Lone Star State
by Vincent Barry
. . . It is not alone in this
regard, mind you. Still, Texas alone is called
the Lone Star State. A colorful sobriquet for
what many Texans fancy, as do many Americans:
defiance, independence, individualism, autonomy,
even, I’m tempted to say, aristocentrism.
And those who do, acutely and doggedly guard this
illusion of separateness from the rest of the U.S.,
the world, indeed the universe. But—well, we’re
talking here the Lone Star State. . . So,
where but in Texas would the governor send the
State Guard to monitor the activities of a joint
exercise of Green Berets and Navy Seals lest they
be part of a federal invasion coming to take away
guns, even—who knows?— ship their
owners off to work as slave labor in, perhaps, a
WalMart in, heaven forbid!, Galveston? . . .
Speaking of the slave trade holdout, did you know
that in Galveston you can be fined for strolling
on a beach during a hurricane? Even if you’re
not black? Now you wouldn’t think that,
would you? I mean in the so-called Lone Star
State of defiance, individualism, etcetera,
etcetera. . . . Of course, you must be dressed up
as the horror movie character Michael Myers—you
know, from the Halloween franchise? Right,
that brown-haired Michael Myers . . . and, oh yes,
also be wearing a blank, expressionless, white
latex face— and, oh I almost forgot, you
also must be carrying a bloody knife. . . .
“Scary character! Scary character!” a 9-1-1
caller shivered with fright at the sight in the
dim light . . . Responding officers stopped and
cuffed the aforesaid Myers look-a-like, charging
him with disorderly conduct. Of the illegality of
his action—“taking a silly walk down
the beach during a storm in a costume”—the
accused said he was “fuzzy,” as,
frankly, was I till I read his post. His spectral
appearance, he explained, was about “bringing
positive vibes to the gloom and doom out there,
generating some laughter, helping people crack a
smile, and restoring our faith in humanity
through humor.” It took a reread before
these words sank in. But when they did they hit
me like a Category 4 ripping through the Oleander
City. “Out there.” I mean, where’s
that? And what is this “faith” stuff
all about? “Humor” I’ll let pass.
But not the kicker: “humanity.” Why,
that’s as wacky as all git-out. Worse even—
for fixin’ to mess with Texas, I mean the
whole mythology of the “Lone Star State,”
it might could. . . . No wonder, dad gum it,
sure ’nuff, the sorry excuse for an island
attorney was right quick convicted. . . .
Remember the Alamo!
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