Folks, I must confess I do not know Bum Phillips personally. This article was sent to me a year or so ago by perhaps my very best friend in the world, the owner of Seven Oaks Ranch, in Goliad, Texas, who knows Bum because they are neighbors and share some uniquely Texas past-times together riding cutting horses, cooking BBQ, and trail riding together with the Tejas Vaqueros. Mr. Phillips essay below is a wonderful look at Texans and our beliefs, please enjoy.
Willie P
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WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A TEXAN
by Bum Phillips
Dear Friends,
Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it
means to me to be a Texan. My friends know it means about damned near
everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't
have it. So I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing
about all the great things I love about Texas. There are way too many things to
list. I can't even begin to do it justice.
Lemme let you in on my short list.
It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in and
of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Granddad taught
me more about life than fishin', and enough about fishin' to last a lifetime. I
can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and Abilene and
Poteet and every place in between.
Every little part of Texas feels special. Every
person who ever flew the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor or
wherever they call "home" as the best little part of the best state.
So I got to thinkin' about it, and here's what I
really want to say.
Last year, I talked about all the great places and
great heroes who make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and
Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked
about everybody that came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this
stack of emails and thinkin' about where I've been and what I've done since the
last time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is
really great.
You see, this last month or so I finally went to
Europe for the first time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But
you know all my damned friends are always talking about "the time they
went to Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure.
All they did when they saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met
me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the hat tipped em off.
But let me tell you what, they all came up with a
smile on their faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that I was gonna
be nice to em. They knew it 'cause they knew I was from Texas. They knew
something that hadn't even hit me. They knew Texans, even though they'd never
met one.
That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what is
great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking
across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after
8? Do you know why every time I cross the border I say, "Lord, please
don't let me die in_____"? Do you know why children in Japan can look at a
picture of the great State and know exactly what it is about the same time they
can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid?
I can tell you that right quick. You.
The same spirit that made 186 men cross that line
in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why
else would my friend send me William Barrett Travis' plea for help in an email
just a week ago, or why would Charles Stanfield ask me to reprint a Texas
Independence column from a year ago? What would make my friend Elizabeth say
"I don't know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas like I do?"
Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a
holiday for what used to be a nation that is now a state?
Because the spirit that made that nation is the
spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call Texas,
and they passed it on through blood or sweat to every one of us.
You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is, is
alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and
it's our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a
"Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as
fast as I could" sticker on his car understands.
Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall
or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean. My Dad's buddy Bill
has an old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well,
that's what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire. To know that part
of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma
was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you got was what we gave you.
To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the Hell is
that?" when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture
of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't the shape, it isn't
the state, it's the state of mind.
You're what makes Texas. The fact that you would
take 15 minutes out of your day to read this, because that's what Texas means
to you, that's what makes Texas what it is. The fact that when you see the guy
in front of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch. Littering on MY
highway."
When was the last time you went to a person's house
in New York and you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That was never.
When did you ever drive through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four
businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks
like? I damned sure can't. But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from
your house and not see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its
logo. If you haven't done business with someone called AllTex something or Lone
Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too long.
When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll
say a stockbroker, or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from
California what she is, she'll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either
of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might be a democrat. When
you ask a Texan what they are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or
"I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you they're a
Texan.
I got nothin' against all those other places, and
Lord knows they've probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you know it
just like I do, Texas is just a little different.
So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you
see a person broken down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are
in a bar in California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas
Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn't be
here enjoying this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn't know
the story, tell them.
When William Barrett Travis wrote in 1836 that he
would never surrender and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really
saying was that he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your
average everyday men. Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it
then, and that's why it means it today. It means just what all those people
north of the Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no
mountain that we can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter.
It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is
richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in
Texas. It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the
Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that
counts for something.
So for today at least, when your chance comes
around, go out and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If you are
sitting wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't for you. But if
the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is
find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands,
then you're the reason I wrote this tonight, and this is for you.
So until next time you hear from me, God Bless, and Happy Texas Independence Day.