Hurricane Carla

September 22, 2019

Dan Rather reports on Carla while inside Carla

“Dad and the Season of Hurricanes”

         

          It was 58 years ago this month that the Hayter family, as a group, spent its first night ever at a motel. I had never even seen the inside of a motel room. As you know, first experiences can go either way. This one took a nosedive. Went way down there.

          The room was a poorly furnished, with one bed, one roll-away, a radio in a large wooden cabinet, a shower and two towels. I assumed it was not one of Waco’s finest. I was certain it was one of Waco’s cheapest. It was Saturday evening, September 9, 1961. Something had happened back home in Pasadena, that got Dad’s shorts in a bind, so he loaded the family into our 1960 Chevy Bel Air, and hauled our buns to Waco.

          I can’t blame Dad, because I happen to know that Dan Rather was the one responsible. Rather was the first TV newsman in the country to come up with the idea of reporting live inside a hurricane. In 1960, Dan Rather became the news director for KHOU TV, a small station in Houston. The only reason Rather was made news director was because he was the only fulltime employee at the station.

          Hurricane Carla was first noticed at or around September 4th. At that time, the U.S. Weather Bureau had no idea as to where a hurricane would eventually hit. They were doing good to just find the thing. Hurricanes fascinated Rather, so as soon as he caught wind of one passing over the Yucatan, he saw an opportunity in the making. At that time, there was no such thing as satellite photos, but there was radar imaging. And get this, the U.S. Weather Service had just established a radar station in Galveston.

          Being the news director at the station, Rather grabbed his part-time cameraman, and the two of them headed to Galveston with the idea of setting up shop at the radar station. When he saw the image of Carla on the radar screen, he almost freaked his freak. The thing looked like it might cover the entire Gulf.

          As soon as the program director back in Houston began broadcasting Rather’s reports, including the first broadcasted radar images of the monster storm, people in the Houston/Galveston area got big-time scared. As soon as the reports were broadcast on CBS national news, residents along the coast of Texas and Louisiana began evacuating. It was the fear of Carla that created the largest evacuation in U.S. history up to that time. If you take Dan Rather out of the equation, that wouldn’t have happened.

          Carla ended up making landfall halfway between Galveston and Corpus Christi. The hurricane force winds were 400 miles wide. The city of Galveston had closed the bridge to the island, so no one from any of the other news stations was able to be on site when the hurricane hit. Only little ol’ KHOU TV.

          Turns out, my dad was among those who decided it best to leave. There were eight of us who piled into the Chevy Bel Air. We were packed in like green olives in a narrow jar. Had Dad not been driving the meat wagon, the backseat would’ve been all fists, knees and elbows. 

          Fortunately, we made it to Waco with no losses. It was at “Earl and Pearl’s Motel” (fake name) that Dad rented two rooms. I was flabbergasted that he had enough to pay for two rooms. Payday came every two weeks on a Friday, and Carla wisely chose a day or two before payday to make herself known. The family left on a Saturday, and Carla reached landfall on Monday, September 11.   

          While at the motel in Waco, the radio guy, interrupted a song by Ernest Tubb to read a news bulletin. It was announced that Carla would likely hit Waco with winds up to 50 mph. Dad feared that “The Earl and Pearl” would end up being “The Gone with the Wind”, so we piled back into the Chevy and headed for Bristow, Oklahoma. There was no money for another night in the motel, so the plan was to stay with Mom’s folks, Grandma and Grandpa Teagarden.

          We made it to Bristow that evening and Grandma and Grandpa seemed glad to see us. Those two were the greatest grandparents on the planet. Of course, there is no way on earth they could out-shine the grandparents of today. Today, people go unnaturally nuts over grandkids.

          When we returned to Pasadena, we discovered that the only damage to our rent house was a few missing shingles. Our landlord paid Dad to make the repairs, and that helped defray the cost of the trip.

         

          “What of Dan Rather?” you ask. Well, when he returned to Houston, he had a few messages waiting for him. TV stations from around the country wanted him as their news anchor. In 1962, he took the lead anchor position for CBS in Dallas. A year later, when JFK was assassinated, Rather got some notoriety for his coverage. Soon after, he was summoned to the New York office where he eventually became the news anchor at CBS Evening News.

          And, my Dad? He continued working at the refinery until his retirement in 1979. Our family’s biggest disaster occurred a year later, when Dad suddenly died from a heart attack. The man had no claim on fame, and that was to our family’s benefit. It was from my father that I learned some of the best and worst ways to handle situations in life. He died almost 50 years ago, and I dream of him still. In fact, he’s the one who sparked my interest in writing this week’s article. Dad and the season of hurricanes.  

 Dan Rather talks about Carla

end

         

hayter.mark@gmail.com

DNA

September 15, 2019

“A true wonderment”

         

          Just for a moment, let’s return to last week’s article. I’ve got it right here. Let’s see, Kroger had a sale on Pumpkin fritters. My family doesn’t like pumpkin, but I like pumpkin pie and pumpkin bread or cake. But I don’t like pumpkins in any other form, especially not as a coffee flavoring.

          Does any of that ring a bell? Last week’s article was meant to set you up for this week’s piece which deals with the biological factors that determine our likes and dislikes. Why do some people like jazz? Why are some four-year-olds able to write concertos, when most of us wouldn’t know a concerto if it took up residence in our left ear.

          Some believe that all of our likes and dislikes are determined by our upbringing. I feel certain that some of them are. When I was growing up, we never had an onion in our house. I was told they were stinky and without purpose on the planet. Well, while at college, I was accidentally served a hamburger with onions on it. I specifically told ‘em to the cut the onions, but there they were. By the way, I didn’t notice they were there until I took a bite. Turned out I was a big fan of onions and never knew it. Today, I pretty much refuse to cook any non-dessert item without onions.

          After saying that, I must say that much of our characteristics both mental and emotional are established at birth. Actually, at conception. Now this is one crazy story, so don’t swallow your root beer barrel.  I doubt many of us will be surprised by the fact that conception results when one cell from a male joins with one cell from a female, be they humans, animals or tomato plants.

         

          In humans, the male seed contains 23 chromosomes, each of which contain a wad of DNA and a bunch of protein cells. We’ve all heard of “DNA,” haven’t we? The tiny thing that looks like a multi-colored, spiral staircase, only a lot smaller. One of ‘em can only be seen with an electron microscope. Now the female cell contains 23 chromosomes also. Once the cells meet, the beginning of you is going to consist of 46 Chromosomes. So, half of you comes from your Dad’s side of the family and half from your Mom’s.

          Within three days, what began as two microscopic conjoined cells has split into 16 cells. And some of the DNA from your dad has split and joined a half strand of DNA from your mom. And, each tiny cell knows whether or not you’re going to be a boy or a girl, and whether or not you’re going to be faster than anyone at your grade school.   

          So, start splitting like wildfire. Splitting exponentially. One becomes two, two become four, four become 16, 16 become 256… and on and on until someone says, “Hey, it looks like Mark!”

          Of course, you couldn’t recognize me from any other blob of cells were it not for another type protein that latches on to each cell and takes it where it belongs. Some of your chromosomes will head for your eyeball, some to your toenails, some to your armpit… How does a cell of protein know to send a Chromosome to your eyeball? I doubt anyone knows the answer to that.

          The big question is, how does each cell manage to stay where it’s put? It wasn’t too long ago, that some quantum physicist detected proof of what is called a God Particle. It was actually named Higgs Boson after a physicist name Higgs who predicted its existence. “Boson” is the name for any super unusual particle, of which the God particle is. You see, it’s supposedly the God Particle that keeps objects in the universe together. Take the force of the God particle away and this solar system becomes microscopic particles that have no clue where they’re supposed to go. Kind of like me at my first day of school.

          You body contains its own God particle. Except, the human body’s God particle has been photographed with the aid of an electron microscope. The cell is laminin, and what it does is keep all your other cells together. Take it away and each of us will be a pile of goo.

          So, we’re each made up of a gazillion cells, each of which contain the mapping material of who we are. They’re in brain. They are our brain! And, liver and lung. Some of each of your cells contain traits that belong to your mom and your dad. And some were passed along from your grandpa and grandma, and your great grandma and grandpa. Some of my DNA came from the marriage of my sixth great grandpa Abraham Hayter who married Elizabeth Carter back in 1704 at a place called Winterbourne Earls in England.

          If I someone scraped together DNA from Abraham and Elizabeth, it could be determined that I had some of them in me. That means that there are live DNA that that managed to get from Winterbourne Earls to Conroe, TX and end up in me… and brothers and sisters, and nieces and nephews…

          And the thing that is the weirdest of all is the notion that this entire process managed to happen on its own. It was just happenstance that we’re even here, yet, we’re not only here, but we’re here because a couple of cells got together at one point, and each cell contained directions for how we were to be constructed. That’s a wonderment, if you ask me. Oh, and above all, it explains why most Hayters are not big fans of pumpkin.

hayter.mark@gmail.com – Please check out a talk given by Louie Giglio’s on You Tube. It’s called “How great is our God.” This guy is a so much greater speaker than I am a writer.

Pumpkin

September 8, 2019

“I'm pooh, poohing pumpkins here!”

            Every morning, Kay reads something to me from one of our on-line newspapers. Occasionally, she shares something interesting. Usually, she reads me a real yawn-maker. Yesterday, she told me that petting a dog can lower your blood pressure. I said, “So can knitting socks, but I don’t do that either.

            That was yesterday. Shortly after she climbed out of bed this morning, I informed her that Kroger has “Sugar Bowl Bakery Pumpkin Fritters” on sale for five dollars. Had she been wide awake, she would have come up with some award winning sarcasm. – “Okay, on your way back from Kroger, please stop at the library and check yourself out a copy of “Tell someone who gives a hoot!”  

            Not having time to get her mind finely tuned, Kay said, “What do I care? I don’t like pumpkins. You know that!” Of course, I know that. That’s the reason I buy the Marie Calendar Pumpkin Streusel pie at Kroger. It will be all mine, because Kay is not a fan of pumpkin. The only way she’ll eat it is if it’s in a pancake. Apparently, IHOP syrup masks the pumpkin taste.

            I like pumpkin bread, pumpkin cake, and pumpkin pie. I don’t want even a hint of pumpkin in my coffee, ice cream or M&Ms. The main part of a pumpkin that I don’t like is the part called “pumpkin spice.” The reason I don’t like pumpkin spice is because there is no such thing. Pumpkin isn’t a spice anymore than green beans are.

             The spices added to a can of “pumpkin pie filling are cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, allspice and ginger. We all agree that the BEST of these spices is cinnamon. You can put cinnamon and sugar on wet cardboard and I’ll eat it. In fact, I believe I have.

            But, nutmeg? Nutmeg messes up almost everything it touches. A little bit is okay. A little bit more is way too much. Same with cloves… except it’s not good in anything. It was one of God’s three instructions to Adam and Even while they were in the garden. “Tend the garden, don’t eat the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and don’t touch the cloves.” But, I’m sure one of ‘em did. Thus, Cloves Chewing gum was invented. As a child, I sometimes bought a pack, just because the big kids pretended to like it. Same with Bit-O-Honey bars. Might as well take out your teeth and put ‘em in a bag.    

            Ginger? For me it’s the name for an odd-shaped root that’s good for naming baby girls. I like the name, but am not a fan of the root. That being said, only one percent of the world’s population knows what “allspice” is. Up until 10 minutes ago, I was among the 99 percent who had no clue. I thought it was a name associated with a manly deodorant company. Come to find out, allspice is a weird berry that Christopher Columbus found in Jamaica during his second voyage. I have every confidence that Christopher didn’t discover the berry. He likely traded one of the natives a jar of fire ants for a dried pumpkin gourd, filled with allspice berries.  

            According to people who know, “allspice” when dried, tastes like a combination of nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon. When Columbus gave his mom a taste of his allspice, she said, “This tastes a little like cinnamon. She couldn’t discern the taste of cloves, ginger, and nutmeg, because in Europe at the time, they were as rare as boomerangs. Anyway, Chris’ mom decided to add a couple of the dried berries in her pumpkin pie filling. From that moment on, the pie world evolved into what we have today.

            By the way, when I asked Kay if she knew what allspice was, she said, “What do I care? It’s used to make pumpkin pie, and I’ve never made a pumpkin pie. Never will.” When I asked her if she would make me one if I requested it while on my death bed, she said, “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Babe.” The girl is quick… when she’s awake

            Speaking of nutmeg, it’s not a nut. I just learned that a few minutes ago while researching pumpkin pie filling. While I don’t give two hoots about nutmeg, I doubt I’ll ever get over cashews not being nuts. Nutmeg is a seed that comes from the center of a fruit. Cashews are seeds that come from the weirdest seed container you’ll ever see. I don’t even care to talk about it. Considering the time and effort required to separate and dry a cashew, a can of the nuts/seeds should cost ten times more than they do. Oh, and the cashew contains absolutely no cholesterol. Nutmeg? I don’t know… or care.

            In case you’re wondering, I wrote this week’s article to set the stage of next week’s piece. The idea came while ordering a pumpkin spiced latte at Starbucks for my nephew Nalin. Nalin was recovering from a serious surgical procedure that required him to consume only water laced with medicines. As soon as the doctor narrowed my nephew’s consumption restrictions, Nalin asked for a “pumpkin-spiced latte.” I was shocked. Hayters don’t like pumpkin spice. Yet, Dennis’ son was longing for pumpkin-spice in his coffee milk mixture. I was beginning to wonder whether or not Dennis sired the boy.  

            Then I read something that explained how our likes and dislikes are established. Next week, I shall attempt to explain the phenomenon. I occasionally clear my topic selection with Kay. However, in this case, I know she’ll approve. She would say, “Well, Babe, after last week’s, article you’ve got nowhere to go but up.” 

                                                            end

hayter.mark@gmail.com