Don't Mess With Texas

This week the Patriot finds himself in Dallas Texas at a mediation in the old, and I do mean old, Adam’s Mark hotel. A stately old grand dame of a hotel, the Adams Mark hasn’t been redecorated since approximately the time of the Kennedy assassination. A certain sort of genteel poverty graces the halls of the old hotel; it isn’t shabby so much as tired, very, very tired. It is also enormous. I have a room on the 26^th floor, across from the Presidential Suite, with a view of Hwy 35 East. The hotel has 38 floors and thousands of feet of conference space. The décor is Texan, by which I mean a bastard hybrid of cowboy, Indian and Mexican. The staff glides around in Tuxedos and is much too polite. A hotel is a hotel, I suppose, but what kind of hotel has no wireless network in their conference rooms? A very old, tired hotel in downtown Dallas, that’s what kind of hotel.

I was reading a copy of the Dallas Morning News last night and the first two stories in the Metro section caught my eye right away as they both epitomize the Texas of my feverish nightmares. The first story entitled, “Beefed Up Bible Study” was about a BBQ restaurant owner who serves up a helping of fundamentalist nonsense aside his Texas short ribs, much to the delight of the yahoos who cram the stuff into their faces on Sunday nights. The second story was about how the Dallas prosecutor’s office has been repeatedly accused of hiding evidence from defense attorneys in order to secure death penalty convictions over the last few years. To me this epitomizes the concept of Texas justice.

I’m also hoping to visit a sight of more murder and mayhem before I run back screaming to New York. By this I mean a visit to the Texas Book Depository and the grassy knoll.