CC Magazine Dec 2012

CC

DECEMBER 2012

MAGAZINE

INSIDE THE MIND OF

CARLOS MENCIA

RUMORS & LIES:

THE END OF THE WORLD (AGAIN) None But Ourselves Can

FREE Our Minds

SURVIVING THE UNTAMED ISLE

LOUIS RAWALT'S ADVENTURE

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mycricket.com Comparison based on AT&T Unlimited Nation Plan plus DataPro Smartphone package as of 10/08/12, and Verizon’s Unlimited Nationwide Plan plus Smartphone Data as of 10/08/12. Rate plan contains a full speed data allowance. Once you reach your full speed data allowance, your speed will be reduced. See mycricket.com/fairuse for details. Coverage details at mycricket.com. Service may be limited or terminated without notice if you no longer reside and have a mailing address in a Cricket-owned network coverage area or if a majority of your voice and/or data usage is on a partner network. Terms, conditions and other restrictions apply. Sales tax not included. The Android Robot is reproduced or modified from work created and shared by Google for use according to terms described in the Creative Commons 3.0 Attribution License. LG Optimus Regard is a trademark of LG Electronics, Inc. Samsung and Samsung Galaxy S III are the trademarks of Samsung Electronics America, Inc. and/or its related entities. For 4G LTE coverage, please see mycricket.com. ©2012 Cricket Communications, Inc. 10496-11/12

CC

MAGAZINE

JEFF CRAFT Publisher

JCRAFT@CCMAGONLINE.COM

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Samantha Koepp, Dale Rankin, Georgia Griffin, Ronnie Narmour, Aletha Eyerman, Charlz Vinson

PHOTOGRAPHY Miles Merwin, Jeff Dolan, Janette Park-Rankin Dale Rankin, Georgia Griffin, Max Strycharske, Ronnie Narmour, Aislynn Campbell

CONTACT CC @ 361.443.2137 361.949.7700 505 S Water St Suite 545 Corpus Christi, Tx 78401

ADVERTISING JEFF CRAFT 361.443.2137 JAN RANKIN 361.949.7700

From the Publisher...

First, let me thank all the people who called and emailed to thank us for the Citgo Story last month. There is an update to the story- The government filed a new motion asking for a jury to decide the sentencing (again). We'll have to wait and see how that goes, but it may be a while. Its taken years just to get this far.

Citgo maintains they can't get a fair jury because of all the media coverage, which sounds like a truckload of fertilizer to me, but there you have it. We'll keep you up to date.

Happy Chrismas, or solstice or whatever you're celebrating this month! We have a lot of great things to do in CC for the holidays, the biggest one is probably the Yule Log Festival at First Christian Church.

If you've never been, its worth checking out. Saturday, January 5 at 3 PM, 5 PM, & 7 PM (each presentation is an hour long) at First Christian Church, 3401 Santa Fe, in Corpus Christi. This will be the 31st year of the festival, so its a real holiday tradition in CC. The American Bank Center is giving away Disney Tickets to readers of CC Mag! Go to americanbankcenter.com/disney to register to win.

Last month we ran a story about how Frenchy, acting on a tip from Louis Rawalt, found some Spanish treasure ships on Padre Island. The response was fantastic, so we're running a two-part series on the life of Louis Rawalt. He's a real interesting character. After years of suffering from a mustard gas attack in the first world war, Louis was given six months to live. He decided to spend it on the Island.

Rumors and Lies is back with a look at the end of the world (again). How many times in your lifetime has the end of the world been predicted? What is it with people? I wonder if some folks just hate their life so much they're hoping it all ends. Well we're planning on a January issue, and I'm going to the Yule Log Festival so lets hope we're here for it.

Its still summer in CC, December is always too warm for my taste, but lets hope we get one of those famous Northers soon to kill all the mosquitoes. Maybe some rain too. Snow is just too much to ask for, but just in case you missed it, (I did) here's a photo from 2005, when it did snow on Christmas Day in CC.

Jeff Craft

Carpet Cleaning

© Copyright 2012 all rights reserved. CC Publishing, LLC reserves the right to edit, rewrite & refuse editorial materials and assumes no responsibility for accuracy, errors, omissions, or consequence arising from it. CC magazine shall be held harmless indemnified against any third party claims. CC Publishing, LLC accepts no claims made by agents, contributors or photographers. Opinions expressed by contributing writers or columnists are not necessarily those of CC Publishing, LLC or its affiliates. Advertisers appearing in CC magazine present only the viewpoint of the advertisers. CC magazine is printed in the USA. We assume no responsibility for advertising claims made in this publication. All correspondence to this publication becomes the property of CC magazine. Publication may not be reproduced in whole or in part without express permission of the publisher and author(s).

10 The Magic of the Globetrotters

He’s #33 in your program, Harlem Globetrotter Will “Bull” Bullard from Detroit, Michigan. One of nine siblings, Bull’s first experience with basketball was when he witnessed a pick-up game in the Motor City. “I was amazed at how tall and athletic these guys were,” said Bull. “I only played basketball in high school and then signed a scholarship to play at Texas A&M University at Corpus Christi for former Coach Ronnie Arrow.” Bull was part of Arrow’s team that won the 2007 Southland Conference Championship and a spot in the NCAA Tournament.

14

Inside the Mind of Carlos Mencia “C 4 Urself” is unlike any other Mencia routine. It is a “metamorphosis, a transformation of maturity of my performances. I look and sound completely different on stage. As we mature, we change. Carlos told me how he grew up in the projects with “a bunch of naysayers.”

22

The Canvas Henry Cardenas

10

14

“I retired on a Friday, I rested on the Saturday, and then I thought, what am I gonna do for the rest of my life? I realized on the Monday that I did not have to work another day in my life, at a job per se, and I told my wife Sherry, “You know what? For the rest of my life, however long I live, I’m gonna make art. I’m gonna paint, or sculpt, or craft wood, or work with glass, but I’m gonna make art.” And I did, from that moment on. I went out and bought a few more supplies and I really hunkered down.

I really started to produce art.

11 Live Music Calendar 12

Rumors & Lies

13 Art Scene 15

Inside the Center

18 Dining Guide 19 The Lenz

06

The Untamed Isle

In 1925, Louis Rawalt was given 6 months to live. He decided to live the life he always wanted in the short time he had left, and built a home on Padre Island when nobody else was there. Island life suited him and he lived on the Island for years with his wife. This is his story.

CC History Courtesy of The Island Moon Newspaper Editor’s note: This is the first in a series of stories from the autobiography of Louis Rawalt. Rawalt move to The Island in 1925 and lived a life that would be impossible here now. He built cabins at several locations from material he found on the beach and knew The Island in a way that probably no one else ever will. He collected relics from over thirty sites on The Island and knew where all of the shipwrecks were to be found, including the Spanish gold ships from the 16th Century. When the Padre Island National Seashore was founded it was Rawalt who led the researchers around The Island and showed them ten sites which they studied as part of the due diligence for founding the park. Rawalt documented everything he found; where he found the road traveled by the troops of General Zachary Taylor in the Mexican War, the long-gone Singer Ranch and numerous shipwrecks. Rawalt was a smart and educated man who studied at the Sorbonne in Paris. His story here begins in a hospital where he was recovering from a mustard gas attack he suffered in World War I. He left behind this typewritten account of his time on The Island and we run it here without editing. He called it…

The Island of Reprieve

By Louis Rawalt

II

t was the summer of 1925. I was seated near the desk of the chief surgeon in the Military Hospital at Chelsea. The bulky form of the surgeon was across across the desk from me. He looked at me with speculative eyes. Finally, he said: “If you have any business that needs attention, you had better return to your home in Texas and take care of it.” He leafed through a chart on his desk, “Prognosis, six months,” He looked straight at me. “A lot of them didn’t have any time left,” he said encouragingly.

“I’ll do it,” I replied. “I’ll have to.”

I rose and started for the door. I had expected his verdict, and had already made up my mind what I was going to do ---that is, if Viola would consent.

I had talked to her about the long white sands of the Karankawa Indians, where I had gone as a child with my father on fishing trips. It was the only place I wanted to go now…remote, desolate wilderness of sand, whipped by the Trade Wind, set like a gem between the blue immensity of the Gulf of Mexico and the green shallows of the Laguna Madre on the Texas Coast.

I had met Viola through her brother who was also a patient in the Chelsea Hospital. We were married in a few months. Viola was young, vital, beautiful, and accustomed to the cultured atmosphere of Boston.

Would she catch the vision of Padre? Would she go there with me to spend the few months that the military doctor had given me to live?

That night, I spun my dream to her, a dream of the primitive island, untamed and uninhabited. Her eyes sparkled as I talked. Jumping from the sofa, she hopped around the room. She kicked off her shoes and did a little war dance.

“Padre, here we come!” she exclaimed.

The Untamed Isle

For the first time since that soul-shattering verdict of death, I faced the future with a degree of hope.

From that moment my mind was turned from its dark remembrance of World War I, with its aftermath of destruction. The doctors had done their best. In one hospital I had relinquished a kidney, in another a part of a lung. Along the way I had lost my vitality and more than fifty pounds that normally covered my six-foot frame.

So, travesty of a bridegroom that I was, I sat beside my wife and The Don Patricio Causeway made travel to the Island by car possible in good together we laid the weather, but the trip required skill and optimism. groundwork for a strange high over the swaying top of the sea grasses crying future. I could see that this healthy, young wife of shrill warnings to their mates. Sand hill cranes waded mine could not comprehend the fact that it was the inland ponds and great blue herons clustered only to be an interlude, and I was thankful for her on the dunes. Occasionally, I saw the tawny form of optimism. a coyote watching me suspiciously from a distance.

We took a train for Texas the next day. In Kingsville, we spent a few days with my people while assembling the equipment essential for living on an isolated island. The upper end of Padre is only twenty-five miles from Corpus Christi; yet, it was considered inaccessible to all but a few intrepid souls who would risk their cars and their necks crossing the crude wooden causeway that snaked its way across the treacherous waters of the Laguna Madre.

My father had been one of those who dared.

Together we spent many days on the island before my martial peregrinations. While he sat on a box or log, fishing with his cane pole at the edge of the great rolling waters of the Gulf, I tramped the beach and prowled the dunes.

Many times Pop laid his pole down, back out of reach of the tide, and came looking for me thinking I was lost. I was lost, but only in the newness of this ageless island. At times the beach, between the water and the dunes, was as clean as a whistle. It looked as though it had been washed and smoothed by a giant trowel with only huge driftwood logs jutting up here and there to break the monotony.

Other times it was covered with litter from the seas.

Seaweed, shells, jelly fish, and the flotsam and jetsam from ships. Nothings seemed to small or insignificant for close observation.

Behind of the sentinel-like row of dunes, I found the happiest hunting ground of all when I came, one day, upon a flat where the wind had swept away the sand to reveal countless spear points and arrowheads.

Then I was back in a lost century where breachclothed Karankawas fought invading Comanches with their backs against the blue wall of the Gulf.

I wandered through miles of course grass and over miles of blown sand, white and powdery. I stopped to pick up bits of pottery and examine strange, un-namable growths of vegetation. Curlews flew

Jackrabbits leaped from clumps of grass, and I saw the dens of badgers and ground squirrels.

I used to wish that I could explore every inch of the one hundred-thirty-two miles of the island; for Padre and Mustang were often joined together when the pass between them filled up with sand. Padre itself is one hundred-ten miles in length and varies in width from two to seven miles.

This then, was the island to which I was taking my wife, and where I meant to spend my rapidly dwindling lifetime. Certainly Padre was not an island of story-book enchantment. Rather, it was a place of realities so stark and primitive that they gave an impression of unreality. The suns of long summers beat down on it with merciless intensity increased by reflection of sand and sea. Hurricanes periodically lashed its shores; huge driftwood logs and the hulks of boats rotting in the sand far above the normal tide line bore evidence of their force.

Once in Kingsville, we lost no time in assembling our equipment. I bought a Model-T Ford for a nominal sum of money. Into the back of it went a small tent, two army cots, a gasoline camp stove and a lantern. We took plenty of blankets and the necessary clothing and cooking utensils. When I say the necessary, I mean just that – tin plates and cups, a skillet, a stew kettle and some knives and forks. We took a month’s supply of food, mostly staples and canned stuff; and a saw, hammer and nails. Viola stored her lovely china a linen a little grudgingly, but she glowed with a spirit of adventure that was good to see.

Making the Move We left Kingsville on a sunny September morning.

Behind me were the years of war, the hospital corridors, the waiting rooms, and the operating tables. I kept the doctor’s grim predictions from my mind as much as possible.

Keeping the wheels of the Model-T on the parallel planks of the causeway demanded all my attention, but every few moments Viola would cry out over some strange bird flying over the Laguna Madre.

There were white pelicans by the thousands, snowy egrets, roseate spoonbills, herons, ducks and gulls and terns. Mullet leaped and played in the water, shining like silver in the bright, morning sun.

We left the causeway and followed a winding path through the dunes to the Gulf side of Padre. At the beach, we turned left, and drove along the surf to Corpus Christi Pass where we set up camp. The pass was open then, and the islands of Padre and Mustang were divided. I don’t know what time we reached the pass; we took no clock with us. I didn’t want time measured out tome in minutes and hours.

We gathered lumber the rest of the day to build a floor for the tent. Viola did most of the labor, for there was little strength left in my body. When the sun was high in the heavens, we stopped long enough to eat the lunch Mother had packed for us.

It had been many months since food tasted so good, and if the fried chicken was seasoned with a little Padre Island sand, neither of us noticed – or cared.

I think I caught some of them all. There were redfish, trout, drum, pompano, pike mackerel, golden croaker, whiting and many less important fishes. The bottom of the lagoon was thick with flounder which we gigged at night by lantern.

One cool night in October I caught five hundred pounds of redfish on my trotlines. Early morning found us chugging across the causeway with our load. The fish sold for twenty-five dollars; then we bought supplies and more line and hooks and hurried back to our island as fast as the Ford would take us.

After that, I fished commercially.

When the first norther’ whistled down across the dunes, we realized that we would have to have a stove to keep the tent warm. So the next trip to town we bought some stove pipe, a chisel and some hinges. I took an oil drum and chiseled out a door on one side and hinged it on. For the pipe, I cut crisscrosses and flanged them out to fit snugly. We filled the drum about a forth of the way up with sand for insulation on the bottom, ran the pipe up through a hole in the tent, and there was our stove. Wood was no problem. The tide took care of that, but cutting it became my chore. Viola tried it once, but swore it off tearfully after a stick of wood flew up and hit her in they eye.

their diet. I learned by experience just how clever and crafty they were. I have seen them fishing in the surf for mullet and catching them! Many times I saw these lean, hungry, animals watching me from over the rim of the dunes. Once I left the beach, they would sneak down and pick up my discards. Sitting on the porch that I had added to our shack, one early morning after I had set out my trotlines, I saw two big coyotes sling down to the water’s edge and begin dragging one of the lines in to shore. I was too amazed and curious to move. They pulled the line all the way in; then bit the fish off the hooks, and trotted with them back to their habitat in the dunes. Many persons doubted the truth of this, but I saw the same thing happen time and again.

One night Viola nudged me awake. “There’s something in the kitchen,” she whispered.

Listening, I heard the faint rattle of the tin plates we had left on the table. I got up and edged toward the kitchen. The moonlight streamed through the open door, and outlined the gaunt, gray form of a coyote. He was on the table licking up the remains of our supper. He sensed my presence and leaped for the door, but slipped on a greasy plat and somersaulted into the center of the room. I gave a By nightfall we were snug and secure. We ate a swift kick to the astonished animal and sent it rolling supper of bacon and pork and beans by the glow down the back steps. Tail down, it trotted up a of our Coleman lantern. Viola had made a table We ate when we were hungry. When we were nearby dune and sat on a nearby dune and sat from a small hatch cover the tide had carried in; tired we rested; and when the time came for on its haunches barking with venom. As I looked our chairs were two nail kegs. She stacked some closer, I saw the forms of four of five puppies, sleep, we slept like exhausted children. apple boxes, one above the other to make a joining in the harsh chorus. They continued to bark cupboard for our supplies. The cots were set up, until I got my shotgun; then they vanished into side by side, at one end of the tent. We turned the night. out the lantern, brushed some of the sand from our Winter passed. A short spring merged into a long During a big run of redfish one night, I caught bare feet and crawled between the covers. summer. By the next October, I realized that I had ninety, averaging in weight from five to fifteen borrowed six months over my allotted time to live, “I love that lantern,” Viola said sleepily, “It gives pounds. I kept them on stringers alive in the surf and by leave of the Almighty I meant to borrow as you time to get in bed before it goes out.” until I was too tired to fish any more; the, nearing many more as I could. I was strong again and seldom midnight, I started to ice them down in the pickup. felt the touch of pain. Fishing was good, and if the I listened to the pound of the surf a moment There was no ice. I hastily loaded the fish and hauled proceeds in those days were not astounding, there before sleep overtook me. From the dunes behind us them back of the dunes where I put them in a pond. was always enough for the things we really needed. coyotes howled. I awoke that first morning feeling We could net them the next morning easily, and Island living agreed with Viola. She was brown and refreshed and eager to face the day. I raised the flap hurry them into the market. This catch would bring healthy and as active as a ground squirrel. of the tent to see the splendor of early morning on seventy-five or eighty dollars which we needed for the Gulf. Nature was outdoing herself in artistry.

Big Shell Beach supplies.

The sky, the water, and the clouds along the horizon We moved our camp to the edge of Big Shell the were all tinted with color – mauve, rose and copper Satisfied with the night’s work, I tumbled into bed next year, (1926) thirty-five miles down the beach. seeping through the gray. As I watched the sun break and slept until dawn. With the first light of morning, This time we had a shack to live in. A place loaned through to make a golden path across the water, I hurried to the pond. I stared in amazement at what to us by Major Swan, one of the old timers on The Viola came softly on bare feet to stand beside me. I I saw: Scattered around the bank of the pond were Island. I bought a surf net and used a Model-A to had everything. But for a limited time only. the headless carcasses of the ninety redfish. The replace the rust-eaten Model-T. We converted the coyotes had outwitted me. Their tracks formed a That day and the ones following it flowed by; the Ford into a pickup. Viola helped me with the net until network around the pond and trailed into the sand hours came and went like the waves that broke I found a fishing partner. hills in every direction. They ate a hearty supper; but against the sand, unmeasured and unrecorded. We One morning when we were hauling in the net, what were we going to eat? ate when we were hungry. When we were tired we something kept leaping against it with the force of a rested; and when the time came for sleep, we slept I drove into town that day for a new supply of ice huge shark or a porpoise. We couldn’t bring it in, so I like exhausted children. For the most part, Viola which was all I could buy. The next night the redfish staked one end of the net into the sand, and hooked busied herself about the camp, but sometimes she were still running – so we got our groceries and onto the other end with the car. came and dropped down beside the camp chair gasoline after all. where I sat for hours at a time fishing with my cane Slowly, I pulled in the net until the creature lay in pole.

Beachcombing the edge of the surf. Incredible! It was an eighteenCoyotes weren’t the only problem we had to cope foot sawfish. When some fishermen came by later Gradually, the sun and the salt air worked their with on the beach. In any season, but especially that day and found me beside the sawfish with a healing magic, and before many weeks passed, I felt during the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, the Gulf cane pole – no net in sight – they assumed I had the beginnings of strength returning to my body. might change from peach to violence. We lived in the caught it on the pole. I didn’t enlighten them, and The aches and pains lessened. The shadow of death Devil’s Elbow, the bend of the long arm of padre. It this tall fish story was told about Corpus Christi for lingered, but grew fainter. was strewn with the accumulated wreckages of the years. The sawfish, I regret to say, became food for Our appetites were enormous. In spite of all the fish years, from shrimp boats and freighters to Spanish the packs of coyotes that roamed the wild stretches we ate, our supplies disappeared rapidly. Neither of galleons dating back to the time of Cortez. Salvage of Big Shell. us looked forward to the trip to town after more. from these boats helped to improve our daily living We seldom saw other human beings there, but Fish were plentiful in those days and would strike at conditions, and some old coins and jewelry I found coyotes growled close to our shack at night, and in anything – even a bare hook. I saw schools of redfish at the site of one of the wrecks made interesting the early mornings and evenings we saw them on the a mile long, their color like a river flowing through additions to our treasure trove of beachcombings. beach searching for fish which were the mainstay of the Gulf. There were many other species of fish, and 07

Some of the castoffs of the waves were unusual and astonishing. One afternoon Viola and I stopped to examine a five-gallon can that had washed up on the beach. I pried the lid off with my fishing knife.

The can was filled with clean, white lard. We put it into the pickup, and before the day was over, we had salvaged more than a hundred cans. There was a lot more damaged cans that we left lying on the beach. The Coast Guard told us later that a Mexican freighter had been torn to pieces by a sudden tumult in the Gulf. She was carrying a cargo of lard; it made a profitable load of salvage for us and a grease bath for the beach. For along time after that the sand was saturated with lard. The island coyotes grew fat from feasting on it. Even the sand crabs acquired a new look of sleekness.

It was about the same time when the British smuggler, “I’m Alone,” was shelled and sunk by a Coast Guard cutter in Sigsbee’s Deep near the southern tip of Padre. The ship was spotted off New Orleans where she expected to land her contraband cargo of whiskey. The cutter chased her along the coast, finally closing on her. The captain refused to surrender. He jettisoned the cargo before the Coast Guard cutter blasted the ship full of holes.

I received word by the island grapevine to be on the lookout for the liquor, so I started down the beach in the pickup, searching the incoming waves and the tide line for bottles of the amber elixir. I didn’t see anything that looked like whiskey, but noticed a full gunnysack embedded in the sand. I could check on it later, so I moved on, but when I saw several more similar sacks, I stopped to investigate. The sack I opened contained a dozen sealed tin cans. I pried the lid from one of the cans. Inside, was a bottle of “Old Hospitality” Bourbon whiskey. During the day, I salvaged one hundred and ten sacks. I stashed this horde behind the dunes, filled a duffle bag with seventy-two bottles and headed for Port Isabel.

The ferry boat took me across the channel. The captain’s suspicions were aroused by the weight of the duffle bag. I had to explain what I had found and make a gift of a few bottles. It is enough to say that I disposed of the remainder in Port Isabel.

When I returned to the island, a comforting feeling of cash in my pockets and the prospect of more, I met the captain of the ferry boat and one of his crew.

They were driving a pickup with the bed loaded with the bulging gunnysacks. I followed their tracks, as they had, from all appearances, followed mine, to my cache in the dunes. Of all my loot there wasn’t even a bottle left!

For weeks the beach was combed by thirsty men all the way from Port Isabel to Port Aransas. At Port Aransas, one boatman got more of the “drink” than he counted on. He spotted a sack and headed his craft toward it. As he reached over the side for the bobbing, burlap bag, he tumbled into the water.

He was five miles from shore, and his boat was circling away. He kept afloat by using the liquor as a life-buoy. The boat swung in a circle, finally coming back to him. He grasped the side and struggled aboard. Evidently, the experience sobered him greatly; for when the got back to town, he sold his boat and other possessions and moved inland.

The days flowed into weeks, and the weeks became months and years. I had grown steadily stronger, and seldom gave a thought to the fact that I wasn’t even supposed to be alive. I could walk for miles without tiring, and many nights I slept on the sand with only a piece of tarpaulin around me when I was fishing

away from the camp. It was one of the times when I had gone alone to a spot thirty-five miles below our shack that the car stalled. No amount of coaxing or tinkering could get a sound out of it. There was nothing to do but start walking. It was seventy miles to Corpus Christi Pass where someone lived who had a car. The tide was exceptionally high, and I had little hope that any fishermen would be venturing down the beach that day.

I realized that I had borrowed six months over my allotted time to live, and by leave of the Almighty I meant to borrow as many more as I could.

It was early morning when I started out. A little before sunset I reached our shack. Viola was visiting my people in Kingsville at the time, so the place was still and empty feeling. I ate, drank coffee, and rested for a few moments before starting again. The tide was rising rapidly. It looked as though a storm might be brewing in the Gulf. If I didn’t get the car up out of reach of the water, I wouldn’t have a car.

This thought kept my bare feet plodding through the sand all night. It was dark as pitch. Sudden squalls blew in, keeping me drenched most of the time. But with the first gray light of morning, I could see by the familiar outlines of the dunes I was only a few miles from the pass.

Bill White, another fisherman, was cooking breakfast in his tarpaper shack when I knocked at his door. I was too tired to eat, but as I gulped down scalding cups of coffee, I couldn’t help crowing over the fact that four years before I had been doomed. In the last twenty-four hours, I had walked seventy-five miles!

During the next year I acquired a fishing partner.

We called him “Shorty”, and if he had any other name we never knew it. He was a good man on the end of a net. It relieved Viola from some pretty hard work too. She had found a bale of cotton washed up on the beach and subsequently launched into a quilting project. Shorty set up his tent a little beyond our shack, and until the hurricane that year (1933), we had a pleasant and profitable partnership.

Hurricane That was the year the Gulf staged a real shin-dig.

We had several scares that September. Viola kept most of our valued and important possessions packed in boxes against the time we might have to evacuate.

The Friday before the storm hit on Monday was one of the most perfect of island days. The water was flat and blue. The skies clear and the southwest wind, warm and gentle. Shorty was expecting weekend guests, and Viola, thinking they would perhaps visit us too, had unpacked the boxes and made the house cozy and neat.

I was fishing early Saturday morning when I noticed that the swells were coming over the beach in an erratic rhythm. Far out over the water, the sky had an ominous look; wildlife had deserted the beach. A squall hit with sudden intensity. I pulled in my line and went into the shack. Viola was still sleeping.

I wakened her and told her to get ready to go to town, that I thought there was a storm on the way.

Sleepily, she started pulling on her jeans and shirt, mumbling about repacking everything. I walked to the porch and looked out. The tide had risen so fast that it was already hazardous to travel the beach.

08

“You won’t have time for that,” I told her. “We’ll have to go now, or not at all.”

Shorty came in then. He had seen the signs. There was no need of telling him. Another squall hit as we were getting into the pickup where we squeezed up together in the seat. The beach was almost impassable where the long sweeps crowded us up into the soft sand and shell. But the Model-A came through, and in the late afternoon, we reached the house of some friends in Corpus Christi.

I checked with the weather bureau and found that there was indeed a storm in the Gulf. It was one of exceptional force and was headed straight toward the Texas coast. They expected the storm to hit Monday. After getting Viola more or less safely settled, Shorty and I began to talk about retuning to the island and going down the beach on low tide that night to get some of our equipment. We decided to go, and over Viola’s protests, we refueled the Ford, and drove back over the causeway to Padre.

The island was a place of darkness and fury that night. It rained incessantly and the wind blew in gusts that threatened to blow the pickup over. We had only gone a mile or two down the beach when we both had to admit that it was hopeless to try to go further until daylight. So we drove the Ford up into the edge of the dunes and sat there all night trying to sleep, our legs cramping and the water reaching nearer with every heave of the Gulf.

When morning came, the rain let up a little. We shoved and shoveled our way through the dunes and to the grasslands in the center of the island. It took all day to reach the shack driving over the rough terrain and through the pools of water left by the night’s deluge. It still rained and the wind blew.

We left the truck behind the dunes and walked over to the house. The water was running under it so deep it was over our knees as we waded up to the steps.

We estimated that the tide was four or five feet above normal. I went inside, and dumping a pillow out of its case, started grabbing some valuables and putting them into it. I tossed in a box containing several old coins I had found around the wreckage of an old ship, a rust-encrusted lavaliere I had picked up at the site of the Balli mission-ranch. Then there were stem-wind gold watches I had found in a wooden box on the beach and my collection of arrowheads and spear points.

I was looking around at all the rest of our furnishings and equipment, wondering how much to take, when a giant roller hit the shack with terrifying force. I felt the floor sway and buckle under my feet.

The water was running up through the cracks when I went out the back door with the pillow case in one hand. The steps had washed away. As I jumped off the porch into the water that was now over waist-deep, I caught sight of a can of gasoline that I was counting on to use for the return trip to town.

I caught the can as it floated by me and waded out of the melee. Shorty, having finished collecting his belongings from the tent, was waiting for me in the truck.

The househad toppled and was being beaten to pieces by the waves. When I started to place the pillow on the seat, I discovered that I had grabbed the wrong one – I had salvaged only a pillow and a can of gasoline which might not even be enough to get us back to town. Darkness was coming down fast.

The storm grew in intensity. We would be lucky if we got out of it with our lives.

Next issue: Spanish Fleets & Mayan Treasures

WEDNESDAY

DOWNTOWN

EVERY WEEK

CORPUS CHRISTI

Every WEDNESDAY 5 to 7 pm 00

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EAT LOCAL! & BUY LOCAL!

505 South Water Street

At The Vil age Shopping Center ( Tango Tea Room)

Market Manager Aislynn Campbell 09

(361) 548-3373

THE MAGIC OF THE

GLOBETROTTERS

By Andy Purvist

Bill Cosby said, “In order to succeed, your desire for success should be greater than your fear of failure.”

“No Fear” should be his middle name. He is the kind of guy who would play basketball with you in your backyard if you asked him. A good-looking guy; when you see him, you like him immediately. He is a born entertainer. At 6’ 4” tall, with a 45-inch vertical leap, he can jump out of your area code and light up a scoreboard like an old-fashioned pinball machine.

He can stuff a basketball faster then you can say “Sweet Georgia Brown” and he's worth the price of admission all by himself. Some around here say he is the medical definition of “goose bumps,” and you can’t fake goose bumps. He loves nothing more than posterizing the competition. He plays the game for keeps, as if behind enemy lines, and is more versatile than a Swiss Army knife. “I love it,” he said to me.

He’s #33 in your program, Harlem Globetrotter Will “Bull” Bullard from Detroit, Michigan. One of nine siblings, Bull’s first experience with basketball was when he witnessed a pick-up game in the Motor City.

“I was amazed at how tall and athletic these guys were,” said Bull. “I only played basketball in high school and then signed a scholarship to play at Texas A&M University at Corpus Christi for former Coach Ronnie Arrow.” Bull was part of Arrow’s team that won the 2007 Southland Conference Championship and a spot in the NCAA Tournament. In 2008, Bull was selected to participate in the NCAA Slam Dunk Contest held in San Antonio, Texas. Bullard finished second but was the only competitor to receive a perfect score on an amazing slam dunk. Bullard jumped over two of his 6’ 8” teammates and then dunked the basketball with both hands. When he completed that dunk, the look on people’s faces in the crowd reminded me of the folks who witnessed the attempted docking of the Hindenburg. In the stands sat representatives of the world-famous Harlem Globetrotters. “I was just being myself,” said Bullard; “The Globetrotters called the next day, and I’ve been a Globetrotter ever since.” Bull Bullard was poised for greatness. With the Globetrotters, Bullard is now connected to thousands of yesterdays.

Greatness, no matter how brief, stays with a man.

The Harlem Globetrotters were created in 1926

by Abe Saperstein in the city of Chicago, Illinois, not New York City as most people think. Their first game was played on January 7, 1927, 48 miles west of Chicago in Hinckley, Illinois. Of course they won. The Globetrotters over the years have played and won more than 22,000 exhibition games in over 120 different countries and before 120 million fans. They continue to spread hope and smiles to all those they come in contact with. Their coach is former Globetrotter, Jimmy Blacklock. “Globie” has been their mascot since 1993, and they continue to perform to Brother Bones’ version of “Sweet Georgia Brown.” In 2002, the Harlem Globetrotters were inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame as a team.

“I’ve played in 47 different countries,” said Bullard.

“We practice every day, sometimes play nine games

a week, and have entertained millions of fans. From December to May, we have our USA Tour followed by a European Tour and then a Military Tour. We won 200 games last year and they were all on the road.”

When I asked what his favorite moment had been so far in his Globetrotter career, he answered, “My first trip oversees to Germany; on that plane; I realized this was all for real.” Who in their right mind would want to be a Washington General? I asked while laughing. “I don’t know, man,” laughed Bull. “They are all professional athletes and they work hard.”

The most dangerous city he has ever played in with the Globetrotters was Mexico City and the country he liked best was the United Kingdom.

I asked him to share with me the stats of his best game as a Globetrotter. His answer was, “Millions of smiles and lots of autographs.” Globetrotter you wished you could have played with? Fred “Curly” Neal, Marques Haynes, Reece “Goose” Tatum, Meadowlark Lemon, Herbert “Geese” Ausbie,” then he stopped himself and said, “All of them.” Bull’s favorite food is salmon and sautéed spinach. His restaurant of choice is Famous Dave’s. Best advice anyone has ever given to you: “Always stay humble and never give up,” he answered. That reminded me of the Jimmy Valvano speech on ESPN. “Magic” Johnson is the athlete he would most like to meet. I tried to get him to change his nickname to “Windmill” Will Bullard because I’ve seen Bull throw down. He reminds me of Dr. J., but no deal.

Bull Bullard’s favorite charity is the (MTMF) Marvin Thomas Memorial Fund in Seattle, Washington. This fund helps needy children of all walks of life have the opportunity to play their favorite sport. “Every time I’m at home, I hang out there and help the kids,” said Bullard.

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I fell in love with the game of basketball because my father introduced me to the Harlem Globetrotters.

As a young kid, we were there watching the Globetrotters and my father started laughing out loud. He worked all the time, as most fathers did, and I had never seen him laugh so hard and now we were laughing together. That is the “Magic” of the Harlem Globetrotters and you didn’t even have to like basketball.

When I told Bull that story he responded, “Man that’s a great story. That’s what the Globetrotters are about, giving back to the community. That’s why I’m a part of this team. I love playing basketball and making people laugh.” Bull is a part of that magic. I am reminded of a quotation from Joseph Campbell that went like this: “There is nothing more important than being fulfilled.” I think Bull has this all figured out.

As they do every year, the Harlem Globetrotters will perform in Corpus Christi on January 20, 2013. The American Bank Center will be rocking. Presented to the public will be the “You write the rules tour,” where each fan will have a chance to add a crazy new rule to Globetrotters basketball. I’ll be there, how about you?

Andy Purvis is a local author. His books "In the Company of Greatness" and "Remembered Greatness" are on the shelves at the local Barnes and Noble, at Beamer's Sports Grill 5922 S Staples, and online at many different sites including Amazon, bn.com, booksamillion, Goggle Books, etc. They are also available in e-reader format. Contact him at www.purvisbooks.com, or andy.purvis@grandecom.net.

Live Music Tonight

The Coastal Bend's Most Complete Live Music Calendar

Compiled by Ronnie Narmour

Saturday, December 8 Slaid Cleaves @ Third Coast Theater Milk Drive/ Pake Rossi @ House of Rock The Weekenders @ Executive Surf Club Shelley King @ Dr. Rockits The Nutcracker @ American Bank Center 2nd Saturday Sing-Along Piano Show @ Brewster Street Ruben Limas@ Island Italian Ray T & the City Crew @ Lug Nutz (Port A Low Life Party) David & Barbara Brown @ Coffee Waves Chris Saenz @ Scuttlebutt’s Sunday, December 9 Open Mic w/ Billy Snipes & Uel Jackson @ Tarpon Ice House Jason Boland, Cody Canada, Chris Knight @ Brewster Street Acoustic Open Mic @ Neptune’s Retreat John Eric @ South Texas Ice House

Stand-up Comedy Show w/ Kelvin Girdy (7 PM) @ Tarpon Ice House Open Mic w/ Billy Snipes & Uel Jackson @ Tarpon Ice House Bless the Fall, A Skylit Drive, At the Skylines, Skip the Foreplay @ House of Rock Acoustic Open Mic @ Neptune’s Retreat John Eric @ South Texas Ice House Monday, December 17 Open Jam w/ Antone Perez @ Doctor Rockits John Eric @ Scuttlebutts Tuesday, December 18 Open Mic w/ Rev. Matt Martinez @ House of Rock Steven James & Shakedown @ Dr. Rockits Emily @ Scuttlebutts Wednesday, December 19 Open Jam w/ Jered “Wolfjaw” Clark @ Flats Lounge Blake Sparzx @ Scuttlebutts

Monday, December 10 Open Jam w/ Antone Perez @ Doctor Rockits Tuesday, December 11 Open Mic w/ Rev. Matt Martinez @ House of Rock Steven James & Shakedown @ Dr. Rockits John Eric @ Scuttlebutts Wednesday, December 12, 12, 12 Open Jam w/ Jered “Wolfjaw” Clark @ Flats Lounge Chris Saenz @ Scuttlebutts Thursday, December 13 Free Beer Band @ Tarpon Ice House Los Lonely Boys/ Alejandro Escovedo @ Brewster Street John Eric @ Island Italian Rich Lockhart @ Scuttlebutts Friday, December 14 Ray T & the City Crew @ The Flats Lounge Buster Jiggs, Neal Edwards @ House of Rock Bar Nutz @ Executive Surf Club Another Level @ Brewster Street Palacios Brothers @ Dr. Rockits Brian Winfrey @ Island Italian Earl Gard @ Coffee Waves Mike Guerra @ Scuttlebutts Saturday, December 15 NetherMedia @ House of Rock Brian Keane @ Executive Surf Club Metal Shop @ Brewster Street The Groove @ Dr. Rockits Ruben Limas@ Island Italian Stuart Burns @ Coffee Waves Fabian Rivera @ Scuttlebutts

Thursday, December 27

Sunday, December 16

Thursday, December 20 Free Beer Band @ Tarpon Ice House Robert Earl Keen/ Terri Hendrix @ Brewster Street John Eric @ Island Italian Antone & the All Stars @ Scuttlebutts

Free Beer Band @ Tarpon Ice House Kyle Park/ Jason Eady @ Brewster Street John Eric @ Island Italian Mike Guerra & Trisum @ Scuttlebutts Friday, December 28 Ray T & the City Crew @ The Flats Lounge Scarecrow People @ Executive Surf Club Fly Emerites, Peace N Quiet, ECHO, Resz, Glass the Sky @ House of Rock Brian Winfrey @ Island Italian Ken Barnett @ Coffee Waves Fabian Rivera @ Scuttlebutts Saturday, December 29 Adolescents, Youth Brigade, American Heist, One Dollar Bob @ House of Rock Aloha Dave & the Tourist @ Executive Surf Club Ruben Limas@ Island Italian Stuart Burns @ Coffee Waves Blake Sparx @ Scuttlebutts Sunday, December 30 Open Mic w/ Billy Snipes & Uel Jackson @ Tarpon Ice House Fortunate Youth, Tatanka, High-Bred Roots @ House of Rock Acoustic Open Mic @ Neptune’s Retreat Monday, New Years Eve

12-21 The End of the World Ray T & the City Crew @ The Flats Lounge J.R. Castillo @ Brewster Street Vallejo @ House of Rock Flashback @ Executive Surf Club Ruben V @ Dr. Rockits Brian Winfrey @ Island Italian Kayla French @ Scuttlebutts David & Barbara Brown @ Coffee Waves

Transistordale @ Tarpon Ice House Spazmatics @ Brewster Street Emily @ Scuttlebutts Sounds of the Coast CD- We're recording a compilation CD of musicians from the Coastal Bend. If you want to be on the cd, contact us at 361-949-7700

Saturday, December 22 Max Stalling @ Executive Surf Club Sun Salutation @ Dr. Rockits Ruben Limas@ Island Italian Spark in the Dark @ Coffee Waves Sunday, December 23 Open Mic w/ Billy Snipes & Uel Jackson @ Tarpon Ice House John Eric @ South Texas Ice House Acoustic Open Mic @ Neptune’s Retreat Monday, December 24 Open Jam w/ Antone Perez @ Doctor Rockits Wednesday, December 26 HOBO @ House of Rock Open Jam w/ Jered “Wolfjaw” Clark @ Flats Lounge Chris Saenz @ Scuttlebutts

Open Mic Night!

Sunday Open Mic w/ Billy Snipes & Uel Jackson @ Tarpon Ice House Acoustic Open Mic @ Neptune’s Retreat Monday Open Jam w/ Antone Perez @ Doctor Rockits Tuesday Open Mic w/ Rev. Matt Martinez @ House of Rock Wednesday Open Jam w/ Jered “Wolfjaw” Clark @ Flats Lounge Second Saturday

Billy Snipes and Uel Jackson host a weekly jam every Sunday at the Tarpon Ice House

Tango Tea Room hosts an open mic night on the second Saturday of every month

Open mic with Rev. Toad @ Tango Tea Room

Rumors & Lies Mayan Calendar Conspiracy

By Charlz L. Vinson Cvinson@ccmagonline.com

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all brings cooler weather, shorter daily amounts of sunlight, and Black Friday. I welcome you to another rant of "Rumors and Lies". Hopefully you enjoyed a nice Thanksgiving Day. Any time with family is time well spent. Keep that in mind this month when you are stuck in traffic at Everhart and SPID. That intersection is like static cling for car accidents. Two myself since getting my license! Be careful when driving, take your time getting from point A to point B, and take this author's advice: Avoid Everhart and SPID at all costs. If rumors are correct, all this hustle and bustle will be in vain, due to the fact that the world will end on December 21, 2012. Or so they say. Or is this just Y2K Part 2?

If I was to ask you, "What days of the week are considered as the 'weekend'?"

You might say, "Friday, Saturday, and Sunday" or simply "Saturday and Sunday".

And both answers are reliable and credible. Now I ask, "What day of the week is considered 'the first day' of the week?" What would you say to that? Sunday?

Monday? If Monday is the first day of the week, modern day calendars should list it first. Most employed in some sort of office setting can relate to Monday as being "the first day of the work week". Religion plays into it as well. The calendar year we use with 12 months works better with 13 months. Each month would get just 4 weeks. Every 4 years we get an extra New Years Eve. Meanwhile we can all learn to speak Spanish and convert our measurements to the metric system.

Where were you on December 31, 1999? At the MGM Grand Casino in Las Vegas? In a steel-reinforced bunker awaiting the apocalypse with your family in-tow? Celebrating with friends? Did you really believe that the clock changing from 1999 to 2000 would create a domino-effect chain of events ultimately

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99942 Apophis is a near-Earth asteroid that may impact the earth on April 13, 2036.

leading to some massive atrocity? Several people did believe it and later returned their "doomsday" items back to Walmart after nothing happened. The fact is that you need to live for today and stop believing hype regarding extinction level events. If the world were going to end, you wouldn't get advance notice.

On December 22, 2012 this rumor will die and some other horrific event will be rumored to arrive on some other future date. For example, April 2036 has been rumored to bring an asteroid named Apophis. Apophis is then rumored to have the capacity to open "the seventh seal." This would bring death and destruction on a massive scale. But then again, these might just be rumors I heard on song lyrics years ago.

Back to the Mayan Calendar Conspiracy, AKA DOOMSDAY!!!! Rumor has it that the Mayan Calendar has an ending date of December 21, 2012. What does that mean? On the eve of this month's Winter Solstice, the ghost of Peter Steele will return and blow freezing cold air everywhere. But it's nonsense like this that gets passed around as folklore or urban legend. The day will come, people will still work, play, drink beer and make BBQ. The next day will come, you may win a door prize or you may land a new job, who knows? Lots of opportunities await everyone on December 22, 2012. It will be OK. Perhaps Hostess will go back in business and produce more Twinkies.

Here’s how I know the world is not going to end on December 21, 2012.

Rockstar Games is releasing “Grand Theft Auto 5“ sometime in Spring 2013.

Another zombie movie, “World War Z” starring Brad Pitt, is due to be released in the Summer of 2013. SUPERBOWL! Too many things have been planned that our collective momentum is essentially “too big to fail”. Now on to more ranting!

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Isn’t gambling outlawed in Texas? And for good reason too. What’s the reason again? Oh yeah, as summarized by former local radio host Bob Jones, “There’s no right way to do a wrong thing.” Thanks for the tip Bob. Maybe it’s a little deeper than that. Did you know that it is rumored that the popular poker card game Texas Hold‘em was invented in Robstown? Some local cities nearby openly operate 8-liner game rooms in plain sight of local law enforcement. It’s either that or scratch-offs. Texas should implement a 5 cent refund on all unclaimed lottery tickets. That would help clean up the environment.

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The true reason Texas outlaws gambling is two-fold. Reason one, they don’t want to lose hold of their monopoly (Texas Lottery and Scratch Off Tickets).

Reason two, Big Oil profits whenever your vice leads you across a state line. Most license plates found in any given Louisiana casino parking lot bear the name TEXAS. Soon Texans will be able to drive up to Colorado to smoke cannabis.

Many have been rumored to travel all the way to Nevada where copious amounts of carnal knowledge are up for sale.

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But you see Texas does allow for some form of gambling. Bingo, Lotto, Scratch Offs, stock market, and grow labs. Each presents its own risks and rewards for the participant. To the victor the spoils, as the saying goes. It would be nice to be able and go to a local card room where games of skill were played for cash prizes.

Now that’s a destination to look forward to in the future. A future that doesn’t exist because the Mayan calendar ends soon. Ha ha, that's some dark rumor humor.

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That's it for this month. Join me next month as we divulge the true identity of Lady Gaga! (As if anyone really cares.) Happy holidays and please don't drink and 07 12 22 drive. I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

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Art Scene A Few Items Of Note For December

K Space Contemporary 415 D Starr Street Corpus Christi, TX 78401 361.887.6834

Treehouse Art Collective LLC

Rockport Center for the Arts

309 North Water Street, Suite D

902 Navigation Circle

Corpus Christi, TX 78401

Rockport, Texas 78382

361.882.4822

Tel: 361.729.5519

TreehouseArtCC.com

RockportArtCenter.com

Hours:

Hours: Tues – Sat, 10a – 4p

Tue-Sat

11a – 8p

Sundays, 1p – 4p

Hours: Wed-Sat 11a – 5p

Sunday

Noon to 6p

Closed Mondays

Free Admission

Free Admission

Always Free Admission

September Spectacular Salon

The World through our Artist Eyes

First Friday ArtWALK

A collective of 6 core artists, and a varying group of associate artists, who exhibit and sell their artwork in all manner of media.

Ewoud de Groot Currents 2012: Annual Member Exhibition

KSpaceContemporary.org

November 30th, 5:30-9pm November Art Star Gallery: possibly… The Last Show Ever An invitational show of works of art that explore the end of days, or the last work an artist would show if the world did indeed end on the date suggested by the Mayan calendar. On exhibit through the 22nd.

Art Star Gallery: 5th Annual Ornament Sale!

Original, Hand-Made Christmas ornaments by local artists.

First Friday ArtWALK November 30th, 5:30 – 9pm Carolyn Utigard Thomas’ unique artwork is featured for the month of December, with an opening reception on November 30th.

Art Museum of South Texas

Reception Saturday, December 1st at 4:30 pm Annual all-member exhibition highlights our family of artists, providing a chance to stand out as a Merit Artist the following year. An invited juror will chose five Merit Artists, and a sixth is selected by popular vote.

Currents 2012 Juror: Kitty Dudics, Professor of Painting, Drawing & Design, Del Mar College

1902 N. Shoreline Blvd Corpus Christi, TX 78401

Tango Tea Room

Tel: 361.825.3500

Hot Spot Upstairs: TAMU-CC Student Art Association annual show and sale of works of art by TAMU-CC Art Students

STIA.org

K Space Contemporary will be closed for the holidays December 23rd through January 1st.

Closed Mondays & Holidays

Art Center of Corpus Christi

Adults

100 Shoreline Blvd

Seniors (60 and older) $6

505 S Water Street, Suite 545 Corpus Christi, TX 78401 361.883.9123 TangoFandango.com Hours: Mon - Thurs.

10a - 7p Fri & Sat 10a - 9p Sunday Noon - 6p

Corpus Christi, TX 78401

Active Military $6

First Friday ArtWALK

Tel: 361.884.6406

Students (13+) $4

Atelier International Art Gallery

Fax: 361.884.8836

All members, Children 12 and under, Texas A&M University-CC students Free Admission

505 S Water Street, Suite 519 Corpus Christi, TX 78401 956.605-1221

ArtCenterCC.org Hours: 10a – 4p Everyday except Monday Monday CLOSED Admission is always FREE South Texas Traditional Art Association Original works of art by members of the group.

45th Annual Silver Cup Show Art Association of Corpus Christi Reception & Awards Thursday, December 13th, 5-7pm Original works of art by members of the Art Associations of Corpus Christi. Juried by Henry Cardenas.

First Friday ArtWALK November 30th, 5:30-9pm Tables of artists and artisan vendors in and around the Courtyard, every First Friday!!

From The Westside To The Seaside Reception on Thursday, December 13th, 5-7pm Featured in this month’s The Canvas, award winning San Antonio artist Henry Cardenas brings his brilliant solo exhibit of vivid landscapes and abstracts. Henry also creates intriguing sculptures of metal, wood, and glass or stone combinations.

Tues - Sat 10a to 5p Sundays 1p to 5p Admission: $8

Free Admission every First Friday in honor of ArtWALK! American Western Art from the Mary Grace & Frank Horlock Collection Through December 31st, 2012 In the 1960s, Mary Grace and Frank Horlock began collecting art that showcased their hobbies and love for the outdoors.

It was through art openings in Houston “White Man’s Mistake” James and the ConnallyRobinson Altermann Gallery that the Horlocks became interested in art portraying the historical West. As their love and interest for the romance of the ‘Old West’ grew so did their collection. The ‘Old West’ comes alive again through 22 paintings and sculptures of Native Americans and cowboys, horses and cattle, and the culture of a past way of life. Many of the artists featured in this exhibition are members of the Cowboy Artists of America, a prestigious association of artists dedicated to depicting Western life.

Check the museum’s website event calendar for other events throughout the month.

AIArtGallery.com Hours: Mon - Fri 10a - 5p Saturday 10a - 2p Sunday By Appointment Check out the new gallery in town!

Iconocracia 2012: The Power of the Image December 7th, 6-9pm A group show, based on various artists’ interpretation of icons in art and the power they evoke.

Port Aransas Art Center 323 North Alister Port Aransas, TX 78373 361.749.7334 PortAransasArtCenter.org Hours: Mon - Sat 11a - 5p Sunday

Noon - 6p

First Friday Reception & Christmas Party December 7th, 5:30 – 7:30pm Food, Fun, Fellowship & Shopping!!

Middle School & High School Student Art Show Reception - Sunday, December 9th, 2 - 4pm Works on display December 9th through 28th

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Inside the Mind of Carlos Mencia

arlos Mencia brings his “C 4 Urself” performance to Corpus Christi on Saturday, January 19th. I recently spoke with Carlos about the tour, his most recent accomplishment in a long line of television performances, p erformances, guest appearances, supportive film roles, live comedy specials, toursand DVDs and stage routines.

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“C 4 Urself” is unlike any other Mencia routine. It is a “metamorphosis, a transformation of maturity of my performances. I look and sound completely different on stage. As we mature, we change. If we do [mature] our mind, body and soul is transformed, if we don’t, we stay in the same box… When you’re 18 or 20, you discuss religion with someone and you push and push and end up with a fight, at 40, you don’t push back because you realize it doesn’t have to end with that result.” This maturity comes from getting older and wiser, sure, but it also comes from finally letting go of the external expectations, the driving forces in our lives that influence how we present ourselves to other people. Carlos told me how he grew up in the projects with “a bunch of naysayers.”

“If you’re middle class and want to go to college, you’re told it is ok.

In the projects, you're made fun of, told you can’t.” In the projects, specifically in East LA where he spent the majority of his youth (at his family’s insistence, he spent his early teens in his native Honduras to escape the destructive gang culture at the time) Carlos felt that he had more to prove, “prove I was American enough, prove I was Latino enough, prove I was funny enough.” With comedy, he felt more competition, more pressure even though he was selling out arenas and doing big shows.

“Now, I don’t have to prove it, I go onstage to share this gift that God gave me, this gift to make people’s lives a little better than before they met me. There's no pressure, I'm no longer trying to convince people. Just trying to share myself.”

Carlos never dreamt about being a comedian until he was 19 or 20.

He claims that when all of his friends were telling him he needed to do comedy, he didn’t even know what being a comedian was until a sociology class in college taught him that there were no limits or rules to keep him in the box of others’ expectations. He found himself on stage for the first time at The Laugh Factory’s open mic night and had an epiphany that would set him on the path to be the successful comedian he is today.

So how does he cope with criticism? “It’s not my business to care about what you think about me, I can’t control that. How you think about me is a reflection of yourself. If someone says I'm ‘the greatest comedian ever seen,’ that just means they’ve never seen better. If they say I'm the worst, they’ve just never seen worse. The key to all of this is knowing the difference between hate and criticism… Be honest with yourself; don’t let those forces be your guiding forces. As long as you keep asking questions, you’ll be fine. If people really want to criticize, they can find a better way.”

And the idea that people think they know the Real Carlos Mencia based on his stage shows, memorable personas and larger than life characters?

Carlos explains that comedians are artists but comedy is different because of the way it has evolved. When comedians are great, they are so good at their craft that they “transcend the art, we are so good at what we do that people assume they know us, that we are the person on stage.

Comedians are the only stage performers that get heckled on stage because we remove that wall and have a conversation with the audience.”

We discussed the argument that art is in some manner a reflection of the artist and while Carlos agreed with that premise, he feels that since they are bound by one result, laughs, the audience will only get a glimpse of tiny pieces. All of his comedy represents the true Carlos, but only various parts. Taking their audience on a trip through the gamut of emotions, “actors and musicians, all artists like comedians, all tap into all emotions,” like sadness, love and hope. “Comedians are bound by laughs; you will never know what I am truly thinking or feeling because my art is bound by that one result.”

Do you think you know Carlos? His “C 4 Urself” tour will be at American Bank Center’s Selena Auditorium on Saturday, January 19th at 8:00pm.

You can purchase tickets now at www.americanbannkcenter.com and see what side of himself Carlos will share with us.

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Winter Events at the Center

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By Samantha Koepp

he holiday season often brings out the child in many of us; we embrace memories of family traditions and anticipate the excitement of creating new n ew ones. Fulfill everyone’s childlike wonder with bringing the entire family to enjoy Disney’s Beauty and the Beast and Disney Live! Mickey’s Music Festival this month at American Bank Center Selena Auditorium!

Disney’s Beauty and the BeastDecember 22, 2012 @ 8PM

A classic love story where a young prince must learn a lesson that true beauty is measured by a person’s character and that love is a process of doing things for others without expecting something in return. The award winning animated favorite is brought to life on stage as a Broadway production with all the music, extravagant costumes and exquisite sets that made the movie magical for all ages.

Darick Pead performs the role of Beast, and describes his character as initially “childish”, being focused on himself and through his transformation discovers what love really is. The enchantment of Disney and the gracefulness of a Broadway show will entertain families and couples alike. Pead attributes the show’s magnetism with audiences to the dedication of the cast performing like every night is “someone’s first Broadway show and their last”.

Disney Live! Mickey’s Music Festival- December 28 @ 1PM &4PM

Beauty and the Beast and Disney Live!

Mickey’s Music Festival by scanning the QR code on this page or visiting www.AmericanBankCenter.com/disney.

Winners will be contacted Wednesday, December 19, 2012.

Your favorite Disney characters take over the Selena Auditorium stage and lead you on a journey through all genres of music. More than 25 Disney stars from The Little Mermaid, Aladdin and Disney Pixar’s Toy Story will join Mickey and his crew of Minnie, Donald and Goofy.

Visit www.AmericanBankCenter.com/ offers for group discount information.

Get ready to get up and dance as Mickey and his friends put on a musical extravaganza like no other!

You’ll be amazed as Aladdin, Jasmine and Genie share their world of flying carpets and gravity defying acrobatics along to hip hop beats. Woody, Buzz and Jessie show you how to dance in your cowboy boots. And jam out to reggae rhythms with Ariel, Sebastian and their underwater friends.

Tickets are available at all Ticketmaster outlets, online at ticketmaster.com or charge by phone at 1-800-745-3000. SMG managed American Bank Center is Corpus Christi’s premier event center. Follow us online at www.

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Dining Guide Tango Tea Room The Tango Tea Room brings a taste of Austin to Downtown Corpus. Tango serves a variety of Mediterranean and world cuisine, including some of the best vegetarian and vegan fare you can find in Corpus. We also specialize in vegan and gluten-free desserts, cupcakes and muffins. Come on down and get your hippie on!

Taste The Difference!

The Gourmet Pizza

949-7737 ¬ 15370 SPID- On the Island

Our famous Padre Pizza dough is handmade daily. Our sauces are created from the freshest tomatoes and seasoned with our own Chef’s blend of natural herbs and spices. Our lasagna made from scratch daily is the most tasty and delicious you will ever try, and our salad selections are prepared to order using the freshest produce available.

14993 SPID On the Island 949-0787

Located on Padre Island, Island Italian has been serving the community since 1987. A family friendly restaurant, Island Italian also serves beer and wine and is available for private parties of up to 53 people. Flat screen TV and DVD / VHS for meetings. Delivery on Padre Island after 5pm.

Daily Lunch and Dinner Specials.

505 S. Water Street in downtown Corpus Christi.

361-883-9123 Tangofandango.com

Hours:

10-7 Monday through Thursday

Hours of Operation: Monday - Thursday 11am to 9:30pm Saturday 10am to 10pm Sunday 5pm to 9:30pm

10-9 Friday & Saturday 12-6 Sunday Farmers Market every Wednesday 5pm

Great Seafood s r e g r u B d n a Libations Amusements 18 Holes of Miniature Golf

Wednesdays All you can Eat Fried Shrimp Thursdays Prime RIb Open 11 am - 2 am With Twice Baked Potato Kitchen Closes @ 1 am 2034 State Highway 361

One Bite & You’re Hooked

361 749- Taco (8226)

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Dining Guide

Snoopy’s and Scoopy’s Snoopy’s Pier was literally a product of the Redfish Wars, a battle over commercial fishing rights in Texas. Ernie Buttler realized the Redfish Wars signaled the beginning of the end of the commercial fishing industry in Texas. So Ernie decided to give up trying to catch fish and shrimp and start cooking them instead. In August 1980 Ernie and his wife, Corliss, purchased a small bait stand and burger joint with a fishing pier on the Intracoastal Waterway. Over time, the place was transformed with a lot of hard work and patience into a family-friendly seafood restaurant. Special attention is given to providing local harvested quality seafood at affordable prices.

Scoopy’s was opened by Ernie’s wife and features home made soups, salads and sandwiches using only Texas products. Scoopy’s is proud of their shrimp salad, known by locals as the best in town.

They also have great house made desserts and ice cream by the scoop.

13313 S.P.I.D. · Corpus Christi (361) 949-8815 · snoopyspier.com

Libations Amusements 18 holes of miniature golf Open 11 am - 2 am Kitchen Closes @ 1 am 2034 State Highway 361 361 749- Taco (8226)

Town & Country Cafe has great breakfast and lunch specials every day, offering great food at a fair price. Town & Country Cafe is a great location for business meetings and client luncheons and there is no charge for the use of the meeting room.

4228 South Alameda Corpus Christi, TX 78412

(361) 992-0360 Locally Owned and Operated

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A Taste of Austin In Downtown Corpus Christi

Tango Tea Room 505 South Water Street 361-883-9123

Huge Vegetarian, Vegan & Gluten-Free Friendly Menu Yummy Non-veg stuff too.

Free WiFi Farmers market Every Wednesday 5pm Open Mic Night every 2nd Saturday Bizarre Bazaar Every 3rd Saturday

THE

Lenz

Port Aransas Lighted Boat Parade

Photos by Jeff Dolan

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Discover More at METROSCHOOLS.NET

Turkey Bowling @ The Back Porch

THE

Lenz

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The

Canvas Exposing Local Artists…

By Georgia Griffin

Henry Cardenas… Master of Artistic Synergy

A A

s an interviewer, I’m probably kind of predictable… I ask a few key questions that don’t vary a lot, because the answers are what sing. A profile of an artist isn’t about the person writing it, it’s about the person they’re interviewing – that’s where the unique energy comes in. With Henry Cardenas, that energy just rolls in joyous waves. I started out by asking Henry how he started this journey of being an artist…

“Well, it’s a long story, because I can’t remember when I wasn’t on the journey. As a kid I made art.

I painted, I made art, all my life I’ve done it. I just didn’t know to call myself an artist.

“I retired after 30 years with the federal government. During that time, I never gave up art, but during the ‘90s my job required me to do a lot of travel. I would go to places obviously I’ve never been. I’d never been to Seattle, Washington. I’d never been to Connecticut, and Chicago. So I took advantage of my opportunities and went to art galleries, I went to museums. Because I wanted art and I really loved art, I visited these places. I started to say, you know, I think I can do something like that.

I went home and I made my own personal attempts, and I never gave it up. In fact, some of those earlier paintings are in my own personal collection. We have ‘em on our walls.

“During early 2000 I realized, “You know, I’m gonna retire soon, I’ve only got a few more years to go.” I made a very concerted effort to take notes, to read books on art. I didn’t have time to take lessons or anything, but everywhere I went, I studied art. I used to go up into my hotel rooms, wherever I might be, and sketch whatever I saw out the window. It could be a park, could be a building, it could be people in the street – it just didn’t make any difference – just to keep in style, if you will. Finally, in the year 2003, I retired.

“I retired on a Friday, I rested on the Saturday, and then I thought, what am I gonna do for the rest of my life? I realized on the Monday that I did not have to work another day in my life, at a job per se, and I told my wife Sherry, “You know what? For the rest of my life, however long I live, I’m gonna make art.

I’m gonna paint, or sculpt, or craft wood, or work with glass, but I’m gonna make art.” And I did, from that moment on. I went out and bought a few more supplies and I really hunkered down. I really started to produce art.

“But I didn’t have a place to sell it! You know, an artist needs a place to exhibit their work. So, during the course of the next year or so, I went to all types of art events. They have First Fridays, and Second Fridays, and First Saturdays, et cetera, et cetera, various art openings in San Antonio and the surrounding community… One day I got a phone call. Just right out of the blue. This lady introduced herself and she said, “We have seen your work at various exhibits, and we would like to know if you would like to join our gallery down at La Villita?”

“Well, it sounded like a job to me. I retired from ‘the job’ – I wanna just PLAY… but I didn’t say no, I said, “Well, let me go down and take a look at it.”

She said, “It’s a two-way street now, we want to make sure we see your art, but you can talk to us about what it is you’d like to do.”

“So, I went down there and I talked to the ladies, and I liked it. I liked it. They were offering me a wonderful opportunity so I said yes, and I’ve been with them ever since. I’m selling art and producing art all the time now. It’s a great, great opportunity.”

Next time you’re in San Antonio, be sure also to stop in at The Little Studio Gallery, in La Villita. It’s #23 on the La Villita map. “The Little Studio Gallery...

This gallery has been there for almost 49 years. I’ve been associated with it for about 8 years going on 9, I guess. We have 5 artists in our gallery me included, and one guy who has jewelry, and so Monday through Friday we man our own day, my day is Wednesday, and we just all get along real well. It’s a wonderful outlet for our creative energy. It really is.”

Since taking up art full time, Henry has shown his work in myriad galleries, art centers and shows through the years – his work is in private and public collections in approximately 35 states, as well as in several foreign countries. A retrospective of Henry’s work has been held by the Carver Community Center, in which he had nearly 80 pieces on exhibit. Arturo Almeida, curator of the University of Texas at San Antonio Art Collection, honored Henry by including

him in their Texas’ Premier Contemporary Artists Series.

“You know, since I have been in the art community as an artist, I have developed so many nice friends.

There are so many interesting people that I would not otherwise have probably ever met. It’s such an exchange of energy, such an exchange of ideas. I look forward to going to art events, for the simple reason that you interchange ideas and synergy. You see what other people are doing, and we never copy each other, we just feel the need to create. It is such a wonderful community of artists.

“Let me tell you, it’s growing. We just came back from a visit to Santa Fe, New Mexico. We try to go there at least once a year, and we were up in Colorado at some galleries to look over there. Then we come down to San Antonio and we have some vibrant art scenes! Not as big as theirs in Santa Fe, because they’ve got hundreds and hundreds of galleries next to each other, but we have a lot of galleries and a lot of talent. A lot of people, who are so creative, in all mediums… We’re growing, and I think Corpus Christi’s growing, too.”

Here in town we’re delighted to say that Henry’s work is on display for the month of December in a solo show, From The Westside to the Seaside, at the Art Center of Corpus Christi. In conjunction with his own solo show at the Art Center, Henry is the invitational juror for the Art Association of Corpus Christi’s 45th Annual Silver Cup Art Show and Sale.

The opening reception and award ceremony will be held December 13th, from 5-7pm. Please stop in and enjoy both exhibitions, meet Henry Cardenas and delight in the synergy of art and artists.

45th Annual Silver Cup Art Show & Sale

The Art Association of Corpus Christi was established in 1966 as a forum for artists, both professional and hobbyist, and art patrons to network for the enrichment and advancement of all art forms. The organization is comprised of artists from a diverse array of disciplines, including oils, watercolor, acrylics, ceramics, photography, drawing, sculpture and more.

The first Friday of each month (barring a summer break June-August) the group meets at 1:30p in the McDowell Studio of the Art Center of Corpus Christi, 100 Shoreline Blvd, along the waterfront. Everyone is invited to visit and learn more about our organization. After each meeting there is a demonstration of a particular medium by a prominent local artist.

Each year culminates with the Silver Cup Show. This is an annual juried show exclusive to Art Association members, which will be held this month at the Art Center. The guest juror this year is Henry Cardenas of San Antonio, and it’s a show of exceptional work. We have some extremely gifted artists in our group and are looking forward to showcasing the fruits of our labors.

You will be our special guests. Art lovers, patrons and supporters of the arts, fellow artists, new students, additional family members and the wonderful media representatives who promote activities of interest to our community – you are all invited to our 45th Annual Silver Cup Art Show and Sale. This year we will focus on you, our special guests. We will make every attempt to make your experience a memorable one by showing you how much we appreciate you for taking the time to be our VIPs. We will ensure that you feel welcomed and we will make your viewing experience educational, exciting and relaxing.

The Art we have created for you comes from all artists in our organization who are devoted to the professional translations of their interpretations of sight, sound, feelings, memories, and of course, color. We are very excited to be your hosts as you journey through our varied art exhibition, 45 years in the making.

Welcome all.

Louis A Garcia President, Art Association of Corpus Christi