conduct a written interview ahead of the convention.

Bingo! He said yes. But I didn't expect the treasure trove of knowledge I got in return. Seven pages worth of content.

So much wonderful content that I am breaking it down over three days, starting today. Tomorrow we discuss the Son of Houston-Con conventions he has put on (this is the fourth), the challenges involved and the 2019 guests. Friday is a special treat as Mr. Price writes about fandom in Houston over the past sixty years.

But we start today with Don Price's origin story, what it was like attending that first Houstoncon back in 1967, and the other thing that takes up his time. Hint: it isn't comics, but it's so much cooler!

Note: Son of Houston-Con IV (2019) will be held this Saturday and Sunday, 7-8 September, from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm at the Wyndham West located at 14703 Park Row. Tickets are only $5.00. Here is a Facebook link with more information.

My Motto is: “These ARE the good old days!

What is your personal origin story?

I am an Air Force brat. My dad was a B-17 combat pilot in World War II and he stayed in after the war as a career. By the time I came along—the last of four sons—he was flying the hydrogen bomb for Curtis LeMay’s Strategic Air Command. I got to crawl around “His” B-47 and sit in his pilot’s seat and see the safe where the launch codes were stored.

When did you get into comics? What attracted you to them? What were the titles that you grew up on? 

My brother, Mark, gave me a stack of comics when I was around 7 or 8. There were some I really liked: Amazing Spider-Man and Fantastic Four. Then I got shuffled off to Baytown during summers, where my grandmother lived. There was Will’s Pawn Shop with tremendous piles of comic books for half the cover price. I really started to fill in some gaps in the collection then. I also got my first electric guitar there, but that’s another story.

What was fandom in Houston like in the 1960s? 

I was introduced to the Houston Comic Collector’s Association by an elementary school friend. It was already established by the time I got there, but the early meetings were at a Methodist Church (which is still there) on Gessner at Memorial. Then they moved to the downtown YWCA and my mom drove me to a few meetings there. When I heard about conventions I was beside myself with excitement.

How did the original Houstoncon begin?

In 1965, the first meeting of the Houston Comic Collectors Association was held. With only word of mouth, a small but dedicated group of people showed up, including Larry McMurtry. Fandom in Houston was born.

The first official Houstoncon occurred in June 1967 at the Ramada Inn on I-45 and Allen Parkway. Like a justice league of comic enthusiasts, a group of store owners and collectors, including Roy Bonario, Mark Schooley, Jerry Poscovske, Early Blair, Jr., and Glenn Kessler, hosted the convention. Numerous collectors arrived, including some from Dallas, Oklahoma, and California. There was a screening room where western and science fiction movies were shown all night long. For only a dollar, 124 fans attended the first Houstoncon and fandom in Space City had a name.

Do you remember any of the movies? 

All of the movies shown were classics and you have to remember this was BEFORE videotape or any other kind of video on demand. So they ran movies like “Sherlock Holmes-The Hound of the Baskervilles” and serials. I remember “Mighty Joe Young,” the sequel to King Kong. The first time I saw “Island of Lost Souls” was at a Houstoncon.

There were usually two screening rooms and it was a toss-up to decide WHAT to go see. Usually they were different genres. One might be screening 40s and 50s cowboy movies and the other monster or Sci-Fi movies. And they would screen a cartoon or a Three Stooges short just to break things up. And the screening would continue until way past the dealer’s room(s) closed. The movies were shown with the projector clattering away in the back of the same room with just rows of folding chairs.

I remember getting out of a movie around midnight at Dunfey’s Royal Coach Inn (on 59 near Bellaire Blvd. Picture here.) and getting on my bicycle to ride home and heading the wrong way out Westpark. I had the books I had bought in some sort of shopping bag and when I realized I hit at end of Westpark at Fondren and had to turn around retrace my trek I just laughed.

How did someone go about getting an actual reel of film? Was it Channel 39 or something else?

There were dealers in old 16-mm films the same way there were comic book or record dealers. I remember seeing stacks of them at Roy’s Memory Shop.

Channel 39! One of the big three channels BEFORE there was more than just 2, 8, 11, and 13 would run great movies Saturday during the day and then again later Saturday night BEFORE the midnight sign-off. That was my introduction to Laurel and Hardy, the Marx Brothers, W.C. Fields and Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes.

Did you have access to the 1940s-era serials of Superman, Captain Marvel, Captain America, etc.?

This is your BEST question yet! Another EVENT that a lot of early fans fondly recall was Earl Blair arranging to screen the entire Captain Marvel serial in one sitting at University of Houston’s Loft Theater in the E. Cullen Building. It went on until after midnight and it was amazing how many of us were there.

Do you remember some of the other properties involved? Star Trek had just finished its first year. Was there an immediate love Star Trek? 

Yes! But there was no video tape or cable or re-runs. So it was a treat when an episode could be shown at a convention. Harlan Ellison wrote one of the best episodes ever and he came to an early Houstoncon. Ellison, unfortunately, thought that Star Trek had butchered his story so he was not the most gracious guest. But I was too bashful to even approach him to discover how obtuse he was.

What process did people use to keep, store, and protect comics in 1967? Were the comics bagged at this time? 

Stacks of loose books in cardboard boxes was the order of the day. Comic books were not bagged at these early shows. It had not been invented yet. The great unwashed public would go fingering through piles of books with no more concern than you would with your grandmother’s stack of Readers Digests.

When you organized the first cons, was there a sense of a fan community or did you feel like you were putting something on for your friends and just hoped other would enjoy as well?

During the early years fans tended to gravitate around shops or book stores that sold back issues. Northside Book Emporium was sort of a full range bookstore, but it was too far away for me. The place to be was Roy’s Memory Shop when he opened up on Bissonnet. It was a triple threat because he sold comics, movie posters as well as 16mm prints, and rare records. On Saturdays they would screen movies in the backroom and it was a big deal when I was invited back to watch movies.

In the early Houstoncons and comic collecting, before the Overstreet Comic Book Price Guide was published, how did vendors and sellers go about determining what something was worth? 

Setting a price on comics was by gosh and by golly—what the market would pay and what the seller would let it go for. I remember paying WAY too much for a Fantastic Four #2 from a neighborhood kid BEFORE I knew about the HCCA. I paid $12 for it and it had tape on the spine. But not having access to fandom at that point, it seemed like the only way I would ever see it again. It turned out all right because I traded it for more a few years later, but who could know, at that point?

One of the legends was the night Ken Donnell paid Glenn Kessler $100 for a copy of Batman #1. We were all shocked that a comic book could cost $100 and thought that Ken must be mad!

In an email to me, you mentioned you fly a World War II trainer in Wings Over Houston (and other events). How did that come about?

My Dad was a B-17 pilot in World War II. I am writing a book about him because he had a really rough, and therefore interesting, time. He was on two of the most famous BAD raids to Schweinfurt, Germany, [on 14 October 1943] where the 8th Air Force lost 20 percent of its forces and the survivors were so shot up they had to slow down and rebuild the 8th Air Force. So I inherited my Mom’s eyes and didn’t go military. But I learned to fly locally and the next thing I knew I was a member of Lone Star Flight Museum.

Then I learned the Commemorative Air Force (CAF) had a B-17 project that was in trouble. Somehow I became the Wing Leader and we got it flying again, with the help of MANY great volunteers! That kept the plane in the Houston area, because it was in real danger of being “re-assigned” to any other unit that could get the job done.

Then I bought a 1944 Fairchild PT-26 military two-seat trainer. It was Royal Canadian Air Force, but the US Air Corps used them too. I proudly fly my plane in the “Trainer Parade” at Wings Over Houston every year I can keep it and myself flying.

Continue to Part 2.

Year of an Indie Writer: Week 35

Well, summer's at an end. The weather won't agree with that statement, but the calendar says otherwise. It also means we're at the end of Summer Writing, the 97-day bookended time block I touted on Memorial Day.

I didn't do nearly as well as I wanted with fiction writing. Sure I made progress on multiple projects, but I only completed one thing: the short story I submitted for an anthology later this fall. There's a reason Dean Wesley Smith calls this the Time of the Great Forgetting.

But even though the fiction writing faltered, the non-fiction maintained a steady momentum with the blog writing. And there there was the out-of-the-blue moment this past week that has me wondering if I might not also have a non-fiction book in me.

Ask the Question Because You Never Know the Answer

Next weekend, the Son of Houstoncon IV is happening. Long-time readers might remember my write-up for it from 2017. During that review, I commented about seeing one of the giants of fandom and collecting here in Houston. But I didn't spend too much time talking about the guy who resurrected the Houstoncon itself, Don Price.

Earlier this week, a fellow SF book club member emailed me asking if I'd be up for attending Son of Houstoncon IV. I said yes and I sent him the link to my 2017 review. I mentioned I was interested in interviewing Price, but my friend made another point: it would be great to interview all the other long-time collectors who call Houston home.

Bingo!

So, literally throwing the proverbial hail mary, I sent Price an email: would he consider doing an interview? I also bent his ear about something else: what about a book detailing the history of fandom in Houston? I'm a degree historian, a native Houstonian, and a comic book and SF geek. Why not?

Why not indeed.

Price returned with a yes he's up for an interview. He was also interested with the possibility of a book. He's already shared some interesting tidbits on past Houstoncons and a photo. Hopefully, we'll get the interview completed and posted later this coming week leading up to Son of Houstoncon IV on Saturday. Even if things don't work out this week, I think the interview will certainly be on the way.

And I'm already planning on how to approach the other long-time fans and collectors here in Houston. The scope of the project will likely be larger than a novel, but no less doable. I mean, I've written a thesis, so I can do history. This time, it's just closer to home.

Lesson learned: never be afraid to ask. The worst thing could be a 'no,' but just imagine the possibilities of a 'yes.'

Movie Recommendations

Last Saturday, I watched two films. Both are pitch perfect in their chosen genres.

Hobbs and Shaw is a perfect popcorn summer action film.

Olympus Has Fallen is a different kind of thrill ride that left me without any fingernails.

Album of the Week: Midland - Let It Roll

I can’t remember the last time—if ever—I went to the store to buy a brand-new country music CD on the day it came out. But Midland is no typical country band. They are a wonderful throwback to the classic sound of country music from the late 80s/early 90s. This album is fantastic, and I've been listening daily since last weekend.

If you're interested, their website has lots of videos featuring the songs of the new album as well as their 2017 debut.

By the way, it was "Drinkin' Problem" that was the tune that made me sit up and take notice. Have a listen.

Alice Cooper with Halestorm in Houston

The year 2019 began with discovering a unknown-to-me Alice Cooper record, so it was altogether fitting that the original shock rocker himself toured during the summer of 2019. Back in January, my son played Welcome 2 My Nightmare, the 2011 follow-up to Alice's 1975 Welcome to My Nightmare. Love this record, especially the opening track, "I Was Made of You," a powerful slow burn rock song that would be great as an opener. The album surprised me as I had barely heard any Alice Cooper music for nearly my entire life.

My son, who has continually expanded his collection of Alice Cooper album, and I caught the show in Houston last night, and it was incredible. It was no surprise Cooper put on a great show, but what really surprised me last night was the opening act.

The Discovery of Halestorm

Last night, I went from "Who the heck is Halestorm?" to "Holy cow, you've got to listen to Halestorm!"

Sure, I could have looked up their music ahead of time, but I wanted their show to be new on the spot. So glad I did. This four-piece band is led by a charasmatic lead singer/rhythm guitarist named Lzzy Hale. It's not everyday you see a female-fronted rock band that is this damn good. She, however, is incredible. Her singing voice is a unique mixture of gravel and clear, depending on what she wants to do with it. Her guitar playing keeps the band's music humming, but she can cut a solo pretty darn good. More importantly, she was having an absolute blast. Sure, she's snarl on some songs, but more often than not, when she'd leave the mic, she was grinning, like "Can you believe this is my job?"

The opening tunes were good, but by the end, I was sold. Heck, that last song, with its extended guitar solos, all but morphed into the chord pattern and rhythm of Chicago's "25 or 6 to 4." My ears may have been hearing what I wanted to hear, but I could have sworn part of the lead guitarists notes were homages to Terry Kath.

Check out Halestorm live if you can. You'll be standing and cheering by the end of their set.

The Shock Rocker Himself

Alice Cooper is touring behind his Ol' Black Eyes is Back show which features what seems like not only a greatest hits show, but a greatest hits of stagecraft. His stage setup resembled some Gothic castle with an upper part and the main stage below. The drum kit was off to the left side which enabled the giant central door to to center stage.

Much like David Bowie's arrival on this very same stage in 2004, Alice knows his silhouette is unique. So after the extended introduction, the curtain fell, the band turned it up, and there he was, on the top, waltzing down with a top hat and cane.

Cher's got nothing on Alice. With almost every song, Alice would alter part of his wardrobe. A few songs later, Alice brought out maracas with lights on them. Maracas in a rock band? Yup. He brought out a bloody crutch for Eighteen, a sword (foil) for Billion Dollar Babies, and a riding crop for Poison.

Aside from his wardrobe changes, every now and then, he'd have various stage hands, all dressed in costume, come out and be part of the show. Sometimes they'd appear as knights, other times, as mental asylum attendants complete with baby-faced masks. The entire show, Alice never broke character. He knew where the cameras were and played to them, snarling with aplomb and giving the audience all it wanted.

The Guitarists

In any given rock back, you have a lead guitar. The Alice Cooper band has three, each of whom could front their own band. Here, they're just part of his band, but each gets to shine.

In an evening of discovery, one of the three was Nita Strauss. Given everyone's long hair, it took me a song before I figured out she was a she. Cool, I thought, Alice has a lady guitarist. She was no mere guitarist. She is a phenom. She shredded as good as I've ever seen. She was incredible, as was the other two guys in the band.

I may have waited nearly fifty years to catch my first Alice Cooper concert, but it was well worth it. Absolutely loved the show last night and the discovery of Halestorm. If you have a chance to catch this show, buy a ticket.

American Moonshot: John F. Kennedy and the Great Space Race by Douglas Brinkley

I am a degreed historian with a knack for remembering dates of historical events. As 2019 dawned, I knew we'd hit the fiftieth anniversary of the moon landing this summer. Tomorrow. I also knew there'd be a slew of new historical accounts published to commemorate that momentous giant leap for mankind. Which one to read? When I saw noted historian Douglas Brinkley's name among the list, I made my decision.

American Moonshot: John F. Kennedy and the Great Space Race isn't necessarily a play-by-play of all the steps the United States took to land Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon fifty years ago. Instead, it is more a political biography of two men--John Kennedy and German Wernher von Braun--as they both came of age in Depression and war. Most of us know the basics of Kennedy's life history, but Brinkely zeroes in on space and the filter through which he described Kennedy's life. What did he think about Sputnik? Where was he when Yuri Gagarin was the first man in space? What did Kennedy really think about space?

Which made for a fascinating way to examine Kennedy's experiences and how he came around to seeing the moonshot as a Cold War technique to use against the Soviet Union. Late in the book, Brinkley wrote one of Kennedy's defenses of the massive amount of money spent to land men on the moon was worth it considering the alternative--a shooting war against the Soviets, if not nuclear war itself--was too horrible to contemplate.

Von Braun, on the other hand, was more of a mystery to me. I first read about him in James Michener's novel, Space (1982), and again earlier this year when I read Apollo 8: The Thrilling Story of the First Mission to the Moon by Jeffrey Kluge. His story was a troubled one. With eyes on the skies and dreams of sending rockets and men to the moon, von Braun, in Brinkley's words, made the Faustian bargain in World War II, to build the V-2 rockets with slave labor, the end results of which were the deaths of civilians when those rockets were launched against England. Sure, von Braun was a crucial member of the NASA team in the 1960s to engineer the Saturn V rocket and an constant cheerleader for the importance of the moonshot, but at what cost? Did it even out his activities in the war? Should it? Still, it was interesting to learn more about him and the relationship he and Kennedy formed.

Speaking of relationships, what I most enjoyed was the descriptions of the camaraderie Kennedy formed with the Mercury 7 astronauts. I had always seen photos of him with them, but never knew how close some of them became with the president. Which made his assassination much more personal. Brinkley described where each of the astronauts were when they learned of Kennedy's death. For most of them, it was the radio.

As a native of Space City, USA, I have always been keenly aware of the role Houston played in the history of NASA and space exploration. Some of my favorite parts of Brinkley's book was the discussion of Houston and the surrounding areas during the 1960s. If Armstrong took the one giant leap for mankind, then the manned space program was Houston's leap forward.

Brinkley went on to write the great irony of Kennedy's death helped NASA get the funding it needed to land Armstrong and Aldrin on the moon in 1969. President Lyndon Johnson felt no problem with using Kennedy's vision, as set forth in a pair of 1961 speeches, to get the money. Was it worth it? Johnson himself, as vice president, delivered a report which laid out all the ancillary benefits humankind could reap as a result of doing what it took to put men on the moon.

Think about this: the device you're using to read this review is likely a cell phone. That computer-in-your-palm is exponentially more powerful than the computers used to shepherd Apollo 11 to the moon. The GPS system we all use to get us to where we want to go is a result of the space race. Might we have eventually got to the moon and invented all this technology without the great race? Most likely, but the pace would have been much slower.

There are lots of books that discuss the engineering feats needed to land the Eagle in the Sea of Tranquility fifty years ago tomorrow, including all the intricate details of all the various Mercury, Gemini and Apollo missions. But if you want the political version of that story centered on one man who saw the potential of a victorious moon landing for us here on Earth, then American Moonshot by Douglas Brinkley is a good recommendation.

Privy to a Secret: The Exquisite Playing of Ludovico Einaudi

(A year ago today, I posted this on my main author site. Today, I post it here on its one year anniversary.)

“Privy to a secret.” Those were the words my wife said to me after we walked out of Houston’s Jones Hall last night and got in our car. We each took turns pointing out things we liked and enjoyed from “An Evening With Lucovico Einaudi,” but it was her words that summed it up best.

And we have Radio Paradise to thank.

Radio Paradise is an online streaming music service curated by husband-and-wife team Bill and Rebecca Goldsmith. Operated out of California, the music from Radio Paradise varies widely. You can easily go from “Lady Grinning Soul,” an album cut by David Bowie, to John Coltrane’s “Blue Train” with stopovers featuring Talking Heads, Tears for Fears, Cat Stevens, and The Black Keys. It is one of the few listening experiences nowadays where you truly have no idea what song is coming next.

We heard Einaudi’s music a few times on the station. My wife loved it enough to seek out his music. In the course of her online research, she discovered he was coming to Houston. With zero hesitation, we bought tickets. They were a pair of rear balcony seats, but it didn’t matter. We were in the hall. Ominously, when we walked up to the front doors yesterday, we read signs stating balcony seat ticket holders must go to the box office. The balcony, it seemed, was closed. The looks of worry were etched on more than one face, but I suggested it was likely because the orchestra level wasn’t sold out and they were consolidating everyone down there. Turns out, I spoke the truth. We ended up on row R, a definite upgrade.

Literally, I know Einaudi’s music by the three or four tracks I’ve heard on Radio Paradise. In each of those, it was solo piano, so that’s what I was expecting. The setup on stage was for six musicians with a grand piano in the middle. Interesting, the piano keys faced the audience. That meant we would get to see Eunaudi’s hands while he played but his back would be to us. I hadn’t seen that before, but it turned out perfectly fine because not only was Eunaudi the composer of the music we heard, he acted more as a conductor to his band.

Band. That’s not quite the correct word to use, but orchestra doesn’t fit, either. This collection of musicians consisted of a cellist (who played both acoustic and electric cello), bass (doubled as an extra synth player), percussionist (not a drummer), guitar (who also played some percussion), and a violinist (who picked up acoustic guitar, electric guitar, and played a small organ). Projected on a large screen behind the group were various images, hypnotic in their complexity and which worked so well with the music. Most of the time, the accompanying musicians were in shadow, so you’d only see them in silhouette against the screen.

It’s a little difficult to figure out words to describe the music of Einaudi, but exquisite is up there. Wikipedia lists “minimalist” first. No, this doesn’t mean fewer instruments. It is, according to Richard Rodda, “…the repetition of slowly changing common chords in steady rhythms, often overlaid with a lyrical melody in long, arching phrases…[It] utilizes repetitive melodic patterns, consonant harmonies, motoric rhythms, and a deliberate striving for aural beauty.” It’s the last phrase that is key. “Aural beauty.” What is remarkable about Einaudi’s music in all of its aural wonders is the personification of the music. When you listen to a symphony, a rock song, a jazz piece, or a Broadway tune, there is a common understanding of the music. Beethoven’s 5th Symphony or Dave Brubeck’s “Time Out” all have those familiar melodies we can sing on our own. With Einaudi’s music, you can’t. Instead, what you are treated to is a unique musical experience that won’t or can’t be repeated ever again. It’s like being in the presence of a great artist and his musician friends as they paint with sound. There is a meditative quality to Einaudi’s music that gets inside your mind as your ears take in these sounds and chords.

One fun thing was to take note of a couple of particular instruments. One was a sort of crystal piece, held by one hand while the other used a violin bow across the surface. The resulting sound was akin to rubbing your wet finger around the rim of a wine glass. The conical-shaped instrument—smaller at top and much wider on the bottom—changed pitch depending on the location of the bowing. The other unique thing was a metal rectangular sheet, suspended by a wire. The percussionist held it by the wire, lowered the sheet into a clear container of water, and used a mallet to strike the plate. He would raise and lower the sheet, creating different tonalities. Lastly, the electric cellist would rub his entire open palm up and down the strings. The aural effect was of a person breathing. Watching these performers last night was itself a work of art.

It’s a rare concert I attend where I know basically nothing about the music I’m there to hear. The experience was utterly mesmerizing. In other settings at other concerts, the performers do their thing for you. If you’re there to watch your favorite rock band, you jam with them and sing along. Einaudi’s concert is a personal journey, communal with all the other folks in the crowd. You all hear the same notes but you take away something entirely personal. The audience knew Eunaudi and his music, as evidenced by the cheers as he walked out, and the loud, boisterous, and prolonged exaltation at the end.

Like my wife said, it was like we got a peek into a man and his music unknown to a large part of the world. Or maybe it was just unknown to me. Don’t’ know. By all indications online, the Houston date was the last in North America after only a handful of dates across the continent. I’m again so happy to live in a city like Houston that can attract an artist such as Ludovico Einaudi, and I’m quite happy to be in on the secret of his exquisite music.

I Flew With iFly

James Bond did it in Moonraker. Tom Cruise does it all the time. Now, I count myself among the flyers. But the question was: Did I like it?

For Father's Day, my family purchased two flights at the local iFly indoor skydiving place here in Houston on the Katy Freeway. I had never done anything like it before. Back in college, a fellow Longhorn Band sax player enjoyed real skydiving and always tried to get some of us to join him. A few weeks ago, a fellow dad enjoyed his first tandem jump. Seeing that news on Facebook, I commented to the wife that it looked like fun.

Which was why my wife jumped at the chance to see how I might do with skydiving. In a controlled environment. So I wouldn't want to jump out of a plane. Smart lady.

The Arrival

We had a 6:30 pm appointment. The wife and the boy accompanied me in the uniquely shaped building. After checking in, we made our way upstairs.

Dominating the center of a large room was the wind tunnel. It went up something like fifty feet, maybe less.  The lower ten feet or so was made of clear plastic. It gave viewers and family members a clear view of their flyers. It also provided a front-row seat to the experienced flyers then in the tunnel as they bobbed up and down, twisting and turning, flipping this way and that.

It was fun just to watch. But man did I want to get in there.

The Preparation

My team of eight consisted of a group of five teenagers, another pair of youths, and me. Our flight instructor was Woodbury. Her love of skydiving was palpable on her face as she answered all the questions I kept asking. How big was the fan in the floor? Well, actually, there are four giant fans on the roof and the air is circulated into the tunnel in that way. How does our one minute flight time equate to an actual skydiving time? It's about equal. Are our flight suits baggy because we're amateurs? Yup. It helps with wind resistance and giving instructors something to grab onto in the tunnel.

I'm not ashamed to admit I had a few Top Gun images enter my brain as I shrugged into the full-body suit. Just the mere act of zipping up and seeing myself in the suit got my blood pumping. Throw in the ear plugs, the special goggles, and the form-fitted helmet and I was ready. Did I feel the need for speed? Of course!

The First Flight

The group of five went ahead of me and I got to watch how each of them did. Some did quite well, controlling their bodies in such a way as to allow Woodbury to move her hands away, letting the kids fly solo. If they got too high, she'd grab some of the flight suit and bring them down.

Finally, it was my turn.

A hundred movie images flashed in my mind as I approached the open door. At the front of my brain was the imperative not to screw it up. Sure, it was my first ever flight but I wanted to do it well.

Upon entering the doorway, the instructions were to raise your arms, keep your chin up, and belly flop onto the fan. For each member of my flight team, Woodbury guided us as we leaned into the wind. The same was true for me. I leaned into it, smiling with my mouth closed (my wife's suggestion).The roaring wind caught me and, with Woodbury's help, I was flying.

My internal fears of not being able to do it well vanished quickly. I was able to establish a stable flight position and maintain it. The instructor's hands would zoom into my field of vision every now and then with hand-signal instructions. Open my fingers to let the air flow through them. Late in the first flight, she allowed me to use my hands as rudders. I was able to change my position, turning left then right.

All too briefly, my first minute was over. I grabbed onto the rubber handles of the doorway and brought my legs inside. Standing on the edge, I got a couple of congratulatory pats on the back from Woodbury, confirmation I did well.

Oh my gosh! It was one of the most thrilling one minutes of my life. When asked what superpower they'd want, flying is the one most people choose. It's my choice, too. Now, I got to experience it.

The Second Flight

When it came to my turn again, I exercised the upgrade I knew I wanted even before I suited up. The high flight. For the first thirty seconds of my second flight, Woodbury guided me in hand maneuvers. She pointed me in the direction of my wife and boy, each of whom had their phones recording the experience.

Then, Woodbury exchanged places with another instructor. He grabbed my flight suit at my back just behind the shoulder and my left thigh. With a change of his body's position, up we went. We turned and then we lowered. The up again, higher, and then back down. Finally, the last time, we went really high, maybe 60% the height of the entire wind tunnel. I had kept my mouth shut during both flights, but I let out a whoop on that last flight.

It's amazing how fast a minute can go when you're flying. At once brief and long.

The Verdict

I think you can tell by this writing that I absolutely loved flying. I could have done it until closing time, taking my turns in between other flyers. I loved it so much I purchased six minutes for a future date. Next time, I hope to bring the boy into the wind tunnel

The Organization

The iFly folks here in Houston were great. All the staff worked efficiently, making sure we amateurs were safe and having a great time. Woodbury was not only a great instructor, but her enthusiasm served as an ambassador the joy of indoor skydiving. Even when she was helping each of my fight team work through our flights, you could see her grin behind her visor. Then, after we were all done, she got her own flight time. The coolest thing was her atop the wind tunnel literally standing on the wall.

If you have even an inkling of a desire to try indoor skydiving, I cannot speak more highly of the experience.

Up until tonight, snow skiing was probably my favorite sporting activity. It just got demoted to second place.

A Comic Book Buying Observation at Comicpalooza

Yesterday at Houston's Comicpalooza, I took my boy and his friend. Both are juniors in high school. My boy and I went with agendas, hoping to find certain things. My boy found only one thing, but didn't get it. His anime interests skew a thin line, away from the more mainstream and to a more nuanced appreciation. I was looking, as always, for more black-and-white reprints (DC's Showcase or Marvel's Essential) but found none. I was also seeking the trade for a new story called THE WRONG EARTH. I didn't find it either.

But my boy's friend just shopped. We'd all thumb through dollar-comic boxes. I found a few, but put them back. Why? Well, when I saw a run that looked interesting--say, Jack Kirby's 2001 comic series--the run wasn't complete. Never mind I had almost all of them in my hand, but why bother starting a story if you can't get the whole story? I ended up purchasing an issue of DEADLY HANDS OF KUNG FU for a dollar and volume 1 of the complete Howard the Duck. You see? Complete run.

What struck me with the other boy was when he would show me two random issues and ask my opinion on which he should buy. It was a pair of Marvel Two-in-One where Thing was teamed up with Ant-Man (1982) and Iron Fist (1975). Both covers were great and he just needed a nudge. I suggested the 1975 book because, well, it was the middle of the Seventies and anything went. He got that book.

I just loved that he was just shopping for reading material. Not a collection. Not a trade. Just some cool comics.

Like I used to do at the newsstands.

When I return today, I will shop with that spirit. Yes, I still have my list of things I saw and now want to circle back and purchase, but I think I'll pick up a few books just because the covers look cool.

A Bowie Celebration Exceeds Expectations

David Bowie may be gone from this earth, but his music lives on. And Wednesday night in Houston, the musicians and the audience in the Heights Theater were enveloped in his spirit.

Expectations Were High Yet Open

As soon as the Houston date was announced, I snagged a couple of tickets to "A Bowie Celebration." But I read no reviews. I wanted to go into show as clean as possible. I wanted the experience to be like it was for me, back in 1987, when I first saw David Bowie and had no idea about the setlist.

That proved to be the best decision I made. I was thoroughly entertained.

The brainchild of Mike Garson, David Bowie's longtime pianist, A Bowie Celebration gathers members of Bowie's longtime bands—including Carmine Rojas and Earl Slick from the 1983 Serious Moonlight Tour (two names I memorized by listening over and over to the recorded FM broadcast back in the day)—to tour and play songs from Bowie's vast array of songs from all eras of his career. Bowie might be linked with his lead guitarists over the years--Mick Ronson, Slick, Adrian Belew, Carlos Alomar, Peter Frampton, and Reeves Gabrels--but for my money, Garson's piano is the secret ingredient. He's the one enhancing everything from "The Lady Grinning Soul" to "The Heart's Filthy Lesson," to say nothing of the spectacular piano solo on "Aladdin Sane."

To sing the songs of one man, Garson recruited four vocalists, all of whom brought something special to their performances. Bernard Fowler has sung with The Rolling Stones for thirty years. His voice has an incredible range, able to hit the high notes while going very deep, all with crystal clarity. Gaby Moreno is a singer from Guatemala whom I didn't know before last night, but will be looking for some of her own music as of today. I knew Corey Glover as the lead singer from the great band Living Colour and man was he fantastic.

And, of course, there was Texan Charlie Sexton. I first saw him in 1987 when he performed with Bowie on the Glass Spider Tour. He was a member of the band last night, playing guitar and singing. Interestingly, with his high cheek bones, dark-colored rock star hair laced with gray, he somewhat resembled Bowie himself. Like an American cousin.

The Heights Theater Was The Perfect Venue

The Heights Theater, as its name implies, is a converted movie theater. For those of y'all who don't live in Houston, The Heights is like its own city, just to the north and west of downtown. When you drive up and down its streets, you can disappear and almost think you're in a small town. And in the 1940s. Which made the Heights Theater an excellent venue for this concert. Seating approximately 300, just about every seat was filled, and folks were standing along the walls. Bar tables with chairs occupied the front area. My wife and I were along the balcony, probably twenty feet from the stage, with a clear view of the piano keys. Of all the things I wanted to see, Garson's hands playing the keyboard was top on the list.

The eclectic mix of people sported more gray hairs than your typical rock concert, but every age was represented. The Heights being known for its artistic flair, the members of the audience did not disappoint. Not only did you have folks like my wife and I—suburban parents who haven't lost what it means to go out on a week night—but there were also folks you could tell were rock stars, albeit of the local variety. Heck, I even saw one woman dressed in a sequined white leotard with a red lightning bolt a la the cover of Aladdin Sane.

Bernard Fowler's Dramatic Voice

Five minutes after eight, Garson emerged from the back and walked on stage. He introduced himself, talked about the project, then sat at his piano to play "Bring Me the Disco King," from 2003's Reality album. Bernard Fowler came out to center stage and approached the microphone. This was it. This was the moment I had been waiting for. How would he interpret this song? Would he try to caricature Bowie or make the song his own?

The latter was the answer, and set the tone for the entire evening. Bowie was often a crooner. Think of "Absolute Beginners," "Wild is the Wind," or "Life on Mars." “Disco King” has only piano, minor drums, and voice. Fowler took this song and made it his own, adding wonderful inflection and emphasis not present in the studio version, breathing new life into the music. Make no mistake: this band is not a tribute band. These are musicians who played with Bowie, knew him, worked in the studio with him, and toured the world with him. They are channeling him but, in keeping with Bowie's adventurous spirit, this was not a rote concert.

The full band came out as the song finished. The three backup singers—one of whom played bongos and one was Corey Glover (that’ll tell you the depth of talent when you have someone of Glover’s caliber singing backup for most of the show)—stood on a small riser stage right. Carmine Rojas on bass occupied his own riser stage left. Garson's piano was up front on the right. Slick assumed his station in front of Rojas, while Sexton stood next to the piano. With the full band in place, they belted out "Rebel Rebel." If "Disco King" was the contemplative template for some of the obscure songs, then the rousing rendition of "Rebel Rebel" was the loud anthem when the gathered audience could clap and sing.

Corey Glover Soars

I'll admit I didn't know what Corey Glover looked like, although the multi-colored, multi-striped suit and colored hair peeking out from under his stylish hat should have been the giveaway. But when he stepped up to belt out "Young Americans," I had no way of knowing just how powerful this man's voice was. Coming just after "Fame," this sister song from the 1974 album showcased Glover’s incredible range. On the famous line "Ain't there one damn song that can make me break down and cry," Bowie always stopped the song and delivered that phrase with gusto. Glover blew the roof off the theater. It alone elicited cheers.

When Sexton picked up a 12-string guitar and with "Young Americans" out of the way, there was only one song that fit the bill: "Space Oddity." Haven't heard this one since 1990 when Bowie played it on his Sound + Vision Tour. Even here, Sexton did not merely mimic the Thin White Duke. Dressed in a sleek black suit with matching scarf, Sexton rocked up the traditionally slower tune, giving it that special something in this, the song's fiftieth anniversary.

Speaking of rocking things up, "Lazarus," from Bowie's last album, “Blackstar,” transformed from the dirge-like jazz number of the original to a guitar-heavy intense song. Slick, whose amps were always on top of the mix, and Sexton traded off guitar licks on an extended solo section. "Ashes to Ashes" took on the vibe from the 2000 live set "Bowie at the Beeb" and Garson threw in a keytar solo with spacy, 1980-era synth sounds.

Gaby Moreno’s Operatic Singing

Gaby Moreno took center stage as the opening drum beats of "Five Years" thundered in the theater. Again, she interpreted the song in her own way, adding newer notes to the established flow of the song. But as the song neared its end, she let loose an extended single note, high in the register, and near operatic in tone. She held it so long, cheers erupted before she finished the note. Incredible. Her onstage role continued a bit later in a duet of the song "Time" with Sexton. The dichotomy of the young Moreno and the older Sexton each taking turns with lines like "Time, he's waiting in the wings" and "You are not evicting time" took on new meaning.

Going into the show, I honestly expected Garson to break out the song "Aladdin Sane" and duplicate his piano solo. He didn't, but to make up for it, his piano showcase was on the rarity "Sweet Thing/Candidate" from 1974's “Diamond Dogs.” After Fowler crooned out the main verses, Garson took over. Musically pared down to bass and drums, Garson's piano soloing was exquisite.

A Triptych for the Ages

After a rousing, hard-edged rendition of "Let's Dance"—where Sexton and Slick again traded guitar solos—it was time for a trio of songs to close out the main set. "Under Pressure" got it started. This song took on added meaning after Bowie's death. I got emotional with the ad-libbed words Fowler spoke in "Disco King," but with "Under Pressure," the tears almost escaped, despite me singing along. With Fowler and Glover trading verses (rather than each man taking a single part), the words assumed greater meaning, especially as they often sang arm-in-arm. The entire audience was singing along now, and it was cathartic.

Next up was the crowd-pleasing "Suffragette City." With the audience already on its feet singing at the tops of its collective lungs and Glover actually in the audience leading the song, you know what was coming when we got to the "Wham Bam, thank you ma’am" line. Everyone belted out the words, fists raised. The old building's seams probably cracked at that point. "All the Young Dudes," closed out the main section. Written early in Bowie's career, it's a fitting song for a crowd sing-a-long. Many in the audience swayed with the beat, mesmerized by the finale.

Closing Out With Heroes

As the band took a short break, I leaned over to my wife and asked her opinion about the last song. To my mind, there could only be one.

"Heroes" started and it served a fitting close for the night. With the full band jamming, Fowler's powerful voice heralded into the theater, filling the venue. He held up his index finger while singing "just for one day." The audience got the message and did it with him every subsequent time.

With a final group bow, the evening was at a close.

Afterglow 

As the lights came up, everyone beamed with happiness and excitement, knowing they'd been a part of something special. Fans on the floor came up to the stage to say hello to the band. The musicians gratefully talked with everyone. It was like a family party. My wife and I found the other couple we chatted with before the show. Their grins were radiant. Before the show, I was hesitant to buy a concert t-shirt. My wife convinced me otherwise. We drove home under the full moon—a serious moonlight? —talking about the experience, the musicians, and a vow from her to find her Charlie Sexton cassette.

The Music of David Bowie Lives On

I've been a fan of Bowie since 1983 when I figured out who that guy was singing "Under Pressure" with Queen. He is one of my four favorite rock acts of all time. I loved his willingness to change styles, taking some current trend in music and putting his own unique spin on it. His 90s era is quite underappreciated. And, in 2016, while the sounds of his new record was only two days old, his death hit me hard. It was awhile before I could listen to his music again without sad emotions.

That time has passed. Honestly, I've been listening to Bowie's music with great happiness for a long time now, even a renewed interest in his 80s material thanks to the most-recent box set. And, as much as I fist-pump in the car while driving in Houston traffic, nothing compares to the splendor of last night's show.

If you enjoy consummate music professionals at the top of their game, this show is for you. That those same pros are intimately familiar with the music of David Bowie, their love and appreciation for him shines through in their playing. The performance last night ranks as one of my all-time favorite shows.

In short, A Bowie Celebration is a must-see event, a one-of-a-kind musical experience worthy of the man himself. And, for just one day, David Bowie was again alive.