The Devil was beating his wife today while I was at work. That’s always a very strange —and somehow counterintuitive— sight to behold.
“The summer of aught-seven was the damnedest one I ever saw,” they’ll say.
“I reckon so,” I’ll say.
(Last night was a farmer’s moon, my marmoset.)
Jack Shafer at Slate gives us the lowdown on Lyndon Johnson and our dearly departed former First Lady. On the topic of a local radio station here in town in the Age of the New Dealers:
Once Lady Bird completed her purchase of KTBC, the “five years of delays and red tape, or delays and unfavorable rules” from the FCC that had stymied the previous owners “vanished … and slowness was replaced by speed,” according to [Robert] Caro. In short order she got permission to broadcast 24 hours a day (KTBC had been a sunrise-to-sunset station) and move it to 590 on the dial—”an uncluttered, end of the dial” where it could be heard in 38 surrounding Texas counties. It was no coincidence. Lyndon and Lady Bird recruited a new station manager, promising 10 percent of the profits, and Lyndon told him that the changes in the license restrictions that would make KTBC a moneymaker were “all set.” In 1945, the FCC OK’d KTBC’s request to quintuple its power, which cast its signal over 63 counties.
When Lyndon visited William S. Paley, president of CBS radio, and asked if KTBC could become a CBS affiliate and carry its lucrative programming, he didn’t have to spell out why the request should be granted. The radio networks feared the regulators in Washington as well as the members of Congress who regulated the regulators. KNOW in Austin had been repeatedly denied the affiliation because a San Antonio “affiliate could be heard in Austin.” CBS Director of Research Frank Stanton approved Johnson’s request.
Hee hee. Read the whole thing.
Went and stood by Mrs. Johnson’s coffin for a moment very early this morning.
Her attendants from the entrance on up were preternaturally gentle and calm, which made an impression on me. As did the dawning light and the orange glow of the Tower.
That’s hers and mine, see.
Thank you for adding to the beauty of Texas in the springtime, madame.
And you remain the essence of elegance, kindness, and charm.
Good night, Mrs. Johnson.
Setting: Me and another semi-country boy. Earlier this evening. In the parking lot at Target. Stopping in my tracks to look up into a beautiful Texas sky and behold a fantastic storm migrating to the northwest. The whole, sobering grey and blue palette.
Pardner, passing by: Don’t look good.
Me: Purdy, though.
It’s a real disgrace that a man was beaten to death in my town on Tuesday by a group of savages —and that the whole world knows about it.
Nice shit sandwich to hand our new chief of police.
The particulars are coming out in dribs and drabs. Some of it is even the truth.
The city government here is very obviously worried about the political fallout from this murder and are keeping as quiet about it as possible —which is impossible— but why won’t the local news stations describe the suspects for us? I watched KXAN’s 10 o’ clock broadcast tonight and I didn’t hear a description. They obviously know: the cops, the EMS, the witnesses, the local media. Why won’t someone in our local media describe the murderers to us? Don’t they want the public’s help in tracking these murderers down?
ESPN’s reporting that Ricky Williams has failed his piss test and cannot apply for reinstatement to the NFL until September.
I used to just shake my head a little and make a distracted expression when I’d hear about Williams’ seemingly deliberate inability to not smoke until it occurred to me —just now— that there’s nothing “seeming” about it: it is a deliberate refusal to not smoke.
It would be a good thing if this were widely used as a point of interest in the ongoing [debate] over the almost-incredible stupidity of the war on drugs and on marihuana, in particular, but some people have an interest in pretending that world-class athletes are somehow adversely affected by their use of marihuana. It isn’t true, though. Except, of course, as a legal and, therefore, professional matter. Otherwise, it is self-evidently stupid to suggest that these huge and powerful professional athletes are harming themselves with the recreational use of a plant.
Yeah, well. I know the sports community may speak to it, but it’s just going to be company man bullshit.
I had Easter brunch with my family this morning at Threadgill’s on Riverside. It’s a pretty cool scene and there were even some celebrities around. Karen Sonleitner, a former Travis County Commissioner was there, for instance. Plus lots of hot babes and shrieking babies.
Also there was Katie Evans, a sportscaster on KXAN. She is a really pretty lady. When I went back to the buffet line on the requisite follow-up trip, she was behind me with her boyfriend or husband or whatever. One of my family had told me to bring him back some grits, but I don’t really know from grits, so I asked Ms. Evans what grits were all about and she said they were like Cream of Wheat. So I got the most of Cream of Wheat-looking thing up there on a separate plate and it was the just the thing.
I realize, of course, that I should know more about what grits are, being a Southerner and all, but it is possible to miss these boats from time to time.
It was actually sleeting a while ago. An extremely little bit, but still!
*blank stare*
I have no idea. Don’t look at me. I already mothballed my beloved afghan.
I called up a member of my family on my way home just then and was told that Molly Ivins has passed on.
I am sorry to hear it.
Ivins was a great wit, a distinct voice, and more informed about Texas and national politics than the next hundred bozos with a word processor combined, whatever her politics. Most importantly to me, she was a true ideological hero (do they say heroine anymore?) to my Momma.
I extend my condolences to Molly’s loved ones and to the keepers of the great liberal tradition of this greatest of American states.
