COMING TO AUSTIN by Doctor Bob

"One semester at TCU while living with my father was enough, so I left Ft. Worth to enroll at the University of Texas and to be near the lady who later became my first wife. It was that easy in those days. You just showed up at the registrar's office, presented your transcript, and you were in.

My father, of whom it could have been said treated his sons with benign neglect - had it been benign, said goodbye. I headed to Austin in a 1931 Model A Ford with my belongings, two checks for $125 each, and two pints of Old Crow, which my father had thoughtfully bestowed.

It was January 31, 1949. I had just turned 17. Some will recall that date, as it got to 0 degrees that morning; more will remember four days later when it reached -5 below, the record for Austin. Weather forecasting in those days was rather primitive. Cold and snow was predicted for Ft. Worth, but as I was headed south and being 17 and bulletproof, I took to the road with no qualms. I made Waco by dark on roads that by then were covered by snow, and was cautioned not to proceed, as conditions were deteriorating. Reason with a teenager? Forget it. South of Waco the problems started.

My '31 Ford had an electric fuel pump, which was not designed to function at zero degrees. When it froze up, the engine would stop and I would sit by the side of the road until the heat from the engine would thaw it out and I could then proceed another 5-10 miles before it froze again. This process was successfully repeated and got me to the edge of Austin where the pump said "No Mas". The radiator was okay as I had previously, with tears in my eyes, had the foresight to pour in a pint and a half of perfectly good whiskey, saving enough for emergencies like snakebite. By now it's around midnight, and not considering my circumstances a problem, I put on several layers of clothing and settled in with Mr. Crow to await the thaw.

Some may remember the Skyline, a country and western dance hall and beer joint, where my second, and last, wife introduced me to Waylon and Willie and the Boys in the early 70s. It sat at what is now North Lamar and Breaker until replaced by that fungoid growth, the shopping center. My resting place on what was now February 1st afforded me a view of the Skyline about a mile away on the next hill. The snow and ice covered Dallas Highway, now North Lamar, dipped down from my hill and up to the Skyline, making a perfect toboggan run for the unsuspecting motorists. About every 15 minutes or so a vehicle would creep past me and, reaching the downslope, begin a slow motion, out-of-control slide to the bottom of the hill and join, with a gentle crash, the growing detritus of cars and trucks which had previously made the run. I, of course, thought this was great fun as it looked like a surreal illuminated ballet, with the pirouetting headlights illuminating the surrounding woods as they hastened to join the growing light display below. What with snow in the air and on the ground, there was no sound.

I don't know how long I enjoyed this hypnotic silent movie, but I was dozing when someone rapped on my window. It seems that the wreckers and police with chains on their tires had arrived and were hauling the reluctant sledders up the hill, and most could proceed without assistance. My visitor was a policeman and my waking thoughts were, "what have I done now?" He asked if I was okay, and I replied that I was just fine and inquired about his health.  Fate sometimes protects the innocent. This cop was a genuinely nice guy, and was concerned about me. He said I could not survive where I was and asked if I had a place to stay, and with the information in hand, tied onto my front bumper. Autos had functional bumpers then, thankfully, instead of the disposable paper mache stops with which we are now blessed. He delivered me to the boardinghouse where I was to share an 8x10 room with two other unfortunates, on the corner of 22nd and Rio Grande. It was an aging and deteriorating mansion, which has since been restored and now displays an historical marker."

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After publishing Doctor Bob's first post a few days ago, my son Matthew told me that he doesn't think of Doctor Bob as a father figure, but more like an uncle or a good friend. I asked why, as I thought the age difference might be more like father/son. Matt went on to inform me that their relationship did not place all the expectations upon him that a parent would! No demands, just friendship. I've given that a lot of thought! 

Doctor Bob (aka Robert Roberts, DDS) is also a fine cook. Here he is last Thanksgiving getting ready  to carve the turkey he cooked and brought to our dinner.

Now about that Easter ham, Bob...

Love, Peace, and a blessed Easter to you all,

Marilyn