A New Year

 

 

As the New Year headed our way, my little family made its way to Europe, specifically, the Iberian Peninsula.   Over the years, we have spent the New Year all over the place.  We have done the big cities, NYC, Mexico City, San Francisco, LA/Las Vegas, Austin, Buenos Aires, Paris, London, and now Madrid. And we have done the smallest hole in the walls from "Bernies" in Port Aransas, Texas to Real de Catorce, Mexico.  

In Catorce, we used to celebrate the New Year with 50 or 60 international friends from all over the Globe.

After dinner in El Real, we would go to the top of the Hotel and experience the greatest, most dangerous fireworks extravanganza at close range.  The six inch  firework mortars would suck the air from around you as everyone on that roof realized that this unregulated display was not only top notch, it was also a 7 or 8 on the Peligroso scale.  The finale was a Gyro-Gearloose contraption made of bamboo by an aging  Matehualan craftsman down in the valley.  It would light up and spin and slowly but surely ignite all of its arms and appendages,  spraying rivers of sparks in every direction, and then all of a sudden, the very top crown would ignite, start spinning at high speed, and then lift off into the heavens to the screams of delight from the equally lit crowd.

We would find it smoldering on someones concrete roof in due time. 

But before we made it to Madrid, we spent 4 days in Lisbon. The last time I was in Lisbon, it seemed a little sleepy but well maintained.  Perhaps the most picturesque city in Western Europe, it has grown to become a destination for tourists of all stripes.  The restaurants are many, the Hotels are modernized, and with the shops and views from the hills of Barrio Alto and the history of the Castle of St George and Alfama on the opposing hill to the north, the historic old town is nicely knitted into the larger metro area. 

Just south of Alfama is the back road up to the Castle.  On the way up is a great Brunch place called Dear Breakfast.  Up the hill a little further is the Cathedral of Lisbon and across the street is the Museum of Resistance and Freedom.

It was there that we were reminded of the recent history of Portugal during its fascist period beginning before World War II.  

Portugal's history of repression, particularly under the

Estado Novo (New State) dictatorship (1933-1974) led by António de Oliveira Salazar, was characterized by strict censorship, pervasive secret police (PIDE/DGS) surveillance, torture, imprisonment of dissidents (like at Aljube prison), suppression of free speech, and control over media and political life to maintain colonial power and traditional values. 

This authoritarian rule, a continuation of earlier military dictatorships, ended with the bloodless Carnation Revolution in 1974, which ushered in democracy. 

The Museum WAS Aljube prison.  And many of the inhuman cells were still intact.  The place gave me the eeby-jeebies. The fact that it was just a few yards from the Cathedral of Lisbon was not just a brutal juxtaposition, 

It is a metaphor of the unholy alliance of church and state. 

The Portuguese people have a long history of courage and exploration.  They were the first to navigate the seas beyond the safety of visual reference.  Thus we have Brazil.

Portuguese maritime explorations resulted in numerous territories and maritime routes recorded by the Portuguese on journeys during the 15th and 16th centuries. Portuguese sailors were at the vanguard of European exploration, chronicling and mapping the coasts of Africa and Asia, then known as the East Indies, Canada and Brazil (the West Indies), in what became known as the Age of Discovery. 

And their technology was advanced:

Portuguese nautical science evolved from the successive expeditions and experience of the Portuguese pilots. It led to a fairly rapid evolution, creating an elite of astronomers, navigators, mathematicians and cartographers. Among them stood Pedro Nunes with studies on how to determine latitude by the stars, and João de Castro, who made important observations of magnetic declination over the entire route around Africa.  

Today Portugal and Lisbon specifically is a model of urban design and commitment to that 500 year history of exploration.

But like the US, Western Europe is facing the large movements of peoples as climate change and a new age of political repression collide.  The Trump administration has claimed that around 140,000 people had been deported as of April 2025, and recent figures are closer to 600,000.

And, the number of people in immigration detention in the US has hit an all-time high according to data published by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement  (ICE).  The data, which comes out every two weeks, shows that as of December 2025, ICE held more than 68,400 people.

And as in the US, the flow of peoples across nation states is also moving those who are seeing their streets and towns change in complexion rightward.

And that explains Drumph.

I'm reading Bruno Latour's book, Down to Earth on climate and politics. In it, he says, "By pulling out of the Paris Accord, Drumph explicitly triggered, if not a world war, at least a war over what constitutes the theatre of operations. 

We Americans don't belong to the same Earth as you.  

Yours may be threatened; ours won't be" 

We made our way to Madrid for our New Year's Eve celebration in a place called Ginger.  

We all wore our funny hats and masks, and blew our little horns. 

For a New Year. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mary Elaine McMaster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Elaine McMaster 1936-2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

A week before Christmas Eve, my partner and her six brothers and sisters lost their mother to the other side. Mary Carlson Sprute McMaster passed in the early morning hours of Sunday, December 17th.  It was a beautiful passing that I described here.

Mary or Mamo as she was called by those who loved her was quite a formidable force.  Having been a nurse for most of her working life, and a supervisory charge nurse for much of that, Mary knew how to manage her patients, and a lot of other things: her money, her personal affairs, her husbands, her kids, and their kids. As for "mother in laws", she was my favorite, and I've had a few.

Mamo was a huge sports fan.  Back when the Spurs were worth watching, she would text me and remind to watch the game.  One night, she had lost her internet connection, so I put an IPAD in front of our TV and she watched the game on facetime with us from 75 miles away.  She yelled and behaved as if she was in AT&T stadium in San Antonio.  She loved the Boise State Broncos and went to many of their games as she lived in Boise in summer and fall, and returned to San Antonio in winter and spring.

Mary traveled and made the most of her almost 88 years until the very end.  From Broadway plays to grandchildren playing in the Nutcracker, she was there.  She loved Esther's Follies here in Austin and we had a ticket for her for that Friday after that fateful Thanksgiving day when she finally fell quiet on that holiday morning.

When we made our trip to Idaho to see the totality eclipse there on the Payette River, she simply said "WOW" when the day went dark.  And she wowed and wowed until the dark once again became day.

Here is the obituary written by her first child Dana, (and my partner) along with input from her siblings:

Mary Elaine Carlson Sprute McMaster, 87, of San Antonio, Texas, completed her journey peacefully on December 17, 2023 surrounded by her loving family. She was born in Osburn, Idaho, June 8, 1936 to Russell and Laura Pearce Carlson. Mary was a beloved mother, grandmother, great grandmother, sister, and aunt and was loved and respected for her kindness, wisdom, humor, enthusiasm and a sense of adventure she embraced in all aspects of her life. She was lovingly called Mamo by her children and grandchildren, a nickname she embraced with gusto and a vanity plate on her Mini Cooper.

Mary was a graduate of Wallace High School, Wallace, Idaho and St. Patrick's School of Nursing in Missoula, Montana. She dedicated her life to caring for others as a nurse, always bringing comfort and compassion to those in need.  Mary worked for many years as a general surgery head nurse at St. Alphonsus Hospital in Boise, Idaho and mentored many young nursing graduates early in their career.  She was respected as a teacher and mentor who never asked anyone to do something she was not willing to do herself and had lifelong friendships form from these relationships.  Mary retired from the Methodist Hospital in San Antonio, Texas in 1999 after serving many years as a nursing house supervisor.  

Mary's love of dancing brought joy to her throughout her life.   She met her first true love (and soon to be husband) while on holiday break from nursing school when a handsome redhead in a camel coat walked into the local establishment, brushed snow out of his hair and stepped into her life.    

Gerald “Jerry” Sprute and Mary married in 1957 and spent many years dazzling friends and family with their playful, skilled dancing style.  Their passion for dance was contagious and they inspired others to join them on the dance floor.  Dancing has always been an important part of her life which she shared with her first husband and their seven children.   Throughout her life, one beloved family activity included going out to dance together for any celebration or to just sing and dance at home in the kitchen, living room or wherever we were inspired.   Jerry passed away after a short illness in 2000.  

Mary met John Browning McMaster, Jr. while ballroom dancing in San Antonio, Texas; John was a kind and gentle man who she married in 1994.  Their mutual love of dancing was shared through many years together dancing for pleasure and included participating in many dance competitions throughout the U.S.   John preceded her in death in 2012. 

Mary was an avid sports fan and loved to cheer on her children in their endeavors in baseball, skiing, football, gymnastics and wrestling.   Favorite memories of Mom as a fan include her pounding the mat with her fist as she cheered on her son during a wrestling tournament or beating another child to the end-zone when he was running in a touchdown.  She loved cheering on the Boise State University Broncos and was also a devoted San Antonio Spurs fan.  Mary will be deeply missed by her family and friends and her memory will forever be cherished by all who had the privilege of knowing and loving her.

Mary is survived by her loving children Dana Sprute, Gerald Gregory Sprute, Stephen Thomas Sprute, Christopher Jon Sprute, Jeffrey Carlson Sprute, Michael George Sprute, and Andrea Sprute Dickerson, brother John “Jackie” Barton, sixteen grandchildren, a great grandson and a large extended family, including many adoring nieces and nephews.   She was preceded in death by her daughter, Stana Sprute, husband, John Browning McMaster, Jr., former husband, Gerald Joseph Sprute, parents, Russell Carlson and Laura Barton, her sisters Edna Thornton and Peggy McGee, and her brother Russell "Buddy" Carlson.

A Celebration of Life gathering is planned for family and friends for August 2024 in northern Idaho.  In lieu of flowers, the family kindly requests that donations be made to the National Emphysema Foundation or the American Lung Association; contributions made in her honor will make a meaningful impact for those living with lung disease.

May Mary Elaine McMaster's soul rest in eternal peace, and may her memory be a blessing to all who knew her.  

She is forever in our hearts.

Mary in deed passed that morning with courage and heart.

And she leaves a legacy of the same.

She will be missed.

But she will mostly be long remembered.

Safe Crossing Mary.

 

 

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The Valley of the Sun

 

We  didn't spend the New Year this year in the mountains of Catorce, or in DF, or in Vegas, or on Times Square, or in London or Paris. This year we were in the Valley of the Sun. And it was delightful.  The weather was just about perfect and our accommodations were the best.  For some reason, my little family decided months ago not to get too far away this year and instead bring in the New Year with my cousin and his family of three boys, two wives, and 2 grandchildren in his large sprawling old adobe home in the center of Phoenix.

We stayed in his large guest house below his personal office. And it was a fortunate thing that we didn't make big plans this year, for there was a powerful event just over the horizon.

Beginning on Thanksgiving Day, where we were planning for 14 family members, the dark shadow of uncertainty fell on us all as my partner's  87 year old mother had a medical emergency in the back bedroom. 

As usual, the Fire Department beat EMS to our tree covered home on Austin's Shoal Creek.  In fact, two firetrucks, two EMS vehicles, and two police vehicles arrived.  And remarkably, they managed to get a pulse, get her breathing though intubation, and rush her to the emergency room just 2 miles away. I stayed at home while my partner and her brother followed the ambulance.

Within a few hours, we received news that she was alive, stabilized, and in intensive care. That evening we had a somber but loving thanksgiving dinner almost as if nothing had changed.  Over the days that followed, Mamo was able to come off the respirator, and begin to recover from the event on Thanksgiving Day.  For almost three weeks, she had good days and bad days and often spoke with clarity on the good days.  But she was needing more and more help breathing from the non invasive respirator.

By the 15th of December, it was decided to move her to Christopher House. There she spent her  last days with all of her 7 children and their partners, 5 of her grand children, and Uncle Herb from Seattle. He was the younger brother of Jerry, her beloved first husband. Always a sports fan, Mary watched her Boise State Broncos play UCLA as she enjoyed her last supper with those she loved.  They sang songs and Uncle Herb sang the Lord's Prayer. Mary even managed to sing for a moment.

Early on the 17th, she breathed her last breath with her oldest daughter, her third son, and his daughter right there with her.  It was a passing of love and beauty.

With Mary's passing, we tried to get Christmas going.  We strung the house lights, and we got our Christmas tree up.  But the lights would not work and it was too late to buy more.  We finished the tree with the only box of lights we could find from our local CVS.  But the tree wasn't just dim, it was somber.

And that was as it should be.

We spent Christmas with good friends at the Four Seasons.  Cousin Lisa flew in from Seattle. We got the new rug installed in the Breezeway. We lit the fireplaces on both sides of our inside/outside house living space.  It was good weather, but it was somber.

Two days after Christmas day, we made our way to the Valley of the Sun.

There we played pickle ball on the flashy Phoenix Country Club courts. We played croquet on my cousins super flat yard with golf course quality grass. But for culture, I had insisted that we go up the mountain to see Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West.

The excursion was well worth the time invested.  Wright's desert laboratory is now a world heritage site. It had been 30 years since I had visited it in my forties.  During that time, I was building my City of the Future model called Argonon and I was reviewing the city plans of many of our great architects.

But I didn't really get Taliesin West, even though I had used his low ceilings running into a fireplace design in a recent renovation and I was pleased with the result. This time, Taliesin was different.  It's modern design at almost 100 years old is striking. And remember, this was his winter home, in Summer he returned to Taliesin in Wisconsin.

Looking from the South West corner of the site, you can see the double 345 KVA lines the power company put right in front of his magnificent view. It was these lines that prompted the 90 year old Wright to tell the city council that if they did this, he would move from Phoenix.  His partner Olgivanna followed up telling them they were not about to move.

When Frank passed in 1959, he had just seen his last creation come to life.  The Guggenheim Museum had just opened.

But the passing of Frank Lloyd Wright and of Mary McMaster is not the story.

The story is the legacy they left us.

As we all live in the Valley of the Sun.

 

 

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All Saints' Day

Edward and Katherine Martinez

 

Here in Austin, we celebrate Halloween or "All Hallows Eve" unlike a lot of communities. Here, many homeowners dress their homes as if it's Christmas.  Down on Sixth street, where many of the bars are, tens of thousands dress up and walk up and down the closed street festooned in some really great costumes.  Oddly, few are actually scary, but many are definitely creative.  My favorite this year came from our neighbors up the street whose eldest young boy came to our door as a bright orange safety cone.

But the day after Halloween is pretty much ignored most places.  Yet, it has always been my favorite of the two. It's called All Saints' Day.

According to Wikipedia,

The Christian celebration of All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day stems from a belief that there is a powerful spiritual bond between those in heaven (the "Church triumphant"), the living (the "Church militant"), and the "Church penitent" which includes the faithful departed. In Catholic theology, the day commemorates all those who have attained the beatific vision in Heaven. 

In Methodist theology, All Saints Day revolves around "giving God solemn thanks for the lives and deaths of his saints", including those who are "famous or obscure".^[22] As such, individuals throughout the Church Universal are honoured, such as Paul the Apostle, Augustine of Hippo and other saints, varying according to the hagiographic traditions of the Church in question. 

In some traditions, the day is also used to celebrate individuals who have personally led one to faith in Jesus, such as one's grandmother or friend.

Protestants generally commemorate all Christians, living and deceased, on All Saints' Day; if they observe All Saints Day at all, they use it to remember all Christians both past and present. In the United Methodist Church, All Saints' Day is celebrated on the first Sunday in November. It is held not only to remember Saints but also members of the local church congregation who have died. In some congregations, a candle is lit by the Acolyte as each person's name is called out by the clergy. Prayers and responsive readings may accompany the event. Often, the names of those who have died in the past year are affixed to a memorial plaque.

My Aunt Phoebe was born on All Saints' Day.  She is my father's younger sister.  Born in 1933, she turns 90 on this All Saints' Day. That means she was a young girl when Jack H Osborne went off to World War II to become an aviator for the Navy in the Pacific in 1942. When he came back alive and victorious with two Navy decorations, young Phoebe was understandably proud of her older brother who had seen so much carnage.  And she always loved my Dad with a wonderful spirit, helping him manage the rest of his life in health and finances.  ( My parents divorced in the early sixties and he never remarried).

Phoebe is a talented pianist.  Often when I was young, she would play Clair de Lune (by Debussy) for her father.  "Moonlight" was his favorite. It is the third movement of Suite bergamasque.  The popularity of "Clair de lune" has made it one of Claude Debussy's most famous works for piano, as well as one of the most famous musical pieces of all time.  I agree with Polk, my grandfather. 

In the last 20 years, Phoebe managed to cobble together the Osborne Farm in Gray County, close to Pampa, from her 2 older brothers and her older sister.  It was here that my grandfather had a huge double circus tent sale  on March 13th, 1936 and another one in September of 1938. His Hereford Bull, Jr. Prince Domino , was a sire of Prince Domino and Jr. won first place in the Denver Stock Show.

Phoebe has a son John, and two daughters, Elizabeth and Katherine. And Phoebe has lots of grandchildren and great grand children. She is the last remaining aunt or uncle I have.

And just last week, Katherine lost her husband Edward.  

This is from Katherine's obit.

Edward Carlton Martinez was born September 25, 1954, to the late Blas and Charlotte Martinez in Geneva, NY.  Being from a military family, he traveled extensively.

He grew up diving off cliffs of Palma de Mallorca as a young boy, ice fishing with his father in Minnesota and hunting in the woods of western New York as a teenager. He was a lifelong hunter and angler and enjoyed opening dove season in the Texas Panhandle, deer season in the Texas Hill Country and salmon fishing in Alaska. His love of the outdoors and respect for animals ran deep. 

Professionally,  Lt Colonel Martinez was a microbiologist with over 25 years of experience in the pharmaceutical, biologic and life science industries where he developed regulatory strategies for therapeutics and medical devices working closely with domestic and foreign regulatory agencies. 

In addition, Edward  served his country proudly working as a Medical Observer Controller / Trainer with responsibilities to train military chemical and medical units throughout the continental United States to respond to Weapons of Mass Destruction, terrorist attacks, and to prepare the United States Army response to natural disasters inside the continental United States.  

Edward was a Gentleman’s Gentleman with a streak of Roughrider. He was an avid listener and man of few words but whose words were powerful. Everyone who knew Edward witnessed his thoughtfulness, generosity, respectful nature, and well-timed sense of humor. He always had a kind word for everyone he met. 

We lovingly say so-long to our gentle giant."

Katherine also has her PhD  in Microbiology, so I guess they understood each other. 

The service is Monday, Nov 6th at Saint Marks in San Antonio. 

And I expect to see Aunt Phoebe and some of my cousins.

We all came from the Texas Panhandle 

and now we live all over the earth, 

in Seattle, LA, DC, Phoenix, Singapore, Round Mountain, and Helotes.

And I shouldn't forget our home in Real de Catorce, MX.

The Texas Panhandle is a good place to grow up,

and, as the most conservative district in the US Congress,

an even better place to be from.

Rest in Peace All.

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Mourning Mary

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mary Bess Faris  

1933-2023

 

 

I didn't meet Mary Bess Faris until about 17 years ago.  She was the partner of the father of my partner's best pal from medical school.  And it was then that we started having Sunday Brunch with at  least the five of us... Dan, his son Steve, my partner Dana, and Dan's partner Mary.

I knew Mary as a potter.  She would show her beautiful works at the Food Coop every year when they would have that wonderful arts and crafts show in their parking lot.  Her work was delicate and lovely, much like she was.

Actually Mary met Dan through Dan's two sons, Steve and Ross.  But make no mistake about it, Dan and Mary were the kind of late-in-life couple that you loved to be around.  They would go out with us to all kinds of events. We would take them to concerts, even outdoor events with dancers swinging from on high with all kinds of gear and tackle.  They even showed up with a gift for a Quiñceanera party for Dana's dog Misha. They were game.

We traveled a little with them.  One trip to  upper New York State was particularly enjoyable as we enjoyed the upper Hudson River Valley where the Vanderbilts and the Roosevelts had their summer places.  We spent a good amount of time at FDR's home and presidential library.  It was not only the first, it was a working library and office for the four term president.

On occasion, we went to their quaint cabin on the Guadalupe River just north of San Antonio.  There, Dan and Mary lived for parts of many years in that cacophony of buildings that Dan had created.  And it was right down on the river, or as close as you would want to be given the nature of Texas rivers.  They could bathe and shower outside and watch the time roll by. It was funky but nice.

Up until the pandemic, Mary and Dan were about as active as two octogenarians can be.  They would hike in Big Bend, sometimes at their land out there. Mary was good with plants and trees and she knew them well with the aid of her luminous mind and quiet but powerful intellect.

And along with Dan and Dana,  it was Mary and I that responded to the infamous tree report that called for the removal of almost every one of your favorite trees at Barton Springs Pool.  I will always remember Mary and I walking the grounds marking each tree scheduled for removal with a small but official looking sign and iridescent surveyor's tape.  She carried a clipboard with a list of the tag numbers of the endangered trees. I  would read the tag number, Mary would check it off on the clipboard, and then we would wrap the tree with our signage.

Midway through the process, the manager of the Pool came over and asked what we were doing and that we were freaking people out.  I said I was with the City  (the utility) and that these trees were scheduled to be removed and part of good government is communicating these plans to the public in a timely, effective way.  The manager said, "OK good."

But the bulk of our time together was in our weekly brunches.  Almost every Sunday we met at noon at  various Mexican Food restaurants.  We started out on north Burnet Road at Elsie's, but over the years, we met south at El Meson, and later in central Austin at Santa Rita.  Occasionally, we would even go to the venerable classic Green Pastures.

Mary would almost always eat a bean chalupa or enchilada-like something, but she wasn't too proud to not eat some chips and queso.  We would talk for hours, almost always about the condition of our politics, be it local or national.  Every subject was on the table, and Mary would almost always listen except for when she did speak. And it was always worth the wait.

Mary's partner, Dan, was and is quite a thinker.  He retired young from his career in law, and became a Siddhartha for the last third of his life.  I would always joke that Dan spent the last 30 years looking for God, when he was partnered with the actual Oracle from the Matrix.

Mary was so special.

And we all knew it.

Normally I would post the official obituary at this point, but Dan sent me some hand written notes instead.

Mary Bess Faris was born in Houston on October 22, 1933.  After graduating from High School, she went to Baylor for a couple of years.  There she  married Douglass Hanson who she met in High School. She then went out to San Diego State and managed to have two daughters, Linda and Jan who were born in 1954 and 1956. When she returned to Houston, she had a son, David, on October 2, 1960 in wedlock with Bob Turner in 1959.

She graduated from the University of Houston and then got her Masters Degree at UTMB Galveston while living in  La Marque. Over the next 15 years, she worked in labs and other institutions like MD Anderson. And she also studied microbiology at the Med school in Galveston in the late 60's.

90 years is a good long run and how fortunate Dan and Mary were to find each other as the millennium turned.

And how fortunate those of us who had brunch with her almost every Sunday were to know her serene, quiet, yet knowing presence.

Mary had been getting weaker and weaker over the last few years.  She had to keep her oxygen handy, but she didn't make a peep about it.

We saw her less and less as the Time of Covid wore on.  The last time I saw her, we walked her out to the swimming pool so we could celebrate Dan's 90th in September and her 90th to come as the Sun moved from Libra into Scorpio.

As the Spring peaked its head out, we heard that she had gone into the hospital.  A few days later on March 14th, one of her favorite doctors stopped by to check on her.  He found her growing even weaker, so he called Dan.  

And there with Dan on the phone, the Oracle passed.

"Mary passed this morning at 9:33 am while I was on the phone with Dr. Wolf at her bedside. 

No rehab, no hospice , no more palliative care , as Steven put it,  

Mary retired undefeated."   Dan Crow

 

 

 

 

 

Mary's service will be this Wednesday, April 19th at 10:00 AM  at Oakwood Cemetery just east of I 35 and 16th street.

 

 

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Solomon Haws Osborne

 

                                                             

 

 

 

 

 

  

Solomon Haws Osborne (1974-2021)

 

 

 

A day after the advent of spring, I got a call from the best ex-girlfriend my son Solomon ever had:

"Solomon had a heart attack and he died," she said sobbing between every word. She gave me the phone number of his partner on the dock Sol had been working on, who was at the scene.  We talked briefly and he gave me the address.  In a haze of disbelief, I walked back to the office guest room where my physician partner has worked much of the last year.  I peaked in imagining that she was zooming and she was.

She turned in her chair with the non-verbal message that she was with her staff or a patient.  

I said, "I just got a phone call that said that Solomon had a heart attack and he died!" "For real" she said.

I'm afraid so.

We rushed out to 1515 Chipmunk in Lakeway, a lot right on Lake Travis.  The deputy let us through once I announced I was the deceased father.  When we got to the actual scene, I could see from our side of the yellow tape line his tricked out Jeep with the monster tires. It was parked a bit side wise on the road and the door was wide open.  He was obviously in a hurry.

The detectives weren't, and we waited more than an hour after talking with them and answering their questions.  Soon, the medical examiner arrived and they began their forensic analysis.  Meanwhile I slipped down off the road and moved towards the scene where I thought I might see my son. 

There he was under a crime scene tarp with his tennis shoes sticking out. It made a permanent impression on my mind and on my entire being. In another 30 minutes or so, after the examiner finished, they allowed us to be with the body before he was loaded into the carrier.  This was still an active investigation so we could only touch him through the blanket.

There, Dana and I said good bye to my 46 year old son.

They allowed me to drive the jeep with his phone and wallet and tools in the back to his house a couple of miles away.  All I could remember was the first time I drove him home from the hospital in that red Christmas stocking.  He was born 1 day before Christmas Eve.

There we began the process of rebuilding our lives without him. 10 days later, we hosted a small group of friends and relatives in the backyard pool area of his home and we produced a Zoom service for another 50 or so. We heard his mother speak, my partner read, and an old friend recounted his chaotic birth. Two of his friends talked of their love and admiration for him, a Buddhist Priest gave us higher context, and I gave the following Eulogy:

Solomon Haws Osborne was born early in the morning on December 23. It was 1974. Dee had gone through almost 24 hours of labor having starting early in the morning on the 22nd which was also the winter solstice. As you heard Jimmy explain, we invited all of our friends to the mansion in Taylor to celebrate the arrival of our first born. It didn’t work out.  By about 3 o'clock in the morning, after  emergency cesarean surgery I got my first look at my new son. Because he spent so much time in the birth canal, his head was greatly stretched like a pickle. When I said “oh wow we have a spaceman,” the doctor calmly assured me that the head would return to normal shape. Frankly I didn't believe it and I thought it was nice that he was trying to make me feel better about the situation.

We spent the next few days in Brackenridge Hospital and somewhere close to Christmas day Dee and Sol and I headed back home to the old cotton Baron mansion in Taylor.  At first, we were going to name him Sol but by the second day or so it turned into Solomon and we picked Dee’s maiden name to be his middle name. Somehow Solomon Haws Osborne sounded better than Sol Haws Osborne. And it paid off; his email address is Solomon Osborne@gmail.com.

He went home in a Christmas stocking that was given to us by the hospital, and I must say it was the most precious Christmas gift I've ever received.  I remember even today that feeling of leaving the hospital with a new being on board in my white Volvo station wagon and it took me a while to get accustomed to it.

Soon, we moved to the little House on the Prairie just east of Elgin where Solomon would spend his early years.  It was a tiny house but considering that we ran the goats out of it in order to live there, it was a pretty decent place to start a family. I built a little solar collector on the south Side of the house, and we put a woodstove in. The landlord had recently cleared the pastures around us and piled up the Mesquite so we had an endless supply of high-quality wood that kept us warm in those early winters.

Solomon was the favorite of his grandmother. And she was always glad to take him on when Dee and I finally started going out.  He was a good kid.  However, the first night we left him with Joan, he cried himself to sleep at the door where we had left and was asleep in the hallway when we got home from the movie.

One time, after we had moved to the house on dead dog road on Highway 95, Solomon came running out to me with some big news he had heard on the evening news. “Dad dad” he said, “the gorillas have overrun Lebanon”. That was pretty big news to a five year old.

Solomon did well in school but he didn't like it very much when his younger sister just 22 months his junior skipped the second grade.  Like most brothers, he didn't think his younger sister was that smart.

While we were living in Elgin, we pretty much behaved like normal folks, we went to the first Baptist Church, I went to Kiwanis club and did the pancake cook off's, and I was baseball coach for nine years.  For the last three years Sol was on my team and he turned out to be a valuable power hitter. He hit a home run in all star game and somehow I missed it.

Our years in Elgin were good years. We had a good network of friends which we have to this day. Sol made many friends, one of them,  Will Owen, you heard from moments ago.

Ultimately Solomon graduated from McCallum high school in Austin where he began his love of all things with wires.  He was the best guy around to hook up your phone,  stereo, your security system or your computer. He worked for a cable company for many years wiring up all kinds of schools and institutions in the region. But I think he really enjoyed wiring up breathalyzers for those folks who had gotten in trouble drinking and driving and who had a judge who ordered a breathalyzer on their car for it to start. It was the perfect mixture of wires, car, technology and misbehavior.

When he was in his thirties, Solomon adopted Alex when Hope passed away, and after a few years in Elgin they moved to Lakeway.  Living in Lakeway here for the last 10 years or so, Solomon was able to expand his love for radio controlled cars, airplanes, even boats and also to indulge in his passion for great big huge trucks. And in  the last five years or so he's been investing in classic cars and fixing them up and selling them to find some more. There is a 60s model Chevy in the garage right now. But to his credit, and in at least a small bow to his father, he bought a Tesla and developed a love for electric cars and electric transportation in general.

For as you know, the world will not be able to solve the crisis of climate change without a complete transformation of our energy and transportation sectors to renewables and electricity.

During his time in Lakeway, Solomon got to watch Alexander play football with the state championship team from Lake Travis, almost winning two championships in a row.  And Alex has the bling Ring to prove it. Over Christmas we had several dinners with Sol, and Dana and I agreed that we thought Sol was happier than we had seen him in a while. We kept close touch during the Snow-Mageddon as we discussed the electric generator that is installed at this house. And just a few weeks ago, I called him and told him he needed to get a Covid vaccination and to begin to start thinking about his health. I told him that he wasn't a young man anymore and that he needs to take care of himself.

Not three weeks later I was working preparing for my one-on-one meetings with my director of local initiatives at the Texas Electric Transportation Resource Alliance when I get a phone call from Solomon's best ex girlfriend ever. It was Devon.

“Hi Devon, long time no see”

Devon was crying.  “I’m so sorry, but Solomon had a heart attack and died.”

It was the call that all parents hope to never receive.

Dana and I jumped in the car and made our way to 1515 Chipmunk, arriving before the Medical Examiners.  The area was taped off but I made my way around the trees to see.

There was Solomon, under a police tarp with his tennis shoes sticking out.

A sight no parent ever wants to see.

I wrote to Dana’s friend in Central America, “At times like these it seems that we are in a sea of death, When in truth, we are just blown by the winds of life,  in a universe of light.

I am finding peace with this, as we all should, for everything has a purpose.

Ecclesiasties 3.1-8

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, And a time to die;
A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill, And a time to heal;
A time to break down, And a time to build up;
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain, And a time to lose;
A time to keep, And a time to throw away;
A time to tear, And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;
A time to love, And a time to hate;
A time of war, And a time of peace.

Let us all find that peace as we honor this life
And remember the love and his life that we shared."

His son, Alexander Deems Osborne followed me with his own words of appreciation and admiration.

Then, we released 46 balloons into a slight south wind.  

They barely did clear the trees.

And we watched as the multi-colored balloons

merged into a late afternoon sky,

As we released him and his spirit

into a universe of hope and light.

 

 

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Jack H Osborne

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jack H Osborne (1923-1989)

 

It's New Years Eve.

And 2020 has been a year to remember. Or maybe forget.

But 31 years ago on New Years Eve, I was in Pampa Texas burying my father.

I was in Monterrey, Mexico playing handball at the Ambassador Hotel with one of the trainers in the gym and I was getting drubbed.  There was a knock on the door. I opened the door wondering what could be happening to interrupt my workout.  It was my young teenage son.  "Papa Jack is dead", he said with tears in his eyes.

Thus began our long trip back to Austin and ultimately to the Texas Panhandle where I was born.

Jack H Osborne was quite a guy.  Here is a piece from the Freedom Museum archives:

"Jack H Osborne was born 1 January 1923 on the Osborne Ranch in Roberts County, Texas. He attended schools in Miami, Texas, graduating in 1940 from Miami High School. He received appointments to West Point and Annapolis Naval Academy but chose to stay in Texas and attend Texas A&M University to study mechanical engineering.  

 On 17 August 1942, a volunteer group, “The Plainsmen” from 23 Panhandle Counties were entertained with their families by the Amarillo Chamber of Commerce and the Globe News Publishing Company. This patriotic event with dinner and speeches took place in the Herring Hotel Crystal Ball Room. The men left that night by train for Athens, Georgia. They were to become known in the Naval Air Squadron as the “Sky Busters”. 

 Lt. Jack Osborne, pilot of a Navy “Avenger” torpedo bomber, was awarded the Air Medal “for his action during the Saipan campaign during which he made numerous photographic missions over enemy held positions in the face of concentrated Japanese anti-aircraft fire”. Osborne was cited by Adm. Chester Nimitz USN, Commander in Chief of the US Pacific Fleet, “For meritorious achievement while participating in aerial flight as a torpedo bomber pilot in action with enemy Japanese forces during photographic missions...flying straight courses under prevailing low ceilings in the face of concentrated anti-aircraft opposition and exposed to naval gunfire. 

Osborne engaged in dangerous photographic missions over Saipan, Tinian, Aguijan and Rota Islands, providing our forces with complete and careful coverage of desired areas. His skillful and daring devotion to duty in the successful accomplishment of these important missions was in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval service.” Osborne received the Silver Star for these missions and also the Distinguished Flying Cross “for distinguishing himself by heroism and extraordinary achievement in operations against the enemy while serving aboard the USS White Plains. 

He flew his torpedo bomber in a coordinated strafing, one enemy cruiser and two enemy destroyers in the battle of the Samar Island on 25 October 1944. Osborne handled his aircraft with skill, daring and determination. In spite of the enemy anti-aircraft fire, he scored three direct bomb hits on the designated enemy battleships”.   

Osborne's sister, Phoebe Reynolds, says of his World War II experience, “Jack kept a daily journal. The family was not aware of this until after his death in December 1989. It is a documentary of all the days of this training, various bases, friends and battles. His precise, artistic handwriting became a hurried dash across the page. His boyish countenance became that of a seasoned veteran.” 

Jack H. Osborne died 29 December 1989.

Clearly, Jack was a War Hero.

But he was an athlete too.  At 18, he was the golden gloves heavy weight champion in Chicago in 1940. Jack was about 6 foot 3 and his weight was around 185 when he was fighting. He also fought during the war and he was rumored to be the Navy Champion. His father, Johnson Polk Osborne had also been a champion that year with his Junior Prince Domino Hereford bull winning the Grand Championship at the Denver stock show.

I was always a little intimidated by the stories.  But Dad never talked about the War that much.  He did teach me how to throw a punch, which was pretty handy when I was younger.

It's pretty well known that Navy aviators were notorious drinkers and Jack was no exception.  He put that problem behind him in his later years.  We were pretty close in a distant sort of way.  When I was in the panhandle I would almost always stay with him in his apartment in Pampa. We built many a fire in his living room and just hung out; often saying very few words all night.   He would set out books for me to read on the bedside table. It was comfortable.

His daily life after he sold his share of the farm to Uncle Wiley was pretty simple- go to the Commodity Office and trade futures in the morning and then go to the Country Club and play a round of golf with his pals.  To have been such a strong, good boxer, he never got the hang of hitting the ball a long distance, but he was a very good putter.

Jack had his share of suffering and loss.  He had a stroke during surgery when he was in his forties.  While he was recovering, I had to work at his feedlot and farm to keep things going. And he later had throat cancer while in his fifties. He managed to recover reasonably well.  At the age of 67, he was in the hospital with the flu over the holidays. Somehow, he didn't make it out alive.

The trip from Monterrey to Pampa was a long one, but nothing like the trip he took from the Texas Panhandle to a WAR that would put him in the pilot's seat of a Torpedo Bomber headed to destroy other men in ships just like his. 

He never really got over it.

 

 

 

 

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