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Authors: Jim Lehrer
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Some people said they expected it to be as big as New York someday. That would be the day Jack would have enough seniority to bid a San Antonio or Laredo turnaround and never have to fight his bus’s way into Houston anymore. He hoped. They didn’t even have any zoning regulations there, like they did in Corpus and everywhere else in the world, so that meant there could be a Conoco station or a Pig Stand drive-in in the middle of somebody’s block in Houston. It also had the worst weather of any place in Texas. It was not only hot, which it was everywhere, including Corpus, but it was wet-hot. The humidity was usually up there with the temperature, and just for good measure it liked to rain for a few minutes most afternoons. One of the Dallas drivers who had grown up in northern Iowa said being outside in Houston in the afternoon was like taking a hot shower with your clothes on. Jack agreed.
He always figured the best thing about Houston was its name. Jack, like every other kid in Texas, had had to take a course in Texas history in high school. Not much of it touched him or stuck, except the story of Sam Houston. Sam had come to Texas from Tennessee, whipped the Mexicans at San Jacinto, became the president of the Republic of Texas and then, when Texas went into the union, represented it in Washington as U.S. senator and finally ran it as governor. He was, according to Jack’s teacher and books, a rough, smart man who could fight or talk just about anybody out of just about anything.After Loretta and Jack agreed to get married Jack told her if they had a son he wanted to name him Sam Houston.
“But I don’t want him called Sam or Sammy, Houston or Houstie, or anything like that,” he had said. “I want him called Sam Houston, like it was one name, Samhouston. Samhouston Oliver.” Loretta said that would be fine with her. They never discussed it again because they never had a son, or a daughter, and the doctor had said it was unlikely Loretta ever would. Something was not quite right about her reproductive things, he said. She and Jack had talked about someday adopting a child, a boy they could name Samhouston, but it had not happened.
In all fairness to the city named after Sam, Jack had not seen or experienced very much of it firsthand. He had been driving buses in and out of there two or three times a week for twelve years, but what he did when he was there wasn’t much and it was almost always the same. He drove into the city from the southwest on Highway 59, which became Main Boulevard. There was a fifteen-block go up the west side of downtown and then across east on Preston to the bus depot, which covered two thirds of a block bounded on the east by Congress, the west by Travis.
He did every arrival day what he did this day. After unloading his passengers and doing his paperwork he drove the bus to the garage seven blocks south on Nagle Street in the middle of a neighborhood of small houses where the Blues lived. Only in Houston could you put a bus garage in somebody’s backyard. From there he caught a ride on a bus back to the depot and then walked three blocks to the Ben Milam Hotel. Great Western kept a block of a dozen rooms at the Milam for drivers on layovers. The rooms were small and they weren’t fancy but they were clean and just fine with Jack.
A Dixie driver named Livingston fell in with him for thewalk over to the hotel. Dixie was a division of Great Western that went all through East Texas. It had been called Dixie-Sunshine Trailways before being taken over by Great Western. Livingston drove Shreveport–Houston down through Henderson, Nacogdoches and Lufkin. Jack had known him and seen him around for years but they were not good friends. Livingston’s first name was Harold but everybody called him by his nickname, which was Horns. Horns Livingston.
“You-all going to stop in with me?” Horns said to Jack as they got to a tavern called the Mirabeau Lamar Bar.
“You know the rules on
He always figured the best thing about Houston was its name. Jack, like every other kid in Texas, had had to take a course in Texas history in high school. Not much of it touched him or stuck, except the story of Sam Houston. Sam had come to Texas from Tennessee, whipped the Mexicans at San Jacinto, became the president of the Republic of Texas and then, when Texas went into the union, represented it in Washington as U.S. senator and finally ran it as governor. He was, according to Jack’s teacher and books, a rough, smart man who could fight or talk just about anybody out of just about anything.After Loretta and Jack agreed to get married Jack told her if they had a son he wanted to name him Sam Houston.
“But I don’t want him called Sam or Sammy, Houston or Houstie, or anything like that,” he had said. “I want him called Sam Houston, like it was one name, Samhouston. Samhouston Oliver.” Loretta said that would be fine with her. They never discussed it again because they never had a son, or a daughter, and the doctor had said it was unlikely Loretta ever would. Something was not quite right about her reproductive things, he said. She and Jack had talked about someday adopting a child, a boy they could name Samhouston, but it had not happened.
In all fairness to the city named after Sam, Jack had not seen or experienced very much of it firsthand. He had been driving buses in and out of there two or three times a week for twelve years, but what he did when he was there wasn’t much and it was almost always the same. He drove into the city from the southwest on Highway 59, which became Main Boulevard. There was a fifteen-block go up the west side of downtown and then across east on Preston to the bus depot, which covered two thirds of a block bounded on the east by Congress, the west by Travis.
He did every arrival day what he did this day. After unloading his passengers and doing his paperwork he drove the bus to the garage seven blocks south on Nagle Street in the middle of a neighborhood of small houses where the Blues lived. Only in Houston could you put a bus garage in somebody’s backyard. From there he caught a ride on a bus back to the depot and then walked three blocks to the Ben Milam Hotel. Great Western kept a block of a dozen rooms at the Milam for drivers on layovers. The rooms were small and they weren’t fancy but they were clean and just fine with Jack.
A Dixie driver named Livingston fell in with him for thewalk over to the hotel. Dixie was a division of Great Western that went all through East Texas. It had been called Dixie-Sunshine Trailways before being taken over by Great Western. Livingston drove Shreveport–Houston down through Henderson, Nacogdoches and Lufkin. Jack had known him and seen him around for years but they were not good friends. Livingston’s first name was Harold but everybody called him by his nickname, which was Horns. Horns Livingston.
“You-all going to stop in with me?” Horns said to Jack as they got to a tavern called the Mirabeau Lamar Bar.
“You know the rules on
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