My News Days #1

     You don't go through seven years of college for nothing. You don't leave a career and never think of it again.
     I was a television news guy for 16 years. It was a blessing and a curse. I've thought about it many times. So many times that I've decided to write down my memories in chronological order as I'm definitely a linear thinker.... and in this case a linear writer.

Why Did You Decide on a Career in Television News?

    I was at my second college. I'd already had four majors in three years at Stephen F. Austin State University (SFA) in Nacogdoches, Texas. I failed or practically failed in all those (Forestry, Accounting, Finance & Psychology.) So, I dropped out for a girl and moved back to Baton Rouge with the intention of going to LSU in Baton Rouge.
     Well, the girl dumped me and LSU said my grades weren't good enough. So, I became a waiter. First, I bar-backed at a disco called Rascals in Baton Rouge. I knew I was in trouble when Sonny, the manager who looked a lot like Joe Pesci, insisted everyone wear designer jeans. I was a Levi 501 guy. But, I got some Calvins and went to work.
     My gig at Rascals was short lived. Soon, my best friend from high school who also went to SFA, Richard Olivier, gave me a call.
     "Hey, what are you doin?"
     "Oh, I'm bar-backing at a disco here in Baton Rouge," I said.
     "C'mon, really?"
     "Yeah."
     "Get down here to New Orleans and look at Loyola. They'll take anyone as long as you can pay the bill and read and write."
   
      So, I went. I didn't immediately enroll in Loyola. Instead, I worked on renovating an old, run-down two story house my mother had bought. The big, abandoned house was a disaster at the corner of  Second and Baronne in what's called the New Orleans "Uptown Area." Richard helped me work on it.
     I don't know if we started upstairs and worked our way down or visa versa. We went through about ten of those big dumpsters you see at construction sites. Homeless had apparently been living upstairs. We found and removed just about every disgusting thing you can imagine. We found burn holes in the floors, guessing that's where small fires were set for warmth or cooking. We removed dresser drawers apparently used as commodes. We pulled off all the sheet rock to the lathe work. Downstairs was an abandoned laundromat. I don't know how many old washers and dryers we tossed into the big dumpster but it was a lot. Whatever was inside the building was gone by the time a contractor agreed to take on the project.

       I'd met with maybe a half dozen or more contractors hoping one of them would take on the big house.
      "What do you think," I asked one while we stood on the corner.
      I remember, he looked up and down to the left and to the right and stuffed his hands into  his pockets.
     "How do you feel about dynamite," he said matter of factly.

     The only contractor who didn't balk was an Englishman named Malcolm Sargent. I don't know how or why he was in New Orleans, but the prospect of taking on the old building became his challenge and his summer passion.
      The end product was better than I could have ever imagined and the stories and events leading to that end were just as surprising.

     Like I said, Malcolm was English. I'll never forget him telling me about his close encounter with Omar Sharif over dinner in London.
     He said he was on a dinner date. The actor was in the restaurant, "in fact only a few tables away," he told me.
      "He was a real jerk with a filthy mouth." I think he was telling me this story while we were driving somewhere in New Orleans or somewhere without the clanging of hammers or buzzing of saws because I remember we weren't interrupted.
     "What happened?"
     "I was on a date with my wife at the time. Omar Sharif was sitting behind her, but I could hear everything he was saying."
     "What was he saying?"
     "His mouth was just filthy. Curse word after curse word."
     "What happened?"
     "I guess you'd consider this my close call with a star. I got up, walked over to him, bent down and I said, 'Sir, you're language is very offensive. I'd appreciate it if you'd tone it down as to not offend my wife further.'"
     "What happened," that seems like all I could ask.
     "He actually apologized and we all went on with our evening."

     Then, there was the blind date I had with one of Malcolm's foremans. It wasn't a blind date with the foreman. It was a blind date with one of the foreman's cousins.
      The foreman was a big guy named Mike. I can see the contemporary actor who he looks like, I just can't think of that actor's name. Anyway, Mike had a cousin getting married. He had another cousin who didn't have a date to the wedding. So, he asked me. "Sure, why not," I said.
     Here's the scene, it's a Catholic-Italian wedding in Kenner, Louisiana. The Catholic-Italian part pretty much ramps up the symbolic, cultural and fun level but when you add Kenner, La to anything what you get is whatever you had on steroids. It's hard to explain. But if it's Italian in Kenner it;s really Italian. If it's Irish, it's really Irish. Get the picture?
     I wish I could remember my blind date's name, but I just can't. I do remember she was quiet and kind, but she was definitely part of the family and this wedding event was all about the family and the family's culture. What a night.
     The wedding was held at a church exactly across the street from the New Orleans International Airport around 5:00pm. I promise when it came to the 'I-Dos,' all anybody in attendance heard was the roar of jet engines from Pan-Am Flight 3369 to New York La Guardia. The great news is, nobody seemed to notice or care.
     From the wedding, the reception was held above a famous restaurant/bar in Kenner. The name of the place 33-years later is a blur. But imagine, white tile floors, low-white acoustic tile ceilings, tables loaded with homemade food, a well stocked bar and lots and lots of dancing! I think every aunt, cousin and mother made her specialty for this event and this is when and where my quiet, kind blind date, thanks to her family connections, got me to the front of every food line.
     But the fun didn't end at the reception, at least for my group that now included my blind date, Mike the foreman, and his wife and probably a half dozen more cousins. The night was young. Time to go out!
     What I didn't mention at the top of this tale is that for some reason I was in my older sister, Laura's, Chevrolet Cavalier hatchback. I think I drove it because at the time I remember driving a Volkswagon pickup with an air conditioning issue. The system leaked inside the cab. If I took a turn to the right, water dumped out on my feet. If I took a turn to the left, water dumped out on my passenger's feet. So, Laura loaned me her car.
     Sounds simple enough, yes? The rub is, the rear window of Laura's car was practically plastered in bumper stickers. In this case, the bumper stickers proclaimed her love and commitment to GOD. So here I am with my blind date essentially bar hopping around Kenner, LA in a car proudly proclaiming JESUS LOVES YOU and HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS and more like it. Now that I think about it, I bet that armor got me safely home that night. I've never told her this story. So, if you read this Laura... I'm sorry.

     Enough of the tangents, here are the seven words that got me interested in trying a career in television news. They are, "You ought to be on the radio."
    While living in that big, newly renovated house and before enrolling at Loyola, I started waiting tables at a new restaurant in New Orleans called Tavern on the Park. This was a Del Frisco project but with very kind local owners Jack and Martha Sands.
     They'd taken an old favorite local watering hole, closed it down and completely revamped it's look and menu. The floors were black and white marble tile. Each table was draped in pressed white linens. The front of the building included giant windows with lace drapes covering the lower quarter.
      We waiters wore starched white serving coats, white shirt and tie with black pants and black shoes. Our most useful tool was our table crumb-scrapper. It's a concave device about six inches long and fits into the coat's breast pocket. It's for scrapping the crumbs off the table after bread, appetizers, the meal or anything else.
        The bus-boys, one for each waiter, wore pressed white shirts, black bow-ties and black pants. The bar was  big  with many chairs and an ornate mirrored back panel. But, Mr. Jack refused to let walk-in customers just drink.  They had to be waiting on a dinner table. "We're not a bar. We're a restaurant," he'd say.
     The tables were numbered so each waiter got a window table. Tables 10, 20, 30 & 40 were a pretty good section but table 10 was by the kitchen door, which no one really wanted.
      The bus-boy, a man considering he was much older than myself, who helped me the most, was Clarence. He was indeed a professional. I remember, he was black as coal. I'd pick him up and take him home from work, but otherwise we didn't talk as much as we used eye contact and numbers to serve our guests.
      I'd say "33," and in a flash Clarence was clearing, setting-up or changing an ashtray on table 33. He might walk by me or catch my eye across the dining room and say "43." That was my cue that table "43" needed attention. We were a good team and he was a great co-worker.

     It's table "43" that said those seven words "You ought to be on the radio." We were blessed to have many regulars. And like so many waiters, I was blessed to have regulars who asked for me to serve them.
     On this evening, I was working the section that included table "43." The husband and wife came in early like they always did. Clarence and I knew their routine. They'd sit at table "43," each would order an Old Fashioned and they'd each order our Steak Salad that included a bed of lettuce, a sliced rib-eye with seriously chunky bleu cheese dressing.
     The beauty about waiting on regulars is, you get to know them as much as they'll let you and they get to know you, probably more than they need to. It was during a casual conversation while they sipped their Old Fashioned and waited on their dinner that evening when the husband said, "You ought to be on the radio."
   
     At this point in my life, I had no idea what I was going to do or where I was going to go. I think the only thing I can say that's completely true is: I was 10-feet tall, bullet-proof and absolutely full of myself.
     I remember going home after "You ought to be on the radio" and thinking to myself and I remember it quite clearly.... "Radio, hell! I want to be on TV!"
     Finally, the end to this story is: I enrolled in Loyola's broadcast journalism program with every intention of becoming the next Peter Jennings, all thanks to table "43."

Bill Robertson, Next: Loyola & fetching lunch at WDSU-TV in the French Quarter.  
   
   

Want to Know News vs. Need to Know News

     I don't know how many of y'all know this, but years ago I was a television news guy. The high point of my TV news days was probably in Charleston, West Virginia. I was everything from main anchor to executive producer. All that means is, it didn't go on the air if I didn't want it to go on the air. And when it went on the air, it went on the air in the manner I wanted it presented on the air. Now looking back on the days....I was an IDIOT!

     I bet more times than not, I emphasized news I thought viewers WANTED to SEE and hardly ever encouraged news viewers NEEDED to KNOW. Gosh, there are too many examples. 

     With that said, the whacky news, the 'water-cooler' news is mainstream. It's so hard to avoid and even harder to resist. So, I'm not sure if I'm writing to bash the stupid, silly and unnecessary or just to point out the inescapable presence of the unnecessary news. I'm still guilty of reading the 'dumb' stuff before the 'need to know' stuff. Are you? 

           I've snapped a few shots from my newsfeed. I'd like to know what you think. Are these articles 'need to know' or 'want to know?' And if they're 'want to know,' did you waste your time reading them, like I did---at least some of them? 

Big News!

     Here's the article that spawned this blog and I actually read it. I didn't need to know this information, but I guess I wanted to know it.

    Turns out, "Fido" scratches the ground after 'passing water' due to his wolf/coyote ancestry. The good news, at least according to the article, is only 15% of male dogs do this after 'T-Ting" as my mother would say.

    The only way I know that I didn't waste time reading this article is I want to know if you'd waste your time reading this article. If I'm not wasting your time, then I'm glad you're using your time to read my article. Your thoughts?

Here's one I didn't read: "Pink's husband reveals son is suffering from hand, food and …." 

Uh Oh!

      First of all, I like Pink but not that much to read anything about her. Next, I'm a closet hypochondriac. So I didn't want to read an article about Pink's son with "hand, food and …." which I'm sure the article includes the symptoms. 

     I know myself. I'd soon wake-up in the middle of the night thinking... "Oh my gosh, I think I have 'hand, food and …."

     I would consider this article useful in only limited circles. First, we'd be with Pink fans, whom I'm pretty sure are far younger than Teresa and me. But if were hanging with any Pink fans and a Pink song came on, which I think I'd like, I'd probably ask: "Who's the artist?" They'd say, "Pink, dummy. Don'tcha know her son has 'hand, food and …" Your thoughts?

I liked this article

    Now, here's one I liked and did read. I thought, I was well educated. I went to a private high school, graduated 57 out of 58. I was accepted into two universities. The first, I majored in party and graduated cum laude. The second, I majored in broadcast journalism and graduated.

     I did pretty well on the quiz. But seriously... Who doesn't know that the Alamo is in Texas versus Mexico.

     So I guess you might say that I found this article more reassuring than necessary.

     What are your thoughts?

Huh?

     I didn't even read the next article, but admit the headlines caught my eye. What in the world does Colonel Sanders have to do with baby names?

     Here's what I know about KFC. #1) A great memory is... the big KFC bucket with all sides included stacked under the bird. #2) My dad told me once that he rode on a plane with the Col. Sanders. I think he even said the Colonel was wearing his white suit. And #3) His gravy is AMAZAZING! Try it over white bread. It's absolutely heaven on a fork. Your Thoughts?

Oh, What A Tangled Web We weave

    Here's the last on. The Queen's staying mum on the dysfunctional, American side of her family tree.

     I didn't read this one, but I do follow my royal friends. I like the boys. They're good. I'm pretty sure they'll do even more good.  So, I admit there are some 'Royal' stories I will follow.

     In fact, I noticed today, while checking out at the grocery store,t a popular tabloid is reporting Meghan and Harry are "over the world" excited that they're expecting twin girls. Apparently, they plan to name them Diana and Elizabeth. Good job kids. Your thoughts?

     The debate is 'Need to Know News' like war, politics, taxes, school lunch prices, weather, significant charities, etc versus 'want to know' news like babies with who knows what, dogs kicking dirt after 'passing water,' chicken and babies.

     What do you think? 

Bill Robertson, "A monkey, a rabbi and a pirate walked into a restaurant... film at 11:00." Does that get your attention or "School lunch prices increasing by 50%... details at 11:00?"

      

      

I'm no Grizzly Adams, but I have an idea or two...

     There are two things I'm not. One I was. The other I never will be. I was 25 years old once. I'm definitely not anymore. I will never be an outdoorsy kind of guy. My idea of camping is a Ramada Inn and it better be within walking distance of a watering hole.

     And speaking of watering holes, I'm no Grizzly Adams but I usually have an idea or two this time of year when it's almost Dove Season in Texas and most other places. The plan is always the same: Set a buffet, and just like people, the speedy migratory birds will get in line. At least that's the logic behind everything although there are no guarantees.

Step #1-The Dreaded Hole

     We've already planted two, five acre food plots. That's the food part of the buffet. Now, we're making artificial watering holes.
     Step #1-Dig the dreaded hole and that's where the "I'm not 25-yrs-old" part comes into play. The hole doesn't care that "I'm not 25" anymore. The hole, that will hold a plastic tank, must be deep enough that the water remains at ground level. Dove like to survey their surroundings for predators. Then, they'll dive in, drink and dive out. They don't linger on the ground for too long.
     So, digging the hole is tough enough. It's even more straining considering our severe drought conditions. But never one to easily give-up, I have a plan.

Add Water & Resume Digging

     How do you make hard dirt softer dirt? Add water, let it get absorbed into the soil and VIOLA! Resume digging.
     So looking at the photo on the right... My goal was/is to dig a hole deep enough for that one foot deep trough. I want a slight angle on it so water almost sloshes out the left side.
     Back when I was 25, the above digging duty would've taken an hour. Today, I almost missed lunch even though I started at 9:00am. Patience Grasshopper.....

     Once I finished the hole and dropped in the trough I had the hard work out of the way. Next, I cobbled together a gravity fed watering system using a 65-gallon tank, a giant spindle to increase the gravitational pull, a few valves, a tattered hose and a plastic float.

Everything Flows Downhill

     If all goes as planned, I'll fill the white, 65-gallon tank with nearby well water, open the valve to the tank, gravity will pull the water through the hose to the nearby trough where the float will maintain the level that I'm hoping to accomplish. Here's a look.

     This video shows only the skeleton of our new beverage station. Any dove hunter reading/watching this blog will quickly note that no 'country dove' would ever use the watering hole as-is. I still have plenty of manicuring to do around the water because the less vegetation the better for the birds. As for all the other wildlife that we hope come over for a drink, most don't care if their glass is dirty or neat.... Get it?

Bill Robertson

   
   
   

It's a Small World & I Don't Speak Chinese

     So, I went to a baseball game in Denver the other day where I met a man from Los Angeles traveling back from New York who grew up in College Station, Texas and knew/knows someone from Snyder, America. That's a small world.

   

Coors Field/Denver

     The genesis of this blog all began with a trip to Denver to pick-up Teresa who was visiting her daughter, Ashton's family in The Mile High City.  I arrived on Thursday and within hours was sitting behind third base at The Rockies game versus the Los Angeles Dodgers.
     To say I don't like to visit is both true and false. I do NOT like to visit when I'm in town, but when I go out of town I'm a "Chatty Kathy" and that's how I met my latest Los Angeles to Snyder connection.

Matt & Brad/NYC to LA via Denver

     I love baseball. I love to play it, that is. I don't follow the game. I never have. So, I had no idea if either The Rockies or The Dodgers were any good this year.
     That's when I turned to the guy at my right, Matt (in gray) and asked.... "Hey, are The Rockies any good this year?"
     "I dunno. I'm just traveling through."
     At this point, my "Chatty Kathy" radar ramped up.
     "Oh yeah? Where ya from?"
     "Los Angeles, but I'm traveling from New York."
     "Oh. I didn't expect to hear that sentence," I told him in complete honesty.
      At this point, Matt kind of watched the game. I kind of watched the game. But, I think he knew that I was loaded for bear with more questions.
      "Okay, New York to LA, how, what route, where'd you come from, where ya going, when do you expect to get out there?" Bam! Bam! Bam! The poor guy didn't stand a chance.
      "I took my brother back to New York, pick-up my friend (Brad) and now we're headed back. I have family here and they had these tickets," Matt answered all the questions I think he could remember.
       "Cool," is all I could muster. So, I took a "Chatty Kathy breather.

Fun with Avery/Coors Field

      The game pressed on. Our granddaughter Avery clamored across the aisle to our seats. We took a picture, pointed at the players while she played "Don't Blink" with the little boy behind us and watched the young girl in front of us read her book during the game.

Reading Girls @ The Ballpark

     But it didn't take long before Matt and I began more unnecessary small talk and that's when the "small world" lightbulb exploded.

     "Where are y'all from," Matt asked which kind of surprised me because he said "y'all," not you guys or anything less southern than "y'all."

     "We're from west Texas," I told him.
     "Really?! Where?" He asked with a lot more enthusiasm than I expected.
      "Out by Lubbock & Midland." I said. "It's a little town called Snyder. It's just usually easier to tell people Lubbock though," Teresa added.
      "I know Snyder. I grew up in College Station. I have a friend from Snyder," Matt told us.
      "No way!"
      "Yeah."
      "Who's your friend? Teresa knows everybody!"
      "Her married name is Candace Suderfield."
      Believe it or not, Teresa does NOT know Candace Suderfield. But we still had a great time playing "Chatty Kathy." And as usual, we were both surprised by the results.

     Sometimes, it's as much fun to just listen in my "Chatty Kathy" game and that proved true over breakfast one morning at a fun, funky place in Denver's Tech Center called The Urban Egg.

The Urban Egg/Denver Tech Center

      Breakfast was great. I had the Southwest Benedict. That is poached eggs over a tamale and chorizo topped with hollandaise. But the real story comes from our waiter who immediately noticed my son-in-law's tattoos. Besides the multitude of colorful designs, his "ink" includes many sayings in foreign languages and the unfamiliar verbiage is what caught our waiter's eye.

      "Is that Chinese," she asked Bobby.

      "What?"

      "Your tattoo. Is that Chinese?"

      "Oh. No. It's Mandarin," he explained.

      "Okay. I'm going to China next week. I'm kinda freakin' out."       

      At this point, I listened all I could. "Why are you going to China?"

      "To teach English," she said.

      "So, I'm guessing if you're going to China to teach English then you must speak Chinese because...."

       "No, I don't speak Chinese."

       "Oh, that should be quite an experience. Good luck." Sometimes my "Chatty Kathy" game can leave me a little flummoxed. We all decided that our waiter will have an interpreter. But now that I think about it, if she has an interpreter, doesn't that mean that person speaks both Chinese and English? 

Ashton & Avery/Denver

    Baseball was fun. Breakfast was a hoot. But the real fun is always spending time with Carson and Avery. He's 10 years old. She's four. They just moved to Denver and until school starts they're all about the neighborhood pool.

     I'm 56-years-old and still I'll never forget my days as a lil' boy swimming with my best friend Teddy Liljenwall in their family pool. I think we spent more hours in the water than we did doing anything else unless it was playing "imaginary man" baseball with Lee Keough or ARMY with our other neighbor Clay Ritchie. Now, it's Avery and Carson's time to get those wrinkled finger tips and toes and smell of chlorine.

Carson/Denver

     I don't know what it is about swimming, especially when you're a little kid, but it's somehow a complete "fun" that as I remember it doesn't come with all the other great things when you're young.

     Think about it... All you gotta do is run (if the lifeguard doesn't stop you,) jump, dive and repeat. It was a lot of fun.

     Good times, great memories and a whole lotta fun in Denver.

Bill Robertson.     

     

   
   
   

Local Artisans, Craftsmen & Other Stars in Scurry County

     We may not have Chinese food delivery in Snyder, but we are chocked full of amazing artisans, craftsmen and creators.

     I was shocked by the volume of views my last blog "Pat the Pie Lady" received. Not only did the story of Pat's perfect pecan pie and Ms. Chloanne's good old fashioned, Sunday After Church lunch garner more 'views' by the hundreds than any other blog, it also received more responses and reactions than any other of my other writings.
     So strike while the skillets hot I say. Here are some more locals, working way behind the scenes who without word of mouth, might never have their talents put before the public.

     In no particular order, here are some folks who've dazzled me with their creations.

     -Terry Huestis: Terry can build anything and it looks great! He mostly works with steel/metal/iron. He works alongside his wife Linda, a.k.a. Jose. The two are a real team.

     -Max Snyder: Max is a woodman. Need a table, call Max. Need a door, call Max. He takes wood and bends it like leather to create his pieces.

     -Nathalie Kelley: Give Nathalie a paint brush and just stand back. She'll never tell you, but she's won all kinds of awards.

     -Tom Roberts: Tom's an old sailor who paints like a man on a mission. Many of you might know Tom from his days with his studio inside The Manhattan Coffeehouse.

     -Brian Asher: Brian's western pencil art is mesmerizing. The detail he puts into the horse, the cow, the pasture can keep you looking at his work for hours.

     -Ken Spoor: His a local pastor by day and a woodsman the rest of the time. Ken saves old wood from abandoned homes, churches and schools to turn into doors, tables, chairs and more.

     -Stormy Shields: Stormy creates jewelry. She has her own on-line business with original, even customized creations.

     -Theresa & Rodney Dupree: There's no way in the word to call their flower arrangements from their Blossom Bucket anything but works of art.

     -Maxine Ragland: Everybody knows Mrs. Ragland's pies.

     I'm sure there are many more hidden creators in our midst, but my mind is drawing a blank at this point. But, I do have a point.
     And that is, we have artists among us. The rub is, like all good west Texans they call very little, if any attention to their talents. I can think of only the Duprees from the above list who've been able to turn their extraordinary talents into their primary revenue streams.

    I know we're not going to make any magazine's Arts District article, but we are blessed with some complete originals not necessarily hanging on our walls, but definitely walking our streets.

Bill Robertson, I can't even draw a stick figure.

     

Pat the Pie Lady and other Edible News

     Try naming three things you think you are good at. Better yet, try naming three things that you think you are VERY good at. It's tough. Obviously, I wouldn't call myself a good or very good grammarist as I've just ended not one but two sentences in a preposition. I have a joke about that, but it can wait a bit.

     Believe it or not, I've given this silly subject a lot of thought. I wouldn't say I've lost sleep over it, but I have indeed thought about it more than you might expect. The three things that I'm very good at are all found in the same category and that category is food.... Surprise!

     I'm very good at recognizing a great Club Sandwich, a spectacular piece of Pecan Pie and a mouth-watering portion of good old fashioned Meat Loaf. Here are some of my thoughts on those.

     When it comes the Club Sandwich, I can honestly say that I know of what I speak or in this case write. I've been eating them for years. There's one secret to a great Club that I've found most people refuse to recognize or simply don't know what they don't know. I mean let's face it. It's a sandwich.. not brain surgery. By the way, I hope a brain surgeon when asked what he or she is really good at does say Brain Surgery.

     The one secret to a great Club Sandwich is one ingredient. It's usually not included and the many times I've asked for it, waiters have said, "We'll put it on the side." But trust me, add this one tiny touch and you too can experience a very good Club. Stand by for details.

     The next thing I'm very good is recognizing a spectacular piece of Pecan Pie, which brings up the pronunciation debate. It is 1) Pee-CON, 2) Pee-CAN or as they say in very deep south Louisiana 3) Puh-kahn? For today's writing, I'm going with either #1 or #3 as a piece of #3 more than likely comes out of a box from aisle 13 next to the ice cream and frozen waffles.

      I recently had a Pecan Pie that I ate more out of the pie tin than from a pie plate. And just like it should, the pie comes with a story.

Pat the Pie Lady/Snyder, TX

      The lady in the picture is Pat Brown, a.k.a., Pat the Pie Lady. If she looks familiar then you're from Snyder. She usually runs register #3 or #4 at the local United Grocery Store. Teresa and I see her just about everyday. Pat and I even exchange recipes. Just today in fact, she told me about baking 7-Up Biscuits.
     Anyway it was a couple weeks ago when Pat was talking about baking a Chocolate Meringue Pie for someone in Ruidoso. She talked about getting all her ingredients ready, loading up her ice chest and baking once she got to the west Texas Riviera.
     "If you ever got a spare pecan pie laying around, I'm your man, " I told her.
     "Okay. I'll make you one."
     "I'll definitely take it, " I told her but all the while thinking she'll forget or I'll forget or just plain old life will get in the way.

     It wasn't two weeks later that I rolled my cart into check-out aisle #3 and Pat disappeared like a dart into the employee lounge. She returned in a flash with a pie so filled with pecans its lid would barely stay in place. I begged her to let me pay for it because not only was it a fantastic gift, but also because pecans are expensive. She said no saying only, "If you like it, you can tell others if you want."

Pecan Pie by Pat the Pie Lady

     So this is me telling you (others) that I liked it. I loved it. I'm not sure it's the best Pecan Pie I've ever had because I'm 56 and seriously... remembering pies is/was never something I prioritized. But, I can say if I had to choose right now to have only one pie for the rest of my life, I wouldn't hesitate to choose Pat's Pecan Pie.
     The picture to the rights should say: "I never bothered with a pie plate. I'd grab a spoon or fork and just dig in."
     People talk so often about the 'simple pleasures' in life. Eating a piece of rich, gooey, flavorful sweetness followed by a gulp or two of ice cold milk is definitely a 'simple pleasure.'
     So if you think about it one day when you're in United go see Pat and ask her about her pies. She'll be at either register #3 or #4. If she's not, just look for the lady wearing PAT on her name tag. That's her.

     Now to my last very good ability and that is knowing a good meatloaf. It really surprises me how many people aren't meatloaf eaters. I'm pretty sure that's un-American.
       When I was a lil' boy in Snyder, I remember going to Sally's every Sunday after church. It was down on Deep Creek. That's how a I remember it. Lots of folks tell me I'm wrong, but it's my story. So, it's my memory.
       Anyway, they just brought out food at Sally's. Lots of food. Then, dad paid at the counter. One time, there was a jar collecting donations for two bull riders hurt in the county rodeo.
     Now, a new place in town is offering that same Sunday after church lunch... ish. It's Uncle A's on the square. Known mostly for his bar-b-que during the week, Uncle A's grandma takes over the dining room on Sundays. There's no menu. Just a giant salad bar and two choices for lunch. This past Sunday grandma, Chloanne Lindsey, offered her meatloaf. I'm not sure if it was the meatloaf or just the quasi-return to my youth that got me to thinking. Either way, Sundays with Ms. Chloanne are a walk down memory lane.

     Now to the joke and the Club's secret ingredient. First, the joke:
     There was a Cajun walking across the quad at Harvard one day. He asked an upper-class man, "Whar's the liberry yat?
      The Harvard man in a very clenched teeth kind of way calmly replied, "Sir, we nev-vuhr end a sentence in a preposition."
      At which the Cajun said, "Oh, okay. Whar's the liberry at, asshole."

     As for the Club's secret ingredient.... mustard. Try it. It's life changing.

Bill Robertson, If I wanted to be a brain surgeon--I bet I'd still be better at making a club sandwich but I wouldn't brag about that.
   
     

   

Youth Sports Can Save Snyder, even without oil....

      A recent article in The Snyder Daily News serves two purposes. On one hand, it shows that a local family’s dedication is paying dividends to young people. On the other hand, the families’ formula gives us a crystal clear blueprint for what Snyder could do to attract more business and ultimately lower all our property taxes.

     The article is about the annual Pop’s Memorial Junior Golf Tournament hosted by the Leatherwood, Chapman, & Terry families. The event, held in July since 2012, honors the life of Lonnie Terry. Youngsters and their parents come from hundreds of miles to Snyder. The numbers tell the story. The tournament’s grown by a minimum of 10 percent, but up to 20-percent every year. More than 100 young strikers participated last year. About 25 percent came from Snyder under coach Ricky Hunter's tutelage. But still, about 75-percent came from out of town! That’s both wonderful news and news we should use to bring ‘new money’ into our local economy.

      Barbara Leatherwood, Mr. Terry’s daughter, has a great quote in the article. “We never believed the tournament would grow like it has,” she told SDN.  Barbara may have never believed her tournament would grow like it has, but she’s always known that youth sports could be a gold mine for Snyder.

      First and absolutely foremost, the Pop’s Memorial is all about honoring Mr. Terry and that’s why Barbara and the family team started the tournament. But also know that the Leatherwood, Chapman & Terry gang have the ‘midas touch’ when it comes to bringing people to Snyder. Think Snyder Wheels Car Show… need I say more?

     Barbara probably wasn’t the first to talk about youth sports in Snyder and she probably won’t be the last. The difference is, she said long ago while we served on the Chamber of Commerce Board of Directors that youth sports is money. She said that we (the chamber) should focus on that to bring business to town. Unfortunately, we (the chamber) did not. But, Barbara did and she’s proving her point in spades.        

     So without further ado, shouldn’t we all take a page out of the Pop’s Memorial handbook if we want an almost guaranteed formula for weekend business in Snyder?

     Before I get to the ‘how to’ part, did you know increased sales tax revenue will eventually lower your property taxes? It’s true. The Texas Department of Tourism even created a video many years ago showing if smaller towns will do something to create a consistent influx of sales tax then their property taxes could/would begin to decrease.

    Now to the ‘how to’ part. The easy answer is a SPORTS COMPLEX, but as I write those words I can sense many, if not all the naysayers, reading this asking me; “Who’s going to pay for this? I’m not going to pay for this! If it was good enough for me, it’s good enough for my grandkids.”

    So, forget a sport complex for now. It’ll be something Snyder regrets, but forget it for now. Instead, let’s think of what we have that can be put to use EVERY WEEKEND for youth sports, subsequently creating an infusion of new money every weekend.

    We have a football field, we have multiple baseball/softball fields, we have gymnasiums, etc. The point is, kids play football, baseball/softball, basketball, etc. I’d encourage any group hoping to make a buck for their cause and asking for HOT FUNDS to go the youth sports route versus another dance or party.

     I suppose this formula is primarily intended for our chamber as its mission is simple; “Bring business to Snyder,” but it can apply to any group that needs a guaranteed to grow fundraiser.

      The blueprint is simple. Think competition. First of all, all parents know that youth sports mean traveling. Parents budget for this. To the Chamber I say, the only events putting ‘heads in beds’ are sporting events and primarily those involving school aged children. College events don’t usually include traveling parents. To the foundations or museums in Snyder I offer, why pay thousands in time and money for a party that less than a couple hundred attend, who are almost exclusively local, and will cost more every year versus growing an event that costs pennies on the dollar?

     The point is and the ‘ Pop’s Memorial proves it, competition events are practically 100% ‘new money.’ Just about anyone spending their money is from out of town. The only Snyderites in attendance are the volunteers who are generously giving their time. That’s the perfect event! That’s new money!

     I say to those who need weekend business, you need customers over the weekend. Youth sports happen over the weekend. I say to those who don’t have a child in the game, the bottom line is crystal clear. The more sales tax revenue generated in Snyder… the greater chance you have of decreasing your property taxes.

     Congrats to the Pop’s Memorial. Y’all have the ice cubes recipe.

Bill Robertson