Michael Berry: The Czar of Talk Radio

 The Czar of Talk Radio

[*Author’s note:  as he wrapped up the past year sitting in the EIB chair, talking into the golden microphone that Clay Travis and Buck Sexton inherited from the great Rush Limbaugh, Houston radio personality Michael Berry was introduced to the largest talk-radio audience in the country, acting as the "substitute-teacher" guest-host for two dudes who are trying to fill the biggest shoes of the medium, upon Rush’s death earlier in 2021. This is a profile of Michael Berry for any loyal Rush listener tuning-in this past week, wondering who he was? I’ve been listening to him long enough, he seems like a brother to me, so here I go… all mistakes in fact and wild opinions are mine, Mr. Berry would not invite me to come to their new studio and had no comments for my article; any quotes are from on-air material.]

A Long Way from Houston: Law Student in Paris

A Long Way from Houston: Law Student in Paris 

(aka "Chick-lit")

(Houston) Part I

A gray, opaque blanket of clouds obscured the blue-white sky like a lamp shade, not blocking but dulling the light. Reflections off shiny office towers sometimes shot a bright laser across my eyes as I powered up the highway that bisected Houston, US Interstate Ten.

It was the kind of weekend when parents with children took their turns car-pooling to a game or practice; and single folks were lazily waiting in the Starbucks drive-thru, scrolling through Twitter®. Regardless, thousands of cars emitted enough ozone to make moist Gulf air smell just like summer.

The powerful southeast breeze was damp; saturating the atmosphere, exposing Houstonians to a stifling heat not yet oppressive, but that’d put the average American into heat stroke. You get used to it I guess, “it’s the humidity not the heat,” the old saying goes; the sky has a neutral, azure quality which burns off in the afternoon into searing yellow fire.

This Saturday, I hovered somewhere in the middle. Not a soccer mom, but not “single” enough to be waking up tangled in sheets, late after a binge-Friday night. Too poor to live in a luxury condo, and poaching off the local CrownPlaza, I sunbathed in the peace and quiet of an empty corporate hotel pool, diligently studying for the upcoming bar exam. 

I’d saved an old plastic access “key” entry card from a legal conference a year ago. So much for hotel security. At least the lecherous old men wouldn’t ogle my 70's style white diamond crochet-islet "micro-bikini".

The well-maintained pool had no bartenders to take my order, so I snuck an Evian bottle with my law books; sporting a pink canvas beach bag containing highlighters, power-bars, sunblock, and aviator Ray-Bans. Tools of the trade.

   

As a release valve, I toted a steamy novel I’d borrowed from the library. Sometimes there’s just so much Torts a girl can take before she reverts to the bleach blonde mentality of summer-reading: if the sun fries your brain, don’t use it on anything substantive. Besides, lately the pressure of thinking about the job market and the upcoming bar exam weighed too much; fiction was a way of coping with the real world.

Saving money during law school, I chose to "splurge" and leave Houston to travel abroad in Paris, the quiet city of lights. Having French classes in high school made it easier to survive. I’d never left Houston, but I was sure about Paris. The legal aspects of my stay merely provided tasks and subject matter; the surface, raison de mon émigration. But the real motivation of Paris? To fly. Escape. By soaring above my apparent direction, I wanted a perspective of life’s thoroughfare, before I took it. I needed more than a vacation in France; my time served a higher purpose.

My sojourner spirit grew out of the need to flourish and test my traditional upbringing, and the confining nature of legal studies. Reading in a café suited my taste better than studying in the law library, teaching myself guitar or meditating in my flat were more enlightening than staying after class to debate cases. The capitalist, puritan bromide my mother taught me: work hard, get a good job, quietly grow successful in the suburbs, fell off of me like a second skin; scales coming off my eyes as I discovered an authentic purpose.

Not readily apparent, the conversion came only through meditation and experimentation. I considered contrary paths: maybe I would be better working in a foreign country, helping develop a nation’s government? Returning to an American corporate legal department seemed like the least attractive option, and in Paris these questions hounded me. They still do.

---

Transition to Part II:

As much as “chick-lit” novels occupied me when not concentrating on common law and the upcoming multi-state exam; nothing could tear my subconscious from the love I’d found during the last semester of law school, studying in France. The opportunity to achieve a Master de droit in one-year studying abroad, morphed into a difficult academic experience surrounded by the passion of a genius artist, as different from me as possible.

I mastered the skill of sitting at sidewalk cafés, because that is the best place to absorb Paris. With a hard piece of sourdough and French roast coffee, I’d spend hours listening to other conversations, people watching. Different corners or plazas, depending on the neighborhood, traffic, and time of day, gave variable atmospheres. I had my favorite cafés, but my reasoning never considered where to meet the fellows. That’s because trolling Frenchmen are everywhere. I got to the point where I just reacted blithely, saying, “I don’t speak French?” One day, however, I watched an artist sketching what looked like the most compulsive doodle I’d ever seen. Gabriel attracted me like a subtle magnet, or maybe it was his art.

##

Fiction ©Mark H. Pillsbury (2015)

WORLD PETROLEUM COUNCIL PICKS HOUSTON TO HOST CONGRESS IN 2020:

YOU THINK Super Bowl LI® IS A BIG DEAL?

With the economic, logistical, and cultural impact of a giant meteor, looming over the City of Houston on the eve of Super Bowl LI, February 05, 2017, there was another December announcement given to the city like a beautiful Christmas present, by the World Petroleum Council [“WPC”]. They bestowed on us the privilege of hosting another Petroleum Congress for the world audience to once-again come to Houston in 2020.

The WPC was established in 1933, based in London, with the intent to promote the management of the world's petroleum resources for the benefit of mankind, because energy is the lifeblood of economic and social development.

WPC facilitates dialogue among internal and external stakeholders in the petroleum industry on key technical, social, environmental, and operations management issues. One of the primary goals is to accomplish solutions to these issues in a neutral, and non-political way.

As more oil and gas is discovered unconventionally, it is clear that we have entered an era of hydrocarbon abundance. Although exploration and development projects executed in the next 20 years will become more complex, more difficult to execute, and more expensive, many of the leaders of the profession are leaving the field or are near retirement.

So during this time of massive change, following one of the longest downturns in the economics of oil and gas in history; the interchange of ideas and the upbringing of a new generation of energy professionals is as important a goal as when the WPC started in 1933.

The need for abundant fuel is just as acute in 2017 (e.g., more than one billion people lack access to electricity and modern cooking fuels, and 75 million new cars are sold each year, globally). There is an incredibly strong correlation between the use of fossil fuels and life expectancy, and between fossil fuel use and income; one can observe the recent history of China and India as examples. Human “flourishing” requires resources, and abundant energy (points made by Alex J. Epstein in his book “The Moral Case for Fossil Fuels,” 2014).

https://books.google.com/books?id=_ld9AwAAQBAJ&lpg=PP1&dq=Alex%20Epstein&pg=PP1#v=onepage&q=Alex%20Epstein&f=false

The First Congress, London, 1933

The First Petroleum Congress opened on July 19, 1933 at the Kensington Science Museum, led by its President, Thomas Dewhurst, and 830 delegates from 35 countries. There had been  massive developments in the oil industry since the last scientific oil conference, held in 1907, so presentations were given on the large numbers of reports on the geology of specific fields all over the world and techniques used in exploration and development. Topics included: knock-rating in motor and aviation gasoline, the development of special fuels for high-speed compression engines, recent developments in lubricating oil and viscosity, hydrogenation and the testing of bituminous emulsions.

Houston Congress, 1987

The 12^th Congress was held in Houston from April 26—May 1, 1987 and coincided with the massive Offshore Technology Conference (“OTC”). Close association and joint promotion resulted in higher attendance at both events. Then Vice President George H.W. Bush supported the US bid to host the Twelfth Congress, while the US Secretary of Energy, John S. Herrington, took part in the Opening Ceremony.

At the Houston Congress 2,286 participants from 72 countries presented 104 papers. During the conference, the most serious accident in the nuclear power industry to date occurred at the Chernobyl nuclear reactor, in the Soviet Union. Again, this accident raised serious doubts about the expansion of nuclear electricity generation.

The 23^rd Congress, to be held in Houston, 2020

WPC bestowed another honor, long overdue, on Houston, by choosing it to host the 23^rd Congress in 3 years (2020). Again, thousands of industry leaders will meet here in the world’s energy capital to present papers and carry on the tradition of discussing, learning, and promoting better management of the world’s petroleum resources. The economic impact during December 2020, typically a slow period for tourism, will be significant; most likely as impactful as any OTC of previous years.

Though not as dynamic as 2017’s Super Bowl LI, the WPC is known as the “Olympics” of the oil and gas sector, attracting over 6,000 delegates, 500 Ministers and CEOs, with an expected total of over 25,000 visitors to our city. Shortly after the mess is cleaned up from the massive invasion of professional football fans, the city can start gearing up for the 23^rd World Petroleum Congress. Merry Christmas, 2020! 

##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Houston Rain Event: Memorial Day (2015)

Memorial Day Rain Event, Houston Texas (2015)

(Houston) On my daughter’s 14^th birthday, May 25, 2015 she celebrated by shopping, seeing a movie at the River Oaks Theatre, and eating dinner w/ her best buddy Elizabeth. My son attended another birthday party in Fort Bend County on Monday night, and we waited for him to return home around 10p.m., just as the storms intensified.

Finally, our team congregated all under one roof; while many weren’t so lucky. The storms were fierce, the lightning struck often, and the thunder shook the house. The Rockets hung on to win Game 4 of the Western Conf. finals; however thousands of cars were stranded in downtown while the waters rose up and out of Houston’s bayous.

Our family huddled high in our tree house; Hampton watching the wx-radar on his iPad and Eliza squealing every time the lightning illuminated the room. She loves a good storm the way some people love horror stories! Towards midnight the waters rose all over the city. Over 10-inches of rain fell in west Houston, and the Braes Bayou watershed that meanders through the Medical Center peaked higher than two other major rain events: Hurricane Ike (2008) and Tropical Storm Allison, 15-years ago.

Buffalo Bayou Flood Stage

This major storm raged, but our little family unit watched it from the safety of the Master bedroom. Rain fell in sheets and the street outside our house turned into a river, carrying away the trash receptacles waiting for tomorrow’s pickup. Daddy bravely retrieved them from the intersection a block away; but he returned soaked and scared at the power of the rising water.

Just one mile away, Buffalo Bayou rose up an over the banks trapping many in their cars. We lost power for a while, but sitting together in the dark wasn’t so bad since we had the togetherness to keep us courageous. We talked about the way the bayou rose quickly at our old house in Linkwood, and we remembered fondly the night Eliza came into the world, 14-years ago.

We are a close family and we know deep in our hearts that we can survive anything together; this proved itself to be true many times over the years. God’s power is immense, but we also see his love in our union. We woke to a flooded city, HISD cancelled school, and Daddy didn’t go into work until afternoon. Hamp was still asleep; but he rested peacefully. We don’t know when the flood waters will recede, but we know how tightly we held to each other on this historic night.

Downtown Dry





Taking Potshots at Potholes

Taking Potshots at Potholes:

Public Stewardship & Public Enemy #1

An immediate gratification, “rock-star” culture says, “you can have it all;” so why can’t the City of Houston have sexy parks, bridges, trails, foliage, bayou views, separate paths for bikers and runners; as well as smooth streets without potholes?

 

Citizen drivers weave around on decaying streets, further burdening them as they try to live their stressful lives. A smooth ride is interrupted by a sudden jolt, unexpected and jarring. Pressure builds, heightened by the inconvenience and pain of traffic in Houston: too many people going in the same direction at the same time. I believe that minimally, our government owes us good roads, just as it says it owes its citizens equal justice under law. Don't you agree?

As my car’s under-carriage rattles over concrete crevasses, dodging massive cracks in our pavement the size of the San Andreas Fault; there’s no avoiding the havoc wreaked by this civic catastrophe. If you’ve ever survived the gauntlet of Houston’s potholes in almost any neighborhood, look at the vehicle in front of you as the road tries to eat it alive; most of our automobiles weren’t made for this kind of abuse. Watch the violent shaking and jostling  of the car’s suspension in front of you; if you see natural mechanical reactions then let me know: it looks horrible to me.

Blogging about this problem is my humble attempt to echo satirist Paddy Chayefsky’s famous line spoken by the outrageous Howard Beale in Network (1976). Don't view my effort as caricature; indeed, my hopes are that at least one local elected official, even the Honorable Mayor, would read this and know that there are thousands of honest, taxpaying citizens of this city that are thinking the same irate thoughts but don’t have the time, voice, or platform to yell out from their car windows:

"I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"

(MGM, 1976)

Buffalo Bayou Park stretches over 10 miles from Shepherd to the central business district with a wide variety of public recreational areas on both sides of the bayou. Multiple years and millions have produced a gem for all Houstonians. I’m not anti-park or anti-public recreation; this new area along the bayou is Houston’s answer to Central Park. Having exercised in this area, it's clear it is a wonderful addition to our public life; however, I also drive hundreds of miles all over Houston’s lousy streets, bouncing from one canyon to another in the regular roadways of our city. To which person do we cater? The commuter or the tri-athlete; the delivery truck or the strolling mommy? If the solution is not unlimited taxation; civic priorities must constantly be weighed like a personal budget: wants versus needs?

 

Buffalo Bayou Park Under Construction

I’m not complaining that there are as many construction cranes and concrete trucks barreling along Houston’s roads as any city in the country. There is inconvenience in “progress;” just as the drought and roots of our massive live oaks buckle the ground underneath the road beds.

 

This blog-post is heavy on advocacy and light on blame; potholes surpassed mosquitoes as public enemy #1 in the bayou city—the solution is not complicated: spray for pests and patch the holes in every neighborhood. If NASA can put spaceships into orbit, our elected representatives can fix the plague of potholes. One district, one street at a time!

 

This chastisement of public stewardship finds root in the recent wasting of city funds on non-performing investments like red-light cameras (Civil settlement, $12MM), or Astrodome maintenance ($1MM/annually). One repaired hole costs $20, so I'd trade a dark Astrodome for 50,000 less potholes, wouldn't you? And this pothole-burden isn’t an isolated situation; there are other city's municipal budgets shrouded in debt, or floundering in mismanagement whose streets engulf drivers too. On the other hand, this city is booming; there’s no reason all our gasoline taxes can’t fix the crumbling roads. It's a management problem Houston; but where is the political will to fix it? Is anyone listening?

 

(Ever heard the joke; Q: How many City of Houston workers does it take to fill a pothole? A: 9!)

 

Government at the local level is about as basic as it gets in politics! This isn’t about Super-PACs, Hilary Rodham-Clinton, or Meet the Press. CNBC’s Rev. Al Sharpton won’t stoop so low as to talk about potholes, because they don’t involve race. Nevertheless, this political message carries immediate impact: the same way my car shakes with a boom; unexpectedly careening over a gaping chasm of concrete. If Houston is a first-class, global city; it should act like it.

Mayors famously lose their elected offices for not clearing snow or rescuing stranded citizens in a hurricane? The key component of a city government is their Budget: it’s the city’s business plan. Whether to spend important budget dollars on one project over another (especially when they're both good) provides circumstances in city government critical to quality of life in the town. Even in a city as large as Houston, tough choices can cost elected officials their jobs. Now is this sort of time. I’m urging our city government to drive around the streets and realize the embarrassing condition of the roads: pocked and pitted, gaping gashes, ribbons running like giant fissures; streets grey and cratered like the Moon's surface. While running along our largest bayou is a newly constructed, pristine fitness path:

Trail under the Waugh Bridge

Unlike Howard Beale, I’m not trying to get you to do anything. No class-action lawsuit, no riots, don’t call your favorite talk show on AM Radio, don’t even write your Congressman. I wouldn’t know what to say to a Congressman anyway. They answer your letters with canned forms, computer-generated rhetoric, anyway?! If you feel led; communicate however you feel comfortable. If you hear me, forward someone a link to my blog. I’m speaking for you right now by saying, "I'm mad as hell about these terrible Houston roads ruining my nice car!” 

Scenes from the Pothole Playhouse: 

(Screaming)
(Citizen): “I'm not going to take this horse-pookey anymore; our city has enough money to fix the potholes; if it would just use the political capital to do so;” he adds, "I'll be the chairman of the Pothole Task Force."

(Pointing accusingly)
(Second citizen): “For once, do something practical with our money; not just what gets the fancy attention, like a pretty new Park!” “Jeez, dude. Do your job, or let someone else try…” "It's not that darn complicated."

 

 Op-ed©2014—Mark H. Pillsbury (Houston, Texas)

Follow more on Twitter® (@markpills) 

[Serious Legal Disclaimer:  thoughts expressed here are my own, and do not represent the political opinions of any group, organization, or corporation with which I associate. The first amendment and the rules of the blogosphere protect all the free speech exercised herein. This doesn't represent a political cause or party, nor does it endorse a particular candidate. If an elected official feels offense or shame over the subject matter of this post, their response is out of my control, and they need to take a long look in the mirror.]

All pictures are ©2014—Mark H. Pillsbury (Houston, Texas) #nofilter

 

-30-

 

Fireworks in Houston, night of Celebration

Fireworks in Houston - YouTube:

'via Blog this'

John Adams wrote that the second day of July 1776, "will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. 


It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more. You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not." (The Book of Abigail and John: Selected Letters of the Adams Family, 1762-1784, Harvard University Press, 1975, p. 142).

He knew! John Adams knew that over 200 years later, on a hot, sticky night like tonight in Houston, Texas, USA, we would get together and make fun, illumination, celebration, and joy in the freedom wrought that day in 1776. Tonight I am so thankful for family and friends with whom we celebrated: good food in a feast, cold beverages, cut grass upon which to sit, and famous fireworks borne out of a free club at which we gathered. Now I can say after re-convening in a house with a mighty air-conditioner and a shower that I have been transported with enthusiasm, and ready to sleep with the peace bought for me with the blood of patriots. I am not worthy to enjoy such blessings, but by providence I will accept them and sleep soundly in God's greatest country on the green, fragile home we call Earth. President Adams, it was celebrated tonight in Houston and all over this republic, it was a festival for which you would have been proud, as it was commemorated as you decreed, may God save these united states once again in this hour of peril. Amen.

It's all about the Brand

My take on the Brand

Branding is ubiquitous but important. Talking to my friend Stan Voelkel today at lunch made me think,

What brands “impact” you?

Starbucks is all about “your order,” funky jargon, even personalizing the cup. It isn’t just an ordinary Styrofoam cup, it has style.

Doesn’t the local Starbucks remind you of the TV show “Cheers” in some way? That is part of the brand. It's about more than coffee, it's about community.

Some others:

Target

Honda

Barak Obama 2012

Apple

Twitter

Stan Voelkel

Each one carries more meaning than the product, person, or service. It is dynamic.

The Houston Texans N.F.L.® brand is all about fan fun! The organization wants the fan experience imbued with passion. The noise, the smoke, the bulls, the spirit, the music. Texans brand is strong. It built momentum this year. Winning will do that (ahem, Houston Astros?! They might just re-brand).

If you are thinking about your own brand, or what you do as a service/product, here are some questions you must consider: 

• Perceived need:   what do your customers need?
• Brand awareness:   what information is your customer gathering about you; is the message cohesive?
• Points of comparison & clarity:   how does your customer evaluate the value proposition of you or your brand when compared to alternatives?
• Brand equity:    does the value of the brand make it worthwhile to purchase or choose? 
• Brand measurement:   after all this, what is the assessment of the purchase decision?  Do you have metrics attached to the brand?

 Simple questions, complicated answers. But don’t ignore the importance of your brand...

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Ultimate Texans » Photos: Texans fever

Ultimate Texans » Photos: Texans fever:

'via Blog this'

After ten years in this city, the Texan franchise has finally reached the high plateau of the NFL meritocracy, The Playoffs.

Like a contagious disease, Houston's citizens caught fan fever this week, and across the 4th largest city in the US, today they suffer from Texanitis.

As the sun broke over clear blue skies this morning and Houstonians got out to youth games, the grocery store, or the local coffee shop, all the talk was about the game this afternoon at Reliant Stadium, in the shadow of the old AstroDome. Fittingly, the new breed of professional football players see the shrine to the Oilers right next door, the 8th wonder of the world: the AstroDome. The creepy, dark, out-dated, concrete monolith to the past; where the last Houston playoff victory took place over 20 years ago.

There is nothing like the football euphoria of the playoffs. In a town that prides itself in entrepreneurial grit, civic pride, teamwork, courage, and success--which has largely eluded the city on the gridiron since the Texans started ten years ago; this football team overcame years of under-achieving and the hardship of a roller-coaster season to land its first NFL party since Super Bowl XXXVIII was played in Reliant Stadium in February of 2004.

Predictions are bold. Chips and salsa are flying off the shelves. Only the lucky and the patient are actually going to the game. Traffic around my neighborhood will be terrible this afternoon. But the city is buoyant with excitement. Being a life-long Dallas Cowboy fan spoiled me, but not anymore! The Cowboys are no shoe-in, having one playoff win in the last 15 years. Since I arrived in Houston the fall the Texans started, I have followed them closely every year and could not be any happier to see them succeed. Like any of the millions of Houston transplants who want our team to do well, I'm riding high today, waiting for kickoff.

used with permission: ©K. Woolet 

It should be a low-scoring affair, and with our 3rd QB starting the game, the Texans will have to rely on the Defense (led by the last Cowboy coach Wade Phillips). Turnovers usually change momentum, so look for that to be the pivot-point.

The buzz in the city today is red-hot (Battle Red), the fever is true-blue (Liberty Blue), and for one bright shiny day in Houston, we are all Texans!

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Captain Comeback--Major Applewhite and the Holiday Bowl, ten years ago tonight!

(San Diego CA) Dec. 28, 2001: Holiday Bowl-Texas 47, Washington 43

Master magician QB, Major Lee Applewhite, then a 23 year old senior at UT, engineers a thrilling comeback, showing once again his gritty heroics in the fourth quarter, leading the Longhorns to victory with 27 points in the final period.

The game was played before 60,548 at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego, but one very serious and very tired fan was listening on a small alarm/clock radio in Houston TX. My family and a large moving van spent the day on Branard Street, unloading lots of “stuff;” packing it all into a tiny rental house. Moving all day from Dallas, the driver gave me his business card confidently as he jumped up into the truck saying, “For when you decide to move back.” (I think he was a solid Dallas-boy?!) Well, we stayed! We've loved it...

Even though underdog Univ. of Washington held tightly to a 36-20 lead at the start of the 4th quarter, QB Applewhite, who now coaches for the Longhorns, led his offense to 4 last-frame touchdowns, the final thrust occurring with just 0:38 left on the fancy scoreboard, forever cementing his place in NCAA bowl history. It was his last game in burnt orange & white, assuring another top-ten finish for Texas in the BCS voting.

Exhausted by the time we put our 6-month old daughter down in her crib, we collapsed on our queen-mattress amidst the piled brown boxes. But I awakened later in the night, remembering the big game! Frantically searching for a radio, because the TV was not anywhere near an electrical outlet; I found a small alarm/clock radio and sitting with it in my lap, I listened to the miracle comeback. It turned into a Longhorn keepsake.

Simms versus Applewhite dominated the discussion that fall in Austin, the future coach as disparate from the future bust as could be. Always rooting for a redhead when I can, Major Applewhite burned a place in my memory unlike any other Longhorn legend.

A lot has happened during the decade that has slipped by without realizing it. During the ten-years elapsed, the family was given a boy to raise also, the Longhorns won a national championship led by another unique QB, the most popular Houston corporation is gone, and I am beginning a new career, in another business from that which caused me to move in the first place.

Hard to believe that on the tenth anniversary of that day, the Texas team with an historic RB coach, Major Applewhite, returns to the same field he dominated a decade earlier.

Starting another life in one of the most dynamic southern cities in the US, ten years ago tonight, Major Applewhite finished his fabulous career as a Texas player with one of the best comeback victories in the annals of UT sports. It was one of the most stirring radio broadcasts I have ever heard; I went to sleep happy that dark night in Houston! #hookem Major.

[Texas plays California tonight on ESPN in the Holiday Bowl. Longhorns are favored by 3 points.]

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Reflections on Hurricane Ike

written September 16, 2008
©Mark H. Pillsbury

(Houston, TX) Aftermath of Hurricane Ike:

I watched Hurricane Ike come through the neighborhood from the comfort of a wing-back chair. Even though the storm windows on the front of the house performed flawlessly under heavy fire, the long night witnessing the storm’s destructive power was in retrospect, dangerous. However, the past few months have been times of both reflection and danger for me. Spending five lonely hours watching the eye-wall continue to pound our little street in Houston, I reflected on a stay in the hospital in 2007 wondering, “Why God brings difficulties into our lives?”

John 15:2 Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.

During trials, God prunes us like a tree, even though at the time pruning seems painful, it allows one to become stronger and able to produce more in the long term: to be more fruitful for His purposes. The concept of spiritual discipline is not very popular, but it is apparent to me over the last year how God’s providence in pruning can lead to better living.

The process of getting in shape is slow and painful. By gradually losing weight and eating right, God transformed my body; I not only feel better but my long-term health is improved. Daily pruning off bad habits, over the course of a year, not only increased longevity but gave me a fresh outlook on life. Even more, my family did not just witness this blessing but participated in it. During this period of change it was apparent that God is a faithful, but pruning God; constant like a rock but allowing our world to evolve. He is a God of change and hope and new beginnings (as Paul wrote to Ephesus, “You can start living an entirely new life, as a person regenerated…”). The Gospel gives us the chance at new life in Him if we believe by faith alone.

"It takes courage to push yourself to places that you have never been before....to test your limits....to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." –Anais Nin

Thoughts on my favorite tree

There is one tree in our front yard; a majestic southern live-oak tree that my old neighbor says grew from a solitary acorn. It was just me and my tree during that dark storm. Sheltered inside my house, I watched her fight with Ike all night long. The oak tree did gyrations and swayed in the wind, slapping, twisting and contorting in extremes I thought impossible to survive. At times the branches looked like strands of spaghetti, boiling in a pot, whirling like a dervish! However, after all the swaying subsided, there was only one branch hanging loosely from her limbs. There were many trees in our neighborhood with dozens of branches littering their yard, but not ours. If any neighbor could assess this tree like God can, in geological time, they would see it leap out of the ground and turn to the sun and spread its arms and bask in the joys of being an oak tree in Texas. (thanks, Marilynne Robinson).

"A dictator sees the truth as a matter or will; anything he says or dreams is the absolute truth and soon the people are forced to go along with him.

For the so-called democrat, the truth is the will of the people. Whatever the majority says is the law and that law becomes the truth for the people.

But for men like us, the only truth is the truth of the tree. All trees. Because the truth of the tree is its roots in the ground, and the wind blowing, and the rain falling. The sun is the tree's truth, and even if it is cut down his seed will scatter and those roots will once again take hold." --Tolstoy McGill

In the five years we have lived in our house we paid expert arborists to prune our lone live-oak twice. These were expensive and painful but all the unnecessary branches were taken away and the strength of the tree grew until she was ready when the real trial came. When light finally broke the horizon and the worst of Ike moved on, the large canopy drooped all the way down so her branches almost touched the ground. I never saw a living thing so tired from fighting, yet so proud to have survived. There was quite a scattered mess in our front yard, but the branches and limbs I cleaned up were not from the tree pruned, they were from trees not so well prepared.

Thoughts on the future of Houston

The city can take two paths during the aftermath. One is outward, blame-centered, and passive. The other is an active, self-sustaining, collaborative time of healing and growth over the next year, a chance at a new beginning. My hope is the city can focus on the priorities of its citizenry and prune away the petty arguments and wasteful bureaucracy hindering the execution of the city’s daily priorities. Many neighborhoods discovered unity after they were all leveled by the storm, living two weeks without power connected to their homes. The cooperative force of political leaders working together for provision of city services inspired the citizenry, and showed us the best purpose of government.

"The flight crowd is created by a threat. Everyone fleas; everyone is drawn along. The danger which threatens is the same for all. People flee together b/c it is best to flee that way. They feel the same excitement and energy of some increases the energy of others; people push each other along in the same direction. So long as they flee together they feel the danger is distributed..." --Elias Canetti (Crowds & Power 1960) [reminded me of *Hurricane Rita* when the whole city left and nothing happened]

Unlike New Orleans, this city has already rolled up its sleeves and started the entrepreneurial work that rebuilding and re-visioning requires. Instead of feeling sorry for ourselves, Houston begins the cleanup with the mindset that it could have been a lot worse; and we will patiently work until life is back to normal and the economic engines of this great city churn again. Like live-oak trees, all of us were severely pruned during Hurricane Ike, but this trial in the end will be thought of as a good thing. One day we will tell of how we rose out of the rubble and blossomed into a better place, one more fruitful for future generations.

If peace be in the heart,
The wildest storm is full of solemn beauty,
The midnight flash but shows the path of duty,
Each living creature tells some new and joyous story,
The very trees and stones all catch a ray of glory,
If peace be in the heart.
--Charles Francis Richardson

Unbroken

Heard Olympian, WW2 POW, Louis Zamperini tonight at Houston's First Baptist Church. He was the subject of Laura Hillenbrand's bestseller Unbroken which I cannot recommend highly enough, especially after hearing him speak in person.

Zamperini a humble, funny, charming 95 year old man with so many exciting memories to offer the audience. Does not consider "The greatest generation" such a great label; prefers to call his generation "hearty" because they were strong and persevered without complaining, just fixed problems with which they were confronted.

Simply amazing testimony of miracles, forgiveness, leadership, patience, dedication; all part of a great interview onstage by Pastor Gregg Matte. Overflow crowd tonight of 1,000 all blessed by the admonition of a true american hero:

1. be prepared for disaster, and be prepared to share the gospel quickly
2. discipline your kids so they know how to behave, teach them humility
3. forgiveness is only possible through Jesus Christ, who first forgave us
4. memorize scripture, it helps your brain stay sharp, and helps when you have to act fast (see #1 herein above) Zamperini eloquently told how Psalm 18 mirrored his time in the ocean tumbling downward wrapped in the wires and wreckage of the downed plane. He recited the Psalm and narrated how it related to this near-death experience being pulled down 30-ft. into the sea (Ps. 18: 3-6, 11, 15-16, 19) ending with how he miraculously re-surfaced to look out on the expanse of the Pacific ocean (see v.19)
5. author Laura Hillenbrand crafted the stories so realistically and authentically that reading Unbroken almost brought it all back to him (he suffered from PTSD after the war)
6. the world is so complicated now, so much has changed from when he was a boy in the 20s (he cited crime statistics, and mass communications)
7. Zamperini is pretty sure he would have broken the 4:00 mile before Sir Roger Bannister (1940 Olympic games in Tokyo were cancelled)
8. Hitler reminded him of a psychotic comedian, he actually shook his hand!
9. kids need something to keep them busy, like a sport about which they have passion
10. Miracles happen all the time, nothing is too hard for God (his heart changed on the spot, no more nightmares!)

If I make it to 95 years old, I want to be just as sharp as Louis Zamperini
What a privilege to hear him talk tonight!

Houston's FBC walkway welcomes Louis Zamperini (photo credit: Pillsbury)

Listen to this sermon at www.christtheking.com (Aug. 7, 2011)

Christ The King Presbyterian Church in Houston, Texas
Click on the hyperlink above to the front page of CTK website: you can listen to the most recent sermon:

Rev. Eric Priest's sermon on Psalm 10 this Sunday August 7, 2011 talks about the idea that we tend to judge life by success: the point of life is to get ahead and then stay ahead! Eric discusses Psalm 10 in light of 3 types of atheism, which was a fascinating way to see modern worldviews. It made me think of a couple of things I read recently:

“In a world where success is the measure and justification of all things, the figure of Him who was sentenced and crucified remains a stranger and is at best the object of pity. The world will allow itself to be subdued only by success. It is not the ideas or opinions which decide, but deeds. Success alone justifies wrongs done… with a frankness and offhandedness which no other earthly power could permit itself, history appeals in its own cause to the dictum that the end justifies the means… The figure of the Crucified invalidates all thought which takes success as a standard.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Ethics (published 1955)

“In direct contradiction to the American Dream, God actually delights in exalting our inability. He intentionally puts his people in situations where they come face-to-face with their need for Him. In the process he powerfully demonstrates his ability to provide everything his people need in ways they could never have mustered up or imagined. And in the end, He makes much of his own name.” David Platt's Radical (Random House 2010). (thoughts on 2 Cor. 12: 9-10)

How do you feel about your weakness, and what is your Achilles heel? On his blog, Rick Warren recently talked about what Adam and Eve did to hide from God and said additionally, "what is your fig leaf?"

KIAH (CW) Channel 39 NewsFIX

Watched Channel 39 CW Houston News FIX last night in the 9 O'clock hour and it is a new type of late evening news for the younger demographic (if they actually watch the news on TV).

Part TMZ, part Twitter, part tabloid trash, part newscast: a quick hitting hybrid for the younger TV generation not hip to Master Dave Ward and Gina Gaston over on the traditional ABC station.

It is apparent that news will never be the same, after social media gets us the feed in 140 characters or less. I found it distracting as I relaxed in a dark room, but it was interesting. "A" for effort, 39.

Call it the ADD/ADHD newscast for the under 30-set, but it had an eclectic mix of infortainment and news. The billboards advertising the NewsFIX all over town make it appear this is a major push for the station. Good luck.

Breathe now.

I think a lot while driving on Houston’s freeways. I don’t know why they’re called “free,” because many require tolls and the crowded chaos of these roads leads to distraction.

Driving and thinking is multi-tasking. Frequently the debris will wake you up as it flies by the windshield, or as it happened today, one gets stuck directly behind a huge bright orange trash-compacting dump-truck (Aggressive Waste Disposal/only in Houston Texas).

The smell was exquisitely rancid, putrid, and malodorously sweet! It perfectly accompanied the pounding percussion of Larry Mullen Jr. during the U2 song, “Breathe.” (see below)

Bono’s lyrics remind me that I have a love you cannot defeat. They rumbled in my head as I contemplated a meeting I just had with a young friend worried about the next step in his career. We don’t know each other very well, why would he listen to me? My mind races like loose electricity: did I make any sense, did I talk too much, not enough, how will he see that there’s nothing I have that he needs? All of us were made uniquely and must find our purpose, but ultimately “I found grace, it’s all that I found, and I can breathe. Breathe now.”

Lyrics ©U2 from No Line on the Horizon (Interscope 2009):

16th June, 9:05, door bell rings.
Man at the door says if I want to stay alive a bit longer
There's a few things I need you to know. Three!

Coming from a long line of traveling salesman on my mother's side
I wasn't gonna buy just anyone's cock-a-too;
So why would I invite a complete stranger into my home?
Would you?

These days are better than that; These days are better than that

Every day I die again, and again I'm reborn
Every day I have to find the courage
To walk out into the street, with arms out
Got a love you can't defeat
Neither down or out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now

16th June, Chinese stocks are going up
And I'm coming down with some new Asian virus
Ju-Ju man, Ju-Ju man!

Doc says you're fine, or dying (Please?!)
9:09, St. John Divine, on the line, my pulse is fine:
But I'm running down the road like, Loose Electricity
While the band in my head plays a striptease.

The roar that lies on the other side of silence,
The forest fire is fear so deny it

Walk out into the street
Sing your heart out
The people we meet
Will not be drowned out
There's nothing you have that I need
I can breathe. Breathe now

We are people borne of sound, the songs are in our eyes
Gonna wear them like a crown.

Walk out, into the sunburst street, sing your heart out, sing my heart out
I've found grace inside a sound
I found grace, it's all that I found.
And I can breathe.
Breathe now!

Fictional account for Father's Day (or what Hamp and me talk about)

“Daddy, what’s a world-view?”

“What do you mean, Hamp?” he replied, as the wispy hot breeze blew through the car windows.

They idled at a stoplight on Westheimer, Houston’s version of the Sunset Strip, but with more car alarm/stereo shops than tattoo parlors. The weather was actually gorgeous for the wintertime, the week or two every year where is was just as nice here as in LA. Mark looked around the five-lane stoplight crowd and noticed they were the only Anglos waiting for green, in this multi-ethnic melting pot of opportunity fueled by the energy business and supported by massive immigration; Houston stood as an oasis of economic hope in an ocean of recessional despair--many of these commuters were here for one thing only and it wasn’t the weather.

“What that man just said on the radio, about his world-view?”

Hamp added, “Was he talking about what the astronauts see from space?”

“No, son, a world view is how somebody looks at life, sort of like your perspective from your car seat, or how I can see green through these sunglasses.” “Except a world view is deeper than that, really.”

“It means how somebody makes sense of the things that happen to them in their life, and when life goes on almost a hundred years, like say your mommy’s grandmother, Dean; humans see a lot, Hamp, and some of it makes no sense. Like when bad guys do well and there is no Spidey to take them down.”

“Kind of like whether they believe in the Force or not?!” Hampton questioned.

The light turned, but he went on, “You’re right, son, but the Force is in the movies, and a world view is in somebody’s heart.” “You know how the skeleton holds the body together and the muscles and flesh hold onto that?” he asked. “Well, a world view is deeply held inside, and different people grow up into their worldviews, just like a body grows bigger and taller, a lot of it is affected by how they are raised.”

After a quarter mile of silent driving eastbound toward the bright buildings of the Galleria, Hampton finally adjusted in his car seat and blurted out, “but do I choose the worldview, or does the worldview choose me?”

Mark almost hit the brakes to pull over. His son often made profound statements without prompting and it caused dad to feel almost reverent, even fearful, “Man that is a great question!” “Where do you come up with such great ideas son, I want to read what you’re reading?!”

Remember that Mexican hat I showed you from the big telescope picture of the Virgo galaxy, the one that is something like 55 million light years away from earth? How beautiful and majestic it is, and all we can compare it to is a lousy sombrero? [see photo above credit: Barthel/eso.org]

“I thought that was funny!” Hampton giggled.

“People say there is no use in studying what it is like to exist. Some only see what we have on the earth; they feel that we can make telescopes made out of glass that can see things far away, but all there is is the here and now: what we are walking upon, or this car, or the food we ate for breakfast; and when you die it all ends: the world just goes black.”

“What are those people called?” “You know son, forget about memorizing labels or calling people by –isms, just focus on what they think, who they are, and how they look at things, you will be able to keep it all straight when you get to college.”

“There's a world view where people think the human race is all there is; and some people believe that what we see and hear and are taught is only given to us at a particular time, like you did not choose to go to ROE; those folks think that all the stuff we learn is able to change based on time and place.”

He went on, “and some people hold that what is good for you Hampton, is good for you and just because you say it doesn’t mean a thing. What’s good for you is OK for you and what I think is good for me.” “That is said to be relative: like your relatives are yours and my cousins are mine!” Daddy was getting as tangled up as this traffic jam. “Hampton, I feel like you choose your world view. It doesn’t grab you.” “What do you think?”

"I think that sombrero galaxy is out there in space. We can see it! It wasn’t like a drawing in a book. But I can’t touch it, how do I know it is there 55 gillion light years away?" (This was an important intersection).

“How far is a light year, Hampton?” “I don’t know, a long long long way away!” he said. “How long does daddy usually run, when he gets to?” “4 miles” Hampton quickly replied. Do you see the difference? “Could we ever get to that Mexican hat? Even on a spaceship?” daddy pressed. “Probably not.” Hampton replied. “But I still believe it is there…”

“That is called Faith, Hampy” and that is also a world view. “Faith is being sure of something you hope for, convinced of it even though you don’t see it!” Hampton smiled, like he'd heard that before.

Do you think even if you studied real hard at Rice you would be able to find out how that beautiful galaxy was made, Hampton? “Nope.” He replied. “It’s too big, too old, too amazing!” “I would just have to know it’s there.”

“Hampton, who do you think made the whole universe, including that big hat?” he asked.

“God did.” Hampton answered. “He made me too.” “Son, you are just as amazing as that cluster of stars, you are what God looks like to me.” (daddy was starting to grow salty tears in his eyes).

They were finally making their way onto the street of their home, about to turn into the driveway, when Mark continued: “Son, what makes you think God has been special to you?”

“He gave us Jesus,” Hampton responded with joy. “God sent his son;” daddy interrupted, “but I don’t think I could send you Hampy,” “but I’m not Jesus daddy, so I don’t have to!” "He did it."

“Jesus is the way we believe dad, God was so good to make a way for us to come home. Jesus came here; now we can go out towards the sombrero.”

“That makes all the difference, son, he is the way and the difference.” Daddy warmly agreed, and then threw the car into park. “It makes all the difference, Hampy.”

“So that’s a world view?” Hampton finished, and was jumping out of the car.

“Yessiree it is…” “Let’s get some lunch.” “Well done Einstein, you will make a good teacher someday”

Hampton ran up the drive yelling back: “Quarterback, dad!”

(fictional short story composed June 11, 2011)

copyright: Mark H. Pillsbury

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