GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 18/24
For the past week and more, TV channels here have been broadcasting a twenty second loop of Reverend Wright bouncing up and down in apparently insensate rage at the wickedness of the United States. The Reverend Wright was Barak Obama's priest/Minister. Barak Obama made a speech yesterday. I lay in bed in the studio apartment at Ed and Terry's and watched on TV. Obama addressed the most divisive aspect of the United States: Race.
Race is dangerous ground. Politicians avoid the subject. Obama wasn't speaking as a politician. He was asking people to confront the truth and think outside the proscribed box. The speech was the finest and most relevant I have heard uttered by an American. Much of what has happened recently in US Government must shame Americans. Obama should make them proud.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A YOUNG LADY'S GALLANT
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 18/24
Carol, Kai and I drive to town for breakfast. Carol parks and Kai takes my hand as we walk from the car. I am proud at being chosen.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
BIRTHDAY DRUMMERS
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 18/24
All four Davies brothers studied drums with a Cuban musician. The youngest brother, Chris, is excellent; the other three are merely good. The brothers play together on Easter Sunday in Peter and Carol's garden. Ostensibly they are celebrating their mother's birthday. Son Two is a Philosophy Professor at Loyola University. Son Three is employed in a Central American eagle protection program. Son Four teaches school in Colombia. The brothers have kept the birthday party secret from their mother. The brothers appear one by one. Their mother is truly surprised - and touched by their thoughtfulness. Many cousins are present - and three grandchildren. Kai is part Afro American. The other two grandchildren are half Japanese. The half Japanese grandson will be a good drummer.
THE PEOPLE WHISPERER
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 17/24
Galveston is a sandbar. Locals call it an island. Real locals wear BOI buttons: BOI - Born On Island. Peter's mother is 6th generation BOI. In company, she demands attention by speaking barely above a whisper. She is a school teacher by profession. Surely she must speak in a normal pitch to her students. Peter is the eldest of four sons. His three brothers have arrived to celebrate their mother's 70th birthday. Carol is Afro American. Son Two is married to a Japanese. Son Three is in company with a Parsee (Mumbai via the US) while Son Four has a companion from East Germany. Mrs. Davies must feel somewhat rejected.
Galveston is a sandbar. Locals call it an island. Real locals wear BOI buttons: BOI - Born On Island. Peter's mother is 6th generation BOI. In company, she demands attention by speaking barely above a whisper. She is a school teacher by profession. Surely she must speak in a normal pitch to her students. Peter is the eldest of four sons. His three brothers have arrived to celebrate their mother's 70th birthday. Carol is Afro American. Son Two is married to a Japanese. Son Three is in company with a Parsee (Mumbai via the US) while Son Four has a companion from East Germany. Mrs. Davies must feel somewhat rejected.
PEOPLE HEATING
ed preparing coffee
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 18/24
The ice cap would melt were Terry and Ed to live at the North Pole. They possess that intensity of warmth. They care. They care for the underprivileged, for those who suffer. They are enraged by the shenanigans of Washington. Terry is conversant with the shenanigans. She worked in Washington for the Government of Texas.
A spiral staircase leads up from the studio apartment to their living room. Ed doesn't sleep much. I climb the stairs and find him reading the newspaper through a magnifying glass. He has a bubble in one eye. The bubble should be absorbed over the next weeks. Meanwhile he is restricted to peripheral vision. He pours coffee. We watch morning news. Terry is working on other people's tax returns. Returns are designed to make work for tax specialists and to be incomprehensible to those on low incomes and who should profit from rebates and tax credits. Terry is a CPA. She gives free advice to those most in need of advice - those who can't afford advice.
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 18/24
The ice cap would melt were Terry and Ed to live at the North Pole. They possess that intensity of warmth. They care. They care for the underprivileged, for those who suffer. They are enraged by the shenanigans of Washington. Terry is conversant with the shenanigans. She worked in Washington for the Government of Texas.
A spiral staircase leads up from the studio apartment to their living room. Ed doesn't sleep much. I climb the stairs and find him reading the newspaper through a magnifying glass. He has a bubble in one eye. The bubble should be absorbed over the next weeks. Meanwhile he is restricted to peripheral vision. He pours coffee. We watch morning news. Terry is working on other people's tax returns. Returns are designed to make work for tax specialists and to be incomprehensible to those on low incomes and who should profit from rebates and tax credits. Terry is a CPA. She gives free advice to those most in need of advice - those who can't afford advice.
BAYWATCH REALITY
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 17
Peter Davies drives me to Beach Patrol HQ. I listen at a meeting of Peter and his crew. Peter relates diving for the missing girl in the last of yesterday's daylight, the helicopter pilot spotting the body, Peter's attempts at revival, waiting with the body. The drowning took place outside the Patrol's zone of responsibility. No blame is attached to the Patrol, yet a young girl died and these men feel responsible. Humor is the best antidote to tragedy and Peter does his utmost to lighten his account, to get the message across to his crew that he is OK: Spring Break and they need to be out on patrol.
Peter takes me to lunch at a Vietnamese noodle bar. The strain is there, noticeable in his eyes and around his eyes. He has no time to recuperate. His three brothers and their wives/partners are arriving for their mother's birthday. I try to normalise this one tragedy through a maze of statistics. How many lifeguards does he employ in the summer season? How many drownings? How many children get lost?
In the height of summer they have a tent on the beach manned by two lifeguards only for lost children. Ten or fifteen lost children in the tent at any one time is normal.
Later Peter drives me along the sand in his truck. A young dad waves us down; his infant has been stung. Peter copes equally well with a second man who only speaks Spanish. Peter calls a warning over the loud-hailer to a couple of bathers prancing in the sea between two DANGER signs. A rip current surges off the tip of a stone jetty. Two families comprising young children stand at the end of the jetty. Waves burst against the jetty and the children shriek. One slip and Peter would face another tragedy.
Teenyboppers don't mob us. So much for Baywatch...
Peter Davies drives me to Beach Patrol HQ. I listen at a meeting of Peter and his crew. Peter relates diving for the missing girl in the last of yesterday's daylight, the helicopter pilot spotting the body, Peter's attempts at revival, waiting with the body. The drowning took place outside the Patrol's zone of responsibility. No blame is attached to the Patrol, yet a young girl died and these men feel responsible. Humor is the best antidote to tragedy and Peter does his utmost to lighten his account, to get the message across to his crew that he is OK: Spring Break and they need to be out on patrol.
Peter takes me to lunch at a Vietnamese noodle bar. The strain is there, noticeable in his eyes and around his eyes. He has no time to recuperate. His three brothers and their wives/partners are arriving for their mother's birthday. I try to normalise this one tragedy through a maze of statistics. How many lifeguards does he employ in the summer season? How many drownings? How many children get lost?
In the height of summer they have a tent on the beach manned by two lifeguards only for lost children. Ten or fifteen lost children in the tent at any one time is normal.
Later Peter drives me along the sand in his truck. A young dad waves us down; his infant has been stung. Peter copes equally well with a second man who only speaks Spanish. Peter calls a warning over the loud-hailer to a couple of bathers prancing in the sea between two DANGER signs. A rip current surges off the tip of a stone jetty. Two families comprising young children stand at the end of the jetty. Waves burst against the jetty and the children shriek. One slip and Peter would face another tragedy.
Teenyboppers don't mob us. So much for Baywatch...
GALVESTON TRADGEDY
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Peter Davies has been down the beach for the past three hours with a dead sixteen-year-old girl. The girl was spotted from a helicopter. Peter picked her up on the Beach patrol's Honda aqua-scooter. Peter tried revival. Too late. The girl was declared dead on the beach. The ambulance driver wouldn't take the body. The crowd exiting from the Rap concert had degenerated into riot mode and blocked the sea road. Peter sat alone in his truck with the body and with only his thoughts for company. Now he is home. I find him standing beside his truck. An Old Brit stranger is low on Peter's requirement list. He needs peace. I cross to Ed and Terry's studio apartment and watch late night political news on TV.
Peter Davies has been down the beach for the past three hours with a dead sixteen-year-old girl. The girl was spotted from a helicopter. Peter picked her up on the Beach patrol's Honda aqua-scooter. Peter tried revival. Too late. The girl was declared dead on the beach. The ambulance driver wouldn't take the body. The crowd exiting from the Rap concert had degenerated into riot mode and blocked the sea road. Peter sat alone in his truck with the body and with only his thoughts for company. Now he is home. I find him standing beside his truck. An Old Brit stranger is low on Peter's requirement list. He needs peace. I cross to Ed and Terry's studio apartment and watch late night political news on TV.
Friday, April 04, 2008
THOUGHT CRIME
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Years ago I went spear fishing with a Frenchman. France had withdrawn recently from Algeria. My fishing partner was a hard right ex-colonist. I discovered this while we were in his inflatable. Had the Frenchman known my opinions, he would have been tempted to spear me in the gut and dump me overboard. This was a cold morning and I wasn't comfortable.
I am equally uncomfortable in Texas. I hold the wrong views. In Bermuda Beach, I have hit on a clandestine cell of Democrats. Carol is easy to talk with. She is an Obama supporter. So is Ed. Ed's wife, Terry, backs Hilary Clinton. Ed and Terry own the next house. It has a great sea view from the deck. They have a studio apartment at ground level. I am to stay in the studio apartment.
GALVESTON BAYWATCH
davies dogs
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
I met Carol and Peter Davies at a road-side pizza joint on Panama's Pacific coast. Carol and I talked politics and publishing for thirty minutes. We have exchanged Emails on politics. We don't know much about each other. I am invited to speak with Carol's students at Texas A & M and be the Oldie at a 70th birthday party for Peter's mother. Peter is head man at Galveston's Beach Patrol – Mister Baywatch. Late Sunday evening of Spring Break weekend and he is way down the beach searching the sea for a missing girl. He has been there two hours. No news is bad news. The Davies' two-year-old daughter, Kai, is asleep. Carol and Ed and I drink beer and speak quietly.
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
I met Carol and Peter Davies at a road-side pizza joint on Panama's Pacific coast. Carol and I talked politics and publishing for thirty minutes. We have exchanged Emails on politics. We don't know much about each other. I am invited to speak with Carol's students at Texas A & M and be the Oldie at a 70th birthday party for Peter's mother. Peter is head man at Galveston's Beach Patrol – Mister Baywatch. Late Sunday evening of Spring Break weekend and he is way down the beach searching the sea for a missing girl. He has been there two hours. No news is bad news. The Davies' two-year-old daughter, Kai, is asleep. Carol and Ed and I drink beer and speak quietly.
PUG DOG AND CORONA BEER
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Galveston beach is a thirty mile housing development. Developers have named different sections. Bermuda Beach is unpretentious. It is liable to flooding and houses are raised on pillars. A hurricane removed thirty meters of sand and most of the front line of homes a few years back. At high tide, survivors have their feet in the sea.
Carol and Peter live two houses back. Carol is waiting at the gate beside an antique VW camper in bright green with red and black shell borders. For company Carol has two dogs and a fit white pony-tail in his fifties. One dog is a pug. The other is questionable. The pony-tail holds a cold Corona beer. Carol introduces him as Ed.
Carol has beer in multiple-choice for the Brit. Choice in beer is less stressful than a Starbucks coffee-house menu.
STUDENT-SPEAK
bermuda beach
GALVESTON,TEXAS: MARCH 16
A chill Spring Break weekend in Galveston. 7 pm and a few crazies are in the surf. A few throw balls on the beach. Thousands spill out of a rap concert. Cars and bikes crowd the beach road. Kids sit out of car windows; in convertibles on seat backs; on car roofs, feet dangling through sun roofs. A majority are black. Age is unity. All are high on mirth. They shout joyfully in a foreign language, foreign to an Old Brit on a Bike: student-speak.
A kid throws dollar bills from a 4X4. The chill breeze grabs the bills. Kids give chase. The chase is competitive. A people carrier swerves across the road. Chaos!
I sneak through gaps. Five miles to Bermuda Beach where Carol and Peter live...
Monday, March 24, 2008
GALVESTON, TEXAS
GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Galveston is a small city built on a sand bar a couple of miles out from the Texas coast to which it is connected by a causeway. By nature of being a sand bar, Galveston has beaches. The seaward beach is forty miles longs and has reasonable surf on a good day. The landward side is protected and has excellent wind surfing, good fishing and dinghy sailing. Five million tourists visit Galveston during the summer months.
I ride into Galveston in early evening and head for the city center. Four Black men in a smart car draw along side at each red light intersection. The man in the back is filming me. The others try for a conversation. The lights turn green and drivers behind immediately hit their klaxon. So it goes, so it goes, all the way down Broad Street to the Catholic Cathedral. I make a U and halt in front of the church where a Latino family are taking photographs.
I ask if they are Catholics.
Sunday, would doing a good deed make them happy?
Do they have a cell phone? Could they call Carol Davis for me? I have the number.
The mother calls Carol and tries to hand me the cell phone.
I explain that: a) I am deaf and can never hear over a cell phone.
b) That I need directions and Carol's address.
The mother writes directions on the back of a hymn sheet.
I am in business.
Galveston is a small city built on a sand bar a couple of miles out from the Texas coast to which it is connected by a causeway. By nature of being a sand bar, Galveston has beaches. The seaward beach is forty miles longs and has reasonable surf on a good day. The landward side is protected and has excellent wind surfing, good fishing and dinghy sailing. Five million tourists visit Galveston during the summer months.
I ride into Galveston in early evening and head for the city center. Four Black men in a smart car draw along side at each red light intersection. The man in the back is filming me. The others try for a conversation. The lights turn green and drivers behind immediately hit their klaxon. So it goes, so it goes, all the way down Broad Street to the Catholic Cathedral. I make a U and halt in front of the church where a Latino family are taking photographs.
I ask if they are Catholics.
Sunday, would doing a good deed make them happy?
Do they have a cell phone? Could they call Carol Davis for me? I have the number.
The mother calls Carol and tries to hand me the cell phone.
I explain that: a) I am deaf and can never hear over a cell phone.
b) That I need directions and Carol's address.
The mother writes directions on the back of a hymn sheet.
I am in business.
EVIL MUSLIMS
TO GALVESTON, TEXAS: MARCH 16
Yes, well...My apologies, readers, if I occasionally write what I feel. We have had Homeland Security PR, coffee, Malls, obesity and politics. Here is a return to travel. I have 650 Ks to ride. Edinburgh to Galveston is flat. A highway fly-over rates as a hill. Cloud hides the sun – fortunately, no rain. Other dangers lurk: primarily, an Old Man's stupidity. I take on gas midway. Three Harleys cruise into the gas station. I ask permission to touch the big, broad, leather seats. Heaven!
Excitement makes me forgetful. I run short of fuel 150 Ks from Galveston and discover that I left my billfold and address book on the gas pump at the last halt.
This is bad.
Actually, this is very bad.
I am almost out of gas. I am staying with Carol and Peter Davis in Galveston.
I have their telephone number. I don't have 50 cents for a phone call.
Very bad...
The gentleman manning the cash register at the gas station is an immigrant from Karachi, Pakistan. Yes, he is one of those evil Muslims. I relate my predicament and offer my camera for a gallon and a half of gas. He is unimpressed by the camera.
He says, “This is something that happens to everyone some time in their lives.” He takes six dollars from his billfold. “Is that sufficient?”
“More than sufficient.”
I ask for his address. He tells me not to be silly.
This is my thank-you letter to a dear kind sweet man....And, of course, one of those evil Muslims.
Yes, well...My apologies, readers, if I occasionally write what I feel. We have had Homeland Security PR, coffee, Malls, obesity and politics. Here is a return to travel. I have 650 Ks to ride. Edinburgh to Galveston is flat. A highway fly-over rates as a hill. Cloud hides the sun – fortunately, no rain. Other dangers lurk: primarily, an Old Man's stupidity. I take on gas midway. Three Harleys cruise into the gas station. I ask permission to touch the big, broad, leather seats. Heaven!
Excitement makes me forgetful. I run short of fuel 150 Ks from Galveston and discover that I left my billfold and address book on the gas pump at the last halt.
This is bad.
Actually, this is very bad.
I am almost out of gas. I am staying with Carol and Peter Davis in Galveston.
I have their telephone number. I don't have 50 cents for a phone call.
Very bad...
The gentleman manning the cash register at the gas station is an immigrant from Karachi, Pakistan. Yes, he is one of those evil Muslims. I relate my predicament and offer my camera for a gallon and a half of gas. He is unimpressed by the camera.
He says, “This is something that happens to everyone some time in their lives.” He takes six dollars from his billfold. “Is that sufficient?”
“More than sufficient.”
I ask for his address. He tells me not to be silly.
This is my thank-you letter to a dear kind sweet man....And, of course, one of those evil Muslims.
BOUNCING PASTOR
EDINBURG, TEXAS: MARCH 15/16
I write much of the day in my motel room. Edinburgh is a good place to write. The alternative is visiting a couple of Malls (no great temptation). Between writing I watch TV news. FOX and CNN are delirious with joy. They have grabbed an opportunity to destroy Senator Barak Obama. Obama's pastor is the weapon. FOX and CNN broadcast endless repeats off the pastor bouncing up and down while fueled with rage at the suffering of Afro Americans. “God damn America,” the pastor yells.
God has saved MacCaine, breathe Republicans.
God be blessed for passionate Afro American Christianity, breathes Hillary Clinton.
I write much of the day in my motel room. Edinburgh is a good place to write. The alternative is visiting a couple of Malls (no great temptation). Between writing I watch TV news. FOX and CNN are delirious with joy. They have grabbed an opportunity to destroy Senator Barak Obama. Obama's pastor is the weapon. FOX and CNN broadcast endless repeats off the pastor bouncing up and down while fueled with rage at the suffering of Afro Americans. “God damn America,” the pastor yells.
God has saved MacCaine, breathe Republicans.
God be blessed for passionate Afro American Christianity, breathes Hillary Clinton.
TEXAS WADDLERS
EDINBURG, TEXAS: MARCH 15/16
I am in Edinburg, Texas. I feel slim. People here waddle rather than walk. Obese is an understatement.
A Chinese restaurant in Edinburgh, serves a great buffet: all you can eat for $6.95. The buffet contains four different shrimp dishes, stuffed crab, calamares and every kind of meat. A notice hangs above the buffet: PLEASE TAKE ONLY WHAT YOU CAN EAT.
Customers serve themselves mountains.
I prefer Asian food to European. Latin America doesn't do Chinese. It tries – the result is inedible. I serve myself at the buffet both days that I am in Edinburg. That one meal is sufficient intake for the day. The food is excellent. The Chinese lady who runs the restaurant has a sweet smile and is happy to chat.
I am in Edinburg, Texas. I feel slim. People here waddle rather than walk. Obese is an understatement.
A Chinese restaurant in Edinburgh, serves a great buffet: all you can eat for $6.95. The buffet contains four different shrimp dishes, stuffed crab, calamares and every kind of meat. A notice hangs above the buffet: PLEASE TAKE ONLY WHAT YOU CAN EAT.
Customers serve themselves mountains.
I prefer Asian food to European. Latin America doesn't do Chinese. It tries – the result is inedible. I serve myself at the buffet both days that I am in Edinburg. That one meal is sufficient intake for the day. The food is excellent. The Chinese lady who runs the restaurant has a sweet smile and is happy to chat.
ROYALS, LEDBURY AND LUGGAGE
EDINBURGH, TEXAS: MARCH 15/16
We live in a small village back home. Ledbury is our local market town. The route to Ledbury from our cottage runs through country lanes and over hills and through ancient woods and glorious green pastures. My wife, Bernadette, tailors hand and travel luggage. She numbers movie stars and Royals amongst her clientèle. Her work is exhibited at Ledbury Market House. The Market House was built in the 13th century. This is not a digression. I am writing of coffee. An Italian coffee shop serves great coffee upstairs on Ledbury's Main Street. The coffee shop is the same distance from our cottage as MoonBean is from my Edinburgh motel. Ledbury is a pleasant drive from our cottage. Riding to MoonBean is a procession of Malls. I want to go home.
Find photographs of Bernadette's luggage and of me talking with one of her Royals in the biography section at www.simongandolfi.com
OR VISIT www.bernadettesbags.com
We live in a small village back home. Ledbury is our local market town. The route to Ledbury from our cottage runs through country lanes and over hills and through ancient woods and glorious green pastures. My wife, Bernadette, tailors hand and travel luggage. She numbers movie stars and Royals amongst her clientèle. Her work is exhibited at Ledbury Market House. The Market House was built in the 13th century. This is not a digression. I am writing of coffee. An Italian coffee shop serves great coffee upstairs on Ledbury's Main Street. The coffee shop is the same distance from our cottage as MoonBean is from my Edinburgh motel. Ledbury is a pleasant drive from our cottage. Riding to MoonBean is a procession of Malls. I want to go home.
Find photographs of Bernadette's luggage and of me talking with one of her Royals in the biography section at www.simongandolfi.com
OR VISIT www.bernadettesbags.com
STUCK-UP STARBUCKS
EDINBURG, TEXAS: MARCH 15
I ask directions to Edinburgh town center. Edinburg doesn't have a center. Edinburgh has Malls. Drive enough miles in any direction and you are in the next town which is also Malls. I ride 7 Ks to a Starbucks. Starbucks considers itself superior. So do its staff. I need black coffee. I am faced with an incomprehensible menu. Bewilderment merits a sneer and half an inch of black liquid in a ceramic cup. WiFi Internet connection is an extra.
A woman whispers to me that Internet is free at MoonBean. MoonBean is on the next block in a neighboring Mall. Staff are friendly and relaxed. Coffee comes in a beaker. Customers talk to me. I am happy.
I ask directions to Edinburgh town center. Edinburg doesn't have a center. Edinburgh has Malls. Drive enough miles in any direction and you are in the next town which is also Malls. I ride 7 Ks to a Starbucks. Starbucks considers itself superior. So do its staff. I need black coffee. I am faced with an incomprehensible menu. Bewilderment merits a sneer and half an inch of black liquid in a ceramic cup. WiFi Internet connection is an extra.
A woman whispers to me that Internet is free at MoonBean. MoonBean is on the next block in a neighboring Mall. Staff are friendly and relaxed. Coffee comes in a beaker. Customers talk to me. I am happy.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
STUPID, STUPID, STUPID...
EDINBURGH TEXAS: MARCH 14
A patrolman at Border Patrol recommends Motel 6 for a cheap clean room. Motel 6 in Edinburgh began life as a Holiday Inn. I have a room the size of a South American small-town hotel. Towels would bandage an army. I am due Sunday in Galveston, Texas. I am way behind with writing. I book in for three nights, drag out the waterproof purse that hangs round my neck on a steel wire. Where in Hell is my credit card? Have you suffered the same disaster?
You hunt through every pocket.
Then you hunt through every pocket.
Finally you hunt through every pocket.
The reception clerk comes to my aid with a bright suggestion: “Have you checked your pockets?”
Don't snarl – the clerk means well.
"Where did you last use it?” the clerk asks.
How would I remember? At 75? Close to the end of my journey and I got careless. That is the truth. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
I pay cash for the room, dump my bag on the bed and cool my brain in a shower. Then I call the bank to cancel the card and call Bernadette to wire me money through Western Union.
A patrolman at Border Patrol recommends Motel 6 for a cheap clean room. Motel 6 in Edinburgh began life as a Holiday Inn. I have a room the size of a South American small-town hotel. Towels would bandage an army. I am due Sunday in Galveston, Texas. I am way behind with writing. I book in for three nights, drag out the waterproof purse that hangs round my neck on a steel wire. Where in Hell is my credit card? Have you suffered the same disaster?
You hunt through every pocket.
Then you hunt through every pocket.
Finally you hunt through every pocket.
The reception clerk comes to my aid with a bright suggestion: “Have you checked your pockets?”
Don't snarl – the clerk means well.
"Where did you last use it?” the clerk asks.
How would I remember? At 75? Close to the end of my journey and I got careless. That is the truth. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
I pay cash for the room, dump my bag on the bed and cool my brain in a shower. Then I call the bank to cancel the card and call Bernadette to wire me money through Western Union.
NASCAR IS COOL
EDINBURG, TEXAS: MARCH 14
Border Patrol PR is a misnomer. The PR man for Border Patrol is forbidden to discuss illegal immigration, illegal immigrants, coyotes, progress building the frontier fence.
These are major points of discussion amongst ordinary and extraordinary citizens of Texas and New Mexico, Arizona, California, Washington politicians and candidates for the Presidency.
Accompanying a Border patrol is illegal (I might get shot).
A poster of a Nascar saloon decorates the office. The car is sponsored by Homeland Security. Racing cars are cool with the type of kid Homeland Security hopes to recruit. Has the car won races? Is that a forbidden subject? Is PR superfluous?
Border Patrol PR is a misnomer. The PR man for Border Patrol is forbidden to discuss illegal immigration, illegal immigrants, coyotes, progress building the frontier fence.
These are major points of discussion amongst ordinary and extraordinary citizens of Texas and New Mexico, Arizona, California, Washington politicians and candidates for the Presidency.
Accompanying a Border patrol is illegal (I might get shot).
A poster of a Nascar saloon decorates the office. The car is sponsored by Homeland Security. Racing cars are cool with the type of kid Homeland Security hopes to recruit. Has the car won races? Is that a forbidden subject? Is PR superfluous?
HOMELAND SECURITY AND ILLEGAL MUSIC SITES
BROWNSVILLE, TEXAS: MARCH 14
I expected to wait in line at the Brownsville border. I was through to a Customs bay in minutes and through to Immigration with equal speed. Immigration takes a while. Back home I understand computer delay: our sons download music from weird sites and collect viruses. I don't like to ask the woman official what Homeland Security downloads. Perhaps the computers are antique.
I want to ride with an agent from Border Patrol on a night hunt for illegals.
The head office for this sector is north in Edinburg.
The PR man will be back late in the afternoon.
I expected to wait in line at the Brownsville border. I was through to a Customs bay in minutes and through to Immigration with equal speed. Immigration takes a while. Back home I understand computer delay: our sons download music from weird sites and collect viruses. I don't like to ask the woman official what Homeland Security downloads. Perhaps the computers are antique.
I want to ride with an agent from Border Patrol on a night hunt for illegals.
The head office for this sector is north in Edinburg.
The PR man will be back late in the afternoon.
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