Story Over A Cup
Lost ID can cause loss of mind
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Replacing ID can be a real pain.
Replacing said ID after a major storm is an ordeal in itself.
Back many years ago, my wife and I got the chance to experience that frustration.
Picture it, Sicily 1927…
Er, the wrong flashback.
Okay, picture this Orange, Texas, 2005.
After watching Katrina lay waste to New Orleans, we were bracing for impact here from Hurricane Rita. Am I the only one that associates the storm with the Beatles tune “Lovely Rita?”
Anyway on with my story.
My wife and I made a last minute decision to evacuate. So, imagine packing every vital thing you can think of for two adults, a Corgi, and a Yorkie into a 1988 Mercury Cougar to embark on a two day trip to Tampa Bay, Florida.
We decided to go to Tampa for three reasons, the roads north were packed, my wife had family there; most importantly, if the storm were heading North, I wanted to go East.
Hey, it made sense at the time.
So here we were at night (we left for Tampa about 4 in the afternoon), somewhere on the far side of Lake Charles trying to get gas. To be honest, it was a madhouse. Cars in line to get to the pumps, prepay only, the store was inundated with customers, and whatever concern the patrons had at this gas station was used up hours earlier.
When we finally got to a pump, the police were there. Later on, we heard that the police were on standby for any craziness that would erupt once the pumps ran out of gas.
So we fueled. We ate and walked the dogs and continued on our way.
The first major obstacle was getting past New Orleans. I have never seen barriers at an exit for a city that said “City Closed.”
And I hope never to see them again.
We found a highway that was open that went north of the Crescent City, and soon were in Mississippi and making pretty good time. We reached Tampa and my wife’s aunt’s apartment about sundown the next day.
Let me tell you, there is no funk quite like the smell of a hot car in September with two dogs and two adults. I felt like I could have showered for days to get the grime off.
Let me tell you one thing about my time with my wife’s aunt. Everything they say about crazy family members is perfectly true. After a month, I was so ready to get home that we turned a two-day drive home into a 17-hour trip home.
I will tell you there is nothing quite like driving with a Corgi and a Yorkie fighting for the chance to sit on your lap while driving. I had to pull over a few times to end the fight that was going on while I was trying to not hit another car.
Then, of course, there were the times of a Corgi trying to hoard all the food in the backseat for herself. And a Yorkie trying to bark at every Semi-Truck along the way. That boy had little man syndrome to the nth degree.
And that trip home brings me to the point of the story. You thought I forgot.
I did, but I went back to check what it was.
Somewhere between Tampa Bay, Florida and Orange Texas, my wife lost her wallet that contained all of her ID. Yep, Driver’s License, Social Security Card, even worse her Library Card, all lost at a stop along the way. So now in Orange in the aftermath of Rita, we needed to replace her ID so we could apply for some of the assistance programs that were available.
For those that remember, the Orange DMV was closed so the Beaumont one was our only hope. On the phone, they said a social security card or another form of ID was required. Since we did not have that, they wanted Franchesca’s birth certificate and marriage certificate.
Now, this is where it gets interesting.
Franchesca was born in Hato Rey, Puerto Rico. Anyone who has seen legal documents from the territory will know that it is the opposite of other states. There the big words were in Spanish, with the translation into English in smaller italics.
However, in big images in the top left and top right are the flag of Puerto Rico and the flag of the United States.
I have much respect for DMV workers, they know that no one wants to be there, even they do not want to be there. But, all I ask is that you read a document before rejecting it.
My wife hands her the birth certificate. To which the lady looked at it for all of five seconds before handing it back.
“Sorry, we do not accept Mexican Birth Certificates as ID. Do you have your green card?”
Right here I put my arm protectively around my wife. One, to show that I love my wife very much but more than anything, to keep my wife from leaping over the desk and opening up an epic beatdown of the clerk.
I politely told the clerk that it was a Puerto Rican birth certificate and valid in Texas. At first, the lady was trying to argue that Puerto Rico was not part of the United States. Luckily, a State Trooper that had overheard the conversation, and in the Navy had been stationed there corrected the lady.
In a sense, that State Trooper may have saved the clerk’s life. My loving grip on my wife had gotten to the point that it was as strong as I could make it.
So, my friends, two things: make sure you keep track of your ID at all times, and secondly, Puerto Ricans do not like being called Mexicans
Till later, keep your coffee warm.
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Think fast…
Who is the greatest Coach in Orange?
A question guaranteed to start a lively debate.
There are so many. Orange has a long and storied history of great athletes and great coaches.
Must be something in the water.
Practically every coach in Orange, no matter the sport could be a contender for the title.
But this year, I think there is no doubt about who to pick.
Orangefield’s Josh Smalley.
On the field, he led the Orangefield Bobcats to their first district championship since 1988 and through 2 rounds in the playoffs.
As the Athletic Director for Orangefield, the department as a whole has flourished.
When I approached Orangefield Superintendent Shaun McAlpin for a few words about Coach Smalley, he said:
Our athletic director, Coach Josh Smalley, epitomizes what it means to be an Orangefield Bobcat.
He prioritizes positive relationships with our student-athletes, encourages student involvement in our extracurricular programs, and most importantly he is a team player who strives to do what is best for Orangefield ISD.
Additionally, Coach Smalley is a great example of living out our district motto of “We Believe!” each day by honoring our district’s vision, mission, and goals.
We are grateful for his dedication and continued service to our district and community.
Coaching is not an easy job. It takes dedication, it takes self-confidence, and above all, to coach on the school level it takes a desire to want to build the future.
Smalley does all of that.
What is most amazing is he is a humble man.
Great Coaches have to be confident. You have to have a belief in yourself unmatched by others.
You have to believe in others.
You have to be a team player. This means you surround yourself with coaches that you support, and who support you.
I had a chance to talk with Coach Michael Bethea about him:
Coach Smalley deserves all the accolades he gets. He is more than just a coach. He is an inspirational leader and an amazing person to be around. He wants everyone from players to coaches to be successful, but you are going to do it the right way. He expects you to work hard and show exceptional sportsmanship.
To be a coach of student-athletes, you add in the dimension of molding the future.
Josh Smalley excels at that.
Cam Dischler, Varsity Football and Basketball Player said this about him:
Coach Smalley is not only our coach, but he is someone who we as a team can depend on any time.
He is someone I could call when I need help and he would be there in a heart beat because that’s how much he care about us. Playing under someone for that period of time you create a bond and all of us as a team have that because of who he is.
He is a great coach and had done so much for our little community better than anyone.
He is the face of our program and doesn’t always get the props he deserves, but he never lets that show.
One thing he says to us is we are Our Brothers Keeper. He has showed us what’s it’s meant to be brothers, to hold each other accountable, and how to be great young men.
And that’s what makes us winners on and off the field!
I had a chance to speak to his biggest cheerleader for this article. His mother, Brenda Smalley.
Before I tell you what she said about her son, I want to tell you a story of when I first had a chance to interact with this terrific lady.
We were posting the Friday night scores. I had just posted a West Orange score when a person, Brenda, posted asking about the Orangefield score.
I replied (they were doing great in their game, by the way).
She thanked me and then told me that she was checking to see how her son was doing.
Now, I checked the roster to see if I could find her son’s name so if there were any mentions of plays he was in, I could tell her.
However, I could find no player with the last name of Smalley (I had not yet made the connection. Call it a blonde moment of epic proportions)
So I asked her who her son was. After all, they could have had different last names.
To which she answered, “He is Coach Josh Smalley.”
I could read the pride in the way she typed that, A proud momma.
When I asked her for a quote for this article, she said:
I am so proud of him and everything he has done. He is the most humble person I know. He loves his God, his family, and his community. He is definitely one of a kind.
Personally, I have only had the pleasure of an interview and a string of emails. But, in all of those interactions, he has been a world-class guy.
When My Orange Texas Now launched, it was hard to get break into sports coverage. From the very first email to today, Coach Smalley has included this organization in sports coverage.
But, his mother told me another story that hit close to home. He and I are both Diabetics. He became Type 1 when he was 16 and I became one when I was 15.
It is a struggle for a teen to be a diabetic. Between growing and puberty, it hits hard. Plus just the idea of being different, for a teenager, you stick out.
It is a hard thing to deal with.
She told me that while a coach at LC-M a parent told her how much Josh had helped his son through the process of being one. It meant a lot to them.
That is what a coach does.
Yes, it is important to win games. To clinch a championship.
But, the true heart of a champion is being interested in building up those around you. Of lifting everyone up.
A true coach is not just a sports coach, but a life coach.
Long after the lights are off, and the field empty the reach and legacy of a true coach is in the quality of the men and women the coach pushed to be the best versions of themselves they can possibly be,
Yes, Josh Smalley led Orangefield to the playoffs. But it was in a large part by inspiring and leading his coaching staff and players to be the best they can be.
Notre Dame has a saying, “Play Like a Champion Today.”
That is what Josh Smalley brings to the table. It is that which made it an easy call to make him Coach of the Year.
I want to add a prediction.
If you were to ask people who the best coaches of all time in Orange are, it is a good bet that Dan Hooks and Cornell Thompson will be mentioned.
I predict that in a few years, they will say the name Josh Smalley just as eagerly.
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The Person of the Year is a person who by their actions, positively improved the lives and culture of Orange County and its surroundings.
A few months back, when it was decided to have a person of the year, I thought it would be a very easy task.
I was wrong. Orange County is an out-of-the-way county. About 80 thousand people. But it is a county of big personalities, big hearts, and great people.
There were so many people considered for the award. I went back and forth for weeks narrowing it down.
This being our first Person of the Year, I wanted it to be someone who I felt left a lasting impact on the community as a whole.
Let’s face it, a lot of names fit that. Orange County has great civic leaders. I could have picked any of our mayors and they would have fit that description. We have city council persons and county commissioners who easily would have fit.
The County has leaders of faith who not only preach the gospel on Sunday but live it the rest of the week.
We have artists who paint memorable murals and record songs that one day will probably go on to be national names.
Businesspeople who not only are great entrepreneurs but people who are amazing neighbors.
It was a hard choice.
But it was also an easy choice.
There are not many people who leave a lasting impression on you.
But Henry Lowe did for me and many others in the Orange Community.
Born in 1938 in Nacogdoches Texas, and moved to Orange in 1950 to pursue a career as a jockey. He was small, even smaller than the normal range of 110-115 pounds for match races. He was not allowed to ride in those races because he didn’t weigh enough. But he was allowed in races that were stipulated as catch-weight races. Jockeys were not required to be a minimum weight to ride. The only stipulation was that the jockey had to stay on the horse for the entire race. Lowe had a knack for doing that. His weight gave him an advantage and he began to be sought out by owners racing their horses.
His career as a jockey took him to many places, and eventually back to Orange.
He was active in the civil right movement in the area along with the Democratic Party.
In his later years, he started the Orange African American Museum. A place to celebrate the accomplishments and the story of African-Americans in Orange.
Okay, good and all, but more than this, Henry was a great storyteller.
Henry was passionate about telling the story of Orange. Not always a bright and happy story, but a story that needed and needs to still be told.
I remember so many of his stories. Honestly, I can not recall a single time when I talked to him when I did not hear a story from days gone by.
As a man who lived it, when he told the story, you for a brief moment lived it too.
The past of America and Orange is not always a good one. Things have happened that many people would rather forget.
Henry was determined to not let this happen.
In a way, it was fitting for a man who made history and lived it to build a legacy of preserving history.
He reminded me of a Greek Philosopher in a way. In his twinkling eyes was the wisdom of years and the insight only a person who had lived life would have.
He went to great lengths to be friendly to everyone. Henry was a man who could make friends wherever he went.
Orange was and is a better place because Henry Lowe was in it. I will not say we are poorer now that Henry is gone, for as long as we can keep his legacy and memory alive that richness is still here.
George Patton has a quote about men who died in battle which I feel fits Henry.
“It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.”
That fits my thoughts on the memory of Henry. I am saddened he is gone, but my life is better for having met him.
Henry typified what I was looking for in choosing the Person of the Year. I could not let close the book on 2022 without remembering him.
When I was writing this, I wondered if it were better to refer to him as a jockey, a historian, or any of the other hats he wore.
I think the one he would have preferred was:
Friend.
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This became a holiday tradition a number of years ago. I have moved to a different platform, but want to keep this tradition alive.
Since I first wrote this, we have lost first Bernie, and this past summer, Jada. This is a way I keep their memories.
Happy Christmas to all!
My human, Michael is off this weekend, so it is up to me, Bill, to write his column.
Since this is the weekend before Christmas, I have decided that my two brothers will help me in reciting the Night Before Christmas.
So, sit back as me, Bernie and Roswell entertain as only we can.
Bill
Bill, Bernie, and Roswell had the living room to themselves. They watched as the coloured Christmas lights blinked on and off. Bill yawned and looked at his two brothers who were occupying the chairs on the other side of the room.
“My human,” he always referred to Michael that way, after all, to Bill, Michael was his. He only shared him with his brothers, his mother, Jada, and Franchesca.
My human has asked me to read you the Christmas bedtime story of, “The Night Before Christmas. It is about Santa Claus”
Roswell’s and Bernies’s ears perked up and they looked at their brother. It sounded like fun, after all, they knew that every year they got special tasty treats from Santa, so they waited for him to begin.
Bill dragged an older-looking book from under the couch, where he had stashed it next to his growing collection of silverware and other odds and ends he thought were shiny.
Using his snout to push open the book, he cleared his throat to begin.
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
Bernie looked confused, he asked, “What’re a twas?”
Bill shrugged, “I think it is a fancy was, anyway:
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
Bernie stared carefully at the walls, trying to hear the scurring of little feet. He asked, “We have mice?”
Bill sighed, “No, in the story:
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
Bernie squinted his eyes, “Who is Saint Nicholas? You said this was about Santa Claus!”
Roswell looked up, “Oh, Saint Nicholas is Santa’s street name. That’s what Google told me. So he can avoid being tracked by the illuminatti.”
Bill or Bernie wasn’t sure if that was the right answer, but he did say it was on the interwebs so it must be true.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
Bernie looked perplexed. He would admit that since mealtime and running defending the house against terrorist invaders was his favourite thing, he was not aware of too many other things. However, this had him confused.
“We sleep in comfy chairs, not beds. What is a ‘sugar plum? You don’t have a cap.”
Roswell looked nervous, “Be afraid, sugar plums in your dreams are signs the NSA is watching.”
Bill wasn’t sure if that was right, but he had to go on.
“In the story,” he stated.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
Bernie bounded from his recliner barking wildly as he headed for the window,
“INTRUDER ALERT! EVERYONE BE CALM!!!”
Bill tried desperately to read on over the sound of his brother barking loudly.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Bernie was confused again. Bill had said a sleigh with reindeer had invaded. Yet he saw nothing. Then again, he also had only seen snow once and thought it was tasty.
He walked back to his recliner and with a thud, jumped into it and curled up. He was not liking this story. It was not good for his nerves.
Bill cleared his throat and tried to continue,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
Roswell snorted, “That’s the names given we are told they have. Have we ever seen a reindeer? Do you think that they would have code name style names? It is a military-style cover name. Those are handles.”
Bill looked, “What are you talking about?”
But Bill did not give Roswell a chance to answer, he knew that it would take far more than the rest of the evening. So he read quickly.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Bill stopped reading, he was missing a page from the story. He knew it was there when he found the book and yanked it off the shelf. Then he remembered that he had gotten hungry and ate it. He hoped his humans wouldn’t notice.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
Bernie and Roswell leapt off their chairs and ran to their stockings that were tacked on the wall. Even Roswell jumping up and trying to grab the bottom of his stocking did not allow him to pull it down to investigate. He looked angry, muttered something about conspiracies, and sauntered back to his chair.
Bill cocked his head in confusion and decided to finish his narrative.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”
This past year has been a wonderful year of writing articles to entertain and inform. To all my readers, I wish you a joyous holiday and prosperous New Year.
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